by Rina K. Fenderson
3. Playmate
Tsuzuki awoke from an exceptionaly nice dream when the tingling heat from the dream reached a hand out into the realm of the aware. He tremored slightly, the feeling not entirely fearful or painful, honestly it felt good. Then when he went to reach out and touch whoever was giving him this feeling, he hit a sudden and painful wall of realization. The tether remained at his wrists, thick twisted rope, digging into the flesh of its captive.
He bucked. It wasn�t Hisoka, it wasn�t his love. It was a dark evil man who wore the mask of a beautiful angel. Tsuzuki tried to twist away from Muraki�s hands and the shearing pleasure they gave him, pleasure that threw a stab of regret at every shockwave into his heart. "Muraki, stop!"
"Why? You seemed to be enjoying it a moment ago," Muraki whispered, running his hand that wasn�t teasing his bare thighs and aching erection, up his chest. Tsuzuki writhed under his hold, tossing his head to the side with a whine. Muraki�s lips were trailing across his chest now, skilled and promoting a reaction in Tsuzuki that he didn�t want. He bucked to get away, but the movement only brought himself higher into the arousal. He yelped and squeezed his eyes shut.
No, Muraki couldn�t be doing this to him. He felt powerless, even as the power began to build while the pale skinned male continued to work him on. The heat was rising, blood pumping faster. Tsuzuki trembled. *How could this happen? Why can he give me this pleasure?* He felt his will breaking as he went over the edge, a distinct shattering in his mind as he hit his climax, crying out and arching clear off the bed, his wrists still bound and his body still weary.
Muraki�s warmth departed with a cold breeze across his body, as Tsuzuki shook with fear and helpless fatigue. Then a moment later he was enveloped in warmth, Muraki loomed over his body in just his white button down shirt and white slacks, coat and blazer discarded. He placed a hand on either side of Tsuzuki�s body, pressing his lips and warm tongue against his jaw line and lips. "Did you enjoy that Tsuzuki?"
Tsuzuki closed his eyes again, a tear trailing down his cheek as he turned his face away from the man of angelic beauty. His body felt weak, he felt vulnerable, useless...he was...he was nothing.
"Beautiful, flawless," Muraki was whispering, running his fingers through his dark hair gently. He leaned over his body, his weight rocking sensually over Tsuzuki�s bare skin, but this time no reaction occurred. Tsuzuki could feel his hot breath cascading across his neck and ear as he whispered, "You are mine now. My little toy. My beautiful doll. Do you want me to take you now, or should I prolong this pleasure?"
Tsuzuki swallowed, the motion clear along his tense neck. His jaw was clenched to the point where it was trembling, grinding his teeth together. Muraki made a slight hum and shifted again, although Tsuzuki didn�t dare open his eyes to invite him to torture him with more of what he called pleasure. He felt the needle enter a vein in his wrist then leave before it even registered what it was exactly and by that time he didn�t even care that his body was washing over with numbness.
"I would like to keep you longer. There is no rush," Muraki claimed with a low husky whispered, before his body abandoned Tsuzuki�s with another rush of cold air that ran over his limbs. He felt fabric slid over his body and realized vaguely that Muraki had pulled a blanket over him, not bothering to dress him after he had apparently undressed him.
He didn�t move for a long while. Not until he felt his fingers start to tingle as the blood was rushing from them, with his position on his back and even then he only rolled to the side, bringing his tether bound hands down as far as they could come in order to bring the blood back to them. The numbness in them was no different from that which he felt all throughout his body and he was entirely positive it was only the drugs.
He felt hollow, like white vapor, like nothing...he was nothing anymore. He was bent, he was so close to being twisted and broken, to belonging solely to this man, that called him his toy.