twice as hard
The real problem with being sixteen forever, Hisoka has decided, isn't the tragedy of dying young, or the unfinished business you leave behind in the living world. No, the real problem is how it handicaps you in the workplace.
You don't notice it at first, because you've never been an adult before; you're used to being a kid, and even if you hate it when people condescend to you, you're used to that, too. But after a while you start to pay attention, and you notice how it is for everyone else, and how it isn't for you. How it's twice as hard for you to make people take you seriously. And how it's twice as hard to win an argument, or even make your opinion heard. It's twice as hard to feel like a member of the team, instead of just an annoying accessory, and it's twice as hard that you have to work, in order to feel like you're getting anything done at all.
And also, it's twice as hard to ignore your partner and lover when he's sitting next to you and apparently in the mood to be damned distracting.
It's been a long, slow meeting, but Hisoka really, honestly has been trying to pay attention to Konoe's lecture about the budget. He always at least tries. He was enjoying a reasonable amount of success, too -- right up until when Tsuzuki's knee pressed against his. And now, of course, concentration has gone entirely out the window. It's rarely any use to try to think about anything else when Tsuzuki is touching him; it's like trying to carry on a conversation with someone shouting in your ear. Unmanageable. Which he supposes is a fair enough word for Tsuzuki in general.
He tries not to react outwardly, and resists his first instinct to pull away and save his focus. That would only earn that puppyish wounded look from Tsuzuki, and the cold knotted-up feeling of his hurt, and then Hisoka would have the rest of the meeting to feel guilty and exasperated and continue to be completely distracted. He just holds still, and lets Tsuzuki's calf press up along his own. Not looking at Tsuzuki, of course; that would just give it all away. He couldn't help receiving if he wanted to, but sending takes a certain amount of effort, enough to overcome the lack of empathy on the other end. Nothing too hard, though. It's a little like making a snowball: gather up the patience and the annoyance and the helpless underlying love, roll it all together until it's compact, tight, focused -- then throw it. And then just wait...
Tsuzuki's not moving.
Great.
Under ordinary circumstances, to him the room would still be an unruly chorus of textures and sensations: Konoe's chalky grey maturity, with the occasional vein of darker thoughts; Tatsumi's tangled forests and the shapes that move back in their shadows; sloping bubbles of thought from Watari, constantly forming and popping and beading to each other; Terazuma's steel-blue, angular temperament and Wakaba's sunlit and sparkling daydreams that fade at the edges. And of course, Tsuzuki, laid out all in blocks of primary color, like the test patterns on TV late at night. So close, though, Tsuzuki blocks out everything else, a sun that dims the surrounding stars. Everything Tsuzuki feels is so strong, and it takes him over, pulling him along, taking apart his consciousness, making him forget who he is and that there's anything outside Tsuzuki. Even with just a leg pressed against his, a few centimeters of contact under the table, Hisoka can feel...
Heat, actually, is what he mostly feels. A blossoming field of it just beginning to open. A slow thread of interest, winding itself tight around him.
Oh, this is only going to get harder.
It hits him hard, spreading like a wave: two crests of fever gathering in his chest and around his thighs, rushing up to meet each other in his groin, and suddenly, sitting still is sort of uncomfortable. Why does he have to wear such tight jeans, anyway? He can't help breathing faster; hopefully no one else has noticed...
No one else except Tsuzuki, that is. To the ordinary observer, his partner is just another bored employee at a slow meeting, chewing absently on his thumb and staring off into space, but to an empath it's pretty obvious Tsuzuki is perfectly aware of the effect his daydreams are having. And is more than pleased. The bastard.
I'm going to wring his neck. Or... well, maybe not his neck. Or just pin him to the wall and -- wait, is that him or me?
Not that it matters now. Tsuzuki's teeth on his own thumb start a thread that unspools to Hisoka, to Hisoka's mouth, Tsuzuki's fingers, Tsuzuki's cock -- not quite images, just the feelings, the echoed memories of lust and pleasure, but more than enough --
Enough. He pulls his leg away -- doesn't matter, I can't stand -- but Tsuzuki catches him with an ankle hooked around his calf, not letting him escape. Hisoka pushes his alarm at Tsuzuki, but he knows Tsuzuki will be able to feel his arousal along with it, and there's no more response than before. Obviously, the fact that they're in the middle of a meeting has absolutely no meaning for a certain idiot whose leg is very, very warm -- Stop it.
Well... okay. He'll just have to wait this out, then. Be strong. He can handle this. Taking a deep breath, he puts his hands on his thighs, and prepares himself to think about something else. Anything else.
Really. Anything.
Hisoka always has to be the grownup with Tsuzuki; they both just take it for granted by now. It should probably bother him -- and, for the sake of appearances, he usually pretends it does -- but it doesn't. It's sort of nice, actually, taking care of someone else, instead of being taken care of. New. And Tsuzuki, at least, takes him seriously, and listens, and never condescends. Well -- not in private, anyway, not when it's just the two of them. When he sucks Tsuzuki and feels his pleasure before he even hears the moan, when he has Tsuzuki's legs wrapped around behind him and Tsuzuki much tighter around his cock... he doesn't feel like a kid then. He feels like a person, complete and in control and strong. An adult. A man. ...Wasn't he going to think about something else?
He doesn't mean to look at Tsuzuki -- means to look anywhere else, actually -- but his eyes just keep slipping back that way; it's an old habit, hard to defeat. Even long before they were lovers, before he even knew he wanted Tsuzuki at all, he used to watch him like this in meetings. First he'd told himself that it was just where his eyes fell naturally, and then he'd told himself that he wasn't looking, he was glaring, and then finally he'd been left with nothing to tell himself except the truth, which was that he had a huge hopeless crush that could undoubtedly only hurt him. But it hadn't, in the end. Somehow, it ended up making everything better.
And now he watches his partner as Tsuzuki takes a muffin, plucking off a stray bit of fruit and eating it, especially watches his fingers and lips and the very edge of his tongue. And then he closes his eyes and tries not to sway in his seat, as Tsuzuki's mind turns to taste, and being tasted... Again it comes, stronger, building up on top of itself, making him hard with the need his body is too stupid to realize isn't its own. Although... really, by now, it partly is. Tsuzuki is thinking about him, remembering him, and he can feel just how much he's wanted, and that alone would be enough.
Tsuzuki licks his fingers, and Hisoka shudders. He can feel that, god, more, if they could just be home, with Tsuzuki's mouth on him and his tongue moving across -- again he can't tell where the images are coming from, and his equilibrium is rapidly falling apart. Why does it have to be so hot? He can barely breathe...
And it just keeps coming, wave after wave, until it feels like he might come if Tsuzuki just looked at him the right way. ...Not that it would be the first time if he did.
Is he trying to kill me?
Like a sun that makes all other light go dim. At some point he's locked his hands around the edge of the table, and now they're the only thing that keeps him from tipping over, and from squirming in his seat. Images are overwhelming him -- Tsuzuki kneeling naked between his legs, licking him, Tsuzuki shuddering spread out beneath him, stretched around him -- and it's just too much, there has to be something or he'll go crazy --
Tsuzuki's foot strokes up his calf, and this time Hisoka can't hold back the whimper. It takes him a second or two to realize he's made a sound; then he notices that Konoe has paused in whatever he was talking about, and is looking in his direction. He tries not to wince too visibly.
"Kurosaki-kun? Are you well?"
(shit shit shit) Force of habit has him about to insist that he's fine, but Tsuzuki preempts him, leaning over to curl a hand behind his neck and put the other on his forehead. The direct contact of skin nearly flattens him, makes it impossible to think. He just stares at Tsuzuki, unable to fathom what he's doing, until Tsuzuki says, "You feel very warm. I think you have a fever." He takes one hand away, and even in his state of overload and confusion Hisoka almost grabs it back. "I think I should take him home."
Comprehension dawns at a leisurely pace, as everyone else agrees, and he lets Tsuzuki help him to his feet. Maybe he should say something too -- but Tsuzuki's arm wraps around him, and nothing he could add now would make much sense. So much... His knees try to give, but Tsuzuki holds him up, holds him close. Very close. God, is he going to be able to walk?
"I'll try to come back later," Tsuzuki says as they turn to leave, and suddenly Hisoka has to stifle a smile. The ball he rolls up and throws is complex in execution, but simple enough at its core: Liar.
He was right to worry; he almost can't walk. Though that's partly for fairly mundane reasons. If he's going to keep sleeping with Tsuzuki, he's going to need some looser pants, it's becoming obvious. It seems to take forever for them to limp down the halls and stairs that lead out of the building, and Hisoka's sure he isn't helping, but it doesn't seem to matter. He has to lean on Tsuzuki, has to tuck his cheek to Tsuzuki's shoulder and feel the warmth of him, in his body, in his mind. Home seems so far away right now anyway, but Tsuzuki is --
"You son of a bitch," he manages, as they leave the building. And he can feel Tsuzuki smile without even looking.
"Hmm?" Playing coy. Hisoka refuses to dignify it with a response, which of course has nothing to do with the fact that he's too busy with walking to think of one.
And now Tsuzuki's mind is wandering again, to the sakura blooming out of season around them, and the set of sensations that carry over is unmistakable; Hisoka's head fills suddenly with thoughts of rough bark and excited exposure and the smell of blossoms, new arousal with a ribbon of mischief in it, and he chokes down a little groan as he staggers into Tsuzuki. "Unmanageable" is an understatement.
"When we get home, I'm going to..." fuck you until you scream is how he means to finish that, or something like that, something that would sound tough and strong and in control of the situation. He loses track of it completely, though, the second Tsuzuki's mind is off and running again. Thinking of him; loving him, needing him. Is it any wonder that it does this to him? Who could resist this, if he were the one to receive it?
In all the time they spend together, in everything they do, in everything he feels about Tsuzuki, the best may be just the feeling of being the one; the one Tsuzuki loves, the one he needs, the one with whom he seems content to stay. Sometimes he just wants more than anything to hear it, to know he's most important, to be the best, special, Tsuzuki's. He would think he could just feel it, but he can't, not really. Maybe it's that he has no basis for comparison, or maybe it's just that he needs it so much it makes him blind. But he can't tell, and he's never been able to think of a way to ask.
So when Tsuzuki does dumb, embarassing things like this, no matter how annoyed or distressed he knows it should make him, it doesn't. To be honest, in a way, he really likes it. It... helps, a little.
He's not sure how they get home, exactly, just that it happens and that it takes much longer than it has any right to. His fingers won't work well enough to get his keys out when they get to the door, but Tsuzuki beats him to it, and then finally, finally they're inside, and home, and then he has Tsuzuki pushed up against the door and his tongue in Tsuzuki's mouth, and they're all right. Everything's going to be fine now. He'll see to it.
Hisoka tears Tsuzuki's shirt away with clumsy hands, vaguely aware of losing a couple buttons in the process, and getting his hands on so much skin only makes it harder to think. He doesn't want to stop touching him -- pants, right, have to get rid of those. Pulling his jeans off would be hard enough even if it weren't with only one hand that isn't working right, and it takes a few moments of swearing under his breath and nearly falling over to take care of them. Tsuzuki turns quickly under his hands, pressing up against the door and folding himself down into easy reach, breathing hard and pounding with hunger. It's a good thing he's easier to undress.
One thing at a time. There's a bottle in the bedroom, but damned if he's going to stop long enough to go get it; he just sticks a couple fingers in his mouth, sucks them, and slides first one into Tsuzuki and then the other. The feeling -- god, he wants this so much, he always... He shares it, and the moan that's Tsuzuki's response. He couldn't help it if he tried.
His fingers have barely pulled back before he has his other palm to his mouth, getting as much saliva on it as possible, and stroking it onto his cock, and then again. A little gross, maybe, but that's the price you pay. At another time, he'd let Tsuzuki do it more directly, but in this state he might not last through five seconds of Tsuzuki sucking him. And they both want more than that, this time; want this to be more, want everything, complete, want him...
Inside. Yes. All right. It'll be all right now.
It's too fast, at first, so much friction that it almost hurts him more than Tsuzuki, and he has to make himself be careful. Slower: slow, moving in, so slow, too slow, but it can't be any faster. Tsuzuki around him is like burying himself in painless fire. The heat, the light, the power of this, and it's all so much more intense with them interlocked so tight...
He presses his cheek between Tsuzuki's shoulderblades, breathing hot on hot skin, and barely moves. Just enough, a slow grind that gets faster, small enough strokes for the thin lubrication but big enough to feel, rougher and stronger than they are long. Tsuzuki's need breaks around him in a high harsh sob, like a current in the ocean, and he's entirely swept away. Hunger and want, skin, the rough wood of the door, wet and stretching and giving way, (Tsuzuki's) hand on himself (under Hisoka's/his), closer and bigger, darkness, the sun...
And he relishes, loves, and is lost in the second they burst into one melted single self, and there's no space left to fill at all.
There's a gap in Hisoka's awareness of what comes between the door and the floor, but it doesn't really matter. He's sure he didn't miss anything important. Drawing away and catching his breath is -- like it always is -- a little like learning how to think all over again. It's a funny, almost exposed feeling, suddenly having one mind again instead of two.
And then he's all right and Tsuzuki is there next to him, and Hisoka wraps his arms around him and holds on like Tsuzuki's everything in the whole world, because he is.
"Son of a bitch," he says again, just in case he hasn't quite made his point yet. And he closes his eyes, and listens to Tsuzuki's heart beat.
On the other hand, of course, there are times when being sixteen forever isn't so bad at all.