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30_romances [Yami no Matsuei] [TsuHis] Mocha Latte With A Side Of
Dec. 21st, 2005 01:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisHead meet desk. I've been so unproductive lately, and that's due to everything being in the transitory period which happens to be around 1,500 words. I've been wanting to write larger and longer pieces, but dammit nothing is getting finished and it vexes me.
Anyways, fic.
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei ♥
Title: Mocha Latte With A Side OfDenial Cynicism.
Pairing: Tsuzuki Asato + Kurosaki Hisoka
Thematic: 16. Crème de la crème ; on top
Rating: PG-ish
This is in no way fluff. I refuse to believe this is fluff. I don’t write fluff, dammit.
Rachel’s been dead lately, kinda green and flaky and she’s spoken of eating brains on more than one occasion. Also, AK-47's. Though I brought up that topic.
It’s also a peace offering in her general direction so my brains won’t get eaten.
–
Hisoka seems to live on a never ending amount of caffeine; coffee for breakfast, tea interspersed throughout the day, a few javas to take care of the night.
When he sleeps, there’s dreams, there’s searing pain burning through the entirety of his skin, there’s the hands that reach from beyond, the puppeteer manipulating the strings.
He avoids falling asleep lest he fall into that comatose darkness which curls into a hangmans’ noose, burning around his neck, his skin stripped bare and peeling from the red scars which cover him like ribbons but lacking that particular childhood innocence.
After spending a night with a bland novella, classic literature and murder mysteries, he showers before dawn, changes clothes and needlessly makes the bed. Old habits die hard.
Every morning they meet for coffee; black for Hisoka with a dry bagel, and a never-ending cavalcade of sugary confections and coffee with enough sugar to cause type-2 Diabetes twicefold, and fancy Italian names (which he always manages to pronounce wrong.) for Tsuzuki.
Today is no exception, the only difference is the passing scenery of other workers, other shinigami,
passing with drinks and newspapers unfolded for the latest scoop on the outside world.
“Are you ok, Hisoka?” Tsuzuki asks, face a mask of concern. He reaches out to touch Hisoka’s forehead, brushes back the fringe of hair falling over it.
“I’m fine.”
“Did you get enough sleep?”
Hisoka only responds to this with an aggravated growl deep in his throat. Tsuzuki changes the subject to other things.
It’s annoying that it only took a matter of months for Tsuzuki to read into him, to be able to pick up on the subtle nuances, to see past the barriers he spent so long putting around himself.
The day flies by in a flurry of paperwork. There isn’t an assignment today, just paperwork and endless amounts of red tape (even the afterlife has bureaucracy and bullshit in large amounts), and lots of thick black coffee in ceramic cups. Tsuzuki’s had little sickeningly cheerful smiley faces on it. Typical.
Tsuzuki manages to burn his finger, break the cup and make a mess spread out over half the kitchen floor. Wherever Tsuzuki goes, destruction and chaos is sure to follow.
“Aren’t you going to kiss it?” Tsuzuki says, a pitiful look on his face. How typically childish. (How typically Tsuzuki)
“No.” Hisoka replies, without missing a beat or even changing tone. Or bothering to look.
“Hiiiisooooka! You’re so meaaan!”
“Indeed.” Hisoka says, and leaves to find a dustbroom and the proper cleaning utensils.
When he returns, Tsuzuki’s face lightens up in an almost blinding smile.
“You came back for me!”
“Don’t be stupid.” Hisoka says, and passes the needed paper towels and broom.
It’d be annoying to deal with otherwise.
Caffeine in massive amounts has it’s drawbacks, it’s Tsuzuki who points out that his arm is shaking, almost perceptibly, but as the day wears on, it grows worse and Tsuzuki eventually convinces him (see: wheedling, and eventually dragging) to visit the hospital wing.
“Really, Bon. Do you even have blood? Or just coffee flowing through your veins?” Watari says.
“Likely the latter” Hisoka says, sipping at the heated water filled with bubbling liquid of what nature he didn’t even want to identify. Perscribed by the good doctor/mad scientist. The side effects were likely to be much worse than the original ills. Oh well, at least it pacified Tsuzuki.
The day passes almost imperceptibly, in between sips of coffee and screech-skid-halt-crash conversations. They fight less than they used to, but not so much that they particularly get along. Perhaps it’s because they understand each other now, know the limits and talents in this almost marital partnership.
In truth, today was almost a blessing, tomorrow there’d surely be a case to work on and they’d wish for paperwork and things so boring that time seemed to be crawling along at a snails pace.
Tsuzuki yawns for the fifth time in half an hour, and Hisoka sighs. “I’ll close up, you go home.”
Tsuzuki mumbles something, and then there’s the door closing and silence. Just the sound of papers being stacked and the rich smell of coffee brewing in the other room.
There’s a sound of rain outside, and Hisoka smiles. Peaceful.
The light in Tsuzuki’s apartment is still on, glimmering in the darkness surrounding it. The rain
feels insignificant on his skin, he barely feels it. Hisoka cuts through a few other houses to get to his own, it’s a comfort to close the door of his own home. It’s peaceful in the quiet, he quickly changes and slips down for a book to busy himself with.
It isn’t long before that peace and quiet is shattered by the sound of knocking. “At this hour” Hisoka mutters as he opens the door. And Tsuzuki smiles, that aggravating endearing expression that’s so sincere he can’t quite resist it.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Hisoka weighs his options before opening the door wider to let his partner in, he can’t think of a good reason to not despite the fact that there’s surely dozens.
“I’ll get you a blanket.” he says, moving to get one warm and fluffy enough that he won’t be bugged in the middle of the night for it being too cold as well. When he returns Tsuzuki is gone, several inspections of the rooms turn up empty until reaching his own room.
And there’s his partner, curled up on his bed, face buried in his pillow.
With a mental eyeroll he resists pitching his partner head over heels or throwing some blunt object his way, he’s simply too tired to deal with this. He pushes Tsuzuki precariously close to the edge of the bed, and the idiot doesn’t even stir. Mumbling multiple curses, he drapes the blanket over his partner and climbs under as well, picking the top novel off the bedside stand. It fails to keep his interest, so he returns it to the stack and studies Tsuzuki, listens to the steady rise and fall of breath, the indiscernible murmurs of dreaming, Tsuzuki moves, rolling just enough to pin Hisoka with his arm, still dead asleep. Hisoka inwardly sighs.
He doesn’t remember dozing off, but some time in the night he must have, he wakes feeling rested, an almost odd feeling.
“Hisoka, you’re adorable when you sleep~” Tsuzuki says, with a maddening grin and far too much kindness in his eyes.
“Idiot” Hisoka says, his face gaining a red tint dusting along the cheekbones and over his nose. This only causes Tsuzuki to coo more about his “cuteness” and causes a numerous and diverse selection of obscenities from Hisoka. All of which have no effect of his partner, slipping off of him like water.
They’ve grown to understand each other, know their limits and downfalls, know the little nuances that make up this almost marital relationship.
–
Bon. “Boy”, Watari calls Hisoka this, but it’s a endearing term, rather than other terms which are more derogatory, thus I kept the original Japanese term.
Notice any typos? Stiff sentences? Just tell me in a comment. I love concrit, and this was totally unedited because it was 4 AM D:
Anyways, fic.
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei ♥
Title: Mocha Latte With A Side Of
Pairing: Tsuzuki Asato + Kurosaki Hisoka
Thematic: 16. Crème de la crème ; on top
Rating: PG-ish
This is in no way fluff. I refuse to believe this is fluff. I don’t write fluff, dammit.
Rachel’s been dead lately, kinda green and flaky and she’s spoken of eating brains on more than one occasion. Also, AK-47's. Though I brought up that topic.
It’s also a peace offering in her general direction so my brains won’t get eaten.
–
Hisoka seems to live on a never ending amount of caffeine; coffee for breakfast, tea interspersed throughout the day, a few javas to take care of the night.
When he sleeps, there’s dreams, there’s searing pain burning through the entirety of his skin, there’s the hands that reach from beyond, the puppeteer manipulating the strings.
He avoids falling asleep lest he fall into that comatose darkness which curls into a hangmans’ noose, burning around his neck, his skin stripped bare and peeling from the red scars which cover him like ribbons but lacking that particular childhood innocence.
After spending a night with a bland novella, classic literature and murder mysteries, he showers before dawn, changes clothes and needlessly makes the bed. Old habits die hard.
Every morning they meet for coffee; black for Hisoka with a dry bagel, and a never-ending cavalcade of sugary confections and coffee with enough sugar to cause type-2 Diabetes twicefold, and fancy Italian names (which he always manages to pronounce wrong.) for Tsuzuki.
Today is no exception, the only difference is the passing scenery of other workers, other shinigami,
passing with drinks and newspapers unfolded for the latest scoop on the outside world.
“Are you ok, Hisoka?” Tsuzuki asks, face a mask of concern. He reaches out to touch Hisoka’s forehead, brushes back the fringe of hair falling over it.
“I’m fine.”
“Did you get enough sleep?”
Hisoka only responds to this with an aggravated growl deep in his throat. Tsuzuki changes the subject to other things.
It’s annoying that it only took a matter of months for Tsuzuki to read into him, to be able to pick up on the subtle nuances, to see past the barriers he spent so long putting around himself.
The day flies by in a flurry of paperwork. There isn’t an assignment today, just paperwork and endless amounts of red tape (even the afterlife has bureaucracy and bullshit in large amounts), and lots of thick black coffee in ceramic cups. Tsuzuki’s had little sickeningly cheerful smiley faces on it. Typical.
Tsuzuki manages to burn his finger, break the cup and make a mess spread out over half the kitchen floor. Wherever Tsuzuki goes, destruction and chaos is sure to follow.
“Aren’t you going to kiss it?” Tsuzuki says, a pitiful look on his face. How typically childish. (How typically Tsuzuki)
“No.” Hisoka replies, without missing a beat or even changing tone. Or bothering to look.
“Hiiiisooooka! You’re so meaaan!”
“Indeed.” Hisoka says, and leaves to find a dustbroom and the proper cleaning utensils.
When he returns, Tsuzuki’s face lightens up in an almost blinding smile.
“You came back for me!”
“Don’t be stupid.” Hisoka says, and passes the needed paper towels and broom.
It’d be annoying to deal with otherwise.
Caffeine in massive amounts has it’s drawbacks, it’s Tsuzuki who points out that his arm is shaking, almost perceptibly, but as the day wears on, it grows worse and Tsuzuki eventually convinces him (see: wheedling, and eventually dragging) to visit the hospital wing.
“Really, Bon. Do you even have blood? Or just coffee flowing through your veins?” Watari says.
“Likely the latter” Hisoka says, sipping at the heated water filled with bubbling liquid of what nature he didn’t even want to identify. Perscribed by the good doctor/mad scientist. The side effects were likely to be much worse than the original ills. Oh well, at least it pacified Tsuzuki.
The day passes almost imperceptibly, in between sips of coffee and screech-skid-halt-crash conversations. They fight less than they used to, but not so much that they particularly get along. Perhaps it’s because they understand each other now, know the limits and talents in this almost marital partnership.
In truth, today was almost a blessing, tomorrow there’d surely be a case to work on and they’d wish for paperwork and things so boring that time seemed to be crawling along at a snails pace.
Tsuzuki yawns for the fifth time in half an hour, and Hisoka sighs. “I’ll close up, you go home.”
Tsuzuki mumbles something, and then there’s the door closing and silence. Just the sound of papers being stacked and the rich smell of coffee brewing in the other room.
There’s a sound of rain outside, and Hisoka smiles. Peaceful.
The light in Tsuzuki’s apartment is still on, glimmering in the darkness surrounding it. The rain
feels insignificant on his skin, he barely feels it. Hisoka cuts through a few other houses to get to his own, it’s a comfort to close the door of his own home. It’s peaceful in the quiet, he quickly changes and slips down for a book to busy himself with.
It isn’t long before that peace and quiet is shattered by the sound of knocking. “At this hour” Hisoka mutters as he opens the door. And Tsuzuki smiles, that aggravating endearing expression that’s so sincere he can’t quite resist it.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Hisoka weighs his options before opening the door wider to let his partner in, he can’t think of a good reason to not despite the fact that there’s surely dozens.
“I’ll get you a blanket.” he says, moving to get one warm and fluffy enough that he won’t be bugged in the middle of the night for it being too cold as well. When he returns Tsuzuki is gone, several inspections of the rooms turn up empty until reaching his own room.
And there’s his partner, curled up on his bed, face buried in his pillow.
With a mental eyeroll he resists pitching his partner head over heels or throwing some blunt object his way, he’s simply too tired to deal with this. He pushes Tsuzuki precariously close to the edge of the bed, and the idiot doesn’t even stir. Mumbling multiple curses, he drapes the blanket over his partner and climbs under as well, picking the top novel off the bedside stand. It fails to keep his interest, so he returns it to the stack and studies Tsuzuki, listens to the steady rise and fall of breath, the indiscernible murmurs of dreaming, Tsuzuki moves, rolling just enough to pin Hisoka with his arm, still dead asleep. Hisoka inwardly sighs.
He doesn’t remember dozing off, but some time in the night he must have, he wakes feeling rested, an almost odd feeling.
“Hisoka, you’re adorable when you sleep~” Tsuzuki says, with a maddening grin and far too much kindness in his eyes.
“Idiot” Hisoka says, his face gaining a red tint dusting along the cheekbones and over his nose. This only causes Tsuzuki to coo more about his “cuteness” and causes a numerous and diverse selection of obscenities from Hisoka. All of which have no effect of his partner, slipping off of him like water.
They’ve grown to understand each other, know their limits and downfalls, know the little nuances that make up this almost marital relationship.
–
Bon. “Boy”, Watari calls Hisoka this, but it’s a endearing term, rather than other terms which are more derogatory, thus I kept the original Japanese term.
Notice any typos? Stiff sentences? Just tell me in a comment. I love concrit, and this was totally unedited because it was 4 AM D:
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Date: 2005-12-21 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-12-22 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-04-18 03:34 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-11-22 06:20 am (UTC)The mental image of Tsuzuki cooing at Hisoka is absolutely priceless ♥