Prevaricating

Alone. Finally. Again.

He closed the door, his hands shaking and his steps wavering. The apartment seemed to sway and bounce. He found it difficult to grasp the concept of floors not moving in a slow circle, since it damn well felt like it did.

Maybe that last drink was too much. Hell, make that all of them since he started. Tsuzuki was never too good in math anyway, but he knew for certain that this particular rendezvous with Tokyo nightlife had cost him dearly. One more of these excursions and he'd be mooching off Hisoka's pay for the rest of the month. If worse came to worse, he'd have to trick Tatsumi out to dinner and do the teary-eyed trick to avoid paying. Whatever, he'd still be berated for his spending habits.

For now, these concerns were far from imminent. What mattered was that he'd wined, dined, wined some more, danced until his feet ached, and had done this all surrounded by fun, attractive and happy people.

Then he had come home, alone.

That was his own choice. Or not exactly his choice per se, but still he had turned down many offers of one night pleasure from men and women alike.

There was this one woman whom he'd almost taken home. She wasn't a beauty queen nor did she have the perfect figure, but the way she was composed and shone with self-esteem made her stand out. There was also this twinkle of good humour and sympathy in her eyes, noticeable even behind her tinted glasses and the heavy, smoky air of the nightclub.

They had danced and talked, and it was all nice and genial. He had been just about to suggest moving onto somewhere more private, when it happened.

The guilt came back. It groped the bottom of his stomach and twisted his guts so tangibly he almost doubled over. Of course she had noticed that. Good thing she hadn't even a hint of gaucherie in her, so she kept a polite smile as he hurried away, taking off into a frantic run home.

Cursing he tore off his coat and kicked his shoes to the far corner of the room. Why, why couldn't he have even that little comfort of another human sleeping beside him, if only for one night?

Instead of that, he had frustration, or compunction, waiting for him like a lover draped on his sheets. Always one or the other, switching places, teasing him, demanding full attention. And always leaving him disappointed and discontented.

Tsuzuki combed his fingers through his hair in an absent motion. He wondered why he had to torture himself like this as he stomped to the kitchen. He compulsively backed away from satisfaction served on a silver platter, denying his feelings and stifling his needs, and he did this all with a winsome smile laced with the common indecision and fear of rejection.

Even the fridge mocked him. There was two bottles of beer, sitting pretty right under his nose. Of course, they were completely different brews. One was light and almost sweet, the other dark and malty. His eyes kept skipping between them for two whole minutes, until he growled and took them both out, opened and sipped each in quiet contemplation.

Frustration, that was tonight's sidekick. It had been over a year since he last slept with anyone, and it was getting painfully clear to him. The coldness of the bottles he held against his chest was enough to make his skin crawl. As he reached the bedroom, he placed them carefully on the night table and began the tiresome task of unclothing. He tried to avoid touching himself, but ended up making it all the more slow and bothersome.

This unintended celibacy had started years before. To be exact, the day he met his newest partner. That day he found out, the hard way, that this partner had empathy, a rare power in itself, but also very difficult to nullify or avoid. Then he was force-fed certain issues Hisoka had carried over to his afterlife.

That knowledge made him start this maddening road to denial. First he began to restrain his thoughts at work, which led to cutting down his little trips to the men's room for instant relief. Before he knew it, he was erasing all evidence he had a sexual bone in his body at all, at least in Hisoka's presence. Instead, Tsuzuki was focused on him, constantly worrying and looking for his acceptance while carefully tugging all carnal desires behind the veil of his famous addiction to surfeiting on sweets. All this only to show he was worthy of trust, someone to count on.

Or maybe it was all to prove he was worth staying for. He was so tired of being left behind, so tired of rejection. Perhaps, he was desperate for this partnership to work also because of the absolute dread he felt every time he thought of what Hisoka had gone through. If there was nothing more he could do, he could protect him, take care of him. And to accomplish that, he would gladly neuter himself with his own bare hands if that was what it took.

Now, years after, here he stood, staring at the two beer bottles and wondering if he was truly selfish to take, or even want to take, them both. Slowly he managed to undress, albeit stumbling and getting a zipper caught in the hem of his shirt. A tug, and the zipper was history. Tsuzuki shrugged; not like one pair of pants mattered. The twin beers mattered. Meticulously he sipped a gulp of each, and moved over to the mirror.

There, the accursed demon eyes stared back, skimming over the outlines of his reflection. A perfect body, some said. Bullshit! This body was the bane of his entire existence, an anathema if there ever was one. Alive, it kept him from death, and in death, it denied him peace. It mocked him, staying exactly the same no matter he did, leaving no traces of its mistreatment. It kept torturing him with frivolous needs and desires, and then denied him the means to satisfy them.

But the most infuriating part was not his concupiscence. It was the fact that without even trying he attracted hoards of horny fans and/or psychotic stalkers, but when it came to people he really wanted that attention from, none was forthcoming.

"You make me sick!" he hissed to the mirror, and the man in it hissed back. Whatever.

He made an abrupt turn towards the bed. His frustrations weren't going anywhere by watching himself, and he needed the release badly.

There, under the night table, was his little box of goodies. Carefully he lifted it up to the bed and began sorting. A pile of magazines, most of it naughty mangas, he placed to the side for later perusing. Handcuffs? Hardly useful without a partner. Vibrators, dildos, beads and multi-function sex tools with and without cords and silicone attachments…

He had a problem, beyond doubt. Half of this junk had accumulated during the last six months. Soon he could open his own shop. Bet there would be enough lascivious perverts to make a business.

Sighing he picked a nice, sturdy but not huge, semi-realistic dildo along with a non-descript water based lube. What else...

Soon his ponderings were interrupted by a metallic clink. There, against his fingers, were the perfect add-ons for tonight. Small, elegant and guaranteed to hurt nipple clamps. He held the pair in his palm, feeling the weight and the coldness of metal. These could give him something to feel. Demons and ghosts and mad doctors had made him pretty much inure to normal pain, so this was the best he was going to get.

Wasting no time he tweezed one into place. He was right, it did hurt, but it was a delicious pain. He controlled it, he could remove it, and most of all, he deserved it. He had been bad again, thinking such lewd thoughts, almost revealing his emotions in front of him. The whole situation was getting out of his hands, his own feelings quickly growing into an imbroglio of tangled desires. All his usual escapes were shutting off one by one. Soon he'd have nothing but cakes and candy.

Tatsumi wasn't helping either. No more did he upbraid him as harsh as he wanted to. Tatsumi was slowly backing out of his life, without bothering to provide him even a hope of solace, declining even his most blatant attempts for a simple comfort fuck. He went as far as to say it straight to his face: "I won't be a substitute. You don't need me anymore."

But that wasn't true. Tatsumi was as much a substitute for anything as Hisoka was, that is not at all. Tsuzuki was never the type to cast old friends aside. He needed both of them, maybe for different reasons but needed nonetheless. Too bad neither of them seemed to realize that.

The clamped nipple was quickly growing numb. Either his pain threshold was one step higher than before or he'd drunk so much his nerves were dull. Time for the other one then, he sighed.

Oh yes, about Tatsumi and Hisoka. For all the goofing he did and the front of fatuous play, Tsuzuki wasn't stupid. He saw the two of them throwing him back and forth, wordlessly arguing which one was better equipped to handle his problems. Tsuzuki let a sardonic smile pass his lips; sometimes he was amazed how clueless two such intelligent people could get.

Such a burden he was, to both of them. Still, one refused to let him die and other saved him despite understanding. Who was really the masochist here?

He hissed as the other clamp sent a piercing shock up his spine. Stumbling forward he reached the beer and ensued with extinguishing them, three long gulps from each. Now his taste buds were getting stumped too.

So, next on the agenda was an appropriate fantasy. This time, he tried to conjure an image of an attractive woman in his head, only to have it morphing into a young boy with sandy hair and large, amazing, expressive green…

No. No no no. Didn't he go through this already? Just… no.

He reached for the pile of magazines, searching for something that he could use. For some reason beyond his comprehension, the first thing he grabbed was a phonebook manga depicting older men and teenaged boys in love and compromising situations. He frowned. The universe was certainly against him. Why in high heavens did he even have that? Oh yes, it was Watari's present to him. A joke or a conspiratory nudge, he wasn't sure, but one never knew with Watari anyway.

Might as well look, he surmised. Opening the book on a random point, the first thing he saw was a beautiful splash page of a brown-haired man in spectacles, holding a boy with blue eyes and blonde hair. They were dressed like a student and a teacher, and there was a blackboard on the background.

Somehow, that image held his attention, and he decided to read the story. It was about a student falling for his teacher, and pretty soon he realized it was headed for a full-blown sex scene. That was just fine for him, so he continued, but with an odd sense of shame.

He turned a page and blushed. Who knew they published such explicit scenes between two men? Tsuzuki always thought the "boy-love" sections of bookstores were pretty, romantic and ultimately innocent daydreams aimed at young girls. Guess he was proven wrong. There was nothing innocent in this scene. The boy was florid, sweating and crying as the smirking sensei was fingering him. And…

Quickly, Tsuzuki grabbed the dildo along with the lube and smeared it generously. This manga was very arousing, even if he couldn't quite point out what was its ultimate lure. He didn't need, nor did he really want, foreplay. Foreplay was for lovers; he hardly had that kind of relationship with himself. There was an odd sense of detachment as he placed his toy between his ankles and slowly lowered himself, forcing his muscles to relax and give way.

The dull stretching ache pleased him. He refused to stop for accommodation, after all slight discomfort was his friend. Beginning a rocking motion he kept his eyes nailed to the story. Or what little there was of a story, the dialogue consisting of "Aaah!" and "Unn!" and random playful threats of the sensei to cut the student's grades if he didn't show a bit more enthusiasm. There was the obligatory blowjob scene with the boy orgasming in one big spasm and tears streaming down the pretty face. Tsuzuki took a firm hold on his shaft, giving a few tentative strokes in time with his swaying motion.

The man in glasses wiped the tears gently away, and it reminded Tsuzuki of so many distressing memories he turned the page immediately. Quick, he needed a distraction, he didn't want to think of him either…

The clamps! He released the first one, reeling with the sensation of blood flowing and bringing feeling back to the numbness. Wasting no time he yanked the other one off as well, leaving him gasping and bent and his head descending to an oneiric haze. The endorphins surely kicked in well sometimes.

The man in the manga was behind the boy now, the thin censor stripe doing nothing to hide the penetration. Tsuzuki kept rocking, faster and faster, as the ache turned into a tinge hardly recognisable as pain. He did a small circling motion with his hips, searching for the right spot. One hand snaked to his erection on its own accord, going through the movements with practised ease.

As the manga pair engaged in acrobatic sex in most likely uncomfortable positions, Tsuzuki bit his lip and tightened his pace. Desultory thoughts he no longer could control flashed by, his mind giving familiar colours to the black-and-white lovers on paper, his relief only one brief moment, one right move away.

The moment came, the right move forcing his eyes to squeeze shut and his hips to stop. One, two, three strokes more and he felt his muscles tighten and relax in a slowing rhythm. White splotches tainting the sheets and the paper attested to his success. Tatsumi was right; sometimes, all one needed was sedulous work.

Wincing he took the dildo, washed it and got back to bed with tissues to clean up the mess. The task was soon proven too difficult for his muddled brain, so he merely shucked the dirty tissues to the floor and shoved the box and its contents away. Inanition was settling in, and the drowsiness was getting to him. Only one thing he wanted to do.

Or two, if you count finishing the bottles of beer still waiting on the night table. The other thing was to read the rest of the story.

One bottle was empty in two seconds flat, so he took the other beer and reclined to the bed. The manga lovers were quiescent too, now whispering sweet nothings and love confessions. Spoony little story, Tsuzuki shrugged and finished the beer in his hand.

Rolling over, he turned off the night lamp and tossed the book. Closing his eyes he mulled over the story, feeling almost hopeful for the lover's fate. They seemed good together, both so together and their feelings uncomplicated and true. There was still something that bothered him, and he almost got up to check on the story once more, but the need to sleep overpowered that urge.

Right before drifting off to sleep, he solved it. The reason the last simulacrum of two lovers asleep bothered him.

The boy looked like Hisoka.