yellowhorde (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yellowhorde) wrote2004-10-05 09:29 pm
yellowhorde) wrote2004-10-05 09:29 pm
Save a Prayer 2/? - Yami no Matsuei
Disclaimer: I don't own Yami no Matsuei and I make no money from this or any other story I write.
Pairings: Muraki x Tsuzuki
Category: General
Rating: R
Warnings: Yaoi, lemon, language
Title: Save a Prayer
Author: yellowhorde
Note: This story takes place after the Kyoto Arc.
PART TWO
Even though the hour was late, the street and sidewalk just outside of one the city's most popular - and notorious - dance clubs was full of life, noise, and a frantic sort of drunken hilarity. The fumes of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and perfume mingled to form a dizzying cloud of stench that seemed to drown the whole world. Dozens of people milled about, dressed in their partying best. The air was alive with a mixture of sexual tension and youthful exuberance.
Someone knocked roughly into Tsuzuki and a startled cry escaped his lips. He whirled around and a pair of red crack-glazed eyes glared belligerently back at him. The eyes' owner was a gangly teenager with long greasy hair whose obvious fashion taste leaned towards a curious cross between gothic and the more traditional biker punk. There were so many metallic rings and studs poking out from his face and clothes that Tsuzuki doubted he could walk through a metal detector without setting it off. Everything about this young man screamed 'Bad Ass'.
"Oh, I'm so sorry about th-"
"Get the fuck out of my way, man!" Leather Head yelled and after giving Tsuzuki a contemptuous once-over, made his way deeper into the crowd, which parted before him like the Red Sea had for Moses. Tsuzuki didn't blame them.
He scanned the crowd with disbelief. None of the people in this swarming mass of humanity looked any older than he had been when he had died seventy- two years ago. In fact, as he watched a pair of drunken girls weaving their giggling way down the sidewalk with what he dearly hoped were their fathers in tow, very few of them looked much older than his partner, Hisoka.
Nervously, he glanced down at the watch on his right wrist. It was just after eleven.
’Damn it,’ Tsuzuki mentally fumed, ‘he’s late!’
If anyone had asked Tsuzuki why he had agreed to meet Muraki out here in the first place, he would've been hard pressed for a proper answer. Could it be because he had felt sorry for the cold-blooded killer that had stalked his dreams relentlessly since the day they had first met in the cool, silent depths of that Church in Nagasaki? No, certainly not, because he didn't feel sorry for Muraki. It wasn't pity that had brought him to this noisy rendezvous. Some deep, inner compulsion had driven him into accepting the Doctor's invitation, one that he didn't fully understand. In all truthfulness, he was too afraid to question his own motivations, too afraid of what he would find buried so deeply within the dark, unknown confines of his heart.
At that moment, he was distracted from his wandering thoughts by a short, sharp blast of a car's horn. He looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Smooth and gleaming beneath the gaudy neon lights of the city, the car that had glided up to the curb was a perfect balance of power and grace. Its elegant lines flowed like liquid mercury. All eyes in the crowd were drawn towards it as if sensing that here was the chariot of a god. Lights flickering from the nightclub's marquee splashed over the windshield and windows in a frenzy of color and from his position, Tsuzuki was unable to tell who sat behind the driver's wheel.
The driver's door opened slowly and a pair of long black-clad legs unfolded. Real leather shoes gleamed mutely in the flashing lights. Tsuzuki's eyes traveled up those amazingly long legs, taking in every detail - from the narrow hips, a taut abdomen graced with gleaming silk the color of fine pearls, a lean torso and broad shoulders swathed in a tailored jacket that matched the slacks.
Tsuzuki's heart beat a frantic tattoo against his ribs. He wanted to flee into the swarming throng of strangers, to hide from the man who now stood before him. But he couldn't tear his eyes away, or move, or even think as his eyes were drawn irresistibly upward. He had to be certain. He had to look into the face of the man who had posed the greatest threat to his heart, his life...his sanity.
Now, here was the familiar face that had haunted his dreams for months. The skin was smooth, flawless, his nose straight and aristocratic. Silvery hair framed his face, and it tumbled casually, almost artfully over one eye. But it was the eyes that fascinated Tsuzuki the most. They were intense and cold as steel yet at the same time smoldered with fierce intensity behind the lenses of wire framed glasses.
A shiver ran through Tsuzuki's body.
It was him.
Kazutaka Muraki.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Pairings: Muraki x Tsuzuki
Category: General
Rating: R
Warnings: Yaoi, lemon, language
Title: Save a Prayer
Author: yellowhorde
Note: This story takes place after the Kyoto Arc.
PART TWO
Even though the hour was late, the street and sidewalk just outside of one the city's most popular - and notorious - dance clubs was full of life, noise, and a frantic sort of drunken hilarity. The fumes of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and perfume mingled to form a dizzying cloud of stench that seemed to drown the whole world. Dozens of people milled about, dressed in their partying best. The air was alive with a mixture of sexual tension and youthful exuberance.
Someone knocked roughly into Tsuzuki and a startled cry escaped his lips. He whirled around and a pair of red crack-glazed eyes glared belligerently back at him. The eyes' owner was a gangly teenager with long greasy hair whose obvious fashion taste leaned towards a curious cross between gothic and the more traditional biker punk. There were so many metallic rings and studs poking out from his face and clothes that Tsuzuki doubted he could walk through a metal detector without setting it off. Everything about this young man screamed 'Bad Ass'.
"Oh, I'm so sorry about th-"
"Get the fuck out of my way, man!" Leather Head yelled and after giving Tsuzuki a contemptuous once-over, made his way deeper into the crowd, which parted before him like the Red Sea had for Moses. Tsuzuki didn't blame them.
He scanned the crowd with disbelief. None of the people in this swarming mass of humanity looked any older than he had been when he had died seventy- two years ago. In fact, as he watched a pair of drunken girls weaving their giggling way down the sidewalk with what he dearly hoped were their fathers in tow, very few of them looked much older than his partner, Hisoka.
Nervously, he glanced down at the watch on his right wrist. It was just after eleven.
’Damn it,’ Tsuzuki mentally fumed, ‘he’s late!’
If anyone had asked Tsuzuki why he had agreed to meet Muraki out here in the first place, he would've been hard pressed for a proper answer. Could it be because he had felt sorry for the cold-blooded killer that had stalked his dreams relentlessly since the day they had first met in the cool, silent depths of that Church in Nagasaki? No, certainly not, because he didn't feel sorry for Muraki. It wasn't pity that had brought him to this noisy rendezvous. Some deep, inner compulsion had driven him into accepting the Doctor's invitation, one that he didn't fully understand. In all truthfulness, he was too afraid to question his own motivations, too afraid of what he would find buried so deeply within the dark, unknown confines of his heart.
At that moment, he was distracted from his wandering thoughts by a short, sharp blast of a car's horn. He looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Smooth and gleaming beneath the gaudy neon lights of the city, the car that had glided up to the curb was a perfect balance of power and grace. Its elegant lines flowed like liquid mercury. All eyes in the crowd were drawn towards it as if sensing that here was the chariot of a god. Lights flickering from the nightclub's marquee splashed over the windshield and windows in a frenzy of color and from his position, Tsuzuki was unable to tell who sat behind the driver's wheel.
The driver's door opened slowly and a pair of long black-clad legs unfolded. Real leather shoes gleamed mutely in the flashing lights. Tsuzuki's eyes traveled up those amazingly long legs, taking in every detail - from the narrow hips, a taut abdomen graced with gleaming silk the color of fine pearls, a lean torso and broad shoulders swathed in a tailored jacket that matched the slacks.
Tsuzuki's heart beat a frantic tattoo against his ribs. He wanted to flee into the swarming throng of strangers, to hide from the man who now stood before him. But he couldn't tear his eyes away, or move, or even think as his eyes were drawn irresistibly upward. He had to be certain. He had to look into the face of the man who had posed the greatest threat to his heart, his life...his sanity.
Now, here was the familiar face that had haunted his dreams for months. The skin was smooth, flawless, his nose straight and aristocratic. Silvery hair framed his face, and it tumbled casually, almost artfully over one eye. But it was the eyes that fascinated Tsuzuki the most. They were intense and cold as steel yet at the same time smoldered with fierce intensity behind the lenses of wire framed glasses.
A shiver ran through Tsuzuki's body.
It was him.
Kazutaka Muraki.
TO BE CONTINUED...