Co-Authored with Ashlea

     The blame, Hisoka will be sure to point out later, should rest entirely upon the alarm clock manufacturers. After all, it's hardly his fault that the "off" button on Tsuzuki's alarm clock is in exactly the same spot where the "snooze" button is on his own, is it? So when he's half-asleep and groping across Tsuzuki with his eyes mostly shut for the source of the very annoying beeping, and he just happens to turn it off a little more permanently than he meant to... well, surely he can't be blamed for that, can he?

     Surely not... though he isn't exactly thinking of this when he finally does wake up and notices the time. His thoughts at that particular moment can more or less be summed up by a row of exclamation points.

     And then he just thumps back to the bed, figuring sheepishly that it can't make much of a difference now.

     "Tsuzuki? Hey. Wake up." The older shinigami stirs after a few nudges, and blinks at Hisoka... and then gives him a sleepy smile -- along with a dizzying rush of warmth -- so radiant that Hisoka can't help returning it. "I, uh, don't think we're going to make it to work today after all. Since it's... kind of afternoon."

     Tsuzuki blinks blearily at first Hisoka, then the clock, and then just closes his eyes again and laughs. "Um. Oops." The laugh turns into a yawn as he works through a long, cat-like stretch, wriggling interestingly underneath Hisoka. "They'll understand."

     "Mm." Hisoka lays his head back down, against Tsuzuki's chest, and lets his mind wander through a quick recap of the previous night's events. He feels the warm echo in Tsuzuki as well; both of them happily marvelling that it wasn't a dream. Of course, the current state of faintly messy nudity would also attest to that, but it lacks the same romance...

     Warm hands settle on Hisoka's back and gently guide him to the side, off of Tsuzuki. "...but it isn't too late for breakfast," Tsuzuki mumbles, and slowly sits up. He laughs again, a noise that feels as good as it sounds, and puts a hand to his head. "Hungry?"

     Starving, actually, Hisoka realizes and nods. Something about an evening resulting in physical and psychic exhaustion that can make a young man hungry enough to eat Tsuzuki's cooking... as he thinks it, Hisoka can't help but notice how his thoughts keep turning back to it. Last night. It happened, everything is changed, Tsuzuki is...

     Tsuzuki is kissing him, gentle and warm like the rays of sun that cast on his back from the window. Everything has changed, and even in the light of day, it's better. "Love you," Tsuzuki murmurs against his lips, and then staggers to his feet (allowing Hisoka to see that many things are better in the light of day) and shuffles, yawning, to the bathroom.

     Hisoka relaxes back on the futon (which, just under where his head lies, smells wonderfully like Tsuzuki), and settles into a peaceful half-doze, alone in the room but comforted by the feel of Tsuzuki nearby. Water runs, and for a moment he entertains the compelling idea of joining Tsuzuki, as a surprise; but he eventually admits to himself that his confidence isn't quite that high. ...Yet.

     Yet. Because there probably will be more of this. No matter how many times he reminds himself, it's always a pleasant surprise.

     A somewhat damper Tsuzuki comes in and gets dressed at some point, and then pads off to the kitchen, humming faintly, and Hisoka shakes off his doze and finally crawls out of bed. A minute of pawing gives him what he thinks is the pair of pajama pants he'd been wearing last night (not that it really matters); he's a lot less comfortable wandering around nude than Tsuzuki apparently is. ...Not that he's complaining, exactly.

     "Do you mind if I use the shower?" he calls down the hall to the kitchen, where there's now the occasional ominous clanking.

     "Go ahead!" Tsuzuki calls back. Thump. "There's clean towels in the cabinet -- "

     "Thanks."

     It's a lot like it's always been, really, he reflects, as he ducks into the bathroom himself. Only... better. And the little half-smile he finds on his face in the mirror takes him completely by surprise.

     While he's in the shower, he can just faintly hear a knock at the door followed by the low, cheerful murmur of Tsuzuki talking to someone. It stays on his mind even after he finds his clothes from the day before and gets dressed, and when he joins Tsuzuki in the kitchen, there's a thick envelope on the counter that Tsuzuki isn't using. He glances at it, and then at Tsuzuki's bright smile. "Who was at the door?"

     "The landlady; Tatsumi dropped off some paperwork this morning." Tsuzuki looks briefly dejected at the thought of work, but it doesn't make much of a dent in his cheer. "Breakfast?"

     The burnt remains of an attempt at some sort of more elaborate breakfast lie solemnly in the sink; the meal on the table now is a much more simple offering of rice and miso. "I forgot to turn the stove off when I got the door," Tsuzuki says bashfully as gestures to the small table. "So, um, it's just instant..."

     Hisoka avoids a telling sigh of relief and walks past the table and straight towards Tsuzuki. It's never been this easy to get so close to someone, and now that it is, he finds it hard to pass up the opportunity when it presents itself. His hands reach out to curl at Tsuzuki's waist, seeking out the connection of touch. When he looks up to Tsuzuki's face, though, he is rewarded with an expression of worry.

     "Is something wrong? Are you not hungry? Is the food bad?" Tsuzuki puts a hand to Hisoka's forehead. "Are you sick?"

     "Idiot," Hisoka murmurs as he curls his fingers around Tsuzuki's wrist, and the word has never been spoken in fonder tones. He stretches up, grumbling inwardly just a little that he has to stand on his toes to reach the lips of his lover.

     Lover. It takes until Tsuzuki's arms have snaked around his waist and hands have slipped underneath his shirt for Hisoka to realize that he has, perhaps, never used that word. Maybe he's never even thought it before, but now, here it is, he has one, and quite obviously so. He wonders just how many more little changes he'll notice before the end of the day, but the taste of Tsuzuki's tongue against his distracts him from any impulse to count.

     Probably it was just intended to be a small, brief kiss, one that would serve as a shorter and nicer way of expressing "good morning, and I love you despite your cooking," but that ends around the time their tongues play together and Tsuzuki pulls Hisoka in tight against him. It keeps getting easier to read Tsuzuki's emotions all the time, and the renewing desire Hisoka can feel -- for him, just him -- is nearly impossible for him to resist. Even if he'd wanted to, which he doesn't in the slightest.

     Lover; yes. It's a good word. He wants to keep it in mind.

     They tilt back, as Tsuzuki bends down to kiss along Hisoka's jaw, and Hisoka's back brushes a cool, smooth surface that can only be the refrigerator door. He leans his shoulders against it, and is immediately grateful for the support when Tsuzuki's lips delicately brush his neck. The touch makes him shiver all over again, gasping, and the tone of Tsuzuki's pleasure leaves no doubt that he's deliberately setting out to milk all the reaction he can out of that very interesting spot. Hisoka wonders when he'll get a chance to return the favor and can't help a rueful half-smile, but it's lost a moment later, in a low moan.

     Tsuzuki's hands are pulling up underneath the hem of his shirt, pushing it up to spread long fingers over his stomach, his chest. Breakfast seems to be forgotten, and Hisoka almost has to laugh at the knowledge that he is more important than breakfast, which says a lot, when you're dealing with Tsuzuki. The shirt is pulled over his head and his back presses up against the cool white of the fridge, making him shiver. Breakfast isn't that important at all, really.

     Tsuzuki ducks down, to where he's almost kneeling to kiss Hisoka's collarbone, his chest. Hisoka can feel the emotion bubbling from him that Hisoka is something beautiful, something to be praised and kept close and his own, and he begins to moan a second before Tsuzuki's lips close on his nipple, sucking at newly sensitized flesh. His skin, cooled from the touch of air, flushes pink with the heat of blood at the touch.

     Hisoka opens his eyes and looks; the early afternoon light spills through the window and casts a warm glow over both of them. It's almost strange how different he looks now, light caught in his hair, caught in his eyes -- eyes that meet his, now, he notices, with a long look of want. Tsuzuki does drop down to his knees, then, kissing his belly just firmly enough to avoid tickling, and his hands move to unfasten his pants.

     I don't know why I even bothered getting dressed, Hisoka thinks, and then hisses in a breath as the base of Tsuzuki's palm rubs along his already insistent erection.

     He breathes deeply, one hand gripping the corner of the fridge and one brushing fingertips along Tsuzuki's cheek. Tsuzuki looks up at him, eyes half-lidded, and offers him a brief smile, both reassuring and heated. His thumb traces a lazy circle around the head of Hisoka's cock. Gasping, Hisoka tries to brace his legs against the door; he'd hate to just collapse on the floor at an inopportune moment. It really is a good thing he has something to lean on...

     A very good thing, because then Tsuzuki curls his hand around Hisoka's shaft and drags his tongue up just beyond his thumb.

     Hisoka's moan has almost as much surprise in it as arousal, and he lets his head fall back on the fridge door, his breath shaking. His hand slips around from Tsuzuki's cheek to cup the back of his head, letting strands of hair sift between his fingers. Tsuzuki's mouth moves up, lips hovering just around Hisoka's tip, breathing humid puffs of air across exquisitely sensitive flesh; his arousal twines itself steadily around Hisoka's, making it that much stronger, and Hisoka finds it increasingly difficult just to hold still. It almost hurts, it's so intense, already, so much... His fingers dig into the edge of the fridge door, then grope up to find the handle and hang on to that. It seems very cool under his hand.

     This particular act -- though he wouldn't have admitted it to Tsuzuki even if asked directly -- is a little on the uncomfortable side... even frightening, maybe. It's a strangely vulnerable, exposed feeling, leaving him out of control and disconnected from what's being done to him -- although, of course, it's hard for him to ever feel entirely disconnected, considering how he can feel Tsuzuki's pleasure and lust even in the man's breath, in the tongue that slowly caresses and tastes Hisoka's cock. And, god... that does feel... it's just...

     Well, he supposes his own associations with this don't exactly make help, either. But that isn't Tsuzuki's fault. And he doesn't have to know.

     Those shadowy memories don't last for very long, though. Tsuzuki laps at his shaft lovingly, almost moaning louder than Hisoka. This is loving; he can feel it nearly radiating off of Tsuzuki. He does this because he wants Hisoka to feel good, because he loves him, because... Even as a shudder wracks through him, he holds back the tiniest barrier between them, afraid to let Tsuzuki feel his fear.

     Tsuzuki's mouth engulfs him in heat and Hisoka's head swims to feel the head of his cock brush the back of his throat. That slight remaining line of trepidation falters away to something easy to ignore as Tsuzuki's tongue does something he's never quite felt before, twisting and fluttering around the base of his shaft, and he finds it hard to think of anything more than heat. The wall breaks and he gets lost again in the tangling web of need threaded between them.

     His fingers twine into Tsuzuki's hair, though he resists the instinct to just seize the man's head in both hands and hold it there. It feels more secure just to have a handhold, some measure of control, just to know that this is different: not so unbalanced, not so helpless. And it's enough; that added touch of security drives away all the fear that remains. The warm, wet sheath of Tsuzuki's mouth closes firmly around him, almost right away, all at once abandoning teasing and instead beginning to drive him to his own heat, inside. Arousal spills over him easily as water, not his but for him, an outsider but already familiar, already comfortable. His breath shudders, and he strokes Tsuzuki's cheek with his thumb, tracing smooth, hot skin.

     It isn't long before he's almost groaning, in not-quite-frustrated need, every time Tsuzuki pulls his mouth back, only to slide it forward and take Hisoka's cock back inside. The slippery-wet, silky caress is almost too good; it makes it hard to breathe, makes his head buzz and balls throb, distantly. The refrigerator cuts on, behind him, vibrating under his back and humming faintly in his ears, and he tries to focus on that to keep from being lost completely. His lips shape Tsuzuki's name, barely gasping it. He can feel the answering shimmer of pleasure -- and definitely feels the little purr in Tsuzuki's throat, oh god, he can't stand --

     And then Tsuzuki's mouth sucks him all the way inside, tongue lashing fast across the bottom of his shaft, and he comes so hard he can't hold back a low shout.

     Hisoka's breath comes in low, whimpering gasps for a moment, interrupted by the occasional little choked sound as Tsuzuki remains for a few last eager licks. If it weren't for Tsuzuki's shoulders under his hands (and he doesn't know just when that happened), he'd almost certainly collapse right now into a small, boneless puddle at the foot of Tsuzuki's refrigerator, even leaning on the door as he is. Instead he just hangs on, legs still spread and braced, curled over so his head almost rests on the top of Tsuzuki's. And gradually remembers how to breathe. A larger, warm hand covers his own, and the elder shinigami just smiles.

     Someday, about three hundred years later, it seems like, he gets his mind back together and nudges Tsuzuki to his feet. He can still feel Tsuzuki's arousal, an urgency that hums at the back of his mind even with his own so recently taken care of; it's almost a little too much in this state, rough on sensitive nerves, like a none-too-gentle hand returning suddenly to his cock. But that doesn't stop him -- can't stop him -- from tucking his head under Tsuzuki's chin and his arm around Tsuzuki's waist, and unfastening Tsuzuki's own pants with slightly clumsy fingers. All of a sudden, that seems more important than anything.

     Tsuzuki helps him, fingers colliding with his as he is overeager to get his clothing undone. His laugh is a little stutter of breath as he lifts his eyes to meet Hisoka's; they're hungry, but pleased, and Tsuzuki is smiling. It's okay, they say. You can't do this wrong.

     When Hisoka curls his fingers around Tsuzuki's cock, it's not that hard to believe. Tsuzuki's hands fly up to press palms-flat against the refrigerator with a soft slap, trapping in Hisoka between them... not trapping him, holding him, keeping him near enough to feel the shuddering heat of his breath whispering into his hair. Hisoka finds himself moaning as he feels out the reactions that his touch provokes. He shares in each reaction before he can see it, before he can hear it.

     It's hard to keep his eyes open through the flood of everything, but he has to, to see what he couldn't the night before. Tsuzuki's face is a mask of intense concentration, teeth pressing into his lower lip until it turns almost white; a tiny line, one small wrinkle forms between his brows as he breathes in short, shallow gasps. And then, there is Hisoka's hand, small fingers wrapped around the shaft that is bigger than his own, and yet already just as familiar. He forgets to breathe for just a second as he watches his hand move, skin pulling, fingers slicking with fluid.

     He can't seem to decide which he needs to see more, so his eyes just flicker back and forth: face, then hand, then back again. How long has he wanted this, even if he didn't know it? Always, maybe; it feels that way, at least. Long enough that he stares at Tsuzuki, braced against the fridge around him and wanting him so strongly that it's like touching a moan of his name -- please, Hisoka -- with at least as much amazement as arousal.

     ...Arousal? He can't possibly already be... oh, it seems he can. Well, that didn't take long at all.

     And then Tsuzuki leans on him a little, whispering his name aloud this time, his chest hot through his shirt, and it really isn't all that surprising.

     Hisoka pulls a little closer, so that his hand brushes faintly against his own belly with every stroke, and kisses Tsuzuki's neck; Tsuzuki shivers, spreading another flare of heat around him, and he has to linger to taste the skin, flicking his tongue in a small circle. The hard flesh cupped in his hand throbs in rhythm with the want inside his mind, and between the two of them, it's getting very difficult to think of anything but what his hand is doing. He moves it a little faster, pausing only briefly to roll his palm over the tip of Tsuzuki's cock, slicking it with liquid in a few teasing circles and grazing his fingers down along the shaft. He can't tease for long, though, not with Tsuzuki's need calling him back as sharply as his own would, and the new rhythm he finds becomes very demanding very quickly.

     Tsuzuki's heartbeat pounds under Hisoka's lips, beneath his fingers, in the back of his mind - all in the same rapid, hungry rhythm as his own. As Tsuzuki starts to breath in low gasps that choke into groans, Hisoka's legs tremble and start to give - but before he can even think to grab for support, one of Tsuzuki's arms is around him, holding him up. The elder shinigami opens his eyes just enough (and Hisoka can feel the effort it takes, to move against the explosions along each and every nerve) to look down at Hisoka.

     You, is the only thought, emotion and image of mind crystallized into word, that Hisoka can feel. Just you, no verb of want or love or need, just you (me) and Tsuzuki arches his head back and lets out a hoarse shout as he comes, burning hot in hand and in mind, Hisoka can feel it burning inside him, everything...

     You...

     Hisoka's next coherent thought is one of confusion at when exactly they made their way to the floor. The next, far less coherent thought is one of disbelief at his own body, and if it plans to continue sharing his partner's orgasms every time, and then he can manage to think of finding Tsuzuki's lips and closing his own against them. And doing that seems to make thinking seem highly overrated.

     But one certainty remains, and it burns through even when he's kissed Tsuzuki to his heart's content and come to rest with his head on the other's shoulder: nothing has ever, ever been this good.

     The afternoon light has shifted across the kitchen floor, he notices. He decides, though, that it's better not to even think of how late it is now. And then Tsuzuki settles them both into a more comfortable position, leaning on the fridge, and laughs a little.

     "So... breakfast?"

     Hisoka blinks a little. "Oh. Right. That sounds good. ...Except I can't find my legs."

     "Oh. Well, maybe later, then."

     "Mmm."

     "Hey, Hisoka?"

     "Mmm?"

     "Do you think we'll ever make it back to work?"

     "Oh, probably. Someday."