Title: YnM Drabble Collection

Author: Triskell

Rating: R (Tatari, Tsusoka)

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei and all associated characters belong to Matsushita Yoko; the manga I own to Carlsen Comics. No copyright infringement is intended and no bishonen were harmed in the writing ;D.

Spoilers/Warnings: some slight spoilers for manga/anime; slash, slight sexual content

Author's Notes: A drabble is a ficlet of exactly 100 words (in this case including the title) – it's a bit of a challenge to put them together, but great fun too. And it's something you can do while in a university lecture – you don't space out for all that long winks.

© Triskell, 23/24 September 2004

Hisoka's hands were always cold. When spring winds made sakura blossoms dance in the air, before they settled on the ground in a pale, silky shroud, he put up the collar of his jeans jacket, curving his arms around his thin body for warmth.

Tsuzuki was behind him, buoyant feelings slipping across Hisoka's senses. He felt the intention before the man's arm wrapped around his shoulders, black trench coat enveloping him. Protests were futile when Tsuzuki was in protective mode, so Hisoka kept quiet, holding out his hands for his partner to take in his own and warm up.

He knows he cannot stay; his arms are heavy, his eyes failing. Lights grow dim and shadows fall. But his soul is lighter than before and when he finally leaves the human world it passes on. Among spirits, with the Shinigami it is difficult to find his simple dreams – a realm of sleep, of chances lost, and might-have-beens still lives inside him.

Sometimes, he sees the sun shining and is surprised it is there – but he is never warm until Tsuzuki smiles and calls his name – one his parents seldom used: Hisoka. Now it means: My love.

Note: There seems to have been a misunderstanding in my phrasing: "Hisoka" may translate as "secret"; what I meant was that when Tsuzuki says the name he's actually saying "my love". I changed the drabble slightly, I hope it works out now ;D.

It began in Hokkaido; they were drunk, horny, and desperate. The resulting sex was explosive and messy. Tatsumi refused to admit it had indeed happened.

Then they began meeting once a week to discuss their work. Sex occurred sometimes, but it became less frequent; neither of them minded.

They were accustomed to seeing each other. Seven years – and most of their histories, their quirks had been laid open.

Tatsumi left a note; it simply said "Stay". A slim gold ring found its way onto Watari's finger. If Tatsumi wore its twin, neither of them commented on it.

Some days it is enough to simply know Tatsumi is there, to see him. Sometimes, there is a thirst for physical contact, when presence needs to felt intimately. Watari presses himself against his lover's body, drawing him as close as possible till he is sated. Even afterwards, he clings to him.

Tatsumi's fingers are agile; long, almost spindly, strong. They feel good on his heated skin – firm, cool, determined; a reassuring touch that languidly explores the throbbing pulse along his neck, tracing the vein, resting against his heart beat for a moment, moving on: A loving touch that cherishes.

Not struggling – bound tightly, gagged – silky tendrils against his pale, naked skin; smoothly gliding and moulding to his shape. No way to escape, at his captor's mercy.

No human touch, no whispered words shared in the shadows, no caresses. Cold, impersonal and yet he arched against his bonds, pleasured and filled by mists and darkness taking form, invading him. Held on the edge until pleasure snapped him in two; the moon appeared.

He moaned, undone. Cool eyes, glinting at him, the Kagetsukai shrouded in his shadows. A gleam of blue – Watari reached out, trembling, and the world dissolved…