Category: Tsuzuki/Hisoka (implied?) slash...or maybe preslash. Or something.
Rating: G *hangs head in shame*
Disclaimer: Belongs to Matsushita Youko and doled out like crack to twitching junkies by Hakusensha. First hit's free.
Warnings: Oh god, the fluff, the fluff! It's unspeakable, I tell you!
Summary: Seduction is a hidden seam in an open book.
Webpage: http://ciceqi.slashcity.com

Sunlight poured in through the drawn curtains, patched and spotty with shade, the shadow of the leaves outside. Not cherry trees but birch, slender black branches tipped with silver and green, their soft susurration floating in through the open windows. The futon had been straightened away hours before, breakfast dishes washed and put away, but Tsuzuki was still here, quiet for once, in no apparent hurry to leave.

Hisoka leaned in the doorway, watching the man, not minding.

There were times when Hisoka was convinced his partner didn't know the meaning of the word 'casual.' His tie was never straight, but he always wore one--was wearing one now, point of fact. A buttoned-up white shirt and crisp black pants--but no shoes, for a wonder, his bare feet tucked under him as he leaned over the coffee table, a calligraphy brush in hand. Inking new fuda, then, and for some reason Hisoka's living room had become Tsuzuki's favorite place for it. It was one of the few things connected with their job that Hisoka didn't have to nag him into doing.

Waiting for the brush to be lifted, all-too-familiar with the hazards of badly-written spells, Hisoka left the doorway and flopped onto the futon at Tsuzuki's right hand, grabbing a cushion and wrapping both arms around it. Tsuzuki looked up, grinned briefly, but the man was practically in another world. It had been weird at first--being ignored by Tsuzuki--then a little irritating, though he wasn't sure why.

He was used to it now, and it was just this side of hypnotic to sit and watch the flow of black ink across white parchment, Tsuzuki's hand confident and precise. His technique was beautiful, each stroke perfect and perfected, and Hisoka wondered sometimes if that wasn't part of the secret behind their strength. Magic must like being focused through such skillfully-wrought conduits, the way a sword loved the touch of a gifted hand.

There were spells for fire and the quenching of fires, for protective shields and their breaking. Spells of ice and sleep, swift messengers and the true-sight to penetrate wards, spells that could make the earth wake and dance beneath their feet. Tsuzuki knew them all, and they flowed from his brush like a child's first exercises, effortless and sure. And Hisoka watched, entranced by the motion of elegant hands and the calm, far-away look on his partner's face, the way the sunlight haloed his almost-still form and turned him...not strange, but even more himself. Perfect and perfected, just like his calligraphy.

It's just Tsuzuki, he reminded himself, hugging the pillow tighter as he scowled down at his knees. One of them poked through a hole in his jeans, and if there were a few pale scars there, most of them were from childhood accidents, scored by gravel and bark. He picked at the frayed white threads amidst the blue, rubbed a thumb absently over his skin and wondered what it would be like to touch another's.

He always ended up wondering that when his partner spent the night.

If Tsuzuki had been drunk the night before, you couldn't tell it now. His violet eyes were clear, his face no paler than usual, somewhat tousled black hair still damp from the shower. He'd been impossibly cheerful at breakfast, even when Hisoka wouldn't let him help cook, and a small smile still played over his lips even now.

The birches hissed again as the wind picked up, corners of drying spells fluttering briefly in the breeze. Tsuzuki didn't even notice as his dark hair fell into his eyes, curtaining his face.

Hisoka leaned forward before he knew he meant to, one arm unwrapping itself as his hand reached out and brushed aside hair like silk. He almost froze when Tsuzuki looked up at him and smiled, all the gratitude and contentment in the world in that simple expression. He had the presence of mind to sit back, let his arm fall, as if it were nothing--Tsuzuki made gestures like that all the time, didn't he?--and Tsuzuki looked back down at his empty page as if he would slip away again. Hisoka told himself he was grateful.

The brush began its dance once more, stark black lines cutting across the white in a simplicity that was beautiful in itself--but Hisoka didn't know the spell. One character for beauty, one for grace, for youth and spring and change, and the last for motion--no, to change into, and the simple scrap of parchment caught fire without burning, caught it and shaped it as the paper was shaped, folding and twisting like the little messenger birds. Some part of Hisoka even expected a bird, but the creature that flexed its wings atop an empty stack of paper was a butterfly in emerald and gold, still sparkling with power.

"I didn't know you could do that," Hisoka said, only dimly aware he was speaking at all. Unlike the messenger birds, whose form had a function, the butterfly didn't do anything--it just was, perfect and beautiful. Fascinated, he watched Tsuzuki slide his hand under the tiny, delicate legs, watched the jewel-bright insect crawl obediently into his palm, sitting quietly as it was held out for Hisoka to take.

He had to look up, and Tsuzuki was beaming at him of course, pleased and a little flattered at Hisoka's marveling silence. He couldn't not cup his palm after that, sitting perfectly still as Tsuzuki nudged the butterfly into his hand, and he didn't bother to breathe as he felt it pick its way over his skin, settling at his wrist.

"What's it for?" he asked after a moment, just in case he was wrong and maybe it did have a purpose, one he just couldn't see. Tsuzuki had been doing this a lot longer, after all, and--

"It just is."

Hisoka looked up again, and it was just Tsuzuki, no different from any other day...as beautiful and patient and alive as the magic at his fingertips. Always. He found himself wondering again what it would be like to touch another's skin when he chose to, and he thought it was just about time he found out.

Tsuzuki smiled at him. Hisoka smiled back.