Infidel by real-circus

Chapter 1: Angel of Deceit

Their words of parting were short and somewhat incomplete, but words could not match the tears that rolled down Oriya's face when Hisoka stepped into the silver car outside the house. Muraki left without saying so much as a thank you and drove off, with the boy waving sadly at his master from the rear window.

"If anything happens, anything at all, call me alright?" he had said to his ward. Muraki was not exactly the loving type; once he'd got your heart on a leash, he'd tie it to his heels and drag it over cobbled roads until it was battered and bleeding.

Oriya did not protest verbally about Hisoka returning to the city with Muraki; he kept it in his heart, since the man seemed to make Hisoka happy. He knew it was bound to happen, after he heard the panting and grunting coming from the guest room the night before. He knew that bastard intended for him to hear them, so that he could feel jealous… But if Hisoka was comfortable with it, it was fine.

"Tsuzuki… you know we can't go on like this…"

The man named Tsuzuki looked up from his chocolate cake in mild shock. He blinked twice, registering what his friend had just said and wondering if it had been his imagination. "Tatsumi," he started, feeling his appetite leave him. He just knew it was coming. He had been asking for it. "Um… what do you mean?" he asked, knowing fully what it meant.

"I mean this relationship," Tatsumi said, steeling himself for Tsuzuki's next reaction. He looked away, towards the foggy outlines of pagodas and mountains in the distance. He mustn't let his composure crack – no, not in front of Tsuzuki. "It has… slowed me down. I thought that our love would have been so much more, only that…"

"Is it because of me?" Tsuzuki asked sadly, staring at his murky reflection in the cold tea in front of him.

Tatsumi cringed inwardly, feeling his heart go soft. "No, of course not," he half-lied. Tsuzuki always had a way to make him forget the speech he had planned in his head long before. "It's me. It's everything to do with me."

"Then we'll try to fix it together." Tsuzuki, always the optimistic one.

The older man smiled, pushing the stray hairs out of Tsuzuki's face and behind his ears. He gazed at him lovingly, almost wistfully. "Not this time, Tsuzuki. You know this is doing no good for the both of us. Here," he placed a couple of yen on the table before standing up. "I'll pay. And, Tsuzuki…" he said with a note of finality. "I'm so sorry, I really am."

As he left for the office, Tsuzuki pushed his plate away, suddenly feeling sick. This is not happening…

Hisoka stared in awe at the tall concrete buildings surrounding them. They were spectacular, true, but they were missing the quaintness and tranquility of Oriya's hometown. The streets of the city were noisy and people walked on quickly as though they were in a hurry. The life here was definitely not as slow-paced as the countryside, and obviously not as inspirational or peaceful. It would be hard getting used to such a place, but he found it interesting nonetheless.

Muraki noticed an anxious Hisoka peering out the car window in admiration of the tall walls of glass and brick and stone. The older man chuckled softly, finding delight in knowing that his new plaything was taking such interest to the city. It was so adorable. "You like it?" he inquired. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," Hisoka replied, eyes fixed to the window, causing several motorcyclists to look at him curiously. "It's perfect."

Hisoka's elbow accidentally pressed the button beneath the window and the glass slid down with a weird sound (Magic!). He sat there playing with the switch all the way to his new home, and it made Muraki a little annoyed but he kept his silence. The parking lot was quite empty, since most of the residents in the estate had left for work early in the morning. It was too quiet to be a Monday morning. So quiet it was almost alluring, especially with the sinful thoughts in his head about the little boy in the backseat.

"Stay there, Hisoka," he commanded, his expression indecipherable. So, Hisoka stayed where he was, while his new master got out of the car and into the backseat with him. "It could be a bit noisy up in the apartment, but it's so much peaceful down here, isn't it?"

Hisoka saw that same look in Muraki's eyes; the look he gave him right before taking his body. Was this still Love? Did he still believe in it? That didn't really matter at that moment, because Muraki had a way of draining all his thoughts out, replacing it with a strange sense for pleasure and for Muraki's hands to be all over him, like they were now. Perhaps it had been for a fresh insight of the outside world that Hisoka chose to follow Muraki to the terrifying concrete jungle. It could have been for the excitement of being able to leave the life in Oriya's hometown that was beginning to grow stale.

However, none of the reasons for him leaving was Love. Did he really love Muraki? Did Muraki love him? If he didn't, was that act of love last night a mere way for the man in white to satisfy his own selfish needs? Hisoka didn't want to think about it now. Not when Muraki's head was between his knees. All the while, the lean man made sure to keep his long fringe covering his right eye for some reason. Hisoka didn't question it anyway.

He heard grunting and strong panting coming from the man above him. Hisoka's blurry sight consisted of white clothes tossed away and grey hair surrounding his face; he was spun around by the waist so that Muraki could place his lips all over the small of his back. The boy dug his fingernails into the grey cushion fabric of the car seat, as the world around him disappeared, and his whole vision consisted of a dashingly tall man in white. So white, like an angel, that was about to carry him off to his death.

Another body had been found just beside the bakery in an alley where the stench alerted the owner. The dead woman had been decapitated, and the body's head was held snugly in one arm, while an ivory comb sat in the other hand, making it seem as though the corpse had been combing its hair. Not a drop of blood caked the fourth victim of the gruesome murders, just like the previous three. Its cuts were clean, as though someone bothered to clean up after committing the murder, but the strange thing was that the severed head was grinning, as though in ecstasy.

Tsuzuki was growing weary. Not only had they failed to link the crimes together to find the culprit, but a fourth murder just had to happen right after his breakup with Tatsumi. Things always had to happen at the wrong times. Always.

The forensic team completed their collecting of evidences and evaluated that the body had been dead for slightly less than four hours. The head had been cut off with a simple knife and there were no signs of a struggle. Not a drop of blood stained the city pavement. It was too clean, too well planned. Of course, the killer had a lot of time to think through how he'd murder the woman. It was a total of 79 hours since the victim had been reported missing. The police assumed that all four of the victims had been kidnapped and succumbed to torture before they were brutally murdered.

There were absolutely no links between the four victims, causing the investigators to believe that the killer had no real motive in murdering them. Perhaps he thought of it as a sort of sick sport. Whoever did this… must have been a sick, sick genius, Tsuzuki thought as he watched the body being transferred into a body bag.

Hisoka had to limp up the stairs. The uncomfortable pain down there was bothering him greatly and he stopped to check if he was bleeding. Muraki turned when he heard a soft whimper. Hisoka blushed deeply, feeling silver eyes burning on his body. "Did I hurt you?" Muraki asked sweetly. So sweet it made Hisoka's insides twist with disgust.

"N-no… it's just a little pain…" The wound stung as though in protest. "I just… maybe need some…"

"I'm a doctor, you know," Muraki said, a sly grin playing on the paleness of his face. "I can take a look at it, if you want me to. It might need… a little stitching too, don't you think? It would be just like the first time."

Hisoka felt all the blood in his body travel to his face. Is that really possible?

Muraki chuckled before fishing out a set of keys to his apartment. It looked like a cozy, clean little place at first glance, but the boy felt uneasy about the whole design. Most of the furnishings were a deathly white, except for the scarce wood pieces and green plants and the silver cutlery. The wide mullioned window at the end of the living room overlooked the dreary and smoky city. Cars honked endlessly in their streams of traffic. A policeman's whistle shrieked somewhere below. Hisoka now wondered if this was what he really wanted.

"You don't like it?" There was hardly any disappointment in the man's deep voice despite the words he spoke.

"It's a bit different, that's all," Hisoka answered truthfully.

"Why don't you take a look at our room, love?"

"Our room?" The prospect thrilled and frightened him all at once. He was about to pick one of the doors by the corridor when Muraki swiftly grabbed his wrist.

"Ah, that room is out of bounds, little doll. A baby like yourself should not be ready for grownup toys, hm? Leave it be, and if you're really good, I might just let you open it."

Hisoka was about to retort that he wasn't a baby, but something told him it was best to keep the door closed unless he was sure it was safe to go in.

Muraki led him to the room at the end of the small corridor, and Hisoka gasped in shock at the sight. Blood red rose petals littered almost every corner of the white room. An endless flow of blood on snow. The white silken bed sheets were patterned with silver roses under the petals, with white hangings tied back with russet rope.

As Hisoka took in the display before him, his new master whispered delicately into his ear, "I would be ever so delighted if you were to grace that bed with this gorgeous body of yours…"

While having the young boy pinned down with his back crushing the frail petals, Muraki noticed that the drawer where he stowed his precious Gothic knife was slightly open. The blade glimmered dully in the dim light. Whilst occupying the mewling boy with violent kisses, Muraki shut the drawer soundlessly, smirking against shuddering lips. Prying feeble thighs apart, he thought how it would feel like slicing them off. He suckled on the neck he fantasized about throttling. He moaned with rapture, running his hands down soft skin, and musing about how he should go about carving his long-thought-of design into it. He traced the twirls and lines, having memorized them in his mind.

Oh, I would love to hear your delightful screams before I inject you… and make you scream no more.

Beneath him, Hisoka struggled to grasp onto something while pleasure and pain melded into one.

To be continued…

It's short, I know. Heh, sorry… didn't have time, and I just wanted to finish this chapter quick for some of you out there waiting for an update. So sorry if it took WAY long! It might have errors here and there, but that's because this one was a quickie. If you've read, please review! Thanks for all previous comments!