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crack_van2004-07-08 07:50 pm
boniblithe.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2004-07-08 07:50 pm
Entry tags:
Summer's Day by Brigdh (NC17)
Fandom: YAMI NO MATSUEI
Pairing: Hisoka/Tsuzuki
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wordsofastory
Author Website: http://chosenone.envy.nu/home.html
Why this must be read:
In celebration of the heat wave currently sweeping through my neck of the woods, I bring to you an even hotter piece of fiction. At first glance, Summer's Day might seem like your average PWP. The author's summary of the fic describes it as nothing more than Tsuzuki and Hisoka with a cup of ice. But there is a lot going on under the surface of this story that leads me to rec it here. Brighd has a good grasp of what's going on in Tsuzuki's head during this story, of the playfulness and caution with which he approaches his sullen partner. Hisoka's crankiness at the beginning of the story seems like just his old self or a reaction to the particularly strong heat of the day, but as the story moves forward, a deeper reason for Hisoka's mood is revealed. There's an undercurrent of hurt in this fic, a touch of darkness and sorrow that skims lightly around the edges as these two people find an unexpected next level in their connection. And there's also an undercurrent of healing: Hisoka melts like the ice under Tsuzuki's touch. Layer upon layer of character insight is built into this story, and I give it a hearty two thumbs up.
[Hisoka] hadn’t fooled anyone. No one wore long sleeves on a day like this because they didn’t mind the heat; they wore them because they had things to hide. Tsuzuki had always hated the scars he’d barely glimpsed, but this seemed worse than their true intention, this petty, mundane evil. Long sleeves on summer days.
But of course, Hisoka didn’t want pity and would have hated to see it. And Tsuzuki felt burnt away by the heat, too sore and tired to bleed for him in silence. This ice, this teasing, was just another game, but one Tsuzuki was willing to play. Things were always complicated, and at least he knew the rules here. Knew just how to smile and glance away, knew just how close he could come to touching before Hisoka would start to watch him with that careful look.
***
Tsuzuki could pull away first. He could stop it before it was too late, toss the ice, all of it, to Hisoka and back away with nothing revealed. Hisoka would hate him, and with every right. He was Hisoka’s partner. He should be protecting him from this, from the unwanted attention that they were both too familiar with, from everything. He knew it. He knew what he should be doing, and felt sick at heart from what he was doing. It would only hurt Hisoka to see what he had tried to conceal. Tsuzuki had never wanted that.
And yet. And yet he couldn’t move away. No. He wouldn’t move away. It was so close to what he wanted, to stand here bare inches from Hisoka, to hear him breathing, to feel the slight movement of his shoulders as he settled more firmly into his chair. Tsuzuki stared at the ice in desperation. It was just a sliver now, so small and thin that it was perfectly clear, invisible in the water surrounding it. It was the only thing separating him from Hisoka, keeping their skin from touching and letting free what Tsuzuki was trying to hide away.
***
No, Tsuzuki wanted to say. No, a million times no. This wasn’t right. There was too much hanging by a thread here, too much history surrounding them both, too many problems to ever work past, and somewhere above it all, the specter of Muraki, tainting every feeling, every move they would ever make. There were better people, stronger and smarter and more gentle, that Hisoka would meet, that he could love with far greater ease. And, oh, the consequences of failure.
Tsuzuki had a sudden epiphany, as if he could see them from the outside. He saw Hisoka, alone again, angry and bitter again, driving everyone away to keep himself safe, rebuilding his walls and killing his power to keep himself from feeling the hate all around him, from feeling the love that could hurt even more. He saw himself, his own slow decline through partner after partner after partner, until the names and faces blurred and he could no longer care, until even the lives he stole as a Shinigami ceased to matter. He saw an end again, another in his line of suicides, of fires and knives, but this would be the last one. This is what they were risking.
***
His skin was so pale- it had seen too little of the sun while Hisoka was alive and now that was unlikely to ever change, marred as it was. Crissed and crossed and spoiled by the even-paler lines of scars. Tsuzuki closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. He could feel them just as well, ropes and threads buried under the skin. They stretched their way across the flat plane of his chest- too small somehow, too young, surely Hisoka was not this frail, this childlike- wound down his arms, covered his back. They looked so close to words, so near to meaning. They dizzied Tsuzuki, like they were making sense in the corners of his eyes, but twisted again when he looked closer. It didn’t matter. He knew what they meant. Even if he hadn’t been told, he would have known.
***
Summer's Day
Pairing: Hisoka/Tsuzuki
Author on LJ:
wordsofastoryAuthor Website: http://chosenone.envy.nu/home.html
Why this must be read:
In celebration of the heat wave currently sweeping through my neck of the woods, I bring to you an even hotter piece of fiction. At first glance, Summer's Day might seem like your average PWP. The author's summary of the fic describes it as nothing more than Tsuzuki and Hisoka with a cup of ice. But there is a lot going on under the surface of this story that leads me to rec it here. Brighd has a good grasp of what's going on in Tsuzuki's head during this story, of the playfulness and caution with which he approaches his sullen partner. Hisoka's crankiness at the beginning of the story seems like just his old self or a reaction to the particularly strong heat of the day, but as the story moves forward, a deeper reason for Hisoka's mood is revealed. There's an undercurrent of hurt in this fic, a touch of darkness and sorrow that skims lightly around the edges as these two people find an unexpected next level in their connection. And there's also an undercurrent of healing: Hisoka melts like the ice under Tsuzuki's touch. Layer upon layer of character insight is built into this story, and I give it a hearty two thumbs up.
[Hisoka] hadn’t fooled anyone. No one wore long sleeves on a day like this because they didn’t mind the heat; they wore them because they had things to hide. Tsuzuki had always hated the scars he’d barely glimpsed, but this seemed worse than their true intention, this petty, mundane evil. Long sleeves on summer days.
But of course, Hisoka didn’t want pity and would have hated to see it. And Tsuzuki felt burnt away by the heat, too sore and tired to bleed for him in silence. This ice, this teasing, was just another game, but one Tsuzuki was willing to play. Things were always complicated, and at least he knew the rules here. Knew just how to smile and glance away, knew just how close he could come to touching before Hisoka would start to watch him with that careful look.
***
Tsuzuki could pull away first. He could stop it before it was too late, toss the ice, all of it, to Hisoka and back away with nothing revealed. Hisoka would hate him, and with every right. He was Hisoka’s partner. He should be protecting him from this, from the unwanted attention that they were both too familiar with, from everything. He knew it. He knew what he should be doing, and felt sick at heart from what he was doing. It would only hurt Hisoka to see what he had tried to conceal. Tsuzuki had never wanted that.
And yet. And yet he couldn’t move away. No. He wouldn’t move away. It was so close to what he wanted, to stand here bare inches from Hisoka, to hear him breathing, to feel the slight movement of his shoulders as he settled more firmly into his chair. Tsuzuki stared at the ice in desperation. It was just a sliver now, so small and thin that it was perfectly clear, invisible in the water surrounding it. It was the only thing separating him from Hisoka, keeping their skin from touching and letting free what Tsuzuki was trying to hide away.
***
No, Tsuzuki wanted to say. No, a million times no. This wasn’t right. There was too much hanging by a thread here, too much history surrounding them both, too many problems to ever work past, and somewhere above it all, the specter of Muraki, tainting every feeling, every move they would ever make. There were better people, stronger and smarter and more gentle, that Hisoka would meet, that he could love with far greater ease. And, oh, the consequences of failure.
Tsuzuki had a sudden epiphany, as if he could see them from the outside. He saw Hisoka, alone again, angry and bitter again, driving everyone away to keep himself safe, rebuilding his walls and killing his power to keep himself from feeling the hate all around him, from feeling the love that could hurt even more. He saw himself, his own slow decline through partner after partner after partner, until the names and faces blurred and he could no longer care, until even the lives he stole as a Shinigami ceased to matter. He saw an end again, another in his line of suicides, of fires and knives, but this would be the last one. This is what they were risking.
***
His skin was so pale- it had seen too little of the sun while Hisoka was alive and now that was unlikely to ever change, marred as it was. Crissed and crossed and spoiled by the even-paler lines of scars. Tsuzuki closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. He could feel them just as well, ropes and threads buried under the skin. They stretched their way across the flat plane of his chest- too small somehow, too young, surely Hisoka was not this frail, this childlike- wound down his arms, covered his back. They looked so close to words, so near to meaning. They dizzied Tsuzuki, like they were making sense in the corners of his eyes, but twisted again when he looked closer. It didn’t matter. He knew what they meant. Even if he hadn’t been told, he would have known.
***
Summer's Day