Chocolate and Flowers

Byakuya stood in the shadow of a roof peak, watching his sister and her suitor.

Not that she would call him her suitor. Rukia didn’t take enough care for her own interests at times. Well, that was his business, as her brother, to look after.

When he could.

He pushed the thought away with an impatient toss of his head and stilled himself to watch again.

It never failed to amuse him how hesitant Renji was with Rukia, sometimes, as if he thought her fragile. On at least one occasion he’d seen Rukia hit him over the head for it.

They played like children.

Well, perhaps not quite like children, he amended, watching with a certain pleasure as Rukia, the chased in their current game of tag, ambushed Renji with a cleverly held binding spell. But they weren’t chasing each other for practice, today. When they practiced together they were more serious.

Renji was more serious much of the time, now, which also gave Byakuya some pleasure. For a long time, Renji had walked at his heels, as if tame, always watching but never challenging.

He was no longer tame, and thus became worthy of consideration.

And Rukia wished to consider him; wished, even, to accept him. That much was clear, to Byakuya if not to Renji. But she held herself to the standards of her House.

To her brother’s standards. To her brother’s side.

And in doing so, she sacrificed this love of hers. Byakuya, as the head of Kuchiki, could only approve of her choice. It was proper and fitting to her place in the House. But when he watched the brightness in her eyes as she sat beside him in the evenings, he knew that was not her reason. She chose for his sake alone—to put his conscience and sense of duty at ease. Watching her laugh, as Renji barely evaded her and left his hair-band in her hands, Byakuya had to swallow guilt that she denied herself exactly the choice he had made for himself.

“Not going to stop them?” a new voice prodded from behind him. “Call her away from the low-life?”

Byakuya rigidly suppressed a twitch. Kyouraku, he reminded himself, liked to get a rise out of anyone who looked imperturbable. Byakuya felt vindicated, once again, in his choice not to have Rukia placed in Kyouraku’s division, despite the fact that Ise Nanao would have made a good role model.

“Or are you planning to throw her to him?” Kyouraku continued, when Byakuya didn’t answer. “Have you really gotten that much political savvy?”

That got a raised brow. “What?”

“Didn’t think so,” Kyouraku sighed, bracing an overly familiar elbow on Byakuya’s shoulder as he leaned forward to watch Rukia tackle Renji, to very little effect, below them. “I swear, Rukia-chan practices better politics and diplomacy just by breathing than you ever could by making speeches.”

Speeches? Byakuya gave his fellow captain a chilly look. What was the man talking about?

“Not that you ever would,” Kyouraku allowed, in face of the disdain directed at him. “But the point stands. People gather to Rukia-chan. She can bring together the most unlikely sorts.”

Considering how his sister seemed to be handling Kotetsu Kiyone and Kotsubaki Sentarou, Byakuya had to admit that this was undeniably true.

“Which is a good thing, considering how many of our captains come from Rukongai, these days,” Kyouraku continued, in a meditative tone. “It’ll be interesting to see who all winds up in the Chamber of Forty-six, this time.”

Byakuya stiffened.

“Well! It was nice talking at you again, Byakuya-kun.” Kyouraku gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder that failed to budge him, and was gone.

Byakuya forced his breathing even, staring blindly down at the two below him. Kyouraku couldn’t possibly think that commoners would enter… that the noble houses would have to makes such accommodations…

Surely not.

Others might, though. And Byakuya’s gaze downward sharpened. If others thought so… perhaps there was a way. A way to keep his sister and yet give her what she wanted so much.

Renji turned at bay and caught Rukia against him, for a moment, and their play drowned in a long stare before they both broke away and looked elsewhere.

Perhaps.

End

Stare at the Sun

“Are you sure it isn’t a problem to do this right now?”

Not, Renji had to admit, that the Thirteenth Division seemed any less motivated because their captain was sitting on the sidelines talking personnel instead of directing. At least not the handful of squads involved in this exercise. The shinigami side chased the Hollow side good and sharp.

Maybe it had something to do with who was standing in for Ukitake-taichou. Renji thought he’d probably jump, too, if Rukia was barking at him like that.

It was good to know she hadn’t lost any of the edge off her vocabulary after all those years in a noble house.

His grin lingered as he turned back to Ukitake, who was waving a dismissive hand.

“No problem at all. Might as well get some work done while I’m sidelined.” He frowned a bit. “Are you sure you want to let this one transfer, though? With his battle record…?”

“Very,” Renji growled before he could stop himself. “I mean… ! I’m sure I’ll be able to work around it. That’s a captain’s job, right?” He didn’t think his attempt at a hearty laugh fooled anyone. Ukitake’s eyes were twinkling, for pity’s sake. Renji sighed, wondering who else he could palm off Sukikase on. He’d already been in and out of all the other Divisions. Back to Eleventh, maybe, and hope Zaraki killed the man, this time?

“Captain!” A booming bass exclamation interrupted them. “I have the medication you left behind today! Please accept this sign of my great respect!”

A screech answered. “Kotsubaki, you cheater! I was going to say that! Give me that bottle, I’ll deliver it to the Captain!”

Ukitake sighed, and Renji eyed the approaching scuffle. He really, really hoped Ukitake wasn’t as evil-minded as, say, Rukia, for example, was. Because if he were then he’d offer to trade these two for Sukikase.

Rukia’s head swiveled to fix the pair with a stare to do a basilisk proud. “Kotsubaki! Kotetsu!” Her voice cracked out like a whip.

Even Ukitake jumped a little, and his two fourth seat officers froze—with Kotsubaki’s hand jammed in Kotetsu’s face to hold her off while she flailed for the bottle and Kotetsu’s foot drawn back to kick him in the shins. They blinked at Rukia.

“You embarrass our division and our captain, acting like this,” she rapped out.

They wilted under her stern look, shooting hangdog glances at Ukitake as they shuffled upright, straightening their uniforms.

“Yes, Rukia-san. Sorry.”

“My apologies, Rukia-san.”

Renji had to stifle a laugh, and a comment of Bossy as ever. Those two looked like little kids called on the carpet for getting their best clothes muddy or something. And then their expressions changed, and he started.

Kotetsu gained a small, shy smile. Kotsubaki looked down at his toes before glancing back up, and Renji could swear he was blushing. He turned to look at Rukia, wondering if she’d cast some spell he’d never heard of on them.

And maybe it was magic, but it wasn’t one he didn’t know. Rukia was smiling at them, gentle and warm. A fond look that lit up the air around her like the sun had suddenly come out.

“Why don’t you two go help the Hollow side?” she suggested, taking the medicine with, he couldn’t help noting distantly, a thief’s deft snatch. “I think the shinigami side is having too easy a time.” She deposited the bottle beside Ukitake and herded Kotsubaki and Kotetsu off to join the exercise.

Renji sat down with a thump.

“Abarai-kun?” Ukitake asked, mid-swig. “You look like you could use some of this stuff yourself. Is something wrong?”

“She used to smile like that.” It came out in a whisper as he stared after Rukia, feeling like he couldn’t catch his breath. “She used to.” Before they became shinigami, before she was Kuchiki, before…

Ukitake cocked his head, hair sliding over his shoulder. “So?” he said, softly. “Now she does again? She’s gained things. Family. Friends. That’s something to smile about, isn’t it?”

Family. A brother; Nii-sama. And friends. Best friends; just friends. The words echoed in his head, and the echos hit him like rocks, and Renji turned a glare on Ukitake only to find Ukitake’s eyes dark and serious, not mocking at all. Renji turned away sharply. “Yeah, it is.” He cleared his throat, hoping to clear the harshness from his tone. “So about this transfer.”

“I’ll take him,” Ukitake agreed. “As long as Kuchiki is here, Thirteenth can handle all its problem children just fine.”

Renji’s mouth curled in an unwilling smirk. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

She was back, he told himself, sternly, as they scrawled signatures on all the necessary lines. The Rukia he had grown up with was back, here in the middle of the Court of Pure Souls, kicking ass and taking names and besotting everyone around her again, and he had no place being upset about a freaking miracle having taken place.

Even if he wasn’t the one who had made it happen.

End

Only A Story

“Tell me about Hisana.”

It was starting to have the comfort of ritual, for them. Rukia thought of it, irreverently, as her bedtime story. Whenever she and her brother shared an evening, she asked.

“She loved growing things,” Nii-sama said, tonight. Perhaps the gardens had brought it to mind, for him; Rukia had insisted he come tell her what kind of flower was blooming, tiny and blue, on one of the bushes. He trailed his fingers through the leaves and flowers, releasing more of the light, sweet scent into the evening. “Many of these, she chose.”

Rukia smiled, kneeling by the bush. She liked finding things she had in common with her sister. Though she doubted she’d ever have the patience to actually choose and arrange a garden.

“Her love of life was more contained than yours.”

Rukia looked up just a bit guiltily, wondering how much of her thought had shown on her face. Nii-sama wasn’t watching her, though; his eyes were distant.

“I’ve often thought that was why she died, in the end,” he said, voice fading into the dusk. Rukia bit her lip. When he finally looked down at her his eyes were sharp again, though. “How much theory of spirit and form did you have before I took you from the Academy?”

“I had the basic course. I was thinking of the advanced one, but…” Rukia shrugged. “Ukitake-taichou taught me a little more.”

Nii-sama’s tone turned precise and scholarly, the way it did when he explained anything. Rukia hid a smile; she sometimes thought it was a shame that he couldn’t have become a teacher. Though he’d have scared his fainter-hearted students half to death, no doubt. “In the human world, spirit is a function of bodies. In our world, bodies are a function of spirit,” he began, and she nodded. That axiom she was familiar with. “Even among humans, regret and despair can kill, if they’re strong enough. Among us…” Rukia’s eyes widened and she reached up to touch her brother’s hand. “They do not have to be as strong,” he finished. His fingers tightened on hers for a breath.

“The stronger the sense of spirit and self, the greater the power,” he continued eventually. “What you may not have learned is that those two things do not always go together. Hisana had a strong spirit. Her sense of self, though, was… injured.” He looked down at Rukia, and the tight line of his mouth softened. “You are strong in both.”

Rukia stood and gazed up at him solemnly. “I won’t leave you.”

An unaccustomed hint of humor quirked up the corner of his mouth and his hand brushed her shoulder as he stepped past her. “You’re also more stubborn,” he remarked. “Though perhaps I’m not one who should say it, when we’re speaking of Hisana. It was my own stubbornness that brought us together. Even had I not been the head of the house, even had I been able to marry, more properly, from the house to be with her… that kind of thing is only appropriate with a spouse of high rank. Or sufficient honor.”

There was something in his tone, tonight, a weight of meaning, of implication, that was unusual. Stubbornness, propriety, marriage from the house… a spouse of sufficient honor. Rukia stared at his back as she worked through the parallel he might be offering her. “Nii-sama,” she managed, at last.

His voice was soft. “The fact that you are strong enough to bear regrets does not mean that I wish you to do so, Rukia.”

She came to his side, then, and caught his sleeve, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Either way, there are regrets,” she whispered.

His arm came up around her lightly, silently, in the dusk.

End

Marks of Time

Renji collapsed into his desk chair with a groan. “Who knew I’d ever appreciate paperwork?” he muttered, slumping over. Paperwork, at least, didn’t explode or kill anyone or change into weird, unpredictable hybrids. It was peaceful and unassuming and just sat there, not making any trouble or even (directly) demanding anything.

A tentative tap came at the door, and he glared at it. He knew he should have taken the time to barricade it. “What now?” he growled. His vice-captain stuck his head, with exaggerated caution, around the frame.

“The eighth squad is back,” Tsumura reported quickly. “They’re all in good shape.”

Renji felt a bit of tension unwind from his shoulders. Of all the good and bad aspects to his new job, the one he hated worst was having to wait, so often, to hear back about the people he sent out. Especially hunting Hollows that made it here, into Soul Society. It didn’t help at all that Rikichi, the little idiot, was in eighth squad.

If he had ever doubted that Kuchiki would find a way to punish him for his rampant insubordination during the craziness over Rukia, he didn’t doubt it any longer.

“Is that everyone?” he asked, frowning.

Reassured that his captain was too exhausted to do any yelling today, Tsumura came into the offices and shut the door behind him. “Yes, that’s everyone back and accounted for. I have their reports,” he waved a fresh sheaf of papers, and then eyed the stack already on Renji’s desk. “Shall I see to them?”

“No, give ’em here. You can take care of the damn requisitions.” Renji traded off paper piles with a toothy if tired grin at Tsumura’s woeful look. Material requisitions was the most boring and most never-ending paper stack of the whole lot.

Sorting out what could be filed straight off and what needed to be passed on to other divisions, on the other hand, was soothing. Monotonous but soothing. The steady scratch and shuffle from the other desk helped. In fact, it helped so much Renji found himself rubbing his eyes.

“Taichou,” Tsumura said at last, quietly, “I can take care of the rest of this. You should get some rest.”

“I’ll just have to read them later anyway.” Renji clenched his teeth on a yawn. “And if I get behind on them I’ll never catch up; there are more every day.”

Tsumura frowned, dark and sudden. That was unusual enough, in his sunny vice-captain, that Renji paused with brows raised.

“There are,” Tsumura said slowly. “Abarai-taichou… does it seem to you that Fifth is getting more assignments than the other divisions?”

Renji leaned back in his chair, considering. He’d been putting the frantic pace down to his nervousness about his new position, but looking at it objectively there were more than he’d been used to seeing with Sixth Division. “Could be,” he agreed, thoughtfully. “Kind of hard on you and me, but it does keep everyone else busy and distracted. That might even be why.”

“Oh.” Tsumura relaxed and brightened again. “Of course; I should have thought of that. The Captain-General is very thoughtful.”

Someone was thoughtful, Renji decided, as Tsumura bent over his papers again. As for who it was and what they were thinking… he’d find that out.

“Kuchiki-taichou?!”

The Captain-General blinked at Renji benignly. “Yes, of course. I thought you knew. But perhaps Byakuya-kun didn’t want his protégé influenced by expectations.”

“Protégé?” Renji stared with his jaw hanging open. He hadn’t just heard that. Really, he hadn’t.

But why the hell would Kuchiki be doing this? What did he gain by pushing Renji to do more than any other newly promoted captain was expected to? To do…

…more.

Renji’s eyes narrowed, glaring at air that he fondly imagined filled by his ex-captain.

“Excuse me, Captain-General,” he gritted between his teeth.

“Of course.” The glint of amusement in the old man’s eyes didn’t help Renji’s temper in the least as he stalked out. By the time he left the inner courts he was running, and by the time he slammed open the door of the Sixth’s practice floor he was ready to breathe fire.

Kuchiki-taichou paused in his solitary practice, glancing aside at the intruder with every bit of his usual chill disinterest. “Abarai-taichou.”

“Just who the hell appointed you my career manager?” Renji bit out.

Kuchiki’s eyes narrowed. “Are you ready to challenge me again, then, Renji?”

Renji jerked back, stung. It was completely unfair to turn his own determination, his own promise to himself, around on him like that, especially after forcing him to compromise it. He fumed. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered at last, with deep conviction.

“Come back when you are, then.” Kuchiki-taichou turned his gaze back ahead and took the next gliding step in his form.

Renji growled low in his throat. “I will.” He strode back out, vibrating with thwarted frustration.

“… and last, the Divisions extend their recognition and thanks to Abarai for bringing the Fifth back up to full strength and more. That’s all. You are dismissed.”

Renji spared a fulminating look for the Captain-General before he had to turn away to deal with Kurotschi’s needling and Kyouraku’s knowing grin.

“You’ve got no idea how glad I am it’s you, now, instead of me,” Hitsugaya muttered in passing. If Renji had been able to spare the time and attention he could have explained at length that he had a very damn good idea. The shreds of his dignity barely kept him from grabbing Ikkaku-san, who was tiptoeing out the door, by the back of his coat and hauling him back into the hall to face his fair share of the successful-new-captain attention.

On the other hand, Ikkaku-san didn’t have Kuchiki Byakuya driving him on. Renji slipped an evil look at his ex-captain only to stop dead, blinking, as Kuchiki… smiled? Yes. He was smiling. Not much but enough for anyone who’d spent a lot of time around him to see it.

Renji shook himself and turned away with a snort. Protégé. What a load of crap.

At this rate, he’d start believing Rukia when she said the icicle-bastard really did have a heart.

He firmly ignored the tiny warmth in his chest that answered Kuchiki-taichou’s faint smile of approval.

End

Tea

Rukia drew some odd looks, marching through the main offices of Sixth Division with a tray of tea. She smiled back, cheerfully, at the ones who seemed most nonplussed, but that only made them edge away from her.

Perhaps “cheerful” plus “determined” was a bit unnerving.

Well, so much the better. Nii-sama should know she meant business. Rukia called her entry at his door and set down her tray beside his desk. “Good evening, Nii-sama.”

Her brother regarded the cup of tea she poured and set in front of him as if it were a new subordinate of questionable ability. “You have your own captain to take care of, Rukia,” he said, at last.

“I already sent Ukitake-taichou home to his tea,” she shrugged. “You’re more stubborn than he is, so I thought I had better bring the tea to you.”

Her brother gave her a cool look. Rukia returned it with a serene one, not giving an inch. Something that might have been amusement and might have been resignation flickered over his face, and Rukia had to stifle a broad grin as he set down his pen and curved his hands around the hot cup. She turned aside to be sure she hid it, pouring another cup for her brother’s new vice-captain.

“I expect you should take a break, too, Kira,” she told him gently. The way she set his cup down squarely on top of the papers he’d been working on was a good deal less gentle. He eyed her, looking rather bemused.

“Thank you…” he started, slowly.

“Rukia,” she broke in, firmly, before he could evolve a properly elaborate form of address for her. “Just Rukia. Rukia-san, if you must; we were classmates, after all. Renji’s right, you know, you’re too formal sometimes.”

A smile twitched at his mouth. “Rukia-san.”

She smiled back, pleased.

Turning, she caught a glint of approval in her brother’s eyes. Kira must have been more withdrawn than she’d though, if Nii-sama’s relief at this small liveliness in his vice-captain overrode his disapproval for Rukia’s informality.

“Rukia. Do not make light of the noble houses,” he reprimanded.

… even for a minute.

“Yes, Nii-sama.” She patted Kira’s hand in reassurance as she turned away. Nii-sama looked slightly taken aback by her calm response, she noted with some satisfaction.

It was a start.

Rukia settled herself on one of the cushions in her room, just a little gingerly. It had been a vigorous training session today, since Ukitake-taichou had gotten Kyouraku-taichou to come work with her. She was grateful, but even a long hot soak hadn’t been able to get rid of all the aches afterwards.

A low voice at her door made her start a little and then wince at the twinges through her shoulders. She blinked at the figure in the doorway. “Nii-sama.”

With a tray of tea.

Rukia smiled as he came to sit with her, accepting a cup carefully. Her hands were still tingling slightly. The heat of the cup soothed them, and she sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

Her brother nodded, quietly. “You’re making good progress,” he said, after a while.

Rukia had to blink back sudden wetness in her eyes. “I want to make you proud, Nii-sama,” she said, just a little husky. She looked down at her tea. “I know it probably hasn’t looked like it, in the past.”

Nii-sama was silent for a long moment. “I believe you will,” he answered, at last.

Rukia took a quick sip of tea to clear her throat. “So. How was your day?”

Nii-sama looked a bit amused at the terribly domestic question, which pleased her.

Rukia leaned in the doorway, watching her brother. To a surface glance, he was the image of tranquility, sitting with a cup of tea and looking out at the stream that ran behind the east wing of the house. It was the tiny, subtle clues that gave him away. Shoulders a little too straight, arms a little too rigid, mouth a lot too tight.

She’d been afraid of him for a long time, seeing his helpless rage and not knowing where it came from or when it might be directed straight at her instead of brushing past. Now…

Rukia came, soft footed, to sit at his side and rested her head, lightly, on his shoulder.

The shoulder under her tensed and she sighed, closing her eyes. Against the back of the lids she saw the three graves of her first family. “I won’t leave you, Nii-sama,” she whispered.

After a still moment he stirred, lifting a hand to rest on her hair. He spoke very quietly. “Don’t make impossible promises.”

“I’m not.” Rukia let her eyes follow the sun-sparks on the water. “I might be taken from you. I know that. But I won’t leave you.”

Nii-sama was still for a moment before he took her shoulder and turned her to face him. He had the most alive look Rukia thought she’d ever seen on his face. Not an entirely happy look; for all that his lips had curved up his eyes were sad. But alive. She lifted a shaking hand and touched her fingertips to his sleeve. He captured the hand in his own.

“Thank you, my sister,” he told her, and Rukia bit her lip at the note of warmth buried in that deep voice.

“Nii-sama…” She took a quick breath. “Will you come walk with me, for a little?”

It wasn’t until she had him out in the sunshine on the other side of the stream that she let herself grin, for the half-cup of tea he had left haphazardly on the excruciatingly neat floor behind him.

End

Patch

Renji eyed the messenger, entertained, in a detached kind of way, at how out of place he looked in the middle of the muddy practice ground behind the south sixth court. Though Kuchiki-taichou would undoubtedly approve of the poor guy’s formal words and poker-up-the-ass posture.

“… so, that being the case, a quorum of the Thirteen—” the messenger’s voice stumbled, “of the… remaining Thirteen division captains call you before them to receive their acclamation as captain of the Fifth Division.”

Renji’s hand twitched once toward the paper held out by the messenger, before he closed it into a fist by his side.

“I can’t accept it,” he said quietly.

“Then please come at once to… you what?!” The messenger gaped at him, poise blown away. A wry smirk curled Renji’s mouth, imagining his captain’s expression of chilly disapproval, now.

“You deaf?” he prodded. “I can’t accept it.” Humor drained away again, and he added, soft and hard, “Not yet.” The messenger opened and closed his mouth a few times, waving the paper at him, and Renji wheeled around and stuffed his hands into his sleeves to keep from reaching for it after all. “Don’t you have work to be doing?” he growled over his shoulder.

“I… I’ll… take your… your refusal… to the captains then,” the messenger stammered, sounding dazed. “Um. Yes.”

Renji caught some pretty uncomplimentary muttering as the messenger took himself off, and snorted. “I can’t accept it,” he repeated to empty air. “Not yet.”

Lifting his eyes, he caught Kuchiki Byakuya’s expressionless gaze for one moment before his captain was gone from the balcony where he’d been listening.

Renji liked to think that he stayed alert for anything, even when he was at home.

Anything, however, didn’t usually include a tiny brat of a fellow vice-captain landing on his shoulders and pounding him on the head with a small but very hard fist.

“Renji, you idiot!”

“Ow!” Renji’s chin hit the tatami before he managed to haul her off. “Yachiru, what the hell?!”

Yachiru dangled from his fist, glaring at him. “What do you think you’re doing, disobeying your captain’s orders?”

Renji squinted at her, wondering if Rangiku had invited Yachiru over for sake again. He thought they’d all learned better, after last time. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t disobeyed orders!” He paused. “Well, not recently.” Then he howled as Yachiru kicked him in the elbow and squirmed out of his grip to stand in front of him with her arms crossed, tapping a toe.

“Your promotion,” she snapped. “Who do you think nominated you?”

Renji blinked at her while his brain worked through what she’d just implied. It took a while. “Kuchiki… taichou?” he said at last, voice thin with disbelief.

“Exactly!” She walloped him another one while he was distracted.

“But,” Renji protested, with his hands over his head, “but I’m not… I still have to…” He stopped as Yachiru’s glare cranked up another notch. When she spoke her voice was very calm and Renji sat up straight. When Yachiru got serious, smart people listened up.

“Three captains are gone. Hisagi can temporarily take the Ninth; they’re shaken, but they all know him and trust him. The Third and Fifth, though,” she shook her head, eyes shadowed. “They’re broken. And Momo and Izuru… they… ” she bit her lip. “Even Unohana-taichou can’t say when she might recover, and he’s… not doing well.” She jammed her fists on her hips and stomped closer, until they were nose to nose. “So quit acting so stupid and take the promotion! It’s your duty to the divisions, and to your captain, who obviously knows which way is up even if you don’t!”

Renji veered off from that last bit and picked something else to argue with. “So they can advance Ikkaku-san,” he told Yachiru, stubbornly. “Anyone can tell he’s half past ready, for all he’s been slacking up till now. And Ayasegawa can go along as his vice-captain. They’d be a good change of pace for the Fifth.”

“They’re moving to the Third, already,” she shot back.

“They should move Rangiku to Third,” he grumbled. “It’d be good for them and for her, both.”

“She’s not ready to move up,” Yachiru said, flatly. “And Hitsugaya-taichou is good for her already. You know she needs someone to look after her.”

Ticking down the list of vice-captains, Renji had to admit that the only people who were really ready to move up were him and Yachiru. And one look at the glint in her eye decided him that he wasn’t crazy enough to suggest that Yachiru leave her captain.

“All right, all right!” he exploded, at last. “Get out of here and leave me alone, you little brat! I’ll think about it.”

Yachiru beamed at him, serious look evaporating. “Sure thing, Rakugaki!” She hopped out his window with a cheerful wave. Renji growled after her. She didn’t have to look so sure she’d won, already, did she?

He sprawled out on his back, staring up at his ceiling blankly. “Taichou,” he murmured. “Did you really?”

Renji spent the next day shooting thoroughly weirded out looks at his captain. It was hard to tell for sure, but he thought Kuchiki-taichou was amused by it.

There was a suspicious lack of any one else getting promoted to the Fifth that made Renji grit his teeth every time he noticed it. Now, on top of his urge to press forward and the pride that demanded he catch Kuchiki-taichou first, he had the urge to be contrary and tell them to all fuck off piled into the mix. It didn’t make for a peaceful day.

When he realized he was thinking about tracking down that Ichigo for a really good fight, Renji decided he had to do something. Maybe he could talk it over with Rukia…

He stormed off to the dojo and yelled at the Captain-General until the old man agreed to a match, instead.

“Finding excuses to slack off of your duties?”

Renji craned his head to see Kuchiki-taichou standing in the doorway before Yamada hauled his chin back around.

“Hold still, Renji-san,” Yamada told him, firmly, shining a light in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Renji grumbled, trying to bat the light away. “Just got a little knocked around. And I finished the paperwork before I left,” he added to his captain.

Kuchiki-taichou’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Renji stifled a wince. Okay, so the paperwork wasn’t what the Captain was talking about. He hunched up a little, as far as the bandages would let him; it wasn’t that unreasonable that he wanted to kick Kuchiki-taichou’s ass into next week before advancing, he thought mulishly. There were things a man had to do for his own pride.

Yamada smacked him on the shoulder with two fingers, and tried to look stern when Renji goggled at him. “Stop that, Renji-san. I haven’t finished with your ribs yet.” He turned to face Kuchiki-taichou, and Renji figured he was probably the only one close enough to tell that the poor guy’s knees were shaking. “Kuchiki-taichou, your fuku-taichou will be released in two hours.”

Yamada clearly didn’t quite have the guts to tell Kuchiki-taichou to take a hike. Renji didn’t blame him, not with the cold stare he was getting.

“I see.”

Renji snorted as Kuchiki-taichou turned and swept back down the hall, and Yamada slumped against the examining table. “Entire damn place has lost its mind lately,” he muttered, clouting Yamada on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’s a stickler for protocol; wouldn’t kill anyone who isn’t in his own division.”

Renji couldn’t help remembering that he was, in fact, in Kuchiki-taichou’s division, when he was released from the clutches of Fourth Division only to find his captain waiting at the door.

“Come,” Kuchiki-taichou ordered, briskly.

Renji followed along, sighing. At least whatever deadly dull penalty job his captain had in mind would probably keep him busy.

They finally stopped at one of the practice fields. Renji, figuring that he was about to be assigned to cut the grass with nail-clippers or something, felt his jaw drop when Kuchiki-taichou undid the bundle under his arm and tossed Zabimaru at him. “Taichou?” he asked, slowly, staring at his zanpaku-tou.

“The Thirteen Divisions have no use for deadwood,” Kuchiki-taichou stated, drawing Senbonzakura.

Renji’s brain scrambled to make sense of the whole situation, but his body already knew this was a fight and was more interested in not dying. He drew Zabimaru. After this long under Kuchiki-taichou, Renji knew for a fact that he was serious. He was always serious. Icicle-bastard.

“Prove that you are not ready, and I will revoke my nomination,” Kuchiki-taichou told him, evenly. “Hold back and I will kill you.

“Scatter…”

Renji came to starting at the sky, covered in slime, with Unohana-taichou standing over him as she sealed her zanpaku-tou. “That was reckless, Kuchiki-taichou,” she scolded, mildly.

“It was necessary,” his voice corrected.

Renji managed to turn his head and squint up at the figure looming on his other side. Kuchiki-taichou looked down at him, detached as always. “Closer,” Renji rasped. “This time.”

One brow tilted slightly. “Perhaps,” Kuchiki-taichou returned. “In any case, my nomination stands. You will report to accept it.” He turned away while Renji was still trying to muster the energy to scowl.

Two steps away, though, he stopped. “I have only fought four others who have come closer since I became captain myself. Stop wasting time arguing your fitness. Abarai-taichou.”

Renji felt his face heat. Oh, he was not… he was not blushing. No. No way. He made an uncomfortable sound, flailing for anything he could say that wouldn’t result in yet more embarrassment. Unohana-taichou had a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were sparkling. Renji squirmed.

Kuchiki-taichou looked over his shoulder. A faint curve marked one corner of his mouth. “Someone to chase, to get stronger, wasn’t it? What made you think that would change? It would take considerably more than a promotion to make you my equal. Work for it.”

Renji stared, and then laughed, and then coughed as the laugh caught on the pain still running through his chest. “Ah,” he gasped, at last. “Then I’ll just have to do more, huh? Taichou.”

Kuchiki-taichou’s dismissive glance, raking him up and down before he turned away again, made Renji hold his stomach as another laugh clawed its way free. He grinned through clenched teeth at his captain’s retreating back.

“More it is, then.”

End

A/N: Rakugaki means scrawl or scribble or graffiti. It seemed a likely nickname for Yachiru to use for Renji.

Price

If Rukia had made a list of the many sights she never expected to see, her brother kneeling over a washtub full of suds with his sleeves tied back would not have been on it anywhere. It would never have occurred to her to imagine her cool, sleek, elegant brother with his hair mussed from rising steam, even for the sake of thinking it impossible.

“Nii-sama?” she asked, a bit cautiously just in case this was a symptom of madness, or some strange family ritual she’d never heard of. “What are you doing?”

“Everything has a price, Rukia,” he told her, evenly, without turning. He lifted his white scarf out of the water and held it up to the light. Rukia could see faint red-brown marks here and there. “Everything.

“Including dramatic gestures.”

He dropped it back in and leaned down to keep scrubbing.

End

Understand

It had been a nice evening walk through the woods beyond the city, with a handful of friends, before the Hollow charged them from behind a grove of firs. Rukia felt she really should have known it was too quiet.

“Rukia!” Renji grabbed her arm and started to dive in front of her, only to meet her elbow coming the other way towards his gut. He folded up in a whooping heap, and Rukia shook off his grip.

“Here!” she yelled, springing away from him to draw the Hollow aside. It howled and dashed for her, zigzagging, trying to come at her from an unguarded side. It took what it thought was an opening, with a gleeful cry, and she spitted it on a two-handed thrust.

It was over in seconds.

“Nice job, Rukia-san!” Kiyone cheered. Kiyone’s sister gave her a rueful look, eyes still a little wide, and Rukia spared a moment to wonder whether Isane-san would ever again be convinced to come out walking with them, after this.

“Yes,” agreed Kira, bending over the still-gasping Renji, “but did you have to be quite so hard on Abarai-kun?” He sounded both worried and amused.

“Yes, I did,” Rukia growled, stalking back to Renji’s side as he started to lever himself off the ground. She grabbed a handful of the front of his gi and yanked him up face to face with her. “Get it straight,” she snapped at him. “I am fully recovered. I have not had my spiritual energy drained. I am not in a false body that keeps draining it. I have not just come out of a prison that also keeps draining it.” Each not was punctuated by a brisk shake.

“Yeah, but,” Renji managed, grinning, and Rukia’s voice lowered ominously.

“If you ever do that again I’ll aim the elbow a little lower. Understand?”

Renji winced. “Got it, got it,” he agreed, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

Which meant that when Rukia opened her hand and dropped him, he thumped back to the ground again.

“Good.” She smirked at him, satisfied.

“Ow,” he grumbled as Kira helped him up, and added under his breath, “Remind me again why I’m in love with her? Gotta be crazy.”

Rukia had already turned away, which was good. That way, Renji couldn’t see her smiling.

End

Promise

Rukia walked to cool down, through the streets and lower courts, circling until she caught her breath and her muscles stopped burning. When her hands finally agreed to close firmly again she climbed up to the roof of the Thirteenth Division offices to watch the sunset. It was a familiar thing to do. She couldn’t decide whether it comforted her or just made her feel more alien now, with everything so changed.

The sunset itself was beautiful, though.

“Ah. I wondered if I would find you up here.” Ukitake-taichou settled, soundlessly, beside her.

“Did you need me for something, Taichou?” Rukia unclasped her arms from around her legs and straightened.

“No, no, relax.” Ukitake-taichou smiled down at her. “No need to spoil the sunset; you always did like coming up here to watch.”

Rukia was worn out enough to take him at his word. They watched the sky until the last hint of teal faded away and the stars were out. Finally, though, Rukia sighed and cupped her hands together, whispering the words for light. She released it over their heads and turned to face her captain. “What is it, Taichou?”

Ukitake-taichou gave her a wry look. “Can’t fool you, can I?” He eyed the captured seed of brightness above them. “I forget, sometimes, just how great a volume of kidou you know. Sometimes I wonder if you shouldn’t have gone into the Second Division, where you’d use more of it on a regular basis.”

Second? Rukia felt a cold grue crawl down her spine. The only division she would less want to be in was the Twelfth! She shook her head. “I’m happy here.”

“That’s good to hear.” Ukitake-taichou leaned back on his hands. “You’ve been practicing with Abarai so much, lately, I was starting to wonder if you wanted to transfer to your brother’s Division.”

“No!” Rukia bit her lip as Ukitake-taichou started upright. Less vehemently, but still firmly, she repeated, “No. I’m happy here. And I wouldn’t do that to him.”

Her captain cocked his head. “Which him?”

Rukia blinked. “… either of them,” she answered after a long pause. She tossed her head as if to shake off her thoughts. “I practice with Renji because he’s the only one who doesn’t treat me like either an avatar or an idiot. Well,” she added, “he does still treat me like an idiot, sometimes, but that’s just Renji.”

“He does seem very fond of you,” Ukitake-taichou chuckled.

Rukia flinched.

“It’s like that, is it?” her captain asked, softly.

Rukia looked away. “I won’t ask Nii-sama to break his promise,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I won’t put him between his promises again.” If her adoption was the last rule to be broken in the house of Kuchiki… then so be it. Her knuckles whitened.

Ukitake-taichou sighed and reached out to ruffle her hair. “If that’s your choice. Just let me know when you’re ready, then. I’ll clear a court for the day and grab someone from Fourth, for your poor unsuspecting division-mates.”

Rukia stared. Ukitake-taichou laughed out loud. “Oh, come now. It’s obvious what you’ve been training toward.” He smiled at her, gently. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally found the heart to advance seriously.” He stood and stretched. “I’ll look forward to watching.”

“Thank you, Taichou,” Rukia whispered to the breeze he left behind him.

Another day, another walk. This one not to cool down, but to compose herself. She focused on one detail after another, as she walked through the halls of her house. Steps measured. Hands steady. Expression calm. Breathing even. At last she stood at the door of her brother’s room. One more breath.

She knelt and slid the door aside.

Byakuya-nii-sama didn’t move from where he sat looking out into one of the gardens. “You challenged for a higher seat today,” he remarked.

Rukia’s mouth quirked before she schooled her expression again. News had traveled fast. “Yes,” she agreed. “I am now seated third in the Thirteenth Division.” A great ways to advance in a single day. A single, very long, day. She ordered her leg muscles not to start shaking again.

“Good,” her brother stated. “How soon will you rise to fuku-taichou?”

Rukia lifted her head, proudly. “Within two years,” she answered, prompt and firm.

Now, Nii-sama turned his head, brow lifted. Rukia held his gaze, shoulders straight. Perhaps she wasn’t the prodigy that her brother was, and perhaps she hadn’t driven herself as hard as Renji had. At least, she hadn’t used to. But if she had a cause to put her strength toward, she believed she could do it.

A subtle softening passed over her brother’s face. Nothing so overt as a smile, but Rukia brightened to see it. I’ll make our house proud, she assured him silently. I will. I promise.

“Good,” he repeated, voice a shade warmer.

Rukia bowed and withdrew, breaking into a grin as she ran back to her own room.

Rukia was happily off-duty and lying in the grass trying to blow all the fluff off a dandelion when Renji tracked her down.

“So!” he thumped down beside her, cross-legged, sake bottle a smaller thump a second later. “I hear you advanced. About time you got your lazy ass in gear.”

“As if you should talk, Mr. Brow-nosing Social Climber,” she shot back, lazily.

“Me!” he protested. “Who’s the noble house girl, again?”

She grinned at him with a wicked gleam in her eye. “I’m not the one who acts like a noble house-boy.”

“You little,” he sputtered and swatted at her. She ducked, laughing.

“Yep. Little and fast, not a big, clumsy oaf like some people I could mention.”

Renji flopped back in the grass with a groan. “I forgot what a mouth you’ve got on you, when you’re in a good mood.” He took a swig from the bottle and held it out to her. “Here. Drink up. You’ll be too busy to celebrate soon, I bet.” He leaned up on an elbow and eyed her with an evil grin of his own. “You did remember, didn’t you, that Third Seat in your division gets to do all a vice-captain’s work without any of the advantages?”

Rukia tipped the bottle back for a healthy swallow. “Of course I did.” She shrugged. “Ukitake-taichou deserves a break from those two maniacs.”

Renji’s toothy grin softened. “Always you do it for someone else.” He shook his head and snorted. “Well,” he added in a more normal tone, “I bet Kuchiki-taichou was pleased. Not that he’d have said so. No, I bet the first thing he said was ‘So when are you getting the next level?’ Wasn’t it?”

Rukia drew herself up and looked down her nose at him. “It was not.”

“Oh?” Renji arched a skeptical brow.

“It was the second thing he said,” Rukia informed him with dignity. “The first thing he said was ‘Good.'”

“Wow,” Renji marveled with mock-amazement, “he must be going soft in his old age.”

“Maybe he is.” Rukia brushed her fingertips over the now-uneven fluff of the dandelion. “I used to think he didn’t care. Now,” she paused, “now I think he just tries not to.” She folded up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, a little of her old forlorn feeling trying to creep back. “Knowing the whole story… I’m amazed he doesn’t hate me. Can you imagine? Your wife spends her marriage to you distracted by someone else, and then her dying wish is for you to find that someone and take them in?” She shivered.

“Yeah,” Renji agreed, slowly. “That must have hurt.”

Rukia hugged her knees tighter, words becoming muffled. “Why does it seem like everyone misses love by looking the wrong way? They ignore it while they have it, or they don’t notice it when they find it. Or they find it when it’s too late.”

Renji frowned. “Rukia…”

“You know,” she hurried on, “while I was in the human world… I remembered how much I missed having a friend. Someone I trusted enough to yell at and argue with. A real friend.” She looked up, biting her lip. “I missed you.”

Renji’s face was still. “Yeah, me too,” he answered at last, quietly. He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. “You think Kuchiki-taichou trusts anyone?”

He did understand. Rukia gave him a shaky smile of gratitude. “He’s starting to.” She cleared her throat to dislodge the catch in it. “A little.” Her smile steadied. “Hard for even him to deny it after admitting he cares in front of half the captains and vice-captains.”

“Ha!” Renji’s bark of laughter sounded a little like her throat clearing. “If anyone had the brass balls to deny it, it would be him.”

“Yes,” Rukia said, softly. “Nii-sama believes very much in propriety.” Which did not include another commoner marrying a member of Kuchiki. Even if that member had started as a commoner herself. “Pass that bottle over, Renji. Quit hogging the sake.”

“You’re an idiot,” Renji told her, tossing the bottle to her. “Not as much of an idiot as me, but damn close. You always put everyone but yourself first.”

“You can’t put everyone first,” Rukia whispered. “One person has to come before another.” She took a long swallow, letting the burn of alcohol loosen the knot in her chest. “And who says I’m not as much of an idiot as you?” she managed. “You and your competitive streak.”

“In some things, I am indubitably superior,” Renji enunciated, waving a hand to get the bottle back.

Rukia eyed him measuringly. “I suppose I have to let you have this one,” she allowed. “After all, I’m not enough of an idiot to lie with my hand behind my head right next to someone who knows… ” she grinned evilly, “all my ticklish spots.” She darted a hand between them and tickled his ribs.

Renji squawked and flailed. “Damn it, Rukia! That’s cheating! Cut that out!”

Rukia sprang back out of reach, laughing. Renji glared at her, panting for breath. “Not only,” he growled, “do you pull a sneak attack, but you keep all the sake! This means war!”

“Hmmmm.” She pulled a thoughtful face. “So, if I buy you a bottle of your own, will that mean truce?”

Renji hauled himself to his feet, looking as dignified as he could with grass in his hair and a smile twitching at his mouth. “Always knew you’d be good at diplomacy.”

They walked close, as they turned back toward the city, but Rukia noticed Renji was careful not to even brush against her shoulder.

Maybe she’d get another bottle for herself, too.

Nii-sama…

End

Change

When Akaya found himself wandering down the hall where Suzuoki’s office was, he knew it was going to be bad. He stood and stared at the door he really hadn’t intentionally moved toward at any time that afternoon, finally giving in and thumping his head against it a few times.

“Come in,” Suzuoki called in dry invitation.

Akaya toed the door open and leaned in the frame. “Have I forgotten anything?” he asked, unable to keep the plaintive note out of his voice.

Suzuoki eyed him with sardonic amusement. “Hard time letting go, hm?”

“It’s not that!” Akaya protested. “It just feels like there must be something I forgot, or something I have to do.” He trailed off and crossed his arms, frowning at the tile floor.

“There isn’t and you don’t,” Suzuoki told him bluntly. The twist of his mouth spoke of sympathy as well as amusement, though. “It’s going to be uncomfortable for a while, Kirihara-kun. But this is a good time to start learning from Yukimura-kun’s example again, and trust that Niiyama-kun will do well by the team.”

Akaya grumbled under his breath as he stalked out of the building and across the school grounds. He knew all that, it just felt all wrong, and… His thoughts slid into silence as he noticed who was leaning against the gates.

“Yukimura-san.”

Yukimura-san looked up and smiled. “Akaya.” He pushed off from the wall and fell into step beside Akaya, who stole tiny glances from the corner of his eye, wondering.

“I thought you might be feeling a little dazed today,” Yukimura-san said, at last.

“It’s just weird not to be so busy anymore,” Akaya muttered.

“That, too,” Yukimura-san agreed, quietly.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, Akaya sighed. “It’s hard. To just stop.”

A rueful chuckle answered him. “It nearly drove me crazy, last year,” Yukimura-san agreed. “Do you trust the one you’ve left behind?”

Akaya stuffed his hands into his pockets, slightly grumpy again. “Of course I do.” He’d made as sure as he could that Niiyama was ready, after all.

“Well, it won’t stop you worrying,” Yukimura-san told him in a factual tone, “but it will stop you from going completely insane. As long as you remember it.” He gave Akaya a fond smile. “I speak from experience.”

Akaya almost missed his next step and felt his face heat.

“I’ll be glad when you’re back with us, next year,” Yukimura-san finished, tactfully looking straight ahead, though the corners of his mouth tweaked up.

Akaya didn’t answer but he did feel, as they walked along, a little less as though he had run into a brick wall this week. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“So how are the classes in the High School, Yukimura-san?”

End

The Rush

The pace of what Akaya couldn’t help but think of as the real tournament season had two very different parts. There was the daily practice with his team, which, while demanding and sometimes intense, had a smooth swoop to it. And then there were the actual tournament matches, that sprinted along like a heartbeat after an adrenaline spike. Aside from the pressure of the matches themselves, he finally decided it was the people that made the difference. His own team was familiar; he knew them. Other teams were always a bit of a question mark.

Akaya could feel the difference, pacing down the sidewalks of the grounds hosting Regionals. Rikkai Dai didn’t have quite the same edge of cool confidence they’d had last year. The ready fire that had replaced it pleased him, though, even if it did mean keeping an eye out for trouble.

The first bit of trouble turned up, right on schedule, when they came face to face with Fudoumine in front of the match chart.

“Ah, the almost-Champions are here,” quipped one of their doubles players, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Ready to defend your second place title?”

Akaya stifled a sigh. Being responsible and captainly and not breaking people like that into little pieces was such a pain. He kept his gaze on Kamio, who, to his credit, looked a lot less cocky and more serious than the one who’d spoken.

Sakamoto was bristling. “Like you have room to talk, Spectator-san,” he snapped.

The other player (Mori, wasn’t it?) straightened up. “Not this year.”

Akaya held up a hand to cut off any escalations from his team. “We’ll expect to see you at the final round, then,” he told Kamio, and waved Rikkai on. He did take a bit of satisfaction from the disgruntlement on Mori’s face at being deprived of any openings. Akaya knew from his own experience just how annoying that could be, when you were geared up to provoke someone. It made his day a little brighter.

Tsunoda, who had taken the opportunity to examine the chart, came up beside him. “Do you think we will see them there? They’ll have Rokkaku, Yamabuki and Hyoutei to get through.”

“We’ll see.” Akaya glanced up at Suzuoki. “There shouldn’t be anything very urgent on our plate today. Can you take a look at the competition for me?”

“Certainly. Anyone particular you have in mind?”

Akaya huffed with exasperation at the slight curl to their coach’s mouth. Everything had to be a test, with Suzuoki. “We know something about Fudoumine already,” he sorted teams out loud. “And Hyoutei is across the chart. Seigaku first. Then Hyoutei. I’d like to know something about Rokkaku, this year, too, but there isn’t time.”

“Send Hisakawa,” Suzuoki suggested.

Akaya gave him a sharp look, and nodded slowly. Hisakawa was a good observer. With some experience he might be the analyst of next year’s team. Which, of course, was exactly what Suzuoki was suggesting. “Can you tell him some of what to look for?”

“Of course.” It was annoying, sometimes, how Suzuoki could sound so disinterested.

“Then I want him to look in on Midoriyama, too.” Akaya smiled; that had gotten Suzuoki to look at him straight on. “They still have most of their people from last year. And Seigaku lit a fire under them, then. I want to know how they’ve turned out.”

“Of course.” Suzuoki was grinning his thin, sharp grin when he said it this time.

Akaya watched Tsunoda starting to flag. He’d expected that. Kaidou really did have phenomenal staying power. Momoshiro had been wise to put him in Singles Three, the turning point of their matches. Again.

Suzuoki, leaning on the rail behind him, blew smoke past his ear. “Worried about a repeat of last year?” he asked, low voiced.

Akaya snorted. “No.”

When he returned to the bench, drenched and panting from his own match with Echizen, Suzuoki smirked at him. “Still not?”

Akaya glared. “No.” He thumped down on the bench, and beckoned to Hiiyama. “I’m not worried about you winning this,” he said, quietly. “But don’t underestimate Momoshiro. He’s an analytical player, and a tricky one. Think like you were playing Niou-senpai.”

His vice-captain nodded, silently.

Akaya sat back to watch.

“Kirihara-buchou?” This time it was Niiyama leaning on the rail behind him.

“Yes?”

“Did you take Singles Two so you could play Echizen?”

Akaya cocked his head at Niiyama. “Hm. Caught your attention, did he?”

Niiyama looked aside and shrugged. Akaya smiled. He could come back to that later; now looked like a good time for another little push. “Well I didn’t object to the idea, that’s for sure. But it was kind of a gamble. If Momoshiro had placed Echizen in Singles One, the match would have ended with that last set, because Momoshiro isn’t strong enough to beat me.” He fell silent, waiting to see how Niiyama would take that.

The look on Niiyama’s face was a little sour. “That’s kind of… well…”

“The kind of tactic the weaker team uses?” Akaya finished, softly. “It could have looked that way, yes. But strategy is also part of the game; and a good strategy lets you win either way.” Words of wisdom from Niou-senpai and Yanagi-san both.

“Mm.” Niiyama frowned, and Akaya left the lesson at that. “Buchou, do you think…” Niiyama paused, and Akaya raised a brow. “Do you think I might get a chance to play Echizen?”

“Almost certainly. Next year,” the spirit of bedevilment prompted Akaya to reply. He relented, though, at Niiyama’s unamused glower. “It’s possible.” There was, after all, a certain precedent for practice matches. It could be good for Niiyama.

After he’d polished his game a little more with Fudoumine, perhaps Akaya would set it up.

Akaya leaned against the fence beside Momoshiro, wearing a rueful smile. Echizen was hammering Niiyama into the clay.

And they were both grinning.

“Your player looks like he’s having fun,” Momoshiro observed, sounding amused.

Akaya shrugged. “He asked to play Echizen, after our Regionals match. I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think he’d get something out of it.”

Momoshiro cocked his head. “Is that why you threw him in against Fuji Yuuta, when you played Fudoumine?”

Akaya reminded himself to take his own advice and not underestimate Momoshiro. “It’s good to play a variety of opponents,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” Momoshiro snorted, “how else could you and Echizen pick up so many weird moves to throw at each other.”

That, Akaya didn’t answer at all. Anything he said would give too much away to an analyst as sharp as the one standing beside him. He didn’t really want the people they might still face at Nationals to know that he’d finally learned what Suzuoki-sensei meant, and had figured out exactly why he’d lost to Seigaku’s Fuji last year.

It was fun, all right, to toss techniques back and forth with Echizen, playing in a hall of mirrors where anything either of them used might be reflected back again. But it was ultimately useless unless he kept enough awareness to gauge his own strength and movement, and plan accordingly.

Niiyama, now… Akaya watched as he dashed to catch a Drive B. Niiyama would have to come at it from a different angle, he thought. Niiyama tended even more to the straightforward than Akaya had; his best path might simply be to find the strength to support that. If Niiyama found the point where he just acted, Akaya suspected his game might become pure enough to approach even Echizen’s. Not that he’d likely be around to see it. “It’s really annoying that the High School and Junior High divisions have tournaments at the same time,” he remarked with a sigh.

Momoshiro made agreeing noises, apparently following Akaya’s train of thought. “There’s always video, but it just won’t be the same,” he mourned.

Considering the possibilities running in the other direction, though, Akaya decided he wouldn’t complain too much. He wanted to have a little edge of surprise on his senpai, after all. He smiled as Niiyama drove back a smash. Let Niiyama try to catch him by surprise, too. Fair was fair.

Akaya bounced the ball, eyeing Ibu across the net. He wasn’t really surprised that the last round of Nationals had gone to Singles One, though he hadn’t expected it to be because Chiba and Furuya slipped up. Clearly, winning against Fudoumine at Regionals had made them cocky. He was going to have a talk with them about overconfidence, as the pair’s rather hangdog expressions showed they knew.

He could feel Ibu’s focus on him, like the edge of a knife laid against his skin. Not unexpected—he’d known Ibu would be all the more dangerous for having lost once. Now it was time to see who could keep better control of his temper. That was still the crux when he and Ibu played.

As his first serve came back at him, low and fast, it crossed Akaya’s mind to be grateful that the final round was against Fudoumine, not Seigaku. Playing Echizen was a rush, albeit with a frustrating aftermath when he came down and realized he’d lost again. But Echizen was too bright, and he dragged people along with him. Ibu played fiercely, but colder, and against him Akaya could find the place he needed, sink down and ride the edge of not-thinking without losing himself in it.

Unlike their last game, this one was silent. Silent and deliberate, for all their speed. Ibu’s play was quicksilver, slipping aside from direct attacks only to slash straight in through the slightest gap in attention. Quite like their last one, though, Akaya reflected, as he caught a vicious ankle shot and dropped it back over the net, they were still taunting each other. Body shots and shots that were just barely misses, silent threats and provocations, flew between them—a contest of precision and anger and temptation.

It was, he decided, a damn good thing he wasn’t trying to injure Ibu, or he would have been caught in the spiral and pulled off his focus just the way Ibu wanted him to be.

In the end, Akaya wondered whether it wasn’t Ibu’s own disbelief that Akaya could resist that lure that gave him the edge he needed. He tucked the lesson away in his mind and returned Suzuoki’s smirk with an even look, as the referee declared game, set and match.

This year’s award and closing ceremonies seemed strange to Akaya. What supported him, as they waited through speeches and stood for pictures, was not a sense of triumph, as when he was a spectator in his first year. He felt triumph, certainly. But what he felt most was quiet satisfaction.

“Dazed?” Suzuoki asked in a low voice as they wound their way through the dispersing crowd.

Akaya snorted out a half-laugh. “Maybe just relaxed; not sure I could tell the difference.”

“Hm.” They walked in silence the rest of the way, and it wasn’t until they were watching the team file onto the bus that Suzuoki spoke again. “You’ve done well.”

Akaya blinked at this rare bit of praise, and smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed, softly. “We did.”

End

Warming Up

“That was boring.”

Akaya shot a glance at Hiiyama, sunk, arms crossed, in the next seat. From anyone else that would have been a complaint; from his vice-captain it was just a statement. Albeit not a very happy one.

“You can say that again,” he agreed, easily. “Prefecturals was boring last year, and it was boring this year.”

“You might want to speak to the team about that,” Suzuoki murmured from behind them.

Akaya turned to prop an arm over the back of his seat and raise his brows at their coach.

“Considering that there are real challenges coming up,” Suzuoki expanded with a sigh that said Akaya should have thought of it himself.

Akaya gave him an evil look, but had to admit that he had a point. So when their bus rolled in to Rikkai’s parking lot and his chattering team members piled off, he hauled them together one last time.

“All right, we’ve had a pretty good warm up,” he told them. “We’re about to have some good competition. Regionals are around the corner. This is where the real thing starts for us. Fudoumine will be waiting for us there; also Seigaku and Hyoutei. We’ll face two of them, the way seeding is most likely to fall. Provided no one gets over-confident and screws up.” He gave them a medium stern look and was pleased that they looked back with serious expressions rather than offended ones. “Good. Get out of here, then; I’ll expect everyone to be focused on Monday.”

The team scattered, but Suzuoki snagged him before Akaya could follow. “Apropos of which,” he said, “come say hello to your visitor.”

“What visitor?” Akaya asked, a bit suspiciously.

“The one I arranged for you,” Suzuoki answered, imperturbably. “Come on.” He steered Akaya toward the courts.

Since Akaya’s imagination suggested any possibility, from some pro friend of Suzuoki’s to Yukimura-san, he was relieved that the person waiting for them by the courts looked like a normal sort of student; high school or college probably.

“Sasaki-kun, it was good of you to stop by,” Suzuoki called, sounding so amiable that Akaya’s suspicions instantly doubled.

“Always glad to do a favor for my ex-coach,” Sasaki returned with a wry smile. “Besides, you made it sound interesting.”

Akaya turned a glower on Suzuoki, silently demanding to know what he was up to this time. Suzuoki smirked at him. “You got to play exactly once this weekend and last. You should unwind a little. Besides, you could use an actual challenge.”

Since Akaya couldn’t argue with any of that, he turned back to the visitor and offered him a resigned greeting. “Kirihara Akaya; pleased to meet you.”

“Sasaki Kouji.” A wry smile. “Likewise.”

“Sasaki-kun was captain of the high school team last year,” Suzuoki tossed over his shoulder. “He’s on the university team, now, which may, if he’s patient, finally result in playing on the same team as Sanada-kun.”

“I expect Sanada-kun to go professional straight out of high school,” Sasaki contradicted briskly. “If we ever play on the same team it will be longer than three years from now.”

“You know Sanada-san?” Akaya asked, slowly.

Sasaki’s smile crooked oddly. “I played with him last year. He came to the tennis school I practice at sometimes, looking for someone to sharpen his skills on. He’s a very powerful player; it was exciting.”

Akaya had to agree, though he found his mind wandering down side paths it really shouldn’t be at the moment, and hauled himself back on topic. He hoped he wasn’t blushing, now. The sudden hint of speculation in the angle of Sasaki’s brows didn’t make him hope very hard. Sasaki didn’t ask, though, for which Akaya was very grateful.

“So, Prefecturals were as boring as usual?” he asked instead.

“Deathly,” Akaya agreed, sourly, now that he didn’t have to set an example for any teammates.

Sasaki laughed. “So come play a more interesting game,” he invited with a grin.

And it certainly was far more interesting than the past few weeks had been. Sasaki was a very good player, indeed, and Akaya relaxed against that strength with a shiver of relief. It was good not to have to think about little details every second, good to let go and stretch out against an opponent he absolutely had to throw everything at.

Sasaki was smiling even more brightly when they met at the net. “Impressive.”

Suzuoki grunted from the sidelines. “Perhaps. But it’s still a bad habit.” He snorted when they both cocked their heads at him. “The techniques of not-thinking are strong ones, Kirihara-kun, and you learned them from players who use them well. But if thinking about your game is always a burden to you that will be your weakness.”

“So why did you arrange an opponent I could not think with?” Akaya wanted to know, feeling slightly guilty and exasperated by it.

“Because you’re not ready,” Suzuoki told him, bluntly.

“All right, I take the point; I’ll work on it,” Akaya grumbled, and looked a bit wistfully up at Sasaki. “Can I still play Sasaki-san sometimes, though? I mean,” he added, directly to his not-quite-senpai, “if that’s all right?”

“I’d like that.” Sasaki gave him a sympathetic look before turning questioning eyes on Suzuoki.

“I suppose so,” their coach agreed, grudgingly. “He needs someone stronger to work against; you’ll do for now.”

“I’m so flattered,” Sasaki shot back, dryly.

“Nice to know he’s like this with everyone,” Akaya muttered.

“Oh, no,” Sasaki corrected, quite serene. “He’s only like this with the very best. You know,” he leaned on the net pole, frowning thoughtfully, “I’d rather have liked to see what he would be like with Sanada-kun and your Yukimura-kun.”

“No you don’t,” Akaya stated, with a shudder at the very idea. “Really.” He set the horrifying thought away quite firmly and gave Sasaki a hopeful look. “Can we play one more set?”

It was not, he reflected as they set themselves across from each other again, quite as good as playing Sanada-san. But there were enough similarities to make him happy for now.

End

Given

Shuusuke regarded the lineups for the first ranking matches of the year as though the board might bite him. In a sense, it already had, actually. He had expected to see Tezuka’s name there. No one would argue, any more, that it didn’t belong there. What he hadn’t expected was to see his own, in the same block. He looked back down at Yamato-buchou, who was leaning back in the chair behind the table, apparently quite relaxed. He raised his brows in inquiry at Shuusuke’s suddenly rather tight smile.

“That wasn’t a very kind thing to do, Buchou,” Shuusuke noted.

“Wasn’t it?” his captain mused, twirling a pen through his fingers. “Perhaps not. But if you choose to keep going, Fuji, you’re going to have to face Tezuka in competition sooner or later. Isn’t it better to start now than be surprised in a professional setting?”

Shuusuke’s mouth tightened a bit further, and he didn’t answer. He and Tezuka had played each other, over the winter and spring, as often as studying for exams allowed. He had started, and this was just gratuitous. But he knew perfectly well that Yamato-buchou was remarkably stubborn for someone who seemed so easygoing, and that nothing Shuusuke could say was likely to change his mind.

So he murmured an acknowledgement, and resigned himself to it. He would wade through the second and third years, and he would play as a Regular this year; he would likely incur some resentment, but that had never really bothered him in the past. He would give the team his best, and if that failed to reconcile any of the club members to having yet another younger player pass them by, well, then their opinions weren’t worth being bothered by.

And he would play seriously against Tezuka when they faced each other, here. Despite his continuing dislike of exposing himself. He couldn’t do any less, not anymore, not without hurting his friend badly. Yamato-buchou really was too perceptive for other people’s good, sometimes.

Two days layer, he was having a hard time not glaring at the murmuring club members gathered around the court as he and Tezuka met at the net. Yes, it was a new thing for him to show himself so clearly; yes, he was better than they had thought; yes, this would be an interesting match, thank you so much, and would they please shut up already? There was a gleam of amusement behind Tezuka’s calm expression, and Shuusuke indulged himself and did glare at Tezuka for a second.

“On edge?” Tezuka asked, quietly.

“Irritated,” Shuusuke clipped out.

“Mmm.”

Too ruffled, and too busy not showing it, to pursue what was on Tezuka’s mind, Shuusuke set himself and waited for Tezuka’s serve.

It was not the best game he had ever played.

It was harder than usual to focus on Tezuka the way he needed to, to match Tezuka’s game. This was unlike Nationals, where challenge and need had taken up all his attention, unlike their games alone, where nothing but the contact between them mattered. Now, awareness of the watching eyes prickled at him all the time, and he found himself having to fight his own long-standing reflex toward concealment. He had to remind himself, constantly, that he wasn’t playing that kind of game anymore, couldn’t play that one if he wanted to stand against the person on the other side of the net.

Tezuka won cleanly, 7-5.

Frustrated with the audience, with Tezuka’s forbearance in not asking what was wrong with him, and with himself in particular, Shuusuke favored his captain with an unusually sour look when Yamato-buchou strolled over to them.

“Impressive,” Yamato-buchou said.

Shuusuke barely pressed a snarl into a smile.

Yamato-buchou shook his head. “I mean it, Fuji-kun. To play aggressively was never your preferred style, mentally or technically; you’re making quick progress. You just need to remind yourself that no one watching can make much use of what you show them.”

A valid point, Shuusuke had to admit. Still. “That won’t be true when outsiders are watching,” he pointed out. “Especially at competition matches.” And, really, he was just being contrary, because he already knew that, in a competition match, he was far less likely to care. Still. He didn’t feel like letting Yamato-buchou off easy.

“That’s true,” Yamato-buchou admitted, “but it still doesn’t matter.”

Shuusuke blinked.

“Fuji, if you intend to play seriously, you can’t afford to spend any game second guessing yourself. Play to the extent the opponent demands you play. If you lose a match because you were thinking twice about a potential future opponent, then your caution will have defeated itself, won’t it?”

The words sank into Shuusuke’s mind and rang there, because he knew they were true. So much for being contrary; he should know better, with Yamato-buchou, he supposed. He took a deep breath and let some of his tension go. His captain smiled and patted his shoulder, which Shuusuke took half as reassurance and half as an admonishment to get it right next time. He offered a slightly crooked smile back. “Yes, Buchou.”

“Good! If you have more trouble acclimating to an audience, just let me know. I’m sure we can come up with some exercises to help.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Shuusuke said, with as much confidence as he could inject into one sentence. He crossed his mental fingers, hoping this would be accepted. He had enough interest in his life right now without Yamato-buchou’s often quirky ideas of useful exercises.

“Excellent,” Yamato-buchou declared, not looking deceived at all. “And Tezuka, watch that side step. You’re stepping wide on your push-off; it will set your balance off if you do that when you play someone besides Fuji.”

Tezuka acknowledged this with a respectful nod. Shuusuke looked up at him, surprised. He hadn’t realized they had been playing hard enough today for that. Tezuka shrugged, minimally, one corner of his mouth quirking. Shuusuke’s smile softened. He knew that was exactly what Tezuka loved about their games.

Shuusuke walked for a long time after practice that day. Wandered might be closer to the truth, he reflected, as he sauntered down dark sidewalks. He had a lot to think about. He fetched up, eventually, at the street courts by the park, watching the matches under the floodlights. Some of the players were just here for fun, and won or lost with a laugh. Some were clearly serious, and focused on their opponents in a manner he found familiar, though they fell far short of the intensity he was used to seeing. He found himself remembering something he had seen and heard over and over again: someone mentioning that they had been saving a particular move for later, but would use it prematurely rather than lose. It had never entirely made sense to him, not viscerally. He’d never had to do any such thing. He’d rarely been driven to develop new moves. Now…

Now, he thought it would happen far more regularly.

He had unfolded himself, opened his talent out as far as it would go and found himself among the very best. But the very best did drive themselves forward; he’d seen it. And they would overtake him if he stood still. It was a precarious feeling. Yamato-buchou was right; he would have to show himself, and watching opponents would plan and work and develop based on what they observed in order to defeat him, and he…

He would have to do the same.

A tiny shiver tracked down his spine, and he laughed, breathlessly, to himself. Precarious, yes, but also thrilling. A challenge.

A familiar tilt of head caught his eye, down on one of the benches that surrounded the courts. Shuusuke’s brows rose, and he picked his way through the onlookers.

“Kirihara. You’re a ways from home tonight,” he greeted, coming to stand beside him.

Kirihara shot a quick look up at him before turning back to the match in progress. “Yes, I am,” he agreed, sounding very pleased with this condition.

“A bit below your level, isn’t this?” Shuusuke prodded, curious.

“As if you have room to talk,” Kirihara snorted.

“I hadn’t thought to play here.” It was entirely true, but Shuusuke was arrested by a sudden thought. He eyed Kirihara, and the courts at large. Opponent. Audience.

Opportunity.

“Would you care to play a match against me?” he asked.

Kirihara’s head snapped around, eyes wide. “Now?”

“Yes.” Shuusuke gave him the kind of bright smile he knew would be annoying. “We’re not, technically, in opposing teams this year, so there shouldn’t be any problem, right?”

A little to his surprise, Kirihara didn’t bristle, merely gave him a long, serious look. “For real?” he asked.

Shuusuke had to admit, he was somewhat impressed. Very few people could stand him being cheerful at them with equanimity. Kirihara seemed to have gotten a better grip on his temper, if nothing else, this year. “For real,” he agreed.

It wasn’t as difficult as Shuusuke had thought it might be, to put the watchers out of his mind and concentrate on what the match demanded. By the end of the second game he had to start wondering whether his own club actually made him more nervous than potential rivals. He tucked the thought away for later.

Already thinking about the shape of his own game, Shuusuke noticed some interesting changes in the shape of Kirihara’s. For one thing, Kirihara was silent. When Shuusuke caught himself on the edge of fidgeting, waiting for Kirihara to prod at him and give him an opening to bait back, he had to laugh at himself. Yamato-buchou was right; the habit of playing defensively was one that could get him in trouble if he let it get out of hand and distract him from the other possibilities.

The other thing Shuusuke noticed, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with yet. Kirihara relaxed, as the match went on, even when Shuusuke gained a two-game lead. It made Kirihara’s game smoother than the tension of their last match had, but Shuusuke wasn’t at all sure that was a deliberate adaptation on Kirihara’s part. His curiosity was piqued, especially since Yuuta’s account of his own practice match against Rikkai’s new captain had hinted at something similar. Perhaps he could have another chat with his brother about this particular player.

Kirihara was out of breath as they met at the net, but still held his head high.

“Good game,” Shuusuke told him, offering his hand.

Kirihara snorted as he extended his own hand. “I’ll catch you, too.”

“Considering who else you have on your list, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Shuusuke answered, lightly.

He turned the match over in his head, as he walked home. It was possible, he thought, that Kirihara’s play style was shifting. Where he had previously relied on his strength and speed to break past any opponent, this new relaxation might be the start of a move toward a more rounded style. Not that the boy was any less aggressive, to be sure. That was all the more obvious in comparison to the match Shuusuke had played with Tezuka, today. The stillness at the core of Tezuka’s game made a stark contrast to the reaching outward that characterized Kirihara.

That was something he could use, Shuusuke mused. The stillness of Tezuka’s techniques was, he thought, based on the perfection with which Tezuka controlled the ball. Equal precision could answer that, making the competition between them a matter of who could achieve the finest degree of control.

A thought struck him, making Shuusuke pause under one of the streetlights. He was already making the kind of plans he had told himself he would have to start making—had already accepted the challenge, at least in one case. A certain smugness followed on the heels of that realization. Yamato-buchou might have been right, but so had Shuusuke. That made him feel much better about taking his captain’s advice.

Tezuka would probably give him an exasperated look, if Shuusuke told him about this.

He continued on his way, chuckling at himself.

End

Distance

Chill radiated from the glass behind Shuusuke’s head, creeping through the dampness of his hair. He searched for words to explain why he played matches like the one just past. “Tezuka. I don’t really think I have the passion for winning.”

“Fuji.” There was startlement, maybe even apprehension, in Tezuka’s voice. Shuusuke tried not to react.

“I think I just enjoy the thrill of seeing my opponents play to their limits.” He looked up at Tezuka, searching for understanding in dark, guarded eyes. “What about you?”

The stern focus of Tezuka’s gaze on him never wavered. “What do you mean? I’ll win; regardless. Winning Nationals is all I can think about right now.”

Ah. Everything for the team. Yes, that was their captain all over. Strictly responsible—the leader, the teacher, taking nothing for himself anymore. Shuusuke’s eyes fell. “If it is a mark against me, then please remove me from the Regulars.”

Now Tezuka stirred. “Don’t let that happen.”

The fresh edge in his voice pulled Shuusuke’s eyes back up, for all that he didn’t want Tezuka to see the helpless frustration he was sure showed there. He couldn’t go against his own nature, so what did Tezuka want from him?

He remembered enjoying the silent pleasure with which Tezuka watched his games. Remembered seasons of offering Tezuka his encouragement, and learning that particular angle of brow and faint curve of mouth with which Tezuka returned it. He wished he understood why he was losing these things this year.

He held a hand out to Tezuka, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking for or offering any longer. Finally, Tezuka’s eyes softened, only serious and not hard—the eyes of his friend. Tezuka touched Shuusuke’s fingers, lightly, before their hands fell apart again.

“Fuji,” Tezuka said quietly, “I am the captain of this team, now.”

Meaning, of course, he would not, could not, lessen his demands even on a friend. Shuusuke closed his eyes. “I know,” he whispered.

They flickered open again, wide with surprise, when Shuusuke felt a hand, still cool from being rain drenched, touch his face. Tezuka was standing much closer over him, now. Shuusuke’s breath caught; it was so rarely Tezuka who moved close.

“Is there anything you do have passion for?”

A shaky laugh escaped from Shuusuke. “You’re asking me that right now?”

Tezuka’s brows tipped up, and Shuusuke smiled up at him, a little rueful for that unthinking admission.

Tezuka’s hand slid over his shoulder, down his arm, caught Shuusuke’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. An arm tightened around Shuusuke’s waist, drawing him snugly against Tezuka’s body.

“Show me.”

The moment fractured in Shuusuke’s senses as his thoughts froze. Little things stood out: Tezuka’s fingers, closed lightly around his hand; rough, damp creases of cloth, pressed between their bodies; the lag between a flash of lighting and the rumble of thunder that followed it.

He didn’t think he could speak to save his life. So he abandoned words for the time being. It was easier, and surely clearer, to slide his free hand into Tezuka’s hair, ruffling it even further than Tezuka’s rough toweling had. Clearer to lift his face and open his mouth under Tezuka’s. Surely nothing could be clearer than his moan, as Tezuka’s grip tightened.

“Show me,” Tezuka murmured again, against his lips, and Shuusuke shivered. He wanted to. He tugged his hand free of Tezuka’s fingers and wound that through Tezuka’s hair too, threading his fingers into the strands drying in messy spikes. He smiled at the stray thought that the chance to disorder Tezuka didn’t come along every day. Shuusuke kissed him fiercely, searching, asking, and was answered. Both Tezuka’s arms closed around him, hard enough to lift his weight off his feet, and his breath left him on a pleading sound. More than Tezuka’s tongue stroking against his own, that firm hold occupied Shuusuke’s mind and defined the world for him at that moment. It was so unmistakably Tezuka holding him. Powerful, demanding, overwhelming. He felt so light in Tezuka’s grasp, as if Tezuka might breathe him in.

Shuusuke pulled away and buried his head in Tezuka’s shoulder, panting. “Tezuka…”

Immediately, Tezuka’s hold gentled. A hand lifted to settle on Shuusuke’s hair. “It’s all right, Fuji,” Tezuka told him, evenly.

Tezuka stroked his hair while the thunder died away into the distance.

End

Sunrise

Akaya thumped down into the grass under the stand of chestnut trees at the edge of campus. For a long time he just lay, looking up at the sky, which was a lovely, clear blue that day, just about as empty as his mind. With luck, no one would notice him for a while.

Luck clearly thought that he’d gotten enough favors lately, though, because he heard footsteps well before he had recovered himself.

“You look dazed.”

Akaya levered himself up on an elbow to make sure that was who it sounded like. “Jackal-senpai.” Who looked rather amused. He let himself thud back down. “That’d be because I feel dazed. I mean,” he rambled on, “there have got to be eight billion new first years running around today, and half of them are in the tennis club, and they’re all calling me Buchou.”

Jackal-senpai leaned against one of the trees, humor hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Surely you’re already used to that, Akaya; everyone has been calling you that for months, now.”

“It’s different,” Akaya muttered. He sat up and folded his arms around his knees. The second years he could handle; he had earned what he saw in their faces when they called him Kirihara-buchou. Respect or fear or pride, he had earned it. But the glow in the first years’ eyes, the awe in their voices when they whispered to each other about him, that made him twitchy.

“Hm.” Jackal-senpai sat down next to him, but didn’t speak for a while. “You know,” he said, finally, “this is one of my favorite places on campus. It’s where I used to come when culture shock was getting to me.”

Akaya rested his head on his knees, looking sideways at Jackal-senpai. “Culture shock?”

“When you feel unsettled and out of place. When you feel like either you or everything around you is changing and you’re not sure which it is. When you don’t feel like you can connect.” Jackal-senpai leaned back on his hands. “This is a nice, quiet place to calm down again.”

Akaya bit his lip, hard, as his stomach lurched. Disconnected. Yeah. But it wasn’t like he was alone, was it? He had his team, just a different one this year. And next year he could go back.

Couldn’t he?

Out of place… no, that wasn’t exactly the problem anymore. “What do you do when you’re in place and it’s a different place than it was?” he asked, softly.

A crooked smile twisted Jackal-senpai’s mouth for a moment, more like one of Niou-senpai’s than his own. “Ah. That’s what comes next. When you get there you just have to stand as firm as you can.”

He could do that, Akaya was pretty sure. The first years didn’t make him twitch because he thought he couldn’t live up to those looks. Actually, he picked at his feelings, slowly unraveling them, he was twitchy because he was so sure he could. He sighed at his own total illogic. “I’m an idiot,” he said to his knees. “There’s no such thing as being too good.”

“Wouldn’t think so,” Jackal-senpai agreed. “But you’ve had two years under Yukimura; none of us will be surprised if it takes you a while to get used to being on your own.”

Another cold shiver grabbed Akaya’s insides, and he grimaced. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t afraid of catching up to Yukimura-san. He knew he wasn’t. He didn’t need to lean on Yukimura-san. He knew he didn’t. He just…

He just wished he did.

“Complete idiot,” he muttered to himself.

Jackal-senpai made a questioning sound, though, when Akaya lifted his head, he turned out to be looking up at the sky. A breath of a laugh caught Akaya by surprise. He was getting to appreciate that kind of tact more every day he had to deal with Niiyama and Sakamoto.

“I miss it,” he whispered. Missed the comfort of not being the strong one.

Now Jackal-senpai looked at him, steel eyes level. “Yes. And it won’t be quite the same when you go back. But that isn’t something we can help, Akaya. Any of us.” Suddenly he smiled—his own smile, serious and kind. “But I really don’t think anyone is going to toss you back out the door; my aunts and uncles certainly don’t, though the comments on how much I’ve grown since they last saw me almost make me wish they would.”

Akaya had an absurd mental image of Yukimura-san pinching his cheeks the way his own aunts did when they visited, and broke down laughing.

Jackal-senpai reached over and ruffled his hair, a rare casual gesture from him. “It’ll be better when the tournament season starts and you have other things to distract you,” he assured Akaya.

Akaya snorted a final laugh. Come to think of it, the tournaments probably would cure him of this irritating introspection, if only by providing him with opponents to take away any silly qualms about winning. And winning. And winning some more. He smiled, feeling better just thinking about it.

Summer would be a good time.

End

Quick Days

The walk back from the court was relaxed in a way Kunimitsu was becoming familiar with. It wasn’t the quiet of exhaustion, though both he and Fuji came out of their matches drenched and out of breath. Kunimitsu liked to think of it as the ease of honesty.

It had certainly taken long enough.

He had never said that out loud, but he rather thought Fuji had gotten the idea anyway. There was a rueful quirk to Fuji’s lips those times when Kunimitsu stood watching him for just a little longer than was reasonable, just to confirm that, yes, it really was Fuji playing such a magnificent game. That quirk was as close as Fuji would ever come to an apology for the years of frustration he had put Kunimitsu through by refusing to grasp his real strength.

Kunimitsu didn’t truly need an apology, because when that quirk smoothed into stillness Fuji unfolded for him, played matches with him that demanded every iota of his own strength. He was still losing half of them, and that was all the proof he needed of Fuji’s honesty and engagement. It was enough.

Sometimes, of course, Fuji chose to take his reassurances further anyway. Or perhaps it was Fuji’s own need for reassurance. Kunimitsu wasn’t sure the two could be separated. Given that they had just passed the turn off toward Fuji’s house, though, he thought that today was probably one of those times. And when they reached his house, and Fuji had finished being charming for Kunimitsu’s mother, and the bedroom door was locked behind them, Kunimitsu tipped his head at Fuji in question.

The gleam in Fuji’s eyes and the full fledged grin on his face were sufficient answer. It was definitely one of those times. Kunimitsu stifled a chuckle and sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning back to keep eye contact. If anything, Fuji’s eyes brightened; it looked like he was in an aggressive mood today, a conclusion that didn’t alter in the slightest when Fuji came to sit on his heels in front of Kunimitsu. He took one of Kunimitsu’s hands in his, uncurling it, stroking the palm and fingers.

“I like your hands, you know,” Fuji remarked, head bent over the one in his possession.

Kunimitsu made an inquiring sound, bitten short as Fuji’s tongue flicked out to taste a fingertip.

“They’re very well proportioned; long without being too thin,” Fuji noted, conversationally. “And very strong.” Fuji tasted the inside of Kunimitsu’s wrist this time, lingering just a bit. Kunimitsu turned his hand swiftly to curve along the line of Fuji’s jaw.

“Don’t tease,” he said, softly.

Fuji smiled with genuine amusement; they both knew he was never more straightforward than when he was touching and being touched. “All right.” He uncoiled up off the floor, hands finding Kunimitsu’s shoulder and chest to push him back flat on the bed. Kunimitsu wrapped an arm around Fuji’s waist to bring him along, and Fuji was laughing as he landed in a sprawl on top of Kunimitsu, driving his breath out.

The laugh flavored their kiss with a little wildness. Kunimitsu was getting used to that, with Fuji, though. Fuji’s mouth was hot against his, and as impatient as the fingers flicking open the buttons of his shirt. And then his pants. Kunimitsu threaded a hand through Fuji’s hair, pulling him closer as Fuji’s hand spread against his stomach and slid up. Fuji’s lips curved at the sound Kunimitsu made when Fuji’s hands paused for a thumb to stroke the line of a muscle, the arch of a rib, the outline of a nipple, tiny sparks of pleasure skittering under his light touch. Kunimitsu wrapped a leg around one of Fuji’s, levering their hips together. Fuji tossed his head back with a gasp, and Kunimitsu took the opportunity to tug Fuji’s shirt loose so his own hands could wander more freely. Fuji’s skin still seemed heated from their game, flushed and taut.

“Yes,” Fuji bent his head down again to murmur in Kunimitsu’s ear. “Like that.” He braced his free leg and turned them both over, pulling Kunimitsu on top of him. “Much better.”

Kunimitsu was not particularly surprised to feel Fuji’s hand smooth down his spine, under the loosened waist of his pants, until his fingertips rubbed over Tezuka’s entrance. A low rumble of approval filled his throat, rolled into Fuji’s mouth as they kissed. Fuji’s fingers pressed harder.

Sometimes, on slow days, they explored each other a little, had patience, for a little while, under each other’s mouths and fingers. But today wasn’t a slow day.

Kunimitsu spread his legs wider over Fuji’s hips. He liked this, liked the raw feeling of Fuji’s fingers working into him without anything on them. It was Fuji’s fierceness that drew him, fascinated him, made him want to touch Fuji as soon as their games ended, without waiting to be in private. He counted it a good day when that fierceness lasted until they were.

Those were often the quick days.

“Tezuka,” Fuji breathed against his throat.

“Mm.” Kunimitsu nipped just under Fuji’s ear, enjoying the sharp arch of Fuji’s body under his and the tension of the fingers inside him. “Yes.”

Fuji shoved down Kunimitsu’s pants, disentangling himself long enough to strip off his own as well. Kunimitsu rolled onto his back, stretching; he smiled at the flare in Fuji’s eyes. Fuji had an absolute passion for seeing him naked, something Kunimitsu was not above taking advantage of. When he spread his legs apart and held out a hand, Fuji was pressed against him again almost too fast for the eye to follow. Kunimitsu made a pleased sound into their hard, fast kisses, and reached over to fish a small foil tube out of his bedside table. With its contents cool in his cupped hand he reached down to stroke Fuji’s erection.

A hard shudder shook Fuji and he bit back a cry too loud for a house with other people in it. “You like surprising me,” he accused, between his teeth.

“I have a lot to catch up on,” Kunimitsu murmured back to the glint in Fuji’s eyes. “Now.”

Very little could distract Kunimitsu from the feeling of Fuji pressing into him, but Fuji’s hands behind his knees, Fuji’s thumbs stroking the soft skin there, did pull an extra sigh from him. When Fuji’s touch slid down his thighs, pressing along the length of stretched tendons, it was Kunimitsu’s turn to shudder. In that moment of relaxation, Fuji was inside him.

Kunimitsu released a breathless moan for the hot stretch and the shaking, always-alarming openness as Fuji pressed deeper.

On quick days, Fuji’s thrusts were fast and light, and the ripples his movement sent down nerve and muscle made Kunimitsu laugh today. Fuji caught his breath.

“Oh. Do that again,” he whispered, voice husky, pausing deep inside Kunimitsu.

“You can’t expect me to laugh too very often,” Kunimitsu returned, rocking up against him. Not that his expression was very sober at the moment with his eyelids heavy and his lips parted from the tingling tenseness Fuji had been driving through him.

“Something else, then, perhaps,” Fuji suggested, lacing the fingers of one hand through Kunimitsu’s. He slid their joined grip down Kunimitsu’s erection.

His entire body flexed toward the pleasure of that touch. He would have said something about Fuji enjoying surprises, too, but Fuji’s renewed thrust into him stole his voice. Fast pleasure caught him and dragged him under a swirl of sensation, aware of his body tightening to support it, of his fingers locked hard around Fuji’s, of Fuji’s moan, of his breath stilled in his lungs.

He opened his eyes in time to watch Fuji’s turn distant and his mouth soften. He liked to see that, especially since it didn’t ever take long for Fuji’s expression to return to his usual watchfulness. A watchfulness slightly tinged with smugness just at the moment.

“Mmm. That works, too,” Fuji commented, easing himself away and then down to lie beside Kunimitsu.

Kunimitsu took a moment to recall the track of their words. “That similar an effect just from me laughing?” he asked, turning on his side so he could stroke Fuji’s back.

Fuji stretched like a cat, nearly purring like one. “Of course.” He looked at Kunimitsu evenly, brushing his fingertips over Kunimitsu’s lips. “You could win every game we ever played with your laugh.”

“Perhaps that’s why I don’t.” Kunimitsu tucked Fuji closer against him, kneading the back of Fuji’s neck now.

Fuji closed his eyes with a tiny smile. “I know.”

End

Mock Battle

Akaya trudged across the campus of Fudoumine feeling put upon. Why couldn’t Suzuoki have set this up? Why did it have to be him? Fudoumine as a whole wanted his guts for garters. He knew it was, in the final analysis, his own fault, which didn’t help in the least. It helped even less when he finally reached the tennis courts only to see that Tachibana was there along with Fudoumine’s proper team, albeit not in uniform. What was it, he thought crankily, with pushy senpai who couldn’t retire properly when they were supposed to?

A slightly more charitable corner of his mind noted the stifled conflict in every line of Kamio’s stance beside his ex-captain. It looked like Akaya wasn’t the only one dealing with standing in someone else’s shadow, this coming year. He really did sympathize.

“What are you doing here?”

Sympathy evaporated in face of that challenge, and Akaya eyed the girl now standing at the gate. Tachibana’s sister, wasn’t it? He’d heard stories about her.

“I’m not here to talk to you, that’s for sure. So, if you’ll excuse me.” He edged around her and gauged his welcome from the people he was here to talk to. Not much of one from what he could see. Measuring cold from Ibu and Kamio both, a couple growls from the others, some muscle-flexing from the tall one especially; probably a good thing one or two seemed to be missing or they might have succeeded in causing him to combust in the collective glare. Tachibana himself was the most neutral.

Which meant that Akaya was in a receptive mood when the imp of the perverse made a suggestion. He leaned in the gateway and let his mouth quirk.

“So, who’s actually in charge, here?” he needled, with a meaningful glance at Kamio.

Score. The lines around Kamio’s eyes and mouth tightened in a way that would probably look familiar if Akaya had spent more time looking in the mirror this winter. When Tachibana was the first to speak Akaya had to bite back some fairly black laughter.

“What is it you’re here for?”

“To see about arranging some practice matches,” Akaya shrugged.

Now Kamio stepped forward, and the fact that he didn’t seem to think about it first raised his credit in Akaya’s eyes. “Between Fudoumine and Rikkai?”

“Mm. Between one of my doubles pairs and one of yours, in particular,” Akaya expanded. “You and Ibu, for preference, but I’m not terribly picky.”

From behind him the girl muttered something about not being surprised, and Akaya hid a grin. She was even easier to get worked up than Sanada-san was. Come to think of it, she glared a lot the same way, too. Only from a lower angle.

Kamio had the distant look of someone paging through a calendar in his head. Akaya was pleased that he’d accepted the idea so readily; at this rate he might actually end up respecting his opposite number before he left. A little, anyway. Kamio looked at Ibu. “Thursday?”

Ibu nodded, silently; he hadn’t taken his eyes off Akaya for one second. It felt unnervingly similar to having Yagyuu-senpai’s eyes on him, and Akaya made a mental note to be a little careful about this one.

“Works for me,” he said, pushing upright. And then he paused and heaved a sigh. He was here; Tachibana was here. He might as well get it over with. “Tachibana-san.”

“Yes?” Still the neutral tone.

“I apologize for what happened during our last match,” Akaya said, managing to be only a little stiff.

He was less successful in not rolling his eyes at the looks of surprise and, in a few cases, outrage on the faces of the Fudoumine team. Behind his shoulder, Tachibana’s sister growled.

“Accepted, of course.” Tachibana’s quiet voice cut across the less cordial reactions.

“Tachibana-san … ” Ibu murmured.

Tachibana shook his head. “It would be… inconsistent to hold the past against him, Shinji.” He held Ibu’s gaze until Ibu nodded his assent, still looking displeased about it. “I’ll look forward to another match at some point, Kirihara-kun,” he concluded.

Akaya’s shoulders relaxed. “I’d like that.” He cocked his head. “If you’re not holding back next time.” He was still kind of pissed off about that.

Tachibana’s expression slipped out of its neutrality into a faint, rueful smile. “If it isn’t to be a repeat, both of us will have to hold back on at least one front.”

An odd hint of sympathy lurked in Tachibana’s eyes, and Akaya added that to the things he’d heard from Yanagi-san. Yeah, he’d thought the rumors about Tachibana having been a violent player were probably true, after the way Tachibana had performed at Nationals. Akaya’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t hand out anything I can’t take, Tachibana-san. One way or another.”

“A good thing to know,” Tachibana returned coolly. But there was a spark in his eyes, and Akaya smiled. The next match should be worth it.

“See you Thursday,” he told Kamio.

As he turned to leave, though, he came face to face with two more members of Fudoumine, carrying baskets of balls. One he was vaguely familiar with. Sakurai, the tall one’s doubles partner. The other was far more of a surprise.

“Fuji Yuuta?” Akaya resisted the urge to rub his eyes and double check the uniform. There was no question it was the Fudoumine uniform. “Well, well, isn’t this interesting?” Akaya purred, almost to himself. He hadn’t really hoped for a match with the younger Fuji; no one expected St. Rudolph to advance past Prefecturals in the upcoming season. But wouldn’t that be a nice jab at the older Fuji? To give him a heart attack after the fact, when he heard his precious brother had been playing someone with Akaya’s reputation for brutality? The idea appealed mightily to Akaya’s sense of mischief. He grinned at Yuuta. “I’ll see you Thursday, too, I hope.”

Bounce was back in his step as he left.

“… can’t believe you’re making us play an actual match like this,” Niiyama grumbled, as he’d been grumbling under his breath the entire way to Fudoumine.

“If you don’t stop complaining, I’ll find something even worse,” Akaya threatened, very evenly, casting a quick look over the courts to see if Tachibana or his fire-breathing sister were present. Fortune smiled on him; they didn’t seem to be.

Niiyama shut up, just in time for Akaya to greet Kamio with some dignity. Had he ever given Sanada-san this kind of trouble? Well, all right, his sense of justice forced him to add, had he been this much trouble before Sanada-san took him to bed? He honestly didn’t think so.

On the other hand, Niiyama’s snippiness did mean that Akaya felt far less guilty than he might have about what he was doing. A thin smile tugged at his mouth as he watched Niiyama and Tsunoda set themselves across from Kamio and Ibu. He didn’t expect his players to make any foolish mistakes; they were both experienced in doubles. But Kamio and Ibu had been through a much hotter fire, and their rapport was seamless.

Sure enough, Kamio and Ibu took three games in quick succession. Akaya grinned as he noted that Niiyama and Tsunoda’s glares were shifting from each other to their opponents.

“You look awfully cheerful,” a voice noted beside him.

Akaya glanced over to see Fuji Yuuta leaning against the fence watching the match. “Moderately,” he agreed.

Yuuta shot him a sidelong look. “Are you that confident they’ll make a comeback?” He didn’t sound like he believed it. Nor, for that matter, did the rest of Fudoumine, from the pleased sound of the remarks a little further down the fence.

“It’s possible,” Akaya said, watching one moment of clear understanding flicker between his players as their eyes met before Tsunoda fell back to support a series of Niiyama’s quick drives. Not entirely likely, but possible. Either way it would work out, and these two would get a wake up call.

Yuuta’s eyes darkened. “You’ve got a real ruthless streak, Kirihara.”

Akaya was mildly surprised that Yuuta had unraveled the purpose of this exercise. Of course, he couldn’t actually be an inattentive player, if he’d played a good game against Echizen; but his reputation was more for power than finesse or analysis. Another note for the mental files. “As if you have any room to talk,” he returned.

“Only with myself,” Yuuta countered, disapproval in his voice.

“You think a team captain has that luxury?” Akaya asked, curious. He had wondered what Yuuta was doing here, when he had been expected to take over the St. Rudolph team; maybe now he knew.

“Hm.” Yuuta declined to spar any more and turned his attention back to the game.

In the end it went the way Akaya had expected, and even a bit more so. The final score was 6-4, thanks to an edge of brilliance and viciousness in Ibu that he didn’t remember seeing before. He made a note to talk to Suzuoki about Ibu later. For now, he had a lesson to round off. He pushed away from the fence and waited for Niiyama and Tsunoda to come to him.

“Well?” he asked, coolly.

Niiyama’s spine straightened, and his eyes glinted, daring his captain to censure him. “We won’t lose again,” he pronounced.

Tsunoda was quiet, but the same determination showed in his level gaze. They were, Akaya was pleased to note, standing shoulder to shoulder instead of turned warily toward each other the way they normally did.

“I expect not,” Akaya answered, softly. Success! He left Hiiyama to give the pair notes on the match and looked over the Fudoumine team. “Anyone else up for a match?” he inquired.

Ishida stepped forward, just enough to loom a bit. “Sure.”

Akaya considered what he knew about Ishida’s style. “Sakamoto. Your turn.”

“Me?!” Sakamoto squawked. Ishida blinked a bit, too, taking in Sakamoto’s small, slight build.

“Yes, you,” Akaya confirmed, impassively. Sakamoto wasn’t training in singles right now purely so that Akaya could metaphorically handcuff his two regular doubles partners together. Akaya had every intention of developing all the skills his team had as far as they would go. Sakamoto was a perfectly capable singles player, and Akaya wasn’t about to let him slack off. Besides, Akaya had pulled out the small-and-cute card on his teachers too often not to notice when someone tried to play it on him. Sakamoto’s glare, as he fished out his racquet, hinted that he was catching on to this fact.

“Kirihara-buchou, I really hate you. Just so you know,” Sakamoto told him, in the petulant tone he only ever used with the team.

Akaya’s lips twitched. “Yes, I know. Now get going.”

“Going, going,” Sakamoto grumbled, stalking past a bemused Ishida.

“Interesting team dynamics you’ve got, Kirihara,” Kamio remarked dryly.

Akaya shrugged, carelessly. “It works for us.” Sure enough, Sakamoto was the one who was pushing the pace right from the start, aggressive enough to rock Ishida back onto the defensive. “You know, Hiiyama,” Akaya murmured to his vice-captain, “it’s too bad you don’t play doubles. You and Sakamoto would be an unstoppable pair. Just like a pair of explosive little super-balls bouncing around the court.”

Hiiyama shot him a dark look. “Your sense of humor is going to be a bigger legend than your temper at this rate,” he muttered.

Akaya had to admit that this was probably true. Which only encouraged him, really. At that thought, with what could only be fated timing, his eye fell on Yuuta, still observing from the side. Ah, yes. A bubble of amusement lightened his voice. “Fuji. You look bored. How about a match?”

He almost laughed at the ripple of unease that passed through Fudoumine. Well, all of them except Yuuta. Yuuta looked distinctly suspicious. Akaya offered his most engaging smile. “Come on, you know you want to.”

He caught an exasperated look from Hiiyama, and knew that he would be hearing, later, about the proper dignity of a captain. Akaya tossed him a wink, just to be provoking. Niiyama’s eyes were a little wide, as he watched, never having seen Akaya like this from up close before, but Tsunoda just shook his head and nudged his reluctant partner back against the fence, out of the line of fire.

Yuuta’s suspicion didn’t fade, which, thinking about it, Akaya didn’t find surprising; Yuuta was smiled at by an expert on a regular basis, he was sure. The suspicion was joined, however, by a certain hungry light. Yuuta glanced at Kamio and raised an eyebrow. After a moment Kamio nodded.

It was different from his usual games, and maybe this was what Suzuoki had meant. Akaya found himself wavering, rather uncomfortably, back and forth over the line of complete engagement. Yuuta was too strong a player to deal with lightly; his shots were precise and powerful, and his counters annoyingly effective. But never so much so that Akaya could just relax and respond automatically, or stretch out to his limit without thought. For someone who was supposed to be bullheaded, Yuuta was a very deliberate player, and it ruffled Akaya that he couldn’t automatically find the right rhythm to deal with him.

As he set himself to serve he closed his eyes for a moment, searching for stillness he had learned under pressure from Yuuta’s brother, hoping that would work where his usual fire hadn’t. Looking across the net into suddenly attentive eyes he felt the catch, like a spark against bare skin. Yuuta was moving, even as the serve arrowed in, to catch it and throw it back. The edge of wariness between them dissolved, and Akaya almost laughed. Much better.

The second half of the match was brutally fast, and they were both breathing hard when they met at the net. “Good game,” Akaya panted, grinning. He had won 6-4.

“Yeah, it was,” Yuuta agreed, and Akaya had to suppress the urge to make a face at the hint of surprise in his voice.

“So just how did you wind up here, anyway?” he asked, instead.

The openness in Yuuta’s gaze folded closed again. “The St. Rudolph team was Mizuki-san’s. Without him, it’s a different thing.”

“It’s a thing that would have been yours,” Akaya suggested.

Yuuta’s eyes never flickered, and the line of his mouth was proud. “I like this thing better,” he said, waving a hand at the courts around them.

Akaya was impressed, not that he was going to admit that.

As they rejoined their teams, Hiiyama gave him the raised brows, asking whether it had been worth it to show his game that openly. His vice-captain had very expressive eyebrows, Akaya reflected. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, under his breath.

Hiiyama snorted.

“It isn’t worth it unless it’s for real,” Akaya said, firmly.

Niiyama stirred, against the fence, expression more thoughtful than was typical for him. Akaya hid a smile; extra dividends, how nice. He kept half an eye on Niiyama through the parting courtesies, wanting to know where that expression was leading. They were half way home before he got an answer.

“Kirihara-buchou.”

“Yes?” Akaya nodded to the seat beside him.

Niiyama sat, slowly. “What did you mean, ‘for real’?” For once he sounded serious, though serious looked just as intense on him as any other emotion.

Why the hell did Akaya feel old, all of a sudden?

Akaya leaned back. “When you have a good opponent and you’re not paying attention to anything else—when nothing but the game exists for right then and it takes up everything you are—that’s when it’s real. When you’ve been there once it’s hard to stay away.” Not that he intended to tell this particular audience about the permutations of that passion, the way it could twist, especially when you were in pain. Niiyama didn’t need to know about the details of that, and Akaya didn’t like to think about it. He shot a sidelong glance at Niiyama’s thoughtful attitude. “It works better when you’re not wasting your attention showing off for your partner,” he added.

Niiyama opened his mouth with an indignant expression, but Akaya overrode him.

“If you were a dedicated doubles player it might be different,” Akaya conceded, thinking of Niou-senpai and Yagyuu-senpai. “But this little competition you and Tsunoda have going is distracting you. You can play better than that.” Watching Niiyama wondering about what a real game meant had convinced Akaya of that much. And it was, he reflected, a damn good thing Niiyama hadn’t been around to see what Akaya had been like as a first year, himself, or he’d probably have been accused of total hypocrisy by now.

After a long, fraught, moment, Niiyama lowered his eyes. “Yes, Kirihara-buchou.”

Akaya made a shooing gesture. “Go think about it, then.”

As he slouched down in his seat a little further and closed his eyes, he considered his own first year again, and wondered whether he should write a letter of apology to Yukimura-san when they got home.

End

The Other Side

“We would have won if I’d been playing with him!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have the reach to counter Chiba.”

“You don’t have the speed!”

Akaya tried to unclench his teeth before he gave himself a headache. “Both of you be quiet,” he growled. Niiyama and Tsunoda shut up but didn’t stop glaring at each other, Niiyama’s eyes fiery and Tsunoda’s chill. Akaya throttled down the urge to whack them both over the heads with his racquet, and never mind that Tsunoda was tall enough he’d have to reach for it.

Sakamoto leaned against the fence, staying out of it for all he was worth, and Akaya wished once again that he knew whether that was because Sakamoto didn’t care or cared too much. He’d really like to figure out whether he could use Sakamoto to quash these fights or not. Right now he was stuck doing all the work himself, and it was getting old.

“I don’t suppose, just possibly, for the good of the team you’re both allegedly a part of, you could actually agree to share Sakamoto’s time instead of using him as your tug-of-war rope?” he asked with tired sarcasm, raking a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” Furuya muttered from where he was fetching a water bottle, “after all, you had really good examples of sharing this past year, right?”

Akaya knew it had been a long practice, and that everyone was tired. He knew that when Furuya was tired he sneered more than ever. He knew it was now his responsibility to keep his temper when everyone else didn’t. But in the shocked silence following Furuya’s remark, Akaya could hear the singing rise of his own blood pressure and feel the clenching tightness in every muscle that meant he was going to break something very soon.

“Furuya,” he gritted out, enunciating carefully, “you will not say things like that, here.”

Later, Akaya would place the look on Furuya’s face as nervous bravado. At that moment, though, he saw only defiance and it tinged his vision in red. It had been more than a long day, for him, it had been a long four months. Rage hovered in the back of his mind, bright and gleeful.

“Or what?” Furuya shot back. “You’ll get Sanada-senpai to come down here?”

Akaya’s pride reared up, hauling him away from the edge. He would not be less than those three, and this court was his now. These people belonged to him, and it was his choices that would steer this team. Suddenly Furuya’s question, his doubt, was another opponent, and Akaya’s focus snapped around the question the way it closed around an opponent’s game. Ice washed through Akaya’s mind, replaced the red with stark clarity. “I am the captain of this club,” he said, very softly. “You will not say things like that in front of me.”

Furuya gave back a step and glanced away. “Yeah, fine.” His expression was unnerved, now.

Akaya turned away, dismissing him as the cool edge of his thoughts suggested something about the original problem. He swept a look over the three in front of him.

“Niiyama,” he said, at last, “I’m pulling you out of doubles. Your skills are solid enough there, you need to work on singles for a while. When I’m confident you’ve made a good start,” he continued over Niiyama’s choke of protest, “I’ll rotate Sakamoto out to singles and we’ll see how you and Tsunoda do as a pair.”

“What?!” Niiyama nearly screeched, blue eyes a bit wild. The look on Tsunoda’s face wasn’t any more sanguine.

“You’re the one who wanted a place on the team so badly,” Akaya rapped out. “Act like it. Or was I wrong about what you want? Because if I am you can leave now.”

Niiyama inhaled sharply and his chin came up. “Yes, Kirihara-buchou,” he said though his teeth.

Akaya swung his racquet up to his shoulder. “Good. Then come play a set with me.”

Niiyama’s eyes widened and then narrowed, and he followed readily. Akaya nodded to himself; better Niiyama focus that competitive streak on him than on Tsunoda.

And it did seem to do some immediate good. Niiyama’s game was as flamboyant as ever, but more efficient than usual. A stronger opponent drew him out. Akaya thought about that as he pulled out a ball for his next serve. Was this what Yukimura-san had seen, looking at him?

For one moment he was disoriented, as if he had stepped around the other side of a one-way mirror and seen a familiar room from a skewed angle. How had he gotten to be on this side? Akaya took a deep breath and pushed the strangeness away. He had a player who needed him to do this, to stand back and watch and think how to teach Niiyama something he might not want to hear.

Hmm. That did suggest something, though.

Akaya looked across the net and let himself lean into Niiyama’s anger and aggression. The edges of the world tucked in around them. “Niiyama!” he called.

“Yeah?” Niiyama shot back, eyeing him.

“Focus,” Akaya ordered. “Because I’m not holding back with you today.”

Niiyama’s eyes widened and whipped around to follow the serve as it tore past him, and snapped back to Akaya. His lips tightened, and Akaya saw it—the first surge of Niiyama’s intent pushing back against him.

“Much better,” he murmured to himself.

Suzuoki was waiting for him when they came off the court and Akaya dismissed practice. “Very nice,” he observed.

“Mm,” Akaya answered, taking a long drink. In the end, Niiyama had pushed him harder than he’d expected. “It’ll do for now. Though I wonder what will happen when I pair him with Tsunoda.”

“They’ll do well, as long as they have a reason to,” Suzuoki predicted, watching those two fall in on either side of Sakamoto. “You might consider arranging some practice games against rival teams for them.”

“Now there’s a thought.” Akaya tallied up teams that still had seasoned pairs in his head. “Wonder if Fudoumine still wants to draw and quarter me.”

Suzuoki snorted, having gotten that whole story out of Akaya weeks ago. “Well, how good are you at pretending to be reformed?”

“Hey!” Akaya glared. “Though, you know,” he added as Suzuoki chuckled into his cigarette, “I wouldn’t mind playing him again.”

Suzuoki’s glance sharpened. “Tachibana?”

“Yeah. I feel like I got short changed, after what I saw of him at Nationals.” Akaya frowned. He’d like to know why Tachibana hadn’t shown his strength during their match, too. “Besides, I need someone besides my own team to practice against,” he concluded.

“Good call,” Suzuoki approved. “Though it wouldn’t hurt you to depend less on your opponent’s spirit to raise your own.” He smiled, dryly, as Akaya blinked at him. “Consider it, Kirihara-kun.”

Akaya made a mental note of it, but most of his thoughts were on the bus schedule to Tokyo. Good competition, that would help. That would make him feel more familiar to himself, again.

End

Wildflower

Seiichi didn’t come out to Makuyama Park very often. The harshness of the landscape didn’t generally appeal to him. But today he needed to remind himself of a few things, and Makuyama suggested itself. In January there were few other people there, and Seiichi wandered among the plum trees, thinking.

He was troubled over Akaya. He wanted to give his successor all the time he needed to get his feet under him. But the way Akaya was still shying away from him worried Seiichi. On the other hand, he couldn’t very well interfere when he himself seemed to be the problem. That fact still annoyed him greatly. Renji teased Seiichi about being possessive, but Seiichi didn’t think he was. Not the way Renji meant, at any rate. Seiichi chose a sunny shelf of rock to settle on, and looked up at the spray of branches that hung over it. This one was almost ready to blossom, lavender buds showing brighter rose at the edges as it prepared to unfurl.

“You don’t care, do you?” he asked, reaching up to touch a branch. “Not that you’re growing on volcanic rock, not that it’s winter. You just keep growing.” He sighed and smiled, a little crookedly, at the tree.

“Yukimura?”

Seiichi looked around to see, of all people, Tezuka standing near. “Tezuka,” he greeted, a little surprised to see him out here. “You’re rather early for the tourist season in this park.” He was amused to see how much distaste a single shrug could convey.

“I’m not fond of tourist season.”

“I’m not either,” Seiichi admitted. “I wonder if they mind.” He stroked the branch, lightly.

Tezuka tilted his head, consideringly. “They seem to keep growing, regardless,” he said, at last.

Seiichi had to laugh. “That was why I came out here today, actually.” He leaned back on his hands and gazed out across the trees. “Sometimes, when one of the plants in my garden isn’t doing well, and I can’t figure out why, I come out to one of the parks. It reminds me that plants are a lot tougher than most gardeners like to think they are. They survive just fine on their own.” He took a deep breath and ordered the tightness in his chest to go away. “I do wonder, sometimes. If my plants could talk to me, would my seedlings tell me I’m jostling their roots, and to stop fussing over them?”

Tezuka didn’t answer, but he didn’t move off, either. When Seiichi glanced at him, he was simply waiting, a little the way Genichirou did when he knew Seiichi wanted to talk about something. Only less patiently. Seiichi chuckled again. Tezuka’s presence was a silent offer to keep listening, but the crossed arms and faintly quirked brow said that obscure whimsy would not be tolerated. Genichirou tended to be amused by such things, and would reflect them back as poetry if Seiichi caught him in the right mood. Somehow, Seiichi doubted Tezuka wrote poetry. Which made his implicit offer a bit of a mystery. Maybe he was feeling a little bereft, too, without his own team.

And perhaps it would help to talk with someone outside his team, Seiichi reflected. More than that, to talk with another captain. So.

“Do your seedlings ever cause you worry, Tezuka?” he asked. “Momoshiro. Echizen.”

“Sometimes,” Tezuka said, brows raised. “We both had rather willful teams this year, Yukimura.”

“Now there’s an understatement. I find myself worrying more, now that I have to leave one of them behind.”

“There will still be someone there to oversee the ones I’m leaving,” Tezuka said, slowly. “It helps. Ryuuzaki-sensei is a good teacher. If I’ve gotten them to start on their own paths, I can trust she’ll see that they keep going. A good coach provides a great deal of continuity.”

“A good coach,” Seiichi repeated, hearing his own voice chill. From the watchful expression on Tezuka’s face, he knew his had probably turned hard and cold. “I found those in short supply, and declined to have any interfering with my team. Though one has found his way to Akaya.”

“Is he any good?” Tezuka asked, calmly.

Seiichi felt his fingernails scrape against stone and forced his hand to unclench again. “I have no idea. I’ve never dealt with him; he worked with the high school division until this fall.”

Tezuka was silent for a long time, which was probably just as well since Seiichi was busy trying not to snarl at the thought of the tennis club’s faculty advisor taking the same tone with Akaya he had once presumed to take with Seiichi.

“Yukimura,” Tezuka said, at last, “do you trust Kirihara?”

Seiichi blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Even if Ryuuzaki-sensei wasn’t there, I don’t think I would be afraid for Momoshiro or Echizen.” Tezuka waved a hand at the plum trees surrounding them. “They’re strong. I know that. So do they.”

Seiichi felt something in him relax. Not all the way, but a little. It helped, to hear the logic that had drawn him here today stated in someone else’s voice. “I do trust Akaya,” he answered, softly. And perhaps, he thought, ruefully, Akaya would trust himself more if Seiichi could offer a better example of confidence in his own teaching. And then he smiled up at Tezuka. “I suppose Echizen never has accepted any fussing over himself. But, then, that doesn’t seem like a mistake you’re prone to.”

“It isn’t something he’s ever complained about, no,” Tezuka agreed, in a dry tone. “The only regular complaint they make is of overly vigorous pruning.”

Seiichi stared at him for a long moment, before he laughed with genuine delight. Perhaps he’d been right, and Tezuka was in the same place he was, missing the connection of a team collected around him. He couldn’t imagine many other things that would bring such a reserved person to trade metaphors with him. He clasped his hands around one knee and leaned back against them.

“I think next year will be difficult,” he said. “For all of us. Our teams this year … were something special. And now we’re broken apart. Nor am I at all sure our senpai will be pleased to see us again.”

Tezuka’s eyes were shadowed, as he looked down at Seiichi, and Seiichi decided he had, indeed, been right.

“Will you be there, next year, Tezuka? You and Fuji?” Something to look forward to; something to keep him going.

“Yes.” Iron rang in Tezuka’s voice, the tone of someone who had never backed down from any challenge.

Seiichi closed his eyes, and tipped his head back to feel the sun against his face. It was simply warm, now; but come summer it would be bright and hot and dangerous. Yes. He would look forward to summer. “Good. We’ll be there, too.”

The one question Tezuka had asked him that Seiichi hadn’t been able to answer nagged at him over the next few days. Was Suzuoki a good coach? He didn’t know. And Seiichi was aware enough of the irrationality of his prejudice that it made him uncomfortable.This was what had led him to one of the halls he didn’t normally frequent.

Seiichi knocked on the frame of Suzuoki’s door. The man barely glanced up.

“Yukimura-kun, I was expecting you sooner. Come in.”

Points for observation, Seiichi noted. He also filed away the thought that Suzuoki was the sort who liked to unnerve his opponent. Well, then, bluntness in return for bluntness—Seiichi hooked a chair around to face Suzuoki and seated himself without waiting for an invitation.

A thin smile crossed Suzuoki’s face as he took his cigarette out of his mouth. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Seiichi considered for a moment. Clearly, this one would not be susceptible to the same kind of intimidation that had worked in the past. Suzuoki knew what this confrontation was about, and was prodding Seiichi to show his hand first. A cautious approach seemed called for.

“I was wondering,” he began. “I hear you’ve been working with the high school division for years. Was there a particular reason you switched, now?”

“It would certainly have been interesting to stay and deal with you, instead, Yukimura-kun,” Suzuoki allowed, smoothly. “But both rumor and results say that you have all the help you need. The junior high division, however, is losing that support. As a coach, it behooved me to offer some help to the new captain.” He paused, and snorted. “Who actually accepted it, to my increasing surprise the better I get to know him.”

The abrupt shifts from bluntness to reticence and back were enough to set even Seiichi off his pace. Caution, definitely. “Surprise?” he probed.

An eyebrow lifted. “You have a reputation as a perceptive young man,” Suzuoki noted. “It can’t have escaped you that Kirihara-kun is a spitfire. To put it mildly.” And then sharp eyes glinted. “Or perhaps it did escape you.”

Seiichi kept a firm hold on the flare of anger that answered that suggestion, that he might not know the measure of one of his own team. He felt his focus start to narrow, as it did when he faced a good opponent on the court, and answered Suzuoki’s provocation with the waiting poise that had swallowed so many challengers before. “I am familiar with Akaya’s temper,” he returned, coolly.

Rather than pressing in, though, Suzuoki eased off. He blew out a long breath and leaned back, shaking his head. “No wonder the kid’s so tangled up.”

Seiichi’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll bet my next pay packet that he’s spent two years being overshadowed by you,” Suzuoki answered, apparently not affected at all by Seiichi’s increasing sharpness. Suzuoki flicked his fingers, trailing cigarette smoke through the air. “It isn’t always a bad thing. But he’s always had your control to rely on, hasn’t he?”

“Akaya has learned to control himself, or I wouldn’t have made him the next captain,” Seiichi returned, firmly.

Suzuoki blew a stream of smoke at him. “I’m not surprised you don’t see it. He’s probably too close to you. You defined the edge of acceptable temper for him, Yukimura-kun. Your self control is the pattern he’s blindly followed; it’s obvious in the way he relaxes when he’s with you. Now he’s having to find that stopping point for himself, and relaxing is the last thing he can afford to do.”

Well, this certainly answered Seiichi’s questions about the quality of help Akaya had attracted. Suzuoki was right, and Seiichi did, in fact, know it. That left only one question outstanding, and answering that one would require different tactics. So Seiichi relaxed, disengaging from the focus of confrontation, and smiled.

“I trust Akaya’s strength,” he said, quietly.

A momentary pause, followed by a one sided smile, said he had caught Suzuoki by surprise. Seiichi waited, holding off his tension, for the response.

Suzuoki’s smile gained ground, though it was still rather tilted. “Actually, so do I. At least,” he added, “I think he has the potential. I’d rather like to see him succeed.”

It really was amazing, Seiichi reflected, the variety of people Akaya managed to capture without seeming to intend it. “Would you?” he asked, teasing just a little, now that he was more sure Suzuoki was on the right side.

Suzuoki gave him a narrow look. “I have to have a very good reason before I’ll put up with the kind of mouthiness that kid gives me on a regular basis,” he stated, dourly.

Seiichi bit back a laugh, but knew his amusement was probably showing anyway. “Akaya is a good reason,” he said. “Thank you for taking care of him, Suzuoki-sensei.”

Suzuoki’s look turned sardonic. “Thank you for leaving him alone, this year, Yukimura-kun.”

“Hm.” Their glances practically rang off each other. One pass made it quite clear that, just as Seiichi had no intention of leaving Akaya wholly to his new coach, Suzuoki had no intention of backing down. “Well enough,” Seiichi said, softly, and turned toward the door.

Seiichi was not, after all, the only one from the old team who was interested in Akaya’s welfare.

“Yukimura-san?”

Seiichi turned from closing the door to see Akaya standing in the hall, looking startled. His glance flicked from Seiichi to the office he’d just come out of and back, and widened. Seiichi laughed.

“Everything’s all right, Akaya.”

Akaya examined him for a moment longer, and nodded, relaxing.

And visibly caught himself back.

Seiichi tipped his head to one side, contemplating his protege. Akaya had a little over a year to settle this thing for himself. Would that be enough? Seiichi knew Akaya was phenomenally capable, when he needed to be. Look how far he had come in a year and a half, starting from the simple decision to overcome Seiichi and Genichirou and Renji.

Seiichi thought about that.

“Akaya.” When Akaya looked up at him, Seiichi smiled the way he did when inviting Akaya to play a serious game against him. “I’ll be waiting.”

Akaya’s head came up, sharply, and his eyes focused, darkened. “I’ll find you, Yukimura-san,” he answered.

“Good.” Seiichi took himself off, and only barely caught the exchange behind him.

“You look like you’ve been standing in a fire,” Suzuoki commented.

“Did I ask?” Akaya snapped back, irate and fearless, before the door closed.

Seiichi chuckled all the way down the stairs. Yes, he believed that Akaya would do fine.

End

Strategy

A current of cold air passed over Akaya where he sat, sideways, in one of the University Cafe’s few booths, and he looked up. In part, he wanted to make sure the newcomer wasn’t a college student who would evict him from his spot, this being their proper territory after all. Akaya had only kept his place so far because so few students had stuck around campus for such a cold, wet weekend.

Of course, in the past few weeks Akaya had also learned that if he didn’t look up when the door opened he was liable to find himself lassoed by Niou-senpai’s scarf or pounced on by Marui-senpai, who turned out to be a lot more solid than he looked.

This time he was lucky. It was Yanagi-senpai. Akaya waved without hesitation. Yanagi-senpai was a lot less extreme about the whole ‘keeping in touch with Akaya’ thing than the rest of them. It had recently occurred to him to be very, very grateful that his birthday had fallen before the project got going.

Akaya swore to himself that he would never be such a trial to his own kouhai.

“I didn’t expect to see you here on a weekend, Akaya,” Yanagi-senpai noted, as he settled across the table. “Were you hoping for some company? Or,” his mouth curved just a bit, “did you hope to avoid everyone by coming here when they would expect you to be at the arcade?”

Akaya shrugged, riffling the pages of his book with a fingertip. “I’ve just gotten used to coming here. It’s a nice place to study. Not so quiet I can’t hear myself think, like the library.”

Yanagi-senpai tipped his head, examining the spine of the book. “Ten Nights of Dreams? They gave you that for homework?”

Akaya snorted. “We have to write a report for Japanese, and I asked if I could do this instead of Botchan. Which I’ve read before anyway, and this is on the alternate reading list, so Yoshimura-sensei said it was all right.” He sighed. “Couldn’t get out of the boring books for History, though. I don’t suppose … ” he trailed off hopefully.

Yanagi-senpai’s lips quirked strangely. “I might not be the best person to ask for help just now, Akaya. I’ve been working on a comparison of the old History text with the new one. I wouldn’t want to confuse you with references you won’t need for your own tests.”

Akaya blinked. “Is it a class project?” It didn’t sound like one, but every now and then weird things popped up in the elective courses.

“Purely for my own interest. The differences in the editions are politically instructive. Genichirou says I have too much taste for contention, but it’s a fascinating study. In any case, Genichirou is the one you should speak to about Japanese history.”

“Mmmm.” Akaya poked at the crumbs of his snack from earlier in the afternoon.

“Since I’m here and he’s not, though,” Yanagi-senpai went on, “what’s giving you trouble?”

Akaya eyed Yanagi-senpai through his lashes. He’d been wondering when the loaded questions would start. “It isn’t that I don’t want,” he started and paused. “I just,” he tried and stopped again, frustrated at the clumsiness of all the words suggesting themselves to him. He was supposed to be good with language, he reminded himself.

“I know,” Yanagi-senpai told him, quietly. “Don’t worry too much, Akaya. It wasn’t entirely unexpected.”

Akaya blew out an exasperated breath. “If you knew I was going to have trouble when you guys left, you could have warned me,” he muttered.

“It wasn’t sure, and if it wasn’t going to happen I hardly wanted to suggest it to you,” Yanagi-senpai pointed out, reasonably. “One of the hazards of prediction.”

Akaya raised his head, staring as a sudden thought leaped up. “Is that why you say it out loud on the court?”

Yanagi-senpai smiled.

Akaya leaned back, unsettled. “Maybe I’ll start with catching Sanada-san, instead,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“You style is, perhaps, better suited to overcoming him,” Yanagi-senpai agreed.

Akaya made a note of that “perhaps” to chew on later. When Yanagi-senpai used such smooth qualifiers it usually meant he was bluffing. But Yanagi-senpai probably knew by now the kinds of things Akaya noticed, so maybe it was a trap. Akaya sighed. Definitely start with Sanada-san; the head games with Yanagi-senpai would just make him dizzy.

“Enough of that,” Yanagi-senpai said, chuckling. “We can play again later, if you like. I don’t want to distract you too much from your work.” He nodded at the book, now fallen closed on the table. “Do you know what you’ll say about it yet?”

“That the spirit is eternal and love kind of sucks,” Akaya answered, promptly.

Yanagi-senpai laughed out loud. “Anyone would certainly think so after reading Soseki for a while,” he allowed, “but you should probably concentrate on the first part, for the teacher’s benefit.”

“Figured,” Akaya shrugged.

“So classes are going well. What about your team?”

Akaya sprawled back down on the table, groaning. “Yanagi-senpai, please, please tell me both your doubles pairs are nice and stable and not going anywhere. Please?”

“I take it yours are not entirely stable at the moment?” Yanagi-senpai asked with only the faintest wobble of amusement in his voice.

Akaya buried his fingers in his hair. “I’ve never seen dramatics like this outside of afternoon television,” he declared. “Kuwabara didn’t take it too badly when Tsunoda threw him over to pair with Sakamoto instead. Well, not too badly considering he got upstaged by a first year; I’m surprised you didn’t hear him bellowing all the way across campus, but he didn’t break anything. But now there’s Niiyama, who was pairing with Sakamoto, all in a snit, and he challenged Ueda this week and won. So now I’ve got him sniping at Tsunoda over Sakamoto, and half the second years getting pissed off about two first years being Regulars, and Sakamoto doesn’t seem to care who he plays with as long as they hammer the other side six feet into the ground, and Niiyama and Tsunoda are making a personal competition of who can make him happiest!” He paused to catch his breath.

“Sounds like a fairly standard restructuring period for the team,” Yanagi-senpai murmured.

Akaya looked up at him, blankly. “Are you joking?” he asked, finally.

“Not at all, Akaya. That doesn’t sound all that unlike how Niou and Yagyuu came to be a pair.”

“It is?” Akaya sat back, blinking. On the one hand, it was a bit comforting to know his pack of crazies wasn’t some kind of karmic punishment for him personally. On the other … “Yukimura-san let them?”

Yanagi-senpai turned a hand palm up. “When the players balance each other’s strengths and weaknesses, it’s usually best to let them sort it out. Only when they are unbalanced do they need their captain to step in and provide the counterweight.”

Akaya considered this. “Maybe they do balance out,” he said, slowly. “At least … Niiyama never lets Sakamoto actually go too far. I thought he would, but he doesn’t.” They were silent for a while before Akaya nodded. “Thanks, Yanagi-senpai.”

“My pleasure,” Yanagi told him with a wry smile. “I think we’re more than just teammates after this past year. Friends look out for each other.”

Akaya smiled back. The words “more than just teammates” sparked another thought made him look down again, though. “Yanagi-senpai, does Sanada-san … ” he paused, fishing for the right word. Understand, he supposed. He knew Yukimura-san understood, but he hadn’t seen Sanada-san at all lately.

“He understands,” Yanagi-senpai offered, hand resting briefly over Akaya’s. “He’s been staying away from you for many of the same reasons you’ve been staying away from him.”

Every now and then, he didn’t mind so much that Yanagi-senpai knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“So,” Yanagi-senpai said in a brisker tone, “what part of History has been giving you trouble?”

“Not trouble,” Akaya protested. “It’s just so boring it’s hard to remember sometimes.”

Yanagi-senpai’s mouth curled up at one corner. “Ah. What you really want is to ask Niou, then. His historical narratives are anything but boring.”

Akaya gave him a flat look. “I’m sure they are, Yanagi-senpai, thanks very much.” Did anyone else know Yanagi-san was this evil?

“Oh, very well,” Yanagi-san said, tolerantly, “let me get some tea; pick a period, and I’ll tell you about it. Did you want anything?” he added, rising.

“Hot chocolate!” Akaya tucked away his book as Yanagi-san made his way to the counter, and prepared to listen.

He was glad he’d come here today.

End

Confession

Sanada Genichirou paced down the sidewalk beside his captain, listening with half an ear to Seiichi’s amiable comments on exams and how nice it would be to watch the third years finally graduate and leave the high school to them. Genichirou made listening noises, but his attention was elsewhere. Part of him was still howling in futile disbelief that he had actually done what he had done this morning. Most of him was searching for things to focus on besides his nerves.

A very small voice in the back of his mind was praying fervently to any kami that might listen and feel merciful that Niou never, ever found out about this.

Ostensibly, he was going home with Seiichi today so that they would each have some moral support while they sorted through this year’s Valentine’s chocolate and wrote thank you notes. It was a yearly tradition for them. For the first time, though, Genichirou found himself with a personal interest in one of those boxes; it was the one he had placed in Seiichi’s locker, atop several others even by that early hour, after making very, very sure no one was around to watch.

He had never been so nervous in his entire life. Not for exams. Not when he was called to demonstrate for his grandfather’s advanced classes. Certainly not for any match he had ever played! His respect for the courage of the girls who delivered their gifts in person had increased rather abruptly today.

Seiichi’s mother was dotingly amused by their little tradition, and waved them both up to his room with the briefest formalities. Genichirou was grateful, since he didn’t know how much longer even his self control would allow him to make casual small talk without starting to fidget. Why had he done this to himself?

Well-trained memory recited that Valentine’s Day was the proper and traditional day for confessing affection to its object, and that chocolate was the proper and traditional, and appealingly nonverbal, way to go about it. The holiday had been instituted in order to give people who normally didn’t have such an opportunity the chance to actually express their love. Genichirou was simply taking advantage of it. High school was the proper time for this. All told, this was about as much buttressing from tradition and propriety as Genichirou could give the desire that had managed to weave itself into the friendship and admiration he’d always felt for his captain. The increasingly strident voice of cynicism, which Genichirou normally and properly muffled and ignored, noted that Genichirou sounded more and more like he was trying to convince himself. What was he going to do next, in this traditional progression, wait to be asked on a date?

Seiichi paused by his desk, as Genichirou tripped over thin air, and looked at him with some concern. “Are you all right? I hadn’t thought today’s practice would have tired you that much.”

Genichirou collected himself and sat on one end of Seiichi’s bed. “I’m fine. Just a little distracted.” Anxiety, he decided, must be making him lightheaded. He tried to breathe more slowly. This was ridiculous.

It shouldn’t last much longer, though, one way or another. Seiichi settled on the other end of the bed and they both spilled out their piles of small boxes and bags over the thick, blue blanket. Genichirou managed to sort through his as briskly as ever, only slightly impeded by having one eye always fixed on Seiichi’s pile for the appearance of one particular box. Thankfully Genichirou hadn’t received any homemade this year, and only three items were extravagant enough to require a note in return. He set them aside, sweeping the rest back into his bag and wondering how many he could pawn off on his brother and father.

And then he had to shove his heart back down out of his throat and fold his hands together, hard, because Seiichi had picked up a small, dark red box without any logo. Here it was. Either Seiichi was about to charitably suppress laughter, or… or something else.

“Only one homemade this year,” Seiichi remarked. “It seems the girls are finally learning.”

Genichirou throttled down a flinch.

His captain’s long fingers flicked open the attached fold of paper, and Genichirou’s nerve broke. He couldn’t watch. He fixed his eyes on the blanket instead.

“Genichirou?” Seiichi’s voice was quiet.

It was a very nice blanket. The last one had been worn to a rather dull shade of green before Seiichi consented to replace it. How long ago had that been?

Seiichi’s hand reached out to touch Genichirou’s chin and lifted his head again with uncompromising pressure. Genichirou swallowed. He had really thought he was used to how penetrating Seiichi’s gaze was; perhaps not. He could feel his face heating.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you blush before, Genichirou,” Seiichi observed. “It really was you who gave me this, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Genichirou managed, just a bit stifled. He did not, however, look away.

Seiichi’s eyes focused on him as if they were playing a match. “I’m honored.”

Genichirou relaxed slightly; at least kindly restrained amusement didn’t seem to be forthcoming, and this was a significant relief. A traditional offer had been made, and accepted in a traditional fashion. This was also reassuring. He stiffened again, though, when Seiichi’s thumb brushed the very corner of his mouth and Seiichi smiled.

The last time Genichirou saw that speculative smile it had been directed at Echizen. The time before that, at Kirihara. This was not especially reassuring. It got even less so when Seiichi came up onto his knees, leaning over Genichirou, lifting his chin further still. Was he really going to…

Genichirou’s eyes fell shut as Seiichi’s mouth covered his. It was a compelling kiss, warm and vibrant, much like Seiichi himself. It wasn’t until Seiichi’s tongue stroked out, coaxing Genichirou’s lips to part, that an uncertain sound found its way up his throat.

Seiichi drew back, not very far, running his fingers through Genichirou’s hair. His eyes were considering as he looked down. “Was that your first kiss?” he asked, softly.

Genichirou sternly ordered the flush rising back to his face to go away and nodded.

Seiichi’s lips gained an extra curl, sharp and pleased. “Good.”

His second kiss was hard enough to press Genichirou down to the bed, hot enough to steal his breath and leave him gasping under the weight of the hands on his shoulders. “Seiichi…”

Seiichi drew back again, rather reluctantly, but he smiled more gently this time. “Too much?”

Genichirou glanced aside. This kind of intimacy was not a casual thing, to him, and while he was reasonably sure it wasn’t casual with Seiichi either, he would prefer just a little longer to be more sure. He did not, however, protest when Seiichi kissed him again, light and easy. This was, after all, exactly what he had offered; his captain knew him, knew that. And, really, it wasn’t as though he was unused to just how forceful Seiichi could be, after standing across the net from him all these years.

A shiver coiled down Genichirou’s spine at the thought of Seiichi kissing him as fiercely as he played when they were serious.

Seiichi slid a searching hand down Genichirou’s chest, laughing low in his throat. “I have to say, this is by far the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” he murmured.

All things considered, even with the unaccustomed nerves and the problems of making chocolates in dead secret from his mother, Genichirou had to agree.

Seiichi’s eyes glinted. “And now I have a real excuse to give all those girls.”

A kiss swallowed both Genichirou’s growl and Seiichi’s laugh.

End

Interesting Times

Kippei really did hope that at some point his days would become less interesting.

"So, lemme get this straight." The short, glowering redhead who had
appeared on his courts put his hands on his hips. "You summoned me
to deal with him?" He waved a hand at Michael, who was also
glowering, dividing his attention between the newcomer and Lucifer.

Lucifer, having set his brother off in the first place, with no regard for
visiting shinigami, lounged on the sidelines watching the show.

The younger of St. Rudolph’s two guardians glared right back. "Who else
were we supposed to summon for something like this, Kurikara?" he snapped.
"Suzaku? She’d make it twice as bad. Souryuu? Give me a break!"

Kurikara paused judiciously. "Well, all right, you might have a point.
Though it could be kind of funny watching the cold fish deal with this."

"Why are you in that form, though? You should have two wings in this world,
not two legs," Tsuzuki cut hurriedly over whatever his partner had been
drawing breath to say, for which Kippei was grateful; he hadn’t noticed Kurosaki
being very moderate in his temper at the best of times.

Kurikara gave him a withering look. "Between them," he gestured to
Michael and Lucifer, "and your knee-jerk habit of casting wards at the
first sign of trouble we’re not precisely standing in Ningenkai, if you haven’t
noticed."

Tsuzuki blinked. "Oh."

Kurikara slapped a hand over eyes. "I’m surrounded by idiots," he
growled, and then paused, glancing at Kurosaki. "Okay, not complete
idiots, a complete idiot really would have called in Suzaku and the whole
city would be burning." He eyed Michael, and the scorch marks from where
he’d lost his temper at Lucifer’s arrival. "You remind me of her, some."

While Michael was deciding how to take that, Lucifer stirred from his slouch
against the fence. Kippei braced himself for a new round of explosions. Lucifer’s
tone, however, was academic when he spoke.

"Of course he does. We are, after all, reflections of each other in our
different planes." Lucifer pushed himself upright, and paced across
the court, not to Michael, but to Tsuzuki. Kippei settled back, watchfully.
Lucifer took the man’s chin in his fingers, holding him still for a searching
examination. Just when Tsuzuki was starting to look tense and Kurosaki was
looking as incendiary as Michael, Lucifer let him go. "You have some
of the same heart as the Messiah," he said, "but your power is
broken. A shame, that. If you were whole you might be able to free your little
human with your own strength." He didn’t wait for an answer before turning
away, which, to Kippei’s eye, was a good thing. Tsuzuki looked stunned.

"Enjoy yourself, Michael," Lucifer told his brother as he walked
away from them all. "Try not to destroy the entire world."

Michael’s jaw dropped, and Kippei sighed. He’d known it was coming.

"Try not… world… you… You asshole!" he howled at Lucifer’s
departing back. "I’m not the one who tried, even if it didn’t
work!" Fire was snapping around him again.

"Michael-kun," Kippei said, firmly.

Michael swung around. "What?!" Kippei waited, and after a moment
Michael deflated a little, and the flames faded. "Sorry," he muttered.

Kippei, now that he wouldn’t be singed, clasped Michael’s shoulder, hoping
to lend him some calm.

Kurikara gazed after Lucifer. "So," he remarked, "that was the
Lord of Hell, hm?" He looked contemplative for a moment before he snorted.
"What a jerk."

Michael stopped brooding and turned a brilliant smile on him. "I like
him," he declared to the court at large. "What was your name again?"

"Kurikara, RyuuOu."

"Michael, Angel of Fire. Pleased to meet you."

Looking at the two of them grinning at each other over clasped hands Kippei
couldn’t help thinking, though he was careful not to say, that Lucifer really
did know his brother pretty well. Michael probably would enjoy himself with
Kurikara. He turned back to his other guests, only to find Kurosaki looking
at him intently.

"Tsuzuki, I really don’t think we should interfere here," Kurosaki
said.

"We know this team is picking up some serious influences from Michael,
though," Tsuzuki objected. "That’s going to mess up the bookkeeping,
and they always blame us for that."

"They’ll live," Kurosaki replied bluntly. "I’ll speak to Tatsumi-san,
if there’s trouble. As long as Tachibana-san is here, it will be all right.
We shouldn’t interfere."

"Oh?" Tsuzuki’s glance at Kippei was suddenly more measuring. "Oh.
Well, in that case…" He was interrupted by the increasing volume of
Michael and Kurikara’s discussion.

"…you got to toast him yourself?" Michael was exclaiming, gleefully.
"Awesome! I was on the other side of the building when Setsuna and Ani-ue
were killing God; I was so pissed off."

"It was great to finally get my claws around the Emperor’s neck,"
Kurikara agreed, with a look that would have been beatific with fewer sharp
teeth. "It was almost as much fun as pounding Souryuu into the ground
like a tent peg when I finally got loose again."

Michael looked enthralled. Kippei sighed. He could have wished for Michael
to acquire a calmer friend, but at least Kurikara seemed to have decent control
of his temper. A muffled chuckle from Kurosaki brought his attention back
to the shinigami. Kurosaki was regarding him with the kind of sympathetic
amusement that suggested he had just heard Kippei volunteer to babysit his
neighborhood’s greatest brat.

"I wouldn’t have your job if they paid me," Kurosaki said. "Good
luck. Come on Tsuzuki."

"Um." Tsuzuki glanced at Kurikara.

Kurikara glanced back and waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. So, Michael, I’m
really not supposed to stay in this plane without anything to do, and as
soon as Tsuzuki takes back his wards I’m going to be a really big flaming
dragon anyway. Wanna come back to Gensoukai with me?"

"Sure," Michael agreed, and then paused and looked at Kippei.

Kippei smiled at him; Michael still needed a good deal of reassurance. "We’ll
still be around when you get back, Michael-kun."

Michael looked away and shrugged. "Of course."

Kurikara gave him a wry look, winked at Kippei, and threw an arm over Michael’s
shoulders. "Let’s go then! Beer and stories!" They both vanished
in a flicker of fire.

Kippei shook his head at the space where Michael had been. Someday, maybe,
his life would stop being quite so strange, but he wasn’t betting on it.

 

End

Practicalities

Hajime had figured out some time ago that Kurosaki could feel what other people
felt, especially if they felt it strongly. It was equally obvious, to anyone
who watched carefully, that Kurosaki didn’t have perfect control of this
‘gift’. Accordingly, Hajime had dropped a few hints about Nationals, how
many people showed up, how excited everyone got about the matches. A few
neighborly cautions.

He was starting to think both his team’s self-appointed guardians had completely
missed them.

Kurosaki had been fine until the matches started heating up. Now he was a bit
glassy-eyed, and swayed every time the crowd shouted. It probably didn’t
help, Hajime admitted, that they were currently watching Fudoumine playing
Hyoutei. Being in the vicinity of Atobe’s club, once he’d finished winding
them up, was probably like getting hit over the head with a hammer, for Kurosaki.

Hajime watched with scientific curiosity to see how long Kurosaki would hold
out before he fell over.

"Hisoka?" Tsuzuki murmured, putting a hand on Kurosaki’s shoulder.

Well, yes, that had been the other major possibility.

Kurosaki bit his lip, hard. "I’m not… it’s…"

Now even Yuuta and Akazawa were noticing that Kurosaki was having problems.
Hajime considered Kurosaki’s prickly pride and whether Tsuzuki would hold
off any expressions of concern because of it. Extremely unlikely, he decided.

Sure enough, Tsuzuki ignored the people around them and actually pulled Kurosaki
into his arms. Hajime was a bit surprised that Kurosaki only muttered a protest
and didn’t pull away. In fact, he even let Tsuzuki press his his head down
to Tsuzuki’s shoulder and some of the piano-wire tension eased out of him.
Of course, now he was shuddering intermittently, but that was all right;
Tsuzuki had a good grip.

Hajime adjusted a few of the assumed values in his mental equation of Tsuzuki’s
and Kurosaki’s relationship. Apparently the threshold of distress for Kurosaki
to accept Tsuzuki’s help or protection was a good deal lower than Kurosaki’s
snapping and growling suggested. Kurosaki could, it seemed, be practical
about some things after all.

"Does he need to be away from here?" Akazawa asked. Another one,
Hajime reflected affectionately, with a broader practical streak than the
casual watcher might expect. It was a good thing that Hajime wasn’t a casual
watcher.

"I’m fine," Kurosaki said, a bit muffled. And then flinched as Tachibana
drove the ball past Atobe and every spectator roared. His fingers clenched,
white knuckled, in Tsuzuki’s shirt. Hajime shook his head. Kurosaki could
give Yuuta lessons in stubborn, and that was saying something.

"Excuse me," interjected a new voice. "Here."

When a complete stranger closed his hands firmly on Kurosaki’s shoulders, Hajime
braced for the explosion. He’d never met anyone as fanatical about his personal
space as Kurosaki.

The explosion didn’t come. Instead Kurosaki slumped against Tsuzuki, suddenly
breathing easily again. And Tsuzuki, who had been reaching for a pocket,
and presumably some of his ofuda, paused and looked down at his armful of
exhausted partner, wide eyed. "Hisoka?"

"It’s good," Kurosaki answered, sounding quite relieved, and pulled
himself upright. "Who…?"

The newcomer smiled as Kurosaki turned to face him. "Raziel. Pleased to
meet you. They are a little overwhelming, aren’t they?"

Everyone stared at the bright wings folding back away. Hajime simply had to
pause a moment to chuckle over the irony. Tsuzuki and Kurosaki were hanging
around St. Rudolph to guard the mortals from undue celestial influence, and
here it was an angel who managed to help Kurosaki when he was incapacitated
by a crowd of mortals. Delicious.

Kurosaki blinked a few times. "How did you know…?"

Raziel shrugged casually. "I used to get like that, too, before Zaphkiel-sama
taught me how to turn down the intensity." He looked down at the match
with obvious curiosity. "And they’re pretty intense about this."

"Are you associated with any of them?" Tsuzuki asked, cautiously.

Raziel laughed. "Oh, no. I just came to see what could possibly be keeping
all of the Great Angels here. Not," he added in a dry tone, "that
is isn’t quieter with them gone."

"It was that demon that’s hanging around Kanagawa, the one that dresses
weirdly," Kurosaki supplied, clearly regaining some of his usual snap.

"Mad Hatter," Raziel sighed. "Of course it was." He paused
and eyed Tsuzuki for a long moment. "Bet he had some fun with you."

Kurosaki bristled, and Raziel waved a hand. "I don’t play those kind of
head games, don’t worry. But my organization keeps an ear out for rumors,
and you’ve been a pretty popular rumor for a while now, Tsuzuki-san."

"Mad Hatter," Tsuzuki said tightly, "is operating under some
mistaken assumptions, the first of which is that I have any interest in that
part of my blood."

Raziel grinned. "Well, you could always join us instead."

Hajime had been wondering how long it would be before someone made that suggestion.
He nudged Yuuta to keep quiet and folded his arms, watching.

"I could what?" Tsuzuki asked, after a second.

Raziel’s mouth took on an exasperated twist. "Look, a third of the demons
are angels, or at least were. And the rest are descended from angels.
Either from the Grigori who took human lovers or from the children of Lilith
and Lucifer. The angels like to make a lot of their perfect forms, but that’s
just labwork and killing off the ‘imperfect’ ones. The children of two angels
have just as much chance of being altered by their power as the children
of demons. Take it from me." The green eyes that had been cheerful were
chill now. "It’s all the same blood in the end."

Tsuzuki looked stunned, and Hajime put a hand over his eyes. "Do you honestly
mean to say it never occurred to you, Tsuzuki-san?" he asked. Surely
that particular connection was obvious to anyone who had the most passing
acquaintance with angels and demons.

Tsuzuki just blinked at him. Hajime shook his head, ruefully.

"You’re a menace to yourself," he informed Tsuzuki. "You need
a manager. I’d volunteer out of humanitarian considerations if I weren’t
already committed."

Kurosaki glared fiery death at him and edged between Hajime and Tsuzuki. Hajime
smiled his most urbane smile back and chalked up another success. What he’d
told Tsuzuki was true; Kurosaki wasn’t a challenge. He was, however, extremely
entertaining.

Raziel seemed to be trying not to laugh. "You, on the other hand, would
fit in very well somewhere else," he noted.

"Yes, I got the offer already," Hajime murmured.

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta said, at last, giving Hajime the look that meant
he wasn’t going to hang around in the cross-fire of one of Hajime’s games
for much longer.

Hajime patted his shoulder. "Of course, Yuuta-kun. Of course."

Raziel shook his head and turned back to Tsuzuki. "I’m not really joking,
though. The Third War upset the basic structure of Heaven and Hell. I’m not
truly surprised that the powerful ones who survived are looking for new sources
of influence and power. To be honest, I expect a major influx of human souls
fairly soon. If you want to come, the Anima Mundi will have a place for you
and your partner; and your spirits, too. Think about it." He smiled
at Kurosaki. "And good luck with your gift." He turned away, strolling
on through the crowd.

Hajime looked after him. "I think recruitment must be some kind of genetic
predisposition in celestials," he mused. "And Tsuzuki-san,"
he added, without looking back, "I think you, too, may need to choose
again. Or, perhaps, choose for the first time. You won’t have any peace until
you do."

"Is that your analysis of the situation?" Tsuzuki asked, quietly.

"Gratis," Hajime agreed. "Consider it repayment."

Behind him, Tsuzuki chuckled, and Hajime was hard pressed not to start when
his hair was ruffled. "Friends don’t give help expecting a return, Hajime-kun."

Hajime sniffed skeptically and did his best to ignore the amusement in Akazawa’s
face and the suspiciously pleased smile on Yuuta’s. Even Kurosaki wasn’t
glaring at him properly.

Honestly, some people just had no sense of propriety at all.

"Rumors," Tsuzuki muttered. "Information." He glanced at
Kurosaki. "Maybe I will think about it."

 

End

Compassion

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Tsuzuki said, nibbling one fingernail
in concentration.

Hajime tried not to laugh at the rather cute picture the man made.

"Because St. Rudolph isn’t participating in the tournaments any more,
all the third years are supposed to retire from the team and pay attention
to studying for exams."

Hajime nodded agreeably.

"And you and Akazawa-kun are not doing this because you feel like you
have an obligation to be good examples to Fuji-kun for as long as you really
should have been able to had fate not conspired against you in inexplicable
ways," Tsuzuki recited more or less verbatim from Hajime’s explanations.

"That’s right." Hajime crossed an ankle over his knee, watching Yuuta
practicing doubles with Kaneda. Kaneda’s natural flair for it just about
made up for Yuuta’s stubbornness.

"And how is breaking the rules a good example to him?"

Hajime snorted. Tsuzuki had a talent for asking questions like that while sounding
honestly curious. "Knowing when to abide by the rules and when to bend
them is a valuable lesson," he noted. "Not that Yuuta-kun hasn’t
learned it very well already," he added, casting a look of possessive
pride on the new team captain.

Tsuzuki gave him a cheerful smile. "For someone who hates surprises as
much as you do, Mizuki-kun, you have an odd taste for unpredictable people."

Clearly, Tsuzuki had heard the whole story of St. Rudolph’s matches against
Seigaku, and Yuuta’s insubordination. Hajime leaned back on the bench, brows
raised. "I like a challenge as much as the next person, Tsuzuki-san,"
he murmured.

Tsuzuki directed his smile out over the courts. "Why tennis?" he
asked after a minute.

Hajime was genuinely surprised, now. "What do you mean?"

Tsuzuki blinked at him innocently. "Well, I would have expected you to
chose debate or something like that. Politics, perhaps. It seems a lot closer
to what you actually like doing."

Hajime looked away, reminded sharply of Tsuzuki’s disconcerting perceptiveness.
"Where’s the fun in meeting people head-on, when they know where you’re
coming from?" he asked, lightly.

Tsuzuki’s voice gentled, and he rested a steady hand on Hajime’s shoulder.
"Just because you change your mind that doesn’t mean your life is out
of control, Mizuki-kun. You can always choose again, if your first choice
isn’t what you hoped for."

That cut too close to the bone. "Which is, of course, why you stay in
your current occupation when you dislike it so much," Hajime shot back.

"That’s because he’s a masochist," Kurosaki said, briskly, from behind
them. "Tsuzuki," he added, as if Hajime wasn’t there, "you
have a call from Watari-san."

Tsuzuki winced, suddenly looking far less piercing and far more hangdog. "I’m
on assignment, he can’t test anything on me while I’m on assignment,"
he muttered, sounding more forlorn than hopeful. He reached for the phone,
and paused, glancing back and forth between the distinctly cool look Kurosaki
was giving Hajime and Hajime’s amused smile.

Hajime folded his hands ostentatiously. "A challenge, I said, Tsuzuki-san,"
he repeated, smoothly.

The suppressed laugh in Tsuzuki’s eyes said he understood the implied comment
on Kurosaki’s straightforward nature. Tsuzuki’s hand brushed over Hajime’s
hair as he stood. "Trust yourself. You don’t need to control everything
to win," he said, softly.

Hajime bit his lip, trying not to react to the sudden shiver of warmth in his
chest. He heard Kurosaki sigh as Tsuzuki took the phone and they moved away.

"I swear, you’d pick up every stray we met if I let you…"

Hajime settled comfortably into his irritation at the insult. It was much easier
than dwelling on the ache of Tsuzuki’s unexpected sympathy.

 

End

Answers

He was, Keigo reflected, getting better at spotting the angels. It was something
in the way they held themselves, apart from any mortal excitement around
them. At a place as excited as the courts hosting Nationals, they stood out.
The one that seemed to have caught Kantoku’s attention today, though, was
a bit different from the usual run.

For one thing, he wasn’t making Kantoku’s shoulders fall in the especially
straight line that meant their coach didn’t get along with him. That was
unprecedented, to date.

For another, he looked different. Tall and solid and dark, instead of slim
and fair. All of this made Keigo curious, so when their coach turned aside
toward the new angel, Keigo waved the rest of the team on and followed. Sakaki-san
didn’t send him back, and that was as good as permission. Still, Keigo decided
it would be tactful to stay unobtrusive. He picked one of the trees lining
the walk to lean against while he watched.

Sakaki-san stopped arm’s length away from the, really, very tall angel and
bowed, expressionless. "Uriel-sama."

Keigo blinked. He’d never heard Sakaki-san offer that kind of respect to anyone.

"Israfel," Uriel said, softly. "It’s good to see you again."

Sakaki-san gave him an extremely level look, the kind of look he gave a Regular
who had just lost inexcusably. It didn’t exactly match with the way he’d
greeted this angel, and Keigo started a mental list of questions to ask his
mentor later; he could usually get answers if he picked the right time. Uriel,
though didn’t seem too taken aback by the expression, and only sighed.

"Arariel had a few things to say to me about my absence, and those injured
by it. She mentioned you."

Sakaki-san sniffed. "Did she mention herself? I won’t say I was pleased
to have the majority of my power sealed, but it was better to come to Assiah
and work than to stay in Heaven and deal with the likes of Sevothtarte."
There was little variation in his deep, even voice, but Keigo watched his
eyes and they were narrower than usual. "Humans and angels should not
be apart. We were created for each other. I had, at least, the satisfaction
of saying so to those who had forgotten their purpose."

Uriel moved a step closer, looking down at Sakaki-san soberly. "You have
a right to your anger with them; and with me as well. But you don’t regret
your exile, then?"

Sakaki lifted one brow. "I occasionally regretted the company; I was initially
directed to Aziraphale while I acquainted myself with the mortal world. But
no. I have not regretted my time here."

Uriel turned his eyes on Keigo, and Keigo was startled at how close he came
to drowning in them. Dark eyes that didn’t challenge the way Raphael’s or
Michael’s did, or mock the way Mad Hatter’s did. Perhaps he didn’t have to
ask why Sakaki-san respected this stern, quiet person.

"From the binding between you and this young man, it seems you’re thinking
of returning soon?" Uriel asked, not looking away from Keigo.

"I am."

Keigo didn’t have to be looking to tell that Sakaki-san had slow, hot fire
behind his eyes now. It was the way he got when something he wanted was in
sight.

Uriel seemed to hear it too, or heard something that made his lips quirk. "Well,
then." He turned back to Sakaki-san. "It won’t do for you to return
with less than all your power." He spread one long hand against Sakaki-san’s
chest, and wings unfolded behind him, the color of last year’s leaves. Keigo
found his fingers itching to run though that rich darkness; bad manners,
he reminded himself.

Sakaki-san’s eyes widened and his breath stopped as something crackled around
him, something Keigo thought he might have seen had he looked just from the
corner of his eye. When Sakaki-san’s wings spread in answer, Keigo saw the
something far more clearly. It wrapped around the angel who had taught him
music and tennis and excellence, like heat haze that had coaxed a rainbow
down to play with it.

"If you return to our order," Uriel said, as Keigo blinked away formless
after images, "return as yourself, Israfel." He folded his wings
and nodded a farewell that encompassed Keigo.

"Uriel-sama," Sakaki-san called. When Uriel paused and looked back,
he bowed deeply. "Thank you."

Uriel smiled.

"So," Keigo mused as he followed his coach back toward their team,
"you aren’t actually a Principality."

"Not any more."

Keigo didn’t think it was his imagination that Kantoku sounded smug.

"What is your Order, then?" he asked, when it was clear the answer
wasn’t going to be volunteered.

"The Dominions."

Keigo recalled what his research had had to say about this, and smiled. "Those
who judge and order. I suppose I might have guessed."

Kantoku slanted a glance at him. "You have something to say, Atobe-kun?"

"Not at all," Keigo replied, airily.

The future, he decided, was looking better all the time.

 

End

Baiting

The day was clear and hot, good weather for their first match at Nationals.
Renji supposed it was cosmic parity for something else to go wrong. He sighed
when he saw Hatter’s eyes brighten, as the team made their way toward their
assigned court. What had caught her attention this time? He looked in the
direction she was starting to edge in and suppressed the urge to put a hand
to his forehead. Of all the people for Hatter to decide to tease, of course
it would have to be Fuji Yuuta, and, by extension, Fuji Shuusuke.

His concerns about stirring up the opposition unnecessarily were preempted
rather abruptly, though, when two people materialized between Hatter and
the increasingly nervous younger Fuji. Not that long ago, Renji mused, that
would have startled him. "People you know, Hatter?" he asked, examining
the newcomers. A young man, probably not too much older than they were, with
very sharp green eyes and an older man with messy dark hair who probably
looked sweet most of the time.

At the moment he looked both tense and angry.

Not that this appeared to concern Hatter.

"Ah," she tapped a fingertip against her lips for a moment, "Tsuzuki
isn’t it? How nice to finally meet you in person." She eyed the St.
Rudolph contingent behind him and shrugged. "You can have them, if you
like. It’s not as if one doesn’t have one’s hands pleasantly full."

Tsuzuki now looked like he didn’t quite believe he’d just heard the very clear
sexual innuendo. His friend looked highly suspicious. And St. Rudolph’s Fuji
looked like he was considering making a run for it. Renji couldn’t quite
blame any of them. Hatter did often take people like that.

"Besides," Hatter added, thoughtfully, "One did say one wouldn’t
interfere with the games, and destroying all the courts probably counts."
She glanced at Genichirou, brows raised, and got a glare. "One thought
so. Which is the most likely outcome if we got into a tiff over the boys."

"That hasn’t stopped any other demon I’ve met," Tsuzuki said, slowly,
easing back just slightly anyway. Someone who would rather talk than fight,
Renji noted.

Hatter sniffed. "One outranks you considerably, young one, so there’s
no need to kill you for that consideration. Equally, one has no intention
of forgetting the strength of your bloodline. Sargatanas was an idiot and
got exactly what he deserved. One laughed for days when one heard."
A thin smile curled her lips. "Astaroth simply isn’t having a good century.
His lesser demons still, clearly, haven’t learned anything from their fellow’s
destruction; no forethought among them at all. Please do feel free to kill
them off. You can think of it as your contribution to the good of all our
kind, if you like." She adjusted her hat with eloquent disdain.

Renji’s attention sharpened as Tsuzuki and his friend both stiffened. "I’m
not a demon," Tsuzuki said, low and hard. His friend took a step closer
to him.

Hatter’s expression turned tolerant, the way Renji had seen it when Kurai was
around. "Far be it from one to interfere in someone else’s denial. Take
your time."

Renji was genuinely surprised that it was Mizuki who stepped forward and fixed
Hatter with a sharp gaze. "Please don’t think I don’t appreciate the
artistry of your goading," Mizuki drawled, "but is it not the case
that celestials, just as much as humans, can choose their own paths whether
for good or evil?"

Hatter laid a slim hand over her eyes. "Oh, tell one you’re not thinking
that we could only have Fallen through free will because God isn’t enough
of a bastard to have doomed a third of His own angels to that fate?"

"Oh, hardly," Mizuki assured her with wide, ingenuous eyes. "According
to Raphael-san, He was exactly that much of a bastard."

Hatter took her hand away and tipped her head. "You’ve done your research.
An advance on most demons. One doesn’t suppose…" She trailed off,
invitingly.

Tsuzuki looked indignant, while his friend looked suddenly thoughtful. The
younger one must be rather territorial, Renji decided. Both Akazawa and Yuuta
looked distinctly unsurprised.

"Thank you, but I think not," Mizuki replied, charmingly regretful.
He was clearly enjoying himself, and Renji was starting to be amused. Then
the dark eyes narrowed. "The point is that, while you may entertain
yourself by implying otherwise, Tsuzuki-san’s nature no more dictates his
actions than mine does."

Tsuzuki blinked. And relaxed. For someone as powerful as Hatter implied he
was, Renji mused, Tsuzuki didn’t seem to have put much thought into his own
strength or the presumed causes of it.

Given that, Renji wasn’t entirely surprised that it was Seiichi who answered
Mizuki. "Yes and no."

Hatter looked around, brow raised. "Seiichi, one hadn’t thought you enjoyed
these kind of games."

"I don’t," Seiichi said, dryly, laying a hand on Hatter’s shoulder,
"so hush for a moment, Belial."

Renji had to stifle a laugh. That casual command earned some stunned expressions
on the other side.

Seiichi took no notice, focused on Tsuzuki as if they were the only two present.
"Having a nature beyond the ordinary doesn’t make for an easy life,"
he said. "But denying your nature won’t do you any service in the long
run. The only way to deal with it is to claim it, to declare it. And to fight
for it."

The words passed through the Rikkai team like a tangible thread, drawing them
together. The young man’s green eyes widened and he rocked back from them
as if he could see it happening. Tsuzuki shook his head, though.

"No," he whispered.

There was kindness in Seiichi’s gaze, but no mercy. "Then it will destroy
you, and likely those close to you."

Tsuzuki flinched, and his friend shook off his surprise and stepped in front
of him, eyes blazing. "Enough!" he bit out, slashing his hand down.
His mouth, Renji noted, was tight, as if with pain.

Tsuzuki started. "Hisoka," he said, hesitantly.

"Be quiet," Hisoka snapped at him, "I’m fine. You’re not."
He turned his glare back on Seiichi. "You will stop," he stated.

"Yes," Seiichi agreed after a long, considering moment. "You
should think about it though." He turned Hatter around with him and
gestured to the team. "Come."

"You let him go pretty easily," Genichirou observed, as they walked
on.

"Mm." Seiichi glanced over. "Renji? What did you think of Hisoka?"

"I think he could tell what people were feeling," Renji said. "His
responses were too strong for someone just picking up on body language."
That, too, was an answer that might not have occurred to him a short time
ago.

Seiichi nodded. "He really wouldn’t have let me push any further. And
the seed is planted, now."

"For your second career, perhaps you should consider becoming a therapist,"
Hatter jibed, probably disgruntled that her fun had been cut short.

"If he’s going to come to us eventually," Seiichi returned, coolly,
"he should come well disposed and not insane, yes?"

Hatter’s stride hitched, and she looked at him with suddenly wide eyes. Renji
smiled. Every now and then Seiichi could still surprise Hatter by the unthinking
ease with which he acted in her support.

"So what, precisely, were they?" he asked, hoping to distract her.
Hatter liked it when Seiichi showed his cold streak, and left to her own
devices tended to express her appreciation in ways that caused bystanders
to stop and stare. It didn’t help, he reflected, that Seiichi encouraged
her if he was in a sharp enough mood.

Hatter eyed him sidelong, but consented to be distracted. "Shinigami.
You asked once," she added to Genichirou, "what usually happens
to human souls. Those two are part of the answer. Most souls pass through
either Uriel’s hands or Enma’s offices and go on, but some do stay to be
employed."

"They used to be human, then?" Yagyuu put in. "Well, mostly,"
he amended.

"Yes. Humans with strong spirits, of course, or they wouldn’t have their
current jobs." Hatter paused and looked thoughtful. "Seiichi,"
she said, slowly.

Seiichi raised his brows.

"How would you like to learn magic?" Hatter asked with a wicked smile.

Renji wasn’t the only one blinking at that.

"Um," Seiichi started.

Hatter waved a hand airily. "After Nationals, naturally."

A laugh ran through the team. "Naturally," Seiichi agreed, smiling
as they reached the court. "I’ll think about it."

 

End

Willing

It was not, Tarou reflected, unusual for Keigo to sit in the window when he
and his coach were discussing the tennis club. Tarou gave him that much latitude,
because Atobe Keigo’s willing obedience was a valuable thing. Normally, however,
he paid proper attention, no matter how he lounged.

Today he was looking out the window.

"Sensei."

Tarou arched a brow. An unusual day, indeed; Keigo didn’t often call him that
anymore.

Keigo leaned his head back against the casement with a faint thump. "Is
all this really… real?" he asked.

Ah. So that was it.

"Yukimura selling his soul to a demon," Keigo continued, tone almost
dreamy. "Tachibana practically adopting an angel. Tezuka attaching another
one. Not to mention that… person he foisted on us. And Jirou…"

Tarou sighed. He really should have expected it. Keigo was a dyed-in-the-wool
empiricist. And Hiiragizawa was hardly the sort of person to reassure an
empiricist; even when he showed his magic openly, the form of it was far
too easily attributable to hallucination. Fortunately, Tarou had an answer
for the problem. "Atobe, come away from the window," he ordered,
rising from his desk.

Keigo blinked, but slid down readily enough.

Tarou unfolded his wings. Keigo’s eyes widened and he swallowed a bit hard.
Tarou shrugged and swept his wings forward.

"You can touch them. Carefully." He needn’t have specified. Keigo
barely touched his fingertips to the leading edge before he drew back to
regain his composure. Tarou had faith in his protege’s self control, when
he chose to exercise it, and left Keigo to it, refolding his wings and seating
himself again. "Jirou does not seem to have been possessed as such,"
he supplied when Keigo had regained some color and was looking him full in
the face again. "Rather, Crowley seems to be hiding in his consciousness.
The snake has always been good at hiding."

Keigo took a deep breath and let it out, perching on one of the office chairs.
"Is this going to interfere with the games?"

Tarou almost smiled. When Keigo thought something was important, he could be
relied on to swing back to it like a compass needle. It was one of the traits
that had first recommended him to Tarou’s attention, even as a child. "I
doubt it. Not," he added, "that the others wouldn’t do it. But
the players themselves would protest. Wouldn’t they?" He gave Keigo
a significant look.

Keigo’s chin came up. "Of course."

"Well, then." Tarou folded his hands, examining Keigo. "I hadn’t
intended to mention this until you were older, but I’ve been planning to
offer you something similar."

He waited for Keigo to decide how to take that.

"Like… a contract?" Keigo asked, slowly. Tarou was pleased, though
not surprised, that he seemed wary of the idea.

"Bonds between angels and humans are rarely that structured," he
noted. "Your word and mine are sufficient."

"Why?"

A good response. Perhaps, one day, he would actually teach Keigo to curb his
impulsiveness on the court, too, Tarou reflected. It wasn’t as if the boy
couldn’t think things through when he wanted to. "When the factions
of Heaven come into conflict," he explained, "a strong will is
the most valuable weapon anyone can have. Rociel demonstrated that conclusively,
as did the Messiah in opposition to him. And while the management, as Mad
Hatter puts it, has changed, the nature of angels hasn’t. Any more than the
nature of humans."

"I see."

And he might very well see. Tarou hadn’t chosen this human for nothing. "Think
about it," he directed.

"I will," Keigo said, quietly.

When, not too long after, Keigo came to him with intent burning in his eyes,
Tarou was hard pressed not to smile smugly.

Two Great Angels, three if you counted Gabriel, plus that interfering Principality,
on Assiah, and he’d gotten his human first.

 

End

Hard to Get

Kunimitsu picked up the next in his stack of birthday cards, and smiled faintly.
This one was bound to be amusing.

Dear Buchou,

Happy 40th. Heard you passed the Park Ranger certification; congratulations.
Hope bears don’t eat you.

On that subject, finally got Sengoku to sign on, and Lucifer says mountains
no problem to add. Are you sure you won’t come?

Cheers, Echizen

Kunimitsu chuckled softly.

"Is that one from Echizen?" Uriel asked from the couch, sipping his
tea.

"His annual campaign speech, yes," Kunimitsu answered. "Do you
happen to know how he secured Sengoku for the afterlife?"

"If that’s the redhead," Uriel sighed, "Echizen seems to have
maneuvered him and Raphael into proximity at the last Australian Open. They
had quite the lively chat, from what I hear. Raphael came back smirking so
hard Barbiel made him sleep on the couch on general principles." He
shook his head. "For such a straightforward person, Echizen can be very
cunning."

Kunimitsu pulled over a sheet of writing paper. "Echizen has a very good
sense of people, once he’s had a chance to judge them on the court."

Uriel leaned back. "These people are still your friends. Are you sure
it wouldn’t be better to join him, rather than going through me?"

"If Echizen doesn’t have goals to meet, challenges to overcome, it won’t
be good for him," Kunimitsu returned, absently, as he wrote.

Echizen,

Thank you for your good wishes.

Mountains are a fine addition; they’ll make a valuable training location.
I’m sure the domain will do well, with you thinking so far ahead.

Tezuka

"Besides," he added, folding the paper, "I enjoy your company,
and you can use my help more than Echizen. In the end, I expect he’ll be
pleased that I’m next door, as it were, and not interfering with him."

"And it isn’t, after all, as if you won’t be visiting," Uriel suggested,
smiling.

Kunimitsu sipped his own tea, quite calmly. "Of course."

 

End

Cost

Tatsumi Seiichirou read the memo he had found in the middle of Tsuzuki’s desk.
Then he read it again. He put it down, carefully, and walked, calmly, down
the hall to Konoe’s office.

"I’m going to be gone this afternoon," he informed the department
head, and teleported out before Konoe could do more than blink.

"Tsuzuki, what are you doing here?"

Tsuzuki jumped and yelped with surprise as Tatsumi materialized behind him.
"Tatsumi-san! Don’t scare me like that!" he exclaimed, pressing
a hand to his chest.

Tatsumi’s eyes glinted, and Tsuzuki decided, with a sinking feeling, that Tatsumi
wasn’t in the mood to be distracted today. Fortunately, Hisoka had come up
with a good explanation and made Tsuzuki memorize it for just this eventuality.

"I’m just warding these mortals from any careless demonic or angelic influences,
so the book keeping doesn’t get messed up," Tsuzuki said, brightly.

"On your own time?" Tatsumi asked, with a mildness that didn’t reassure
Tsuzuki at all. "How responsible of you."

Tsuzuki nodded vigorously. "It seemed like a good thing to do. Preemptive
action, and all that." He smiled hopefully.

The set of Tatsumi’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. "I have been
tracking the development of this situation, Tsuzuki. Lately I’ve been considering
putting someone on it. It’s a bit out of your jurisdiction, but I suppose
if you and Hisoka-kun have already made a start it only makes sense to keep
you on it." He nodded, decisively. "All right. Consider yourself
assigned here. Submit your expense requests as usual."

Tsuzuki let out a breath of relief, thinking of the, really, very minor damages
to one of the dorm buildings, where Byakko had run into it while chasing
a tennis ball last week.

"Starting from today," Tatsumi finished.

Relief turned to resignation. "Yes, Tatsumi-san," Tsuzuki sighed.

 

End

Regarding

Most of Enma-chou’s workers, if asked, would say that Tsuzuki never knew what
was on his desk. Notices of meetings, memos about cases, budget forms, if
any of them were attended to before it was too late, it was the talk of the
department for weeks. According to the average Watari had worked out once
to settle a bet in the cafeteria, Tsuzuki was only seen actually reading
anything at his desk once every five weeks.

If asked, Tsuzuki would have pointed out, quite reasonably, that he knew exactly
what was on his desk. He found out once every five weeks, on average.

"Late anyway, late anyway, closed last week, late anyway," he muttered,
sorting through the pile of paper. "Late… hunh?"

"Is one of them actually still current?" Hisoka asked, acidly, not
looking up from filling out next month’s budget request form.

"Yes," Tsuzuki said, slowly, "but it’s not from here."

Now Hisoka looked up. "What?"

"To all demons rank of Brigadier or Duke," Tsuzuki read aloud, "from
the domain of Beelzebub. Angelic response to recent demonic acquisitions
among mortals are reaching undesirable levels. Any demons who are free are
encouraged to go, forthwith, to Assiah (e.g. Earth, the mortal realm) and
rectify this. Sec’y, Choronzon."

Hisoka was staring. "There is nothing more blind than bureaucracy,"
he declared with conviction. "They can’t possibly really think you’ll
participate."

"Well, no, of course not." Tsuzuki nibbled his lip. "But I do
kind of wonder just what’s going on."

"Not our business," Hisoka said, promptly.

"But we don’t have a case right now," Tsuzuki murmured, fingering
the memo. "We could go take a look. No harm in that."

Hisoka gave him a baleful look for a long moment before throwing up his hands.
"Fine. Fine! Don’t think you’re going without me, though. Who knows
what you’ll get involved with if you go alone."

Tsuzuki smiled at his partner, pleased that Hisoka wanted to come, too. It
would be good for Hisoka to get out more. "Of course."

"Tennis?" Hisoka said for about the sixth time. "Two
of the Great Angels, a Demon Lord, the Messiah, Gabriel’s reincarnation,
and a Principality are all here on Earth, dancing around each other, stressing
the fabric of reality, getting involved with tennis teams?"

"I’m pretty sure a lesser demon was hiding out in one of the boys, too,"
Tsuzuki added. "Some of them do have a lot of spiritual power, I suppose."
He had to admit to being just a little puzzled, himself, though. Not that
he couldn’t see the fun in watching these boys play; they were very determined
and earnest and involved. But he was fairly sure that high ranking celestials
wouldn’t be hanging around just to appreciate that.

Fairly sure. That Mad Hatter character was making him wonder.

"Maybe we should ask the Gushoushin whether this has ever happened before,"
Hisoka said, frowning. "This concentration of them on Earth can’t be
good."

"I do wonder what it might be doing to the boys, to be around this many
celestials," Tsuzuki agreed, leaning on the fence to watch the latest
team on their list. There didn’t seem to be any demons around, or angels
either, which almost surprised him. He could hear the church bells from further
down the campus. One of the boys did seem to have a touch of… something,
though. Tsuzuki squinted.

"Hisoka, can you get anything off that one?" he asked, gesturing.

Just in time for the boy to notice and take a few fast steps back, steel gray
eyes wide. A tall, dark teammate came to him and asked something. After a
short exchange involving some vigorous gestures they both approached the
watchers at the fence.

"Oh, just great," Hisoka groaned.

"I’m sorry, but we don’t allow spectators at club practices," the
dark one said, politely.

Tsuzuki smiled as brightly and soothingly as he could. "We don’t want
to be any trouble, we just wanted to check that no one was bothering your
team."

The gray eyed boy backed up a little more. "I was right, you are another
of them!" he exclaimed.

"No, no," Tsuzuki protested holding up his hands, "we’re not,
really. Exactly."

Hisoka smacked him on the shoulder. "And now you’ve confirmed that we
know exactly what he’s talking about." He gave the wary boy a direct
look. "We’re not angels or demons. Shut up, Tsuzuki,"
he added, as Tsuzuki’s innate honesty made him start to correct the technical
lie. "Our work deals with the messes they leave behind a lot, and we
just want to contain the damage this time."

The dark boy, who had listened to all this with his head tipped consideringly,
asked, "So what are you?"

"Shinigami."

Both boys edged back this time.

"We’re not here on a case," Tsuzuki hastened to add. "It’s just…
I think one of them has already touched you." He looked at the gray
eyed boy.

The boy crossed his arms. "Aniki said Hatter would stay away from me."

"Yuuta." The dark boy put a hand on his shoulder. "Fuji Shuusuke
is impressive, but setting him against a demon? This year has gotten strange
enough; if it’s affecting you we should do something."

Tsuzuki fished through his memories of the day for that name. Ah, yes, the
watchful one at Seishun Gakuen. "I’m sure your brother will do all he
can protect you. And it’s true that Seigaku has its own guardian," Tsuzuki
said, softly, "but the Mad Hatter has a reputation for power and subtlety.
Your brother doesn’t have the training to deal with that, and Raphael doesn’t
have the motivation. Celestials don’t usually get involved with humans without
an ulterior motive."

"So what, precisely, are you suggesting?" a new voice asked from
behind them. Tsuzuki turned to see a slight boy with sharp eyes watching
them.

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta greeted him.

"Yuuta-kun, Akazawa," he nodded, and turned his eyes back to Tsuzuki.
"So?"

"To keep outside influences away," Tsuzuki said, simply.

Hisoka slumped against the fence and crossed his arms. "You said it was
just to look," he reminded Tsuzuki. "Not that I believed it for
a single second, but that was what you said."

"We can’t just leave this," Tsuzuki answered firmly, knowing that
his partner didn’t genuinely disagree. Probably.

"Fine, fine." Hisoka raked a hand through his hair. "Just don’t
expect me to ask Kurikara to get involved in this. Though he’d probably laugh
too hard to manage to be insulting, for once."

Tsuzuki smiled, and reached out with the warmth of his pleasure in place of
actually touching Hisoka’s arm, which his partner hated for him to do in
public. Hisoka sniffed and gave him a sidelong look a little softer than
usual.

"I see," Mizuki murmured. "Yuuta-kun?" Yuuta blinked. "It
is your team, now," Mizuki told him, with a very significant look for
such a simple statement.

Yuuta was still for a moment before his mouth tightened. "Yes," he
agreed, not as though he enjoyed the thought right at the moment. "We
accept," he told Tsuzuki.

"Great!" Tsuzuki beamed at him.

"Right," Yuuta sighed. "Excuse me, then, I need to get back
to practice."

Tsuzuki fetched out a handful of ofuda, sorting through them, as the three
boys turned back toward the courts.

"Mizuki-san, I understand why," he heard Yuuta saying as Mizuki came
up to walk beside him, "but why them?"

"Because they seem like the most disinterested parties we’re likely to
get," Mizuki told him. "Besides, doesn’t he have lovely eyes? You
know how fond I am of purple."

"Mizuki-san!" Yuuta sputtered.

Tsuzuki decided, observing Hisoka’s suddenly edged glare at Mizuki’s back,
that it would be better for all concerned if he pretended he hadn’t heard
that.

 

End

Over the Bone

Genichirou had known it was dangerous to invite Hatter to spar with edged weapons.
He had, however, been confident that Hatter wouldn’t kill him, or even significantly
damage him. He didn’t normally like the idea of handicaps, but in the case
of a demon he’d take it.

He was coming to the irritated realization that, even restraining himself,
Hatter was fast enough to touch him.

After the third sting, he abandoned any thought of drawing Hatter out and lunged
at full speed, hoping to at least gain a little maneuvering room. There was
a sharp blow against the back of his ankle, and the next thing he knew Genichirou
was staring at the ceiling with Hatter leaning over him.

Grinning.

Genichirou glared, trying to calm his breathing.

"Thank you, Sanada-kun, that was delightful," Hatter purred.

Genichirou opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. He was not rising to
the bait this time. Hatter took his wrist and lifted his arm to examine the
shallow slice along it.

"One is actually moderately impressed," he added. "One didn’t
think you would be able to avoid so many of these." He laughed at Genichirou’s
skeptical look. "It’s true. Actually," a more considering expression,
"one hadn’t intended to cut quite so deeply." Hatter bent his head
to Genichirou’s arm and licked the blood from his skin.

Genichirou stopped breathing entirely.

It wasn’t Hatter toying with him that alarmed him; he’d had time to get used
to that. It was the shiver that the gesture dragged through him. When Hatter
knelt over his hips and leaned down to the cut across his chest, Genichirou
shuddered under the warm touch. His thoughts scattered, even as he tried
to come to grips with Hatter’s action, and his own reaction.

When Hatter’s tongue moved over the cut on his collar bone, when Hatter’s lips
closed over it to suck gently, Genichirou finally grabbed Hatter’s shoulders
and pushed him away.

"Hatter," he gasped, "stop!"

Hatter’s eyes were dazed for a moment before their usual mocking light returned.
"Of course," he murmured and stood. After a moment, Genichirou
accepted the hand Hatter held out to help him up.

"Don’t tell me demons get drunk on blood or something weird like that,"
Genichirou said, suspiciously.

Hatter laughed. "Not exactly. Though blood can be a carrier for some…
intoxicating things." He traced two fingers to either side of the cut
on Genichirou’s collar bone. "That will leave a mark."

Genichirou gave him a disgruntled look. "That’s something you like doing,
isn’t it?" he asked, a bit snidely.

"Only sometimes." Hatter stepped back against the wall and faded
into the shadows. Genichirou snorted, and started to collect his things.

It wasn’t until much later that evening that he noticed the two shallower cuts
were completely healed.

 

End

Logical Conclusion

One

"Niou," Sanada said, carefully, "are you really suggesting an…
orgy?"

Masaharu gave him a patient look. "Okay, let’s go over this one more time.
When Yukimura takes Hatter to bed, or Hatter jumps you what happens?"

Sanada looked uncomfortable. Yukimura looked sympathetic, though not repentant
in the least.

"And it isn’t any better when Hatter gets in a mood and decides on Masaharu
instead," Hiroshi added.

"Well, not for you, no," Masaharu allowed. "I don’t think Akaya
gets it quite as bad then." Akaya, despite not being able to meet anyone’s
eyes, nodded. "Anyway, the point is, since we’re all participating anyway,
why not close up the gaps in the formation?"

Marui grinned. "I’m suddenly picturing this as a new play style."

Jackal closed his eyes. "I didn’t hear that," he declared.

Yanagi frowned, thoughtfully. "Niou, do you really have any idea how much
choreography it takes with more than two people?"

"Renji!" Sanada protested.

"Genichirou," Yanagi returned, "do you have any idea
what it’s like when you’re with Hatter? I never suspected your definition
of sparring was so broad."

Sanada flushed. Yes, indeed, Masaharu reflected, it didn’t do to forget who
The Master was.

Hatter tapped on the door and leaned through. "There you all are. One
was wondering. Planning anything entertaining?"

Masaharu grinned. "Well…"

Two

Belial sank into the water until it was up to hir chin and wriggled hir toes
happily. "Whose idea was it to stage our little experiment at a hot
springs?" se asked, leaning hir head back against the edge.

"Mine," Niou supplied waving a dripping hand without opening his
eyes.

"Remind one to thank you, later," Belial sighed.

The team filtered back into the room in ones and twos and settled down, remarkably
spread out for such a relatively small space. Seiichi’s mouth quirked, and
when he noticed Marui and Akaya fidgeting nearly in unison he couldn’t help
a laugh.

"It really isn’t as difficult as all that," he admonished, coming
to stand in the center of the room. "Belial," he called, softly.

"Yes?" Belial answered behind him.

Seiichi turned, smiling, and lifted a hand to run through Belial’s bright,
wild hair. "I think it’s up to us to start." He leaned in and kissed
their demon, coaxing, and Belial swayed against him, opening hir mouth to
nip at Seiichi’s tongue. It was an easy, laughing, flirting kiss; a good
place for them all to start, Seiichi thought.

Belial shivered abruptly, and Seiichi drew back to see Genichirou standing
behind hir, sliding the robe off hir shoulders. Genichirou’s own robe was
already undone, and Belial made a small pleased noise as se leaned back against
his body.

Watching Sanada-san’s hands stroking down Hatter’s arms was making Akaya’s
breath shorten. Though not nearly as much as when Yukimura-san stepped back
from those two and turned toward him, holding out a hand.

"Akaya."

It wasn’t a command, and that might have been what made Akaya shiver. For Yukimura-san
to ask him…

Someone was standing beside him, and Akaya looked up to see Yanagi-senpai looking
down with a calm, familiar smile. "It’s all right," he said, and
moved past Akaya to where Hatter was arched back in Sanada-san’s arms, one
hand tangled in Sanada-san’s hair, dragging his head down to Hatter’s. Yanagi-senpai’s
fingers brushing along Sanada-san’s jaw lifted his head again, and they smiled
at each other. Akaya blinked to see such a light expression on Sanada-san’s
face.

Hatter laughed and twined his arms around Yanagi-senpai’s neck. Sanada-san
leaned forward to kiss Yanagi-senpai slow and deep before stepping back.
They made it look very simple. Akaya looked back at Yukimura-san and swallowed.
Yukimura-san was waiting for him.

Akaya stood, just a little shakily, and stepped forward. Yukimura-san drew
him close, folded his arms around Akaya, whispering against his ear, "It’s
all right."

Akaya nodded and tried to relax into Yukimura-san’s fingers rubbing his neck,
Yukimura-san’s mouth covering his. The closer Yukimura-san held him, the
easier it was, and when Akaya finally let himself sag against Yukimura-san’s
support he was lowered to the floor.

Trailing his fingers one last time down the curve of Hatter’s bare spine, Sanada
stepped back. Masaharu suppressed a sigh of disappointment, because those
three together made a very, very nice picture. He might not have suppressed
it quite enough, though, because Sanada spoke without turning.

"Niou."

Masaharu made an inquiring sound, lounging on an elbow, and Sanada turned his
head.

"What do you like?"

Masaharu’s eyes widened a bit, because there was a glint in Sanada’s eyes that
he’d never seen there before. A light of amusement where usually determination
ruled alone. Something about that glint suggested Sanada might already know
at least a few of the answers, and Masaharu grinned as he replied, "Power."
He wasn’t quite crazy enough to answer Danger.

Not yet.

Sanada’s lips quirked, and when Masaharu accepted the hand he held down, Sanada
pulled him up fast and hard against his body. Looked like Sanada did, indeed,
already know about the danger part of the answer. Masaharu bared his teeth,
wrapping one leg around Sanada’s hip. This promised to be interesting.

Jackal scooted over to where Hatter was curled in Yanagi’s arms, nibbling on
his shoulder. "Care to trade?" he asked, smoothing a hand down
her shoulder blade."I think Akaya needs Yanagi."

Hatter raised her head, and they all looked over at Akaya, lying spread out
and moaning helplessly under Yukimura’s hands and mouth.

"You may be right," Yanagi agreed. He pressed a kiss to Hatter’s
brow and brushed another across her lips. "Would you mind?"

"We wouldn’t want Akaya to be scared off from participating next time,"
she purred, stretching.

Yanagi laughed, and crawled the couple feet over to Akaya, sliding a hand under
his arched back and murmuring to him in a soothing tone. Hatter smiled and
leaned, bonelessly, against Jackal. He gathered her close and dropped a soft
kiss on her neck, stroking her hip and back slowly.

"You’re all so gentle with one," she sighed.

"I can not be, if you’d rather," Jackal offered, curious. "Do
you like it better rough?"

Her eyes were just a little distant, just a little blank, as she looked at
him. "One doesn’t know. One never really paid much attention to one’s
own pleasure."

Jackal sucked in a sharp breath and held her closer. "And you have to
ask why we’re gentle with you?" he asked, softly, against her blood
colored hair.

"Mm." Hatter pressed against him.

Hiroshi leaned over Marui’s shoulder. "You’re starting to drool,"
he murmured.

"Am not," Marui contradicted, not looking away from Masaharu, who
had laced one hand with Sanada’s and was sucking on Sanada’s fingers. Looking
him in the eye the whole while, of course. Hiroshi’s partner did have a talent
for provocation.

"You like to watch?" he asked.

Marui leaned back against him, grinning. "I like a lot of things."

"Hm." Hiroshi reached down and folded Marui’s robe aside, closing
a hand between his legs.

"Ah!" Marui arched, legs spreading. "Damn, you move fast!"

"You prefer slower?" Hiroshi inquired, squeezing.

Marui groaned. "Of course not."

Yagyuu laughed. Marui was Marui, whether on the court or in bed.

Masaharu moaned when Sanada’s fingers pressed into him. It was swallowed by
Sanada’s mouth.

He arched against, or maybe it was into, that rough hardness thrusting into
him bit by rocking bit. Sanada’s arm around him held him still.

He panted and shivered as Sanada’s fingers worked him open, and felt Sanada’s
lips curve against his neck.

When Sanada’s fingers slowed, Masaharu growled a little. No fair setting him
up for something hard and then not following through. Following Sanada’s
gaze, though, he had a hard time blaming him, and, in fact, couldn’t help
a little smile of proud pleasure.

Hiroshi had Marui down on his knees and elbows, head bent to the floor, while
Hiroshi’s tongue flickered over Marui’s entrance. Masaharu could tell when
Hiroshi actually thrust in by the breathless way Marui moaned. It probably
didn’t hurt that Hiroshi’s hand was between Marui’s legs, pumping him slow
and strong, but Masaharu knew from experience that Hiroshi’s tongue was enough
to hold anyone’s attention all by itself.

Hiroshi also hadn’t bothered to strip off Marui’s robe, merely lifted the hem
over Marui’s hips. Hiroshi’s own was hanging open. They made an incredibly
wanton picture, and Masaharu rubbed his hips against Sanada’s just watching.
Sanada’s fingers curled, inside him, and Masaharu gasped.

At first he thought the wash of tingling heat was just from that, but it kept
going, and he looked again to see Marui coming in long, hard shudders under
Hiroshi’s hands. Sanada’s hold on him tightened enough to drive his breath
out, if he’d had any left.

Jackal caught his breath against Hatter’s mouth, and she melted against him
with a long, low sound of pleasure in her throat.

Akaya tensed, where he knelt over Yanagi-senpai’s folded legs, felt Yanagi-senpai’s
hands on his back dig in, felt Yukimura-san’s fingers inside him twist sharply,
felt Yukimura-san’s teeth close on his neck. He buried a trembling moan in
Yanagi-san’s shoulder as fire plucked at his nerves.

Hiroshi had never come just from bringing his partner off before, but he was
very close to it now, as Marui relaxed in his hands.

"Wow," Marui mumbled, pillowing his cheek on his folded arms.

"Very," Masaharu agreed, flexing his body against Sanada’s. "So
what are you waiting for, Sanada?"

"An invitation," Sanada answered, showing his teeth.

Masaharu was moderately impressed with how quickly he found himself naked and
on his knees, with his back pressed against Sanada’s chest. "Don’t get
to be this aggressive very often?" he suggested, slyly.

"Depends on what mood everyone’s in," Sanada returned, and nibbled
on Masaharu’s earlobe.

Good instincts, Masaharu reflected, sagging back against Sanada’s support.
Though he couldn’t help laughing when Hiroshi fished a tube out of his robe
and tossed it over. His partner always planned ahead.

The feeling of Sanada pushing into him, opening him long and slow left him
open mouthed and breathless.

He did make a strangled sound when Marui, with a grin, squirmed around in front
of him and closed his mouth firmly around Masaharu’s cock.

Hiroshi chuckled. Masaharu was trying to flex forward and Sanada’s hold wasn’t
letting him. Which was not to say Sanada was going slowly, now he had Masaharu
where he wanted him. His partner was in good hands, Hiroshi decided. Very
good hands, if the surge of fever heat running through Hiroshi was any indication.

He glanced over at Yukimura and Yanagi, who were going slowly with
Akaya, and probably just as well. He could see from here that Akaya was shaking
just a little, in Yukimura’s arms, as Yanagi rocked into him slow and careful.
Or possibly he was shaking because of the way Yukimura was kissing him. Hiroshi
suspected that Yukimura had it in him to be an utterly overwhelming lover.
He looked forward to finding out.

For now, though, he thought the hunger in Jackal’s eyes was stronger than his
curiosity.

Jackal raised his brows as Yagyuu edged over to them and wound an arm around
Hatter.

"You want to go to Yukimura," Yagyuu noted. "Hatter and I will
be fine."

Hatter looked him up and down, eyes bright and languid. "Are you quite
sure of that?" she purred.

Yagyuu smiled at her, his usual small, calm smile, made a bit disconcerting
by the sharp, ice colored eyes that emerged as he folded his glasses. "Reasonably."

Hatter laughed, twining around him, and Jackal shrugged. Yagyuu was right,
after all. He slipped up behind Yukimura and stroked a questioning hand down
his back. Yukimura lifted his head from marking Akaya’s neck and glanced
back, smiling welcome.

He made a soft, enticing sound in his throat when Jackal pressed wet, open
mouthed kisses down his ribs and over his hip. When Jackal slipped around
him to continue between his legs, though, Yukimura’s moan was full voiced,
and Jackal liked that even better.

Hiroshi let Belial bear him down to the floor, cradling hir body with his.
He’d been half expecting hir to want to turn the tables some time soon, and
tipped his head back easily when se nipped at his throat. The strong, slim
back under his hands curved sensuously as Belial pressed against him, and
the lines of hir against his palms were one more source of enjoyment.

Se arched over him, caging him under hir body, laughing, and Hiroshi laughed
with hir. He reached up, sliding his hands over hir chest, ribs, thighs,
taking in the texture of hir. He had no trouble believing this was the one
who had seduced whole cities.

"Yours," he murmured, brushing his fingertips over hir lips, and
Belial leaned down to him, eyes heavy with pleasure.

Genichirou had positioned himself where he could see all of the others, though
it had gotten a little difficult to concentrate on anything but the flex
of Niou’s body against his and the hardness of Niou’s thighs spread over
his. Niou’s wildness teased Genichirou to be harder, rougher than he usually
was. Genichirou was careful of his strength, unless he truly lost his temper.
Niou…

Niou wasn’t careful.

Genichirou made a harsh sound into pale, tangled hair as Niou drove back against
him, skin sliding against hot skin.

Belial gasped against Yagyuu’s mouth as his fingers stroked, lightly, between
hir legs. Seiichi must have been telling hir secrets, se decided. Yagyuu
wasn’t hesitant enough to have been ignorant of Belial’s body beforehand.
Few people had ever bothered to discover, or been allowed to discover, that,
just because the nerves weren’t in either of the two standard arrangements,
didn’t mean their density or sensitivity was any less. And Seiichi was the
only one of those people nearby.

Or, for that matter, still alive.

Se moaned softly as Yagyuu slid down hir body and his tongue followed the path
of his fingers. It felt good; hot and smooth, with a bright shiver to the
sensations that fluttered through hir. Good enough that Belial was panting
for breath.

Seiichi had definitely been telling.

"Yours," Hiroshi whispered to hir again, "so relax for me."

Or perhaps they just all thought alike.

It was true, though. They were hirs, and the liquid echo of their pleasure
in hir body was the proof of it. So Belial did relax, letting Hiroshi tease
hir nerves and feed hir desire until se felt like fire was dancing over hir
skin.

And then under hir skin.

And then Belial was arching into Hiroshi’s hands as ripples of pleasure washed
through hir, hot and sleek and brilliant.

Marui tossed his head back with a shiver, drawing away from Masaharu, and Masaharu
might have protested that, except that the humming tingle of other people’s
sensations suddenly had an edge. The first wringing heat was already clamping
down on him when Sanada surged forward, thrusting into him fast and hard,
and Masaharu lost track of the world outside his skin for a while.

Renji sucked in a sharp breath as someone else’s climax crested through him,
jerking his hips up, wringing a desperate sound from Akaya. Renji’s hand,
which had been clasped loosely around Jackal’s cock, tightened and Jackal
bucked into it with a low, vibrant moan. Seiichi shivered and tensed, trying,
Renji knew, not to thrust into Jackal’s mouth, but he was swept along, too.
His teeth against Akaya’s throat made Akaya start, body tightening around
Renji. And then again. And again. And Renji closed his eyes and let the heat
drag him out of himself.

When Seiichi recovered enough breath and wits to untangle himself a bit, Belial
promptly twined hirself around him. Purring. The content little humming noises
in hir throat made Seiichi chuckle.

"One knew you were a good idea," Belial murmured.

"Have to agree with you there," Niou yawned from where he was lying
with his head on Yagyuu’s stomach.

"Mmm," Akaya put in, sounding a bit dazed.

"You didn’t break him, did you?" Belial asked, eyeing Akaya. He revived
enough to give hir a dirty look.

"Don’t be silly," Marui yawned. "Just because Akaya was the
only virgin here…"

Akaya made to get up, probably to go strangle Marui, only to pause with a wince
and a dubious look.

"Asprin first," Renji told him, amusement lurking behind his practical
tone, "and then a hot soak. Retribution later."

Belial collapsed on the floor, in the middle of them all, laughing. "You
were all a good idea," se declared, looking immensely pleased.

 

Three

It was pure luck, really. Akaya happened to be the only one in the room when
Genichirou woke from his nap. And Genichirou happened to be looking in the
right direction to notice the covert glance Akaya gave his bare skin, and
the faint flush that followed.

He did find it amusing that Akaya was still shy after the last forty-eight
hours.

Genichirou considered his immediate urge to invite Akaya over to have a closer
look. He had certainly had his own inhibitions lowered in that time period,
hadn’t he? But, after all, he and Akaya had not had, as Niou insisted on
putting it, quality time together yet. Now seemed like
a good time. "Akaya," he called, low-voiced, and held out a hand
when Akaya looked sidelong at him.

Akaya was still for a long moment before he rose and approached. His eyes were
wary, but also brightening, the way they did when he played practice matches
against Genichirou. Especially matches that got just a little serious. The
brightness pleased Genichirou, but the wariness made him sigh, silently.
Seiichi had told him he would have to address that sooner or later. And while
he’d managed to side-step the issue until now, Genichirou didn’t much like
the idea of a bedmate being afraid of him.

Nor did he deceive himself that this retreat would be a one time thing, not
with Hatter, Niou and Seiichi all involved.

So Genichirou drew Akaya down and gathered him close, the way he held Renji
or Seiichi when they were upset or troubled. He almost winced at the stiff
surprise in Akaya’s body. Genichirou stroked his neck and back, seeking to
quiet him, and slowly Akaya relaxed. Bit by bit the tension in him uncoiled
and he leaned more heavily against Genichirou’s chest until, at last, he
rested his head on Genichirou’s shoulder with a faint half laugh.

"Sanada-san," Akaya said, breath warm against Genichirou’s neck,
"I know."

"Hm?" Genichirou inquired.

Akaya ducked his head down a little further. "I know. When I lost to Fuji
and you let me go… I knew then. It’s all right."

Genichirou was slightly shamed by Akaya’s ready forgiveness. "Thank you,
Akaya."

"Mm." Akaya ran his fingertips down Genichirou’s chest, not looking
up.

The shy touch reminded Genichirou of his initial intention, and he set a hand
under Akaya’s chin to lift his head. Akaya caught his breath under Genichirou’s
kiss, pressing against him. Akaya was tense again, in a different way, now,
and he shivered as Genichirou eased the robe off of him. Genichirou was pleased
with this responsiveness, but for this first time between them he didn’t
want tension of any kind. He wanted to reassure Akaya. Wanted Akaya to feel
safe enough to answer him properly. So instead of pushing Akaya down on the
sheets, he leaned back and drew Akaya along to lie over him.

Akaya made a small, surprised noise and wriggled a bit to get comfortable.
And then he paused and stretched more slowly, eyes drifting half shut as
their bodies pressed together, lean and hard and warm. Genichirou chuckled
and wound his fingers into Akaya’s hair, guiding him down to be kissed again.
He swept a palm, slowly, up and down Akaya’s back, over his shoulders; Akaya’s
legs tightened against Genichirou’s hips when he rubbed his thumb, gently,
over a nipple. When Genichirou slid both hands down to knead Akaya’s thighs
and rear, Akaya turned into a boneless sprawl and Genichirou had to laugh.

"You like that?" he murmured.

"Mmm," Akaya agreed against his neck.

"Good." Now Akaya was closer to where Genichirou wanted him; lax
and pliant and ready to be pleasured. Genichirou fished briefly in the tangled
sheets for the bottle of oil someone had dropped there. That addition to
his touch drew some interesting noises from Akaya, half gasps and little
murmurs caught short. The murmurs turned to genuine moans as Genichirou’s
fingers spread Akaya open and massaged his entrance. Akaya wouldn’t stop
moving, now, tiny twists and stretches that brushed his skin silkily over
Genichirou’s until Genichirou had a hard time remembering to go slowly.

When he finally pressed his fingers into Akaya, Akaya released a long breath.
"Sanada-san," he whispered, soft and rough. The sound of it was
enough to make Genichirou rock his hips up against Akaya’s as his fingers
thrust deeper. This time the sound Akaya made had no words.

Genichirou didn’t think Akaya noticed at all when the door slid open. He, however,
was well placed to meet Seiichi’s eyes as they widened and then gleamed with
a reflection of Seiichi’s sudden, considering smile. Genichirou’s lips twitched.
Seiichi wanted to join the fun, hm? He didn’t think Akaya would object; Genichirou
knew he didn’t.

Genichirou raised his knees and spread his legs, inviting Seiichi. Akaya gasped
as Genichirou’s legs pressed his own wider apart, shivered as Genichirou
withdrew his fingers with a final, firm caress.

"Have you been wondering what it would be like to have Seiichi inside
you, Akaya?" he asked, keeping one eye on Seiichi’s amused expression
as he came and knelt, silently, between Genichirou’s legs.

Akaya shuddered. "Yukimura-san… he… yes," he stammered, tucking
his head down deeper against Genichirou’s shoulder.

"You have good instincts," Genichirou noted, dryly. "He can
be rather intense. It helps to have someone else there. Someone else to hold
you."

Akaya stilled. "Yukimura-san?" he asked, very softly, after a moment.

"Yes," Seiichi answered, laying his hands gently on Akaya’s back.
"I can leave the two of you alone, if you’d rather, Akaya."

Akaya shook his head quickly, though Genichirou could feel that his face was
hot. He pressed against Genichirou, breathing fast, and Genichirou closed
his arms around Akaya, anchoring him. He waited for Akaya to relax against
him again and nodded to Seiichi. Seiichi shed his robe and settled between
Genichirou’s spread thighs. He took in a sharp breath as Genichirou reached
down to slide an oiled hand down his hardening erection until Seiichi laughed
and caught his wrist.

Genichirou smoothed his hands over Akaya’s rear, spreading him open again,
and Seiichi leaned down to place a soft kiss at the small of Akaya’s back.

"Ready?"

"Ready?"

Yukimura-san’s voice was gentle, as reassuring as the firm touch of Sanada-san’s
hands and body. Akaya managed to vocalize a "Yes," albeit a shaky
one. Not that he was reluctant at all; he didn’t think he’d ever been more
ready for anything in his life. The careful strength of Sanada-san’s hands
had nearly dissolved him into warm, slack pleasure. And now the steady pressure
of Yukimura-san sliding into him, opening him, pressing him harder against
Sanada-san’s body, nearly stopped his breath. By the time Yukimura-san drew
back and pressed in again, slow and even and unstoppable, Akaya was panting
in quick gasps.

"Easy, Akaya," Yukimura-san whispered to him, still moving with that
unbearably even rhythm.

Akaya bit his lip. "Yukimura-san…"

Sanada-san’s hands slid down his thighs, squeezing tension out of them, and
Akaya’s voice broke as his control washed away, again, under those hands.
"Harder, Seiichi," Sanada-san said, voice husky. "Give him
something to hold on to; Akaya won’t break."

Akaya’s next breath was almost a sob of relief as Yukimura-san’s rhythm turned
sharper, more powerful. He was moving now, too, hips flexing against Sanada-san
and the solid heat of Sanada-san’s body between his legs steadied him. The
sensation flickering through him was raw, though, and the touches against
him, inside him, were insistent. Demanding as the sparks flashing down Akaya’s
nerves. It wasn’t long at all before shuddering heat raced up him, overtook
him. He felt like it might have drowned him except for the two bodies pressing
him between them. Held by their strength, Akaya jerked wildly with the bursts
of pleasure, let Sanada-san’s mouth muffle the sounds he was making, let
Yukimura-san’s weight pin him down until his muscles went slack and liquid.

He could barely moan at the hot, rough feeling of Yukimura-san thrusting against
his body’s lingering tightness. He did manage a small murmur when Yukimura-san’s
forehead finally came to rest between Akaya’s shoulder blades, one hand stroking
Akaya’s side as if to soothe.

It took him a little while to remember that they should not, really, be done
yet.

"Sanada-san?" he asked, a little hoarse, lifting his head.

"You can move again already?" Sanada-san asked, sounding both amused
and just a bit strained. "I’m impressed."

"Well," Yukimura-san said, voice suddenly silky in a way that made
Akaya shiver, "if Akaya is recovered enough to move a little, we can
see about making you more than just impressed."

Sanada-san’s smile showed his teeth.

"Wait." Akaya glanced down at Sanada-san, hesitantly. "Would
it… is it all right if… um."

Sanada-san looked up at him, questioning. "Akaya?"

"What you started," Akaya said, softly, "would you… finish
it?"

Sanada-san’s brows rose.

"Akaya," Yukimura-san said, winding his arms around Akaya’s shoulders,
"if we do that you’ll be very sore after."

"I’ll be all right," Akaya insisted. "I just… I want…"
He bit his lip.

Sanada-san’s thumb tracing over his mouth coaxed him to stop. He drew Akaya
down and kissed him until the tension Akaya hadn’t noticed left his shoulders
again, chased away by the wet heat of Sanada-san’s mouth. "If you like,"
Sanada-san agreed.

"Yes," Akaya breathed, and then, as an afterthought, added, "Please."

Sanada-san’s lips curled up. "I very much do," he said, voice deeper
than usual.

Yukimura-san was laughing as he pulled Akaya up to lean back against his chest.
Akaya let his head fall back on Yukimura-san’s shoulder, reminding himself
to relax, as Yukimura-san’s hands guided Sanada-san against Akaya. Into Akaya.
Stretching him open again, and it did ache a little but Akaya didn’t care.
He’d been right. It felt good when Sanada-san rolled his hips up, thrusting
deep into Akaya. Even without the urgency of orgasm pushing at him, it felt
good to be opened. Filled. Fucked slowly, and he could see in the line of
Sanada-san’s mouth that he was fighting to be slow, to be careful.

Yukimura-san seemed to have other ideas. "Doesn’t he feel good inside
you?" he whispered in Akaya’s ear. "Do you like the stretch when
he slides into you? The hardness of him?" Akaya shuddered. Oh, yes.
He did like it. He thought, fuzzily, that the hot tingle of Sanada-san’s
pleasure in Akaya’s own body helped; but he’d like this even without it.
"Doesn’t he feel good, Genichirou?" Yukimura-san asked Sanada-san
in turn, and Akaya could hear the smile in his voice, could almost feel it
in the hand Yukimura-san slid down Akaya’s chest. "Hot and taut and
yielding. So willing."

Akaya’s breath stuttered. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound so sultry.
So suggestive. Eyes wide, he saw Sanada-san swallow hard, felt his hands
tighten on Akaya’s hips, felt him drive up harder. And then Sanada-san’s
rhythm broke into short, quick thrusts, and Akaya groaned with him.

This time, Akaya really did collapse completely, and was entirely content to
let Yukimura-san and Sanada-san arrange him in between them on the futon.

"You’ve gotten your way all around, haven’t you Seiichi?" Sanada-san
noted as he leaned over to collect a kiss from Yukimura-san.

"Have I?" Yukimura-san asked, lightly.

Sanada-san snorted. "This," he ran a hand over Akaya’s shoulder,
"is how you’ve always regarded our team, isn’t it? As devoted as any
lover. And now you’ve charmed the rest of us to your way of thinking."

"It is pleasant that it worked out that way," Yukimura-san admitted,
curling an arm around Akaya’s waist. "Are you sure you’re all right,
Akaya?" he added, as Akaya shifted a bit.

"I’m fine," Akaya said, quickly.

Yukimura-san’s hold tightened. "Akaya." His voice in Akaya’s ear
was soft, but edged with unmistakable command.

"All right, a little sore, but I really am fine," Akaya insisted.

"Hm." Sanada-san combed Akaya’s hair back with his fingers. "Why
are you blushing then?" he asked.

Akaya growled. He hated his complexion, he really did. He burrowed, grumpily,
into the tangle of covers. "I wanted to make sure," he muttered.
"I did. It’s fine."

There was a little rustling over his head, and then Yukimura-san pressed a
kiss to his shoulder. "I’ll be right back."

"Make sure of what?" Sanada-san asked, as Yukimura-san’s footsteps
receded.

Akaya turned one eye up to him. Sanada-san looked curious; he also looked unusually
patient. Akaya sighed. He was almost as bad at resisting Sanada-san, when
he was calm, as at resisting Yukimura-san any time. "Sure of what it
was I liked," he supplied. "I liked it when… one of you was…
inside me." He hunched his shoulders in a tiny shrug.

Sanada-san pulled Akaya to him and held him tight enough to drive his breath
out. "Good," he said, definitely. The heat and velvet in his voice
were enough to compensate Akaya for the embarrassment of saying it out loud.
"I know what you mean, though," Sanada-san added, relaxing his
hold.

Akaya looked up at him, surprised. "You do?"

Sanada-san gave him an ironic look. "Yes, I do."

"Oh." Akaya settled down in his arms, smiling a little.

"Here," Yukimura-san said, coming back to their side, "turn
over for a minute, Akaya."

Akaya started and then sighed at the cool damp of the cloth Yukimura-san stroked
him with. Maybe, he decided, Hatter was right and all this really was a good
idea.

 

End

History Lesson

"So?" Renji asked, as Genichirou and Seiichi returned to the courts.
"How did the drawing go?"

"We’re on the same side of the chart as Seigaku," Seiichi answered
with a small smile.

Renji chuckled. "Well, then."

Genichirou made a disgruntled sound. "Tezuka cornered me to ask if we
were sure we knew what we were doing, getting mixed up with a demon, especially
this one." He glanced at Hatter. "I can’t imagine how you got such
a reputation."

"No, you probably can’t," Hatter murmured, looking away. Renji sighed.
She’d been in a distant and cryptic mood all day.

Seiichi frowned and touched her shoulder. "Belial?"

"One is not kind," she said, very precisely, without looking around.
"Nor benign. One has corrupted lives and souls and cities. Most recently,
one provoked the Host to attack an ally and caused the destruction of Kurai’s
kingdom and people. One led Kurai herself into a marriage that would have
sacrificed her life, by lying to her at nearly every turn. You should remember
this."

Seiichi was silent for a long moment. "There must be some reason Kurai-san
has forgiven you."

"She is a queen and a demon," Hatter answered, coolly. "She
understands expedience." Her hands were clasped hard enough to whiten
the knuckles, Renji noted. "Our lord was gone," Hatter added, far
more quietly. "One did what was necessary to preserve Hell. Whatever
was necessary"

Renji was not entirely surprised to see Genichirou pause, arrested.

"Yes," Genichirou said, at last. Hatter glanced at him. "I understand.
We won’t forget."

Hatter looked at him, head to one side. Finally she nodded.

Genichirou crossed his arms. "Watching tennis isn’t about to calm you
down, today, is it? Come on." He turned away and then looked back over
his shoulder. "Live blades, if you want."

For the first time that day, Hatter smiled.

 

End

Mother Hen

"Ooishi-kun!"

Shuichirou looked around, surprised. Raphael didn’t often have much to say
during practice. Well, not to the team. He seemed to find a good deal to
say to Ryuuzaki-sensei, and whatever it was made her laugh quite a lot. Shuichirou
hadn’t asked.

Now, however, Raphael was beckoning to him.

"Come here a moment, Ooishi-kun."

"Me?" They had all seen enough to be just a touch wary of Raphael’s
whims.

Ice blue eyes narrowed. "Yes, you." Raphael snorted. "What is
it with you warrior types that you never want to actually talk to a physician
before it’s a crisis? Come here," pointing to the space in
front of him, "and let me look at your wrist. You’ve been favoring it
all day."

Shuichirou cast a reflexive glance at Tezuka. Tezuka looked back, very pointedly
not wearing an expression of smug satisfaction. Shuichirou sighed.

"Coming."

 

End

Post-Game

"Hah!" Michael took his opportunity, as the teams filtered past each
other on the way out of the stadium, to taunt Mad Hatter. "Told you
we’d kick your asses."

Ryouma stopped to watch, Fuji-senpai and his brother pausing beside him.

Hatter looked Michael up and down with a glint in his eye. "Technically,
in fact, you have not."

"Hiding behind technicalities, now, huh?" Michael was obviously enjoying
himself a great deal. Tachibana-san was rubbing his forehead, though his
small smile said he wasn’t as exasperated as he tried to sound.

"Michael-kun…"

"What?" Michael grinned. "It’s true."

Hatter flexed fingers that were suddenly full of… playing cards? Ryouma frowned,
puzzled. Yukimura-san, though, made a fast snatch for Hatter’s wrist. Hatter
gave him a deeply disappointed look.

Yukimura-san shook his head. "I’m pleased with the performance of my team,
Hatter-san. If the results don’t entirely satisfy us, then we’ll have to
make sure they come out differently next time. It’s well."

Hatter sighed, and the cards vanished. Ryouma was really starting to wonder
how he did that.

Michael’s brows were nearly in his hair. "Never thought I’d see the day
you had two masters, Hatter."

One corner of Hatter’s mouth lifted in something that was not a smile, and
he turned slowly back to face Michael.

"I wouldn’t borrow too heavily on reflected glory if I were you, Michael,"
Lucifer said from behind the smirking angel.

Michael whirled with a snarl. "You looking for another fight right now?!"

Lucifer lifted a brow, the curl of his mouth far more amused than Hatter’s
had been. "If you like. Little brother." Four black wings swept
open behind him.

Ryouma sighed. This would have been the perfect opportunity for Lucifer to
take his advice. Oh, well.

Michael tensed up even more, and his wings unfolded, too. Fire licked around
him.

"How… tense. Brothers, hm?" Fuji-senpai stirred beside him, looking
speculatively at the two. His step forward, however, was checked by Yuuta’s
very tight grip on his arm.

"Aniki, you’re not allowed to get yourself killed before I beat you at
tennis," Yuuta stated, not taking his eyes off Lucifer and Michael.
"So don’t suggest what you’re about to suggest, okay?"

"You have to admit, it works," Fuji-senpai said, reasonably. But
also quietly.

It looked like they had noticed anyway. Lucifer looked from Fuji-senpai and
Yuuta back to Michael, and laughed softly.

Michael’s jaw dropped. "You… what… what the fuck?!"

"Hm." Lucifer took a long step towards him and cupped the side of
Michael’s face with one hand.

Michael vanished in a skyward flash of wings and sputtered swearing. Lucifer
calmly folded his wings back in.

"Excellent suggestion," he murmured, glancing sidelong at Fuji-senpai.
"I can see why you like this one, butterfly."

Hatter smirked, leaning against Yukimura-san, and Fuji-senpai looked like he
was considering whether to take that as a compliment or not. Tachibana-san,
on the other hand, had his arms crossed and was looking disapproving.

"That was unnecessary, Lucifer-san," he said, quietly.

Lucifer tilted his head, examining Fudoumine’s captain. "Perhaps. But
if he truly wanted to fight me again, he could have done it by now."
He turned and walked away, merging into the crowd just as a blond man and
woman fought their way out of it to congratulate Tachibana.

Ryouma shook his head, sparing a moment to be glad Seigaku’s angel didn’t have
as many Issues as the rest of them. Maybe he should add some psychologists
to The Plan.

 

End

The Sound of Music

Belial really couldn’t help but find it entertaining that Genichirou complained
about Hell’s demons not being serious enough in their work.

"I mean, really," Genichirou was currently holding forth, "this
is ridiculous, what am I doing here? I’m in the wrong story!"

He stopped dead and tried very hard to stare at his own mouth. Belial sat up,
blinking.

"Was Sanada… just… singing?" Masaharu asked, slowly.

"Yes," Renji answered, not as if he quite believed it himself.

"Ah," Belial sighed. "One believes one knows what the problem
is. Just a moment." Se threw a card to one side where it impaled a
grinning demon in an extremely tacky red suit. "One thought you had
been taken care of by that charmingly confused blond girl," se murmured.

"That was… a spell?" Genichirou asked, still a bit pale.

"Lesson sixty-two about living in Hell," Belial told them all. "Never
accept jewelry from demons."

 

End

Revenge

Gabriel knew she probably shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t becoming for one
of the Great Angels to curse a human out of pure spite. But she couldn’t
quite help the warm glow of vengeful satisfaction as she completed the last
flourish on the malediction. She’d been having a bad day. Actually, she’d
been having a bad century. Heaven was in complete uproar and disarray, Sevothtarte
was gaining more power every day, and Gabriel had a bad feeling that she
was the White Bastard’s next target.

So she really hadn’t been in any mood to be forgiving when a human male had
sidled up behind her and squeezed her breasts. And then stood there with
a considering look, as if he were evaluating the merits of this or that loaf
of bread, before declaring her "nice" and asking if she wanted
to take a ride with him. The leer had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t
talking about cars.

And since she had been down in Assiah covertly, she couldn’t obliterate him
on the spot, which only added insult to injury.

"Gabriel-sama?" Arariel leaned around the doorway, and raised her
brows at the seal Gabriel had just completed. "Um. Someone due for a
little divine punishment?"

"Eminently," Gabriel said, between her teeth.

Arariel took a few cautious steps into the room. "Isn’t it a little unkind
to take it out on an unborn, though?"

Gabriel smiled more genuinely. "He’ll be fine with the boys. It’s just
girls that he won’t have any skills at all with. The child shouldn’t have
a problem; it’s his father that will have fifty fits." She directed
her smile down at the completed curse.

Arariel put a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Feel better, now Gabriel-sama?"

Gabriel laughed.

 

End

Sealed With A Kiss

Seiichi remembered when Belial had set the seal of their contract.

Marui leaned back against the sheets.

Masaharu gazed up into blue eyes that burned in the darkness.

Akaya bit his lip as Hatter’s fingers brushed over his cheek.

Hiroshi was silent as Hatter delicately moved his shirt aside.

Renji gasped at the coolness of Hatter’s hands sliding cloth down from his
hip.

Jackal took a deep breath at Hatter’s teasing whisper to relax.

Genichirou bit back a moan at the burning heat of lips against his skin.

And it was done.

 

End

A Demon and Hir Boy

"You… you… you ate Tash!" Jadis declared, pointing a
shaking finger at Akaya. Or, possibly, at the cloud of smoke in front of
him that had, until very recently, been one of Jadis’ inferior demons.

"Yeah?" Akaya raised his brows and flexed his fingers. "And?"

Belial laughed. This was the most fun se had had in centuries, and learning
that Akaya had managed to absorb the demon who tried to possess him was the
icing on the cake. "Indeed. And one suspects that he’ll do something
even worse to you if you don’t make yourself scarce and stop trying to assert
spurious claims of loyalty. After all," se smiled, wickedly, "he
isn’t a tame human."

Akaya gave hir a pleased look as Jadis scuttled off. "This is fun."

Belial tucked a hand around his arm as they strolled on. "Isn’t it?"

 

End

The Dotted Line

"Absolutely no interfering in the games in any way, shape or form, or
the whole deal’s off," Sanada declared, firmly.

Belial leaned hir chin in hir hand. "Doesn’t that conflict with the clause
about injury-proofing, though?"

"Injury repair, not prevention, Hatter," Yanagi put in. "I have
to agree on this; what happens on the court happens. The aftermath is the
only place we can, in conscience, accept your help."

"One doesn’t believe one has ever contracted with anyone particularly
worried about conscience before," Belial observed. "It makes things
far more complicated. Are you sure you can’t do without it?"

"Belial." Seiichi’s hands fell on hir shoulders. "Don’t think
I’m going to let you pretend like that while you’re negotiating with my team."
He paused, hands tightening. "For everyone’s sake."

Belial declined to answer directly and heaved a put-upon sigh. "Fine,
fine. What’s next, then?"

"I don’t suppose we could do a kind of floating assistance clause?"
Masaharu asked with a dreamy look. "A monthly mayhem quota? We could
collaborate."

"No!" Sanada, Jackal and Seiichi said at the same time.

Belial laughed. "Why don’t we keep that a personal matter between friends?"
se suggested, patting Masaharu’s hand.

"Demons have friends?" Kirihara asked. He twisted around in his chair,
crossing and uncrossing his arms.

Belial eyed his fidgeting. "Yes they do. Sometimes. And, in answer to
your real question, when it happens it supercedes all sorts of contracts,
including any previous allegiance of your theoretical possessor. You’re Seiichi’s
first and one’s own second, and, believe one, that will protect you from
anyone else."

Kirihara snorted, trying not to look reassured. "So what happens with
this," he jerked his chin at the contract, "when we play against
each other?" His eyes fixed on Seiichi and Sanada.

"Another good argument for Hatter-san to stay out of it on the court itself,"
Jackal said, reasonably. "And you have to admit, Akaya, it will be a
relief to have this kind of support. If we don’t have to spend all our time
worrying about getting a sponsor, or washing out from some stupid little
injury, we can concentrate on playing our best. Against anyone."

Belial smiled fondly on Jackal. He was the serious type who was normally exasperated
by hir, but they could appreciate each other’s practicality.

"As if I would need help," Marui put in blowing a complacent bubble.

Belial raised hir brows. "Might one ask why you’re taking part in these
negotiations, then?" Se actually was rather curious. Marui and Jackal
were the two se had least expected to agree, and while se had a better understanding
of Jackal’s motives, by now, Marui’s were still rather a mystery.

Marui shrugged. "It’s the team. The team, you understand? I think
this is the only time we’ll ever find anything this close. This important.
I don’t like the thought of leaving that behind."

Belial was silent as the eight mortals smiled or stilled or reached out to
one another, each according to his way. Se fought down a shiver as Seiichi
turned his eyes on hir, folding hir into that closeness as well.

"Very well. If that’s everything, then I’ll be around later to seal the
contract with each individual." Se ignored the sudden quirk of Seiichi’s
lips as he gathered his people up and herded them out.

"I’m impressed you came up with such a detailed document, Yanagi,"
Yagyuu mentioned, as the team left. "It covered some contingencies I
hadn’t thought of."

"Oh, it’s based on a standard manager’s contract," Yanagi said, as
the door closed.

Belial leaned back in hir chair and laughed. Eternity was looking more interesting
every day.

 

End

In the Family

"Aniki, couldn’t you have gotten Saeki-san to practice with you?"
Yuuta asked.

The complaint was for form’s sake, and his brother’s smile said that he knew
it perfectly well. Still. Their… reconciliation… was new enough that
Yuuta would have preferred some time away from potential irritants and interruptions.

"Ah, Fuji-kun, what marvelous timing you have. One was hoping to introduce
you."

Interruptions like that. Yuuta sighed, resigned, and then had to take a second
look at the person who had hailed his brother. He didn’t think he’d ever
seen anyone dressed quite that flamboyantly outside a festival. Or, possibly,
a circus. He was busy enough looking at the top hat that it took him a few
moments to notice that his brother had paused beside the strange person,
and was now standing on Yuuta’s other side.

Between him and the strangers. Yuuta took a closer look.

There were, in fact, three of them. The other two looked far more normal. A
young man and woman, both blond and looking alike enough they had to be related.
So what was it about them that was making Aniki tense up?

"Friends of yours, Hatter-san?" his brother asked the oddly dressed
one.

"One rather doubts it," the Hatter person answered, serenely. "Fuji-kun,
this is Mudou Setsuna, erstwhile Messiah, and Sara, his…"

"Girlfriend," Setsuna put in, very firmly.

"Of course," Hatter murmured, "and this is Fuji Shuusuke, and
his brother, Yuuta I believe it was?"

"Yes." Aniki’s smile was starting to sharpen.

So, Yuuta tallied up in his own mind, this person who seemed to know his brother,
and who his brother seemed a little wary of, wanted to introduce them to
a couple who looked remarkably like relatives. He swallowed hard and tried
to keep breathing.

"Aniki," he managed, "who is this?" And, more importantly,
what did he know?

His brother stepped a little closer to him. "This is Mad Hatter. He’s
a demon."

Yuuta turned his head to look at his brother, who appeared to be serious. "A
demon?" he repeated, just on the off chance he’d actually misheard.

"Quite," Hatter agreed. And a pair of black wings unfolded behind
him.

Yuuta stared. "Aniki," he said, very calmly, "what did you put
in my juice this morning?"

"One does assure you, it wasn’t your brother," Hatter assured him,
waving one wing.

"A demon," Aniki reiterated, "who isn’t going to be having anything
to do with you, Yuuta. Is he?" Hatter was now on the receiving end of
a very dangerous look.

He didn’t seem concerned.

"Ah, siblings," Hatter sighed. "They’re so precious." He
fanned his wings. "And entertaining. Why don’t the four of you have
a nice little chat, then? One is sure it will be good for all of you."

And then he sank out of sight into his own shadow. Yuuta stared at the sidewalk
and reminded himself that it wasn’t healthy to hyperventilate.

"So," Setsuna sighed, running a hand through his hair, "you’ve
met Hatter before?"

"He can be entertaining company," Aniki observed.

Setsuna blinked at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. "I’ll
stop worrying, then!"

Sara swatted his shoulder. "Setsuna, cut it out. Maybe Fuji-san didn’t
know what he was getting into." She gave them a bright, sympathetic
smile, and Yuuta relaxed in spite of himself. It might be nice to talk with
her sometime, actually. If he was reading the situation right, she might
understand a few things.

"You think?" Setsuna asked, raising a skeptical brow. "I
bet he did. He’d probably get along with Hatter’s boss, too." The thought
seemed to amuse him.

Sara planted her hands on her hips. "Enough of that! You said you’d wait
until we were both reborn to start playing politics with everyone again."

"Right, right," Setsuna raised his hands, placatingly. "Anyway,
I think we’ll probably see you at Nationals, Fuji."

"Really?" Aniki sounded only mildly curious, and Yuuta sighed. Some
day, he’d figure out how his brother did it.

Setsuna grinned. "I’m a friend of Tachibana’s."

"Small world," Aniki commented in an amiable tone.

"Gettin’ smaller every day," Setsuna answered ruefully over his shoulder
as his… sister?… towed him off with great determination.

"Are you sure we can’t have a nice, calm day inside?" Yuuta asked,
looking straight ahead, just in case any other weirdness was strolling by.

His brother laughed, softly. "That might be a good idea after all. Come
on, let’s head home."

 

End

Marked

Belial found Seiichi on the roof of his own house, watching the sky from a
nest of pillows and blankets.

"Here to watch the stars, Hatter-san?" Seiichi asked, after a moment,
not looking around.

When Belial didn’t answer, he looked. "Hatter-san? Come out."

Belial took a few steps out of the shadow, not far enough to show hir face.
Apparently, it was still too many, because Seiichi stood, frowning, and came
to hir. He took hir face between his hands and gave hir a long, searching
look before taking hir hands and leading hir back to his pillow-nest. "You’re
here now; come watch for a while," he said, tugging Belial down.

Se still wasn’t beyond being surprised that someone who fought so fiercely
could be so gentle, and se gazed up at Seiichi’s face as he curled up beside
hir and propped his head on one hand. Belial had no idea what hir face might
be showing, but whatever it was made Seiichi smile. He ran his fingers through
hir hair, dislodging today’s small, round hat.

"You’ve spent a lot of time and energy courting me, working to gain my
willing compliance to go along with my binding signature," he said,
softly. "Is it so hard to believe that you’ve won me?"

The pleasure of hearing Seiichi say it out loud was promptly followed by the
confusion that had set Belial to wandering so restlessly this evening. "Won
you… and yet you haven’t left them," se murmured, trying out the taste
and shape of the words. Just how much room did hir human have in his heart?

"No, I haven’t," Seiichi agreed, brushing hir cheek with the backs
of his fingers. "I don’t leave those I care for. I won’t leave you,
either." He laughed, barely a breath in the night air. "After all,
aren’t souls immortal?"

"They are." To stay with hir, to not leave hir… The idea tugged
at hir even more sharply than the glowing clarity of Seiichi’s soul. Belial
belonged to Lucifer-sama, there was no question about that. But se was having
trouble denying any longer that Seiichi had gained a claim on hir also; at
least he seemed willing to share. Se reached up to thread a hand through
his hair, like ink marking hir fingers in the dark. Se drew him down to hir,
and he smiled, coming willingly, folding the brightness of his presence around
hir like wings.

"Have you ever lost?" se murmured against his lips.

"Very rarely," he replied before opening his mouth to hir kiss.

 

End