Octave Span

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Branch

Mizuki is smashingly manipulative, and Yuuta is happy to use that. Fuji is on edge over their new relationship, and Mizuki dares him to do something about it. Mizuki/Yuuta and a dash of rather dark Fuji/Mizuki on the side.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Wrapped Around My Finger" published on 2004-05-13 11:58:45.

"The Winner Is..." published on 2004-05-15 12:01:35.

"Clove Apple" published on 2004-05-18 12:06:21.

"Confluence" published on 2004-08-25 18:04:01.

"Assurance" published on 2004-08-26 12:12:17.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is Unknown title by Hokusai Katsushika, public domain (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mount_Fuji_seen_throught_cherry_blossom.jpg).

Cover design by Branch.

Wrapped Around My Finger

Mizuki seduces Yuuta, and possibly vice versa. Drama With Romance, I-3

It wasn't that Yuuta didn't know what kind of person Mizuki Hajime was. He knew perfectly well. Mizuki was viciously ruthless. He was the kind of person who worked through manipulation because he enjoyed it. He was a flaming control freak and downright obsessive. Yuuta recognized all these things quite readily.

The only thing he refused to admit was where he recognized them from.

Mizuki was also the first, and, for a long time, the only one to recognize Yuuta's skill, and his weaknesses, as his. The one who had never asked "Oh, did you start playing tennis because of your brother?" The one who took him, and, yes, used him, purely and completely on his own merits.

Of course Yuuta knew he had an ulterior motive for it, he wasn't stupid.

But that wasn't the point.

It started with a few casual touches, Mizuki's hand on his arm or shoulder to call his attention or in farewell. It would have been less noticeable if Mizuki had been the sort to touch anyone, however casually.

He wasn't.

That was Akazawa's part. When a hand fell on a team member's shoulder for encouragement or camaraderie, or, occasionally, a brisk shaking, it was their captain's hand not their manager's. Mizuki didn't touch. It was typical of the difference between them. Akazawa held them together as a team; Mizuki drove them forward as his personal game pieces. Between the two it pretty much worked out.

So Yuuta noticed those as-if casual touches, and wondered what Mizuki was up to. The idea that he might not be up to anything didn't even deserve a first thought.

Yuuta got his first clue, though he didn't recognize it at the time, in a heated discussion between Akazawa and Mizuki that broke off as soon as he approached. Akazawa gave Mizuki a hard look before turning away.

"You had better be right about this not affecting the team," he told their manager. Mizuki gave him a mock-surprised look.

"You doubt my analysis of the situation?" he asked with a dangerous lilt.

"Just remember who's always involved when your analysis fails, Mizuki," Akazawa said, sharply.

"I always do," Mizuki replied though his teeth. Akazawa snorted. He patted Yuuta's shoulder, absently, in passing, and Yuuta saw Mizuki's eyes narrow slightly.

"Mizuki-san?"

A smile was added to the edged look.

"Shall we work on your serve, Yuuta-kun?" Mizuki ordered as if it were a suggestion, urging Yuuta toward the far court with a hand on his back.

Yuuta didn't start to worry about what Mizuki was doing until the day Mizuki parted from him after practice with a hand on his cheek and a thumb brushing, ever so lightly, over Yuuta's mouth. That was when it occurred to him that this might not have anything to do with tennis, which reminded him of the conversation he had heard the end of, and then he spent the rest of the day locked in his room, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to hyperventilate.

Mizuki couldn't possibly be... well, he couldn't. Right? Admittedly, he tended to look rather predatory around Yuuta, but that was just how Mizuki was. Wasn't it? He'd looked like that for years, now.

It didn't take very long for Yuuta to realize that was not necessarily a reassuring thought.

The next day he was so hyper-aware of those maybe-not-casual touches that he dropped two games. After the second he noticed Akazawa giving Mizuki a very dirty look, and had to escape, pleading a headache. Memorizing his ceiling for the second evening in a row, Yuuta tried to think the problem through. He could do this. His brother wasn't the only smart one in the family.

If Mizuki really was... well, coming on to him, the first question was, did he want it to stop?

It was actually kind of a hard question. This whole thing was disconcerting, and had him very off balance. But, in a way, it wasn't actually new. He'd always been flattered, right from the first, that Mizuki paid attention to him, sought him out. He'd gotten used to how... intense Mizuki's attention was. The idea that Mizuki might want him, personally, made him shiver.

Ok, so maybe he didn't exactly want it to stop. Next question was, what to do about it?

Actually, was there anything he could do? Yuuta chewed reflectively on his lip. It wasn't as though Mizuki had done anything very obvious, yet. It was still possible that something else entirely was going on. Mizuki might be experimenting with a new management style, using Yuuta as his guinea pig. That would also explain Akazawa's irritation.

Or Mizuki could just be waiting for Yuuta to stop jumping like he'd stepped on a tack every time he was touched.

Yuuta glared at his ceiling as though it were responsible for the conclusion that the best thing he could do was wait and see, and try to relax a little. There was no getting around it, though, and he spent the next few days attempting to have more patience than he usually needed. His captain's temper subsided as Yuuta's game steadied again.

Sure enough, that seemed to be the signal for the next step.

Mizuki took to, not just touching, but stroking down his arm or across his back. Yuuta stopped doubting his original conclusions. And, as the days slipped by, he started wishing that Mizuki would get on with whatever he had planned. The touches had gone from odd to shocking to commonplace to downright teasing, and Yuuta was tired of waiting.

He asked Mizuki, later, whether every language had a saying about being careful about what one wished for.

Yuuta was finishing a weight workout late in the evening when Mizuki tracked him down. Neither thing was unusual. Yuuta liked having the room to himself, which meant coming in late, and Mizuki liked to check on his training and adjust his regimen if necessary.

"Not even out of breath, Yuuta-kun? Perhaps you should increase your repetitions."

It was not usual for Mizuki to prowl into his personal space and run a hand down his chest, reminding Yuuta forcibly that his shirt was still lying on the bench behind him. Mizuki's fingers outlined his muscles, and Yuuta thought sparks might be skittering in their wake. He couldn't pull his eyes away from Mizuki's hooded stare to check.

"Excellent definition, Yuuta-kun," his manager murmured. Yuuta stood, frozen, as Mizuki's palm skated down his stomach. He shuddered as it stopped there.

"Mizuki-san," he choked. Mizuki's lips curved, and his hand rose to the back of Yuuta's neck.

"Do you have any idea," he said, softly, "how much it pleases me to know that, if I decided I wanted you right now, on one of the weight benches, you would offer me no resistance?"

The light-headed thought crossed Yuuta's mind that, yes, he did have some idea how much that would please someone like Mizuki Hajime. Maybe, sometime, he would tell Mizuki that yielding was a reasonable trade for being the center of his focus. That focus was almost as tangible as body heat, as Mizuki leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"Not yet." He drew back, graced Yuuta with a demure smile, and strolled out the door.

Yuuta couldn't make it back to his room this time, and had to settle for memorizing the ceiling of the weight room instead. At least, until it occurred to him that he was lying sprawled on one of the weight benches, and that Mizuki might just decide to come back, and take that as an invitation. He hauled himself upright and forced his shaky knees to support him.

What had that been about? Mizuki touching Yuuta like that and in the next breath assuring him that nothing would happen.

He supposed that Mizuki might have just wanted to ease his anxiety by making his intentions clear. Or it could be that he wanted to be sure of Yuuta's willingness. It was also quite possible that Mizuki had done it just because he felt like provoking someone. Yuuta would actually have put his money on it being a little of all three. As he tried to convince the adrenaline singing through him to subside enough for sleep, he reflected that it was probably weird for him to be attracted to that combination of whimsy and iron calculation. But there it was. Things that caused most people's eyes to cross seemed quite normal to him. He'd come to terms with that much.

And he honestly had to admit to himself that Mizuki had gotten it dead right. If he had kept going, Yuuta wouldn't have stopped him. Yuuta's backbrain helpfully presented him with an image of Mizuki pressing him down on that bench and running his hands lower.

So much, Yuuta thought, gasping, for lowering his adrenaline.

He spent the next week being ganged up on by his subconscious and his hormones at extremely inconvenient moments, such as when he was called on to read in Literature or translate in English. As a result he wound up with extra homework and spent several long evenings in the common room of his floor, dwelling on the unfairness of the universe and the incomprehensibility of English articles.

"Trouble with your English again, Yuuta-kun? Would you like some help?" Mizuki's voice inquired from the door. That voice always had an insinuating edge, but Yuuta swore it hadn't been this suggestive last week. He debated throwing his textbook, but decided that would probably only lead to a longer period of frustration. He settled for glaring.

Mizuki seemed to find this amusing.

This time, at least, Yuuta was ready for it when Mizuki crossed the room, stepped over his legs and leaned his hands on the back of Yuuta's chair, caging Yuuta under his body. Yuuta rested his head back so he could look Mizuki in the face, offering, waiting, challenging, and could they please actually get somewhere this time? Fire lit in Mizuki's normally cool eyes.

"Ah," he breathed. "That's what I've been waiting for, Yuuta-kun."

Mizuki's lips covered his, and Yuuta opened his mouth under them. Mizuki kissed the way he did everything else, intense and thorough, his tongue tasting every part of Yuuta. When he drew back it took Yuuta a few moments to realize that his eyes had fallen shut. He opened them to see Mizuki smiling down at him. It was not a smile that gave anything away, and Yuuta found himself having to ask.

"Mizuki-san, what... where... is this going?"

Mizuki trailed a finger down Yuuta's neck, smile sharpening at the shiver that resulted.

"I think that's for you to say, Yuuta-kun," he murmured. Yuuta blinked.

"It is?" he asked, a bit nonplussed. At Mizuki's nod, he sank back in his chair, even more breathless than the kiss had left him. Yes, this was Mizuki, the one who knew him, the one who had watched him, who knew exactly what would win him. Not just the trade of his pliancy for Mizuki's complete attention, but giving Yuuta the choice and determination.

So, what was it going to be?

"Dating?" he suggested, eventually, finding no better word for where he would prefer to start.

"Indeed." Mizuki leaned down again, brushing another kiss across Yuuta's lips. "In that case, would you care to join me for dinner next Friday, Yuuta-kun?" For some reason, that made Yuuta blush, where the kisses hadn't.

"Sure," he answered, glancing aside. Mizuki laughed, low, and turned Yuuta's face back up to his for a third kiss, long and slow, before he pushed back from the chair. He left Yuuta staring at the ceiling of the common room, this time, and completely incapable of thinking about the difference between a and the. Help with his English, yeah, right.

Yuuta decided it would be a good idea to write to his brother about his upcoming... date. Aniki was usually scrupulous about letting Yuuta go his own way, keeping his manipulations obvious enough to avoid if Yuuta really wanted to. But Aniki really didn't like Mizuki, and if this was going to be one of the times he lost his temper, and Yuuta lost his prospective boyfriend to a homicidal sibling, well better to know sooner than later.

Five days later he wrote again to say that it had been cheating to send Aniki's boyfriend's little sister to try and talk him out of it. They had ended up yelling at each other at the tops of their lungs, across a picnic table on the campus lawn, about pig-headed idiots and interfering amateurs. It had actually been kind of nice to yell at someone who would yell back properly, instead of smiling and speaking softly and making Yuuta feel unbalanced.

Unfortunately, Ann's rather acidic observations about Mizuki had enough truth in them to stick in Yuuta's head. He knew perfectly well that Mizuki was focused pretty obsessively on his brother; it was one of the things they shared. When Aniki had said that he wasn't going to continue professionally in tennis, Yuuta had gone to Mizuki as the only person who would understand his fury over the news. A niggling uncertainty refused to be dislodged.

Though being taken out on a date where, however casual their surroundings, Mizuki insisted on holding the door and pulling out a chair for him, went a long way toward flustering Yuuta enough to swamp it. When it became clear that Mizuki intended to see him back to his door, and quite probably past it, the thought of what was likely to happen next was actually familiar and calming by comparison. Yuuta thought that was probably why Mizuki had gone to such lengths to unsettle him in the first place.

When Mizuki closed and locked the door behind them, and pressed Yuuta gently back against the wall, though, the uncertainty resurfaced.

"Yuuta-kun?" Mizuki asked, as Yuuta looked aside, chewing on his lip.

"Mizuki-san... why?" Yuuta finally asked. "Why me? I thought it was... my brother... you wanted." He might never forgive himself for actually saying that, but he had to know.

"Mmm. It would be nice to have him, too," Mizuki agreed, casually. Yuuta's head snapped back around, jaw loose. "But that has nothing to do with this."

Yuuta sputtered. Mizuki tilted his head and looked at him, measuringly.

"I want something different from him than I want from you," he explained. "I don't doubt I'll get it, eventually, because I understand him. And there's something he wants that I can give him." Yuuta found the curl of Mizuki's lips and the light in his eye very unnerving. "If I survive the experience, perhaps I'll tell you what it is. But what I want from you is," Mizuki pursed his lips, "deeper."

Yuuta's heart jumped at the silky tone of the last word.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice husky in his own ears.

"I want you for good," Mizuki told him, cool and low. "You're passionate, Yuuta-kun, and determined in a way he can never hope to be. I like that." He leaned in. "I always appreciated your looks, of course. Such strong, clean lines to your body," his hand smoothed down Yuuta's side, "such expressive eyes, rich and sharp as new steel," he drew Yuuta down to him, "and such a soft mouth for someone so fierce." He stroked his tongue gently over Yuuta's lower lip, and Yuuta gasped.

"But that wasn't what really drew my eye, at the beginning," Mizuki continued. "It was the fire in you. Useful and beautiful both; my ideal, Yuuta-kun." He caught Yuuta's face between his hands. "And all the more when I saw you knew I would let you destroy yourself to win, and you accepted that. Yet again when you defied me, and took only what you wished of my advice, and still returned to me." His mouth quirked up. "Helpless things are only of passing interest. You are fascinating. You yield to me and yet keep your own way."

Yuuta was grateful for the wall at his back, because without it he thought the intensity of Mizuki's gaze and words would have had him on the floor. And then Mizuki smiled, and shook his head, and said the one thing that Yuuta never, honestly, thought he would hear.

"It was you from the very first, Yuuta-kun. At the start I mostly wanted to defeat Shuusuke as a gift to you. Here and now, he has no relevance. It's you I wanted first." He ran a hand up Yuuta's neck, lifting his chin with a thumb, and pressed his mouth over Yuuta's pulse. "So?"

Yuuta was shaking as his hands found Mizuki's waist.

"Yes," he whispered, harshly. Mizuki's lips curved against his skin.

He let Mizuki pull him away from the wall, onto the bed. Let Mizuki's hands strip off his clothes. Lay, breathing fast, waiting to see how far Mizuki would take his consent. Mizuki stroked his fingers through Yuuta's hair, looking down at him curiously.

"Not completely innocent, are you?" he murmured. "It shows in your eyes. Everything does, of course." He shifted and ran his hands down Yuuta's thighs, pressing them apart. Yuuta shuddered, breath stopping completely. The weight of Mizuki's body settling over his, the softness of his skin against Yuuta's, pulled a choked off sound from his throat.

"What would you do if I did choose to take this all the way?" Mizuki's voice brushed his ear. Yuuta closed his eyes.

"I said yes," he answered, unevenly.

"So you did," Mizuki agreed, sounding amused. "But perhaps we'll start a bit slower." He kissed Yuuta softly, hands stroking him, soothing the trembling. "I am curious about your source of information, though. Let me see." Yuuta opened his eyes to see Mizuki leaning on an elbow with his chin in one hand, contemplating him thoughtfully.

He bit his lip and turned his head a little away. Mizuki's rare laugh washed over him.

"You walked in on someone? Probably Akazawa and Kaneda, then."

Yuuta nodded, though, technically, he had not walked in on them. The sight of Kaneda bent over under their captain had frozen him on the threshold, and Kaneda's moans as Akazawa drove into him had been loud enough to cover the sound of Yuuta, very carefully, closing the door again.

"Well, let me assure you that I have a far lighter touch than our esteemed captain," Mizuki purred. "We'll get to that later, though."

He kissed Yuuta more deeply, through teasing, and now Yuuta relaxed under him. Mizuki's touch danced down his body, drawing low sighs from him, and Mizuki's mouth gradually followed. Yuuta twisted and arched into the glide of Mizuki's tongue down his stomach, came up off the bed with a sharp cry at the swift, slick heat of Mizuki's mouth closing around him. Mizuki's tongue slid down and then up his length, curled around him, coaxing, demanding. Yuuta lost track of time and place, attention narrowing to the hot sensation that wound around him tighter and tighter until the world snapped into glittering shards from it.

When his breath returned, Mizuki moved back up to lie beside him, smiling down at Yuuta with smug pleasure. Yuuta turned on his side and laid a hand, hesitantly, on Mizuki's hip.

"Mizuki-san... you...?" He chewed on his lip until Mizuki stroked a finger over it to stop him.

"In a little bit, Yuuta-kun," Mizuki told him, lazily.

The phone rang.

Yuuta glared over at it, wondering who had the bad timing to be calling now. Mizuki smiled and waved in a don't let me interrupt you manner, so he answered, despite some misgivings. He couldn't suppress an exasperated sigh when he heard who was on the other end.

"What are you doing calling me now?" he asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd gotten back all right, Yuuta," his brother answered. Yuuta rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Aniki, I got back just fine, and Mizuki-san didn't eat me on the way home."

There was one beat of dead silence from everyone before Mizuki folded up laughing and Yuuta felt his face growing hot.

"Yuuta," Aniki's voice was getting dangerously pleasant, "who is that?"

Before Yuuta could muster a coherent answer, Mizuki held out a hand for the phone. Yuuta shrugged and handed it over. Redirecting his brother's attention would be a good thing, and if Mizuki was volunteering to be thrown to the wolf, far be it from Yuuta to stop him.

"Indeed, Shuusuke, I didn't eat your brother on the way home," Mizuki said, still chuckling. "I waited until we got back."

Yuuta was positive he was the color of a radish.

"Mizuki-san!"

Mizuki handed the phone back with satisfied smile.

"It got rid of him," he pointed out, and leaned over Yuuta, pressing him back with a hand on his chest. "I can bait him at greater length later. Right now, I have better things to do."

Ann had asked him, once, how he could stand to be in between two such possessive people. On the one hand was his brother, who would be perfectly happy to rip the lungs out of anyone who looked at Yuuta the wrong way. On the other was his boyfriend, who would be equally happy to break the hands of anyone who touched Yuuta. Not that either of them would ever be so straightforward about their revenge. No one seemed to understand that it was the equal possessiveness that made it work.

Well, that made it work for Yuuta.

His brother detested his boyfriend, and his boyfriend was obsessed with his brother. It was Aniki's hostility that ensured Mizuki would be careful what he did to Yuuta. What he did without Yuuta's consent, at any rate. And it was Yuuta's acceptance of Mizuki that kept Aniki at a little distance, gave Yuuta some breathing room. Yuuta liked his brother's protectiveness, as much as he liked Mizuki's touch. As long as there was something to keep each from getting out of hand.

It all worked out for Yuuta.

End

The Winner Is...

Mizuki and Fuji play head games with each other. Psychological Drama with Porn, I-5, D/s overtones

Mizuki Hajime knew that Shuusuke had had a bad day. Even if he hadn't known from other sources, one look at the way he was walking would have told the story: stride a bit longer than usual, feet coming down a touch too emphatically.

More significantly, he was walking alone.

All of which meant that Hajime had chosen what should be the right time for his approach. It was hard to be sure, with Shuusuke. But, then, that was what this was all about. And Shuusuke had just come close enough to identify who was leaning against the wall of this particular, usefully deserted, stretch of his way home, which meant it was time to begin. Hajime swallowed his nerves and called out.

"Shuusuke. How good to see you again." Shuusuke didn't acknowledge his presence by so much as the twitch of an eyebrow. Perfect. "Why, Shuusuke, I'm injured," Hajime added, "and here everyone always says you have such excellent manners, even when you're angry. Or, should I say, especially when you're angry."

Shuusuke checked in front of him and spoke without turning his head.

"Don't overestimate the tolerance afforded you because you're keeping Yuuta company."

"Oh, I don't," Hajime replied, hoping that he was speaking the truth. "You're very careful of your brother's things. Do you think he's all that averse to sharing?" That got Shuusuke to look at him, disbelief flickering briefly in the hard, brilliant blue.

"Excuse me?" Shuusuke said, as though he thought he might genuinely have misheard. Hajime smiled. He knew perfectly well that the thought of touching anything belonging to his brother truly never would cross Shuusuke's mind. Shuusuke was predictable when it came to Yuuta—and only when it came to Yuuta. If he was lucky, Shuusuke wouldn't know how sure Hajime was of that, though.

"Yuuta knows I want you, too," he explained smoothly. "I told him."

And that turned Shuusuke all the way toward him, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What?"

Hajime leaned back a little more ostentatiously against the wall.

"He asked. I told him. Surely," he looked at Shuusuke through his lashes, "you wouldn't want me to be dishonest with him." Before Shuusuke calmed himself enough to dissect that particularly specious bit of logic chopping, Hajime continued in a thoughtful tone. "I was a bit distracted at the time, but if I recall correctly, I mentioned that I expected to get you, too, because I can give you something you want."

A subtle snarl twisted Shuusuke's mouth.

"And what," he inquired, low and cutting, "could you imagine you might have that I would want?"

He was still too far away, Hajime decided. One more goad, then, and pray he got the timing right.

"Well, I have Yuuta, for one," he noted. Shuusuke took one long step toward him, and he forced the next sentence past the tightness in his chest. "But you're right, it isn't something I have."

Shuusuke paused, less than arm's reach from him, and Hajime breathed again.

"It's what you want," he said, quietly, "and what I can give you."

Shuusuke raised a devastatingly eloquent eyebrow. The part of Hajime's mind that insisted on focusing on inconsequentialities wondered whether he had learned that by observing Atobe. But this was the first critical moment, and it was only a tiny part. He reached out and laced his fingers lightly through Shuusuke's. Taking Shuusuke's hands with him, he raised his own and laid them back against the wall by his head.

"Control," he murmured. "Anything you want. Anything you choose."

From Shuusuke's sudden stillness, he knew he had called it right. Exultation that he had the pattern correct battled with anxiety over what his being correct meant for the near future. But just the first step wasn't enough for him, and he didn't, quite, want to stop. Shuusuke was leaning in just a bit, starting to press his hands into the brick.

"Anything?" he repeated, and there was a darker edge to the soft voice now. Hajime bit down a shudder; not yet.

"Anything," he agreed.

"And you get what out of this? You enjoy being controlled?" There was disbelief in Shuusuke's tone, and Hajime had to admit it was justified. He answered with part of the truth, the part that he hoped would see him through this in one piece.

"I enjoy power. Strength. Having it is nice. Being touched by it is... also enjoyable. You are very strong."

Shuusuke was leaning harder now, hands closed around Hajime's wrists.

"Strong enough that even throwing yourself on my non-existent mercy excites you?" he asked, pleasantly.

Now Hajime released the shudder, let his smirk slip away to show the fear and anticipation underneath as he raised his eyes to Shuusuke's.

"It terrifies me," he said with complete honesty. "I don't have any illusions about you, Shuusuke. You made sure I wouldn't. But I want this."

The sharp eyes drilled into him, as Shuusuke closed the last distance between them. He lowered his head and ran his lips down Hajime's neck, nuzzled past his unbuttoned collar.

Bit down savagely.

Hajime jerked sharply against the body pressing his to the wall, a harsh choke drawing out into a groan as Shuusuke's lips slid softly back up. He slumped back against the brick, trembling under Shuusuke's hands, breathing fast. Waiting for what Shuusuke would choose. Shuusuke drew back enough to study him.

"You really are serious," he observed.

"Yes," Hajime whispered, leaning his head against the wall.

The slow smile that curved Shuusuke's mouth would have sent any sane person running, very far and very fast. Just as well, probably, that Hajime had never made any strong claims to sanity when he was in pursuit of a goal he wanted.

"Come with me." Shuusuke led the way toward his house, and Hajime followed. No one else was home, which Hajime took as a sign of favor from fate. Shuusuke led him up to his bedroom and gestured, as if politely, for Hajime to precede him. Suspecting what the point of this was, Hajime didn't turn around once he had entered.

He was distantly pleased with another correct perception when he felt Shuusuke against his back, and arms reached around him. Long fingers undid the knot of his tie, worked loose the buttons of his shirt, and then the button of his slacks, delicately drew away his clothing and only brushed his skin every now and then. Shuusuke's fingers sliding over his stomach made the muscles twist and jump in response, and Hajime struggled to breathe. Shuusuke's hands on his shoulders guided him to the bed, pressed him down on his back.

Shuusuke stood back, regarding him for a long moment, and then briskly stripped off his own clothes. Hajime let out his breath, with silent thanks to all the gods he didn't believe in. There had been a high probability that Shuusuke would choose sex over outright violence. It paralleled Hajime's relationship with Yuuta in a way that would appeal to Shuusuke's mind, whether he admitted it or not. But the probability hadn't been high enough for Hajime to have real confidence in it.

Having some idea of where things were going gave Hajime a measure of equanimity as Shuusuke gathered his wrists in one hand and pinned them over his head. Another long look, another unnerving smile, and Shuusuke ran his other hand down Hajime's thigh, up his side.

Gently.

Hajime's eyes widened as the gentleness of Shuusuke's touch registered. Soft caresses, firm enough not to tickle, soothing his body, seducing him toward pleasure. Shuusuke's eyes glinted down at him.

"So?"

Such a small word to contain so much challenge. A challenge to submit, not just to domination, but to pleasure at Shuusuke's hands. Hajime knew that if he accepted it, if he relaxed that much, it would make the shock exponentially worse if Shuusuke chose to alter his approach and use pain after all. He knew that Shuusuke knew it too, and was aware of their mutual knowledge.

That had, after all, been the pattern of their first match on the court.

That was Shuusuke's challenge; his suggestion that Hajime would not actually be able to give him the measure of control he wanted. Hajime was shaking again. But this was why he was here. He would bet on this. If Shuusuke wanted to truly unsettle him, he would not, in fact, repeat himself. He would stay with pleasure.

And enjoy the edge of uncertainty he had placed Hajime on.

One last, convulsive, shudder, and Hajime forced himself to go limp under Shuusuke's grasp.

"Anything," he reiterated, voice breaking even on that single word.

"Hmmm," Shuusuke murmured, thoughtfully. And then that appallingly gentle touch returned, and Hajime pushed aside his perfectly reasonable fear and abandoned himself to the pleasure his longest standing opponent seemed to want to bring him. And it was always, and only, pleasure. Shuusuke didn't tease him, or seek to startle him; only caressed and stroked until he was hard and panting, arching under Shuusuke's touch, legs spread wantonly. Shuusuke answered the pleading look Hajime didn't have the coherence to give voice to, and rubbed a finger softly against his entrance, drawing a long moan from him as Shuusuke pressed, slowly, in.

The rather disconnected thought crossed Hajime's mind, that it was probably an awkward stretch for Shuusuke, who hadn't once released Hajime's wrists. But, yes, this was right, Shuusuke would want to watch his face. And then the feeling of Shuusuke's fingers thrusting into him derailed any attempt at thought.

Shuusuke prepared him thoroughly, and when he set a hand under one of Hajime's knees and pressed it back, opening him, when he slid into Hajime, there was still no pain. The layered pleasure was becoming a pressure in him, instead. Hajime couldn't even cry out as Shuusuke's first, long thrust drove home, slowly, slowly. Shuusuke was still for a moment, letting him catch his breath, and then he was moving, long and slow, drowning Hajime in a flood of hot, electric sensation, building it higher. As soon as Hajime found his voice again Shuusuke leaned forward, thrust harder, and the world turned white, and the moan turned into something like a scream. Shuusuke didn't let up, and the the jolts of pleasure unwound Hajime's muscles and broke the world into licks of unbearable heat, and a true scream clawed its way out of his throat as he came.

It didn't take Shuusuke long to follow him, and the shallow, rocking thrusts as he did coaxed the last possible response out of Hajime, leaving him utterly unstrung and overwhelmed by the care Shuusuke had taken and the pleasure he had given. A few tears of sheer overload spilled from Hajime's eyes. Shuusuke, recovering himself, looked down at them.

Bent down and kissed them away.

It was a gesture of triumph, the kind of graciousness in victory that only drives the fact of defeat home. They both knew Shuusuke felt no tenderness toward him whatsoever. For one moment Hajime thought it might break him, that he would not be able to stop the tears or the trembling.

But as he closed his eyes he also knew that he had won. Shuusuke had overwhelmed him, reduced him to prostration, quite literally. But Hajime had successfully calculated and predicted all of it: the pattern of Shuusuke's actions, the branches that the pattern might take. Hajime had won on his true chosen ground, and the shame of his first defeat was washed away.

That thought was enough to calm him and still him. He thought some of it probably showed in his eyes as he opened them and looked up, because Shuusuke cocked his head and gave him one last long, thoughtful look before finally letting Hajime go. It took a few tries before he gained his feet.

"The bathroom is down the hall on the left," Shuusuke informed him quietly.

"Thank you," Hajime returned in a similar tone. He snagged his clothes on the way out, and returned, once prepared for polite society again, to stand in the doorway. "I'll see you later, Shuusuke," he said, exhaustion draining the usual edge from his voice.

"Yes," Shuusuke agreed, with a faint smile.

He wondered, as he made his occasionally wobbly way back to St. Rudolph, just how much of his real purpose Shuusuke had divined, and what form of retribution he could expect if Shuusuke took offense at losing in any way. Well, he'd figure it out. He was confident of that, again.

He certainly wouldn't say no to a little extra reassurance, after that experience, though, and he let his feet take him to Yuuta's door rather than his own. He had never been more grateful for Yuuta's tendency not to lock his door, which let him walk straight to where Yuuta sat, and sink down and lay his head on Yuuta's knees without the need for greetings or explanations.

Not that the latter seemed very necessary. After a startled moment he felt Yuuta's long fingers combing through his hair, and they sighed almost in unison.

"You went to Aniki, didn't you?" Yuuta more stated than asked. Hajime nodded slightly. "Did he hurt you?" Yuuta wanted to know.

The question was so utterly unanswerable that Hajime started laughing. And then it was a bit difficult to stop. Yuuta slid out of his chair and pulled Hajime into his arms, as he chortled, rubbing his back until he calmed, gasping for breath.

"I invited him to rip out my soul and wring it like a washcloth," Hajime said, eventually. "He accepted. But, no, he didn't hurt me." His head was resting on Yuuta's shoulder, but Hajime could almost see the Look Yuuta gave him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have bad hobbies?" Yuuta muttered. That set Hajime off again. Yuuta scooted them both around until he could lean back against his bed, pulling Hajime to lean on his chest.

"I won, Yuuta," Hajime said, softly. "It was the only way I could win."

"On your own terms," Yuuta filled in. "Yes. I know."

Which was fairly impressive, considering that Hajime had never told him what he wanted with or from Shuusuke, but this was Yuuta, after all. He understood that kind of thing.

"Yes, you do understand," Hajime mused, only half aware he was speaking out loud. "I love that you understand."

Yuuta's startlement telegraphed in his moment of stillness, but he seemed to decide that his boyfriend was just more strung out than previously suspected, because he didn't answer. Only gathered Hajime a bit closer. It was pleasant to rest against him. Hajime didn't realize he was dozing until Yuuta woke him up so they could move up to the bed.

In the course of moving, Yuuta noticed the now-dark bruise above Hajime's collarbone, and gave him another Look, clearly questioning the claim that Shuusuke hadn't hurt him.

"It was just the one moment during the initial negotiations," Hajime assured him. Yuuta bristled anyway, glaring at the bite mark. He had the family possessive streak, all right, Hajime reflected. Fair enough; Hajime did, too, without the excuse of genetics.

Which was partly why, when Yuuta gave him a soft kiss, he answered passionately, drawing Yuuta's tongue into his mouth, inviting him to taste that there had been no intruders. It was the one gesture, the one advance, Shuusuke had not made. When Yuuta drew back, a little breathless, Hajime gave him a pleased and sleepy smile.

They twined around each other, Yuuta still running his fingers through Hajime's hair as he drifted off. He was almost entirely asleep when he thought he heard Yuuta murmur to him.

"We both understand, Mizuki. And we'll always find a way to win. Always."

End

Clove Apple

The aftermath of Fuji's encounter with Mizuki, and explanations for Tachibana. Drama With Romance, I-4

Kippei tracked him down on a small, sunny hill in a quiet corner of the park near Shuusuke's house. He sat down beside Shuusuke, close but not touching.

"Eiji called me," he said, quietly. "He said you were acting strangely at practice today. He was worried." Shuusuke shrugged one shoulder.

"I was... out of sorts I suppose. Tezuka kept me away from most of the other club members. I suppose it is a bit strange for he and I to play much." He snorted, remembering. "Echizen had the nerve to tell me I play better when I'm calm, afterwards."

"That sounds like him," Kippei smiled.

They sat in silence for a while, and Shuusuke tried to gather his thoughts. He should have known he wouldn't be able to avoid Kippei for long; he really hadn't been thinking very clearly. At last he leaned back on his hands, looking up at the clear, pale sky.

"I had," he paused to fish for a neutral term, "an altercation with Mizuki two days ago. It got... a little out of hand."

Kippei waited, and Shuusuke relaxed a little when he didn't push for an immediate explanation.

"I was already angry that day," he went on, and released a half laughing breath. "It sounds so petty when I tell it out loud. But that morning..." he paused again, trying to find the beginning of the sequence in his memory. "Everyone pretty much knows who will go on professionally, from the club, and who won't. Everyone knows by now that I won't. Some know that my brother probably will. I suppose I'm not one to talk about competitiveness," he smiled tightly, "but sometimes I could do without the side effects. One of the second years was saying that it was too bad Fuji Yuuta would be the name the tennis world remembered. And then he realized I was listening and hurried to say that he was sure people would always remember Yuuta's talent as second to mine."

Kippei winced.

"Quite," Shuusuke murmured. "I was unsettled enough to message Yuuta over lunch and ask how his training was going. I really should know better by now, don't you think?"

Kippei moved around to sit behind Shuusuke and wrap an arm around his waist. Shuusuke leaned back against him with a sigh. The next part was going to be harder.

"I don't know whether Yuuta mentioned it to Mizuki, but Mizuki was waiting for me on my way home. He... challenged me."

"To what?" Kippei asked when Shuusuke didn't continue.

"A game. I suppose." Shuusuke sternly told the hollow feeling in his chest to go away for the nth time in almost three days. It made breathing feel like work. Once again, the feeling refused to go anywhere. Kippei's arm tightening around him reminded Shuusuke that he wasn't alone. And that there had, in fact, been a total of four parties fairly intimately involved in what had happened. On an impulse he turned and kissed Kippei.

It was a little wild, a little desperate, and Kippei started out returning it more gently, trying to soothe Shuusuke. As the seconds ticked by, though, Shuusuke thought the fact of the kiss fell in with what else he had said, and gave Kippei some of the shape of the "altercation", because his lover's kiss changed. It became deeper and hotter, demanding in a way that Kippei rarely was. Ironically, that calmed Shuusuke faster than the earlier softness. When they broke apart Kippei raised a hand to his cheek and held his gaze, eyes dark and serious.

"You aren't the only one who's possessive, Shuusuke," Kippei told him.

Yes, Kippei had an idea what had happened. But not all of it. Shuusuke shook his head, laying a hand on Kippei's chest.

"What he offered, what I did, it wasn't about sex." Kippei's lips tightened as Shuusuke confirmed at least the mechanics of the encounter, but he didn't protest Shuusuke's interpretation. Yet.

"What was it about?" he asked, quite calmly under the circumstances Shuusuke thought. He turned again so he could lean back against Kippei.

"Control," he answered, biting down a grimace as he remembered Mizuki's voice gliding over that word. "Knowledge. I suppose," he summoned a small smile, "it was more like a game of go than anything." Entrapment, oh yes. He had to hand that to Mizuki, and he should have recognized it sooner.

"A game of go with a bed as the board?" Kippei suggested, sounding amused despite himself at the idea. Shuusuke smiled more genuinely, letting the intellectual metaphor carry him over his discomfort.

"Mmm. More like the bed, and the bodies, as the stones. The board was the mind."

There was silence behind him for a moment before Kippei closed both arms around him.

"Shuusuke." He didn't sound amused any longer. He sounded a little shaken. Shuusuke supposed that made two of them. He didn't really want to dwell on that.

"Besides, I never let him touch me," he added, veering back to the original question and keeping his tone casual. Kippei's hold tightened, and Shuusuke realized he'd probably just given away a little more of the mechanics than he'd really wanted to.

"Mizuki accepted that?" Kippei asked, both surprise and a touch of distaste in his voice. Shuusuke laughed, wearily.

"Oh, yes. Mizuki waylaid me, provoked me until I was extremely angry, invited me to take him any way I pleased and accepted everything I did, just to prove a point." Shuusuke leaned his head back against Kippei's shoulder. "He knew what he was doing, Kippei." He fell silent, hoping his lover could unravel that and wouldn't ask him to put words to the details.

"He knew?" Kippei asked at last, carefully. Shuusuke's mouth twisted. Kippei had gotten very good at reading under what he said.

"Every last step," Shuusuke confirmed with false cheer. He never did that for long around Kippei, though, and let it go to turn in Kippei's arms until he could curl up against him.

"And it's so easy," he whispered. "To do that to people. To control, to break. Because I can. And when I'm in the middle of it it's so satisfying, but afterwards, when I stop and look back... it doesn't feel right." Kippei stroked back his hair.

"I know," he said. Shuusuke stirred at that. Kippei wasn't like that.

"You do?"

"I know that you don't really enjoy going that far. It's pretty obvious." Kippei smiled down at him when Shuusuke raised his head to give him an inquiring look. "All the people you're most drawn to are ones you can't control."

Shuusuke ran a quick catalogue in his mind, and decided Kippei was right. Tezuka, who wouldn't let him. Eiji, with whom there was no point. Taka-san, who was too sweet to tempt him. Even the firebrands like Echizen.

And Kippei, of course.

"So," he smiled, reassured enough to tease a little, "you're not worried about it at all?"

Kippei turned on his side, spilling Shuusuke into the grass, and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"Of course not. I recall saying once that you don't strike out unless you're unbearably provoked, and never on your own account. It's still true. Mizuki prodded you about Yuuta, didn't he?"

Shuusuke nodded, holding back a snarl at the mere memory. From the quirk of Kippei's mouth, he didn't think he'd been entirely successful. That was all right, though; Kippei was the one person he could show anything to.

"So," Kippei continued, "you might not want to admit out loud that Mizuki won this round, but it's clear from what you have said that he asked for everything he got."

Shuusuke opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. Unfortunately, that statement was correct on every count. He had been focusing on how much he disliked the aftermath of getting carried away to distract himself from the thought that Mizuki was every bit as much to credit, and possibly more, as himself. And he hadn't quite realized it until Kippei pointed it out. He felt a faint flush heating his cheeks.

"You've never been much good with your own motivations, Shuusuke," Kippei pointed out, gently. "Let it go and stop worrying."

Shuusuke took a stern hold of himself and considered his possible causes for worry. Was he dangerously out of hand? No. Was he, he sidled around to look at the thought with dislike, seriously concerned that Mizuki knew him well enough, now, to hurt him? To hurt him the way he knew, in a dark, back corner of his mind, Kippei could by knowing him so well. That one took more consideration, but the manner of Mizuki's approach implied that he didn't think he could overwhelm Shuusuke; and Shuusuke was now on his guard. So, no, not really. Was he really worried that Yuuta wouldn't forgive him for what he'd done to his brother's lover, be it ever so consensual? Shuusuke knew he had come very close to breaking Mizuki; it was why he had let Mizuki go with his success intact even when he realized what it had all been about. Somehow he doubted his brother would agree that any aftereffects were anything other than Shuusuke's fault.

All right, perhaps he would still worry about that one. He sighed and reached up for Kippei.

"Mostly," he allowed.

Kippei's smile was wry as he leaned down. Shuusuke sighed again, against his mouth, for quite different reasons, as Kippei's kiss folded him in weightless warmth like the sun on this hillside.

"No one but you touches me like this," he said, softly, as they parted. Kippei answered by catching him up in another kiss, this one slow and deliberately sensual, a sliding dance of tongues. The hollowness in Shuusuke's chest that had persisted for three days finally faded away. Shuusuke felt as though Kippei's breath helped fill his lungs all the way. He drew Kippei down until his lips were at Kippei's ear.

"Kippei," he murmured, "make love to me."

"Right here?" Kippei's tone was half serious and half teasing. Shuusuke shook his head, and spoke slowly.

"No. I think I want to remember who belongs in my bed."

When Kippei's arms closed around him hard enough to drive his breath out, he knew his lover had accepted that sideways apology.

Lying against Kippei's side, later, in the cool afternoon shadows of his bedroom, and far more pleased with the world, Shuusuke wondered whether he should call Yuuta. It would be nice to know whether his brother was upset with him or not.

The message tone rang on his phone.

"Someone has bad timing," Kippei muttered. Shuusuke made agreeing sounds, but craned for a moment to check who it was from.

Then he leaned across Kippei and snatched at his phone so that he could glare at the sender from close range.

"Shuusuke?"

He stabbed the message button and read. His lips pulled back from his teeth, though he managed not to snarl out loud. That arrogant, insufferable, little...

"Shuusuke?" Kippei repeated, a bit cautiously.

"Dear Shuusuke," he read off the message, "Please don't be concerned. Yuuta's opinion of my sanity has been confirmed, and he doesn't blame you for any of it. Except, possibly, the bite mark. Regards, Mizuki." Kippei didn't make a sound, but Shuusuke was leaning over his stomach and could feel the muscles trembling, holding back what was probably a laugh. He transferred his glare, dropping the phone pointedly over the side of the bed. So, Mizuki thought he knew him that well, and had the gall to reassure him?

"I don't think I ever fully appreciated just how much Mizuki likes to play with fire," Kippei observed, mildly. "Can I hope you'll chose a different way of burning him next time?"

The glare lost a good deal of force, and Shuusuke laid his head back on Kippei's chest.

"Of course," he confirmed, softly, pressing closer. Kippei's hand stroking his back lulled him, and he set out to ignore Mizuki's baiting in favor of Kippei's heartbeat.

He could teach his would-be rival a lesson later, Shuusuke decided as he slipped into a doze, rocked by the rhythm of his lover's breath.

End

Confluence

Mild chaos and vast snarkiness as many paths cross at a music store. Drama With Romance, I-3

Tezuka

Kunimitsu had some misgivings about accompanying Keigo to a music store. Particularly one this large. Music was, after all, one of Keigo's enthusiasms. He could only hope Keigo had entertained the other people in the train car more than he had alarmed them, holding forth as energetically as he had on the antecedents of jazz. He hesitated to think what would happen if they found a knowledgeable clerk inside for Keigo to chat with.

Blackmail was, however, blackmail, and Keigo had threatened to select things for Kunimitsu's collection if he didn't come along to make his own choices.

"So," Keigo said, looking around with a gleam of avarice in his eye, "where shall we start?"

"Your show," Kunimitsu told him, evenly, "at least until it comes to my collection. Wherever you like."

Keigo looked to be in a mischievous mood, to judge by the look of Well, of course that he flashed Kunimitsu before leading the way through the racks. After a brief stopover in Pop they finally fetched up at the border of Jazz and Classical.

"Mm. Akiko Yano, Nunokawa Toshiki, Raphael Lima, Ishmael Reed, now there's one I didn't expect, even at this store. And why," Keigo added in a long-suffering tone, "can't anyone ever catalogue Gershwin properly?"

"Well," came a light voice behind them, "surely not everyone can be blessed with your incisively discerning taste, Atobe."

Kunimitsu turned to see Fuji, Tachibana beside him, smiling with the kind of earnest sincerity that could only be fake. He glanced aside to see how his companion was taking it. Keigo studied the rack in front of him with a thoughtful look for a moment before one side of his mouth twitched up. He wrapped arrogant entitlement around him like a robe and turned as well.

"Of course," he agreed, carelessly, stance suddenly a pose for admiring crowds.

Kunimitsu caught Tachibana's eye, full of amused sympathy, and shrugged an eyebrow. Still, it might be a good idea to redirect the two before innocent bystanders happened along and entered the line of fire.

"Similar taste in music, too?" he mused to no one in particular. Fuji's smile didn't flicker, but Keigo gave him a cool look.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't seriously be suggesting that Fuji's tastes run to Zig Noda." He had drawn a breath to continue when Fuji's slightly frozen expression stopped him.

"Kose Kikuchi," Fuji admitted, after a moment.

They turned as one to glare daggers at Kunimitsu, who refrained from responding. Tachibana had a hand over his mouth.

"Similar instruments," Keigo declared, "do not equate to similar styles."

"Quite so," Fuji agreed, stepping toward a different rack. "And it was Roy Hargrove that I particularly hoped to find today."

"The latest album?" Keigo asked, sharply, discarding his front in face of a possible threat to his program of acquisition. "I hope there are two copies, then, I'd hate for you to be disappointed, Fuji."

Of course, Kunimitsu reflected, as Keigo strode after Fuji, his genuine behavior didn't always differ that markedly from his public act. Particularly when one of his enthusiasms was involved. Tachibana leaned against the rack beside him, looking after the other two.

"Shuusuke is still annoyed with you over that particular observation," he noted.

"I'm not surprised," Kunimitsu said. "Keigo is, a bit, too." Tachibana gave him an oblique look.

"If you knew it would irritate them, why did you say it?" he asked. Kunimitsu folded his arms.

"Better they be annoyed with me than each other. Imagine the consequences."

Tachibana rubbed his fingers over his forehead, suddenly looking a little pinched. "I'd really rather not."

Kunimitsu looked at him sharply, questioning. After a moment Tachibana shook his head.

"It's more his story than mine," he said, quietly.

"Mm." Still, Kunimitsu had to respect the point. He had entrusted his friend to Tachibana years ago; it was good to know the trust wasn't misplaced.

Atobe

"Metheny is one step away from elevator music," Keigo snorted, as he and Fuji made their way back to their respective partners. "Next you'll be telling me you like Yanni."

"A narrative format keeps music from becoming meaninglessly abstract," Fuji countered. He paused long enough to give Tezuka something Keigo read as a vindicated look. Probably because they were disagreeing. Keigo considered weighing in with a smug smile of his own, but decided it would detract from the point.

"Well. Isn't this quite the congregation?" asked a new voice. Keigo glanced around to see Mizuki Hajime and Fuji's brother, Yuuta, come around the corner from the next aisle. Something in the quality of the silence beside him drew his gaze back to Fuji, and he almost took a step away.

The gleam of more or less good natured mockery in Fuji's eyes was swallowed into a flat, icy blue, slick as the side of a glacier. Any hint of a smile fell away like a dropped piece of paper. It wasn't an expression Keigo had ever seen on Fuji before, not even when he was playing for real. A quick look at Kunimitsu showed enough disturbance in the line of his mouth that Keigo didn't think he was familiar with this either. Tachibana had closed the distance between he and Fuji, and laid an unobtrusive hand on his back.

"Mizuki," Fuji stated, soft and flat.

Yuuta looked edgy, but Mizuki merely clasped his hands behind his back and smiled.

"Shuusuke. You're looking well."

Keigo was, a bit unwillingly, impressed with Mizuki's nerve. Or, possibly, his mental instability. A corner of Fuji's mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a snarl. Keigo was wildly curious about exactly what Mizuki had really just said; subtext almost dripped from that simple greeting.

Tachibana's presence abruptly became more noticeable. Keigo, familiar with the ways a person could draw the eye, noted with interest that Tachibana did it without even shifting his body language much. He didn't step forward, or loom. He simply straightened, and his presence washed out from him, momentarily overwhelming even the intensity of Fuji's focus, pulling Mizuki's gaze away from his target. Tachibana gave him a hard look. After a moment, Mizuki inclined his head and opened one hand, palm up.

If Keigo had to guess, he would judge that Tachibana knew what was unspoken between Fuji and Mizuki, and had warned Mizuki to back off from the subject. And Mizuki, for whatever reason, had acknowledged Tachibana's right to interfere and accepted the warning.

And for some reason that had caused Yuuta to relax. Fuji too, after a stiff moment.

Keigo stifled a sigh, resigning himself to the hell of ungratified curiosity, because, even if Kunimitsu knew what was going on, Keigo knew he would never get the answer out of him.

"You two have fun, then," Yuuta said, running a hand through his hair, and sounding a bit rueful. "I'll just be over there." He slipped back into the other aisle, leaving both his brother and his lover looking after him, the one bemused and the other affectionate. Though it took Keigo a second look to place the expression on Mizuki's face, before it reverted to a more accustomed smirk as Mizuki turned back to Fuji.

"He doesn't like listening, when it gets to be about him," Mizuki told the elder Fuji. That, at least, made sense to Keigo. Everyone who had any contact with either of them knew that Yuuta was a bone of contention between Fuji and Mizuki.

That cold tension was singing through Fuji again, though not quite as intensely as before.

"So many assumptions, Shuusuke," Mizuki murmured. "Where would be the challenge in that?" Then he practically grinned. "So, what are you here for today?"

Keigo studied Mizuki. Unlike Fuji, Mizuki looked exactly like someone in the middle of a good game: breathing light and fast, eyes wide and brilliant. He'd long suspected that Mizuki liked to do things indirectly, and that his airs and affectations were as much a front as Keigo's own. He'd suspected that it was done for Mizuki's own amusement, and that he snickered up his sleeve at everyone who took the flouncing and strutting seriously. This was the first time he'd really thought that tennis itself might only be a medium for Mizuki, not a goal.

Fuji waved a hand at the racks around them.

"We came for music," he answered, in the tone of someone dealing with an idiot. Mizuki merely smiled.

"Ah. Not the company of friends?" He paused, and Keigo sniffed at the melodrama. "But I suppose not, given the conversation as we arrived. Really, Shuusuke, anyone would think you were jealous." His glance flicked toward Kunimitsu.

Keigo was about to snort, because hadn't he and Fuji been over that already? But the shift in Fuji's weight, the tense and twist of his hands, stopped it. Keigo's eyes widened. There must be some truth in what Mizuki was saying, or Fuji wouldn't be reacting like this. From the way Kunimitsu stiffened beside him, he had caught some of it, too.

And that was enough for Keigo to interfere.

"Jealous?" he drawled. "You should check your facts, Mizuki. Envious, now, that's a bit more likely." It wasn't easy to lounge while standing upright, but that's what talent was for. Tachibana was looking at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement. Kunimitsu was completely poker faced, except for the angle of his brows, which communicated a certain resigned affection to Keigo. Fuji slanted a wry glance at him, appreciating the double edge of Keigo's intervention.

Mizuki looked at him with irritation before narrowing his eyes. When he spoke, it was to Fuji, every nuance of tone and stance saying that Keigo's interruption was insignificant.

"You have my sympathy, of course. It can't be easy to lose such a subtle bond to someone so greedy that he can't stand not to be the center of attention."

Now it was Keigo's turn to suppress a snarl, because he'd be damned before he gave Mizuki the satisfaction. Of course, the delivery annoyed him infinitely more than the accusation, which he'd heard with tiresome frequency. A part of him, however, had to appreciate the precision of the attack. It played perfectly off the manner of intervention he had chosen, and also seemed to touch on a genuine sore point with Fuji. He filed that last observation away for future consideration.

Yes, this was definitely Mizuki's true game.

Keigo's own response rallied though, just as for any other attack. That moment after he had spoken, a flash of surprise had shown in Mizuki's eyes, as if he'd forgotten Keigo's presence. Combined with his choice of counter, Keigo rather thought it indicated something about Mizuki. It was, after all, easiest to recognize a weakness one shared. He wondered whether Fuji had caught it.

Ah, yes, there was the smile. The dangerous one.

"Perhaps," Fuji answered in his most dismissive tone, and turned most of the way away from Mizuki to smile far more softly up at Tachibana. Keigo detected subtext again, since Tachibana didn't really seem the sort to typically touch his lover's cheek in public the way he was right now.

Mizuki certainly seemed to get it, as his expression turned extremely disgruntled for a moment. Keigo rather thought all four of them were waiting for a classic Mizuki temper tantrum. He, at least, was quite surprised when Mizuki merely nodded, eyes sharp, conceding the game if not the match.

"Another day, then, Shuusuke," he murmured, and turned to follow the path Yuuta had taken.

Tachibana looked after him, down at the still glinting eyes of his lover, and finally over at Kunimitsu.

"Tezuka," he said, wearily, "is it one of your requirements for team members, to be pathologically incapable of refusing a challenge?"

Keigo chuckled. "You're just noticing?"

Yuuta

Yuuta slipped around the end of the cd racks, and nearly ran over Tachibana Ann, who was peering through a gap at the confrontation on the other side.

"Oh, not you, too," he groaned. She gave him a stern eye.

"Your boyfriend is crazy," she declared. "What did he do to make Fuji-niisan look like that?"

"None of your business," Yuuta told her. "And Aniki is my brother, in case you've forgotten. You already have one, what do you want with another?"

"Unlike some people, I happen to like big brothers," she shot back. Yuuta sighed, and leaned against the rack opposite.

"Knock it off, Ann, you're not that stupid."

She had the grace to look slightly abashed, as she tucked her hair back. "Well, no," she admitted, in a less aggressive tone, "but there are really times, Yuuta." Yuuta glanced aside. Aniki knew that Yuuta loved him. That was all that mattered. Right?

"Aniki and Mizuki had... a fight. Kind of," he offered. "I think it's over now, though. Mostly." Feeling a little nervous at the number of qualifiers his unspoken pact of honesty with Ann forced him to add, he joined her in peering through the racks.

"Ooo, that was a good one," Ann said, admiringly, of Aniki's finishing move. Yuuta grinned down at her.

"You can be really vicious, you know that?"

"Good thing, too, otherwise how would I ever deal with you?"

They both sighed, and stepped back, as Mizuki let the challenge go.

"He was actually kind of restrained, today," Ann noted, thoughtfully. "I don't suppose he's been ill?"

"Like I said, things are better. Mostly." Yuuta shrugged, concealing his own surprise and relief. Ann looked over as Mizuki rounded the corner to their aisle.

"Ann-chan, how pleasant to see you here," Mizuki greeted her. Not in a terribly good mood, but not fuming either, Yuuta gauged, and relaxed a little more. Ann gave Mizuki a long look before turning to Yuuta.

"He's still a snake," she said, firmly. "But I suppose, sometimes, he's not completely horrible." And, with that, she took herself off toward the Rock section.

"Charming girl," Mizuki murmured. "Did you find everything you wanted?" Yuuta couldn't help smiling at that question, even though it made his boyfriend quirk a brow at him.

"Yes."

"Good," Mizuki said, softly, reaching for Yuuta's hand. Yuuta's breath caught as he raised it and placed a kiss in the palm, just the tip of his tongue flicking against Yuuta's skin.

"Mizuki!" Yuuta gasped, biting his lip and glancing quickly around to make sure no one was near. Mizuki gave him a dark look, from under his lashes, his promise to find out, later, exactly what Yuuta had been smiling over.

"Shall we go, then?"

Shishido

"So, who is this guy you're so excited to find?" Ryou asked, following in his partner's wake as Choutarou paced down the aisle, casting his eye over the racks.

"Chris Norman. He's a classical flautist, primarily, but he does a lot of other really neat ethnic music, and he favors a wooden flute. It has a much softer tone than metal. I've never found a store that carries any of his albums, before. The first time I heard him was actually in concert." Choutarou glanced back at him, with a small, bright smile in his eyes. "You'd like him."

Ryou was wondering just how to take that, when Choutarou stopped short. Only Ryou's quick reflexes kept him from barrelling into his partner.

"Atobe-buchou," Choutarou said, voice startled. Ryou stepped around him to see.

And then he almost stepped back behind Choutarou, because it wasn't just Atobe. It was also Tezuka, and Tachibana, and Fuji. The captain's club, plus head case. Every club seemed to have one of the latter, and he supposed Fuji was better than Ibu, but Ryou would have preferred Jirou. At least he was reasonably harmless.

"Ohtori. Shishido," Atobe replied. Ryou swore his eyes gleamed with amusement at Ryou's discomfort, for an instant, but you could never pin Atobe down about stuff like that. A moment later he was turning back to Choutarou. "Are you here for anything in particular today?" he asked. Choutarou smiled his faint, public smile.

"The store called just this morning to say that they had Chris Norman's first album in."

"Chris Norman." Atobe's eyes went distant for a moment. "He played with the Baltimore Consort, yes?"

The conversation that followed had very little meaning to Ryou; he liked listening to music, but the details never really stuck with him. So he split his attention between pride in his partner and irritation with Atobe. Both pleasant constants in his life. He could always be proud of Choutarou, of the poise that let him keep his countenance in just about any situation, including chatting with his captain under Tezuka's gimlet eye and Fuji's alarming smile, and of a determination to match Ryou's own, even when it was his own partner he was arguing with. Ryou still didn't think fraternization between teams could possibly be healthy, but Choutarou had gotten him to admit that it didn't seem to have affected Atobe and Tezuka's games. Just personally, Ryou thought that was the weirdest thing of all.

He hauled back his wandering thoughts as Atobe... dismissed Choutarou with a gracious nod. There were really times when Ryou wished they were still eight years old and he could get away with punching the smug bastard. Still, in his own annoying way he seemed fond of Choutarou, and that got him a lot of latitude in Ryou's book. He sauntered after his partner, exchanging companionable sneers with Atobe on the way past.

"Such a unique leadership style you have," he heard Fuji remark, genially, behind him. "Do you tell your team members to imagine your face on the tennis ball, or do you trust that it will happen naturally?"

Ryou barely managed not to choke, because he had gotten through more than one practice with exactly that tactic. He'd been right all along. Fuji Shuusuke was creepy.

"Whatever works," Atobe returned in a careless tone. Ryou could hear the smirk in it, and shot a glare over his shoulder.

"Remind me again why I'm friends with a jerk like you," he growled, running an impatient hand through his hair.

"Because I'm the only one who would put up with your dramatics," Atobe answered, promptly and loftily.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Ryou gave him a look rich with disbelief. "Nice talking to you, Mr. Pot, I'll just be getting back to my teacups, why don't I." He didn't bother waiting for an answer before turning his back and stalking off after Choutarou. Maybe he'd send Tezuka a sympathy card when Valentine's rolled around. When he caught up to his partner, Choutarou offered him one of the sample-this-disc headphone sets.

"This is it."

Ryou had to admit, it was pretty music. It almost sounded like a traditional flute, but not quite; and a lot bouncier.

"Now," Choutarou added, "imagine the man playing that, standing in front of a formal orchestra, wearing jeans and a bright red knit shirt and suspenders."

Ryou burst out laughing. "You're kidding!" When Choutarou shook his head, smile flashing, Ryou had to agree, "All right, yeah, I probably would like him."

Choutarou's pleased look nearly made him glow; it was one of the expressions Ryou was especially fond of. He was just considering whether it would injure his partner's reserve if Ryou ran his fingers through the unruly drift of silver hair, when familiar voices interrupted.

"I mean, really, you need a life, Ryouma."

"I have a life."

"Besides tennis. Come on, forget the old man and act like a normal person for just one afternoon!"

"And another after that," Echizen pointed out, inexorably, "and another after that, and..."

"Now you're getting the idea."

Momoshiro, Ryou identified the other speaker. No one else had quite the same congenially full-of-himself tone.

"Momoshiro, Echizen-kun," Choutarou greeted them, turning.

"Hey," Ryou seconded.

"Ohtori, Shishido-san, how's it going?" Momoshiro hailed them, easily. Ryou considered him one of the easier players to get along with off the court. The same couldn't be said for his companion, who just nodded—unusually cordial for Echizen. "Guess this place is attracting tennis players today, hm?" Momoshiro added, grinning.

"You have no idea," Ryou muttered.

"It's Tezuka-buchou and the Monkey King," Echizen observed, peering further down the aisle. "And Tachibana and Fuji-senpai, too."

Momoshiro winced a little. Ryou sympathized completely. Neither team had been prepared for finding out that their captains had hooked up. Even though Choutarou had said they should probably have expected it. Echizen's expression sharpened into an evil, little smile.

"We should say hello."

"Hey, Ryouma, hang on, we... you shouldn't... Ryouma!" Momoshiro's snatch at Echizen's collar missed, as the younger player made a bee-line for the greatest source of trouble available.

Typical.

"It can be troublesome to have a partner who's so impulsive, can't it?" Choutarou asked.

"You can say that again," Momoshiro muttered as he made after Echizen.

It took another minute to catch up with Ryou.

"Choutarou..." he said, drawing it out. His partner made wide eyes at him.

"Yes, Shishido-san?"

Ok, now he was sure, because Choutarou never called him that, anymore, unless he was teasing. He stepped into his partner, backing him against the rack.

"If we weren't in public," he said, softly, watching Choutarou's eyes darken.

"Then, what?" Choutarou murmured. Ryou laughed.

"Grab your stuff, and let's get out of here. And I'll show you."

If the cashier thought it was odd that the customers were grinning silently at each other, he didn't mention it.

Momoshiro

Momo was an easygoing sort of guy. Which was a good thing, considering. It really wasn't often, anymore, that he had the urge to whap Ryouma over the head with a racquet. It was much more effective to tickle him until he couldn't breathe; Ryouma was far too aware of his dignity for his own good.

But whenever Ryouma saw an opportunity to mouth off to their captain he took it, and then it was time for caring friends to restrain him. Possibly with a straitjacket, because he really had to be crazy to tease Tezuka-san like that. The fact that Momo had never once, in three and a half years, succeeded was beside the point. So was the incomprehensible fact that their captain generally let Ryouma get away with it, sort of. If there was any topic that would finally drive Tezuka-san over the edge, it had to be his... relationship with Atobe.

Momo caught up just as Ryouma offered their captain his best insolent smirk.

"Buchou. Out on a date?"

Tezuka-san looked down his nose at his youngest team member with no expression Momo could detect, but Ryouma's eyes gleamed like he'd gotten a rise out of him. Atobe, after one look, leaned against the racks, silently declaring that it was not his team and not his problem. Momo didn't know exactly how he managed to get that across just by leaning back and crossing his arms. That talent was one of the more irritating things about Atobe.

Maybe Ryouma thought so, too, because he turned to Atobe next. "Guess there's no hope for a game today, then. Too bad. Beating you would have been a good way to wrap up the weekend."

"I'm told it's good for people to have dreams," Atobe returned, condescending as ever. "Nice to see you have one that will last you so very long, Echizen."

Momo's cautious look at Tezuka-san showed that he didn't seem upset that Ryouma was ragging on his boyfriend. That was a relief. A sudden thought came to Momo, that Ryouma was challenging Atobe in front of their captain by way of asking permission. Ryouma never directly disobeyed the captain, but he was a master of avoiding being given orders that he didn't want to follow. Giving the captain a chance to object was as good as asking if it was all right.

Which meant, Momo realized, that Ryouma would take Tezuka-san's silence for assent, and keep needling Atobe until he got what he wanted. Ryouma was opening his mouth for the next shot when bright laughter cut across him.

"Ryouma-kun, you're almost as good at ticking people off as you are at playing tennis. And that's saying something."

Tachibana Ann appeared from around the corner, grinning when Ryouma raised a brow at her.

"Ann-chan," Momo exclaimed, relieved. "Are you here with your brother?" She grinned wider.

"Yes, but I thought he'd probably appreciate it if I got lost for a while." She flicked her eyes at her brother and Fuji-senpai, standing together. "I've been exploring on my own; this place has a ton of great stuff!" She waved a handful of plastic cases, and Momo leaned over her shoulder to see.

"Oh, hey, I didn't know Do As Infinity had another one out, what's on it?"

"Momo-senpai." Ryouma's voice was low, but it got Momo's attention. Ryouma didn't sound that sharp very often. When he turned, though, Ryouma just looked at him, sidelong. He seemed irritated. It took Momo a couple beats to figure out why, but when he did he smiled. Ryouma looked away again, not meeting anyone's eyes, now.

Momo came away from Ann, to stand behind Ryouma and lay a casual hand on his shoulder. "Ready to go bargain hunting?" he asked.

"Sure," Ryouma muttered, still not looking back at him.

Ann-chan had a knowing smile on as she turned to her brother. "Did you guys find everything you wanted, Onii-chan?"

Occupied with her questions, the other players returned Momo's goodbyes distractedly.

It wasn't, Momo thought, as they moved on, that Ryouma was possessive, exactly. And he wasn't anyone's definition of clingy. There were just people he didn't like Momo to pay too much attention to, and Tachibana Ann was one of them. The word boyfriend hadn't even been breathed between them, yet, except jokingly, but they didn't often need things spoken out loud.

Momo ruffled Ryouma's hair, and Ryouma swatted at his hand.

"Cut it out," he said, sounding sulky. But he turned his head enough to glance at Momo over his shoulder, eyes momentarily softer and mouth curving up at one corner. Momo smiled back, and let his hand rest, briefly, at the back of Ryouma's neck before falling.

There were easier things than words.

Tezuka

Kunimitsu slung his bag of CDs into a corner, in a rare moment of messiness, and almost collapsed back on his bed. He pressed a hand over his eyes, pushing his glasses up, hoping to alleviate the threatening headache. He'd really never thought a simple trip to the music store would be so harrowing. If he had, he'd have risked whatever musical white elephants Keigo might have chosen for him.

The bed dipped, and he felt a hand pluck his glasses off entirely. "Oh, come along, Kunimitsu, admit it. It was funny," Keigo chuckled.

Kunimitsu lifted his hand, the better to glare at his lover. Though he couldn't quite maintain it when Keigo's cool fingertips pressed across his forehead, driving the tense almost-pain away.

"You're worried about Fuji," Keigo observed. Kunimitsu didn't bother denying it.

"I never expected Mizuki, of all people, to..." he trailed off.

"Lock his interest?" Keigo suggested. "It could be worse."

Kunimitsu made an inquiring noise, closing his eyes as Keigo's thumbs stroked the arch of his brow bone.

"Mizuki himself doesn't seem completely unbalanced about the whole thing," Keigo told him, thoughtfully. "And I imagine Tachibana will keep Fuji from going too far."

Kunimitsu was worn out enough to accept Keigo's judgment over his own fears, though he made a mental note to see if he could get the whole story out of Fuji later. On the other hand, he revised his thought as Keigo's lips brushed across his, perhaps he wasn't as worn out as all that. And he really felt he deserved some consolation after a day like this.

He reached up to pull Keigo down against him.

End

Branch: *looks around, slightly hunted* Ok, so, we'll flip a coin to see which couple gets their smut first, right?

All Muses: *ignore her*

Momo: It'll be us, first, we're cuter.

Shishido: You wish! You give her way too much trouble, with all that non-verbal crap. It'll be us.

Atobe: Speaking of trouble, you have far too much back-story requirement, Shishido. Besides, she loves me best. *preens*

Ryouma: Exactly. You two old guys need a chance to get your breath back.

Branch: *sidles behind Fuji* I'm just glad you don't like me writing smut for you and Tachibana.

Fuji: *slow smile* Actually, I've been considering that.

Branch: *pales, backs away as all muses turn to look at her* Help! Muse Police! I'm being mugged!

Assurance

Immediately follows "Confluence". Mizuki and Yuuta's various reactions to Mizuki's clash with Fuji at the music store. Porn with Insights, I-4

Yuuta had noticed the sidelong smiles Mizuki gave him on the way back from the music store, and was not surprised by Mizuki's hand on his wrist, when they turned into the residence halls, urging him toward Mizuki's room. Nor was he surprised when Mizuki immediately pressed him down to the bed. Yuuta watched the shadowy, blue eyes above him while long, slim hands stripped his clothes away. The eyes were focused intently on him, as if Yuuta were something Mizuki had memorized, but suspected might have changed since. Yuuta smiled. He liked it when Mizuki was like this. Mizuki had told the truth, that first time; he did have a very light touch. Now, though, his hands were slow and strong, and the mouth on Yuuta's was open and demanding. This was Mizuki without the calculation, and Yuuta liked the honesty of this raw, insistent desire. He stretched and sighed under Mizuki's caresses.

Normally, Mizuki also liked to take his time with preparation, waiting, coaxing, teasing until Yuuta was hot and wanton, but today seemed to be different all around. He pulled Yuuta, swiftly, up to his knees, back against Mizuki's chest. Arms wound around him tightly, not letting them part. Yuuta stiffened as he felt Mizuki's cock pressing against him already.

"Mizuki?"

"I want to feel you, Yuuta, as close as we can get," Mizuki murmured, mouth brushing against the nape of Yuuta's neck. "Will you trust me?"

Yuuta thought back to the scene at the store today, to Mizuki's restraint in not following Aniki's challenge to the hilt. Mizuki must be wound tighter than a watch spring, still, and edgy from that partial victory. Yuuta probably should have expected that Mizuki would want some reassurance of Yuuta's welcome and acceptance. Yuuta knew he had always been the flip side of that coin, comfort and sanity to Mizuki when he was lost in his own obsessive drive. Despite the fact that their definition of sanity wasn't always the generally accepted one. And, after all, hadn't he just been thinking that he liked it when Mizuki got a little less careful with his intensity? He smiled and relaxed in Mizuki's arms.

"Yes," he answered. Mizuki's arms tightened even further before he reached for the handsome blue glass jar that Yuuta teased him for keeping lubricant in.

He had to breathe deeply against the first ache of Mizuki pushing into him, gasping at the slow pressure. He let Mizuki support him as the slow, slow stretch unwound all his muscles one strand at a time and left him trembling. He felt as if only Mizuki's hold kept that burn from pulling him apart. The shaking uncertainty of his whole body choked his voice. He could only manage a faint moan as Mizuki paused, completely inside him. Mizuki whispered his name, that normally smooth voice harsh. Then he was moving again.

Yuuta heard Mizuki's name in his own voice, rough and breathless, and rocked back to meet his lover as he relaxed and opened under Mizuki's gentle motion. The more he relaxed the stronger Mizuki's thrusts became, and deep enough to taste in the back of his throat, a rough slide so tight it brushed the edge of discomfort. But Yuuta liked the firmness of the touch, the contact, the closeness of Mizuki so tight inside him. He shuddered as Mizuki slid one hand down and stroked a finger up the underside of his growing erection. Those long fingers fondled him even as Mizuki's grip refused to let him go far enough to thrust into his lover's hand. Yuuta groaned and surrendered his last tension, sank back in Mizuki's hold. He gave himself to the rhythm Mizuki created for them, fell down into the heat of Mizuki's hands, and the strength of his body lifting Yuuta, driving him under a flood of burning, shivering sensation, heat like sand under a summer sun spiraling up him, finally overflowing.

Mizuki held him close, even after the shuddering heat left him, limp and panting in its wake. He laid Yuuta down gently, pulled on his robe, grabbed a towel and left, returning in a few minutes with the towel cool and damp. Yuuta grinned just a little. The stroke of the towel was as sensual and careful as Mizuki's usual lovemaking; it was a considerate gesture.

It was also a declaration to anyone who might take notice, in the hall or the bathroom, that Mizuki had just had Yuuta in his bed and, by implication, left him too satiated to move. He'd give Mizuki that; it was close enough to true, and Mizuki needed, right now, to know and advertise that Yuuta accepted and chose him. It would calm him back to his normal levels of manipulativeness, Yuuta thought.

Mizuki lay back down, twining a leg through Yuuta's and leaning on an elbow so he could see Yuuta's face as he stroked a hand over his chest.

"So," he purred, "what were you so amused by at the store?"

Yes, Mizuki was definitely back to normal. Just like him to wait until his target was dazed to ask the question. Yuuta caught Mizuki's fingers in his as they made distracting circles on his skin, and studied them as he tried to find words.

"You asked if I found everything I wanted," he said, slowly. "I was smiling because I think I did. You... you were both all right."

"You were watching my little passage with Shuusuke?" Mizuki asked, casting a speculative eye on Yuuta. Yuuta blushed. Yes, he knew he always said he didn't like seeing them fight over him, but...

"I was worried," he muttered. "I've never seen Aniki quite that cold, not even the first time he played you, or the first time he played that little bastard Kirihara. And I know you, you don't let things go. So I was worried. But you..." he brought their clasped hands to his lips and spoke against them, "you held back."

"Yes," Mizuki agreed.

"Why?" Yuuta looked up. Mizuki gave him a sidelong glance under his lashes to go with a crooked smile.

"Do you think I want both Tachibanas baying for my blood?" he asked, dryly. "Just the one is bad enough."

Yuuta couldn't suppress a snicker. Mizuki freed his hand to stroke Yuuta's hair.

"It isn't for revenge anymore, Yuuta," he explained, gently. "It isn't to regain my honor. It's a game proper now, and it doesn't do to rush a game, or overextend too soon. Besides," he kissed Yuuta slow and deep, stealing his breath, "Shuusuke takes care with things that belong to you. So do I."

Yuuta looked up silently for a moment before winding his fingers through the soft strands of Mizuki's hair and drawing him down to another kiss.

"Everything I wanted," he repeated, voice husky.

End