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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.

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"Air Feeds Fire" published on 2004-01-05 13:35:50.

"Circumstances" published on 2004-01-09 13:31:15.

"This Time" published on 2004-01-10 18:26:08.

"Rough" published on 2004-01-12 18:51:12.

"Enough" published on 2004-01-14 21:15:10.

"Relaxed" published on 2004-01-14 21:19:58.

"Gift" published on 2004-01-14 21:30:21.

"Two to be Steady - Part One" published on 2004-01-22 15:34:39.

"Two to be Steady - Part Two" published on 2004-01-22 15:42:06.

"Two to be Steady - Part Three" published on 2004-01-22 15:49:07.

"Two to be Steady - Part Four" published on 2004-01-22 15:56:00.

"Two to be Steady - Part Five" published on 2004-01-22 16:02:19.

"Two to be Steady - Part Six" published on 2004-01-22 16:08:04.

"The Seconds' Club" published on 2004-01-29 16:12:12.

"Sticky" published on 2004-02-01 17:33:09.

"Wet" published on 2004-02-05 17:36:51.

"Ever - Chapter Fourteen" published on 2004-02-10 20:09:10.

"Morning - One" published on 2004-02-12 19:46:34.

"Morning - Two" published on 2004-02-12 19:56:14.

"Morning - Three" published on 2004-02-12 20:06:46.

"Rare" published on 2004-02-16 21:28:23.

"Snapshots" published on 2004-03-02 16:38:55.

"Sustained" published on 2004-03-11 21:46:24.

"Tyger" published on 2004-05-29 13:55:51.

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

"Puzzle" published on 2004-08-24 18:45:23.

"Transpose" published on 2004-04-27 12:37:25.

"Pace" published on 2004-04-28 17:09:57.

"Feels Like Home" published on 2004-05-08 17:28:46.

"Excuse" published on 2004-05-25 20:58:10.

"Challenge - Chapter Five" published on 2004-06-18 18:30:22.

"Water" published on 2004-06-23 02:38:07.

"Challenge - Chapter Eight" published on 2004-06-20 19:30:55.

"Resolution" published on 2004-06-25 12:39:57.

"Contrary" published on 2004-06-28 14:55:58.

"Earth Over Heaven" published on 2004-07-01 18:33:12.

"Restraint" published on 2004-07-01 18:45:49.

"Irregular" published on 2004-07-04 14:25:40.

"Credit" published on 2004-07-08 19:24:35.

"Dislocated" published on 2004-07-11 19:33:45.

"Cloud to Cloud" published on 2004-07-13 19:43:55.

"Fortune" published on 2004-07-19 14:33:22.

"Fly" published on 2004-08-07 19:47:17.

"Games for Fun" published on 2004-08-25 15:22:28.

"Innocence and Experience" published on 2004-06-04 14:03:03.

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

"Favors Returned" published on 2004-08-30 15:24:13.

"Yaru, Part Four" published on 2004-09-26 13:04:07.

"Delta" published on 2004-10-05 18:21:37.

"Hageshii" published on 2004-12-13 17:53:47.

"Demonstration" published on 2004-12-14 15:29:25.

"Six" published on 2004-12-16 16:43:03.

"Verbalize" published on 2005-01-02 18:29:12.

"Belonging" published on 2005-01-09 14:21:09.

"Echo" published on 2005-01-07 15:52:35.

"Logical Conclusion" published on 2005-01-12 17:50:55.

"Quick Days" published on 2005-03-05 20:44:25.

"Extra - Courtship" published on 2005-09-22 21:24:59.

"Clothed" published on 2005-11-12 14:59:58.

"Counterpoint - Previous Experience" published on 2005-12-20 14:00:56.

"One Simple Thing" published on 2006-01-11 20:44:38.

"Execute" published on 2006-02-01 21:29:49.

"Truth and Courage" published on 2007-01-31 12:40:37.

"Still Air" published on 2007-03-01 12:46:21.

"Polarization - Part One" published on 2007-05-04 12:59:38.

"Polarization - Part Two" published on 2007-05-27 13:04:27.

"Polarization - Part Three" published on 2007-05-27 13:06:58.

"Cotton Sheets" published on 2007-06-02 14:09:31.

"Patience and Concentration" published on 2007-06-26 14:22:24.

"Rain Falls Hard" published on 2007-07-07 14:49:34.

"Scattered Beans, Year Passing" published on 2008-02-03 19:09:25.

"Walk Straight Down the Middle" published on 2008-02-06 20:27:13.

"Directional Transformation" published on 2008-02-08 18:00:09.

"Sky in Shade" published on 2008-02-12 16:36:01.

"If It's One That You Can Keep" published on 2008-02-29 15:03:45.

"At Your Feet" published on 2008-02-29 16:20:43.

"Bend Me, Stretch Me" published on 2008-03-06 16:05:51.

"Negative Space" published on 2008-03-21 17:10:56.

"Run Down the Night Corridor" published on 2008-03-31 15:58:14.

"Over the Edge" published on 2008-04-11 15:02:57.

"Al Fresco" published on 2008-04-11 15:10:21.

"Better than Dessert" published on 2008-04-11 15:16:05.

"Comfort" published on 2008-04-11 15:27:30.

"If Only" published on 2008-04-11 15:36:44.

"Now Must Everything, Everything Turn" published on 2008-05-07 13:38:27.

"Population Adjustments" published on 2008-06-19 13:04:58.

"The Wave that Turns the Tide" published on 2008-06-19 14:22:52.

"Else the Bottles Break and the Wine is Spilled" published on 2008-06-19 14:23:47.

"Through the Sleepless Nights" published on 2008-06-19 14:54:48.

"Coals and Ink" published on 2008-06-19 14:55:23.

"Overdetermined" published on 2008-06-19 15:41:27.

"Reach and Grasp" published on 2008-06-19 15:41:58.

"Full to Overflowing" published on 2008-06-19 16:30:12.

"Softer than Velvet" published on 2008-06-19 16:31:50.

"Moving Down the Streams of My Lifetime" published on 2008-06-19 16:32:13.

"Information Wants to Be Free" published on 2008-08-07 12:49:02.

"Hanging Upside Down" published on 2008-08-14 13:44:18.

"Machinations" published on 2008-10-05 21:33:02.

"Without Fear" published on 2008-10-05 21:37:39.

"Feline" published on 2008-10-05 21:42:37.

"Elemental" published on 2008-10-05 21:45:57.

"Things to Wear" published on 2008-10-05 21:47:35.

"Knowledge of Good and Evil" published on 2008-10-05 21:56:26.

"Kiss for a Lifetime" published on 2008-10-05 21:58:46.

"Not My Fault" published on 2008-10-05 22:01:49.

"Once There Was a Man" published on 2008-10-05 22:05:00.

"Remember and Forget" published on 2008-10-05 22:08:17.

"As Red as Any Blood" published on 2008-10-05 22:15:03.

"Man of Mouth and Hands" published on 2008-10-05 22:17:13.

"Hearthfire" published on 2008-10-05 22:19:38.

"Seven Pleats" published on 2008-11-20 17:06:29.

"Where On Your Palm is My Little Line" published on 2008-12-11 16:53:31.

"Untamable" published on 2008-12-29 14:36:09.

"Sex Sells" published on 2009-01-03 12:22:20.

"Time-lapse" published on 2009-01-08 20:11:09.

"Unpainted" published on 2009-01-14 15:59:20.

"It's All a Metaphor" published on 2009-01-22 14:52:11.

"A Brighter Shade of Red" published on 2009-02-04 11:49:53.

"But For the Love of You" published on 2009-02-20 13:23:16.

"Two Hands Make A Pair" published on 2009-07-26 20:33:50.

"May Flowers" published on 2009-03-11 11:37:17.

"Going Back Someday" published on 2009-03-18 16:10:57.

"Working Till the Sun Don't Shine" published on 2009-03-20 11:30:01.

"It's the Motion" published on 2009-04-08 12:41:05.

"On the Clock" published on 2009-05-15 14:42:34.

"Contractual Obligation" published on 2009-05-27 14:00:39.

"But One Thought Between Them" published on 2009-05-28 11:45:32.

"Unmistaken Identity" published on 2009-06-01 16:36:57.

"Any Tool, When Held Correctly, Is a Weapon" published on 2009-06-09 19:54:04.

"Unbound" published on 2009-06-23 14:41:26.

"Experienced" published on 2009-07-23 16:07:10.

"Precipitate" published on 2009-07-23 16:19:21.

"Out of Patience" published on 2009-07-24 13:13:58.

"The Voice of Experience" published on 2009-07-27 15:37:33.

"Traditional Values" published on 2009-07-27 15:38:10.

"Internal Dialogue" published on 2009-07-27 15:38:41.

"Heat in the Shade" published on 2009-08-19 14:57:07.

"The River Continues" published on 2009-12-19 19:09:09.

"A Better Trap" published on 2010-01-06 14:36:27.

"Sugar and Spice" published on 2010-02-06 17:08:39.

"Tools of Persuasion" published on 2010-02-06 17:22:56.

"Between One Moment and the Next" published on 2010-02-06 17:29:15.

"Under the Sky" published on 2010-02-06 17:30:37.

"Demanding" published on 2010-02-06 17:31:51.

"Naked Truth" published on 2010-02-08 14:49:44.

"Like Chile on the Tongue" published on 2010-04-11 22:02:46.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - One" published on 2010-05-26 16:23:10.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Two" published on 2010-05-27 11:31:18.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Two" published on 2010-05-27 14:28:23.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Three" published on 2010-05-28 10:52:43.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Three" published on 2010-06-01 16:11:58.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Five" published on 2010-06-02 13:50:13.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Four" published on 2010-06-03 12:29:42.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Six" published on 2010-06-03 13:33:05.

"Cat's Cradle - Omake One" published on 2010-06-14 19:38:00.

"Cat's Cradle - Omake Two" published on 2010-06-14 19:39:45.

"A Love for Living Dangerously" published on 2010-12-29 22:10:59.

"Vantage Point" published on 2011-01-27 22:18:25.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eight" published on 2011-09-16 11:57:54.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twelve" published on 2011-10-14 14:37:42.

"A Cup of Sugar" published on 2011-10-19 13:35:06.

"The Blue Lights, The Scent of Water" published on 2011-11-09 13:12:44.

"Come Along With Me" published on 2011-11-23 12:40:20.

"To the Silver Night Sky" published on 2012-02-22 13:17:24.

"Say Nothing and Close Your Eyes" published on 2011-11-23 12:43:11.

"Shadows that Won't Disappear" published on 2011-12-07 13:01:18.

"Crossing Every Boundary Line Between Earth and Sky" published on 2012-02-01 12:20:51.

"Silence That Is Incomprehensible" published on 2011-11-16 13:20:33.

"The One Who Fashions You on the Outside" published on 2011-11-23 12:45:44.

"True as Gold and Iron" published on 2011-11-27 13:01:09.

"A Kiss Upon A Tide" published on 2011-12-11 12:44:27.

"Heavier Than A Mountain" published on 2011-11-21 15:55:29.

"The Command of Those Who Ask of Me" published on 2011-12-14 15:48:18.

"(Not) Limited by Blood" published on 2011-07-31 22:22:24.

"Take Me to Yourselves Shamelessly" published on 2011-12-21 12:05:06.

"Strength in Trembling" published on 2012-01-04 14:00:54.

"All Our Times Have Come" published on 2012-02-08 12:39:25.

"Euphemistic Touch" published on 2012-03-28 17:24:24.

"Taste of Steel" published on 2012-03-28 17:28:28.

"Stones In the Road" published on 2012-06-01 21:16:19.

"For He Has This Grace" published on 2012-08-01 13:05:42.

"Poppies in the Wind" published on 2012-09-24 16:18:01.

"White Camellias Turning Red" published on 2012-10-03 14:40:50.

"The Tang of Hibiscus" published on 2012-10-10 14:17:21.

"Bright-line" published on 2012-10-17 12:40:16.

"Reach Out and Touch Yourself" published on 2012-10-24 12:34:59.

"Trust in the Palm of Your Hand" published on 2012-10-31 17:36:56.

"A Good, Free, and Unconstrained Will" published on 2012-11-07 11:52:24.

"Wrapped in Honeysuckle" published on 2012-11-14 17:02:18.

"Heads or Tails" published on 2014-04-11 10:40:27.

"Ring Led" published on 2014-04-15 17:11:23.

"Fitting to the Crime" published on 2014-05-08 10:12:36.

"Flirting With..." published on 2015-05-02 11:41:35.

"Red Heart and White Sword" published on 2017-06-18 16:22:13.

"The Yellow Season" published on 2017-06-29 17:04:01.

"Candles Lit at the Doors" published on 2017-08-21 19:26:41.

"Ground Fire" published on 2019-02-03 11:47:17.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Two" published on 2019-08-21 18:18:42.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Three" published on 2019-08-23 17:16:27.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Five" published on 2019-08-28 20:15:08.

"Swallow the Mountain" published on 2019-09-06 19:34:13.

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 .

Cover design by Branch.

Air Feeds Fire

After Ed has to kill he has to deal with having killed. Divergent Future, Drama With Porn, I-4, faint spoiler ep 25

I

Edward Elric was not crying.

He had not cried standing in the bright winter afternoon with blood freezing on the metal of his hand. He had not cried when Hawkeye drew him back so the soldiers could take away the body. He had not cried when they came back to the headquarters complex, merely asked Al to go up to their rooms without him.

Roy had seen the aftermath of enough days like the one just past to know precisely how much trouble that meant.

That was why he had kept a quiet eye on Ed all day and finally ended up standing on the roof at nearly midnight, watching his protÃ©gÃ© kneel motionless by the rail, still not crying but pressing his clasped hands hard against his mouth.

"Hagane."

There was no response. Roy had not really expected one.

He came softly, and just a bit cautiously, to kneel behind Ed and draw the boy back against him. Ed was shivering, but Roy had little hope that it was from the cold of the night.

"Let go."

That, finally, provoked a reaction, a violent head-shake. Roy tightened his grip.

"Ed, you must."

The shiver was harder, now. Ed's breath was coming uneven, as if he had run a race to the end of his endurance and a bit beyond. When he looked up Roy had to conceal a wince.

Earlier the normally expressive eyes and mouth had been utterly blank. Now the eyes were dull, the gold frosted, and bitter lines caged his mouth.

"I... I'll..."

"It will be all right."

"No! Leave it...!" Ed broke off with a wrench in his voice.

Roy blew out his breath in a white cloud.

"You know," he murmured, "many would say that I only helped you go where you wished to go, and that's true. But it's also true that I knew the path you chose would bring you here some day, and you did not know it. I've been your commander these five years, knowing that someday you would kill. So here you are, and here I am. Let it go, Ed. For this night, I'm here. I promise to catch you."

The shiver had become a wracking shudder, and Ed finally turned into Roy's arms and the golden head pressed into his shoulder. The harsh breathing ran over into sobs.

Roy said nothing more, only held Ed and stroked his hair and waited.

At last Ed quieted. Roy took it as a measure of the boy's exhaustion and pain that he made no protest when Roy gathered him up and carried him inside. After a moment's thought Roy turned toward the rooms he kept here for the, frequent, occasions when he couldn't be bothered to walk home. Al didn't need to be worried by seeing his brother like this, and Ed didn't need the pressure to be the collected big brother. Reaching his room Roy only bothered with a single candle, by whose light he set Ed down on the bed and briskly stripped off his coat, belt, boots and shirt before pulling up the blankets.

Ed looked up at him, neither blank nor frozen but his eyes were hazy and his mouth at a loss. When he spoke his voice was barely there.

"Taisa..."

"Sleep."

Ed's eyes widened and his jaw set, hard.

Roy wadded two of his many pillows up against the headboard, kicked off his own boots, and settled down beside Ed. As an afterthought, Roy drew the tie out of Ed's hair.

"Sleep," he repeated, firmly. "I'll stay with you.

He carded his fingers lightly through Ed's hair, unraveling his braid, until the wide, alarmed eyes began to drift closed.

After perhaps an hour Roy allowed himself to hope that this would be enough. It took people differently. For some, the simple presence of another human being who understood was comfort enough, and Ed was, after all, still quite young. If that failed, alcohol was a common alternative. Roy had seen a few scholarly sorts who got through the night by reading favorite books. It was as good a way to avoid reality for a little as any other, he supposed. His mouth quirked up, recalling how Hughes had gotten him though a night like this, years ago.

Roy rested his head back, starting to doze.

Perhaps it would be enough.

II

The gun was swinging around...

"Ed."

Ten more centimeters and it would level with Ed's chest...

"Ed, wake up."

Not yet! He lunged forward...

"Haaaa!"

Hands were on his shoulders, it was too warm to be outside, his throat hurt. Ed blinked, and the chiaroscuro of the room resolved into Roy Mustang.

He's not wearing his uniform. He always wears his uniform. Ed shook his head sharply at the total irrelevance of that observation. What...?

He remembered the Colonel promising to stay, the roof, the street in the afternoon sun... A shudder ran through him, and he fell back on the bed. The Colonel propped himself beside Ed on one elbow, apparently the better to examine him. He actually seemed... worried.

Ed turned his face away.

Mustang reached out and turned it back.

"You were dreaming about it?" he asked, before Ed could snap at him.

Ed flinched, and turned over to put his back to his commander. A familiar sigh, though less extravagant than usual, brushed past his ear.

"That won't work, Ed."

Mustang leaned over and pulled Ed back around, and looked down at him very seriously.

"Have you ever been drunk?"

Ed blinked at the non sequitur, startled into answering.

"Once. I remember being very upset about absolutely everything. Can't think why people enjoy it."

"Mm. That won't do then."

The Colonel's look had turned thoughtful, as if he were carefully turning over words for some question he wanted to ask. Ed waited, feeling suspended in a bubble of unreality between the horror he was trying not to think about and the normal, daily routines of life that he couldn't quite manage to recall right now. He wanted to do something to drive the horror further away, but couldn't think what would do it. And the tangible warmth of the Colonel's body beside him was comforting when so much else familiar seemed so far away. Under that warmth a little of the tension seeped out of Ed's shoulders.

Mustang nodded, as if Ed had answered whatever question he hadn't yet asked, leaned down and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss, but it continued for a while. Long enough for Ed's mind to stop being blank. Long enough to notice how pleasant the blankness had been, and to register that the experience was not actually displeasing. Just... startling. When Mustang drew back Ed couldn't quite find anything to say.

"Perhaps, yes," Mustang mused, and added more quietly, "what a memorial for him."

The feeling of unreality clashed with the extreme presence of the moment as Mustang's mouth found Ed's again. Moments of time flashed through Ed's mind. The Colonel smirking at some successful manipulation; the Colonel coldly ordering him to pull himself together; the Colonel smiling evilly at Ed's fury; the soft look that sometimes passed over Mustang's face when he found some new lead or hope for his star subordinate. And a new moment, now, Mustang's fingers threaded into Ed's hair and his lips warm against Ed's ear, and Ed didn't care, now, about the strangeness, because Mustang was making him solid and here and that was enough.

He started to lift his hands, hesitated, and only closed the left on Mustang's arm. Mustang lifted his head.

"Use both hands. I don't want you stopping to think about anything just now."

Ed let those words echo in his head, understanding that Mustang meant to distract him with this, probably quite extensively, and that if he consented he would have to trust Mustang to see him though something he had no experience of.

He hated not knowing what he was doing.

Mustang was waiting for his answer.

Slowly, Ed reached up and wrapped both arms around Mustang's back.

Something flashed in the dark eyes looking down at him, like that sometime softness but hotter. Ed let out his breath and shivered as Mustang scattered a line of butterfly kisses down his chest.

Mustang's gloves were of such rough cloth Ed hadn't expected his hands to be so soft. Soft and cool, in contrast to the warmth of his body, as they mapped paths down Ed's arms, circling his wrists and fingers, across his stomach. And finally, slowly, between his legs.

"Aaaaaahhh..."

Ed's body arched up against Mustang's hand, his lips parting under Mustang's mouth as his legs, half reflexively, opened under Mustang's touch. His own hands closed hard over Mustang's shoulders, trying to brace himself in the tide of sensation. As Mustang paused to unfasten Ed's pants, Ed gathered the wits to note that he seemed quite adept at it; a lot of practice, perhaps. The thought made him laugh, and Mustang drew back a bit.

"I'm sorry; did that tickle?"

"Only in my head." Ed's own reply made him laugh again.

Mustang's brows twitched up, and then he smiled.

"You're much too coherent."

He tipped Ed's head to the side and began to trace the tendons of his neck. Ed's wits departed again. When he felt Mustang's tongue and then teeth on his throat such heat rushed down Ed's spine that he barely noticed the departure of his remaining clothes, too.

The feeling of other cloth against his skin recalled him.

"You're wearing too much," he managed, though his voice was husky.

Mustang didn't joke this time. His mouth lost its usual curl and became grave as he brushed back Ed's loose hair. "I don't want to push you to anything tonight."

Ed shook his head and ran a finger down Mustang's shirt, looking studiously at it to avoid his eyes.

"I..." I want to feel your skin. He couldn't possibly say that! Ed felt himself blushing and damned his fair coloring for the umpteenth time, because Mustang was sure to notice it, even in the low light.

"Hmm."

Mustang's faint smile had returned, Ed could hear it. He saw it, too, when Mustang stood up from the bed and Ed looked up.

Mustang gracefully stripped his clothes off, wholly unembarrassed, and his eyes never left Ed's.

This was not helping the blush to go away.

And it was different, when Mustang returned to the bed. The light slid over his skin and down long, sleek muscles. The heat of his body was shocking, and his weight somehow more solid now. It left Ed gasping as Mustang sank down over him, and he froze at the silk-shivery feeling.

Again, Mustang waited for him. Waited with a question in his eyes. Waited until Ed breathed out an answer.

"Roy..."

Then he moved, and Ed lost track of time and thought, because the world consisted of Roy's skin against his own; of Roy's palms sliding down his ribs, urging his legs apart. Roy's teeth nibbled the inside of Ed's thigh, stealing his voice; Roy's hair brushed, feathery, against him; the burning wet heat of Roy's mouth closed on him, stealing even his breath.

Fire unfurled through Ed's veins, tossed him up like a spark. He felt the curl of Roy's tongue but couldn't feel the bed under him. Everything in him rushed down, down to one point, and then swept out like a shock front, leaving him shaken, trying to remember how to breathe.

Gradually his attention to normal details returned, and he noticed Roy lying against his side tracing random patterns over his collarbones.

"What about you?" Ed asked, as his wits recovered enough to determine what the localized pressure against his leg probably was.

Roy lifted his head. "Aren't you falling asleep?"

Ed, pleased to be contrary, gave him a smug smile. "Nope. What about you?" he repeated.

"I hadn't thought to go quite that far to distract you."

"Whatever works," Ed shrugged, insouciant as he could manage while naked.

Like the flame he commanded, Roy had created a small sphere of light and warmth, but Ed could feel what was outside that sphere waiting for him. He didn't want to leave yet. On the other hand, there were certain stories that he had overheard both among the soldiers and on his travels... He looked up at Roy. "Would it hurt?"

It took Roy a second to follow Ed's train of thought, and then surprise flickered across his face, followed by speculation. At last, he drew himself up with cool dignity. Quite unfairly, Ed thought, he managed it very well despite being naked. "It certainly would not. I have considerably more skill that than, Edward-kun."

The tone was classic Mustang-taisa, but he was grinning. Ed, already on edge, broke down laughing again, but buried his head against Roy's shoulder, shy of the sudden intimacy brought by that look. How much more intimate can we get? he wondered, exasperated with his own silliness. As Roy's arms closed around him, though, Ed knew that somehow this moment was far more intimate than what Roy had just done for him. And compared to this, even that might be lesser.

"Do it, then," he whispered.

Roy put a hand under his chin and tipped Ed's face up to see his eyes. "Ed..."

The question was back, and this time Ed scraped together words to answer it. The man who had stayed by him tonight, who had known and cared what he would be feeling, who had used him and driven him and protected him, who had let him fly free to chase a dream all these years, deserved words now. "If you say you won't hurt me, you won't. I trust you."

Roy's eyes widened with more surprise than Ed had ever seen him show. And then his mouth quirked and he leaned over to rummage in his nightstand, emerging with a small bottle whose cap he removed and set handy. He looked back at Ed, one brow tilting up. Ed, remembering some more of the stories he's heard, blushed again, but didn't look away.

"Do it."

Roy's hand passed down the length of Ed's spine, drawing Ed to him. "I will."

His hand worked its way up again, digging into the muscles, gradually unwinding them. Ed, pressed full length against Roy's body, was hard put to stop himself from purring.

"Sure you're not trying to make me sleep?" he sighed, eyes half closed.

"Not asleep, but I do need you to be relaxed."

"Couldn' get much more r'laxed than that," Ed mumbled against Roy's chest.

The grin edged back into Roy's voice. "We'll see."

Having reduced Ed to suitable pliability, Roy arranged him, spread out, on the bed and set out to discover every particularly sensitive spot on his body. Ed himself hadn't been aware of any of them. The sole of his foot; just behind his ankle; the back of his knee. Roy spent some time on the hollow of Ed's hip, making him squirm. When Roy sucked, hard, on Ed's nipple the sudden spike of sensation brought Ed up off the bed. Roy gave him a smug look through his eyelashes before moving on to Ed's shoulder.

The odyssey ended with Roy lying over Ed, teeth and tongue playing with his ear.

"Thought you... haaaa ah... said... relaxed..."

"Much too coherent," Roy chuckled. His voice, so close and soft, so resonant and deeper than Ed remembered hearing before, swept a shudder through him every time Roy spoke.

"It won't hurt, regardless, but for you to enjoy it I also need your proper... attention."

He moved his hips against Ed's.

"Ah!"

"Mm. Impressive, as always, Hagane."

Ed couldn't manage a proper glare, but the glint in Roy's eyes said he appreciated the effort.

In a rush Roy sat back on his knees and pulled Ed up to straddle him. The irrepressible corner of Ed's mind noted that he was now taller than Roy, but only had a moment to appreciate it before Roy slid a hand up into Ed's hair and drew him down to a kiss. This kiss was deep, demanding that Ed not only receive but return. Ed thought, a bit fuzzily, that Roy seemed to be pursuing Ed's voice with his tongue. Roy's tongue tasted faintly of salt, and something else Ed couldn't place.

Then Roy's other hand returned, slick now, sliding between Ed's cheeks, moving, circling, slowly pressing... in.

Ed made a sharp sound in his throat. Neither his body nor his mind could quite decide how to react. Roy's fingers were still moving, as if seeking something... something... oh...

Tremors raced through Ed. His hips jerked against Roy. His moan was swallowed in the kiss. And Roy's fingers were still moving, pressing, there... there...

Ed broke away from the kiss and tossed his head back, and Roy laughed.

"Now. This wasn't it?"

His teeth closed once again on Ed's throat and Ed lost all control of his movement and thrust hard against Roy.

"Now."

Roy let Ed back down on the bed, and Ed's senses narrowed down to snapshots. Roy's hands spreading him open. That sliding pressure again, but larger this time. Slowly, slowly, moving. Ed's own hands clenched on the sheets; the thought flashed by that his right hand was probably putting holes in it. And something... shifted. The slow movement was smoother. He's... inside me. Ed let out breath he hadn't know he was holding, and for the first time heard an answering sigh from Roy.

Roy was leaning over him on one hand. Sweat gleamed on his skin, his breath came fast through parted lips, his eyes were half-lidded but burning. Because of me... Ed's presence, his body, had broken the reserve of this famously reserved man. The thought curled, hot, in his stomach.

And then Roy shifted, moving inside Ed again, sliding, pressing there, and his other hand came up to surround Ed and stroke him, and the heat surged up, wringing Ed's every nerve. He could hear his voice and Roy's, but both were distant. The fire closed on him, tighter, tighter, and Ed strained with it, spreading his legs and stretching his arms wide into it, seeking the hard movement of Roy's body, until the world shattered into sparks and brilliance.

"Ed!"

When his senses returned to normal order Roy was leaning on both hands and they were both panting.

"Roy... I..." Ed couldn't, for the life of him, think how to finish his sentence.

Roy gave him a faint, gentle smile and stroked back his hair before hauling himself off the bed with a slight groan. "Wait here a moment, Ed."

Roy returned with a damp towel and a glass of water. He handed the glass to Ed and dropped two small pills into his hand. "Take those," he directed, "or you'll feel it in the morning."

Lassitude was too pleasant for Ed to emerge just to ask what Roy was talking about.

"I trust" Roy remarked, as he settled back down, "that you'll be going to sleep now?"

Ed mumbled an affirmative, just aware enough to hear Roy's Good and feel a cool hand rest on his shoulder before he was asleep.

III

Roy woke slowly, slowly enough to remember who was in bed beside him before he started and woke Ed.

He propped his head on his hand and regarded the boy for some minutes. In the approaching dawn, with the sheet cast down around his hips and his hair fanned out over the pillow, Ed looked like an artist's sculpture. Roy was reasonably sure that Ed had, as yet, not the faintest idea how striking he was, but Roy had watched his protÃ©gÃ©'s gold eyes and powerful body attracting admiration and desire for several years now.

That Ed had actually let Roy do this was... unexpected. Roy had been careful not to step beyond the line of teasing, with him. Of course, these were extraordinary circumstances. He didn't regret using something that had drawn Ed back from the edge so well, but he hoped that this night would not disturb the working relationship he had spent so much time fostering...

Ed stirred, stretched, opened his eyes. He blinked, visibly putting his memory in order, and finally reached up a hand to touch, briefly, the center of Roy's chest.

"Thank you. Taisa."

End

Circumstances

Roy and Ed find out about the new contract. Porn With Insights and Occasional Purple, I-4.

Ed stared out a third floor window of East City military headquarters and grumbled to himself. "Never find the damn Stone at this rate... How many years?... ratings... stupid..." Ed thumped the windowpane, left handed, to relieve his frustration.

"Hm? Does that mean you'll be staying here from now on?"

Startled, Ed tried to inhale in the wrong direction.

Once he'd gotten his choking under control he leveled a glare at the man who had sprung up out of nowhere at his elbow, and growled. "Taisa..."

Roy Mustang received the glare serenely, waving toward the window. "A fine view to console yourself with, Edward-kun. You haven't answered my question."

Ed snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."

He leaned back against the window. There wasn't much hope the Colonel would go away if ignored, but at least the cool glass might help the Mustang-induced headache. Sure enough, Mustang leaned beside him, just a bit too close for comfort. Ed rolled his eyes and took up his muttering again, internally this time.

Evil minded bastard... gets his jollies annoying people... bad karma... didn't deserve this though...

A gloved finger trailed down Ed's neck.

Ed made a heek noise and sprang two meters sideways. "Taisa!"

Mustang's slight smile never faltered. He strolled towards Ed, who backed up. "So formal, Edward-kun? Surely it isn't necessary."

Ed's eyes widened. "You can't be serious about this. You're never serious about this! All that meaningful look, personal space, knowing grin stuff, you've never been serious! ...have you?" Ed had run into a desk, and the Colonel wasn't stopping, and his tirade ended a bit higher than it had started. "You're not..."

As the Colonel's head bent toward him, Ed shoved him off to arm's length. "You can't do that! This is a shounen series!" he hissed.

Mustang blinked at him. "You hadn't heard?"

"...heard what?"

"We've been transferred."

"...what?"

"Our print-media contract was bought by another company and given to one of their contractors."

In absolute calm, Ed asked The Question.

"Who?"

Mustang rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "One of the ones who publish BL lines, I believe."

"What?!" Ed screeched.

"Mm. Maybe it was Biblios."

Ed hyperventilated.

"Or possibly Kadokawa Shoten; you know, the ones who publish CLAMP."

Ed turned dead white and clutched at the desk.

"So, you see, there's a new script direction of course. Are you quite all right, Edward-kun?" Mustang put a solicitous hand under Ed's arm as he swayed.

That's... and now... he's supposed to... I'm... Ed shook himself sharply and came to the rather abrupt realization that the Colonel still had him backed up against a desk and was now inside his guard. The Colonel was, in fact, leaning comfortably with a hand to each side of Ed on the desk.

"It won't work," Ed declared firmly.

"Really?"

Ed shot the Colonel a dirty look. "You're supposed to... well... with me? No, it's a complete miscast, it'll never work."

"How so?" Mustang inquired, conversationally, not moving.

Ed swelled with outrage. "I. Am. Not. Uke!"

"Edward-kun," Mustang said in his most patient and reasonable tone, "I'm fourteen years older than you, several ranks higher, and, while your combat skills are indeed outstanding, I still win the actual fight. As has been demonstrated. And," with the air of delivering a clinching argument, "I'm seven centimeters taller than you."

Ed opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again.

"Stupid rule, anyway," he grumbled.

"Well, yes," Mustang conceded. "It does rather put me at a disadvantage, myself, in almost any other situation. I'll help you write a letter of protest to the management, I think."

He looked down at Ed.

"Later."

Ed's mouth tightened.

"Am I so distasteful to you, Edward-kun?" Mustang murmured.

"You're not anything! I've never thought about this! You're..." Ed waved a hand as if he could catch the right words out of the air.

He categorically refused to say that he thought of Mustang a bit as a friend and somewhat as a really annoying older brother.

"You're my boss!" he finally finished.

Mustang widened his eyes. "Why I do believe you're right, Edward-kun! How nice to know that you're also aware of the fact."

A really, really annoying older brother. Ed narrowed his own eyes. "That wasn't what I meant," he clipped out.

Mustang regarded him evenly for long enough to make Ed start worrying. "Is it beneath you, then, to take some passing pleasure from a friend?" he asked, at last.

Ed froze. He's not telepathic. He's not telepathic! I refuse to believe it! No matter who's writing! On the other hand... however he'd come by it, Mustang did have a point. If he thought of Mustang as a not-distant-friend the idea almost worked. And Ed didn't actually want to think about how much trouble it would be to break his contract now.

Ed drove both hands through his hair and sighed. "All right, all right. But let's have a few things straight." He ticked off points on the fingers of his right hand. "No kinky stuff. I am not crying. I am not drooling. You don't make out like I'm helpless. And if I say no I mean NO."

He folded down the last finger and looked meaningfully at Mustang over the resulting closed fist. A corner of Mustang's mouth curled up.

"Fair enough. I'm sure there's latitude in the script for that."

"All right, then." Ed folded his arms and looked steadily off to the side.

"Well?" he prodded, after a few moments. "You're the one who gets to do all the work in this set-up, you know."

"Then it differs not at all from my day job," Mustang mused.

Ed's head snapped back around, mouth open to protest that he was the field agent, here, and Mustang kissed him.

Every muscle in Ed's body tensed, but he managed not to leap backwards off the desk, or possibly through the window, and held still. After a few seconds Mustang drew back to look at him, unsmiling.

"Edward. If you truly don't want this, I'm sure there are ways around it."

Ed lifted an eyebrow and this time it was Mustang's mouth that thinned.

"I don't want you unwilling, Edward. I've never wanted you unwilling for anything."

Ed gazed back, caught by the words. He had to allow that it was probably true. For all that he was a scheming, conniving, rat-bastard, the Colonel had rarely spoken less than the truth to Ed. He had never offered false hope. He had, in fact, given Ed unfailing, if sarcastic, support. And, Ed added a bit sourly to himself, given the Colonel's extensive reputation it was unlikely to be a bad experience. At last he looked up, seriously.

"Don't expect me to jump right in at the deep end," he warned.

Mustang's mouth softened. "I won't." And then a gleam entered his eyes. "It will make a pleasant challenge that way."

Ed swallowed just a bit hard. "Taisa. You're not actually a sex maniac, right?"

The Colonel chuckled with great good humor. "Of course not, Edward-kun. You really shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Well, now, that's not exactly in spec either, is it?" Ed pointed out, nettled.

"No, I suppose not." Mustang's smile turned wry. "Perhaps we're both just a bit miscast. We'll have to make do as best we can, hm?"

Ed shrugged acceptance.

Mustang tugged off his gloves and curved his hands around Ed's face, tilting his head back. This time he gave Ed plenty of warning. Ed wasn't sure whether that was an improvement. The slow approach almost gave him too much time to anticipate. A shiver blew over him just before Mustang's lips touched his.

Mustang's kisses were soft, light, there and then gone. Ed heaved a faint sigh and relaxed just a bit. Mustang sucked gently, coaxing, on his lower lip, and Ed slowly opened his mouth.

Still, Mustang's lips only brushed his, open mouthed now. It felt like a feather, drawn over Ed's lips again and again.

Cool hands slid down his neck and over his shoulders, pushing away his coat. Ed tensed again, both hands closing on the front of Mustang's uniform jacket. He felt Mustang's lips curve against his own. Mustang drew back and smoothly shed his jacket, raising a brow as he did. The implicit offer of the Colonel going first calmed Ed. Not that it would come out even, considering how many layers that uniform had, but as good faith gestures went it wasn't bad. Ed let Mustang lift the red coat off his shoulders.

As Mustang stepped close again Ed looked up, biting his lip. He raised one finger in a wait-a-moment gesture. Mustang waited. Ed pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the desk behind him, which brought him almost level with Mustang. He nodded, satisfied. "Much better."

For some reason this assertion seemed to amuse Mustang. "Are you sure?"

"Yeees," Ed answered, warily. "Why?"

This smile showed teeth. Mustang took one long step forward... between Ed's legs.

Ed inhaled sharply.

Mustang laughed. "Truly, Edward, there's no need to be so on edge."

"When you like playing games like that?" Ed snapped.

Mustang sighed and lifted a hand to brush Ed's cheek with his fingers. "But don't you enjoy playing games too? Isn't that one of the reasons you've been willing to stay in my command? Think of this as another game, Edward."

Ed gave him a trenchant look.

"So. Perhaps another way, then." Mustang enclosed Ed's face in his hands again. His voice lowered and turned serious. "Edward, my friend, I will not harm you. I will not force you. If you let me I will make this very enjoyable for you."

Ed held very still between Mustang's hands. He couldn't see any spark of joking in the man's eyes, and Mustang was holding him as if he were something both fragile and valuable. Ed fetched in a deep breath that wavered only a little and let his head fall to Mustang's shoulder.

"All right," he whispered.

Mustang's arms came around him and Ed felt a hand stroking his hair. Gradually that hand seemed to leech the tension out of Ed's neck and shoulders until, with one long shudder, he finally relaxed.

When Mustang placed a kiss just below his ear it caused only a slight hitch in Ed's breath.

"Much better." There was satisfaction in Mustang's voice.

"Taisa," Ed mumbled against Mustang's shoulder, "why are you going to this much trouble? Don't tell me you couldn't wind the script around your little finger if you wanted to."

"If I tell you, will you call me by name?"

Ed grumbled about extortion, but agreed.

"Because you deserve some pleasure for the troubles you've had under my command. Because I think your sense of mischief will make you an interesting lover. Because you've grown from a pretty child into a stunning young man. Is that enough?"

Ed lifted his head. "Is there more?"

He caught just a moment when Mustang's eyes were as deep as a midnight sky, and then their expression shifted and they were merely very dark blue.

"Perhaps," Mustang answered.

A thought whispered through Ed's mind, Not yet, and he nodded. "It'll do for now."

"Good."

Mustang drew Ed to the edge of the desk, until their bodies were flush against each other, and kissed him with concentration. Not feathery kisses, this time, but still coaxing, teasing Ed's tongue. Ed's exhale became a moan, and Mustang returned a low chuckle into their kiss. It felt as if Mustang had trailed a finger down the inside of Ed's spine.

And then Mustang's fingers did find his spine, weaving down it as if Mustang wanted to braid his nerves. Ed leaned against him, shivering.

Mustang broke off the kiss long enough to shed his shirt and run an inquiring finger down the front of Ed's. Ed nodded, wordless. Mustang took his time about it, fingers brushing Ed's stomach, ribs, shoulders until, when it was finally off, Ed reached for him just to have a solid touch.

The sleek heat of Mustang's skin against his almost changed his mind. Ed dropped his head back down to Mustang's shoulder and, when the man's palms slid up his back, turned his mouth against Mustang's neck to stop whatever sound was trying to make its way out.

"Ed..."

The low breath of Mustang's voice moved over Ed like desert wind, hot enough to burn. Ed had time to realize that Mustang's voice was affecting him more deeply than the touch of his hands when those hands found his hips and pulled them tight together.

"Aahhh!" Ed arched back sharply, startled by the sudden wash of sensation, felt Mustang's hand come up between his shoulders, guiding him down to the desk, felt the surface under him cool and... soft?

Ed panted, staring at the ceiling for a while before turning his head to see that he was lying on a bed. He turned back to look very calmly at Roy, kneeling over him.

"When?"

"Just now," Roy confirmed, bemused. "A fast cut. I've heard of the technique, but our previous writers never used it."

"This isn't my bed," Ed informed him evenly. "Can I hope that it's yours?"

"Oh, yes."

"Good." Ed took another look and raised an eyebrow. "You have silk sheets?"

"Ah. Mine with some alterations, apparently."

Ed reached up and dragged one of the pillows over his face. "Alterations. Wonderful."

The bed dipped, to the accompaniment of some rustling and throat-clearing noises. When Mustang spoke it was in the tone of a man trying not to laugh lest he get nailed with a pillow.

"Shall I take it I have some work to do to retrieve the mood?"

Ed hauled off the pillow so he could glare at his companion, now leaning at ease on one elbow. "Mood!? Never mind the mood! What else is going to happen?"

Roy brushed Ed's disheveled hair back. "Nothing you don't want to happen. Will you accept my word for it?"

It's the voice, Ed decided, looking away. "Yes."

A pause.

"Will you let me take your hair down?"

Ed looked back around and blinked a few times. "...if you want."

Roy pulled him up to sit cross-legged and settled behind him. Ed felt light fingers undo his hair tie and slowly start to unwind the braid. They combed his hair out, sliding against his neck and back. His breathing started to deepen.

"You have the most magnificent hair," Roy purred in his ear. "I'd almost hate to see what would happen if you left it loose all the time. There might be traffic accidents."

Ed's breath stopped. The voice. Definitely. Please don't let him know. He leaned back against Roy, looking once again at the ceiling. "Could be useful some time."

He could feel Roy's answering laugh as well as hear it. And then Roy's mouth was warm on his neck, and he closed his eyes and released a low sigh. Roy's fingers traced over Ed's chest, outlining the muscles.

"Mm. You're right," Roy murmured against his throat.

"About... what...?"

"You're not nearly willowy enough to be a proper uke."

Ed started to sit bolt upright, and then halted deciding he'd been complimented. "Damn right."

Roy's hand slid down, brushing back and forth just above Ed's waist. Ed chewed on his lip for a moment and then made a deliberate effort to relax into Roy's arms.

"Ah. Good," came the whisper in his ear.

Roy's touch lightened as it descended, until just his fingertips danced down between Ed's legs.

"Ah... haahh..." Ed couldn't quite catch his breath. The feather touch brushed over and over him. "Not miscast," Ed husked, "type-cast... sadistic... tease..."

"Pleasure takes time, Edward."

The fingers started drawing circles and Ed lost what breath he had caught.

Two fingers slipped up the line of his zipper and paused.

"May I?"

Without the air for words, Ed nodded.

Roy's touch became, briefly, more businesslike. Ed's boots caused a sufficient delay for Ed to regather his thoughts. When he had done so he found that Roy, true to their unspoken agreement earlier, had removed his own remaining clothes. For a moment he simply looked.

Roy's body glowed where the light fell, like an ink drawing on porcelain. He moved, not like his favored fire, but like water, long currents of muscle under the smoothness of his skin.

"So," Roy's voice drew Ed's eyes back to his, which glinted, "am I worthy of my lover's beauty?"

Ed was caught between the strong desire to stick out his tongue and the sneaking conviction that this would be an unwise challenge just at the moment. Instead he did something that worked a great deal better. He lifted a hand to Roy's side...

...and tickled.

Roy collapsed with a very undignified yelp. Ed stared for one second and then, grinning in utter, evil delight, pounced on him. He even had the upper hand until Roy discovered that Ed's toes were horribly ticklish. Before too long they were both laughing too hard to do anything very effective.

"If I let go of your arm, can we have a truce?" Roy panted.

"I suppose so. For now."

They shared a smiling moment before Roy caught Ed against him and kissed him, no longer light and careful, now deep and heated. Ed wound his arms around Roy and returned it, feeling a little awkward but no longer hesitant.

Roy turned onto his back, carrying Ed over him, hands running down his arms, his back, his legs. Ed moved against him, restless, unable to be still under those stroking hands. He leaned down to rest his forehead on the cool sheets. A knee pressed between his legs, parting them. Fingers traced a tendon up his inner thigh, light and shivery.

"Roy," he whispered.

Roy's breath beside his ear hitched. He turned his head, seeking out Ed's mouth for a fierce kiss. His fingers searched higher, and a new tension pulled Ed taut. He shivered and one hand closed, hard, on the sheets.

"Roy..."

"So." Roy paused to trace Ed's parted lips with his tongue. "I wonder if the alterations to my room include a larger bath? A large quantity of hot water would be helpful here."

Ed's senses were trying to tell him that something was odd. The cloth under his hand was definitely not silk and the air was suddenly full of... steam?

They both stopped.

"What is it this time?" Ed groaned, refusing to open his eyes.

"We appear to have relocated to a hot spring."

Ed's eyes popped open. They were, indeed, now lying on stone, in a nest of towels, beside a pool of steaming water.

"A hot spring? There aren't any hot springs in this whole area! Where is this supposed to come from?!"

After a moment's contemplation Roy offered, "Perhaps this is supposed to be a dream sequence now."

Ed grabbed a towel, in lieu of a pillow, to pull over his head, but it just didn't feel the same. He tossed it off again and propped himself up on Roy's chest. "So? What use did you have for a lot of hot water, anyway?"

Roy smiled. "Let me up and I'll show you." He halted at the edge of the water, though. "Will this be any problem?" he brushed the metal of Ed's arm.

"No. I paid for the best." Ed regarded his hand, a crooked smile on his lips for the double edge of his statement. He started a bit when Roy lifted his chin.

"Yes," Roy answered, very serious, "you did."

Ed took a while finding an answer for that look. "Show me," he said, at last, softly.

Roy led him into the water, which came up to Ed's chest, and pulled Ed lightly against him. "The point of the hot water," he murmured in Ed's ear, "is to relax you."

"Mmm." Ed draped an arm over Roy's shoulders. "Working so far."

"Very good."

Roy's hands swept down Ed's body, drawing rushes of water in their wake. Ed liked it; it almost tickled but not quite. He stretched into the feeling a little.

And then one of Roy's hands touched him more firmly, sliding down his back, down, fingers pressing, parting him. Ed bit back a gasp. His hands closed hard on Roy's shoulders. The heat that surrounded him softened his muscles but tension still sang through him like a drawn wire.

Roy's touch never stilled, circling, sliding, as coaxing as his earlier kisses had been. As if Roy had heard Ed's half-formed thought, his lips brushed lightly over Ed's open mouth, drawing Ed's breath back out in short bursts. Ed shivered, his body starting against Roy's.

Finally, Roy's fingers pressed Ed open, and his mouth came down hard, swallowing Ed's inarticulate exclamation. Ed's shivering came and went, the complete strangeness of that touch inside him alternating with flickers of something.

"Ah... haa... aaah..."

"Edward, relax." Roy's voice, deep and breathless, slid down Ed's nerves like lightning grounding itself.

"Edward, my hawk, Ed..."

Heat unfurled inside Ed, spread through him until it overwhelmed the heat of the water around him. It fed the something until the flickers became a steady brightness in all of Ed's senses. Roy's touch and Roy's voice met somewhere inside Ed and left him leaning heavily against Roy, panting, completely unstrung.

"Edward... let me...?"

Ed shuddered under the heat of that resonant whisper. He must know, floated through his mind. "Yes."

A few steps brought them to the edge of the pool, and Ed leaned against it. He rested his forehead on the cool stone and ignored whatever Roy was doing to make clattering noises.

"...ah. Thought it must be here somewhere."

Ed ignored that, too.

Roy's hands covered his shoulders. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

Roy laid a kiss on the back of Ed's neck. "Thank you."

Always knows just what to say...completely unfair. The mildly disgruntled thought didn't stop Ed from sighing as Roy nibbled his ear.

Ed leaned more heavily on the edge as Roy pressed his legs apart. The water swirled around him, and the feeling of Roy standing so close behind him quickened his breath. Roy moved still closer, and his cock was pressed against Ed, somehow softer than his fingers had been. Pressing, hard, so slow, the slowness of it strangled Ed's moan.

Harder.

Ed started as Roy's fingers dug deeply into his lower back. His muscles spasmed, released...

So slow.

Ed moaned again, lower, deeper, overwhelmed by the slide of Roy inside him, not stopping, sustained like a violinist might sustain a single note.

"Ed..." A breath, rough and tense. One of Roy's hands had come up to clench on the edge. Ed felt the other close around him, tight, knowing, stroking. Roy shifted within him.

"Aahhh!"

Pleasure burned up through Ed, he lost track of anything but Roy moving, inside him, around him, Roy's voice wrapped like fire around him, Roy's touch sliding, burning, tighter, wound tighter. He moved, hard, into Roy, with Roy, seeking the breaking point until it found him and everything snapped.

When he came down, he found himself still in the water, vaguely surprised they hadn't boiled the pool dry.

Roy was leaning against his back, which pressed the edge of the pool into Ed's chest. Ed mumbled something that was supposed to be a protest, though it didn't sound much like one in his own ears. The sense must have gotten though, because Roy slowly pushed himself back up.

Ed shivered at the brief slide as Roy withdrew.

"I suppose," Roy's voice was lazy, "that we should get out of the water before we're parboiled."

"Mm." Ed hauled himself over the edge and promptly collapsed on the towels. His legs felt like jelly. He consoled himself that Roy didn't seem to be doing a great deal better. "No pillows," Ed complained. "Come'ere."

He flopped down on Roy's shoulder and ignored it when his impromptu pillow shook with laughter.

"I was right. You make a very interesting lover, my hawk."

Ed pried an eye open. "Your what?"

Silence for a moment while Roy ran a hand through Ed's hair.

"Do you know anything about falconry, Edward?"

Ed levered himself up the better to deliver his best Excuse Me? look. Mustang wore a rather odd little smile.

"It's a fascinating study. You should look into it some time."

Ed contemplated him for a few seconds before lying back down. "You're not just a pervert, you're a weird pervert."

"A pervert?" Roy didn't even have the grace to sound concerned.

"You just had sex with someone only a little more than half your age."

"And enjoyed it immensely," Roy agreed, quite serene.

"See?"

"And does this worry you?"

Ed snorted. "I have better things to worry about," he declared.

"Such as?"

"Where are our clothes?"

Epilogue

"...ah, yes, and the municipal guard of West City seems to want a word with you, Fullmetal."

Ed stopped craning his head around, having watched Havoc close the office door behind him.

"Never mind that," he snapped. "What the hell happened? We haven't been transferred again, I checked, but the script has reverted."

"Mm." Mustang steepled his hands thoughtfully. "From what I can find out, our... interlude... was the work of one particular writer on the new team. They seem to value the incongruity of her chapters."

"Wonderful," emerged rather muffled, as Ed scrubbed a hand over his face. "You mean it'll happen again?"

"Possibly. Do you object?"

Ed looked aside. "Could be worse."

Mustang's mouth curved, but his eyes didn't smile at all.

"That will do for now."

End

Branch: Well, that's the Nervous Virgin story out of the way.

Ed: *Glare of Death, flexes right hand*

Branch: *squints at story* Ok, Ed that was pretty good, but what's up with you Roy? That was way more baroque than usual toward the end.

Roy: *examines nails* You gave me four years lead time to develop how I look at Edward-kun. During which, may I also point out, you failed to promote me.

Branch: Hey! Seven years in grade is perfectly average for an officer!

Roy: *cool look* Are you calling me average?

Branch: Oh, there's just no talking to you!

Ed: *mutters* I could have told you that.

Branch: Fine. Fine! The story premise is skewed to begin with, you might as well keep on.

Ed: So, do I ever get to find out what the rest of his reasons are?

Branch: *thoughtful* Could. Maybe. We'd have to carry on the story line.

Roy: *smiles*

Ed: *glares* Hm. *taps toe, chews nail* Maybe. I guess. When I'm in the mood. *folds arms and turns back on Roy*

Roy: *smirks*

Branch: *holds head* What did I do to deserve you two?

This Time

And after the first time, what happens next? Porn With Insights, I-4.

This time Roy had to track Edward down to his own rooms. He knocked politely on Edward's door and heard a growl that might have been an invitation to enter, supposing the occupant were a bear disturbed during hibernation. He shrugged and pushed the door open. Edward was sprawled over his bed, staring fixedly at the ceiling.

"You got the notice this time, Edward-kun?" Roy inquired.

A curled lip.

"And, so?"

"And so what?" Edward shot back, toneless.

Roy easily recognized someone being difficult just because he could.

"So," Roy sauntered to the bedside and held out a hand, "would you care for a more private location?"

Ed turned expressionless eyes on him. "Al's gone to visit that mutt of Hawkeye-taii's. This author covers her bases pretty well."

"Convenient," Roy allowed.

No response.

Roy sighed. "I see several possibilities here, Edward-kun. One is that you've decided to refuse this script, but I have difficulty imagining that you would hesitate or linger over that decision. Another is that you wish to provoke me into inventive measures to gain your compliance, but somehow I don't think you've become quite that enthusiastic. I am led to conclude that you simply wish to provoke me, period. If I admit that you have succeeded, may we continue in a more relaxed fashion?"

Edward's cool expression slipped into a wicked grin. "Ah. I feel better about the world, now. So, yes, I guess we can." He stretched, catlike right down to the smug look.

Roy leaned down, swiftly, caught Edward's chin and kissed him. After a startled pause the lips under his relaxed, softened, parted.

"Taisa..." Edward sighed as they drew apart.

Somehow Roy was positive they would always begin there, with his rank. He hoped to coax his name out of Edward a bit more quickly this time, though.

Edward tilted his head, considering him. "You aren't wearing your uniform."

"Far too much trouble for situations like this," Roy told him, airily.

"Hm. Never heard that it gave you that much trouble." Edward's tone was dry. Roy ran a finger down his jaw.

"You give me enough trouble in any case that I'll dispense with all the rest that I can."

Edward looked up at him through half-closed eyes. Roy was almost sure that Edward had no idea how sultry his own expression was, and he was glad for it. Edward would discover it quickly enough, now that he had a lover to observe, and Roy found himself caught between amusement and trepidation every time he thought of an Edward Elric who understood the power of his own looks.

At this particular moment, though, he wanted simply to enjoy his partner's sensuality, unconscious as it might be. At least, he thought, Edward seemed considerably more relaxed this time.

Roy's mouth curled up.

Let's test it.

He toed off his boots and moved all the way onto the bed, kneeling over Edward's hips. Edward's eyes flickered, but, as Roy drew off his shirt, a spark lit them and he stretched again, challenge in the lift of his chin.

Roy couldn't help but laugh, and he leaned over Edward to let the room's shadows hide the heat in his eyes. "Yes, my hawk, you'll be dangerous," he murmured.

Edward's lashes shivered, and fell as Roy slid his hands up Edward's chest. Roy brushed a kiss over each closed eye.

"Mmm."

Roy was pleased to feel Edward's fingers, a bit hesitantly, seek the buttons of his shirt. Roy shrugged out of it.

But when he would have returned to Edward, Edward caught his hands.

"Roy..."

Roy half expected to see nervousness in Edward's eyes, but what he found was appeal. Edward reached out one hand and ran it, slowly, down Roy's chest. Edward's voice was soft and low.

"... I want... to touch you..."

Roy looked down, considering. It's only fair, he decided. "If you like."

He stretched himself out on the bed and offered Edward a lazy, inviting smile. Edward, still hesitant, leaned up on one hand beside him, laid the other on his stomach. Roy suppressed a shiver as those fingers traced over his skin.

Edward set out to explore, touching lightly, following the lines of Roy's muscle and bone. When he reached Roy's neck Roy tipped his head back and sighed.

The touches halted.

Roy looked up at Edward to find him staring back, wide-eyed. "Ah. Does it stir something in you, Edward? To know that you affect me?"

Edward didn't answer, only ran a finger back along the line from Roy's ear to his collarbone.

"Hmmm."

Edward's touch skipped downward, halting at Roy's waist. Roy closed his eyes.

"You needn't stop." He was curious how Edward would choose to take that.

Slowly, Edward unfastened buttons and zipper. Ah. Roy shifted, and felt Edward slip his pants off, almost managing not to touch Roy in the process. After a long pause Edward continued to Roy's underclothes. Roy was vastly amused that it seemed to take Edward longer to decide to get rid of the socks than the underwear. He stifled his grin.

Roy didn't open his eyes until he felt Edward's hands on his leg. Edward sat on his knees by Roy's feet, having apparently decided to work his way up. His palm and fingertips passed over, around Roy's feet, ankles, knees. Roy's muscles were turning to warm water, and Ed's fingers rippled cool currents through them. Roy spread his legs apart so that Edward could move between them.

It was alien to Roy to let go his self-control before he was overwhelmed, but Edward was well on his way to that already and Roy wanted to return the favor a little. As Edward's thumb traced up his inner thigh Roy moaned low in his throat.

Edward's breath caught.

Ah, yes.

"Edward," Roy breathed.

As Ed's hand closed on his thigh Roy pressed into the touch, opening his legs further. Roy watched Ed through his eyelashes, seeing his breath come faster through parted lips, the gold eyes hazed.

Edward turned to look at him, and Roy saw a spark glint through the haze. Edward's hand passed up his leg to surround his cock, very, very lightly. Roy's eyes closed and he gasped, lost his breath as Ed stroked him with a fingertip.

"Ed...!"

Edward spoke, low and husky, lilting a bit as he repeated Roy's words. "Does it stir something? To know I affect you? Yes. Your voice does more to me than your hands. So, tell me..." his voice fell further, "...what does it do to you to hear me like this?"

Roy seized Ed's wrists, pulled Ed down against him, and then under him, kissed him hard. "Evil creature," he laughed in Ed's ear. "You learn very quickly for someone with his first lover."

"Just because I'd never had sex," Ed panted, "doesn't mean I didn't have eyes and ears. Doesn't take much to know you like to tease. Especially me," he finished a bit sharply.

"Is it teasing that I enjoy your pleasure and want to increase it?" Roy asked, as if injured.

Ed's expression sharpened to a knife edge. "Yes."

"All right, all right," Roy agreed, waving a pacifying hand, "we both know what we're doing then, yes?"

Edward looked like he was examining the question for traps. Roy decided to be generous.

"I like teasing you." He sucked lightly on Edward's earlobe. "And, to judge by your recent performance, you like teasing back."

Ed moaned softly.

Roy let his voice drop. "And to hear you like this makes me desire a great many things."

Ed's moan was no longer soft.

"Now, Edward-kun," Roy whispered, "you're wearing too many clothes."

Those dispensed with, however, Edward reached out and drew Roy down to lie over him, holding his hands tightly. Roy felt tension all through the body under his and, looking down, found uncertainty had entered Edward's eyes and the line of his mouth.

A bit too far and a bit too fast, Roy thought, with a twinge of repentance. He gathered Edward close and simply held him for a moment, pressed a soothing kiss to his forehead.

"Do you want to continue, Edward?"

Edward stilled, made a slight, surprised noise, and Roy shook his head. "Contrary to your previous accusation, I am not, in fact, a sadist."

Edward hmphed faintly.

"I take no enjoyment from it if you're in discomfort or pain," Roy told him a bit sternly. "In either your body or your mind."

The tension relaxed. The flash of panic had retreated, replaced with a faint blush as Edward regained his composure. Roy wanted to make sure of his recovery, though. "Do you wish to continue?"

"...yes."

"Then," Roy murmured, letting his voice soften, deepen, "would you rather I drew it out? Kept you on the edge of pleasure the whole night? Or are you impatient for me to finish you quickly now?"

A sharp shiver ran through Edward, and he pressed up against Roy. Roy smiled against his hair.

"Finish it."

A low, hungry sound rose in Roy's throat, and he let it. He traced the curves of Ed's ear with his tongue for distraction as he fished over the side of the bed for his pants. More precisely, what he'd tucked into the pocket before tracking Edward down. It was a mild feat of dexterity to twist the cap off one-handed, but that's what talent was for.

Now, then.

He pulled Edward over him and stroked down his spine, sliding his hand between Ed's cheeks, pressing into him. Ed shuddered against him, leaned down to kiss Roy hard, open mouthed. His body tightened, relaxed. There.

"Sit back a bit," Roy asked.

After a moment Ed did, resting both hands on Roy's chest. Roy sighed at the coolness of the metal hand against his skin. His mouth quirked as Ed's eyes widened at feeling Roy's cock pressing behind him.

"Now." Roy pushed forward, biting his lip at the electric feeling of moving against the soft resistance of Ed's body. Ed's breath caught, stopped.

"... Edward... breathe..." Roy managed.

Ed's abrupt relaxation took Roy by surprise and he gasped at the sudden heat closed so tightly around him. Roy focused, shifted on the bed, searching for the right angle to share this fire.

He knew he'd found it when Ed threw back his head, wordless, pressing back into him.

Roy moved, slow and hard in the grip of Ed's body, nerves scorched by the heat of it. One hand found Ed's, clasped tight with it, each pressing against the other's palm for steadiness. He ran his other hand up Ed's taut thigh, between his legs, and Ed's breathless sounds wound around him, clenched tighter, driving him beyond himself. His body strained like a drawn bow, tighter, further...

Released.

Roy drew Ed down before he collapsed, held him, waited for the light-headedness from breathing so deeply to pass.

When Ed stirred against him, stretched, and twitched a bit, Roy fished back through his pockets for the other small bottle he'd stowed away, congratulating himself on his foresight.

"Take a few of these, and lie still until they take effect," he directed.

Edward's expression was priceless.

"I did mention not being a sadist."

Ed glared, tossed down three pills and buried his head in the pillows with a mutter that Roy only caught part of.

"...completely unfair..."

Roy charitably refrained from laughing. He lounged beside Edward, rubbing his back until he relaxed into a doze. Roy dropped a kiss on the back of Edward's neck.

"Until next time," he said quietly.

End

Branch: *leans wearily on keyboard* Can't you two ever have straightforward sex without all the psychology?

Ed: *gives her the evil eye* Can't you ever write it?

Roy: Be honest, Madam, have you ever written any sex scene that lacked background?

Branch: I suppose you have a point.

Ed: Though there is...

Branch: *warily* There is what?

Roy: Weren't we going to wait on that?

Ed: Could make a nice change of pace. *leans on suddenly materialized wall, crosses ankles* Keep me from getting bored.

Roy: Indeed. *meaningful look at Author*

Branch: Right, right. 'Lemme go get a drink and I'll be right with you.

Rough

Something about those gloves... Porn Without Plot, mildly kinky, I-4.

Stepping into the Colonel's office after Hawkeye for what promised to be an acrimonious report on his latest assignment, Ed stumbled sharply over a discontinuity.

Hawkeye stopped dead.

"Taisa, excuse me, I forgot one of the reports you asked for. I'll go find it." She saluted and strode briskly out again.

Ed rubbed his forehead. "Oh, don't tell me, let me guess," he groaned. "That Author just took over the story."

"It certainly appears so. Perhaps she's filling in for one of the others." Mustang tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, without much notice I suppose we'll just have to improvise."

"Improvise?" Ed did his level best to hang icicles on his voice.

It did not have an appreciable effect, as Mustang relieved him of his coat and hung it up neatly before winding an arm around Ed's waist. Mustang smiled down at him.

"A specialty of yours, Edward-kun, isn't it?"

"As if I'm the only whee...!" Ed squeaked before he could stop himself, as Mustang's hand slid past the waist of his pants.

Ed made a distinct note to buckle his belt a notch tighter in the future.

And then Mustang's fingers parted him, gently. His still gloved fingers.

The roughness of that glove material snatched Ed's attention, focused it all on the sensation at that one point. "Ah... hhhaa... Roy...!"

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Hmm." He rubbed a single finger across that sensitive skin, and Ed started hard against him. He saw a very pleased smile curve Roy's mouth before his other hand lifted Ed's chin.

Roy kissed him deeply, pressing Ed's mouth open, as he also pressed that one finger almost into Ed, curling it up before drawing back.

Ed grabbed for Roy's shoulders as his knees nearly gave.

Roy didn't stop, his touch circling lightly.

Ed rested his head on Roy's shoulder, trying to gather his senses. But they were all concentrated elsewhere. That rough texture made the lightest touch terribly present, and roused every nerve like a spark that kept flaring. Shudders seized Ed in waves.

Roy's touch became firmer, and heat surged through Ed.

"Roy..."

"Yes?" Roy's voice was low, controlled, but as heated as Ed felt.

"I... Roy, I..." Ed could not find the words to say what he wanted. Fortunately, Roy didn't seem to need them.

"You want more than this, Edward?"

"Yes..."

Roy's eyes burned. "Now? Here?"

Did he?

"...yes."

Roy kissed him again, stealing his breath, and pressed that rough fingertip into him.

Ed cried out into Roy's mouth, and he was fixed, pinned against Roy's body by that one touch. And then Roy released him, and breathed one word in his ear.

"Good."

It pleased Ed, distantly, that Roy sounded quite heartfelt about that. He was equally pleased that Roy seemed to have no trouble undoing all the buckles and so forth in question, because Ed wasn't at all sure he could remember how to operate a zipper just then.

Roy brought them to his desk, and Ed leaned his elbows onto it, trying to catch his breath as Roy rummaged in one of the drawers.

"...know I put some in here," Roy muttered under his breath.

Ed couldn't stop a shaky laugh. "Right now, I don't think I'd care."

Roy turned a heavy look on him. "You tempt me, Edward," he purred, "but I think you would probably care later. Another time, perhaps."

Ed swallowed, and then that shocking, overwhelming touch returned and his thoughts scattered again. Roy slid Ed's legs apart, pulled down the interfering clothing, and Ed groped after a word for how he felt at that moment... the words were gone.

The rough glove teased him open, and then he felt Roy driving into him, smoother, harder, refining the fire, a stronger shock but with a rhythm this time, and Ed pushed back into the rough movement, adding more and more force until it drove him over the edge and the fire burned out of him.

Ed was fuzzily aware of Roy cleaning them up and refastening clothing, but his head didn't really clear until Roy pulled him down so they both sprawled on the couch.

As Ed's thoughts reordered themselves a picture flashed into his mind, of how he must have looked, spread out and bent over Roy's desk, only the most necessary clothes undone. He could feel his face heating. And, because he tried to be honest with himself, he had to admit that the picture included him enjoying it a very great deal. The word he had been looking for earlier, it occurred to him, was wanton.

Roy's hand turned Ed's face toward him. "Regrets, Edward?" he asked, softly.

"Mm. Not exactly," Ed hedged.

"That's good. I don't believe I could thank you for something you regretted."

Ed, despite his best efforts, could feel himself blushing even more. He looked away. "...you too," he mumbled.

Roy kissed him gently, and then smiled with a very satisfied edge. "Any time."

"Smug bastard," Ed pronounced, feeling his balance return.

Roy's smile took on the hint of a secret.

End

Branch: *hides head in arms* I can't believe you did that! I can't believe I wrote that!

Roy: *one-sided smile* Weren't you the one complaining about us never having straightforward sex?

Branch: Yes, but...!

Ed: *jaundiced* It's no more lurid than some of what Seto is doing with his entire cast.

Branch: Well, no, but...!

Roy: *pats Author's shoulder* Come find us again when you're done blushing, my dear. Come along, Edward.

Ed and Roy: *saunter off*

Branch: *blushes extensively*

Enough

Ed in a temper, Roy feeling generous. Porn With Purple Insights, I-3.

Prelude

"Now, about young Elric."

Roy tensed invisibly, as General Hakuro paged through one of the folders on the desk he'd taken over for his inspection of East City headquarters.

"Is the boy always this... volatile?"

"What do you mean, General?" Roy asked evenly.

"According to this he burned down the mansion of the Governor of Ketal during an altercation when the Governor's guards found him trespassing."

"After which," Roy pointed out, "it was discovered that the Governor was using his mansion as a clearinghouse for an illegally developed alchemical substance."

Which substance, Roy reflected, was of great interest to the man who had taken over Gran's jurisdiction, however illegal the development process.

Hakuro eyed him. "Did you send him to do this?" he asked softly.

Roy was pleased to vent a perfectly honest laugh. "If I had, I very much doubt he would have arrived in the city any time this month."

"Elric-kun does not take orders well?" Hakuro translated.

Roy pursed his lips judiciously. "Someone with a gift for understatement might put it that way," he allowed.

"Hm. I see."

Roy certainly hoped so.

Hakuro shuffled his papers together and put Edward's folder at the bottom of the stack. Roy suppressed a sigh of relief.

"Very well. You are dismissed."

Roy made his way back to his own office, counting down the days until Hakuro would be off their hands again. Perhaps catching up on his correspondence would relax him.

No sooner had Roy settled down at his desk, though, than a slip of paper puffed into existence above it and fluttered down on top of his other papers. Roy read it, and snorted.

"Well, that should put the cap on everyone's day."

Lude

Ed stalked into the Colonel's office, slammed the door and flung himself down on the couch.

"That was quick," Mustang remarked.

Ed threw an arm over his face. "That Author has the worst timing! I swear she does it on purpose!"

"Headache?" Mustang inquired, sweetly.

Ed snarled.

He heard Roy rise and come around the desk, felt the couch dip as Roy settled beside him, but didn't look or move.

"Are you all right, Edward?"

"Just fine," Ed muttered. "Taisa."

"I'll take that as a no, then." Roy's hand passed over Ed's brow. Ed struck upward, with another snarl.

Roy caught it. Barely. "Edward, why are you here?"

Ed huffed.

"Just a bad mood, then?" Roy suggested.

Ed stared intently away from him.

"So. How is this, then. Just lie still."

Ed slanted a sideways look. "Just that?"

Roy leaned over him, one arm on the back of the couch. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

Ed had his suspicions about any offer Roy Mustang made that sounded like what he wanted. There had to be a catch. But he finally nodded grudging agreement.

Roy started tracing feather-light patterns across Ed's forehead. After a moment's struggle just for form's sake Ed let his eyes drift closed.

Roy's hands passed down his neck, over his shoulders, testing for tension and kneading it away. Ed pulled in deep breath and released it with a sigh. The soothing hands moved to his chest, and then his stomach. The muscles there quivered, and Ed gasped.

"Ssh," Roy whispered to him, "relax, Ed. There's nothing you need to do."

"Mmmh."

Gradually, under Roy's careful hands, Ed's entire body slackened. He lay back on the couch, almost floating except that gravity had such a very good hold on him.

Roy's deep voice spoke by his ear, smooth as his touch. "Tell me if you want me to stop. But there's something I want to show you, my hawk."

Roy's hands were undoing Ed's pants. Ed considered protesting, the remnants of his bad temper stirring, but he was relaxed now and didn't want to change that.

Roy's hands were warm and gentle and the heat of Roy's breath washed over his cock.

"Ahhh..."

Wet heat curled around him, closed over him like deep water. Ed felt entirely underwater, his movement slowed, even his reaction to Roy's mouth on him languid. He sighed and stretched into it as Roy's tongue burned paths up and down, slowly filling him with a heavy heat until it overflowed in long, deep waves.

Ed wallowed in a comfortable daze. He only roused from it when he realized that he was lying reclined against Roy's chest.

"Mmm."

"Feeling better?" There was a chuckle in Roy's voice.

"Mm."

Thought returned slowly. "What about you?" Ed asked.

"I'm fine."

Ed blinked a few times. He turned in Roy's arms to look up at him, puzzled. Roy returned one of his infuriating, unreadable, one-sided smiles, but was apparently inclined to take pity on all forms of Ed's frustration today. Roy cradled Ed's jaw in his hand.

"Perhaps you'll understand later. My lover's pleasure is enough for me, today. To see you so abandoned to pleasure that I brought you..." he kissed Ed, slowly, "...that's enough."

Ed gazed up at him, not knowing what expression might be on his own face.

"Why?"

Roy smiled and settled Ed more comfortably against him. "Rest. My hawk."

As Ed closed his eyes again, he heard Roy whisper, laughing faintly.

"...my fractious, cross-grained gyrfalcon."

End

Ed: Eh?

Roy: *winces* You weren't supposed to hear that.

Branch: For our readers, the significance of the gyrfalcon is documented at this handy site. Ed, don't look yet.

Relaxed

In the National Library. Porn With Insights, I-4.

Ed didn't particularly like the yearly requalifications. In point of fact, he considered them a monumental waste of his time. They did, however, mean time to visit the National Library every year. Spending a few days in the papery, sunlit quiet always relaxed him.

Well, mentally, anyway.

Ed leaned away from his stack of books, stretching his spine over the back of his chair in an attempt to pull out some of the knots.

"You're going to injure yourself one of these days, hunched over like that."

Ed looked around a little too quickly and winced as his neck seized up. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" he grumbled, rubbing at the cramp.

"Escaping from ceremonies. You'll just make it worse like that." Roy Mustang brushed Ed's hand aside, pressed hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and twisted his hand sharply. Ed yelped.

"And that's making it better?!"

"It is, isn't it?"

Ed rotated his head gingerly.

"Of course..."

Ed blinked. Mustang had somehow insinuated himself between Ed and the desk, leaning easily on the latter. He reached down and swiftly pulled Ed up against him, straddling Mustang's legs.

"...a gentle touch has equally useful applications."

Ed was shocked. Roy never got like this in public. And now here they were in the National Library.

"Taisa! What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Everyone else is stuck at the ceremonies, if that's what you're worried about Edward-kun." Roy's hands started rubbing Ed's back.

"That isn't... the point... ohhh..." Ed's protest trailed off. Roy's hands were very strong, and found every knotted muscle, kneading them loose.

"...that feels good," Ed sighed, only half aware that he spoke aloud.

For a while the only sounds in the library were Ed's sighs.

Eventually, though, those sighs took on a different note, and his movement against Roy became less innocent. The more Roy's hands relaxed him the more aware he became that he was draped against Roy, legs spread over Roy's thighs, and that Roy was clearly interested in more than simple massage. Indeed, Roy's hands were sliding down over Ed's rear to pull Ed more firmly against him. Ed's sigh broke.

"So, Edward?" Roy breathed against his ear.

"We're in the library," Ed pointed out, shivering.

"Indeed. A pleasantly deserted library," Roy's purred against Ed's neck and Ed pressed into him, gasping. "And if someone does come in? If someone does see you, naked, spread out under me?"

Ed was torn between two opposing reactions, flinching from Roy's words, and melting under Roy's tone.

"Roy..."

Roy laughed softly. "Well, then, perhaps I'll have to burn them to a cinder for the temerity of hearing your voice like this." His hands returned to Ed's back, stroking, kneading, and Ed wrapped his arms around Roy's shoulders and buried his head in them.

Roy's voice gentled. "No one will come here, Edward. This once, let go. Relax. Let me touch you; let me open you. This once, let me have you without the teasing and the sparks."

If the heat of Roy's body between his legs hadn't been enough, the heat of Roy's voice would have set Ed on fire.

"All right," he whispered, shaking just a little at what Roy was asking from him.

Still. For all his teasing, Roy had never hurt him in any way while they were together like this. And it was exhausting to keep up with the teasing; if Roy wanted to leave it aside this once, Ed supposed he was willing to trust him.

Roy stood, lifting Ed with him, and set Ed down on one of the narrow, blue benches scattered among the carrels. Ed lay and watched as Roy stripped off his clothes, knowing his eyes were wide with his uncertainty. He let Roy undress him, sighing at the brush of his hands. Roy straddled the bench and guided Ed's thighs over his.

Ed was breathing fast, trembling, as Roy kissed him slowly, deep but gentle. Ed leaned up into him.

"Roy... touch me..." Ed was set off balance by the absence of their usual edged words; he wanted the reassurance of Roy's body against him very badly.

"...please..."

A harsh intake of breath answered him, and Roy caught Ed up into his arms, kissing him hard, now. Again, Ed leaned into it, making a soft sound when Roy's tongue stroked his. When Roy let Ed down again he stayed close, and Ed relaxed a little with relief.

"Is this so hard, my hawk?" Roy's thumb stroked over Ed's cheekbone.

Ed shook his head, but found himself completely unable to explain why he was shaking, almost clinging to Roy.

Roy looked down at him, eyes thoughtful. Then he threaded one hand into Ed's hair and tilted his head back against the bench. His teeth closed over Ed's throat.

"Aah!" Ed's spine arched sharply, but he felt the tension in him release, felt the muscles of his stomach and legs relax abruptly. Roy's other hand slid under his back, sustaining the arch. The trembling lessened.

"...naked, spread out under me..." Roy's voice echoed in Ed's ears, and this time the words themselves rippled pleasure through him.

"Roy," he gasped, breathless, "now... please... now."

"Yes," Roy murmured against his throat.

Roy coaxed him to turn over, legs on either side of the bench, and drew him back to the very edge. The sunlight falling across them touched Ed like another hand, gliding over his skin, reminding him of where he was. This was hardly the first time Roy had taken him to bed in daylight, but this...

The idea of it had changed, though. Ed would unquestionably be mortified if someone came in, but to have Roy seek him out here, desire him even here, stroked heat along Ed's nerves.

Roy's fingers touched him, feathered over his bare skin, slid between his legs, and Ed's thoughts were brushed away. Ed moaned as Roy's hand closed over him, rubbing softly; he shifted his hips, spreading his legs wider over the bench.

When Roy pressed forward, Ed was more than ready for him, already open to him, and Roy's thrust sank deep into him.

Ed's moan was lower, husky, as Roy's slow, hard movement pressed him into the bench, into Roy's hand. Roy was fire inside him, spiraling out through him so fast that when it flared Ed could feel Roy still hard in his tightening body, and somehow that drew the fire out until Ed could only lie limp and panting on the bench.

Irrelevant thoughts floated through is mind. The warmth of the sunlight on his back. How irritated the cleaners would likely be over the bench's upholstery. How wonderfully smooth everything had felt...

Suddenly he blinked. Levered himself up on a shaky arm and looked around at Roy, who was leaning against his side. Sure enough, there was a very recognizable small bottle set carefully just under the bench.

Ed started laughing, and his arm refused to hold him up any longer. Roy brushed a hand over Ed's hair.

"What?"

"Do you carry one of those with you everywhere?" Ed gasped out.

"Ever since the contract transfer," Roy confirmed, serene.

Ed heaved a deep breath, getting his laughing back under control, rested his head on his crossed arms.

"So, what ceremony was it you dodged out of?" he asked at last, conversationally.

Roy dropped a kiss on his shoulder.

"Get dressed and I'll tell you."

End

Ed: *eyes story* Was that necessary?

Branch: Well, I kind of needed something to balance out the release of physical resistance in "Rough". It just turned out like this. And I bent one of my own signal rules of smut for the sake of your psychological development, which I hope you appreciate.

Roy: What, embarrassed? Whyever should you be, Edward-kun? *leans against wall* Just because you begged me to take you over a bench in the National Library?

Ed and Branch: *gape at Roy*

Branch: Well! We'll just be off, then, to let Roy recover from his testosterone poisoning... or whatever's gotten into him...

Gift

Ed finds things out about Roy's plans, Roy gets a surprise. Plot With Porn, I-4.

Part One

Roy Mustang's visitor was finally leaving, something for which Ed was profoundly grateful. The man had been underfoot for days, making bad jokes, getting dire glares from Hawkeye, and poking into everything. He didn't seem to be attached to the military. Or to anyone within the military except Mustang. How he had managed to collect the entire command staff, plus Ed, to see him off was a mystery.

"Oh, and I almost forgot, Carl finally got back to me about your request!"

"And?" Mustang inquired.

"He says he doesn't think they have the right food for gyrfalcons in his area, but he'll keep looking."

Mustang nodded.

Ed assuaged his irritation with the reflection that the man had mangled the pronunciation of "gyrfalcon". It didn't help a great deal. Fortunately, they managed to edge him out the door without too much further conversation. Ed heaved a sigh of relief.

Gyrfalcon... Ed wondered, idly, where had he learned how to pronounce that word. He remembered hearing it spoken. Who...?

"... my hawk... my fractious, cross-grained gyrfalcon."

Ed stopped dead in the middle of the hall.

What had the man said?

"...food for gyrfalcons..."

And where he had read the word...

"...the king may fly a gyrfalcon..."

"Taisa," Ed whispered, and then took a breath and almost shouted. "Taisa!"

Mustang turned, brows raised.

Ed strode through the other officers and caught Mustang's arm. His voice was barely audible. "Taisa, what are you doing?"

Mustang's eyes narrowed, and Ed was aware of sharp glances being exchanged around him. His eyes never left the Colonel's. It was a long moment before Mustang spoke, almost as quietly as Ed had whispered.

"Not here."

They were arrayed in Mustang's office before anyone spoke again. Mustang stood at the window, one hand on the glass. "Why do you ask now, Edward-kun?"

Ed, practically vibrating between the need to pace and the need to wring an answer out of his commander, spoke between his teeth. "Gyrfalcon. The bird a king flies."

Mustang bowed his head briefly, smile wry. "I should have known you'd remember that."

"Taisa...!" Edward reached out a hand, useless as that was with three meters of space between them.

Mustang sighed and straightened.

"This nation is broken, Edward-kun," he said, even and cool. "Surely you've noticed it. How many uprisings and civil wars have we had in the past twenty years? No country so troubled over its government should have lasted. Yet we have. Each time there's a rift it's patched over, each time the citizens rise the military puts them down. Successfully. Because of us."

He turned to look full at Ed, and Ed swallowed hard at the coldness in his eyes.

"The military succeeds because of the State Alchemists within its ranks."

Mustang turned away again and Ed found himself shaking from the force of the gaze now withdrawn.

"It cannot continue. It must not continue."

"Then why," Ed hesitated, then forged on, "why do you stay?"

Mustang was silent a moment, and then let out a breath that sounded pained. "Because," he replied, voice low, "only a military officer of the highest rank who is also an alchemist of considerable power could come close enough to Dai-Soutou Bradley to remove him and still hope to control the military through the upheaval afterward."

"...remove...?" Ed whispered.

Mustang leaned his forehead against the glass. "Kill. Most likely."

Ed was shaking again, fighting to breathe past his shock.

"I hadn't intended you to know any of this," Mustang continued, quietly. "You have a long history of doing things your own way without regard for politics of any kind. They would believe your innocence, and your power is too much a prize for them to kill you just as an example. If I fail."

"Then what am I in this?" Ed wanted to know. "Why have you kept me in your command? Everyone else knows about this, don't they?" He waved at Hawkeye and Havoc, who both nodded soberly.

"Long before you arrived," Hawkeye confirmed. "He chose us as his staff because we agree that something needs to be done. Soon."

"Told you that first day," Havoc reminded him. "If it was just ambition for more rank we wouldn't follow him."

Mustang looked over his shoulder, smiling at Ed. For some reason that made the shaking worse.

"Ah, Edward. You are my hunter. Wherever you go you have a remarkable knack for turning up the secrets and breaks, for stirring things up, for setting people in motion. And then, too..." Mustang turned away again. "You are my example. I didn't want to tell you this. I didn't want to darken you."

Ed pressed a hand hard against his mouth, staring sightlessly ahead of him.

"If you don't wish to be involved in such a thing I can transfer you to someone else's command." Hawkeye stirred, and Mustang waved her back. "Even if he leaves us I don't believe Edward-kun will say anything."

Memories returned to Ed, fragmented. The distant look in Ryla's eyes as she attacked unarmed men for raising their hands to a corrupt officer; the matter-of-fact insanity of a man who had lost everything at the hands of a State Alchemist; Gran's eyes; Rose's eyes; Al's eyes, so long ago.

Roy Mustang, urbane and mocking and careless; surrounded in flames; smiling, knowing, as he sent Ed off with another lead; shadowed, troubled, as he turned away from Ed's questions; strange and distant as he spoke of Ed's brightness; laughing as he called Ed his hawk and named himself Ed's falconer.

Standing at the window, straight and calm, waiting.

Ed came to him, stood in front of him looking up intently.

"I will fly for you. Taisa."

Over Mustang's shoulder he saw Hawkeye and Havoc exchanging puzzled looks. It didn't matter. Mustang sighed, laying his hands on Ed's shoulders.

"Thank you, Edward."

Ed nodded, saluted, and walked out of the office and down the hall to one of the spare rooms where he collapsed into a chair and sat, shaking, for a long time.

Part Two

It had been a very long day by the time Roy trudged home, but he couldn't quite face the idea of staying at headquarters tonight. Not with the echoes of his confrontation with Edward lingering there. Home meant peace and quiet, however temporary.

He left a trail of uniform pieces down the upstairs hallway, and was down to shirt and pants by the time he reached his bedroom. He leaned in the doorway to pull off his socks.

When he straightened up, though, he had to stop and blink at the bed a few times.

The image of Edward Elric sitting shirtless and cross legged on his bed did not go away.

Roy crossed the room slowly and looked down at him. "Edward?" It took a moment to dredge up an appropriate remark. "Was there a notice from That Author that I somehow missed?"

Edward's voice was low and clear. "We're off script. You know that. Forget the excuses." He unfolded himself to kneel upright, took Roy's face between his hands, kissed him. There was strangeness in the kiss, utterly focused yet somehow not demanding anything at all.

Edward let him go, caught up his hands, kissed them as well.

"Edward?" Roy was entirely bemused.

Ed took Roy's fingers in his mouth, one by one, tasting them, sucking lightly on the fingertips. He turned Roy's hands over, and Roy felt his tongue moving across the palms. Roy's breath started to get uneven.

When Edward looked up his mouth was very serious, and there was an entreaty in the gold eyes at odds with his evident aggressiveness. He pulled gently on Roy's wrists until Roy sat on the bed beside him.

Edward straddled his legs and undid Roy's shirt, paying great attention to each button, and brushed it off his shoulders. He leaned into Roy, and Roy, now very curious, in a slightly light-headed way, to see where this was going, let Edward press him down.

Edward's head bowed over Roy's chest, and Roy sighed a bit under the open-mouthed kisses and gentle nips that tracked down his body. Edward undid the button at Roy's waist and paused. Roy looked down just in time to catch Ed's wicked smile before he took Roy's zipper in his teeth to pull it down.

The heat of his mouth so close pulled a harsh breath from Roy.

The last of the clothing dispensed with, Edward stroked the inside of Roy's knee, and Roy, after a thoughtful moment, opened his legs for him. Edward bent over him and took Roy's cock in his mouth, toying with him as he had with Roy's hands earlier.

Roy sank down into the heat with a moan.

Before too long, though, Edward drew back and stretched himself beside Roy, pressing more of those strange kisses to his neck. At some point in the proceedings he'd managed to get off the rest of his own clothes. Roy was impressed.

"Taisa."

"Mmm?"

"Roy."

The intensity of Ed's voice pulled Roy's eyes open. Edward's fingers brushed his lips.

"...what do you want?"

Roy knew, looking in Edward's eyes, that whatever he wanted Edward would do tonight. That this was the point of the apparent seduction. That was the strangeness in his kisses. A gift Ed had chosen to give him.

Anything he wanted. What did he want?

Well... the way Edward had been going had a certain appeal. It had been a long time, certainly, but it was something he'd enjoyed in the right mood.

Roy laughed, and pulled Edward into his arms. "I want to feel the touch of another human being. Everywhere."

It took Edward a moment to unravel that, and then he stiffened, staring down at Roy. "You really...?"

Roy smiled lazily up at him. "Yes."

He half expected to see that spark of challenge that sometimes lit Edward's eye around him, but the serious intentness never flickered. Roy's own expression softened. "Edward," he whispered, drawing a thumb over Edward's lower lip. His voice deepened.

"Kiss me."

Ed shivered and came to him.

After a few breathless minutes, he glanced over at the nightstand and then back at Roy. "Where?"

"Second drawer."

"What," Edward muttered, rummaging, "not the first?"

Roy chuckled. "I never expected to have you in this bed, Impatience."

Ed, leaning back over him, offered a sly smile. "Are you now?" he breathed against Roy's mouth.

"Ask me again after," Roy replied, just as soft.

Edward knelt between Roy's legs and reached under him.

"Mmmmm."

Roy lay back as warmth rippled out from Edward's slow fingers. It took a little while for him to relax, but Edward, possibly from his own nervousness, didn't rush. His touch was remarkably gentle, and Roy spread his legs wider to encourage him.

And then he felt something cool, hard. It took a shocked second to identify it.

The fingers of Edward's right hand.

Roy arched up off the bed as they pressed into him, an icy tingle shooting down his nerves. "Ha...! ... Ed..." The heat of Ed's mouth closed over his cock again, and the contrast drowned his senses. "Ed..."

Finally Edward drew back for a moment, laying a hand on Roy's chest. "Taisa?"

Roy's voice came from deep in his chest. "Oh yes."

Ed's eyes burned, and Roy suspected they only reflected his own.

Edward shifted and his cock pressed against Roy, and Roy's hands closed hard on the sheets. Slowly, slowly warmth and hardness pushed in, and he could hear Edward's breath hissing through clenched teeth, and then the strange moment of release and capture, and Edward gasped.

Sliding heat. Roy stretched back with a long breath, disconnected shivers dancing over him. He opened his eyes and smiled, because Edward's expression was that of someone who had just completed a complex calculation to his satisfaction.

The calculation was apparently one of angles and forces, because Edward shifted inside him and fire plunged up Roy's spine. Ed's hand wrapped around him, and Roy shuddered.

Ed's touches were slick and hard, and Roy let himself stretch open into them, let them fire his body, let them drive him beyond himself and release him into surging brilliance.

As he caught his breath again afterward Roy pulled Edward down to him before he collapsed. They lay, legs tangled, pressed against each other.

"Was there any particular reason for this?" Roy asked at last.

Ed shrugged one shoulder, glancing up from Roy's chest. It seemed that however their lovemaking went that was Edward's favored pillow after. "I said that I would fly for you," he answered slowly, "but it wasn't... enough. For what you're doing. For what you've given. It wasn't enough." He tucked his chin down. "You said I might understand later. Maybe it's later."

Roy remembered his words to Edward one especially bad-tempered day in his office. "My hawk..." When Edward looked up Roy kissed him as if he meant to inhale Edward's breath and soul.

"Thank you, Edward, for a magnificent gift," he whispered.

If Edward saw the gleam of wetness in Roy's eyes before he turned his face into Edward's hair he gave no indication of it then or later.

End

Branch: *fans self* Wow! Maybe we should try that another time, hey guys?

Roy: *insufferably smug*

Ed: *panting* You've got to be joking! He's twice as demanding like this!

Branch: *wheedling* Ah, come on, Ed, wasn't it fun?

Ed: *grumpy* Well, yes, I suppose. Maybe.

Roy: So, Edward-kun, what do you think? Did I have you?

Ed: *pointedly not answering*

Two to be Steady - Part One

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

When Maas Hughes moseyed into the refectory the first sight to meet his eyes was the unpleasant one of First Lieutenant George Cutter and his cronies bullying another new officer.

He could see right away what had drawn them. This one looked pretty young, slightly built, and was huddled just a bit into his overcoat as if trying to keep the whole world from looking at him. Of course it had the opposite effect on all the lowlife.

I can't eat a decent lunch with this going on, Maas decided, and started through the lunch-time crowd toward the scene.

He got there just in time to hear Cutter sneer, "...heard Gran transferred you right off, too. Maybe you aren't as good as he thought you'd be."

The young man finally stirred, unfolding his arms. The coat slipped off as his shoulders straightened and he laid his right hand, palm down, on the table.

There was a circle on the back of his glove.

Silence spread out like ripples in water after a dropped stone. Maas pursed his lips, seeing the blank chill in those dark eyes now focused on Cutter. This man had not just come to the end of his rope, he'd deliberately dropped it. This could just get bad.

And then he looked at Cutter and couldn't help but burst out laughing. Cutter looked like a melting ice cube he was sweating so hard, and white showed all the way around his eyes. Heads turned at the unexpected sound, and Maas strolled the rest of the way to the table, slapping Cutter on the shoulder in passing.

"Looks like you have a real talent for picking the wrong target, there, George." Maas plonked himself down in the chair opposite the young Alchemist. "Why don't you just run along, before I spare our new friend here the bother?" Just to drive the point home, Maas flicked out one of his knives for a moment. Cutter broke and scurried off, his tiny gang of sycophants on his heels. Maas shook his head, still chuckling.

"What a loser." He squinted at the exposed circle. "The Flame Alchemist, hm? Well, no wonder you look like death warmed over."

The Alchemist blinked at him. Maas glanced at the insignia. "And it'll probably be days before it catches up with him that, in addition to frying him, you could have him up for threatening a superior officer. Too bad I won't be there to see his expression." Maas sighed, wistfully.

"Why wouldn't you?"

Maas smiled to have finally gotten some words out of the man, even if they were a bit flat. "He tried that stunt on me when I was first assigned at Central. Like I said, he has a talent for the wrong target. He stays as clear of me as he can these days."

The Alchemist accepted this with a nod. After another moment of silence Maas tried a new approach.

"I know the food isn't the best, but you should probably try to eat a little more than that," he nodded at the untouched tray.

A head shake met this suggestion. "I was actually just about to leave. I have some practice scheduled for myself."

If Maas had ever seen someone who really didn't need to be alone with himself, it was this person. "Practice, huh? Do you mind an audience?" he asked casually.

Finally, the Alchemist actually focused on him. Maas smiled at the question in his look, letting just a hint of challenge slip into the expression. It seemed to do the trick, because the Alchemist's chin came up just a bit.

"No, I don't particularly mind," he answered.

Maas grinned and offered his hand. "Well then, Maas Hughes, pleased to meet you."

The Alchemist reached out his right hand automatically, pulled up sharply like a stumble, but completed the gesture after all and clasped Maas hand. "Roy Mustang. Likewise."

And you really sound it, Maas reflected wryly. But, what the hell, it was about time for his monthly act of charity.

Practice, in this case, took place outside. A reasonable precaution, considering that Mustang seemed bound and determined to see how many different ways he could blow things up. And, indeed, it seemed an audience didn't matter to him. He focused on his targets as if he were completing the last step in creating the Philosopher's Stone. Maas might as well not have been there, except that Mustang never actually aimed through him.

Twelve hay bales later, Maas was moved to a question. "Wouldn't a wider range of materials be more useful?"

"If I was working on my range it would," Mustang replied, a bit distracted. "But this is for precision."

Maas surveyed the blizzard of charred straw around them. "Precision. Of course." As he'd half hoped, that pricked Mustang into a more detailed response.

"How much of the straw has actually been burned?" the Alchemist asked, dark eyes snapping but tone cool.

Maas took a longer look, estimating the scattered straw against the intact bales Mustang hadn't gotten to yet. "Between half and a third," he guessed.

"Precisely," a tight smile, "and straw is considerably more flammable than... other things."

People or buildings, Maas filled in that sudden catch. "Huh. So how can you burn something lightly? Fire is there or not, isn't it?" he probed, hoping that his subject wasn't about to clam up again.

Apparently technical details were safe, because Mustang's mouth relaxed from its hard line and he actually smiled a bit. "What I transmute is actually air, increasing certain elements to make a path for the fire to move along from the initial spark." He waggled his fingers indicatively. "Oxygen is easiest, but different elements react differently. By adjusting them one way or another, at one remove from the target or another, I can change the properties of the fire also. I'm pretty sure that I can evacuate the air from around a target, too, without ever burning it, but that's taking longer to do in practice." Mustang actually grinned. "If I want to do something like simply incinerating..." he looked at one of the remaining bales and snapped his fingers.

The explosion that rocked the yard left only a smear of ash in its wake.

"...then that's a lot easier."

Maas grinned, too. Ah, if he can still show off he'll be fine, he decided. He was a bit relieved, because he had been seriously considering whether he should bundle Mustang off to a doctor before he lost it. He'd seen a couple people returning from Ishvar who were broken, and the idea of an Alchemist in that situation was not a comfortable one. But Mustang was probably just a little torn around the edges.

"Impressive," he admitted cheerfully. "With your dedication I can see why Colonel Gran promoted you straight up to Captain."

Maas started back at the look the flashed over Mustang's face. Rage, disgust, contempt, horror, all tangled together and were gone. He sucked in a breath. "Or not. You really don't like Gran, I take it?"

Mustang pursed his lips.

"I mean, you looked like you wanted him standing where that hay bale used to be," Maas continued before shutting up in recognition that the shock was about to start him babbling. That look had been worlds beyond the one Mustang had given Cutter, and that one had been bad enough.

Come to think of it...

"That's why you finally lost it with Cutter, isn't it?" Maas hazarded. "When he mentioned Gran."

Mustang gave him a long look, eyed the Intelligence tabs on Maas uniform, and raised a sardonic brow.

"Oh, come on, you don't really think I'm investigating you?" Maas was indignant. "I'm a lot smoother than that, thanks so much! Besides, from what I hear Gran can be enough of a bastard to excuse anyone hating him."

The brow stayed up.

"And on top of that," Maas huffed, "if you really want to keep a lid on it just being quiet isn't enough. You should have immediately come out with some harmless reason to be pissed off, like he took the last helping of spinach or something."

Mustang tilted his head, suddenly thoughtful. "Really?"

Maas put a hand over his face and started laughing. "Yes, really," he managed. "Good grief, is that what it takes to open you up? I show you how to be successfully insubordinate and you're fine being friendly?" He lowered his hand just in time to catch the next interesting expression. Irony, this one, shuttered quickly. Mustang said nothing.

"Well," Maas sighed, "if that's the case, I should probably mention at this point that you're doing it again."

Mustang's head came up, eyes a little wide. Way too expressive for his own good, this one. Maas was familiar with the problem, since he had the same one, but he'd learned how to keep his expression from matching his thoughts too closely. Mustang obviously hadn't. Maas tried for a casual tone.

"So, what insubordination did you already successfully get away with?"

Mustang pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Look, I swear I'm not investigating!" Maas protested.

"I believe you."

The quiet statement shut Maas up, even while the inward look that went with it made him wild to find out what was going on.

"It isn't my secret. That's all." Mustang smiled, a much more fragile look than the grin. "Thanks for the tip, though."

I was right the first time! Maas groused to himself as Mustang turned back to his hay. He really needs to talk to someone before whatever he won't talk about sends him 'round the bend. Maas knew perfectly well, though, that his silent complaints were merely a last ditch effort to keep "someone" from being him.

Because now he was curious.

II

Roy had no idea just what had caused First Lieutenant Maas Hughes to decide that he, Roy, needed a friend. Or, possibly, an overseer, because Roy swore that Hughes had his schedule clocked and mapped.

Maybe it was just reflex. Hughes was in Intelligence, after all, and practically drooling for field assignments. Anyone with eyes could see that Headquarters life bored Hughes to tears. Roy couldn't imagine what the man's superiors thought they were about, keeping him cooped up here.

So maybe it was just boredom.

Whatever the cause, Hughes popped up in the damndest places, dragging Roy out of his rooms, out of the library, out of his office and off to get food in the city, or a drink, or just a walk. The only place he left Roy alone was when he was practicing, and that only after Roy had threatened to make Hughes a target.

It had been the first time in months he'd even been able to think something like that as a joke.

Today, it was the library.

"Yo, Mustang!"

Hughes cringed, theatrically, in the cross-fire of the librarian's glare and Roy's. He tiptoed over to Roy's table. "What's on your menu today, O Great Scholar?" he whispered.

Roy favored him with a resigned look. "I was reading history," he murmured.

"Darts will be much more fun," Hughes declared, hauling Roy unceremoniously out of his chair. "Think of it as target practice."

Roy couldn't help a smile as he was towed out of the library. The more he got his head back in some kind of order, the clearer it was to him that Hughes and his interruptions had done a lot to keep him from crawling into a hole and brooding himself into useless oblivion.

Even if it was a little unnerving that Hughes always seemed to know where he was.

"So, what's so interesting about reading history, which is all about the stupid mistakes of dead people, when there are live people all around you making brand new stupid mistakes right where you can watch?" Hughes wanted to know.

"Are they new?" Roy asked back.

Hughes eyed him and clearly decided to skip straight to the end of this debate. "If people really could avoid mistakes by learning from history, would we be where we are now?"

A grin stretched Roy's mouth. This was one of the things he liked about talking with Hughes; the man could think and argue. "Yes, we would, because everyone learns not to make some mistakes, and then doesn't listen to other people explaining about the other mistakes that they learned not to make."

"What, you want a steering committee for the world? Or are you just bucking for the General Staff, personally?"

Roy smoothed his expression and, following Hughes' advice from the day they met, said lightly, "Something like that."

From the gleam in Hughes' eye Roy didn't think he'd escaped all notice, but Hughes didn't push it.

And that was the other thing hanging around with Hughes was good for. Practice.

It was a good evening, though, and Roy didn't mind too badly that Hughes beat him at darts; Roy was, slowly, getting better. The act of aiming didn't make his hand shake any longer.

It was closing on midnight when one of the other patrons challenged Hughes to a match.

Roy was used to seeing the long lines of Hughes' face relaxed in a lazy grin. Sardonic, at the most. He'd never seen the cold, focused look that flickered there now, before Hughes turned a wide smile on the challenger.

"Sure thing! My frien' here just isn' a challenge, you know?"

Hughes speech hadn't been slurred like that five seconds ago, either. Roy sat back, making sure his own face was blank and watched.

Hughes lost two rounds, narrowly, with what looked a great deal like drunken distress. By that time Roy was expecting the offer of a "friendly wager" to make the last round "interesting". He had to keep his beer in front of his face to conceal his amused disgust at the stock dialogue. Hughes agreed. The challenger threw carefully, making a very good score, and turned to Hughes with a triumphant smirk.

Hughes smiled back, narrow eyed, and his speech was clear as glass. "For the end of this, you know, I think I want to use my own." One of his small, evil looking knives appeared between his fingers. He barely looked at the dartboard as he threw it, to land dead center.

After a moment of frozen silence, the challenger slid the money they had bet toward Hughes and left without a word.

"That wasn't very nice," Roy chuckled as Hughes sat back down.

Hughes sniffed. "When someone's planning to cheat you, nice doesn't come into it."

"Point," Roy admitted. "But how did you know so fast?"

A bit of the hardness returned. "Are you kidding? They've been watching us almost since we got here. And anyone who doesn't know me would expect me to be pretty drunk by now."

Roy considered his friend for a moment. He hadn't really thought Hughes had that twisty of a mind, but taking into account tonight's performance... "Were you playing under your game this whole time?" he asked evenly.

Hughes gave him a pained look. "Give me some credit, Mustang. You'd be ticked off if I did, and you're a lot more dangerous than them."

Roy looked away. "No, I'm not. You know I wouldn't do something like that."

Hughes was silent for a few moments, looking like he was weighing something. Then the cold expression returned full force and he leaned forward. "Yes, you are. Not to me, no, but I've seen it a few times. That look you get. And let me tell you, Mustang, if you don't do something with that much rage you will lose it some day."

Roy let his own cold come to the surface, the cold that had begun to grow the day he closed his mouth on the news of Dr. Marco's desertion. Truth for truth. "What makes you think I'm not doing something with it?" he asked softly.

Hughes' eyes narrowed, and his mouth tilted. "I did wonder about that," he admitted.

"I thought you might have," Roy agreed.

Hughes sat back, laughing. "You're a stubborn one, all right. All this time just to confirm what I knew the day we met."

"I should give everything away without seeing a return?" Mustang asked. "Not what you should expect of any alchemist."

"Fair enough. Oh, and about the whole keeping up a cover thing?"

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Just cultivate the face you've got on now," Hughes recommended.

"Hughes..."

"Maas, already," Hughes cut in.

Roy was too intent to argue, which, when he thought about it later, was probably the idea. "Maas, then, this is exactly what I don't want known."

Hughes... Maas squinted at him. "You've never looked in the mirror when you're like this, have you?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Didn't think so. Look, it doesn't make you look harmless, but you aren't harmless and very few people will think you are no matter how sweet you look."

Roy glared.

"That one's good, too," Maas grinned. "The point is, when you look like that you're a lot less readable."

Roy rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Maas. Why are you coaching me in how to be unreadable and as good as telling me that you'll help me do whatever I'm doing?"

Maas propped his chin on his fist. "You want the truth?"

"Always." Roy's voice was sharp.

Maas teeth gleamed briefly. "I'm curious. And you're doing something covert, which is my specialty. And having known you for a few months I think whatever you're doing will be something I would appreciate."

Roy thought about that. Maas was, in his own phrase, laid back and, in Roy's estimate, cynical. On the one hand, that would probably keep him from being horrified by what Roy wanted to see done. On the other, it would also probably make him skeptical about the scope of Roy's plans.

And then he thought of that cold, hard focus he'd seen on Maas' face tonight. It seemed he wasn't the only one at the table who cultivated a mask, because that look had overwhelming drive and power behind it.

"I suppose you might appreciate it at that," Roy said slowly.

"Of course! Now, don't feel you have to tell me anything, Roy," Maas assured him expansively, "after all, it'll be much more fun to figure it out myself."

"Indeed?" Roy couldn't stop a wicked smile at the thought. If Maas thought he had all the upper hand... "Well, then, perhaps I'll see if I can make it more... interesting for you."

Everyone else in the bar probably thought that the two laughing young officers were just drunk.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Two

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

Maas was having the time of his life.

Figuring out Roy Mustang was providing more fun than any two field assignments put together. Tracking Roy's movements was easy enough; figuring out why he went certain places and did certain things was the challenge.

Some things were already clear. Promotion seemed to be step one of whatever Roy's project was. He was efficient with his paperwork; he was meticulously respectful of senior officers; he was courteous to those who worked under him, and they said good things about him to the grapevine; he took initiative, but carefully.

Maas favorite instance of that last, the one he would have pressed in a scrapbook if he could have, was when Hakuro's aide arrived one rainy afternoon, muddy from head to toe, with the news that his superior was stranded outside the city in a broken down car and would be late for a rather important meeting. By the time Hakuro's own superior made it to the front doors, still arguing viciously with the Colonel in charge of the motorpool over whose fault this was, Roy had arranged for another car, a mechanic and a change of uniform just in case, and handed them off with a salute.

The looks on the faces of the arguing officers had been treasures, and Maas was very glad he'd been in a position to see them.

What Maas didn't know yet was what Roy wanted to do with more rank. Part of Roy's obscurity, he had to admit, was really his own fault. Roy had taken to heart his advice on how to conceal his thoughts. Day by day, nearly, Maas could see him honing that terrifying coldness that Maas had seen in him the day they met. It was like watching ice crystalize, and an unguarded smile was coming to be a rare thing from Roy.

In his own contrary fashion, Roy was also rapidly acquiring a reputation as a bit of a playboy, which Maas had found odd considering how reticent Roy seemed to be most of the time. Then he'd made up a list of all the women and the few men Roy flirted with most, and another list of who else those people associated with regularly. He'd laughed until his neighbor pounded on the wall for him to shut up. It was such a Roy way to do things—straightforward and roundabout at the same time.

Maas was still unsure what to make of Roy's relentless drive to refine his alchemical skills. Of course, any State Alchemist was expected to show results for the resources they took up, but the ones who were serving officers had a bit of latitude. Roy's dedication went far beyond what was expected of him on that score, and Maas was fairly sure that Roy was concealing the extent of his ability from everyone but Maas.

It helped, of course, that Maas was the only one who would come anywhere near Roy while he was practicing.

Maas was sure he was getting somewhere, though. Given Roy's reading material during his retreats to the library, what he wanted clearly had something to do with politics. Maas stopped short of trying to get Roy drunk enough to talk freely about his political views, because this was, after all, a friend he was trying to unravel.

But he was still getting somewhere, and thus he was first annoyed and then amused at himself for being annoyed when he got an assignment to go South looking for some Alchemist who had disappeared.

Still, he'd only be gone a few weeks.

II

It's only a few weeks, Roy told himself sternly. Stop moping.

Contrary to all his expectations, Roy had found himself enjoying the dodging about with Maas. The man was unendingly tenacious, and kept Roy on his toes; he was even good company while they sparred back and forth. Roy was sure he knew the location of every bar and theatre in Central City by now, dragged there in the name of "relaxing for once, Mustang!" So when Maas departed on an assignment Roy was left with a feeling of let-down.

He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop himself from finding excuses to stroll past the Intelligence offices with increasing frequency, hoping to hear that Maas was back.

This is silly. It isn't like I don't have other things to pay attention to. There's no reason to wander around looking like...

"Well, don't you look like a wet week," observed an amused voice behind him.

Roy spun around with what he was sure was a foolishly wide smile before he managed to compress it into a grin. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten yourself transmuted into a frog down there, Hughes."

"Ha!" Maas' expression changed to one of disgust. "Didn't see hide nor hair of any alchemist. Well, at least it was a chance to get out of uniform, since no one would give me the time of day if I was wearing it."

Indeed, Maas looked scruffier than usual, which, Roy considered, took a little doing.

And then he actually heard what Maas had said.

"Sounds rough," he said casually. "Come have a drink and I'll let you bend my ear about it."

They swung by Roy's room to pick up the bottle, but wound up in Maas' so he could unpack.

"So, boring couple weeks?" Roy probed, pouring for them both.

Maas snorted. "Waste of time, as far as my actual assignment went. Now, if I'd been sent to investigate civilian attitudes toward the military I could have written a report as long as my arm."

"Not good?" Roy took a mouth-concealing sip.

"Only what anyone with a brain might expect, really." Maas sprawled over his bed and took a long swallow. "They recruited pretty heavily from that area for that mess out East. A lot of people didn't come back. A lot of families are wondering what all those lives went to accomplish."

"Did anyone... take it out on you?" This time, Roy had no qualms with letting his investment in the question show.

Maas' mouth tilted up at one corner. If he meant it as a smile it didn't reach his eyes. "Not beyond a little shouting."

"Mmm."

Maas' look was suddenly sharp as it raked over Roy's face. After a few rather unnerving minutes his mouth twisted into a more genuine smirk. "So," he said softly, "do you want to staunch a rebellion single-handedly to impress Bradley, or do you want to see them all succeed in breaking away?"

Roy laughed, relief and alcohol combining to make him just a bit light-headed. "Neither."

"Interesting." Maas leaned back on one arm, hazel eyes hooded. "Well, I'll keep an ear out for you in any case. If you like."

Roy had to pause to admire the artistry of that offer.

Maas offered his, not insignificant, help in ferreting out information Roy wanted. But by knowing what Roy wanted and seeing what interested him, Maas would come that much closer to identifying Roy's final goals. So now Roy had to ask himself again, did he want Maas Hughes to find that out?

"That would be helpful," he said, at last, "Thank you."

It wasn't until Maas' shoulders relaxed a fraction that Roy understood his friend had also been asking how much Roy trusted him.

They both covered the moment by pouring new glasses.

When did it come to trust? Roy wondered. When did that start?

III

It was two days after his return that Maas discovered how a certain portion of the headquarters personnel had seen his little welcome-home bash with Roy. It was First Lieutenant Harding who sniggered loud enough for Maas to hear.

"...should have seen it. And they went straight back to Hughes' room, locked the door and didn't come out until nearly dawn. Guy next door said they were laughing an awful lot."

"I'm amazed Mustang could walk that morning," another of the small group chipped in.

"Well, maybe Hughes went easy on him..."

The group dissolved into snickers and crude suggestions.

Maas reacted without thinking, and two knives buried themselves in the wall a centimeter from Harding's nose. The little group cowered back as Maas stalked toward them, but he merely retrieved his knives. In the silence, the noise they made coming clear was quite audible.

"Excuse me."

thu

"My hand slipped."

thu

Harding lifted both hands, cautiously. "No offense, Hughes, he's all yours, I mean..."

Maas gave him the kind of look reserved for the terminally stupid, right after their stupidity has terminated them.

"Are you really brainless enough to believe that the Flame Alchemist, one of the most dangerous men in this city, belongs to anyone? This is a friendly warning, right?" Maas tapped the point of one knife against Harding's chin. "If he ever hears you say something like that I'm going to stand back and laugh while he fries your balls for breakfast."

He strode away, leaving a couple very pale men behind.

Complete idiots... He highly doubted that Roy Mustang would let himself sleep with an actual friend. Roy was downright allergic to vulnerability of any kind. Maas was positive his trust had been betrayed at some point. Besides which, he was pretty sure they had it the wrong way around. There was an intensity in Roy that overwhelmed whatever it was focused on and would not give way to anything. It was what fueled his remarkable efficiency and drove his unremitting practice of alchemy as a combat skill. Maas would bet money that that intensity would show up in bed. It was actually a good part of what made Roy so attractive.

Maas stopped dead in the hall and ran that last thought through his mind again.

Oh, I'm not... Well, yes, obviously Roy was a good looking man, and could be charming when he wanted to, as his string of bedazzled secretaries demonstrated. But...

Maas took himself off to his office and proceeded to get no work done at all.

All right, all right, Maas admitted at last, refraining valiantly from beating his head against his desk, I do think he's attractive, as well as an interesting puzzle, and amusingly muzzy when he's drunk, and a darn good drama critic, and... oh, hell.

He sighed. Not as though it was really news that he liked to play with fire.

If Maas could now just keep from adding to the gossip by, oh, say, overreacting, it wouldn't likely be any problem. He spent a few moments hoping fervently that, best case, Roy would never hear of the grapevine's latest sexual estimation of him or that, next best case, he wouldn't take it out on Maas.

Ah well. Life had been too boring before.

IV

The last hay bale ripped apart with a concussive shock. Roy sighed. Maas jumped down from his perch behind Roy and strolled over to examine it.

"Don't think you'd better count on that one to just disable," he remarked, judiciously.

"Do you know, I had that thought myself?"

Maas grinned over his shoulder. "And still sarcastic. Your endurance must be increasing."

Roy lidded his eyes and smirked. "We could test it out," he suggested, rasing his hand.

Maas' eye glinted, and his own hand flickered. Roy melted the knife half way.

"Thanks," Roy said as they made their way back inside.

Maas lifted a brow. "What for?"

"Ah." Roy shook himself. "Nothing. Never mind."

The thing was, he thought as they parted ways, Maas was the only person he knew who looked at Roy's alchemy as perfectly normal. Some people wanted to use its power, some were afraid of it, but only Maas treated it as a handy tool that Roy happened to be good with. Something a lot like his own knives.

Roy had known, intellectually, that as his skill increased and as he displayed more of it, the fear of those around him would likely increase also. But to actually see that fear, to have people step out of his way in the hall...

He didn't like it.

Yet... wasn't that the point? Wasn't that what he had set out to accomplish by condensing his rage and disgust into ice and focus?

Even the ones he charmed had that distance at the back of their eyes, that wariness.

Roy closed the door of his room behind himself, curled up on his bed and finally looked at the thought that had been creeping around the edges of his mind for weeks.

That was how people looked at Basque Gran.

Roy shuddered and curled up tighter.

But Maas didn't look at him like that.

He held onto that thought very, very hard.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Three

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

Captain Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, had been stalking around Central City headquarters all day like a panther with a thorn in its paw.

A young panther, to be sure, but that didn't make the people around him feel significantly more secure.

After the sixth time Maas was accosted in the hall with a more or less subtle inquiry of whether he could please do something about his friend, he decided it might actually be serious and not just Roy practicing his intimidation techniques.

A few questions revealed that Roy had met with Colonel Gran that morning to discuss his promotion prospects.

Definitely serious. Wonder why he didn't mention it? Unless, of course, the meeting had come as a surprise to Roy himself. In which case, the question was whether it would be better to get Roy out of headquarters to somewhere he could blow things up until he calmed down, or to distract him somehow.

A quick look out the window showed clouds piling up as evening drew on. Not outside, then.

Maas tracked Roy down to his room. His knock on the door was greeted by a groan.

"Maas, since I know that's you, you are not dragging me out tonight, not anywhere, I don't care how good the beer is at the latest bar you found!"

Maas breezed in anyway. "Nor even how beautiful the girls are?" he inquired.

Roy removed the arm he had thrown over his eyes so that he could glare. "Nor that either. I'm surprised you haven't figured that one out for yourself..." he trailed off in a grumble.

"What," Maas asked, pulling up a chair across from Roy's bedside table, "that you only flirt with the ladies who are girlfriends or secretaries or whatnot to the officers with their fingers in politics?"

Roy didn't even bother to sigh. "Yes, that."

"Weeks and weeks ago. Not to worry, Maas is here with the perfect thing to help you unwind after a long day," Maas declared.

The look of some trepidation on Roy's face changed to blankness as Maas pulled out a deck of cards and bridged them between his hands.

"Cards?"

"Poker, to be specific," Maas corrected, starting to shuffle.

Roy's lips twitched a few times before he broke down laughing. "Poker? Us?" He curled up on his side, holding his stomach. "I could have sworn you said relax," he managed at last.

Maas eyed his friend tolerantly. "Oh, come on Roy, how many secrets do you think you're still actually keeping from me? Surely it won't make that much difference whether you work at fooling me or not."

Roy gave him an opaque look. "I'm pretty sure there's at least one," he replied.

Maas was pretty sure there were more than that, but he certainly wasn't going to say so. "Well then you could still use the practice on something that doesn't matter, right?"

Roy hauled himself upright. "Since I doubt I'm getting out of this, you might as well just deal."

Once they were playing Roy's lackluster attitude disappeared like snow in the spring, as Maas had rather expected it would. Roy really was insanely competitive about anything he paid attention to.

And he was getting a lot better at controlling his expression, too.

"Raise."

"Call." He can't really have...

An evil smirk appeared. "Royal flush," Roy declared, laying the cards out with a flourish.

"All right, all right, you got me this time," Maas laughed. "I still carry the night."

"Well," Roy allowed, "since I am more relaxed than I was three hours ago, I suppose you do."

Maas leaned back in his chair, smiling. Roy always remembered all the stakes. "I certainly do. And you're just lucky we weren't playing strip poker, my friend."

Roy gave him a Look, and then leaned back himself. Maas realized that he had just managed to hit another competitive trigger.

"Why Maas," Roy purred, "I had no idea you walked that side."

After a moment of fast calculation on the odds, Maas decided he'd better alter his ground. An innuendo war was just as likely to wind Roy up again. He shrugged. "Once or twice. You?"

It was his personal discovery, and one he was rather proud of, that Roy would almost always respond to a direct revelation and then a request for one in return. It seemed to be a reflex. It worked this time, too.

"On occasion." And then the ground changed again. "Is there a reason you ask?"

Maas scrunched up his mouth. Roy was looking at him narrowly. Maas knew his friend was perceptive when he was paying attention. To hedge or not to hedge? Maas' common sense was telling him to stop and think about this. His love of challenges and puzzles, backed up by the hormones that had lately been taking notice of Roy, were telling him to go for it. Ah, screw it.

"Could be," he allowed, letting his eyes travel down Roy in a very clear once-over.

"Hm." Roy's posture shifted subtly, more open, more sinuous. "Well, then," he said softly.

It was becoming increasingly hard to tell, with Roy, whether this kind of invitation was shyness or a trap. Maas decided that it would be interesting either way. He moved across to the bed and brushed his hand along Roy's jaw.

Roy tipped his head back, his eyes half closed.

Maas leaned down over him and brushed his lips across Roy's. He felt them curve under his, and then Roy twisted, quick as a cat, and Maas hit the bed hard, on his back, with Roy's weight over him.

A trap, he decided, as Roy's mouth closed on his for a hard, searching kiss.

Maas laughed up at his friend as Roy drew back. "Well, aren't we feeling dominant?" he teased.

"Yes," Roy agreed, very quietly, "we are."

"Why does that not surprise me in the least?" That wildness that Maas occasionally saw in Roy was clear and present, burning in his eyes, and Maas found that he had, in fact, more than half expected it—the other side of Roy's coldness, most likely springing from the same source, the intensity Roy brought to all areas of his project, but uncontained here and now.

"Does it bother you?" Roy asked

Maas also found that the idea of being touched by that intensity was very attractive indeed. "I don't mind one way or the other, as long as you're considerate about it."

Roy's teeth gleamed. "Always," he breathed before leaning down again. One of Roy's hands curled around the back of Maas' neck and Maas let Roy's mouth open his own. He was curious to see how far that wildness would go. Curiosity really will be the death of me one of these days, he decided, a bit hazily as Roy slid a leg between his thighs.

Roy's body, moving against his, was demanding, but his hands were gentle, fingers tracing light paths down Maas' arms, chest, over his ribs.

He was not particularly gentle with their clothing, and Maas was fairly sure he'd have a few buttons missing after this.

On the other hand, the heat of skin against skin was worth it, and Roy's skin felt almost fever-hot under Maas' hands. He missed it when Roy whispered to wait and rose to make a whirlwind rummage through his dresser. When he returned, he lay down beside Maas.

"Here, bend you leg."

Maas thought that Roy must be watching his face very carefully, because he was not slow and his fingers never stopped, but he never quite went faster than Maas could handle. When Maas released a low sigh Roy leaned down and kissed him long and deep.

"Now?"

Roy's dark eyes were hot, but his mouth was calm and still. Maas could see that if he wanted longer Roy would hold the wildness back, and he smiled. It was good to know.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Roy moved down the bed and ran his hands up the backs of Maas' legs. Maas arched against the bed, gasping, as Roy pressed into him, hard inside him. It was a controlled movement, but still not a slow one. Roy pushed him to the edge, overwhelmed with raw sensation.

From the sound of Roy's voice, Maas wasn't the only one.

In fact, Roy was the first to fall over the edge, which Maas felt quite smug about in the corner of his brain that still functioned.

And then Roy's hands were on his knees, pushing his legs down and apart, and Roy's mouth closed over him, hot and wet, and Maas' hips tried to flex up into it. He shuddered as Roy's hands held him down and open, and groaned as Roy's tongue pulled him hard into brilliance.

They lay, sprawled next to each other, catching their breaths, and when he had, Maas couldn't stop laughing. "That was so very you, Roy."

"Mmmm," Roy mumbled before opening his eyes. "How so?"

"I can't imagine anyone else who could be that forceful without ever actually being rough about it." Maas smiled affectionately at his friend.

Roy propped himself up on his elbows. "You don't mind that I was... forceful?"

Maas grinned. "Nah. It was fun."

Roy returned it. "Good."

Maas stretched, paused, stretched more carefully. "Of course, if you've got a few aspirin hanging around I wouldn't say no to them."

Roy scrambled out of bed with a penitent expression and returned with aspirin, water and a towel. Having applied each appropriately, Maas pulled Roy down and kissed away the concerned line of his mouth.

"I wouldn't mind doing that again some time," he murmured.

Roy ran a hand through Maas' hair. "You're sure?"

Maas decided it was time for desperate measures, before Roy managed to make himself feel guilty. "You make love like a windstorm, never stopping, taking everyone's breath away, lifting everything off the ground, wild enough to scare people."

Roy was a bit wide-eyed.

"Like I said," Maas continued, with less poetry and more pragmatism, "it's you. And I know you. I knew it would be a wild ride. And I enjoyed it."

Now Roy was actually blushing. Maas' mouth quirked. "Besides, now I bet you're really relaxed," he finished. "I carry the night."

Roy's mouth twitched once. Twice.

And then he snatched a pillow to pummel Maas with.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Four

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

When Maas Hughes was promoted from First Lieutenant to Captain he bragged about it rather a lot to his best friend, Captain Roy Mustang.

Roy bore with him fairly patiently, only an occasional twitch of his fingers giving him away.

Exactly one week later, Roy was promoted to Major.

Maas found out from the bulletin board.

He stalked down the halls to Roy's office and slammed back the door.

"Mustang!"

Roy leaned his chin on his fist and gave Maas a glittering smile. "Yes? Hughes-taii?"

Maas opened his mouth, shut it with a snap, and glared.

Roy smiled wider.

"You're an evil bastard," Maas told him, almost calmly. "I thought you should know."

"Thank you for your input," Roy murmured.

Maas slammed the door again on his way out.

He hauled Roy out to the bar that night to celebrate.

"You do remember we have a dress review tomorrow morning, don't you?" Roy asked, not as though he thought it would alter Maas' plans.

Maas waved this off. "I'm not the one who gets hung over, now spill! How long have you known it was coming?"

"For sure? Only a few days."

Maas was faintly appeased. "I suppose that's all right then."

Roy laughed at him, and they toasted both their new ranks.

Maas felt somewhat revenged the next morning, when he noticed that Roy was squinting a bit in the sunlight as the staff of Central City headquarters all turned out for review.

He didn't have a great deal of time to appreciate it, though.

Intelligence had been scrambling for almost two months over death threats to Dai-Soutou Bradley, so it was not actually a shock to Maas when gunfire came from the roofs around the parade ground. He didn't even waste time cursing today's security for their failure.

He had time to fire twice, time to be sure that at least two of the bodies hurtling toward Bradley would get through, and then the air exploded. Fire whipped out, coiled around the attackers, snapped and burst. It left collapsed bodies smoking in its wake.

The crowd, frozen in the midst of panic, drew back slowly, leaving Roy Mustang standing alone, hand raised.

Of course, Maas had mentioned his office's upset to Roy.

Bradley picked himself up and nodded to Roy. "Thank you, Major."

Roy saluted him, crisply. "Excellency."

Bradley returned it, and waved to his security detail to take care of the bodies.

"Excellency," one of them exclaimed, "they're not dead!"

Bradley turned back to favor Roy with a long look. Roy's expression was cold and still, and Maas thought he might be the only person there who understood how much pain was compressed behind it, how many hours of practice to refine his skills until he could injure without killing.

He'd pried the story of Ishvar out of Roy a while back. Was this what it all came down to, after all? The determination to be something more than a gun in someone else's hands?

"Excellent forethought," Bradley remarked at last.

Maas watched Roy's eyes, focused on Bradley as he turned away, and decided that there was still more he hadn't found. He made his way to Roy and laid an unobtrusive hand on his shoulder.

"Can you walk?" he asked, having seen Roy occasionally collapse in a heap after a particularly impressive effort.

"Yes," Roy returned quietly. "I'll be fine."

Looking up, Maas found Gran staring at them. Measuring his erstwhile subordinate's power? Or perhaps his ambition? The latter, it seemed, since he paused on his way past them.

"Going straight to the top, Flame Alchemist?" he grated.

Roy didn't look at him. "I merely acted as my duty demands. Sir."

Whether Gran liked it or not, it seemed that Roy had indeed caught Bradley's eye, because he was reassigned to the command of one of the Headquarters General Staff. It was because of this that Maas finally realized just how great a secret he'd been chasing for over a year.

He'd been called in to give a report in person. A waste of time, in his estimation, since he couldn't exactly add more facts than he'd put in his written version. Still, it afforded him some mild entertainment to watch Roy not paying any attention at all because he'd heard it already.

But, no, Maas realized slowly, Roy was paying attention to something else. His eyes stayed on his notes or on Maas, but his attention was focused on Bradley like sunlight concentrated in a magnifying glass, brilliant and burning. After a while Maas started to be amazed that everyone in the room didn't notice it.He's focused on Bradley like he looks at those hay bales of his...

Maas stiffened.

It was all he could do to keep answering questions coherently while that thought reverberated in his head.

He can't... really...

Politics. Ambition. Reports of unrest. Power.

Fury.

He gratefully accepted his dismissal at last, and collapsed against the wall outside to try and catch his breath.

Roy...

II

When Maas showed up at Roy's door looking grim and just a bit wild around the eyes, Roy was sure that something momentous had happened in his office that day some time after his rather bored report-in-person. "Maas, what happened?"

Maas scrubbed his hands over his face and gave Roy a long look. "Roy. Are you really planning to kill Bradley?"

Roy thought his heart might have stopped, but no, it was just his breath. The question he had been hoping, fearing, anticipating took him completely unawares. After a frozen second he nodded.

"And what? Replace him?"

"Not... exactly," Roy whispered. He collapsed to the edge of his bed.

Maas, not looking in much better shape, just slid down the wall to the floor. He rested his head on his knees and laughed helplessly. "And I spent all this time wondering what the big deal could be."

Roy really didn't want to ask, but he had to know, and he had to know now. "What will you do about it?"

"I'm not going to turn you in," Maas said without lifting his head.

Now it was Roy's turn to have to put his head down on his knees, as the room went dark for a moment. He could feel his heart again.

"And I'm not going to ask something stupid like why, because I really do remember all the conversations we've had this year," Maas continued conversationally. "Or at least I did while I was wandering around after that damn meeting."

Roy was recovering enough to be curious. "How did you know?"

Maas finally looked up, frowning a little. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and squinted at Roy. "You know, I think it might just be that I know you. I could see the way you were focused on him, and the thing it said to me was target. After that... it was just adding the bits up. But no one else seems to see it."

Roy could feel his attempt at a smile wavering a bit. "No one else knows me like that."

"I guess not." Maas let his head fall back against the wall. "You're crazy, you realize that."

"No, Maas, I'm not." Roy's voice was suddenly clear and cold.

Maas blinked up at him.

"The ones who are crazy are the ones who throw thousands of lives away like a handful of sand in the desert. The ones who exalt destruction and the means of it. The ones who can think that the destruction of a city full of people only trying to keep their lives and homes can be justified in the name of defense. To stop them? That's sanity."

Maas looked at him silently for a dozen heartbeats, and then closed his eyes and bowed his head. "You're right."

It was Roy's turn to blink.

Maas fetched up a sigh that sounded like it started at his toes and looked up again. "What do you need?"

"What...?"

Maas came to Roy and took his shoulders. "What do you need to make this work, Roy?"

Thoughts flickered through Roy's head. People I can trust... To know what's going on... To stir things up... But in the end it was none of those he voiced to Maas' steady gaze.

"I need to not become one of them."

Maas nodded firmly. "Then you won't."

A shudder ripped through Roy, and he reached out to Maas to keep his balance. They ended up on the floor by the bed, leaning into each other's arms.

"Thank you," Roy whispered, trying to still himself.

Maas held him tighter.

Eventually Roy calmed enough to start thinking again. Maas had just decided to help him with something that could end in a very unpleasant death. However much comfort his help would give Roy, Roy felt impelled to double check. "Are you sure?"

Maas chuckled. "Do you remember what I said the last time you asked me that?"

It took Roy a minute, but when he recalled he laughed too. "If I'm not mistaken you said that you enjoy wild rides."

"A long time ago you agreed that I might appreciate what you want to do," Maas said, more seriously. "You were right."

"Not," he added, "that you should get a swelled head about being right so often, mind you."

Roy suppressed the urge to ask why not? He would save it up for later.

"Thank you," he repeated instead.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Five

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

Today it was Maas' turn to wander aimlessly around the offices while he waited for Roy to get back. He supposed it was only fair for the boredom to be shared both ways, and he had to admit that his fidgeting was less volatile than Roy's was these days, but that didn't make the wait any less annoying.

Of course, it was probably just as well for the rest of the world that he and Roy had only ever been sent on the same assignment once. It had been great fun; Roy loosened up considerably once away from Central, and Maas had the pictures to prove it. But the incident with the case of beer, the General's boots, the mess tent and the two cans of red paint had apparently convinced their superiors that Hughes and Mustang should be assigned separately in the future.

At least he could be reasonably well assured that his friend had good back up while he was away. Roy had been given command of a unit for his assignment, and accordingly had also attached an aide. A quick chat with her last Sergeant had assured Maas that Second Lieutenant Lisa Hawkeye was as competent as they came. Sergeant Morrow, whose kindest term for Second Lieutenants was usually "baggage", had nearly gushed over her.

Fortunately, before Maas' fidgeting devolved into writing graffiti on the bulletin boards, his ear detected the return of Roy and his new aide both.

"...see that the liaison gets a copy of the report, too."

"Yes, Sir."

Maas narrowed his eyes when he actually saw Roy's face. It was absolutely expressionless. Roy passed him and continued into his office with a nod and a brief, "Hughes."

What the hell happened out there? Maas shot a glance at Hawkeye, who was frowning faintly.

"I'll copy it and pass it along to you, then," Roy said to the air, his back to them.

"I can take care of that, Sir."

Roy shook his head. "No, I'll do it."

This seemed to be some kind of last straw for Hawkeye and she turned to Maas. "Hughes-taii, Mustang-junsa needs to stop and get some rest. Do something about this, if you please," she told him crisply.

Now Roy had an expression. Astonished. Maas had a feeling his wasn't far behind.

Hawkeye gestured sharply, as if to brush the surprise away. "You're the only one in this city he actually listens to. Now."

Maas shook off his amazement and grinned at Roy. "You heard the lady."

Hawkeye held out a hand for the folders Roy still carried. "I'll take care of it, sir," she repeated more softly.

A tiny, wry smile crossed Roy's face. "Of course, Shoui." He passed over the paperwork and turned for the door.

Maas, following him out, offered Hawkeye a casual salute behind his back. "Observant, that one," he remarked to Roy as they made their way to the officers' dormitory.

"Very."

Maas was frowning himself, now, but didn't press yet. Instead he kept up a one-sided stream of the latest headquarters gossip until they reached Roy's room.

"All right, Roy, what happened?" he demanded as soon as the door was shut.

"Nothing."

Roy stood in the middle of his room, staring at empty air. Maas' mouth tightened. Something had struck one of Roy's fault lines, and he didn't have many that would cause a reaction like this. Killing the unarmed was one. Dealing with Gran was the other. To the best of Maas' knowledge Gran had been completely uninvolved with this assignment, but maybe...

And then he took Roy's arm to turn him around and revised his opinion.

Tremors were running through the whole of Roy's body, sharp, uneven. His expression was edgy, brittle. He looked as if one blow would shatter him. Maas hadn't seen him like this since the night they'd finally had all the secrets out. This was stress, not guilt.

"When they looked at me... they were so afraid... I could taste it..." Roy's voice was thin, and Maas wasn't sure his eyes saw what was in front of him.

"You can't avoid it," Maas told him as gently as he could. "When civilians see..."

"My own men!"

Oh, damn. Maas had actually been tracking the increasing alarm among the soldiers regarding Roy and his power, but it was holding fairly steady for now at the "cross him and you're toast" level. He hadn't expected that to have such a severe effect on Roy, but looking back on it he realized he should have. Roy took a certain savage enjoyment in making the senior officers scared of him, but this, Maas finally understood, must be included in Roy's motto and first law.

I need to not become one of them.

And he'd been away from headquarters, with no one to say this to or get reassurance from. The first sting had obviously festered for his brooding on it. Fortunately, it didn't take all that much to bring Roy out of these moments; logic was usually enough.

"Roy, it will be all right," he soothed. "You can change this if you need to."

Well, at least that had gotten Roy to focus on him. Maas tugged him down to sit on the edge of the bed, a little afraid that his friend was going to fall if that shaking kept up. "Listen," he said reasonably, "You've spent well over a year cultivating the appearance of a really dangerous bastard. So it had some side effects you didn't expect. But not everywhere. That second of yours sure isn't afraid of you, is she?"

That actually got a short laugh. "No," Roy agreed.

"So there's your starting point. She's your aide. The longer she's with you, the more the men under your command will take their cue from her. You worry too much."

That got a longer laugh, albeit faintly tinged with what Maas pegged as slightly hysterical relief. At least the shaking had stopped, though it seemed to have left Roy a bit wrung out by the way he flopped back across the bed.

Yet another crisis averted, Maas congratulated himself. Really, Roy was way too high strung to be allowed to run around without a keeper. Nice that Maas seemed to have been gifted with an ally who thought the same thing; he'd really have to have a chat over coffee with that Hawkeye-shoui sometime soon. Roy was taking so much on himself that the only real surprise was that he hadn't completely snapped long since. At least he had unwound for now, even if he did do it more abruptly than seemed advisable.

"Maas, can I ask you for a favor?"

Maas snorted. "That depends entirely on the favor."

Roy's smile was languid, his eyes just a touch hazy.

"Make love to me?"

Maas felt a smile curve his own lips. He very much enjoyed Roy in this mood. When he truly relaxed, all of Roy's incredible focus spread out into a tangible appreciation of his senses and surroundings. It didn't happen often, which was a shame because Roy was clearly a born sensualist.

Maas leaned over Roy on one arm, trailing his fingers along Roy's jaw. Roy sighed, tilted his head back, and Maas kissed down his throat before searching out his mouth.

Roy stretched and shivered under his hands as they slid over Roy's increasingly bared skin, arching into each touch. His complete responsiveness when he was like this, his total abandon, affected Maas strangely. The soft, breathless sounds Roy made when Maas kissed the hollow of his shoulder or lightly bit the inside of his thigh called up in Maas protectiveness to match his desire.

When he finally settled between Roy's legs Roy was panting, trembling again though with a very different tension now. Roy's body opened for him, and the heat of it cut Maas' breath into quick gasps. They moved against each other hard, wild, moans and soft pleas twining around each other as tightly as their bodies until the tightness broke and exploded outward.

Even as they lay and recovered Maas found himself still tracing his fingers over Roy's shoulders and cheekbones, kissing him slowly. Roy turned into him, answering with equal leisure, flushed and undone, all but purring.

"You know, don't you," Maas murmured to him, "that you're going to addict whatever poor lovers you let see you like this."

Roy's eyes darkened just a bit. "There isn't anyone but you I trust like this," he pointed out.

Maas kissed him again. "There will be." And again when it looked like Roy would protest. "They won't be me, no. But they will be themselves."

Roy's eyes were unreadable now, but he seemed to accept that and settled against Maas' shoulder.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Six

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

Normally Maas liked to visit Roy's office. Since his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel he had started to collect a permanent staff of his own and they were entertaining people.

Today, though, he couldn't quite settle down to provoking Hawkeye, who Maas thought was much too serious, or sparring with Roy, or even gossiping with Havoc, who Maas swore inhaled the latest juicy fruits of the grapevine through his cigarettes without bothering to do anything as energy intensive as listen.

At last Roy dragged him off, allegedly to have company with his coffee but more probably to prevent Hawkeye from expressing her frustration with Maas' restlessness too directly. He'd already collected three, increasingly irritated "Junsa"s.

"So what's up today?" Roy asked as they sat down. "Gracia break a date?"

Maas fiddled with his cup. "No. Kind of... the opposite."

Roy was looking more amused by the moment. "Gracia demanded a date?"

"She wants..." Maas took a deep breath. "She wants to get married."

"I'm not surprised at all. Congratulations." Roy sipped his coffee with, Maas felt, completely insupportable calm.

"Married, Roy! She wants to get married! To me!"

"Well, I didn't assume she wanted to marry me," Roy murmured. "No accounting for taste I suppose."

Maas growled, and Roy finally broke down laughing. "Maas, stop jittering for a minute."

He glared, but did settle a bit if only because Roy so rarely addressed him that informally in public.

"You've been courting Gracia for months. You love her, I know you do because you mention it several times a week. She loves you, or at least Hawkeye says she does. Surely you've been thinking about this?"

"Well, yes, but not seriously," Maas protested. "I mean, not this fast."

Roy shrugged callously. "Gracia is a determined woman. When she decides what she wants it's a reasonably foregone conclusion that she'll get it."

If anyone should know, Maas had to admit, it was Roy. Kindred spirits. "All right, all right, I'm resigned, I'm resigned. In a very good and happy way!"

"Probably just as well," Roy noted.

It wasn't until they were leaving that Maas collected himself to ask about the other thing that had been making him a bit nervous.

"Roy. When Gracia and I are married... will you stand up with me?"

Roy stunned him with the open smile that almost no one ever saw on him anymore. "Of course I will, Maas. Thank you for asking me."

"Who else would I ask?" Maas wanted to know, relaxing.

"Armstrong?"

Maas attempted to chase Roy down the hall but was laughing too hard to catch him.

II

"Hey, Roy, you're still trying to find that Elric guy, aren't you?"

Roy looked up from his interminable stack of paperwork. Maas was leaning in the door. "Not that it seems to be doing much good, but yes."

"Well, this letter came for Herbert, with his name on in. Herbert happens to be in the field, so I thought you might like to see."

Roy found that the envelope had already been opened, seal carefully left intact. Maas was nothing if not good at his job. When he'd read the letter he simply sat for a while, gazing out the window, until Maas finally prodded him.

"So? What's it say? And why would a man who took that much trouble to disappear write openly like this?"

"It isn't from Hohenheim. It's from his sons. They also seem to be looking for him."

Maas made a face. Roy's mouth quirked, he having already heard extensively from his friend on the subject of the responsibilities entailed by having children. He rather thought Gracia had decided to have one soon.

"I think," Roy said slowly, "that I'll pay a visit to the Elric family. There might be... possibilities."

End

The Seconds' Club

Une and Hawkeye unwind after long days at work. Porn With Insights, I-4, spoilers ep 16 FMA. Timeframe: ep 16 FMA, post ep 23 indeterminate GW.

Lisa Hawkeye, having in one gruelling afternoon re-filed files, re-written schedules, ordered furniture moved and rooms cleaned, and thrown all the left-over knickknacks in a box to ship to Central, made one last stop and tapped on her commander's door.

"Is there anything else you need before I go?"

The Colonel looked up from his work and smiled. "No, I think we've straightened out all the mess that our visitors from Central left behind." He patted his repossessed desk fondly. "You can go."

"Yes, Sir."

She saluted, and the Colonel returned it as casually as he always returned military courtesies to her, as if her adherence to them amused him.

"You're meeting that friend of yours at the Club tonight?" he asked as she turned to go.

Lisa looked back over her shoulder a bit warily. She and Une had to be careful what they said about each other at home. Continuity contamination could get both of them banned from the Club. "Yes."

"I would be interested to meet her commander one of these days," the Colonel mused.

Lisa felt her eyes widen. "That... could be... problematic, Sir," she choked.

The Colonel's mouth quirked.

"For whom?" he wondered softly.

Let me count the ways... Lisa boggled, slightly dizzy at the very thought of what might happen. Fortunately the Colonel didn't seem serious about carrying out his terrifying notion, at least tonight, and he waved her out with a good-natured, if wry, grin.

The Seconds' Club was dark tonight, only a few soft overhead lights supplementing the candles on each table. A single spotlight did gleam off brass in one corner as Lisa threaded her way toward Une's waving hand. She nodded toward the instruments as she sat.

"Live entertainment tonight?"

Une made a face. "William is having musical pretentions again, I think." She slid a drink across to Lisa. "Here. You look like you could use this."

Lisa took a long swallow, and sagged back in her chair with a sigh. "I did. Thanks, Une."

"Long day?" her friend asked sympathetically.

Lisa groaned.

"First there was all the upset with Scar trying to kill all the State Alchemists single-handed, pardon the pun, then Mustang-taisa just has to go and scare the life out of me and then he has to bait Edward-kun while we're trying to get the boy packed off to his mechanic, and the contingent from Central left East headquarters a complete mess, and guess who gets to straighten everything out?"

It all came out in a single breath, and Une patted her arm while she took another slug of her drink.

This, after all, was what the Seconds' Club was for—so that the people who actually kept affairs running could vent before they want completely around the bend and left their frequently megalomaniac commanders to their own devices. It was the most off-duty public location in existence.

Lisa smiled as she took a more moderate sip. Une looked exceedingly off-duty tonight, in soft knits and a loose pony-tail, an impression only slightly modified by the gun at her hip.

Then Lisa grimaced as she remembered the other thing. "And to top it all off, Mustang-taisa wants to meet Treize-san."

Une coughed on her drink.

"He what?" she gasped, eyes watering.

The two women shared a long look, and Lisa was sure they were both envisioning the same Machiavellian wildfire running gleefully through two continuums. Probably more.

"No," they stated in firm unison.

Lisa frowned as she watched Une blot her eyes, and squint just a bit. "Did you have a lot of paperwork to read today?" she wanted to know.

Une smiled ruefully. "Is it that obvious?"

"Your eyes always bother you in low light after you've been reading for a long time. Tell you what," Lisa finished her drink, "let's go back to my place. And put on some real music."

Une stood with her. "And let you get changed, too," her friend returned with a touch of sternness. "You came straight here from work, didn't you?"

"You bet I did," Lisa said fervently, "before another crisis came up to stop me."

"So, do we need more to drink, or should I put on tea?" Lisa asked as they hung up their coats and guns.

"Tea would be lovely," Une decided.

"You pick out music, then."

By the time Lisa had changed into her favorite old tee-shirt and drawstring pants the kettle was whistling and she brought it, with mugs and the tea basket, out to the living room.

Une had put on her favorite string quartet from Lisa's collection and was lounging on the couch with her eyes closed.

Lisa set her peppermint and Une's favorite blackberry to steep and pulled up a few of her floor cushions to the other side of the table.

"So, what did he do to scare you so badly today?" Une asked, opening one eye.

Lisa shivered.

"Gran found one of the deserters. It was a huge mess, but in the end Bradley's people took the man into custody. Roy... he decided to go to Bradley and admit that he'd known all along where Marco was and hadn't said. I think he did it to convince Bradley that he really is loyal, just didn't trust Gran. Or maybe it was for one-upsmanship, to say he could get information Bradley couldn't. Maybe it was just to force some resolution so he wouldn't have to keep watching over his shoulder for what Bradley would do if he found out." She laughed, pressing a hand over her eyes. "Knowing him it was probably all of those and a few I haven't thought of. But, Une, he invited, he nearly provoked, Bradley to punish him for what could be seen as treason! He said it was the coin he had to use, but... If Bradley had finally decided he was too dangerous, decided he really was disloyal..."

Une got up and came around to sit behind Lisa, arms around her waist. "Ssh, now. It's all right, Lisa, it didn't happen."

Lisa leaned back against her friend with a shuddering sigh. "I just hate it when there's nothing I can do to protect him."

"I know," Une whispered against her hair, rocking her gently.

"I would give my life for him, Une, but he takes so much on himself trying to protect us. Trying to make things better." Lisa was silent a moment before bursting out, "And I love Gracia, but sometimes I wish Hughes were still... what he used to be to Roy. Because God knows he won't take that kind of comfort from anyone else."

"Would you offer it, if he would?" Une asked.

It wasn't a new question between them, and the answer hadn't changed in the years they'd known each other, but Une asked it again every so often. Lisa turned in her arms, curling up against her.

"Not me. I'm not sure I could take his attitude in bed. And I am sure it would affect how we worked together; it would be incredibly unprofessional."

"You can say that again," Une muttered. "Treize-san is such a horrible tease when the mood takes him. If I never have to look another bottle of bath oil in the face again it will be too soon."

Lisa chuckled, remember that story very well. Une's fingers combed her hair, lingering over her hair clip, a silent question in their personal body language.

Speaking of that kind of comfort. And I so need some after today. Lisa reached up and undid the clip, laying it on the table. Une made a pleased sound and threaded one hand through the loose strands. The other set her own hair-tie on the table next to Lisa's clip.

Lisa stretched against Une, pushing her back onto the pillows. Une rolled them over until her weight settled, comfortably, over Lisa, and Lisa could see her smile. She raised a hand to trace the strong, soft lips with her fingertips. Une captured one between her teeth, and Lisa laughed. When they made love Une reminded her of a great cat. A leopard or jaguar perhaps. Playful, powerful, sleek, grace given form and made soft to the touch.

She stretched again, sighing, as Une ran her hands up under Lisa's shirt, over her stomach, pausing as they touched her breasts.

"You changed out of more than I thought," Une observed.

Lisa gave her a slow smile through lowered lashes. "Not objecting, are you?"

"I've been called crazy, but never that crazy," Une murmured against Lisa's mouth.

Their lips barely brushed, tongues seeking a way past each other, dueling playfully until Lisa laughed again and Une kissed her hard. Une's fingers stroked the curve of her breast so lightly it almost tickled, and Lisa moved into her touch, paused to pull her shirt off, pressed against Une again.

"Have I mentioned lately how much I love the fact that you're not shy?" Une asked, running her tongue along Lisa's collarbone.

"Mmmm. How lately?" Lisa sighed.

And then she forgot the question as Une closed her mouth over Lisa's nipple and sucked slowly. A complex shiver of heat wound down Lisa's body.

Une drew back and an odd clunking noise made Lisa open her eyes in time to see Une take a sip of tea from the still-waiting mugs. She set it down beside them, swallowed, and gave Lisa a tiny grin.

Lisa blinked.

And then Une's mouth found her breast again, shockingly hot from the steaming tea. Lisa arched up, hands closing sharply on Une's shoulders.

"Une..." she breathed, "oh..."

Une's hand stroked down her spine, as Une's tongue started to outline her ribs, one by one. Lisa hardly noticed when Une tugged her pants loose and slid them off, but did notice that Une's own clothing was getting in the way. She wanted to feel Une's skin.

All clothing dispensed with, Lisa had to pause a moment for appreciation. The movement of Une's sleek muscles never failed to entrance her. As Une settled over her again she let her hands catalogue the smooth planes of Une's back, the strong curve of her rear, let them sweep back up her sides, thumbs just brushing the heavy softness of her breasts.

Une's teeth closed delicately on Lisa's ear before she whispered, "May I?" Her hand stroked Lisa's hip.

Lisa closed her arms tight around Une for a moment.

"Yes."

Une slid down her body, moving her legs apart. She nibbled down the inside of Lisa's thigh as her fingers brushed lightly between Lisa's legs, sliding against her. Lisa sighed, muscles tightening low in her stomach. She moaned as Une's tongue replaced her fingers.

Drew back.

Returned steaming hot again, and Lisa lost her voice for a moment as Une's tongue stroked long and slow and hot against her. The overwhelming, sliding heat spread out to meet Une's palm massaging her stomach, undoing the tightness even as the soft, wet stroking wound pleasure through her until she thought she would snap from it.

Heat again.

Lisa moaned low in her throat, feeling her body open out, straining outward against the stroke of Une's tongue until everything recoiled and Lisa was caught up in long waves of burning, drowning sensation.

Her breath returned to her slowly.

"That was... pretty incredible," she whispered against Une's shoulder.

"I had hoped it might be," Une purred back. "Though it's a shame to dilute the taste of you. You taste like the open ocean."

Lisa smiled and kissed Une deeply, pressing her back against the cushions. She traced Une's lips with the tip of her tongue as she slid a hand down Une's body, pressing between her legs which Une parted readily. She rubbed a fingertip lightly against the slick wetness there, and Une tossed her head back.

"Lisa..." she sighed, reaching up.

Lisa kissed her again, winding her tongue around Une's, as she slid her fingers slowly into the heat of Une's body, swallowing Une's long moan into their kiss. Une rocked up to meet the thrust of Lisa's fingers, faster, asking for more, and Lisa twisted her hand gently, spreading her fingers against the grip of Une's body, plunging down faster, harder, until Une arched, clenched, over and over.

Lisa held Une as she settled, shivering slightly from her release, and waited until her bittersweet brown eyes opened.

Une smiled and pulled Lisa down so they could lie nestled against each other.

"Your peppermint is probably undrinkable by now," she remarked, drowsily.

"I can make more. Later." Lisa rubbed her cheek against Une's shoulder. Une stroked the back of her neck.

"You know," Lisa added after a moment, voice thoughtful, "maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing for Roy and Treize to meet. They might just be so taken up with trying to get the better of each other that they wouldn't bother with the rest of the world. And if they get along half as well as we do, well, maybe Treize could actually get Roy to unwind a little."

"If anyone could..." Une agreed.

A tiny smile curved Lisa's lips. "He'd probably get a bit of a surprise if he did of course..."

A wicked light gleamed in both women's eyes as they looked at each other for a long moment before they broke down giggling in each other's arms.

Epilogue

Treize Kushurenada took a sip of his drink and shook his head at his companion. "That really wasn't a very nice thing to do, Roy."

Roy slanted a sideways look at him. "As if you're one to talk. Besides," he added, "she needed something light to distract her after she had to stand and watch me put my head in the lion's mouth. You know what they're like about that kind of thing."

Roy watched the blue eyes go slightly distant.

"Yes," Treize admitted softly, "I know. What are you going to do when she finds out, though?"

Roy examined his glass.

"Duck quickly, I suppose. Or offer another distraction. I'm sure something will come to me."

He caught Treize's eye and they shared a nearly identical smirk across the table.

End

Branch: *perfectly calm* That was not a suggestion for a sequel. You are not suggesting that I let the two of you try to out-sultry each other on paper. It would be a fire hazard.

Treize: To be sure not, Madam! You've already heaped such unlooked for treasure upon me, I would never so presume.

Roy: Indeed.

Branch: *eyes characters mistrustfully*

Roy: *slow grin* Whether or not your write down what we're doing is entirely up to you, Madam.

Branch: *hand over eyes*

Sticky

Porn Without Plot, mildly kinky, I-4.

- Popsicle. Non-explicit Roy/Ed.

Normally Ed liked summer, but East City was in the middle of a bona fide heat wave and he'd had just about enough. He'd stripped down to his lightest shirt and boxers and was still sweltering. Going to the library wasn't to be thought of. He'd set one foot into the airless, baking-hot rooms and retreated hastily.

It was weather like this that made him consider the benefits of cutting off all his hair.

Somewhere in this city there had to be someplace a little bit cool, he thought desperately.

Maybe it was heat-stroke, or maybe simply a measure of true desperation, but the next thought to occur to him was Roy. Roy will at least have a fan going. Which, it had to be admitted, no one left in the headquarters dormitories seemed to.

He made his way, slowly, to Roy's house, trying to exert the least effort necessary. He didn't bother with any more clothes than he'd had on already; the few people actually on the street in this heat were wearing even less. He let himself in and followed the whirring sound to find Roy on the back porch.

Sure enough, he was lying, shirtless, directly in the path of a large fan. In addition, he had propped open the door of the small icebox that normally held drinks. Today it held what looked like several boxes worth of popsicles. Going by the testimony of the wrappers scattered about, Roy had polished off a box or two already.

One half of his latest snack was lying on its wrapper just inside the icebox, while the other was poised above Roy's mouth as he looked up rather languidly at the intrusion.

Ed didn't bother with a greeting, just swooped down on the spare popsicle and stayed sprawled in front of the open door.

"Nice to see you, too, Edward-kun, do come in and make yourself comfortable," Roy murmured.

Ed mumbled indecipherable thanks around the popsicle and flopped over onto his back. The ice was wonderfully cold, and he had to resist the urge to lay it over his forehead. He'd only feel hotter for the stickiness when it melted. The chill air washing out from the icebox was absolutely glorious, though, and Ed sighed happily as he pulled the popsicle almost out of his mouth and then sucked it back in. He tried to remember the last time he'd had popsicles. It had been a while; they didn't travel well.

He took the ice out of his mouth and looked over to thank Roy for letting him intrude. Roy's expression stopped him with his mouth still open. Roy's eyes were half-lidded and he had a very recognizable quirk to his lips.

Ed contemplated the thought of rolling around on the floor here with Roy, getting hot and sweaty all over again. He didn't think today was the day for that. Time for a strategic retreat.

"Surely there's no need to hurry so on such a lazy day, Edward-kun?" Roy asked as Ed gathered his feet under him. His voice was low and soft, and made Ed hesitate just a bit.

"Well... I don't... heek!"

Roy's fingers hooked the waist of Ed's boxers. Ed started, and the angle conspired against both of them. One squawk and several hops later Roy was left holding the garment in question and Ed was free to make a break for it.

Except that Roy was holding the garment in question.

He'd seen less clothed people on the way over, to be sure, but it had usually been the other end that was bare.

As Ed paused, trying to decide whether to jump Roy in an effort to regain his clothing, or make a dash upstairs to appropriate some of Roy's, Roy rose. He plucked Ed's popsicle out of his fingers, wrapped one arm around Ed's chest and pulled him back against Roy's body.

And something else.

Ed's breath stopped in shock as something long and icy slid between his cheeks.

"Is that cooler, Edward?" Roy asked.

Any answer Ed might have made was lost in his groan as Roy's mouth, also cold, closed on his neck. And now that Ed wasn't in any shape to go anywhere Roy's arm loosened and his other hand dropped down to draw patterns over Ed's thighs and stomach with his own popsicle.

Ed's legs gave way.

He found himself on knees and elbows on the floor, Roy behind him, Roy's fingers spreading him open, rubbing that slick cold back and forth. As the popsicle melted it trickled down between his legs, dripping off him. The faint, faint sensation made Ed nearly frantic for a firmer touch, for Roy's hand to finger him, stroke him hard.

"Roy..." he managed to gasp as his lover drew the ice away, slowly, lingering against his entrance.

"No need to hurry, didn't we agree Edward?" Roy whispered.

"Roy..."

And then Roy's tongue was on him, burning in contrast to the cold before, lapping away the run-off of the popsicle, twisting, probing, teasing. Ed dropped his head down to his crossed wrists and tried to remember how to breathe. Roy's hand closed around him, thumb running down his length, and Ed stopped caring about breathing.

He spread his legs wider, squirming back against Roy's touch, silently asking for more, but Roy seemed to be in a mood today. His tongue and hands stayed slow, caressing, wringing aching moans from Ed without holding out any promise of release anytime soon.

"God, Roy," he gasped raggedly, at last, "stop teasing and fuck me!"

Roy's hands tensed on him, and Ed knew then that he could end this in his own favor right now.

"Fuck me, Roy," he repeated, letting his voice grow husky, letting it show need. "I want you inside me. Hard. Fast. So deep I can taste you." Roy was leaning against him now. "Just do it. Fuck me hard, Roy. Now. Please."

"Ed."

Roy's voice was breathless. This was Ed's trump card, rarely played, that he could get Roy to do just about anything by asking for it out loud. Roy's hands closed on his hips and Roy was pushing into him, slick and hard, and Ed pushed back. This time, Roy answered him, thrusting deep and fast, rough and hot inside of Ed. Spikes of pleasure tightened Ed's muscles loosened his body, and Roy's hand closing in a fist over Ed's length was the only thing that kept Roy from fucking Ed flat into the floor. Roy's touch, inside and out, so hard, so intense, narrowed his world down, down, until the rush of heat overwhelmed him completely.

When Ed remembered how to open his eyes he found himself lying on his side, Roy curled up behind him, both of them panting and, he'd know it!, covered in sweat.

"Hope you're satisfied," he mumbled.

"Entirely." In fact, Roy sounded downright satiated. "And you, Edward?"

"Mmmm. Suppose so." Ed knew perfectly well that Roy would hear the smile in his voice. He stretched and made a face. "More so if I wasn't all sweaty and sticky now."

He couldn't quite suppress a purr as Roy nibbled on his neck, though.

"Well, come on, then."

Ed gave Roy a disbelieving look as Roy climbed to his feet and held out a hand. Roy just smirked. Grudgingly Ed let himself be pulled up and, less grudgingly, full length against Roy's body. Disregarding the heat for a moment he wound his arms around his lover's neck and looked up at Roy through his lashes. That got him a slow kiss, and Ed chuckled low in his throat at the sweetness lingering on Roy's mouth.

"So why," he asked against Roy's lips, "did you want me to stand up when you've just made me kind of reluctant to walk for a while?"

"I thought you might like a cool shower to wash off the stickiness."

Ed was sure, from the way Roy started laughing, that he must have given him an absolutely starry-eyed look. At the moment he didn't care.

He ordered slightly rubbery legs to work and hauled the still laughing Roy toward the bathroom.

End

Ed: *gives author the evil eye*

Branch: What? You waived the No Kinky Stuff rule almost two weeks ago!

Gracia: *taps toe*

Branch: Coming, coming. Jeez, you guys are demanding.

Wet

Porn With Insights, I-4.

- Shower Kiss and

- Roy "washing" Ed. Explicit Roy/Ed.

Roy was smirking at him.

For once, Ed didn't care.

He fiddled with the taps until the shower was just over body heat and settled down to luxuriate and ignore his lover. He stretched up on his toes, held his hands up to the spray, turned around twice and finally stood with his back to it and his head bent and resting on Roy's convenient shoulder.

"You look like a cat that's just discovered a catnip patch," Roy informed him.

Ed sniffed. Roy fingered the end of his braid.

"Did you know that stuff got into your hair?"

"And whose fault is that?" Ed asked with a mild glare.

"Shall I make it up to you?" Roy reached around Ed and started unravelling his braid.

"Ha. I know you just like to play with my hair for your own fun."

"That, too," Roy admitted quite calmly, and closed both hands around Ed's chin to tilt his head back into the spray. Ed closed his eyes, and Roy's fingers slid back into his hair.

Ed was not entirely surprised to feel Roy's mouth against his. He was a bit surprised at how soft the kiss was, even when he parted his lips under Roy's. Roy's tongue stroked his delicately, and Ed leaned against him. He had to smile into the kiss, as their bodies pressed together; however light Roy's touch was, he clearly wasn't in a platonic mood.

"No one would think you were over thirty," he remarked dryly as Roy drew back.

"No one would think you were under twenty," Roy returned, "at least until they saw you in a temper tantrum."

Ed growled, and then sighed as Roy started working shampoo into his hair. The long fingers combing through the strands and firmly massaging his scalp drew small happy noises out of him.

"Ahh... mmmm... hhmmm..."

He had no doubt Roy was smirking again, and he still didn't care.

"Keep your eyes closed," Roy directed, wrapped one arm around Ed's waist and leaned him back to rinse the suds out. "There."

"You're being awfully accommodating, considering the mood you were in earlier," Ed noted.

"Ah? Well, it's so rare that you ask me for anything, I thought it might be a good idea to supply some encouragement. Now," a glint entered Roy's eye, "did you want help reaching any of the other sticky bits?"

Ed blushed, and plucked a washcloth off its rail to throw in Roy's face. Roy fielded it, laughing.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." He swiped the cloth through his soap dish.

"Excuse me?" Ed employed a trick he'd learned from watching Roy to look down his nose at the taller man.

The smirk faded as Roy trailed two fingers down Ed's jawline. "Edward. Won't you let me?"

Life would be simpler, Ed reflected, if that particular trump card didn't affect him just as powerfully as it did Roy. He glanced aside and laid a hand on Roy's chest.

The cloth started at his neck, rough and soft and slick with soap, moved down to his chest, scrubbing gentle circles, more firmly over his stomach to keep from tickling. Ed expected Roy to keep moving down, but instead he swept back up to Ed's shoulder, stroked down his arm, lingering at the inside of his elbow, again inside his wrist. Roy took Ed's hand in his and turned it up. Ed watched Roy's fingers in the blue terrycloth as they drew circles in his palm, watched as Roy drew the cloth around each of Ed's own fingers, because he couldn't watch Roy's eyes.

Roy was usually a playful lover, and that suited Ed just fine. He could get introspection and soul-searching any time, he didn't need them in bed. Every now and then, though, Roy's dark eyes turned serious and his touch became... overwhelming was the word, Ed decided. At those times it felt like Roy focused every iota of his attention on nothing but Ed.

It was times like this that Ed took the joking rumor that Roy wanted to take over the whole military completely seriously. Roy almost frightened him like this.

Ed shivered as Roy let his hand go with a last caress. Roy turned them around, and gathered Ed's hair over his shoulder. Ed let Roy draw him closer and arched into the faint scratchiness of the washcloth as it moved down his back.

He tensed, though, as Roy's hand descended further. However much he'd wanted it, and God had he wanted it, their previous activities had still left him very tender.

"Roy..."

"I know," Roy murmured in his ear. "It's all right."

Indeed, Roy's touch was soft and light, and Ed relaxed as the soapy cloth moved slowly over his rear. He wrapped his arms around Roy's shoulders and let Roy take his weight as his legs twinged and twitched and relaxed too. The nubby texture was rather soothing, though Roy's hand stroking him there was... not exactly soothing. Roy held him securely, lingering with the cloth until Ed was flushed and panting against him. Finally he took his hand away, only to bend his head and suck on Ed's earlobe. Another shiver danced down Ed's spine.

"Can you stand?"

Ed scraped together the coordination to raise a brow. "You ask me that now?"

Roy leaned in swiftly and captured Ed's mouth, and pulled a short, startled sound out of him. It wasn't a hard kiss, quite the opposite. Roy's lips slid over his languidly and his tongue twisted around Ed's, coaxing him. It wasn't hard, but it was one of the deepest, most thorough kisses he could remember Roy giving him.

"That isn't helping with the standing up thing," he pointed out, shakily, as Roy released him.

"We can work around that."

Roy backed him up against the wall of the shower, and Ed took a moment to enjoy the cool tile against his shoulders. Then he blinked as Roy sank to his knees. Roy offered him a lazy smile as he ran the washcloth down Ed's leg, back up, down the back of his thigh, rubbing gently behind his knee. Ed locked his other leg and put out a hand to brace himself as Roy lifted his foot and the rough cloth wrapped around his arch and between his toes.

Roy set his foot down, and ran his free hand down Ed's stomach, and that was as much warning as Ed got before Roy's mouth closed around his cock.

"Haah!" Ed tossed his head back, right hand scraping against the tiles behind him.

The heat of Roy's mouth always shocked him, and twice as much now for being unexpected. The slide of Roy's tongue, the pull of his lips as he drew back, the rush as he sucked Ed in again, wiped away everything but sensation. Ed couldn't have said for sure whether his eyes were open or not. Roy worked him slowly, until Ed was shaking, aware that every breath was a moan and not caring. Finally he felt Roy run the cloth up his thigh, between his legs, pressing, rubbing, just there, and he felt the very edge of Roy's teeth, and was swept under as fire rushed down his nerves.

He was distantly grateful that Roy stood quickly enough to keep him from collapsing; his knees were a bit tender, too, banging them against tile wouldn't be fun. He leaned into Roy's arms, collecting himself again.

"My hair is half-dry now; it'll be a tangled mess," was the first thing out of his mouth.

"I'll comb it for you," Roy offered quietly.

Ed lifted his head from Roy's shoulder to look up at his lover. Roy combing Ed's hair was normally the one gesture of non-sexual intimacy they indulged in, but at the moment it almost seemed like too much. Too close. Too overwhelming.

Roy waited, not saying anything more.

Ed sighed and put his head back down. "Only fair."

They didn't bother with towels; it was too much trouble. Roy got them both to the bedroom, staggering only slightly, and settled Ed on the bed. Ed let his eyes drift closed as Roy carefully combed out the tangles. The slightly muzzy thought occurred to him that Roy must be good at it because of all the real life practice he got. People must be harder than hair, right? Maybe that was why Roy was so edgy at work.

He felt a hand touch his cheek and opened his eyes to find Roy sitting in front of him. He promptly stretched out against him, pushing Roy over so Ed could use his shoulder as a pillow. Roy chuckled and gathered Ed to him, stroking his hair back. The water still dripping from both of them made it cool enough that Ed enjoyed the embrace. He wouldn't be surprised of that was exactly why Roy had neglected to dry them off. Roy was always considerate in bed, even in his somewhat alarming serious moods; in fact, Ed reflected, he was even more careful then, as if he were trying not to scare Ed. And while part of Ed growled at the thought, a slightly more objective part of him was glad for Roy's caution.

"How can you be so gentle when we're like this and such an utter bastard everywhere else?" Ed wondered out loud.

"How can you be so pliant here and so sharp and hard everywhere else?" Roy asked back.

"Pliant?!"

Roy rolled them over until his weight pressed down on Ed.

"What shall I call it, then?" he inquired, brushing a thumb over Ed's mouth.

"Nice?" Ed hazarded, just a touch breathless. This was part of what disconcerted him when Roy turned so serious... not just overwhelming, but overpowering, and he found himself liking it.

"As you like. It was a serious answer, though, Ed."

Ed looked up, considering. Why was he like this with Roy? Because it was a time he could relax. There were more complex reasons, revolving around Roy being his sponsor, his annoying commander who shielded him from the whole rest of the military, the one who cheerfully used Ed's abilities for his own ends and threw all his considerable resources behind Ed's own search. But it really came down to that one thing, in the end; when he was with Roy like this he could relax.

It was the first time he really wondered when Roy might have a chance to relax.

"...thought it might be a good idea to supply some encouragement."

Ed eyed his lover thoughtfully.

"Roy?"

Roy's fingertips traced the outline of Ed's face. "Hmm?"

"Kiss me?"

For a flashing moment Roy's eyes turned soft. He leaned down and, for the first time since they stepped into the shower, kissed Ed with no restraint.

End

Ever - Chapter Fourteen

Roy and Ed finally admit how close they've gotten. Drama with Porn, I-3

It had been a harder day than most, and Roy was showing it, at least to Ed's eyes. When they got back to his office he went to lean his head against the window and didn't move.

He didn't often show this kind of stress even to Ed, and Ed was worried.

"We're done for the day, Edward-kun. You should go home." The flat tone of Roy's voice didn't make Ed any less worried, and he made a snap decision. He'd thought it over for long enough. He was sure of himself. He knew he would have to speak some time. For both of their sakes, let it be now.

"No."

After a pause Roy lifted his head and turned to look at Ed with an expression somewhere between bemused and displeased. "Excuse me?"

"I said, no." Before Roy's expression could decide which way to go Ed gathered his courage and crossed the room to lay his hands on Roy's shoulders.

"I'm getting tired of watching this, Shousho. Watching you do this to yourself and hold everyone at arm's length, except Hughes, and pay with a little more of your self every damn day." Roy's eyes darkened, and Ed tightened his grip as if that could make Roy listen to him. "Let me help."

"Edward-kun," Roy began, only to break off as Ed lifted his left hand to touch Roy's face. At that his eyes widened slightly.

"Did you really think I could watch you do this, see what it costs you, and not—not start to care?" Ed lowered his hand to Roy's shoulder again and rested his forehead on the back of it. "If you say anything like 'It's only a crush'," he added, "I am going to hurt you."

Roy's shoulders twitched as if with a stifled snort of laughter.

"I've considered the possibility that it's just a crush, except that I've had crushes and they weren't like this. I've considered that it might just be hormones, but I'm not looking at anyone else this way. I've thought whether it could just be admiration for my teacher, except that you've already said I know just about all you can teach me." Ed took a deep breath. "And I've certainly considered the fact that you're fourteen years older than me, and my sponsor and commander here, and I don't care."

Roy's hands came up to settle lightly on his back. "Edward, do you know what you're offering?"

That induced Ed to look up with a glare. "Oh, tea and cookies, of course, what else could I possibly mean?" he snapped.

A laugh fought its way past Roy's exhaustion and tension. "Ah, I'm relieved to see that it really is you after all. I'd thought for a moment that I must have a changeling in my office."

Ed made a grumpy sound and ignored Roy as much as he could without letting go.

"Are you sure?" Roy asked.

Ed turned back to him. There was the pain he'd gotten better at seeing in the dark eyes, and something that might be hope if Roy let it.

"I'm sure."

Roy's arms closed tight around him, pulling him hard against Roy, and the heat of his body, of his breath against Ed's ear was a shock.

"Are you sure, Ed?" Roy asked again, very softly.

Ed had to try twice before he managed to reply. "Yes..."

Roy lowered his head to rest against Ed's. Brief shudders had started to run through him, and his arms tightened further around Ed. It took Ed a moment to gather his wits sufficiently to wind his own arms around Roy and hold him. It took longer for the shudders to stop, while Ed hesitantly smoothed Roy's hair.

"I will never doubt Maas' judgment in personal matters again," Roy said at last, a bit muffled.

Ed opened and closed his mouth a few times. "He told you?" he rasped.

Roy raised his head and looked down at Ed with a faint smile. "Some time ago."

"That... that... snake!" Ed's indignant sputtering was preempted when Roy ran a finger down his jaw, set it under his chin and lifted Ed's head the inch necessary for Roy to kiss him.

Roy's lips on his were soft and slow, the brush of his tongue electric. Ed opened his mouth under Roy's, catching his breath at the sinuous heat as Roy wound the fingers of one hand into Ed's hair and deepened the kiss.

Ed had no idea how long it was before Roy drew back, sucking lightly on Ed's lower lip before letting him go. "Roy," he breathed, and opened his eyes.

Roy stroked Ed's hair back. "Will Alphonse and Winry worry if you aren't home this evening?" he asked.

"No. It's happened often enough. If I'm not back for lunch tomorrow Al will start asking at the libraries for me."

Roy smiled. "That's my scholar. That being the case... will you come home with me tonight?"

Ed shivered at the heat in Roy's eyes. "Yes."

It wasn't a long walk to Roy's house. They both made it with their hands tucked into their pockets, though they walked close enough that their shoulders brushed. Once inside, coats and gloves shed, Roy offered Ed his hand to lead him upstairs.

Ed felt a bit shy as they undressed each other, and concentrated on his hands. When they finally stood together with nothing between them Roy took Ed's face in his hands and coaxed him to look up.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked gently.

"No," Ed smiled a bit. "I always had too many other things to be doing."

Roy's thumb stroked his cheekbone. "I am honored," he said, voice low.

His sincerity affected Ed more severely than his kiss had earlier. They were only a hand span apart, and it was too far. Ed reached out and spread his hands against Roy's chest. Roy breathed in quickly before running his own hands down Ed's back, drawing him closer. Roy tugged loose Ed's hair tie and his fingers combed Ed's hair down. Shivers rippled over Ed, simple sensation rapidly becoming overwhelming.

"Roy," Ed whispered

He was glad when Roy responded to his unspoken request and caught him close, because he didn't think he could be any more coherent just now and he really needed something to lean on. He was more pleased when Roy drew him down to the bed; with a solid surface under him and Roy leaning over him he felt far more secure.

Secure enough to tug Roy down for a kiss.

Things became disjointed from that point.

Roy's mouth seemed to be the only thing holding him down to the bed, as he arched up seeking the heat of Roy's body above him. The touch of Roy's hands lingered on his skin until he wasn't entirely sure where Roy was touching him at any one moment.

At least until Roy's hand moved between his legs.

Every sense he had narrowed down to Roy's mouth against his, Roy's tongue curling against his, beckoning, Roy's fingers stroking him, circling, Roy's palm closing around him.

And then Roy's mouth left his and Roy's hand slid further back, and heat surrounded Ed. He strained up, into that heat, sliding against him like fire made liquid, and it flooded him completely.

Ed lay, after, panting for breath as Roy stretched out beside him. He turned and buried his head against Roy's chest, and Roy held him, rocking him just a bit. Ed was glad that Roy seemed to have expected him to be overwhelmed and non-verbal for a while.

After he'd collected himself somewhat he raised his head to look inquiringly at Roy.

"Roy? Are you..." his vocabulary failed him, but Roy seemed to catch his meaning.

"Just fine," he assured Ed.

"You're... sure?" Ed was trying very hard not to blush.

A glint of mischief entered Roy's eye as he took one of Ed's hands and guided it down.

"Ah." Ed was sure he was blushing now. Roy had, however, unmistakably taken his pleasure from the evening too.

On reflection, Ed wasn't really surprised he hadn't noticed. He wasn't sure he'd have noticed a brass band on the back of a waltzing hippo for most of the time Roy had been touching him. He settled back down on Roy's shoulder.

"Thank you, Ed," Roy murmured in his ear.

"Mmm," Ed said without moving. "...you too."

Roy's fingers carded through his hair, and Ed wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep.

End

Morning - One

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Ed.

Ed woke up wondering why his pillow was such a strange shape.

Waking further up, however, he remembered where he had spent the night and why, and opened his eyes to stare at the expanse of Roy's chest in front of his nose. Finally stirring, he raised his head to find Roy already awake and watching him. As Ed did nothing but blink at him, a smile tugged at Roy's mouth.

"I think this is the first time I've ever rendered anyone speechless for quite this long," he commented.

Ed opened his mouth, closed it, and let his head fall back down, onto the real pillow this time. "It's just kind of... hard to believe this is real," he said at last.

Roy laughed, low in his throat, and leaned over Ed. "Shall I convince you it is?" he teased, running a finger down the center of Ed's chest.

Ed glanced aside, afraid he was blushing. "Would you think it was really silly if I said yes?" he asked softly.

"Not at all," Roy murmured in his ear before nibbling on it.

Ed sighed as Roy's lips traced the line of his throat, and let his eyes fall closed again.

Roy.

"Coffee?" Roy offered as Ed came into the kitchen.

"Thanks." Ed sipped and paused in the act of sitting down at the table. He eyed the mug and then Roy. "You make the coffee at the office, don't you?" he asked, faintly accusing.

Roy sighed dramatically. "Ah, one of my darkest secrets, revealed! Yes, in fact I do. Hawkeye prefers tea, and no one else can make coffee that doesn't taste acidic."

Ed smiled into his mug and settled onto the chair, one leg drawn up under him. Roy contemplated his body language and hid a smile of his own. He was unexpectedly charmed this morning. He had never, in all the time he'd known Ed, seen him act shy. Even last night. He'd been hesitant at times, yes, but this morning he was acting downright bashful. Accepting a towel for his shower, a cup of coffee, it seemed to be these small things rather than actually going to bed with Roy that made Edward unsure.

Of course, Roy reflected, if he had stayed the night at Ed's house instead of the other way around it would certainly have taken all the face he could muster to stroll blithely down to breakfast in the morning. Not least because Ed's extremely protective brother and near-sister would likely have colluded to draw and quarter him.

Speaking of which...

Roy came to lean against the table. "Edward?"

Gold eyes looked quickly up at him.

"Does your family know where you are? Or, more precisely, what you're doing here?"

Ed's expression shifted to one of affectionate exasperation. "No and not exactly," he answered. "I think Winry might have guessed, but I haven't told them..." he broke off, and looked down again.

"That you planned to seduce me?" Roy supplied, wryly.

After a moment of blank silence Ed folded up on the table laughing until he was breathless. "Can you imagine," he gasped, "their expressions," another gasp, "at the very idea..."

Roy had to laugh himself at the image.

Ed.

"Nii-san... you... he... you..." Al sat down rather abruptly on the couch.

Ed rubbed a hand over his forehead.

Roy had seen him off, with a light kiss, before leaving for headquarters, and Ed had made his way home torn between contentment and anxiety. One of the causes of anxiety was the question of how Al and Winry, who each had their own reasons for not entirely liking Roy, would react to the news that Ed was sleeping with him.

So far, Al was stunned and Winry was quiet.

Winry sat and took one of Al's hands without taking her eyes off Ed. "Why?" she asked.

Ed was silent for a long time trying to organize dozens of half-thoughts into a reasonable response. "Because being with him makes me feel like I'm more alive," he said at last.

"You're happy with him?" Al pressed.

Ed threw himself back in his armchair and stared at the ceiling.

"Happy," he agreed. "And infuriated. And like I want to protect him. And like I want to spend a week arguing theory with him. And scared. And like I can lean on him. And he'll hold me up."

Al and Winry had both softened somewhat during this recitation. Ed had a sudden urge to add And like I want to run my hands over every inch of his skin and let him kiss me senseless, but stepped on it.

Clearly, Roy was rubbing off on him.

Winry looked at Al, who was looking at Ed with a reluctant smile, and nodded briskly. "Right. Just as long as he understands that if he hurts you I'm going to disassemble him, flame or no flame."

Ed grinned for the first time since he'd gotten back. "I'll be sure to pass that on."

Roy.

Hughes, stopping by Roy's office, took one look at him and burst out laughing.

"You did it! Didn't you? Didn't I tell you?"

"Do I have it printed on my forehead or something?" Roy wanted to know, irritably. "Hawkeye asked me if my evening went well, and she almost smirked."

"Just about." Hughes leaned on his desk, chuckling. "You have that extra smug glow that says what happened, and an underlying hint of panic that tells the informed who it happened with."

"Panic?" Roy asked frostily.

"Quite justified, of course," Hughes breezed on. "It's been a long time since you had a serious lover instead of an affair."

"You should know," Roy grumbled.

"Yes, I should." Maas looked sidelong at him with a crooked smile. "And that's why I can tell that this is serious. So be careful with yourself, Roy. I know how deeply you can dig yourself in."

Roy set a hand over Maas' to make his friend look at him straight on. "Do you think there's some reason I shouldn't?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, no. In fact I think this is just about the best thing that could happen to both of you. But he's still young, Roy. It might take time before he's ready to settle down, even if he spends all that time with you."

Maas turned his hand over and gripped Roy's tightly. Roy looked up at him, warmed by the concern in those hazel eyes.

"Thank you, Maas."

Ed.

"Shousho?" Ed tapped on the office door.

Roy turned away from the windows. "Come in, Edward-kun."

Ed entered and hesitated just inside the door. The sunlight falling across Roy made him glow and picked out the elegance of his bones. Ed wanted very much to touch him, but reminded himself that they were at work and should be reasonably discreet...

Roy smiled and held out his hand.

Well, never mind, then.

Ed came to him and settled against him with a sigh, resting his head on Roy's shoulder. Roy stroked the nape of his neck with soothing fingers.

"Is everything all right, Ed?" he asked eventually.

"Yeah. It's just... I didn't think it would be so different. After." And, much lower, "I want to touch..."

"It's usual with new lovers," Roy reassured him, smoothing his hair. "It gets less intense after a while."

"How much of a while?"

"It varies," Roy said thoughtfully. "With Ariana it lasted about four days. Hughes and Gracia were mutually entranced for nearly two years."

Ed lifted his head and stared, eyes wide. "Two years? How did they manage for two years like this? It's incredibly distracting!"

"I couldn't agree more," Roy purred.

He traced his fingertips over Ed's face and then down his neck. Ed drew in an uneven breath.

"Especially when you do that," he whispered.

"Do you want me to stop?" Roy asked just as softly.

"Hell no."

He met Roy's kiss open mouthed, let Roy's tongue twine around his and draw out his breath. Roy leaned back against his desk and pulled Ed between his legs to lean against him. Ed wound his arms comfortably around Roy's shoulders, pleased with the solidity of Roy's body supporting his.

"Are there any rules against this kind of thing?" he asked, struck by a sudden thought.

"Specifically or generally?" Roy inquired.

Ed glared. "Be difficult for the fun of it later; answer my question now."

Roy smirked. "Being a civilian, most of the military regulations don't apply to you. A liaison between a civilian State Alchemist and his military commander is not specifically forbidden. It would probably be wise to be discreet, though."

"Thought so," Ed sighed.

A gleam entered Roy's eye. He bent his head and Ed felt teeth close on his throat. His body snapped taut as those teeth nipped a path up to his ear.

"So," Roy breathed, "is it later?"

Roy.

"What are these?"

Roy looked around to where Edward was holding out the sleeve of a burgundy suit-jacket.

After two weeks, during which Ed had spent over half his nights with Roy, Ed had gotten tired of not having clean clothes in the morning and asked a bit diffidently whether Roy would mind if he kept a change tucked in a drawer somewhere. Familiar with this particular annoyance, Roy had cleared out several drawers and a section of the wardrobe, and invited Ed to fill up as much of the space as he liked.

He had yet to resolve the matter of Edward stealing his bathrobe in the mornings, but one problem at a time.

They were now putting things away, and Ed was discovering that Roy did, in fact, own more than uniforms.

"Well, that one in particular is what I wear when Hughes insists on hauling me along to a concert."

"And the black suit?" Ed wanted to know.

Roy sighed, and came to kneel on the floor behind Ed with an arm around his waist. "The black is for funerals, the green shirt is for going out in the summer, this" he plucked at a brilliant scarlet sleeve, "is for being obtrusive..." He paged through his clothes, naming them as he went, ending with a stack of blue cotton pants and white shirts. "...and those are for just wearing. Satisfied?"

Ed was quiet for a bit, contemplating the clothes as if they were some new diagram. "Costumes." He looked over his shoulder at Roy. "Except for those last. They're costumes aren't they?"

Roy was taken aback for a moment, until he remembered exactly who he was speaking to. This was the person he had taught to see these things, not infrequently using himself as an example. He rested his chin on Ed's shoulder, reflecting on the pitfalls of habit. The physical intimacy was easy enough, but he kept forgetting that it was paired with a much deeper intimacy this time.

Ed, probably sensing his mood, half turned in his hold to snuggle against his chest.

Roy was discovering that, despite his standoffishness with just about everyone, Edward was actually an extremely tactile person with those few he trusted. Roy still had to conceal his crogglement that he was, apparently, someone Ed trusted.

Ed seemed to decide Roy was still thinking too much, because he shoved against him, tumbling them both over onto the floor. He planted an elbow on either side of Roy's head and propped his chin on his hands, grinning down.

"So you've caught me, have you?" Roy asked, amused.

"Pretty sure, yeah." If Ed's voice had been a little lighter and his eyes hadn't become shuttered, it would have been a joke, and likely led to a wrestling match that Roy would have lost until he managed to... distract Ed. But it wasn't quite.

Roy thought it might be a question.

Had Edward caught him? Well, yes, Roy didn't usually sprawl on the floor with casual friends lying on top of him. Roy supposed the real question was how thoroughly Ed had caught him.

How thoroughly did he want to?

"Come here," he whispered.

Ed let himself slide the rest of the way down, laying his head on Roy's shoulder. Roy stroked his hair aside, arranging the long tail of it in an aesthetic curve on the floor, and ran a hand gently up and down Edward's back. Ed relaxed against him, fitting his body more comfortably to Roy's.

It took a while for Roy to really notice that Ed was still making tiny movements, and a little longer to realize that Ed was adjusting himself in relation to Roy's hand on his back.

Hm.

Roy slid his hand under Ed's shirt and scratched between his shoulderblades. Ed made a small happy noise and arched up a bit. That was definitely it. Roy obligingly continued scratching. Ed squirmed against him.

"Mmm. To the right... little further... down some. Oo, there. Ah. Mmmmm."

Roy couldn't contain his chuckles as Ed collapsed bonelessly over him, making little humming sounds in his ear, as close as a human could come to purring.

Edward, he reflected, might just be able to capture him completely.

TBC

The coffee in particular, and in fact significant parts of this whole arc, are largely thanks to Sleeps with Coyotes' influence. She keeps writing stories that raise questions that won't leave me alone, not to mention images that sneak into my own stories when my back is turned.

Morning - Two

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Roy.

"So, what..."

Ed had to stop for a jawcracking yawn before trying again.

"What possessed you to use the east facing bedroom anyway?"

Roy looked on in amusement as his bedmate squirmed yet further into the covers in a vain attempt to escape the morning sun. "It's the largest, and the one with an attached bath," he explained, very reasonably, for the nth time.

Ed made a grumpy noise and huddled against Roy's side.

Roy suppressed a laugh as he stroked Ed's back, coaxing him out again. Ed had some very set morning routines, and, on weekends when they had time for it, grumbling about the early sunlight was one of them. Ed was perfectly cheerful once he was up and awake, but he seemed to enjoy being persuaded.

Finally, Ed uncurled and stretched from toes to fingertips. If Roy was in the mood for it, he could start a morning tussle by trailing a finger down Ed's stomach at just this moment, which would make him squeak and curl up in a ball before assaulting the source of the indignity. This morning, though, he had a different surprise in mind.

Ed rolled out of bed, shaking his hair into a semblance of order, and snatched up the plush black robe that hung just inside the wardrobe. As he was turning away, though, something seemed to catch his eye.

Roy allowed himself a tiny grin.

"What's that?" Ed asked, glancing back at him.

Roy had told Ed some time ago just how fetching a sight he made with his hair down and the robe hanging open from his shoulders. He hadn't mentioned that this was why he had put up with Ed's theft of his robe. He had, however, taken it into account when he decided what to do about the matter. He came to stand behind Ed, and lifted the blue plush robe down off its hook.

"This," he said, pulling it on, "is for me to wear while you steal mine."

A faint flush rose in Edward's face before he turned and leaned into Roy. "Thank you," he said, very low.

"You're welcome," Roy replied, winding an arm around Edward's waist. "Shower?"

Edward nodded. Roy lifted his chin. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"No. That would be... fine." The blush was more distinct now. Well, it was the first time Roy had asked this.

Ed let Roy lead the way, and draw him under the water. Ed naked with his head tipped back and water running down him was even more fetching than Ed in Roy's robe. They washed each other leisurely, trading the sponge back and forth.

"Shall I do your hair?" Roy asked.

"If you want," Ed agreed, surprised.

Every now and then his lover's innocence about his own beauty made Roy shake his head.

He was slow, careful not to tangle or pull, and Ed relaxed into him. "You'll put me back to sleep," he murmured.

"If you need the extra sleep that badly, perhaps I should," Roy told him, rinsing the soap out.

"No. You just... relax me that much." Ed opened his eyes, looking up through lashes beaded with water drops.

Roy didn't know whether Ed understood how great a compliment he'd just paid Roy; he thought not. So he simply smiled and kissed away the water on Ed's lips.

Ed.

"No, that can't be it!"

Thursday's breakfast was long gone, and the kitchen table had been taken over by paper and pencils. Ed had been arguing cheerfully with Roy for nearly an hour over how and whether a team of alchemists in the South might be transmuting a fantastically unstable compound whose import was forbidden. Well, cheerfully for them, anyway.

Ed narrowed his eyes at Roy and flourished a piece of paper from the pile on the table between them. "It's obvious that they would need a seven point diagram if they're trying to transmute this stuff out of sapphire!"

"Only," Roy pointed out with a cutting edge, "if they have someone familiar with the Saturnine manuscripts, which are rare enough to make that unlikely."

"You're going to trust the incompetence of your opponent?"

"It's often a reliable approach," Roy returned.

"Yeah, well, not this time," Ed growled.

Before Ed could continue to the evidence of knowledgebility Roy unfolded his hands and leaned across the table.

"No," he agreed, silkily, "not this time." He slid his palm down Ed's jaw line, brushing his thumb over Ed's lips.

Ed's hand rose to push Roy's away before he thought about it. "Don't do that!"

They both pulled back and Ed tried to think why he had objected so strongly. Roy had touched him before when they were arguing. In fact, just a few weeks ago they had had a wonderful debate over the use of leopards versus lions in alchemical codes while lying naked in bed.

But this was different. Roy's manner was different. Slowly, Ed realized that he'd seen Roy look like that before... when he was maneuvering some political target into doing what he wanted. Ed swallowed and looked up at Roy just in time to see his eyes widen and his mouth flinch.

He... didn't realize either? Ed thought about that for a moment. And shuddered. "You've used sex that way, too?" he asked, a bit choked. "Just another lever?"

"For a long time," Roy admitted quietly, staring straight ahead.

Ed was torn right down the middle between the urge to comfort Roy and the urge to run screaming.

"Edward. I'm sorry."

Ed looked up, wide eyed. He could not, off hand, remember Roy ever apologizing for anything before. He bit his lip and reached a hand over the table. After a beat, Roy slowly lifted a hand to meet him. Ed laced their fingers together.

He couldn't say it was all right, because it damn well wasn't. But he tried to show in his grip, in his face he hoped, that the apology was accepted. It seemed to work, because some of the bleakness left Roy's eyes.

Then he went around the table and burrowed into Roy's arms, stroking his hair while Roy buried his face in Ed's shoulder.

Roy.

"Good afternoon, Shousho. You look like you're in a good mood today."

Roy made an agreeable sound as Hawkeye set the day's reports on his desk.

"In fact," she continued, "you've been looking better in general lately."

Roy eyed his aide. "I'm pleased that my personal life provides so much entertainment to my staff," he drawled.

Hawkeye stared him down. Roy couldn't remember a single moment she'd ever been intimidated by him in any way.

"I don't know why the others are so happy, but I'm happy that you've stopped abusing yourself."

Roy raised a brow. "I beg your pardon, Shousa?"

"You know what I mean, Sir," she told him firmly. "The ones for political reasons were bad enough, but the throw-away affairs with people you could never trust were worse. I'm just glad it's over."

"You make it sound like I've gotten engaged," Roy remarked, amused. Hawkeye had always kept an eye on his personal affairs, he knew, but she rarely commented on them. "I would remind you that Edward is only nineteen. He could well choose to move on."

Hawkeye looked like she had something she very much wanted to say but didn't think she should say it. "I doubt Edward-kun is going to let you go that easily," was all she tossed over her shoulder in parting.

Roy blinked after her, contemplating her choice of words.

Ed won't let me go? Has she seen something I haven't?

Ed.

"Morning, Shousho."

Ed knocked on the office door as he opened it and booted it shut again behind him. Roy made a distracted sound of acknowledgement. Ed tucked the volume of research results he'd been wading through back into its place on a shelf and went to see what Roy was occupied with, leaning on the back of Roy's chair. "Still with Forsythe?"

"Unfortunately." Roy tossed the flow chart he'd been scribbling on back onto the desk. "Any luck with your end?"

"Not yet," Ed sighed. "I hate it when work stalls like this."

A sudden, impish smile curled Roy's mouth. "Well, how about a break, then?" he suggested, turning the chair to face Ed.

"Such as?" Ed asked, a bit suspicious of that expression.

"Something... relaxing," Roy assured him, hands coming to settle on Ed's hips.

Ed blinked down at him. "You're kidding."

Roy pulled him gently forward until Ed was kneeling over him on the chair, grinning the whole while.

"You are serious!" Ed was laughing as he caught Roy's shoulders for balance. "Roy, we're at work!"

"The door's closed. That's discreet enough," Roy declared, running his hands up the back of Ed's legs.

On the one hand, the door was merely closed, not locked, and Ed had no intention of sharing this part of his life with anyone else, thank you.

On the other hand... well at the moment the other hand was Roy's, and it was tracing patterns up his back in a very tempting manner.

Oh, what the hell.

Ed concentrated, which wasn't easy just at that moment, and sent the crackle of transmutation through the wood of the desk, of the floor, of the doorframe, which temporarily became a single piece with the door.

"Delightful," Roy murmured, as his hands trailed down Ed's front, undoing things as they went.

Ed took in a wicked glance from dark eyes, and then he was lost in the heat of Roy's mouth on him. He let his head fall back, let himself melt into the heat, trusting Roy's hands to hold him up. The slide of Roy's tongue pulled a long moan from him.

When Roy drew back, Ed sank down, wrapped his hand around Roy's chin and kissed him deep and slow.

"You're completely crazy," he announced against Roy's mouth, hands busy with the clasps and buttons of his uniform.

"Without a doubt," Roy agreed easily.

Their clothes went to decorate the desk, but they themselves finally wound up on the couch.

Or, at least, Ed was on the couch, arms spread across the back, with Roy kneeling on the floor between his legs. At this time of day the sunlight fell directly across them, and Ed closed his eyes against the brightness even as he luxuriated in the feel of the warmth on his skin.

Roy's hands swept up his back, pressing Ed tight against him, and Ed made a soft, inarticulate noise as Roy's teeth closed on his bared throat.

Roy's hands drew him to the edge of the cushions. He felt Roy's cock sliding against his rear and arched back, breathless, anticipating.

"Ed?" Roy asked against Ed's shoulder.

"Yes," Ed said, definitely.

Roy went very slowly, as he always did when they made love like this, and Ed appreciated it. It let him feel every millimeter of Roy that was inside him bit... by... bit...

And then Roy's hand closed around him, teasing, knowing, and Ed lost track of individual senses in the tide of heat and tension and pleasure. When he opened his eyes to brilliant light it seemed only appropriate.

He slid limply off the edge of the couch and into Roy's lap, where they leaned on each other and exchanged small, slow kisses.

"We just had sex... on your office couch... in the middle of the morning," Ed commented between kisses.

"Nice thick walls," Roy replied, "I doubt anyone noticed."

Ed laughed. "Completely crazy," he reiterated. "I love you."

Then he blinked. Did I just say that?

Roy caught Ed's face in his hands and kissed him far harder and hotter than before. And then he simply held Ed and gazed at him for a long moment before his mouth quirked.

"I believe I love you as well, Edward Elric," he said softly, tone somewhat rueful.

Ed ducked his head against Roy's shoulder, as Roy's arms closed around him, and stayed there for a long time.

TBC

Morning - Three

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Ed.

Ed sprawled on the living room floor, watching as Al and Winry debated whether they needed new armchairs or could just get the old ones reupholstered.

"What do you think, Nii-san?"

Ed shrugged, lazily. "I like the ones we have pretty well."

Winry gave him a sharp look. "And how much longer are you going to be around to have an opinion on them?"

Ed flopped back, groaning. He'd known that was coming, sooner or later. "I don't know."

He could feel the look Al and Winry exchanged, even without seeing it.

"Nii-san? Do you... not think he's serious?" Al's voice was concerned.

Ed supposed there was some reason for the concern. Ed spent at least half his time at Roy's house instead of his own. His conversation had become peppered with Roy's comments even in the man's absence. And now Al was wondering whether his big brother was about to get his heart broken for him. Al thought that way.

And by serious Al most likely meant lifelong. That, after all, was the way he was serious about Winry. But when Ed tried to compare what was between he and Roy with what was between Al and Winry, somehow the terms just didn't seem to translate very well.

"I do think he's serious," Ed tried to explain, "we just haven't talked about things like that yet."

"Ah." Al still sounded concerned.

Winry took pity on Ed in a very typical fashion, and turned the conversation. "So, is he any good in bed?"

Both brothers choked. Winry attempted to look innocent and failed miserably. After wasting a few moments glaring, Ed decided on a subtle revenge. He let his expression go a bit dreamy.

"It's like falling into the sun without getting burned," he told her with complete truthfulness.

He checked Winry's expression, and found it approaching doting. All right, never mind subtlety. "Why, are you looking for tips?" he asked, and let his gaze slide from her to Al.

Winry turned the color of a ripe raspberry, and Ed grinned. Victory was his. Not even a high velocity couch pillow could take it away.

Roy.

Roy liked the fact that he almost always woke before Ed. It gave him a chance to watch Ed without being observed. Ed did not, contrary to popular wisdom, look more innocent while he was asleep. He sometimes looked just as innocent awake. Nor did he precisely look unguarded; even asleep his body held the hint of motion, of readiness. Roy supposed that what Ed looked asleep was more himself, without calculation or care.

Of course, in a purely physical sense, most of the time a sleeping Ed looked like a fallen angel after a good party. Roy took the strand of silky hair that slipped over Ed's shoulder in his fingers and lifted it to his lips.

He looked down again to find Edward awake and gazing up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

"Good morning, Ed," Roy said, softly, over the strand of gold he still held.

Ed's eyes softened, and Roy shivered, brushing a hand over his cheek. "Edward," he breathed, only half aware he was speaking out loud. "Do you really mean what that look says...?"

"What does it say?" Ed asked, voice husky.

Roy was silent a moment before he answered. "That you would give me anything I asked you for."

Ed tilted his head considering. "Yes," he said at last, and laid his hand flat on Roy's chest. "If I could ask back."

Another shiver ran through Roy, and he lowered his head until his temple rested against Ed's. "What would you ask me for?" he whispered, formless anxiety tightening his nerves.

A tiny laugh brushed past his ear. "I don't know," Ed answered. "Do you?"

Roy took a deep breath and felt the corners of his mouth curl up. "No, I suppose not."

He kissed Ed's shoulder, down his chest, letting his tension transform into desire. Letting Ed's responsiveness carry them both away into a simpler intensity.

Ed.

"Is something bothering you, Ed-kun?"

Gracia-san had eased Al out of the kitchen by asking him to keep her husband away from the food preparation, and given Ed a bunch of carrots to slice to keep him busy. Now Ed knew why. "Not really," he denied.

Gracia-san waited. There was no need for her to be concerned, Ed told himself. It wasn't a huge problem. He shouldn't trouble Gracia-san with it.

Oh, who was he kidding?

"When did you know you wanted to be with Hughes-san for good?" Ed asked at last.

"Hm." Gracia-san smiled reminiscently. "Well, let's see. I knew him for about a year, casually, before we ever really got to know one another. I met him through Roy, you know."

Ed blinked.

"I used to work at the city library, didn't I ever mention? I met Roy when he came to Central to study, and Maas when they made friends." She stirred sauce and looked thoughtful. "I suppose it was a little over six months after Maas and I really started to know each other that I winkled an engagement out of him. I think I had to work on him for about two months. So, four months or so after we became close was when I decided."

"Ah." Ed paid very close attention to his carrots.

"I think it's harder when it's someone you've known for a long time, actually," Gracia-san said, reflectively. "Harder to tell what's changed."

"Mm." There had probably never been such perfectly diced carrots before in culinary history.

"Are you still wondering about Roy?"

Ed just barely missed his own finger.

"It's not... we're... not that, but..." Ed stammered.

Gracia-san patted his hand, and he looked up to see her smiling sympathetically. "Or is it that you are sure?" Her voice was gentle.

Ed bit his lip. "I think so," he said softly.

Gracia-san smoothed his hair back and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"Well, then, you need to talk about it instead of dancing around it, or backing off from it, or whatever it is you do instead of talking." She gave Ed a meaningful look.

Ed was positive he had turned the same color as the radishes. Carrots. Carrots were absolutely entrancing, yes they were.

"Gracia-san?" he asked after a little while.

"Yes?"

"How did you and Hughes-san really get to know each other?"

Gracia-san looked over her shoulder with a soft smile. "We started talking."

Roy.

Roy looked up from his book to see Ed leaning in the doorway watching him. Seeing that Ed had a book of his own, Roy smiled and held out a hand.

"Business or pleasure?" he asked, nodding at the book as Ed came and wrapped his hand around Roy's.

"Pleasure, mostly," Ed answered. "History."

Roy rearranged himself against one arm of the couch and tugged Ed down to recline against his chest. Ed settled back with a sigh as Roy slipped an arm around him. It wasn't long before Roy set down his book and wound the other arm around Ed also, resting his cheek against Ed's hair.

It felt... very good to have Edward here like this.

"You're thinking," Ed asserted. "What are you thinking about?"

"How well you fit," Roy told him.

Ed let his own book fall. "Well enough to stay right here?" he asked, voice low.

Roy was sure Ed could feel his heart speed up. He didn't think Ed was asking whether Roy's legs were falling asleep.

"Yes," he murmured at length. "If you want to."

"I do," Ed said, looking straight ahead. And then he turned in Roy's arms until he could brace his right arm on the couch behind Roy and lift his other hand to cup Roy's cheek. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," Roy whispered. "I do."

Ed took a breath like he'd just come up after a long time underwater, and let his head fall to Roy's shoulder. "Then I will." His voice was a little choked, and trembling on the edge of a laugh.

Roy gathered him as close as he could, the same laugh rising in his own throat. He had laughed more in the last few years than he had honestly thought he ever would again. Most often because of the young man in his arms right now.

"Ed..." He smiled and said very quietly in his lover's ear, "Welcome home."

End

Rare

A pleasant end to a trying day. Porn Without Plot, I-4.

Ed padded, barefoot, into Roy's living room, still toweling his hair.

"Next time Hawkeye asks me to go with you for a routine inspection because she's busy and you know what he's like, Edward-kun, remind me of this," he grumbled.

Roy cast a look over his shoulder at the second line Ed quoted, mouth open to comment, and paused. A corner of his mouth curled up. Ed grinned behind the towel. When he'd rummaged through Roy's closet, not fancying wearing a couple of towels until his clothes dried, he'd found two robes. One was soft but practical terrycloth; the other was lush, double-sided velvet. Ed had promptly taken the second.

After the day he'd had, he thought he deserved it.

Roy, he noticed, had lost no time lighting a fire in his rather extravagant fireplace and had already shed most of his bedraggled uniform. The latter came especially to Ed's attention as Roy rose and paced toward him, firelight sliding across his skin.

"So," Roy purred, "you approve of my hedonism, I believe you called it the other day, if you can take advantage of it?" His touch moved the velvet across Ed's back and sides, and Ed couldn't stop a sensuous stretch under Roy's hands.

"Mmm," he agreed, looking up through his lashes.

Roy pressed him close, slowly, bent to brush his lips over Ed's, light, teasing, until Ed reached up and pulled him down hard against his open mouth. Roy's tongue on his was warm and soft, rather like the velvet, and Ed leaned into the kiss as Roy's hands slipped over his hips, up his back...

And Roy drew back, stepped around Ed and strolled for the door.

"I trust you left me some hot water," he tossed back over his shoulder.

Ed shut his gaping mouth with a snap. "You are a complete bastard," he declared with conviction.

A low laugh echoed down the hall.

Ed flung himself down in front of the fire. It had just been that kind of day. The trip out to the garrison three towns away had only been boring. The fawning of the garrison commander had raised the ante to nauseating. Then it started raining. And on the way back, three miles outside of the city, the car had run out of gas and Roy, in a fit of caution, had refused to let Ed transmute more. So they had walked, or more exactly slogged, the entire way back because no one else was stupid enough to be out in the freezing cold rain. That was enough to advance the day to utterly miserable in Ed's book. He suspected, darkly, that That Author had something to do with it; this was just the kind of set-up she liked.

At least Roy had given him the first shower.

And there must be three rugs layered over the spot in front of the fire, because it was comfier than the couch.

And the fire was warming his automail up nicely, which was finally stopping the ache around the ports.

Ed didn't realize he had dozed off until Roy's returning tread woke him. He opened his eyes to find Roy, in the terrycloth robe a corner of his mind was amused to note, standing over him with the air of a man arrested mid-motion. Ed realized why when Roy sat down beside him and started running his fingers through Ed's loose hair. He really didn't understand this thing Roy had with his hair, but he wasn't complaining. He stretched, wriggling against the softness of the robe.

And then Roy's fingers found his ears.

Ed would never have credited it if Roy hadn't demonstrated first and explained second, but having his ears rubbed felt absolutely wonderful. It made all the tension in his head and neck go away. It made his shoulders tickle and relax. It made his toes curl.

Ed was fairly sure he made tiny humming noises the entire time, given the way Roy was always laughing afterward, but he couldn't hear himself to tell for sure and really didn't care because it felt so good.

At last Roy stopped, leaving Ed a warm puddle of happiness. Roy leaned down to collect a quick kiss. "In a better mood now?" he inquired, chuckling.

Ed pulled a thoughtful face and looked up at him. "Some, I suppose," he answered loftily.

A glint entered Roy's eye. "Well, we'll just have to keep working on that, hm?"

He trailed a hand down Ed's body and lifted, rather to Ed's confusion, his right foot. What now? Ed wondered. He must have looked as confused as he felt because Roy flashed him a wicked smirk.

Then his mouth closed over Ed's toes.

A shiver ran the entire length of Ed's body, and his eyes widened. The intensity of sensation shocked him, the soft, silky warmth overwhelming every other sense message and echoing down every nerve. When Roy sucked gently on his toes Ed gasped. When Roy's tongue slid over his instep Ed let his head fall back, feeling very much as if Roy's tongue were sliding down another body part entirely. It was almost unbearably ticklish, and almost unbearably pleasurable, and Ed couldn't keep still, his whole body twisting as he tried to feel it as one or the other. Roy didn't let go until Ed was panting for breath, fingers dug into the carpet.

Ed shuddered as he relaxed from that knife edge of sensation. Roy leaned beside him looking faintly smug.

"Feet are a great deal more sensitive than most people ever realize," he remarked conversationally.

"I noticed," Ed told him with as much snap as he could muster.

Which wasn't much just then, but it was the principle of the thing.

Ed answered languidly when Roy kissed him; the relaxation after that much tension was making him feel just a bit... floaty. Roy propped his head on one hand and gave Ed a speculative look. "And would you be willing to try a little experiment, my hawk?"

If Roy was calling him that there was only one kind of experiment it could be. Well, the last one had been enjoyable... "Sure."

Roy unwrapped the robe, laying it open, and slipped it off Ed's shoulders. "Turn over," he murmured.

Ed sighed as his lingering hardness pressed against the velvet. Roy nudged his legs apart, kneeling between them, and Ed shivered. Roy's hands passed over his rear lightly, spread him open. The heat of Roy's breath sighed over him, and Ed sucked in a breath of his own only to lose it when the soft warmth of Roy's tongue melted across his skin.

The gentle, coaxing slide unstrung him entirely, and Ed's body opened for that softness, his legs spreading wider, his muscles turning to butter. Roy's weight kept Ed pressed to the velvet under him, and the feeling as he moved against it was so like Roy's tongue against his entrance that Ed shuddered, which only intensified the feeling.

The movement of Roy's tongue changed, became firmer, no longer stroking but circling and pressing, and Ed moaned, pushing back, asking for more. Roy's tongue flirted with him, pressing into him and flicking away, curling against skin that felt on fire.

"Roy...!" Ed couldn't manage any more coherence than that; fortunately, Roy had become reasonably adept at recognizing that particular tone in Ed's voice. With a last, lingering caress he drew back and stretched out against Ed's side as he collapsed.

"If you want more than that we need to move to the bedroom," Roy said in Ed's ear.

Ed considered this, a bit hazily. Yes, he certainly did want more, but he didn't really want to move. Here and now he was in a bubble of wonderful lassitude that he was sure would break if he got up. So he twisted around just far enough to slide his left hand up Roy's cheek.

"No."

Roy blinked at him. "Edward, there's nothing here..."

"I know," Ed answered, a grin tugging at his mouth. Roy's voice echoed in his memory: Another time, perhaps. "Here, Roy. Now."

Roy looked at him silently for a moment, eyes turning darker as he understood. A hungry smile curved his lips before he turned his head to kiss Ed's palm. He let his own robe slide off and moved between Ed's legs again, kneeling back and pulling Ed with him to straddle his lap.

"Tell me if this hurts you at all," he said softly.

Ed tipped his head back until it rested on Roy's shoulder. He was definitely floating now, almost laughing. "You won't," he told Roy, voice husky from the arch of his neck, or perhaps from the feeling of Roy pressed against him.

Roy leaned forward, pushing Ed with him until Ed had to catch himself on his hands. Roy's thumbs stroked down his back, down, parting him, and Ed felt Roy pressing into him, smooth and solid. He clung to the openness Roy's tongue had left him with and slowly, slowly, Roy was inside him.

Ed remembered the feeling of Roy's gloved fingers in him, and this was like that, only more. It was so rough, so hot, this feeling like individual nerves striking sparks as Roy's cock slid over each one, and finally his back was pressed hard against Roy's chest, and Roy's arms were around him. He could feel Roy trembling; or maybe it was himself.

"Ed?" Roy asked, voice low and burning.

"Don't stop," Ed whispered.

Roy's hands stroked down his stomach, between his legs, coaxing his hips forward as Roy drew back, and Ed lost himself in the intimate, intense friction of Roy inside him, the smooth, teasing touch of Roy's fingers fondling him, the shuddering fire that raced down his veins, building slowly, slowly, until it finally released him with enough force to stop his breath.

When he could tell that he was breathing again, Ed realized that he was still kneeling over Roy's lap, and that Roy's arms were tight around him, supporting him, and that Roy was leaning his cheek on Ed's left shoulder, looking toward the fire. Ed stirred, and made a small sound at the feeling of Roy still inside him.

"Is everything all right?" Roy murmured into Ed's shoulder.

"Mmmmm. Very much." Ed basked in the heat from the fire, and the softness of velvet under his knees, and the sleek planes of Roy's body against his back. "You worry too much," he added as the faint concern in Roy's voice registered.

"Not everyone enjoys that, my hawk, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Did I sound like I wasn't enjoying myself?" Ed demanded.

"Well, no," Roy had to admit, and Ed could hear the smile in his voice.

"Well, then." Ed drew away and curled up on a dry section of the robe before tugging Roy down and wrapping the man's arms back around himself.

Taken all together, he reflected as he started to drift off, the day had probably come out even after all.

End

Branch: *whistles* That was some PWP, guys.

Roy: Well, the plot bunnies appear to be busy mating with the angst bunnies, so I suppose all your creativity focused on this one point.

Ed: Creativity, hm? Is that what they're calling it now?

Branch: *examining nails* You know, Ed, you shouldn't slander the focus that just might go toward the violin-bunny next. You know, the one where you get to be on top again?

Ed: *freezes* Really? You're not just stringing me along, here?

Branch: *small, evil smile* Maybe.

Ed: *glares at Roy* This is all your fault. You're rubbing off on her.

Snapshots

A handful of moments: Roy and Hughes at Ishvar. Drama With Occasional Porn and Angst, I-4, spoilers ep 15.

Second Lieutenant Roy Mustang poked at his dinner roll. He should be eating it, but he wasn't sure he had the energy.

It had been a very unpleasant day.

As Roy counted it, the day had started last night, when he had been assigned his least favorite duty, counter-assassin bodyguard. When he was looking out for one or more of the high ranking officers he had two possible distasteful outcomes. He could spend the entire time wound tighter than his own watch spring for absolutely nothing. Or he could actually counter a threat, which meant using fire on another human being, and while he could do it in the heat of the moment he was always sick afterwards.

It was the smell, he reflected morbidly, kind of like the smell of dinner here in the mess tent.

The comparison was not making him any more eager to eat his roll.

Last night had been a watch spring night. Which meant he hadn't been able to sleep after, and was now stumbling around the camp in a state of advanced blear, fervently praying he wouldn't draw night duty again tonight.

It was almost enough to make him want to be assigned to a Demolitions team for a few days. Annoying as it sometimes was to be looked at as a walking fuse, he wasn't usually bringing buildings down on living people.

His musing was interrupted by a hand snatching his roll from under his eyes. Spinal reflex grabbed it back before he consciously recognized the hand as Maas Hughes'. Roy glared up at his friend, who was standing across the table and grinning at him.

In doing so he forgot to keep a good grip on his bread.

"Ah, come on Roy," Hughes cajoled, examining the roll that was somehow back in his own grasp, "it's not like you were eating it. Toasting it maybe. Are you experimenting on whether you can start a fire by giving something the evil eye?"

"Give me back my bread, Hughes," Roy growled, in no mood for horseplay.

Hughes' slow grin told Roy that his wishes had no bearing on the situation.

"Make me."

Roy did not normally rise to that kind of bait in public. He had a certain dignity to maintain, and being an Alchemist who had become an officer by default rather than through training didn't make things any easier. But today he was tired and short on temper, and decided that the shortest distance between two points was to vault the table and tackle Hughes.

It was unfortunate that Hughes anticipated him, and took off sprinting, but Roy wasn't about to let that stop him now.

The two of them ducked and wove around tables and soldiers, Hughes cackling and Roy snarling. He didn't even consider the fact that he had his gloves in his pocket. He was going to strangle his best friend with his bare hands, by God.

Right after he got his damn bread back.

Hughes ducked out of the mess tent altogether, which turned out to be a tactical error. They both skidded to a halt directly in the path of Brigadier General Hakuro. What was even worse, Master Sergeant Mitchell was with him, and Hakuro's pursed lips and narrowed eyes were nothing to Mitchell's expression of abysmal expectations wholly fulfilled.

It was the second expression that snapped both Second Lieutenants to attention.

Hakuro passed on without deigning to speak, but Mitchell paused long enough to rake them both up and down.

"It's nice to see someone in high spirits. Sirs." His tone could have put ice on the sand at noon.

Roy winced.

When Mitchell was safely out of sight and ear-shot he rounded on Hughes, mouth open to berate his friend for getting them both into trouble.

Hughes lobbed the roll back to him.

Roy regarded the rather battered hunk of bread for a long moment. "If you tell me that this was all for the sake of getting me to loosen up, as you like to put it," he enunciated precisely, "I am going to remember that I have my gloves with me."

"All right," Hughes replied, airily, "I won't tell you that, then."

He started to stroll back into the tent. Roy's lip curled back. Dignity, he reminded himself strenuously, an officer has a certain dignity to maintain.

Ah, screw it.

The roll bounced off the back of Hughes' head. Roy was unsurprised that Hughes reacted fast enough to catch it, though it would have made things more... piquant if he hadn't.

Roy made his way very calmly past his startled friend.

"Decided you don't want it after all?" Hughes asked.

"Of course I still want a roll. That's why I'm going to have yours. You get that one."

"Excuse me?" Hughes blinked at him.

"In the words of your illustrious mother," Roy said in his best laying-down-the-law tone, which he had, in fact, learned from Maas' mother, "you touched it, you take it."

Maas choked at the imitation, and Roy smiled with great satisfaction.

Then he sprinted back toward the table to lay hold of Maas' roll before his friend recovered.

"Affinities have nothing to do with personalities, Maas, there have been plenty of studies on it."

Roy sprawled on the floor or Maas' tent and took another drink of his beer.

"Oh yeah? Point out to me one person who's more of a cast iron bastard than Gran. And he binds that stuff to his skin." Maas shuddered, delicately. "There's got to be a connection."

"Maas..."

"Not to mention Armstrong," Maas continued. "He can call it art all he likes, there's a man whose answer to everything is brute force." He paused for a contemplative pull on his own beer. "Sometimes it's the force of pure bull-headed chivalry, but still."

"You're reaching, Maas," Roy informed his friend.

"So what about you? You and your flash fire temper, even if you don't usually show it to the poor suckers around here. Boy are they in for a surprise some time," Maas added.

"I control my temper, Maas, and what does that do to your little theory?" Roy arched a brow. The gesture didn't seem to have the same effect it did when Major Gloster used it. Roy would have to work on that.

"Doesn't mean it's gone," Maas pointed out with some justice. "Besides, that isn't the only thing your personality has in common with your affinity."

"What else is there?" Roy challenged.

"Your brilliance."

Roy blinked. Maas gave him a sidelong look.

"It's just like fire, really. It flickers. There's no better word for it."

"Flickers?" Roy repeated. "Do I want to know?"

A corner of Maas' mouth curled. "You're brilliant," he stated. "I don't think anyone doubts that, except possibly Mitchell, and that's his job. But you have the most uneven application I've ever seen. When something grabs your attention, you give it everything you've got, but if it doesn't you couldn't care less."

"What's wrong with focusing on the important things?" Roy asked, a bit defensively.

"It's the not focusing on a few important things that stands out," Maas replied dryly. "Like eating."

Roy was indignant. "I was only fifteen, Maas, and it was only once," he protested.

"A very memorable once," his friend noted. "Your mother nearly had hysterics when you fainted."

Roy sniffed. "The whole argument is false logic," he declared. "You already know my affinity is fire, so you map my personality onto that. If you didn't know, you wouldn't be able to guess based on my personality."

"Maybe," Maas allowed easily. Then he grinned. "It's still a favorite pastime for both the officers and the troops."

"What is?"

"Guessing what someone's affinity would be if they were an advanced alchemist."

Roy rolled his eyes. A smile twitched at his lips, though. "So? What is yours supposed to be?" he asked.

Maas chuckled.

"The general consensus is that I would have an affinity for lightning. Supposing that's possible, of course, most of the guys are pretty sketchy on their science. Is it?"

"Mmm. Could be," Roy allowed, squinting at the canvas above him. Trying to translate from technical terms, he essayed, "If you break air, the bits left over can have an electrical charge. If you could recombine them correctly, you could get lightning. You'd have to clear a path for it, though. It would be very delicate work."

He smirked.

"If you were," he drawled, "I bet what you'd really have an affinity for is air itself. You'd have all the raw material you could ever need coming out of your mouth. Of course, the temperature might be a bit high..."

A small knife zinged past Roy's nose and clattered off Maas' footlocker. Roy laughed. "That's the last of my beer you're getting, Mustang," Maas told him darkly.

Roy grinned and propped a foot on his knee. "Seriously, though," he said, thoughtfully, "if it did work that way, which it doesn't, but if it did... I'd expect you to have an affinity for plants."

"Plants?" Maas blinked.

"Growing things," Roy explained. "An affinity for, well, life. The quiet parts that most people don't pay attention to."

Maas was silent, and, looking over, Roy thought he detected a faint blush. He decided to take pity on his friend.

"So, can I have another beer?" he asked lightly.

Maas growled, though Roy could see the gleam of appreciation in his eyes. "Oh, so that's what this was all about, hm?" Maas languished dramatically. "My best friend, and he only likes me for my beer!"

He tossed over another can.

"I hate these boots," Maas grumbled over the footgear he was polishing. "They might at least have chosen rough leather for the field, but no, it had to be shiny!"

"They aren't that bad," Roy said, fitting the last piece of his gun back into place.

Maas gave him a dour look from where he sat on the bed. "You, of course, wouldn't think so, Mister Perfectly Groomed. Gran probably keeps you hanging around the command to be a sartorial example."

"Ah. Would that also be why he keeps assigning me bodyguard duties like I was some kind of self-mobile gun?" Roy inquired rather acidly. He glanced up at Maas and couldn't stop a smirk. His friend was looking at him seriously, and had apparently forgotten the rag full of boot polish dangling from his hand.

"You're going to get polish all over your bed, you know," Roy pointed out helpfully.

Maas contemplated the boot in his hand, set it down carefully, neatly folded his polish rag beside it, and pounced on Roy, wrestling him to the floor.

Roy tried not to laugh too hard; he needed all his breath. He hadn't won a wrestling match with Maas in about ten years, but some were closer than others. For one thing, Roy had a stronger grip.

It was hard to use it effectively, though, when Maas started cheating and tickled him.

Roy wasn't sure when wrestling gave way to something else, but he was sure it happened sometime before the salt taste of Maas' skin was on his tongue. He traced the line of Maas' throat, and his friend arched back with a rough, low sound of pleasure.

They drew apart of get rid of interfering clothes, and Maas tugged Roy toward the bed. Roy's bare back touched Maas' sheets and he pulled Maas down against him. Yes, that was what he wanted.

"Maas, do you have...?"

Maas chuckled in his ear. "Since being your lover? I stashed some away every place I could think of." He reached an arm under the bed and Roy laughed low in his throat.

"Does that mean I should try to find all those places?" he purred.

Maas shivered against him. "God, Roy, sometimes I think you could bring a person off with nothing but your voice," he whispered against Roy's shoulder.

Roy leaned in to close his teeth on Maas' ear. "Want to find out?"

Maas laughed, breathless. "I thought we had something else in mind for now?"

His fingers returned, cool and slick, and Roy leaned back with a sigh. Maas stroked him, soothing and seducing Roy's body until he was rocking up into the slow thrust of Maas' fingers.

"It happens every time, and it still surprises me," Maas murmured.

Roy made a questioning noise, about all he could manage.

"The way you relax so fast for me."

Roy knew there were a lot of reasons for that, some old and some recent, most having to do with the core of gentleness in Maas. It was what his steel and danger were wrapped around. But Roy didn't have the breath or coherence to explain that at the moment. "You're my friend. I trust you," he managed. He drew Maas down to a kiss. The long fingers inside him curled, beckoning, and Roy gasped sharply. "And I want you," he added against Maas' mouth. "Now, Maas."

He could feel Maas' lips curve into his crooked smile. "Now that doesn't surprise me in the least," Maas told him.

Maas withdrew his fingers slowly, stroking them across that electric place inside Roy, leaving him trembling. When Maas started to move between his legs, though, Roy put a hand on his chest to make him wait and turned over. He released a sigh as he felt Maas' chest against his back, and Maas curled them both up.

Roy liked this feeling, of Maas' long, lean strength folded around him. He couldn't stop a sensuous wriggle as Maas' arms wrapped around his ribs.

Though Roy would never have admitted it out loud, he felt very safe like this.

"Is this all right?" Maas asked against the nape of Roy's neck, and it was Roy's turn to shiver.

"It's good," he said softly.

And then it was better than good, because Maas was pressing into him, and there was something about Maas' care that always undid Roy. And maybe he'd been under too much stress lately, because suddenly he was on the edge of tears for no reason he could find. Gentleness shouldn't cause tears, should it?

Maas was as slow now as he had been earlier, and for once Roy gave himself up to it, letting Maas set the pace, long, leisurely thrusts, until he lay shuddering under his friend, completely abandoned to Maas' touch. Heat built gradually in Roy until he almost felt he was floating, only Maas' weight anchoring him. It wasn't until Maas' hand slid between Roy's legs that the heat tipped over into explosion, and Roy jerked against Maas' body behind him, as Maas drove into him faster, harder now. Fire drowned Roy's senses.

He drifted, pleased that Maas was still curled around him.

"Feel better now?" Maas asked quietly.

Roy sighed a bit. "I can never keep anything from you, can I?"

"Nope. Besides," Maas' arms tightened, "you never want me to make love to you like this unless you're feeling shaken up."

"Thanks, Maas," Roy said, past a small catch in his throat.

He felt Maas smile against his shoulder.

"My pleasure," Maas whispered.

Roy knelt on the cliffs in the darkness, wondering why he wasn't in shock.

Shouldn't he be? Shouldn't he have difficulty believing that he had set half a city on fire? Fire so hot it exploded stone.

But he had never doubted for an instant that it was his hand, his will, his doing that caused the destruction he now looked down on.

His power.

Even if the amplifier was no part of him, it had been his power.

He had always known his own power.

Shock would have made things vague, perhaps a bit more bearable. Not so hideously solid and exact in his sight and memory. Every flash of light, every hurtling shard of stone precise and brilliant.

Maybe he didn't deserve that mercy.

The fist that held his gloves and that glowing ring clenched tighter.

"Roy."

Roy bowed his head. It didn't really surprise him that Maas had found him here. Maas always knew how to find him. He waited for whatever words his friend might find for this occasion.

Maybe they would even help.

But Maas said nothing, only set his hands on Roy's shoulders, kneeling behind him on the sand.

Roy didn't know how long they sat like that in silence, but eventually he leaned back just a little and Maas folded his arms around him. Roy breathed in for what felt like the first time all night, breathed out, felt himself shaking. Had he been shaking before? Or had it just started?

"Don't let go?" he asked, voice faint and thready.

"I won't," Maas assured him.

And he didn't, as Roy listened to the sobs that tore loose from his own chest, distantly amazed at their violence. They subsided slowly, and after a time Roy lay back in Maas' arms, exhausted and wrung.

Maas still said nothing, only stroking Roy's hair back from his forehead. They sat together there until the sun rose and called them back down to the camp.

End

Sustained

When it comes down to action everyone has to find a way to handle the stress. Plot With Porn, I-4.

- Associated fanart: Roy with Violin by Hikariblue

When he got the note that Mustang wanted to see both Ed and his staff in his office, Ed figured it was probably bad news. Mustang's expression certainly seemed to confirm it, mouth tight and eyes distant. His first words sounded like good news, though.

"We're being recalled for assignment in Central again."

"What area?" Havoc wanted to know.

The tight mouth twisted. "Administration. Precisely what I hoped for."

Everyone looked at each other, and then back at their commander, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"According to my network," Mustang went on, "Bradley will be making an unannounced visit here in three days." He looked down at his hands, braced flat on his desk. "I will be going to Altlast to meet him before he arrives in East City."

"Alone?" Hawkeye asked, sharply. Mustang's expression stilled.

"No. You'll be coming with me."

Hawkeye relaxed, but Ed also noticed her eyes narrowing and her right hand tensing. His stomach lurched, and his gaze snapped around to Mustang.

"It's time." Those two quiet words echoed through the room. Or maybe it was just inside Ed's head. About once every week or so he remembered that he'd given his loyalty to a man who intended to assassinate their head of state. He generally shoved the memory back in its box as quickly as he could, because it made his stomach twist. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to work this time.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why now?"

Mustang's mouth drew down before he sighed and answered. "Because he's coming for me. Everything points toward him suspecting what I've been doing, and coming to catch me at a moment of disorganization and confusion to confirm it."

And if he confirmed it... Ed shivered and lowered his head, suddenly wishing that Al were here for him to lean against, and in the next instant fervently grateful that Al wasn't here and wouldn't be involved.

"I need the rest of you to conceal the fact that we're gone," Mustang continued, quietly.

Havoc whistled. "Tall order." He contemplated his cigarette for a few moments, thinking, before he nodded. "I think we can do it; it'll take a little character assassination, though." He grinned at Hawkeye.

"How so?" she asked, warily.

"Hell, no one wants to be anywhere you can see them when you're in a bad mood," Havoc grinned. "All we have to do is act scared and no one will come near this office."

Hawkeye's expression chilled.

"Er, case in point, ma'am?" Fury pointed out tentatively.

"We will take what advantages present themselves," Mustang said. Hawkeye glared at her smirking superior a moment before she sniffed and settled.

Ed listened with half an ear as deadly serious strategy was jokingly debated. He didn't think he was the only one made queasy by this whole thing, but you would never have known it by their tones. Ed found himself looking at Mustang's hands, eyes tracing the circle on the back of his glove, thinking about the fire that would leap out from it. A visceral memory of that glove moving down his back washed through him, and Ed had to take a few deep breaths to keep from choking on that juxtaposition. What was he doing involved in this? Finally, Mustang turned to him.

"If the timing could look anything but suspicious, I would send you away, but that isn't possible. I want you to keep as low a profile as you can until this is over, though. If you have some research that's been waiting, that would be perfect."

Ed leveled an evil glare at him, suddenly angry at Mustang for repeating his own thoughts. For offering him such an escape. For taking all the danger on himself. "You would send me away?" he repeated, voice grating.

Mustang's gaze turned piercing, and his tone took on the edge of command that he rarely used with Ed. "You will not be involved in this."

"You think I want to be?" Ed snapped, swinging sharply back to his original distaste. Mustang's face closed, his eyes frozen now.

"Do you think I do either?" he asked in a perfectly conversational voice.

"No, that's not...!" Ed broke off, not wanting to try to untangle his revulsion and fury and fear in front of their current audience. Roy's expression was very distant, now, and Ed's fear for him gained the upper hand.

"Sometimes problems solve each other," Roy murmured in such a detached voice that ice threaded down Ed's spine. He recognized that voice. He'd never heard Roy use it, but he remembered it. Years ago, in the rain, the offer of a trade... Al had been so furious with him after. Ed could feel that fury in his own chest now. Roy couldn't possibly mean to...

Ed pulled in a deep breath, not at all sure what he wanted to say with it. Before he could decide, or, alternatively, howl with frustration, Hawkeye stepped in front of him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Edward-kun." When Ed looked in her eyes he saw a promise there, to guard Roy's life as she had for years, and a request that he trust her. Did she hear it too? Would she guard Roy from himself? Ed chewed on his lip, and eventually nodded. Hawkeye nodded, firmly, back.

As they all left the office, Ed felt Mustang's eyes on him.

Ed trudged down the street, hands in his pockets.

It had only taken about forty-five minutes of watching him pace the room, stopping at unpredictable moments to stare at nothing, before Al had thrown him out. Well, all right, Al hadn't actually thrown him out, but his brother's voice had been more than usually exasperated when he told Ed that he should just go talk to Mustang-taisa already. Because that man was the only thing that ever got his older brother so wound up.

Al was right, and Ed had to find out what was going on with Mustang. Why had he spoken like that, earlier? Could he honestly think it would serve something if he didn't come back? Who else did the idiot man expect to pick up the pieces?

There was no answer when Ed knocked at Mustang's door, so he let himself in. He could hear, faintly, music coming from upstairs, and followed it. When he found the source he stopped short in the door of Roy's bedroom.

Roy was perched in the broad window ledge that usually served as an auxiliary desk, and he had a violin tucked under his chin. His fingers slid smoothly over the neck, other hand sweeping the bow across the strings. Delicate, ringing notes swirled through the room.

At the scuff of Ed's boots, Roy looked up, music pausing. Ed was seized with the fear that Roy was sufficiently withdrawn, or upset, or unbalanced, or whatever the hell he was that he would turn away. That he would hide this revelation.

"Don't stop," Ed breathed, barely audible even in the sudden silence. After a still moment, a tiny smile crossed Roy's lips, and he closed his eyes again. His hands slowed, the returning music softer than before.

Ed stayed where he was, entranced. He had seen Roy concentrating before, but never with such emotion. His face showed nothing, but the changing tones of the music set Roy himself on display, sharp, languorous, dark, dancing. Pure. One last note was drawn out, sustained without break for so long Ed saw spots because he'd been holding his breath, waiting for it to end.

As Roy started to pack the instrument away again the passion faded out of the room. Ed didn't want it to go, didn't like the distant look that was back in Roy's eyes. He wanted to call back the brilliant intensity that had surrounded Roy while he played.

Well... there was another set of circumstances under which Roy often showed him something similar. And despite Roy's past claims of not being a sex maniac, it was an offer he never hesitated to accept when Ed made it. And then, maybe, he would be here and warm and... alive again.

As Roy settled, a bit wearily perhaps, on the foot of his bed, Ed came to him and lifted Roy's left hand.

"So that's where these came from," he said softly, brushing his thumb across the calluses on Roy's fingertips. Roy only lifted one shoulder, sketching a shrug.

"I haven't played often lately; they'll hurt tomorrow, a little." Ed was really starting to dislike the detachment in Roy's eyes. Time for a more direct approach, then.

"If you die doing this, the way you think you're going to," Ed growled, lifting Roy's chin until they were eye to eye, "I swear I'll bind your soul to your damn desk, and you'll spend the rest of eternity buried in paperwork."

That got a brief laugh, and Roy's eyes warmed, but he still didn't reach out for Ed and Ed was tired of waiting. He slid one knee onto the bed and closed the distance between them, the hand under Roy's chin tilting his head further back so that Ed could kiss him properly. Roy stiffened for a heartbeat, two, five, and then, surprising Ed yet again, relaxed, opening his mouth under Ed's. If Ed had expected anything, it was for Roy to react by pulling him down to the bed and kissing him senseless in retaliation. Instead, when they broke apart, Roy leaned back on his elbows, watching Ed from under his lashes.

With a mental shrug, Ed decided he could work with that, too. It wasn't the first time Roy had given him the come-hither routine. He toed off his boots as he climbed all the way onto the bed to kneel over Roy's hips. As an after-thought he got rid of his shirt, also. Roy did nothing as Ed unbuttoned his shirt as well, only watched with an odd waiting expression until Ed pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Then he stretched under Ed, curving his back, baring the line of his throat.

Ed paused. Did he...? Was he...? To test the hypothesis forming in the back of his mind, Ed leaned down and kissed the underside of Roy's jaw. Roy responded with a low sigh, letting his head fall back still further.

As if to let Ed take the lead. A tingle shot down Ed's nerves. He had thought about this before, but the only time Roy had ever invited it had been... different. That had been Ed's gift to Roy, and Roy had still been the one directing things. Now...

Why now? Did Roy simply want to return the gift?

"Roy," Ed murmured against his neck, "are you serious?"

"Are you?" Roy returned, with no inflection at all.

Ed considered for about half a second. Was he serious about making love to Roy? Easy answer. He leaned up and kissed Roy fiercely. "Yes."

When Roy opened his eyes and looked up at Ed he was completely present again, eyes heated. "Then don't stop," he whispered. Ed smiled slowly.

"I won't."

Ed trailed open-mouthed kisses across Roy's chest, and slid the fingers of his right hand, lightly, down Roy's spine. Roy arched up into him and moaned softly. Ed had to rein back an answer in his own throat at that husky sound; he couldn't remember Roy ever being so responsive so quickly before.

But, then, Ed had never been near while Roy prepared to kill someone. Maybe Roy needed to not think, tonight, needed to only feel. Needed to let someone else do the planning and maneuvering and considering.

Like how to best get their damn pants off. Ed growled a bit over the recalcitrant buttons.

He was interested to note, though, the way Roy gasped when Ed's metal fingers brushed against his stomach. He trailed them deliberately over Roy's hip, and a shudder swept through Roy. Ed smiled wickedly and set out to tease, little, random brushes of chill metal catching Roy's breath again and again while Ed's left palm slid, firm and slow, over Roy's skin, soothing. Roy's answer to Ed's kiss was a little wild, now, but his hands stayed light where they grasped Ed's hips.

Ed was discovering a few new things about Roy's body. He'd known that Roy's sensitive spots included the hollow of his shoulder and the palms of his hands. He'd known that Roy's ribs were usefully ticklish. He hadn't known that Roy liked to feel teeth on his throat, though he might have guessed that. He certainly hadn't known that rubbing the tendon that ran up the inside of Roy's thigh turned him limp and boneless.

Of course that only lasted until Ed ran his right thumb, delicately, up and down Roy's hardening length, and Roy arched up off the bed, every muscle tensed.

Ed understood, now, why Roy concentrated so intently on him when they were in bed. He'd known how overwhelming it was to experience the play of tension and relaxation, of building pleasure, but to watch it happening, to watch his own hands calling it out of Roy's body, fascinated him. The image of Roy calling music out of the violin flashed through Ed's mind.

He leaned over Roy, sliding his right hand between Roy's legs, back, parting him. Roy stretched, spreading his legs, inviting Ed further. But Ed kept his touch light, circling, never quite entering Roy's body. Roy twisted under him, panting for breath now, eyes closed, lips parted, and Ed had a hard time pulling his attention away long enough to fish in the nightstand and find a familiar bottle by touch.

He had no idea how Roy managed these things one handed. Ed used his teeth to help him open it.

And then he hesitated.

He knew that the sensible thing to do would be to go slow. The one other time they had done this it had taken a while for Roy to relax, and Ed certainly didn't want to hurt his lover. But the line of Roy's body, the flex of his hips as Ed's fingers slid into him, was suggesting something else, suggesting a welcome that sparked a fire in the pit of Ed's stomach.

The heat in Roy's eyes when he opened them only fanned it higher.

"Ed," Roy whispered, "now. Now." There was a tone in that velvet and steel voice Ed was far more used to hearing in his own. Need. Entreaty. It drew him like iron to a magnet. Screw slow, then.

Ed ran his hands up the backs of Roy's legs, and pressed into him, steady, deep. Roy's body let him in, heat so tight around him that Ed felt sweat starting on his skin.

"Yes," Roy breathed. "...yes..." There were more words, low and rough, but the hot shift of Roy's body drowned them out. Ed already knew what they came down to anyway; Roy had said it earlier.

Don't stop.

Ed bit his lip, no longer completely in control of his own movement as his hips flexed to drive him into the grip of that heat. He freed his still-slick left hand to close around Roy's length, and the words dissolved into soft, raw sounds. Ed bit down harder, wanting to hold on, to wait for Roy, but he could feel the edge, feel the shiver that started at the back of his neck and would sweep down...

It caught him by surprise when Roy's body seized him, and for an instant Ed was frozen by the shock. Then reflex drove him forward, and the heat closing around him stole his breath, his sight, stole everything but the electric tide pounding through him.

It finally left him slumped over Roy, forehead resting on his chest as they both gasped for air. When Ed finally levered himself up he wondered for a moment whether Roy was still conscious. He had never seen Roy in such a relaxed sprawl when he was awake. But Roy's eyes opened, slowly, full of lazy satiation. Ed felt rather smug about that, even if his legs did wobble a bit on his way to get a towel. He was especially pleased since it likely meant Roy would be interested in doing this more often, which Ed would very much like. Just the memory of Roy giving himself so freely to Ed's touch was enough to make him shiver.

When they had curled together under the covers, Ed's head on Roy's shoulder, Roy spoke very quietly.

"Thank you, Edward."

Ed woke up to the rustle of someone getting dressed. Since Roy seemed to be trying to keep quiet, Ed pretended to still be asleep.

At least, until Roy's fingers brushed lightly over his hair. Then Ed reached up and grabbed a handful of cloth.

"A desk," he reminded Roy without opening his eyes. "For the rest of eternity."

"I'll remember," Roy assured him, lightly.

"Besides," now Ed opened his eyes so he could give Roy a meaningful look, "we have to do this again sometime." He tugged Roy down to a hard kiss.

"I quite agree, my hawk," Roy laughed against his lips. Ed let him go.

"Gyrfalcon," he stated. "Don't let that be anything but the truth."

Roy straightened, dark eyes searching Ed's. Ed held that gaze with an effort, knowing he had just told Roy to kill.

"Who flies whom today?" Roy murmured, but Ed saw something relax in him. Roy touched Ed's lips with his fingertips and nodded.

And left.

Ed slouched in a library chair, staring at an open book. The same book he'd been staring at for the last three days. And, despite his love of and respect for books, he was about ready to hurl this one across the room from sheer nerves.

Where was Roy? He had said three days, it had been three days. If he'd managed to screw up and get himself killed, Ed really would...

"Research going well, Edward-kun?"

The deep, familiar voice struck through Ed like lightning. He closed his eyes, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

"Everything is fine," he managed at last, turning to see Roy Mustang, neat and precise as always, lounging against the shelves with a faint smile and pained eyes.

"It's time to be moving," Roy told him.

End

Ed: You know, this arc started with humor. How'd we wind up here?

Branch: This arc started with you, how do you think?

Ed: ...you have a point.

Tyger

Ohtori and Shishido finally come to terms with their attraction, and their partnership. Romance With Drama and Porn, I-4

Choutarou had learned years ago that a cool response was his best revenge on hecklers. So, when one of the second years suggested that Shishido-san must have done some extraordinary favors for Atobe to have arranged for the Shishido-Ohtori pair to play, despite Choutarou only being a first year, he didn't twitch. He wanted to feed the smirking bastard his own racquet, but he knew that wouldn't help anything in the long run.

For one thing, he knew no one actually believed any such thing. Shishido-san's... discussion with Atobe-senpai had been quite vehement and perfectly public. Half the club had hung around while Atobe-senpai had arranged for Choutarou and Shishido-san to play a match with the current Doubles Two pair. Their resulting win didn't count toward team rankings, since it had been after actual club practice time, and theoretically their coach was not aware of it. But Choutarou was quietly permitted to play as a pair with Shishido-san again. He had known there would be resentment, as they advanced, even without Atobe-senpai's silent warning just before their "trial" match began.

"If you think we aren't strong enough to be candidates for the Regulars, you're welcome to try proving it, Senpai," Choutarou suggested, calmly, now. The smirk turned into a grimace, which made him feel a little better. What he spotted over the heckler's shoulder made him feel a great deal better.

"That Shishido..." the second year spat, only to be cut off by a razor sharp voice behind him.

"Yeah? What about 'that Shishido'?"

Choutarou couldn't help a tiny smile as the heckler and his two friends whirled around to see Shishido-san leaning against the fence.

"You have a problem with me?" Shishido prodded, pushing away from the fence and advancing. "Or my partner?" he added, eyes narrowing.

He watched their disorderly retreat with a gleam of satisfaction, before sighing.

"It's fun to watch 'em run, but there are times I wish I had your cool, Choutarou. Furokawa's going to be a pain for weeks after this."

Choutarou bit back his initial response, but then thought again. This was Shishido-san, after all. His partner. So.

"I'm glad you don't, Shishido-san," he said, quietly. Shishido-san turned toward him, one winged brow lifting.

"Why not?" he wanted to know.

"It's... a cold way to be," Choutarou explained. "You're not a cold person."

Shishido-san's expressive mouth twisted, wryly.

"And you are?" he asked smacking Choutarou on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Don't give me that, Choutarou. Maybe you can fool the rest of them, but I know you better." Choutarou ducked his head.

"Yes. But you're... you're very passionate, Shishido-san. I'm not like that."

They walked in silence until he turned toward the classroom buildings.

"You have something else today?" Shishido-san asked, surprised.

"I wanted some extra time to practice with the piano this week. The tutor said it would be all right for me to come in late, as long as I lock up behind me."

"Yeah?" Shishido-san tipped his head to the side. "It bother you to have an audience?"

Choutarou was startled. Shishido-san had heard him play before, but usually by coincidence. He'd never asked to listen.

"It won't bother me," he said, at last, "though I'm afraid you'll be bored." Shishido-san's mouth quirked.

"Doubt it." He fell in beside Choutarou again.

All right, so Shishido-san didn't look bored, as he slung himself into one of the chairs in the second music room while Choutarou started working through his warmups. That was good. It made it easier to slip into the music when he started practicing for real, listening, feeling, for the moments when the flow hitched, places he needed to go back and smooth. When he snuck a look at Shishido-san, between pieces, he looked relaxed and contemplative, eyes half shut. It was a rare look for Shishido-san to wear, but Choutarou had seen it enough to know it wasn't boredom. In the end, he was comfortable enough to wrap up with a run through one of his own rare compositions.

He had written this one last year, trying to catch a moment in the music. It was a day he and Shishido-san had been playing each other, on one of the courts near Shishido-san's house, and a storm had driven them under cover. Shishido-san had stood at the very edge of the pavilion, staring raptly at the sky and laughing with each especially impressive crack of thunder. He had leaned into the storm, the way Choutarou had seen him lean into a good opponent. The idea of playing a storm had taken Choutarou's fancy, and he'd tried to sketch out, in music, what it might feel like.

He took a deep breath and let it out as the last chord slid through his fingers. The stillness just after was one of the things he played music for, the peace after the rush. When he looked up, he was almost surprised to see Shishido-san still there, eyes burning into him. Shishido-san stood, without speaking, came to Choutarou's side, gripped his shoulder and shook him, gently.

"And you think you aren't passionate? Choutarou, for a smart guy, you can be really dense sometimes. Just because you don't show it in many ways doesn't mean it isn't there," he said, seriously. "I haven't seen you underestimate yourself very often. Don't do it now."

To hear that from the one person whose judgment Choutarou was willing to trust as he would his own laid peace over him as deep as the stillness after a good performance.

"Thank you, Shishido-san," he murmured. Shishido-san smiled down at him, the small smile that meant something was going their way. The thought flickered across Choutarou's mind that Shishido-san was close enough to kiss him.

He almost swallowed his tongue in startlement. Where had that come from?

"Choutarou?" Shishido asked, looking concerned. "You all right? You looked kind of odd for a second, there."

"Yes, I'm fine," Choutarou assured him, automatically. "I think I just spaced out for a minute; it's been a long day."

"You can say that again, Mr. Two Club Overachiever," Shishido-san teased. "We'd better get you home before you fall asleep on your feet."

Choutarou laughed and agreed, but when he finally went to bed that night he didn't go to sleep for a long time.

It was not news to him that he was powerfully drawn to his partner. When he had spoken of Shishido-san being passionate he had left out the parts about how it infused everything he did. Every gesture practically glowed with it, like the corona during an eclipse. It fascinated Choutarou, and all the more for the contrast it made with his own reserve and containment. Their complementary natures were as much what made them an outstanding doubles pair as the similarity of their drive and will to succeed.

Choutarou had thought that was all it was.

He decided to test it with a little thought experiment, of sorts. He closed his eyes on the dark room, and cast his mind back to himself sitting at the piano and Shishido-san standing beside him. How would he have felt if Shishido-san had closed that last distance, run his hand up Choutarou's neck to tangle in his hair, leaned down and touched his lips to Choutarou's...?

Tingling heat shot through him, curling low in his stomach. Choutarou's eyes snapped open to stare at the darkness, breath fast, heart pounding. All right. So. Yes. He really was attracted to his partner. Fine.

Now, what on Earth was he going to do about it?

Choutarou's thoughts insisted on running in circles, and they were starting to make him dizzy. The most reasonable thing he could do was decide whether he thought Shishido-san shared his attraction or not, and either tell him, in the first instance, or do his best to ignore it, in the second. The problem came in step one.

Shishido-san sought him out, even when they weren't practicing. Shishido-san used a language of expressions that was just between them. Shishido-san acted like Choutarou's wellbeing was an extension of his own, and cared for it as matter-of-factly. Those were things that Choutarou had seen established couples do. But it could easily be that Shishido-san did all that because they were a team, and friends, without being at all attracted to Choutarou. Then again, he touched Choutarou far more easily than he did anyone else. But, then again, it could just be...

Around and around.

And underneath it all, the intuition that he should just speak up, pushing against the fear of damaging what they already had.

The court was one of the few places he could put it all aside, because a game was a game and training was training, and nothing interfered with that. But Shishido-san was starting to notice his distraction whenever Choutarou stood still for more than a minute. There were a few things about which Shishido-san could show great patience, but his partner holding out on him did not seem to be one of them. It only took a few weeks before he cornered Choutarou while they were packing up after practice.

"All right, Choutarou, give. What's got you so wound up, lately?" Shishido-san didn't look up from zipping his bag, but his tone was not casual. Choutarou bit his lip.

"It's nothing, Shishido-san, there's just been something on my mind."

"Yeah, I got that part. You're throwing yourself into games like you don't want to come out the other side." Shishido-san blew out an exasperated sigh, and stood directly in front of Choutarou. "C'mon, what's up?"

Choutarou couldn't quite bring himself to look Shishido-san in the face when he was so close, and contented himself with examining his partner's shoes instead. "It's nothing. Really," he murmured. He could hear the frown in Shishido-san's voice, when he spoke.

"Choutarou, you're starting to make me nervous, here. Come on, look at me." When Choutarou didn't look up, his voice lowered, half an order and half an entreaty, "Choutarou..."

That tone, and Shishido-san's hands closing over his shoulders, drove Choutarou's head up. Shishido-san was leaning forward, barely a hand-span away. His breath caught, and a shiver sheeted over him before he could stop it. Choutarou was sure his eyes were as wide as an animal's caught in oncoming headlights.

Shishido-san was his partner, the one he willingly shared his mind and heart with when they played; he knew Choutarou. Choutarou felt apprehension, but no surprise, to see Shishido-san's expression changing, the frown of irritation and concern giving way to surprise, to inquiry, to a thoughtful examination that finally faded into a look almost as wide-eyed as Choutarou's own.

"You're kidding me," he said, softly.

Choutarou wanted to look away again, but since he couldn't give himself a reason for doing so, any longer, besides cowardice, he swallowed hard and kept his eyes on Shishido-san's. His partner was very still for twenty heartbeats; Choutarou counted them. And then one of Shishido-san's hands rose to his chin, thumb settling against his cheek. Choutarou's breath stopped entirely.

"You sure?" Shishido-san asked, tone gentler than ninety-eight percent of the tennis club would probably ever credit. Choutarou remembered Shishido-san asking him the same thing, the first time they had talked about just how close they were becoming. Warmth started in his chest, unlocking his lungs.

"Yes," he whispered. Shishido-san's thumb brushed over his mouth, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. When he looked up again, Shishido-san was smiling, crookedly.

"Is this what you've been so knotted up over?" he asked. When Choutarou nodded, Shishido-san shook his head.

"My partner, the brilliant idiot," he said, mock-disgusted. "Even if I didn't want you too, did you think I'd be upset about it or something?"

Choutarou felt a flush rising in his cheeks, and glanced aside as far as Shishido-san's hand would let him.

"You should know better than that, by now," his partner admonished. "And, anyway, if I'd had any idea you felt like this I would have done something about it a lot sooner, believe me."

Choutarou looked back at Shishido-san, ruefully.

"Actually... I only realized a few weeks ago," he admitted. Shishido-san leaned over him, laughing softly.

"Choutarou," he chuckled, before his lips covered his partner's.

It was... Shishido-san. Impulsive, and casual, and impatient. Sharp and sleek. Warm and open. And Choutarou relaxed into that warmth, the way he always did.

"Well," Atobe-senpai murmured to Shishido-san, as practice broke up two days later, "that's certainly one way to increase the effectiveness of your combination."

"One more comment like that, Atobe, and I'm gonna see if that mouth of yours is big enough to fit your racquet into," Shishido-san growled back.

Choutarou steadfastly made as if he hadn't heard a thing, as Atobe-senpai strolled off, laughing low in his throat. He was deeply grateful that no one else seemed to have noticed anything; he really didn't feel that it was anyone's business but his and Shishido-san's. As they headed toward Shishido-san's house, it being his turn to host homework and snacks, Choutarou couldn't help asking, though.

"Shishido-san, why are you and Atobe-senpai like that? I mean," he hesitated, "you're... friends... aren't you?"

"Yeah, well," Shishido-san snorted. Then his mouth quirked, reminiscently. "It goes back a long way. Atobe and I were in the same class almost from the start, and it was hate at first sight." He glanced at Choutarou, with the tilt of brows that meant he was just a little embarrassed."We're both kind of attention hogs; even Atobe admits that, though he has different words for it, of course. I forget what we were even arguing about, actually. I do remember that he made one smart remark too many, and I hauled off and socked him one." Shishido-san grinned, showing a lot of teeth, at what seemed to be a happy memory. "I also remember being surprised that he gave as good as he got." The grin twisted. "Atobe has always fought dirty, unless he has a reason not to."

Yes, Choutarou had noticed that. He'd spared a moment to be glad, every now and then, that being one of Atobe-senpai's team was apparently sufficient reason.

"Well, one of the Elementary teachers had probably just been to a developmental psychology seminar, or something," Shishido-san continued, a bit tartly, "because they shut us up in a room together to cool down."

"Um," Choutarou commented.

"Yeah. Thing was, in a way it worked. We didn't spontaneously become buddies or anything like that, but we did agree that, while we hated each others guts, we were even more pissed off at the adults who thought we would fall for a set up like that." Shishido-san shook his head. "The older I get, the more I understand why Tou-san says they couldn't pay him enough to teach at Hyoutei. But it's been like that ever since. We have enemies in common, goals in common. And he doesn't try to wrap me around his finger, and I always give him straight answers." Shishido-san shrugged. "It works out."

Maybe, Choutarou reflected, as they made their way up to Shishido-san's room, they had both needed someone to be open with. Really open.

They shed their bags, but Shishido-san stopped him before he could pull out his books.

"You have anything that needs doing right away?" he asked. A tingle danced down Choutarou's spine.

"No," he answered, softly, taking a small step toward his partner.

"Good." Shishido-san smiled, slow and pleased, sapphire eyes darkening as he ran a hand up to the nape of Choutarou's neck and tugged him down to a kiss.

Choutarou pressed a little closer to Shishido-san's body, opening his mouth as the tip of Shishido-san's tongue skated over his lower lip. Shishido-san seemed to take the hint, because his lips curved against Choutarou's, and he pulled his partner down to his bed. Choutarou let out a tiny laugh when Shishido-san planted an elbow on either side of his head and just looked down at him with the glowing smile he gave Choutarou when they won a hard game. Choutarou reached up, and Shishido-san's smile curled in just a little at the edges as Choutarou ran his hands through the brush of thick, silky hair. It was soft against his palms.

"You're just going to look, Shishido-san?" he asked, moving one hand to touch his fingertips to his partner's mouth. He gasped when Shishido-san captured one, delicately, between his teeth, touching back with his tongue.

"Mmm," Shishido-san purred, letting go. "You mind if I touch?" His voice made Choutarou shiver, lower and huskier than usual, and the spark in his half-lidded eyes suggested just what kind of touching he meant.

"I don't mind," Choutarou whispered, a little breathless. He wasn't entirely sure, himself, how far he was ready to let this go, but he wanted Shishido-san to touch him. He wanted to add the warmth of Shishido-san's hands to the warmth of his partner's simple presence and smile.

"The Student Council are sadists," Shishido-san said, conversationally if a bit muffled against Choutarou's throat, as his fingers worked their way down Choutarou's shirt buttons. "They design these uniforms to be taken off, and then expect us to keep our minds on studying."

Choutarou's chuckle unraveled as Shishido-san's hands stroked down his chest, brushing his shirt aside. His breath escaped on a soft aaaahh when Shishido-san slid down him to trace the muscles of his stomach with a warm tongue. His insides felt shivery, uncertain, as if he'd stepped into a fast elevator down. When Shishido-san bit down, gently, it felt like a static shock, and Choutarou arched up off the bed with a sharp sound.

"Shishido-san!"

His partner moved back up to kiss him, pressing him down with the comforting weight of his body.

"Too much?" Shishido-san asked.

"I..." Choutarou actually couldn't make up his mind about that. He certainly didn't want to stop. So he asked something else, instead. "Shishido-san... would you mind? If I touch?"

Shishido-san grinned, and rolled them both over, taking Choutarou above him. "Feel free," he said.

The shirt was, as Shishido-san had pointed out, quick work, and Shishido-san made small, appreciative noises as Choutarou explored his chest with light fingers. It was when he got to the pants that Choutarou hesitated, glancing up at Shishido-san to make sure this would be all right. Holding Choutarou's gaze, reassuring him more by action than any words could, Shishido-san reached down and unfastened the button and zipper himself before leaving it to Choutarou again. Choutarou had to tear his eyes away from his partner's before he could continue.

Seeing Shishido-san lying naked on a bed was a very different matter than seeing him changing into or out of uniform, and it stopped Choutarou again, all his attention taken up with tracing the lines of Shishido-san's body, dark against the white sheets. A soft laugh drew his eyes up to Shishido-san's face, and his wicked smile, as he stretched like a cat, muscles shifting and flowing under his skin.

"Like what you see, Choutarou?" he asked, teasing.

Choutarou swallowed, and nodded, and came to him, touching his partner with something like wonder. Shishido-san's skin was fine-grained, smooth as he stroked across it, and his partner sighed and stretched again under his hands. A pleased smile curled Choutarou's own lips as he glanced down and noticed just how much Shishido-san was enjoying this. Slowly, hesitating a little, he reached down and curled his fingers around Shishido-san's length.

"Choutarou," Shishido-san breathed, harshly. "Oh, yeah."

Choutarou stroked him, gently. He hadn't quite realized, touching himself, how soft this skin was, and feeling the heat of someone else's arousal against his palm was... very different. He was breathing almost as fast as Shishido-san. Small things lodged themselves in his memory: the flex of Shishido-san's moan; the line of Shishido-san's leg as he drew one knee up; Shishido-san's hands fisting in the sheets, not trying to return anything yet, leaving this moment to Choutarou; the arch of Shishido-san's throat as he threw his head back, suddenly voiceless, hips thrusting up into Choutarou's hand; the way Shishido-san was still hot to his touch when he finally fell back, panting.

Choutarou was just starting to wonder about the mechanics of cleaning them up when Shishido-san slitted his eyes open and laughed. He fished around the headboard of the bed without looking, and extracted a box of tissues. When Shishido-san had applied those and tossed them over the side, he pressed Choutarou down and kissed him slowly.

"So, can I return the favor?" he asked, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

"I'd like that," Choutarou said, softly.

"See? I told you you were, so, passionate," Shishido-san observed as he stripped off Choutarou's remaining clothing. "Or maybe I should just say aggressive."

"Shishido-san," Choutarou laughed, feeling a blush cross his cheeks.

"Hmmm." Shishido-san covered Choutarou's body with his own, drawing a quiet gasp from Choutarou, before he spoke again. "You know, all things considered, it's probably all right to be a little less formal now."

Choutarou blinked up at him for a moment before he actually understood. The formalities were so automatic for him... But his partner had a point.

"Shishido," he essayed, a little shyly. His partner's bare name in his mouth somehow felt more intimate than the bare skin against his own.

"Mm. Better," his partner purred, nudging Choutarou's head up so he could lick teasingly at the tender skin under his jaw.

Choutarou closed his eyes. If what he wanted was the openness that his partner offered him so freely, it was only right... And this was his partner, he was safe here...

"Ryou," he whispered. He heard his partner's breath catch, and then he was being kissed, hard, caught up against Ryou's body so tight he almost couldn't breathe, though he didn't miss it just then, kissed again and again.

"Choutarou." His partner's voice was rough against his ear.

Choutarou was still a bit dazed when Ryou slid down his body, but Ryou's fingers stroking him hard focused his attention. The hot, wet slide of Ryou's tongue licking up his length, delicately as he might an ice cream cone he wanted to make last, knocked him back again. He shuddered at the soft, quick touches, moaning when the heat of Ryou's mouth finally closed around him. That heat raced through him, snatching him up like a wave ready to throw him to shore, and the speed of it might have frightened him without Ryou's hands to steady him, remind him of who was with him. Choutarou closed his own hands, hard, on Ryou's arms and let the wave of heat and pressure and pleasure take him, lift him, cast him forward and out of himself.

Ryou was holding him when the tremors running through him finally relaxed, and he turned his head into his partner's shoulder, shaken but pleased.

"All right?" Ryou asked, quietly. Choutarou nodded, and a thought struck him, prompted by the knowledge in his partner's voice when he asked.

"You've... done this before."

"Yeah; a fling here and there at the seminars and camps," Ryou answered, shrugging.

"I think I'm glad for that," Choutarou murmured, wrapping an arm around Ryou's waist. His partner chuckled.

"Good."

Choutarou lay, thinking about how comfortable Ryou's arms around him, and Ryou's hand rubbing his back, were. Comfortable, comforting, warm and natural. Intimate. He stirred.

"Ryou?" he started, still shy with his partner's name.

"Mm?" There was a happy, satisfied grin in that small noise, and Choutarou smiled before biting his lip.

"Will you mind if I call you by your family name, at school, still?" he asked, softly. "It's... this is..."

"Personal," Ryou finished for him, holding him tighter. "Of course I won't mind."

"Thank you." Choutarou settled a little closer, into peace deeper than he had ever felt, even with his music. Clearly, he thought, smiling to himself, the closeness and the touching hadn't been just because Ryou was his partner.

Clearly, there was no "just" about their partnership.

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

Puzzle

The Clue Trout descends upon Ryouma. Drama Finally Romance with Slight Porn, I-3

- Associated fanart: Momo and Ryouma during a fluffy moment, by Hikariblue.

"You sure you don't want to get that looked at?"

Ryouma rolled his eyes. If one more person asked him that, they were going to eat a tennis ball. "Yes, I'm sure," he sighed. "I banged my funny bone, that's all. You'd think I'd been in a traffic accident or something."

Momo looked stern, which almost made Ryouma smile. A year and a half ago, Momo would never have been able to pull the expression off. Ryouma was forming the theory that you could only learn it by being responsible for people two years younger who kept doing stupid things. Kachirou was very good at it, though too good natured to hold it for long.

"Don't give me that," Momo growled, "you know perfectly well it's a nerve cluster; of course everyone's worried."

"Inui-senpai said there was nothing to worry about as long as my grip kept coming back steadily," Ryouma argued, deciding that if he ever met the person who had injured Tezuka-buchou and thus been the ultimate cause of all this mother henning, they would regret it very deeply. "It has been. You're getting as bad as Oishi-senpai."

That succeeded in distracting Momo, and Ryouma did smile at the indignant expression on his friend's face. "You coming in?" he asked, opening his gate.

"For a while," Momo agreed, smiling back a little ruefully, which Ryouma took to mean he would let the subject be changed.

About time.

They were waylaid, however, by his dad's hail from the court.

"About time you got back! Come and play some real tennis."

Ryouma leaned against the porch, trying to decide whether it would be more trouble to play with a lingering handicap or to refuse and deal with the ragging. He didn't have any particular interest in telling his dad about today's little slip at practice, which argued against playing, but... He blinked as Momo stepped past him.

"Well, now, Ryouma's had a long day. If you want a game, why don't you play me?" It was less a request than a demand, and Ryouma's brows went up at the hard light in his friend's eyes.

His dad eyed Momo up and down, and the little smile that said Momentary entertainment, how nice crossed his face. "Why not," he murmured, and beckoned Momo onto the court.

Ryouma frowned as he watched them play. They were both acting strangely. His dad wasn't being quite his fully annoying self, and Momo was...

Momo was angry.

Not angry in the snarling-with-Kaidou-senpai sort of way, which wasn't really angry, though Ryouma couldn't say just what it was. Not angry the way he got at an opponent who ticked him off and who he wanted to beat. This was colder. His eyes were burning, but it was like the fire of the cutting torch in the art class studio—so focused down that the heat became sharpness. Ryouma had watched Momo play for years, and he knew Momo played hot; Momo liked it that way. He didn't stop to think, unless he was playing doubles and had to take a partner into account. He saw and he acted. It was the same way Ryouma had seen him do his math homework: writing down the answer immediately, and then going back to fill in the steps that led to it, because they were required.

This time, Momo was thinking. Watching, and testing, and watching again. He wasn't playing for the score, Ryouma realized, slowly. He was playing to find something out about his opponent.

Ryouma was confused. What could Momo want to know about his dad, that could make him this mad? Momo's eyes still had that bright glitter in them when the match ended. Ryouma didn't think he'd ever seen quite that look before.

"So," his dad asked, casually, "find what you want?"

Ryouma snorted to himself, confusion momentarily overcome by familiar exasperation. Of course his dad had spotted it.

"Not especially," Momo answered, evenly.

"Hm."

Ryouma sighed as his dad smiled, inscrutably, and strolled inside. He looked up at Momo, who had come to stand beside him.

"What was that all about?"

Momo shrugged. "You didn't want to mention that," he gestured at Ryouma's arm.

"Yes," Ryouma agreed, and waited. Momo's mouth quirked.

"And I didn't think you needed to deal with it today," he added, and quickly held up a hand. "I know, I know, overprotective mother hen." He made a mock tragic face. "Even after all this time you don't appreciate your senpai. Ah, I'm used to it."

Ryouma, caught between laughing and glowering, folded his arms and looked aside.

Thus, he was surprised when Momo's hand came up to cup the side of his face. He looked back around, eyes wide. He'd long since given up on enforcing any idea of personal space with Momo, but this was a little unusual.

"You should have someone you can actually trust, every now and then, that's all," Momo said. His mouth tugged up at one corner. "Someone who can talk, instead of meow."

And then the oddness of the moment seemed to reach Momo, too, and he dropped his hand and shouldered his bag.

"See you tomorrow," he told Ryouma, and made for the gate, leaving Ryouma staring after him and still wondering what that was all about.

Ryouma was still wondering at club practice the next day, and stalked around the courts with only half his attention on his team. When his Singles Three player nearly nailed him in the back with a wild ball he didn't even bother to glare.

"You need to retape your grip, Ougurou," he said, absently, swatting the ball back.

"Yes. Um. I'll do that now," Ougurou said, sidling away before Ryouma could change his mind.

And normally Ryouma would have called him out to demonstrate in action just how the problem could harm Ougurou's game. But he had other things on his mind today, and Kachirou seemed willing to take up the slack if the way Ougurou was shuffling in face of his lecture was any indication.

What had that been all about? It wasn't that he wasn't used to Momo touching him; in fact, if he were quite honest with himself he'd started to invite it. The contact was comfortable, and Momo was a good friend, after all. But that had been more than just friendly.

Ryouma stopped, and stared blankly through the fence. Just friendly. What was just friendly? What wasn't?

He started walking again, more slowly. He knew he didn't necessarily have the most normal view of these things. Apart from his dad's occasional jokes about wanting to grope his mom for old time's sake, at which point she offered to smack him one for old time's sake too, he didn't see any examples of anything from them. With his mom so busy with her job and the house, they didn't really spend that much time together, he guessed. And if Nanako was dating anyone, she didn't seem to have any intention of letting her aunt and uncle, or her cousin, know about it.

Not that he could blame her.

"Sagara, Tsunan, get back to work on your new formation," he directed his gossiping Doubles One pair, passing quietly behind them. Another day he might have been somewhat more amused that they jumped half a meter before stammering out affirmatives.

Maybe he should ask someone's advice on this. Except that the person he would normally ask about personal things was Momo. Besides, he didn't like having to ask.

He knew that he took his desire for self sufficiency from his mother; Nanako had commented on it before. Maybe he could take some methods from her, also. She was good at logic. So, logically, how to answer this question?

If his parents weren't any help, maybe he could compare the situation to someone else. Someone a little more average. So, who did he know who was more than friends?

Well, there was always Ann and Sakuno. Yeah, they would be a good comparison; Ann had a protective streak wider than Momo's. Ryouma figured it was probably genetic. How did she act around Sakuno?

She was almost always in contact with her, for one thing. A hand on her wrist, shoulders brushing, leaning against Sakuno, a hand around her waist. The more of those gestures Ryouma tallied up, the more unnerved he felt. That was the way Momo was around him, all right. And he hadn't noticed. Why hadn't he noticed?

Whether it was intuition or logic, the answer sprang up in his mind and rooted his feet to the ground. He hadn't noticed because it hadn't felt any different. He had always been comfortable around Momo, from the first day they met and he recognized the gleam of challenge in the eyes of the second year who had interfered to protect his kouhai.

Which raised the interesting question, had Momo noticed?

He could see about answering that later, Ryouma decided, briskly. Right now, he had things to be doing. Mind relieved for the moment, he called his team in and set them playing two on one, in rotation. The expressions of relief rather startled him, given how grueling this exercise got before too long, and he looked a question at Kachirou, who was smothering a laugh.

"They've been worried all day that you were distracted by thinking up something more, um, interesting for them," his vice-captain explained.

"Hm. I'll have something for tomorrow, then," Ryouma said, with a wicked smile. "Wouldn't do to let everyone down."

Kachirou lost the fight with his laughter, shaking his head.

Figuring out whether Momo had noticed proved more difficult than Ryouma had expected. Not because Momo was particularly difficult to read, but because Ryouma kept getting distracted. When Momo leaned against him, or sat behind him, or wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Ryouma kept forgetting to watch Momo because, now that he was noticing it, he was noticing how nice it felt.

And it did feel very nice. Having someone close to him, someone he could relax with because he knew for a fact Momo didn't mean him any harm, felt... warm.

In fact, he was starting to have to resist the urge to press closer, to invite Momo to hold him tighter.

At last, after a particularly unproductive day of staring at his History homework while his thoughts tripped over each other trying to observe Momo watching him, Ryouma decided, quite firmly and rationally he thought, that enough was enough. Logic was great, but Ryouma had known for a long time that instinct and action often had the edge. He clapped his book shut and tossed it off to one side.

Beside him, Momo looked up. "Homework that frustrating?" he asked with a grin.

"Actually, no," Ryouma declared. "Something else is, though."

And, as Momo was opening his mouth, probably to ask what, Ryouma turned and slung a leg over Momo's, settling comfortably astride his lap. Momo's mouth stayed open.

"Ah, Ryouma?" he managed, after a moment.

Ryouma spread his hands against Momo's chest, and felt his sudden intake of breath, watched his eyes widen. Momo's hands didn't seem to share the surprise, though, and closed firmly at Ryouma's waist. Mmm, yes; that was nice. Ryouma smiled. He was now prepared to bet that Momo, or at least the part of him in control of his hands, had been perfectly aware of how their touching had changed. Which raised yet another question.

"So, what's been taking you so long?" he asked.

Momo opened his mouth, closed it again, and growled. When he saw Ryouma's grin, he, too, seemed to decide that action was the best course, because he slid his hands up Ryouma's back, and pulled Ryouma against him, and caught Ryouma's mouth with his. Ryouma didn't make it easy for him; he was laughing. Momo persisted, though, tracing the curve of Ryouma's lips with his tongue, kissing the corner of his smile. And Ryouma finally sighed, and leaned against him, and kissed back.

The feeling of Momo's arms this tight around him, and Momo's tongue playing tag with his, was a lot more than just warm.

Momo drew back a bit. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" he murmured against Ryouma's mouth.

"Very sure," Ryouma told him, repressively, and rocked forward to kiss him again.

Oh.

A lot more.

If the groan that tangled with his in the middle of their kiss hadn't been enough to tell him, he could feel, now, that Momo was enjoying this as much as he was. Experimentally, Ryouma shifted, rocking their hips together again. Heat tingled through him, and he heard a soft, wordless sound in his own throat. Momo leaned his head back against the bed behind him, but if he meant to catch his breath it backfired. Ryouma took the opportunity to taste the skin under Momo's jaw, and they both gasped as their bodies pressed flush together.

Ryouma's hands moved down Momo's body, almost involuntarily, because he wanted more. More contact. And clothes were very much in the way, though not for long. Momo bit back a moan as Ryouma's fingers brushed against his skin, curled around his cock. Ryouma rather liked that sound. He liked it more when he felt Momo's fingers shaking just a little as he loosened Ryouma's pants and slid a hand inside.

And then Ryouma kissed Momo again, hard, to muffle his own harsh moan. Shivers coursed through him, trembling out from Momo's touch. Their fingers tangled together as Ryouma pressed closer, feeling Momo's other hand smoothing up and down his back, and he wound his own free arm around Momo's shoulders to brace himself against the flickering, shuddering heat.

"Ryouma," Momo whispered, and Ryouma buried his head against Momo's shoulder, pressing his lips against the skin of Momo's neck, biting down with the first surge of pleasure that wrung his entire body. He shuddered, hearing Momo's sharp gasp, riding the fire that twisted through him again and again. It was too much, in the end, and he heard his breath sob through his chest as the fire threw him loose, falling...

But he was leaning against Momo, and Momo was holding him. He couldn't be falling. The hot pleasure let him back down into warmth that curled around him, gently. Both of them stayed where they were, and Ryouma listened to Momo's breath calm against his ear. Their fingers were still tangled together, and, while messy, there was something oddly comforting about the feeling.

At last, Momo stirred, shifting to fish in his pocket and produce a packet of tissues. Ryouma stifled a laugh at the practicality, and didn't look up as they cleaned themselves off.

Momo's fingers brushed over his hair. "You all right?" he asked, quietly.

"Of course," Ryouma told him, raising his head to look Momo in the eye.

Those eyes were just a little soft, and lit with a smile at Ryouma's answer. Ryouma bent his head back down to Momo's shoulder to hide what he was fairly sure was a blush (of all things!), and locked his arms around Momo.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, again, though a smile.

Momo's fingers rubbed up and down his neck. "Good."

It was possible, not likely but possible, that Ryouma was being paranoid. He was nearly positive, however, that Inui-senpai had been spending more time than usual watching him at unofficial practice, today. It was starting to make him a bit twitchy. He edged around the other side of Momo on the pretext of getting his water bottle, and leaned briefly against Momo's shoulder for reassurance.

A quick glance showed Inui-senpai scribbling furiously.

"Momo-senpai, has Inui-senpai had a new project going or something?" Ryouma asked, cautiously.

"Not that he's mentioned," Momo answered, a bit uneasily.

The soft laugh behind them was not reassuring, despite its warmth, and Ryouma turned to give Fuji-senpai a wary look. While Fuji was an excellent source of protection from everything from too-loud teammates to malicious opponents, and one Ryouma was perfectly willing to take advantage of, the flip side was that Fuji tended to regard protectees as his personal source of amusement.

He certainly seemed amused by something, today.

"It's just Inui's way of wishing you well," Fuji-senpai told him. "Come play a set with me, Echizen."

Ryouma hefted his racquet and headed back to the court. He wasn't going to ask. It just wasn't worth the trouble, and answers usually presented themselves sooner or later if he just let it ride. Sometimes his subconscious just needed time to decide what Fuji-senpai was talking about. They were, in fact, in the fifth game before Ryouma's backbrain piped up with a suggestion of what Fuji-senpai's rather cryptic remark might have implied. His swing went wild, and he nearly tripped over his own foot before slamming to a halt and staring across the net at his senpai's blandly inquiring look.

It showed? And Inui-senpai was recording this in one of his damned notebooks?

Ryouma shot a blistering glare at Inui-senpai, who smiled cheerfully back. He growled very quietly, and directed an even more searing look back at Fuji. Fuji-senpai wasn't even attempting to look innocent, any more, and his eyes were laughing.

Before Ryouma could attempt bodily harm against his grinning seniors, however, Tezuka-buchou turned from coaching Momo through a speed exercise and narrowed his eyes at them.

"Fuji. Inui." An admonition to knock it off and get back to work hung, unspoken, after their names, and, with a last chuckle, Inui tucked away his notebook and Fuji backed off to receive Ryouma's next serve. "Echizen, mind your concentration," Tezuka-buchou added.

Ryouma ground out an acknowledgement, and stalked back to serve. He was going to kill them both, he really was. Later, because Tezuka-buchou had a point; nothing interrupted the game, not even senpai who were getting far too much amusement out of Ryouma's... relationship with Momo. At least, he grumbled to himself, there was still a handful of months to go before they would be on the same campus again. He could hope they wouldn't be smirking quite so hard by then.

When practice ended, though, and Fuji-senpai's hand fell on his shoulder, Ryouma's mistrustful glance met an unusually soft smile. Ryouma looked aside, stepping firmly on the urge to squirm, and Fuji-senpai squeezed his shoulder, companionably, and let him go. None of them were smirking as Momo draped an arm over his shoulders.

"Come on, Ryouma, let's get something to eat; I'm starved!"

"You're always starved, Momo-senpai," Ryouma pointed out, going along easily.

The looks that followed them, as they left, might even have had an edge of affection.

All right, maybe he wouldn't actually kill them.

End

Transpose

Heat, tennis, sex. Porn With Insights, I-4

Full summer had arrived, bringing Keigo's seasonal temper with it. It was beneath him to be cranky, but the heat made him restless. This was the one time of year when he genuinely envied Jirou's ability to sleep through anything, including heat waves.

The outdoor courts in the city became unspeakably muggy and sticky in the depths of summer. Keigo was extremely grateful that, this year, Tezuka had finally seen reason and agreed that their matches would be better held on the court at the Atobe house, where there was fast recourse to air conditioning. It was no great problem to chase off the staff, who didn't really want to be out in this heat either, though the butler had given him a suspiciously pleased look while commenting on how nice it was that he had a friend who could visit so casually.

On second thought, Keigo imagined that Akihito was probably getting as tired of Keigo's public pose as Keigo himself was. He'd always supported it cheerfully enough, but after six years it was undoubtedly getting old for both of them.

Besides, he was right. It was nice that Tezuka could visit and give Keigo a chance to work off his summer induced agitation.

Keigo stalked to his end of the court and rounded on Tezuka, waiting. His breathing deepened as Tezuka set himself, and he could feel his focus narrowing. The world ended at the square of chain link surrounding them. Response danced in every fibre of his muscles, waiting to leap out and answer his opponent's moves. Tezuka cast the ball upwards and Keigo saw the trail it left in the air, was moving even as Tezuka's racquet finished its arc.

He loved the speed of their games, the immediacy. And, when it came right down to it, the simple, unfettered force. Neither of them would ever hold back, and that release intoxicated him. All the tension he held around himself day by day, and honed to a tool that could shape his future, broke loose and rushed out from him, through him, like a wind storm. Transparent. Overwhelmingly powerful. Terrifying. Uplifting.

In this season, in this mood, it was even more. His restlessness drove him, flying ahead of the storm, seeking to spend himself into calm. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, playing against Tezuka brought him to that calm. Other times he had to settle for the physical lassitude of worn out muscles.

His teeth clenched as he drove back a smash. It seemed that today might be one of the latter times.

It was a long game, and perhaps his edge of desperation was an asset of sorts, because he finally won it. But the restlessness still snapped through him. As he and Tezuka made for their water bottles, Keigo found himself wishing that the match hadn't ended, that it could keep going for a while longer, even though they were both wringing wet and gasping for breath. As the sunlight glowed on Tezuka's skin, Keigo found himself wanting, very much, to keep going.

And maybe, he thought suddenly, maybe he could.

The restlessness lifted his hand, and Keigo combed Tezuka's hair back with his fingers. With his focus still limited to Tezuka himself, it made perfect sense to step in close enough to slide his mouth over Tezuka's.

And perhaps Tezuka agreed that this was simply a continuation of the game by other means, or perhaps they were just both too tired to bother stopping themselves. After a single breath, Tezuka's arm curled around Keigo, pulling him firmly against Tezuka's body. Both Keigo's hands found their way under Tezuka's shirt, sliding up the sweat-slick length of his back, palms noting every curve and plane. He tangled one leg around Tezuka's and breathed in Tezuka's sigh. He felt Tezuka turning them both, felt the fence against his shoulders, shivered. He closed his hands over Tezuka's hips and pulled Tezuka, hard, between his legs. His fingers tangled in Tezuka's hair again, as Tezuka's mouth moved down his throat. Tezuka's hips flexed into his, driving him against the fence, against Tezuka's hands as they slid down past Keigo's waistband.

"Tezuka," Keigo whispered, "yes, do it." He felt Tezuka's breath draw in against his neck.

"Atobe..."

"Now," Keigo urged, drawing back far enough to yank down all the interfering cloth and stroke between Tezuka's legs. The sound Tezuka made was too harsh to call a moan, the velvet voice rough against Keigo's ear.

And then Tezuka was slipping down his body, far enough to lift Keigo's legs, and Keigo knew he was going to have diamonds printed into his back from the fence, and he didn't care. He was still running ahead of the storm, and this, this might be enough to calm him. His hands clenched hard on Tezuka's shoulders, and he pressed all the tension of his body out to his hands, enough to let Tezuka...

...in. Burning. Stretching him apart. Rough and...

...hot. And Tezuka paused.

"Atobe," he breathed, questioning.

"Don't stop."

"Keigo..."

"Don't stop."

Tezuka's hand snaked between them, and strong, calloused fingers stroked up Keigo's cock. He tried to arch into that touch and couldn't, and then Tezuka was driving into him, hard and deep, and they were both moving, bodies never parting. The burning heat of the air, of the sunlight, of Tezuka inside him drowned Keigo's senses, twined fire through every vein. He shuddered as the heat built in him, higher with every layer of sensation, pleasure shivering on the edge of bearable. He moved to meet it, as he always moved to meet Tezuka's focus, Tezuka's hands, racing, immediate, brilliant, and the fire rushed out, taking his breath more thoroughly than the longest match they had ever played.

They sank down in a loose tangle of limbs, and Keigo leaned his head back against the chain link. He felt Tezuka's forehead fall to his shoulder. They were silent for several long minutes.

"Shower?" Keigo suggested, at last, with the casualness of exhaustion.

"Good idea," Tezuka agreed in a similar tone.

It took another few minutes before they actually managed to get up.

Keigo had long ago decided that money wasn't everything, but having it certainly made some things easier. For example, money, and Grandfather's indulgence, had provided changing rooms with shower and bath right off the court. He had rarely been happier for them. He pulled Tezuka under the water with him, not least so that he would have someone to lean on if his legs decided to give out. They were considering it, he could tell. He sighed, happily, and stretched up into the spray, relaxed for the first time in days.

Tezuka was looking amused, possibly over Keigo's expression.

"Hold still," he murmured, and took the soap to wash Keigo's back. Keigo was pleased, if a bit surprised. He hadn't really taken Tezuka for the sort to indulge in affectionate gestures afterwards. He was more surprised to feel Tezuka's hands on his hips, and Tezuka's thumbs gently spreading him open. Checking for bleeding, he realized. He snorted.

"I'm fine, Tezuka. I know my own limits," he said.

"Do you?" Tezuka sounded curious. Keigo waved a hand.

"And affair here and there at the seminars and camps. You know what it's like."

"Once or twice," Tezuka admitted. His arms closed around Keigo. "Feeling better, now?"

Keigo started, and then laughed, leaning back against Tezuka.

"You know me too well," he accused.

"I know you, period, Keigo," Tezuka observed. The intimacy of his given name made Keigo pause. He turned his head enough to see Tezuka out of the corner of his eye.

"Isn't that what I just said?" he asked, quietly.

Tezuka said nothing, just bent his head to place a kiss on Keigo's shoulder, and Keigo slowly relaxed. It was nothing new. Not really. More like a piece of music, written for violin, played on the flute instead.

They stood together under the water for a long time.

End

Pace

Tezuka convinces Atobe to take things a little slower. Porn With Insights, I-4

Keigo sat in Tezuka's kitchen and reviewed the circumstances. Tezuka's parents and grandfather had taken a week's vacation to visit his aunt, the grandfather's only other child. So, for a week, Tezuka was in sole possession of the house.

To be perfectly frank, Keigo was nearly slain with envy. He really thought he might sell his soul for the glorious peaceful silence of a house to himself for just twenty-four hours, let alone a full week.

Tezuka, however, apparently wanted company, and had invited Keigo home with him at the end of this Thursday's fishing. He had offered to cook whatever of their catch was suitable to the purpose, having packed along a small thermal bag to bring the fish back in. Tezuka was currently engaged in poaching the fish with ginger shoots. This otherwise blameless activity was holding all of Keigo's attention, because the look in Tezuka's eyes at one or two points during the afternoon indicated to him that his fishing partner had, to put it euphemistically, plans for the evening.

Keigo decided it was about time to test his hypothesis. He leaned back in the kitchen's sole chair, which he had, of course, appropriated.

"Just ginger?" he asked.

"You had something else in mind?" Tezuka inquired, without turning.

"Just wondering whether ginseng or anything similar was going to make an appearance," Keigo drawled. That got Tezuka to turn around, and he left the fish for a moment to come and stand over Keigo. He reached out and trailed his fingers down the underside of Keigo's jaw.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he stated, softly. Keigo's eyes lidded, and he gave Tezuka a lazy smile.

"Perhaps not," he murmured. Hypothesis confirmed, he decided, as Tezuka returned to preparing dinner.

The fish was excellent.

He accepted Tezuka's invitation to see his room as demurely as possible, and almost laughed at the tiny smile Tezuka showed him that said, yes, they both knew exactly what was going on, but it was amusing to play out the game of manners anyway. When they got there, though, it was Tezuka's turn to chuckle, because Keigo immediately made for his bookshelves and couldn't resist critiquing the collection.

"...and not nearly enough epic poetry. Really, Tezuka, I'm not suggesting you take up Milton, but with your taste for history I would at least expect Virgil." He paused. "Nietzsche, hm? Now that's one I wouldn't have thought of you."

"Even when the mouth lies, the way it looks still tells the truth," Tezuka quoted in German. Keigo turned to find him lying on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He came to stand beside the bed.

"I suppose it does," he agreed, looking down. At the moment, Tezuka's mouth was both soft and serious. Tezuka held out a hand to him, and Keigo took it and let himself be pulled onto the bed. He plucked off Tezuka's glasses as Tezuka leaned over him. Tezuka didn't comment.

"Keigo. Will you let me go slowly this time?" he asked, instead. Keigo grinned.

"You want a long game, Tezuka?" He stretched, provocatively. "We can do that."

Tezuka's mouth was still soft and serious as he kissed Keigo, and it took Keigo entirely by surprise when Tezuka's hand slid between his legs and stroked.

"And here I thought you said slow," he gasped, arching into that unexpected heat.

"I did," Tezuka murmured against his lips. Keigo shivered.

"Aaaahh... You could have just said you wanted to tease me," he pointed out a bit breathlessly. Tezuka's hand stilled.

"I don't." Keigo eyed him skeptically, and he shook his head. "The point of teasing is to frustrate." A wry smile curved his mouth. "That's Fuji's forte, not mine. What I want is to pleasure you, Keigo."

Keigo lay, looking up at the clear, piercing eyes above him. He had never said in so many words that he was a dedicated sensualist, but it wouldn't have been that hard to figure out from their conversations. Especially not after the three week long debate over Schiller. And this, his rival, his companion, his friend, the one who saw him, and touched him, and understood, wanted him happy, pleased. Pleasured.

Keigo closed his eyes and whispered, "Kunimitsu."

Kunimitsu's mouth found his again, tongue curling around his own and drawing him out, and Tezuka's hand was moving again, fondling him, and this time Keigo gave himself over to the heat without hesitation.

Kunimitsu made fairly short work of their clothes, but missed no chance to stroke Keigo's skin, trace the lines of bone and muscle. Keigo basked in the glow of those touches, purring as he stretched into the space Kunimitsu's hands sketched for his body. His gaze followed as Tezuka drew a little away, at last, reaching for the bedside stand.

And then he had to pause and blink.

A diffuser. Normally, the cup on top held water, and a few drops of oil or flower petals. Somehow, as he watched Kunimitsu dip his fingertips into it, he doubted that was water in there now. He laughed softly, and bent one leg as Kunimitsu reached under him, slick fingers slipping between his cheeks.

Warm.

Keigo sighed as the warmth stroked him, not entering but circling, massaging. Languid heat washed over him, seeping out from that gentle touch, loosening his whole body.

When two fingers finally slid into him it pulled a long, low moan from his throat. They passed gently, so gently, over the place the flashed fire up his spine, and Keigo tensed, pressing into it. Kunimitsu leaned down against him, speaking low in his ear.

"Relax. Relax for me, Keigo, and just feel. Please."

After a long, shuddering moment, Keigo managed to let the tension go again, and Kunimitsu's fingers moved, slowly, and it was suddenly... more.

Not fire but lava, not a flare but a presence, and Keigo sank down into sensation that didn't build but sustained. And now Kunimitsu's tongue slid down the side of his neck, lapped over his nipples, brushed warm and velvety over his stomach. It was all Keigo could do to keep breathing as Kunimitsu's fingers left him and returned, hot, now, inside him. The silky pleasure was building again, burning again, and Keigo drew Kunimitsu's mouth back up to his.

"More?" Kunimitsu asked, voice husky. A long, powerful shudder rippled through Keigo's body.

"Yes."

When Kunimitsu drew him up onto his knees, Keigo found that he needed to lean against Kunimitsu's support, behind him, because his muscles were uninterested in holding him up. He let his head fall back with a long, harsh breath as Kunimitsu passed one hand down his chest, down his stomach, to grasp and stroke him. The stretch and pressure of Kunimitsu thrusting into him, slow, slow and hard, drowned his senses again in thick, hot pleasure. Individual sensation was lost. He couldn't have said immediately what was in front of his eyes, could only hear Kunimitsu's low moan beside his ear, could only feel heat sweeping up every nerve and Kunimitsu's body against him, holding him, driving him under...

...the heat.

Kunimitsu's arms were still around him when Keigo caught his breath again. They loosened when he stirred, but he only turned until he could rest against Kunimitsu's shoulder, and after a moment the arms draped around him again.

"You're right. You don't tease," Keigo murmured. A wordless sound of agreement answered him. Keigo looked up and surprised a look on Kunimitsu's face that bore some resemblance to his expression when he won a match. Fiercely satisfied.

Keigo thought about that automatic comparison for a moment, and decided perhaps it wasn't so automatic after all. Kunimitsu looked like he had succeeded in something that mattered to him, and Keigo didn't really think that drowning his lover in pleasure would merit quite that expression. A long game, Keigo had said earlier. Was this a longer game than he'd thought? He combed through his memories of recent interactions between them, and then further back, and then still further.

At last, he leaned up on one elbow and brushed Kunimitsu's hair back from his face so he could look him in the eye.

"You've been... courting me," he asserted. "Since the spring, haven't you?" Still eyes looked up at him.

"I took the opportunity that presented itself."

Keigo decided that was as good as an admission, considering the source.

"All for this?" he wanted to know.

"When I saw you, at the lake, I wondered if we could give each other some peace, as well as the balance we already had," Kunimitsu explained.

Keigo brushed his fingertips over Kunimitsu's lips.

"Peace?" he asked. Kunimitsu ran his fingers through Keigo's hair and smiled.

"Yes."

"You're completely mad, you realize that, of course," Keigo told him, conversationally.

"Perhaps," his lover replied with every evidence of serenity. Keigo laughed, and slid back down to lie against him.

"Kunimitsu," he whispered.

End

A/N: Ginseng has an old reputation as an aphrodisiac.

Feels Like Home

Atobe decides to turn the tables. Porn With Characterization, I-4

One of the things Kunimitsu found most fascinating about Keigo was how changeable he could be. He could be accommodating one moment and utterly intransigent the next. And there was no guaranteeing that either was genuine, not simply a lever to turn his audience to his hand. The only time Kunimitsu was entirely sure of his honesty was on the court.

Or, of late, in bed. Between them, it almost came to the same thing.

Normally Kunimitsu simply had to be grateful for his years of experience with Fuji's social duplicity, which gave him some preparation for riding out Keigo's occasional, mercurial enthusiasms with some degree of equanimity. Though he only pointed out that fact when he had some reason to want to rile Keigo. Today called more for bemusement than equanimity, actually.

Kunimitsu had known that Keigo had strong opinions on music. He had known that Keigo enjoyed classical music. He had known that Keigo's taste had some odd quirks, after coming across his copy of Bach pieces played on synthesizer. He had not quite expected that, upon his confession that he was entirely unfamiliar with American blues and country music, he would be more or less dragged to Keigo's room and planted on an enormous floor pillow at what Keigo claimed was optimal distance from his impressive array of speakers in order to listen to some of Keigo's collection.

Upon completing these arrangements, Keigo had promptly retired to his couch with a copy of The Frogs and seemed to be ignoring Kunimitsu's presence.

Definitely bemused.

He had to admit, the music was interesting. The woman singer had an impressive range, and a powerful voice, clear and throaty by turns. He could only pick out about two thirds of the words, but what he did understand veered between brash and poetic.

Perhaps it wasn't so surprising that Keigo liked it.

When the music ended, he stayed reclined on the pillow, looking up at Keigo's ceiling. One verse had stayed with him, echoing in his head.

Now, we have learned to build
Out of concrete, out of steel,
And our buildings stand a thousand years and then
Even they are bound to fall.

But the women cross the river
Never learned to build a wall.

Keigo entered his field of vision, and stood looking down at him.

"Kunimitsu?"

"It's... good," Kunimitsu said, quietly. He and Keigo were both very accomplished at building. That song made him wonder what it would be like to not be. Another line returned to him. The women cross the river, they can kill you with their eyes. That he had felt. Perhaps they were closer to living without walls than he had first thought.

When they were honest with each other.

And perhaps Keigo saw his thoughts in his eyes now, because his own eyes darkened. Kunimitsu shifted under the heat of that look, and lifted a hand to Keigo.

Keigo sank down to kneel over his body, and twined his fingers through Kunimitsu's hair. The force of his kiss came as no surprise; Keigo was an aggressive lover as often as he was playful or languid. Kunimitsu hesitated as his hands found Keigo's back, though. There was something different this time. Something in the slide of Keigo's tongue against his, in the hand tilting his head back. Something in the way Keigo held his body over Kunimitsu's, not touching yet.

Kunimitsu's breath tripped as the difference slid into focus. There was no hint of pliancy in Keigo's movement.

In the abstract, he'd known this was coming from the start. It would have been absurd to imagine that Keigo would be willing to give way to him always. In a way, Kunimitsu was surprised it had taken this long for Keigo to decide to turn the tables. But that didn't really lessen the immediate shock.

Kunimitsu's effort to rearrange his expectations was caught short when Keigo dipped his head and closed his teeth over Kunimitsu's throat. His body snapped taut as a drawn bow against the one above him, breath leaving him in a sharp, uncontrolled sound, and he shivered as Keigo drew away, slowly, lips whispering after the sharp scrape of teeth. Kunimitsu lay, shaken, as Keigo cupped both hands around his face.

"You've never done this the other way around, have you?" Keigo murmured. Kunimitsu shook his head, unwilling to trust his voice. Keigo's hand trailed down his chest as he leaned forward to breathe against Kunimitsu's ear. "You know what I want, though."

Kunimitsu reflected that Keigo had a significant advantage when it came to these things, because if ever a voice was made for seduction, it was Keigo's, with a tone like sandwashed silk stroking bare skin.

"I want to see this powerful body spread out under me," his lover continued. "I want to hear your voice roughen and break because of what my hands are doing. I want to feel you sigh because I'm inside you. And I want you to feel what it's like, Kunimitsu. What it's like to let go. To let someone else take trouble for your pleasure." His hand traced the tension in Kunimitsu's muscles, and he shook his head a little. "I won't do anything to hurt you, Kunimitsu. If you don't trust my gentleness, at least trust my skill."

That was such a Keigo thing to say that Kunimitsu lost a bit of tension in a smile.

"That isn't it," he answered, quietly. "I just... didn't expect to... like that." It was the intensity of his own response that shocked him, the rush of heat that had answered Keigo's gesture of dominance. He had not expected it to arouse him.

He was also surprised to look up and see Keigo regarding him with some exasperation.

"Kunimitsu," Keigo sighed, "pleasure is pleasure. You can't give any mind to what lesser people think about giving or receiving it."

That, too, was so purely Keigo that Kunimitsu couldn't restrain a chuckle. On the other hand, it did make sense of why Keigo had been willing to receive from Kunimitsu at all. Sometimes, Keigo's airy disregard of any stricture that happened to inconvenience him did have advantages. Kunimitsu brushed the backs of his fingers against Keigo's cheek.

"Come, then," he invited.

Keigo's mouth covered his again, as Keigo undid the buttons of his shirt and brushed it aside. Kunimitsu let his head fall back, let the shudders run through him, at the sharp catch of Keigo's teeth against his throat, again, and nipping at the shivering muscles of his stomach, and at Keigo's fingers drawing light patterns over his shoulders and collarbone. Those long fingers undid the button at his waist delicately enough that they never touched his skin, and somehow that care and control called out a deeper shiver than anything else.

Having dealt with the last fastenings, though, Keigo chose to coax off Kunimitsu's shirt first. And then, with the kind of caprice that could only be deliberate, rose and slowly stripped off every thread of his own clothing. Kunimitsu wondered whether Keigo was trying to unsettle him, keep him off balance. Or maybe it was the reverse, because the bare line of Keigo's body leaning over him was familiar. Keigo smiled at Kunimitsu's faint sigh, and his tongue stroked the hollow of Kunimitsu's shoulder.

His left shoulder.

Kunimitsu's hands closed hard over Keigo's ribs as a violent shudder tore though him. Why was he remembering that first match now?

"Not to injure, Kunimitsu," Keigo said, low, "but isn't that how we are? It matters who wins, but it matters more that we play with everything. I don't want anything more than everything you are."

It made perfect sense, which was probably why Kunimitsu had sought more from Keigo than the occasional game in the first place. Giving everything. Accepting everything. That was, indeed, how they were. A soft moan rose in his throat as Keigo's tongue caressed that tender skin again. And then the inside of his elbow. And then the inside of his wrist. Those soft, sliding touches over pulse points tingled, rippling out though his blood, and Kunimitsu was gasping by the time Keigo reached his palm.

Midnight eyes gazed down at him as Keigo took Kunimitsu's fingers in his mouth, tongue curling around each one and stroking up the sides, teeth nipping at the tips. Keigo drew back only to trace the lines of Kunimitsu's palm with the tip of his tongue before sucking two fingers in again. One hand drifted down, trailed over Kunimitsu's stomach, between the open edges of his pants, and drew a thumb down the hard length still covered by smooth cotton, suggesting, promising. Keigo's tongue sliding over his fingers, and Keigo's fingers brushing over his cock somehow slid together into a single touch like an electric shock.

Kunimitsu felt like a plucked string, held between those two points of contact, vibrating to a single note. It startled him, and he tensed against it. That only made it strong enough to force a harsh sound from him. Even Keigo's full weight covering him didn't damp that vibration completely.

And then Keigo brushed back his hair, and his mouth closed on Kunimitsu's ear. Every muscle in Kunimitsu's body seemed to unstring itself at once, and his bones started to melt.

Trust Keigo to go straight for the weak point.

Kunimitsu made a low, soft sound and closed his eyes, turning his head to give Keigo a better angle.

"There, now," Keigo whispered, between nibbles. "You're extremely responsive when you're not thinking, Kunimitsu. I didn't quite expect that."

Kunimitsu didn't bother to reply; he wasn't sure he could at the moment. He could barely gather the coordination to shift his weight as Keigo drew off the last of his clothing, and didn't move while Keigo padded briefly into his en suite bathroom to fetch something. Kunimitsu didn't see what it was, as Keigo dropped it beside them, but given the circumstances he could make an educated guess. Keigo settled between his legs, and suddenly Kunimitsu felt as though a flock of butterflies were fluttering against his nerve endings. Keigo slanted a look at him, and then pressed an open mouthed kiss to the inside of his knee, tongue curling around the tendon behind it. The lips against his skin curved into a smile at the harsh breath that drew out of him.

"Mmmmm," Keigo murmured. "You let go more easily than I thought you would. Enjoyable, isn't it?"

He laid a path of kisses down the inside of Kunimitsu's thigh, and the last one became a gentle bite that somehow turned Kunimitsu's half-tensed muscles to water. As his legs fell further open a detached corner of Kunimitsu's mind noted that Keigo was well on his way to getting everything he'd said he wanted. From the lazy smile Keigo wore as he stroked a hand down Kunimitsu's stomach, he was well aware of the fact.

And then the wet heat of Keigo's mouth closed over his cock, and detachment fled. Keigo's tongue fulfilled what his fingers had promised earlier, sliding against him, flirting, slow and sensuous, twining around him and pulling him toward the edge of pleasure, before he drew away, leaving Kunimitsu panting. His breath left him entirely, on a small aaahh, as Keigo's fingers slipped under him, warm and slick, pressing slowly into him, answering the yearning Keigo's mouth had roused.

Keigo's timing was flawless, as usual. The strangeness of the sensation didn't catch up until Keigo's fingers stilled, inside him, waiting. Kunimitsu twisted against it, a little, muscles twitching, and Keigo stroked his fingers out just a bit, and then back in. That was better, smoother, and Kunimitsu released a sigh as he looked up into Keigo's eyes, intense and focused as his lover leaned over him.

"It's the movement you like, hm?" Keigo asked, not waiting for an answer before he stroked deeper, and Kunimitsu let his eyes fall closed as he rocked into the touch. It was strange, but also... almost soothing. A massage for muscles normally unregarded. A tingling expansion, like the first stretch after waking in the morning.

And then Keigo's fingers curled, pressing, and fire raced outward from them. Again, and again, and Kunimitsu didn't bother trying to hold back the sharp cry or stop his body from jerking against that rush of sensation.

"Good?" Keigo purred.

"Yes," Kunimitsu answered, hearing his own voice husky and breathless. "Yes."

Keigo smiled, slow and heated, and drew his hand away, lingering, caressing. It moved to the base of Kunimitsu's spine, rubbing gently, loosening the tension there.

"Ready?" Keigo whispered.

Kunimitsu nodded, eyes holding Keigo's burning gaze. That gaze held him, steadied him, as Keigo pressed insistently against his entrance.

"Now it's your turn to relax for me, Kunimitsu," Keigo said, softly, hand soothing against his back.

Kunimitsu knew this would be difficult, and probably painful, if he couldn't relax. He rested his mind against the intent of Keigo's eyes; it would be all right. He pulled in a deep breath, and when he let it out he let all the tension, even that of pleasure, flow from him. And while he was suspended in that liquid moment, Keigo sank into him, opening, stretching, a long, smooth motion until Kunimitsu's muscles clenched against the intrusion and Keigo halted, a gasp wringing from him. Another breath and he was all the way in, and immediately drawing back a little and rocking home again.

The stretch burned a bit, but the movement soothed it, warmed it, and the slick glide back and forth pressed hard against the place Keigo's fingers had teased and caressed. Tiny showers of sparks cascaded down his nerves, and pulled a long, low moan in their wake. Keigo's thrusts started to lengthen, deepen, and his hand moved from Kunimitsu's back to reach between his legs, clasp around him. Fire trailed after Keigo's fingers, wrapped around Kunimitsu, flaring with the rhythm of Keigo driving into him.

And Kunimitsu finally let go all the way, not thinking, not anticipating, not worrying. He abandoned himself to the pleasure of Keigo's touch, so hard, so gentle, arching into it. They moved together, finding a pace that flowed, faster and faster, like running downhill. Running until they didn't touch the ground, gasping for breath, almost flying with the speed, the sensation, the electric, singing tension building under Keigo's hands on him, the burning, sleek movement of Keigo so deep inside him, opening him out, out, until the tension snapped like current grounding and he lost himself in the shuddering tide of heat.

When he had recovered himself enough to open his eyes again he saw Keigo, propped on one elbow beside him, regarding him with an expression of great smugness.

"Enjoy yourself?" Keigo purred, spreading a hand over Kunimitsu's chest.

"It's a good thing I already knew you don't have any modesty at all," Kunimitsu observed, dryly. Keigo arched an arrogant brow.

"What could I possibly have to be modest about?" he asked.

Kunimitsu didn't trouble to answer. There was no reasoning with Keigo in a mischievous mood. Instead he nudged Keigo's arm out from under him and pulled his lover down into his arms.

"Yes, I did enjoy myself," he murmured before Keigo could express his indignation.

"Hmph," Keigo snorted, but stretched against him, pacified, and carded his fingers through Kunimitsu's hair.

They lay in the fading afternoon, exchanging slow kisses, and Kunimitsu decided he could let the thinking and worrying that Keigo had taken from him wait a while longer yet.

End

A/N: This story is titled after a Linda Ronstadt album I was listening to while writing it. My Atobe seemed very fond of it; it was the first time I'd ever heard this muse fanboy over anything. The lyrics quoted are from the second to last song on that album, "The Women 'Cross The River". The Frogs is a play by Aristophanes, poking fun at the strictures of the stodgy old school of art in the person of Euripides, as always.

Excuse

This was a gift-fic for moumusu, and a bribe to get her to draw a large, clean... er, uncluttered version of this picture. Note that the picture is decidedly NC-17 (Ed/Roy, light bondage). All those "mustang" and "ride 'em cowboy" jokes finally came to this: Ed ties Roy up to have sex in Roy's office. Porn, porn, nothing but porn. Porn with Insights, Bondage, I-4

Roy didn't tense until he felt Edward fingering the cuff of his glove.

Well, all right, perhaps he had started when the first loop of rope dropped around him and tightened. Edward really was getting very good at moving quietly, and he'd managed to genuinely surprise Roy this time. Enough that he'd caught Roy's wrists behind his back as well as his arms against his sides. But none of that actually made Roy nervous.

When Ed stroked a finger down the inside of Roy's wrist, catching the edge of his glove, that was when a twist of anxiety coiled through him.

Behind him, Edward laughed.

"Relax," he said against Roy's neck, "I know better than that."

Reassured that Edward was not going to test the limits today, Roy did relax, only balking when Edward nudged him toward the couch.

"I just had the couch cleaned," he protested.

"When it was the floor you complained about rug burned knees," Ed pointed out. "Deal with it."

Roy heaved a slightly dramatic sigh, but didn't object when Ed overbalanced him onto the couch. In fact, he managed to roll with the fall and make a fairly graceful landing, considering. Mild attempts at discomfiting each other were all part of the dance between he and Edward on these occasions. It amused Roy to no end that they both worked so hard to maintain dignity as long as possible when going about something as basically undignified as Ed tying him up so they could have wild sex in his office.

In keeping with that part of the agenda, Ed assumed a judicious expression as he arranged Roy on his knees on the couch. Not that he wasn't actually quite considerate, supplying Roy's lost balance as he pressed Roy's shoulders down, and tucking a pillow under Roy's cheek. Edward's hands were light and careful as they unfastened Roy's pants and slid them down.

Ed's hand slipped up the inside of Roy's thigh, and now Roy felt the loosening inside him, the deep shudder of relaxation that was the reason he did this. The reason he didn't snap his fingers and burn through the rope.

And then Edward got off the couch.

Roy's eyes snapped open to see Edward grinning down at him. Roy growled, and shifted, seeking some not totally undignified way to get off the couch again and pounce on his smirking lover. There really didn't seem to be any.

"No, no, don't bother yourself," Ed told him, lightly, "I'll be back before you know it." Roy growled again, and then gasped as Ed ran his cool metal fingers over Roy's bared skin, circling, pressing in hard, once, before retreating.

"Tease," Roy accused, breathless, as Ed stepped back.

"I learned from the best," Edward noted. As if to emphasize that fact he proceeded to strip off every last bit of his own clothing. Slowly. On another day Roy would have taken an act like this as an invitation, and it would have most likely ended rather abruptly, with Edward bent over the desk. Today it was Roy bent over, wanting to feel Ed inside him, but a coherent corner of Roy's mind appreciated the irony that their relative states of undress were unchanged.

Now completely naked, Edward sauntered around Roy's desk to fetch the oil Roy kept there before he finally came back to the couch. Anticipation heightened Roy's senses, now that he couldn't see Ed, the constriction of his thoroughly bound arms sending a tingling drench of adrenaline down his nerves. The heat of Ed's body against the backs of his thighs made Roy shiver, and he spread his knees a little further, coaxing Ed with his openness. He muffled a groan in the pillow when Ed rubbed a slick thumb, teasingly, against his entrance.

"Ed," he whispered, body melting under the touch he was unable to rock back against.

Roy wasn't sure Edward knew it, but he enjoyed it a great deal when Ed set the pace. Edward had a fine sense of how long to tease, how to touch and sooth, to get Roy to willingly abandon his reserve. Ed enjoyed it too, of course, and hence the whole song and dance with the rope, which Edward said kept Roy from distracting him.

Even without it Roy wasn't sure he'd be able to distract Ed now, not with Ed's hand between his legs and Ed's tongue drawing designs over the base of his spine. But, since it was there, Roy let himself twist against it, let his wrists tug against it, and added that touch to Edward's. As Ed's teeth nipped gently, Roy moaned.

"Ed..."

"Hmm?" Ed murmured against his skin.

"...ride me," Roy breathed. He heard the intake of Ed's breath, and felt Ed shift behind him, leaning over him, and then, finally, Ed was pressing into him.

Roy panted against the pillow, not bothering with either dignity or quiet any longer as Ed fucked him. This was what he had wanted from the moment he identified that first loop of rope and declined to burn it, preferring the heat of Ed's fast thrusts into his raised ass. Roy treasured Ed's rhythm, his enthusiasm, his willingness to ignore Roy's rank and reputation, to bend him over on his own couch and ride him hard.

Roy moaned as Ed's hand closed around his length, fingers sliding down him, demanding, and Roy couldn't have kept from answering that demand if he'd wanted to. Fire raced through his veins and wrung a rough sound out of him, flung him outward and left him floating as Ed's movement inside him peaked and slowed. Ed's weight rested over his back for a minute before Ed sighed and tugged the rope loose.

Roy slid into a boneless sprawl, content enough to only make a small face at the wet spot.

"I should take the upholstery cleaners' fee out of your stipend," he told the young man now stretched out on top of him. Ed snorted. "And I've been meaning to ask, who taught you to make knots like that?" Roy added after a moment, observing that the rope had fallen away from him completely with that one tug.

Ed snickered.

"I'll never tell. It couldn't help but affect one of your valuable working relationships."

Roy considered how Edward had phrased himself, and looked at him sternly. Well, as sternly as it was possible to look at his lover who had just finished fucking him senseless. Which, to judge by Edward's smirk, wasn't very. Edward really was picking up some very bad habits.

"And just what bribe do you want," he asked dryly, "to spare me having to guess about everyone I work with?"

"Let me think about that for a while," Ed replied, with a downright feline smile.

Some very bad habits, Roy reflected. If only he could blame this on Hughes. Unfortunately, he'd seen that smile in the mirror before. Ah, well. There were certainly compensations.

He leaned up to steal a kiss.

Challenge - Chapter Five

Niou coaxes Yagyuu into more intimacy; or perhaps it's the other way around. Drama with Porn, I-3

There were times when Masaharu seriously thought Marui Bunta was going to grow up to be a gossip columnist. He had an apparently insatiable curiosity about other people's personal lives.

"So, what do you guys think?" Marui asked one day, while the doubles team was cooling down, nodding at The Magnificent Three over by the fence. "Are they hooked up, or what?"

"Marui," Jackal said, disapprovingly. Masaharu laughed. The usual doubles pairs really had come down to one casual sort and one straightlaced sort each...

"Possibly," Yagyuu answered, adjusting his glasses.

Jackal's brows rose, and Masaharu frankly goggled at his partner.

"If so, however, I suspect all three must be involved," Yagyuu continued, serenely. "Together the three of them have a stability that no two do alone."

"Kinky," Marui said, with a bubble for emphasis.

"And here I thought you were completely indifferent," Masaharu marveled, a bit sardonically. "You never give any of your fanclub the time of day."

"As opposed to your attempts to corrupt yours into delinquency?" Yagyuu inquired, with a tiny smile. "The shrillness is a bit off-putting. That does not make me blind, nor does it mean I have no appreciation for beauty of body or of heart."

Masaharu blinked. Marui snickered, and nudged Masaharu in the ribs.

"I told you you shouldn't have switched the labels on the water and acetone before Yonomi-sensei's dry-ice demonstration. He's just getting you back for messing up his favorite class."

"Yonomi-sensei deserved it," Masaharu defended himself. He shared a speaking look with his partner. Yes, Masaharu would be more careful not to interrupt experiments that interested Yagyuu. No, Yagyuu wasn't actually angry. He'd known that already, really. If Yagyuu had gotten angry with him he certainly wouldn't have shown it by adopting methods so close to Masaharu's own. Masaharu grinned.

The corruption proceeded apace.

Masaharu and Yagyuu had kept up their winter habit of studying together. It was comfortable and familiar, and it gave Masaharu a chance to keep working on Yagyuu's self-restraint. His goal was to get Yagyuu to cut off a teacher at the knees. He felt it would be a healthy step forward in his partner's personal development.

And it would be fun as hell to watch.

He did his best to be a good example, and he was reasonably sure that Yagyuu liked watching him stir things up, but it was still good to have it confirmed. Even if the form of that confirmation was slightly disconcerting.

They were working through a section on the Edo period, and Masaharu was giving his interpretation of Toyotomi Hideyoshi's foundational policies, which was rather more colorful than the official one.

"Really a brilliant social engineer, and an utterly cold-hearted bastard. Think about the strictures on who can do what. I mean, it looks worst for the peasants, but consider what he did to the samurai with the same move. Effectively, you can have weapons or you can have food, but you can't have both. Stabilized the economy and contained the warriors with one fell swoop." Masaharu stretched out a little more comfortably on the floor beside the low table Yagyuu sat at so straight and upright. "Absolutely brilliant bastard; you've got to admire a mind like that."

Yagyuu paused in his note-taking, and tapped the end of his pen against the table. Masaharu tilted a brow; that was what Yagyuu did when he was evaluating some thought or person.

"Niou-kun, you asked me once what had happened to me," Yagyuu said, thoughtfully. "What was it that happened to you? Not that the results aren't entertaining to watch, when you rake people over trying to find bits of gold in the gravel. But what gave you such a taste for people of extremes?"

Masaharu blinked, never having heard his proclivities framed quite that way, before. Then he shrugged.

"It's always been like that. Some people are fascinated by fire; the brilliance, and destructiveness, and beauty. It's the same for me, only it's people. Fire is mindless; people have intention and direction. And I can come closer to the burning."

Yagyuu slowly removed his glasses, and polished them, pale eyes resting on Masaharu.

"Are you saying," Yagyuu asked, after a long, contemplative pause, "that you're a metaphorical pyromaniac?" He looked amused.

"Good description," Masaharu agreed, folding his arms behind his head. Yagyuu regarded him, eyes sharp and curious.

"You know, I've wondered, if it was passion you wanted to call out of me, why you never tried seduction."

Masaharu blinked some more. He'd thought the answer to that was self-evident.

"Because sex didn't work," he said. "It was the first thing I tried, and it didn't unsettle you at all. Could have knocked me over with a feather, at the time," he admitted, just a bit disgruntled at the memory. Thinking it over, he had to add, "If I thought I could get you to let go all the way, I would in a second."

"Would you really?" Yagyuu wondered, softly. His gaze was somehow both piercing and distant, and Masaharu heard questions behind the question. Would you really want to and Could you really handle it, among others.

"Oh, yes," he answered all of them, mouth curling.

"Hm." Yagyuu replaced his glasses. "So. Do you have an opinion of Tokugawa Ieyasu to add for this section?"

As Masaharu held forth on genealogical slight of hand, he also tucked away some intriguing new ideas for later examination.

The tournament matches started to heat up a little, as they entered Regionals. To keep everyone on their toes, Yukimura colluded with Yanagi to put together a training schedule to make a slave-driver blanch. The only open times were provided solely to include Kirihara.

By now the entire club had a pretty good idea of what next year's team would look like.

For once Kirihara seemed to be struggling. He appeared to have taken Yukimura's edict about control to heart, but it was clear that holding back his own rage was both alien to him and draining. Masaharu, personally, considered most of that control a waste of time, but then it wasn't the dearest desire of his heart to defeat Yukimura at tennis. To each his own.

Sanada approved, though. Masaharu noticed him taking Kirihara aside, while Yanagi and Yukimura were busy playing he and Jackal, to help Kirihara with his footwork. That was the day Masaharu decided Sanada had a soft spot for ambition and drive. Kirihara definitely had those, in spades. It did explain, perhaps, why Sanada accepted Yukimura's superiority so easily, when he was so taken up with achieving victory over absolutely everyone else.

Draped over a bench, after a grueling marathon of singles matches within the team, Masaharu watched Kirihara and Sanada going at it hammer and tongs, still. They were both nuts. Masaharu loved tennis, and he loved winning, and he deeply loved playing with Yagyuu, but some people just took the whole thing beyond any degree of sanity. Even Jackal was looking worn out after today.

Marui was still standing, but only because he was so pleased with his new shot that it acted on him like a sugar high. Masaharu expected him to crash any second. The day he'd perfected that startling ball that rolled along the net, he'd been bouncing off the walls for the rest of practice.

"Pure genius, that's what it is!" he'd proclaimed, grinning too hard to even blow bubbles. Jackal had smiled, tolerantly, on his partner's antics. Kirihara, on the other hand, had snorted.

"Pure showing off," he'd corrected, only to be jumped on and pummeled by Marui. Masaharu had watched with a smirk; he'd only kept his mouth shut because he knew Kirihara could be counted on to say it first.

Now Marui came to the rest of them after a mere dozen runs through his new move.

"Looks like the little spitfire's improving," he said, flopping down and stealing Yagyuu's towel. Jackal plucked it out of his hand, replacing it with Marui's own, without a word. Yagyuu accepted his back with a nod.

"Seventeen percent improvement over the last month," Yanagi specified from where he was fishing his water bottle out of the cooler. "Though I'm not sure he believes it."

Masaharu had to admit, for someone who was so sure he would make it to the top, the kid did seem prone to crises of confidence. Indeed, when the game finally ended, Kirihara slumped on his bench looking quite glum, head hanging almost to his knees as he caught his breath. The doubles team were having a quick conference of looks to decide who should speak to him first, when Yukimura made the issue moot by going to Kirihara himself.

"You're doing well," he said, gently. Kirihara's look up was a bit wry.

"It doesn't feel like it," he admitted. Yukimura smiled down at him and touched his shoulder.

"It's hard to tell from inside the game, sometimes. So trust my judgment from outside of it. You are making good progress, Akaya."

Kirihara's eyes widened before he ducked his head. The doubles team exchanged amused looks. For all that Yukimura was Kirihara's prime target, or possibly because of it, he seemed especially susceptible to the warmth that Yukimura lavished on his team to go along with his ruthless demands. It was really kind of cute.

Masaharu caught a similar look passing among The Glorious Three. He was particularly interested to note the hint of affection in Sanada's eyes, and the faint softening of his mouth as he regarded Kirihara and Yukimura.

Well, well. Here he'd thought Sanada would be the jealous sort. He did so love how unpredictable his teammates could be.

Some things about Yagyuu were unpredictable, and then some things weren't. After turning over the intriguing thoughts one of their study sessions had left him with, Masaharu had decided that he had better choose the setting carefully, to act on his conclusions. Otherwise, Yagyuu's entirely predictable personal privacy would likely deep six the entire thing.

Long consideration led him to decide on Yagyuu's room. It was handy, being where more than half their study sessions took place anyway, and he'd observed that Yagyuu tended to be a little less tense inside those walls, as if they took the place of his outermost layer. That should help, too.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity.

He chose two days after they played Seigaku. After Yanagi's report on Seigaku's impressive second-year singles player, their captain had taken the Singles Three slot and been soundly trounced by one Tezuka Kunimitsu. Tezuka had apparently caught Sanada's interest, as he had spent all the next practices working against the team's strongest singles players to polish his techniques, hoping that they would come up against Seigaku again at Nationals. This, of course, included Yagyuu. Masaharu had noted months ago that Yagyuu relaxed in a very particular way after playing Sanada, possibly because he used more raw strength against Sanada than any other player.

"I take it," Yagyuu commented, as they dumped their bags by the table, "that it isn't a review of spectography you have on your mind today, Niou-kun?"

Yagyuu's intuition was a match for anyone else's analysis, Masaharu reflected.

"Not in the least," he admitted, approaching his partner. Yagyuu smiled, and watched him come.

Face to face, Yagyuu was a bit taller; though, Masaharu supposed, if he ever stood like he had a poker where his spine should be, they would likely be the same height. He reached out and, delicately, removed Yagyuu's glasses. A signal, a symbol, a talisman, but more than anything else an intense desire to see Yagyuu Hiroshi's eyes.

Those eyes were gleaming like ice in the sun, and Masaharu felt the frisson that came when they played.

"Would you let go all the way, Yagyuu?" he whispered. "If I asked you to?"

One of Yagyuu's hands wove into Masaharu's hair, tipped his head back a little.

"Yes, I think so," his partner answered, softly. He bent his head, and his lips moved over Masaharu's neck, warm, seeking. Masaharu shivered, leaning against Yagyuu. The touch of his lips moved up, found Masaharu's mouth, changed.

Yagyuu's arm locked around Masaharu, pulling his body hard against his partner's, and Yagyuu's mouth covered his, pressing, parting, demanding. Masaharu breathed in the weight of Yagyuu's desire and gave it back as a low moan that Yagyuu wrapped his tongue around. He gave himself over to the crushing strength of Yagyuu's hold and was held so tightly he barely noticed when Yagyuu lowered him to the bed.

The complete lack of hesitation in his partner's hands, as they undid clothing washed a wave of clear, brilliant heat through Masaharu. This was what he wanted: to see Yagyuu throw away the restraints he fastened around himself. He stretched, under Yagyuu's hands, reached up to touch, felt himself pressed down to the bed by the flash of Yagyuu's eyes.

Yagyuu's gaze held him in place, and he panted for breath under it, as Yagyuu's hand closed around his cock, and Masaharu shuddered violently at the gentle stroke of powerful fingers. His partner's skin slid against his like water against the shore, but he felt as if it was Yagyuu who was solid, and he who was fluid, melted, surging with the pull of his partner's gravity. Masaharu let himself fall into the hot, flickering pleasure of Yagyuu's hand on him, and Yagyuu's kiss set the pace of it, tasting of slow, wet slides. Masaharu's entire body flexed into it, quickly lost in the sharpness of Yagyuu's movement, rushing, speeding heat crashing through his veins, wringing him over and over, until it slowed, collapsed into Yagyuu's hand on him and Yagyuu's body leaning over his, Yagyuu's breath drowning his. Lassitude folded around him, warm with the strength of Yagyuu's touch.

Masaharu smiled, surprised, in a somewhat lightheaded way, that Yagyuu's passion could emerge without the danger that was its stamp at other times. A little surprised, as well, that it could thrill and please him so deeply without that edge.

Yagyuu stirred against him, and pale eyes, edge softened with satisfaction, examined him. "So?" his partner asked, pleasure and humor in his tone. Masaharu chuckled, a bit hoarsely.

"Any time you want," he murmured.

"Danger addict," Yagyuu accused. Masaharu blinked.

"But you're not," he objected. As Yagyuu's brow tilted, he shook his head. "I know when you're dangerous, Yagyuu. You weren't dangerous to me just now."

Yagyuu considered this assertion for a few breaths, and then leaned down to kiss Masaharu long and deep, pressing him down, hard, to the bed, as if to hold him still long enough to breathe him in. Masaharu took the point perfectly well.

"Are you sure?" Yagyuu asked, against Masaharu's lips.

"What if I want you to consume me, though?" Masaharu shot back. "Like a fire."

"Danger addict," Yagyuu said, much more definitely this time.

"You worry too much," Masaharu grinned. "I won't ever lose myself in you, Yagyuu."

TBC

A/N: Check here for one of the most comprehensive accounts of Hideyoshi I've found online; very evenhanded.

Water

Takes place during Chapter Seven. Sanada finds an opponent who can help him improve his game, and, perhaps, offer some much needed distraction from his captain's illness. Yanagi notes, in this, the possible start of a dangerous trend. Drama With Romance and Porn I-4

Sanada Genichirou had promised his friend and captain that their team would not be defeated while Yukimura was gone. After a very little consultation with Yanagi about the teams opposing them in the coming year, Genichirou had decided that, in order to keep that promise, some extra effort was in order. After all, while he knew he could take Atobe, he hadn't played Tezuka in a competitive match in years. The withdrawal of Seigaku's top player from this year's round of inter-school seminars and camps had rumors flying, but there was no solid information on just how disabled or not Tezuka might be, and Genichirou didn't believe in counting on luck.

No matter what that annoying little red-head from Yamabuki might say.

The problem, of course, lay in finding an actual challenge he could advance against. In theory, the high school division welcomed juniors who wanted to improve their skills, whenever time was available; in practice Genichirou was already better than most of them and it would be bad for morale to flaunt the fact. The street courts were useless. Genichirou, personally, thought most of the "professional trainers" were even more so. And it was frowned upon, to track down players from other schools and challenge them outside of competition.

That left the tennis schools, where he might hope to find another talented player or two looking for the same thing he was. And, in fact, luck did appear to be with him, there, as his current match demonstrated.

Sasaki Kouji was definitely a worthwhile opponent. The fact that he was also the current captain of Rikkai's high school team gave Genichirou the pleasant feeling that Rikkai's standards were being held up by someone besides his own team. Sasaki's play was fast and sharp, precise in a way Genichirou rarely saw, and powerful enough to overcome even his strength, so far. It was exactly what he needed.

Sasaki, too, seemed to appreciate a challenging opponent. He treated Genichirou almost as a team member, offering pointers when Genichirou seemed stuck over some particular move, and goading him when he flagged. Genichirou thought well of his dedication, which clearly extended beyond Sasaki's own team to encompass a player who would never be his to direct.

In a way, the absolute effort that Sasaki demanded whenever they played was a break for Genichirou. It left no room for worrying about anything else, pushed down even his fear for Yukimura under the simple focus on the ball, the court, the person across the net.

And if Genichirou felt just a touch guilty, afterwards, for letting himself forget, he needed those brief interludes of peace too desperately to stop. So he just pushed himself harder, gave himself even more totally to the focus of the game, strove that much harder to match Sasaki.

He was getting there. He could see it in Sasaki's own game. He recognized the way Sasaki's eyes brightened, the closer he came, recognized the smile he saw today on his opponent's face, the sudden lightness of Sasaki's movements, calling him, daring him. He recognized his own willing response, his answering speed, recognized the passion that reached over the net to touch his opponent's game.

He recognized it... from playing Yukimura.

The thought snagged in his mind, and the shock of it caught at his feet. The last ball whizzed past a good fifteen centimeters from his racquet.

It didn't help at all when Sasaki pushed back dark, feathery hair with an impatient hand, and gave him exactly the same look Yukimura did when he thought Genichirou was behaving foolishly in some way.

"What was that about, Sanada-kun?" he asked, in the voice of a captain demanding an explanation of his best player.

"Excuse me, Sasaki-san," Genichirou said, as evenly as he could. "Perhaps I'm more tired today than I had thought. Would you mind if we ended here?"

Sasaki gave him a skeptical look, but nodded, letting him keep his silence on whatever the problem really was. That perception and forbearance just twisted Genichirou's heart more sharply, and he withdrew as quickly as he could, leaving Sasaki gazing after him in obvious speculation.

Seiichi...

Normally, at least of late, the visits Genichirou and Renji made to Seiichi were a time when nothing outside the three of them intruded. Today, though, Genichirou found himself rather distracted, despite the fine almost-spring afternoon and despite Seiichi's returning strength, and it had probably been too much to hope for, that Seiichi wouldn't notice it. His observation was sharpening again, as he regained control of his body.

"What are you thinking about?"

Definitely too much to hope for.

"Just a match I played recently," Genichirou answered, trying to stay casual. Which only went to show that he wasn't thinking particularly clearly just then, because Yukimura always wanted to know about interesting matches.

"Who were you playing?" he asked.

"Sasaki Kouji," Genichirou told him, taking an interest in the view out the window.

"The captain of Rikkai's high school team," Renji noted. "How did you arrange a match with him? I thought you decided to stay away from the high school practices."

Genichirou sighed. "You remember the tennis school I started dropping by last month, to see if I could find some stronger players? He plays there too, sometimes."

"Have you won yet?" Yukimura asked, a bit of sparkle lighting his eyes. The implicit assumption that Genichirou would win, sooner or later, made him smile back at his captain for a moment. Then the memory of the match returned to nag at him, and he turned his gaze out the window again.

"Not yet."

"Genichirou." Seiichi was watching him more narrowly, now. "What happened?"

Genichirou never could decide whether he preferred Seiichi's manner, who invariably drew whatever Genichirou was thinking out of him, or Renji's, who rarely asked since he could usually be assumed to know already.

"It..." he sighed. "When we played, he was... I just..."

Light fingers brushed over his lips, and Genichirou paused and looked up, startled, to see Seiichi laughing, quietly.

"Genichirou, you're sputtering," he said. "And while there's a certain rarity value to that, it doesn't tell me what happened."

Genichirou looked down at his hands. "When we played, he reminded me of you," he said, voice low.

Seiichi's brows rose. "My style?"

"No. Nothing that simple." Genichirou felt a sardonic twist curl his mouth. "His... brightness was like yours."

Seiichi was silent for a long moment. "And did it draw you, the way mine does?" he asked at last, softly.

Genichirou flinched. "Seiichi..."

"I can't think of any other reason it would trouble you, since I know you've been fascinated by other players' talent before," Seiichi continued, thoughtfully. "Or is it just that I'm not there right now?"

That was exactly what Genichirou had hoped to get away without saying. What could be more contemptible than seeking a replacement for a friend and lover when he was ill? Self-disgust twisted his stomach.

"Genichirou, you can think yourself into such ridiculous corners, sometimes," Seiichi sighed. "That wasn't what I meant."

Genichirou stared at him, disoriented by such a calm response. Seiichi shook his head, and leaned forward. His hand touched Genichirou's face, coaxing him down to a soft, lingering kiss, and Genichirou's arms found their way around Seiichi, with the helpless protectiveness Seiichi always roused in him. The sweetness of Seiichi's lips moving so gently against his almost made him shudder with how much he had missed his friend's presence and touch.

Seiichi finally drew back and ran his fingers though Genichirou's hair, looking serious. "Does Sasaki make you feel like this?" he whispered.

"No," Genichirou answered, without a shade of doubt or hesitation, and water-gray eyes smiled at him.

"Then I don't see anything to worry about. Have a little faith in yourself, Genichirou," Seiichi admonished. "It's no injury to me, if you want me there enough to see my likeness in other people."

Genichirou blinked at the astonishing common sense of that statement. Renji was laughing, softly, from the other side of Seiichi's bed.

"Seiichi, you have the gift of taking the single action that's more convincing than hours of reasoned debate could ever be," he said. Seiichi, still in the curve of Genichirou's arm, gave Renji a pleased look before continuing.

"As for the rest of it," he said, "you've always been taken up with other strong players, as I shouldn't have to remind you, after last year." Renji chuckled and Genichirou threw him a half glare. "If you want to go to bed with this one, as long as he doesn't presume, where's the problem?"

"I'm sure it would be good stress relief," Renji put in, absolutely straight faced.

That rated a full fledged glare. "Renji," Genichirou growled.

The hand Seiichi pressed over his mouth totally failed to muffle his laugh. That, alone, was enough to reconcile Genichirou to the teasing. He remembered far too clearly the day, not long after Seiichi had come off the respirators for the last time, that some doctor had said, a little too cheerily, that there was only a thirty percent chance of a relapse. He had held Seiichi for over an hour, while his friend shuddered with silent terror against his shoulder. The sight of Seiichi so broken had terrified him in turn, and he'd spent that night curled up in a knot while Renji stroked his hair until he finally fell asleep. Seiichi's smile was still far more fragile than he liked, much of the time, and if his spirit was recovering enough to laugh, Genichirou was content to be the object of fun for him.

"Is this what you've been so tense over?" Renji asked.

Genichirou shrugged agreement. Renji's hand settled on his shoulder.

"Perhaps next time I'll ask sooner," he said.

Which was as close as Yanagi Renji was ever likely to come to admitting that he had miscalculated the cause of Genichirou's reaction. A corner of Genichirou's mouth quirked up.

"That presumes you can get me to answer you," he observed, getting another chuckle from Seiichi.

Renji, though, only turned his hand up to brush the backs of his fingers across Genichirou's cheek. "You'll tell me, if I ask, Genichirou," he said, deep voice both soft and sure.

Genichirou wound his fingers through Renji's and closed his eyes, savoring the closeness of these two who were most important to him. Seiichi was right. Nothing could replace this.

And, now that he wasn't avoiding the thought, he could see perfectly well the glint of appreciation in Sasaki's eyes.

"A much better game today, Sanada-kun," Sasaki told him, clasping his hand over the net. "At this rate you might just overtake me by summer."

"That's certainly my hope, Sasaki-san," Genichirou answered, seriously.

"Hm. Don't work yourself so hard you forget to enjoy this." Sasaki smiled to take away any sting from the admonition.

"I doubt there's any chance of that." Genichirou didn't change expression at all, but Sasaki gave him a considering look anyway and he thought Sasaki had probably heard what hadn't been said.

"Really? When was the last time you played at one of the street courts, just for fun?" Sasaki challenged.

"A long time ago," Genichirou had to admit, as they packed up.

"There's a rather nice one down by my house," Sasaki said, lightly. "You might come check it out."

Genichirou almost laughed, less at the invitation than at the humor that lit Sasaki's pale gray eyes as he made it. The dance of euphemism and innuendo clearly amused him, and for a moment, Sasaki reminded Genichirou far more of Renji than of Seiichi. Genichirou shouldered his bag and gave Sasaki a direct look.

"I would like that."

"I hope you will, Sanada-kun," Sasaki said, voice suddenly much lower, and Genichirou's breath caught. Anticipation feathered through his stomach, as they left. He knew what the offer he had accepted was, knew what he was heading into, but the knowledge had not grown out of anything he had shared with Sasaki. Since they had staked their places together in their first year, he and Renji and Seiichi had traded pieces of themselves back and forth like good books, reading each other's histories and fantasies and footnotes, and pleasure had simply been another added chapter. By comparison he barely had a nodding acquaintance with the man walking beside him. This felt... reckless. Impulsive.

He found, however, as he let Sasaki escort him through a quiet house to a bedroom painted in rather fanciful swirls of green, that he didn't care.

When Sasaki slid a hand around Genichirou's waist, and stroked his hair back with light fingers, Genichirou also found that there were some lines he had to draw for his own peace of mind. He caught Sasaki's hand in his, stilling it as it slipped down his neck.

"Sasaki-san," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I don't... I don't think I can take this if you're gentle."

Sasaki's brows rose, and he studied Genichirou for a long moment. He freed his hand and lifted Genichirou's chin the little bit necessary to put them eye to eye. Genichirou returned his gaze, unflinching.

"Who is it?" Sasaki asked, at last. "The one who's gentle with you?"

Now Genichirou closed his eyes, briefly. "Seiichi. Renji."

After a blank moment, Sasaki blinked. "Yukimura and Yanagi?" he asked, and chuckled when Genichirou nodded. "Well, I suppose I owe Nishiki an apology, not that I intend to tell him so. I thought he must have been hallucinating when he said the three of you were together that way." Then his thumb brushed against Genichirou's jaw. "I remember hearing that Yukimura was ill this winter."

"It's getting better," Genichirou said, with no expression. "He can breathe on his own again."

Sasaki inhaled sharply, eyes widening. "That bad?" he asked, softly. When Genichirou nodded again, silent, Sasaki's mouth tightened. And then he pulled Genichirou against him, paying no mind to his stiffness, and, abruptly, Genichirou was too tired to bother with reserve. After a moment's hesitation he let his head drop to Sasaki's shoulder.

"Sanada," Sasaki said, eventually. "Why are you here with me, instead of with them?"

All the reasons tangled together in Genichirou's throat. He laughed a little as he decided on the simplest answer.

"It was your game. Yukimura calls it my strongest weakness, that I get so focused on other strong players, sometimes so focused it hurts my own playing. And you... you're so bright when you play. I touch that through the game, and I want to reach out to it outside of the game too."

"But not gently?" Sasaki asked, a smile in his voice.

Genichirou lifted his head. "Not gently," he agreed.

Sasaki's gaze turned more serious. "I don't like the idea of hurting you, Sanada."

"Good," Genichirou said, one corner of his mouth quirking.

Sasaki threw his head back and laughed. "So," he said at last, tone turning speculative, "rough and slow, then?"

Genichirou felt heat wash over his entire body, and tried not to think about the fact that his face probably showed it. He nodded, and Sasaki's lips curved. His arm tightened, sharply, around Genichirou, and Genichirou shivered a little at the unaccustomed sensation of a larger body pressing against the length of his. Sasaki wasn't, he supposed distantly, really that much taller or significantly more heavily built, but the difference was noticeable like this. And it sent a jolt down his spine when Sasaki's hand tipped his head back before kissing him. The hard demand in it called out a longer shudder, and Genichirou's hands closed tight on Sasaki's back as he answered, opening his mouth under Sasaki's.

He gasped when Sasaki's teeth closed, sharp and stinging, just under his ear, and groaned, sagging against Sasaki, when he sucked there. This was the intensity Genichirou wanted just now, and he threw himself into it and let it close over him, pressing into Sasaki's touch.

Sasaki slipped around behind him, one hand moving between Genichirou's legs, kneading roughly. Genichirou's knees weakened at the sudden rush of sensation, and his hips bucked into Sasaki's hand.

"Or, maybe, not so slow," Sasaki laughed in his ear, undoing Genichirou's pants and sliding a hand inside to touch skin. Genichirou could only moan in answer, leaning against Sasaki as his fingers closed tight and stroked Genichirou hard.

There was barely enough left of his thought process to raise his arms, when Sasaki tugged his shirt off, and those calloused hands skimming over his hips to push down the rest of his clothing drowned that last bit. When Sasaki turned him to face the wall, Genichirou simply leaned on his forearms, trying to recover his breath and listening to the faint rustling behind him.

His breath left him again when he felt the heat of Sasaki's body against his back, and Sasaki's hand, slick, rubbing against his entrance. True to his word, Sasaki was slow, not seeking to press further yet, but his hand was not gentle. He worked his fingers hard against Genichirou's muscles until Genichirou was almost clutching at the wall, moaning at the tingling burn as he opened under that demanding touch. He arched his back, pressing his hips against Sasaki, inviting, and Sasaki accepted. Thumbs spread Genichirou apart as Sasaki pushed into him, slow but unstopping, a long, hard thrust that pressed him full and left Genichirou panting.

"Good?" Sasaki murmured.

"Yes," Genichirou gasped. "Sasaki..."

He lost whatever he had meant to say when Sasaki's still slick hand wrapped around his cock and pumped. His involuntary jerk moved Sasaki a little out of him, and then Sasaki surged forward, chest pressed into Genichirou's back. Not slow any longer, he drove into Genichirou, pounding him against the wall, only Sasaki's own hand, stroking him so roughly, pulling him back again. Genichirou lost himself in the harsh rhythm, hearing his own voice without knowing what he was saying, feeling only the heat and pressure of Sasaki's movement, the swelling rush of pleasure that surged up like a wave and threw him down so hard he almost lost awareness completely.

Leaning about equally on the wall and Sasaki's arms, Genichirou waited for his breath to calm and his pulse to settle just a little before he tried to stand on his own. He could feel a roughness in his throat that told him it was probably a good thing no one else seemed to be home. He heard the same roughness in Sasaki's voice, when he spoke, though his tone was contemplative.

"If I were the only one you were with, I would be more concerned about what you want from me. But I have to admit," he said, running a hand over Genichirou's shoulders, "there's an attraction in someone as strong as you asking for something like this. Was that what you were looking for?"

"Yes," Genichirou murmured.

"Good." Sasaki nipped at the back of his neck, tugging a low noise out of Genichirou. "Let me know the next time you need to be distracted from the world, then."

Genichirou turned, slowly, to look at Sasaki. He was sure he hadn't actually said that that was why he was here, when Sasaki had asked. How did he manage to draw, and be drawn to, such overly-perceptive people? On the other hand, he could hardly deny the truth. So he nodded.

"Thank you."

Genichirou expected Renji to tease him, and, indeed, there were a few comments on the statistics of "early maturation" delivered perfectly deadpan. He did his best not to react, silently blessing his previous practice. It took a while for any other side effects to catch up to him, but they did so with a vengeance the day Renji touched his arm as they were heading out to afternoon practice.

"Genichirou, did you do something to your shoulder?"

"No, why?" Genichirou asked, paying more attention to the start of a match between Akaya and Yagyuu.

"Because it looked like you had a bruise," Renji told him.

Genichirou frowned, sifting back through the last few days for anything that might have caused...

Oh.

He had no idea what expression might be on his face, but both Renji's brows were lifted.

"Genichirou?"

"I'll tell you later. Not here," Genichirou said. After a long moment of scrutiny, Renji accepted that, and moved off.

Genichirou managed to get through practice and all the way home before Renji's patience ran out.

"All right," Renji said, rather clipped, as he closed the bedroom door behind them. "First of all, show me."

Genichirou suppressed a sigh, pulling off his shirt and turning to let Renji take a look at his back. For all the other two might say he was the most overprotective of them, he thought that Renji won hands down once he made a decision to interfere. It just didn't happen very often. Light fingers brushed his skin.

"It seems to be along the bone of the shoulder," Renji reported. "It doesn't hurt?"

"I didn't even know it was there until you told me," Genichirou assured him.

"It probably helps that it's your off hand side. Now. You obviously know where it came from."

Renji, Genichirou reflected, had a talent for demanding information without asking a single question. "It's probably from yesterday, when Sasaki took me up against a tile wall," he said, evenly.

The silence behind him turned resounding.

"Renji..." he started, only to break off as Renji's arms came around his waist. The body at his back was shaking with silent laughter. The strain of suppressing it showed in Renji's voice, too.

"I suppose it's a good thing no one else noticed, while we were changing, then. Can you imagine their expressions...?" Renji broke off, burying his head in Genichirou's shoulder and laughing out loud.

Genichirou growled, wordlessly, and Renji managed to get himself back under control.

"Just be careful, all right?" he said, more seriously.

Genichirou looked back and raised a brow at him.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Genichirou. I mean more than that. Your penchant for violence; it's stronger, lately. Be careful how you handle it." Renji's arms tightened around him.

Genichirou turned in those arms to take Renji's shoulders. "Renji. You can't think I would let it spill onto us."

Deep, hazel eyes looked at him quietly. "I know you wouldn't, normally. I just worry about how much pressure you can take."

Genichirou drew Renji close against him. Yes, Renji was definitely the more overprotective one. "You worry too much," he said, softly, in Renji's ear. "Let me show you?"

"You and Seiichi, and your language of actions," Renji murmured, the laugh back in his voice. "How did I wind up with two such terribly direct people?"

"If I'm so direct and unreflective, you can hardly expect me to have an answer for that," Genichirou pointed out, and closed his mouth on Renji's earlobe.

"Very direct," Renji sighed, leaning into him. "I suppose it has its merits."

It was Genichirou's turn to laugh.

Renji let Genichirou undress him, smiling tolerantly at the care he took. Genichirou had to admit, he didn't often go this slowly, but today he found himself wanting to keep things... tranquil. He knew he wasn't the only one who had been under pressure, nor the only one who still was. He wanted to relax and reassure his friend, to see him stop worrying for a little while. Renji seemed almost bemused, as he lay back on the bed, that Genichirou was spending so long just stroking him, as if to memorize his skin or map the body he already knew.

Renji closed his eyes with a low sigh as Genichirou licked, slowly, at the inside of his wrist. Genichirou knew it was one of Renji's more sensitive spots, and lingered over it. And over the space just under Renji's lowest rib. And the arch of his foot. When he tongued the delicate skin behind Renji's knee, it drew out a soft moan, and Genichirou smiled.

"Enjoying yourself, Genichirou?" Renji asked, archly. The effect was, perhaps, a bit spoiled by the fact that he was spread out, naked, in bed, but not by much. Genichirou was impressed all over again by Renji's poise. He stretched out beside Renji and kissed him until his mouth relaxed from its sardonic curl.

"Enjoying watching your body calm because of me?" he murmured. "Yes, I am."

"Such a taste you have for getting your own way," Renji teased, smiling more gently.

"Now there's a case of the pot and the kettle," Genichirou commented, nibbling on Renji's ear again. "You're every bit as headstrong as I am, Renji, for all you prefer manipulation to force."

"Mmmmmm. It's hard to argue when you're doing that," Renji breathed.

"Then don't. The subject will keep for later." Genichirou kissed him again, slow and deep. "Turn over?"

Renji obliged, stretching out on his stomach, and purred as Genichirou trailed fingers down his spine. The sound he made when Genichirou nipped at his rear was considerably sharper. That was one of the sensitive points his partners didn't get around to as often.

When Genichirou spread him open and ran a soft tongue around his entrance, Renji's hips flexed into Genichirou's hands and he muffled a rough moan against the sheets. Genichirou coaxed Renji with his tongue, teased and soothed him by turns, until Renji was panting, hips raised and legs parted in a wordless invitation. Genichirou reached forward to close a hand around Renji's cock and stroke him slowly. The feeling of that lean, powerful body tightening under his touch, the sound of that cool voice heated and hoarse on the syllables of Genichirou's name, was deeply satisfying, and Genichirou nipped, gently, one last time so that he could watch Renji come undone in his hands.

When the last tension wrung out of Renji's body, Genichirou let him down and curled up against his back, pleased.

"You know," Renji murmured, drowsily, "I can tell without even looking that you have a smug expression on your face, Genichirou."

"Perhaps," Genichirou allowed.

"I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with my worrying, though."

Hadn't he been thinking something about overly-perceptive people, just a while ago, Genichirou mused. "Renji," he said, seriously, leaning up on an elbow and tugging his friend over to look at him, "tell me you don't honestly believe that I would deliberately hurt you or Seiichi."

Renji laid a hand along the side of Genichirou's face. "Never deliberately."

Genichirou relaxed again, and dropped back down to rest against Renji's side.

"Just be careful, Genichirou. Please," Renji said, quietly, against his shoulder.

Genichirou considered this. Obviously, Renji saw some danger, and considered it fairly likely, if he was willing to press Genichirou like this. And he had spent two solid years trusting Renji's calculations of these things. He ran his fingers through Renji's straight, heavy hair and nodded when his friend looked up.

"I promise."

End

Challenge - Chapter Eight

The team starts to recover, and Niou and Yagyuu find another kind of comfort. Drama with Porn, I-4

As the tournament season drew on, the team drew together around the axis Sanada had defined: no losses. And, as they didn't lose, it became more acceptable to them; Sanada's brutal ruthlessness became simply a matter of fact, and they all picked up a tinge of it.

Except Kirihara Akaya. He took on considerably more than a tinge. And by the first time the team watched him destroy an opponent with blinding, methodical speed, it didn't occur to any of them to suggest that Yukimura might not have approved. Their captain was their cause, their beacon, but they were Sanada's team for this season. And he accepted Akaya's rage and destruction without a blink.

The one time Masaharu mentioned it to Yagyuu, his partner had looked at him, one brow lifted over unwinking lenses.

"Perhaps Akaya gives to Sanada some of what I give to you," he suggested. Masaharu sniffed.

"Sanada doesn't deserve the precision of your destruction, and Akaya is too wild to give it to him."

"Perhaps wildness is what he needs." Yagyuu trailed his fingers over Masaharu's collar bone. "I can sympathize. Somewhat."

Masaharu smiled engagingly for his partner, and, the next day, convinced the Japanese teacher that it was really next week and they had already completed Chapter Ten. He rather thought Yagyuu appreciated this contribution to undermining authority.

They visited Yukimura in ones and twos, and found him annoyed that he was not permitted to return to school, and nearly climbing the walls because he was not permitted to return to tennis. Masaharu told him expansive stories of his latest tricks, and Yagyuu brought him class notes. Once Masaharu dropped by to find Yanagi asleep on the couch, and Yukimura, eyes soft, pressing a finger to his lips for quiet. Another time he observed, to his vast amusement, Akaya hauling a glaring Sanada down the walk to Yukimura's house, shoving him inside, closing the door firmly and settling down on the front stoop. He saluted the kid lazily and didn't try to stop in. Sanada could not, he knew, have been resisting that much or the slight Akaya would never have budged him.

Everyone was deeply relieved when Yukimura's physical therapist cleared him to resume light (the word was underlined three times, on his exercise sheet) tennis practice, provided he had a spotter. The team promptly drew up a rota of who could come by after practice, each day.

The stress, and Yagyuu's basic distrust of Sanada's temper, were starting to tell on Masaharu's partner. He found himself, more than once, putting their study sessions on hold to sit behind Yagyuu and press a little of the tension out of his shoulders.

"This isn't good for you," he scolded, mildly. "And," he added, aggrieved, "it isn't good for me, having to play mother hen; that isn't supposed to be my job."

"It doesn't suit you," Yagyuu agreed, blandly.

Masaharu growled at the jab. Though, actually, he was pleased to see Yagyuu's dry humor intact. He didn't like the way this year was wrapping old layers of defense back around his partner's scintillating, luring edges. Today was, apparently, one of the days when Yagyuu could read his mind, because his partner huffed out a faint laugh.

"I know you don't much like my public face, Niou-kun, but it does allow me to keep control of myself and my integrity. I believe you know that has been more than usually necessary, this year."

Well, yes, Masaharu did know that. Just because Yagyuu had agreed to lend himself to Sanada's agenda didn't mean that this, the most self-contained member of their team, had any liking for the way Sanada's obsession dragged them all in its wake, like so many bits of metal after a magnet. So, too, knowing that Sanada's high-handed approach grew out of the frantic worry for their captain that the idiot seemed to be allergic to admitting didn't do a thing to make Yagyuu's reaction any less reflexively hostile. While Masaharu tried to avoid saying so, he had realized long since that Yagyuu's surface compliance allowed him considerable independence of action. He just didn't want to encourage his partner by seeming to approve.

"I know," he agreed, without specifying which part he was agreeing with. Yagyuu's laugh was fuller this time.

Well, there was something Masaharu had been thinking about, that might, in part, answer both Yagyuu's need and his own desire.

Masaharu stepped back from himself a bit, and took a long look at what he was considering doing. He had researched the topic more scrupulously than he usually did anything but history and mathmatics. He was now well acquainted with the theory, and, theoretically, knew what he would be getting himself into. He thought that it would probably be agreeable to Yagyuu's inclinations, and, for himself, the idea fanned subtle waves of sparks down his spine. It was really the last of those thoughts that led him to disregard his lingering trepidation and bend his head until his lips brushed Yagyuu's neck.

"You like being able to control the pace," he observed. Yagyuu's soft breath might have been agreement. "I would let you," Masaharu said, obliquely, "if you want to try."

"Try?" Yagyuu repeated, smoothly. "I do believe I've always succeeded, with you, Niou-kun." His fingers brushed through Masaharu's hair.

"We haven't," Masaharu noted, "tried everything, yet."

His partner froze, and Masaharu smiled against Yagyuu's skin. If he had ever wanted revenge for having been maneuvered into it, that first time, he rather thought he had it now. Yagyuu turned, lifting a hand to Masaharu's face.

"You want that?" he asked, after a long moment of scrutiny.

"Yes," Masaharu answered, simply.

"I don't want to cause you pain," Yagyuu said, unaccustomed hesitance slowing his words. "The lack of restraint you want from me would make it... very likely."

So he hadn't been the only one doing research. "I'm definitely not into pain," Masaharu told his partner, wryly. "But you didn't listen to what I offered. Your pace," he clarified, at Yagyuu's raised brows, "whatever that is."

Yagyuu flicked his glasses off and laid them aside, leaned forward and kissed Masaharu, outlining his lips with a soft tongue.

"I accept," Yagyuu murmured against his mouth.

Masaharu let Yagyuu lay him back on the bed, and sighed under his slow, gentle kisses. His partner's hands were quicker, undoing buttons with the dexterity of significant practice. Masaharu ran his own hands through Yagyuu's hair, taking a certain pleasure in mussing it. Yagyuu was perfectly well aware of this, and paused to give him a put-upon look.

Masaharu didn't buy it for a second.

He did, however, shift, obligingly, so Yagyuu could tug off his clothing. And then he gasped a little at the coolness of Yagyuu's fingers, as they pressed across his skin.

Slowly.

He knew it was entirely deliberate when he looked up into Yagyuu's eyes and saw the teasing light in them, and the grin hovering at the corners of that controlled mouth. He reached up and tapped his partner on the nose, admonishing, but he had, after all, promised to let Yagyuu set the pace. So he let his hand drop back to the sheets and simply breathed, waiting.

At that, the pale eyes widened a little, and Yagyuu's hand brushed over Masaharu's lips, teasing them apart, before Yagyuu's mouth covered his, hard, his other hand slipping behind Masaharu's back to pull them tight together. That was familiar, the sharp, tingling thrill, like licking a battery. To Masaharu, Yagyuu's open presence tasted of lightning.

And he was open, now, as open as his palm sliding over Masaharu's stomach, over his hip, over his rear and up the back of his thigh. Masaharu answered with his own openness, spreading his legs to let Yagyuu lie between them. Yagyuu rocked against him, taking Masaharu's moan into his mouth and trading his own for it.

"Dare I hope you had the foresight to bring along the appropriate accoutrements?" he murmured in Masaharu's ear, the light words undercut by the breathless tone.

"Schoolbag," Masaharu directed.

When Yagyuu's fingers, still cool and now slick, pressed against him, sliding across skin no one else had touched before, Masaharu tossed his head back and snatched in a deep breath. It was so... close. Such an intimate thing, to allow Yagyuu to touch him like this. And then his partner's finger pressed into him, and Masaharu had a new definition of intimacy.

His research had been quite accurate, he thought hazily. It did feel strange. Yagyuu's eyes were sharp on him, watching his face. It was typical of them that he did not ask if Masaharu was all right. What he said, instead, was, "If you need me to stop, tell me."

Masaharu's offer to let him control the pace had, after all, been made in better knowledge of what his partner was like when he cast off his mask than anyone else had. With, a corner of Masaharu's mind had to add, the possible exception of Yukimura, who was obviously omniscient. Yagyuu had told him to break this off, if he had to; if he didn't, Yagyuu would take him at his word, trusting Masaharu's judgment. Curiously enough, that knowledge made Masaharu relax.

And when he relaxed, the sensation of Yagyuu's touch inside of him became less strange and more enticing. Masaharu released a trembling breath, feeling the sleek glide of Yagyuu's fingertip over unaccustomed nerves. Yagyuu moved slowly, very slowly, and his eyes bore down on Masaharu more heavily then his hand. Masaharu thought that, too, was deliberate, because Yagyuu was, by now, well aware that his direct gaze sent sparks dancing through Masaharu's blood at times like this.

Yagyuu's other hand trailed down the inside of Masaharu's thigh, teased lightly between his legs, swept up his chest and back down, and Masaharu was distracted from the idea of what Yagyuu was doing, left only with the feeling. That feeling became heated, as Yagyuu's fingers caressed him, stroked deep into him, until even the ice of Yagyuu's eyes before his seemed to gleam with fire.

And his partner could only be drawing this out from a desire to see Masaharu completely abandoned to his touch, because he was already arching into those fingers, inviting the tingling, electric touch deeper, breathing in soft, pleading sighs as strange, tense pleasure wrapped around the base of his spine like a climbing vine. Masaharu released a choked half laugh when Yagyuu finally bent down to him and kissed a delicate line up the tendon of his neck, drawing his hand back. So precise, his partner, so deliberate, even in release. It was Masaharu who was the wild one, but so rarely. So rarely did he give over his own control this completely. Yagyuu's mouth on his spoke of understanding that gift, and that, even more than Yagyuu's hands on him, washed shivers through Masaharu, melted him back against the sheets, opened him to the pressure of Yagyuu pushing into him.

It stretched him to the edge of pain, but never quite over. It was, perfectly, everything he desired of his partner, every reason he pressed Yagyuu to let himself go, the extremity of sensation that could have been destruction but, to him, was not. Masaharu cried out, voice strained, as his partner began to move, sinking himself under the shock of this heat, barely aware of his hands closed hard on Yagyuu's arms. The soft, heavy pleasure of Yagyuu's hand stroking him slipped around the edges of sensation, twined itself into the harsher heat, and Masaharu clung to the constant of his partner's eyes on him as his body tensed, tensed, and released, waves wrenching muscle and nerve, and fire sweeping him, dropping him down, dazed, panting.

When Yagyuu came to rest beside him, they simply breathed together for a time.

Yagyuu stirred first, pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Entirely my pleasure," Masaharu assured him, voice husky. He lifted a heavy hand to brush back Yagyuu's wonderfully mussed hair.

Heavy...

His eyes focused on what he was actually seeing, and Masaharu abruptly collapsed on Yagyuu's shoulder, howling with laughter. His partner held him, obliging if a bit bemused.

"I understand that it's usual to have some reaction to one's first experience of this sort," he commented, "but I hadn't heard that hysterical mirth was one of the common choices."

"We didn't..." Masaharu gasped, "we didn't take off... the wrist weights...!" He dissolved into cackles again.

Yagyuu's rare, open laugh joined his.

TBC

Resolution

Sanada and Kirihara address the unproductive aspects of their interpersonal relationship, pursuant to one of Yanagi's observations in "Water Over Fire". Porn With Insights, I-4

Genichirou had known that the bond forged by anger and fear, between he and Akaya, would have to be resolved in some way, now that the source of the fear and anger was gone. It should not, perhaps, have surprised him that Akaya understood this, too, without bothering to do anything as effortful as analyze the situation. Nor should it have surprised him that Akaya, understanding, would take the most direct action that occurred to him. And perhaps a part of him knew that, because when he emerged from locking up one afternoon to find Akaya lounging against an otherwise deserted section of wall, he was not actually surprised.

"What are you doing, here, still, Akaya?" he asked, tucking away the keys.

Akaya stretched against the wall, extensively, before he let his arms fall to rest over his head, one hand clasping the other wrist.

"Waiting for you," he answered, looking up at Genichirou from under long, sooty lashes.

There were not many ways he could have made his intentions more obvious, short of undressing. Genichirou's hormones took this moment to remind him that Akaya had grown into a lean, feral grace, and was clearly willing, and hadn't Genichirou thought, before, that he moved with admirable assurance...? Genichirou tried to take the opinions of his hormones with a grain of salt. Akaya was impulsive, considerably moreso than any other member of the team. Giving his impulses free rein was a large part of what had brought them to their current, slightly uncomfortable, position. It behooved Genichirou to at least make sure his younger teammate thought twice. Even once might do. He took a breath for control and came to stand in front of Akaya.

"Akaya," he said, voice deeper than usual with the effort of restraint, "do you understand what you're offering?" Akaya tipped his head up, green eyes wide and clear.

"Enough," he said.

Genichirou could hear in his voice that Akaya was sure of that. His hormones were quick to agree. Well, the more ruthless corner of his mind noted, there was one fast way to find out for sure. He reached out and caught Akaya up against him, pulling Akaya's weight up onto his toes until he caught at Genichirou's shoulders for balance. A pointless move, that, since Genichirou was holding him too tightly for Akaya to fall. His mouth closed over Akaya's, hard and searching. Akaya opened his mouth to Genichirou's rough kiss, pressing back against him, molding his body to Genichirou's.

Well, that seemed to answer that question. Genichirou thought he might have had others, but couldn't quite remember them, as Akaya squirmed against him.

He let Akaya go, abruptly, keeping him from stumbling back into the wall with a hand at the small of his back. When he staggered for balance, though, Akaya's feet spread apart and allowed Genichirou to press a leg between his. He drew Akaya back to him, slowly, sliding him up Genichirou's thigh, and Akaya tossed his head back.

"Sanada-san," he gasped, bright eyes drifting shut.

Genichirou cupped a hand behind Akaya's head, supporting him as Genichirou licked up his throat. That hand also prevented Akaya from knocking himself into the wall as he arched back further when Genichirou closed his teeth just under Akaya's ear.

It was the texture of the brick against Genichirou's hand that brought their location back to him. The reminder that they were outside, in full view of anyone who might come along, shocked a little sense back into him. If Akaya wanted to be taken to bed, Genichirou had no objection to doing so. Quite the contrary. Akaya's passion appealed to him. But if they meant to move beyond the shared violence of these past months, it could not be like this.

He let Akaya back down to his feet, and loosened his hold on him. Akaya made a disappointed sound, and reached up, trying to draw Genichirou back down to him. Genichirou caught his hand, smiling.

"For someone I would swear is inexperienced, you certainly know how to plan a seduction, Akaya," he commented. "And, on top of that, almost tempted me to be rough with you."

"Yes," Akaya breathed, and Genichirou blinked. That couldn't have been what it sounded like. He brushed Akaya's hair out of his eyes, taking a certain satisfaction in how hazy they were now.

"Not here. Will you come home with me, Akaya?"

"Yes," Akaya repeated.

Akaya entered Sanada-san's room just a little hesitantly. This was, to be sure, where he wanted to be, but when Sanada-san had suggested Akaya was inexperienced, he'd been right. Nevertheless, Akaya was sure of his course. When Sanada-san had drawn him up that second time, all Akaya could think of was how much he wanted to feel both those muscled thighs between his, pressing his legs apart...

He shivered.

"Akaya."

Sanada-san held out a hand, and Akaya came to him, was gathered up against him, felt Sanada-san's mouth against his. Gently. Still strong, but soft. Akaya's breath hitched, and a questioning, protesting sound escaped his throat. Sanada-san drew back, brows raised.

"Sanada-san," Akaya said, troubled, "you shouldn't... I mean... what about Yukimura-buchou and Yanagi-senpai?"

Sanada-san blinked at him a few times, before his mouth quirked, and he ran a quick hand through Akaya's hair before pulling him closer, tucked against his shoulder.

"Akaya," he said, tone both amused and a little chiding, "we aren't like that."

Akaya stirred. He might be the youngest of the team, but he wasn't blind, thank you, and the three of them most certainly were like that. Sanada-san put a hand under his chin and nudged his head up.

"No one else can be to any of us what the other two are," he clarified. "It's no injury to them if I care for you."

Akaya felt himself blushing. He hated it when he did that. Even if both Sanada-san and Yukimura-buchou seemed to be amused by it. And he'd known, already, that Sanada-san cared about him. He'd known it for sure when Sanada-san had let Akaya's loss go without reprimand; he had nearly keeled over from the shock, right there on the court. The problem was, the other two weren't the only problem; just the first that came to mind. How could gentleness defuse the weight of what had fed back and forth between them, every time one of them lashed out at anyone?

"It would be easier if you were rough," he said, quietly. Sanada-san's eyes blanked with surprise, for a moment.

"You really did mean it that way?" he murmured, shaking his head before Akaya could answer. "No. If you still think you want that, later, maybe. But not now. You should know, first, what it means for someone to be gentle with you."

"It would," Akaya repeated, with careful emphasis, "make it easier." This time he thought Sanada-san understood, because his eyes turned distant the way they did when he was judging an opponent. But he still shook his head, more wearily this time.

"This, Akaya," he said, sternly, "is what comes of you relying on your intuition before your analysis. If I were rough with you now, even if you enjoyed it, which I begin to suspect you might," Akaya blushed again, "it would only make it more difficult for both of us to turn aside from the violence we've shared already."

Akaya thought about that. He hadn't really planned beyond simply making contact, grounding the hovering tension that had grown between them over the past months. Forethought wasn't exactly his strength. So, when Sanada-san repeated, "No. Not your first time," he accepted it and relaxed into Sanada-san's arms, lifting his face for another kiss.

Expecting it, this time, Akaya gave himself to the softer touch, to Sanada-san's mouth sliding over his, teasing, slow. He parted his lips on a sigh, as Sanada-san's tongue flicked at them, and made a small humming sound as Sanada-san settled Akaya more comfortably against his body. The hum became a purr as Sanada's hands slid over his shoulders, down his back, and finally reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Akaya returned the favor, though most of his attention was on Sanada-san's tongue stroking lines and circles against his. It was nice to be able to multi-task; it was one of the things he was good at, as the entire team knew, even if Marui-senpai did say that only meant he broke even because he had the attention span of a gnat. Maybe he should bring this moment up as an example of his attention span... no, Sanada-san would kill him. Though, it was fun to get Sanada-san a little stirred up, as long as one stopped short of really pissing him off.

A thought occurred to Akaya, as Sanada-san brushed his shirt off his shoulders, and he broke away, grinning. At Sanada-san's what now? look, Akaya let his hands trail down his own body to rest on his belt-buckle, lowering his head so he could look at Sanada-san from under his lashes. As he undid his pants, and slid them off his hips, he saw heat flare in the deep brown eyes. The grin got a little wider. Completely naked, he stretched up on his toes, dropping his head back. He was mildly disappointed not to feel Sanada-san's hands on him before he settled back down, but the fire in those eyes was perfectly gratifying.

A corner of Sanada-san's mouth curled up as he followed suit, but Akaya didn't notice it for long because his eyes were drawn downwards. And that was going... Um. Yes. That particular item distracted him enough that he barely noticed Sanada-san was coming towards him until he did feel Sanada-san's hands on him, pulling him close again.

All Akaya's thoughts broke off, lost in a tense gasp, because the feeling of Sanada-san's hands running over his bare skin was shockingly different than it had been clothed. He leaned into Sanada-san for support, only to shiver at the soft, warm slide of their bodies against each other. A faint ah escaped him as Sanada-san's spread hands pressed up his back, pushing him into Sanada-san's chest, and Akaya rose up on his toes in response to that firm touch.

"I should teach you a lesson about teasing, Akaya," Sanada-san said in his ear, voice deep and rich with amusement and intimacy. "But somehow I doubt it would keep you from playing with fire."

"Sanada-san," Akaya breathed, without the coherence to answer further. Sanada-san kissed him, hard.

He was grateful when Sanada-san let him down onto the bed, because he wasn't sure how long he would stay standing without Sanada-san holding him up. Once he was lying down he could let himself twist and arch into the stroke of Sanada-san's hands over his stomach, down his legs, without worrying about little things like falling down. He felt like his body had turned to some kind of liquid, waves echoing out from every point of contact.

Sanada-san wrapped Akaya in his arms and rolled over, pulling Akaya to lie on top of him. Akaya blinked down, and then sucked in his breath as Sanada-san's hands ran down his thighs, spreading his legs wide. He felt Sanada-san bring his own legs up to keep Akaya's open, and heat touched his cheeks. Sanada-san smiled at him, slight and promising, before he wound a hand into Akaya's hair and drew him down to a slow kiss. He felt Sanada-san shift under him, heard a faint clatter, and then felt Sanada-san's other hand, slick and cool, press between his cheeks. He made a startled sound into Sanada-san's mouth, but that hand didn't go any further yet, only rubbed against him, massaging.

The touch was gentle and hard, careful and forceful; it was entirely Sanada-san's touch. Akaya dropped his head down to the curve of Sanada-san's shoulder, feeling the sliding press of Sanada-san's hand persuading his muscles to relax and open, feeling his legs splayed apart, lax, feeling both exposed and wantonly pleased by his position. Feeling, at last, two of Sanada-san's fingers press smoothly into him, and he gasped sharply against Sanada-san's neck.

"You let me in easily," Sanada-san murmured to him. "Maybe I will show you what it's like rough, after all. Another time."

Something that Akaya's dignity refused to call a whimper left his throat as Sanada-san's fingers moved, stroked out and back into him. Skittering flashes of pleasure followed their path, a luxurious stretch of muscle coupled with a sharp tingle as his body worked around them. When Sanada-san turned his hand, twisting his fingers inside Akaya, Akaya moaned and pressed up into the touch. When another finger joined the first two, Akaya tossed up his head, eyes closed, lips parted. The stretch burned, like exhaustion after a long game. The satisfaction in the feeling was very similar.

"Akaya?" Sanada-san asked.

"Yes," Akaya managed, opening his eyes. Whatever was in them made Sanada-san's mouth curve before his fingers stroked Akaya, hard, inside, and sensation clenched around Akaya's nerves like hot wire. He jerked against Sanada-san's body as Sanada-san's fingertips slid over and over that spot, until Akaya cried out. As Sanada-san's fingers retreated and thrust back down, Akaya leaned on his elbows, panting.

"Ah... ah... hhah..."

"So responsive, Akaya," Sanada-san commented, and his fingers slipped out with a suddenness that startled Akaya. Sanada-san rolled him back underneath, and Akaya blinked up at him, dazed.

When something significantly larger than Sanada-san's fingers pushed against him, he focused on Sanada-san's eyes, sharp and hot, and reached up. Sanada-san leaned over him, letting Akaya take hold of his shoulders as he pressed forward. Akaya's breath came fast and short, caught on a choke as Sanada-san slipped into him. Tremors coursed through Akaya, and Sanada-san held still. Akaya, really looking at him, saw the iron control in the set of his mouth, felt it in the tensing of his shoulders. Sanada-san was concerned for him, was holding back to be sure Akaya was all right. Akaya let out his breath on a slightly broken laugh.

Sanada-san looked down at him, completely still for a moment, and Akaya brushed his fingers over Sanada-san's mouth.

"I'm all right," he husked. "It's good."

"Good," Sanada-san said against his fingertips, deep voice soft.

The movement of Sanada-san sliding into him pulled a long moan from Akaya. It was good. He liked that tingle, that almost scratchy feeling of muscles stretching, and the moving, the sliding of something inside him, was like warm oil spread over skin. The slow, smooth strength of Sanada-san's motion pressed him back against the bed and left him trembling. Every thrust pressed more tension out of him, until his body was as lax as it had been when he lay sprawled over Sanada-san.

Until Sanada-san lifted Akaya's hips, a little, and his next thrust drove sharper pleasure through Akaya's body. Sanada-san refused to move any faster, though, and Akaya found himself caught in waves of flowing heat that were just too slow to carry him to release.

"Sanada-san," he gasped, pleading, and Sanada-san's mouth curved in a deeply satisfied smile.

When Sanada-san's hand closed, tight, around Akaya and stroked him, fast, the spike of sensation flung him over the edge. The rushing surge of his body was as much of a shock as if he'd been shoved through a glass wall. The world shuddered around him, and he felt Sanada-san driving into him faster, opened his eyes just in time to see that hard mouth fall open, and something bright and even tender cross Sanada-san's face. The sight made him wind his arms around Sanada-san, as he slumped down over Akaya.

As Sanada-san caught his breath, he rolled them both over once again, stroking his hands down Akaya's back and legs, soothing shaking muscles. Akaya laughed a little, tucking his head under Sanada-san's chin.

"You like to have me here, don't you?" he murmured.

"Mmm," Sanada-san agreed. "And you seem to enjoy being there."

"Lots," Akaya confirmed, stretching happily before he wriggled to get a bit more comfortable. "You have good hands; I like to feel them." He paused. "I'm still going to beat you at tennis, of course."

It felt interesting, to be lying on top of someone who was laughing.

"So," Akaya said, after they were still again, "are you going to show me what it's like when you're rough?"

Another laugh, this one a purring rumble in the broad chest under Akaya's ear. Sanada-san's hands slid familiarly over Akaya's skin.

"Wait and see, Akaya."

End

Contrary

Kirihara decides to tease Sanada, and the results are about what one might expect. Porn Without Plot, I-4

Kirihara Akaya was in a contrary mood, and had decided, early in the day, that Sanada-san would be the perfect recipient for it. The team whip-cracker was in exactly the right kind of anal-retentive mood to be annoyed by it, and an annoyed Sanada-san had all sorts of possibilities. Accordingly, he had set out to tease his vice-captain. It was good entertainment for everyone. The first time he had stepped close enough that they could feel each other's body heat, and tipped his head back to cast a look of invitation up through his lashes, Sanada-san's eyes had widened with what might have been panic in anyone less controlled.

Niou-senpai had dropped his serve, he'd been laughing so hard.

As Akaya continued to brush his fingers over Sanada-san's hand when accepting some extra tennis balls, or stretch along the back of a bench as suggestively as he could manage, Sanada-san's expression had gone from startled to harassed to downright bothered.

Akaya smiled as demurely as he could manage when Jackal-senpai gave him a scolding look. It wasn't easy, with Marui-senpai snickering in the background.

It actually wasn't until Sanada-san took a hasty step to Yanagi-senpai's opposite side, as Akaya approached with an innocent question about footwork, and Yukimura-buchou was attacked by a not very convincing fit of coughing, that Akaya realized he was doing this in front of Sanada-san's real partners, and might be stepping on some toes. He let Sanada-san escape in favor of approaching his captain, instead.

"Yukimura-buchou?" he asked, with a penitent glance up.

Yukimura-buchou and Yanagi-senpai exchanged a look. Yanagi-senpai turned a hand palm up, and Yukimura-buchou nodded. Akaya had no idea what they had just communicated, but it was obviously significant. Yukimura-buchou cleared his throat, though his eyes still laughed.

"As long as it doesn't interfere with practice, Akaya," he said, very quietly, patting Akaya on the shoulder. "Just remember I'm not going to save you from the consequences," he warned, as Akaya grinned broadly.

Akaya lowered his lashes to hide his eyes. "Of course not, Yukimura-buchou," he murmured.

Yanagi-senpai's snort said he wasn't buying it. When he spoke, though, there was amusement in his voice along with a certain clinical edge that almost made Akaya rethink his plans.

"Enjoy yourself, Akaya."

Almost. Akaya nodded and went back to work.

By the end of practice there was a dangerous light in Sanada-san's eye, and Akaya congratulated himself as they all got changed. The familiar chatter of the doubles pairs, and the murmur of Yukimura-buchou speaking with someone about exercises for next practice rose and fell around him as the third years left ahead of him.

The only particularly jarring note was the click of a lock being thrown.

Akaya turned away from his locker to see Sanada-san standing at the door. Three long strides brought him back across the room, and he caught Akaya up off his feet.

"Do you remember what I said about teasing, Akaya?" he asked, softly.

Pressed against the length of Sanada-san's body, so tightly he could feel as well as hear the deep, smooth voice, Akaya couldn't hold back a triumphant grin.

"That it works?" he suggested, breathless.

Sanada-san's eyes narrowed. He freed a hand and ran it up Akaya's neck, tracing his jaw with a thumb, combing through his hair. "I think," he said, sounding contemplative, "that I will teach you a lesson about that after all. But not right now."

"What's right now?" Akaya asked, tucking his chin down to give Sanada-san a coy look.

Sanada-san's fingers tightened in his hair, drawing his head back until Akaya arched over Sanada-san's arm.

"Wait and see, Akaya," he whispered against Akaya's throat, and Akaya's breath caught when he remembered the last time he had heard those words. His knees were a little weak at the thought, and when Sanada-san let him back down to his feet he clung to the broad shoulders, gazing up, asking if Sanada-san was serious.

Sanada-san held his eyes, as his hands slid down over Akaya's hips, pushing down the last of his clothing, leaving him bare to Sanada-san's touch. It felt like Sanada-san's hands were charged, electric, tugging at Akaya's nerves as they passed over his skin. Akaya's lips parted on a shaky breath, and Sanada-san pulled him close and kissed him hard before setting him a little away and stripping off his own clothing. Akaya didn't have much time to look, though, before Sanada-san stepped into him, bearing him back against the wall. Akaya's shoulders jarred against it, hard, and a subtle twist of Sanada-san's body put his legs between Akaya's; Akaya could feel the flex of muscles against his inner thighs, and let his head fall back with a faint moan.

The moan returned, unrestrained this time, as Sanada-san reached down, firm hands sliding over Akaya's rear, and pulled Akaya up his body, slowly, until Akaya could wind his legs around Sanada-san's waist. Akaya could feel that Sanada-san was already as hard as he was. Sanada-san's large, powerful hands gripped his rear, spreading him open as they supported him, and he could feel that hardness rubbing between his cheeks, promising. Akaya shuddered.

"Sanada-san," he gasped, legs tensing as he pushed into that promising touch. Sanada-san's chuckle did enticing things, where Akaya's cock was pressed up against Sanada's stomach.

"So impatient, Akaya," he said, chiding. Akaya groaned as Sanada-san moved one hand to rummage in the locker nearest them.

A small part of his mind noted that Sanada-san's choice of this particular wall had clearly not been random, because that was his own locker. The rest of him, however, was almost writhing against Sanada-san's body, because Sanada-san's effortless strength, holding him up, holding him open, made Akaya hotter than he'd thought possible. On the courts, that strength was an irritation and a challenge, the thing Akaya needed to surpass. Here, though, it was a lure, the potential for as much sensation as Akaya wanted, as much as he could take, and just maybe enough.

Akaya shivered as long fingers spread coolness over his skin, gasped as Sanada-san's cock pressed, carefully, into him, just barely inside him, and paused. Akaya's eyes were wide; Sanada-san felt incredibly thick inside him, and the abrupt stretch had him panting already.

When Sanada-san thrust into him, sudden and deep, Akaya heard his own voice echo back from the walls.

Sanada-san drove him up against the wall again, and again, fast and hard, and Akaya made no effort to restrain the sounds Sanada-san was calling out of him, barely registering the bared teeth in Sanada-san's smile. He reveled in the strength that held him, while the rough force of Sanada-san thrusting into him spread a burning heaviness through every muscle in his body. Sanada-san was filling him so hard, Akaya thought he might tear apart from the weight of sensation. Sanada-san drove him open, wider and wider, until the heat seized hold of him, overwhelmed him, snapped like a shock, and he was arching desperately into the unyielding body pressing him against the wall, voiceless as pleasure wrung him again and again.

He collapsed forward onto Sanada-san's shoulder, almost sobbing for breath. He didn't even have enough to moan at how hard Sanada-san still thrust into him. By the time he did, it was over and Sanada-san's hands, gentler now, were setting him down and supporting him as he wavered on his feet. Akaya kept his arms wound around Sanada-san's shoulders, and leaned against him as those hands rubbed his back.

"You make an engagingly appreciative bedmate, Akaya," Sanada-san murmured to him, a bit breathless himself, Akaya was pleased to hear.

"'S no bed," he mumbled. He was also gratified when Sanada-san stifled a helpless laugh in his, now very mussed, hair. He smiled, sweetly, up at him, and stood on very shaky tiptoe to collect a kiss, relaxing into Sanada-san's arms as they lifted him again.

"You may just be the most contrary creature I've ever met," Sanada-san said in his ear.

Akaya's smile was one of great accomplishment.

End

Earth Over Heaven

Yukimura is finally convinced that he is fully recovered, and is beyond pleased over it. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-4

Genichirou was deeply relieved when Yukimura started to hit his stride again, at practices. Renji had assured him it would happen, but that hadn't stopped him from worrying—not least because he could tell Yukimura himself was worried. Worried that after all the pain, and all the risk, he wouldn't be able to regain that last, vital edge. Genichirou had seen it, shadowing his eyes like mist, as Yukimura stood, after practice when he thought no one was watching, flexing his hand open and closed.

So, when that last, gleaming, precision, that whipsnap of muscle and speed, returned and burned away the fog of doubt, Genichirou was deeply thankful.

Even if it meant that Yukimura, finally convinced of his own recovery, had spent the entire practice running the team absolutely ragged in an attempt to keep up with his burst of delighted activity. He had declared it a day for singles practice, and proceeded to cycle through the entire team twice, leaving one after another panting in the dust. It reminded Genichirou of the first time he had played Yukimura, shocked by a brilliance that had defeated him without humbling his pride, fascinated by a charisma that offered genuine respect whether he chose to follow it or oppose it, stunned by a passion that promised to match his own.

Today, it was Akaya, in their second game, who gave in to that passion, and came closer to matching his captain than anyone on the team but Genichirou ever had. Yukimura met him at the net, when they ended, thrilled to laughing, catching Akaya's face in his hands to tell him how superb he had been. Akaya seemed barely able to take it in. Genichirou smiled, remembering the first time it had happened to him, and guided Akaya to a bench afterwards, detailing Jackal to keep an eye on the dazed boy and turning to his own second game before Yukimura's momentum dropped.

He was wearily amused that, by the end of practice, having driven everyone else into the ground and left his team draped over the benches like so many towels, Yukimura was still light on his feet, almost dancing, almost restless.

"Hold still for a moment, Seiichi," Renji admonished, running his hand over Yukimura's forearm as the rest of the team dispersed. Niou and Akaya were leaning on each other, staggering and laughing in a slightly punch-drunk manner, while Marui, not in much better shape, upbraided them for being wimps. Jackal herded them along, shaking his head, but Yagyuu paused to cast a small smile back at the three who remained. Genichirou returned a nod.

"Your muscles are going to seize up tonight, if you're not very careful," Renji informed their bright-eyed captain. "You should let me do something about it, or you won't be able to move tomorrow morning."

Yukimura flexed his limbs carefully, frowning. "It doesn't feel like it," he observed.

"That," Renji told him, "is because you're still riding on adrenaline. You'll feel the strain when it gives out. Although," he admitted, "I'm not entirely sure when it will give out; I would have expected it to happen already."

Yukimura laughed, softly. "I've put you all to a great deal of trouble, today, haven't I?"

Renji's mouth curved in a rare grin. "Good trouble."

Seiichi stepped away, and then spun to face them. "It's all here," he said, and Genichirou's throat closed at the wonder in his voice, "I'm all here, still. Again."

Genichirou laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let Renji take care of you, so you still feel like that tomorrow, then."

They wound up in the converted sunroom Genichirou used to practice sword, as they often did when someone needed a massage. Genichirou had started keeping a futon in the closet, there, and helped the other two pull it out, along with a couple old yukata and a stack of towels, before he left them to it and went to wash up. When he returned, he found Seiichi not behaving with his usual decorum under such circumstances, but stretching like a cat under Renji's hands, and, in fact, purring in low, rough murmurs.

"This would be easier if you lay still, Seiichi," Renji said, with affectionate exasperation. Seiichi took a deep breath, arching with it, and turned over with a lithe twist to look up at Renji.

"I can't stay still," he said, low but distinct. "Not right now."

Genichirou shook his head, and turned to coax the rather recalcitrant old door shut. As he finally slid it into place with a last scrape and clunk, though, a sharp intake of breath behind him caught his ear. He turned back, and was struck still by the image before him in the dim light.

Renji, sitting back on his knees, the yukata he wore to spare his uniform from any oil stains pushed half way down his arms. Seiichi, naked, kneeling over him, hands enclosing Renji's face and lifting it to meet Seiichi's kiss. Renji's hands on Seiichi's hips, closed convulsively. The straight line of Seiichi's body, pressed against Renji's, almost pushing him over backwards, and of Renji's, arched and tense.

Genichirou shook himself out of his paralysis. So, Seiichi was in that kind of mood. Genichirou couldn't exactly call it dominant, though both he and Renji found it hard to do anything but give way to Seiichi when he was like this. Genichirou recognized what it actually was, of course. It was the same thing that came on Seiichi when he played a serious match, the same power and focus, turned to a different end.

It was just as overwhelming here as on the court, however, and when Seiichi lifted his head and held out a hand to Genichirou, he came and knelt behind Renji, supporting him. Seiichi met him with a wild, burning smile and a long kiss. Renji leaned back against him with a sigh that was close to relief. That sigh caught as Seiichi pulled loose the cloth around him, and his mouth traced down Renji's chest and stomach.

Genichirou blinked, and chuckled a little, as Seiichi stretched out on his stomach, propped on his elbows as he licked, delicately, down Renji's length, waving his feet in the air. Perhaps he hadn't ever seen Seiichi in quite this mood, before. His full, raw intensity rarely left room for such casual playfulness. The playfulness, however, was clearly not diminishing the effect of his focus, to judge by Renji's increasingly ragged breaths. Genichirou cradled him, stroking his taut muscles and whispering soothingly in his ear as Seiichi's hand slipped under him. Genichirou could make a good guess at what Seiichi's fingers were doing from the way Renji arched back against him, and up into Seiichi's mouth, eyes blank.

"Seiichi!" Renji gasped, harshly.

"Hmm-mmm?" Seiichi inquired, without releasing him, and Renji cried out, wordless, as that hum seemed to ripple through his entire body.

Genichirou fit his body to Renji's as Seiichi drove him higher, and higher again, eased the curve of Renji's spine, caught him when Seiichi swept him over the edge, and held him close as he fell back. Renji lay in his arms, panting in unaccustomed disarray, yukata hanging loose around his slumped shoulders and spread knees.

"You are demanding today, Seiichi," he murmured, resting his head against Genichirou's shoulder.

Seiichi stretched upright again, and laughed, pulling both the other two down to the futon. The ensuing tussle was very short, since Renji declined to resist in favor of catching his breath, and Seiichi was moving fast and sure enough that Genichirou couldn't prevent being pinned without fighting back seriously. They were both laughing by then, but when Seiichi's hand ghosted over Genichirou's cheek, down his jaw, and Genichirou saw the soft smile on his lips, he stilled.

The three of them knew each other's bodies and moods very well, and very intimately. Even though they had barely started to experiment with, as Renji jokingly called it, grown-up sex when Seiichi had fallen ill, Genichirou recognized the desire in Seiichi's eyes. He reached up to pull Seiichi down against him, and whispered in his ear, "Yes." He wasn't ashamed that his voice was hoarse. It had been so long since he had touched or been touched by that brilliant strength, so long when he was afraid it would never return.

"Yes," Seiichi whispered back, and kissed him. It was gentle, Seiichi was never other than gentle in bed, but it was still very much like being kissed by a tsunami, and Genichirou knew, as if he could feel it already, that when Seiichi slid into him it would be just as gentle and just as wild and just as implacable. Now he understood the helpless edge in the sound Renji had made under Seiichi's kiss; he heard it echo in his own throat, felt himself drifting in the force of Seiichi's mouth on his until Renji leaned against him, anchoring him.

Seiichi's smile was sharper, as he drew back a bit, and fit himself against Genichirou's other side, leaving Renji room. Seiichi's hands, passing across his skin, should have seemed lighter than Renji's fingers as they teased him open, but it was Seiichi's deliberate, fleeting touches that locked his attention and sped his breath.

Finally, Renji drew Genichirou over on his side to face him, coaxing Genichirou's leg up to rest on Renji's hip, and he leaned into Renji's arms. That reassurance was the only thing that kept him from starting when Seiichi's hands stroked over his thighs, between his parted legs, before sliding up his body as Seiichi pressed against his back. Seiichi's hands touched him like ice on a burn, healing and shocking both. But perhaps it was only that he knew what was coming. He heard Renji whispering to him to relax, as Seiichi entered him, knew that he was tense and shivering with the aching heat of Seiichi's presence. He welcomed Renji's touch, firm fingers stroking down Genichirou's length, that kept him from being lost.

The rhythm of Seiichi moving inside him calmed him, even as it fanned tingling warmth through his body. It took feeling Renji's chest brushing his as they breathed together to tell him why. Seiichi pressed into him and drew back in the rhythm of breathing, long and deep as the first breaths of a new morning, so familiar, so necessary, that Genichirou could do nothing but move with it. Pleasure wound through him, the pleasure of breathing after being unable to.

This, too, he recognized, this rhythm, this wholeness, and images flickered through his memory. Seiichi across the court from him, flashing under the sun, brilliant and sharp as a killing sword; Seiichi laughing, the day the three of them broke several municipal laws to play in the large, stone fountain at the park, hands lifted to catch drops of spray; Seiichi standing in the doorway of this room, with a faint smile, calling him back from his solitary training.

Seiichi, leaning over him, hair turned to shadow in the lowering light, the line of his body fierce and fluid.

"Seiichi," he sighed, welcoming that radiant, familiar strength that opened him and called him and roused his body until he wondered how long he could bear it.

"Let go, Genichirou," that soft, unyielding voice said, "we'll catch you. Let go for me."

Genichirou had never been able to resist Seiichi's voice, not from the day he first heard it, and he let it take him now. Let Renji's presence and Seiichi's demand spill through him, fire his blood, snatch him up and hurl him outward, only held by their touch around him, inside him. When the wrenching heat pulsing through him faded, Genichirou was aware that there was wetness on his cheeks. Seiichi touched it, delicately, and tugged him onto his back to kiss it away.

"Genichirou?" he asked.

Genichirou smiled up at him, through the sparkle of his damp lashes. "Isn't it traditional?" he murmured. He watched puzzlement cross Seiichi's face, because they all knew this had not been his first time in any literal sense. But it had been, in every way that actually mattered right now, and he saw understanding soften Seiichi's eyes.

He also felt Renji's mouth curve, against his shoulder, and knew that Renji had known it already. He turned his head to eye Renji.

"Do you ever get tired of being right?" he asked, as conversationally as he could manage at that moment.

Renji's answering chuckle vibrated through both of them. "Do you ever get tired of winning?" he returned. Genichirou pulled a half-hearted glower at him, and it was Seiichi's turn to laugh, the low purr that never failed to make Genichirou shiver.

"A loss here and there keeps the enjoyment fresh," Seiichi noted, stretching luxuriously against the futon.

The glance Genichirou and Renji shared held relief, only slightly tinged with regret, that Seiichi seemed to have calmed from his earlier euphoria. A few moments rearrangement twined them around Seiichi, and he sighed, drawing them closer, and closer again, until the three of them could feel each other's heartbeats. They lay there as full dark fell.

Until Seiichi stirred and said, thoughtfully, "I suppose one can't hang glide after dark, can one?"

Genichirou and Renji both drew back to look, wide-eyed, at Seiichi's perfectly serious expression.

It lasted perhaps five beats before Seiichi broke down laughing.

"You should see your faces," he gasped, waving a hand.

The look that passed between Genichirou and Renji this time was a trenchant one of absolute agreement, before they turned back and pounced on Seiichi, ticking him until he squeaked.

Genichirou knew he was smiling in a way he hadn't for most of a year.

End

Restraint

Sanada teaches Kirihara a lesson about teasing. Or, possibly, a lesson in teasing. Porn With Plot, I-4

The look in Sanada-san's eyes should have warned him.

But Akaya was in a mood. In fact, Niou-senpai was unkind enough to call it a tizzy. Akaya didn't think that was particularly fair, but he was restless, on the edge of agitated; he felt like a cat with a thunderstorm just over the horizon. So he invented new shots with bizarre spins to use against Marui-senpai, and when Marui-senpai called it quits he played against Yanagi-senpai, and even though he lost he took a certain satisfaction in the mild exasperation on Yanagi-senpai's face when he declared that Akaya's game was sixty percent more chaotic than usual, which took some doing.

And, whenever he had a moment between games, he came to brush against Sanada-san or look up at him with wet, parted lips, inviting Sanada-san to touch and take. Akaya wanted something strenuous enough to calm him down again, and even tennis wasn't enough, today. Sanada-san would be, though, if Akaya could tempt him into it.

The look in Sanada-san's eyes really should have warned him.

But Akaya was distracted, and took the glint for simple anticipation, and didn't notice the looks the rest of the team were exchanging by the time practice ended.

"Akaya. Walk home with me," Sanada-san directed, as they all changed and departed, trading last minute critiques and homework reminders.

Akaya agreed, demurely, and spent the walk congratulating himself, and the tight self-control with which Sanada-san quietly closed the bedroom door behind them, and began to undo Akaya's shirt, only made his own anticipation stronger. He was breathing fast by the time the last of their clothing fell to the floor, and when Sanada-san pulled him up off his feet a low sound escaped his throat before Sanada-san's mouth covered his. He didn't think he'd ever be tired of this particular feeling, being lifted up against a powerful body and feeling every line of muscle against his bare skin. The force of Sanada-san's kiss promised the kind of unrestraint Akaya wanted, and he sighed as Sanada-san laid him back on the bed, and moaned softly as large hands spread his legs apart.

Sanada-san leaned over him, one hand stroking down Akaya's body to close around his cock. He smiled at the sound Akaya made.

That smile, the extra curl at one corner, finally combined with the light in Sanada-san's eyes to warn Akaya, but it was really a bit too late.

"Sanada-san...?"

Whatever Akaya might have asked was swallowed in his gasp as Sanada-san settled between his legs and breathed across him, heat without touch. And then there was touch, too, as Sanada-san closed his mouth over Akaya's head. Sanada-san's tongue stroked, firmly, and Akaya cried out, staring blindly at the ceiling as his back arched and his hips tried to flex up into that slick, soft, hot touch. Sanada-san's weight pinned him down, even when Akaya tried to twist as Sanada sucked on him and the wonderful, maddening touch of his mouth turned hard.

Sanada-san shifted, and his fingertips rubbed deep, gentle circles just behind Akaya's balls. Akaya shivered at the tingle and warmth that welled through him. Sanada-san's mouth gentled, too, and his tongue took up the same circles, softer and wetter, coaxing Akaya, rather than driving him, with pleasure. And, just as Akaya's body began to tighten, he drew back, leaving Akaya panting and dazed.

"Sanada-san?" he managed after a moment.

That dangerously amused smile was back. "You should remember, Akaya, that I told you I would teach you a lesson about teasing," Sanada-san said, pleasantly.

Akaya could feel his eyes widening.

"So pay attention," Sanada-san, concluded, and lowered his head. His teeth closed on the inside of Akaya's thigh, and Akaya groaned as he bucked futilely into that sharp rake of sensation, hands grabbing at Sanada's arms. The purring rumble of Sanada-san's chuckle vibrating between his legs didn't help in the least.

Nor did it help that Sanada-san closed his hands around Akaya's wrists and pressed them to the bed before his mouth closed over Akaya again. Akaya was finding, very quickly, that feeling Sanada-san's strength holding him down made him even hotter than being lifted up by it, and he spread his legs wider even as he tried and failed, once again, to thrust up against the slide of Sanada's tongue. When Sanada-san hummed, thoughtfully, around him, Akaya nearly screamed with the sudden electric thrill reverberating through him.

And then Sanada-san drew away again, and Akaya was just pulling in a breath to scream for real, with frustration, when his mouth was covered by Sanada's, gentle and soothing.

"You wanted something to wear you out, today," Sanada-san murmured, against his lips. "And you teased me all afternoon with your willingness in a situation where you knew I would never touch you, purely to inflame me enough that I would wear you out when I did. Congratulations; it worked. I'll give you what you want, Akaya. But surely you admit that turn about is fair play?"

Akaya was admitting no such thing, but he found it hard to deny, either. Sanada-san laughed, and nipped at his throat, making Akaya gasp with the spike of heat it provoked.

"Relax, Akaya," Sanada-san told him, moving down again. "You'll enjoy this."

He was right, despite the fact that Akaya lost track of how many times Sanada-san drew him back from the edge, whetting his pleasure sharper and sharper. Akaya did enjoy, very much, the touch of Sanada-san's mouth on him, first light and then hard, wet and silky and then almost rasping. He enjoyed the light nips and deep, soft bites on his thighs and stomach that made him start and then cry out, trembling, by turns. He enjoyed Sanada-san's careless strength, pinning him to the bed. He enjoyed the almost-ticklish touch of Sanada-san's fingers, stroking his skin, massaging him, rubbing gently against his entrance, but never entering him.

It was that last that finally broke his patience completely, and when Sanada-san started to draw away again, Akaya threw composure to the winds.

"Sanada-san, don't stop!" he gasped out, voice tight and pleading. "Please, don't stop! I need... touch me, please..."

His moan, as Sanada-san's mouth tightened over him again, and Sanada-san's fingers pressed harder, was equal parts relief and burning bliss. The fingers thrusting into him were the last straw, and the tension Sanada-san had wound tighter and tighter finally snapped. Heat wrung Akaya like a rag, and every fibre of his body released, strained outward with enough force to lift even Sanada-san's weight, pulsed through Akaya and dropped him back to the bed, chest heaving as he tried to remember how to breathe.

Sanada-san moved up to lie beside Akaya, smiling down at him. Akaya blinked back.

"Feeling better?" Sanada-san asked. His smile took on a very satisfied edge when Akaya nodded.

Which Akaya found slightly odd, as it came to his attention that there was something quite hard pressing against his hip. On the second try, he managed to make his voice work again.

"Sanada-san? You haven't..."

"It isn't a problem," Sanada-san told him.

Akaya gave him the best You're joking, right? look he could at that moment, and pressed his body against Sanada-san's. "Yeah, it doesn't have to be," he agreed.

Sanada-san looked bemused. "Are you familiar with the word insatiable, Akaya?"

Akaya sniffed. "'M perfectly satiated," he mumbled against Sanada-san's shoulder. "It's just... I like it when you're inside me. When you fill me like that, it feels good." It made him feel protected and supported and appreciated. It was actually a lot like he had felt when he and Sanada-san played tennis, just before Yukimura-san got sick, only minus the edge of competition and plus a definite edge of mind-blowing pleasure. But Akaya was far too tired to explain all that out loud just now.

"Mm. I can hardly deny that it feels good to be inside you," Sanada-san said, against his ear. Akaya smiled. It was nice to get his way.

Sanada-san tossed the pillows against the headboard and sat back against them, lifting Akaya to lean back against him, in turn. Akaya wriggled a bit, getting comfortable on his impromptu recliner, and let his legs fall open over Sanada-san's. He breathed out a soft sound of enjoyment when Sanada-san's hands parted his legs further, gently massaging the lingering twinges out of his thighs.

"Like it when you do that, too," Akaya murmured. "When you spread me open like that."

"Do you?" Sanada-san asked, with a laugh running under his voice. "Tell me if you like this, then."

And those large hands were under Akaya's hips, lifting him and spreading his cheeks until he felt cool air against his entrance. And then something smooth and hard, pressing against him. And then Sanada-san was sliding into him, slow and easy and deep.

"Oohhh, yes," Akaya moaned, letting his head fall back on Sanada-san's shoulder.

"Good," Sanada-san said, deep voice just a bit rough.

Akaya found himself breathing in little sighs at the slow, hard, hot slide as Sanada-san flexed into him and back out, strong hands guiding Akaya's hips out and back into the curve of his own. Released from any overwhelming urgency, Akaya could savor the stretching open and the fullness with each thrust, could listen to Sanada-san's deep groan in his ear as he moved a little faster, a little harder. The rough press inside him as Sanada-san's rhythm broke into quick, jagged thrusts, the sudden heat of Sanada-san's mouth on his shoulder, and, through it, the gentleness of Sanada-san's hands on his hips, careful not to grip tight enough to bruise, caught his breath short. Akaya shared Sanada-san's shuddering sigh, as he relaxed, winding his arms around Akaya's waist.

"Mmm," Akaya commented softly, turning his head into the curve of Sanada-san's neck. "So good."

"Very," Sanada-san agreed, his chuckle just as soft.

They were quiet for a while, as late afternoon sun filled the room.

"So," Akaya said, at last, "are you sure you wouldn't touch me on the court?"

Sanada-san's head thumped down on his shoulder. "Akaya," he said, muffled.

"Up against the fence?" Akaya suggested, stifling a grin. "The tennis uniforms are easy enough to get around."

"Akaya," Sanada-san's voice dropped to something between a growl and a purr, "do you really want the entire tennis club to watch me pin you against the fence and fuck you until you're screaming my name?"

With that voice in his ear, Akaya actually had to stop and think about it for a moment.

"The club you will have to captain in the not too distant future?" Sanada-san added, pointedly.

"Well, no, I suppose not," Akaya sighed. "Not that I wouldn't want you to do it, but the audience could be a problem."

"I think I must have incurred more bad karma than I previously realized," Sanada-san mused.

"Excuse me?" Akaya said, insulted.

Sanada-san tumbled Akaya off his lap to the accompaniment of a faint squawk, and leaned over him, winding one hand through his hair.

"To have acquired the company of an exhibitionist," he explained, between kisses, "who's sweet enough that I don't want to be rid of him."

Akaya lifted a hand to trace the line of Sanada-san's face. "You will, after this year, though," he said, quietly.

"Perhaps." Sanada-san gave him a longer, deeper kiss, lingering over him. "What happens will happen. But don't borrow trouble, Akaya. If our lives go as Renji expects for the next ten or twenty years, I doubt I'll ever quite be rid of you, whatever the details."

Akaya felt his face heat, and bit his lip, looking away. He was not going to do something pitiful like tear up, he was not. Sanada-san's fingers caught his chin, turning him back.

"If nothing else, you keep saying you'll beat me at tennis. And you have quite a ways to go before you manage that, Akaya," he said, smile lurking behind stern eyes.

A laugh drove away the hot feeling in his eyes, and then Sanada-san's hand tightened in Akaya's hair, and a devouring, demanding kiss swallowed the laugh.

"So, Akaya," Sanada said, smile turning dangerous again. "Are you ready for the next lesson?"

Akaya was sure his eyes looked like saucers, as Sanada-san's body pressed him down.

"Sanada-san..."

End

Irregular

Jackal and Marui on a hot afternoon, and Jackal's attempts to convince his partner to take it easy. Porn With Characterization, I-4, manga continuity

It was a hot afternoon, on the kind of day that encouraged sensible people to lounge around in as little clothing as could be arranged and drink things with a lot of ice. Accordingly, Jackal Kuwahara had abandoned all clothing but his favorite pair of worn, cotton shorts, settled in front of a fan with a pitcher of ice water handy nearby, and watched with amusement as his partner made a spirited attempt to stab his textbook to death with a pencil.

No one who knew him would call Bunta particularly sensible.

"It's absolutely ridiculous!" Bunta declared, with a last vindictive jab. "I mean, look at this! I could deal with irregulars that came in groups, but why can't mourir act like ouvrir? They end the same; they sound the same; they should act the same! Why did I think Romance Languages were a good idea?"

"Last week," Jackal noted, "you said you liked the way they sounded." He refilled both their glasses. Bunta accepted his back, absently, and sipped without looking away from the page.

"I do," he said. "They sound soft, but they have such a nice, broad rhythm to them. I like that. But it's no excuse for this!"

Jackal shook his head, caught between a sigh and a laugh. When Bunta was in a mood to be unreasonable one just had to let him vent until he got it out of his system. Sometimes, though, the process could be hastened with a little provocation.

"I'm told that it's much easier going in this direction then for, say, a native speaker of French to learn Japanese," he observed.

At that, Bunta looked up with a flash of teeth. "Ha! As if!"

Jackal chuckled. His partner in a high temper was always worth watching. Animation brightened the dawn-colored eyes, and curved his mouth in a razor sharp grin. Bunta knew perfectly well what Jackal was doing, of course, but he rarely turned down the opening. It was one of the reasons Jackal found his partner endlessly entertaining; his dramatics were always perfectly sincere and entirely deliberate, at the same time.

"You have to admit, Japanese not only has irregular verbs, but often completely different words for a single object," Jackal prodded, perfectly straight-faced.

"That," Bunta declared, "is all according to rules. Sensible, consistent rules. There's no consistency to this mess!" He paused, and cocked his head at Jackal. "Is it?" he asked.

Jackal blinked at him. That leap had gone by a bit fast. "Is what?"

"Is it easier going the other way?"

Jackal shrugged. "My family always spoke both Portuguese and Japanese. I wouldn't know."

Bunta growled, and dropped his pencil, flopping onto his back on the floor. Jackal took pity on him.

"So, assuming Seigaku keeps winning, who do you think we'll come up against next time we play them?" he asked.

Bunta's expression smoothed into something more serious, and Jackal smiled. Bunta got impatient with simple memorization, but give him an analytical problem to sink his teeth into and he focused right down.

"I wouldn't be all that surprised if they set Oishi and Kikumaru against us, trusting to Kikumaru to get past me instead of trying to counter you at all," he said, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling. "They might also pull out their wild card and pair Fuji with someone. Maybe that power player Yanagi says they have; the one that didn't play last time."

"Kawamura," Jackal supplied.

"Him," Bunta agreed. "They've relied on their singles players, this year, over doubles, but I doubt they'll be happy leaving the pattern from last time intact and relying completely on singles to win. Not now that we know how strong they are in singles. And their lineup there will be changing, just like ours; they'll trust that part of the pattern to hold, I'd bet. It has this long. But they haven't come this far by being complacent, either. They'll want to take at least one doubles match, and I expect we're the pair they'll focus on beating, considering that we're more predictable than Hiroshi and Niou."

Jackal snorted. There were hurricanes more predictable than those two, together. Bunta laughed. And then his eyes turned distant.

"Pattern," he murmured. "Changing content to maintain the pattern..." He abruptly sat bolt upright and started leafing through his textbook. Jackal relaxed, and crunched on some ice, and waited.

"Ha!" Bunta exclaimed. "It is! It's preserving the sound pattern!" He beamed at the somewhat ragged book, pulled over some paper and started scribbling. Jackal held off asking until Bunta paused to blow a bubble over his work, something he never did when he was genuinely frustrated.

"Problem solved?" he inquired, mildly.

"Yep," Bunta declared. "The irregular forms change to keep the overall sound combinations consistent, instead of the particular conjugations. Now it makes sense."

Jackal shook his head and left his partner to his industry, though he did shift the fan so that it blew over both of them. After almost two hours, however, broken only by intermittent pleased noises and a few particularly satisfied bubbles from Bunta, he decided enough was enough. Bunta showed all the signs of skipping dinner and their evening practice, both, if Jackal didn't pull him back from the realm of linguistic discovery soon.

Of course, pulling Bunta out of an intellectual spree could be just as difficult as pulling him out of an interesting game.

Bait was often helpful.

Accordingly, Jackal rose and came around behind his partner, and closed his hands over Bunta's shoulders, digging his thumbs into the knots his partner got between his shoulder blades when he sat over a book for too long like this. Bunta flexed his shoulders back into Jackal's grip, making yet more pleased sounds, but his attention didn't stray very far.

"You should take a break, Bunta," Jackal told him, applying a little more force to a persistent knot.

"Ah! Mmmm," Bunta said. The inexperienced might have taken it for agreement; Jackal knew better. He heaved a sigh. Extreme measures it was, then.

Not that he objected all that strenuously, to be honest.

Bunta squawked with surprise, as Jackal scooped his partner up in his arms and stood.

"All right, all right, I heard you the first time!" Bunta protested, focusing on Jackal at last. "I'll take a break."

"You will now," Jackal agreed, serenely. "I had something a little more than a break in mind, though."

Bunta's brows rose and he gave Jackal an arch look from half-lidded eyes. "Did you, now?" he murmured.

For the first little while he and Jackal had worked together, the... firmness with which Jackal interrupted him when he felt Bunta was focusing too hard on something had rather taken Bunta aback. He'd never really worked with anyone who felt that his flares of intense focus were anything but good. Jackal disagreed, and, unless they were actually in a real match, was perfectly willing to transport his partner, bodily, to attend to the things Bunta sometimes lost track of. Appointments, meals, sleep, little things.

Jackal was also perfectly unscrupulous about taking advantage of Bunta's weak points to make him rest. One of those weak points was that Bunta loved the feeling of Jackal's hands on him. Jackal had magnificent hands, large and long fingered, deft and strong, they went perfectly with the rest of his body.

Bunta liked the feeling of Jackal's body against his, too, but it was the stroke of his hands, over Bunta's stomach, curving around his ribs, sliding up his back and down his arms, that lodged a lazy purr in the back of Bunta's throat. He arched back over Jackal's hands, in a sensual stretch, as his partner straddled him and lifted him up to meet Jackal's body leaning over his.

"You're so impossible to budge, sometimes, Bunta," Jackal said against his neck, reaching to fish out one of the tubes they both kept stashed about their rooms, these days.

"As if you have room to talk," Bunta sighed, less indignantly than he'd intended. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever known."

"Completely in self defense," Jackal answered, a bit muffled against Bunta's shoulder.

It was difficult to scoff as such an assertion deserved when Jackal's hands were on Bunta's thighs, thumbs stroking the soft inner skin, moving, warm, between his legs and then between his cheeks. "Jackal," Bunta breathed, as those long fingers slid into him. Considering how content Jackal was to let Bunta call the pace of their games, he did tend to... press the pace in bed. Of course, Bunta had to admit, analysis was at far less of a premium, here, than it was when they faced opponents across the net.

Here, Jackal's quiet, sure action folded around Bunta as powerfully as his partner's arms, whispering to him to trust Jackal's strength in a different way. And, after all, the question at the back of those steady, brushed steel eyes always waited for Bunta's acceptance. Jackal's fingers quirked, wringing a gasp from Bunta as fire bloomed through him, and he wound his arms around Jackal's neck, pulling him down.

"Jackal," he breathed, lips curving against his partner's ear. "Fuck me."

The rumble of Jackal's laugh shivered through him, and Bunta was still smiling when Jackal's hand lifted his chin and Jackal's mouth covered his. And then the room whirled as Jackal pulled him upright, and back against Jackal's chest. Those powerful hands stroked up Bunta's thighs, spread over Jackal's, and up his chest, pressing him back into Jackal's body behind him. Bunta arched in Jackal's hold, sighing as Jackal's hands settled on his hips, stilling him.

The feeling of Jackal thrusting into him, deep and hard, drove a moan up Bunta's throat. He flexed back to meet his partner, as Jackal's hands moved again, one sliding up Bunta's stomach, leaving warm shivers in its wake, and the other slipping between his legs. Bunta glanced down and smiled. There was the aesthetic appreciation of the dark skin against light, of course. More, there was pleasure at watching that deft touch closing around him.

Bunta liked feeling Jackal fill him, liked the stretch and heat, liked it smooth and fast and hard, and that was the way Jackal always moved. He also liked seeing Jackal touch him, liked being able to watch the care as well as feel the strength with which Jackal handled him.

And Jackal always handled him with strength.

Bunta spilled onto knees and elbows as Jackal shifted forward, lifted Bunta's hips up to meet his as he drove into Bunta harder, faster, and Bunta cried out as Jackal's grip around his cock tightened, pleasure squeezing his nerves just as tight. It was hot and rough, and he rode the wave of it with as much abandon as Jackal was riding him.

The crest dropped them both, panting, in a tangle on the bed, and it was a little while before they managed to extricate themselves from one another, pausing every so often to laugh at each other's contortions to avoid the wet spot. The finally reached an equitable arrangement lying at right angles, with Bunta's head pillowed on Jackal's stomach where Jackal could comb his fingers through Bunta's damp hair.

"And here I thought you said the best thing to do on a hot day is lie still," Bunta remarked, yawning. Jackal's stomach moving under him almost made him laugh as well.

"I know you, Bunta," Jackal told him. "I needed to wear you out if I want you to take a rest."

Bunta smiled. His partner was one of the only people who could keep up with him long enough to wear him out, and it would have irritated him if Jackal hadn't been both caring and matter-of-fact about using that advantage. Altogether, though, Bunta was very pleased with the partner fate had dealt him, and put up with Jackal's stubborn streak with what he, personally, thought was commendable grace.

It certainly paid some significant dividends, he reflected, stretching muscles that tingled in the aftermath of Jackal's attentions.

"Does that mean you'll stay still and be my pillow for a while?" he asked, turning on his side so he could look at his partner.

Jackal's mouth curved in a wry grin. "Sure."

Quite significant dividends, Bunta thought, as he closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

End

Credit

This story takes place in a quantum bubble of the Challengeverse (maybe it happened, maybe it didn't), immediately following "The Continuation of War". Tezuka offers Oishi some support after his very bad day. Porn with Characterization, I-3

It had not been a relaxing day for Oishi Shuichirou.

To be sure, practice wasn't normally somewhere he relaxed. But today had had more than its fair share of stress. On top of the general run of keeping the team focused, there was the vastly increased problem of keeping them focused on actually practicing against Rikkai instead of attempting to one-up the other team. The attitudes of the Rikkai players had not helped in the least.

No, that wasn't fair, Shuichirou told himself. The attitudes of their singles players were really quite reasonable, even Kirihara's. Of course, very few people gave Tezuka attitude for long once they had played against him. Well, very few people, aside from Echizen, who gave absolutely everybody attitude, and could actually be considered becomingly respectful, by comparison, for moderating the back talk he gave his captain.

But he was wandering from the subject. The subject was the doubles players, and specifically that Niou character. His partner, at least, had seemed vaguely remorseful about knocking Eiji unconscious, but Niou had brushed it off. Shuichirou felt his teeth grinding, and made himself stop. Again.

He didn't lose his temper very often, but he would have this afternoon. Not even over a direct offense, either, no, it had been the crack about Niou's own captain that had been the last straw, and Shuichirou would have exploded, if Tezuka hadn't noticed. The hand on his shoulder had startled him out of what Shuichirou was guiltily aware was an irrational anger, and the silent support of Tezuka at his back had given him the moment of calm to take a good deep breath and not yell.

It didn't particularly surprise him that Tezuka had quietly fallen in beside him when they all left. He knew Tezuka worried when Shuichirou lost his cool, and he had to admit that the company was welcome, now. Tezuka's company in private, where their long familiarity let him relax his usual reserve and show himself to Shuichirou more openly, would be especially welcome.

At his gate he looked a question at Tezuka and received a tiny smile back. Tezuka would come in for a while, then.

Up in his room he let his bags thump to the floor, and leaned his hands on his desk, blowing out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry about that, Tezuka," he said. "You shouldn't have to deal with me acting immature, on top of everything else..."

Tezuka's hands closing over his shoulders stopped him.

"Enough," the deep voice behind him said, quietly. "No one can keep a perfect temper all the time."

"Except you?" Shuichirou murmured, ruefully.

"I'm just a little better at putting it off until later."

Shuichirou sighed again, more softly, as Tezuka's thumbs stroked down his neck, coaxing away a little of the day's tension.

"I shouldn't need you to make allowances for me," he insisted, though.

Tezuka pulled Shuichirou around and into his arms. "I said, enough," he warned, the warmth and amusement in his eyes belying his stern tone. "You let yourself be more open than I do, and have the problems that go with that. Why should I be unwilling to help you with the problems when the openness is exactly what I need? Both in my vice-captain and in my friend."

Shuichirou leaned against his friend and rested his forehead on Tezuka's shoulder, smiling just a little. They'd had this conversation often enough that he knew he wouldn't win it. Nor did he really want to. He just couldn't help saying so, when he felt as if he was taking advantage of Tezuka's strength. He saw enough of Tezuka's honest emotion and response to know that, while the strength in question was impressive, it wasn't limitless. Tezuka always insisted that it was a more than even trade, though. And, to be honest himself, Shuichirou always relaxed quickly with the reassurance of Tezuka's arms around him.

"Better?" Tezuka asked.

"Yes," Shuichirou laughed. "Better. Thank you."

"No need." Tezuka freed one hand to lift Shuichirou's chin. "Shuichirou."

Hearing Tezuka's dark velvet voice wrapped around his name always made Shuichirou shiver, and his lips were already parted on a quick breath when Tezuka's mouth covered his. The heat wound its way into his bones, and Shuichirou moaned softly. Tezuka kissed him deep and swift, again and again, the way he kissed when he wanted to lay Shuichirou down and open his legs and touch him until he was incapable of thinking.

Tezuka seemed to especially enjoy that last part.

Shuichirou pressed against Tezuka's body, offering his assent, and went willingly when Tezuka's hands guided him down to the bed. Long fingers flicked open his shirt and pants, as Tezuka's lips traced down his neck.

Opened them, but didn't pull them off.

"Tezuka," Shuichirou murmured, shifting under him. It always made him feel a little more... wanton when Tezuka touched him without undressing him first. As if what they were doing was more urgent, even when they went slowly. As if the presence of clothing somehow emphasized how undone and open it was. How undone and open he was, under Tezuka's hands.

Tezuka's fingers stroking his chest were a silent question; Tezuka knew that he was hesitant, sometimes, about this. But it excited him, too, and his hand over Tezuka's, moving it down, was an equally silent answer. Tezuka's lips curved against his throat.

One warm, strong hand slipped into his open pants, closing around him, and Shuichirou gasped, pressing up into it. Tezuka stroked him firmly, mouth tracking over Shuichirou's shoulders, pushing his shirt further off, before wandering down his stomach. Shuichirou shuddered as Tezuka's hands slid down his hips, pushing his pants a little further down even as Tezuka's legs spread his apart.

Tezuka paused, kneeling above him, hands resting on the arch of his hipbones.

"Tezuka?" Shuichirou asked, breathless.

"Your strength is part of your magnificence, Shuichirou," Tezuka said, voice low. "Never doubt that I find you magnificent."

Shuichirou's breath caught in his throat, and Tezuka's smile acknowledged both the flush that heated Shuichirou's cheeks and the wonder that softened his eyes. Tezuka leaned down to kiss him, once, softly.

And then the heat of his mouth closed over Shuichirou's cock, and Shuichirou's thoughts were washed under the abrupt surge of tense pleasure. His senses took over the moment, filling his mind with the rough brush and bind of cloth against his skin, the press of Tezuka's fingers, the sleek, wet glide of his tongue, demanding reaction from Shuichirou's nerves, stroking liquid heat down them until Shuichirou couldn't help but answer those demands with long, deep shudders of pleasure that raked through his body and took away with them his ability to move.

Not, he reflected, a little lightheaded, that this was all that different from the results of Tezuka's demands on the court.

Fingers brushed against his cheek, and Tezuka laughed, softly, that rich sound that so few ever heard.

"You certainly look more relaxed, now," he commented.

Shuichirou looked up at him and smiled. "So do you," he said, quite truthfully. The bittersweet-brown eyes were warm, the faint pinch between the brows was gone, and Tezuka's mouth was gentler than anyone but Shuichirou probably ever saw it. He drew Tezuka down to lie against him, tangling his fingers in soft, springy hair.

"Rest a little," Shuichirou suggested. "You had a long day, too."

"Mmm," Tezuka agreed, winding an arm around Shuichirou. "Good idea. Especially," and the deep voice took on a hint of teasing as it breathed in Shuichirou's ear, "since you'll need your rest later."

Shuichirou flushed again, abruptly aware of his still rumpled condition, and felt more than heard Tezuka's suppressed chuckles.

"Tezuka!" he laughed.

End

Dislocated

Immediately after "The Continuation of War", Yanagi and Inui finally get around to talking about how they parted. Drama With Romance, I-4

As the Rikkai team made their way back to their bus, Renji found himself pausing for one more look back toward Seigaku's courts. He had, perhaps unwisely, let himself be drawn into playing a second doubles match, today, this one against Yagyuu and Niou.

As a pair with Sadaharu.

They had both evolved over the years, of course, but they had also watched each other do so, and, while their particular moves had changed, their coordination was achingly familiar. He had read descriptions of how it felt to have a dislocated joint realigned, and, from what he recalled, it sounded remarkably like what he had felt this afternoon: a sharp pain accompanied by a hard wrench and a sudden feeling of rightness. Despite his distraction by such contradictory feelings, which he suspected Sadaharu shared, they had won.

Actually, Niou's expression of indignation when they did had been rather amusing.

And despite his own knowledge, well borne out, now, that both of them played better in singles than in doubles, he found himself reminded of something he missed. Perhaps, he thought, whimsically, the first doubles partner one really had rapport with was like first love; it always had a special place.

"Renji?"

He started, and looked around to see Seiichi smiling at him, sympathy in his eyes.

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" Seiichi asked, gently.

"I don't..." Renji broke off. For the life of him, he couldn't say whether he wanted to or not.

Seiichi shook his head at Renji, and reached up to take his shoulder and shake him lightly. "You need to settle this, Renji. If nothing else, until you do you'll be vulnerable to the same kind of shock he gave you last time."

Having a solid reason to go along with his ephemeral ones made Renji feel better about the prospect, and he smiled back, bowing his head to the knowledge that lurked in Seiichi's gaze.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Don't be foolish," Genichirou said from behind him, hand warm on Renji's back. "We'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Renji knew without looking that Genichirou's expression was softer than his tone, and nodded.

After waving his teammates onto the bus, and thinking a little, Renji stationed himself five and a half blocks away from the school, under a handy chestnut tree. It should be far enough that anyone Sadaharu might walk with would have turned off already.

When Sadaharu appeared, and spotted Renji waiting there, his mouth took on a very satisfied quirk, by which Renji deduced that Sadaharu had predicted this turn of events.

"Renji," Sadaharu greeted him, just a touch smug.

"Sadaharu," Renji returned, suppressing a chuckle and falling in beside his old friend. "Do you have your room on separate environmental control yet?"

Sadaharu waved a hand. "I'm waiting until fall for that; my schedule is too irregular in summer to get good results."

One of the things he had missed, Renji reflected, was someone who genuinely took Renji's informedness completely for granted.

"Will that give you results in time for this year's Exposition?"

"The baseline will be a little short, but the lower number of variables will make the entire study much cleaner."

"That must be a pleasant break from the data you deal with all summer," Renji murmured.

Sadaharu shot him a sidelong look. "Data that changes makes an equally pleasant challenge," he countered. Renji smiled.

Sadaharu was a scientist to the core, and had a true scientist's drive to constantly improve and adjust his models. It was a good thing, because otherwise, Renji was convinced, the frustration of attempting to map such stubborn imponderables as human performance in a game like tennis would have driven him mad within six months. The fact remained that Sadaharu was a scientist and looked for patterns that were stable.

When dealing with people, one had to look for patterns that moved, as well.

"And you?" Sadaharu needled. "Still cluttering your mind with the latest novels by Touma Shigure?"

Renji chuckled. "Much of history is written by storytellers," he pointed out. "Comparing a contemporary story to contemporary events allows me to recognize the patterns of reinterpretation when I seem them in historical accounts."

Sadaharu sniffed.

"Oh, come now," Renji sighed. "Don't pretend you don't know the value of including emotional elements in calculations. Not when you demonstrated it so very well at the Regional finals."

"That was different," Sadaharu insisted, as he opened his front door and waved Renji inside.

"How?"

"That was you. It was personal."

Renji paused in toeing off his shoes to cast an exasperated look over his shoulder. For all his finickiness over his data, Sadaharu was as capable as the next person of fuzzy logic when it suited him.

"The most objective observation is always personal for someone, Sadaharu," he admonished. "The observer always has a reason for observing."

Sadaharu, too, paused, in the act of opening the door to his room. He gave Renji a crooked smile.

"You really will make an excellent professor," he said, echoing their childhood nicknames.

"So will you," Renji observed, closing the door behind him. "We'll just be in different departments."

This time Sadaharu stopped dead in the middle of the room, a soft, surprised laugh escaping him. Renji remembered that this was what they used to say to each other when they made plans to work at the same university when they grew up. And to move in together, getting a nice, big apartment in...

"Shiodome," they said, together, and were both still for a moment, looking at each other through a tangle of memory and dreams so dense that Renji felt it like a knot in his chest. He thought about his comparison of first partners with first loves, and reflected that Sadaharu was probably both to him.

It was Sadaharu who broke the moment, turning to his desk to set down his bag. He had always been the one less comfortable with interpersonal nuances. Renji accepted the tacit request to change the subject and went to take a look at the bookcase. The Yukawa and Kaku were expected; the Kurzweil was a bit of a surprise, and he adjusted his assumptions about Sadaharu's English proficiency to reflect it.

He had to stifle a laugh at the two novels by Touma Shigure.

But he did wonder about the couple of notebooks marked Recipes. "Sadaharu?" he asked, brushing his fingers over the spines.

"Ah," Sadaharu said, pulling one out, "a little in the way of biochemistry."

Renji raised his brows. Sadaharu flipped the book open and handed it to him with a faint smile. He read over the lists of ingredients and effects, brows climbing even higher at the recorded effects on other people. When he reached the section titled Penal-Tea he couldn't help himself and burst out laughing until he had to lean against the shelves.

"Sadaharu! You didn't!"

"It operates as a very reliable motivator," Sadaharu said, serenely, only the evil curl to his smile giving him away.

Renji shook his head. "You and your sense of humor," he mock lamented. "Niou was entirely correct about you." He ruffled a hand through Sadaharu's hair, unthinking, and they both froze.

Their old gesture, just as automatic as the old names. Just as easy. Just as hurtful, now.

Sadaharu snatched a deep breath and backed up to sit on his bed, head bent.

"Renji." The low voice was huskier than usual. "Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"I didn't want to think about it," Renji told him.

"And?" Sadaharu prodded, still low but harder now.

"Your tone tells me you already know," Renji hedged. He knew he was avoiding the point, but to speak of it now would make the pain new again, and wasn't once enough?

"Tell me," Sadaharu insisted, roughly.

"And when I did think about," Renji admitted, eventually, "I thought that it would push you away from doubles, and into singles. Where you belong." He could see the muscles along Sadaharu's jaw standing out, and he didn't want to say the next thing, but Sadaharu had asked.

"And I was right," he finished, softly.

Sadaharu's mouth tightened, and he nodded, a little stiffly. "You were always better at people," he said, flat and toneless. "It was a good move, for our games."

Both statements were completely truthful, and made Renji's heart feel like lead. He had known what he was doing, then, but he hadn't understood what it would mean, and he couldn't leave the results to lie where they had fallen. He crossed the room and laid his hands on Sadaharu's straight, tense shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he told his once-best friend. "I should never have done that. Not to a friend."

Sadaharu's head came up quickly, and his mouth was uncertain now. Renji knew he had unbalanced Sadaharu's decision to focus their interactions solely through the lens of the game they both played, had intruded more personal matters back into the issue. But this was one pattern he found he needed to at least try to break.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked, quietly.

Slowly, the tension drained away under his hands, and Sadaharu's expression settled, a little wistful but at ease, and open in a way Renji hadn't seen in years.

"Yes," Sadaharu answered.

"Thank you," Renji whispered.

Sadaharu heaved a sigh, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Renji's chest, clasping his hands loosely behind Renji's knees. Renji passed his hand through Sadaharu's hair again, tightening his other arm around Sadaharu's shoulders. The stillness this time was comfort, as their memories settled into alignment with their present.

Eventually Renji broke the silence, passing a hand over Sadaharu's shoulder and down his arm. "You really have gotten much stronger," he noted. Sadaharu snorted.

"Chasing after Tezuka, I've had to," he pointed out.

"Is he your goal, still?" Renji asked, curious. Having observed Tezuka's pattern of trying to make his team members aware of the breadth and variety of the world of tennis as a whole, he would be very surprised if Tezuka had not been trying to do something about that.

"One of them," Sadaharu answered, after a pause. Renji smiled down at the dark head leaning against him. Then Sadaharu looked up, an inquiring tilt to his brows. "Is Yukimura one of yours? I've never gotten enough data on the two of you to tell for sure."

"Not exactly," Renji answered, still running his fingers absently through black hair that was becoming more mussed than usual. "I like to match my skills against his, but it isn't from any particular drive to exceed him. It's just that he calls out my best; it's what he does for all of us, really. It's his gift." He paused, and then added, more softly, "He's the one who sent me to you."

Sadaharu tilted his head, mouth quirking in the terribly familiar preface to teasing. Renji braced himself.

"Did he?" Sadaharu asked, tone suspiciously light.

"Yes," Renji answered, warily.

"Well, I suppose I had already gathered that he didn't mind sharing," Sadaharu murmured, as if thoughtfully.

"Sadaharu..." Renji growled, throttling down the urge to blush. His friend's toothy grin didn't help matters any. "Toy with me, will you?"

"Who said I was?"

Renji looked down at Sadaharu, trying to place the expression on his face now. Sharp. Almost challenging. But there was amusement running under it, too, and that wistful edge once again.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"Merely examining your reaction," Sadaharu defended himself.

Oh, yes, Sadaharu could split hairs with the best. Renji ran his fingers down Sadaharu's jaw, tilting his head up, and leaned in a little.

"And is this the reaction you expected?"

"It was one I considered." The quickening pulse under Renji's fingertips contradicted the steadiness of Sadaharu's voice. "Previously, I had calculated the probability as fairly low, though."

Renji thought back to the knowing look in Seiichi's eyes, to Genichirou's reassurance. If he wanted to do this they would have no problems with it. They knew he would be back.

Did Sadaharu?

Renji raised his hands to Sadaharu's glasses, and Sadaharu let him remove them. Dark eyes gazed back at him with an undeniable edge of desire, but also with an awareness and reserve that told Renji that his friend did understand.

"You really don't mind?" he asked, hesitant for once.

"Anything more would be too much, Renji," Sadaharu told him, gently.

Just because Sadaharu wasn't as good as he was at calculating interpersonal reactions, Renji reminded himself, didn't mean his analytical skills were any less. And he had often applied them to their particular relationship with downright dazzling success. So be it, then.

He set one knee on the bed, and pressed Sadaharu down with a hand on his chest. The other hand braced him as he leaned over his friend, brushing a light kiss against Sadaharu's lips before nipping softly at his throat. Sadaharu's body tensed against his.

"Renji!" he gasped, hands closing on Renji's shoulders.

"You're used to being the one who causes this response, not the one who gives it, aren't you?" Renji murmured against his ear. A shiver answered him. "Do you need that, Sadaharu?"

Long fingers spread against his collar bone, slid down his chest. He lifted his head to see Sadaharu's eyes. They were bright and laughing, the way Renji hadn't seen them for a very long time, as Sadaharu shook his head.

"Not with you," he said, simply.

Renji smiled and leaned back down, tasting Sadaharu's caught breath as they kissed again.

He went slowly, savoring the strength with which Sadaharu answered his kiss, his hands against Sadaharu's skin. Feeling Sadaharu arch under the stroke of Renji's fingers down his chest or thighs, seeing the sleek lines of his muscles tense into sharp definition when Renji pressed his lips to the hollow of Sadaharu's hip, hearing his low moan as Renji parted his legs, these wrapped around Renji tighter than any physical grip could have. Seeing the abandon in Sadaharu's eyes now, he recognized the pretense he had seen on the court for what it was: the shell of this loosed passion. The knowledge that Sadaharu trusted him, again, with so much of himself stopped Renji's own breath. The note of that trust in Sadaharu's voice, when he called Renji's name, even more than the heat and welcome of the body twined with his, drew Renji, helpless, over the edge of pleasure.

It was a long time before he could raise his head from the curve of Sadaharu's shoulder, or relax the trembling tightness of his hold.

"Renji," Sadaharu said, eventually, sounding thoughtful.

"Mm?"

"You said Yukimura isn't you goal; that you don't play like that."

Renji propped his head on one hand so he could see Sadaharu's face. "Yes."

Sadaharu tilted his head on the pillow. "Does that mean you're going to have a problem playing all out against me?"

Renji stroked his fingers down Sadaharu's cheek, silently acknowledging the similarities Sadaharu had seen. "No," he said, softly. "I won't. Seiichi sent me back to you today, and he'll send me back to you this weekend, too."

An appreciative smile curved Sadaharu's mouth. "You have a good captain."

"Yes," Renji agreed, shoving back the shudder that tried to walk up his spine at the memories of Seiichi's absence.

Sadaharu seemed to feel it anyway, and pulled Renji back down to him. "It's all right," he murmured. "He's back."

Renji sighed, and nodded. Sadaharu's arms tightened, and an edge of teasing crept into his voice.

"Can you stay a while longer before I send you back to him?"

Renji laughed, quietly. He'd forgotten how easily Sadaharu could make him laugh. He twined their fingers together and settled closer.

"Of course."

End

Cloud to Cloud

Immediately following "The Continuation of War", Kirihara finds himself somewhat disturbed by the day's experiences, and Yukimura offers him reassurance. Porn with Insights, I-4

The lurch as the bus stopped woke Akaya from a half dozing dream that promptly escaped him. All he remembered was that it had involved cutting a tall chain-link fence. And that Fuji had been mixed up in the project. There were really days Akaya wished his subconscious could just send him a memo. Stumbling off the bus, rubbing his eyes, Akaya glanced up at the sky; clouds were piling up, though it wasn't getting any cooler. They might have rain soon. Time to be heading home.

He didn't move, though, as the rest of the team scattered towards their own homes. Instead he stood still and tried to put the day's events in some kind of order in his head.

"Akaya?" Yukimura-san's voice asked beside him, soft enough not to startle. Yukimura-san smiled a little when Akaya blinked at him. "Worn out?"

"Not really," Akaya shook his head. He was a little tired, certainly, but not worn out. He was in better training than that.

Yukimura-san's eyes sharpened. "Confused?" he guessed.

Akaya bit his lip. That would be it, yes.

"Tezuka-san," he started, "it was... and when you played Echizen..." Why, he wondered, couldn't he put this coherently?

"What, worried I want to replace you?" Yukimura-san asked, lightly.

Akaya winced. Oh, yes, that was right; because it sounded so stupid when he did. Yukimura-san patted his shoulder.

"I shouldn't tease you," he sighed. "It can be confusing. Good rivals are as close as your teammates; closer, sometimes."

That, Akaya decided, was exactly what was making him uncomfortable. He looked aside.

"Akaya." Yukimura-san's hand turned Akaya's face back toward him. "You are one of mine. Don't forget that. Even if you defeat me, you will still be one of mine."

Akaya wanted to let that reassurance comfort him, to let that hint of wildness glowing in Yukimura-san's eyes wrap around him, but he remembered seeing it earlier today. While his captain was playing Echizen. He found himself nibbling on his lip again.

Yukimura-san's expression turned considering. His hand cupped Akaya's cheek.

"If I asked you to come home with me tonight, what would you say?" he murmured.

Akaya felt his eyes widen. He had really tried to stop hoping that Yukimura-san would ever say something like that to him. And when they both let go, on the court, let the brilliance take them, it was enough for him.

Except...

Except that that was the problem right now, wasn't it? He had watched Yukimura-san share that with someone else, today—and found out, himself, that he could share it with someone besides Yukimura-san. He found himself longing for some connection that he knew wouldn't be shared outside the team, like that.

And Yukimura-san was offering it.

"Yes," Akaya whispered, shakily.

Yukimura-san smiled, and leaned forward to brush a light kiss across his lips. "Come, then."

Akaya spent the walk in a bit of a daze.

They reached Yukimura-san's home just as clouds overran the sky, and the wind started to pick up. It still wasn't cooling off, Akaya noticed, eyeing the sky. The wind was warm and heavy with the touch of water, and a flash of heat lightning showed the edges of the clouds for an instant. A soft sound beside him made Akaya look around to see Yukimura-san also watching the sky.

"We're in for a storm, it looks like."

Watching the wind lift and twine through his hair, seeing the dark sky reflected in his eyes, Akaya was struck by the whimsy that if this particular weather had human form it would be Yukimura-san. He looked so at ease, not even swaying with the gusts.

And then Yukimura-san looked at him, and held out a hand, and matters of more immediate concern returned with a rush. He let Yukimura-san lead him inside, trying to calm his heart rate.

Though he was a bit startled when Yukimura-san immediately threw open both the windows over his bed. Yukimura-san noticed his look, and one corner of his mouth tugged up.

"Most of the windows at the hospital didn't open very far; it didn't take long to get fed up with it."

Akaya shivered and nodded, subdued. Yukimura-san came and took Akaya's face between his hands, turning it up.

"That won't do," he murmured, and bent his head to kiss Akaya's lips apart.

Akaya barely noticed Yukimura-san undressing him until he realized that he was leaning against his captain's body without a thread of clothing between them, and released a breathless moan into Yukimura-san's mouth. Slim, strong hands traveled down his back, settled on his hips, moved him the few steps to the bed.

Scooting back on the sheets, momentarily without Yukimura-san's touch to distract him, Akaya felt suddenly shy, and cursed his quick blush once again for giving him away. He looked up at Yukimura-san through his lashes to see a gentle smile and eyes bright with amusement. His captain pressed him down and stroked his hair back, soothing.

"So shy, Akaya? After the way I've seen you tease Genichirou, I'm surprised."

Akaya turned his head away to press a hot cheek against the cool cotton under him. "That was Sanada-san," he mumbled, "that's different."

Yukimura-san's fingers closed on his chin and turned his head back. "Does that mean I can stop worrying about you teasing me?" he asked, lips just brushing Akaya's.

Akaya's breath caught on a faint whimper. "Yes, Yukimura-san," he husked.

Yukimura-san's lips covered his, softly, fingers smoothing over Akaya's ribs, down his hips, feather light on the insides of his thighs. Akaya arched up, shivering, and then sank back, open and yearning under those hands. With his eyes closed, Akaya found it hard to tell, sometimes, what was Yukimura-san's delicate, inciting touch and what was the brush of that heavy wind blowing over them. It only got more so when Yukimura-san drew him up onto his knees and into the path of the air curling through the room.

His captain's fingers brushing his entrance was one touch he couldn't mistake, though, and another low sound escaped him. Yukimura-san held Akaya close against his body and touched him slowly, coaxing and teasing and gentle. Akaya stretched against him, wanting, asking silently for more than this soft stroking. When Yukimura-san's tongue traced down Akaya's neck and over his shoulder, Akaya tossed his head, bowing back over the arm that held him with a gasp, because it was suddenly too much for nerves brushed to hypersensitivity.

"Yukimura-san," he choked, "please..."

He broke off with a breathless moan as Yukimura-san's fingers finally slid into him, a presence spreading him open around itself. Yukimura-san leaned over him, a familiar electric edge in his dark eyes, and the wind stroked his hair across Akaya's skin as his mouth moved over Akaya's chest. The gentle touches left Akaya limp in his hold, breathing in faint sighs as his captain's strength wrapped around him. Silent flickers of lightning painted red across his closed eyes.

When Yukimura-san drew him back up and turned him to face the window, Akaya found that he had to lean back against the support of Yukimura-san's body behind him to keep from collapsing in a heap. That support was as familiar as the demand in the kiss that Yukimura-san turned Akaya's head back to meet, and the compelling pressure that opened him slowly, steadily. Familiar in a new form. Akaya's small, desperate sound, as Yukimura-san slid all the way into him, was caught by his captain's mouth on his before Yukimura-san's lips curved.

"Akaya," that soft voice stroked against his ear, sounding pleased and reflective, both, "you give yourself to me so easily."

Akaya rested his head back on Yukimura-san's shoulder, shivering as his captain took the opportunity to press his mouth to Akaya's exposed throat. "You take me so completely," he whispered, both an explanation and a plea.

True lightning etched the fast moving sky in front of them, and the thunder that followed it drowned out any reply Yukimura-san might have made. Akaya didn't care, because Yukimura-san was moving, now, slow and hard, holding Akaya tight against him. The stretch and slide of it burned through Akaya, started sweat on his skin that only made the glide of Yukimura-san's hands sleeker. The increasing power of the wind washing across them did nothing to cool Akaya; it was still warm, almost skin-warm, and played between his spread legs as lightly as Yukimura-san's fingertips.

Akaya's senses slid into each other. The rhythm of Yukimura-san moving in him matched itself with the rhythm of the increasing thunder, a breathless pause before the echoing shock of each thrust. The hot, tense pleasure licking at his nerves felt like the bright, soundless bursts of heat lightning, flickering from cloud to cloud, building and never grounding. Akaya wanted it to ground, to strike down, to find some bridge of release, and found his voice long enough to call his captain's name, needing, asking. Yukimura-san shifted, harder, deeper, and he spoke into Akaya's ear, voice low and clear.

"Come with me, Akaya. Let yourself go."

Fingers stroked down his length and drew Akaya's pulse and breath with them, wringing out of him like the desperate gasps that wrung free from his throat with each spasm, leaving him lax and panting in Yukimura-san's arms. He felt very much like purring. Yukimura-san laughed, softly, and laid him down, leaning beside him and smoothing damp strands of hair away from his eyes. Akaya smiled and turned his face into Yukimura-san's hand, laying a shy kiss in the palm. Yukimura-san was breathing deeply, the same indefinable glow hovering around him as did after a serious game. He bent down and caught Akaya's mouth with his, somehow both wild and soothing.

"Feeling less confused?" he asked on a teasing note.

Akaya looked up through his lashes with a wicked grin. "As long as you aren't planning on taking Echizen to bed."

Yukimura-san's laughter was bright and rich. "Definitely not," he assured Akaya, chuckling.

Akaya curled contentedly against his captain's side and listened as it began to rain.

End

Fortune

Atobe encounters Yukimura at the museum, they fall to chatting, and events take a rather sharp left turn. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-4, continuity uncertain—possibly hybrid

Atobe Keigo liked to have privacy when he sketched. Which was to say, he didn't like to have anyone around who would recognize him. Squealing admirers were a distraction, and sneering detractors didn't need the ammunition.

It wasn't that Keigo sketched badly, because he was actually fairly good at it. His preliminary work, in fact, was excellent. It was the details that always seemed to go astray. The problem was that he did not sketch superbly. If he'd known, years ago, that he would be expected to affect an attitude everywhere about everything, and defend it the same way he did on the court...

Well, it might not have changed anything, but at least he'd have had some forewarning.

Thus, when a pleasant voice that he recognized immediately spoke over his shoulder, thoroughly invalidating every precaution of stowing his sketchbook in his tennis bag and coming to the museum early in the morning and sitting in the Impressionist gallery, where most people his age tended to breeze through with barely a glance, he was not terribly pleased.

Besides, he was in the middle of trying to capture the shadows of a Cassat, and that was never easy.

"Mmm," he answered, and kept working.

Fortunately, Yukimura had the grace to let him do so.

After another few minutes, Keigo decided this effort was as done as it was going to get, and held it out, critically, to compare with the painting in front of him. The likeness was unimpressive, and a faint growl of frustration escaped.

"It looks like a reasonable start."

If Yukimura's tone had been in any way encouraging, Keigo would have snapped at him. Since his unwelcome company merely sounded matter of fact, he limited himself to a curled lip. The implicit understanding, in that voice, of how deeply annoying shortcomings of any kind were, however, also led him to offer some explanation of his disdain.

"Reasonable for an exercise, I suppose. It works better when I'm drawing a three dimensional subject. This simply isn't up to standard."

Yukimura tipped his head and looked down at him, thoughtfully. "My art teachers have always said that copying a masterwork was the best way to learn the techniques the artist used to achieve a given effect," he noted.

Keigo sniffed. Still, there was honest curiosity in Yukimura's observation, and a delicacy behind his lack of actual questioning that soothed Keigo's brief temper. So he stopped and thought about it.

"It's never really worked that way, for me," he said, slowly. "When I observe something," he waved a hand at the Cassat on the wall, "it... sublimates. It comes out again when I actually sketch a real subject, but just copying has never worked out very well. Live models are much better." He shrugged, dismissing the topic, and stowed away his sketchbook. "Are you here for one of the exhibits in particular?" he asked, standing.

"I didn't have any in mind, especially," Yukimura answered, accepting the shift to polite small-talk. "Are there any you would recommend?"

"Their Renaissance galleries are quite good," Keigo considered, turning toward them absently. "There's also an excellent special exhibit of Edo period textiles this month..."

Which was how he found himself acting as impromptu tour guide to one of his strongest rivals. They were in the middle of the textiles exhibit before he even realized it. On the other hand, Yukimura's conversation was informed and insightful, and there were worse ways to spend a morning than discussing fine art in the serenity of a well-kept museum.

Yukimura laid his hand on the glass of a case. "Gaudy," he said, of the layers on layers of figured cloth inside, "but beautiful. It takes a good deal of dedication to create something this complex."

"Extremely difficult to move in, though," Keigo observed. Yukimura laughed, softly.

"Ah, but these were made for court nobles to show off to each other. When it came to actually avoiding a knife in the back... well, that's what they had retainers for."

"Indeed," Keigo smiled, crookedly. Too bad he didn't have a few of those. Not that he could imagine himself mincing around in the robes in front of them. Yukimura would look well in these creations, though, he reflected, idly. He had the grace of gesture implied by every line of Ukio-e; the trailing style would suit him, for all that the constriction would likely drive him as mad as it would Keigo.

They finally fetched up in the open courtyard of the museum cafe for lunch.

Lingering over coffee, Keigo's mind wandered back to the question of shadows. How, for instance, would he render the shadows that dappled that handsome bit of Greek statuary under the trees?

"How long does it usually take you to sketch something?"

Keigo blinked at his companion. "Ten or fifteen minutes, unless it's a very complex subject," he answered, a bit startled at the non sequitur. Yukimura smiled.

"Well, then, I'll be sure to take my time getting us some more coffee," he said, rising.

Keigo stared after him for a few moments before he decided not to question the gift, and pulled out his sketchbook. Now, the arm thus, and the curve of hip so, and shaded here... When he emerged from the concentration of transfer from solid to paper, he sat back, pleased. It lacked the texture of Cassat, but he was getting there.

"You are much better working from life," Yukimura said, over his shoulder.

Keigo grimly suppressed a start; he hadn't even realized the other was there. "Why thank you," he replied, layering irony over courtesy.

Yukimura chuckled, and set Keigo's coffee down beside him before resuming his seat. "You said live models are best, though?"

"Yes," Keigo agreed, stowing materials away again. "I know some people prefer subjects that don't have to breathe, but that bit of movement always adds something to a scene, for me."

He might have gone on, because Yukimura seemed to have a better understanding of such things than most people he spoke to, but, as he straightened, his eye, still tuned to line and shadow rather than human identity, was arrested by the figure across the table from him. That figure was, momentarily, not one of his rivals, nor a chance companion who discussed artistic philosophy well. Instead, it was a study in contrast: the dark, breaking wave of hair against the pale, stark angles of bone and lean muscle. In that suspended moment, a word drifted through Keigo's mind. Chiaroscuro. Light and shadow. And another after it. Kikkyou. Fortune. Sunshine and shadow.

He shook his head, and his perceptions settled. Wouldn't it be superb, though? Now, how on earth to ask something like that?

"Yukimura..." he trailed off, as the gleam in his companion's eye suddenly registered.

Yukimura rested his chin on one hand, and lifted his brows. He was, Keigo decided, perfectly well aware of what Keigo wanted to ask and was going to sit there with that attentive expression and watch Keigo squirm while he tried to come up with a courteous way to do it.

The hell with that.

So. His coach had taught Keigo that pride was a powerful tool; years of watching his father entertain clients had taught him a much older lesson. Flattery gets you everywhere. Above all else, experience had taught him that the observant ones liked to be amused.

"I'm sure that someone of your elegance has been asked before, often enough for it it be burdensome, whether advantage can be taken of your grace," he said, as unctuously and expansively as possible. The corners of Yukimura's mouth twitched. "Will you forgive me for imposing on you with an additional request?"

"That being?" Yukimura prompted, a strain of suppressed laughter in his voice.

"Would you be willing to sit for a few sketches?"

"Draped or undraped?" Yukimura asked, casually.

Keigo came very close to snorting a mouthful of coffee out his nose. Who would have thought, he wondered, swallowing very carefully, that Rikkai's soft-spoken captain had such a low sense of humor?

"Draped, I think, at least to start with," he managed.

"Certainly, I'd be delighted," Yukimura agreed graciously, eyes sparkling. "Did you have a location in mind?"

"I would prefer somewhere outside, where I can get the shadows from sunlight," Keigo mused, casting his mind over the possibilities.

"What about a garden?" Yukimura suggested.

"That would probably be ideal," Keigo agreed. "Do you know of one that's reasonably quiet?"

A half smile curved Yukimura's lips. "Mine," he said, softly.

Keigo raised a brow.

"It's a hobby of mine. And I would be interested to see what you make of it, as a setting," Yukimura explained.

"By all means, then."

Yukimura's garden was beautiful, Keigo thought. It took up one end of the grounds behind his family's house, a space of low leaves, and tall vines, and subtle flowers, wrapped around a few trees. The shifting light and shadow, over the course of a day, must be charming.

Yukimura fit into that space like a missing part of it, as if one of the plants had unfurled a flower made of steel and let it drop at the feet of the maple. Keigo was normally too practical for such excessive imagery, but the sweeping simplicity of line Yukimura made, leaning on one hand, a length of gray fabric draped carelessly across one shoulder and down, seduced the mind toward fantasy in an attempt to explain it. While Keigo cultivated a considerably more flamboyant image for himself, the clean serenity of this space, folded around this person, appealed mightily to his aesthetic sense. He found more detail than usual appearing on his page, and it was took longer than he had quite expected before he laid down the pad.

"Done."

"Aaaahh. Good." Yukimura shook out his arm and turned over onto his back, stretching from fingertips to toes. Cloth slipped off his shoulder, and Keigo found himself, abruptly, jarred out of appreciation of line and proportion and into appreciation of a magnificent body arched back on a black quilt, less than two meters away.

On an impulse, Keigo rose and came to sit just beside Yukimura. Smoky eyes opened and looked up at him.

"Would you like to see?" Keigo offered the pad.

Yukimura took it and smiled, a slow, pleased smile. "You are good," he commented. He laid it back down by Keigo's knee, extending both arms in another spine-curving stretch.

Keigo swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "Yukimura..." he murmured.

"Seiichi," Yukimura told him, just as quietly. The gleam from earlier was back in his eyes. "If you're going to kiss me, you might as well call me Seiichi." Those eyes were half-lidded now. "You are going to kiss me, aren't you?"

Far be it from him to disagree, Keigo decided. He leaned down, one hand slipping into dark hair.

"Seiichi," he whispered, against the other's lips.

Those lips parted for him on a soft breath, and their tongues tangled, stroked together. Keigo shifted, slid his hands down Seiichi's sides, pushing loose cloth ahead of them. Seiichi pressed into his touch with something very like a purr, a subtle arch of his hips inviting Keigo further. The swiftness of that invitation, of this whole encounter, kicked Keigo's brain back into motion. He drew back as far as Seiichi would let him, which wasn't very.

"So, when, in the course of the day, did you decide on this?" Keigo inquired. A laugh brushed against his ear.

"Guess."

He propped himself on an elbow, tracing fingertips over Seiichi's sharp cheek bones and down the line of his jaw. Seiichi gave him a tiny smile before turning his head to catch a finger, gently, between his teeth.

"During lunch," Keigo guessed, when he thought he could trust his voice.

Seiichi hmmed and let him go. "Good aim. It was when you were looking at the statue, actually. Your eyes were so intent, so taken up with nothing but that one thing." His expression turned wry and wistful. "And I wanted you to look at me with those eyes."

Snatches of the day's conversation fell together, leaping into intuition, and Keigo was swept by a wave of disbelief, closely followed by something close to outrage. He caught Seiichi up against his body and kissed him fiercely. Seiichi made a small, startled sound before gradually relaxing in Keigo's arms and accepting the kiss.

"Keigo?" he asked, when they drew apart, a bit bemused.

"Would you care to tell me how you," Keigo laid a hand along Seiichi's cheek, "could possibly doubt the attraction of your own grace and strength?"

Seiichi was very still for one moment, and then lifted a hand to thread through Keigo's hair. "Only the perception I might expect from you, I suppose," he remarked. Then he sighed and his eyes turned distant.

"I didn't used to," he said, quietly.

Keigo had played Yukimura Seiichi in competition. He had seen the mantle of brilliance burning around him, seen the wild joy in his eyes, in the fierce curve of his mouth. Yukimura's face was not meant to show uncertainty or doubt.

"Let me convince you?" Keigo murmured in his ear.

A faint laugh escaped Seiichi, and he looked back up at Keigo. "You do think highly of your skills, don't you?" he teased.

"Of course," Keigo replied, complacently. "That is why you seduced me, isn't it?"

The laugh was fuller now, and Seiichi reached out to him. Keigo gathered him up, more gently this time, and laid a path of kisses down his throat and over his chest. Seiichi sighed, arching with Keigo's hand as it stroked the small of his back, and Keigo delighted in the slow softening of the body under his. Before long, though, Seiichi leaned up on an elbow and tugged at Keigo's shirt.

"Off," he said, firmly.

You had to appreciate efficiency like that, Keigo reflected, as he obliged. With one word Seiichi had given notice that he was willing to let Keigo have the initiative in this encounter, and, at the same time, that he had no intention of letting Keigo control the pace completely. Naked, Keigo knelt beside Seiichi and drew away the last folds of cloth covering him. Seiichi really was magnificent, he thought.

Keigo stroked his hands down one long leg, lifted it to lick slowly at the tender skin behind the knee. A faint gasp answered his touch, and he glanced down the length of Seiichi's body to see his eyes closed and his head tipped back. The heat gathering low in Keigo stomach tightened at the sight.

"Seiichi," he murmured, letting his voice drop. "Such strength," he closed his teeth, gently, on the tense muscle of Seiichi's thigh, moved on. "And such elegance," he added against the curve of Seiichi's hip, "smooth as water over stone." His hands slid over Seiichi's ribs, traced a spiral over his chest until Keigo's palm cupped his heartbeat. "And such vitality, fit to cut like the point of a diamond," he whispered against Seiichi's throat.

Seiichi was breathing deep and quick. "Keigo," he husked.

And then his hands were pushing Keigo back, back upright, and he was moving in until he straddled Keigo's folded legs, pressed tight against him. Seiichi's fingers wove into Keigo's hair, cradling his head as Seiichi kissed him again and again. Keigo smoothed his hands up and down Seiichi's back, soothing, and answered those wild, open mouthed kisses with equal passion until Seiichi calmed.

"Mmm. Makes me wonder whether I should write you poetry," Keigo said, against Seiichi's lips.

"That," Seiichi rocked against him, making them both gasp, "depends on how good the poetry is."

"You're right," Keigo mused. "After all, if it was my poetry, I expect your response would be completely overwhelming."

Seiichi leaned against him, laughing. Keigo took the opportunity to bite, lightly, on Seiichi's shoulder until he was sighing, hips moving against Keigo's again.

"Since you did plan on this," he said in Seiichi's ear, "I hope you brought something along to make it easier?" He stroked his fingers against Seiichi's entrance.

"Hmmmm. I did," Seiichi told him. "But start without it." He smiled when Keigo raised both brows at that, and reached down for one of Keigo's hands. "I like to feel as much as possible," he explained, before closing his mouth over Keigo's fingers.

Keigo had to catch his breath at the soft, wet heat of Seiichi's lips and tongue. It escaped him on a quiet aaaahh as that tongue curled around one finger and stroked up the side, and he felt Seiichi's lips tighten in a smile. When Seiichi let go, Keigo pulled him closer with one arm, and slid the other hand down, pressing one finger, just barely slick enough, into him, wanting to know Seiichi was drowning in desire just as hot as his.

Seiichi's parted lips and suddenly heavy, hazy eyes said that he was. When Keigo worked another finger past the uneven tensing of Seiichi's body, Seiichi tossed his head back and a moan spilled from his throat. The sound drove Keigo's fingers deeper and the whole line of Seiichi's body tautened against his, flushed and yearning.

"Seiichi," Keigo breathed, "let me watch you?"

Seiichi gazed down at him, and the color across his cheek bones might have deepened a shade. "If you like," he agreed.

"Can you honestly tell me of anyone who wouldn't?" Keigo asked, laughing low in his throat.

Seiichi didn't answer, but resettled himself with his ankles crossed lightly behind Keigo. Keigo made a pleased sound and shifted to cradle Seiichi's hips more comfortably in crossed legs. It appeared that Seiichi was willing for him to go slowly, which Keigo thought was just about ideal. He wanted to savor the flow of Seiichi's expressions.

He did, however, have to pause to chuckle when Seiichi flipped up the corner of quilt nearest them and dropped a bottle into his hand. There was the forethought and planning of Rikkai's captain. The oil was cool against his skin, almost shockingly so, but he couldn't manage to mind when it made the heat of Seiichi's body so intense by comparison. That heat grasped at him, as he pressed against it, into it, so tightly Keigo had to bite his lip to keep from losing every sense but touch.

Seiichi was leaning back on his hands, breath cut short, eyes closed. He was the single most arousing sight Keigo thought he had ever seen, and when Seiichi arched back further to ease Keigo's entry Keigo's hands on his thighs tightened, probably to the point of bruising. Seiichi relaxed with a gasp when Keigo finally slid all the way into him.

"You feel good," he murmured, opening his eyes.

Before Keigo had quite processed the glint in them, Seiichi leaned in, lacing his hands behind Keigo's neck. Their voices wrapped around each other as the movement drove Keigo deeper. Keigo's hands found Seiichi's back, stroked down, coaxing Seiichi to move with him, and they were rocking together, slowly.

Seiichi's soft moans, each time they came together, the abandon of his body surging against Keigo's, the pleasure that lit his eyes more and more intensely, closed on Keigo, gripping him as tightly as Seiichi's body. Keigo gave up thinking for the present, gave himself to Seiichi, letting the burning heat draw him deeper into this beauty that offered itself so unexpectedly and so willingly.

When pleasure snatched Seiichi over the edge, it was the break in his voice that pulled Keigo after him. When his eyes cleared, it was the lax contentment in Seiichi's face that stole any remaining strength. Keigo let Seiichi down onto the quilt, and subsided next to him. He leaned over and stole a lingering kiss from Seiichi's still parted lips.

"So, now do you believe me?" Keigo asked.

Seiichi touched his cheek and looked at him for a long, considering moment.

"I suppose so, yes," he said, at last.

Keigo widened his eyes in such mock dismay that Seiichi laughed. "I was hoping for something a bit more certain than that," Keigo sighed. He looked sidelong at Seiichi. "Perhaps there will be some opportunity in the future to see if I can't coax somewhat greater assurance out of you."

A small smile curved Seiichi's lips quite enchantingly. "Perhaps," he agreed.

About to seek another kiss, Keigo was assailed by a sudden and somewhat unpleasant thought.

"Is Sanada going to attempt to break valuable parts off me over this?" he asked.

He had one moment to see Seiichi's mouth tighten and his eyes flash, and then the world whirled and his back hit the ground, hard.

"My decisions and choices are my own," Seiichi said, low and dangerous, leaning over him.

"I believe you," Keigo assured him, entranced by the fire that had flared in Seiichi so abruptly. "Does Sanada?"

Seiichi's sharp eyes narrowed, and one of his hands wove into Keigo's hair, tilting his head back, demandingly, as Seiichi bent down. Keigo wondered whether he would ever bother to amend his habit of prodding dangerous things just to see how dangerous they were. Altogether, and considering the way his heart sped as Seiichi pressed him down more firmly, he rather doubted it.

"He does," Seiichi stated, lips hovering just over Keigo's.

Now that, Keigo didn't doubt in the least.

"Tired of everyone assuming you're his lover?" he asked, a bit breathless.

"To say the least," Seiichi murmured, and kissed him deeply.

Keigo was breathing heavily when Seiichi drew back. "I will ask once more," he said. "How can you possibly doubt yourself?"

One blink, and the fine edge left Seiichi's expression, replaced by a moment of startlement and then a shy smile. That smile stunned Keigo more than anything else that had happened all day, and he reached out to gather the gift he had been given closer. Seiichi lay down against his shoulder, and the peace of the garden settled around them.

"So," Seiichi said, after a while, "can I get you to return the favor and model for me?"

Keigo looked over at him, surprised. "You draw too?" he asked, slowly.

"Mm. It's one of my favorite classes," Seiichi confirmed, easily.

Which meant that Seiichi's remarks on Keigo's work had not simply been a means to an end, but serious judgements of his ability that also operated as means to an end, which went beyond multi-tasking all the way to Machiavelli...

Keigo pulled him closer, and buried his face in Seiichi's hair, laughing low and helpless. "I'm never going to have a moment's sure peace again, am I?" he asked, at last.

"Do you want that?" Seiichi asked, raising his brows.

"Not in the least," Keigo decided, and kissed his lover again.

End

Fly

Side-story to the Challenge arc. Fuji finally plays a serious match against Tezuka. Drama With Porn, I-4

"If I become a hindrance, remove me from the team." Shuusuke looked over his shoulder with a smile, only to rock back on his heels as Tezuka's hands closed hard on his shoulders and shook him once.

"No. I will not." Tezuka's voice was harder than his hands.

Shuusuke frowned. Tezuka wasn't normally this demonstrative, no matter how angry he got, nor this blindly stubborn. "Tezuka..."

"I will not take you out. You have what it takes to win, Fuji, and you will use it. You will use it, or you will tell me now that you're quitting the team."

Shuusuke's head came up.

"You will not put this responsibility off onto me, Fuji," Tezuka said, so low his voice almost disappeared into the sound of the rain. "I say you can play seriously when it's necessary. If you don't believe that, then you're the one who's going to have to say it."

"And what makes you think that it's necessary against my own team?" Shuusuke asked, sharply.

Tezuka's brows flinched together, but his voice was level when he returned, "What makes you think it isn't?"

Shuusuke shook his head, helplessly. He couldn't; he just couldn't. Not again. "Tezuka, why are you pushing this?"

Tezuka was silent for a long moment before his mouth tightened and he closed the distance between them. Shuusuke stiffened, wondering for one wild second whether Tezuka would actually strike him.

Instead, Tezuka kissed him.

Shuusuke's thoughts dissolved in a swirl of confusion. This wasn't... they had only ever kissed once before, and that had been in jest. Shuusuke had flirted, on occasion, certainly, because it was fun to prod at his friend. In his own quiet way, Tezuka had prodded back, when no one else was around. This was not a joke, not when Tezuka's mouth had opened his and Tezuka's tongue was inviting him. This was serious. For all his confusion, though, Shuusuke liked the feeling of kissing Tezuka just as much as he had sometimes thought he might, and he leaned into it.

When Tezuka drew back it took a few moments for Shuusuke to find his voice again. "What was that?" he asked, at last.

"An answer to your question," Tezuka told him, soberly.

Shuusuke tried several different ways of fitting those parts together before he gave up. "What?"

It was hard to tell, behind the speckles of water on Tezuka's glasses, but Shuusuke thought his eyes turned a little sad.

"Never mind. We should go dry off, Fuji. Come on."

Shuusuke was terrified.

All right, perhaps that was a bit strong, but it had been a very long time since he'd felt this kind of tension. Even longer since he'd had butterflies in his stomach and shaking hands over a tennis match. He spent a moment wishing he'd made time to stop off at a shrine on his way here, and pray for this to go well one more time. He didn't think he could stand losing twice.

Not the game. He'd been losing games to Tezuka for years, quite cheerfully, at least until Tezuka started getting angry over it. Not the game, but the closeness.

Not again.

He'd been resigned, when his family moved, to losing the friends he'd had. He had never, for one moment, suspected that the move, and the new people he met at his new school, and the way their challenges had drawn his tennis out further than ever, would cost him his brother. The shock had almost killed his game for good. But he'd pulled himself together, and forced himself to trust that Yuuta would find his own way and his own strength.

He'd just been a little more careful, next time.

Care was not, apparently, what Tezuka wanted from him, though.

This was the first match he had played against Tezuka since that alarming one when Tezuka had come back from Kyuushuu. Shuusuke had managed to forget, until Tezuka's first lethal return in that game had reminded him, what Tezuka had told him before; he didn't just want Shuusuke to play seriously against other teams. He wanted Shuusuke to play seriously against everyone.

Shuusuke walked onto the court, reminding himself that Tezuka was not Yuuta. Which should be an obvious and intuitive sort of thing, but...

Shuusuke sighed. He could believe his fears or he could trust Yukimura's judgment. One or the other. Because if Yukimura was right, and Shuusuke continued to refuse to play Tezuka seriously, he would lose Tezuka more surely than he had lost Yuuta for a time. If there was any justice in the world, his two fears should cancel each other out; after all, they could not, logically, both become true.

His stomach clenched in stubborn denial of logic.

Shuusuke closed his eyes and took a deep breath, working his hand around the ball he held. If he was going to play seriously, neither fear had any place here. He could not think of his opponent as his friend and captain. Another breath. And another. He opened his eyes and looked over the net to see Tezuka looking back at him... not like a friend and a captain. The brightness in Tezuka's eyes, the smooth tension in his stance—that was more the way he had seen Tezuka look at Atobe, at Sanada, at Yukimura. It helped.

Shuusuke set himself. He had to be ready for a return that would demand effort from him, immediately. He had to be ready to give that effort. He searched for the eagerness he had felt only a few times before, for the focus that only wanted to outreach his opponent. He thought it was there, ready for him, if he could just stop thinking and throw everything into the game.

"Everything," he murmured to himself, tossed the ball up and served. The return left him no time to think, and he felt his body start to relax.

It helped that he had faced Yukimura first. The speed and force of their volleys was not a total shock, and he was almost prepared to plunge into it.

Almost.

He wasn't sure anything could really prepare a person for this, for the shiver of fire down his nerves that said, yes, he could return that, he could drive this opponent back, he could win this if only he let himself burn.

And he did, one return after another, not just waiting for Tezuka's form to break, but driving him to show an opening. The game had its own momentum, played like this, its own rhythm; the pace wasn't in Shuusuke's hands, nor in Tezuka's. They drew each other on, faster and faster, until Shuusuke almost thought he shouldn't feel the surface of the court under his feet anymore. He felt like he was flying, like the fierceness of effort had lifted him up and thrown him forward.

The moment, when he saw the opening for the last shot, when the world crystallized into perfection and he couldn't possibly have stopped the stroke that smashed the ball home, felt like he was breathing sunlight, hot and beautiful and brilliant.

Tezuka looked at the ball, where it had rolled to the fence, for a long moment before he drew himself up. "Game and match, 7-6," he said, evenly, and turned back to Shuusuke. "Your match."

Shuusuke swallowed hard, coming down from the high of the game with a jar. Every anxiety he had shoved aside to play immediately assaulted him again, and he had no idea whether he succeeded in hiding his apprehension as he approached the net. He offered his hand silently, afraid to say anything at all.

A faint smile curved Tezuka's lips. "Good game," he said, clasping Shuusuke's hand firmly. Shuusuke searched his eyes; there was a light in them, bright and dancing, to match the pleasure behind that smile. Shuusuke's knees wobbled just a bit with relief. It was all right. Tezuka didn't resent losing to him. He really didn't, and it was really all right, even if his expression did bear a slightly unnerving resemblance to some of Echizen's...

Shuusuke cut off his own mental babbling with an effort, and fetched in a deep breath. He smiled at his friend. "You too."

The wobble in his voice betrayed every effort to control the one in his legs, and Shuusuke was lightheaded enough that this was terribly amusing. He didn't manage to choke back the laugh, either, and suddenly he was shivering and couldn't stop.

"Fuji." Tezuka's hands on his shoulders steadied him a bit, and Shuusuke leaned on him, trying to get control of himself.

"I'm fine," he assured his friend, aware that the undertone of giggles probably didn't make that very convincing. "I'm all right."

"I know you are." Tezuka didn't go.

Shuusuke took a few deep breaths and managed to convince his legs to support him again. "Did you expect this?" he asked, ruefully. He was almost positive Yukimura had spoken to Tezuka on the subject.

Tezuka raised a brow. "I expected a good game, if you ever chose to play me seriously."

Shuusuke's mouth quirked. There were times it was hard to tell whether Tezuka was answering his question or not. That was fine, though, it reminded him of something else. "You know, the last time we had this discussion, on this court, you kissed me," he noted.

Tezuka's eyes darkened a little. "I'm sorry," he said. "That had no place in our discussion; I certainly shouldn't have done it because I was angry. I wanted... to remind you there are things that require passion."

Shuusuke decided lightheadedness was a good thing; it let him act instead of watch and think and wait. He stepped closer, nudging the bottom of the net out of his way. "Would you like to try again?" he asked, lightly.

Both brows went up, this time. Shuusuke smiled and put a hand at the back of Tezuka's neck, urging him down. There was a certain amount of resistance, and Shuusuke expected Tezuka to be hesitant.

He wasn't.

He was slow and sure, and his arms, around Shuusuke's waist, were gentle. He kissed softly, as though he wanted to soothe the anxiety Shuusuke had refused to voice. Shuusuke's breath caught. Yes, Tezuka had seen it.

The softness was almost shocking, but a welcome shock. Shuusuke leaned into Tezuka, and a small sound found its way up his throat. After the burning flight of the game, and the stunning drop when it ended, he very much wanted something to ground him. This was not familiar. Neither of them had ever acted to see if there was anything beyond the teasing. But it was unmistakably Tezuka he was kissing, and that was familiar enough.

Though the setting could use a little adjustment.

Shuusuke drew back with an annoyed noise. "I want to get this net out of the way," he said, distinctly.

Tezuka's hands found his hips, stopping him. "Fuji, an all out game takes everyone like this, to one degree or another. You should wait until you can be sure."

Fuji burst out laughing, and not, this time, with hysteria. "Tezuka," he chuckled, "for a perceptive man you can be so dense sometimes." This received a rather cool look in response, and Shuusuke shook his head. Trust Tezuka to think first of the game and second of the fact that they had spent over a year dancing around this moment. It wasn't as though Shuusuke hadn't had time to think things over; he certainly hoped Tezuka had, too. "I am sure," he said, firmly.

Tezuka stilled. "Really?"

Shuusuke's lips curled up. "Exceedingly," he confirmed, and closed a hand in Tezuka's shirt to drag him down for another kiss.

This time, Tezuka met him a good deal faster. His arms locked around Shuusuke hard enough to rock Shuusuke up on the balls of his feet. Ah, good; he wasn't the only one who'd been considering it. This kiss was fierce and hungry, and it wasn't only Shuusuke's groan that echoed through it.

At least until the net intruded again. Shuusuke winced, and growled, "Definitely get the net out of the way."

They both pulled back, and stared at each other, silent calculation running back and forth.

"The showers?" Tezuka suggested, at last, and Shuusuke relaxed. He'd been a little afraid Tezuka would insist that acting on this would be disruptive to the team. Shuusuke didn't doubt for a single second that the good of the team would trump both friendship and lust, for his captain. The fingers drawing circles at the small of his back, however, promised otherwise.

"Wonderful idea," he agreed. And it was. It was a Sunday, no one else was around, and Tezuka, thanks to his several official positions, had the keys to just about every room in the school building. Shuusuke was hard pressed not to laugh as they strolled casually toward the changing rooms, not touching. What a delightfully irrational day he was having.

He had not entirely expected Tezuka to help him undress... if help was what it could be called. He supposed he should have, though. Tezuka never did anything half-heartedly, once he made up his mind. He leaned back against Tezuka, purring as Tezuka's palms slid over the hollows of his hipbones, pushing his waistband ahead of them, and reflected on the benefits of this tendency.

One of them was a marked decrease in Tezuka's normal reserve. When Shuusuke pressed against him, under the water, Tezuka welcomed him with no sign of hesitation or stiffness. Well, Shuusuke amended to himself, with a tiny grin, none aside from what there should be. He shifted a little, rubbing his hip against Tezuka, and savored Tezuka's quick breath and the fingers that dug into his waist. Tezuka definitely wanted him; it was nice to be sure. He leaned up to lick water off Tezuka's lips, and sighed as Tezuka's mouth closed over his.

To be sure, it was difficult to keep track of the soap while kissing someone, but they both had good reflexes. Still. Shuusuke tugged Tezuka a little out of the spray, so he wouldn't lose his lather and have to distract himself from the body tight against his to hunt for the soap again. He stroked slick hands down Tezuka's back, tracing skin and muscle, and laughed a little at the nubby roughness of a washcloth over his own shoulders. It was a pleasant almost-scratch down his spine.

Shuusuke's hands reached Tezuka's rear and moved down, feeling Tezuka's muscles flex and tense. Shuusuke slid his fingers between Tezuka's cheeks and pressed against him; Tezuka's teeth closed on Shuusuke's lower lip, and Shuusuke made a low, approving sound.

The sound became a moan as the washcloth moved down and rubbed over his own entrance. The rough cloth made him tingle, and Tezuka's fingers, within it, pressed hard, circling, until Shuusuke's body opened to that touch, just a little. Shuusuke clutched at Tezuka, pushing up against him, and Tezuka's hand settled into small nudges that still made Shuusuke's breath skip. His fingers flexed against Tezuka, and Tezuka bent his head to Shuusuke's ear.

"Next time."

Shuusuke laughed. "Promise?" he asked, voice husky with the tension low in his stomach.

"Yes," Tezuka answered, so unequivocally that Shuusuke knew this was one of the times Tezuka was answering more than one question. He promised that there would be a next time. Good.

"Then yes," Shuusuke whispered.

Tezuka's hand, in the cloth, pressed harder again and Shuusuke wondered for a moment whether Tezuka was going to drive all the way into him with that tantalizing roughness. But the cloth drew back, and Tezuka's bare fingers touched him, slick and fast, and sank into him before Shuusuke's body recovered from the change. Shuusuke groaned as his muscles caught up and closed, working tight around Tezuka's fingers. He was glad that Tezuka moved them only slightly, at first. Shuusuke wound his arms around Tezuka's shoulders and leaned against him as those fingers stroked slowly in and out of him. He wasn't sure whether their kisses distracted him from the sensation or added to it; whichever it was, it was good.

Tezuka's tongue was in his mouth when the fingers inside him curled and Shuusuke barely had the presence of mind not to bite down. Fire flared up his spine, liquid and bright. Again. Again, and Shuusuke jerked against Tezuka's body. Never mind slow. Never mind careful.

"Tezuka," he gasped, rough and breathless, "now."

He nearly howled with frustration when Tezuka's fingers stilled. "Are you sure you're ready?" Tezuka asked.

His voice was admirably solemn, but Shuusuke had known him long enough to be fairly sure he was being teased. "Tezuka," he growled, narrowing his eyes. "I'll remember this."

A slight quirk to Tezuka's mouth gave the lie to his serious tone. "I would hope so."

Shuusuke snaked a soapy hand between them, and closed it over Tezuka's erection, pulling a sharp, uncontrolled sound from him. "Now," Shuusuke demanded.

Tezuka chuckled a bit unevenly, and slid his fingers out with a last flirt that left Shuusuke's knees weak. "Turn around, then."

Shuusuke braced his hands against the tile wall, voicing a pleased murmur as Tezuka moved against him. He breathed carefully, biting his lip as he ordered his body to relax around the hardness pressing into him. Another breath. Another. There was a twinge, and Tezuka was inside him, and Shuusuke's breath left him.

"All right?" Tezuka asked, sounding a little tense.

"All right," Shuusuke assured him. It ached, a little, but the openness and the warmth of Tezuka's hands smoothing up and down his back overrode it.

The openness, especially. Shuusuke pressed back a little; he wanted that feeling deeper inside him. Tezuka took the hint. He dropped a kiss on Shuusuke's shoulder, licked the moisture from his skin on a path up the side of his neck, moved forward, slowly. Shuusuke's breath broke into pants, and he shivered, glad of Tezuka's hands on his hips, steadying him. It felt open and full and hard and, above all, hot. Tingling, sparkling heat, rippling out from that marvelous place Tezuka's fingers had found. Tezuka's hips met his, cradling them, and then he was pulling back. Pressing in. Back. In. Slow and open and hot.

It was overwhelming, and Shuusuke wanted more. He reached between his legs, stroking himself, and moaned at the added layer of pleasure, brighter, smoother. It wound around the hardness of Tezuka inside him, and Shuusuke's hand tightened, quickened. Tezuka matched his movement, and Shuusuke cried out. This was the rhythm he wanted, and his body recognized it, moved with it, quick spasms rocking him against Tezuka's thrusts, driving his hand down. Heat coiled around him, tightened, tightened again, and he felt Tezuka driving into him raggedly, thrust against his own grip harder, felt the tightness snap. The fast, tingling heat exploded through him, and he felt himself bucking against Tezuka, straining into the tide of fire until it ran out.

Little details returned slowly. The tile was cold against his hand. His legs were shaking a bit. Tezuka's arms were around him, holding tight, and Tezuka's breath was hard against his ear. Slowly, they drew apart and came together again under the water, leaning on one another. Neither of them spoke, as they finished washing, trading the soap back and forth silently. Shuusuke didn't mind; he was used to quiet from Tezuka. They dried off still in wordless, comfortable familiarity. Though, again, not total familiarity. He smiled when he emerged from toweling his hair and felt Tezuka behind him, combing fingers through it.

"I was never entirely sure how serious you were, you know," Tezuka said, tone musing. "About any of it."

Shuusuke's smile twisted wryly. "Hard for anyone else to be sure when I wasn't sure myself."

"Are you now?"

"Can you tell now?" Shuusuke asked, half teasing.

Tezuka's hands slid down to his shoulders. "Yes." It was half a statement and half a demand, and maybe a hint of a question.

"Yes," Shuusuke agreed, softly. Yes, he was serious, now. About all of it. The idea still scared him, just a little, the idea that he might not be able to back away from this thing he had found in himself when he let go and played with everything. But it really was incredible. And with Tezuka... He shivered. "Tezuka..."

Tezuka pulled him around and kissed him, a fierce, burning kiss. Shuusuke let other considerations fall by the way for the time being and answered him very seriously indeed. It truly was appropriate that unleashing himself on the court had washed away his hesitation to close the last distance with Tezuka. He rather suspected it was what Tezuka had been waiting for. They were both breathing quickly when they parted.

"Ah, now, this time I understand you," Shuusuke murmured.

Tezuka smiled.

End

Games for Fun

Suppose that Sanada and Atobe were roomates at Senbatsu. Now suppose that Atobe is feeling provocative after their match in ep. 140. Now suppose gratuitous sex ensues. Porn Without Plot, I-3, anime continuity

Genichirou emerged from the shower, toweling the last water from his hair, and suppressed a sigh. His roommate was sprawled languidly, and quite typically, across his bed, smiling smugly at the ceiling and not saying a word.

Atobe could be quiet louder than anyone Genichirou had ever met.

"Good game, today," Genichirou said, hoping to head off any of Atobe's more histrionic gloating. Judging by the grin, Atobe knew what he was trying to do.

"It was," he agreed, conversationally enough, though. "Too bad we couldn't play to the end. I was looking forward to breaking that perfect form of yours."

Genichirou snorted, stretching out on his own bed.

"Don't think I could?" Atobe asked, lazily. "You're too used to winning, Sanada."

Genichirou cast a disbelieving glance at the next bed. "I'm too used to winning?" he echoed, and shook his head at Atobe's smile. "You really never do change."

"Of course not. Life would be boring if I did. Or, at least," Atobe gave him a sidelong look, "your life would be."

Genichirou propped himself up on his elbows, the better to stare. "I beg your pardon."

Atobe shrugged. "It's obvious you have to rely on other people for a sense of fun, not having any of your own."

"And I suppose you can explain just what use that would be to me?" Genichirou challenged, exasperated.

Atobe's suddenly speculative look was just a bit worrying.

"I could, I suppose," Atobe said, rolling off his bed, and stepping toward Genichirou's. "But I find demonstrations are far more effective than lectures."

"Atobe, what are you doing?" Genichirou asked, warily.

"Demonstrating," Atobe murmured, and leaned down and kissed him.

Startlement held Genichirou still through the rather lingering caress of Atobe's lips against his. It was, in fact, several moments after Atobe drew back, with a gleam in his eye and a wicked smile, before Genichirou managed to get his voice working again.

"Atobe," he choked, at last, "have you completely lost your mind?"

"No," Atobe told him, calmly, settling on the edge of Genichirou's bed. "It's simply my unfortunate fate to love a good challenge. Unfortunate because I don't get many of them. Getting you to loosen up a little, though, definitely qualifies."

"And exactly what makes you think I'm interested in you?" Genichirou inquired, evenly. He ignored his hormones, which were taking notice of the apparently willing body now beside him, with great determination. That response was just a reflex; it didn't count.

Atobe leaned down again, until he could murmur, deep and soft, in Genichirou's ear. "Aren't you? Don't you want more of that passion you felt earlier today? Don't you want to finish it? Don't you want to feel skin under your hands? Don't you want to feel fingers stroking you until can't feel anything else?"

Genichirou closed his eyes, breath shuddering in his chest. The hot velvet glide of Keigo's voice was more inciteful than another kiss could have been. This was still completely insane. But he was starting to find a sneaking appeal in the idea. Which, come to think of it, was a reasonably good description of Atobe in general.

Atobe's mouth covered his again, and Atobe's hands smoothed down his bare chest, fingertips circling gently here and there, making his skin tingle. Genichirou considered his options. He could be sensible and make Atobe stop, but his body was nearly screaming for him to just take what was offered. And, to be honest, he was just as frustrated by their aborted game as Keigo sounded. This was certainly one way to solve that. He sucked in a hard breath as Keigo's palm brushed low across his stomach, just above the loose waist of his pants.

"You spend a lot of time listening to what your body tells you," Keigo said, between kisses. "Don't stop now."

"Do you always have to get your own way?" Genichirou gasped, letting himself fall back against the cool sheets.

"Not always, but it is a nice feeling," Atobe told him, pausing to get rid of his shirt before sliding down to join him. "You should try it some time, Genichirou," he whispered.

"Oh?" Genichirou murmured, pulling Atobe's weight on top of him.

"Mm," Atobe agreed, smiling against Genichirou's throat, and then sucking softly on his pulse. "Let me show you."

Genichirou couldn't help a laugh, though it was a bit breathless. "Always the same," he repeated. "So show me, then."

Keigo's hands were slow, soothing, massaging his shoulders, his stomach, loosening the muscles that wanted to tense, smoothing Genichirou's response to the touch on his skin from something sharp to something warm and relaxed. When Atobe's teeth bit, softly, at his neck, at the soft skin below his ribs, and then, as Atobe slid cloth out of his way, inside his thigh, Genichirou only sighed. The sharpness made the warmth brighter. Atobe slid back up his body, and now they were completely bare to each other. Keigo's tongue lingered over a nipple, and his hand slipped between Genichirou's legs, fondling, coaxing; Genichirou moaned, softly, hands finding Keigo's back and pressing him closer.

When Atobe's fingers sought further back, though, he stiffened.

"Atobe."

Atobe lifted his head, brows raised. "You didn't strike me as the nervous sort. Surely this isn't your first time?"

Genichirou narrowed his eyes. "Either way, what, exactly, makes you think I'm interested in yielding that way to you?"

Atobe's brows climbed still higher, and he snorted. "Traditionalists. You'll be the death of me. What," he leaned over Genichirou and twined fingers through his hair, "makes you think I want you to yield?"

Genichirou blinked at him.

"This isn't a game of winners and losers, you know. Who have you been going to bed with?" Atobe kissed him, somehow both languorous and impatient. "If it's played right, everyone wins."

Genichirou pushed Atobe back a little, so he could see his eyes. They were bright and open and sharp, the way he had only ever seen them when Keigo was in the middle of an all out game. There was no question of his sincerity, and Atobe apparently detected the softening of Genichirou's rejection because he smiled, slow and wicked, and closed the distance between them until his lips brushed Genichirou's ear.

"Let me touch you," he coaxed, voice low and husky. "Just touch you. Let me stroke you inside. Let me taste your pleasure when your entire body tightens and climbs and burns. Let me touch you, Genichirou."

Genichirou bit back a groan. There should be a legal limit on how many times Atobe was allowed to use that tone of voice in one night. "Remind me what the point of this exercise was," he said, just a bit strained.

Atobe propped himself up on one elbow. "To demonstrate the value of a sense of fun," he recited promptly. "Are you having fun yet, Genichirou?"

The quicksilver change of mood broke Genichirou's tension, and he found himself laughing. He pulled Keigo down, and kissed him, hard.

"You're the most infuriating person I think I've ever known, Keigo, not excluding Akaya," he murmured against Atobe's lips.

"Thank you," Keigo smirked.

Genichirou sighed. "All right," he agreed, at last. "On one condition."

Atobe looked inquiring, and then arched a little as Genichirou ran a hand down his back and over his rear.

"That you let me return the favor at some point," Genichirou said, hearing his own voice deepen almost to a growl.

Teeth gleamed in Keigo's smile. "It's a deal," he purred back. He held Genichirou's gaze while he sucked two fingers into his mouth and slowly drew them back out. Genichirou parted his legs to let Atobe settle between them, looking back with as much cool challenge as he could assume at the moment.

Genichirou couldn't hold back a harsh sound as Atobe's mouth closed, swiftly, over him, soft and wet and teasing. He twisted against Atobe's weight over his hips as Keigo's tongue swept over and around the head of him, almost too gentle, too warm. This pleasure was a maddening thing, enveloping him but impossible to grasp. This time, when Keigo's fingers pressed against him, he welcomed the touch, firm enough to keep him from being driven absolutely wild. Keigo's fingertips circled, nudging inward, a quiet insistence in counterpoint to the way his tongue flirted with Genichirou. When the fingers slid inside, the touch of Atobe's mouth changed. He sucked, gently at first, but harder as his fingers thrust deeper, hot, sharp pleasure drawing Genichirou taut.

When those fingers curled, Genichirou cried out, the spike of sensation taking him by surprise. Keigo's fingers stroked him, hard, relentless, sweeping him up in a rush of fire that denied any possibility of pausing or holding back. The sheet tangled in Genichirou's fingers as he clutched at it, and he spread his legs wider, almost without meaning to, arching up into the hot pressure of Atobe's mouth, the soft rasp of his tongue.

It was the pleased sound that Atobe made, a sliding murmur that hummed around Genichirou, that finally broke him. An electric tingle shot through the heat, drove up his spine, seized him and thrust him over the edge. A long moan wrung from his throat as fire clenched down on him again and again and again. When it finally subsided, he drew in a long breath and opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed.

Keigo stretched, and laid himself over Genichirou's body again. He propped an elbow at either side of Genichirou's head and looked down at him with insufferable smugness.

"That isn't a particularly endearing expression, Atobe," Genichirou pointed out, dryly.

"You only say that because you're lamentably ignorant of my better qualities," Atobe told him, and then paused and looked judicious. "Less ignorant now, of course."

Genichirou closed his eyes again and reminded himself, strenuously, that he had known for a long time that Keigo lived to get a rise out of people.

Speaking of rises, however... His mouth quirked and he ran his hands down Atobe's body to his hips, lifting them until Keigo was braced above him on knees and elbows. Keigo raised his brows at him, but the dark blue eyes slid half closed as Genichirou reached between them and smoothed his hand down Atobe's cock.

"Do you like this?" Genichirou asked, mindful of courtesy, even with a partner like Atobe.

"Mmm. Very much so," Atobe murmured. "Such powerful hands you have, Genichirou."

Genichirou tightened his grip, and Keigo stopped talking. His sighs were every bit as expressive as most people's words, though, and Genichirou took a good deal of satisfaction in listening to him, in watching Keigo's eyes fall closed and his lips part, in feeling him moving over Genichirou, rocking into his hand. He combed his free fingers through Keigo's hair, softly, enjoying the faint curve it brough to Keigo's mouth.

He was even willing to admit, strictly to himself, that Keigo was beautiful when he threw his head up, arching his back and driving himself into Genichirou's hold with a low cry.

Not that it made him any less infuriating.

Genichirou knew he was smiling when Atobe dropped back down against him, limp and panting. He was still smiling, not quite able to stifle it, when Atobe slowly regathered himself and raised his head to look at him. Atobe snorted.

"As if you have any room to talk," he muttered, letting his head fall back to Genichirou's shoulder.

Genichirou stroked a hand down his back. "At least I have the manners to apologize if it annoys my partner," he pointed out.

"Manners, is it?" Keigo said, somewhat muffled. And then he propped himself back up and gave Genichirou a lingering kiss. "Thank you, then. You were very gentle; I enjoyed it a great deal."

Genichirou looked up at him, stunned. Atobe smiled, and hauled himself off the bed to saunter toward the closet where the extra towels were stacked. It took a few seconds for Genichirou to realize that Atobe had, very effectively, gotten the last word.

He rolled over and stifled a resigned sigh in his pillow, and reminded himself to look on the bright side. Only another handful of days, and he wouldn't have to deal with Atobe anymore. Even though they were both going to be on the final team, singles players could get away with ignoring each other. Just another couple days, and he'd be fine.

End

Innocence and Experience

Immediately follows "Confluence". What would happen if they weren't in public... Porn Without Plot, I-4

Ryou was aware that he and Choutarou were both still grinning when they got back from the music store and closed the door of his room. It was probably just as well that his parents had taken the day to go shopping as well. Who knew what his mother would make of their expressions. Just to be on the safe side, he locked the door anyway.

"So," Choutarou spoke from the window near the bed, without turning, "we aren't in public now." Ryou's grin quirked, remembering what he had said to Choutarou's teasing in the store. If we weren't in public...

"No, we're not," he agreed, eyeing his partner.

Choutarou pulled his shirt over his head in a long stretch, and let it fall from his arms. Ryou caught sight of a tiny smile on his partner's lips as Choutarou turned his head, not quite far enough to look at Ryou over his shoulder. So, Choutarou wanted to tease him a little more. No one else would ever believe it of his reserved and proper partner, he reflected. Ryou crossed the room to stand behind Choutarou and laid his hands flat on his partner's stomach, sweeping them up to his chest, feeling Choutarou's sigh through his palms. Ryou bent his head just slightly to press his lips to the sleek curve of Choutarou's neck and shoulder.

"Ryou," Choutarou murmured. His name, in that tone, was an invitation, and Ryou let his hands drift back down to finger the waist of Choutarou's jeans, unzip them, slip inside to brush against the heat of his partner's skin.

Choutarou laid his own hands flat against the wall in front of him, leaning forward. The line of his body, his hips rocking back against Ryou's made Ryou stop and swallow a little hard.

"Choutarou," he said, softly, leaning against his partner's back. Did Choutarou mean what Ryou thought he did?

"Not slowly, Ryou," Choutarou whispered. "Not today."

Apparently he did. Choutarou's straightforward sensuality could still surprise him, sometimes. Well, all right, then. Ryou stood back a little and brushed his fingers down Choutarou's spine to hook jeans and underwear together, and pull them down. Choutarou arched into the touch, sucking in an audible breath, tossing his head back.

Ryou thought he probably set a new speed record stripping off his own clothes, and his hands were shaking just a bit as he fished out the bottle that usually lived in an empty tennis ball can, where his mother would hopefully not find it. He pressed Choutarou closer to the wall.

Choutarou spread his legs further apart and rested his head against his forearms, crossed on the wall in front of him. They were both breathing faster, now. Ryou dropped a light kiss on the nape of Choutarou's neck, where the silver hair curled under. He ran a slick hand up the inside of Choutarou's thigh, between his cheeks, and rubbed softly. Choutarou tensed slightly, pressed back into Ryou's touch. Ryou bit his lip at his partner's low moan, leaned against the line of Choutarou's body, enjoying the velvet warmth of their skin brushing together down chest and leg. Remembering that Choutarou didn't want to wait, he pressed his fingers deep into his partner's body. Deep, but still slow. Slow enough not to hurt, he hoped. Choutarou's moan was no longer low, and it distracted Ryou as much as the burning heat of Choutarou's body.

"Ryou, now," Choutarou said, soft and husky. A hoarse sound slipped past Ryou's lips; Choutarou asking for his touch still turned him inside out.

Ryou took a deep breath and drove into his partner, biting his lip harder to keep from forcing himself past the resistance of Choutarou's body too fast. Sparks ran over him, through him as Choutarou relaxed and opened under him, and finally he felt the sweat-damp softness of Choutarou's skin all against his own. He wound an arm around his lover, other hand reaching between Choutarou's legs again, and felt his partner shaking.

Choutarou's light voice whispered pleas and encouragement as Ryou rocked out and back in, fondling Choutarou, licking the salt from the back of his neck. The taste and sound drew Ryou on, and he was sliding, deep, fast, driving Choutarou against the wall, into Ryou's hand. Heat gripped him, not letting go, hard, and Ryou was pulling in breaths through the filter of Choutarou's hair. Faster, and Choutarou cried out. The sound, and the feather of Choutarou's hair brushing Ryou's temple as his partner threw his head back completed some circuit in Ryou, driving, reaching, touching lightning that struck down through him. It left him shaking, nerves singed by it.

They collapsed, slowly, to the floor, and Ryou leaned his head on Choutarou's shoulder, panting. Choutarou's soft laugh caught his wandering, and slightly dazed, attention.

"What?" he asked, voice a bit rough still. Choutarou turned his head to look at him, brown eyes light and soft with pleasure and amusement.

"I should tease you more often," he told Ryou.

Ryou buried his head against his partner's neck again, laughing.

End

Branch: *casts eye back over ShishiTori branch* You made me do all that just to get a PWP?

Ohtori: *apologetic* Do you mind terribly, Madam? We do appreciate it so much.

Branch: *opens mouth, closes it again* ... *looks at Shishido*

Shishido: *leans chair back on two legs, smirking*

Branch: *sighs* No, Choutarou, I don't mind as much as all that.

Shishido: *grins* They fall for it every time. It's the eyes.

Branch: *glares* You just watch it, boyo, or I really will write that "affair at a summer seminar". *yells into next room* And Roy! Quit teaching Choutarou your vocabulary! He's too young.

Roy: *lounging in doorway* Nonsense, Madam. He's a natural.

Shishido: *narrow look* Oi.

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

Favors Returned

Companion piece to "Games for Fun". Set after the US-Japan Senbatsu matches. Yet more gratuitous sex. Porn Without Plot, I-3, anime continuity

The end of the matches against the US team left everyone just a bit euphoric, and, in some cases, downright giddy. Keigo had expected that. And, having taken the measure of the players involved, he had known that the showers were likely to be the site of considerable horseplay. Judging by the sound of Echizen not-quite-yelling at Kikumaru, he had been right on target. He congratulated himself on having the foresight to hold off on cleaning up until the others were done.

The fact that Sanada had apparently reached the same conclusions simply proved that fate was smiling on Keigo, as it generally did. Keigo eyed Sanada's back and smiled with appreciation as Sanada tipped his head back and the spray sleeked down his hair and emphasized the sharp planes of his face.

"Sanada."

"Hm?" Sanada cast a look over his shoulder, brow raised.

"I recall you saying something, a while back, about returning the favor." Keigo stretched under the water. "This is a good occasion, wouldn't you say?"

Sanada turned all the way around and regarded Keigo, head tilted to one side. "Just for my curiosity, what did you do after your match with Tezuka?" he asked, mildly.

Keigo laughed. He did like the sharpness of Sanada's mind; it made him entertaining, if one could edge around all the dour seriousness to reach the slight streak of playfulness underneath.

"I nearly climbed the walls, actually," he replied, easily. "It was the first time I'd had a match like that. It's probably just as well," he added in a thoughtful tone, "that Tezuka and I live as far apart as we do."

The implication did not make Sanada blush; that was probably too much to hope for. His eyes did widen just a touch, though, which was almost as good, considering. Keigo's lips curled, pleased. He was absolutely delighted, however, when Sanada's eyes narrowed again and gleamed just a bit, and he paced toward Keigo. That hadn't taken nearly as much provocation as Keigo had expected. He sighed as Sanada's hands settled on his hips, warm from the heat of the water. He stepped into Sanada's body and drew a deep, satisfied breath as Genichirou's hands smoothed up his back.

"I hope that doesn't mean you object to bringing someone home with you," Sanada said, softly.

Keigo raised his brows, leaning back a tad to see Sanada's face. There was a slight smile on it.

"I will admit to a certain temptation, when you're determined to be annoying, to press you up against the nearest wall just to shut you up," Sanada told him, quite calmly. "But if we're speaking of favors, I had something slower in mind."

Keigo bared his teeth. "As if you could handle me." He leaned closer, raked his teeth very lightly over Sanada's earlobe. "Slower, hm? Planning to tease me?" He lowered his voice. "Do you think you can make me beg, Genichirou?"

"No," Sanada replied, clear and simple.

Keigo blinked, and drew back again to examine him more closely.

"I take care with my partners," Sanada told him, hands firm and still on Keigo's back. "It's no more than a fair return."

Keigo took a moment to process the fact that Sanada, apparently, did not seek or expect submission from someone he made love to. Considering the mild uproar when it had been the other way around, that was rather unexpected. Keigo shelved a growing suspicion for later thought.

"I've had guests before," was all he said.

"Good." Sanada had that slight smile again. "Then let me help you finish, here, and we can be going."

Keigo leaned against Sanada's body as Sanada's hands, now slick with soap as well as warm, kneaded down his back. This promised to be... very pleasant. He sighed as a hand slid between his cheeks, moaned softly as Genichirou spread him open and water ran, hot and soothing, over him. When Genichirou's hand closed around Keigo's erection and stroked, Keigo kissed him, hard, to muffle his own voice against Sanada's mouth.

Sanada coaxed him over the edge quickly, and as Keigo rested against him for a moment, panting, he had to wonder just how long Genichirou did plan to draw things out, if he was troubling to take the edge off, now.

"Shall we?" Sanada asked, lips brushing Keigo's ear.

"I think we shall, yes," Keigo murmured.

Keigo smiled when Sanada's arms wrapped around him as soon as he closed the bedroom door, and leaned back into the embrace. He had been a little surprised that Sanada had kept in contact with him pretty much the entire way home: a thumb brushing the inside of his wrist, a palm sliding up his thigh, a finger tracing the lines of his palm. Not that it had been a problem in the back of a chauffeured car, just a little startling from someone who was normally so undemonstrative and contained.

He was starting to doubt Sanada's assertion that he didn't intend to tease.

Keigo made an appreciative sound as Genichirou's lips traced down the side of his neck, and gasped as long fingers rubbed, gently, down his hardening length. So very gentle... He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against Sanada's shoulder.

"Genichirou..."

"Hm?"

Keigo opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. "What do you want?"

The lips against his neck quirked. "I would have thought that was reasonably obvious, by now."

Keigo turned in Sanada's hold, and wound his fingers through thick, black hair so that he could draw Genichirou's gaze up to meet his. "Why are you taking this much care?" he demanded. "We're not exactly friends, we're only temporarily teammates, and this is more care than pleasure requires. Why are you doing this?"

"Perhaps I want to see what you're like when you're disconcerted," Sanada told him.

Keigo examined him narrowly. It rang true enough, but it wasn't the whole truth. "And?" he prodded.

"Your ego doesn't need to hear the rest of it," Sanada said, firmly.

Keigo didn't bother to hold back a smirk. He very much doubted he had actually captured Genichirou's permanent interest, but it was still good to know Genichirou hadn't escaped entirely. It would do to go on with.

With that in mind, he drew away and started undoing his clothes, precisely, with just a bit of flourish because he couldn't quite resist. The faint, unwilling, curl at the corners of Genichirou's mouth egged him on. Keigo tossed the last of his clothing over his reading chair and lay down on the bed, stretching provocatively. He watched Genichirou from under his lashes. Interesting. It wasn't just Keigo's body, apparently. Genichirou reacted like any normal person to seeing a body like Keigo's naked and inviting his touch, but there was still a certain detached amusement in his face as he followed suit and folded his clothes over the back of the chair and approached the bed.

Sanada ran a hand down Keigo's side, and Keigo decided analysis could wait.

He didn't try to restrain his sighs and murmurs as Genichirou stroked him, following the lines of his body with open hands. He'd never taken anyone to bed who hadn't been encouraged by that responsiveness, and Sanada didn't look like an exception. In fact, his expression caught Keigo's attention, as he arched up into Genichirou's body, purring at the fingertips circling against his lower back. The amusement was still there, but the detachment was gone. So, Genichirou liked watching Keigo's pleasure? Well, Keigo could relate; he had enjoyed watching Genichirou, too. And the results were... delectable.

He relaxed into Genichirou's hands, savoring the slow touch, sometimes firm enough to soothe taut, tired muscles, and then light enough to entice tight-strung nerves. Keigo moaned, softly, when Sanada's mouth tracked down the inside of his thigh, licking and then biting, gently. He spread his legs wider as Genichirou's lips brushed over his erection, but those large hands massaged his hips and thighs lax again.

Keigo enjoyed the slow pace a great deal. It was rare, in his experience, to find someone willing to take the time pleasure deserved, willing to build it gradually, and the corner of his mind still thinking was impressed with Sanada's patience. But there did come a point where even his hedonism drew the line, and finally he pulled Genichirou down against him, shivering a little at the sleek weight.

"I think," he said, pulling a leg up to twine around Genichirou's, "that you would feel very good inside me. Now."

A chuckle rumbled through the chest pressed to his. "You know, I think I see, now, why you didn't think that you were asking me to yield," Sanada remarked, trailing his fingers down the side of Keigo's neck and then combing them through his hair.

"I'm happy for your enlightenment," Keigo gasped. "But if you don't hurry up you're not going to live long enough to appreciate it, do you understand me, Genichirou?"

Genichirou looked down at him with a tilted smile. "Yes, for once I believe I do understand you, Keigo."

"Good." Keigo declared. He fished in the headboard, and waved a small bottle at Genichirou before dropping it beside them.

Genichirou rested his forehead against Keigo's shoulder and laughed out loud. "So direct about these things," he said, when he recovered.

"As if you're not," Keigo snorted, and then had to bite back a startled breath as Genichirou rolled both of them over pulling Keigo over him. Keigo murmured approval when Genichirou's hands stroked down his legs, parting them. His attention sharpened when he caught a heavy, sensual anticipation in the normally hard eyes watching him. It was all the warning he needed, and he moaned low in his throat as Genichirou's fingers pressed against him, seeking entrance. "Don't hold back on me now, Genichirou," he whispered.

"With you? I know better," Genichirou told him.

Keigo's breath broke into short gasps as Sanada drove two fingers, slowly, into him. He arched his back, pressing into that hard stretch and felt Genichirou's other hand run up to his neck and tangle in his hair, clenching into a fist before he let go. Keigo looked down at him, seeing the dark eyes turned hot and the stern lips parted. He smiled, slow and pleased.

"Like what you see, Genichirou?" he asked.

"Hmmm." Genichirou drew his fingers back and thrust down again, smiling in turn at Keigo's groan. "Like what you feel, Keigo?"

"More," Keigo demanded.

Teeth showed in Sanada's smile as his hand smoothed down Keigo's shoulder, over his chest, thumb pausing to circle a nipple, and Keigo jerked. "Sit back, then."

Genichirou was having far too much fun playing with Keigo's responses.

Keigo knelt back, over Genichirou's hips, and reached behind him, gripping, stroking, guiding Genichirou against him. Genichirou gasped, and bucked up, sharply, which was exactly what Keigo had hoped for. He bit his lip, concentrating on relaxing, and let Genichirou's own movement drive him into Keigo. Genichirou's hands closed, hard, over his hips.

"Keigo!"

Keigo breathed deeply against the sudden tight stretch. "If you want to take me slow, Genichirou, I don't mind in the least. But I won't be toyed with."

Sanada's eyes narrowed. After a long moment, one side of his mouth curled. "Slow it is, then," he agreed, "without teasing."

He rocked up to meet Keigo, who let his head fall back with a breathless sound for the hardness filling him. Genichirou's thumbs stroked the hollows of Keigo's hips, almost tickling, and Keigo closed his hands around Genichirou's forearms, feeling the flex of corded muscle as Genichirou guided his hips up and then back, stretching him achingly open with each thrust. It was a slow and steady rhythm, not the advance and retreat that would have been teasing, but an easy, sustained movement and taut fullness. The heat of it flowed through Keigo like a river, a single, strong current, never stopping. Genichirou's hand closed over Keigo's cock in the same long, slow rhythm and Keigo had to brace his hands on Genichirou's chest as pleasure hummed through him, sang down his nerves, hovering.

Genichirou's gentleness held him in that tingling, drenching warmth for longer than Keigo would have thought possible.

When the end came, it was like a stumble, a trip in that sleek rhythm, and the warm, hovering pleasure turned bright and hard, closing around Keigo like the pressure of deep water, ready to drown him. He felt his muscles tense, strain, as burning sensation dragged through him over and over and over. The waves of it were as slow and deep as Genichirou's thrusts, and for a suspended moment Keigo wondered if it would ever stop and how long he could bear for it to continue. His throat clenched around a harsh moan.

And then it was fading, and he slumped down over Genichirou, felt Genichirou let him down to the bed. After that drawn-out intensity, it felt very good when Genichirou drove into him harder, faster; it was familiar, relaxing. It shook the trembling out of his muscles. And the release and repletion in Genichirou's face when he tensed over Keigo, made Keigo smile.

All things considered, he was also fairly impressed.

Eventually, Genichirou stirred against his shoulder. "Towels?" he murmured.

"In there." Keigo waved a languid hand in the direction of the attached bath.

Genichirou untangled himself and strode bath-wards with, Keigo smirked, only a bit of unsteadiness. He returned with a handful of fluffy cotton, and Keigo purred a little at the touch of the soft cloth.

"You weren't joking about taking care of your partners, were you?" he commented.

"Of course not." Genichirou leaned beside him on an elbow, and Keigo gave him a sleepy smile. Genichirou's mouth softened, and he brushed back Keigo's hair. "You're much easier to deal with when you aren't being insufferably pretentious, you know."

Keigo sniffed. "You have your management techniques, I have mine," he said. "I could say as much about you, when you aren't being uptight and unthinkingly condescending." It would, he reflected, probably be less annoying if the condescension were deliberate.

Genichirou's brows rose. "That's a management technique?"

Keigo eyed him. "Extraordinary talent wishes for an extraordinary personality to focus on. You must know that. If, somehow, you've missed it, ask Yukimura some time."

Sanada's eyes shadowed, and turned distant. Keigo nodded to himself, sure now of his earlier suspicion. He laid a hand on Sanada's chest to call him back.

"You're his lover, aren't you?" he asked.

Genichirou looked at him for a long moment before thumping over onto his back. "I expect I'll regret asking," he said to the ceiling, "but how did you know?"

Keigo chuckled. "I certainly can't think of anyone else you would submit to so readily that you never questioned it, and yet not expect the same from in return. It shows."

He was utterly delighted to see a faint blush cross Sanada's cheekbones.

"Well," he added, breezily, "I expect Yukimura will be able to break you of those terribly traditional habits of yours sooner or later. I have no doubt you're accustomed to bending to his will, already."

The tone of the second sentence was as laden with innuendo as Keigo could manage, and he laughed at the expression on Sanada's face until Sanada, growling, flipped back over and kissed him quiet. Which had, after all, been much of the point.

The night was young, and it would be a terrible shame to waste a favor.

End

Yaru, Part Four

Tezuka and Ryouma achieve some closure. Romance with Porn, I-4

Ryouma was entertained by Tezuka-san's apartment. Most of it was meticulously neat in an absentminded sort of way. He was willing to bet that Tezuka-san put things back in their assigned places without ever really thinking about it. So he had to wonder just who had supplied the huge, untidily sprawling spider plant that hung by the sliding door to the modest balcony, or the equally sprawling jade plant a short stand underneath it.

Actually, he'd bet on Fuji-senpai for the jade plant; Ryouma had seen one like it overrunning Fuji-senpai's windowsill in a twining riot of tendrils. But Fuji didn't use the same jab twice very often, so there must be someone else who thought Tezuka-san's life could do with a bit less order. At least two people, then, who would probably approve of him, Ryouma thought, knowing that the grin taking over his face was likely a dead give-away to his thoughts.

"You look like you're contemplating making my life difficult," Tezuka-san remarked, behind him.

Sure enough. When Ryouma turned, though, he could feel the grin turning into something less certain. He'd spent quite some time, by now, sidestepping his physical attraction to Tezuka-san. Having Tezuka-san standing in front of him, close enough to feel his body heat, was a little... disorienting. It only got moreso as Tezuka-san's expression softened; normally it took a good deal more work on Ryouma's part before that happened.

It was actually better when Tezuka-san gathered him close. Easier to let his body's response rule. Ryouma moved closer still, fitting himself against Tezuka-san, stretching up to press a kiss against his mouth.

The expression of Tezuka's body changed, at that, tautened. So much the better—less time to waste thinking. Ryouma buried one hand in springy, honey brown hair and licked, lightly, at Tezuka-san's lower lip. Tezuka's arms tightened around him, hard enough to drive the breath out of him. Tezuka caught Ryouma's gasp in his mouth, lifting him up and kissing him deeply.

And then Tezuka-san drew in a long breath and started to loosen his grip.

"Don't let go," Ryouma protested, pressing close.

Tezuka-san stilled. "Most people like to breathe," he pointed out.

"Breathing is nice," Ryouma agreed. "But when you hold me that hard I know I've really reached you."

After a moment, Tezuka's arms closed snugly again, and Ryouma looked up with a smile. Tezuka-san was studying him, mouth curved with a faintly rueful quirk at one corner. "I never expected you to make a vocation of that hobby of yours," he said, softly.

"Why not?" Ryouma asked. "Don't you know what you're like, when you open up a little?" Tezuka-san's brows asked the question, and Ryouma chewed on his lip, trying to put it into words. "It's like water," he said, at last. "Underwater, it's everywhere, wrapped all around you, and it seems perfectly calm until a current comes along. And then you can't do anything to keep from moving with it. That's what you're like when we play for real. And then, when you forget to be reserved, it's like the surface of water—choppy or bright or ticklish when you put your hand in the way of the waves." He couldn't say what look there was in Tezuka-san's eyes, now. It wasn't one he'd ever seen before. But it made him think of something else, and he slid both arms over Tezuka-san's shoulders, laughing up at him. "And I don't know what it's like, yet, when you touch someone, but I was hoping to find out."

Tezuka brushed fingers through Ryouma's hair and down the side of his neck. "Are you sure?" he asked, deep voice a little huskier than usual.

Accustomed, from years of listening, to hearing the things Tezuka left unsaid, Ryouma tipped his head and gave him a slightly exasperated look. "I'm not afraid," he said, definitely. "And I like this, and I want to feel you."

Tezuka's arms tightened fiercely around him, again, but his lips against Ryouma's were soft and light, coaxing faint, breathless sounds from him. When one of Tezuka's legs pressed between his, Ryouma moaned, arching up against Tezuka and pulling him down to a more insistent kiss. When Tezuka's tongue still only flirted with his, Ryouma nipped at it, and then made a pleased sound as Tezuka's low laugh vibrated down the whole length of his body.

"Bedroom," Tezuka murmured.

Ryouma growled, but let go long enough for them to cross the apartment without tripping. He would have pounced on Tezuka again, there, but Tezuka closed his hands over Ryouma's shoulders, brushing his thumbs across Ryouma's collar bones. Ryouma caught his breath, and stood, curious. Tezuka stepped back and began undressing, without either haste or hesitation. By the time his shirt slid off his arms, only to be caught and draped, neatly, over the closet door, Ryouma's breath was coming short. Which he couldn't help thinking was a little ridiculous, considering the number of times he'd seen Tezuka one pair of boxers short of naked, but there it was. It wasn't until Tezuka stripped off the last cloth, and stepped back to sit on the edge of his bed, dropping his folded glasses on the bedside table, that Ryouma understood. It was in Tezuka's eyes when he met Ryouma's gaze, in the hand he held out to invite Ryouma close again. Ryouma had said that he wanted to see Tezuka open. Tezuka was telling him that he could.

Ryouma came and took Tezuka's hand in both of his, stroking his fingers over the palm and hearing Tezuka's breath catch in turn. And then he stepped back a little and reached for the hem of his own shirt. He couldn't quite manage to meet Tezuka's eyes, but he felt them on him like a beam of sunlight—something hot and tangible where it touched.

When he stepped back to the bed, Tezuka's hands passing up his back smoothed the awkwardness away, and Ryouma leaned into him with a sigh, relaxing. This feeling, skin sliding over skin, was almost familiar. It felt like those times, when they played, that they both saw each other clearly, the times when they each knew what the other would do, when they... touched. Ryouma eased into the familiarity, straddling Tezuka's legs so that he could press closer. Tezuka's hands swept tiny shivers up his legs, over his ribs, threaded into his hair and drew Ryouma down to a kiss that made him glad he wasn't supporting his own weight.

Tezuka's mouth muffled the sound Ryouma made when those long hands slipped back down and between his legs. Tezuka let Ryouma's sudden surge against him tumble them both back onto the bed, and Ryouma found himself sprawled over Tezuka, looking down at the smile lurking at the corners of Tezuka's mouth. Shifting to twine his legs more comfortably with Tezuka's, Ryouma paused and sighed. He could feel that Tezuka was hard. He rocked against Tezuka, gasping a little, both at the hot wash of sensation and at the soft groan it pulled from Tezuka. Tezuka's fingers kneaded against his rear, spreading him open, stroking him, and Ryouma tensed a little. He saw both heat and deliberate restraint as Tezuka looked up at him.

"Have you ever done this before?" Tezuka asked.

Ryouma shook his head. "Not this."

Tezuka's mouth softened further, and he wrapped his arms around Ryouma and rolled them over, kissing Ryouma gently until he was breathing deeply again, moving with Tezuka. "Tell me if you don't like this, then," Tezuka said, reaching over Ryouma's head. "Some people don't."

Ryouma felt Tezuka's slick fingers nudging against him, and shivered a little, pulling Tezuka down to kiss him again. One finger pressed, circling, and slid into him. It was... odd. Ryouma couldn't decide whether he liked it or not. The fact of it, there, was very strange, and yet the sliding movement might be nice. He frowned.

"More."

He could feel Tezuka's lips curve as they brushed his neck. A second finger pressed in, and Ryouma snatched a breath. Oh... that... yes, that was better. The stretch felt good, and the slide was firmer, now. He liked that. He wound his arms around Tezuka, arching up into him. "Mmmmmh. More," he murmured.

Tezuka kissed him, hard, and Ryouma shivered again at the strained control in it. A third finger slid in between the first two, and the sound in Ryouma's throat was harsher this time. The feeling was more intense, and he spread his legs wider, pushing up into it. Warm. Not rough, but... something like it. He held on more tightly, and returned Tezuka's kisses with abandon.

Tezuka was letting his control go, too. When he knelt back and pulled Ryouma up with him, Ryouma found himself held almost as hard as he had been earlier, and moaned against Tezuka's mouth. Now he could say what it was like when Tezuka touched someone. It was like the pull of a wave going out, drawing your feet out from under you and pulling you into the water. And Ryouma was perfectly willing to go.

"Tezuka," he breathed.

Tezuka slipped around him and drew Ryouma back against his chest, straddling his knees. Ryouma smiled at the arms closed around him.

"You'll be all right like this?" Tezuka asked, softly.

"Mmm. Yeah," Ryouma sighed. It would be nice to watch Tezuka's eyes, because he would bet that they were burning just a little wild. But he wanted more to be held, right now. It kept him from completely losing his breath as Tezuka pressed into him. He did grab for the headboard, though, because this was far more than Tezuka's fingers had been and he was shaking by the time Tezuka's hips met his. Tezuka's hold on him tightened, soothing, mouth brushing the nape of Ryouma's neck. Ryouma relaxed, slowly, panting a little. It felt good, just... intense. When Tezuka drew back and thrust in again, though, it pulled a sharp sound from him. That pressure, stroking inside him, was hotter, now, sharper. A new edge surged through him with each thrust. It shuddered down his nerves like heat waves off the street in summer, and Ryouma found himself moving, rocking back into Tezuka, straining against that hard slide.

Tezuka answered him, moving faster, hands stroking down Ryouma's body, between his thighs, fondling him, lifting him up to meet the driving pace. The deep voice in Ryouma's ear was rough, now, breathless over his name. Ryouma stretched into the tight hold and hard caress, voiceless with the weight of sensation running through him, driven into him, stroked out of him. It rushed down to a hot point and exploded through him, raking down him over and over and over.

Tezuka's movement against him had a dreamlike edge for a minute, before he gasped sharply against Ryouma's neck and caught him closer, stilling. A distant corner of Ryouma's mind decided it was probably oxygen overdose. Most of him was too busy drowning in lax warmth to care. Eventually, Tezuka loosened his hold and drew away, letting Ryouma down to the bed and leaning over him for a slow kiss.

A last, small, shiver passed through Ryouma at the open smile Tezuka wore, and the laughing, rueful, affection in his eyes. He reached up and sighed, pleased, as Tezuka gathered him close again.

Being Tezuka's lover, Ryouma had decided, was not significantly different from being his friend or his opponent. Well, except in the obvious sense, when Tezuka brought Ryouma home and laid him down on the bed, or pressed him up against the wall, or came up behind him at the door to the balcony and slid a hand...

Ryouma realized that he was getting distracted, and probably rather flushed, and refocused on the rack in front of him. The point was, they both still had their own lives, and their lives were still running along pretty separate tracks, and they had a limited number of times and places to meet. And if Ryouma wanted to keep going along on Tezuka's hiking trips, which he did, Tezuka chose places with gorgeous views, Ryouma needed shoes that were not sneakers.

First, though, he might just need to read the manual of hiking boots to figure out what the heck all the alleged benefits listed on various tags meant.

A clerk popped up at his elbow. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Only if you can translate this stuff," Ryouma told him, absently, squinting at phrases like 'external heel' and 'mid cut'.

"That is part of my job," the man said, easily. "Are you just starting out hiking?"

"I am," Ryouma specified, "the person I go with isn't."

Actual interest replaced the professional smile. "Ah. Do I take it that you cover some more demanding trails?"

Ryouma had to stop and think about that. He suspected Tezuka wouldn't think they were demanding at all, and he wasn't having any trouble keeping up. But he certainly didn't see any families on the trails Tezuka seemed to like best. "Yes, some," he said, at last. "Probably more, later," he added.

The clerk looked thoughtful. "Most of my customers who do serious climbing prefer the lower cut shoes, but more ankle support is a good idea when you're still building up to that. If your friend likes rougher trails, the traditional, high cut boots will likely stay just as useful as time goes on."

Ryouma had no intention of inviting injury. "Boots," he agreed. "If he ever breaks out the climbing ropes, I'll come back then."

The clerk grinned. "It sounds like your friend really has you hooked," he commented.

Ryouma choked down a laugh at the image this brought to mind. Though if their excursions ever turned to fishing, he was bringing a pillow. Still...

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he allowed.

Ryouma rummaged in one and then another cupboard before giving up and standing in the middle of the kitchenette, glaring impartially at all of them.

"Do you reorganize your cabinets instead of biting your nails like a normal person?" he called into the living room.

"Yes," Tezuka answered quite calmly.

Ryouma transferred his glare. Tezuka's sense of humor could be a little abstruse sometimes, but Ryouma could recognize perfectly well when he was being teased. "Good to know that," he returned briskly, "so where did you put the glasses this time?"

"Beside the refrigerator, of course."

Ryouma fished out two, muttering, and brought the filled glasses out to the couch. "Serve you right if I dumped this on you."

"Mm," Tezuka said, agreeably. He was obviously wrapped up in the textbook on the table in front of him, and Ryouma had to stifle two separate impulses. The first was to spill a few drops of ice water down Tezuka's neck to get his attention off the physics reading that he really didn't need to devote such concentration to. The second was to get between Tezuka and the table, and kiss the stern line of his mouth into something softer. The entertainment value of one was about equal to the other.

Ryouma restrained himself for the time being, and set one drink down by the open textbook before taking his own and sprawling on the huge floor cushion that had put in an appearance a few weeks ago.

"Why are you bothering with this?" he asked. "It isn't like you need a college degree to go pro, and if it's professional tennis that you want you're wasting four of your strongest years."

Tezuka gave him a long look. "It's debatable whether they're my strongest years," he said.

Ryouma narrowed his eyes. He was used to Tezuka's roundabout conversational methods, but he wasn't in the mood to be patient today. Tezuka sighed and closed his books.

"I'm planning on a career in pro tennis, yes. But what about after? If I decide I don't want to teach, this," he waved at the books and papers, "will give me more options. That's all."

Ryouma thought about that. It was true, his dad was pretty much useless since he didn't play or teach; well, not anyone but Ryouma. He really couldn't see Tezuka lazing around doing nothing but collecting dirty magazines.

Really, really couldn't see it.

"I've never really wanted to do anything else," he mused. "Not since..." he broke off, not quite prepared to say out loud not since I first played you.

Tezuka's eyes lightened. "I didn't really think you had," he agreed, a laugh running under his voice.

After a moment of hesitation, Ryouma came to kneel between Tezuka's legs and comb his fingers through Tezuka's hair. "You're coming, then?" he asked, quietly. "You'll be there?" He felt a little silly asking Tezuka Kunimitsu, of all people, for that reassurance, but still...

Tezuka's arms wrapped around him, tight enough to make him gasp. "I will," he murmured in Ryouma's ear.

Ryouma relaxed in that grip, content to stay there for as long as Tezuka wanted to hold him.

TBC

Delta

Atobe is rather tired of Tezuka brooding, and decides it's time for another conversation with Fuji to see if the problem is amenable to a swift kick. Romantic Drama With Occasional Porn, I-4

Watching Tezuka Kunimitsu mope was a novel experience. Keigo couldn't recall ever having seen anything quite like it before. The moodiness wasn't terribly obvious, of course, Kunimitsu generally wasn't obvious about anything. But from close up, Keigo definitely noticed a certain distance in his eyes and a wrinkle of brow that was a bit different than usual.

After two weeks of uninterrupted novelty, though, the brooding was getting old. Keigo was perfectly willing to allow that Kunimitsu had a right to be concerned for his friends. But thinking about other people to the exclusion of Keigo himself, when Kunimitsu was with Keigo, was not something he intended to tolerate. Accordingly, when Keigo decided Kunimitsu had been sitting at his desk and staring at team schedules without blinking for just a little too long, he also decided it was time to take action.

Keigo tossed Kunimitsu's copy of Elective Affinities, which he had been reading in bits and pieces whenever he came over, on the bed and swung to his feet. He stalked across the room and tugged Kunimitsu's chair away from the desk, swinging it around. Kunimitsu refocused and looked up at him, startled.

"Keigo, what... ?"

Keigo leaned over and kissed him.

Kunimitsu was stiff with surprise for a long moment, before Keigo coaxed his lips to soften and part. Keigo went about the kiss in a thorough and leisurely fashion, tangling his tongue with Kunimitsu's, nipping gently at his lower lip, and eventually Kunimitsu sighed and his hands lifted to find Keigo's hips. Keigo smiled against Kunimitsu's mouth as he let Kunimitsu pull him down to straddle the chair.

"That's better," Keigo murmured.

Kunimitsu gave him a dry look. "Feeling neglected?"

"Unforgivably so," Keigo agreed, easily. "You're taking far too long to think about something that's probably very simple."

"And you know that it's simple because...?" Kunimitsu asked, mouth tightening a little.

"That is an assumption on my part," Keigo allowed. "But I'll bet a case of Dunlop Abzorbers that complication is an assumption on your part. Have you said more then five words to Fuji in the last two weeks?"

"Yes," Kunimitsu answered, in a very final tone.

Keigo eyed him. "Let me rephrase that. Have you said more than five words about whatever is actually bothering you?"

Kunimitsu's gaze darted away and then back.

"Thought so," Keigo said, smiling.

Kunimitsu's mouth acquired a very stubborn set. "We're coming into the hardest part of the tournament season. I won't risk an upset in the team right now."

And that was that, Keigo knew. Two things Kunimitsu would never compromise: his game and his team. If he had convinced himself that pressing Fuji would be detrimental to the team, there was vanishingly little chance Keigo, or anyone else, could persuade him otherwise. Clearly, then, this was a case where Keigo would have to get involved directly, if he wanted Kunimitsu's attention back where it belonged.

Wasn't it a pleasant coincidence that this would also give him some chance of satisfying his curiosity over what had happened to Fuji lately?

Satisfied with his nascent plan of action, Keigo pressed closer against his lover. "Whatever you want, Kunimitsu," he agreed, as suggestively as possible, in Kunimitsu's ear.

A soft laugh told him that Kunimitsu consented to the distraction. "Anything?" he asked, a teasing edge in the low voice now.

"Mm. Anything," Keigo purred, leaning down to Kunimitsu's mouth again.

Keigo leaned against the wall of Seigaku's high school campus, tapping his fingers impatiently. Where was Fuji? He was about ready to start pacing when his ear finally caught a familiar voice, light and sardonic.

"...I'm perfectly happy to help, Inui. Provided, of course, that you're drinking this stuff, too. After all, any good experiment needs a control, yes?"

"Certainly, but, you see, you are the control for this one," Inui answered, just a bit hastily, as the two emerged from the school grounds.

"About time," Keigo interrupted, stalking towards them. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific progress, or the possible death of a rival, but we need to talk, Fuji. Come on." When Fuji failed to follow him, Keigo glanced back, annoyed. "If you don't hurry up, he'll be along, too, and then this entire exercise will have been pointless. I don't intend to go out of my way for you more than once."

Inui was looking on with raised brows. They twitched up a bit higher when Fuji, after a long, narrow look at Keigo, turned to him and said, "Will it be a problem if we postpone this particular experiment?"

"Not at all," Inui murmured.

Fuji nodded, and paced forward to join Keigo. "Let's go, then."

"If I recall correctly, there's a halfway decent cafe about ten blocks on," Keigo noted as they walked.

"That will do, yes." Fuji's voice was very even, and Keigo's lips quirked. Wary, was he? Fair enough; Keigo had a good deal more leverage in this encounter than he had the last time they'd spoken of personal matters. Keigo was honest enough with himself to admit that this was one of the reasons he had gone to the trouble of coming here today.

And, of course, far be it from Keigo to disappoint expectations; as soon as they were ensconced at a table with their drinks he opened up with both barrels.

"So, Mizuki thinks you're jealous because my presence interferes with your friendship with Tezuka. Is he right?"

Fuji did not, Keigo noted, twitch; instead he became very still. One breath. Two. "Mizuki is perceptive, but also, you must have observed, rather... warped," Fuji said at last.

"In other words, yes," Keigo translated, sipping his tea. "Didn't we have this conversation once already?"

Fuji looked at him with distinct disfavor. Keigo sighed.

"What on earth do you have to be jealous of?" he asked, exasperated. "You have a lover who, unless I'm vastly mistaken, you're perfectly happy with, you're still at the same school with Tezuka, which, I should point out, I'm not, and I find it extremely difficult to believe that he's paying any less attention to any member of his team, let alone you."

"That's none of your business," Fuji told him, tightly.

"Probably not, but it's troubling Tezuka and he won't ask if he thinks the answer might disrupt your team." Keigo caught a flicker in Fuji's eyes as they turned down to his coffee, and blinked. Had Fuji not realized that was why Kunimitsu kept silent? Keigo would have sworn that Fuji knew Kunimitsu better than that. "What is going on with the two of you?" he asked, puzzled.

"Nothing," Fuji said, quietly.

Keigo rested his chin in his hands. Fuji was fond of double talk, even when it came to body language, let alone words. Nothing was happening; so, maybe something should be? "Are you saying that Tezuka really is paying less attention to you?"

This time Fuji twitched, though Keigo would have missed it if he hadn't been watching closely.

"However much he teases about the two of us being similar, I still have a hard time believing I might be replacing you," he mused. "We're different things to him, Fuji."

He realized, later, that he had misjudged just how much what was happening must have been disturbing Fuji, because the one thing Keigo had never expected was that Fuji might actually snap badly enough to say what he did next.

"You wouldn't think so, of course," Fuji bit out, eyes narrow and cold. "You're going to be staying in his world; there's nothing for him to hold against you."

Keigo stared, stunned, for a long moment before he heaved a sigh and leaned back, pressing a hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe Fuji had misread Kunimitsu that badly. No, wait, he could believe it; after all, it wasn't as though he hadn't known plenty of intelligent, talented individuals who where, nevertheless, gifted with the people skills of dried seaweed. It was just that he expected this kind of thing from Ryou, not from Fuji. And if this was the root of Fuji's skittishness, then what he was really worried by must be... Keigo silently recited his choicest German invective. "And here I'd thought you were supposed to have a good brain to go along with the good reflexes."

"I beg your pardon?" Fuji said, with the mildness of a green and pleasant mountain just before it explodes and rains burning rock all over the landscape. Keigo ignored the hint.

"It happens, all right? It isn't your fault, it isn't his fault, it just happens, and it certainly isn't because he's angry at you, you idiot!" he snapped.

Fuji blinked at him, temper temporarily derailed. "What happens?" he asked.

Keigo held up one hand and ticked points off on his fingers. "You're starting to not have as many things to talk about, yes? And he does not, in fact, treat you any less warmly..." he paused to think about that, and amended, "any more harshly, anyway, he's just not quite there as much, yes? And when you talk about some things, he just doesn't seem to connect the way you expected him to. Is this ringing any bells?"

Fuji nodded, slowly, as if he thought this might be a trick question. Keigo snorted.

"We're growing up, Fuji," he pointed out. "We're going in different directions. He doesn't blame you for not staying with tennis, any more than you blame him for his choice to stay. But talking about things only one of you is deeply involved with is different. That's all." Keigo lifted his cooling tea for a sip to conceal his expression.

Not fast enough, it seemed.

"You're speaking from personal experience?" Fuji asked, gaze sharp.

"None of your business," Keigo answered, brusquely.

It was Fuji's turn to lean back in his chair. "It is if you don't want me to think that entire lecture was a self-serving fiction you pulled out of your ear," he said, coolly.

Keigo glared, and reminded himself never, ever to play poker with Fuji. The man was downright addicted to maneuvering people. "You and Mizuki deserve each other," he growled.

Fuji smiled at him, if a show of that many teeth could be called a smile.

"Fine, fine," Keigo said, wearily. "If you insist on being so mannerlessly uncivil to someone trying to do you a favor," he ignored Fuji's snort, "yes, it has." He swirled the dregs of his tea in the cup. "We're still friends, even if it's not the same as it used to be. I go to as many of Kabaji's poetry readings as I can manage, and he comes to as many of my games as he can fit in. We can still have perfectly good talks. It's just not exactly the same." He cut himself off, a little annoyed at having said so much, and looked up preparing a barb to distract Fuji.

Fuji was staring at him as if Keigo had been speaking in Arabic. Keigo raised a brow.

"Poetry readings," Fuji repeated. "Kabaji? Kabaji Munehiro?"

And it was Keigo's turn for a toothy smile. Fuji was keeping his composure better than most, but disbelief edged his voice and widened his eyes. Ah, it was too bad he didn't have a camera handy; Kabaji would have laughed.

"Oh, yes," Keigo confirmed with an airy wave. "His first collection will be published next year. Really, I'm a little surprised you haven't heard." He sipped delicately. Cold tea was a small price to pay for the perfect gesture to finish this play.

And now it was time to be going, before Fuji recovered himself.

"Well, I'm delighted we could have this chat," he said, rising. "I hope it clears things up, and you stop sulking so Tezuka stops moping. I expect I'll see you at Nationals; until then."

As he made it to the door, he heard Fuji starting to laugh, behind him. Ah, success. It was a sweet thing.

Keigo expected to see some improvement in Kunimitsu's mood in reasonably short order. What he did not expect was that Kunimitsu would arrive, unannounced, at the door of his room, a mere two days later.

"Kunimitsu?" he greeted his lover, a bit surprised he had managed to circumvent the staff.

Kunimitsu crossed to the couch before Keigo could rise and knelt, swiftly, catching Keigo's face between his hands. The kiss that followed muffled any thoughts Keigo might have mustered under the heat of Kunimitsu's lips smoothing over his, tempting and offering and demanding. Kunimitsu's hands stroked down Keigo's chest and around his back, pulling him tighter against Kunimitsu's body, and Keigo slid bonelessly off the couch to the floor. His quiet moan was swallowed in Kunimitsu's mouth. Keigo was just starting to wonder whether the door was locked when Kunimitsu drew back and regarded him with a calm expression and laughing eyes.

"What was that about?" Keigo asked, rather breathless.

"Payback," Kunimitsu informed him, serenely.

"Remind me what for, so I can make a note to do it more often."

Kunimitsu smiled. "For baiting Fuji badly enough that he gave you an honest answer; for annoying him enough that he was too busy shredding your character to be reserved with me."

"And then again, perhaps not," Keigo decided. "He spoke to you about it?"

"Yes." Kunimitsu sighed a little. "I hadn't realized he might think..." He pressed his lips together.

Keigo wove his fingers through Kunimitsu's hair. "For five and some years, now, he's been close enough to you to guess what you're thinking without having to ask," he pointed out. "For all that, though, I'm betting that Fuji's never been so good with people that he would have recognized what's happening now until someone thumped him over the head with it."

Kunimitsu's mouth curled, and his eyes were distant. "He isn't, always, no," he agreed.

"That sounds like the start to a good story," Keigo suggested.

Kunimitsu returned to the present and gave him a reproving look. "No."

"You know, it's very cruel of you to rouse my curiosity like that and then refuse to satisfy it, Kunimitsu," Keigo told him in an injured tone.

A familiar gleam lit Kunimitsu's eyes. "Are you really that disappointed?" he asked, one hand sliding down Keigo's body again.

"That depends," Keigo gasped as that warm hand closed, firmly, between his legs, "on whether you intend to satisfy anything else."

Kunimitsu's tongue traced a slick path up Keigo's neck. "Yes, I think I do," he answered, softly.

A low sound rose in Keigo's throat and he leaned back against the couch as Kunimitsu's hand kneaded against him. Kunimitsu wasn't normally the one who pushed things this quickly. But those were definitely Kunimitsu's fingers undoing Keigo's pants, and Kunimitsu's hands urging him back up to the couch, and spreading his knees apart.

And it was very definitely Kunimitsu's mouth closing on him, hot and wet and slow. Keigo fell back against the cushions, moaning as Kunimitsu sucked, hard, before his mouth gentled again. Kunimitsu's tongue flirted with him, rubbed back and forth across screaming nerves, and Keigo tangled his fingers in Kunimitsu's hair again. The silky spring against his hands somehow felt very much like the the touch of Kunimitsu's mouth sliding down his cock, and Keigo flexed his fingers against that softness to keep himself from thrusting up into the sleek heat of Kunimitsu's mouth too forcefully.

That compunction frayed as Kunimitsu slid Keigo's pants a little further down, and strong fingers reached under him, pressing, massaging. Keigo cried out, sharp and yearning, as that touch pushed into him, almost harsh, almost rough without anything to smooth the way. The contrast with the softness of Kunimitsu's tongue sweeping over him put an edge like a knife on the heavy pleasure building low in Keigo's stomach and tensing his thighs. He bucked up as Kunimitsu's lips stroked him, and Kunimitsu's fingers drove into him again. And again. And again. Keigo spread his legs wider and arched with the tantalizing, electric promise of Kunimitsu's touch.

And, just as the raking burn of Kunimitsu's fingers thrusting into him steadied into a deep, open heat, Kunimitsu's mouth slid down him one more time and hardened, sucking, the stroke of Kunimitsu's tongue almost rasping. Demanding. Keigo's body answered, tensed, shuddered as raw sensation surged through him, wringing him so hard he could barely gasp. Over. And over. And over. Until it dropped him back to the cushions, panting, a little dazed.

Slowly Keigo's senses resumed their normal proportions, and he stared up at the ceiling while a thought formed in the stillness of his mind. Not that Kunimitsu entirely left him in peace to contemplate. Kunimitsu's hands, tugging Keigo back down to his lap, were insistent, and Keigo leaned against him, smiling, while he caught his breath.

"You know, when you've been worrying over something and finally manage to stop, you tend to break out really quite noticeably," he said, at last. "I think, perhaps, you need better stress management techniques."

"Are you complaining?" Kunimitsu asked, against Keigo's shoulder.

"Certainly not. Just mentioning it, in case you want to fine tune things so as to keep that famous composure of yours better."

"That matters less with you," Kunimitsu said, without lifting his head.

Probably just as well, because Keigo was fairly sure his entire expression had turned soft, and it still made him just a touch embarrassed when Kunimitsu actually saw how he affected Keigo sometimes. Keigo rested his cheek against Kunimitsu's hair.

"Are the two of you all right, now?" he asked.

Kunimitsu nodded.

"Good," Keigo declared, and put a hand under Kunimitsu's chin to tip his face up to Keigo's. "Then I think it's my turn," he murmured.

He felt Kunimitsu's lips curve under his, before they parted for him.

End

Hageshii

Lust comes looking for Greed before things heat up. They get to know each other a little. Porn With Characterization, I-4, spoilers ep 30 on.

She found him on a rooftop at sunset, looking down at the streets as the nighttime life of the small city began to swirl into the open, more fluid and frenetic than daytime life. She had a few moments to examine him before he turned to face her, and took advantage of them with some curiosity. He was tall and built more powerfully than most of them. And he held himself differently. He draped himself against the air, with none of the tension she was used to seeing in her own kind. Insouciance wrapped around him, from the pointed toes of his boots to the furred collar of his vest. He could really have been human.

The thought lasted until he turned, and she caught his eyes.

His eyes blazed with the insane desire they all shared, one way or another. They matched his smile perfectly.

"Well, hello there," he drawled. Her mouth crooked at the light in his eyes as they stroked down her body. She could tell the moment he focused on her orouborous; his glance sharpened and flicked back up to her face. "Who are you?" he asked, a good deal more coolly.

"I am called Lust."

"Suits you," he observed, eyes wandering again, though his bared teeth were not precisely inviting. "Do I need to ask why you're here?"

Lust shrugged. "Tonight I'm merely here to see you. I haven't received specific instructions yet."

His brows flicked up. "Just sightseeing?"

"I suppose."

He looked at her narrowly for a long moment, and then chuckled. "Old bat's messed up again, I see. That's nice to know. Well, I'm Greed, so pleased to meet you." He ambled across the roof to her, grinning lazily. "How old are you?"

Lust glanced up at him from under her lashes. He couldn't possibly be as careless as he looked. "I'm told that's not the sort of thing you should ask a woman."

He brushed his fingers against her cheek. "You don't have to worry about wrinkles, though, so what's to worry you about it?"

He did have a point. "About ten years, I think." Lust shrugged, laying a hand casually on his chest, fingertips tapping against him.

Greed's grin turned fierce. "She really is losing it, if one as young as that's already curious instead of just obsessed."

She studied him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You will," he predicted, low voiced, hand slipping under her hair and down her back. It was warm.

"What are you doing?" Lust asked, still unsure whether to be cautious or amused at his maneuvering.

The grin tipped sideways into an unabashed leer. "Taking advantage of the opportunity, what else?"

Lust was startled to a laugh. Was he really that simple, this one she had heard stories about? Of course, the sketchiness of those stories was what had drawn her here tonight. Gluttony wasn't good at noticing details, and Envy's comments about Greed tended to be brief. "Idiot," "Impractical," and "More balls than a herd of bulls" came to mind.

Previous to this evening, she had thought Envy meant that last metaphorically.

Well, and he probably had, she decided as Greed pulled her a little closer against him. But perhaps not just metaphorically.

"So? Are you going to try to carve my heart out or not?" Greed asked.

A good question. She was a little inclined to, just to avoid entanglements. On the other hand, she rather liked the urgency of his body against hers. And it had been a very long time since she did something just because it felt good. She was getting the impression that Greed lived for things that just felt good. There was something to be said for that, provided it didn't leave you sealed for a century and a half.

The gleam in Greed's eyes said that he might not care, even if it did. And that piqued her interest.

"Not tonight," she answered.

"Good enough."

Greed's mouth moved on hers with no hesitation or uncertainty. There was none in his hands, either, sliding over the lines of her back, her hips. One warm palm moved up her ribs to cup her breast and his thumb stroked the bare skin just above the line of her dress, drawing a shiver over her flesh. Lust sighed. There was a roughness in the confidence of his hands on her that she found herself enjoying. It heated something inside her. She slid a leg along the side of his and buried both hands in the spikes of his hair, laughing at the low growl in his throat. He had good legs, under that leather, she could feel.

A brief thought flickered through her mind, wondering where her standards of good legs had come from, but she brushed it away. It didn't matter. What mattered was that the leather was in the way.

"It wouldn't be a good idea for your humans to see me here," she said, elliptically.

"Really?" Greed murmured against her neck, and shrugged. "All right." He lifted her up, easily, into his arms.

Lust raised her brows, slightly nonplused, and then had to stifle an actual grin as Greed sprang down off the side of the building to land on a ledge below and swing both of them through the open window. He did like to show off, this one.

"Very nice," she told him, quellingly, and twisted out of his arms. She lifted her own to run her hands back through her hair and inhaled deeply. While his attention was riveted she let her clothing absorb back into her body and stood in the dim room naked, smiling, challenging.

"Very nice," Greed purred back to her. He shrugged off his vest and skimmed the pants off his hips, and black retreated to show pale skin. It was warm against hers when he wound his arms back around her, walking them both back towards the bed.

She let him lower her to the cool, smooth sheets and stretched against them, reaching up to pull him down as well. His solid weight on her was almost soothing, anchoring her to the moment. She drew him tighter against her, pressing her mouth to his shoulder, breathing in the rich, flat-sharp scent of him. It was the scent of immediacy. And after years of chill manipulation the weight, the scent, the strength of him covering her leached the tension from her shoulders, made her breath come a little deeper.

Greed's hands gentled, stroking her side, her leg, petting back her hair until she let him kiss her. "You're fragile," he said softly, in her ear. "You should be careful."

She pulled back far enough to look down her nose at him. "Excuse me?"

Greed gave her a long look before shaking his head a little, mouth wry. "Not what you think. Never mind."

He lowered his head and she felt his mouth, serious and hot and wet, on her breast. His teeth scraped faintly against her skin, and she arched her back, sighing. Her breath caught in a light gasp as Greed slid a hand under her, caressing the skin over her spine, and licked further down her stomach. She flexed her hands on his upper arms, liking the density of his muscles. He worked a hand down the inside of her thigh and glanced back up the line of her body, the wicked glint in his eye wanting to know what she would do. Lust felt her lips curling up in answer. As if she would be here if there were any doubt; besides, his hand kneading her thigh was turning her own muscles lax and liquid. She parted her legs so he could settle between them. He arched a bit, himself, when she trailed her foot up the back of his leg, and laughed.

And then he bent his head again, and his tongue moved against her, velvety and rough, hot and insistent. His fingers stroked against her, gliding across her wetness, coaxing her to spread her legs further open. Lust tossed her head back and moaned low in her throat.

"Ah, so you are enjoying yourself," Greed murmured, lips brushing against her. "Good to know."

"Mmmm," Lust agreed, eyes dropping shut with the bright heavy heat swelling through her. She was impatient, though. Normally she would savor the pleasure—and she did. But the wildness in Greed teased her, and she shifted, holding out her arms when he looked up. "More."

"A woman after my own heart," he remarked, baring his teeth as he moved up to lean over her.

Lust traced her nails over his chest, pleased at the shiver that ran through him. "Not at the moment. Not precisely," she whispered, and wrapped a leg around his hips and pulled.

A low sound, half a groan and half a growl, wrung out of Greed as he slid into her. Lust laughed again, breathless. He felt so good, smooth and hard inside her, just like the tension of his arms and back under her hands. His eyes were heavier on her, now, intense, and she gave him an encouraging smile from under her lashes as he drew back and drove in again. She pressed up to meet him, and it was almost enough. Almost as wanton and powerful and wild as she wanted. She leaned up and nipped at his ear. "Harder."

The sound he made was harsh and pleased and understanding. Strong arms wrapped around her and Greed rolled over, pulling her on top of him. This time, Lust's smile showed her teeth. She planted her hands on his chest and arched up, pushing herself back onto him, feeling him sink deeper inside her. Greed's large hands moved, sure and easy, over her shoulders and breasts, down her ribs to settle on her hips, and lifted her a little higher.

When he thrust into her it stole Lust's breath. "Yes," she gasped. "Greed..." The long lines of his face were intent now, mouth open on quick breaths. Lust realized that she was panting, too. The thick slide of him inside her, hard and fast, drove silky pleasure over and through her. She flexed against his grip, pushing down to meet his thrusts, and surprise flickered over his face for a second. As if he had forgotten she wasn't a human woman, forgotten that the same power ran through her body as through his.

His grin flashed again, and Greed trailed a thumb down her stomach. Lower. Until Lust cried out, losing her rhythm for a moment, and he stopped there, thumb circling, rubbing sparks to dance down her nerves. She drove down against him, demanding, and Greed met her with a gasp.

"Lust... oh, yes..." His voice was hoarse, breaking over the want and pleasure that blazed in his eyes. He thrust into her just that tiny bit harder that Lust needed, and fire surged through her, tightened down, surged out again. Over and over, spreading wider each time, and Lust moved with it, reveling in the heat and tingle of power and slow, sharp thrill and... oh, yes. A choked off cry from Greed answered her, and she savored the hardness of him inside her, still moving against the clench of her body. She sagged into his hands' grip as the tide of pleasure retreated again, fingers stroking his chest, coaxing him to follow her.

He wasn't long behind.

When his hold eased, Lust slumped down onto him, bonelessly, resting her head on his shoulder. His hands still stroked over her, soothing, encouraging her to stay there.

"Delightful," he sighed.

Lust made an amused sound. "And you," she murmured, sliding a hand down his arm to feel the texture of him, "are... satisfying. I don't say that often."

A laugh rumbled through his chest. "I can imagine."

"You realize," she added, conversationally, "that the next time we meet I'll be pretending it's for the first time? Just to be on the safe side."

The hands moving over her never flinched. "Doesn't surprise me. The old bat's a real bitch if you cross her. And you haven't even figured out what you want, yet."

Lust sniffed. "I want to be human," she informed him.

Greed snorted with what sounded like exasperation. "NaÃ¯ve."

Lust stilled. "Are you saying it isn't possible?" she asked without lifting her head. He was the second oldest of them; he might know.

"I'm saying you're shopping in the wrong store." Greed turned them over, settling his weight on her again, and Lust made a small, agreeable sound even as she eyed him, narrowly. Was he trying to turn her away from that person and toward himself?

A second later she almost rolled her eyes at herself. Of course he was; he was Greed. The question was whether he was telling the truth in the process.

Greed wove his fingers through her hair, gently, his expression weary. "You're more human now than the old bitch has been for centuries, Lust."

Her mouth twisted. A lot of good that did her.

Greed chuckled, and buried his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell like the sun at noon, you know." Lust made an annoyed noise. "All right. I don't think you'll understand yet, but listen up." He raised his head and looked down at her, sharp, wild light back in his eyes and smile. "A long time ago, I talked to an alchemist who worked with plants. She said that sometimes you don't need a seed or even a root; sometimes just a piece of plant will start to grow into a new one, especially if you feed it with power. Sometimes just a scrap." Greed's fingers closed on her chin. "Just a scrap, Lust. Remember that." He kissed her, slow and wet and tempting.

Once they untangled their tongues again, Lust gave him a cool look. "You're satisfying and entertaining, both, Greed, but I think Envy might be right; a hundred and forty years in that array did something to your mind."

Greed threw back his head and laughed. "Probably. Not that Envy's got room to talk, the little psychotic. Just remember, all right?"

"All right," Lust agreed. "And I'll be waiting for you the next time you break out of your seal; perhaps we can do this again."

"Gee, thanks," Greed muttered. Then he lifted her fingers to his lips, shooting her a look from under heavy lids. "Be nice if I could get a little help with that project, of course."

"I have no intention of ending up inside one of those myself," Lust said, firmly, sliding out from under him with a bit of regret. But it was getting late.

"That would be a waste," Greed allowed, gaze passing over her body like another hand. "In that case, do you have to leave so soon?"

Lust shook back her hair and reformed her clothing. "Gluttony will be wondering where I am."

Greed blinked, lounging on the tangled sheets. "Not like he'll say anything to her."

"Of course not," Lust waved a dismissive hand. "He'll just worry. And then he'll start eating the furnishings."

Greed, for the first time all night, looked startled. And then his smile returned, too wide and bright and saw-edged to be human. "I'll be damned. I was more right about you than I thought." He came up off the bed in a loose-jointed surge, as cocky and casual as he'd been when she first spotted him, and swept her up against his body, laughing. Lust sighed, and speared a fingertip out to skree off the sudden shield across his throat. Greed barely seemed to notice. "You do whatever you need to," he told her, "and I will, too. And we'll see, hm? Now," he let go and his own clothes raced over his skin, "get on back to your friend."

Lust shook her head, giving up on trying to figure out what he was on about. She did hope he would return to be sealed instead of resisting enough that they had to kill him, though.

Greed flung himself back across the bed, propped up on his elbows, and grinned at her. "And if we both make it, maybe I can keep you next time."

Lust raised a skeptical brow over her shoulder as she left, but she was smiling when she reached the street.

Maybe.

End

A/N: "Hageshii" is the word Lust uses when she's describing Greed after his death. It has connotations of both violence and intensity. The best parallels in English might be "furious" or "tempestuous"—violent because it is the nature of the thing to be extreme and intense.

Demonstration

In honor of issue 250 of the manga. After that match Tezuka and Oishi have wild sex in the locker room. Porn Without Plot, I-4, manga continuity obviously

"That wasn't necessary," Tezuka told him.

Shuichirou tossed aside his towel and smiled over his shoulder. "Yes, it was." As he turned back to his locker for fresh clothes, Tezuka's hand wrapped around his wrist, not quite firmly enough to hurt.

"There were other ways it could have been done." That cool deep voice was close behind him, now. Shuichirou shivered as he turned back to face his friend and captain.

"It was worth it." Which was only the truth. The club had needed to know Tezuka was back as strong as ever. And, then, too, Shuichirou didn't often get a chance to push Tezuka that hard on the court; receiving that much of his strength made for an exhilarating match.

The shadow of a smile said that Tezuka heard the double meaning. He shifted his grip on Shuichirou's arm and tugged him closer.

"There are easier ways to get a demonstration from me. Ways that don't involve stressing an injury right before major games," Tezuka pointed out.

"No there aren't," Shuichirou contradicted with a chuckle. "You never show off."

"Perhaps not in public," Tezuka allowed. The way he stepped into Shuichirou and pressed him back against the wall, though, added the unspoken rider that they were in private, now. And Tezuka was, apparently, still just a little wound up from their match. That made two of them. Shuichirou closed his free hand in Tezuka's shirt and pulled him in tighter.

Tezuka's mouth found his, hard and demanding, and Shuichirou forgot the slight chill of the wall at his back. A hand slid down his stomach and shoved down the waist of his boxers, calluses scraping just faintly. Shuichirou made a harsh sound and his hips jerked into the touch; Tezuka's grip on his hardening erection was as firm as his grip on Shuichirou's arm. He wasn't quite rough, but the urgency in his hands added an extra tingle to the heat flushing every inch of Shuichirou's skin.

Distantly, Shuichirou wished there were a way to predict Tezuka a little better. Sometimes a hard game made him pensive and gentle. Sometimes, like today, it made him aggressive. Both were good, each in its own way, but it would be nice to know which was coming. Well, he could worry about that later.

Shuichirou yanked on Tezuka's shirt. "Off," he demanded. He couldn't tell whether Tezuka's slow smile was for Shuichirou's answering urgency or for his obviously limited coherence. In any case, Tezuka shed his clothing with customary efficiency before leaning back into Shuichirou. Shuichirou moaned softly at the smooth resilience of Tezuka's body againt his chest and legs contrasting with the smooth hardness of the wall behind him. Tezuka's sleek muscles shifted under Shuichirou's hands as they searched over Tezuka's back and shoulders. They sighed together, swallowed into a kiss, as one of Tezuka's hands smoothed down Shuichirou's spine in turn. The other hand pressed between Shuichirou's legs again, and his sigh broke into a louder moan.

"Tezuka," he said, hoarsely, as strong fingers, stroking, spread heat through his stomach.

"Hmm?" Tezuka murmured, and bent his head to nip Shuichirou's neck with sharp teeth.

"Ah! Tezuka..." Shuichirou leaned his head back against the wall, panting now. "You took me slow once already today. Hurry up."

Tezuka laughed low in his throat at this interpretation of their match. "If you like. Turn around, then."

Shuichirou turned, bracing his arms against the wall and resting his forehead on them while the sounds of brief rummaging came from behind him. Then Tezuka's warmth was at his back, and Shuichirou found himself pressed full length against the wall. Tezuka's hand closed around him again, slick this time, sliding fast and tight, even as long fingers pressed against Shuichirou's entrance. Shuichirou gasped and his entire body bucked at the insistent sensations. Tezuka was certainly taking him at his word, he decided, slightly dazed.

Tezuka's fingers drove into him, and Shuichirou shuddered, slumping into the wall as his body opened, clenched, relaxed again. Tezuka's fingers worked him roughly until Shuichirou was straining against the warm press of Tezuka's body, legs spread wide, almost clawing at the cool plaster in front of him, gasping for breath between the flickers of electric heat snapping down his nerves.

When Tezuka took his fingers away and replaced them with his cock in a long, hard thrust, the sound he made was as harsh and breathless as the sound Shuichirou made. Shuichirou smiled, teeth bared for a moment. Whether it was on the court or off, he took a certain satisfaction in making Tezuka pant and sweat. Then Tezuka thrust again and Shuichirou lost the thought on a long moan at the stretch and burn and force of it.

"Good?" Tezuka gasped, sounding as though he was speaking through his teeth.

"Yeah." Shuichirou pulled in another breath. He almost never said things like this to Tezuka, but today it seemed appropriate. "Tezuka. Fuck me hard. Fuck me as hard as you play me."

A deep, wordless sound answered him. Both Tezuka's arms were around him, now, holding him, and it was a good thing as Tezuka drew his thumb over the head of Shuichirou's erection and thrust in again. He drove Shuichirou hard up against the wall each time, drove fire up his spine higher and higher, and it didn't take long at all before Tezuka's powerful strokes unraveled him, just like they did on the court. Shuichirou jerked against Tezuka's hands, almost thrashing as orgasm snatched away the tension of his muscles in a burst of heat and sharp, drenching pleasure.

Shuichirou leaned, laxly, against the support of Tezuka's arms, grinning at Tezuka's choked off moan as he thrust against the lingering clench of Shuichirou's body. He was relaxing again when Tezuka followed him, rhythm breaking short, and they both finally stilled. Tezuka's arms settled around Shuichirou more loosely, and his breath brushed the back of Shuichirou's neck as they rested against the wall for a few moments.

"Thank you," Tezuka murmured, at last.

"Definitely my pleasure," Shuichirou told him, laughing a little.

Tezuka's mouth pressed to Shuichirou's bare shoulder. "For both."

Shuichirou turned around, muscles twinging and complaining a little. He sighed, pleased, as Tezuka's hands dropped to his thighs and rear, massaging the complaints away. "You know you don't have to thank me for either."

Tezuka looked down at him, bittersweet brown eyes lightened with calm. "Yes. I do."

They smiled, quietly, at each other.

End

Six

Lucifer and Michael deal with their history. Drama with Sex, I-5

Warning: While it's not exactly non-con, there are violent and coercive elements to the sex in this story, and the sex in question is between siblings.

"You think I'll just stand here and let you take over the whole damned world?!"

"You can try to stop me, if you like."

Michael grabbed Lucifer's arm, as he turned away. "No! Damn it, this time you're going to face me, and no bull shit! Not just hand me the fucking victory like some kind of fucking lollipop!"

His brother's arm turned in his grip, and then it was Michael who was held by the wrists, and his back slammed into the wall hard enough to knock his breath out.

"Don't you understand, yet, Michael?" Lucifer asked, leaning against him to pin him in place. "It was all a put up, but it wasn't my idea. I was assigned to fall, to lose. Destined, just like you were destined to win. God's will, isn't that what destiny is?"

"And you just did it?" Michael snarled.

The pressure against him lessened a little as Lucifer threw his head back and laughed. "Do you want to tell me what else I could have done?"

"You could have fought!" Michael raged, not even sure who he thought his brother should have fought against.

"You're so simple. Have you even figured out why you still want to fight me?"

Before Michael could find some way to show just how pissed off he was getting, Lucifer leaned into him again. And kissed him.

Michael froze, eyes wide and blind, feeling his brother's long body pressing against his, his brother's open mouth covering his, and when had Michael opened his mouth? Lucifer drew back just in time to avoid getting bitten as Michael regained his wits and twisted away. Michael panted, staring up at him. Lucifer's mouth curved in a smile like a knife.

"I'm your twin, Michael. Do you think I don't know what you want?" he asked, low and soft.

"I... I don't..." Michael wrenched at his brother's hold, and unfolded his wings. Even Lucifer was burned by Michael's fire.

Lucifer's wings rushed open, too, though, and Michael froze again. Those four wings, black as void, overshadowed him. Still. Always. Damn it! He didn't even notice Lucifer sliding a leg between his until his brother's thigh pressed against his half-hard erection and he gasped. That knowing smile infuriated Michael all over, and he hissed, fighting again. Holding him took all of Lucifer's weight, now, and their wings flared, flapped...

...touched.

Michael's entire being jolted like an electric current had slammed through him. Every hair felt like it was standing on end. He felt like his own fire was one breath away from turning back on him and burning him to ash.

They jerked apart, staring at each other, breathing hard.

"Yes," Lucifer said, voice husky. "That's it."

Lucifer's wings swept against Michael's again, and unbearable sensation rushed back. Michael shouted, and fisted his hands in Lucifer's hair. Lucifer's teeth gleamed as he moaned through them and drove Michael harder against the wall and his thigh rubbed between Michael's legs. A bright spike of heat wrenched at Michael's nerves, and he pressed back without thinking, rubbing himself against his brother's leg, bucking against him again and again until pleasure hammered through his heart so hard he thought it might stop.

Lucifer finally fanned his wings back, and Michael slumped, dazed, only to be caught up in his brother's kiss. It was wet and warm and gentle, and Michael hauled himself away from it with an effort.

"What...?"

"Yes," Lucifer growled in his ear. "You know what it is; you feel it when we fight. I'm your twin, Michael. You want me and I want you. I want your body under mine. I want to see your legs spread and feel them strain because you want me to be part of you. I want to hear you screaming for me to fuck you harder when our wings tangle, because it's the only thing that even comes close to this." He brushed his wings, teasing, against Michael's one more time. Michael jerked, fingers clawing through Lucifer's shirt and into his skin.

"I hate you!" he choked. "Lucifer... Aniue..." Michael hauled his brother tighter against his body.

"I know," Lucifer whispered, soothingly, and tore Michael's clothing away. His own followed. One hand slid up Michael's back to stroke between his wings, which flexed and quivered at the tingle of that touch. Michael felt himself starting to harden again, and moaned.

"Twinned angels need each other, little brother. Let me in."

Lucifer's arms lifted him, and Michael locked his legs around his brother's hips, flung his arms over those broad shoulders. He set his wings forward, stroked against Lucifer's, and that terrible power surged. Michael sobbed for breath, biting down on Lucifer's shoulder. His brother arched into him, gasping, and his hands shook as they caressed Michael's ass, spread his cheeks apart. He felt the head of his brother's cock press against him, felt his muscles clench, felt Lucifer hesitate.

"Do it," he rasped. "Fuck. Do it!" Michael didn't think he could stand not being connected for much longer.

"Michael!" Lucifer almost sounded like he was in pain. Michael knew exactly what he felt like, right then, and squeezed closer.

"Do it, damn it!"

Lucifer thrust into him, slow and rough, and a tiny, sane corner of Michael's mind was positive this would hurt like hell later. He didn't think it did now; he wasn't sure. All he was sure of was that something had been completed, and it felt like all the power of the heavens and hells had crystallized in the circle of their bodies, and a scream tore his throat.

His brother's voice answered him.

Their mouths came together like they were trying to drink each other down, muffling the sounds as they jerked against each other, without rhythm. The harsh drag of Lucifer's cock in and out of Michael's ass burned, and the burn sliced through the brilliant glory of their wings touching, made it bearable, and the glory soothed the burn and made it so good Michael didn't know if he could stop. He sure as hell didn't want to.

"Fuck! Harder!" he growled against his brother's mouth. "Aniue!"

Lucifer's arms pressed Michael into the wall, and his hips pulled back, drove up hard, and Michael's wings slid between Lucifer's, and fuck, yes, that was it. He never wanted to stop; he always wanted this pounding pulse between them; he always wanted to feel every feather of his brother's wings, every bit of his brother's power, slipping through and against his. If Michael died like this, that'd be fine.

For a second, he thought the universe had heard him.

Everything whited out and Michael swore he felt his brother pass through him with the brush of feathers, and it was so much light and so much power and so much pleasure he couldn't even scream.

When he could think enough to open his eyes again, he and Lucifer were dripping with sweat, chests heaving for breath, and their wings had folded in again. Michael didn't remember doing that. Maybe it was survival instinct, because he wasn't sure he could have lived through much more of that. Lucifer's hands lifted Michael a little and his brother gingerly slid out of him.

"Fuck!" He'd known it would hurt, later, damn it.

Lucifer held him up, one hand gently rubbing Michael's lower back. "Sorry about that, little brother."

Michael snorted against Lucifer's shoulder. "Yeah, I bet. Bastard," he grumbled.

Lucifer's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Michael," he murmured, lifting Michael's chin for a slow kiss.

Michael leaned into it for a moment, sucking on Lucifer's tongue, before the faint, hungry sound in his own throat brought him back to himself. Then he shoved his brother back again. "Pervert!"

"Twin," Lucifer corrected, combing his fingers possessively through the short, sweat-damp spikes of Michael's hair.

Michael bared his teeth. "You telling me Rociel and your woman, Alexiel, were like this?"

"Rociel joined his power and body to hers, in the end." Lucifer shrugged. "I can understand why, can't you? Not that I have any intention of killing you."

Michael growled and looked pointedly away even as he leaned against his brother to feel the heat of Lucifer's skin on his. "You're such an asshole."

End

Verbalize

In which Momoshiro is inexplicably exhbitionist. Also featuring Atobe Keigo, Sex God. Genre: Smut Recollected in Tranquility. Pairing: Yes, lots. Rating: I-4. Continuity: Not particularly

Nearly limping back toward his room, praying quietly that the beds had been remade by now and there would be some nice, cool sheets for him to collapse on, Momo paused to check the bath more out of hope than any expectation there would actually be room at this time of day. Rather to his surprise, there was only one head showing over the edge. Maybe the coaches had decided to torture everyone today, and he was just one of the first back. Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Momo hobbled in, shedding his uniform and scrubbing off as hastily as he could. Which wasn't very.

"Momoshiro," the other occupant greeted him, cracking an eye.

"Am..." Momo broke off to grit his teeth as he hauled his second leg over the edge. "Amane," he finished on a sigh, sinking into the water across from his roommate.

Amane's brows lifted. "Hard practice?"

Momo leaned back with a groan. "I know that it's a great chance for the Junior High level players to be able to play against the best of the High School level, and I know how rare a mixed seminar like this is, and it really is great to be able to measure up against our senpai without feeling like a pest for bothering them when they have their own training to do. I know all that. But I've gotta tell you, Amane, Kurobane-san could give Tezuka-san and Sanada-san a run for their money when it comes to ruthless drills, and the coach just stood there grinning."

Amane closed his eyes again, smirking faintly.

"Yeah, yeah," Momo said with a grin, good nature restored by hot water. "Your ex-partner ran me into the ground. Just don't forget who won the official matches this year."

"You're a better analytical player than I am," Amane shrugged. "That's why I like doubles. So be ready for it when Bane-san and I play together again, next year."

Momo examined his roommate, thoughtfully. He'd been meaning to ask, and it seemed like a good time. "Hey, Amane? Are you and Kurobane-san lovers?"

The water rippled as Amane started a little, and gave Momo a wide eyed look. Momo shrugged. "Just wondering. The way you sound, sometimes, when you talk about him."

Amane tilted his head and his eyes narrowed a bit. "What about you?" he challenged.

Momo's mouth curled up. It was always kind of fun when he could get people to play this game, especially someone who didn't like backing down. He'd given the viper a nosebleed, once, that way. "Well, I'm with someone else now, but the first person I was with on my own team was Tezuka-san."

The water sloshed as Amane sat bolt upright and blinked at him. "Tezuka-san?" he repeated, deep voice scaling up in disbelief.

"Yep." Momo chuckled, reminiscently. "It was just the once. I caught him at the right time. And, um, I kind of pushed it," he added, running a wet hand through his hair. "It was after some of the Prefectural matches, last year; it had been kind of a tense day in general, and I had lost my temper with someone from another team. Tezuka-san had to call me back, or I would have tried to pound Akutsu into paste, I really would have. When we all got back that night, I went over to apologize to Tezuka-san for acting like that. For making things harder for him, when I knew how much pressure he was under already. And he actually smiled."

Momo gazed up at the tiled ceiling, remembering that moment. The tiny quirk of Tezuka-san's lips, and the hint of fondness in his even voice.

"He told me if I felt guilty about it I could run punishment laps the next day. And I honestly don't know what I was thinking, maybe Echizen's match had wound me up more than I thought, but I asked him if that was the only punishment he ever gave, and if he couldn't think of something more imaginative."

A faint choke came from Amane, and Momo laughed.

"Oh, yeah. The only thing that kept me from spontaneously combusting from the embarrassment was that, for just one second, his eyes were on fire. I couldn't breathe, looking at him. So when he covered that up and gave me The Eyebrow I came and stood right up against him and said if he wanted me he could have me. So he took me." Momo decided to leave out the details of how hot Tezuka-san's hands had felt, closing on his shoulders, or how much like begging it had been when Momo had looked up and whispered his captain's name.

"It was kind of overwhelming," he said, instead. "Tezuka-san all over. Not that he was rough, really." Momo grinned. "In fact, since there wasn't anything else handy to make it easier, he bent me over the side of his bed and opened me up with his tongue, first." A glance at Amane showed a bit more flush on his cheeks than could quite be blamed on the heat of the water. Momo grinned wider, and continued, airily, "So my brain wasn't working too well in the first place, being pretty much taken up with how incredible that felt, but when he got around to fucking me properly, I couldn't think of anything but how deep every thrust was. And how I could feel him everywhere, with his arm around me and his cock inside me and his mouth on my neck."

Momo traced two fingers over the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and couldn't hold back a shiver, remembering Tezuka-san's teeth scraping there, lightly, tongue following after, slowly, and how he'd nearly come with the shock of it when Tezuka-san finally bit down hard.

"And when it was over," he finished, "he helped me get cleaned up, and kissed me once, very gently, and let me go."

The bath room was silent for a long moment, until Momo broke it with a bright, "So, what about you and Kurobane-san?"

Amane sputtered for a moment before getting a grip. "Yes, we're together," he managed.

Momo lifted his brows, and have Amane a cool, challenging look. Was that all? Amane glared just a little. Momo decided to prod him. "What's he like, with you?"

Amane actually stopped to think about that. "Strong," he said at last, "gentle. He likes to be able to laugh." A sudden smile lightened those still features. "He teases, sometimes. Touches with just his fingers until I tell him to hurry up already."

These two made a cute couple, Momo decided. "Atobe likes to do that, too."

Amane's jaw dropped.

"You didn't know?" Momo blinked, genuinely taken aback. He'd thought everyone knew. "Oh, yeah. For most of this year. He was a lot more aggressive about it than Tezuka-san, of course."

"How...?" Amane asked, finally tempted into a question. Momo stifled a snicker.

"Well, Atobe shows up at the street-courts a lot," he said, expansively, making ripples in the water with a toe. "And I always thought his attitude sucked, when he did. So one time I told him off about not respecting the other player. And, of course, he looked at me like I was speaking gibberish and said he respected good players." Momo snorted, remembering. "I told him just respecting Tezuka-san didn't count. So then he said he respected me. And then my mouth kind of got away from me again, since I was pretty surprised, and I asked if he'd respect me in the morning."

Amane snorted, himself, and Momo scrunched down in the water a little.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Kamio asked, later, if I had a death wish or something. Atobe really can't resist a challenge; he's almost as bad as Echizen, that way. The next thing I knew, we were in his bedroom, and he had me down on the bed, kissing me like there was no tomorrow. But, yeah," Momo swerved back to the topic at hand, "he likes to tease. He has the most amazing hands, and he'll just... stroke until I'm nearly going crazy." Momo let his voice drop, remembering Keigo-san's silky voice in his ear, Anything you want; tell me what you want. "Until I'm spreading my legs and telling him to fuck me so deep I can taste him."

Momo smiled lazily, as he noticed Amane's blush was back in force.

"The thing is," he continued, "it isn't a power trip, or anything. It's just that he wants to hear it, to know that I want him. Atobe is very generous when he feels wanted." Momo stretched, dripping water over the edge as he flexed his hands behind his head. "The first time he finished with me I couldn't even stand. And he kisses hot enough to make you forget your own name."

Amane finally broke, and got out of the bath. "I'll just go ahead back to our room," he murmured.

"Yeah, see you there," Momo replied, pleasantly.

He didn't break out laughing at his roommate's obvious flusterment and even more obvious erection, until the door closed.

Momo strolled down the hall to his room, whistling, in a far better mood than he had been an hour ago. Echizen said he was getting bad habits from his boyfriend, but Momo had always liked competitions, and especially winning competitions. The fact that very few people had the basic brashness to match him at this particular game didn't make watching the usual results any less fun.

"Amane," he said, as he closed the door behind him, "did you want to go down a little early to dinner... errr... um, I didn't know you were busy, I'll just go take a walk, how's that," he finished, taking in a magnificently naked Kurobane-san leaning over Amane, on one of the beds, licking his way down Amane's bare stomach. He couldn't help noticing, also, that Amane looked very sexy with his head thrown back and his lips parted as he arched up toward his lover. Now was clearly not the moment to pause in appreciation, though. Momo made a smart about face, and had taken two steps back toward the door when Kurobane-san's voice stopped him.

"Momoshiro. You don't have to go."

Momo paused, trying to decide how he should take that statement, and two strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him back against a warm, lean body.

"After all," Kurobane-san added with a soft chuckle, "it's mostly your fault."

Momo cleared his throat. "Ah, well." Anything else he might have said was lost on a gasp when Kurobane-san nipped a path down the side of Momo's neck. His eyes fell closed. He hadn't mentioned the part about liking teeth, had he? It was a little hard to remember at the moment. Especially when one long, capable hand moved down to cup between Momo's legs. "Kurobane-san," Momo breathed, and moaned when strong fingers rubbed over his growing erection.

"Bane," Kurobane-san... Bane-san corrected. "My whole name is a pain."

Momo could sympathize with that. He'd sympathize with anyone who had such warm hands and used them to fondle and massage him like this. Let alone someone he respected as an excellent player, both singles and doubles.

Wait, wasn't there something missing, here?

A rustle came from behind them, and then other hands, broader than Bane-san's slid under Momo's shirt, lifting it up and off. Momo opened his eyes to see Amane standing in front of him, with a wicked gleam in his sharp, blue eyes.

"It is mostly your fault," Amane reiterated, "and since you seemed to want to know, I thought showing would be more effective than telling."

Momo burst out laughing. "Much more," he couldn't help but agree. The laugh slid into a groan as Amane's thumbs circled Momo's nipples, teasing, while Bane-san's palm stroked against him, promising. "If I start begging now, will you skip the teasing?" he asked, a little strained.

"You don't even have to beg," Bane-san told him, magnanimously. His teeth raked Momo's earlobe, lightly, drawing out a shudder as his fingers slid the last of Momo's clothing down. Expecting Bane-san's hand again, Momo took a few moments to process it when Amane sank to his knees.

"You forgot to ask what I'm like in bed," Amane pointed out, hands tightening on Momo's hips.

Keigo raised his brows, as Kurobane and Amane came out of the room Amane was sharing with Momoshiro. They looked... sated. "Shall I take it Momoshiro is out for a walk somewhere?" he asked.

"Oh, no," Kurobane replied, dark eyes glinting with amusement over something. "He's right inside." He swept his partner off down the hall, taking care, Keigo noted with some curiosity, to stay between Keigo and Amane. Interesting.

Keigo tapped on the door, and entered to find Momo sprawled on his bed with a towel barely wrapped around his waist, giving the ceiling a somewhat dazed examination. "Momoshiro?" he asked.

"Keigo-san."

Keigo weighed the combination of the pleased curl at the corners of Momo's mouth, and the slight color across his cheekbones, and shook his head. "Someone finally one-upped you, I assume."

"Kind of," Momo admitted, breaking into a grin. "Amane and I called it a draw."

Keigo tossed back his head and laughed. Yes, that was his lover, all right. He slid onto the bed, nudging Momoshiro over with a hip. "So?" he asked, threading his fingers through still-damp black hair. "I trust they were worth it?"

"Mmm." Momo's smile softened. "You'd like Amane's mouth. Hot and soft and strong, and he obviously likes to use it. Never mind cherry stems, he almost tied me in a knot with his tongue. Good thing Bane-san was there to hold me up, when Amane was done with me. Bane-san was the one who figured out I like teeth, though."

Indeed, Momo's nipples looked a little redder than usual, and Keigo ran his thumb over a bite mark on Momo's shoulder. Momoshiro made a soft sound and shivered, and Keigo smoothed a soothing hand over his skin. He could just imagine Momo's muscles standing out hard as he surged up against a rough mouth on his chest, and strong hands holding him to the bed; he'd felt Momoshiro's body strain under his often enough, when Keigo did something like that, after all.

"He was careful," Momoshiro added. "It's strange. He's so solid, so there, but it felt so light when he touched me. Even when he was lying over me with his arms wound around me and his mouth on my throat. Light, even when his cock was sliding in and out of my ass, and he was lifting me up so he could drive in deeper. Amane was right; Bane-san is strong, but he feels like laughing."

"Very poetic." Keigo smiled down as Momoshiro turned on his side, transferring his head to Keigo's leg instead of the pillow.

"Mm." Momo's eyes were sliding shut. "And you feel like breathing, Keigo-san."

Keigo stroked Momoshiro's hair for a few minutes, until he was sure Momo was asleep. Then he fished out his pocket copy of Theory of Colours, and settled down to read.

The door clicked open and Kurobane's voice floated through the room.

"...knew you liked him. You even snitched dinner rolls for him."

"Bane," Amane growled, and then rocked to a stop as he spotted Keigo and Momo on the bed.

"He'll appreciate that," Keigo noted, glancing up from his book. Momoshiro stirred, but didn't wake. "Supposing he has time to eat them before leaving," Keigo added. "Don't both of you have a meeting to be at pretty soon?"

Amane checked the time, and nodded, dropping a package on the end of the bed and gathering up a notebook. Keigo set his book aside, and shook Momoshiro's shoulder. "Momoshiro. Wake up."

An indecipherable sound answered him, and Momo burrowed into his lap. Keigo considered for a moment.

"You're going to be late, and Tezuka is at this seminar. How many laps will he make you run?"

Sure enough Momo rubbed his eyes. Ten years from now, Keigo swore, Tezuka's team would still jump if he gave them an order. "What time is it," Momo mumbled, looking up hazily.

"Twenty till. You have five minutes."

Momo blinked twice, and then his eyes widened and he scrambled up onto one elbow. Keigo caught him by the back of the neck.

"You're not late yet, though," he purred, and kissed Momoshiro with concentration. He leaned over Momo as his lover sagged back down to the bed, covering Momo's body with his weight, pressing a leg between Momoshiro's. Momoshiro's mouth opened under Keigo's, hot and wet and willing, and an eager sound vibrated in Momoshiro's throat. His hips jerked up a bit against Keigo's thigh. Keigo drew back, and smirked down at him.

"Just something to remind you to hurry back, after the meeting," he murmured.

A spark lit Momo's eye, and his lips drew back off his teeth. "Right." He shoved Keigo's shoulder until Keigo let him up.

Momoshiro pushed himself off the bed, hauled on his clothes, and paused, only then noticing Kurobane and Amane, both silently watching the show. Momoshiro's grin tilted, and he glanced over his shoulder at Keigo, now reclined on his bed with the book open again. "Possessive bastard," he said affectionately.

"Don't forget the rolls," Keigo answered, nudging the napkin wrapped package toward him.

Kurobane leaned against the wall, contemplating Keigo as their respective lovers left. "You know he's going to be deliberately late getting back, now," he remarked.

"Most likely." Keigo smiled and crossed his legs, pushing Momoshiro's pillow a little more firmly behind his back. "It will give me time to think how to greet him properly when he does."

Kurobane rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I think Davi-kun will be staying with me, tonight, seeing as Fuji said he'd be visiting Saeki. You have fun."

"Definitely," Keigo pronounced with confidence, and returned to his reading.

End

Belonging

SanaYuki make up smut. Porn with Characterization, I-4

"All right, that should do it for the Nationals lineups."

Seiichi stood and rubbed a hand over his eyes, and felt Genichirou's hands close on his shoulders as he swayed a bit.

"Seiichi?" He could hear the incipient panic in Genichirou's voice, legacy of the winter, and laid a soothing hand on his chest.

"I'm fine. Just tired, that's all. Truly." He smiled up at Genichirou, though he knew the stress he'd been under lately probably made it less convincing than usual. Genichirou's chest moved under his palm in a faint sigh.

"Seiichi..." Seiichi blinked; even when they were alone, Genichirou rarely let his voice soften so much. Genichirou's arms closed around him, almost lifting him against Genichirou's body. Seiichi released a tiny breath of his own and let himself relax into that support.

"I'm sorry," Genichirou murmured.

"For what?" Seiichi asked, a bit muffled, leaning his head down to Genichirou's shoulder.

"Everything." The hint of a laugh in Genichirou's voice made Seiichi chuckle. And then he sighed again.

"Genichirou," he whispered, leaning more of his weight against his lover. He didn't often ask, but tonight he was very worn out and didn't want to think or plan or even speak. Just feel.

Genichirou's arms tightened. As Seiichi looked up, Genichirou's mouth found his in a gentle kiss at odds with the power of that embrace. Or perhaps not. Seiichi smiled and let his eyes fall closed. Genichirou understood what he wanted. Perhaps Seiichi should send that little silver haired demon a thank-you note.

Genichirou moved back long enough to strip off his own clothes before he started on Seiichi's. The shirt was lifted off his shoulders, and Genichirou knelt to slide down Seiichi's pants and tug off his socks. Seiichi laughed, softly, and Genichirou looked up at him with a faint smile. Large, warm hands closed on Seiichi's hips, and Seiichi gave himself to them, let Genichirou take his weight and guide him down until they were pressed against each other and Genichirou's arms were around him again.

For a while Genichirou only ran his hands over Seiichi's skin; down his thighs, spread over Genichirou's; up his back and across his shoulders; over his ribs and the bones of his hips; threading through his hair. Soothing and strong, and Seiichi sighed into their kisses, comforted.

The sound he made when Genichirou's fingers dipped between his cheeks and stroked questioningly against his entrance was lower and more hungry. Seiichi leaned back, trusting Genichirou's hands to keep him from falling, driving their hips together harder, and a deep, rough sound in Genichirou's chest answered him. Genichirou's mouth, though, was still soft as it moved over Seiichi's chest, and, as Genichirou lowered him to the futon, his stomach, slow licks followed by open mouthed kisses. Seiichi stretched against the quilt, and gasped as his lover's mouth covered Belial's mark. Protest and acceptance at the same time; very much Genichirou's way, with him.

"Genichirou..." When the dark eyes looked up Seiichi held out his arms and Genichirou moved up to lie over Seiichi. Seiichi made a pleased sound at that weight on him. There was a solidity to Genichirou that made it deeply satisfying to be covered by him like this, when Seiichi wanted another's strength in addition to his own.

"Seiichi," Genichirou spoke, quietly, against his hair, "will you let me?"

"Oh, yes," Seiichi answered, laughing just a little. "Please."

From the convulsive way Genichirou's arms tightened around him, Seiichi thought Genichirou might need this as much as he did.

Genichirou nudged him until Seiichi was lying on his side and Genichirou could press up against his back, and he wriggled back a little more snugly against that solid body. Genichirou nipped lightly at the curve of Seiichi's neck as his hand slid down the back of Seiichi's thigh and urged his knee up, spreading him out. Seiichi released a harsh breath when Genichirou's fingers slid into him. Those fingers felt very good, working his body open, but it wasn't until Genichirou's hard thigh slid up against the back of his and he felt Genichirou filling him, stretching him open, that Seiichi finally moaned, breathless, clenching a hand in the worn cotton under his cheek.

This was what he wanted tonight, to have Genichirou inside him and around him, holding him and driving in and out of him, slow and close and hard. To have that weight and warmth against him. To let himself arch and buck, in Genichirou's arms, with complete abandon.

Genichirou's hand between his legs shocked Seiichi out of the slowness, and he cried out, hearing the sudden strain in his own voice. He jerked into Genichirou's tight grip, heard a soft groan against his ear, and fire ran over him, rippled out from the rasp of calluses against his skin, catching at the heavy heat of Genichirou moving inside him. The pulse of it spiked with a deep thrust, and Seiichi lost himself in brightness. The sharp edge of sensation twisted through him, harsh and then gentler, softer, until it subsided and he lay, limp. Genichirou was moving faster, now. Seiichi breathed deeply as Genichirou muffled a moan against his shoulder, and finally stilled. It took a few moments before Seiichi could gather himself to turn over and wind his arms around Genichirou. They lay, twined together.

"Forgive me," Genichirou said, almost too quietly to hear. "It was only that... I don't like the thought of what might happen to you."

Seiichi chuckled. "And you also don't like sharing," he added, lifting his head to press a kiss to Genichirou's forehead, and another to his lips, checking an indignant protest. "With outsiders," he added.

"Hmph."

"You know that I'm yours, Genichirou," Seiichi pointed out, lying back down. "It's only fair; you gave yourself to me. You know that's how I do things."

An even less articulate grumble met this statement, and Seiichi smiled as he settled down to let himself drift to sleep as well.

Just before he did, the door clicked, and he turned over, yawning, to see Renji smiling at them. Seiichi held up his arms, and Renji leaned down to gather him close, careful not to jar the sleeping Genichirou.

"Better?" Renji whispered.

"Yes." Seiichi buried his face against Renji's neck and breathed in. "Thank you." Then he tugged, demandingly, on Renji's shirt, and Renji smiled as he undressed and lay down to enclose Seiichi in a cradle of warm bodies.

Seiichi relaxed between them, very pleased.

In a distant room Belial looked up at the ceiling and wondered if se should look into acquiring Sanada-kun after all. Hir body still throbbed with the echo of his touch. At last se sighed, deciding that, no, he would probably die of heart failure at the mere suggestion.

Se did make a note, as se rolled over, not to mention to Seiichi this particular side effect of the mark.

End

Echo

Kirihara has a problem with spillover. Humor, I-3

No one had told him that he was signing up for this.

Akaya stared at the ceiling above his bed, panting softly, as the ghosts of Sanada-san's touches burned across his skin, and shuddered at the overlapping echo of Yukimura-buchou's response.

On his hip, Hatter-san's mark burned.

Akaya moaned into his fist, trying to muffle the harsh sound, as he felt Sanada-san stroke Yukimura-buchou open. His free hand snaked down the front of his pajama pants and closed over his aching cock, and he bit down on a knuckle to keep from crying out. It was probably wrong to be touching himself like this, but when the two of them got like this, he just couldn't help it, and—

A low chuckle rolled out of the darkness above him. "That looks uncomfortable," someone purred. "Would you like one to assist you, perhaps?"

Akaya opened horrified eyes to see Hatter-san lounging in the air above his bed, smiling a wicked little smile. He froze.

Hatter-san's smile broadened a touch. "Ah," he noted, voice light and cheerful. "One sees that it has taken care of itself." He tipped his hat to Akaya, and disappeared as suddenly as he'd arrived.

Akaya groaned, and buried his flaming face in his pillow. He'd hope for the relief of dying of embarrassment, but that wouldn't be much help any more, not if he was going to have to spend eternity with Hatter-san.

At least Hatter-san was right; one problem had taken care of itself, at least for the night. He didn't so much as twitch while Yukimura-buchou and Sanada-san finished what they were doing, and their mutual pleasure vibrated through Hatter-san's seal.

Akaya grimaced into his pillow. Enough was enough. He'd have to work up his nerve to talk to... someone... about this. Surely there was something they could do about this echo effect.

Logical Conclusion

If the seal broadcasts sensation... Porn with Drama, I-4

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

Quick Days

Side-story to the Third Watch arc; follows from "Fly", in Challenge. Fuji and Tezuka move from the court to the bedroom. Porn with Insights, I-4

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

Extra - Courtship

Tachibana and Kirihara stumble into intimacy. Total Smut, I-4

Akaya dropped his racquet into his bag and fell back against the wall, breathing hard, almost laughing. Tachibana leaned beside him, on one hand, grinning.

"Good game," Akaya panted. "You should play like that more often."

"Should I?" Tachibana asked, looking down at him. "Why?"

Akaya grinned back. "It would get your opponents excited. That's always worth something, isn't it?"

"That," Tachibana's eyes glinted, "depends on the opponent."

"Does it?" Akaya murmured, tipping his head back. He was enjoying this.

"Oh, yes." Tachibana was leaning over him, now, playing the same game of dare and counter-dare they played on the court.

"Nice to know I'm special." Akaya set a hand on Tachibana's shoulder.

Tachibana slid an arm around him and closed the last few centimeters. Akaya met his kiss open mouthed, and pressed into his hold, feeling the roughness of Tachibana's shirt against his palms, the smoothness of his lips against Akaya's, the hardness of his thigh between Akaya's legs. Akaya sighed into the kiss, and stretched a little against Tachibana's body. Tachibana's hand kneaded against his back, and Akaya thrust against Tachibana's hips, pleased to feel that Tachibana was reacting to this, too.

He was not especially pleased when Tachibana drew back.

"Kirihara," Tachibana sighed. He looked calmer, now, which was just not acceptable.

"If you say we should stop," Akaya warned, "I won't be responsible for what I do next." He didn't want to stop; this felt good. He ran a hand up Tachibana's chest and into his hair, intending to pull him back down.

Tachibana caught his wrist, with a breath of laughter. "Demanding, aren't you?" His thumb stroked, softly, against Akaya's palm.

It might have been intended to soothe, but what it actually did was wash a shivering tingle down through Akaya's entire body. He gasped and dropped his head back, eyes half lidded. He felt Tachibana tense, against him, and looked up to see that Tachibana's eyes were hot again. Tachibana's thumb caressed Akaya's palm once more, and Akaya shivered.

"Don't stop," he whispered.

Tachibana smiled, and brought Akaya's hand down, bowing his head over it. The wet, warm glide of his tongue tracing patterns in Akaya's palm drove a long shudder through Akaya. It was the most sensual thing he could remember ever feeling, and he was distantly astonished to find his own hands so sensitive. Tachibana's mouth closed over each finger in turn, tongue sliding up them in a way that made Akaya's knees weak. Tachibana nibbled his way down Akaya's middle finger and flicked his tongue into Akaya's cupped hand, and Akaya moaned at the layering of sharp and silky sensation. If the wall hadn't been behind him, he was sure he would have been a heap on the ground.

He wanted a matter transmitter, he decided, fuzzily. So that they could move instantly to someplace with a bed and he could lie down and spread his legs apart and feel Tachibana stroking him inside until he came; traveling instantly would be good, because he was very close to the edge now.

Perhaps Tachibana could tell, because he pressed Akaya back harder against the wall, and slid his free hand down between Akaya's legs. He was gentle, fingers rubbing against Akaya as softly as his tongue, and it was far too much when Akaya was already wound up from a hard game. He groaned and his hips jerked up into Tachibana's hand as fire washed through him, hazing out the world.

Tachibana pressed more firmly until Akaya stilled, and wrapped an arm back around him in support as Akaya sagged against the prickly brick behind him. He let Akaya's hand go to brush Akaya's hair back and stroke his cheek. Akaya looked up at him, a bit startled by this gentleness from someone he had come to know on the court as hard, and fast, and sharp edged.

"You're wonderfully responsive, Kirihara," Tachibana remarked, softly.

Akaya smiled. "You like your partners to let you know they're enjoying it?" he asked.

"That's part of it," Tachibana agreed, looking amused. He stepped back and snagged a towel from the benches behind them. With commendable tact, he fiddled with his bag and didn't watch as Akaya cleaned himself up. Which was good, because, otherwise, Akaya was sure he would have been blushing fit to fry something on his face. Someday, he swore, he was going to figure out how to stifle that reaction.

"So, what's the rest of it?" Akaya asked, stuffing the towel back into his own bag and reminding himself to throw it in the wash the next day he did laundry himself.

Tachibana lifted an eyebrow at this nosiness, which Akaya parried with his best blithe look. Tachibana snorted.

"I like knowing that my partner is relaxed enough to enjoy it and unrestrained enough to express that. Not," he added, dryly, "that this is exactly the best place for either of those."

"Hmm." Akaya looked sidelong at Tachibana. "You know of somewhere better?"

Tachibana gave him a thoughtful look, at this implicit offer, thoughtful and measuring. "I don't generally do things like this casually, Kirihara," he said, at last. "Are you sure you want a lover from another team?"

Akaya considered this. Did he want to be Tachibana Kippei's lover? He liked their games. He rather liked Tachibana's sense of humor. And he liked how seriously Tachibana took him. Akaya nodded; good enough. "Yeah, I think so," he answered.

"Well, then," a gleam lightened Tachibana's eyes, "if you think you can deal with my sister, there's always my house."

Akaya gazed at him, trying to keep his mouth from twitching. "They're all wrong," he declared, "you are still a complete bastard. It's a good thing I like that."

"I had noticed the tendency," Tachibana agreed, mouth curling up at one corner.

Akaya glared, until Tachibana, chuckling, caught his chin and kissed him.

"Okay," Akay sighed, when Tachibana let him go, "I guess I can brave your little sister. How much worse than your devoted followers can she be?"

Tachibana opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Mm."

Akaya eyed him. "Great," he muttered. Exactly what was he getting himself into?

Tachibana patted his shoulder. "Don't worry too much," he encouraged. "I wouldn't let her actually break anything."

Akaya spent the entire walk wondering whether that had been a joke or not.

He managed to get through his introduction to the Tachibana family as "a friend I've been practicing with" with only a few twitches under the blowtorch intensity of Tachibana Ann's glare. She was obviously someone who held grudges. The last time he'd seen a look that dire, it had been on Sanada-san. Only her brother's whispered admonition, as he waved Akaya up the stairs ahead of him, relieved her attempt to scorch him with her eyes. Akaya heaved a sigh of relief, as the door locked behind them. He slumped back against Tachibana, who wound obliging arms around his waist.

"She's rather protective," Tachibana told him.

"You can say that again," Akaya agreed, fervently.

Tachibana laughed, and bent to press a kiss against Akaya's neck. Akaya sighed and arched back a little further, inviting more extensive liberties. That was, after all, why he had braved the girl-shaped dragon downstairs. He murmured appreciation as Tachibana's hands moved under his shirt and slid up his sides to close around his ribs. Tachibana's thumbs, stroking just shy of Akaya's nipples, sent a complex shiver of heat straight to his groin. The hands slid down to his hips and back up, fingertips tracing over his stomach, and Akaya stretched his arms over his head in a pointed invitation to get rid of the shirt, already. Tachibana took the hint.

"Are you always this impatient?" he asked, sounding amused.

Akaya turned, and gave him a wicked smile. "Pretty much."

"Will you be a touch more patient if I ask you to?" Tachibana asked, trailing light fingers down Akaya's back.

Akaya's breath hitched, and he wound his arms tight around Tachibana. "The only time I put up with teasing is when I'm pinned to the bed and can't do anything else," he said.

Tachibana curved a hand under his chin to make Akaya look up. "Not teasing," he said, seriously. "Just taking it a little slower."

Akaya was a bit surprised. Sanada-san would have taken what he said as a suggestion. But this was Tachibana, he reminded himself. Not the same person at all. "If you want," he agreed, after a moment. And then he grinned, and tugged meaningfully at Tachibana's shirt. "Not too slow, though."

Tachibana gave him a wry look, but stripped off his shirt before pulling Akaya back against him.

"Mm. Much better," Akaya sighed against his shoulder. Now he could feel Tachibana's body heat against his skin.

Tachibana's hands came to rest at the small of his back, and started digging into his muscles; they worked up his spine until Akaya was sagging against Tachibana, practically purring. Finally, they slid back down, and Tachibana's fingers slipped inside Akaya's waistband. Akaya pushed a little away, languidly, to let Tachibana slide it down and made a soft sound of pleasure as Tachibana's palms slid back up to cup his rear. He moaned a little as those strong hands kneaded against his bare skin.

His own hands searched over Tachibana's chest and down, brushing across his stomach and drawing a gasp from him. Akaya reached Tachibana's pants, and looked a question. Tachibana nodded, and Akaya noted Tachibana was breathing almost as fast as his was. That was good. He eased Tachibana's pants down, and Tachibana stepped out of them, pulling Akaya tighter against him. Akaya squirmed a little, delighting in the feel of skin against skin, and in the low sound Tachibana made when his erection slid against Akaya's stomach. Tachibana laughed, breathlessly, at Akaya's grin.

"I'd call you imp, but I'm not sure that's evil enough," he observed.

"You're one to talk," Akaya gasped, as Tachibana's fingers spread him open and feathered over sensetized skin. "Tachibana..."

Tachibana guided him to the bed and slid onto it, tugging Akaya after him. Akaya ended straddling his lap, as Tachibana sat, cross-legged, against the wall. It put Akaya's knees rather far apart, and he leaned against Tachibana for balance.

"Do you mind being this spread open?" Tachibana asked, softly, passing his hands down Akaya's thighs as if to check for strain.

A flush rose in Akaya's face and he shook his head. "I like it," he murmured.

Tachibana's smile held satisfaction and promise. "Good." He wove one hand into Akaya's hair and drew him down to a slow kiss. Akaya made a sharp sound as the other hand smoothed over his entrance, slick and cool. He relaxed as fingertips circled, lightly.

"You don't need to go too very slow with this," he said, against Tachibana's mouth, before sinking back into another kiss. It muffled his moan as Tachibana took him at his word, and slid two fingers into him, stretching him sharply.

"Good?" Tachibana asked, deep voice velvety.

"Oh, yeah," Akaya husked.

He soon found that it was difficult to rock back into Tachibana's touch in his current position. But Akaya wasn't at all sure he could have anyway. Tachibana had amazing hands. His fingers weren't always thrusting, but somehow they were always pressing or sliding or twisting against the place that felt best. Akaya had never contemplated the possibility of someone... caressing him inside like this, but here he was draped, shuddering, over Tachibana, moaning, abandoned, as those long fingers stroked waves of pleasure through him.

As Akaya's body started to tighten, Tachibana slowed. "How do you want to finish this?" he asked, breath warm against Akaya's ear.

Well, if the choice was up to him...

"Fuck me," Akaya gasped.

"Gladly," Tachibana whispered, and pushed his weight forward, spilling Akaya back onto the fuzzy blanket. Tachibana leaned over him, and Akaya noted that his smile was both gentle and burning hot. "How do you like it?" Tachibana murmured.

"Hard," Akaya answered, with no hesitation. The slow, sensual pleasure had been overwhelming, and he was tense with it, now. He wanted something extreme to release him.

Tachibana's smile gained a laughing edge. "You should probably turn over, then."

Akaya shrugged, and did so, to find a pillow under his chin. At least, he consoled himself, Tachibana probably couldn't see this blush. He'd almost forgotten there were other people in the house who might hear if they got enthusiastic. Which he certainly hoped they were about to.

Tachibana's hands raised Akaya's hips a little, and his knees spread Akaya's apart. His fingers smoothed fresh lubricant between Akaya's cheeks, cool against hot skin. The position and attention felt very wanton, which suited Akaya perfectly just at the moment. They were closing in again on how he felt when he and Tachibana played full out, and that was not a restrained sort of place.

One hand fisted in the blanket, crushing the fuzz, as Tachibana pressed against him, hard and insistent. Akaya sucked in a breath as his body opened and Tachibana slipped inside. That solid length pressed a little further in, and drew back, and then drove in again, hard and deep. Even muffled, Akaya's cry was loud in the room. He bucked up as Tachibana thrust into him again and again, driving him hot and full. It felt wonderful, pounding and shaking Akaya's muscles, wrenching them loose, unclenching him until Akaya felt liquid and bright and heated. Nerves that had strained against the slow pleasure from Tachibana's fingers screamed now. He relaxed into it and burning pleasure broke through him, surged across his body, twisted and released him again and again, until Akaya was empty and breathless, almost drifting. He savored the fullness of Tachibana inside him, lying boneless and satiated under Tachibana's weight until his rhythm, too, broke.

Akaya did grumble a bit, when, after catching his breath, Tachibana made him move so he could strip the blanket off the bed. The crisp cool of the sheets reconciled him, though, and Tachibana gathered Akaya back against him, stroking his hair when Akaya pillowed his head on Tachibana's shoulder.

"That was great," Akaya mumbled, wriggling just a bit to get more comfortable.

"Thank you," Tachibana chuckled, "I thought so, too." He pressed a kiss to Akaya's forehead. "You're remarkably sweet, for someone so impatient and demanding."

Akaya blinked up at him before tucking his head back down against Tachibana's chest to hide yet another damned blush. The effort went for nothing as Tachibana rolled them both over so he could lean over Akaya and lift his chin.

"Don't tell me no one's ever said something like that to you before," he said.

"Just... no one outside my own team," Akaya muttered, glancing aside.

"You're cute when you blush, too," Tachibana commented.

Akaya glared firey death, and Tachibana laughed. Akaya growled, and heaved, flipping them back over again so he could kiss Tachibana until he stopped, which he did fairly quickly.

Just before his brain unravelled again, the thought drifted through: what was his team going to think about this?

End

Clothed

A post-manga reflection on Ashura's tunic and the likely adolescence of a god of destruction. All that energy's got to go somewhere. This is entirely the fault of the artbook. Clothing Porn, I-4

Ashura's tunic is narrow, which suits his frame, even now that he's grown. It's simple, merely two pieces of cloth bound at his waist and wrapped at his shoulders, which suits his taste. And he goes bare under it, which suits both his desire and his humor.

He likes to feel Yasha's hand sliding, absently, up his thigh to settle just where the curve of his hipbone guides Yasha's fingers further along his stomach. Not that they often slip as far as Ashura would prefer, at least during daylight.

He likes to feel hungry eyes on them, when they visit the court. Likes to turn, under those eyes, and spread his hands possessively against Yasha's chest. Likes to feel Yasha's hand close around his hip, long fingers sliding under cloth, as Yasha pulls him closer. The heat in the watching gazes pleases him almost as much as the gentle stroke of Yasha's thumb over the soft skin of his waist.

Of course, he likes it best when the heated eyes are Yasha's. He likes to tease Yasha, and the narrow tunic makes that easy. Easy to turn just a bit too quickly, so that a glance back over his shoulder shows him the flare of desire in Yasha's eyes as Ashura's tunic flies out, baring the curve of his rear. Best of all are the times Yasha steps closer, hand following the path of his eyes over Ashura's skin.

Sometimes Yasha even teases back, catching Ashura's ankles and spreading them apart until Ashura falls back, laughing, against the pillows, only barely covered by a slim length of cloth between his thighs. On those nights, Yasha wears a small smile as he strokes Ashura's legs and only just runs his fingertips under the edges of Ashura's tunic. The scantness of the cloth makes that teasing touch very close to where Ashura wants it most, and Yasha's smiling slowness makes him growl. It's always Ashura who gets impatient first, pulling Yasha's hand under the cloth of his tunic and pressing it between his legs. Yasha's smile widens when he closes his hand and Ashura's growl becomes a gasp.

Ashura has his own laugh, though, when they finish fencing some days and he rests the point of his sword between his wide-set feet and sees Yasha swallow. He knows that Yasha is looking at his legs, bared in the sun with a naked sword between them, and is thinking of how easy it would be to lift the narrow drape of Ashura's tunic and slide something else between his open legs.

Ashura rather wishes Yasha would do what he thinks about more often. He likes having the hardness of Yasha's body between his legs, likes feeling the little strain in his thighs as he stretches them wide to kneel over Yasha at night. He likes how large Yasha's hands are, and their careful strength as Yasha touches him and opens him. He likes how large Yasha is all over, actually. He especially likes feeling how large Yasha is inside him. He likes the thought of how easily he could be stretched around Yasha's largeness like that, even during the day. Likes the thought of Yasha leaning back in the grass, pulling Ashura down over him, and how neatly the back of Ashura's tunic would fall to barely cover Yasha moving in and out of him.

He thinks Yasha likes the thought, too. At least he's never said anything about how Ashura dresses. And that small, quiet smile is on his face again as he wraps his large court overrobe around both of them, and his hand slides gently up Ashura's thigh until his fingers stroke the naked hollow of Ashura's hip, just under the edge of the tunic.

End

Counterpoint - Previous Experience

Lisa gets tired of waiting and coaxes Roy into bed. Romance with Porn, I-4

Lisa was leaning on her windowsill with her chin in one hand when Roy tapped on her door and came in to say goodnight. She smiled and turned to pull him down beside her on the foot of her bed. She wasn't in the mood to let him get away with a kiss in passing, tonight.

Roy puzzled her lately. She was reasonably sure that she was making it clear he was welcome, but he still moved very slowly with her. She'd have said hesitantly, if it weren't for the way he kissed, in fact. He kissed her like he wanted to taste her heart on his tongue, like the texture of her mouth would answer life's deepest questions.

And then he drew back.

Lisa tightened her arms around him, as she felt his loosen at her waist. She was tired of this. "You don't have to stop, you know," she pointed out, softly.

And there it was again. That flash of uncertainty in his eyes. It made even less sense right at the moment than usual, considering what she'd just said. Unless...

She loosened her own hold a little. "Unless you don't want to, of course." It didn't come out quite as lightly as she'd hoped, but it was probably close enough.

And then again, maybe not. His arms tightened around her, hard enough to pull her a few inches over her blankets and snugly against him.

"That isn'tâ€”" The protest was sharp, and cut off just as sharply. She felt the quick breath Roy took. "It isn't that," he said, more calmly, "it's just that I'm..." Dark eyes turned away from hers and his voice dropped to a mutter. "I... never have. Before."

Lisa's jaw dropped; she couldn't help it. The faint color across Roy's cheekbones as he cleared his throat didn't help. The Conqueror of the Typing Pool, The Thief of Girlfriends, had never... "Really?"

He twitched at the incredulous question, and Lisa found herself torn between hilarity and utter smugness. She managed to stifle the outright laughter, but her mouth curled up in a grin as she leaned back into him. All hers. "Well, that's all right. I have."

Roy's eyes shot back to hers and he opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. This time she couldn't hold back the giggle and the look he gave her was rather jaundiced. She leaned her head on his shoulder and slid her fingers through his hair. "It really is all right," she said, more softly. "More than all right."

"Well. Good." His fingers played with the hem of her pajama top.

She was silent for a moment. "Why didn't you?" she asked, at last, running a finger down the worn texture of his undershirt. "I mean, you must have kissed them." Her tone turned wry. "You've clearly had practice."

For once he didn't preen. "It was... too dangerous. To have any of them that close. And the women who were willing to have something completely uninvolved never really appealed to me." He smoothed a strand of her hair. "None of them were anything like you."

Lisa thought she might be blushing, and the way Roy's eyes softened made it all the more likely. On the other hand, now that she knew he wasn't actually reluctant...

She spread a hand against his chest and leaned in to steal a kiss, light and coaxing. Roy answered her slowly, as if he wondered just what she wanted to do now. Fair enough. She slipped her hands under the edge of his shirt and slid her fingers along his lowest ribs; his breath caught short against her mouth and she drew back with a questioning look. After a long moment his lips curved and he lifted his arms to let her tug the shirt off.

She smoothed her palms back down his chest, letting herself take her time and appreciate the texture of his skin. His breath hitched again when she reached his stomach, and his own hands tightened where they'd settled on her waist. One hand lifted, though, and Lisa shivered as his fingertips traced the open neck of her top, settling on the first button.

"Go ahead," she whispered, answering the tilt of his head.

He undid the buttons with studious care, but heat rose under the hesitance in his eyes when she shrugged it off. That heat pleased her; she wanted more of it. Lisa stood to shut the door against inquisitive canines and let her pajama pants drop from her hips before she turned back to him. His head tilted back to see her face, eyes wide in the low light; his hands came up to find her hips as she rested her hands on his shoulders. She took a long, smiling breath. His hands were warm and she could feel their strength, even through this delicate grip.

She slid a knee onto the bed and pushed him back until she could settle over him. They were both breathing a little quickly, now, she could feel his chest rise and fall under her as his hands moved up her back; when she leaned down for another kiss he caught her mouth with fierce intensity in return. Heat tingled through her and a small sound of approval hummed in her throat. Her fingers traced over his chest, marking the hard lines of muscle, gently circling a nipple, dipping over his collarbones, and a soft gasp answered her.

Lisa made herself slow down as his hands smoothed over her ribs and his thumbs stroked the curve of her breasts cautiously. She'd been lucky her first time; Roy should be, too. She leaned up on her elbows to let him explore. The careful brush of his fingers started small shudders low in her stomach, and her eyes half-lidded in appreciation.

"Lisa." The whisper drew her attention from his hands to his face, and her lips parted. Roy was looking at herâ€”at nothing but herâ€”with a focus she'd only ever seen when he faced mortal danger. Except that, where his eyes were cold, then, they were warm now.

"I'm here," she whispered back, the only answer she could find to the depth of that look.

Roy caught her close and buried his face in the tangled fall of her hair. "Yes." His voice was low and husky.

Lisa had to swallow hard. She'd hoped all along that Gracia was right, that Roy did feel something deeper than simple respect or even affection for her; but she hadn't truly expected such naked confirmation. The renewed slide of his hands down her back and legs was welcome; it was a much simpler pleasure.

Her own hands were impatient, now, seeking down his body to strip off the last of his clothes. His gaze on her turned heavy and sultry as she settled back against him, completely skin to skin. Her lips curled wickedly, and she straddled his hips and rocked against him. They gasped together.

"Roy. Now?" She didn't want to push him too fast, but heat was lapping through her again and she wanted very much to feel more of him.

His gaze flickered, uncertainty struggling with straightforward desire in it. "If... yes."

She pressed a quick kiss to his throat. "It's all right." The assurance was a little breathless. She pushed herself upright and reached down to guide him. His hands locked on her thighs and his eyes widened as he started to slide into her. Slowly his head eased past the first tightness and Lisa released a soft moan as the sensation turned smooth. A harsh indrawn breath from Roy answered, and a tiny laugh escaped her.

His eyes, on her, were wide and blind and deep with something like shock as she rocked up and back down, and his hips slowly flexed to meet her. Pleasure shivered up her spine and caught low in her throatâ€”pleasure at the hardness stroking heat through her body and, more, at the fire and darkness and wonder in Roy's face.

"Roy..." She broke off with a moan as he slid deeper, and smiled through parted lips as she felt his hands sliding up her body and over her breasts. "Oh, yes." Her fingers kneaded against his chest and she started to move more strongly.

Full pleasure sang through her each time their hips met, rising in slow waves. It was hot and sleek and good, and Roy's voice ran through it like a velvet ribbon, calling her name, tugging at her. She caught one of his hands and guided it down until his fingers brushed her clitoris. Sharper pleasure shot through her and she arched. "Mmmm, there."

A shadow of the accustomed calculation, the usual smile, crossed Roy's face, and his fingers stroked her softly, testing. She let her hand rest over his and rode the sensation as fire coiled through her, slow and thick. His heartbeat was speeding, under her palm, rapid as her breath, and she let go and let her body lead the way. Pleasure swelled and rose and rose again, and her voice caught in her throat as it surged into something overwhelming and snatched her attention away from anything but the flooding heat as her body tightened.

She felt Roy arch under her, taut; heard him groan. She stretched, over him, and laughed. "Now, Roy," she whispered. "Don't stop." A hard thrust answered her and she gasped approval as it drew a slow aftershock from her body. His movement was faster, now, and she smiled as it turned ragged, and tangled her fingers with his. His hands clutched hers as if she were an anchor.

He dropped back against the bed, and she slid down over him, breath slowing again.

She had a small urge to tease him, to say There, that wasn't so bad, was it? But his expression, still rather amazed, stopped her. Instead she simply wound her arms around him and snuggled against his shoulder, taking enjoyment in the warmth of his skin against hers. His fingers found her hair and combed through it slowly, soothing her to the edge of sleep.

At least until he said, "Do you want to get married?"

Lisa sputtered a bit, pushing herself up on one elbow to stare at him. He returned it with a look of mild inquiry.

"Or children," he continued, sounding perfectly serious. He frowned a little. "I suppose I should have asked that earlier..."

"No, that's... I... take care of that," Lisa assured him, a bit dazed. She stared some more. "You... children?"

"Well." He cleared his throat. "If you want."

She couldn't help smiling at the uneasiness lurking under his tone. "I've always liked children better when they're someone else's, actually," she observed. She leaned against his shoulder again, laughing at the relief on his face.

His fingers traced down her arm. "And marriage? I would ask in a more suitable manner," he added, sounding rather disgruntled, "but you never like that, and this is about as direct as I can manage."

It took a few moments to get ahold of herself again. "I think this is quite suitable," she told him, when she could speak without giggling. And then she really thought about it. "Yes. Something small, maybe," she said, slowly. And, more quietly, "My mother might come."

It was Roy's turn to lean up on an elbow, frowning at her tone. "Lisa?" His hand cupped her cheek.

She pressed her fingers over his lips and shook her head. "I dealt with it a long time ago, Roy. They never approved, that I followed you; I know perfectly well they won't start, now." Despite the firm words she had to swallow a lump in her throat.

He gathered her closer, just a bit awkwardly. "Well. We'll see," he murmured against her hair.

Lisa blinked back the wetness in her eyes and rested against him. In a minute she'd tell him to let go so she could draw up the blanket from the foot of the bed.

In just a minute.

TBC

One Simple Thing

Young Zack has a tough day; so does Sephiroth. Sex ensues. Porn with Characterization, I-4, pre-game

Sephiroth examined the young SOLDIER across the table from him, gauging how tipsy he had gotten. The boy was still fidgeting, as he had been all evening, but it had slowed down some. It looked about right, and Sephiroth nodded to himself, getting up to draw the blinds over his windows. With luck he'd be able to get to bed, now.

"You should go find a woman, Zack," he said, over his shoulder. "That's what your body is asking for."

A soft thump sounded behind him and he turned to find Zack had put his head down on the table. "I figured that part out pretty quick, actually," Zack observed, enunciating with the care that comes just before slurring. "And I don't want just some random screw." A moment of silence. "Well, I do, but I don't, and the thought makes me shrivel. If I could right now." He shifted in his chair, and muttered, "This is really damn uncomfortable. But it just doesn't feel right."

Sephiroth shook his head. The spooked look hovering around Zack's eyes had led him to let his most newly blooded man in, when Zack had showed up at his door with an ingenuous smile and a bottle. Zack was a good soldier, and an excellent SOLDIER. Nevertheless. "I trust you don't expect me to help you out with that part," he said, a bit dryly.

Zack lifted his head, probably too quickly, and swayed a bit, blinking at Sephiroth. "Of course not, sir! I didn't," a shrug, "didn't expect you'd be that, um, charitable or anything." He looked down at his glass and tossed back the last swallow. Quietly, he finished, "I just wanted to be around someone I could talk to. Who would understand." A grin suddenly flashed over his face. "And who could sit on me if I lost the argument with my gonads."

A corner of Sephiroth's mouth quirked. That was not an inconsiderable problem for a boy he expected to be First Class in a year or two, he had to admit.

None of this solved the basic problem, though, and he considered Zack for a long moment. He'd had a long day, himself, and dealing with both Hojo and Scarlet trying to rewrite the day's assignment so they could get live monsters for their own research at the cost of more casualties to Sephiroth's men had tired him out. It would be very nice to be able to solve just one problem in the world simply and easily. Normally the thought he was currently turning over would never have entered his mind. Most of his men might too easily assume that Sephiroth would favor them, afterwards.

Zack, though... Zack was wiser than that, he thought. The boy had kept his head through his first real battle, and was even keeping it now, in the aftermath, when most men cheerfully let go.

Not that this meant Zack didn't need to let go, too. And it would be one simple thing in this wearingly complicated day.

Sephiroth nodded to himself, decision made, and strode back to the table. Zack looked up, eyes just a little out of focus and widening abruptly as Sephiroth caught his chin in one hand. They slid half shut again as Sephiroth leaned down and kissed him.

Sephiroth was amused to note that Zack looked, of all things, just a little concerned, as Sephiroth drew back.

"Sephiroth-san, you don't... I didn't..."

"Be still Zack. You have duties tomorrow, and you won't be in any shape to attend to them at this rate." A second kiss, and Zack leaned into this one.

Though that didn't stop him protesting, against Sephiroth's lips, "Just because... I mean, you shouldn't..."

Sephiroth snorted and pulled Zack up out of his chair. "I will decide what I should and shouldn't do," he said, firmly, and kissed Zack more seriously.

Zack's lips parted, and Sephiroth thought it was more than the alcohol making Zack sag against him. "Well, if you put it that way," Zack mumbled.

Sephiroth reflected that it was a good thing Zack was better than this at following orders in the field. "Come."

Zack followed him into the bedroom willingly enough, only to pause next to the bed. "I've, um... never actually, um..." He shifted, looking down.

Both corners of Sephiroth's mouth curled up this time. "Being older does have some advantages," he observed, taking Zack's hands to tug his gloves off.

Zack swallowed. "Oh. Good. That's... good."

"Yes, it is." Sephiroth set Zack's hands on his own belt buckle and stepped back to shrug out of his coat. Bandoliers, boots and pants followed, to be draped over the clothes chest, and Sephiroth turned back to see Zack, shirtless, leaning against the bed with one foot in the air, boot half off, staring. "Need any help?" he inquired.

"Ah! No, I'm just fine." Zack finished undressing hastily, and smiled a little as Sephiroth came back and pulled him close. "Yeah. Fine," he repeated, light and husky.

Judging from the soft sounds Zack made as Sephiroth pressed him back on the bed and settled over him, he was, indeed, just fine. But Sephiroth still listened carefully to the shaky edge of Zack's sighs as Sephiroth's hands stroked firmly over the solid planes of his body. Zack was uncertain but not tense. Interesting.

Zack's breathing got rougher as Sephiroth sank slicked fingers into him. "Ahh. Sephiroth-san..."

Sephiroth made an inquiring noise, a bit distracted by how Zack looked, increasingly flushed and heavy-eyed. Zack squirmed.

"It feels... good."

"That's generally the point, yes." It really was refreshingly simple, Sephiroth reflected; Zack's body was eager and responsive to every touch. It was so easy to open him, to spread his thighs apart. And even though Zack bit his lip a little when Sephiroth's cock started pushing into him, he still didn't tense. He just looked up with wide, bright eyes, panting a little.

"Is it all right?" Sephiroth asked, a bit husky. The heat and the slide of Zack's muscles tight around him brushed shivers of pleasure over his nerves.

"Very all right." Zack's voice was quite breathless, now, and Sephiroth smiled with just a touch of smugness. That, however, made Zack laugh, and the laugh rippled through his body and made Sephiroth gasp. "Glad you're enjoying it, too, sir," Zack added cheekily.

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. "Indeed I am," he murmured, and drew back only to thrust in again, smooth and firm. Zack moaned, hands flying up to lock on Sephiroth's arms. That was more like it. He thrust again, a little harder.

"Sephiroth!" Zack spoke his name like it was the answer to a question.

It was, the back of Sephiroth's mind noted absently, a strange thing in the midst of this tight, hard heat, but Zack's uncomplicated enthusiasm soothed him. Zack simply wouldn't be still for a moment, squirming and arching to meet Sephiroth's cock with every stroke, and every moan and yes in that light voice relaxed Sephiroth a little more. If it were possible to cast a healing spell over a heart, he would have been looking around for an active materia somewhere.

So very simple was his last thought before pleasure broke its bounds and flooded him, wild and bright and untamed.

When he opened his eyes again, Zack's eyes were wide and impressed, watching him, in a way that made the corner of Sephiroth's mouth twitch. He put a stop to it by closing a firm hand around Zack's cock and stroking him. Zack's gaze unfocused and he bucked up into Sephiroth's hand, openmouthed, so abandoned that Sephiroth almost purred just watching him.

Zack came quickly, which Sephiroth rather expected of someone his age, and lay there in a sweaty, breathless, messy heap grinning. Sephiroth realized that he was grinning a little himself.

Zack's eyes focused again, bright and pleased. "That was fantastic. Can we do it again?"

Sephiroth stared down at him for a moment, and burst out laughing, unable to help it. "Later," he finally said, chuckling.

"Whatever you say, sir," Zack agreed, complacently.

Sephiroth was moved to wonder whether he'd been wrong to think this was a simple thing. But then he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

End

Execute

Reno distracts a tense Rufus, as, really, only Reno can. Porn with Characterization, I-4, post AC

Reno liked danger and dangerous things; he'd long ago figured out what he stayed in the Turks for. Not only did he get just fascinating assignments, but he was surrounded by people who understood, or who were dangerous, or, best of all, both.

He loved it that Rufus Shinra was both.

And, yeah, so Rufus had almost gotten all of them killed, back when. Reno liked irony, too.

All of which went to explain why he was willing to take guard duty on the President without kicking about it, despite nearly zero prospects of anything interesting happening to liven up hours of watching someone do paperwork. Until the end, at least.

"No, you scrofulous son of a bagnadrana, you can't raid Development's budget just so Science has more beakers to play with. Try that again and I'll feed your feet to a malboro while you watch."

Besides, listening to the President cuss out his absent subordinates was always entertaining. Reno especially liked the dead level tone of Rufus' delivery. He slouched a little more comfortably into his seat on a windowsill and kept the corner of his eye on the night outside, watching for any sudden changes.

Finally, Rufus stood from his desk, gathered a selected handful of papers and took them to the far side of the room. Reno straightened up, grinning. The finale was at hand. Rufus tacked the sheaf firmly to an extremely sturdy backboard and stalked the length of the room back.

Reno put his fingers in his ears.

The President, without so much as a flicker of an eyelash, pulled out his gun and fired into the papers until all that was left was a charred scrap around the tack.

"Shachou," Reno snickered. "The man who puts the execute in executive."

"Not tonight, more's the pity," Rufus growled, striding back to his desk. Reno frowned. The President nearly vibrated with anger and tension, tonight; that wasn't usual once he'd gotten to shoot his selected paperwork. Reno suspected he envisioned the actual authors in the sights, not just the paper.

"Anything else, tonight, or are you turning in?" Reno asked, hoping to prod Rufus away from the desk and toward some rest.

"No, noth—" Rufus broke off and gave Reno a long considering look.

Reno leaned back against the glass, gauging the frustration and heat and wariness in Rufus' eyes. "Shouldn't you be looking at Tseng like that?" he asked softly. Normally it was the supernaturally loyal and collected Tseng who got Rufus when he was this wound up. Reno had never had occasion to, and wasn't sure what he thought of the idea.

Rufus stepped closer and set a palm against the window on either side of Reno's shoulders. "No."

"Ooohhhhh." Reno drew it out, and grinned. "I get it." What the hell, why not. He pushed away from the cold window and into Rufus' body heat, and said in Rufus' ear, "You need someone under you tonight. You want me to let you have me."

"You will."

Only one of them would have heard the question folded inside the command, and Reno smiled. "Yeah." He closed his hands over Rufus' shoulders. "I'm not into pain, just so we're clear on that," he noted, and tossed back his head, baring his throat, letting his eyes slit shut.

Rufus' mouth closed on the offered skin, but didn't bite down the way Reno had expected. Instead the teeth scraped lightly, followed by a slow, wet tongue. Reno gasped as Rufus sucked softly on his throat; it was far more intimate and far more controlled than a simple bite, and it sent a shot of heat straight to his groin. It hardly needed Rufus' hand on his back to bring Reno arching into his body.

"Should have expected that, from you," he husked, and made a hungry sound as Rufus nudged his head further back and nipped at the skin over his pulse. "Yes."

It was a good thing, he decided, that Rufus elected to keep his bedroom right off his new office. Delay was nothing Reno was interested in at this point. Happily Rufus seemed to agree, leaving bits of their clothing behind every few steps.

Reno was a shade surprised, though, considering the evening's agenda, when Rufus pressed him onto his back, on the cool, white sheets, and slid slick fingers between Reno's cheeks.

"Mmm," he murmured, eyes heavy as Rufus' fingers opened him. "Be easier, wouldn't it, if you'd turned me over and pulled my ass up in the air and fucked me that way?"

"Then I wouldn't be able to see your face."

Reno laughed, stretching out against the springy mattress, enjoying the thrust of fingers. "Ah, that's our Shachou. Going to fuck me with your eyes and your cock both." He grinned up into that sharp, heavy blue gaze. "Penetrate me every way you can."

"I'll settle for two," Rufus said coolly.

Reno laughed again, sliding into a moan as Rufus' cock pushed into him, stretched him wide and filled him, thick and hard. "Any way you want, tonight, Shachou," he told the burning eyes that pinned him to the bed.

Rufus' voice was just a bit husky as he leaned over Reno, sliding slickly out and back in, motion oiled as any machine. "I admit, I'm a little surprised you agreed to this, Reno."

Reno's mouth curled up. "But, Shachou, it's hot." His tone was mocking, but the hands sliding down Rufus' arms and then down Reno's own body were firm and serious. "The Turks are a weapon in your hands. I like being in your hands. You know how to use us hard." He ran his hands down his thighs, spreading his legs wider, and rocked into the next deep thrust. "And you're practically one of us," he pointed out, breathless with the heat building in his groin, spreading through his stomach and thighs. "You're so fucking dangerous, and it's so damn hot."

Rufus actually chuckled, his own voice starting to get breathless. "You and your thing for danger. Not," he added, in a husky purr that went straight down Reno's spine just as another thrust put a shiver up it, "that I disagree."

Reno's meditation on a comeback was scattered when Rufus curled his hands under Reno's hips and started fucking him properly. Deep and hard; swift and steady; and the fire-blue eyes drank in every moan and squirm and pleading yes, and that just made Reno hotter. It didn't take more than a few slick, snapping strokes of Rufus' hand on his cock to make Reno come, heat spiking through him like a sword.

He lay under Rufus, panting and limp, enjoying the rough thrusts of Rufus' cock, and thinking amused thoughts about the President's endurance. Or, maybe, just his self-control. When Rufus shuddered and stilled, expression distant and actually relaxed for a second, Reno smiled. Softly, since Rufus' eyes were closed. He slid his fingers through Rufus' hair gently, and then let his hands fall to the sheets over his head before Rufus could get antsy about the gesture. "Feel better, Shachou?" he asked, lazily.

Rufus' mouth quirked into its accustomed, sardonic line. "You're better than paperwork, anyway."

"Hey!" Reno snorted at the gleam of amusement in Rufus' eyes. Before he could protest further, though, Rufus caught his hands and pinned them in place, leaning down to kiss Reno thoroughly.

"I think I'll be paying more attention to your mouth the second time," he murmured.

Reno considered, for a second, grabbing his phone and hitting the emergency number and calling for Tseng. He grinned instead. Rufus Shinra was a wild ride, and that was, after all, the kind he liked.

"Whatever you say, Shachou."

End

Truth and Courage

A might-have-been set during Ep. 15, as Shuuei takes a drunk Kouyuu home. Porn with Characterization, I-3

Shuuei made a note to himself to remember that drink unhinged Kouyuu's knees as well as his tongue. "Come on," he murmured to his friend, hitching Kouyuu's weight up a bit more comfortably. "Just one more crossing."

"We should go back for the bottle," Kouyuu declared.

"No, no, not a good idea." Shuuei caught his arm a little tighter around Kouyuu's waist, tugging him along.

He was just thankful that Kouyuu was easier to steer when drunk than he was when sober. If his stubbornness had gotten any worse they really wouldn't have made it back to Kou Reishin's residence.

He was also thankful that the servants silently opened doors and directed them to Kouyuu's rooms without waking the master of the house. Considering the unrestraint with which Kouyuu had spoken to both the emperor and Seiran, Shuuei thought it was probably part of his duty as a friend to prevent Kouyuu from saying whatever he might say to his father in this condition.

"We're home," he informed Kouyuu as a quietly amused servant closed the bedroom door softly behind them.

"I'm home," Kouyuu growled, hanging from his shoulder. "You're just annoying."

"And I'll be more annoying tomorrow, when you have a headache," Shuuei promised, with a smile.

Kouyuu slumped back against the wall, the arm still thrown around Shuuei's neck taking Shuuei with him. "You tease too much," he muttered. "Haven't any of those idiot women ever told you that?" And he pulled Shuuei down to a sloppy, off-center kiss.

Quite startled, Shuuei let him. Of the many possible responses to his teasing, this was one Shuuei had not expected out of Kouyuu. For one thing, if he were going to do this, shouldn't he have done it months ago? For another, whenever Shuuei teased him or, in fact, anyone nearby with innuendo, Kouyuu blushed. It was charming, really; Shuuei had done it sometimes just to see what pretty shade of red Kouyuu would turn next.

Kouyuu wasn't blushing now. And if his mouth seemed a little uncertain, the hand at the back of Shuuei's neck was warm and steady.

Shuuei was still bemused when Kouyuu let him go. "I haven't noticed any of the ladies are upset by teasing, actually," he managed.

Kouyuu snorted. "Unperceptive and a tease." He hauled Shuuei back down.

This time, at least, Shuuei was prepared enough to soften the kiss, to catch Kouyuu's mouth properly and taste the sake on his lips, one hand curving around the back of Kouyuu's head. He still wasn't ready for Kouyuu's mouth to open under his, and a ribbon of heat curled down his spine. Shuuei wasn't entirely sure Kouyuu had found truth in the bottom of his bottle, but he'd certainly found courage there. If the bottle was where it had come from, though... "I wonder," he murmured, resting his temple against Kouyuu's, "if this is another of those times it's my duty to restrain your extremes."

Kouyuu's fingers tightened sharply in the front of Shuuei's robes. "Are you saying you were never serious?" he asked very quietly.

Shuuei hesitated; in a normal encounter, this really would be the time for a little teasing and hedging, to make sure no one got their heart broken. But it was Kouyuu pressed up against him, quiet and waiting. He closed his eyes, a tiny smile quirking his lips as he gave in to his friend's unrelenting directness. "No, I'm not saying that."

"Then the answer is 'no', you idiot." Kouyuu's voice was irate, even when this soft. "Honestly, use your brain."

"What, now? Shouldn't you be distracting me from that?" Shuuei laughed at Kouyuu's growl, equilibrium restored by their usual roles. He plucked loose Kouyuu's hair wrap, letting unruly, moonlight colored hair spill down the back of Kouyuu's neck, the way it always seemed to want to.

Kouyuu made a lazy sound in his throat, swinging back to mellowness again—really, Shuuei would have to remember the effect sake had on him. "It's not fair if it's just mine." He reached up and undid Shuuei's hair clasp so delicately Shuuei barely felt it. He was reminded of how many long afternoons he'd spent in the archives, admiring the lightness of Kouyuu's fingers on a brush. "Mm. Better."

As Shuuei coaxed Kouyuu away from the wall and over to the bed, attempting not to step on any books along the way, he wondered how Kouyuu's graceless approval could so easily make him smile for real. That was Kouyuu's talent, though, wasn't it? To make things real in a world built of deception and unspoken thoughts. His father had named him well.

Abstract thoughts were blown away on a gasp of breath as Kouyuu sprawled back on the bed and yanked Shuuei along with him. Kouyuu made a small oof.

"You're heavy for someone who looks so thin."

"It's called refined, not thin." Shuuei's attempt at a dignified tone unraveled in a shiver as Kouyuu's open mouth found his neck and Kouyuu's tongue moved over his skin. "Kouyuu," he murmured, voice rougher.

Kouyuu relaxed under him with a sudden, open smile. "You do mean it."

Shuuei had to swallow hard at the unadulterated relief in Kouyuu's voice. He stroked back Kouyuu's hair gently. "Yes, I mean it." He brushed a kiss over Kouyuu's lips and added, "Honestly."

"Don't steal my lines," Kouyuu instructed him, and Shuuei laughed.

A flush crept over Kouyuu's face as Shuuei's hands loosened sashes and ties and found Kouyuu's skin. Kouyuu's own hands were rougher, pulling open Shuuei's robes, creasing the fabric as they clenched every now and then. Shuuei stroked his fingers up the inside of Kouyuu's thigh just to watch him do it again, and chuckled softly.

"Yes, I thought you were new at this."

"Oh shut up," Kouyuu growled, color darkening on his cheekbones, and wound his fingers in Shuuei's hair to pull him down to a silencing kiss.

The admonition was rather blunted when Shuuei closed his hand around the hard heat between Kouyuu's legs and Kouyuu moaned openly into his mouth. And that was Kouyuu too—clear and pure in everything he did.

"It's all right, Kouyuu," Shuuei whispered, entranced by the flow of response and emotion across Kouyuu's face. He hesitated a moment and added, against Kouyuu's ear, "It's real."

A breath of a laugh answered him and Kouyuu's hands slid up his back, pressing him closer. "Yes."

Shuuei made a low, pleased sound as those hands slid back down, brushing slowly over his ribs, stomach, thighs, and then it was his turn to gasp and laugh as one found it's way between his legs. No one had ever accused Li Kouyuu of being a slow learner.

As well they shouldn't. Shuuei rested his forehead on Kouyuu's shoulder, panting as those deft fingers explored and stroked and teased, and pleasure shivered down his nerves. "Kouyuu..."

"Hm?" Kouyuu sounded rather too amused, Shuuei decided distractedly.

His own hands on Kouyuu's body faltered, tightened as lapping heat stole away his concentration and left nothing but feeling. Gentle fingers stroked his head and then closed firmly around him. "Kou— Ahh!" Pleasure tightened fiercely all through his body and rushed down to a single point of heat and he arched taut over Kouyuu, pulling him close to hold onto through the hot, wild surge of sensation.

It took him a few moments to recover his breath and remember what he was about and lean up on an elbow to look down at Kouyuu. When he did, he couldn't help a snort of laughter; Kouyuu looked exceedingly smug. "Pleased with yourself?" he asked.

"Yes." The smugness didn't fade in the slightest.

The corners of Shuuei's mouth curled. "Well then. I think it's my turn." He smoothed his hands down Kouyuu's body, palms sliding over skin, slow and coaxing. Kouyuu unwound under his hands bit by bit until Shuuei almost expected him to start purring. Who would have thought someone so emphatically stand-offish enjoyed being touched so much?

Color crept over Kouyuu's face as Shuuei's hands slipped between his thighs, easing them apart. "Shuuei..."

Shuuei pressed soft kisses down the curve of Kouyuu's neck. "It's all right," he murmured. Kouyuu made a noncommittal sound but settled back against the bed with a low sigh as Shuuei's tongue traced his collar bone.

Shuuei kissed his way down Kouyuu's body, and Kouyuu stretched under him with such thoughtless sensuality he couldn't resist nipping gently at the smooth skin of Kouyuu's stomach just to see whether he'd like it.

Judging from the way he arched up and his fingers tightened on Shuuei's neck and shoulder, he did.

Shuuei felt half drunk himself on the openness of Kouyuu's response, the low, rough sounds he made as Shuuei's open mouth moved down his thigh. Shuuei was almost as breathless as Kouyuu, just watching him. The quick gasp when Shuuei closed his mouth around Kouyuu's length drew a small, satisfied sound out of the back of his throat.

"Shuuei..." Kouyuu's fingers stroked over his shoulders and down his arms, seeking and restless. Shuuei let his tongue find its own way over Kouyuu's smooth, hot skin, watching Kouyuu from under his lashes as Kouyuu's body relaxed and tautened. The edge of breathless want in Kouyuu's moans made him shiver, and when Kouyuu finally arched and cried out, long shudders of pleasure raking down his body, Shuuei couldn't help laughing softly in delighted answer.

He slid back up and settled himself comfortably along Kouyuu's side, head propped in one hand so he could watch Kouyuu catch his breath and see his eyes when they opened again.

A little to his surprise, those clear, sharp eyes were only a little hazy, and the softness he had expected in them went deeper than he had thought it would. He contemplated that for a moment.

"You aren't nearly as drunk as all that, are you?" he asked, finally.

The softness vanished in a grumpy glare. "Oh shut up." Kouyuu rolled onto his side, turning his back as well as one could while lying in bed with someone.

Shuuei laughed and curled himself up against Kouyuu's back, fitting their bodies snugly together and sliding an arm around Kouyuu's waist. He took note of the fact that Kouyuu relaxed immediately and his smile gentled. Kouyuu was so prickly in defense of that pure heart of his. It was really rather adorable. Shuuei tucked the thought away to use later, when he wanted to tease Kouyuu.

For now, it was far more pleasant to feel how Kouyuu calmed, tucked in his arms like this. He pressed a kiss to the back of Kouyuu's neck, still smiling.

His smile lingered in the morning as he left some water and an ice pack beside the snoring Kouyuu and tiptoed out. It lingered right up until the moment he stepped out the doors to find Kou Reishin "casually" enjoying the clean air on the walk outside his son's rooms. The glint in the Secretary's eye as he turned to look at Shuuei was enough to make even a warrior pause and swallow a little hard.

"Ran-shougun," Kou greeted him. "I hear that you brought Kouyuu home last night." Kou's fan flicked open, sharp as a knife. "How good it is to know my son has such a solicitous and careful friend."

Shuuei knew an order when he heard one, no matter how indirectly it might be given, and bowed. "Yes, Kou-shousho."

Kou smiled, folding his fan gracefully. "Good."

Next time, Shuuei reflected as he made for the gate as quickly as possible without actually running, it might be his turn to need a drink first.

End

Still Air

Seiran wakes Ryuuki from a nightmare and is convinced to stay and comfort him. Smut ensues. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Notes: Contains consensual sibling incest.

Darkness.

Stifling darkness and the almost-silence that meant there was no one near him, no one with him, but people nevertheless. People beyond his reach, walking around out in the light, forgetting him, leaving him.

"Haa!" Ryuuki started up with a harsh gasp, eyes wide trying to see something other than darkness.

And there was light.

Light and warm, strong hands on his shoulders.

"Majesty, wake up, it's all right." Seien was sitting on the edge of the bed, calling him, eyes dark with worry. A tiny lamp was lit, glowing just beyond the curtains.

Tension washed out of him so fast it left him shaking. "Aniue." Here, with the darkness pressing so close, Ryuuki didn't want to hold back or bite his lip and bear it all. He kicked away the tangle of his covers and burrowed into his brother's chest. Seien caught him with a soft, rueful sigh.

"All right, Ryuuki." The usual, maddening formality dropped from Seien's voice and he leaned back against the alcove wall and gathered Ryuuki close.

Ryuuki had to blink back wetness from his eyes, shivering a little with relief that Seien would be Seien for him, tonight, and hold him until the fear went away. He crept a little closer, almost into his brother's lap and sighed as a strong, comforting hand petted his hair. Cold years melted away and left just the two of them, and the warm assurance of his brother's touch.

"You should have someone stay with you, since she has other work, now," Seien murmured. "Not those girls you spend time with, either," he added, in a sharper tone. "Someone you can trust."

"They did keep my secret," Ryuuki offered, blushing a little with the pleasure of hearing that protective edge in his brother's voice.

Seien tapped Ryuuki's nose with a finger. "If they were interested in helping you, they'd have told you a little more about women and you wouldn't keep making yourself so foolish in front of Shuurei."

Ryuuki was blushing for real, now, half with embarrassment and half with sneaking enjoyment of Seien scolding him properly, the way an older brother should. "Oh." He curled up against his brother's shoulder, pensive. "I wish it could be you. I wish..." old pain and newer knowledge tangled in his heart and mind and he closed his eyes and whispered. "I wish it could have been you all along; instead of them."

Seien's hand on his hair stilled. "Ryuuki?"

Ryuuki looked up at the brilliant, beautiful older brother who had been first and only in his heart for so long. "You would have shown me. It would all have been right, with you." It would have been safe and right and good, and not a string of masks the way it had been with all the other men and women in his bed.

After a long moment, Seien's eyes softened and his palm cupped Ryuuki's cheek, thumb stroking gently over his cheekbone. Ryuuki's eyes widened.

"Seien-aniue?" Hesitantly, not sure he was reading that softness right, he reached up and touched Seien's lips with his fingertips. "You... Would you?"

Seien looked down at him for a long breath, eyes dark, before he lifted Ryuuki's chin and kissed him slowly. "If it's what you want, Ryuuki," he murmured against Ryuuki's mouth.

Ryuuki relaxed against Seien's chest, lightheaded with the feeling of being held and touched by the one person he knew, knew without a second's question, he could trust absolutely. His voice shook a little with it. "Please."

Seien's arm tightened around him in answer, and his fingers threaded into Ryuuki's hair, tipping his head back to deepen the kiss. A soft, wanting sound caught in Ryuuki's throat as he opened his mouth for Seien. It was so good to be sheltered by this strength again. And Seien understood that, the way he understood everything, Ryuuki knew he did, because he held Ryuuki firm and close even as his other hand eased Ryuuki's robe down his shoulder and Seien's mouth moved down Ryuuki's throat and over the bared skin. Heat threaded through him. "Ohhh..."

"Easy," Seien murmured in his ear. "Ryuuki."

Ryuuki shivered with the quick cascade of sensation as Seien brushed the robe off his other shoulder and it slid down to tangle softly around his arms, and the coolness of Ryuuki's hair swept over his bare back in contrast to the warm strength of Seien's hand sliding up it. "Seien-aniue," he whispered, his own hands spreading against Seien's chest.

Having cloth under his hands was starting to be annoying.

He looked up at Seien, pouting a bit just for effect, and tugged on the shirt. "Seien-aniue..."

Seien laughed, low and husky, and the sound was enough to make Ryuuki's breath go a little faster. "You want to touch?" Seien set Ryuuki back a little and slid out of bed to stand beside it, smiling. Ryuuki's lips parted soundlessly as sky-bright eyes captured and held him while Seien stripped off his clothes, not really hurrying about it. Ryuuki's mouth was dry; the tiny quirk of his brother's lips made his stomach do strange things. He reached out as Seien slid back onto the bed, wanting to follow the sweep of all that sleek, powerful muscle with his fingers. Seien gathered him back up, and this time his kiss turned Ryuuki's bones to water. Ryuuki was perfectly happy to melt against Seien's chest, now bare and warm, and let his brother take his mouth, one slow, wet kiss at a time.

"You're warm," Seien murmured to him. Ryuuki made an agreeing sound against Seien's lips and then a more breathless one as Seien's fingers slid down his back, under the robe still draped off Ryuuki's arms, and between his cheeks. His brother's lips curved.

"Oh... Seien-aniue..." Ryuuki let his head fall to Seien's shoulder, panting softly against his brother's neck as Seien's fingers stroked him slow and gentle. It was really going to happen; Seien-aniue was really going to let him be this close.

"Ryuuki?" Seien's tongue slid over Ryuuki's ear making him shiver. "We need something..."

It took Ryuuki a few moments to gather his wits enough to point at one of the tiny alcoves behind the bed curtains. "The blue jar."

Seien's fingers pressed into him, slick and slow, and his breath turned into gasps; he was glad for the solidity of Seien's shoulders under his hands, because he needed something to hold onto while his body stretched hot and open. Seien touched him gently until Ryuuki was draped against him, panting.

"Ready?" Seien finally asked, voice low but somehow not soft.

Ryuuki looked up at his brother, flushed, hearing a layer of darkness in his brother's voice, deeper than he'd ever heard it while they were both children. This was Seien grown and fiercer, stronger—strong enough to hold and shelter even the Emperor, and that thought made his breath catch. Even he could hear the yearning in his voice when he whispered "Yes."

Seien drew him closer, until Ryuuki was pressed against him, legs spread over his lap. Ryuuki shivered a little as Seien's hands swept down his back, firm and slow, over his rear and down his thighs, pulling him closer still. It was exactly what he wanted. Seien's lips moved down Ryuuki's throat as his hands gripped Ryuuki's rear and tilted his hips up until Ryuuki laughed and had to clasp his hands behind Seien's neck to keep from falling backwards. The feeling of Seien's mouth curving against his skin made heat curl in Ryuuki's stomach.

"We could just lie down," he suggested, breathless.

"Mm. I want to hold you, though." Seien lifted his head to smile at Ryuuki, and Ryuuki softened helplessly in the warmth of it. In his brother's arms was definitely one of the best possible places to be.

Seien shifted against him and Ryuuki stopped thinking and just felt as Seien pushed into him, slow and hard, hard enough to leave him gasping as his brother slid inside.

"Aniue!"

Seien's hands moved up his back, strong and gentle, palms stroking and soothing. "All right?"

Ryuuki relaxed into the support of his brother's hands, moaning. "Oh yes. Aniue..." It was so good to feel Seien this close, so right to be held this gently, this powerfully. Seien rocked against him and Ryuuki let himself go into the heat of his brother moving inside him.

Threads of memory twined themselves around the rush of sensation as Seien took him, so slow and sure: the straight stillness of his brother, standing beside the water; the sudden brilliance of his smile and the quick, warm pleasure, in Ryuuki's chest, of having that smile shown to him—only to him; the way Seien's swift, fierce grace with a sword could set Ryuuki trembling; the sweetness of his brother's hand on his hair as he was folded into the safety of his brother's arms.

With that last memory, past and present met and ran into each other, and the feeling of Seien's fingers running through Ryuuki's hair made him cry out, body drawing taut in his brother's arms. Another thrust, strong and deep, and pleasure spilled over. Shudders of heat raked through Ryuuki's body, and the low, rough sound of his brother's voice, calling his name, made him so breathless with the joy of it all that he had to laugh.

The strength of Seien's arms, drawing him in tighter, and the force of Seien's last thrusts, were soothing. He was safe and cared for and held by the one person he knew loved him. He could relax.

For a while they just leaned against each other, breathing deep and slow, and Ryuuki thought he might never stop smiling. When his brother finally laid him back down against the sheets, Seien was smiling too.

"Think you can sleep now?" Seien asked, petting back Ryuuki's hair.

"Yes." The bubble of happiness in Ryuuki's chest made him feel warm and peaceful. He reached up to touch Seien's cheek. "Will you stay with me?" he begged.

Seien sighed, but he was still smiling as he placed a soft kiss on Ryuuki's forehead. "Yes. I'll stay the night." He settled down beside Ryuuki and tucked him snuggly into the curve of Seien's body. "Sleep, Ryuuki."

Ryuuki obediently closed his eyes. "Yes, Aniue."

Tonight, he was sure, his dreams would be good.

End

Polarization - Part One

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Shrieks of joy coming out of Watari Yutaka's lab caused wise Ministry employees to take swift cover. The Shokan Division, though, had no such hope of easy escape and when they heard the sound of glee approaching the office, they simply braced themselves, waiting for fate to descend upon them.

Fate, today, took the form of Watari himself flinging the office door open and standing in it, panting and disheveled, face alight. "I did it! I did it!"

"Ah. What did you do, Watari?" Tsuzuki asked, looking around cautiously for lurking inventions.

Watari burst into delighted laughter, and Tatsumi just stared. Specifically, he stared at the sole remaining button holding closed the front of Watari's lab coat over a chest that was suddenly a distinctly different shape. As far as he could tell, not that he was looking very closely of course, the lab coat was all Watari was wearing. "Everyone be quiet," he commanded, adding, "Watari, try not to breathe."

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Tatsumi-san what are you talking about?"

Fate being what it was around this Division, the button chose that moment to give up its battle with a pop, spilling Watari's breasts into full view.

Tatsumi put a hand over his face. It was only the polite thing to do, and besides he felt a headache coming on. Fast.

"Wow, they're so big and soft! I'm jealous!"

"Now, Yuma, you know he... um, she's going to have to deal with the Bra Problem because of that, try to have some sympathy too."

"But Waka-chan, Yutako's got such good proportions, I mean, look, isn't this nice and firm just the way it should be?"

"Isn't it? It's so wonderful that I got everything right this time!"

"Isn't it?"

A cascade of giggles.

"Now, um, how do you do this again?"

"Well, first you sit down. Now, um... well... just try to relax okay?"

"... oh! Oh wow!"

Tatsumi turned up the water as high as it would go while he washed his hands and resolved to get double insulation installed between the men's and women's restrooms that very afternoon. There were some things that weighed more heavily than money, and his sanity was one of them.

"So... he's a woman?" Terazuma sat and stared while his partner tried to show Watari how to walk in heels and a snug skirt.

"Seems to be," Kurosaki-kun said, signing off on another sheet and adding it to his Out box. "He's awfully happy about it, too."

Tsuzuki, of course, was doing nothing so productive. "Hey, how about this one?" He held up a glossy magazine, showing a full-page spread of a woman with her hair carefully drawn into a loose braid that draped over one bare shoulder.

Wakaba shook her head with the air of a connoisseur. "No, no; it might not look like it, but that would take way too long to do every morning." She frowned. "Um. How many mornings, do you think, Yutako-san?"

Watari leaned against a desk and scratched—Tatsumi adjusted his pronouns—her nose. "Well..." Her eyes lit up. "Oh, I know a test I haven't tried yet!" She tottered across the office and threw her arms enthusiastically around Terazuma.

Terazuma's eyes barely had time to widen before a rush of magic filled the room and a howling, black beast stood on the wreckage of his desk.

"Watari-san!" Wakaba put her hands on her hips and glared.

"Sorry." Watari didn't look very sorry, beaming from the floor where he... she'd been dumped.

Tatsumi was starting to think he'd need something a good deal stronger than aspirin to get through this day.

Watari had finally calmed down enough to do a little of... her paperwork, everyone else had gone home, and Tatsumi was daring to hope the worst was past when the Chief poked his head in, cautiously. "Watari-kun. A memo came for you." He frowned, looking worried. "You're summoned before Enma-daiou tomorrow at noon."

Watari was very still for a moment before she went and took the paper from the Chief's hand. "Okay. Thank you."

Tatsumi didn't think he was supposed to hear the Chief ask, very softly, "Are you going to... be all right?"

Expressions flickered across Watari's face, bleak and then thoughtful and then wry. "I hope so."

Konoe-san patted Watari on the shoulder and left them alone again.

"Is there anything wrong I should know about?" Tatsumi murmured after a few minutes of silence, because he didn't pry into employee's lives, but there was a time for everything. A silent Watari hinted that this might be a time for asking.

Watari's back, slimmer than it had been, straightened. "Yes." She sounded resolute, and the gleam in her eyes as she turned and stalked back to stand in front of Tatsumi was familiarly disturbing. "I need you to take me to bed, Tatsumi-san."

It took a few moments for Tatsumi to get his voice to work. "You what?"

Watari slid her arms around his shoulders and pressed close, and Tatsumi suddenly had no trouble at all recalling that Watari was currently she. "I need you to take me to bed right now, please." Her tone was firm, but that was desperation he heard making the words quick instead of the usual rather manic enthusiasm.

Tatsumi frowned and took Watari's shoulders, setting her a little away. "If you want me to do this, I think you need to tell me why," he said quietly.

Watari opened her mouth and then shut it, and bit her lip. "Look," she said finally, voice low, "some of it I can't tell you, you don't have the clearance, and some of it would put you in a lot more danger to know, but..." Her eyes met his, dark and determined. "I need the experience of being a woman. All of it, or as much as I can get. I need the physical, emotional, spiritual memory, and this is the most immediate way I can think of." She pursed her lips and added, "Short of getting pregnant, and I don't think I could manage that fast enough."

Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "I am not getting you pregnant, Watari. We're much too short-staffed to be able to afford maternity leave for you."

To his relief, she laughed, some of the ragged edge easing out of her voice.

"Why me?" he asked, more gently.

Watari blinked at him and then smiled. "Because I like you, Tatsumi."

And there really wasn't anything he could say to that. So instead he carefully put an arm around her waist, drawing her close again, and translocated them both to his residence.

TBC

Polarization - Part Two

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

- Note: Part Two involves explicit het sex between Tatsumi and Watari; if this is not your cup of tea, you can read parts One and Three and still get most of the plot.

Watari—and he rather liked Yuma's suggestion of Yutako, it was cute—was charmed by how courtly Tatsumi was suddenly being. He held her hand to balance her while she slid off her shoes—honestly, something would have to be arranged about that, surely they didn't have to be so uncomfortable—and slipped the lab coat off her shoulders and hung it up for her. If they hadn't translocated directly in, he'd probably have held the door for her, too.

But she did hope he'd get on with things; it wasn't inconceivable that Enma would send someone to fetch and quarantine him early.

She relaxed a bit when Tatsumi took her hand and led her to the bedroom, pointing out a chair-back she could hang her clothes over. She wriggled out of the snug, linen suit Wakaba had found for her—definitely needed to take Saya and Yuma up on the offer to shop for underthings—taking the opportunity to grin over her victory. Her well proportioned victory, at that.

A soft snort made her look up to see Tatsumi smiling faintly. "You and your experiments," he said. "You're like Tsuzuki with a whole box of pastry all to himself."

Watari shrugged. Since he couldn't stop grinning, he couldn't really deny it.

Tatsumi set his hands lightly on her waist and drew her close and kissed her; it was soft and a bit hesitant, and very nice. The way her nipples felt, brushing against the skin of his chest was even nicer—warm and tingly. "Mmmmm." Watari snuggled closer and laughed when Tatsumi started. "No need to be shy, you know."

"I see," Tatsumi murmured. He led her over to the bed and settled them both on it, leaning a little over her. Watari thought the concentration on his face was endearing, as he stroked a gentle hand down her body. The softness of her new curves felt good, when touched. Voluptuous—he tasted the word in his head; yes, that was it. Tatsumi's hand brushed lightly over her thighs and she spread them apart, nearly wriggling with anticipation. Insurance and research all in one, what could possibly beat it?

"Hm." Tatsumi gave her a thoughtful look, and she was going to ask why, but he bent his head and left a path of soft kisses between her breasts and down her stomach and that was rather distracting.

"Mm. Ooo, that's nice." It got a lot moreso when his fingers brushed gently between her legs, parting soft folds of skin.

She was busy cataloguing the way that touch made shivery feelings swirl low in her stomach, and almost missed what it meant that she could feel the heat of his breath against her down there.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught and for a moment she couldn't even sort out what the sensation was that was rolling over her like a tide. A quick gasp, hands catching at the sheets, and she remembered that these feelings were "wet" and "soft" and "hot" and "sliding", only those parts added up to a whole that was something else entirely.

Pleasure.

Pleasure, surging out from that one point, out to her toes and fingertips. Pleasure making her feel that her whole body must be glowing with it. Pleasure drawing little sounds out of her throat, making her body move, leaving her with no thoughts but "hot" and "wet" and "sliding" and "soft".

And "more".

Heat condensed down to something molten and surged out again, long, wild ripples of it that left Watari blinking at the ceiling, rather dazed.

Tatsumi was stroking his body again, holding him close. "Now will you relax a little? However your body is arranged, you aren't going to enjoy this if you don't relax, and I have objections to hurting my partner."

"I'm plenty relaxed," Watari pointed out, and added, "The difference may not actually be quantifiable. How curious."

It took him a moment to figure out why Tatsumi had buried his head in the pillow.

"No, no, really I am relaxed!" She waved her hands. "It's just..." She laughed. "I'm still me, Tatsumi."

Tatsumi lifted his head again and looked down at her, mouth curling. "Yes. You certainly are."

"And I don't actually think I'm a virgin," she added, helpfully. "The equations indicate there has to have been some conservation of age and time's effects on the body."

Tatsumi cleared his throat, and she was fascinated to see actual color rising in his face. That deserved a data point all to itself—making Tatsumi blush.

"I'm glad to hear that."

She figured he probably started stroking her again to distract her, but that was okay; it certainly felt good. He wriggled a bit , pressing into Tatsumi's hands, and wound her arms around his neck to pull him down to a kiss. "Mmmm, more."

"You're normally more patient when it comes to your experiments," Tatsumi noted, dourly, and Watari grinned; he liked it when Tatsumi loosened up enough to tease him.

"I am; but timing is everything, you know."

Tatsumi snorted, but he did kiss her back, and his fingers slid down between her legs again. Watari's eyes unfocused as those fingers eased into her and she tried to mark the sensations spilling past. "Mmm. Ooo, shivers. Mm, oh that's nice—kind of tingly..."

The slight vibration against her arm, she catalogued as Tatsumi trying to stifle a chuckle.

And actually maybe it was a good thing he was going slowly, because while Watari was sure she wasn't a virgin, she was turning out to be very tight. An equation describing the interference function of experiential conservation in muscles that had been configured differently danced across her mind and dropped into the Examine Later memory-box. "Ahh, a little deeper... yes, there..." Watari's hips tilted, back arching, as the sharp stretch eased into glowing heat. "Mmmm, Tatsumi, now."

Tatsumi was wearing a faint smile as he settled between her legs, and Watari smiled back. When Tatsumi had asked why him, it had really been a silly question. Who else was this kind? Besides, Tatsumi was confident enough to help her without repercussions to himself, and he... he...

He felt smooth and thick inside her, and the slide as he moved was so slick and wet it took her breath right away, and she could feel the bones of his shoulders under her hands as they closed tight, and he was all the way in and it made her moan.

Her hips pressed up to meet him as he thrust again, and Watari sighed with pleasure. "Yeah." She slid her hands down the length of Tatsumi's back and pulled him in tighter, moaning as their hips ground together and a bolt of heat zinged up her spine.

The rhythm was familiar. The sound of her partner gasping wasn't any different. The pleasure itself was deliciously familiar. But the pattern of the hot sensations was so different—did distribution have anything to do with quality?—and it felt so good she couldn't concentrate, only wind her legs around Tatsumi's and rock up into him hard and fast.

Clearly they'd have to experiment a lot more...

That shivery drawing-down feeling welled up in her again, and she gasped as pleasure tightened and the world crystallized. And then it surged out like something exploding and she gasped wildly for breath, riding the fierce sensation until it ebbed back and she could pick out individual parts and realize that Tatsumi was moaning, hips jerking against her.

She stroked his chest, smiling as he slowly relaxed too. "Mmm. That was nice."

Tatsumi laughed, husky, rolling over to lie beside her. "It was." He picked up her hand and dropped a light kiss on her fingers. "Thank you."

"No, no, thank you!" Watari couldn't quite manage a laugh, though, as she remembered all of why she was doing this. She hoped it would be enough.

It had to be enough.

When Tatsumi slid an arm around her and held her against his shoulder, she let him, and even cuddled closer.

TBC

Polarization - Part Three

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Watari left the offices at quarter to twelve the next day and walked steadily out the door, looking straight ahead.

Tatsumi lasted perhaps five minutes.

And then he left, too, holding his bento prominently to stave off questions about why, and locked himself in one of the soundproof library viewing rooms. He gathered into his palm the tiniest thread of shadow he could weave and sent it sliding down halls and walls and under the door of Enma-daiou's audience room.

He suspected he'd get a lot worse than a docked paycheck if he was found out, but the tightness around Watari's eyes and the tension of her mouth were more than he could ignore. He liked most of his co-workers, even when they were being idiots or breaking expensive things, but Watari...

Watari was the only one who laughed at him.

He heard the thud of heavy doors swinging shut and then nothing for so long he wondered if Enma's power had somehow closed out his shadow.

"So," Enma's voice finally rumbled.

"You wanted to see me," Watari stated. "Here I am."

Tatsumi could imagine Watari spreading her hands demonstratively, and probably turning around just to show off everything.

"You have unfitted yourself for your purpose." Enma's voice was clipped. "This does not speak well for your dedication to your work, Golden Bird."

"It wasn't my work, or my purpose," Watari shot back, fearless as if she merely faced Konoe.

Now Enma sounded surprised. "Of course it was your work! The entire project is based on your discoveries and calculations." A sly, coaxing edge slipped into his tone, one that made Tatsumi bristle to hear. "Surely you want to see if you were right? To carry the experiment through to the end and see the final culmination of Mother? To have your brilliance vindicated before all?"

Watari was silent for long enough to alarm Tatsumi. He knew how Watari was about his damn experiments...

"No," Watari whispered, at last. "Because I wouldn't see. I wouldn't know. If the Golden Bird of the Sun and the Jade Hare of the Moon combine the way you want, to make Mother complete... I will be gone."

"You agreed to that once already."

The simple, factual tone of Enma's statement horrified Tatsumi more than anything ever had before, bar seeing Tsuzuki bleeding out in the midst of black flame.

"I agreed to give my mind, and my body." He could imagine Watari standing straight, chin lifted. "Not my soul."

"Is there a difference in our world?"

Oddly, the next thing Tatsumi heard was a sigh and a rustle. When Watari spoke, her tone made Tatsumi think of her running a hand through her hair. "Enma-daiou. I'm sorry. I know you want to escape. To give your throne and history to another and finally pass on."

"You know." Enma's voice was suddenly contemptuous. "You can't know, Golden Bird. I have been here since the beginning! The first human who died, caught in this... trap of the gods! Everyone passes on. Everyone but me."

"I know." Watari's voice was soft. "Mother contains your mind, and it was me they poured all that through in the first attempt. And yes, my calculations are almost certainly right; Mother could replace you, if it incorporated pure representations of Yang and Yin to give it eternal balance. But I will not be Yang to take your place." Her voice turned wry. "As you see, I am not a suitable representative anymore."

Enma's voice rumbled deeper than ever, heavy with anger and threat. "So, are you any use to me anymore?"

"Less use," Watari returned agreeably, just as if utter destruction wasn't hanging over her head. "But still some. As any other employee." A small sniff. "Any other employee who's a genius inventor, anyway. The only inventor," she added, "who might find another way."

A snort that could only be Enma. "Begone."

As the doors' thud echoed down his shadow again, Tatsumi exhaled and realized that his shirt was soaked with sweat and he was shaking with tension.

No wonder Watari had been tense last night, gambling for her soul's integrity on one roll of the dice!

Or, perhaps, on one roll, at any rate.

And her damn sense of humor was rubbing off on him, too.

Tatsumi translocated home to get a fresh shirt and a drink of water, and put his lunch in the refrigerator. He was certainly in no shape to eat anything now.

He was not entirely surprised to see that Watari, when she got back to the offices, gobbled her own lunch and half of Tsuzuki's in exchange for Watari's cupcakes. It was coming to him that Watari was in all ways astonishing.

It was the end of the day before Tatsumi managed to casually stop at Watari's desk. "So, you've succeeded with your transformation, the way you needed to," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Is it reversible?"

Watari's head jerked up to look at him with warm eyes startled blank. "Tatsumi..." Slowly she answered, "I expect the change can be made back. The experience will be with me forever, though."

"Ah. That's good," Tatsumi murmured. And then her wording caught up with him. "You expect? You don't know?"

"Well, I mean," she waved her hands as if to shape an answer out of the air. "It might reverse. Or it might not. That part isn't vital to the experiment!"

Tatsumi covered his face with a weary hand, trying not to laugh. It would be bad for his image, and it was only his image that preserved discipline in this mad office.

"Did you, um. Eat lunch, Tatsumi?" Watari asked. The undertone of her voice was a touch husky, and when Tatsumi looked up, she was watching him with a tangle of amusement and surprise and gratitude and... something he couldn't really name.

"No," he admitted.

"I could make you some dinner," she offered, properly off-hand if one wasn't looking at her eyes.

"Not in your lab," Tatsumi specified, on a last gasp of self-preservation.

She laughed, and it was altogether Watari's laugh, bright and guarded. But perhaps inviting the hearer to see if he could find his way past it.

And shadows, Tatsumi was reminded, went everywhere there was light.

End

Cotton Sheets

Mizuki and Yuuta have some pillow-talk about the ongoing tournaments and more about names. Romance with Light Porn, I-4

Hajime had to admit, despite the embarrassment of various preparations and the general awkwardness of their first few tries, there was something very nice about being in bed with Yuuta. Once he made up his mind to something, Yuuta had no self-consciousness Hajime had been able to discover, and he seemed perfectly content to lie in bed naked and discuss tennis while Hajime's hands wandered over him.

"...so if we manage to take Hyoutei in Semifinals, we'll be dealing with Fudoumine in Finals after lunch. It'll be a hard day on everyone. Mmm." Yuuta wriggled a little as Hajime stroked his stomach, muscles tightening under Hajime's palm.

"You've trained hard for endurance, yes?" Hajime traced his fingers down the hollow of Yuuta's hip; he thought he might never stop being fascinated with the texture of Yuuta. "It is a disadvantageous order, though. Fudoumine will be the greater threat, this year." Especially since, from his information, Tachibana had chosen to coach his proteges in favor of actually playing this year.

"Then we'll just have to see if we can beat them all," Yuuta said, suddenly steely tone in direct contrast to his lazy stretch and return to fold his arms around Hajime, fingers smoothing over Hajime's ribs.

Yuuta's willingness to touch back was the other really nice thing, even if Hajime was still getting used to the whole idea. "I have confidence in you," he murmured into the curve of Yuuta's shoulder.

A quiet laugh brushed past his ear. "That's one of the reasons I believe we can win, Mizuki-san."

"Hmmm." Hajime propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Yuuta thoughtfully. "You know, all things considered, I think you might use my given name." He leaned down again to stroke Yuuta's lips apart with his tongue and demonstrate one of the things to be considered.

Apparently it was a good demonstration, because when he drew back, heat still curling through him, it took Yuuta a few breathless moments to murmur back, "Hajime-san..."

Hajime smiled; he liked the way his name sounded in Yuuta's mouth. The way Yuuta's tone made everything between them perfectly clear to anyone who might listen was a warm, satisfying weight in Hajime's chest.

The brilliant smile that followed took him by surprise, though, and so did the way Yuuta's arms tightened around him, drawing him down snugly against Yuuta's body.

"Hajime-san," Yuuta repeated against his neck, mouth soft.

Hajime shivered and swallowed. "Yuuta," he answered, husky, before he got enough of a grip to laugh and spread a hand against the small of Yuuta's back. "Ready again so soon?" he teased.

The low, pleased sound Yuuta made in answer, the flash of white teeth in a grin as he spread his legs against the white sheets, sent such a jolt of heat up Hajime's spine he couldn't breathe at all for a moment. Only pull Yuuta tighter against him and kiss him slow and deep.

He supposed, in the back of his mind, that the way he looked at Yuuta, turned towards Yuuta, would also make things perfectly clear to anyone with eyes. He was more or less resigned to that, if it made Yuuta answer him so powerfully, so purely.

If old fears still nagged at him to keep his face smooth and impenetrable, to seek the perfection that was cool and sure and safe, Yuuta's wild, spendthrift excellence had tempted him not to mind the danger. To reach for fire and chance instead, to ride them the way he rode Yuuta's body and savor their sharp pleasures.

Fear was his past. Yuuta was his future now.

End

Patience and Concentration

A year and a half later, Mizuki and Yuuta have some more hot sex for very good reasons. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Yuuta lay, quite relaxed, with his ass in the air and Hajime-san's cock sliding in and out of it. He'd come already, under Hajime-san's mouth, before Hajime-san nudged him over the piled pillows; the pleasure now was slow and warm, not urgent, letting him appreciate the slick thickness of Hajime-san moving inside him.

Hajime-san's hands kneaded Yuuta's ass slow and hard, in time with his thrusts; Yuuta thought he might have marks there for a little. It felt good, though, the strength of Hajime-san's hands squeezing those muscles and turning them loose. "Mmm, wouldn't mind if you did this forever," he murmured, resting his cheek on his folded arms.

Hajime-san laughed, husky. "Even I don't have that kind of self-control, Yuuta." A harder thrust made Yuuta moan with the tight flicker of heat. "You feel too good."

"Mm, I sure as hell do," Yuuta agreed, grinning.

The sound Hajime-san made was a little too velvety to be a growl, but only a little; it made shivers run down Yuuta's spine. Or maybe that was just the way Hajime-san's fingertips were following the curve of his back, delicate and purposeful. "Perhaps I should make you feel too good for a little longer, then, after all," Hajime-san suggested.

Yuuta made a rather disappointed sound as Hajime-san's cock slid all the way out of him. "And how is that supposed to—ahh!" His breath froze as something touched his entrance, hot and slick and incredibly soft.

Hajime-san's tongue, he realized, a little shocked by how good it felt.

"Sounds like it worked fairly well," Hajime-san murmured and nipped the curve of Yuuta's ass, sending Yuuta jerking against the pillows at the contrast of sharp with soft. And then Hajime-san's tongue was sliding over him again and the softness made Yuuta just about melt in a puddle.

Except for his cock, which was getting really hard again as Hajime-san's tongue teased and stroked and circled.

"Hajime-san," Yuuta moaned, draped over the pillows in a boneless sprawl, panting with the not-quite-enough pleasure coiling in every muscle. "More..."

Hajime-san made a thoughtful sound that tightened Yuuta's stomach with anticipation; that was the sound that meant Hajime-san had thought of a new way to tease him.

Sure enough, a slim hand ran slowly up the back of Yuuta's thigh and Hajime-san's thumb came to rest just behind Yuuta's balls. It moved in slow, firm little circles and Yuuta groaned into the sheets at the tingling surges of heat it sent up and down his spine to throb between his legs.

"You need... firmer pillows..." he gasped, discovering all over again that Hajime-san's pillows were too soft to rub himself against to get off. That didn't stop his hips from bucking, looking for something to focus all the hot sensation.

Hajime-san laughed, low and wicked. "But Yuuta, I like my pillows the way they are."

Yuuta just bet he did.

"Hajime-san, fuck me," he growled, and shuddered, moaning, as Hajime-san's thumb pressed a little harder and his tongue flicked Yuuta's entrance in answer. "You are the most evil—ahhh!"

Yuuta arched then, pushing his ass further up, because Hajime-san's cock was back, thrusting into him deep and hard and it felt so incredible after being teased that Yuuta could only groan as Hajime-san took his hips and lifted him higher and fucked him hard and fast.

"Yes, yes, fuck yes!" Yuuta's throat was raw with the sound that left it when the pleasure all finally spilled over and tore through him in a flash flood of heat.

By the time he could pick out individual sensations again, Hajime was finishing too and Yuuta made a small, satisfied noise as Hajime-san's weight settled against his back.

"So, I'm evil?" Hajime-san murmured against Yuuta's shoulder, after a moment.

Yuuta laughed. "Yep. I like it that you are." He tangled his fingers with Hajime-san's and pulled his hand close to kiss the knuckles. "It's fun."

"I'm glad you agree." Yuuta could hear the smile in Hajime-san's voice. The soft kisses Hajime-san brushed over the nape of his neck made him smile, too.

"So. Feel more relaxed about the Regional matches tomorrow?" Yuuta asked casually.

Hajime-san rested his cheek against Yuuta's shoulder, thumb rubbing over Yuuta's fingers. "I would say you know me too well, except that most of the time I'm glad you do." He sighed. "Yes, I am. I suppose there's no point in fretting."

"Nope. And, hey, maybe we'll get lucky and Tezuka-san will be put in early and I'll get him," Yuuta added cheerfully.

After a moment, Hajime snorted. "Only you, Yuuta."

Yuuta could feel Hajime-san relax against his back, though, and smiled, satisfied.

He was pretty sure Hajime-san and Aniki would have a better game this time.

End

Rain Falls Hard

Set some time after the Semifinals match with Oujo and before the Christmas Bowl. Hiruma promises Takami he'll keep winning. With sex. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Hiruma had to bend his head back and pull Takami down to kiss him. That was all right. It was the ferocity of Takami's grip on his hips that mattered.

"Deimon won't lose," he panted against Takami's ear, fucking Takami with the words as his hand slid up and down Takami's cock. "We'll never lose. You'll only ever have been defeated by the very best in the fucking country. Everyone will know. You could only have lost to us; because we'll never lose to anyone."

Takami made a hoarse sound and his arm tightened like steel around Hiruma.

Hiruma slid long fingers into Takami's hair, hips bucking into the hand between his legs, where they were spread over Takami's thighs. "If I were like the fucking monkey," he whispered, husky, letting the words slide into Takami deeper, slower, "you'd be the only one I'd ever have called Senpai."

"Damn it, Hiruma!"

Hiruma bared his teeth in a smile as Takami came undone, and thrust wantonly into Takami's fist as it tightened around him. By the time he came, Takami was laughing. He didn't let go, even after Hiruma stilled, and they leaned against each other, sweaty and breathless and snickering.

"You know how to flatter someone," Takami gasped.

Hiruma snorted and didn't mention that it was true.

Takami's hands tightened for a moment. "You're all of Kantou's champion now; you'd better not lose," he said, quietly.

Hiruma caught Takami's mouth and kissed him again, hot and wild and definite. "I won't." He showed his teeth when he smiled. "I've already beaten the best."

They both knew that was pure bravado. Big talk. Hiruma's specialty, after all.

Neither of them said so.

End

Scattered Beans, Year Passing

Post-canon. In the wake of revelations about Touda and the Yellow Emperor, Touda comes to Tsuzuki to begin again. Drama with Porn, I-4, implied spoilers

Touda walked the halls of Tenkou wearing only his leather leggings and armlets, the long fall of his hair, and a collar and pair of stiff cuffs buckled snugly around each wrist.

He knew there was no shame in what he did, and he felt none, but he still found himself glad that the palace was still and silent around him, everyone sleeping or preparing for sleep. He did not wish to have any interruptions. When he reached Tsuzuki's door he slid it open and stepped inside quietly. As he had hoped, and rather expected, Tsuzuki was still awake, standing at the window. As he turned, in the moment before a welcoming smile covered it, Tsuzuki's face was distant and a little sad.

Touda was privately pleased to see both the distance and the painted smile vanish when Tsuzuki saw him.

"Tou... da... ?" Tsuzuki's eyes were wide and startled in the dusk and Touda's mouth quirked for one moment.

He composed himself, though, and stepped forward until he could sink down to his knees at Tsuzuki's feet, head bowed, hair coiling silkily on the floor around him. "You called me to come forth. I have come."

"Oh." It was barely a whisper, but Touda thought he could hear understanding in it, the echo of many years ago. Good. He was not surprised to feel Tsuzuki's hands come to rest, light, on his bare shoulders.

"I meant to free you." These words were stronger, and softer, and Touda looked up at last, meeting Tsuzuki's shadowed, twilight eyes.

"You did." He said only that, and waited.

Tsuzuki's teeth closed on his lip, and he sank down himself until he could wrap his arms around Touda. "Oh, Touda."

Touda supposed he might as well be resigned to it, that Tsuzuki touched so much. If he were honest, it was something he had rather counted on, coming here tonight, and he let his hands curve around Tsuzuki's back in return. "Do you want me?" he murmured.

"I... Touda..." The answer was yes, Touda could tell by the way Tsuzuki's fingers stole up to stroke through the wild fall of his hair before being snatched back.

Touda bent his head again. "Then take me."

Tsuzuki stilled. "Touda. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Touda snorted against the curve of Tsuzuki's shoulder; he couldn't help it. "Tsuzuki, don't you know how you really captured each of the others?" Exasperation wasn't the most appropriate tone for this moment, but this was Tsuzuki, after all. It was likely inevitable. More formally, he repeated, "Take me."

After a long moment Tsuzuki whispered, "All right." His hands found Touda's wrists and undid the cuffs, slid gently down Touda's throat and undid the collar, throwing them aside.

Touda closed his eyes and stifled a shiver as he finally felt it. Tsuzuki wasn't a kami; he had no river of dark, shining hair to show his power, to warn all who saw him of his might. But Touda could feel it nevertheless, flowing around him, the power to match Tsuzuki's beauty, fit to captivate any kami alive.

He let Tsuzuki lead him to the bed and knelt there, spreading his knees wide, bending down; a thrill of heat slid through him as he remembered lying just like this at Tsuzuki's feet, stunned, in the moment Tsuzuki had broken his chains. His lips curved, softly, hidden by the fall of his hair, remembering the kindness of Tsuzuki's smile.

And then his breath caught as Tsuzuki's hands touched him, bringing then into now. He shivered as those hands moved over his bare skin, stroking his arched back, caressing his raised rear. This was why he had come, to surrender himself, to take a master of his own will and no other, and he moaned, faint and husky, as Tsuzuki's fingers opened him, setting things right at last.

"Touda." Tsuzuki's voice was as gentle as his hands, and the contrast to the power that couldn't help dancing around Tsuzuki's every touch stole Touda's breath. "I do want you," Tsuzuki told him, and heat ran through Touda, exultation that the poison between he and his master was purged after all. He moaned, clutching at the sheets, as Tsuzuki pushed into him, slow and hard.

Pleasure and triumph twined together. Triumph that he was the one to be mastered this way, the one, out of all the bound kami who yearned for it, that Tsuzuki gave this surety to. Pleasure at the power that penetrated him far more thoroughly and mercilessly than the slow, gentle strokes of Tsuzuki's body inside his, pleasure that he surrendered himself only to one worthy of his pride.

"Tsuzuki," he panted, slowly losing his composure under Tsuzuki's easy thrusts and wild, dark power. He could feel his own magic rising, answering Tsuzuki's, and cried out as that shadowy, flickering strength locked down on him like a fist. Pleasure pierced through him, fierce and intense, and he finally, finally yielded to it completely, moaning as heat wrung him until he couldn't see or think or breathe.

He lay sprawled over the bed, shaking as the heat settled, and gradually became aware of Tsuzuki's hands stroking over his body, tugging off his leggings and armlets, smoothing his hair, warm and soothing. A faint chuckle escaped him; Tsuzuki was incurably caring.

"I remember," Tsuzuki said, quietly. "I remember how you looked at me, when I came to let you out. How amazed you seemed. How soft your eyes were. That was what I hated most about that visor, before I found out what it really was; that I couldn't see your eyes any more."

Touda was rather glad his face was still hidden in the angle of his arm. "That was a moment of weakness."

"Was it?" He could hear the smile in Tsuzuki's voice.

Touda hesitated for a long moment, but his reasons to hold back were gone, weren't they? Perhaps the other eleven still didn't deserve his honesty, but Tsuzuki had come for him, called him, given him the raw, naked truth he needed after the Yellow Emperor's lies and schemes. "It isn't only your power that masters me," he admitted at last.

He felt Tsuzuki's lips brush the back of his neck and couldn't help another shiver. "I'm glad you're mine," Tsuzuki whispered. "Touda. Thank you."

Touda took a breath for steadiness and turned over, looking up at Tsuzuki without shield or mask, surrendering this, too. Tsuzuki smiled down at him, soft and brilliant, hands closing around Touda's face, and Touda breathed out again. He felt clumsy and uncertain, trying to answer his master's open heart; it was a relief to get it right. He had to close his eyes, though, when Tsuzuki leaned down to kiss him, sweet and tender.

This, he would admit to himself, was what mastered him, as much as Tsuzuki's world-shaking strength—Tsuzuki's gentleness, the compassion that had saved him twice over. A tiny voice deep inside him whispered that this might have conquered him even without that strength.

So he didn't protest when Tsuzuki settled against him, arms wrapped around him, fingers twining delicately into the flow of his hair, clearly not letting go any time soon. Instead he rested one hand, lightly, at the small of Tsuzuki's back and lay quietly as the moon set outside the window and Tsuzuki drifted into sleep.

End

Walk Straight Down the Middle

Tsuzuki comes to Touda to forget everything else. Porn, I-4, bondage

Touda was the one who did the things others couldn't or wouldn't do. So on the nights when Tsuzuki felt like the air was too heavy on his shoulders and the dark edges of his own magic dragged over his soul, it was Touda he went to.

Touda could make the world go away for a while.

It was never something Tsuzuki asked for, but when he showed up and sat down silently on the side of Touda's bed Touda always obliged. Tsuzuki would have worried about that, after, if it weren't for the faint smile on Touda's lips those nights.

These nights.

By now just the feel of thick silk rope sliding around his wrists, pulling them together over his head, around his thighs, spreading them wide open, was enough to make him start forgetting everything else. Enough to make him hard, too. He moaned a little, face down on Touda's wide, firm bed, as a last tug on the ropes bound him in place. Touda's large hand slid up his thigh to grip his rear and Tsuzuki jerked, or tried to, and moaned for real when he couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything.

Knowing that made him harder.

Touda made a soft, approving sound, rubbing his thumb over Tsuzuki's entrance. He pressed harder when Tsuzuki tried to squirm. Tsuzuki imagined what Touda looked like behind him, big and muscular and naked, one hand working calmly at Tsuzuki's upturned ass as Touda watched him.

He could feel Touda's eyes on him.

Tsuzuki made a pleading sound, face pressed into the sheets, at the press of Touda's head nudging between his cheeks. This was what made the rest of the world go away, and the sound he made as Touda started pushing into him was hoarse and wordless. Touda's cock was hard and huge, stretching him so wide he could only gasp, sliding into him endlessly. And then sliding out just as endlessly.

"Touda! Touda, please...!"

Touda didn't answer, but his smile hung in the air. And Touda kept thrusting into him, slow and merciless, no matter how Tsuzuki begged for more, harder, please. This was the feeling Tsuzuki loved, as much as the ropes holding him spread out, as much as the thick hardness of Touda's cock pushing deep into his body. He loved that Touda would ignore Tsuzuki's power, the fact that Tsuzuki was his master, and just keep opening Tsuzuki's ass slowly, relentlessly, until Tsuzuki was gasping and sobbing for breath. His whole body shuddered with pleasure.

There was nothing but this moment.

Tsuzuki was too incoherent to do anything but scream when he finally came. Touda's hands closed tight on his thighs and Touda's cock shoved deep into his ass, holding him open with short, hard thrusts as his body tried to wring tight. Tsuzuki loved it. He whimpered and moaned, hoarse and breathless, as Touda's strokes turned long and fast, fucking the tightness of Tsuzuki's body hard and ruthless, taking his own pleasure. The last thrust was so hard Tsuzuki could almost taste it. The feeling lingered in his body even when Touda pulled back. And Tsuzuki couldn't do anything about any of it.

It was perfect.

Tsuzuki tensed a little as Touda released the ropes, but Touda caught both Tsuzuki's wrists easily behind his back and drew him close.

"Sleep, Tsuzuki."

Tsuzuki rested gratefully against Touda's chest, trapped in his grip, relaxing again. The world wouldn't come back quite yet.

"Yes, Touda."

Touda would hold him back from the world a little longer.

End

Directional Transformation

Roy really likes Ed's metal hand. Shameless Porn, I-4, continuity free

"You know," Ed said, thoughtfully, "I bet I could blackmail you with this."

Roy shifted against the bed as Ed's metal fingers pressed deep into him. "But then we'd have to stop." He laughed, husky. "And you don't want that any more than I do, right?" He moaned low in his throat as steel opened him up again, hard and cool, and he pushed his hips up and back.

"Oh, so you don't enjoy it enough to keep doing it anyway?" Ed asked, elaborately innocent, and twisted his fingers deep in Roy's ass.

"Ahh!" Roy pressed his forehead against the smooth sheets, panting with the rush of heat. "I would regret stopping a very great deal," he murmured, spreading his legs wider.

It was the truth. There was nothing quite as electrifying as the feeling of Ed's steel fingers pushing into him, fucking him, sleek and hard and nothing like any other touch he'd ever felt.

"Hmmm. Well, that's nice to hear anyway." Ed's tone was edging back toward the thoughtful again and his other hand was wandering over the curve of Roy's ass, stroking behind his balls. Roy grinned, wryly. He'd probably taught Ed how to tease and provoke a little too well for his own good. He answered silkily, breath hitching as Ed's fingers shifted inside him.

"I should—nnnn—hope so..."

There was a small pat of sound and Roy's eyes widened as a ferocious tingle rushed down Ed's fingers and into him, and those fingers shifted.

"Ed!" Roy clutched the bed, panting, as the touch inside him turned smoother, longer, bigger.

Much bigger.

"Ed..." Roy groaned, sprawled limply over the sheets, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of Ed's hand in his ass—only not quite a hand anymore.

"So?" There was a wicked laugh in Ed's voice. "What do you think about stopping now?" He drew back the slick, hard shaft and thrust it back into Roy and Roy moaned helplessly. It felt incredible.

"Please don't stop," he managed, rather hoarse.

"Mm, I won't then." Ed's weight shifted on the bed as he settled behind Roy, and Roy breathed a faint sigh of relief that Ed wasn't going to tease him with this.

Instead Ed fucked him, slow and hard and steady, and Roy lost his breath on a moan with every stroke. The hardness of steel inside him, absolutely unyielding, had always been a strange kind of touchstone—a sort of integrity in bed if nowhere else. Now what he could only think of as a steel cock was filling him, stretching him, working his ass until he was gasping.

And then Ed leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Maybe we should do this in your office sometime. Over your desk. Would you still not want me to stop?"

Roy's imagination filled in the picture handily—his staff turning to look at the door as his moans echoed through it. Maybe even coming to check what was going on and seeing him lying over his desk with his uniform disarrayed and Ed's steel pumping deep into his ass. A rough, breathless sound tore out of his throat as pleasure spiked through him and his body wrung itself out around the hard metal inside him.

It took him a while to catch his breath, especially since Ed left his hand inside Roy. When he did, he turned his head to trade a dry look for Ed's triumphant smirk. "You've gotten much too observant."

Ed snorted. "Not like that was a hard one." He leaned into Roy, pressing his mouth to the curve of Roy's shoulder. "You spend so much time in control. Making sure things work out." He released the transmutation and the jolt of receding energy made Roy gasp. "I know I get tired of doing that, anyway."

Roy smiled lazily and turned, gather Ed closer. "Once I'm recovered from your experiment we'll have to see what I can do about that, then."

Ed suffered himself to be held. "Still think you're weird."

"No weirder than someone with a taste for, say, being tied down until he can't move," Roy murmured.

Ed turned very red.

Roy buried a grin in Ed's hair, fingers stroking through it. "As soon as I'm recovered a bit," he promised.

End

Sky in Shade

Before they face the last battle, Kurogane wants to settle a few things. (Since CLAMP have slacked off showing us the good stuff.) Porn with Romance, I-3, spoilers through iss. 182

"What will you do after this?"

Kurogane glanced over as Fai settled on the balcony beside him, pale in the settling night. "I'll return to my duties here, of course."

"Of course." Fai's mouth curled but there was something darker at the back of his eyes.

Kurogane was silent for a long moment before finally sighing. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door post, looking up at the dark sky. "If we can't recover your magic, then I'll still be your prey. Will you mind living here?" Given that Celes didn't exist any more.

It looked like Fai was thinking the same thing.

"I suppose not. It will have to be somewhere." Fai looked around at the screened walls and swooping roofs as if seeing them for the first time. "It's a lovely world," he said, quietly. Regathering himself he added, briskly, "Still, I expect not to trouble you with that."

Kurogane couldn't help rolling his eyes. "What trouble?" he growled. "It was my own decision and it wasn't like you asked for it." He looked aside for a moment. "It isn't any kind of problem."

Fai eyed him with rare exasperation. "Kurogane, I'm drinking your blood."

"I noticed." Kurogane looked at Fai levelly. "And?"

Fai opened his mouth and closed it again with a sigh. "All right. Fine. I know I can't out-stubborn you, by now."

Annoyed, Kurogane snorted. "The only time you haven't, that I've noticed, you were dying. And I said it isn't any kind of problem."

Fai's mouth tightened. "I don't like injuring you."

"It's practically a scratch, it heals right away, it barely even hurts," Kurogane said flatly.

Fai blinked. "It... doesn't?" His shoulders relaxed a shade.

"No, it doesn't." Kurogane looked at Fai for a long, thoughtful moment before holding out his hand. "Come here. I'll show you."

After a moment's hesitation, Fai slid closer and wrapped his fingers gently around Kurogane's wrist. Kurogane's mouth twitched and he curved a hand around Fai's waist, pulling him closer. "More than that, tonight. It's about time you stopped worrying about doing this." He drew Fai against his shoulder and tipped his head back, watching Fai through his lashes.

He wasn't surprised at all when Fai stiffened.

"Kurogane..." Fai's hand braced against his chest, but Fai didn't quite pull away and Kurogane snorted to himself. He'd figured Fai would be hungry by now.

"It doesn't," he said distinctly, "hurt."

"But..." Fai's breath was brushing his throat now, as he leaned in. "Are... are you sure about this?"

A chuckle rolled through Kurogane's chest. "Yes, I'm sure." He lifted a hand, threading his fingers through the fineness of Fai's hair, urging him closer.

Softly, hesitantly, Fai's lips brushed his throat and parted. Fai's tongue stroked his skin and Kurogane took a slow breath, waiting for what was next.

When Fai bit down it was too sharp to be pain, too hot to be pleasure, and a raw sound caught in Kurogane's throat. Fai stilled against him and he whispered, "Don't stop." Slowly Fai's hands slipped over his shoulders and Fai sucked gently.

The slow movement of Fai's mouth on his throat made him shudder and Kurogane gradually slid down until he was spread out on the floor, Fai stretched over him. He'd thought this offer would prove to Fai that it was all right, and maybe it had; Fai wasn't pulling away. And right now neither could Kurogane.

He hadn't expected it to be so intense. Hadn't expected that baring his throat for Fai would fold him in the same ringing rightness he'd felt renewing his oath to Tomoyo. A corner of his mind wondered if that was wrong. He pledged everything he was to his master; a person couldn't do that twice, could they? But Fai... Fai's life depended on him even more surely than Tomoyo's. He'd taken that on willingly.

Fai's teeth grazed his throat again and the thoughts spun away. Kurogane's body pulled taut, hands tightening on Fai's back. "Nnn. Fai..."

Fai made an inquiring sound, distracted and lazy, and it came to Kurogane that Fai was taking longer to feed than he usually did. And that Fai was definitely more at ease than he had been, lying warm and relaxed over Kurogane's chest.

He remembered the brief word Subaru had made time to have with him, in Tokyo.

"It depends on how much of our instinct he has when he recovers, but since you're his only prey he may become..." Subaru's mouth tilted wryly, "territorial. It, ah, affects some people. "

Kamui, had taken a moment from guarding Subaru's back to glance at Kurogane and his nostrils had flared as if testing a scent. "I wouldn't worry about it, if I was you," he'd stated.

Kurogane hadn't pressed for more detail, but maybe he should have.

Or maybe he didn't honestly need to.

He slid his hands down Fai's back and Fai nearly purred. The sound went straight to Kurogane's groin. "Fai..." he groaned softly.

Fai stretched out over him, tongue sliding against his neck, coaxing. Fai's teeth closed again, delicately, not breaking skin this time but holding his throat firmly and Kurogane moaned, sliding a hand down his own body. He started when Fai's fingers closed on his wrist in a steely grip. "Fai?"

Fai made another pleased sound and slid his own hand under Kurogane's kimono and between his legs. Kurogane gasped as long fingers closed on his cock, stroking him slowly. Those twins had an interesting definition of "territorial", he thought distantly.

He couldn't deny responding to it, though, and he spread his legs apart, hips rocking up into Fai's hand, and stroked the slim, hard lines of Fai's body. The confusion of sensations, the pleasure of Fai's hand between his legs, the heat of Fai's mouth on his throat, made him light-headed, but he certainly didn't want it to stop.

Fai's fingers tightened on his cock and the sound Fai made now was lower, husky. His mouth turned hard and demanding on Kurogane's throat, and the pure shock of that made Kurogane cry out. Heat struck down his spine like lightning and he moaned as it spun out into slow washes of pleasure that wrung him out over and over. It took a long time for that heat to release him, under Fai's hands and teeth.

He lay quietly as Fai lapped at his neck, running his hands slowly up and down Fai's back until Fai stilled too. Finally he chuckled. "Told you it was all right, didn't I?"

Fai stirred and murmured, "You did." He didn't look up from where he lay against Kurogane's shoulder and Kurogane lifted a brow.

"So?" He ran his fingers through Fai's hair, gently.

"I... think I would like living here," Fai said, very softly. His hand stole up, fingers brushing lightly over the bite mark on Kurogane's throat.

Kurogane's breath shortened a little at the gesture and he smiled. "Good."

They lay together on the balcony, silent, watching the moon rise.

End

If It's One That You Can Keep

Yukimura and Sanada have victory sex in the shower, after Nationals. Porn with Characterization, I-3, Canon? What Canon?

Seiichi tossed his head back under the spray of the shower and laughed softly just because he couldn't help it.

He had won.

In spite of everything, and there had been a damn lot of everything, he had lived and recovered and won. He felt so light he might float if it weren't for the weight of water on his skin. The sound of his team rummaging around and getting dressed beyond the tile wall was both immediate and distant, the way everything had been since the blinding moment he realized the last point was his.

He was glad for it when warm arms slid around him and pulled him back against a solid chest.

"You were incredible," Genichirou said against his shoulder, tongue stroking water drops off his skin.

Seiichi leaned his head back on Genichirou's shoulder, smiling. "Mm, so were you, in case I hadn't mentioned that yet." His laugh turned husky as Genichirou's mouth slid up his neck. "So, was Tezuka good for you?"

Genichirou snorted at his teasing and Seiichi turned so he could pull Genichirou tight against him, pull him down for a hot kiss.

"Not as good as you," Genichirou murmured into his mouth, satisfaction heavy in his voice.

"Just the way it should be," Seiichi purred back. This might be the perfect ending for the day, pressed tight against each other, hands running over wet skin, feeling each other's strength.

Perfection got better when Genichirou slid down his body to the floor and closed his mouth on Seiichi's cock.

Seiichi leaned back against the cool tile, light-headed and breathless once again. "Oh. Yes." His fingers wove through Genichirou's hair and he moaned low in his throat as wet heat stroked over him. "Genichirou."

Genichirou was going slow this afternoon, taking his time to be thorough. His tongue slid over and over Seiichi's cock, slow and firm and Seiichi's fingers flexed in his hair with every curl of hot pleasure. Seiichi watched Genichirou under his lashes, eyes following the breadth of his shoulders, wet and gleaming under the shower's lights, the bend of his head as he ran his mouth down Seiichi's cock. And Seiichi smiled as Genichirou's hands slid up the back his thighs to curve around his ass, encouraging. He took the offer, letting his hips rock forward. Genichirou's moan answered his as he thrust slowly in and out of Genichirou's mouth.

"We did it." Seiichi tipped his head back against the wall, panting. "Our promise. We kept it."

Genichirou looked up at him, eyes dark, and a soft shudder ran through Seiichi. His hand slid around the back of Genichirou's neck and he pushed into Genichirou's mouth slow and deep. The low sound Genichirou made sent heat straight up his spine. When Genichirou's hand ran down between his legs, closing on his own cock, the heat turned fierce and wild.

Seiichi moaned as pleasure wrung him out, letting his hips flex hard, eyes never leaving Genichirou's as his cock slid between Genichirou's lips in fast, short thrusts. When Genichirou's eyes closed and his breath caught Seiichi smiled. They stilled slowly, touches lingering on each other.

Seiichi finally pulled Genichirou up against him and they stood under the spray of the shower, leaning together. After a moment, Seiichi sighed. "I'm not sure I believe it's over."

"Nothing ever ends," Genichirou said, quietly, against his hair. "And nothing ever starts."

"Doesn't it? Then we'll go on," Seiichi answered, just as soft. "We'll all go on."

He liked that thought.

They stood close until Renji tapped on the shower wall and Akaya called cheekily that the team would leave without them. Seiichi laughed.

"Let's go."

End

At Your Feet

Renji contemplates how he acts with his captain. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Byakuya/Renji, any form of power play. Porn with Characterization, I-3.

Renji almost never gave his captain a full salute.

Other people almost never noticed.

Renji figured it was just Kuchiki-taichou's attitude that kept them from seeing it, the same way everyone thought Kuchiki-taichou was taller than he really was. But he noticed. He watched the way the other vice-captains were with their captains. There were the casual ones like Rangiku and Yachiru who teased everyone, including their superiors. There were the punctilious ones like Iba and Hisagi who wouldn't dream of reporting without a formal bow. There were resentful ones like Oomaeda and exasperated ones like Ise, not that he could blame her, but there didn't seem to be any other vice-captains quite like him.

Ones who were always proper. Always respectful. But almost never knelt down in a full salute.

Renji knew no one had noticed because no one said anything. No one looked surprised when he and his captain met. No one ever mentioned how odd it was that Kuchiki-taichou didn't seem to mind, when he was such a stickler for formality.

So Renji never had to decide whether or not to tell anyone that he thought Kuchiki-taichou knew the reason why he didn't.

That he thought Kuchiki-taichou liked it.

Liked it that Renji wanted it to mean something.

Renji never bowed for the sake of formality. Only for rightness. Only when they were out on duty. Only when he chased something at Kuchiki-taichou's side. When they hunted, it was right; his place was at his captain's feet, waiting to be released.

Waiting for the light touch of fingers against his nape that made him bow his head and shiver, kneeling beside his captain. Waiting for his captain's command.

Renji didn't want to fritter this away in empty forms; this meant something.

Something he'd always kind of thought Kuchiki-taichou liked just as much as he did.

And now he had the proof of it. The proof of Kuchiki-taichou's hands in his loose hair and Kuchiki-taichou's cock sliding between his lips. The proof of Kuchiki-taichou's hips flexing under his hands as he fucked Renji's mouth slowly. The proof of Kuchiki-taichou's faint smile at Renji's moans and the heavy darkness of his eyes, looking down at Renji.

Renji spread his knees wider on the floor and Kuchiki-taichou stepped closer between them, thrusting deeper into Renji's mouth, slow and deliberate. His hands in Renji's hair held him still for it and Renji shuddered.

It meant something when he knelt for his captain.

End

Bend Me, Stretch Me

Ritsuka wants to give Soubi something satisfying. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Ritsuka

Ritsuka glared at the shop front.

"We really don't have to—"

"Shut up," Ritsuka snapped. "We're going in." He latched onto Soubi's hand and towed him into the store and if he was holding on tighter than towing demanded, well, no one knew that but Soubi. And Soubi wasn't actually laughing, so Ritsuka didn't have to actually die of embarrassment.

The woman behind the counter greeted them cheerily and Ritsuka twitched a bit, hurrying Soubi past before the clerk could try to be helpful. Safely, sort of, among the shelves, he let go of Soubi and crossed his arms, trying not to look at anything. "Okay. So. What do you want?"

Soubi cleared his throat. "Well. Let me take a look around and see."

There were days Ritsuka wished he still had his ears just so he could pin them back to show how little he appreciated Soubi's sense of humor.

Of course, if he still had his ears, he probably wouldn't be allowed in here.

He trailed after Soubi as Soubi wandered through the shelves. He was not going to clutch the hem of his boyfriend's coat like a freaked out little kid. He was not.

"Hmm. What about this?"

Ritsuka registered that Soubi had stopped in front of the rack of dildos, which wasn't quite what he had expected, and let out a silent breath of relief. He'd said anything, but... And then Soubi turned around and Ritsuka's sigh turned into a squeak.

"You... um..." Ritsuka swallowed, taking in just how big the brightly colored dildo Soubi was holding really was. "You sure?"

"If you don't want to," Soubi started, and Ritsuka waved a hand as if to bat down the words.

"I said anything and I meant it! Just..." he took a breath. "You're sure?"

"I'd like it," Soubi said softly.

Ritsuka nodded. "Okay." He turned for the register, Soubi close behind him. He hoped that smiley clerk didn't say anything about this, because then he'd have to blush. And then he really would die of embarrassment.

Soubi

"Oh... oh god, Ritsuka, yes..."

Soubi sprawled, panting, over the bed and the couple of pillows that were lifting his ass up so Ritsuka could push an enormous dildo into it.

Life was very good, sometimes.

He moaned as Ritsuka pushed it in a little deeper. Ritsuka was going very slow, which Soubi had expected and didn't object to. This was worth savoring, the ferocious stretch as slick glass forced him open. The faint ache as it held him open, sliding deeper and deeper a tiny bit at a time.

"Nnn... oh please... ahhh..."

The muscles of his legs trembled with reaction and his breath came in deep gasps. This was just as intense as he'd dreamed it might be.

"Aah, please..."

He groaned into the sheets as the dildo slid in all the way.

"Okay?" Ritsuka asked behind him, sounding a bit breathless himself.

"Wonderful," Soubi gasped. "Incredible. Please, Ritsuka, fuck me..." He moaned, hoarse, and shuddered as Ritsuka pulled the dildo back, all his muscles slack and watery in its wake.

When Ritsuka pushed it in again, a little harder this time, he could only whimper.

It was so perfect, so sweet to lie pliant under Ritsuka and have his ass worked hard until his whole body trembled, overloaded with sensation. He could barely move for it, could only make pleading sounds as Ritsuka drove the huge dildo into him over and over.

"Soubi," Ritsuka whispered.

The sound of his Sacrifice's voice, that husky, pushed him over the edge.

"Ahh!" Soubi's whole body shook as orgasm rocked through him and muscles stretched to their limit tried to clench. "Yes! Please, yes..."

It was like being in the heart of a fire and he was too wrung out to even twitch as Ritsuka pulled the dildo free, hesitant as he tugged against the grip of Soubi's body. Ritsuka's hands rubbed gently over his back.

"You sure you're okay?" Ritsuka asked, anxious. "You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

Soubi smiled and flopped over on his side so he could tug Ritsuka down against him. "I'm very sure. That was perfect." He nuzzled Ritsuka's hair and murmured. "And you?"

Color stole over Ritsuka's cheekbones. "You're..." His fingers traced over Soubi's chest. "You look really amazing like that."

Soubi chuckled. "Mmm, so you like seeing me spread out under you and shaking while my ass stretches wide around something you're fucking me with?"

"Sou-bi!" Ritsuka was still adorable when he turned red and glared. He made a small hmph and scrunched a bit further down into Soubi's arms and muttered, "Yes."

Soubi softened in turn, the way Ritsuka always managed to make him. He kissed Ritsuka gently. "Thank you."

Ritsuka smiled, wry and sweet, and kissed him back. "Yeah, well.

"Happy Birthday, Soubi."

End

Negative Space

Hisoka thinks about how Tsuzuki is in bed. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Tsuzuki does all the things Muraki didn't.

Tsuzuki undresses him slowly, carefully, and drapes Hisoka's clothes messily over the nearest chair. Tsuzki's hands stroke over and over his body, open and gentle, soothing his skin with body-heat. Tsuzuki kisses down his thighs lightly, lips brushing the inside of Hisoka's knee.

Tsuzuki's mouth is hot and eager when it closes over Hisoka's cock, and he makes little humming sounds when Hisoka thrusts up. His fingers, stroking Hisoka's back and the curve of his ass, encourage and coax Hisoka to let himself go into slick sensation, to brace his feet and flex his hips up hard.

Tsuzuki stretches out on his stomach, contented smile as good as a purr, and squirms with pleasure as Hisoka's hands trace his body. He closes his eyes and moans, pushing his ass up in the air, when Hisoka's fingers work into him, stroking and twisting. He whimpers low in his throat when Hisoka opens him up, and spreads his legs wider.

And that's why, when Tsuzuki leans over him, Hisoka wraps his legs around Tsuzuki's hips and rocks into the hard slide of Tsuzuki's cock inside him. Why he fastens his mouth on Tsuzuki's, breathing in every gasp. Why he holds Tsuzuki close and lets the man's emotion soak into every inch of his skin. Why he whispers for Tsuzuki to fuck him harder and tosses his head back and moans openly with the pleasure of each thrust, each rush of sweet feeling.

Hisoka knows what sex is. He knows what love is. He knows what Muraki is, and he knows the difference.

And that's why he smiles as they lie together in a sweaty tangle, and strokes Tsuzuki's hair. Tsuzuki is different. Tsuzuki is his. He will never let Muraki have what's his.

End

Run Down the Night Corridor

Dark has an idea and is happy to seduce Satoshi to make it work. Porn with Characterization, I-3

This was clearly not Satoshi's night.

Dark had gotten the pendant he came for, which didn't surprise Satoshi at all, and Satoshi had stayed right on his escape trail this time. He'd found out that all that meant was that all the traps Dark set off came that much closer to catching Satoshi himself.

And now both of them lay on the floor of the museum attic, panting, having scrambled past what was left of the stair up, and Satoshi would pounce on Dark any minute now, really, just as soon as he got his breath back.

"You'd make a great thief, you know," Dark laughed, gasping. "How about it, Commander?"

"Of course I would," Satoshi grunted, levering himself up. "But that wouldn't get me what I want."

For a moment Dark's smile lost its brashness and turned old and inhuman. "What do you want?"

"Peace."

He really must be more tired than he'd thought, Satoshi told himself a moment later, to let that answer be startled out of him. He looked away, at the stacks of old frames and the light glinting on broken display cases.

It was Dark's sigh that pulled his head back around. Dark was fishing in his pocket and Satoshi tensed when he held up the pendant he'd stolen, expecting Dark to do something typically irritating like throw it out the window. Instead Dark murmured softly to it. Satoshi caught only the German for "sleep" and "time".

And then Dark strolled over and tossed the chain over his head.

"What...?"

"It won't last long," Dark interrupted. "Probably not more than a day and a night. But it should put Krad to sleep for a little while."

Satoshi's eyes widened. It shouldn't be possible to use the pendant that way. This was stretching even Dark's ability to sweet-talk other artwork. But he could feel the tension, the ache of holding off those white wings, subsiding.

This time when he spoke it was a whisper. "Why?"

Dark's mouth quirked. "Your family didn't make me to have mercy. You probably know that better than most. But," he shrugged, "three hundred years dealing with Niwas and their idiot chivalry will do things to a man."

Satoshi couldn't quite stifle a snort of laughter. One year of dealing with a Niwa, not to mention Dark, had certainly done things to him. He wasn't sure which of them he had more sympathy for.

"Hmmmm."

Dark was looking at him, now, with a rather worrying light in his eye.

"I wonder..."

Satoshi was hard put not to gape as Dark's fingers closed on his chin. "What do you think you're doing?"

"There are a lot of different kinds of peace, you know." Dark grinned.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Satoshi tried to step back, but Dark's hand on his lower back stopped him.

"Krad's asleep," Dark pointed out. "You won't get many chances like this, you know."

"I trust not," Satoshi returned in his iciest tone. It was going to be difficult to extricate himself, though, given how worn out he was from the chase and how warm Dark's hands were.

...he had not just thought that.

It was true, Dark was warm, but they'd just been running all over a building, surely that wasn't any surprise. And warmth was dangerous, it brought Krad out.

Of course, Krad really did seem to be sleeping right now.

And Dark's hands on his back were gentle, careful not to touch his shoulder blades, where he was always sore these days.

Satoshi wanted badly to pound his head on Dark's shoulder a few times. Since Dark's hand was cupping his head and Dark's mouth was on his—and how had he managed that?—Satoshi could only make a soft, confused sound.

"It's been tried you know," Dark murmured against his mouth. "Coldness. In three hundred years, everything's been tried at least twice. It never works. So why not take this while you can have it?" He chuckled. "I've lived by that for centuries."

"I noticed." It was less repressive and more husky than Satoshi had quite intended.

"Oh come on. You're Hikari. I'm an artwork. What's strange about you taking pleasure from me?"

Satoshi jerked back, at that. "I'm not like them! I won't be like them!" He glared at Dark, hands pushing against his chest.

Dark didn't let go. "I know." His mouth tilted. "I'm offering."

Satoshi relaxed warily, because Dark's smile was old and strange again. He admitted, it was... tempting. To know warmth for just a little while.

And Krad already wanted to kill Dark; it wasn't as though he could put Dark in any more danger.

Dark drew him back and kissed him again, and Satoshi let him. Dark made a pleased sound and Satoshi hmphed at him, but he did relax with Dark's hands when they kneaded over his lower back. It felt good.

He wondered how long it had been since he last felt good in his body.

His hands tightened in Dark's shirt when Dark's fingers flicked down the buttons of his own. He didn't really know where this was going, and he wasn't used to that.

"Easy," Dark murmured against his ear. "I know what I'm doing."

"That," Satoshi managed without sounding too breathless, "is what worries me."

Dark just laughed and lifted Satoshi's shirt off his shoulders. At Satoshi's sharp look, he grinned and obligingly stripped off his own, tossing it over the nearest worn picture frame. His hands felt different on bare skin and his skin felt different under Satoshi's hands and it was all very distracting. Satoshi was distantly pleased when Dark casually kicked over a stack of display drapes and eased him down into the muddle of plush and velveteen. At least he didn't have to concentrate on standing upright anymore.

He swallowed a sharp gasp as Dark's mouth moved down his throat and over his chest. "Ahh—" Dark made a smug sound, though it softened when Satoshi's hands closed hard on his shoulders.

"Easy, there, Commander." The teasing voice was soothing now. "It's just feeling. It won't hurt you."

Satoshi's laugh was harsh. "Shows what you know." Dark's hands rubbed gently over his lower back, thumbs stroking Satoshi's ribs.

"For tonight, it won't hurt you." A grin crept back into Dark's voice. "Come on, you know you want to put one in Krad's eye."

Satoshi snorted softly, but he also relaxed. He supposed he should be worried by how well Dark knew him, but, really, it was old news. What was new was how careful Dark's hands were, and how amazing the slow, wet heat of his mouth felt on Satoshi's skin. And this was all his, something he felt with a body that belonged to no one else. He leaned back into the plush curtains with a sigh.

Dark made approving noises and his mouth slid further down over Satoshi's stomach. Strong hands supported Satoshi as he shivered, back arching under the sensation. The lap of Dark's tongue over his stomach made his breath catch again and again, and he was glad when Dark's fingers undid his slacks. He might not know exactly how all this went, but he did know he wanted more.

Large, gentle hands eased his pants down off his hips and Satoshi's fingers dug into Dark's shoulders as Dark's lips brushed low over his stomach. "Dark..."

"Shhh. Easy." Dark's voice had softened to velvet in the light-striped darkness. "It's all right."

Satoshi was dizzy with sensation, with how right and wrong this was, and he couldn't find the words to say exactly how. And then he couldn't find words at all, because soft heat was surrounding his cock, slow and wet.

He was breathing in long gasps, when he remembered to breathe, and he was distantly grateful for Dark's hands, curved around his rear and back. He knew how to deal with pain. Pleasure was stranger and more difficult.

"Mmmm." Dark's lips slid slowly up his length and brushed against his head when Dark spoke. "Just feel. It won't hurt you. Not tonight."

Satoshi moaned, soft and harsh, as Dark's mouth closed around him again and Dark's tongue caressed him. It felt so good, so intense and immediate after years of holding his own senses off at arm's length. So good he didn't know if his skin could contain it all.

Even so, the end came as a shock.

Pleasure tightened fiercely around every nerve and rushed out of him in deep tremors that wracked his whole body. He thought he might have cried out; his throat felt raw. And through it all, Dark held him carefully.

Satoshi stared up at the ceiling, panting for breath as Dark delicately buttoned him back up and eeled up his body to lean over him.

Grinning, of course.

Satoshi mustered a faint sniff.

Dark laughed low in his throat and leaned down to kiss him; Satoshi blinked at how soft and light it was. "Don't close the world out, Commander," Dark murmured in his ear. "It won't work. Try the other way around, instead."

And then feathers brushed over Satoshi's bare arms and Dark was gone.

After a while, Satoshi stood up and pulled his shirt back on, brushing dust off his clothes as well as he could. He would take the fire escape down to the ground again and disperse the police. He'd have to tell them Dark had taken the pendant, because explaining why he had it and why there was going to be another fight for it tomorrow night would be... complicated. He didn't want more complication right now.

And perhaps, when he got home, just this once, he would take a long, hot bath.

Dark winged through the night, grinning. Daisuke was one huge, hot blush in the back of his mind.

I can't believe you did that, his Tamer wailed. How am I supposed to look Hiwatari-kun in the eye ever again?!

"Well, you know, you don't have to look him in the eye if you kiss him," Dark pointed out logically.

The blush-feeling heated up several degrees and Dark laughed. Daisuke freaked out so easily. Of course, sometimes this was a good thing; like when he needed to shock Daisuke enough that they wouldn't transform. But it was all in a good cause.

"You know, Daisuke, for someone with such a big heart, you don't have a lot of brain to go with it sometimes. I'm just doing my part for the happy ending."

Confusion. What?

Dark sighed. Children; the older he got the stranger this was to go through life after life. "He cares for you," he explained patiently. "You're the one who makes him change. And you care for him, too."

More confusion. Dark rolled his eyes.

"Daisuke, track me, here. If you and your 'holy maiden' love each other, I sleep again and the curse waits another generation. It's completed love that matters, right? If you and the other Tamer love each other..."

Shock vibrated through his head like a gong-stroke. But Riku...!

"Well, yeah, her too." And probably Risa if Dark was reading the situation right. Just as well; it would keep that little firecracker Riku from feeling outnumbered by the boys. Dark sighed at Daisuke's sputtering, and repeated with heavy emphasis, "For someone with such a big heart..."

After a long silence Daisuke asked, hesitantly, Would that really work. I mean... for good?

It was Dark's turn to be silent for a while. "You remember what I said about everything being tried twice? This hasn't been tried."

Not successfully, anyway. He buried that thought as deep as he could.

All right. Daisuke's determination was like a fire catching. We'll try.

Dark's grin turned wry. He doubted they'd have to try hard; Daisuke and the Hikari were more than halfway there already.

Hey, Dark?

"Yeah?"

I thought you didn't like boys. When I drew that picture for you...

"What? You expect me to let a little thing like the truth to get in the way of teasing you?"

Daaaark!

End

Over the Edge

Ikkaku likes a work-out with his captain. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Zaraki/anyone, extra-large. Porn Without Plot, I-4

Ikkaku's hands tightened on the edge of the desk as Zaraki-taichou's cock pushed into him. This was the part he liked best.

"Ahh... nn... fuck..." Every sound he made was on a quick gasp of breath, and his muscles quivered. Zaraki-taichou was huge, and Ikkaku's ass felt like it couldn't possibly stretch any more, except that more kept coming, sliding into him until he was leaning over the desk on his elbows, panting, achingly full of his captain's cock.

Ikkaku liked pushing limits, and getting fucked by Zaraki-taichou did that all right.

He felt like he couldn't move, he was stretched so hard and wide, but Zaraki-taichou was moving, pulling back and thrusting in again, deep. "Oh fuck yeah... oh yeah..." the words tumbled from Ikkaku's mouth, haphazard, just because he needed to respond somehow to how big Zaraki-taichou's cock was inside him, big enough to make his whole body shake as it pushed in and out, in and out, and Ikkaku's ass didn't even feel open because what was in it was so damn big.

The sounds Zaraki-taichou made, half moan and half growl, vibrated through Ikkakku's bones, and the feel of the scars and calluses on his captain's hand as it pumped his own cock made him come right there. He groaned as his body tried to tighten and couldn't, because Zaraki-taichou was buried deep in his ass, fucking him with short, fierce thrusts.

"Oh yeah." He lay over the desk, feeling wrung out like a towel as his captain pulled back. "Mm. Perfect end to the day."

Ikkaku lived to fight, but when it came to sex with his captain, sometimes the fighting was just a warmup.

End

Al Fresco

Aerith/Tifa/Cloud smut. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Aeris/Tifa/Cloud, sex outside. Porn Without Plot, I-3

She loved having their hands on her. The fact that they were outside, under the sun, with the scent of summer grass heavy in the air all around them just made it twice as good, which was amazingly good.

Aerith leaned her head back on Tifa's shoulder and laughed, soft and breathless.

"Mm, I can feel it when you do that," Tifa murmured against her neck, long fingers pushing deeper into Aerith.

"And I can feel it when you do that," Aerith purred back at her, and gasped. "Oh... that too." She smiled down at Cloud, stretched out with both the women straddling him, and smiling up at them sweet and open. She rocked a little against Cloud's fingers as they rubbed gently through her folds. "Mmmm."

Tifa gasped as Cloud rocked his hips up and her low moan sent a shiver straight down Aerith's spine. The way her hand tightened on Aerith's breast made Aerith squirm back against her with a pleased sound. The firm curves of Tifa's body against her back and the solid planes of Cloud's chest under her fingers were enough to make her drunk on pure sensation, even before the pleasure of their hands touching her, caressing her.

And then Cloud's fingers found just the right spot, stroking her softly, and Aerith arched, gasping, heat washing through her. Her body wrung down on Tifa's fingers and when Tifa twisted them firmly pleasure spilled over completely and burst through her like light.

She stared up at the blue sky, panting for breath, feeling Tifa's arms tight around her as Tifa ground down against Cloud, moaning, and Cloud's hands stroked over over both of them, as if he wanted to touch as much as possible.

"There's nothing better than this," she whispered, releasing the words to the summer air, to the sky and earth and the spirits of those who still watched over them.

Over all of them.

End

Better than Dessert

Pure smut. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Tsuzuki/Hisoka, Hisoka on top. Porn Without Plot, I-3

Tsuzuki made soft, breathless noises as Hisoka's fingers pressed into him, slender and strong. "Mmm. I don't really need..."

Hisoka thrust more firmly. "Be quiet, Tsuzuki. I like it."

It was hard to argue with that, especially when Hisoka had found just the right spot and was rubbing his fingertips back and forth over it, hard. Tsuzuki whined a little, rocking his hips up for more and Hisoka's soft snort of laughter answered.

Hisoka made him wait for it tonight, fingering his ass slowly and thoroughly until Tsuzuki was panting and begging softly.

"Nn... Hisoka, please... oh... oh please, more..."

"You sound like you're asking for dessert," Hisoka teased, husky and deadpan.

"You're better than dessert," Tsuzuki assured him, moaning.

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

Tsuzuki decided this must be true, because the next thing he felt was Hisoka's cock driving into him fast. He moaned approvingly, more than ready, and Hisoka finally seemed to be in a mood to oblige. He pulled Tsuzuki's hips up into the air and thrust in again, hard, fucking him with concentration. Tsuzuki pushed up to meet every stroke, loving the feeling of Hisoka's cock sliding thick and hard inside him, the jar of Hisoka's hips against his that vibrated pleasure up his spine. When Hisoka's hand, still slick, slid down to close on his cock and stroke him firmly, it was perfect, and he moaned as heat surged through him like a tide, deep and unstoppable.

When Hisoka rested, panting, against his back, and murmured in his ear, "Sure that's better than dessert?" Tsuzuki hid a grin.

"If I say yes, can we do it again?"

Hisoka's rare, open laugh was better than a dessert shop.

End

A/N: I wasn't sure whether to interpret "Hisoka on top" psychologically or, um, geographically; my Hisoka muse voted for psychologically, so here we are.

Comfort

Seiran helps Ryuuki relax from his responsibilities. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Seiran/Ryuuki, Domination/submission, “If things had gone as they should…if Seien had been my Lord…” (Yes, it's rather circular for me to write it; oh well.) Porn with Characterization, I-4, D/s

Notes: Contains consensual sibling incest.

By late afternoon, Ryuuki was drooping over his work. "Is it very bad of me to wish that Aniue had become Emperor instead of me?" he asked, mournfully.

Seiran looked up from the tea he had brought, laughing softly. "It isn't bad of you." He tilted his head, hands stilling as he regarded Ryuuki thoughtfully. "Do you need to take a break?"

Ryuuki made a wistful noise and Seiran smiled. "Very well, then." He set aside the tea set and settled comfortably on the raised seat under the windows. Ryuuki's eyes widened a little as his brother's whole bearing changed, turning straight and open and confident, the way it had been years ago.

"Come here, Ryuuki." Seiran held his hand out, and the command in his voice made Ryuuki's breath catch. He came, obediently, and laid his hand in his brother's, kneeling on the seat beside him. Seiran smiled, slow and pleased, and pulled, and Ryuuki gasped as he was tumbled down into Seiran's lap in a dishevelled sprawl.

"Aniue..."

"Stay right there," Seiran said softly, in his ear.

Ryuuki shivered and did as he was told, leaning against Seiran's chest with his robe falling open over his parted legs. A moan caught in his throat as Seiran's fingers slid over his bared thighs, stroking them further apart. He panted for breath, leaning his head on his brother's shoulder as Seiran's hands pulled his robes further open, baring more of him to be touched by sunlight and his brother. This was the way it should be. "If things had been the way they should," he whispered, "I would have served you. Obeyed you always."

Seiran's lips curved, against Ryuuki's throat. "You obey me now, little brother."

Ryuuki moaned again as Seiran's hand closed on his cock, strong and knowing. It was the middle of the day and this was his outer room. Anyone might come and see him, spread out and disordered over Seiran's lap and being fondled so openly. But Seiran's order held him where he was as Seiran's hand worked between his legs and heat curled through him.

And that was as it should be. For a little while, they could set the world right again.

Seien ruled him absolutely, and always would, and that was just the way Ryuuki liked it.

End

If Only

Seiran can't really help giving Ryuuki anything he needs. Second fic written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Seiran/Ryuuki, Domination/submission, “If things had gone as they should…if Seien had been my Lord…” Porn with Fluff, I-4, D/s

Notes: Contains consensual sibling incest.

"Ryuuki? You shouldn't be out here in nothing but a sleeping robe."

Ryuuki looked up from watching the dark water over the rail of the pavilion and had to smile. Seiran wasn't wearing any more than he was. "Doesn't that go for you, too?"

"I only came looking for you, not to stand out, contemplating the reflection of the moon." Seiran came to stand beside him, winding a warm arm around him.

"I just couldn't sleep," Ryuuki murmured, leaning into his brother. "Do you ever think... what if everything had gone like it should?"

For a long moment there was no answer; when it came it made Ryuuki shiver because the voice beside him was Seien's, sure and firm, the voice of a leader. "You rule well. Don't doubt that."

Ryuuki ducked his head. "I don't." At least not too often. "I just..." He turned, resting his hands against Seiran's chest, head bowed. "I wish I could have seen you rule. Served you as my Emperor." Demonstrated, every day, what his brother meant to him.

"Ryuuki." Seiran's voice was husky in the silvery dark. Intimate, and Ryuuki flushed a little to think that. He looked up with wide eyes as Seiran's arm tightened around him, pulling him close.

"Aniue..."

Seiran's hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over Ryuuki's lips. "Be still."

A shiver of heat ran down Ryuuki's spine and he swallowed, silent, as his brother ordered. He couldn't help a small, breathless moan, though, as Seiran tipped his chin up and took thorough possession of his mouth. He could see Seiran was smiling as he drew back.

"Turn around."

A swift shudder ran through Ryuuki as he did, and found himself caught between a pillar of the pavilion and the breadth of Seiran's chest against his back. Another shook him harder as Seiran's hands moved slowly over his body, loosening his robe, sliding down his stomach to take him firmly in hand.

"Perhaps you can see enough, this way, to satisfy you," Seiran purred against Ryuuki's bare shoulder, gathering Ryuuki's robe up over his hips.

Ryuuki moaned, clinging to the pillar for support at the feeling of Seiran's cock sliding between his cheeks. He made a wordless, entreating sound, flushed in the darkness.

"Stay there," Seiran commanded softly, stepping away toward the benches and the table with it's unlit lamp. Ryuuki did as his brother said, breathless and heated as he stood exposed to the night breeze and his brother's pleasure. And then Seiran was pressing against his back again, hands closing on Ryuuki's hips, and his cock was pushing into Ryuuki, slick and hard and relentless.

Ryuuki moaned, unable to catch his breath as Seiran thrust into him again and again, strong hands holding Ryuuki still for it. The warmth of his brother's body, caging him against the pillar, the coolness of the breeze on his bare skin, the heat of Seiran's cock stretching him open and filling him over and over, they all twined together into pleasure that wrung him out mercilessly and left him panting. He made soft, pleading sounds as Seiran drove him up against the pillar harder, tiny shocks of heat still dancing down his nerves.

Seiran groaned against Ryuuki's shoulder, his last thrusts so hard they made Ryuuki's breath catch. Even once he stilled, he held Ryuuki in place, hands stroking over him. "Sometimes," he murmured at last, "I wish this could be all there was. Just you and me."

"Yes," Ryuuki whispered, husky and wanting.

Seiran's arms closed around him, drawing him back snugly into the shelter of his brother's chest. "Since we can't have this all the time, remember that we can have it some of the time." He turned Ryuuki to face him and kissed him, slow and deep.

Ryuuki leaned into it, mouth open and soft under his brother's. "Yes, Aniue."

End

Now Must Everything, Everything Turn

Ludwig and Orpheus argue politics in bed. Perhaps three years post-canon. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Long, cool hands slid up the bare curve of Orphe's back and he sighed. "Bienenstitch was being an absolute idiot today. We need the women to take on all the jobs they can, now."

Lui stroked a hand back down to Orphe's hip. "He's a fool."

Orphe leaned up on an elbow and glared, exasperated. "Why didn't you say anything then? He dangles on your every word."

Lui arched a brow, fingers tracing the line of Orphe's hipbone. "You think I should tell him he's a fool?"

"Yes," Orphe snapped, hooking a leg around Lui's, fingers kneading Lui's shoulder.

"Then you're a fool too. However," Lui continued, calmly, though Orphe's annoyed sound, "talking to you occasionally has some effect. Tell me. Who is the king's heir?"

Orphe eyed his lover sharply. Lui lay back against the sheets, still and unconcerned. Three years ago that would have driven Orphe half mad with frustration.

It still did.

What he had learned was that Lui didn't ask questions without a purpose, though, so Orphe ran a hand slowly down his body and answered. "With the king's brother attainted, I doubt the nobles will see his children take the crown. If the king has no children... it will probably be you."

"Mm." Lui looked up at the ceiling, abstracted and detached even as Orphe's fingers caressed his stomach. "Only the fact that the queen is still alive has kept me from being named already." His eyes focused abruptly on Orphe, who had to catch his breath. "If I was only inheriting Lichtenstein it would matter far less what enemies I made."

Orphe was silent for a long moment. "If you don't speak though," he finally said, quietly, "how will you ever change them? How will you ever make the people who serve you other than fools?"

Lui's thumb stroked over the curve of Orphe's mouth and he smiled, thin and sharp. "I don't need to change them. I only need to know that they are fools and plan accordingly."

Orphe's lips parted, breath coming short as Lui's thumb stroked back over his lower lip in silent demand. "I hate that you think like that," he whispered, wrapping his hand around Lui's cock.

Lui's voice was lighter now, husky as he flexed up into Orphe's grip. "I know you do." Long hands teased over Orphe's body, swift and precise, a fingertip rubbing his entrance softly, a palm stroking slowly between his legs and up, gentle fingers coaxing and pinching his nipples. Orphe held Lui close, mouth moving over his, swallowing Lui's gasps and trading back his own soft moans. It no longer surprised him that Lui brought him to the edge first; he was simply pleased that Lui arched up into Orphe's abruptly tightened grip, arms finally locking around him.

"Orphe..." Lui's eyes closed and Orphe smiled and kissed him gently until he relaxed back against the sheets.

"You know," Orphe murmured, "if you become king..." He smiled down at Lui. "I'll still argue with you."

Lui's stomach trembled under his palm, a laugh that didn't show on Lui's face. Lui reached up, hand curving around the back of Orphe's neck.

"I'm counting on it."

End

A/N: Title from the poem "Faith in Spring" by Ludwig Uhland.

Population Adjustments

Ivan is caught in a Cunning Plan, ten times worse because By is there with him. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Ivan/By, undercover. Humor with Porn, I-3

"Ivan," By murmured in his ear, intimately. "If you don't do this, it's quite possible we'll both die. There's motivation for you, yes?"

"Have you considered I might prefer dying?" Ivan gritted through a toothy smile, trying to find room to back up.

"Why Ivan, you wound me!" By cooed.

Ivan took a deep breath and reminded himself, again, that he wasn't supposed to haul off and punch his assigned partner. "I'm in Ops," he hissed, plaintively. "How did I get assigned with you, again?"

"Ah, you're not yourself this evening," By told him with a soulful look, loud enough for the bathhouse patrons lingering in the foyer to hear. And then, very softly, "And if you don't give me a handjob right now and prove it, we'll be dead and have failed the assignment. So put your hand between my legs; it's not hard. At least," he added with a wicked grin, "not yet."

Ivan tried not to hyperventilate. Orders, he reminded himself. Duty. Not that he had the fetish for that that his shortest cousin did, but still.

Right.

He put his hand rather gingerly on the crotch of By's tightly cut trousers and nearly jumped out of his skin when By tossed his head back and moaned, hips pushing into his hand.

"Don't flinch," By ordered though still lips. "And try to look less appalled."

Ivan rubbed gingerly, trying not to show his squeamishness.

"Better." By twined himself artistically close to Ivan and breathed in his ear. "Now undo my pants. I can manage most of this myself, but you have to do some work." Ivan took in a quick breath as teeth nipped at his ear. "Just pretend I'm a woman, yes?"

"That's a little difficult right now," Ivan growled back, shoving his hand inside By's pants.

"Mmm, much better. On second thought, keep thinking whatever you're thinking."

Ivan was positive he was turning red at that purr, but maybe that would just be in character. He stroked By roughly, trying very hard not to think about what he was doing, and especially not to notice the way By moaned and rubbed against him, a lean, languid flex of wantonness.

And he really wasn't noticing By's tongue in his ear, wet and hot and soft. Not at all. End of story.

Oh God, he was taking three showers when he got home.

He froze, eyes widening as By drew taut against him, hips jerking, and something warm and wet covered his hand; he knew that texture. "I thought you said you would be acting!" he choked.

"I said I could manage most of it." By's smile was downright feline under languid eyes. "Mm, good. Maigny has stopped watching. Congratulations on being convincing enough."

Ivan bit back any answer and just scrubbed his hand surreptitiously with his handkerchief.

"You're pretty good at that, by the way." By's dark eyes laughed at him.

Three showers and a really big bottle of vodka, Ivan promised himself though the horrified haze descending over his thoughts as By urged him back toward the baths proper.

He was going to kill Miles for this.

End

The Wave that Turns the Tide

Doumeki has figured out what quiets Watanuki. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Doumeki/Watanuki, hush. Romance, I-3

Kimihiro glared at Shizuka fiercely. "You are NOT coming with me this time! Absolutely, positively, most certainly NO—"

His lecture cut off with a startled sound as Shizuka's mouth covered his, hushing him gently. Shizuka didn't let him go until he was breathless and leaning against Shizuka for support.

"Then I'll follow after you."

"Shizuka...!"

Shizuka's mouth quirked faintly. "What? I'm not quiet enough for you already?"

Kimihiro glared some more, but his lips twitched reluctantly at the old joke.

Shizuka gathered Kimihiro closer. "I'll be with you, one way or another," he murmured against Kimihiro's hair. "I'm here to protect you."

Perfectly familiar with Shizuka's world-bending stubbornness, Kimihiro pressed his forehead against Shizuka's shoulder. "Promise you won't let yourself get hurt," he demanded.

"I promise." Shizuka tipped Kimihiro's chin up and kissed him again, softly.

"Liar," Kimihiro whispered into his mouth.

"Never to you."

Kimihiro knew that was true and subsided a bit. He let Shizuka lay him back against the smooth, sun-warmed boards of the engawa and fold his yukata open, and reached up to pull Shizuka down against him. Shizuka's hands on him were strong and slow, stroking over Kimihiro's body until he arched up against Shizuka, panting and flushed.

"Shizuka!"

"Yes," Shizuka whispered to him, "I'll be peace for you."

Kimihiro caught his breath slowly in Shizuka's arms, making soft, contented sounds as one strong hand rubbed his back. As the shadows lengthened, though, he sighed and sat up. Shizuka helped him straighten his clothing and cupped a hand around Kimihiro's cheek.

"Ready?"

"Of course." Kimihiro smiled up at him, rueful. "You'll be with me."

End

A/N: Shizuka means "quiet" or "peace".

Else the Bottles Break and the Wine is Spilled

Nokoru finally figures out how to approach Suoh. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Nokoru/Suoh, futurefic, "can't seduce your best friend like you would a lady". Romance with Porn, I-3

Imonoyama Nokoru, darling of the Clamp Academy, Chairman of the High School Division, and all-around gentleman, sat and stared glumly at the top of his desk. For once there was no paperwork on it, waiting to be done; he'd finished everything.

Suoh had taken his temperature and, when that was normal, checked the weather forecast, which wasn't quite the response Nokoru had been hoping for.

The problem with seducing one's best friend, he decided, was that none of the usual methods worked. If he handed Suoh flowers, Suoh figured they were for the office and went looking for a vase and put them on Nokoru's desk. He couldn't very well open doors for Suoh, because Suoh felt that was his job, as Nokoru's bodyguard.

Best not to think about the attempted candle-lit dinner. At least Akira and Utako had gotten some use from it in the end.

So Nokoru had tried adapting his methods instead. The way to a lady's heart was to do sweet things for her. He could expand on that, surely. Unfortunately, doing anything for Suoh was difficult. Suoh never seemed to need help with the little chores around the office. He flatly refused to let Nokoru do any of the security work, on the grounds that he would wind up finding damsels in distress on the surveillance cameras and get distracted. And as for being obliging by finishing the paperwork on time...

Thump.

"Since you're in such good form today, Kaichou, here's the paperwork for the festival next week." Suoh gave Nokoru a brisk nod and went back to his own desk.

Nokoru wondered if banging his head against the new stack of papers would help any.

He looked over at Suoh, calmly absorbed in calculations and future planning and all the things Nokoru wasn't really very good at. Everything Nokoru wanted. How did Suoh do it? How did he capture Nokoru's complete attention, so easily? He was nothing like the ladies Nokoru had always delighted in helping.

Nokoru sat up straight, eyes gleaming as he replayed that thought. Nothing like the ladies. So maybe, just maybe, the approach Nokoru needed was something nothing like he used with ladies!

Right.

Nokoru stood up and marched over to Suoh's desk. "Suoh."

Suoh looked up with a faint smile. "Yes, Kaichou?" Nokoru's heart did turny-trippy things at that smile and he sternly quashed the urge to be courtly and indirect in response. Instead he took Suoh's face in his hands and kissed him.

He barely heard Akira say something strangled about tea cakes and scramble out the door, because he was paying too much attention to the way Suoh's eyes widened, the way his hand lifted and hesitated and finally settled softly against Nokoru's shoulder. When Nokoru drew back Suoh stared up at him for a long moment before finally murmuring, "Nokoru."

The sound of Suoh saying his name gave Nokoru a sweet, breathless moment of thrill. "I should have figured this out much sooner," he declared, and promptly sat himself down, straddling Suoh's legs. Suoh flushed and Nokoru laughed softly, delighted. "Much sooner." He leaned in again to kiss Suoh, and was pleased to feel Suoh's hands slide slowly up his back.

"Nokoru," Suoh repeated, husky this time, "not here."

"All right, then," Nokoru agreed, sunny, and stood, grabbing Suoh's hand to haul him up, too. "How about my room?"

Suoh looked amused and resigned as Nokoru towed him down the hall, waving cheerily to Akira as they passed him, coming back with a tea tray.

"We'll be back for tea later," Nokoru assured him. "Probably."

Akira turned bright red and Suoh groaned. "Nokoru..."

Nokoru just laughed. In fact, he had a hard time keeping himself from laughing all the way across campus, just because he was so brilliantly happy. He positively pounced Suoh into bed, once he had the bedroom door closed behind them.

Suoh went with good grace, mouth quirking as he settled Nokoru more comfortably over him. "Never have been able to resist you, I suppose."

Nokoru was laughing softly, again. "You probably shouldn't tell me that right now."

Suoh looked up at him, eyes serious, and lifted a hand to run through Nokoru's hair. "You can have anything you want from me," he stated quietly. "You know that."

That struck Nokoru silent and breathless. "Suoh," he whispered, and leaned down to kiss him again, more passionate than ever but slow this time. Suoh gave it all back to him and smiled.

Nokoru felt like he couldn't speak above a whisper any more, and it was Suoh's name he said, over and over, as he undid Suoh's clothes, kisses following the parting cloth over Suoh's skin. Suoh arched under him, gasping as Nokoru's hands curved around the sharp line of his hips and Nokoru's mouth closed on his cock. Nokoru thought, distantly, that Suoh always knew him, knew what to do for him, but most of him was taken up with the texture of Suoh's skin under his fingers and the weight of Suoh between his lips and the gift of Suoh's body, stretched out and taut, under the scarf of sunlight from the window.

When Suoh moaned, husky, shuddering under Nokoru, it was enough to make him dizzy.

Nokoru twined himself tightly around Suoh, burying his head in Suoh's shoulder, and Suoh's fingers combed slowly through his hair.

"I hope you don't try to seduce ladies like this," Suoh said, at last, so solemnly that Nokoru knew he was teasing.

"No," he answered, softly. "Only you."

Suoh's arms folded around him. "Good."

End

Through the Sleepless Nights

Hisagi gets a chance to speak with Kensei after the final battle. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Kensei/Shuuhei, second meeting. Drama with Fluff, I-3, Spoilers for the Turn Back arc

The first time Hisagi Shuuhei met Muguruma Kensei it had been in the aftermath of a fight. Maybe it was fate that their second meeting was also the end of a battle. To Shuuhei, it felt a little like a chance to start again.

"Muguruma-taichou... I mean..." And to put his foot in his mouth again, apparently. Shuuhei cleared his throat and settled on, "Muguruma-san."

Muguruma's mouth quirked fleetingly, and he glanced down at his very civilian clothes. "Yeah, not a captain any more. Heard you were, though." He clapped a hand on Shuuhei's shoulder. "Good work."

Shuuhei made a throw-away gesture. "Only acting."

Muguruma's hand turned over, knuckles rapping Shuuhei's shoulder. "Hey. None of that. Have some pride in yourself." His smile flashed again. "Not that I'm in a position to chew you out any more, I guess."

"That's not true!" Shuuhei flushed as Muguruma's brows rose, and he glanced down. "I remembered you," he said, quietly. "I'm here because I wanted to live up to what I remembered."

Muguruma's gaze traveled over Shuuhei's cropped sleeves, the leather bands around his right am and throat. Finally his fingers rose to brush over the 69 on Shuuhei's cheekbone. "Yeah?" His voice was husky. "I'm glad. We didn't think anyone in Soul Society remembered us well."

Shuuhei turned his head just a little into Muguruma's hand, aware his ears were probably bright red. "Some of us did."

Muguruma glanced over to where Nanao was talking to Yadomaru, book clasped tight to her chest, eyes bright, and his smile lasted a little longer this time. "So I see." His hand cupped Shuuhei's cheek for a breath, thumb stroking Shuuhei's cheekbone. "Well, come on then. Tell me about it while we get this mess cleaned up."

Shuuhei noticed the stares of his division, as he walked next to the man he'd once thought would be his captain, and knew he was smiling too.

End

Coals and Ink

Rukia and Orihime have some soft, quiet moments together. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Rukia/Orihime, grooming as foreplay/a sign of affection. Romance, I-3

Rukia sighed happily as the soft brush stroked through her hair. One of the things she liked best about being assigned here, or at least about staying with Orihime, was having someone to brush her hair in the evenings. It reminded her of growing up, when the girls had saved broken combs to wash in the canal and do each other's hair with.

It wasn't at all the same when the Kuchiki servants did it.

She was nearly purring with contentment when Orihime stopped and patted her shoulder. "There."

"Okay." Rukia scrambled up off the pillow and turned to take the brush. "Your turn."

It still made Orihime blush a little and Rukia shook her head, rueful. "You have beautiful hair," she reminded Orihime.

"But people say it's so loud colored," Orihime murmured.

"Ichigo's hair is loud," Rukia corrected firmly. "Yours is beautiful." She stroked the brush carefully down the silky length. "Arisawa likes it, doesn't she?" Rukia smiled. "And your brother?" At Orihime's faint murmur admitting that, she nodded. "And so do I."

"Thank you." Orihime's voice as soft.

Rukia gently brushed the hair back over Orihime's shoulder and leaned in to kiss the curve of her neck. "You don't need to thank your friends for something like that." She wrapped her arms around Orihime, pleased when she leaned back into Rukia's hold.

"Thank you anyway." Orihime smiled over her shoulder, the real smile this time.

"Well. You're welcome, then." Rukia ran her fingers through the warm, shining fall of Orihime's hair and over her throat, and turned her chin gently to kiss her again. "Very welcome."

The way Orihime turned to cuddle into her, arms sliding around her waist, was all the thanks Rukia needed. "It's been a long day for everyone," she murmured into Orihime's hair. "Come to bed?"

Orihime blushed for real this time and nodded shyly, and Rukia lifted one of her hand to kiss the fingers before tugging her to her feet. "Come on then." Glancing aside, a little shy, herself, she added, "I'll make sure you sleep well."

The hair brushing wasn't the only thing she liked about staying with Orihime.

End

Overdetermined

After it's over, Hiruma tries again to convince Kid of the value of wanting things. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Hiruma/Kid, dreams. Drama with Porn, I-4, Spoilers for the Christmas Bowl match

The young man who was very careful to think of himself as Kid leaned against the wall and nodded at Hiruma's arm. "How did you manage that, anyway?"

Hiruma grinned, all teeth. "It's all in how much you want it." He wriggled his fingers at Kid, a bit taunting.

Kid snorted. Amazing how fast something turned into an old argument. "For some, I guess that works."

Hiruma pushed away from the wall and glared. "It works if you fucking stay with it. Are you going to spend your whole life half-assed?"

Kid looked away.

Hiruma's growl didn't surprise him, but the hand in his hair did, pulling him around and down to meet Hiruma's mouth on his.

"You're a fucking idiot and it drives me fucking crazy to watch." The words were muffled but fierce, fierce as the heat of Hiruma's body against his.

Fierce but not careless. Hiruma was angled carefully away from Kid's right side. It felt strange. Almost unbalanced. Not that he got much time to think about it.

"You need to want something, or how the hell do you tell you're alive?" Hiruma's fingers flicked open Kid's pants and dove inside. His hand closed on Kid's cock, long and competent, just like they closed on a ball. On a dart.

On a gun.

Kid couldn't stifle the sound he made, and Hiruma's mouth swallowed it, tasted it. Curved.

"I know you love it," Hiruma breathed against his ear. "Love knowing you're this good. You wouldn't be out here if you didn't."

Kid's good hand worked against Hiruma's shoulder. "Just want to be with friends," he protested, husky.

"Then fight, damn it!" Hiruma's fingers coaxed him and Hiruma's voice shook him. "With us, for us, against us, it doesn't fucking matter! That's what we're all out here for!" His mouth pressed against Kid's throat, hot and wet. "All you have to do is want it hard enough and never fucking stop."

"It hurts," Kid whispered, head tilted back against the wall, eyes shut hard.

Hiruma's hand tightened, stroked firmly, making heat climb Kid's nerves. His voice was low. "That's the only way to make it as good as it can be."

Kid groaned and hauled his arm out of the sling, pulling Hiruma tight against him. He could feel him laughing as he caught Hiruma's mouth and kissed him back and pleasure wrung him out until the world wavered in front of his eyes.

The first thing he said, when he recovered enough breath, was, "Ow."

Hiruma was still laughing against his neck. "Yeah, well." He pushed away and rapped Kid lightly on the chest. "You ever want someone to play with, remember I'm here."

A helpless laugh shook Kid, and he pulled Hiruma back for another kiss, never mind the twinges.

Maybe he'd see how good it could get.

End

Reach and Grasp

Shin and Sena have a roll in the grass, both literally and figuratively. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompts: Shin/Sena - the smell of fresh grass and Shin/Sena, size differences. Porn with Fluff, I-4

"Ooof!"

Sena huffed the heavy scent of the grass out of his nose and smiled wryly. Shin-san was more careful when they were just playing around with no padding, but getting tackled was still getting tackled.

"If you cut inside my line, you need to make it tighter," Shin-san said in his ear. "Otherwise you're at just the right distance to catch."

And Shin-san was never really just playing.

Sena nodded, still a shade breathless. "Yes, I see." And then Shin-san's hand started to slide away from his chest and he got a lot more breathless. There really was a difference, without their full uniforms, and he couldn't help squirming just a little, under the weight of Shin-san's body.

Shin-san paused. "Sena?" His hand stopped and spread out against Sena's stomach. "Do you want me to?"

Sena blushed hotly. Shin-san just out and said things like that! Sena cleared his throat and murmured, "Um. Yes?"

Shin-san also didn't waste time and Sena gasped as warm fingers undid his pants and slid them down. The short grass tickled his bare skin, but only until Shin-san's hand moved in. Sena pushed back into Shin-san's body and spread his knees wider, hot with the feeling of that large, powerful hand between his legs. "Mmm. Shin-san."

Shin-san nibbled on his ear and Sena laughed. Any way Shin-san touched him felt good, but it was the little things like that, the ones that were actually playful, that made him happiest. And when Shin-san's whole body covered him and strong fingers wrapped around his cock, it made heat shiver down Sena's spine. Feeling Shin-san's hips grind against his rear, and Shin-san's cock sliding between his cheeks, Sena finally moaned out loud. "Shin-san... the bags. Are they close enough...?"

Shin-san stretched out an arm and Sena was, right at this moment, really glad that Shin-san had such a long reach. "Yes." Shin-san's tongue ran up his neck one more time. "Hang on a minute."

Sena thought, a little light-headedly, that Shin-san was the one hanging on to him, even as he rummaged through the bags, but he wasn't quite far gone enough to say that out loud. When Shin-san's fingers worked into his ass, slow and slick, the words unraveled anyway, and Sena just panted for breath, hips flexing a little between those fingers and the strong hand between his legs. When Shin-san's fingers curved and pleasure spiked through him, Sena's reserve finally gave way.

"Nn, Shin-san, fuck me!" Later he would blush over that, but right now all he felt was Shin-san's hands and Shin-san's mouth against his neck, lips curving slightly.

"Okay."

The hand between his legs tightened, lifting his hips higher, and then Shin-san's cock was pushing into him and Sena just sprawled in the grass, moaning as it stretched and filled him. He gasped, breathless, as Shin-san slid out and back in, fucking him slowly; he loved the feeling of this, the hardness of Shin-san's body braced over his, the brush of Shin-san's chest against his back, the heavy heat of Shin-san's cock in his ass. Words tumbled out of his mouth, more and yes and good, and Shin-san drove into him deep and hard until hot pleasure wrung Sena out and left him panting.

Shin-san's slow, hard thrusts never hitched, and he fucked the tightness of Sena's body until Sena was limp and moaning under him. When Shin-san came, Sena only knew because of the way he gasped, the way his arms curled tight around Sena. Sena smiled and closed his arms over Shin-san's so he wouldn't pull away, and they lay in the warm grass like that for a while.

Sena couldn't imagine getting a whole lot more content than he was right now.

He did kind of hope that he didn't play Shin-san on turf, this year, because he had a bad feeling that going down nose-first into the smell of cut grass would cause some embarrassing reactions after today.

When Shin-san's mouth brushed the nape of his neck, though, he decided it would be worth it.

End

Full to Overflowing

Arriving in high school, Kirihara gets a nice welcome back from Sanada. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Sanada/Kirihara, size queen. Pure Smut, I-4

Akaya moaned, rubbing against the pile of towels he was currently bent over, and again as large hands tightened on his hips.

"Hold still, Akaya."

The deep, velvety purr from behind him brushed a shiver down Akaya's spine. "Yes, Sanada-san," he murmured, husky, and gasped as Sanada-san's cock thrust into him deeper. "Ohh..."

The day couldn't get much better than this. It was a new year; he was a Regular on the high school team; everyone else had gone home and Sanada-san was fucking him, hard and big, stretching Akaya open perfectly. "Mmmm. Oh, harder..."

Sanada-san laughed. "Demanding, aren't you?" Strong hands lifted Akaya's hips higher and Sanada-san drove into him hard.

Akaya gasped, breath hitching. It felt so good to have Sanada-san's cock filling his ass over and over, stretching him mercilessly wide on every thrust. The heat set Akaya panting, approval and entreaty tripping over themselves on his tongue. "Nn, yes... so big... mmm, please, more..."

"Haven't found your limits yet, hm?" Sanada-san asked with a teasing edge. "Good." He pushed Akaya down firmly against the towels, holding him still as he shifted over Akaya and rode him, fucking him fast and rough.

Akaya's words dissolved into breathless moans as Sanada-san gave him exactly what he wanted and hot pleasure tightened low in Akaya's stomach. The thickness of Sanada-san's cock worked his ass ruthlessly, making his whole body tingle in response, making him feel intensely, incredibly full until, at last, the fullness was more than he could take and fire rushed down his nerves. He bucked helplessly, groaning as the bigness of Sanada-san's cock inside him kept his body from wringing tight, drawing it all out until he was totally limp from pleasure. It didn't take long before Sanada-san stilled, over him, and slow hands ran down Akaya's back.

"Mm. Welcome back, Akaya."

Akaya grinned, hearing the smile in Sanada-san's voice, and wriggled a bit, pleased with the hint of soreness in his ass. "Glad to be back."

Very.

End

Softer than Velvet

Tatsumi likes to see Watari all tied up. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Tatsumi/Watari, shadow-bondage. Sheer Porn, I-4

Watari moaned as shadows pulled his legs wider apart, coiling around them to hold them there. "Tatsumi..."

"Yes?" Long fingers ran up his inner thighs, gentle and cool and unspeakably teasing, stroking just behind his balls.

Watari squirmed against the shadows, which of course did no good whatsoever. His hands stayed stretched over his head and his legs stayed lifted and spread while Tatsumi ran a slow fingertip over his ass and between his cheeks. Husky, Watari murmured, "Will you please just fuck me already?"

The low light glinted off Tatsumi's glasses as he raised his head and smiled at Watari, slow and pleased. "No."

Watari whined faintly and shivered as Tatsumi fondled his entrance. "Why not?" His tone turned wheedling. "It was just one little potion, and it wore off in three hours!"

"Oh, it's not that." Tatsumi leaned down and closed his teeth on the inside of Watari's thigh, making him buck with the rush of heat. "I just enjoy watching you like this."

Watari's breath came shorter and his eyes widened. "Oh."

The assurance that there was no simple way out made the whole thing hotter and Watari moaned openly, pulling helplessly against his bonds as Tatsumi caressed his skin, taking his time. The shadows slipped aside, making way for their master's hands but never loosening, and Watari was panting harshly for breath by the time Tatsumi leaned down and kissed him.

"Mm. Now."

Watari cried out as Tatsumi's cock pushed into him, slick and hard, stretching him fiercely. After the slow handling, that ferocity was a wild relief and he couldn't stop the cries vibrating in his throat as Tatsumi fucked him, shadows lifting him higher, spreading him wider. He came without Tatsumi ever touching his cock, nearly screaming with the intensity of sensation as it rushed through him and wrung out every nerve. It seemed to go on for a long time, and, even after, the clasp of the shadows holding him open and Tatsumi's long, rough thrusts as he finished sent tiny aftershocks of heat up his spine.

When Tatsumi finally let him go, easing him gently back down to the bed, Watari grinned up at him.

"Can we do that again some time?"

Tatsumi's smile this time was smug. "Indeed."

End

Moving Down the Streams of My Lifetime

Sohryu frets over Tsuzuki's safety and does what he can to protect him. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Souryuu/Tsuzuki, protecting what's most precious. Drama with Porn, I-3

"You really don't have to worry about Hisoka," Tsuzuki assured Sohryu, tagging anxiously after the dragon back to his rooms.

"He's ill omened," Sohryu snapped, glaring straight ahead. When was Tsuzuki going to start learning how to be careful?

"I'm sure it wasn't him," Tsuzuki persisted, following through the fountain room.

Never was clearly the answer to Sohryu's question, and he sighed. Neither of his children had given him a quarter as much trouble as his master. He rounded on Tsuzuki, hems flaring out with the speed of his movement, and caught the man's shoulders. "Have better care for yourself," he scolded. "This world is not as well protected as it once was."

Tsuzuki stood still and trusting between his hands, smiling. "But you're still here."

Sohryu fought not to slump in defeat. Had he done his job too well? Was that why his master wandered around in this mooncalf innocence?

But he could hardly do less. Not for Tsuzuki.

A hand touched his chest and he looked up to find Tsuzuki smiling more softly. "It will be all right. Believe me."

Sohryu looked aside. "All right," he muttered, finally.

Tsuzuki made a happy sound and promptly hugged him.

Sohryu snorted and crooked his fingers at the door to bid the lock turn. He should never have let Tsuzuki get the idea that it was all right to be so familiar with him, even in private. And, to be honest, he knew that one bark of reprimand would make his master back away, conciliatory.

But then Tsuzuki would look at him with sad eyes.

He was a fool, Sohryu decided as he swept Tsuzuki up, folding his master in strong arms and soft layers of cloth, safe the way he always should be. He settled Tsuzuki against the cushions of his bed and wrapped himself around him, hair slipping down to shield Tsuzuki from everything outside.

"You've been sleeping poorly," he stated, fingers tracing the faint shadows under Tsuzuki's eyes.

"I can't stop thinking about some of our recent cases," Tsuzuki admitted, mouth tightening.

"Hm." There were several ways to deal with that, but it would take some time to produce enough sweets to do it. In the meantime, Sohryu supposed he could use the other way all the shikigami shared. He set his fingers under Tsuzuki's chin and lifted it, kissing Tsuzuki firmly. Tsuzuki gasped, hands tightening on Sohryu's sleeves for a moment before relaxing. His lips parted and he made a soft sound as Sohryu's tongue swept into his mouth.

Sohryu undressed Tsuzuki swiftly and undid his own sashes, shedding the layers of his robes with a shrug the better to wind around Tsuzuki. Tsuzuki was pliant for him, skin flushed and eyes hazy, and Sohryu thought that Tsuzuki wanted the peace of exhaustion as much as Sohryu wanted to secure him that peace.

He slid into Tsuzuki on long, slow thrusts and Tsuzuki made breathless little moans each time, legs straining wider until Sohryu's hands kneaded down them gently. "Relax," he told his master. "You say I'll take care of things. So let me."

Tsuzuki's smile was sweet and fragile and Sohryu gathered him up, kissing him with passion and concentration until he cried out.

When Tsuzuki finally stilled in his arms Sohryu stroked back his damp hair and brushed a kiss over his forehead. "Sleep," he whispered, weaving his power into the command, and felt Tsuzuki catch hold of the magic, climbing down it into rest. He sighed with a shade of relief; that only ever worked when Tsuzuki let it, and he could be so foolishly stubborn sometimes.

He watched Tsuzuki sleep, stroking his forehead to smooth the lines away, tender here as he could not afford to be outside the doors. Whatever it took to protect Tsuzuki, he would do it. He'd known that from the first.

Whatever it took.

End

Information Wants to Be Free

Ginji and Ban have sex on a sunny afternoon. Porn Without Plot, I-4

"Nnn... Fuck, right there... Harder!"

Ginji moaned, head tipped back, hair darkened with sweat, and tightened his hands on Ban's hips. His cock, dark and slick in the afternoon light, pushed hard and slow into Ban's raised ass and they both groaned.

"God, Ginji, fuck me, will you!" Ban's back was drawn in a taut curve as he pushed up into his partner's hands, panting against the harsh, white sheets.

"Mmm, but I like going slow, Ban-chan." Ginji's smile was sweet and bright as he rocked his hips back and thrust again, pulling Ban into it so he groaned low and husky, hands fisting on the pillows. "You feel good."

Ban moaned and cursed in a senseless mix of languages, legs spread achingly wide as Ginji knelt behind him and fucked him slowly. On every stroke Ginji slid into Ban's ass so deep that the tight curve of it was cradled up against Ginji's hips. Ginji's voice threaded through Ban's, soft and husky, so good, love you, always, please, so good Ban-chan.

The flex of Ban's body, his parted lips and half-closed eyes, said that he liked the slow fucking, lazy and drawn out like the summer afternoon itself, liked the easy slide of Ginji's cock in and out of his ass until he was panting, beyond any words. That was when Ginji reached down and wrapped long fingers around Ban's cock.

Kazuki smiled and folded his arms on the splintery windowsill and rested his chin on them. He liked watching them; even from across the street, the two of them glowed, dark and golden in the sunlight.

He rather thought he would describe this to Juubei and Toshiki, in bed tonight.

End

Hanging Upside Down

Ban is having a bad evening dealing with his ghosts. Shido chooses to help. Angsty Porn with Characterization, I-4

Ban had always known his memory was kind of weird. Or maybe it was his imagination. He blamed the jagan. To make visions, he had to know at least the key points clearly, had to envision them himself.

He remembered things he'd never experienced.

Things he had experienced, he couldn't forget.

There were days he thought that was the curse.

Which was why he was outside, in a nice dark, empty alley, instead of upstairs in the room he and Ginji were renting. Well, promising rent on anyway. Any day now.

Tonight, though, even money couldn't distract him from his fucking memory. He truly hoped Himiko was doing better than he was—was having a nice memorial ceremony, maybe, while Ban did his damnedest to forget.

There was a rustle at the mouth of the alley and Ban pried an eye open to see the damn monkey trainer. Hell. "What are you doing here?"

A soft snort answered. "Came by to make sure your bad money sense didn't have Ginji sleeping on the sidewalk. Again."

"Eh." Ban fished for a good retort about freeloaders and gigolos but it wouldn't quite come so he just waved a hand at the tiny landing above. "Feel free, mother hen." He took a slow drag on his cigarette, hoping this time the damn nicotine would cut in like it was freaking supposed to.

"Midou?"

Ban opened his eyes all the way to find Fuyuki way too close. He dropped the cigarette, but he figured it was probably too late. To night vision like Fuyuki's, the glow would have shown his face clearly.

"What happened?"

"Long fucking day, all right?" Ban sighed. "Go talk to Ginji. He's fine," he added as an afterthought, because all the ex-Volts could get kind of crazy about Ginji, not that he didn't understand how that went.

"When you aren't?" Fuyuki sounded skeptical and Ban silently turned over a few of his favorite Italian curses, because where did the monkey trainer get off being so damn perceptive? And he couldn't walk away from the stairs because that would make Ginji come after him and see him like this. A hand closed on his shoulder and Ban jerked; Fuyuki was definitely too close, and Ban planted a hand on his chest to shove him back.

A large, warm hand on his shoulder, ready to shake him or pull him close; a broad, solid chest under his palms.

Ban fiercely stifled the sound that tried to get out of his throat and forced his eyes open, looking up at Fuyuki, fixing the goddamn present in his mind.

Always taller than he was.

Ban's breath caught behind his teeth, and he didn't know what was in his face but it made Fuyuki frown. "Go see Ginji," Ban said, roughly. "Fuck, why do you care? Acting like everyone's big brother just because you're—" he bit back the word older. Fuck. He wasn't even talking to Fuyuki, was he? A tired laugh escaped him, breaking in the middle.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, warm and sure, and Fuyuki said, slowly, "Ban." His voice was deep and firm, like he had a right to call Ban's name like that.

But while his mind spat, Ban's body leaned into Fuyuki's without his permission. He wanted it so much, to have someone alive to call and chivy and scold him. Too much. Just when he most needed a smart mouth, to piss Fuyuki off and make this into just a fight like any other day, he was too damn tired to find the right words. And Fuyuki saw too damn clearly. And...

And Fuyuki was kissing him.

More than just kissing him. Fuyuki's hand was sliding up into his hair, cradling his head, tipping it back so Fuyuki's mouth closed comfortably over his. Fuyuki's arm was around him, drawing him away from the wall and into the solidity of Fuyuki's body.

Ban's senses all betrayed him. It felt so much like what might have been, and he wanted that too much tonight. Couldn't push it away, even when it was just another damn illusion.

"You're an idiot," Fuyuki murmured against his mouth, and Ban could feel the other man's lips curve. "And a brat."

This time, Ban couldn't stop the harsh, wanting sound in his throat, or the moan when Fuyuki pulled him in tighter. He slid a leg around Fuyuki's, pushing against his hip, asking with his body since his mouth was busy with Fuyuki's tongue in it. He wanted to feel what it could have been like, what there hadn't been time to feel before.

Fuyuki made a thoughtful sound against his mouth and slid a hand down Ban's body to close between his legs. Ban rocked into it, gasping.

"Easy," Fuyuki murmured, fingers stroking Ban's cock through his jeans, gentle like he was with his damn animals. "Easy, Ban."

Easy for him to say. Ban whined a little with relief when Fuyuki got his zipper open, pushing into the warm hand as is closed around him. Fuyuki pressed him back against the wall again, and the feel of a taller, broader, older, body against his made Ban moan. It was so close to what had been, and the firmness of Shido's hand on his cock pulled all of a kid's fantasies out of the past and set them on fire. Ban rested his head back against the brick, gasping. "Never got a chance..."

Shido was quiet for a moment before he nodded. "All right," he said against Ban's ear. One last, slow stroke and his fingers left Ban's cock, slid down the back of his jeans instead, pushing between his cheeks.

"Ahhh!" Ban was shaking against Shido's chest and he didn't care. His whole body was tingling with the slow rub of strong fingers against his entrance. "Fuck, yes..."

"Shh, easy Ban." The light from the street outlined the wild hair of the head bent over his and Ban closed his eyes to keep that image as wet fingers worked into him, slow and rough. He didn't try to keep back his moans anymore, just hung on to the shoulders that more years than he'd lived had filled out and let himself drown in sensation, the feeling of sure, gentle fingers just like the ones he'd known finally touching him the way he'd wanted years ago, of being held tight and fucked firmly and a warm mouth on his swallowing the sounds he made. When he came those fingers pushed into his tightening body hard, rubbing him slowly inside, and the name he groaned was caught under a kiss.

The night came back slowly, the prickle of brick against his back and the tug of Shido's hands pulling up and fastening his jeans. Ban made a faintly grumpy sound and Shido snorted.

"Really an idiot." His lips pressed against Ban's forehead and he said quietly. "Go on up to Ginji." He stepped back and Ban could see his crooked smile in the dim light. "He'll chase the ghosts away, won't he?"

"Damn monkey trainer," Ban muttered, half-heartedly. It wasn't until Shido's figure was a shadow in mouth of the alley that he added, "Thanks."

The streetlights caught Shido's face as he turned his head briefly, and then he was gone. Not like a ghost, though; Ban's ghosts never left that quietly.

Ban's ghosts were never that kind to him.

He stomped up the stairs as firmly as he could, grumbling under his breath just for the familiarity of it. Their little room was bright after the heavy night outside, and golden with Ginji's smile as he looked up.

"Ban-chan."

Ban smiled. He was well and truly trapped by this, however much he growled and snapped. He supposed it wasn't that surprising that fellow inmates were kind; Ginji tended to rub off on you.

"Got the flyers done?" he asked, and pulled the door shut on memories for another year.

End

Machinations

Mokkun gets in a snit, and Masahiro takes advantage of this. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Guren/Masahiro, not a pet. Porn with Fluff, I-4

It was amazing how hard someone as small as Mokkun could stomp.

"Can't believe... total idiot... pet..."

Masahiro sighed. "Come on, Mokkun," he interrupted the grumbling. "He didn't realize you were a mononoke, so I had to tell him something."

Mokkun's silky tail lashed. "I am not a mononoke!" He glared up at Masahiro as they walked—and stomped—down the breezeway to Masahiro's rooms.

"Yes, but you look like one," Masahiro pointed out, sliding his door closed behind them. "And we're just lucky you also look a bit like a fox otherwise we'd just have wasted time trying to calm the man down."

There was a flash of red and Guren stalked back and forth across his room. "I am not a pet," he growled.

Masahiro grinned. Finally. "Nope, you're not." He stepped into Guren's path and wound his arms around him.

Guren blinked down at him. "What?" His hands came to rest easily on Masahiro's back.

Masahiro laughed. "You're not a pet. You just spend a lot of time as Mokkun." His eyes danced as he leaned against Guren. "You're harder to kiss, that way."

After a long moment, Guren stated, half disbelieving, "You did that on purpose."

"Just a little," Masahiro admitted. "Besides, you're cute when you're Mokkun and annoyed."

"You are definitely Seimei's grandson," Guren told him, dryly. Masahiro sniffed at that, and Guren chuckled and drew him closer, leaning down to kiss him. Since that was exactly what Masahiro wanted, he made a contented sound and didn't bother to protest further.

Guren's hands were still large on his body as he carefully undid Masahiro's robes and slid them away, though not as large as they had seemed years ago. The years had also taught Masahiro where the fastenings of Guren's armor were and he sighed with pleasure when they were finally skin to skin.

"It's much easier to hug you without all that," he murmured into Guren's shoulder.

"I could go back to being Mokkun, if you want to hug me," Guren teased, voice low, and chuckled at Masahiro's glare.

"Don't you dare." Masahiro twined his arms around Guren's neck and pulled him down to another kiss, for emphasis. Guren answered him quite satisfyingly this time, and eased him down onto his bed.

"So?" Guren leaned over him, brushing his hair back, smiling the way he only did for Masahiro. "What do you want, tonight?"

It still made Masahiro blush just a little to say out loud, but he'd decided that, if it made Guren happy to give him exactly what he wanted, the least he could do was say what that was. "I want..." he wet his lips, "I want to feel you. Inside me."

"Anything," Guren murmured, gathering him closer. He kissed and stroked him until Masahiro was pressed tight up against him, making soft, wanting sounds, and finally turned him gently, rolling the quilt up under his hips.

Masahiro sighed, and then laughed as Guren traced delicate, teasing patterns over his rear with his claws. "Guren!"

"Hm?" Guren inquired innocently, and, before Masahiro could answer, spread his cheeks open and dragged a slow tongue between them.

Masahiro moaned, a slow shudder of heat rolling through him and leaving him lax as Guren worked his entrance with wet laps and thrusts. He loved the way Guren prepared him.

He loved it more, though, when Guren's body covered his, hot and solid against his back, sheltering him. Strong arms wound around him and he snuggled back into Guren's chest with a soft gasp as Guren's cock rubbed between his cheeks. "Mmm, Guren..."

"Yes," Guren murmured in his ear, husky, and Masahiro moaned again as Guren's cock pushed into him, thick and hard, stretching and filling him.

It felt so good, feeling Guren in him, with him, cradling him in his arms as they moved together and heat braided through his nerves, and there was nothing at all to keep him from letting go because Guren had him safe.

The way Guren gasped his name might be the best part of all.

They lay together for some time, catching their breaths, before Guren said, "You know, if you want me to change forms, all you have to do is say."

Masahiro grinned. "But teasing you is more fun. Besides," he added, when Guren growled against his shoulder, "I know how much you like being Mokkun."

Guren was quiet at that, for a bit, and finally kissed Masahiro's neck. "I like being what you need," he said, softly.

Masahiro turned in his arms and held him tight.

"You are."

End

Without Fear

Crossover of Petshop of Horrors and Labyrinth. D seduces the fading Goblin King into the shop. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: D/Jareth, what dreams are made of. Not Exactly Romance, I-3

D looked around, fascinated. The doors of the shop went to many strange places, but they rarely took him into dream realms. The strange proportions of the granite walls, in this place, the odd plants and creatures, all spoke to him of dreams, though, and he wondered why he was here.

The shop doors never opened at random.

"Who are you?"

The man who stepped out of the air was... not exactly a man. D tilted his head. "I am called Count D. And you?"

After a moment's hesitation the man said, slowly, "I am Jareth, the Goblin King." His thin lips twisted. "Without much of a kingdom anymore, I admit."

So. D looked around, curiously. "This world seems robust," he murmured, asking without asking as was only polite.

The goblin waved a dismissive hand. "The world, yes. Creatures live here. But my magic was broken." His eyes were distant and dispassionate as he added, "I suspect I will fade soon."

"Much that is magic can be mended," D suggested delicately.

Jareth laughed, bleak and sharp and wild. "I haven't the strength any longer to find anyone who can sustain me."

"What is required?" D asked, quiet and even.

Pale, feral eyes focused on him. There was long hunger in them and D spread his hands, serenely, offering.

Given the setting, he was not entirely surprised when Jareth stepped closer, sliding one hand into his hair, tipped his head back and kissed him. He spread his hands against Jareth's chest, acquiescent. The shop would not have shown him this place if he were not needed.

"Normally," Jareth murmured in his ear, tone ironic, "I would sweep you off to my castle at this point. I'm afraid that's not possible, right now."

"Quite all right," D murmured, suppressing a smile. "I'm sure we can find something suitable." He took a small step back, hands stroking over Jareth's shoulders, down his arms.

Jareth looked at him for a long moment, unreadable, before he snorted softly. This time the twist to his mouth was wry as he followed D, step by step back through the door. Across the hall another door fell open and D backed toward it, short, quick steps that turned Jareth's gaze predatory.

When Jareth swept him up and laid him down on the huge, low bed, D had to stifle an outright chuckle. He didn't know whether his newest acquisition understood what was really happening, yet, but he was starting to think that the Goblin King might not care. "You've caught me," he said, softly, fishing for what it was, exactly, that Jareth needed.

"Yes," Jareth kissed down the line of D's throat. His hands stroked over D's body, tracing the lines of him faultlessly through the fabric of his robes. "Give yourself to me," he whispered.

"Yes," D answered, opening his mouth under Jareth's kisses, pressing against him, answering his hands. It was no more than he did for any animal in the shop, in the end.

Jareth kissed him fiercely, caught him close, lay over him as if to shelter, or perhaps separate, him from the rest of the world, and D was pliant and willing in his arms. And finally, Jareth unwound, over him, breathing out, and slumped against D's shoulder.

D smiled, soft and sad, and stroked his wild hair back, kissing his brow gently. "We'll find you proper sustenance, here," he murmured.

"You are of my kind." Jareth didn't lift his head, voice low and undone.

It was D's turn to smile a bit wryly. "Somewhat. My line is made of darker stuff than dreams, even yours."

Now Jareth lifted himself and looked down at D, eyes gleaming. "I am servant to your dreams, for now."

"My dream is your life." D met those sharp eyes steadily and they gentled. Jareth lay down again, beside him, acquiescent in his turn, slowly relaxing into sleep.

D lay awake and turned over in his mind plans for finding his newest guest a suitable human.

End

Feline

Tezuka coaxes Atobe into an afternoon of relaxation. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Tezuka/Atobe, languid. Porn with Atomosphere, I-3

It was Kunimitsu's personal discovery. If Keigo was petted for long enough he unwound, forgot to be driven and arrogant, and relaxed into a languid sprawl of limbs, lounging against Kunimitsu's chest for hours at a time without protest.

"Mmmmm." Keigo pressed closer as Kunimitsu rubbed the back of his neck slowly. "Keep doing that."

Well, perhaps he didn't entirely forget about being imperious and demanding.

Keigo opened one eye, looking up at Kunimitsu with lazy suspicion. "What's so amusing?"

"Nothing." Kunimitsu leaned down and kissed him gently.

"Mmm. Well good," Keigo murmured against his mouth, twining slow arms around his shoulders. "Now make love to me some more."

Kunimitsu laughed quietly. No, Keigo never really forgot to be imperious. "Very well." He stroked his hands down Keigo's body, slowly, savoring the sleekness of his skin and the solid warmth of him. Keigo arched wantonly into his hands, nearly purring. He was irresistible, like this, openly reveling in sensuality, and the sound he made as Kunimitsu spread his thighs apart went straight to Kunimitsu's groin.

He kissed down Keigo's throat, open mouthed, tasting his skin, and Keigo tipped his head back, stretching out against the sheets and making little murmurs of pleasure as Kunimitsu's fingers gently opened him again.

When Kunimitsu slid into him, slow and slick, they both moaned.

The hot grip of Keigo's body closed around him and Kunimitsu's hips found their own rhythm, steady and hard. Pleasure shivered through him and he gasped as Keigo smiled, eyes dark and drowsy, and rocked up into his thrusts. He closed a hand on Keigo's cock, stroking firmly, wanting the entire pleasure, and watched Keigo draw taut, abandoned to sensation, and moan as his body clenched around Kunimitsu's cock.

He caught Keigo up, lifting him, driving into him faster, deeper, and Keigo's lazy purr was the last thing it took to send pleasure burning through him, wild and sweet.

They settled back against the pillows, twined around each other, and Kunimitsu rubbed a slow hand up and down Keigo's back, soothing him back into perfect relaxation.

If he was careful, they could be here all afternoon. And Kunimitsu tried never to be careless in anything.

End

Elemental

Kirihara's view of Yukimura. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Yukimura/Kirihara, elemental. Character Sketch with Porn, I-4

When Seiichi-san made love to him it was pure and intense and wiped Akaya's mind clean of everything but the body over him, inside him, the hands spread against his back, the dip of Seiichi-san's dark head over him.

And the heat.

It almost wasn't even pleasure. It was sensation, the trembling of nerves screaming a pure signal of yes, the tingle in muscles stretched and flexed, the throb of his cock rubbing against Seiichi-san's stomach with bright flashes of heat that burst up his spine until they were light behind his eyes.

It was Yukimura Seiichi.

And Akaya gave himself to it completely, gladly, opening his hands to let the rest of existence flutter away and closing them instead on the firm, long muscles of Seiichi-san's arms, letting his body flex and buck, wild and abandoned, as Seiichi-san's cock drove into him again and again, letting himself scream as the heat finally condensed and exploded through his whole body.

It was incredible, hot and brilliant and overwhelming. There was nothing else quite like it, and it wrung Akaya out like a rag every time, left him breathless and lax and a little dazed. But it was the next part he thought he might love the most.

Because Seiichi-san gathered him up, held him tight and shuddered against him, whispering Akaya's name. And Seiichi-san didn't let go, just slid back and close again, cradling Akaya against him and kissing him softly until Akaya was pliant and trembling in his arms, more undone by the tenderness than by all the wild sensation. This was what he clung to.

It was Seiichi-san.

End

Things to Wear

Yukimura really, really likes the way Sanada looks in a kimono. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Yukimura/Sanada, traditional dress. Porn Without Plot, I-4

Seiichi liked how Genichirou looked in traditional clothing. The falling lines of a kimono or even yukata displayed Genichirou's broad shoulders and straight height, reminded everyone who watched of the power waiting in that still, composed figure.

The crisply wrapped fabric hid the long muscles that a shirt and shorts showed, but that very thing invited anyone who had watched Genichirou play, who had seen that much of him uncovered, to imagine the sleek, hard flex of his body from shoulder right to ankle, all of one, bare piece under the cloth.

And wrapped cloth was so easy to draw aside.

He swallowed Genichirou's husky sound, pressing him back against the smooth wood of the wall, one hand slipping inside Genichirou's clothes to tug loose his equally traditional underthings and close firmly around his cock.

"Seiichi," Genichirou gasped, hips pushing into Seiichi's hand, "I should be inside."

"You should be right here," Seiichi murmured against Genichirou's throat, drawing his tongue up the taut line of tendon. He stroked his thumb back and forth over Genichirou's head and smiled as Genichirou's hands worked on his shoulders. "Your grandfather can hold this reception without you for a bit."

He caught Genichirou's mouth again, stroking Genichirou's tongue slowly with his own, deliberate contrast to his demanding grip on Genichirou's cock. He savored the openness of Genichirou's moan, and the texture of his cock in Seiichi's hand, hard and thick, and the way Genichirou leaned against the wall and let his hips buck into Seiichi's hand as he came.

Seiichi took in the sight of Genichirou flushed and breathless, kimono pulled open over strong, bare thighs, and stored it away to see him through the next couple hours of a rather boring reception. Genichirou's mouth quirked and he shook his head as he re-ordered his clothes before pulling Seiichi close for another kiss.

"I should stop having you invited to occasions when I have to dress like this," he murmured into Seiichi's mouth.

Seiichi laughed. "Don't you like the effect it has?"

Genichirou's stern expression was spoiled by the gleam in his eyes. "Afterwards."

"I suppose I can save up, then." The outside lamps flashed on teeth as they smiled at each other and turned to go back inside.

End

Knowledge of Good and Evil

Bakura and Malik share a goal and a plan and a bed. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Yami Bakura/Malik, partnership, We know when to kiss and we know when to kill. Porn with Characterization, I-4, implicit spoilers manga ending, pet theories and mythology references

Bakura had decided months ago that Malik was prettier when he was sane. He was prettier still spread out on white sheets, glowing and golden in the sunlight, quite the equal of anything Bakura ever set out to steal. He'd be an ornament to any tomb, except that Malik never went underground any more if he could possibly help it. This room was on the third floor and the narrow windows, made to let in breeze but not sun, had been knocked out into two wide ones that showed pale-baked roofs falling away into the town's outskirts.

His host's father's dig was just over the hills, and when Bakura thought about the man's likely reaction, if he'd known just why Ryou had asked to come along on this trip, it amused him mightily.

Malik amused him more, though.

"So?" he murmured, dragging his tongue up the inside of Malik's thigh, watching Malik shudder through lowered lashes. "You've found a true seer?"

"Think so," Malik gasped, fingers tangling in Bakura's hair, tugging him up between Malik's legs. "She told me my own past; the parts only we were there for. She says she can see the path of souls."

Bakura took his time, despite the tugging, nibbling his way up Malik's thigh, nipping the soft skin and leaving faint marks. He liked the way Malik drew taut and spread his legs wider. "Good," he finally purred, lips brushing Malik's cock teasingly. "Because I'm not going anywhere until I find out the fate of my people's souls, and why the one who enchained them wasn't devoured by Ammut." He lapped slowly at Malik's head, savoring his open moan, and the flex of fingers in his hair. "And whether, after his further sins against you, he was somehow released again. And if the gods don't like it," he smiled up the length of Malik's body, pleased with the heat in Malik's eyes as they met his, "they can bite me." He suited action to idiom and closed his teeth delicately around Malik's cock, chuckling low in his throat as Malik arched off the bed, driving deeper into his mouth.

"Yes," Malik moaned, eyes sliding shut as Bakura sucked slow and hard on him. "Yes, you know..."

"I know." Bakura flicked his tongue back and forth over Malik's head, pleased with the way Malik bucked under him, the sounds he made. "I know the need to be sure," he purred to his lover, stroking him with the words, too. "To watch the knife go in and the very last breath leave and know that it's done."

Malik cried out, thrusting hard into Bakura's mouth as he came completely undone, and Bakura rode it out, watched him, sating his own hunger on Malik's abandon in his hands. He slid up Malik's body, as he fell back panting, and coiled around him. "We'll go tomorrow and find out," he murmured in Malik's ear.

Malik smiled, slow and lazy and sharp, and wound his fingers back into Bakura's hair, drawing him down to a wet, open kiss.

"Yes."

End

A/N: Author's pet theory is that Ishtar tou-san is a reincarnation of Akunadin. This is supported by nothing but the fact they look quite alike, but it's no stranger than anything else.

Kiss for a Lifetime

Anzu wants someone she can understand. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Anzu/Shizuka, hand-holding, the very first time. Fluffy Romance, I-3

It took her a while to come to grips with it. After all, Yuugi was the sweetest boy she knew and his other self was, well, he was exciting. But the fact was, she didn't understand them, any of them, and she wasn't at all sure that Duelists understood normal people, either.

And the thought of kissing someone she didn't understand made her twitch.

And Honda was a goof, and Otogi-kun was too close to a Duelist in his own ways, and Mokuba was a cute kid but he was way too young!

Shizuka, though... Shizuka was sweet and brave and amazingly strong, after all just look at all she'd been through without ever even flinching. And Shizuka smiled at her and leaned against Anzu's shoulder when she laughed, and took her hand so trustingly it made her want to hold the girl close and protect her from the whole world and listen while Shizuka told her what courage looked like.

Not the courage of dragons and swords, but the courage of reaching for an earthly dream and standing firm under earthly sadness.

And that, she supposed, was how she'd come to be holding Shizuka, marveling at how slight she felt in her arms, feeling warm arms slipping around her neck, and kissing Shizuka as gentle and slow as she knew how.

Which wasn't very much yet, the knowing that was, but it was their first time, after all. They'd get better.

Although, looking at Shizuka's shy smile, feeling the softness of Shizuka's hair under her fingers, she wasn't actually sure that was possible.

End

Not My Fault

Sequel to Population Adjustments. Ivan finds himself further embroiled in the aftermath of the Cunning Plan, rather to his confusion. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: By/Ivan, he doesn't know how this keeps happening. Porn with Humor, I-3

He really didn't know how this kept happening.

"By," he said, proud of how even his voice was, "we're not on an assignment, right?"

"Right," By agreed with a lazy smile full of predatory inquiry.

"And we're not under any kind of surveillance, right?" They had damn well better not be, or he'd... well, he'd think of something.

By made an affirmative sound to this, too, leaning closer.

"So why exactly," Ivan persevered, "am I sitting on your couch with my pants undone?" The sternness of the question was a bit undercut by his gasp as By's fingers stroked down his length.

"Because it's fun," By declared with a downright wicked smile. Before Ivan could ask who for, By leaned in all the way and nibbled on his neck and Ivan couldn't quite stifle the moan as a shiver of heat ran down his spine to jolt between his legs. "See?" By had the evilness to say.

"Dammit, By..." Ivan took a breath, hand clenching in By's tunic, and it would be nice if he could convince himself that was a prelude to throwing the other man off the couch. "I like women," he managed, a bit plaintively.

"Of course you do." By fingered his cock, smiling agreeably all the while. "But tastes do change as we mature. I mean," he waved his free hand airily, "just look at Lady Alys."

Ivan's brain short circuited as he attempted frantically not to imagine his mother in relation to any kind of sex whatsoever, a job made harder these days by Illyan, and just thinking that made his eyes cross all over again. By took ungentlemanly advantage of this to straddle Ivan's lap and wrap a hand firmly around him. And Ivan was a guy, after all, was it his fault if that made his hips rock up and grind against By's? No, it was not. Not at all.

He would think of a justification later, for his hands to be spread against By's back, pulling By tight against him, and for the sound he made into By's mouth.

He would have a harder time explaining the way his hands slid down to cup By's ass and knead it while By was getting both their clothing out of the way and stroking their cocks together. If he bothered explaining. Maybe he wouldn't. It felt good, hot and slick, and By was laughing low in his throat, wicked and knowing, the way none of the girls Ivan had ever been with had, well, barring Lady Donna, so maybe it was just a Vorrutyer thing. And, anyway, look how that had ended up...

The rush of pleasure unraveled Ivan's thoughts.

When he could put words together sensibly again By was handing him a towel and a smirk. Ivan growled at the latter and took the former, cleaning himself up with as much dignity as possible.

By didn't even bother fastening his pants, and still managed to look collected, which Ivan thought was cosmically unfair. "One of these days I'll get you to stay the night."

Ivan gave him a dire look. "Don't even think it."

As By threw back his head and laughed, a tiny voice in the back of Ivan's head reminded him that By liked challenges quite a lot. Ivan ignored it firmly. It wasn't his fault that he kept winding up in these situations.

He really didn't know how it happened.

End

Once There Was a Man

After it all ends, Treize and Zechs speak of why it happened and where to go next. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Zechs/Treize, after the fire. Philosophy with Porn, I-3, inexplicit series spoilers

Zechs sighed against Treize's shoulder. "If all the world were like you, maybe it would work."

Treize's chuckle vibrated through his chest. "There's a weight to put on me."

Zechs snorted. "Most of your soldiers would think it true and possible." He leaned up one one elbow, looking down seriously. "You took me in too, you know. I thought you could control everything. That you could shape all of OZ because you shone so bright."

Treize's lifted a hand, running his fingers through Zechs' hair. "I hoped I could," he murmured.

Zechs slipped back down with an exasperated sigh. "Your own fault, then, if I blamed you personally."

"Perhaps." Treize drew him closer. "But you know that war will never leave us. That being so, should we not seek to make it a bright, just thing?"

"I don't think we can," Zechs whispered, hand spread against Treize's chest. His mouth quirked, a shade bitterly. "That being so, should we not seek to see that people remember how hideous it is for as long as possible before we have to learn again?"

"But you know that brightness, that nobility. You've felt it." Treize's voice was low and intense with the perfect surety that captured everyone around him, including, Zechs had to admit, himself.

"I've felt it," he agreed slowly, careful not to meet Treize's eyes while he was feeling his way toward a truth. "But... not in war. Only in... in duels of honor." He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, and repeated quietly, "If all the world were like you, then yes."

It was Treize's turn to lean over him, smiling ruefully. "Perhaps you're right." While Zechs stared at him, taken quite by surprise, he wound his fingers into Zechs' hair and kissed him, slow and deep. "Not even our honor and strength could stop the dishonorable from ruling," he murmured into Zechs' mouth. "So. Perhaps, instead, we must serve those who do stop them."

Zechs relaxed all at once, light-headed with relief that he would not be called on to fight that battle again, that his oldest friend would hear reason. "I will serve that ideal willingly," he whispered back, hands sliding up the powerful line of Treize's back.

"Mmmm." Treize's smile turned soft and pleased as he leaned down to draw a slow tongue up Zechs' neck. "Good."

Zechs took in a quick breath, pulling Treize tighter against him. This was sure; this was present and now, the weight of Treize's body over his, the heat of his hands, the slide of his tongue against Zechs', urgent and intense in ways Treize hid when it was just words, and Zechs answered with passion.

He cried out when Treize's cock slid into him, thick and hard and certain, whole body drawing taut with heat, relaxing into the sure simplicity of it.

"We will serve only the world's light, then," Treize murmured against his ear, nipping gently. "Tend the fire of honor and determination and commitment. The purity that I always loved in you..."

Zechs' arms tightened and he moaned, husky, as the velvet of Treize's words and the hard edge of his conviction stroked him to orgasm and wild heat shuddered through him. Treize arched over him, thrusting harder, head tossed back as he groaned. "Yes!"

Zechs gathered him close again, as he relaxed, and laughed soft and helpless against his shoulder. "And after it all, here I am again, in your hands," he whispered.

"Perhaps we are in each other's hands," Treize murmured back.

Zechs smiled, letting himself hope.

End

Remember and Forget

Post-series (probably) Juumonji considers the fix he's gotten himself into. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Eyeshield 21, Juumonji/Sena, protective. Character Sketch with Porn, I-3

It was ridiculous. It was absurd. Six months on the same team, no matter what kind of hell they'd gone through together, should not be able to wash away over two years of bullying. But there it was.

He'd gotten used to protecting Sena.

He stepped out on the field, for his own pride and anger and future, and he put his body and bones on the line to guard, well, the quarterback, yeah, but mostly Sena. Because Hiruma could take being downed and Sena...

Okay, Sena could take it too. Sena's back was still slim, under his hands, but it was hard these days, solid with the muscle that let him be tackled by Banba and Yamato and Shin fucking Seijuurou and still stand back up and run again.

But it was his job to protect Sena.

So, yeah, maybe it was ridiculous that he was so careful, drawing Sena against him, that he tried to be gentle when he kissed Sena. But he couldn't help it!

Sena was good at getting him to forget that, though.

"Mmmm, Kazuki... Kazuki, more..."

Sena's eyes were hazy and dark, and the arch of him under Kazuki was abandoned. When Sena lost himself, when he forgot politeness and titles and diffidence, he was the most amazing thing Kazuki had ever seen, and he lifted Sena up, thrusting into him deeper. The tight heat of Sena's body around him made him moan.

"Fuck, Sena..."

Sena smiled up at him, innocent and sweet and wanton. "Yes."

Kazuki gasped and his hips drove forward, fucking Sena hard, and Sena's open moan as his body wrung tight sent a shudder down Kazuki's spine and it didn't stop there. Pleasure rushed out, tingling in his fingers and toes, pulsing with every beat of his heart, and his heart was pounding. Sena sighed, head laid back, and Kazuki's hands tightened fiercely on his ass.

He really, really couldn't help it, though, when they settled back down against the bed and he wrapped his arms around Sena carefully, protectively, even if it did make Sena laugh a little.

He didn't mind as much that it made Sena cuddle into his chest, and he buried his face in Sena's hair with a gruff sound. It was absolutely ridiculous.

He wasn't going to let go.

End

As Red as Any Blood

Fai snaps a bit and forgets to be diffident. Kurogane approves of this. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Fai/Kurogane, territory. Fang-Porn with Characterization, I-3, slight spoilers Nihon arc

Fai stalked through his set of rooms to Kurogane's, growling under his breath. He tried not to do that but he couldn't actually help it right this moment.

He knew that Kurogane had oaths he needed to keep, that Tomoyo-hime was his liege and would be until one of them died; they'd talked about that before agreeing to settle in Nihon. Most of the time Fai didn't mind at all. Tomoyo was a charming woman with a delightful sense of humor and he had her to thank for significant parts of his sanity. They had wonderful chats about their favorite grumpy ninja.

It was just that he'd already been hungry, today, and one of the courtiers had made a remark about there being nothing Kurogane wouldn't do or give his master, and it had grated on Fai's soul.

Kurogane was his.

Kurogane was also leaning against the wall beside his open balcony screen, a simple robe tied loosely about him, reading quietly. He looked up when Fai more or less slammed the hall screen closed behind him and demanded, a bit irately, "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm hungry." That was the least of it, but it was somewhere to start, and something they both understood by now.

Kurogane snorted and laid his book aside. "Eat, then, before you start throwing tantrums." He held out a hand, only to blink as Fai stalked across the room and slid down to straddle his lap, winding his arms around Kurogane's shoulders and nuzzling his throat. "Fai?" His hands settled slowly on Fai's back.

"Really hungry." He licked slowly up the line of Kurogane's neck, distracted and husky with the scent of his prey. "Mmm." His arms tightened around Kurogane and he pressed closer.

Kurogane was breathing quickly and Fai could feel his pulse against his lips. "Go ahead." He tipped his head back.

Fai purred with pleasure and bit down, twining tight around Kurogane. Richness filled his mouth, warm and satisfying, and he let his hands wander over Kurogane's shoulders, down his chest, stroking under the robe, and back up to comb through his hair. "Mine," he murmured indistinctly against his prey's throat and sucked firmly.

The way Kurogane shuddered under him, the sounds he made as his hands kneaded slowly against Fai's back, were as satisfying as his taste.

Gradually the heat of shared life smoothed away the corners of Fai's temper and he settled comfortably against Kurogane, nuzzling his throat and lapping softly until the blood stopped. He felt calm and content, and a tiny corner of his mind thought that was strange. Most of him, though, was just pleased to lie against Kurogane's chest and feel large hands stroking up and down his back.

"Better?" Kurogane asked, quietly.

Fai smiled. "Much." He felt Kurogane's lips curve, in turn, against his temple.

He drifted off like that, warm and happy, and when he woke up the next morning and tried to be apologetic Kurogane just snorted at him and pulled him close, one hand cupping the back of Fai's head, to murmur one word in his ear.

"Yours."

End

Man of Mouth and Hands

Ichimaru reflects on why he's with Aizen. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Aizen/Ichimaru, fealty. Character Sketch with Porn, I-4

Gin stood at the broad window, looking out on Hueca Mundo. "Such a strange place," he mused.

"Strange enough to regret coming?" his captain murmured from the couch behind him, and Gin turned, lifting a brow.

"You brought us here," he pointed out in a tone of innocent surprise.

"Answer me, Gin." Aizen's tone was cool, but his mouth was quirked faintly.

"I just did." Gin leaned against the sill, head cocked teasingly. They played this game of perfect respect and sly defiance, and he always looked forward to seeing how Aizen would end it.

After a moment, Aizen chuckled and held out a hand, beckoning and commanding, and Gin came to it. He let himself be pulled down to the couch and laid back on the thin, soft cushion, smiling.

"So you'll follow me anywhere," Aizen stated, hands sliding under Gin's coat to find the ties of his white hakama.

"Everywhere," Gin agreed, and smirked as Aizen lifted his bare leg over the back of the couch. He wiggled his toes cheerfully and listened for the stiff, stifled silence of the two arrancar girls who attended the door, who were just as infatuated with Aizen as little Hinamori had been. Likely to the same end. The high couch back would block most of their view, but that was all right. For most people, imagination was stronger than reality.

Not that he really needed extra reason to moan as his captain's cock pushed into him, but it added a little something.

Other thoughts faded away, though, as Aizen spread him out and fucked him, held him all the while with intense, inhuman eyes, sharp enough, heavy enough, to plane the surface of space and time flat. Gin gasped under them. Every thrust rocked him, curled his spine, and Aizen's strong, square hands held his thighs stretched as wide open as they'd go.

Aizen never held back in any way, and Gin loved that.

"Making sure of me?" he asked, husky.

"I'm quite sure of you," Aizen murmured back.

Gin finally shuddered and gasped with the rush of heat through him and Aizen smiled, intent and unruffled. He fucked Gin firmly for another few moments, keeping him opened up, before drawing back. Gin could never tell when, whether, Aizen had come, and he loved that control, too.

Aizen leaned over him, one hand curving around the back of Gin's head, carelessly gentle, and kissed him, and the sound Gin made, low in his throat, had nothing of teasing in it—only surrender.

Picking up the conversation as if they hadn't paused, Aizen murmured, "So, will you be the first before my throne?"

Gin savored the ambiguity of the question and looked up into his leader's brilliant, distant, immediate gaze for one bare moment, stripped and exultant.

"Yes."

End

Hearthfire

Future indefinite. Byakuya and Renji; the heat and cool between them. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Byakuya/Renji, cold and hot. Character Sketch with Porn, I-4

Renji lay stretched out on his stomach, on his futon and gasped as long fingers traced slowly over his tattoos.

"Byakuya-san..."

Cool lips brushed over the nape of his neck. "Shhhh."

Renji buried his face in the crook of his arm, pretty sure he was blushing like a girl at the reassurance or command, whichever it was. He knew Byakuya wasn't actually much older than him—a few decades was very little, by the standards of nobles and shinigami—but that icy control always made him feel older. Not that "ice" was something a person would normally think of in a moment like this, but it wasn't that kind of cold... He lost the thought as fingertips slid down his spine and there was a little pleading in his voice this time. "Byakuya-san!"

He sighed as body heat covered him, Byakuya's weight settling against his back, steadying him. A palm stroked up his neck, moving his loose hair aside, and a hot tongue slid over the marks on his shoulders and he moaned softly. They'd been here for over an hour and every inch of his skin was touch-sensitive by now. "Byakuya-san, please..."

"So impatient, Renji," Byakuya murmured.

In bed, at least, he could be pretty sure that was teasing and not reprimand. And, yes, Byakuya's mouth was curving against his skin and he heard a faint chiming. Turning his head he saw Byakuya dipping his fingers in the small cup of oil set beside them in the sun to warm. His breath came deeper and he couldn't help squirming a little as Byakuya's fingers brushed his ass, stroking that oil over himself. Anticipation caught in his throat as Byakuya edged his legs apart with his knees and long, slim hands closed on his hips, holding him still.

And then Byakuya was pushing against him, into him, fraction by fraction, so very slowly, and Renji's hands closed tight on the quilt under him. He moaned openly as Byakuya's cock slowly, slowly stretched him open, slid into him, and he had no clue how the man managed to go so slow. His hips would have been bucking up helplessly if Byakuya hadn't held them down. "Byakuya-san!"

Byakuya paused, he actually stopped, and asked, only breathless, "Yes, Renji?"

His ass tingled with the fierce, slow stretch and his whole body throbbed with want. "Don't stop!"

"Very well, then," Byakuya murmured, husky, and he was moving again, until he was all the way inside and Renji was panting for breath past the flood of sheer sensation.

Renji didn't know how long Byakuya fucked him like that, slow and controlled, sliding and thrusting in and out until Renji's whole body was hot and undone with it and he was moaning wordlessly into the quilt. When he spilled over the edge into orgasm, he almost didn't notice; it was just a change in the texture of pleasure that was already drowning him.

He did notice when Byakuya shuddered, buried deep inside him, and moaned, and dazed as he was that sound still made his breath catch. He smiled as Byakuya settled against his back again, arms sliding around him.

"You're warm," Byakuya murmured against his shoulder.

"Yeah," Renji whispered.

He knew it wasn't body heat Byakuya was talking about.

End

Seven Pleats

Hibari likes watching Yamamoto. Yamamoto rather likes to be watched. Atmospheric Porn, I-4

Kyouya sat, composed, at the side of a large, airy room, tea cradled between his hands, and watched the Rain.

Yamamoto's forms shifted one into the next, beautiful and inevitable as flowing water. Afternoon light slid down his sword edge, soft and bright. The still focus in his eyes rested on perfect nothingness as he stepped, turned, cut. Kyouya's gaze followed every move and line of him, drinking in the pureness of it along with the bitterness of the tea.

Finally, Yamamoto finished and collected himself in the center of the room, breath deep and slow.

And then he crossed the room in four strides and knelt swiftly over Kyouya, knees spread to either side of his thighs, hands closing around his face. Kyouya laughed low in his throat, balancing his tea deftly as their mouths met in a hard, hot kiss.

"It's very hard to concentrate when you watch me like that," Yamamoto murmured.

"Perhaps I should join you, next time, instead."

Yamamoto laughed out loud. "Now that would really distract me." He stroked his thumbs over Kyouya's cheekbones.

Kyouya set his tea precisely aside and slid his fingers into Yamamoto's hair, pulling him back down to another kiss, deep and intent; he'd been patient for long enough. He nipped sharply at Yamamoto's lower lip and his eyes narrowed with satisfaction at the way Yamamoto's breath caught.

He slid his hands down to pull Yamamoto's top open and off his shoulders, purring into Yamamoto's mouth; the lean, balanced hardness of Yamamoto's body was always a pleasure to taste.

"Kyouya..." Yamamoto's hands spread against his back, pressing him closer, and Kyouya ground his hips up against Yamamoto's. A slow, sharp smile curled his lips; Yamamoto was hard against him. Yamamoto growled softly, and long, strong hands curved around Kyouya's ass, kneading hard.

He liked it that Takeshi wasn't any more patient than he was.

He twisted to push Yamamoto down against the tatami and snorted at the bright laugh that answered. Sometimes he thought Yamamoto saw the whole world as a joke. He pulled free the ties of Takeshi's hakama, unraveling the folds and pushing the loose cloth down long legs.

Takeshi reached for his belt, smiling, eyes hot and sharp as Kyouya's kimono fell open around him. "I hope you came prepared," he murmured.

Kyouya sniffed. "Since when am I not?" He fished a small foil tube out of his kimono sleeve.

Yamamoto's smile brightened. "That's my Kyouya."

Kyouya arched a brow. "Indeed?" He leaned over Takeshi and closed firm teeth on his throat, pressing slick fingers into him.

"Ah!" Takeshi arched under him, hands closing hard on Kyouya's hips, pulling him in tight. Kyouya savored the sounds he made, breath coming faster as Takeshi rocked against him, moving with the thrust of his fingers, head tossed back.

"Kyouya, now." The husky growl was back in Takeshi's voice, and Kyouya mouth quirked as he settled between Takeshi's legs and pushed into him, and yes, this was what he wanted—Takeshi's fierce response, open and true, the heat in his eyes, the hard strength of his hands on Kyouya's hips, demanding he move and thrust.

They moved against each other, sharp and swift, low moans twining around each other like heat around pleasure. The sensation of driving into Takeshi's body coiled up Kyouya's spine, exquisite as the thrill of fighting, perfect as the beauty of Takeshi's sword. They fucked each other hard and intent, hands stroking and gripping.

When Takeshi moaned, a shudder raking through him, Kyouya couldn't take his eyes away; the taut line of Takeshi's body drew him down and down into heat until he fell after, muffling a groan against Takeshi's throat.

They lay tangled together, panting, and Kyouya slowly noticed Takeshi's fingers stroking through his hair and snorted. Takeshi's chest shook with laughter, under him.

"One of these days I'll convince you to take it slow."

"Not when I've been watching your sword," Kyouya pointed out.

"Well, no, probably not."

He could feel Takeshi's lips quirked where they pressed against his temple and smiled faintly against Takeshi's shoulder. He doubted he'd be willing to give up Takeshi's pure ferocity any time soon.

He doubted Takeshi would, either.

End

Where On Your Palm is My Little Line

Gokudera has a thing for Tsuna's Dying Will Flame. Pure Smut, I-4

Watching Tsuna fight was thrilling, but it was nothing to the shiver that went down Hayato's spine standing in the middle of Tsuna's office on a quiet evening and watching gentle, smiling eyes turn deep and serene under the flare of the Dying Will Flame.

"Boss," he said, low and husky, "please." He could hear the open want in his own voice, and it made him flush, but it was only the truth. And he never gave less than the truth to Tsuna.

Tsuna stepped close and closed his hands around Hayato's face, drawing him down a little to a slow kiss. "Yes," he murmured into Hayato's mouth, and Hayato's cock twitched.

Tsuna's hands found his hips and urged Hayato to back up, step by step, until the backs of his thighs hit the overstuffed arm of Tsuna's office couch. Tsuna drew back a little and smiled, soft and knowing with the concentration of his Will. His hands slid up Hayato's arms to his shoulders and turned him around. Hayato's breath shortened.

"Easy," Tsuna murmured in his ear, as his hands undid Hayato's belt and pants, eased them down off his hips, flattened against his stomach and slid up under his shirt, and Hayato made an agreeing sound even as he gasped. Tsuna's hand kneaded his stomach, gentle, easing tension away, and Hayato moaned softly.

"Please," he whispered.

Tsuna pressed a kiss to his neck. "Bend down, Hayato."

Tsuna only ever called him by his name when they were like this, and it made him even harder than he already was. He was panting as he bent down over the arm of the couch, squirming just a little against the cool leather.

"Nnn..." His spine arched taut as Tsuna's fingers pressed between his cheeks, slick, rubbing over his entrance slow and hard. "God... Boss..."

"Shh, easy Hayato," Tsuna told him, voice low, one hand kneading his lower back, soothing. Hayato moaned as Tsuna's fingers slid into him, sure and knowing, and again, louder, as they warmed. Knowing that he was being fucked with Tsuna's Flame, even just this soft shadow of it, made him hungry and wanton. He loved being opened for Tsuna, and he was sprawled over the arm, legs spread wide, panting, by the time Tsuna stopped.

Hayato turned his head and watched their faint reflection in the wide window across the room, him bent over with his bare ass high in the air and Tsuna behind him, stroking gentle hands over his rear. He made a little sound of anticipation as Tsuna reached to undo his own pants, and thought Tsuna smiled down at him.

He was more than ready for the stretch of Tsuna's cock pushing into him and groaned low in his throat with the hot slide. "Yes... oh God, yes..." He whimpered as Tsuna pushed in deep and pulled back slowly, stroking across places inside that made his hips jerk until Tsuna pressed them down firmly against the couch's smooth leather. That made him gasp. "Boss, please!" he begged, "please, fuck me!"

Tsuna laughed a little, husky. "All right. Relax for me."

Hayato obeyed, shuddering. It was so good to surrender himself to his boss like this, and when he did...

He moaned, open and breathless, as Tsuna's cock drove deep and hard into his ass, and then again, and again. He was saying something, how good it was, asking for more, but he wasn't paying attention to his own words. He was paying attention to how hard and sure Tsuna fucked him, eyes fixed on their reflection, on Tsuna standing behind him and looking down at him, powerful and serene as his hips flexed, thrusting him into Hayato over and over.

When Tsuna hitched him up higher on the arm of the couch and drove in deeper, fireworks burst behind Hayato's eyes and he made a harsh, wordless sound as he came, body wringing tight around the hardness of Tsuna's cock inside him. He loved it that Tsuna didn't slow down, kept fucking him, holding him over the arm, keeping him open. He loved the sound of it when Tsuna moaned, throaty, burying himself deep in Hayato with short, hard jerks.

And he loved the way Tsuna's hands stroked over his bare skin, easy and gentle, even as Tsuna leaned against the couch and Hayato, panting.

Watching Tsuna's focus when he fought was nice. Getting fucked with that same intensity was miles better. Feeling Tsuna's strength with every throb of his ass and Tsuna's tenderness with every brush of fingers was best of all.

Hayato smiled. He loved late nights at the office.

End

Untamable

Dino helps Hibari figure a few things out. It doesn't take Hibari long at all. Porn with Characterization, I-4

"So how is Tsuna's family doing?"

Kyouya gave him a rather flat look. "Why ask me?"

"Because you'll know." Dino grinned. Sometimes he thought if he didn't remind the world that Kyouya was part of that family no one would ever dare. Except perhaps Mukuro, who did it for different reasons.

"They're well enough."

Dino's lips twitched as he watched Kyouya, sitting composed on his couch with a book open in one hand, pointedly ignoring him. It was taking longer, these days, for Kyouya to go from "noticing" to "biting", but that didn't mean Kyouya made it easy for visitors.

Finally Kyouya uncrossed his legs and Dino's attention zeroed in again. Kyouya was about to either answer him or reach for his tonfa.

"Sawada's started making overtures to Girasole."

"The Giglio Nero's allies." Dino sat back, eyes narrowed with satisfaction. This was why he came to Kyouya; to hear the news that went deeper than Yamamoto being accepted to a Pacific League team or Gokudera's latest argument with the Tokyo University mathematics department. "So he's started."

Kyouya shrugged as if it were no concern of his. Dino eyed him.

"And how are your studies coming? Doing well?"

"Well enough."

Dino knew Kyouya didn't believe in socializing, but honestly. He was going to get more than "well enough" out of Kyouya if it killed him. Which was still a possibility, if less so these days, but Dino felt he owed the risk to both his little brother and his not-exactly-student.

"Big apartment you've gotten yourself, here," he observed, innocently. "Planning for someone to move in with you?"

That got him a flat look. "If you want to fight..." Kyouya put the book down.

Dino held up his hands, laughing. "Oh, come on, Kyouya. Someday someone will catch your eye."

"You're annoying," Kyouya declared, hands closing around the grips of his tonfa.

"Seriously, though," Dino said as he wrung out his washcloth into the sink, water running pink. "I know you like your space, but surely you're at least dating people by now."

"I don't have time for that kind of nonsense." Kyouya shrugged his shirt back on and tossed a handful of bloody gauze into the trash.

Dino gave him a pained look. "Kyouya, sometimes I wonder if you've even found out what kissing is for yet."

"Not particularly," Kyouya told him coolly.

Dino turned and stared. "You're serious?" He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "You're nineteen already, this isn't healthy."

"You sound like my mother, Cavallone." And, while Dino was trying to process that mental image, "Why do you care?"

Dino leaned back against the counter, mouth quirked. "I could say, because you're Tsuna's family, and I'm a Vongola ally, and I don't want some rival Family woman who knows what she's doing tripping you up."

Kyouya actually paused to consider that, and Dino stifled a helpless groan. He should never underestimate Kyouya's ability to ignore people genuinely caring about him.

"A valid point, perhaps," Kyouya said, slowly.

Fine, then. Dino would take any opening he was given, to draw Kyouya a little further out. It wasn't as though he'd ever had luck using normal logic with Kyouya, anyway.

"So." He laid a hand along Kyouya's cheek, waiting to see whether it would start another fight; with Kyouya, he never really knew. "Want me to show you this, too?"

Kyouya narrowed his eyes and turned his head into Dino's hand a little. "If it will get you to stop teasing, the way you do when we fight," he said against Dino's palm, and Dino suppressed a shiver; for someone inexperienced, Kyouya had good instincts.

"Got it." Dino grinned, wryly; Kyouya's priorities were predictable, at least. He reached out, swift and careful and pulled Kyouya against him, hand sliding back to cradle Kyouya's head. "No teasing," he murmured, and kissed Kyouya deep and hot, tongue sliding into his mouth, careful of Kyouya's split lip but not slow.

Kyouya made an interested sound. Long hands slid up Dino's arms, as if exploring, and Kyouya flicked his tongue delicately against Dino's. Dino made an approving sound of his own.

It was easier than he'd expected to coax Kyouya along until they were leaning against the counter, twined tight around each other, and Kyouya was kissing back, hands buried in Dino's hair. But, then, this was the other reason he came to see Kyouya, wasn't it?

In a world where honor so often demanded Dino do things he wished he didn't have to, Kyouya was utterly pure and uncompromising.

Dino slid his thigh between Kyouya's legs and smiled at the way Kyouya's breath caught. His own breath came a little shorter as Kyouya arched against him, straddling his leg, shamelessly sensual. He slid his hands down to close on the lean muscle of Kyouya's ass and pull him closer, and Kyouya practically purred.

It was definitely time to get rid of the clothing, because Dino's jeans were getting way too tight.

"Bedroom?" he murmured against Kyouya's ear, and tried not to be the slightest bit smug when it took Kyouya a moment to focus again.

"Through there." Kyouya pushed back from Dino only to catch his wrist and pull him along at a very brisk pace for two men who could really do with a moment to adjust themselves. Dino smiled wryly as he followed along.

Kyouya might not always know what he wanted, but once he figured it out he was unstoppable.

He caught Kyouya's hands, though, lightly, when he started to unbutton his shirt. "Let me?"

Kyouya raised a brow at him and Dino chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll show you why; promise. Just let me?"

He was helplessly amused by how narrowly Kyouya watched him as he undid Kyouya's shirt, and slacks while he was at it. The heat that slid over Kyouya's gaze as Dino stroked the shirt off his shoulders was more gratifying.

"Hmm." Kyouya stepped closer and his hands spread against Dino's chest for a moment before sliding down and under the hem of his shirt. They slid back up even more slowly, baring his stomach and chest, and Dino pulled in a deep breath. Kyouya definitely had good instincts. He raised his arms obligingly, if a bit slowly as his rising bruises pulled, and let Kyouya strip the shirt off him, lowering them to stroke his hands down Kyouya's bare back and pull him closer.

They kissed slowly, tongues twining, as Dino eased Kyouya's slacks and boxers off his hips. Kyouya made an impatient sound as he kicked them the rest of the way off, but it turned husky as Dino's hands slid over his ass, fingers stroking the curve of it. It took a few moments for Kyouya to unwind his own fingers from Dino's waistband and undo his pants in turn.

Dino couldn't help a rather relieved sound and Kyouya snorted faintly. And then he drew back and looked at Dino with a speculative gleam Dino was instantly wary of.

"Hm."

Dino gasped as Kyouya's fingers closed on his cock, bold and slow, stroking thoughtfully over him. "Nothing damaged, then?" Kyouya murmured.

Dino didn't know whether it was hotter that Kyouya was fondling him or that Kyouya was teasing him. "Not a thing," he said, husky. "Want me to show you?"

Amusement flashed in Kyouya's eyes. "Yes."

Dino really liked how definite Kyouya was. "Come here, then." He drew Kyouya toward the bed, very carefully until Kyouya let go of him, and down onto it, stretching out beside him. He made a long arm over the side to retrieve his pants and fish his emergency stash out of the back pocket. He shrugged at Kyouya's raised brows. "Well, you never know." He tucked the foil packets under a pillow and went back to stroking Kyouya's body with slow, open palms until the sardonic gleam eased out of his eyes and Kyouya stretched under him, fingers starting to explore Dino's body again. Kyouya's touch was firm and warm, and the sounds he made when Dino kissed, open mouthed, down his neck went straight to Dino's cock. He held out, though, wanting Kyouya to understand how good this could be, and Kyouya was taut and breathless under him before he reached for the packet of lube.

When he slid his fingers back between Kyouya's cheeks, Kyouya gasped.

Dino rubbed his fingertips gently over Kyouya's entrance, feeling the tension running through Kyouya's body. Hmm. "Okay, look," he said softly against Kyouya's ear, "for this to work you need to relax, all right?"

Kyouya looked up at him with dark eyes for a moment and made an irritable sound. He twined his fingers into Dino's hair and pulled him down for another kiss, nipping at Dino's lip while he was at it. Dino figured that was a hint, Kyouya-style, and chuckled as he set about distracting Kyouya with hot, hard kisses, as sensual as one rather talented tongue if he did say so himself could make them, and Kyouya slowly relaxed until Dino's fingers slid into him easily.

The husky sound Kyouya made, low in his throat, made Dino even harder than he already was and he pressed his fingers in deeper, twisting them slowly. This time Kyouya actually moaned, hands closing tight on Dino's shoulders.

"Dino..."

The sound of his name in Kyouya's mouth brushed a shiver down Dino's spine, and the way Kyouya's hips rocked into his slow thrusts, urging him on, turned his breath ragged.

There was a hint of growl in Kyouya's voice when he pulled Dino down against him and said in his ear, "Show me."

"Are you sure—" Dino started, only to break off when Kyouya nipped his ear. Kyouya leaned back to look up at him, eyes dark and hot.

"Show me."

With anyone else, Dino might have insisted on going slow, but this was Kyouya. Unstoppable. So he made quick work of stroking more lube over himself, trying not to get too distracted by Kyouya's hands wandering over his body, and nudged Kyouya's thighs apart.

Kyouya was smiling, now, lazy and pleased, the way he looked at the end of a good fight and Dino wondered which of them was kinky, because that look heated his blood. He managed, at least, to go slowly as he pushed into Kyouya, breathless with the fierce heat that closed around him.

Kyouya made small, wordless sounds as he adjusted, arms finally settling around Dino as he slid out and back in, deeper. Dino was glad to feel Kyouya's back relax under his hand, and he leaned in over Kyouya, thrusting harder, searching for the angle that would make it still better.

He knew he'd gotten the right spot when Kyouya's arms and legs locked around him, pulling him tight against Kyouya's suddenly arched body.

"Again," Kyouya gasped, and Dino laughed, husky, and lifted his student, friend, opponent's hips and fucked him hard. Kyouya picked up the rhythm—he'd always learned fast, right enough—and pushed up into the thrusts, panting, eyes glittering up at Dino.

The sound he made when Dino closed still-slick fingers on his cock, so free and hungry, made Dino moan in turn and finally let go completely, thrusting into Kyouya hard and wild.

"Yes!" Kyouya's voice was hoarse and insistent, and one hand fisted in his hair but Dino barely noticed because he hadn't seen Kyouya this open in years, and then Kyouya had been trying to kill him. This was much more fun, and he groaned as Kyouya's body abruptly wrung tight.

"God, Kyouya..." Dino buried himself in Kyouya and found his mouth again for a hard, hot kiss, and when Kyouya purred into it it was more than Dino could take. Pleasure turned him inside out, and if he could feel Kyouya laughing as he rode it out, well right now that felt really good too.

He half expected it when Kyouya barely gave him time to catch his breath before squirming and dumping Dino off him, and Dino was laughing, too, as he leaned back in for one more kiss that Kyouya returned with another nip.

"Interesting," Kyouya pronounced, as he lounged back against the futon with cat-like composure. And then he glanced at Dino sidelong, eyes glinting, and added, "And you didn't even need your family around to get it right. I'll remember that."

Not for the first time, Dino decided that the hedgehog really was the perfect avatar for Kyouya. He drew Kyouya against him anyway, and smiled when Kyouya let him.

End

Sex Sells

What if the box weapon maker wanted more funds? What sells better than weapons? Box sex toys! Absolute Crack with Bawdy Porn, I-4

Everyone stared into the parcel.

"You didn't actually ask what they did?"

"Oh, come on, Koenig always names the boxes bizarre things."

"Yes, but... 'Purple Ecstasy'?"

"Yeah, these aren't exactly... I mean, can we return them or something?"

"To an underground arms dealer?"

"But these aren't arms!"

"Maybe he needed more funding; I mean, if anything sells better than weapons..."

"We'll figure something out," Tsuna said firmly. "Later."

There was a pause while everyone looked at each other. It was Ryouhei who finally said, "So. Should we see what they actually do?"

"You really shouldn't be looking at this kind of thing," Lambo muttered, trying to unwrap the box... box thing.

"Oh, quit being so stingy." I-Pin elbowed him. "I want to see. Girls like sex too, you know."

Lambo winced. "I didn't want to hear that!" At least not from a girl he'd grown up with, who was practically his sister.

"Never mind, and just open it!" She bounced on the bed.

Lambo wondered if he was going to wind up psychologically scarred from this, but decided that, if his life so far hadn't done it, probably not. "All right, all right." He took a breath and called Flame to his ring and, with some trepidation, fed it to the box.

It opened in his hand, revealing... another ring?

Kind of a large ring.

I-Pin poked at it with a slender finger, frowning. "You can't be supposed to wear that. It's way to big, even for a thumb ring."

Lambo cleared his throat. "Well, I guess, um. It could be, um. Well."

I-Pin eyed him, and eyed the ring and obviously considered the shipment it had come in, and her eyes widened. "Really? You wear things there?" Then she tipped her head, thoughtful. "Why?"

Lambo tried frantically to think of a way not to answer without getting hit for holding out on her. "Well, um. It's, um. You see..." And then he trailed off and frowned, too. "But why should that be a Lightning box?"

"Hmm. Yeah, that does seem... odd." I-Pin nibbled a nail. "Unless it's..." She, too, trailed off, and started to turn pink, mouth twitching. "Um." She finally broke into helpless giggles and dove for his pillow to muffle them.

"What?" he asked, warily.

She looked up at him with dancing eyes and managed to squeak, "Lightning attribute!"

He blinked. "Hardening, what about—" His eyes widened and he nearly bit his tongue. "Oh."

As she dissolved into gales of laughter he couldn't help wondering, ruefully, if even a box would be able to do anything against the memory of this particular moment.

Ryouhei held the unfolded directions insert in one hand and the glove that had come out of the Sun box in the other. "Hmm. Hm. Uh-huh. Place gloved hand on body part..."

He shrugged. Seemed straightforward enough, and since most box items with the Sun attribute healed, after all, he didn't think there would be any problems. He pulled the glove on fed his Flame to it and, when nothing unusual happened, decided to go for it. Nothing ventured nothing gained!

When he closed his gloved hand between his legs, his eyes rolled back in his head from the wild rush of heat down every nerve. Only three thoughts managed to make it through the sensation.

One was that he should have remembered that the source of healing was "activation".

The second was that he really should have taken time to undo his pants, because these would need to be dry cleaned about a second and a half from now.

The third was that he was keeping this box.

Chrome poked her abruptly enlarged breasts with a cautious fingertip. "It's very convincing, I suppose." She twisted, trying to get a good look at the outfit the illusion box had provided her with; it looked like some pervert's idea of a maid's uniform.

Ken seemed to be at a loss for words, for once, and was just staring. Chikusa was shaking his head, probably at Ken.

Mukuro-sama was laughing, in the back of her head, too hard to speak.

Chrome smiled, wryly. "I think it gives a whole new meaning to cosplay."

Ken made a slightly strangled sound, and she laughed softly.

Oh please. Mukuro-sama's delight sparkled in her mind. I have to see the look on Hibari's face.

Chrome shook her head over their leader's penchant for teasing the Cloud Guardian. "You have bad hobbies, Mukuro-sama."

I know. He sounded downright gleeful, and she couldn't help smiling.

"All right. But you get to wear this thing." She had no objection to showing off her legs, but she really wasn't sure what to do with all this chest.

Of course, he purred, and a wicked smile lingered in the back of her mind.

"Seems like a lot of trouble to go to just for a jar of lube," Gokudera grumbled, pulling Yamamoto down against him.

"Well, let's see what it does, then." Yamamoto's smile was cheerfully interested and Gokudera rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Go ahead."

Slick fingers stroked his entrance, gentle, and for a moment it was just slippery and a bit chill, like any lube on the face of the earth.

And then it wasn't.

Gokudera's eyes widened as his muscles eased, relaxed, turned warm and pliant without any intention on his part. It was... kind of amazingly intimate, with Yamamoto touching him. "Oh..."

Yamamoto's eyes were intent on him. "Hm. Tranquility, huh?" He smiled, slow and hot.

Gokudera's arms tightened around him and pulled him closer, and he said, husky, in Yamamoto's ear, "More."

And moaned as long fingers opened him.

"Okay," Dino murmured into the sheets, "not that this isn't really good, but why bother with a box dildo? I mean," he gasped as Kyouya drew it back and pressed it in again, "the regular ones already move and light up and all that." And this one seemed a little on the small side, actually. Nice, but small.

"Mm. Not quite the way this one is designed to, I believe." Kyouya thrust it in slowly again, not seeming in any hurry to demonstrate.

"And how is that?" Heat walked up Dino's spine with the easy slide.

"Are you sure you want me to show you?" Kyouya murmured, so perfectly serious Dino knew he was teasing.

"Yeah... ahh... I think I do."

"Well, if you insist." He could hear Kyouya's tiny smile. "Consider. It's a Cloud box. And the attribute of cloud is...?"

"Propaga... oh shit." Dino's breath caught and then left him on a low moan as the dildo grew inside him, getting bigger and thicker, slowly but just quickly enough to make his nerves tighten and tingle. "Kyouya...!"

Kyouya drew the enlarged dildo back and pressed it in again, smooth and hard, and Dino groaned.

"God." His eyes were half lidded, and want and command twined together in his voice when he said, "Do that again."

Kyouya laughed low in his throat and fucked him harder.

Tsuna flopped down into one of the library chairs and pressed a hand over his eyes. "How," he asked, "am I supposed to get any work done around here ever again?"

"People already ordering new boxes?" Gokudera asked from his own chair, looking up from his book, glasses sliding down his nose a bit.

"Yes," Tsuna groaned. "It's all a plot to bankrupt Vongola, is what it is."

Gokudera chuckled, which Tsuna thought was unusually heartless of him, until he said, "Don't worry, Boss. That's where my new box comes in."

Tsuna sat up, frowning. "Um. How?"

Gokudera smiled at him, serene, with only a tiny hint of a gleam in his eyes. "Well, the Storm attribute is degeneration, right?" The gleam got a little stronger. "What's better suited to stop the action of the new boxes? Or at least," he added, "the action of the people using them."

Tsuna blinked. "You mean it..." He imagined a sudden, er, wilting throughout the base and his mouth twitched. "I, um, see."

Gokudera adjusted his glasses calmly and leaned back in his chair, ankles crossed. "Just say the word."

"I'll keep it in mind," Tsuna murmured, amused by Gokudera's ruthless cheer.

Gokudera sat up again. "Oh, hey, I forgot to ask. There was a Sky box in there, wasn't there?" He scratched his nose. "I was actually kind of curious about that one. I mean, the Sky's attribute is to encompass, and that doesn't seem like it would lend itself to anything I could think of off hand."

Tsuna turned red as a beet. "Ah, well, yes but I, um, put it away. It's not really—"

"Tsu-kun."

Tsuna flinched and looked around. Kyouko was standing in the door and her eyes were as chilly as her tone. "Um. Yes?" Oh, he was in so much trouble.

She held out an inflated... well, best to just call it an inflated body part, dangling it between two fingers, and raised a brow.

Tsuna held up his hands. "It wasn't me!" Though, in retrospect, he should probably have taken the time to put the thing more away, no matter how embarrassed he'd been.

She studied him for a moment. "Hm. Well, then, I think you'd better tell me all about it." She turned and stalked toward the door again.

"Psst, Boss." Gokudera slipped another box to him. "Figured you guys might want this. It's a Sun box, but you should be able to use it. She'll forgive you more if you share, right?"

"I really hope so," Tsuna said, fervently, following after her.

Inside a year, all inter-Family feuds subsided for lack of people paying attention to them, all the potential evil masterminds were too exhausted to take over the world, and everyone lived happily ever after.

Very happily.

End

Time-lapse

Post-canon. Yukimura has recovered and Fuji has left tennis. They cross paths over art and weave a new acquaintance. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-3, implicit spoilers

Thirteen Months After The End

Seiichi walked slowly from one classroom full of art to the next, scribbling impressions in his notebook. One more session and the workshop would be done; he was still amazed at how much Sumitomo-sensei had fit into one weekend. It had certainly been a good experience for him, and he wanted to give good responses to his fellow students' work—especially, perhaps, to the media he was less familiar with since that had been part of the project for this workshop.

"What are you thinking?"

It was not the kind of question Seiichi expected to hear out of the blue, but he recognized this voice and so it surprised him less. "Fuji." He turned away from the first piece of the photography section. Fuji was standing at his shoulder, watching him, head tilted just a bit as if to catch a faint sound; he looked relaxed, smiling, but his gaze was sharp. Seiichi had to smile, too. He'd rather missed seeing that expression across the net, this year. "Just considering the difference between a painter and a photographer."

Fuji seemed to turn this answer over behind his eyes for a moment. "And what is the difference?"

"A photographer looks for what's present, to capture it." Seiichi spread his fingers toward the line of black and white images that flowed down the wall. He paused there, wanting to see what Fuji made of that, and wanting, with a spark of amusement, to prod back at him for having started the conversation so bluntly, so personally.

"I suppose that's true enough," Fuji finally murmured, when Seiichi didn't go on. "And a painter?"

Seiichi folded his arms, looking back at the room he'd just come from and the sweep of oil paints down canvas, colors over and under each other. "A painter looks for what isn't there, to create it."

"So. Photography is merely derivative?" There was an edge in Fuji's voice, sliding underneath his smile. "I think Hatakeyama-sensei might disagree."

Seiichi's mouth curved in answer. "Is reality derivative?" he countered.

Fuji's weight shifted back and Seiichi almost laughed. This was different from a game on the court, but similar enough to draw him. Getting Fuji Shuusuke to be serious was interesting under any circumstances.

And he hadn't had a chance to on the court, this year, after all.

"Reality simply is," Fuji finally answered.

Seiichi shrugged slightly. "And I would say the same of imagination."

Fuji was quiet for another moment, puzzlement and amusement tangling together in his quirked brows. "A moment ago you were saying how different the two art forms are," he pointed out.

"Nothing is all one color." Seiichi flashed another smile, sharper this time, deliberately provoking. "A painter learns that early on."

"And what does a photographer learn? This hasn't been a very productive seminar for you if you can't answer at least some of that," Fuji shot back.

A good shot, Seiichi acknowledged. He had to think about this one more deeply. "Answering that might take more time than we have left," he returned lightly. "Perhaps I should write you instead."

"And buy extra time," Fuji murmured. His smile grew slowly. "If I give you a time-out, I think I should get to finish the discussion face-to-face."

Seiichi had never backed down from a challenge in his life. "How about the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum, then? Next weekend?"

"Two o'clock," Fuji agreed, chin lifting.

Seiichi was looking forward to it.

Five Months Later

"Do you miss tennis so little? Or do you just miss it that much?"

Shuusuke blinked, looking down from the huge multi-media canvas, and his lips curved. Yukimura had gotten him with that one; he'd have to ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't come to watch any of the matches last year." Yukimura ran a fingertip over the plaque with the title, head tipped as though contemplating the canvas or the question.

"Well, Tezuka is gone, isn't he?" Shuusuke returned lightly. It was harder to tell how frustrated Yukimura was by that, but you could practically see the steam coming off both Sanada and Atobe whenever Tezuka came up.

Yukimura's eyes cut toward him, dark. "I hadn't thought Tezuka was your only friend on that team."

Shuusuke stifled a spurt of irritation. Of course he wasn't. Eiji was still playing. And Inui. And Taka always tried to watch the matches, himself. And none of that really mattered, because Yukimura was turning the topic. "I've taken everything I can from tennis," he said, firmly turning it back.

When he saw Yukimura's tiny smile he let out a soft breath. So he'd fallen for the false bait, had he?

This was why he liked conversations with Yukimura.

"So Tezuka is part of what tennis gave you?" Yukimura probed, circling back around.

Shuusuke was silent for a moment, moving to the next canvas, this one all in greens and grays and titled Mountain, Sky. He let his eyes follow the curves of paint as he thought. Yukimura reminded him a lot of Tezuka, sometimes. Other times not. Yukimura might just understand his reasons.

"It isn't as though I found my tennis just for Tezuka," he told the silent presence behind his shoulder. "Not in the end."

Yukimura made an agreeing sound.

"But who is there, now, who can tell when I'm doing my best or not?" Shuusuke finished, quietly.

"We could."

When Shuusuke looked over his shoulder Yukimura's arms were folded. That was a sign of judgment, he knew now—of suspended patience. He couldn't help a dry laugh at the thought of how close he'd come to facing that on a regular basis.

"I thought about transferring, you know. For a while." Shuusuke turned around and leaned against the wall. "I decided not to, but—" he broke off, unsure he wanted to share the rest of it. The temptation he felt watching a game, now.

"But?" Yukimura's head tilted again, dark hair feathering over his cheek. "You still could you know."

Now it was Shuusuke's arms that were crossed, tightly. Their conversational game was getting too close to the truth. "Tennis isn't what I'm going to do when I graduate, though. Why should I transfer just for that?" He meant it to come out light and didn't think he'd managed very well.

Yukimura bowed his head. "True enough." He was the one who led the way to the next painting this time. Shuusuke rested his eyes and mind on the indigo and sleek white of this composition.

They didn't speak of anything other than artistic technique again until they were choosing sandwiches from the vending machines.

"Whatever it is, you should come watch the matches. Or you'll never settle it."

Shuusuke glanced at Yukimura to see what kind of gambit this was and stopped short, leaning half over to pick up his lunch. There was no calculation in Yukimura's expression. Not pushing, not pulling, not lying in wait. Just a simple moment of kindness, and Shuusuke found himself at a loss how to answer it.

Finally Yukimura smiled and shook his head. "So? Where should we go next time? It's your turn to choose, again."

Shuusuke regathered his wits. "Konica Minolta Plaza will have some new work by Nishigaki Kanako next month."

Yukimura laughed. "And you can scout another gallery location while we're there, right?"

Shuusuke smiled back, back on balance. "I think about the future."

That got another sober look from Yukimura. "Yes. You do. And that's good. But we all need something that takes us up completely in the now, too."

Shuusuke thought about that so hard he didn't taste his sandwich as he ate it.

Five Months Later

Finishing National matches swiftly had a psychological value that Seiichi appreciated. He thought he liked the practical value better, though, getting a chance to scout some of the other teams without having to rely on third parties. In a generation of strong players, lesser players and club hangers on quickly lost the range to judge some games and teams accurately.

Renji made a satisfied noise as they stopped by the fence and Sanada snorted in answer, crossing his arms.

"I'm simply pleased to see Sadaharu playing as I expected," Renji answered mildly.

Seiichi eyed the scoreboard. "It looks like we'll be seeing them in the quarterfinals. You think he'll place himself in Singles Two, then, against you?"

"Quite likely," Renji murmured, tilting a brow at Seigaku's third year captain, standing on the sidelines looking both pleased and stiff while Seigaku's current singles ace played, and Ooishi and Kikumaru behind him, toweling off and talking together quietly. "He will have made the same calculations I have, and that will be the deciding match."

"No mistakes this time, then," Sanada stated.

Renji's gaze didn't leave Inui's match. "Certainly not," he murmured.

A flash of light on the sidelines drew Seiichi's attention away from their half teasing, half serious exchange and his own brows rose as his eyes found the source.

Fuji was standing around one side of the court, camera in hand, photographing the match. A tiny smile tugged at Seiichi's mouth and he resettled his jacket on his shoulders and strolled around the corner. Fuji probably heard him but ignored his approach, completely absorbed, hands moving swift and sure over focus and lens adjustments and he snapped frame after frame. The last one caught Inui's final shot with what looked to Seiichi like perfect timing. He stood quietly as Fuji snapped a few more of the players' realization that the round was over.

Finally Fuji lowered his camera with a sigh and surfaced. "Yukimura." He nodded.

"Fuji." Seiichi leaned against the fence, biting back a smile. "I'd heard something about you shooting at the Prefectural games."

Fuji's eyes glinted for a moment. "Coming on my own terms seemed worthwhile."

"Always," Seiichi agreed, and watched as Fuji's hand relaxed on the camera case. "I would be interested to see how it all comes out. If you decide to show any of the results."

Fuji actually laughed at that. "I'm sure you would." His eyes turned distant as he looked across the courts. "We'll see."

Seiichi accepted that with a nod. Some things couldn't be rushed, and by now he was pretty sure Fuji was one of them.

"I might get some interesting shots of you, I suppose," Fuji mused.

Seiichi's mouth curled. "Any shots you can get you're welcome to, of course. It's a public court."

"No studio shots, then?" Fuji asked with a sly sideways glance.

Seiichi considered that for a moment and leaned back, satisfied, as the answer came to him. "If you'll sit for me in turn."

Fuji rocked back just a bit himself. Seiichi wasn't surprised; he had a few reservations about sitting still to be examined that intently and he doubted Fuji felt much different.

"I'll... think about it."

"Of course," Seiichi murmured. He couldn't take too much more time aside for this but he couldn't resist just one last shot. "Perhaps we'll see you for the next match as well, then."

Fuji gave him back a smile, sharp and slanted and oddly companionable. "Perhaps. It's a shame you didn't come by in time to see Shiraishi's second round match, too."

The teasing malice of the observation drew Seiichi back, turned him to lean into Fuji's return gambit. "Oh? Is he playing differently this year?"

Fuji gave him a perfectly sunny look, shrugging the camera strap over his shoulder. "Perhaps."

Seiichi's teeth flashed in a quick smile and he shrugged, casual. "Surprises are no problem. For those with sufficient confidence."

"I'll ask you how it went in two weeks, then," Fuji tossed over his shoulder as he moved toward the gate to join his ex-teammates.

Seiichi was chuckling under his breath as he rejoined his own.

"What was that all about?" Renji asked, curiously.

Seiichi waved a hand. "Nothing to do with tennis."

He didn't actually hear what he'd just said until both his friends turned to look at him. Then he had to pause, himself, and reflection tugged his mouth into a more rueful line. "It's just... something different," he murmured. And that might well be his motto, regarding Fuji Shuusuke. "He did mention Shiraishi," he added, "but I'm not entirely sure he wasn't just teasing."

Sanada's brows rose and Renji looked amused. "Indeed? Well, I suppose we'll see in the finals."

Seiichi spent a moment looking forward to the art-date in two weeks, and then put it aside to concentrate all his attention on the game they were really here for.

Four Months Later

Shuusuke settled into his seat with a sigh of pleasure for warmth of winter sunlight through the window and sipped the Pokka Lemon he'd found in the third vending machine.

Yukimura shuddered delicately. "I have no idea how you can drink that straight."

"I like tart things." Shuusuke chuckled reminiscently. "It's even come in handy every now and then."

Yukimura raised a brow and clearly refrained from asking. Just as well, perhaps; Shuusuke didn't know how someone who held his team's reins as tightly as Yukimura did would take Inui's wicked sense of humor.

"You're so serious," he murmured around his straw, following the train of thought. And then, because it was so apropos, teased, "You should smile more often."

Yukimura leaned his chin in one hand, mouth quirked. "I smile plenty often. But I also concentrate seriously when it's called for."

"Mmm." And that sent his thoughts right back to the gallery they'd just left, and the techniques Shuusuke had observed there. "If I were trying to capture what you are," Shuusuke mused, "I would use black and white, just like that showing. As fine grained as possible. You have so many shadings to you."

"I'll model for you when you model for me," Yukimura returned, the argument months old and well worn, now. Then he tipped his head, though, eyes dark and curious. "Is capturing what I am something that matters to you?"

He'd never asked that before and Shuusuke answered without thinking, caught up in the usual speed of their exchanges. "Yes."

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment before Yukimura finally looked away, finger tracing a bead of condensation down his water glass. His voice was soft and neutral and undemanding when he asked, "Why?"

Shuusuke opened his mouth and closed it again slowly. Because it's so hard to find was the first answer that came to his tongue, but... it didn't feel complete. If the question had been part of their usual sparring that wouldn't have bothered him. Yukimura had asked this one differently, though.

That difference was owed honesty.

"The challenge appeals to me as an artist." Shuusuke laid out the words carefully, wanting to be sure of their composition. "And being able to see what you are appeals to me as," he hesitated, but the sentence led him to it, "as a friend, I suppose."

Yukimura looked up and this smile was one Shuusuke had never seen before, bright and gentle. "All right, then."

Shuusuke blinked.

"I wasn't entirely sure, you know." Yukimura took a sip of his water. "Whether we're going to these galleries as opponents or as friends."

Habit prompted Shuusuke to ask, "How much difference is there?"

Yukimura's chin was in his hand again and he tipped his head in wry acknowledgement. "For me, sometimes not much. But I think it's different for you."

The tingle of the alertness that their sharper exchanges always brought brushed over Shuusuke, but this time it didn't make him brace as he usually did. He glanced down, moving his straw back and forth with a fingertip. "Maybe so." He looked back up. "You'll really do it?"

Yukimura laughed. "Well, I'll go first, anyway."

"Thank you." Visions of lighting effects and calculations of film speed danced through his thoughts as he stared off over the plaza, and he supposed he couldn't honestly blame Yukimura when he kept laughing.

Four Months Later

"So, this is an art classroom, right?"

"Mm," Fuji agreed around the canister top between his teeth.

"Then there must be heaters hidden around here somewhere. Go find them."

Fuji blinked. "Mm?"

"There's nothing between me and the tile floor but paper," Seiichi pointed out, tartly. "I'm about to freeze something off."

"Mm." Fuji took the top out and closed up his latest roll of film. "Okay, hang on."

Somehow, Seiichi was not surprised when Fuji turned to adjust his tripod instead of rummage in the classroom's cupboards. "Fuji," he said, low and definite, "either you pull your mind out of the inside of your cameras and get me the heaters or I'll go look for them myself."

"No, no, no! I just got the shadows right!"

Well, that had gotten his attention, at least. "Then get me the heaters," Seiichi repeated with, he thought, great patience for someone who was freezing his ass off far more literally than was usual.

Fuji sighed and finally went to root through the cupboards. "Last time you complained that the lights were too hot."

"Last time I was wearing more."

"What is it about captains and perfection? You're never satisfied." Since Fuji was shifting two small heaters over while he said it, Seiichi let that one go. "Happy?"

Warmth radiated from the grilles on either side of him and Seiichi sighed. "Much better."

Fuji looked over his shoulder as he adjusted the tripod again, with a teasing curl to his mouth. "I notice you didn't actually say you were happy. What did I just mention about perfectionism?"

Seiichi's brows rose. "And who is it who's taking fifteen minutes to get the angle just right for shots that are going to take about two minutes, if that?"

Fuji blinked as if it hadn't occurred to him and Seiichi couldn't help settling back a bit, vindicated. Fuji put his hands on his hips.

"Don't move."

"Not moving," Seiichi agreed, letting out a deep breath and holding still again as Fuji slipped behind his camera and the first click of the shutter licked through the darkened room.

Seiichi held himself still, impassive, watching the edges of the lights sliding off counters and stacked desks as Fuji moved around him. This was very odd, really, almost like some kind of meditation. It wasn't very inward, though. The touch of Fuji's attention on him was like the heat of the lights—almost a pressure. The focus wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but he was used to responding to it.

"You could smile, you know," Fuji interrupted his thoughts. "If I wanted a stonefaced model, I would ask Tezuka next time he's home."

An image of Tezuka, arranged nude on the cold tile and paper flashed through Seiichi's mind and he snorted helplessly. "Fuji! You can't tell me to hold still and then make me laugh!"

Fuji snapped three shots, rapidfire, and emerged from behind the camera looking faintly smug. "I certainly can."

Seiichi looked up at him, arrested. "You wanted me to laugh?"

Fuji made a sound of agreement. "Line and texture and shadow are one thing. I've got some shots already I think will come out very well. But something that shows how alive you are... well, that's different."

Seiichi was quiet while Fuji moved the lights for the next pose, and finally asked, "Are you going to turn that one in with your portfolio, too?"

Fuji paused, back to him. "No."

Seiichi tucked the warmth that answer brought carefully away and leaned obligingly on the box Fuji dragged over, stilling himself for the next set of planned, artistic shots, occupying his mind with where they should go for their next outing. Perhaps he would choose something besides art, this time.

Three Months Later

"Shuusuke, you have a visitor."

Shuusuke looked up from arm-deep in a bag of sandy potting soil, expecting to see Yukimura, or perhaps Eiji, and got a surprise. "Tezuka!"

"Fuji." Tezuka stepped out onto the deck with a polite bow to Shuusuke's mother.

"I thought you weren't going to be home for another four days." Fuji stood, brushing off his hands and arms and waved his friend to one of the deck chairs.

"I found a standby seat on an earlier flight." Tezuka settled into the second chair and looked with approval at the plate of onigiri Shuusuke's mother had left out for him earlier. "It's good to be back."

Having heard Tezuka's opinions of Western food before, Shuusuke chuckled and nudged the plate over to him. "So it went well."

"Fairly well." Tezuka took a bite and leaned back in his chair a bit. "The final match was close, and I'm satisfied with it. And I have an offer for endorsements."

"Tezuka, that's wonderful!" Shuusuke knew that an endorsement deal meant more money to travel and enter the important tournaments. Tezuka did not, of course, agree with him, but he smiled faintly and that was just as good.

"Everyone seems to be doing well here," Tezuka observed instead.

Familiar with his friend's thoughts, Shuusuke had no trouble decoding this. "Yes. I think Seigaku might just be at Nationals this year. It seems appropriate, for our third year again." Well, his third year, anyway, and Inui and Eiji and Ooishi's. Tezuka was on a different time table now.

Though, even if Seigaku got past Hyoutei, there would still be Rikkai to deal with. Shuusuke and Yukimura weren't talking about that this week. Instead they had argued about whether Shuusuke's translation of Mallarmé's "Un coup de dés jamais n'abolira le hasard" for his French class was taking too much poetic license, and how much was too much when translating a poem, after all.

Tezuka was looking at him with a brow quirked and Shuusuke realized he was smiling at nothing. "How long are you going to be home for this time?" he asked.

"At least a month, I think." Tezuka's fingers tapped on the arm of his chair and Shuusuke read impatience in that kind of fidgeting. "There has to be time for filming as well as training, now."

"Perhaps you can get me in to watch," Shuusuke said, lightly, and chuckled at the dour look Tezuka gave him. "Seriously, though, will it eat into your training time that badly?"

Tezuka's mouth thinned a bit. "I want to train toward entering the Australian Open, this winter."

Shuusuke sat back, letting out a slow breath. "Aiming for Federer already?"

Tezuka brushed a few grains of rice off his fingers and glanced over at Shuusuke with a tiny smile. "Of course."

Yukimura would get that glint in his eyes when he heard, Shuusuke reflected. He was already annoyed enough that Tezuka had gone on ahead, without Tezuka starting on the Grand Slam tournaments. "This should be interesting," he murmured.

"I hope so," Tezuka answered, and Shuusuke had to shake his head to pull his thoughts back onto the conversation.

"Well, if you do happen to have a day free anywhere, let me know." He smiled cheerfully.

Tezuka gave him a long look. "You have something in mind?"

"I had thought I might visit some of the area botanical gardens, this summer," Shuusuke murmured, which was entirely true. He and Yukimura already had plans for a week and a half on. There were other gardens he thought would do Tezuka more good, though.

"Which one?" Tezuka asked with prompt wariness, undiminished by over two years out of Shuusuke's immediate range.

"I was thinking an outdoorsman like you might enjoy Atagawa park in Shizuoka." Shuusuke nibbled delicately at a rice ball.

"I'll see, then."

Shuusuke looked forward to the email he'd get when Tezuka looked Atagawa up and found the bit about the alligators. He grinned behind his snack. He liked to think that, when Yukimura went pro, he and Tezuka might meet at tournaments and have the extra bond of both having been teased by Shuusuke. He'd consider it his personal contribution to their professional rapport.
When Yukimura went pro and Shuusuke's weekends were reduced to repotting his cacti and buying new lenses without anyone along to talk to who understood why light was important and days without anyone who laughed at his teasing. Without someone who sometimes, lately, touched the back of Shuusuke's hand in a way that made his breath catch. Shuusuke quashed a sigh. He didn't want to think about that.
"So, at any rate, tell me more about this last tournament." He settled back in his chair and prepared to listen.

Eight months Later

Seiichi dug through his drawers and frowned. "Do I already have a blue T-shirt in the packing pile?" he called over his shoulder.

"No, just the black one."

Seiichi made an annoyed sound and went to rummage through his closet. "Are you sure you should be helping me pack instead of getting a start on your reading for classes?" he asked over his shoulder.

Fuji shrugged. "I can catch up. You're going to be gone for five weeks this time."

Seiichi smiled, folding his blue T-shirt. "Maybe you'll have some new art to show me, when I get back, then, instead of having to go look at other people's."

Fuji shorted. "In between my coursework."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

Fuji shrugged again, and Seiichi frowned a little. "If you wanted to go professional right away, you could have..."

"Like you?"

The question had an edge to it, one Seiichi didn't often hear from Fuji any more. He tossed the T-shirt into his bag and turned to look at Fuji directly. "What's wrong?"

Fuji looked away. "It's nothing."

Seiichi waited, patiently.

Fuji crossed his arms, frowning down at them. "Everyone's leaving," he murmured, finally.

"Not everyone, surely," Seiichi said softly.

"Both my best friends take up a lot of space when they're gone." Fuji still didn't look up.

"You know we'll always come back, though."

Fuji's mouth tightened.

Seiichi sighed to himself. So that's what it was. He laid a hand on one tense shoulder and said, quietly, "Shuusuke."

His friend's eyes widened a little. It was the first time Seiichi had called him by his given name.

"This is still home."

Shuusuke smiled, but the shadows didn't leave his eyes. "I know."

Seiichi stifled a snort. No one had ever budged Fuji Shuusuke when he didn't want to be budged, and he'd clearly decided he was going to lose something. Seiichi had practice overcoming the immovable and impossible, though, and he had no intention of being lost, no matter what Shuusuke thought.

He turned his hand over and cupped Shuusuke's cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, and Shuusuke leaned into the touch, but those shadows stayed, flavored with a hesitance that made Seiichi's voice gentle, even in his exasperation.

"This is home," he repeated with deliberate emphasis, and leaned down and brushed his lips over Shuusuke's.

Shuusuke's hand closed tight around his wrist, and Seiichi's mouth quirked. Even after that, Shuusuke wouldn't reach for what he wanted, wouldn't hold Seiichi in place, would only ask around the edges. Time to try something else, then.

"Listen," he murmured against Shuusuke's mouth. "Whatever else is happening, even if it's a major tournament, even if it's a Grand Slam tournament, I will be here for your first gallery showing. I promise."

Shuusuke's breath hitched against his lips, and he stared up at Seiichi, last of the shadows finally wiped away by shock. "Seiichi..."

Seiichi smiled. "I promise."

Shuusuke closed his eyes and laughed, husky, and took a long breath. "All right." When he opened them again, his eyes were clear.

"I believe you."

Three Years Later

"An amazingly good show, Fuji-san, all things considered. I'm sure we'll all have to keep an eye on you in the future!"

Shuusuke smiled quite insincerely at the woman and murmured his thanks. He resolved to apologize to Yuuta the next time they were both at their parents' house for dinner; the condescension of the art critics was making his jaw clench in a way he found extremely familiar from watching his brother, and if this was how Yuuta had felt for years, well. A lot of things became clearer.

He passed on, mingling with the respectable crowd, being sure to smile and nod politely no matter how inane the remarks. He wished Seiichi could have been home for this show. He was better than Shuusuke at being charming and imperious at the same time.

In a way, of course, Seiichi was here. Shuusuke smiled genuinely as his gaze passed over the sequence of five photos that had pride of place in the gallery. The fluid arch of Seiichi's spine, and the shadows that turned the muscles of his legs into an abstract had turned out just the way Shuusuke envisioned, and he had named the series "Edges of Perfection".

His face was starting to ache from the constant smiling, though, and he thought it was time for a break. Slipping past some unused panels into the back room, he rummaged out a paper cup and ran some water. His mouth was certainly grateful, after so long chatting.

"Hiding from your fans?"

Shuusuke's eyes widened and he had just started to turn when arms slid around him, catching him back against Seiichi's chest. He laughed softly. "Weren't you supposed to be in France this week?"

"I told my manager it would cost about the same to fly home and back as to live there for the time until the tournament. I started telling him as soon as you wrote to say you had a showing." Seiichi dropped a light kiss under Shuusuke's ear.

Shuusuke leaned back with a pleased sigh. "Mm. You don't have to make it home for every one."

"Just all of them that I can." Seiichi's lips curved against his neck. "So are you hiding out, back here?"

Shuusuke let his head rest back against Seiichi's shoulder. "Just taking a break. First one this evening, I should point out." He could feel Seiichi's laugh against his spine.

"Good. They won't miss you for a little while, then." Seiichi's hand slid down Shuusuke's chest, and further down his stomach. "I missed you," Seiichi murmured in his ear, hand finally coming to rest between Shuusuke's legs.

"Seiichi..." Shuusuke's voice was suddenly husky. He could feel the heat of Seiichi's palm through the fabric of his slacks. "You pick the strangest places."

Seiichi laughed again. "What, you didn't think the studio was appropriate?" His fingertips rubbed up and down Shuusuke's length. "It was just the way you were looking at me."

"Through a lens?" Shuusuke teased back, breathless.

"Focused," Seiichi corrected, tongue tracing lightly over Shuusuke's ear. "Completely intent. I love seeing you that way."

"Seiichi," Shuusuke said, low and insistent, and lifted a hand to twine through Seiichi's hair, tilting his head back until he could catch Seiichi's mouth. Seiichi's hand tightened between his legs and he made an approving sound.

"Since you're sure," Seiichi murmured, and his fingers worked Shuusuke's slacks open and slid inside to wrap around him.

"Very," Shuusuke agreed, a bit distracted. The heat of Seiichi's fingers was taking up all his attention, and the faint roughness of Seiichi's calluses. "Nnnn..." He leaned back into Seiichi, hips rocking up into the touch. Seiichi's hands always made him stop thinking, especially when they moved over him slow and hard and deliberate, and he tipped his head back further as Seiichi's mouth moved down his throat. The wet slide pulled a shiver down his spine; this was Seiichi, present and dense and sensual, and later he would want to capture those things in light on film, but sensation was their medium right now and this picture, this pleasure was too immediate for him to want anything but to complete it. Seiichi pulled Shuusuke back more tightly against him and his hips ground hard into Shuusuke's rear. The sound Seiichi made, half moan and half growl, made Shuusuke's stomach tighten, and the hardness of Seiichi's cock pressing against his ass made him think of sun-warm afternoons draped naked over the velvet arm of their couch, and thinking of that sent a tingle of heat through him so sharp that it condensed pleasure around it. Shuusuke had just enough mind left to bite back the open moan as he came. Seiichi's mouth covered his again, kissing him fierce and hot as Seiichi's hips jerked against his ass.

It took Shuusuke a few minutes before he could say, breathless and laughing, "Welcome home."

"Mm. I'm back," Seiichi murmured against his ear.

The visceral proof of the polite phrases left a warm glow in Shuusuke's bones and he breathed out a soft sigh. They stood together for another moment until Seiichi reached past him to the towels over the sink and Shuusuke had to laugh again, quietly, with genuine amusement, as they cleaned themselves up. Seiichi drew him back for another kiss, when they were done.

"So, have you had enough of a break?" There was a certain amount of mischief in Seiichi's eyes.

"You want to go back out with me and watch people admiring you?" Shuusuke teased back.

"Admiring your work," Seiichi corrected serenely.

They strolled side by side through the crowd and Shuusuke was amused to watch how many of the critics suddenly found a reason to simply smile and nod at him. They paused by the images of Seiichi, and the original looked up at them thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you another thing that photographers learn," he murmured.

It was their second oldest game, the only one they both still played, and Shuusuke tipped his head inquiringly.

"Photographers learn that there are two subjects in any photo: the one in front of the camera and the one behind it." Seiichi looked back down at Shuusuke with the smile that was reserved for him, gentle and intent.

A delicate shiver brushed down Shuusuke's spine. There was nothing he would trade for the way Seiichi saw him, saw all of him.

Nor for the way he saw Seiichi.

He reached out to lace their fingers together briefly, out of sight of the crowd. "If they have subjects that touch them. Yes."

Seiichi's thumb stroked the inside of Shuusuke's wrist before he let go. "You didn't get much of a drink earlier. Come get another, and tell me things."

Shuusuke smiled. "Well, I've been asked to teach at a workshop on artistic technique next week..."

End

Unpainted

In bed with Ludwig, Naoji considers the effect Ludwig has on him. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Naoji leaned against Lui, hands spread against his chest, under his loosened shirt. The solid heat of Lui's body grounded him on days like this, soft gray days when mist drifted up from the grass and hid the strange shapes of the leaves and reminded him of home. Lui's hand at the small of his back braced him, and Lui's mouth caught his, sure and confident.

Naoji didn't realize how much he had relaxed until Lui plucked loose his hair tie and drew it free, and long fingers slid under the fall of his hair to stroke his neck. That pulled him taut, flushed with sudden awareness.

"Hmm." Lui's mouth curved just a little against his own and his hand cupped Naoji's nape firmly, slowly, caressing.

He gasped at that knowing touch—knowing? Lui couldn't know, could he? He turned his head aside, cheeks warm, breath coming fast and light.

Lui hooked his fingers in the collar of Naoji's shirt and pulled it a little way down his back, and lifted Naoji's hair away from his neck, and bent his head to press an open mouthed kiss to the bared skin.

"Lui...!" Naoji was trembling a little now. A breath of a laugh brushed over his nape and he gasped again.

"So I was right," Lui murmured against his ear. "It always makes you shiver when I touch you here." He trailed two fingers down Naoji's neck and back, and Naoji couldn't help the shiver that followed them. "Now." In a whirl of motion he turned them and laid Naoji back against the bed. "Tell me why that flusters you so." He cupped Naoji's cheek, thumb stroking over the color that was surely there.

Naoji bit his lip, but the weight of Lui's eyes held him and finally he murmured, "It's... That's skin that a courtesan of my country would show."

Lui's brows rose and his fingers caught Naoji's chin, keeping him from looking away. "Is this not something you give freely?"

"It's not that! It's... you make me feel..." Naoji swallowed and closed his eyes against the piercing look in Lui's. "Wanton."

"Hm." Lui's finger traced down his jaw, and his voice was silky as he asked, "And would you rather I not?"

"Please," Naoji whispered. He opened his eyes, and was captivated all over again.

Orphe was so brilliant Naoji felt he needed to shade his eyes just to look at him. Lui drew a curtain around his own brilliance, but nothing could conceal it and the heat of it rose from his every movement.

"Please don't stop."

Lui's eyes gleamed. "Then I won't."

Naoji's breath came short again as Lui drew off the remains of his clothes, and he moaned as long hands moved up the inside of his legs. Lui's thumbs stroked firmly up and down the tendons of his thighs, and Naoji spread his legs wider, panting softly, hands closed tight on the sheets; the way Lui watched him respond to the touch sent a twist of heat through his stomach. Lui held his eyes as he poured a bit of oil into his palm and stroked it over himself, and anticipation tightened Naoji's nerves. He reached out, wordless, asking for his lover's rare mercy.

Lui smiled and came to him, covering Naoji's body with his, taking possession of his mouth again. When one strong hand closed over his nape again, Naoji cried out. Lui kissed down his throat and Naoji tipped his head back, baring himself to Lui's mouth with a soft moan of want.

"My Naoji," Lui murmured against his skin, velvety. It made him shudder.

"Please... Lui..."

"Yes."

Lui's eyes were bright as he looked down at Naoji, leaning over him, hands sliding up his legs to hold him firmly open. When Lui pressed against him, pushed into him, Naoji's moan was open, uncaring whether anyone might hear them. The stretch and slide as Lui entered him, strong and slow, fired his nerves, and the sweet, inexorable sensation of surrendering to Lui undid him and laid him open.

He caught Lui's shoulders, shaken with the heat of Lui's eyes on him, and gasped as Lui thrust slowly. Lui's control, even in this, never failed to build need and desire in him until his gasps turned to pleading moans and his whole body flexed up to meet Lui's, given over utterly to Lui's hands. Those hands held him easily and Lui drove into him deep and thorough until Naoji was trembling on the edge of pleasure.

Lui caught his eyes again, the way he always caught Naoji's soul, and said low and intent, "Wanton in my hands. I like that very much. Show me, my Naoji."

The pure assurance in that deep voice was all it took to spill Naoji over the edge and send him arching up taut, fire racing down every nerve. "Lui!"

Lui caught him close, smiling down at him, pleased and possessive. Lui's eyes half closed and his breath caught as he drove deeper, beautiful and fierce and abandoned over Naoji.

Naoji reached up as Lui settled over him, arms sliding under the silky mane of Lui's hair as he pressed close. "I am yours," he whispered, words he only ever spoke, truth he only ever gave voice to when they were in bed.

Lui practically purred, lifting Naoji's chin and kissing him deep and slow.

Sometimes Naoji wondered whether Lui simply soothed his homesickness or if Lui was becoming his new home. Either way, it was Lui's voice and touch that called him, opened him.

He knew he would never cease to answer.

End

It's All a Metaphor

Remixed ending, a kind of AU to the rest of the arc. This is another way Tsuna and Xanxus might have come to their final understanding—a somewhat more dramatic one. Mind-Porn, I-4

The door of Tsuna's office was kicked open and Squalo stood in it, ignoring the weapons leveled at him.

"You!"

Tsuna regarded the finger pointed at him rather like a sword. "Yes?"

Squalo folded his arms. "You said you had a responsibility to him, after what you did."

You could always tell Squalo was serious when he stopped shouting, Tsuna reflected, and sighed as he stood up. "Where is he?"

"In his rooms." Squalo's mouth twisted. "Better hurry if you don't want him to break the goddamn wall this time."

"Thank you," Tsuna murmured with a sigh and went to see about Xanxus.

Squalo had almost understated the case, Tsuna decided, looking around the wreckage of Xanxus' outer room. The walls weren't broken but nearly everything else was, and Xanxus stood in the middle of it, chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Xanxus?" Tsuna asked, softly.

Xanxus whirled on him. "I can't do it!"

"Can't do what?" Tsuna edged cautiously into the room, closing the door behind him.

"I can't fire on this goddamn Family! At anyone I know! The Flame won't come!"

Tsuna firmly suppressed the urge to either roll his eyes or laugh helplessly. Xanxus, he reminded himself, had never been restrained by anything. "Most people find that they can't fire at those they care for, who care for them, even with normal weapons."

Xanxus swept a hand across as if to strike away the words. "It's always come! It's always been there!"

Tsuna paused and looked harder at Xanxus. "The anger," he murmured, after a moment. It wasn't exactly the Dying Will Flame Xanxus had never been without; it was his rage. The rage had been his weapon and his satisfaction, and now it was... well, not gone, but reduced. No wonder he was off balance.

Xanxus might not be in a good frame of mind to think about those underlying truths just at the moment, though. Perhaps it would be just as well for him to focus on the surface.

"If you can't always fuel your Flame with anger," Tsuna said, matter of fact, "then you just need to master a different use of it. A different form, to use at other times."

Xanxus' lip started to curl and then he abruptly stopped, gaze sharpening on Tsuna. Tsuna held his ground as Xanxus stalked towards him.

"Show me."

That made Tsuna blink. "Um?"

"Your Flame is strong enough." Xanxus took Tsuna's wrist and pulled his hand up, placing it flat against his chest. "Show me, again."

Tsuna swallowed, trying to get his voice back from wherever shock had taken it. "Xanxus. I don't know if..."

Xanxus eyes were burning, locked with Tsuna's, and his words vibrated through his chest under Tsuna's palm. "Show me."

Tsuna bit his lip. Squalo had been right; Tsuna had accepted his responsibility to Xanxus when he'd chosen to reach in and free his heart. He'd just never done something like this from a cold start, before. And certainly not by request. He took a deep breath and set his other hand on Xanxus' shoulder. "All right."

It didn't take long to find his Dying Will, but Tsuna let it light slowly, carefully, concentrating, not on burning or purifying, but on reaching out and touching, enfolding, encompassing Xanxus' heart. A harsh gasp heaved the chest under his hand and he looked up.

Xanxus stood with his eyes half closed, head tossed back. Slowly, his hands came up to close on Tsuna's arms. "More," he said, husky.

Tsuna looked up at him, measuringly. "You're sure this is what you need?"

Xanxus swallowed, the taut arch of his throat working, and nodded.

"All right." Tsuna let the need of one of his Family call him, let his Will burn brighter, closing it around Xanxus' heart or mind or soul, whatever it was of Xanxus that was under his hand.

Xanxus' knees buckled and he folded down to the floor. Tsuna moved with him, unsurprised, settling between Xanxus' knees, left hand firm and reassuring on his shoulder. Xanxus' whole body was drawn taut, now, his breathing quick and hard.

"My friends, my family, those are the most important things, to me," Tsuna murmured to the man he held. "When I need it for them, it comes. As strong as it needs to be. Feel." He reached deeper, stronger, wanting Xanxus to know this.

Xanxus gasped and arched into Tsuna's hand, panting now, breath cut short as the heat of Tsuna's Will sank into him deep and slow, folded around him, offered to cherish him. His hands flexed on Tsuna's arms, pulling him closer, and it was only because they were so close that Tsuna caught the whisper on his lips.

"...Tenth."

Tsuna couldn't help the way his Will flared in response to that, not when he'd heard that tone before in Gokudera's voice, and Xanxus groaned as it burned through him. Tsuna made himself stop; he shouldn't go too far with this. He slid his left arm around Xanxus, holding him, palm pressed hard to his chest as Tsuna slowly eased his Will back. This close, he could feel the small shudders that worked through Xanxus as Tsuna released him, drew back until his Will was only just touching him. "Are you all right?" he murmured in Xanxus' ear.

Xanxus didn't answer, but his hand came up to press Tsuna's against his chest.

Tsuna smiled, gently. "I'm not going away," he promised.

Xanxus growled at that interpretation, but didn't let go. Tsuna knelt with him, patient. "The price of your old power is to hate," he said, softly. "The price of this power is to care. They can both hurt. You have to decide for yourself whether you can pay the price."

Xanxus nodded, after a moment, silently. Tsuna had the impression that he'd forgotten about the point of the exercise.

At least, the point when they'd started.

He pressed his Will out just a little and felt Xanxus' breath catch. "I care for all my Family. Always."

A breath brushed past his ear, only the suggestion of the word boss in it.

Tsuna's arm tightened and he smiled as he confirmed it.

"Always."

End

A Brighter Shade of Red

Crossover of Saiunkoku Monogatari and Fushigi Yuugi. Shuurei has a friend and advisor who is apart from the capital's politics; Yui has a place for her abilities and a lover who reminds her of them. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Yui curled up on the bed, one hand propping up her head, and watched Shuurei pace the room, sleeping robe fluttering around her ankles.

"And then! And then! He said we couldn't do anything about Haruki, even if he is taking bribes, because he has a patron from the Heki clan, and I should know that the Heki are going to be the deciding voice in the land redistribution this year!" Her brown eyes snapped like sparks; Yui felt she might warm her hands at that fire of Shuurei's, melt the ice out of her bones, where it had settled years ago.

In any case, she could help feed it. She pursed her lips, paging, in her mind, through the scrolls she had read—she'd thought at first just to have something to do. "Well, you know I haven't gotten through as much of your historical law as I'd like, so there may be a contradictory precedent I don't know about..."

Shuurei turned to her with wide, hopeful eyes, and Yui chuckled.

"The Heki own a lot of land rights outside their province, yes, but isn't it all subsoil rights? If another block were to buy up the topsoil leases, then that would take effective control of the land away from the Heki, wouldn't it? I'm sure I read about this just a little while ago."

Shuurei stood still, clasped hands pressed against her lips, eyes suddenly wide. "Oh. Oh yes. And then it wouldn't matter how the redistribution went, because the usage rights would already be tied up. I wonder... if the Emperor could regain control of that land this way it would pull more power back from the great families... " She nodded decisively. "I'll write to Uncle, tomorrow, about supporting that."

"Always thinking about the bigger picture." Yui smiled at her. "That's why you're a politician and I'm not." Actually, the political tangles here still made Yui's head spin sometimes.

Shuurei snorted at this, impatient as always with anything that sniffed of self-deprecation. "Just one of the best law scholars in the capital. Even if almost no one but me knows it yet." Shuurei picked up her discarded hairbrush to finish brushing out her hair.

Yui shrugged, smiling. "I always thought I might want to go into law, when I was younger. I like having the chance to do it, now."

Shuurei looked over her shoulder, gentle now. "Maybe that's why you came here."

Yui turned over on her back, looking up at the ceiling. "Maybe. Who knows." Her mouth quirked. "Besides, possibly, Riou." Who she tried to stay away from. She dealt with mysticism even worse than politics, these days.

Shuurei sighed, running her fingers through her loose hair. "Riou came to talk to me again yesterday. He thinks I'll stop caring for politics and such 'little things' sooner or later." She sat down on the edge of the bed with a glum sigh. "Probably sooner, according to him."

"I think he's dreaming," Yui said dryly. "I'm grateful enough he placed me with you, when I first came here, but honestly. I can't imagine you ever not caring about this." More softly, "About your people." It was one of the things that fascinated her enough to stay here with Shuurei—her care, her idealism and ruthlessness, each passing effortlessly through her hands in its time, like juggled balls.

Shuurei tangled her fingers together. "I can't either," she said to them, "but... I'm..."

Yui silently cursed Riou for stirring up Shuurei's doubts again. She reached out and pulled Shuurei down to her. "Shhh. Whatever your mother was, you're you." She kissed Shuurei softly and smiled. "See?"

Shuurei laughed, finally relaxing, winding her arms around Yui. "I'm so glad you came," she said, muffled, against Yui's shoulder.

"I think I am, too," Yui whispered into the darkness of her hair.

Shuurei leaned up on an elbow, eyes wide with mock alarm and sparkling. "You think? That won't do at all!" She pressed closer against Yui and kissed her back, considerably more sensually, open and unselfconscious.

Yui made a soft sound, lips parting, hands sliding down the full curves of Shuurei's body under the robe. "Going to convince me to be more enthusiastic?" she asked, husky.

Shuurei, who was always at her best with a challenge, downright grinned, hands busy with the tie of Yui's sleeping robe. "I think so, yes."

Yui laughed. Having met Kochou she didn't wonder any more at Shuurei's boldness and humor about this. And then she moaned softly as Shuurei's hands stroked over her skin.

She had never told Shuurei, and she never would, that whatever Shuurei's heritage was, it did change her. Her hands reminded Yui a little, just a little, of being touched by a god, a glow of rightness and presence that wasn't physical but still heated Yui's body.

Just enough to calm Yui's lingering hunger and let her feel this world properly.

"Ahh..." Yui's breath deepened and she arched up into the wet heat of Shuurei's mouth on her breast. "Very convincing," she gasped.

"Mm?" Shuurei's tongue stroked her nipple. "And this?" Slim fingers slid down between Yui's legs, touching her gently.

Yui was losing track of the game in the pleasure, but managed to whisper, "Very glad to be here," before the sweetness curling down her nerves distracted her entirely. She spread her legs wider, lifting up into the touch, and Shuurei kissed her, murmuring soothing half words, fingers rubbing slow and easy, coaxing and gentle, the way she'd always touched Yui from the first moment they'd met and Shuurei had gathered up her hands in welcome.

Shuurei's fingers dipped into her and slid back up, bold and slick, and Yui gasped, hips rocking up. She loved Shuurei's ease with their bodies. It sank her down into the heat, into a feeling of safety as Shuurei's familiar, mortal and human curves pressed against her and dark hair slipped down to brush her cheek like another caress. "Shuurei," she breathed, arms tightening around her as pleasure curled tighter and tighter and finally broke through her, hot and strong and open.

Shuurei held her close until she sighed and relaxed back against the sheets. Yui nuzzled the curve of Shuurei's neck and murmured, "You know I'll stay with you." She hadn't missed the tiny flicker of darkness in Shuurei's eyes before teasing covered it.

Shuurei blushed a little, soft and happy, and snuggled up against her. "I know. It's wonderful; thank you."

"Mm, thank you," Yui returned, and they laughed together, light and breathless.

Sometimes, when Yui ran her fingers through Shuurei's sleek, dark hair, she remembered Miaka leaning against her, Miaka's hands reaching toward her. But when Shuurei smiled, warm as the sun and twice as brilliant, dragons and gods and the dimmed day-to-day world that came after washed out of Yui's mind, and she, too, was very glad she had come to this place. A place where the eyes of the person who touched her saw beauty and wisdom, not fragments and foolishness. It made her think she might become what Shuurei saw.

She held Shuurei closer and murmured against her ear, "Do I get a bedtime story tonight?"

"Of course." Shuurei hooked a leg comfortably around Yui's. "What do you want to hear about?"

"Tell me more about the Chancellery..."

End

A/N: The author would like to note that this story is entirely the fault of Lys ap Adin, fic enabler extraorinaire.

But For the Love of You

Tsuna accepts what Gokudera offers, so that he can give what he can. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Tsuna had thought, ever since he started to think about it at all, that the reason Gokudera seemed harsh to most people was that the brash manner he wrapped around himself clashed so with the fine elegance of his mind and presence. In the rare moments he let himself quiet, Gokudera seemed quite gentle to Tsuna, voice lowered into smoothness, the lines that usually caged his eyes tight relaxing into something like serenity.

And sometimes even a bit of mischief.

"Done for the day, boss?"

"For today I think," Tsuna agreed, a little wary but smiling.

"Ah, good." A corner of Gokudera's mouth curled up. "So, you have some time for yourself, now?" He casually closed the door and strolled across the room.

Tsuna laughed, surrendering to the brightness in Gokudera's eyes. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Good," Gokudera repeated, softer, and knelt between Tsuna's feet. His hands folded around one of Tsuna's, lifting it as he bent his head. Lips brushed Tsuna's palm lightly, followed by the soft, wet stroke of Gokudera's tongue, and Tsuna's breath caught as it traced over his skin. The fineness of Gokudera's hair fell forward and feathered over Tsuna's wrist, and a tiny sound caught in his throat as Gokudera's lips wrapped around his middle finger, sliding down the length of it slowly.

Gokudera glanced up at him without lifting his head. "Boss?" he murmured.

Tsuna was already thankful that his pants weren't very tight, and the openness of Gokudera's smile made his chest feel a little the same. "Yes," he said, husky.

Gokudera's fingers were light, undoing Tsuna's belt and opening his pants, eyes holding his above that smile. It made Tsuna's face heat, and the smile crept wider. When Gokudera bent his head again, though, his lashes fell over those bright eyes and the soft, wanting sound he made as he closed his mouth over Tsuna's cock made Tsuna's whole body flush. Gokudera's pleasure in this took his breath away.

A moan slipped between his parted lips as Gokudera's mouth slid slowly down him and back up, wet and soft, tongue sliding firmly over Tsuna's head. Gokudera's hands stroking up Tsuna's thighs made him spread his legs wider, even though there was no pressure in them at all. Only entreaty that he couldn't help answering.

The way Gokudera touched him when they were alone pulled everything out of him, and Tsuna leaned his head back against the cool leather of his chair, panting as the heat of Gokudera's mouth moved up and down. He watched Gokudera in quick glimpses, from under heavy lids, and the softness of Gokudera's face as he closed his eyes and worked his mouth over Tsuna's cock made another moan shiver through Tsuna's chest, braided out of the hot pleasure coiling low in his stomach and the floating lightness under his heart. He stroked his hands over Gokudera's shoulders, fingers lifting to slide through his hair gently, and the corners of Gokudera's mouth turned up.

"Mmmmm."

The vibration of that pleased sound, around him, made Tsuna gasp, and his hips rocked up, helplessly. A low moan answered him as his cock pushed deeper into Gokudera's mouth and sensual relaxation swept over Gokudera's face. Tsuna rocked up again and made a soft, satisfied sound as one of Gokudera's hands left him to drop down between Gokudera's own legs. Gokudera's low breathless sounds around his cock urged Tsuna on as he thrust into Gokudera's mouth, trying to be careful until Gokudera opened his eyes and looked up at him, hot and bright, and Tsuna fell right down into pleasure and couldn't tell how hard his hips drove up, only that Gokudera was moaning between his legs as orgasm swept Tsuna fast and fierce.

Tsuna fell back against the chair, panting, shuddering with the soft slide of Gokudera's mouth. When Gokudera finally drew back Tsuna managed to pry his eyes open, and promptly blushed at the way Gokudera was looking at him, all heavy satisfaction and lurking tenderness.

"Good way to end the day?" Gokudera asked, mischief sneaking back for a moment.

Tsuna smiled, soft. "Yeah." His fingers stroked through the silvery fall of Gokudera's hair, heart turning over at the way Gokudera turned into his hand, eyes slipping closed again, peaceful and trustful. "It is."

End

Two Hands Make A Pair

In which the Vongola Ninth's Mist and Rain reach an agreement, and establish a pattern that will carry them forward. This is set about ten years before "Blood Will Tell." Timoteo has been the Ninth for a little under a decade at this point. This is a sidestory for the arc, focusing pretty much entirely on two of the original characters, and is not necessary to the main thrust of A House Divided—but it may make some character motivations make more sense later.Fraught smut

Gianni may have been the Vongola Ninth's right hand, and his Mist Guardian besides, but he wasn't too proud to admit it when he was tired. And tonight, he was tired.

Admitting that he was tired to himself and letting it show to anyone else were, however, two entirely separate things. There were miles yet to go this night—metaphorical ones, if not literal ones—and Gianni frankly didn't have the time to be tired.

He kept his eyes on the wall opposite him as Timoteo stooped over his wife's bed and murmured his goodnights. Her reply was low, reedy, barely any louder than the machines that surrounded her.

She was getting worse.

A few moments more, and the Ninth joined him in the hall, closing the door after him, gently. The minute it was shut, some of the straightness left his shoulders, and the smile faded from his mouth.

There were times when one could say something, and times when nothing at all could help. Gianni had lived long enough to be able to tell the difference, and waited now until the Ninth had cleared his throat. "Come on, then," he said, gruff. "We have work to do."

"Of course, Boss," Gianni said, catching Rafaele's eye in passing as he fell in with the Ninth. The Rain looked almost as tired as Gianni felt.

But neither of them were as tired as the Ninth, so Gianni simply shrugged at him in passing. Rafaele hung back to speak briefly with the bodyguards who'd be taking the night watch at the hospital—no doubt to instruct them to telephone the hotel the instant there seemed to be any change for the worse—and then jogged after them to catch up.

Timoteo began talking almost before they were all in the car, bringing up plans for an expansion into the Pozzo Nero's territory. He had lots to say, and Gianni was glad not to be driving, so that he could devote his full attention to the Ninth's ideas. They weren't bad. They were a little sketchy, of course, but that was only to be expected when the Ninth had come up with the idea while keeping vigil at his wife's bedside.

The Pozzo Nero weren't going to know what had hit them. If they were at all wise, they wouldn't try to resist too hard.

"Well, then, get that started for me," the Ninth said, as their little convoy rolled up to the hotel and the man they had stationed out front signaled an all clear. "I want to move at the end of the week."

Gianni blinked; the Ninth wanted to move that fast? "The end of the week?" he repeated.

Rafaele broke in. "That's short notice, Boss."

"There's no sense in wasting time," the Ninth grunted, as one of their men sprang forward to open the door for him.

"Of course not," Gianni agreed, stepping out into the spring evening after him. "It's going to take time to get the ball rolling, though. We're not exactly at home."

"I could hardly forget that," Timoteo snapped.

"I don't think that's what Gianni meant," Rafaele said, smooth and calm. He surrendered the car's keys to another of their men and came around the car to join them. "Boss, have you really thought this through?"

He'd timed it well, asking just as they stepped through the hotel's front doors. The Ninth couldn't answer as they passed into the hotel's lobby and its crowd of rich, laughing patrons, most of whom ignored the knot of black-suited men moving through their midst. By the time they'd reached the elevators, the Ninth's temper had had the time to flash in his eyes and then subside again. "You're right," he said, once they were alone in a car and it had begun its slow ascent to their floor. "I wasn't thinking." He ran a hand over his face. "I forget that not everyone has the time to sit and think that I do, these days."

Gianni avoided Rafaele's eyes in the mirrored walls of the elevator's car, and simply shrugged. "I'll call Maria tonight and have her and Paolo begin assessing things, so that everything will be ready when we get home."

"Not tonight," the Ninth said; Gianni watched his shoulders slump further in their reflection. "Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"Of course, Boss," Gianni murmured, as the elevator chimed for their floor and opened onto the hall.

The Ninth found a smile for them, from somewhere, as they stepped out of the car. "Indeed. Take the rest of the night off, you two. It's still young." He flicked his hands at them, and then moved away, flanked by his bodyguards.

Rafaele stopped next to Gianni. "Take the night off, he says." He turned a wry smile on Gianni. "I think he's mistaking us for Michele."

"Perhaps," Gianni agreed, watching the retreat of the Ninth's back, until he disappeared into his suite.

"Still, it's not a bad idea." Rafaele stretched and knocked his shoulder against Gianni's. "Come with me. I have a bottle of wine. I could use your opinion on it."

Gianni glanced at him. "Rafaele, you've never in your life needed an opinion on a bottle of wine."

"I need an opinion for this one," Rafaele told him, placidly, and gestured. "After you."

Gianni snorted, but let himself be ushered down the hall towards Rafaele's suite of rooms.

"Well?" Rafaele said later, when Gianni reached the bottom of his glass. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure." Gianni held out his glass. "I'd better have another."

Rafaele laughed and obliged him, topping off his own glass in the process, and Gianni settled more comfortably into his chair. Hotel rooms were the same the world over, but this one wasn't too bad. It was comfortable enough for sitting in and sharing a bottle of wine, in any case, he decided, sipping the wine and savoring it, red and round and full on his tongue. "It's a good bottle," he said. He leaned his head back and sighed. "You didn't really need me to tell you that," he added, from behind closed eyes.

"No, but you needed to stop working," Rafaele said, dry as bone. "And I wasn't sure that even a direct order was going to get you to do it."

"This is hardly the time to be lazy," Gianni said, still with his eyes closed. "Or careless. Whatever he needs—"

"We should do, yes. But that doesn't include rushing headlong into a petty war with the Pozzo Nero just because the Boss is too distracted to think straight," Rafaele said.

Gianni's eyes popped open, and he sat up to argue the point. "We both know—"

"We both know I'm right. Gianni, think, will you? Be his right hand and think about what it would mean if we went haring off on this." Rafaele was looking at him, steady and calm. "If nothing else, think of what Maria would say."

That was... a legitimate point. Gianni leaned back and covered his eyes, imagining what their Cloud would have said if he'd called to tell her they were moving against the Pozzo Nero this week. "God."

"I suspect even God wouldn't be able to help you."

"Perhaps not." Gianni lowered his hand and reached for his wine. "Just as well that we have you to be sensible, isn't it?"

"At least when it comes to matters like this one," Rafaele said, and shrugged.

There was something there that Gianni didn't quite like the sound of. "Matters like this one?" he echoed.

Rafaele took a drink of his wine, dark eyes steady over the glass, and then set it down. "You're not entirely rational on matters that touch the Boss directly," he said, finally, matter-of-fact about it. "Not when it comes to doing the things that you think will make him happy. Or just ease his mind when he's suffering."

"That sounds suspiciously like you're accusing me of failing him as his right hand," Gianni said, anger rising in his chest, tight and hot.

Rafaele continued to look at him, eyes direct and clear. "I'm not. You're a good right hand. One of the best, even. But when you look at the Boss and see Timoteo and not the Ninth, your heart gets in the way of your head."

The knot of anger turned icy and changed into a sick twisting in his gut. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Gianni said, going cold all over.

Rafaele's answering smile was infinitely kind, and slid between his ribs like a knife. "Gianni, I know," he said, gently. "We all do, although I expect the twins try not to think about it too closely. It's all right."

The enormity of that simple statement was too much to grasp all at once; as precious seconds ticked by, Gianni knew that he ought to be denying the accusation, or pretending that he didn't follow Rafaele's meaning—doing something that would defuse the situation. But he couldn't quite marshal the wits to do it with, and sat, staring like some lackwit as Rafaele watched him, patiently. "You..."

"Not everyone would be able to see it," Rafaele continued, still with that gentle, relentless look on his face. "You hide it very well. But we're your Family. We know you better than anyone else does. When we're united in one purpose, you can't exactly hide your heart from us."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Gianni demanded, taking refuge in harshness against the probability that he was about to lose—everything.

"It's never presented a problem till now." Rafaele lifted a shoulder, shrugging. He reached for his wine again and drained the glass. "And I don't think it needs to be a problem. What you need is someone to watch your back for you."

Gianni couldn't help sneering. "I suppose you're offering?"

"Of course I am. I'm your friend. And your Family." Rafaele raised an eyebrow at him. "What else would I do?"

Gianni could feel his mouth twist at all the ugly possibilities. "I can think of half a dozen things. None of them involve watching my back."

"We're Vongola," Rafaele reminded him. "That's not our way. Not with our own." He seemed to consider it, and reached over to close his hands around Gianni's, his grip warm and reassuring. "Gianni. I will guard you. I will help you. You have my word on this—my word and my oath."

"Rafaele..." Gianni took a breath and steadied himself against the strength of Rafaele's hands around his and the solemn weight in his gaze. Now was no time for pride, not when the Family itself was at stake. "Someone to... oversee me in this would... be most welcome." He looked away. "My weaknesses must not be allowed to affect the Family."

"Here, now." Rafaele gave his hands a shake; when Gianni looked back, he was frowning. "None of that. Love is not a weakness. You're not weak, either."

"Don't try to flatter me," Gianni said, not quite able to stop the way his mouth twisted on the words. "We both know what this is." It was kind of Rafaele to try to spare his pride, of course, but the man ought to have been calling for him to resign—from his position as the Ninth's right hand, if nothing else.

"No," Rafaele said, slowly, watching him. "No, I'm beginning to think that we don't." He frowned again, eyes going thoughtful. "I think you've been carrying this alone for too long."

"It's not the sort of thing you share," Gianni told him. "Not really."

"No?" Rafaele's smile was quick, sudden—one of his I've just had an idea smiles. "I wonder about that."

"Rafaele," Gianni began, although trying to forestall the Rain when he'd decided to meddle was nearly always a lost cause. "It's—"

It's all right, he'd been meaning to say, or perhaps, It's nothing I'm not used to. Rafaele didn't let him do it. He let go of Gianni's hands and came out of his chair to lean over Gianni's. "You shouldn't think yourself alone," he said, quietly, and curved a hand around Gianni's jaw.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" Gianni asked, low and harsh.

"Kissing you," Rafaele said, with an easy smile. "We'll see about the rest in a bit, I think."

Rafaele had him caged in well enough that he couldn't really recoil when Rafaele leaned closer and pressed their mouths together, kissing him, slow and hot and competent. If he felt any qualms about kissing another man, he gave no sign of it. He kissed Gianni insistently, mouth moving against Gianni's until Gianni answered it, grudgingly, and kissed back, feeling Rafaele's pleased rumble more than hearing it when he did. "What are you doing?" he asked again, when Rafaele finally drew back, just a bit. "I don't want your pity. I don't need that."

"It's not pity, you stubborn bastard." Rafaele smiled at him, wry and exasperated. He rubbed his thumb against the corner of Gianni's jaw. "It's friendship."

Gianni leaned into the touch, to his own disgust. "You're not—like I am," he said. "Friendship doesn't go this far."

Rafaele's mouth crooked. "There's a man by the name of Kinsey who I think you ought to read up on," he said, obliquely, and then leaned in to kiss Gianni again, slow and sure. "You let me decide just how far my friendship goes," he added, against Gianni's mouth. "Trust me to know what I'm doing."

Gianni let out a breath that was shaky, and not just because of the thought of what it might mean to be able to trust Rafaele with this part of himself. "You really think you know what you're doing here?"

"Been studying on it for a while, so I figure I do," Rafaele said, still with that relaxed smile.

"Do you?" Gianni asked, low and harsh, resenting the easiness of the offer. "You're ready to let me bend you over and fuck you? And to suck my cock? And to know it's not even you I'll be thinking about?"

Rafaele's eyes and smile stayed steady. "Yes." He seemed to stop, and reconsider. "But if you're thinking about someone else the whole time, then that's a sign I'm doing something wrong. Don't you think?" he asked, letting his hand fall away from Gianni's jaw. It dropped into Gianni's lap, curving over the front of Gianni's slacks and palming his cock through them, kneading the half-hard length of it. Softly, he added, "I don't think your mind has even wandered all that far."

Damn him for a smug bastard. "You should know what you're getting into," Gianni told him, half-gasping the words, hips lifting into the pressure of Rafaele's palm—God, it had been too long since he'd done anything like this, and it showed all too clearly in how he was responding, especially when Rafaele smiled and pressed harder. "Rafaele—"

"Enough," Rafaele told him. "I know what I'm doing." He kissed Gianni again, slowly, purposefully, until Gianni arched against him and caught his hand on one of Rafaele's solid shoulders, gripping it. "Unless you have other objections?" he murmured against Gianni's mouth, fingers undoing his slacks and sliding inside.

There were plenty, only Gianni couldn't quite manage to lay hands on them, not with Rafaele's fingers wrapping around him, stroking over him, sure and unhesitating. He suspected that Rafaele knew it, from the way Rafaele smiled at the incoherent sound he made when Rafaele's thumb dragged over his head. "Bastard," Gianni said, low, managing that much, at least.

"Yes, when I need to be," Rafaele agreed, and kissed him again, deep and hot, mouth moving against Gianni's, coaxing, until Gianni surrendered to the slowness of it and to the heat twining through him, and let his hips rock into the grip of Rafaele's fist. It took an embarrassingly short time after that for the heat to draw him out of himself, pleasure rushing down every nerve, sweeping him along with it.

When he could begin to think again, Rafaele had pressed himself close, fitting himself against Gianni as best as the chair would let him, and had an arm around him, supporting him. "Yes," he was saying against Gianni's ear, voice pitched low and intimate. "I have you. It's all right, I have you."

That sent a shudder of something down Gianni's spine, slow and convulsive, and he rested his forehead against Rafaele's shoulder. "Fuck," he rasped, when he could manage to speak again.

"If you like." Rafaele's lips moved against the side of his through, shaping the words against his skin. "I've got you."

"You're absolutely insane," Gianni told him, since it was the purest truth. Rafaele's shoulder shook under his forehead—laughter, low and warm. "You are," he insisted, and reached between them to prove it. "As much as I appreciate the—" He stopped short as his fingers encountered the unmistakable lines of Rafaele's cock straining against the confines of his slacks.

Rafaele's laughter husked against his ear. "Mmm," he said, "you were saying?"

Gianni lifted his head and eyed him. Rafaele's smile was sleek and satisfied, though his eyes were hungry. "I cannot believe you."

Rafaele arched an eyebrow at him. "What is there to believe?"

Gianni declined to answer that; something about the way Rafaele looked at him suggested that he already knew. "We should move," he said, instead, and watched Rafaele's eyes go dark. "To the bed."

"I like that idea," Rafaele murmured, and collected another kiss from him before drawing back, straightening up and turning towards the bedroom.

Gianni followed after him, watching the easy, unselfconscious way Rafaele stripped out of his shirt and draped it over a chair, and shed his slacks with the same careless ease before finally stepping out of his underwear and then stretching out on the turned-down sheets.

It made him wonder if Rafaele actually knew how beautiful he was.

"Well, are you just going to stand there?" Rafaele asked him, after a moment, smiling like he was satisfied with the way Gianni had been staring.

"No," Gianni said, coming away from the doorway and shedding his own clothes before joining him. "I wasn't planning on it," he added, leaning over Rafaele and kissing him.

Rafaele arched against him with a pleased sound, hands finding Gianni's back and stroking down it. "Mm, glad to hear it," he said, with a fearless smile. "What do you—"

Gianni stopped him, laying two fingers against his lips. "Enough," he said, quietly. "Let me."

"Of course," Rafaele said, when Gianni took his fingers away. "Anything you like."

The wonder of it was that he meant it, too.

"I know," Gianni told him, and kissed him again.

Rafaele hummed against his mouth as he did, arching into Gianni's hands as they followed the shape of him, moving over Rafaele's solid shoulders and chest and stroking down over his stomach and thighs. He spread his legs against the sheets, willingly, and broke away from Gianni's mouth long enough to say, "In the drawer on this side."

Gianni couldn't make himself be surprised when the reach over to the bedside table turned up a bottle of oil. "You've been planning for this," he said, turning the discreet little bottle in his fingers.

"Of course." Rafaele smiled at him, lazily. "It seemed like the prudent thing to do."

"I see." Gianni set the bottle down and shifted down the bed. Rafaele made an interrogative noise that turned into a gasp as Gianni knelt between his legs and bent his head to stroke his mouth over Rafaele's cock.

Rafaele moaned his name, low and open, and again as Gianni ran his tongue over him, slow and deliberate, taking him in and savoring the heavy weight of him on his tongue. Gianni watched Rafaele as he moved his mouth over Rafaele's cock, watching the pleasure chasing itself over Rafaele's face and the way Rafaele arched and shifted under his hands, lean and unselfconscious, until he finally drew taut, shuddering apart on a low cry.

Rafaele turned against him when Gianni settled at his side, afterwards. "Mm," he said, sounding distinctly satisfied, "I should have done that a while ago, I think."

"I can't believe you've been so desperate for a bed partner that you've been considering me for it," Gianni returned, lightly.

Rafaele opened his half-closed eyes, the look in them going sharp. "Who said I was the desperate one?" He reached out and touched the place between Gianni's eyebrows. "You're the one who looks like ten years just came off him."

"Was it that bad?" Gianni asked, rather than deny it.

Rafaele's eyes softened. "Yes. Every time you look at the Ninth these days, it gets a little worse."

Gianni rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his arm. "I can't do anything," he said, admitting it out loud, finally. "This is tearing him apart, and there isnâ€™t a fucking think I can do for him, and—"

Rafaele's arm slid around him, and Rafaele himself was warm against his side. "I know," he said. "Believe me, I know."

"Not like I do," Gianni told him. "And now I can't even trust myself because of it—"

Rafaele's arm tightened around him as his voice broke. "But you can trust me," he said, low and serious. "You're not doing this alone. You have me."

Funny, that it should be the assurance of that offer which finally broke him, but it did. Gianni turned and pressed himself against Rafaele, tucking his face into the curve of Rafaele's throat. "Promise me that you won't let me fuck up because of this," he said, hoarse.

Rafaele's arms slid around him, securely. "I promise," he said.

Gianni closed his eyes, accepting that. "I'm so tired," he admitted, after a moment.

That didn't begin to encompass it all, but Rafaele seemed to understand anyway. "I know," he said, gently, and set a hand in Gianni's hair, stroking it. "But you can rest with me."

Gianni exhaled, slow and stuttering; when he finally began to relax against that promise, Rafaele took his weight without a murmur of protest. "Thank you."

"Any time," Rafaele told him, and held him until he fell asleep.

- end -

May Flowers

Tsuna gives his people whatever they need, and Yamamoto is no exception. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Tsuna pressed Takeshi back against the bed, settling over him, and nodded to himself at Takeshi's low sigh.

It was easier, he thought, to give Gokudera what he needed. Gokudera was far more straightforward. When Yamamoto came to him Tsuna had to look harder and make guesses.

Sometimes Yamamoto just sat quietly at his feet for an evening. Sometimes he wanted to hold Tsuna, to shelter and shield him, and Tsuna rested against his chest until his arms relaxed and loosened. Sometimes he wanted to touch, slow and gentle, and kissed Tsuna's fingers softly until Tsuna said yes.

And sometimes he needed to not be the protector, for a while.

Tsuna kissed Takeshi's palms, one after the other and pressed his hands down gently, firmly against the bed, watching Takeshi's eyes fall half closed, his lips part on a quick breath.

"It's all right," Tsuna told him, softly.

Takeshi smiled up at him, sweet and rueful, relaxing under his hands. "Yeah."

Tsuna stroked down Takeshi's arms, over his bare chest, kneading the hard muscle there, pleased as Takeshi sighed more deeply and let his hands lie against the sheets, fingers uncurling loosely. It was a warm feeling, that Takeshi could relax under his hands. Tsuna dipped his fingers in the jar on his bedside table, slicking them, and reached down to press between Takeshi's cheeks and rub over and over his entrance in slow, hard circles.

Takeshi moaned at that, letting his legs fall open.

"There," Tsuna murmured as taut muscle unwound under his touch. "It's all right, Takeshi. Just feel." He could feel the soft shudder that ran through Takeshi's body as his fingers pressed in deep.

"Oh... yes." Takeshi's voice was husky now, eyes dark as he looked up at Tsuna under lowered lids. "Boss..."

Tsuna's mouth quirked and he leaned down to take Takeshi's mouth and kiss him slow and thorough. "Yes."

It always meant something particular when Takeshi called him that. Tonight, at least, it was easy to figure out what.

He reached for more lube to stroke over his cock, catching a breath at the coolness of it; at least he didn't blush over it any more. Not when he was concentrating on someone else. He slid his palms down Takeshi's thighs, easy but not lightly, pressing them wider. Takeshi's breath was coming fast now, as Tsuna spread him out against the sheets.

"Boss... please."

"Shh." Tsuna leaned in to kiss him again and Takeshi shivered under his hands. "It's okay. I've got you," Tsuna murmured.

Takeshi laughed, low and breathless. "Yeah." And then he moaned, head dropping back to bare the arch of his throat, as Tsuna pushed into him.

Tsuna's own breath came in short bursts as he slid into the tight heat of Takeshi's body and pleasure curled through him. He rode the edge of it and watched Takeshi carefully, hips flexing slowly. The husky sounds Takeshi made guided him, drew him on until he was fucking Takeshi hard and steady, heat curling up his spine at the way Takeshi moaned. He leaned in for a sharper angle and when Takeshi shuddered and gasped, he smiled, drew back, thrust harder.

"Ahh!"

Takeshi's hands were clenched again and Tsuna reached up to grip his wrists, holding him down firmly. "Let go," he ordered, low and even and sure. "I have you."

That was the last thing it took and Takeshi cried out, wordless, hips jerking up as Tsuna drove into him hard and fast. His body tightened fiercely and Tsuna hissed through his teeth, hanging on until Takeshi was still, under him, and he could let himself go, let heat rush through him like a flood and leave him draped over Takeshi, panting.

Takeshi was lax under his hands, eyes dark and calm.

Tsuna smiled.

"Stay there," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Takeshi's forehead, and slipped out of bed to fetch a washcloth.

Takeshi was pliant as Tsuna cleaned them up, but his hands were always stroking lightly over any part of Tsuna he could reach; Tsuna settled back down with him as soon as he'd tossed the cloth in the hamper and pressed close. "It's all right," he repeated, gently.

"I know." Takeshi lifted Tsuna's hand and kissed his fingers. "Boss."

"Yes," Tsuna promised. "I'm here." He hesitated for a breath and added, "And you're mine."

The last tension unwound from Takeshi's body and he smiled.

Tsuna stroked Takeshi's hair as they lay together. He still wondered, sometimes, if it had been right to entangle people like Yamamoto, like Ryouhei, in the world of the mafia. But he had to admit, that world neatly enfolded Yamamoto's mix of gentleness and violence.

Most of the time.

If it was his reassurance that his people needed, for those moments when it didn't, Tsuna would certainly give it.

Takeshi's breathing evened into sleep and Tsuna held him closer, satisfied.

End

Going Back Someday

Yamamoto comes to visit Gokudera and they navigate around their trust and need for each other—indirectly as always. Drama with Romantic Porn, I-4

A knock at the door pulled Hayato out of the depths of differential equations and he glared at the blank wood for a moment before getting up, grumbling under his breath the whole way, to see who it was.

"Takeshi?" He blinked, hands full of his front door and his math textbook, neither free to adjust his reading glasses the way he felt a momentary need to.

"Hey." Takeshi leaned in the doorway, grinning. "Thought it was about time I stopped in for a visit."

After over a month away. Hayato sniffed, but stood aside for him. "I suppose you might as well come in, yes."

Takeshi sprawled out on Hayato's couch. "So? How's the university thing going?"

Hayato gave him a resigned look and set aside his book. "Pretty well. You've checked in with the Tenth?"

Takeshi chuckled. "I think maybe he's not having as much fun as you are." He stretched out long legs, crossing his ankles. "He was looking kind of frazzled over the, um," Takeshi frowned, faintly puzzled, "the macro?"

"Macroeconomics," Hayato translated.

"Ah." Takeshi looked dubious. "Okay."

"Look it up yourself."

Takeshi laughed. "Caught me. Okay, I will."

Hayato shook his head. He was never sure whether Takeshi was genuinely lazy about these things or just doing it to tease him. "So?" he sighed. "How's the idiot ball game going?"

Takeshi's smile quirked. "It's going well. We might actually make it to the Nihon Series this year."

"Good luck." Hayato stood up and went to fetch tea.

"Hayato."

"The Tenth approves," Hayato said, quietly. "That's all that matters. It's true, we aren't under as much threat as long as we stay in Japan for now." He poured and handed Takeshi his cup before going to the picture window that was the one extravagance in his latest apartment. The city lights were starting to come on, as the sun set.

There was a sigh behind him. "I live close enough to come quickly when he needs us. And you can't think I would let a game stop me, if he did."

Hayato's mouth tightened and he lowered his head. "No, I don't think that," he said to his cup.

After a moment Takeshi said, "You know, I've never heard you complain about Ryouhei-san's career."

"Yeah, well, that's him," Hayato muttered and took a sip of tea to loosen the slightly trapped feeling in his chest.

There was a click of porcelain on wood and then Takeshi's arms were sliding around him, easing him back into the lean solidity of Takeshi's body. "So what's the difference between him and me?" he murmured.

"You're the other person the Tenth really depends on." Hayato looked straight ahead, over the city.

Takeshi's arms tightened. "Yeah?"

Hayato was silent. Takeshi waited, just holding him, and finally he sighed and growled, "You're other the person I depend on, too."

"I'll be here when you need me," Takeshi murmured against his hair. "Promise."

Hayato rested his head back on Takeshi's shoulder. "I've got to be a complete idiot to believe that," he complained to his ceiling, because of course he did. Takeshi had the temerity to chuckle and Hayato elbowed him.

"Careful." He could tell Takeshi was smiling. "You'll spill the tea."

He let Takeshi take the cup and set it on the shelves by the window and a low sound caught in his throat as Takeshi folded him more firmly into his arms.

"Do you need me to come back now?" Takeshi asked, softly.

Hayato wrestled with temptation for a moment and finally sighed. "Not really. I just..." he bit his lip.

Takeshi pressed a kiss to his neck. "I'll stay for a while."

Hayato closed his eyes and breathed out. "Yeah." Takeshi always knew.

"Besides," Takeshi's voice lowered, and one hand drifted up to start unbuttoning Hayato's shirt, "I've missed you."

The breath was a laugh this time. "Takeshi..."

"What? I did." Takeshi's lips curved against his neck. "And I missed this, too." His hand spread open against Hayato's stomach and slid up over his chest, warm and slow.

Hayato made a husky sound, unwinding into the stroke of Takeshi's hands, sighing as they slid over his ribs, down to his hips, strong and gentle. The steadiness of Takeshi's touch untangled his thoughts, smoothed them into calm, and he had to admit he'd missed this too. His breath caught on a small shudder of heat as long fingers undid his slacks and slid inside to wrap around his cock, familiar and knowing.

"Easy," Takeshi breathed against his ear, and Hayato made a breathless, amused sound.

"When you're doing this?" But it was true.

"Mm. Especially while I'm doing this." Takeshi's fingers worked over him slowly and he drew Hayato more snugly back against him.

Having made his token protest, Hayato let himself settle into Takeshi's arms and rested his head back. "Okay." Takeshi just about purred as he let himself be supported, and Hayato's mouth quirked even as his hips rocked up into Takeshi's hand. Sometimes he wondered if Takeshi made it so clear he liked it when Hayato relaxed so that Hayato could feel a little less needy for wanting it so much himself. It would be like him.

Right now, though, pleasure was unraveling his mind, so he let the thought go and just sighed as Takeshi's hand stroked his cock slow and firm, building heat in him.

"Mmm, there." Takeshi's mouth moved down his throat, open and wet, and he caught Hayato closer when he shuddered, arching, tipping his head further back. It felt so good to be held, tight and sure, and know Takeshi had him. It felt even better when Takeshi's thumb rubbed slowly over his head.

He opened heavy eyes and saw their reflection in the window, the white of his shirt hanging off his shoulders; the darkness of Takeshi behind him, head bent; the movement of the strong hand between his legs, and heat spiked through him. He moaned as Takeshi's hand tightened, pushing wantonly into that grip as pleasure rose and rose and spilled over, pulling him taut against Takeshi's body, gasping for breath as heat wrung his nerves again and again.

Takeshi made a satisfied noise as Hayato slumped back against him, and cradled him close.

When Hayato had caught his breath he asked, "How long do you think you'll stay?"

Takeshi was quiet for a moment before he said, "As long as I'm needed."

Hayato turned in Takeshi's arms, leaning his head against Takeshi's shoulder, and sighed. "Idiot. You're always needed."

"Really?" He could hear the smile in Takeshi's voice and a warm hand slid up to curve around the nape of his neck.

"The Tenth relies on you." And if Hayato's voice was huskier than that statement called for, well.

"All right." Hayato made a startled sound as Takeshi lifted his chin and kissed him softly, breath catching into quiet when he saw how dark and serious Takeshi's eyes had turned. "When you and Tsuna graduate from here. I'll come back for good."

A shudder ran through Hayato as one thread of tension, years long, finally unwound. He buried his head against Takeshi's shoulder and when he spoke it was muffled. "About time. Fucking baseball idiots, you just can't do anything with them."

He wouldn't be alone, at Tsuna's side.

A chuckle ran through Takeshi's chest. "So, I guess I'll just have to see about the World Series before then. Since I'll have other things to concentrate on after."

Hayato looked up with a wry smile, and this time he meant it when he said, "Good luck."

Takeshi kissed him again, lightly, and tugged up Hayato's pants, refastening them. "So what do you have around here for dinner?"

"Probably nothing you'll approve of." Hayato pushed back and buttoned his shirt himself, face hot.

"Probably not. Grocery shopping tomorrow," Takeshi declared, strolling toward the kitchen while Hayato reflected on the unexpected pitfalls of hanging around the son of a sushi chef. He smiled, though, and followed along to perch on the table and watch Takeshi rummage through his shelves. He had more reading to do, but the books would keep for later.

Later would be all right.

End

Working Till the Sun Don't Shine

Gokudera has a stressful day and wants Yamamoto to help him unwind, which Yamamoto is perfectly happy to do. Pure Porn, I-4

Hayato closed the door to his office carefully, breathing deep and slow.

"That didn't go very well," Takeshi observed from where he stood looking out the window.

"No. It didn't," Hayato said, with what he thought was a commendable lack of screaming rage, under the circumstances. He hung his jacket on a chair and undid his tie with short, precise movements, eyes narrowed at empty air.

"Think we're actually going to wind up in a war with the Barassi?"

"At the moment, I would welcome it," Hayato said through his teeth. "But right now I really don't want to talk about those motherless bastards."

Takeshi looked over his shoulder, brows lifted inquiringly.

"What I want right now," Hayato said evenly, unbuttoning his shirt and stripping it off, "is for you to fuck me."

Takeshi's eyes darkened with heat, and what Hayato suspected was his own reaction to the afternoon's disastrous negotiations coming to the fore. He reached up to pull his own tie loose, voice turning husky. "Sure thing."

Their clothes went all over the room, and Takeshi chuckled as Hayato ripped open a packet of lube and turned up Takeshi's hand to pour it pointedly into his palm. Hayato growled and pressed against him, pulling him down to a kiss. The fierceness of it, the strength of Takeshi's arm tightening around him, soothed him a little, enough to relax and sigh as long, slick fingers stroked him. The sigh turned into a moan as Takeshi rubbed slow, hard circles over his entrance, working the muscles until he could press his fingers in.

"Yes," Hayato said, husky, pressing his forehead against Takeshi's shoulder as those fingers worked in and out of his ass. "Yes, that."

"Mm, thought so." Takeshi twisted his fingers slowly, deep inside Hayato, and caught him closer as he shuddered. Another few strokes and he murmured, "Turn around. Against the wall."

Hayato turned and leaned against the wall, panting, taut with lingering tension and rising anticipation. Takeshi's hands closing on his hips made him shiver and the slide of Takeshi's cock between his cheeks made him moan. "Takeshi..."

"Shh." Takeshi pressed up against his back and dropped a kiss on his shoulder. "I've got it."

Hayato spread his legs wider and moaned as Takeshi's cock pushed into him, opened him up, sliding hard and big inside him, perfectly distracting. "God, yes..."

Takeshi growled soft agreement as he pulled Hayato tight against him and drove into him deep and hard, again and again. Hayato gasped with each thrust, heat coiling tighter and tighter in his stomach and spine. "Yes, harder..."

"Yeah." Takeshi gathered him close and fucked him hard and fast, each stroke rocking Hayato up against the wall, against the surety of Takeshi's arms around him. His ass felt hot and stretched with how hard Takeshi's cock was pounding in, and pleasure tingled down his nerves. It was exactly the release, the intensity, the shelter, he needed, and he wished it could last forever; the sound he made when Takeshi's hand, still slick, closed between his legs was half hungry and half disappointed. And then it was nothing but raw want as Takeshi's fist closed around his cock and stroked him hard.

Sensation burst through him, hot and wild, and he cried out. Takeshi caught him tighter still, groaning against his shoulder as his hips jerked short and hard against Hayato.

Hayato leaned against the wall, panting, eyes closed. He made a soft sound as Takeshi's weight settled against his back and Takeshi's hands, gentle again, slid up his chest.

"Better?" Takeshi murmured against his ear, husky.

"Mm. Yeah." Hayato sighed, finally able to think without a red haze around everything. "I guess the Tenth wouldn't really like it if I just shot them."

Takeshi chuckled, nuzzling his neck. "Probably not. Though, give it another few days like this and you never know."

"I'd really rather not," Hayato said, dryly.

"Me either. Guess we'll have to figure out something else."

Hayato snorted a little, relaxing into the support of Takeshi's unshakeable optimism. "Guess we will."

"Okay, then." He could feel Takeshi's lips curve against his skin. "First, though, we probably need pants."

Hayato laughed.

End

It's the Motion

Gokudera thinks it's unfair how good Yamamoto looks on a motorcycle; Yamamoto thinks it's the perfect opportunity. Written for DW's inaugural comment porn meme with the prompt: Yamamoto/Gokudera, motorcycles as aphrodisiacs. Porn without Plot, I-4

It was easier, Hayato decided, when Yamamoto was actually driving the motorcycle. And it was easier because Yamamoto was an idiot, and liked to do silly, flashy moves, and it was easy to roll his eyes at someone popping a wheelie and laughing like a kid.

The hard part was when Yamamoto was holding still on the damn thing. And the hardest part was keeping his eyes away from long, long legs spread casually over a sleek machine and not, not, looking at the way worn denim pulled taut over Yamamoto's thighs.

When he couldn't keep from doing that was when his mouth went dry and his pulse sped up and, if he was unlucky enough to not look away in time, Yamamoto's eyes turned dark and considering.

Of course trying not to look also had its drawbacks, like not seeing the arm snaking out to pull him in close.

"What are you doing?" It came out a lot huskier than he'd meant for it to, but hell, he was pulled up tight against Yamamoto, who was still straddling the damn motorcycle and grinning, only not in his usual idiotic way. No, this time there was something hot around the edges of it.

"Testing a theory?" Yamamoto offered. His arm tightened, pulling Hayato closer, and Hayato took in a quick breath as he found one of those long legs between his. "Mm, yeah, looks like it was right."

"Idiot," Hayato managed, hands closing on Yamamoto's shoulders. And it was ridiculous that it should make any difference, but the sleekness and speed promised by the motorcycle's lines made a person pay attention to the lines of Yamamoto's body, the sleekness and power they promised. Those lines drew him in, made him forget why he'd ever tried not to look.

At least they were alone in here, today.

He leaned down to kiss Yamamoto, which at least covered the damn grin, and let himself rock against Yamamoto's thigh. A shudder of heat ran right up his spine.

"Mmm." He could still hear the grin as Yamamoto's other hand worked open their pants. "Here."

Gokudera flushed as Yamamoto pulled him onto the bike too, settling back in behind him, and it only deepened when Yamamoto murmured in his ear, "It's a good ride, you know?"

"Yamamoto!"

The idiot only laughed, and Gokudera's breath hitched as Yamamoto tugged his pants down and Yamamoto's cock rubbed against his bare ass. The brush of Yamamoto's fingers made him look back and he blinked at the slick glisten on them and on Yamamoto's cock and the foil packet being tucked back into Yamamoto's jeans. The grin turned just a bit insufferable. "I noticed you watching."

"Complete and total idiot," Gokudera grumbled, still rather red, and broke off with a gasp as slick fingers reached around to fondle him too.

"Whatever you say," Yamamoto murmured.

Gokudera stopped trying to string words together and leaned over the motorcycle, panting, as Yamamoto took his hips and pressed into him, slowly, slowly, stretching him open fierce and hard. When Yamamoto drew back and pushed in again, he moaned out loud. They were supposed to be training, he thought distractedly, but here he was instead, spread out over a fast, powerful machine, getting fucked slow and hard, and God it was hot. He could feel Yamamoto's jeans rubbing against his ass with every thrust, feel the hardness of Yamamoto's thighs against the back of his as they tensed, feel the tight slide as Yamamoto's cock worked in and out of him, and it all set him panting, gasping with the heat, moaning with the surge of pleasure as Yamamoto lifted his hips and drove in deeper.

By the time he finally came undone he'd forgotten the very possibility of other people being around and his voice rang off the walls.

The motorcycle did, he decided distantly, make a nice support. He didn't have to try to move at all as Yamamoto gasped and his thrusts turned short and hard.

They were quiet for a moment and then Yamamoto murmured against his shoulder. "So? Was it a good ride?"

Gokudera swatted at him, growling when he laughed.

Okay, maybe he did like it better when Yamamoto and his motorcycle were holding still.

End

On the Clock

Tatsumi tries something new to get Tsuzuki to do his paperwork. Total Porn and Silliness, I-4

Papers crinkled under Tsuzuki's chest as Tatsumi's cock drove into his ass, and he moaned.

"Tatsumi-san..." another thrust, hard and deep, "ah! Your paperwork..."

Tatsumi's hands shifted on his ass, spreading his cheeks wider and pinning him firmly against the desk. "I think this is more important, Tsuzuki-kun." The next thrust was deep enough that the wool of Tatsumi's open slacks rubbed against Tsuzuki's bare rear, making him shudder.

"Nnn... oh... ahh, why?" Tsuzuki was having trouble keeping the thread of the conversation. It felt too good, to feel Tatsumi fucking him slowly.

Not that he was entirely sure he wasn't dreaming. He'd had dreams about being bent over Tatsumi's desk before. Never ones where he really felt the thick hardness of Tatsumi's cock pushing inside him, though, so maybe not...

"Tsuzuki? Are you paying attention?"

Tsuzuki moaned as Tatsumi drew all the way out and drove back into him faster, stretching him open hard. "Ohh... oh yes..."

"Good." Tatsumi's hands hitched him up a little further and he fucked Tsuzuki with exactly five long, hard strokes. "I want you to remember this, Tsuzuki-kun, the next time you're sitting at a desk." He pulled out and pushed in again, just a little, and out and in, tiny, fast strokes and worked Tsuzuki's entrance over and over. Tatsumi's voice was husky now. "Remember how good it feels."

Tsuzuki was shuddering with pleasure, now, gasping for breath. He cried out as Tatsumi's cock pushed deep into him again. This time Tatsumi didn't stop, driving into Tsuzuki again and again, hard enough to lift him up onto his toes with every thrust. It felt incredible and Tsuzuki bucked wildly over the desk as orgasm wrung his whole body out around the hardness of Tatsumi's cock in his ass.

He lay over the desk, panting and dazed as Tatsumi finished after him. It wasn't until long fingers were swiping a tissue over him that he managed to say, "I'll be sure to remember."

"Excellent." Tatsumi's hand patted his bare ass before drawing his pants back up. "Anything to make you spend more time at your desk, Tsuzuki-kun."

Oh, was that it? Well, then...

Tsuzuki looked up hopefully. "So, if I get my paperwork done on time, can we do this again?"

Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "Hm. Since it's you, some reinforcement would seem to be in order, yes."

Tsuzuki grinned.

End

Contractual Obligation

Shirogane is in a temper with Kou and it pushes him to be a lot more forthright with Akira than he has, heretofore. Akira decides he's all right with this. Set in the loose vicinity of issue 27. Porn with Characterization, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Shirogane stalked down the street, cataloging all the things he was going to do to that insolent sprout of a rei, Kou, just as soon as the current situation had been settled.

"Shirogane?"

Surely Ryuuko wouldn't begrudge him. Kou learning some respect could only be beneficial to all concerned.

"Um. Shirogane? Could I have a shadow back?"

For that matter, perhaps it wouldn't need to be mentioned to Ryuuko at all...

"Shirogane!"

He whirled to face Akira, who stepped back, eyes wide. That made him pause. However annoyed Kou made him, he shouldn't forget himself around Akira.

Especially considering that, even in face of Kou's obvious distrust, Akira was still here with him. As he should be. Shirogane's shin, Shirogane's Child, his counterpart, yes, once Ryuuko recovered his strength, but for the present the only one in two worlds who was bound to him. It was a soothing thought, right now.

"Yes, Akira?" he murmured, reaching out to tuck back a strand of black hair, frustration and anger calmed by the visible proof that Akira was still shin, still his, hadn't put back on his human form.

"Um..." Akira's eyes were still wide.

Yes, despite anything Kou might say, Akira was shin. And it was Shirogane he turned to for guidance, knowledge, protection. As it should be. Shirogane's hand slid back into Akira's hair, cradling his head.

"Shirogane..." Akira's voice was husky, now, and his lips parted on a quick breath as Shirogane stepped closer, tipping Akira's head back.

Akira was his.

Shirogane covered Akira's mouth with his own, tasting him as he'd considered doing a few times before. It had never seemed quite right, though at the moment he couldn't imagine why not. The tightness of Akira's hands in his coat, the quickness of his breath, seemed very right. He wound an arm firmly around Akira and ran a thumb down the line of his jaw, opening his mouth wider and kissing him harder.

Akira was shaking a little, and damned well not ashamed of it. He'd known from the start, without needing Kou to tell him, that Shirogane was dangerous. But the danger had almost always been gentled, softened for him. He'd generally been glad of it, that he didn't often see what Kou called Shirogane's "real face". It would make anybody shaky, to deal with that.

But the way Shirogane held him, the way he'd taken possession of Akira's mouth, was making him hard.

And now he was backed up into the shadows of a doorway, back pressed against the coolness of concrete while Shirogane kissed him until he moaned.

"Hmm." The velvety purr of Shirogane's voice alone made his pulse trip and he looked up with dazed eyes as Shirogane drew back a little, considering. Shirogane's lips curled up and he brushed his thumb over Akira's cheekbone. "Yes."

Akira watched, swallowing against the dryness in his throat, as Shirogane closed his teeth on the fingertip of his glove and drew it off, sharp eyes fixed on Akira. His bare hand moved down Akira's chest, making him shiver as warm fingers slid inside his shirt. His face was hot; if he hadn't been red before he was now, and he glanced aside, breathless. "Shirogane..."

"Shh." Shirogane turned Akira's chin back and kissed him again, fingers undoing his vest and shirt.

And they kept going.

Akira made an inarticulate sound into Shirogane's mouth as his pants were undone and Shirogane's hand slid inside. He was hot. He was embarrassed. He was incredibly hard, and Shirogane's hand on him felt better than anything he'd ever felt before. Shirogane's arm around him was sure and tight, his grip was strong and knowing, and Akira'd been in Shirogane's hands anyway for this long... and never been let go. So Akira let Shirogane nudge his legs wider, moaning into his mouth as Shirogane kissed him hard. Akira could feel the satisfaction and possessiveness in it, and it made him flush. Shirogane wanted him. This much. And, hell, Shirogane had always had his way with Akira right from the start.

And that had made Akira hot right from the start.

Pleasure coiled down tighter and tighter as Shirogane's fist slid over Akira's cock, demanding, and Akira didn't care any more that he was half undressed in an abandoned doorway in the middle of the day. All he cared about was answering the fierce demand of Shirogane's hands and mouth, and the feeling as they moved on him, and the sure support of Shirogane's strength lifting him up. He groaned as he came, heat rushing through him like a river, shoulders pressed hard against the shadowed side of the building.

Shirogane gentled his kisses as Akira slumped back, arms gathering Akira up against him. The open protectiveness made him blush almost worse than being undressed had and he buried his face in Shirogane's shoulder. Shirogane chuckled softly, one hand lifting to stroke through his hair.

"It's all right," he murmured, reassuring. "Everything will be all right."

Shirogane reflected that he'd probably been foolish to let his temper at Kou push him into taking Akira to him this way. The contract was enough complication.

And yet... there was the contract. Ryuuko was rei, and his fellow king, but Akira was shin, of his making. And it was very good to feel Akira burrowed into his arms. Trusting him.

So he held Akira close and saved up the peace and rightness of the moment against the future they still faced.

End

But One Thought Between Them

Companion story for Lys ap Adin's "Firebrand". Xanxus fights Mukuro's possession, but not for quite the reason one might assume. Mind-Porn with Creepiness, D/s, I-4

Xanxus wanted what Mukuro wanted. He gloried in the destruction. But he still fought possession every time, spirit clawing viciously against being pushed aside.

Eventually Mukuro asked why.

What, do I look like your fucking lapdog? Xanxus snarled back.

Mukuro laughed. Since that's what you are, I suppose you do. The jerk of Xanxus' spirit against his amused him. Well? You do my bidding every day. Aren't you?

It isn't for you!

Of course not. It's because you enjoy this. The tremble that passed through Xanxus' spirit, at that, caught his attention. He smiled slowly. You enjoy every moment of it, don't you? he purred, provokingly.

Another jerk, as Xanxus tried to lash out at him and back away from him at the same time. Mukuro turned inward and caught him again, holding him fast in a hard mental grip. Xanxus' spirit shuddered against his.

You do it because you enjoy it and because I'm stronger than you, Mukuro whispered to him. Because you enjoy that I'm stronger than you. He tightened his hold.

Xanxus' resistance subsided, though his submission was still tinged with fury, much to Mukuro's entertainment. He pulled Xanxus closer, close enough to feel his body again, and stroked Xanxus' hand down his own chest to cup between his legs. He kneaded slowly, savoring Xanxus' shock. Xanxus strained against his mind's grip again and arousal shuddered through his spirit, echoed through his body, when Mukuro pinned his spirit where it was, close enough for sensation but not for control. Mukuro laughed, delighted.

He spread the legs of Xanxus' body and undid his pants, sliding Xanxus' hand inside. Xanxus' spirit shivered under his hold and Mukuro murmured, You like the feeling when I make you submit, hm? That's why you always fight me, isn't it?

Xanxus spirit jerked under his grip, but if Xanxus had had a voice at the moment he would have moaned out the denial. Mukuro moved Xanxus' hand on himself, stroking him slow and firm and relentless, and Xanxus' spirit turned pliant against his, yearning towards the pleasure both physical and non-physical. Mukuro smiled and moved Xanxus' hand on him faster, harder, until Xanxus' body arched taut as he came.

Mukuro pushed Xanxus' spirit back again, holding him down in his own mind, and Xanxus trembled, quiet.

You'll get what you want, with me, Mukuro purred, mind brushing over Xanxus light and easy. Everything you want.

End

Unmistaken Identity

In bed with Shirogane, Akira contemplates all the reasons he enjoys it. Porn with Characterization, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira moaned as Shirogane's cock pushed deep into him.

It still made him flush a little to be spread out naked over Shirogane, straddling his lap, while Shirogane's hands lifted him up and pressed him down to meet the slow rock of Shirogane's hips. But it felt so good.

Shirogane leaned back more comfortably against the pillows and Akira's headboard, eyes narrow and glinting as he pulled Akira down more firmly. Akira leaned against his chest, shuddering. The thick slide of Shirogane inside him made his toes curl and the heat of Shirogane's eyes on him made his face as hot as his ass.

And that was pretty damn hot.

From the possessive grip of Shirogane's hands on his hips, he thought Shirogane had probably talked to Kou today. That did usually mean Akira getting taken to bed, or taken somewhere anyway, pretty soon after. Hadn't taken long to figure that out. He didn't mind.

Shirogane didn't hide anything, in bed.

And while Shirogane had him in bed, he was only seeing Akira.

Shirogane held him tight and thrust in deeper, and the curl of pleasure up Akira's spine made it arch. Which only drove him down onto Shirogane harder, and he groaned, breathless. Shirogane had been fucking him like this, slow and easy, for what felt like forever and Akira was taut and panting with the overload of sensation. "Shirogane..." he whispered.

Shirogane smiled, slowly. "More?" His voice was deep and velvety and Akira had to swallow at the tone, let alone the question.

"Yeah."

He caught his breath a little as Shirogane laid him face down over a couple of the pillows, only to lose it again on a moan as Shirogane's cock pushed back into him, cool and freshly slick. Shirogane was done with slow, and he pulled Akira's ass up higher, holding him there, fucking him hard and deep and hot. Akira's whole body pulled taut, back arched, legs spread wide, and he could hear hungry sounds coming from his own throat. When Shirogane's hand closed between his legs he moaned out loud.

He still didn't know how, but Shirogane's hand, his left hand, did things to Akira he couldn't even describe.

Instead he just groaned, wordless and wanting, as he came hard, pleasure raking through his body from head to toe while Shirogane drove into him fierce and sure. Shirogane's low moan, answering him, made him shiver.

He made a soft sound as Shirogane's weight settled over him, relaxed. Mind-blowing pleasure aside, these were the moments that made him so willing. The moments when Shirogane was at ease and content just to be with him. It felt good.

It felt right.

He lay, wrung out and panting, enjoying the feeling of Shirogane's hands stroking over him, open and gentle.

After a while, though, he stirred. "Shirogane?"

Shirogane's voice was soft. "Yes?"

"This pillow under me? This one's yours tonight."

The snort of stifled laughter against his shoulder made him smile.

End

Any Tool, When Held Correctly, Is a Weapon

Sometimes Mukuro finds it necessary to tend to Xanxus. Written for Porn Battle VIII, to the prompt "overwhelmed." Smut with reasonably creepy D/s overtones

After the last of the Arcobaleno fell, things began falling into place rapidly. Or began falling to pieces, to be more precise, which was much more to Mukuro's taste. Many of the smaller Families were nothing but smoking ruins, and even the fact that the larger Families were reaching past ancient vendettas to ally against them couldn't shake his good humor.

It was all only a matter of time, now.

Regrets? he purred to Xanxus, when Xanxus had dismissed his lieutenant and retired to his private rooms to rinse the blood from his hands.

Xanxus bared his teeth at the mirror; he seemed to like having another face to address, even though Mukuro had told him it wasn't necessary. "Fuck, no. I always hated that fucking midget."

Hate wasn't precisely the right word for it, of course—Mukuro had tasted Xanxus' longing for Reborn's attention, and his resentment when Reborn had overlooked him. But Xanxus found it easier to couch such sentiments in hate. Mm, I suppose, he said, lightly enough, and stretched himself out, reaching for control of Xanxus, wanting a deeper taste.

Xanxus snarled and fought back against his grip, resisting the pressure of Mukuro's will, the way he did every time. Mukuro laughed and closed his grip more tightly, and tasted the relief and desire as he overcame Xanxus' resistance. Such a complicated spirit Xanxus had, with as many layers and contradictions as a fine wine. Held, now, Xanxus shuddered beneath his will. Such fineness in you, Mukuro murmured to him, tasting him, and pulled him closer.

Xanxus flexed beneath him, a shudder that tasted of denial; even now, he resisted such compliments strenuously.

Look, Mukuro told him, directing Xanxus' gaze to the mirror that hung over the basin. Look, Xanxus. See. And Xanxus saw, because Mukuro would not let him look away, not as he moved Xanxus' fingers to unbutton his shirt and let it fall, and then to his slacks, undoing them and sliding them down, until Xanxus was bare in the reflection.

Beneath his grip, Xanxus' will was tinged with rage and embarrassment, and Mukuro huffed, tightening his grip until Xanxus, reminded, went pliant. Look at the strength of you, he murmured, sliding Xanxus' hands over his chest and stomach, stroking over the solid muscles there. Xanxus' will trembled under his. See the things that drew me to you in the first place.

Xanxus flexed under him, beginning to rouse, yearning and resisting all at once. Delicious, complicated Xanxus. Mukuro purred and lifted Xanxus' fingers to his mouth, sucking on them. Xanxus writhed under his grasp, watching his reflection, tasting the traces of blood and gunpowder still on his fingers. So strong, Mukuro told him, savoring the way Xanxus flexed under him. So beautiful. So foolish of them, not to value you. He braced Xanxus against the wall, and stroked his hand down; Xanxus strained against him when he realized how Mukuro was directing his fingers.

Mukuro tightened his grasp on Xanxus, pinning him, and slid Xanxus' fingers into him. Xanxus' body arched and shuddered at the stretch, and Xanxus himself would have cried out at the foreign heat of it. I see you, he told Xanxus, fucking him on his own fingers, slow and deliberate. I see all of you, Xanxus. And you are brilliance itself. And you are mine.

Xanxus would have cried out again, at that, had Mukuro permitted it. Instead he went limp against Mukuro's grip, staring at himself as his body shuddered and pleasure clamped down on him, complicated and layered.

There, my own, Mukuro whispered to him, stroking him slowly as Xanxus panted, quiescent under his touch. You see? he asked, gathering him closer, and purred as a ripple of acquiescence ran through Xanxus.

So delightfully intricate, his Xanxus. He couldn't have found a better tool if he'd tried.

- end -

Unbound

In bed with Shirogane, Akira wants to see his hair loose. It reminds him of things he doesn't quite remember yet. Drama with Porn, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira tipped his head back with a breathless sound as Shirogane's mouth slid down his throat, arms tightening around him.

And then he started a little as the silky weight of Shirogane's braid thumped against his shoulder. Not for the first time he decided it was a little odd that he'd never seen it undone, not even when he was pressed up against the wall of the shower by the weight of Shirogane's body.

Shirogane's hand stroked down his back and the thought escaped on a sigh. "Do you ever undo your hair?"

Shirogane paused and lifted his head. He was smiling but his eyes were darker than they usually were in bed. "Not... for some time," he murmured.

Akira hmph-ed at this hint of more things he wasn't going to be told about and Shirogane laughed. He tipped Akira's chin up with light fingers. "Did you want to see it down?"

Akira flushed; it was probably silly, and he couldn't even explain why, if Shirogane asked, but... "Yeah."

Shirogane looked at him for a long moment, and finally nodded. "All right." He sat up beside Akira and undid the clasp that held his braid, running his fingers through the silver swaths, unraveling them turn by turn to fan over his bare skin. Akira watched, eyes wide, breath coming light and fast. It was the most sensual thing he'd ever seen and it made an odd kind of heat uncurl inside him.

Shirogane finally shook the whole sweep of it loose and smiled down at Akira, settling over him again. His hair slid over his shoulders and down around Akira in curtains.

And Akira felt... warm.

He felt relaxed; he felt... home, which was a little weird. Of course they were at home. He couldn't help reaching up to run his fingers though the strands, though.

Shirogane's smile was soft and a little sad, but Akira didn't have time to ask why before Shirogane kissed him, hands moving over him again, slow touches opening him up.

The silver around him made the afternoon different, lighter, closer. Shirogane's touch felt new and familiar, and when Shirogane finally slid into him it felt so right he moaned out loud.

"Yes, please." The words spilled through him. "This... always this."

"Always, yes," Shirogane murmured to him, husky. "With you."

Akira moved with him, perfectly wanton, rocking up to match Shirogane's thrusts, panting with the senseless brightness that filled him breath after breath. "Please..."

Shirogane leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Always one with you."

The words rang through his mind and body and swept him down in a wave of wild yearning. "Shirogane!"

Shirogane gathered him close and held him until he stilled.

And held him some more while he shivered.

"What was... that was so... I mean..." Akira looked up at Shirogane, a little shocked by how different this afternoon had been.

Shirogane's eyes were gentle. "You are always you."

Always one. A harder shiver ran through Akira. "That was... Ryuuko?"

"I expect he would have some words to say to me about binding my hair, yes," Shirogane murmured.

Akira tried to fit that into the conversation and finally resorted to, "Huh?"

Shirogane's mouth quirked. "It's... one of the signs of what we are. The hair."

"Oh." Akira touched Shirogane's hair again, biting his lip. "I just think you look better with it down," he muttered.

Shirogane blinked and then laughed. "That's my Akira."

"Yeah." He looked back up at Shirogane, eyes level. "Yeah, I am." After a moment honesty made him add, "Too."

Shirogane smiled slowly. "I'm glad." His left hand slid down Akira's body to close between his legs and Akira's back arched off the bed at the rush of heat. Shirogane purred, "Because I'm not finished yet."

"Fuck!" Akira gasped for breath; and here he'd thought he was wrung out. "That another sign of what you are, when you do this?"

"Do what?" Shirogane asked, innocently, fondling Akira.

"When you... your left hand... so incredible," Akira panted.

"Ah." Shirogane's smile turned hot. "This hand is where the mark I set the contract with is." He squeezed and Akira moaned. "You respond to it."

That was a hell of an understatement, Akira decided, lightheaded. When Shirogane thrust into him again he groaned, spreading his legs wider. There was nothing strange about it this time, just the hot pleasure of being fucked and the inhuman fierceness of Shirogane's eyes and the silver of his hair falling around them, bright as the sensation inside him.

"Shirogane!"

End

Experienced

Some years post-canon, Ciel wants Sebastian, the only one he can trust, to guide him through what sex is like. Written for Porn Battle with the prompt: Ciel/Sebastian, experience. Porn with Drama, I-4, post-canon

Warning: References to rape of a child.

I want to know what it's like, Ciel had said. And that was how he'd come to be naked in his bed with Sebastian, every muscle of his body tense.

Sebastian's hands moved over him patiently, soothing, stroking his limbs straight. Sebastian's lowered eyes, the bend of his head as he kissed down Ciel's chest, the lightness of his touch, all spoke eloquently of submission, of no threat, and still Ciel's breath came fast and shallow.

Maybe it was the glimmer of amusement around the edges of Sebastian's smile.

Or maybe it was the memory of other hands pawing him, but that was what he was here to get a grip on, and a flash of true respect had shown in Sebastian's eyes when he'd asked. A shudder still ripped through him and he clenched his teeth on it.

"Shh," Sebastian murmured against his stomach. "There is nothing here that is not bound to your command. Nothing to fear, my master."

Sebastian had been calling him that all night. Ciel knew perfectly well why, and it did help, and it also annoyed him that he needed that reassurance and reminder that Sebastian was under his control. Which was probably also why Sebastian was doing it.

It was the reminder of his demon's connoisseur taste for irony that finally relaxed him.

"Ah, there." Sebastian sounded both approving and entertained, and Ciel growled at him.

It turned to a gasp at the heat that closed around his cock, soft and wet. It was two breaths before he could even place the sensation as pleasure. "Sebastian!"

"Mmmm..." Sebastian's hands slid over his hips, up his body, gentle and strong, and Ciel moaned softly at how good it felt to have the support as Sebastian's mouth stroked over him and heat twined through him.

He watched, eyes heavy, as Sebastian wet his fingers from a jar he'd brought with him. "What's that?"

Sebastian's lips slid off him and he murmured, "Oil." He didn't look up to see Ciel's sudden blush, but he smiled anyway and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Ciel's hip.

The return of Sebastian's mouth to him was barely a distraction, and Ciel's fingers were white knuckled where he gripped Sebastian's arm and shoulder. Sebastian's fingers were light, gentle, only stroking between his cheeks, but it took Ciel some time to really notice that. When he did, when he realized he could, he figured that was close enough to ready and gasped, "Go on."

Sebastian laughed low in his throat. "Gently." He took more oil on his fingers and stroked more firmly. "There is a rhythm to these things. The body tenses and then relaxes. One chooses the right moment." The instructional tone was familiar from years gone and grounded Ciel enough that he got a grip on himself and rolled his eyes. In that moment of ease, Sebastian's fingers slid into him.

"You see?"

Gasping, eyes wide, Ciel tried to think of an appropriately bad name to call his butler, but the slow touch kept distracting him. "Ahh..."

Sebastian only smiled, stroking him slowly open until Ciel was flushed and panting, starting to yearn toward the pleasure he could feel gathering. "Sebastian..."

"Yes."

Ciel clung to Sebastian's shoulders, gasping, shuddering, as Sebastian pressed slowly into him. It was heat and strain and he couldn't identify it, couldn't classify it, didn't know what to do with it, even as Sebastian's hand kneading his lower back eased him down into it.

"Talk to me," he whispered, rough. "Tell me... tell me about the other times you've done this." Anything to reassure him that Sebastian knew what he was doing.

Sebastian's mouth curled. "There are too many other times to count," he said blithely, barely even breathless. "Demons use seduction frequently, after all. To tease and blind humans with pleasure until they walk all unknowing and perfectly happy to their end." He moved slowly inside Ciel, and heat started to curl towards pleasure. "I have little taste for that any more; it's too easy. There's no challenge in it for me. No desire to flavor the pleasure and make it last." He lifted Ciel up, easily, sliding into him deeper, and Ciel moaned softly. When Sebastian went on, his voice had turned lower. "But you, my master. I desire you. The power of your mortal soul after you've sharpened it on your will, I desire that. I cherish the waiting and the little tastes of you."

Sebastian's eyes burned in the dim room, fixed on Ciel with a hunger and passion that made him even more breathless than the slick thrusts and the heat of Sebastian's hand between his legs, and he reached up for Sebastian, whispering, "I want to taste, too."

Sebastian smiled like a knife and caught Ciel up, kissing him deep and hot. When Ciel kissed back, aggressive, tongue pushing past Sebastian's, he made a low sound of pleasure, grip tightening on Ciel. Ciel bucked up into the hand on his cock, gasping, and moaned as Sebastian drove into him harder. This was right, this ruthless heat, and the hunger of his demon, unable to take him yet but savoring him anyway. That was the way to face the world and everything in it, and he let the rightness sweep him up, burn through him sweet and wild, groaning with how good it felt.

When he finally relaxed from that rush of pleasure, he was clinging tight to Sebastian, panting softly. His rear felt warm and just a little sore and Sebastian wasn't inside him anymore.

"A rhythm to it," Sebastian repeated, mouth curling in that particularly self-satisfied smile that always made Ciel try to find an impossible task to ask for. "You aren't ready for the refinements yet."

"You can show me later, then," Ciel stated, imperious as if he weren't cradled naked and wrung out in Sebastian's arms.

"As you command," Sebastian murmured, eyes glinting, and Ciel relaxed into their personal status quo. Sebastian leaned closer, though, and purred in his ear. "It will be my pleasure to taste your ruthlessness again, my master. You tempt as well as any demon."

Ciel blushed—they never paid each other direct compliments—and grumped at having blushed. "Go to sleep," he growled, settling himself down amid his pillows and butler.

The last thing he saw before the candles went out was the curve of Sebastian's smile.

End

A/N: In RL terms, Ciel is doing something rather dangerous with the inside of his own head, here, and it only works because he's Ciel and the inside of his head is a bit non-standard. Do not try this at home.

Precipitate

Akira, Ryuuko and Shirogane get some closure, and some reopening. Drama with Porn, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira lay in Shirogane's arms and wondered if humans, or shin for that matter, could purr. He felt like he wanted to try. The sun had gone down, but the air was still clear and warm with spring, and Shirogane's hands were just that comfortable bit warmer as they slid up and down his back and over his shoulders.

"The shadow in you is thinning," Shirogane murmured against his hair.

"I know." He'd actually been holding onto it with teeth and toenails, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold the change off. Perhaps... perhaps now would be a good time to do something he'd been meaning to. Akira leaned back a bit to look up at Shirogane. "I'm still yours."

Shirogane's mouth quirked and he cupped Akira's cheek gently. "Two years ago you'd never have been able to say that without blushing, if you managed to say it at all."

"Two years is a long time."

Shirogane's smile turned more real. "You're still young, to say that."

Still-faint memory stirred in Akira's mind and he tugged Shirogane down against him, arms sliding around him. "So," he said softly in Shirogane's ear. "I can say it now. Take me while you're still my master."

Shirogane's hand tightened on his nape. Silent tension curled and sang through the air. Finally Shirogane let his breath out.

"I've never been your master, regardless of our contract. I hope you know that."

Akira smiled. "I know." He'd just needed to hear that Shirogane knew, too.

"Aggravating creature," Shirogane grumbled. He leaned up on one elbow and looked down at Akira, smile wry. "To answer the question you don't ask: Yes. I wanted you to be my shin, to stay my shin, because I love you."

This time Akira did blush, eyes wide, old memories and experience or no. Shirogane softened, gathering him close again. "Yes, Akira. I do. I have."

"Thank you," Akira whispered, holding Shirogane tight. He could feel light and shadow turning inside him, shifting, and the rising light pressed words from him. "I love you. I am yours. I always will be yours. Shirogane, please..." He needed Shirogane to accept this.

"Akira." Shirogane took a breath. "Ryuuko. You know I'm also yours."

Akira gasped as change spilled through him, the fine layer of difference between one side of a mirror and the other. When it faded he and Shirogane lay entwined, rei and shin, and he moaned softly with the relief of feeling it again. Shirogane's breath was quick and light against his neck.

"I'd almost forgotten." Shirogane pressed against him, fingers sliding up into his hair. "Ryuuko... Akira..."

"Either. Both. It doesn't matter," he whispered. "Oh, it's been so long..." Even the sudden weight of the boundary against his power didn't matter in face of being able to feel Shirogane's shadow clearly. For a while they just lay together, hands stroking over each other, but finally he stirred and said, "You agreed that I'm still yours, didn't you? Show me." When Shirogane stirred against him, startled, he murmured "Please," again, coaxing.

Shirogane's shoulder shook with laughter and his eyes were bright as he pressed Ryuuko back and settled over him, both hands carding through his hair. "Evil creature," Shirogane murmured and kissed him, deep and slow and possessive.

Ryuuko moaned softly into the kiss. Shirogane really only needed the tiniest encouragement, and he did want this. After so long apart, he wanted very much to feel his counterpart's touch.

And nothing made Shirogane more himself than being high-handed and possessive.

Shirogane kissed him more and more fiercely, the veil he usually kept over his aura these days stripping away to leave it bare and wild and sharp against Ryuuko's. He spread his hands against Shirogane's back and moaned out loud as long, strong fingers opened his body.

"Mine," Shirogane breathed as he slid into Ryuuko. "You're mine, Ryuuko, always mine."

Ryuuko laughed breathlessly, body taut with the rough heat of Shirogane's thrusts, delighted with the raw power of his counterpart in his arms. "Forever," he answered, husky.

Shirogane fucked him hard and slow until they were both panting for breath, both straining toward the edge of pleasure, light and dark twined so tight they almost broke each other apart. The heat of Shirogane's hand on his cock pushed Ryuuko over the edge with three fast, demanding strokes and he pulled Shirogane tighter against him, groaning as fierce heat wrung his whole body. Shirogane held on, watching him with burning eyes and if Ryuuko had had the breath to laugh again he would have. Instead he rocked up to meet Shirogane's last, wild thrusts and watched him in turn as his head tipped back, lips parted.

"Beautiful as creation," he murmured, drawing Shirogane back down to him, and got a hard kiss in return.

"As if you should talk," Shirogane murmured into his mouth.

A soft shiver ran through him as their old, old teasing settled into his memory, old and new, and joined them. "Thank you," he whispered.

Shirogane smiled at him, sweet and soft and true, the way almost no one ever saw. "Because I love you."

End

Out of Patience

Kou and Shirogane finally decide to come to grips, in their tug-of-war over Ryuuko, and it ends in sex. Written for Porn Battle with the promt: Shirogane/Kou, tug-of-war. Pure Porn, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Kou supposed he should have expected it to happen eventually. He and Shirogane had been having their tug-of-war, or at least tug-of-Ryuuko, for a long time. And they'd kept, as it were, walking their hands up the rope to get a better grip. Maybe it wasn't surprising that they'd eventually leave off the rope and just tug on each other.

Or something.

At any rate, that made sense of how he'd come to be shoved up against this wall with Shirogane's cock pushing into him. He was sure it did, somehow. Shirogane's hands gripped his ass harder, lifting him higher, and he moaned. He didn't know why it should be so hot to feel that careless strength from someone as fine-drawn as Shirogane, but it was.

"So," Shirogane purred against his throat, cock sliding in and out of Kou's ass, fucking him slow and hard, "still want me to 'keep my hands off'?"

"Fuck, no," Kou gasped. "Keep them on, please..." He rocked into Shirogane's thrusts, or tried to, a whine catching in his throat when Shirogane pressed him up harder against the wall, holding him still. Shirogane's cock drove into him hard and deep but so slow it was making Kou a little crazy. Gasps turned to whimpers turned to outright pleading as pleasure dragged through him, and still Shirogane held that pace.

"Fuck, please, Shirogane, anything, please..." he begged, whole body arched taut.

"Mmm. Anything? Then you'll do as I say next time we have a difference of opinion?" Shirogane murmured, husky.

"Yes!" Anything if it would get Shirogane to release him!

"Remember that." He caught a glimpse of Shirogane's smile as he pulled back from Kou, and then he was pulled away from the wall, spun around, and pushed down over the back of his couch. Shirogane's hands closed on his hips and he thrust back into Kou's ass, and again, and again, fucking Kou rough and fast, hard enough to lift him up off his toes. Kou nearly screamed as pleasure finally tipped over and orgasm burned through him wild and hot.

He shuddered, draped over the back of the couch, as Shirogane drove into him hard, until Shirogane stilled with a gasp, hands tightening on Kou's hips. "Mmmm." Those hands finally relaxed, sliding around to knead Kou's ass slow and easy.

That made Kou blush a little, but only a little.

"So, you'll remember your 'anything'?" Shirogane asked.

"Huh?"

"You promised to mind me." Kou could hear the smile in his voice.

"Aw, fuck," he muttered, reaching for a pillow to bang his head against.

"Exactly."

Kou growled, but given that he needed Shirogane's help to stand upright, he supposed it was a point. Shirogane smiled, downright feline. "Just tell me if you need a reminder of your promise." He caught Kou's chin and kissed him, slow and thorough and just as ruthlessly as he'd fucked him, leaving Kou breathless all over again.

"I'll, um. Yeah. Do that." He would definitely have to do that.

Okay, maybe he could understand why Ryuuko was so pleased when Shirogane was around, after all.

End

The Voice of Experience

While training with the Visored, Ichigo tries to ignore the way he's drawn to Hirako—who notices anyway. Written for Porn Battle with the prompt Shinji/Ichigo, Captain. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Ichigo hit the dirt hard and Hirako strolled up to stand over him.

"That was better," he declared. "Pitiful, but better. Again."

Ichigo spit out grit and looked up at him just a little blearily. "I really hate you."

Hirako showed his teeth. "You're supposed to, right now. Now get up and do it again."

Ichigo hauled himself to his feet and did.

Ichigo sighed as he sank into hot water. Whoever first had the idea for these caverns, he liked their notions about hot pools, though he wondered where that bastard Urahara had been hiding his.

Hirako slid in across from him with a splash and a groan. "Gonna have to send a letter to the Academy instructors, apologizing for all the bad things I ever thought about them. This teaching shit is for the birds."

"Real motivational to hear," Ichigo grumbled, sinking down further.

The eye Hirako opened to look at him glinted sharp and his voice was low and even. "You should have all the motivation you need already."

Ichigo shifted. "Yeah. I do." On second thought, maybe he should get out now. He'd already figured out that when Hirako stopped acting like an idiot and got serious it made him feel... weird. Yeah, weird was a good word for it. The kind of weird he probably didn't want to be feeling while naked in hot water across from Hirako.

Hirako had both eyes open and was looking at him like he could see straight through him. That didn't help.

It wasn't like Hirako was good looking or anything. Ichigo noticed good looks as much as any normal person and, okay, sometimes in bed at night, when that would-be voyeur Kon had been safely kidnapped by Yuzu, he thought about Renji or Orihime or Rukia or Byakuya or Chad. He knew his own types. Hirako wasn't any of them.

But when the grinning and clowning dropped away and his eyes focused and his mouth turned serious and his voice got low and intent... well, Ichigo had had a few close calls with embarrassing questions during his time here and it was a good thing hakama were so loose.

He risked another glance at Hirako and found he was smiling, one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Ichigo. Come here." He held out a hand, and damn it there was that soft, level tone again. And then the actual words got through and Ichigo stared at him.

"What...?"

The tilted smile got a hair wider and Hirako beckoned. "Come here, I said." When Ichigo sat frozen he shook his head. "You think I don't know that look? I'm the closest thing you have to a Captain right now. So, one, I was kind of expecting it; it's practically traditional. And, two, it's my job to look after you." That piercing sharpness glinted in his eyes again and he repeated, lower, firmer, "Come here."

A shiver slid down Ichigo's spine and he swallowed. "O... okay." He edged around the pool to perch next to Hirako, eyeing him sidelong.

Hirako huffed a faint laugh. "Don't look so panicked. I'm not that crazy woman, Shihouin; I'm not going to ravish you."

Ichigo's face turned hot at the reminder of Yoruichi-san's teasing and, while he was sputtering, Hirako wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in close. "Shhh," he said, and kissed Ichigo slow and easy.

Heat swept over Ichigo, and after it came relief. The same relief he'd felt when he'd come up out of his trial against his Hollow and found Hirako smiling, holding out a hand—knowing that he'd won support as well as that battle.

He didn't have to figure this part out all by himself.

He relaxed against Hirako's shoulder and kissed back tentatively, just getting used to the feeling of it.

"There," Hirako murmured, "that's better." He drew back for a moment to move up out of the water, pulling Ichigo along and down among the towels. Ichigo flushed again as Hirako settled over him, unsure exactly what he was supposed to be doing with his hands at this point. Hirako gave Ichigo a penetrating look for a moment and nodded, sliding a hand up into Ichigo's hair and tipping his head back, kissing him again deeper. A breath caught in Ichigo's throat and he was tense for a moment before the gentleness of Hirako's hands registered and he gave in to them with another rush of relief. When long, capable fingers slid down to curl around his cock he rocked into the touch freely, holding on to Hirako's shoulders.

The heat of the rising steam and the heat of pleasure wound together until he was dizzy with them, panting for breath. "Hirako..."

"I have you," Hirako murmured, low and sure, and the sound was enough to push Ichigo over the edge. Pleasure wrung his body out until he was limp and breathless under Hirako, looking up at him just a little dazed. Hirako smiled and kissed him again, lightly. "It's okay."

"All right," Ichigo said, softly.

Hirako's eyes softened for a moment and he held Ichigo against him, quietly, until the others came to find them.

End

Traditional Values

Byakuya takes Ichigo to bed properly for the first time, showing him how these things go. Porn with Characterization, I-4

It had taken Byakuya a while to realize that when Ichigo called him "Byakuya-san" that was respect—to listen to his tone instead of his words, to his body language instead of his grammar. Ichigo kept his respect in different places than most people. It was in the lift of his voice, instead of a fall, when he said Byakuya's name, in the way his head tilted and his hands opened.

It was in the way those hands spread against his chest, now, and the sound Ichigo made, hesitant and wanting, as though he'd been surprised by the heat of Byakuya's mouth on his. Ichigo's brashness seemed to desert him in face of intimacy, Byakuya had observed before.

He gentled his hands, in answer, drawing Ichigo against him, silently encouraging him to relax, to let Byakuya show him how this went. Ichigo answered that guidance, pressing closer diffidently, slowly fitting his body against Byakuya's.

"Byakuya-san..."

"Yes?" he murmured, watching the uncertainty flicker over Ichigo's face. He was so transparent. When Ichigo opened his mouth and closed it again without saying anything, Byakuya ran a thumb over his lower lip to distract him. "Don't worry. I'll show you." That was the duty and pleasure of the older lover, after all.

Ichigo was quiet again as Byakuya led him through undressing and drew him down to the bed. He let Byakuya press him back, still uncertain but willing, as became a younger lover. His breath caught as Byakuya ran his thumbs up the inside of Ichigo's thighs, and the sound he made when Byakuya's hands closed between his legs was husky. The flex of his body as Byakuya stroked and coaxed him into pleasure was taut and beautiful, and finally he cried out openly.

Byakuya smiled and stretched out beside him, gathering him close again. As Ichigo caught his breath he looked up at Byakuya, puzzled, curious. "Byakuya-san... what about—?"

Byakuya set a finger gently against his lips and hushed him with a faint smile. "In time." In fact he enjoyed taking some lovers in this moment, when their bodies were still taut and tight, but Ichigo wasn't ready for that yet. It was the elder's responsibility to guage these things, to teach the younger slowly.

He kissed Ichigo slowly, learning the taste of his responses. Ichigo relaxed into the stroke of open hands over his body, pressed closer with faint gasps at fingers stroking him intimately. His hands moved slowly over Byakuya's chest and shoulders, unaccustomed but determined to figure it out. When Byakuya's fingers finally slid between his cheeks and rubbed slick and firm against his entrance, Ichigo buried his head in Byakuya's shoulder and Byakuya gathered him close, murmuring soothing words against his ear.

The way Ichigo moaned as he was opened sent a sharp twist of heat through Byakuya and he caught Ichigo closer, kissed him deeper and more demanding. Ichigo shuddered and answered him, kissing back breathless and open.

"Come," Byakuya told him, sitting up and holding out a hand, his own voice husky and rough from the effort of controlling himself. Ichigo came to him willingly, flushed and hard again. The flush deepened when Byakuya pulled him into his lap, legs wound loosely around Byakuya's hips. "It's all right," Byakuya murmured, kissing down Ichigo's throat, hands curved around his rear to pull him in tight.

"Yeah. Okay," Ichigo whispered. He leaned back on his hands, watching Byakuya. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes again, though, and that wouldn't do at all.

"Ichigo." Byakuya drew him back, kissing him slow and gentle, hands sliding up his back. "Let me teach you this."

This time it was a definite blush over Ichigo's cheekbones, but his body relaxed again, pliant. "Okay." He let Byakuya lift his hips and lower him slowly onto Byakuya's cock, and while his breath cut short and fast, the message of his body was unfamiliarity and not fear. That body was hot, tight even after being opened, and Byakuya had to take a slow breath for control as pleasure wound down his nerves. He pulled Ichigo more firmly into his lap, tight against him, and smiled at his started gasp; he rocked a little out and back in, letting Ichigo feel how it stretched and stroked him. Ichigo clung to him, arms tight around his shoulders as Byakuya moved in him slow and shallow, setting him panting.

"Byakuya-san," Ichigo breathed, "It's... I..."

"Yes." Byakuya was breathing hard, too, as heat spiraled up. It was time. He closed his hand around Ichigo's cock again, stroking him firmly.

"Ahh...!" Ichigo pulled taut, head tossed back, and jerked against Byakuya as he came again. Byakuya leaned back and thrust up into Ichigo harder, deeper, taking his own pleasure as Ichigo's body tightened fiercely around him.

When they were both again still he laid Ichigo down, stroking his body calm.

Finally Ichigo murmured against his shoulder, "Thanks."

"None needed." Byakuya rubbed the back of Ichigo's neck, eyes thoughtful as he looked down at him. "Is there a particular reason you chose me, though?"

Ichigo's eyes were clear and direct when he looked up. "You're kind." That gaze flickered aside for a moment but before Byakuya could question why Ichigo added quietly, "With you, I don't have to know what I'm doing yet. Or even figure it out. You'll take care of it."

Understanding slid into place with a click like a sword sheathing. After all he'd been called and driven to do, to muddle through on courage and will and luck, of course Ichigo would desire a guide for this, the one area where his confidence wavered. Byakuya cradled him close and kissed him gently.

"Yes. I will."

End

Internal Dialogue

Renji is protective in bed, even with Ichigo. Written for Porn Battle with the prompt Renji/Ichigo, privately. Porn with Characterization, I-4

Ichigo always kind of forgot how big Renji was, until he felt how far back he had to tilt his head to be kissed. Far enough that he was kind of glad for the strong hand that slid up his back to cradle his skull.

Of course, Renji was bigger than most people, which maybe explained his protective streak. Well, except with Byakuya, but that was because Byakuya topped the fuck out of Renji without ever changing expression, whenever they were together, and Ichigo could tell Renji liked it that way. Everyone else, though? Got cuddled.

In the privacy of his own head he had to admit he was kind of glad for that, too, because Renji was big all over. When he was spread out over Renji's lap, leaning back against the solidity of Renji's chest, feeling Renji's cock pushing slowly into him, he was glad that the hands under his thighs were gentle, that Renji was careful to go slow. Slow as it was, the stretch and slide cut his breath into short gasps.

"Nn... Renji..."

"Okay?" Renji asked, voice soft against his ear. It made Ichigo laugh, breathlessly.

"Fantastic."

Renji grinned against his neck. "Good." He lifted Ichigo a little and rocked into him again, and Ichigo moaned.

They laughed, in bed together. Renji understood why he liked having sex this way.

And because he understood, Renji fucked him slow and sure, thrusting in deep enough to make Ichigo gasp, back arched, fucked him until Ichigo's muscles were trembling and he needed Renji's arms around him. Only then did Renji close slick, strong fingers around his cock and stroke him hard. Ichigo could barely even moan as sensation wrung him out like a rag.

He did kind of like it that Renji forgot to hold back when he came, and his arms closed tight enough to make Ichigo gasp again.

But it was nice to be moved carefully, after, to be held close until his muscles stopped shaking.

"Teddy bear," he said anyway, against Renji's chest. Renji laughed.

"I'm nothing like that little plushy pervert."

"Good thing, too," Ichigo agreed, drowsily, wound comfortably in Renji's arms.

He could tell Renji was smiling, as he drifted off, and that was the way it should be.

End

Heat in the Shade

Kou wrestles with his standing attraction to Ryuuko and his new attraction to Shirogane. Fortunately, Shirogane provides him with a resolution. Drama with Porn, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Kou leaned his chin on this folded arms and watched shadows curl below him. This balcony was a good place for thinking and he felt a need to think today.

He was getting much more comfortable, here in shadow, since he'd let himself accept that Shirogane was his king. It was a relief to feel Shirogane's power in him; it was familiar and comforting. And that was starting to worry him.

Should it feel this good when it wasn't Ryuuko?

He really didn't want to think that Lulu had a point when she called him "puppy", that he was that... that undiscriminating, ready to any hand that patted him. And, after all, Shirogane was Ryuuko's counterpart; about as close as someone could be to Ryuuko without being the same person.

Was he just making excuses, to think that?

And to make it all even more fun, the inarguable fact remained that Shirogane was the one he was contracted to now, and his own honor demanded he serve that contract faithfully.

He just... didn't want to lose what had always been between he and Ryuuko. And every time his thoughts got that far he called himself an idiot, because he knew good and well Ryuuko would understand what he'd done, would accept him again wholeheartedly, because that was the kind of person Ryuuko was. That closeness wouldn't just go away.

Unless he let it.

He dug his chin into his arms, almost squirming against the discomfort of that sneaking thought, because Ryuuko and Shirogane weren't alike, for all their similarities, and he... he liked that. Ryuuko's vast strength had always, always been gentled for him. Shirogane's sometimes wasn't. And those were usually the days when he had to lock himself in his room and have a really long shower, because he just couldn't stop responding to that edge.

He sighed as he watched the shadows curl around each other, over the edge of the balcony. Should he really be letting this happen?

Shirogane stood in the doorway and watched Kou with a tiny smile. He was sprawled out on the floor of a balcony, dangling his head over the edge to watch the shift of shadows. Lulu was right; it was good to see Kou relaxing and finding his place here.

Of course, that wasn't all she'd had to say.

"Finding anything interesting?" he asked, strolling to Kou's side.

Kou looked up and started to push himself to his feet. "Shirogane."

He rested his fingers on Kou's shoulder, shaking his head. "It's all right. There's no work to be done right now."

Kou settled again with a tiny, shy smile that made Shirogane think of Lulu's dropped hints again and nodded toward the drifting shadows. "Nothing special. I just like watching."

"I'm glad you're happier here, now," Shirogane murmured, settling beside him.

Kou's eyes dropped. "I'm sorry I was such an idiot, at first."

He looked so penitent Shirogane couldn't help reaching out again to stroke back his hair, to reassure him with the closeness of touch. "I knew it wouldn't be an easy transition for you." Kou leaned into his touch, so simply and easily he had to add, "I never really hoped you would settle so completely with me."

"You're my king," Kou said softly, eyes direct and clear. "You were right to remind me. It... it's something that means a lot to me."

"Even though I'm not Ryuuko?" Shirogane asked gently, hand cupping Kou's cheek to assure him it wasn't harshly meant.

Now Kou flushed, eyes sliding away though he didn't draw back at all. "You're more like him than I thought you were."

There it was again, the flash of want and something else, something like fear, tangling in Kou's expression for just a moment. "Is that a bad thing?" he probed.

"No!" Kou looked up, eyes wide and earnest again. "No, not at all. It's just... I hadn't expected it. Hadn't expected to..." His words stumbled to a stop and his cheek was hot against Shirogane's palm.

"Most people don't notice our similarities at all," Shirogane mused, giving Kou time to collect himself. "I suppose it makes sense. We are supposed to be opposites, after all; that difference is the only way we can balance each other."

Kou stopped absolutely still for a breath, staring up at him as if he'd said something very important. "Yes," he said at last, husky. "Yes, of course it is." He relaxed all at once, turning his head a little into Shirogane's hand, trusting.

Shirogane's brows rose. What had Kou heard in his words? "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." Kou smiled, rueful, looking older and younger at the same time. "I was just worrying over something I didn't need to."

"It's always good to realize that," Shirogane murmured, dryly. He let Kou go, fingers stroking gently down the line of his jaw to soften it as he drew back.

This time the flash of heat in Kou's eyes was unmixed and the way he lifted his chin with the slide of Shirogane's fingers, lips parting, was unmistakable. It drew Shirogane's focus back like a chain and his fingers stopped, just under Kou's chin. "Kou."

Kou just looked up at him, waiting, holding perfectly still under Shirogane's touch.

Shirogane took a breath for control. He knew perfectly well how submission from his shin affected him, and Kou already had him catching himself back more often than he hoped Kou realized. "I know you were with Ryuuko that way," he said, finally. "I don't want to press you."

He could feel the slight shiver that ran through Kou, under his fingers, see the quick breath Kou took through parted lips.

He could hear the way his own voice turned low and silky when he added, "Unless that's what you want."

Kou's throat moved as he swallowed and his voice was husky. "Yes."

"Well, then." Shirogane slid his hand down to grip the back of Kou's neck and hold him as he leaned down to take possession of Kou's mouth.

Kou was a little dizzy with the double hit of relief and arousal—relief that it was all right, of course it was all right, because Ryuuko and Shirogane balanced, and wanting both of them this much just meant he was... well rounded. Or something.

Arousal was getting the upper hand, though, because being held for Shirogane to kiss sent a tight curl of heat through his stomach. It was getting hard to breathe as Shirogane's power unfolded, blanketed the space all around them, pressed down on him until he was moaning softly with the the force of it—his king's presence, unbridled and blazing.

Finally Shirogane let him go and stood, smiling down at him. "Kou."

A thrill ran through Kou at the bright wildness in Shirogane's eyes and he swallowed, slowly pushing himself up to kneel on the cool tiles at Shirogane's feet. It put a hot shiver through him to be there. "Shirogane-san," he said, husky, reaching up, fingers not quite brushing the buckles across Shirogane's hips. "Please. Let me...?"

The brightness in Shirogane's eyes turned hotter. "Yes," he said, low.

Kou wet his lips, fingers fumbling just a little as he undid Shirogane's robes because he couldn't look away from Shirogane's slow smile. Shirogane's fingers slid through Kou's hair as he finally closed his eyes and swallowed, unable to bear the weight of Shirogane's gaze and the weight of his power at the same time. "Please," he whispered, palms finally stroking over the skin of Shirogane's hips. Shirogane's low laugh sent a hot shiver right down his spine.

"Yes," his king murmured, fingers tightening, guiding Kou forward.

Kou licked his lips again and parted them, moaning as the sleek weight of Shirogane's cock slid between them, over his tongue. The moan turned lower, husky, as Shirogane's muscles flexed slowly under his hands and he rocked back and thrust into Kou's mouth again, one hand holding Kou still while he did.

This was what Shirogane did, what he was, that Kou wanted so much. Shirogane's hands weren't rough on him, but there was no apology in that touch for the overflowing strength that pinned Kou to his knees or the slow force of Shirogane fucking Kou's mouth. No caution or restraint. Just the absolute power and casual confidence that had always driven Kou wild. And now it was his king's power, and it was okay, it was right, for Kou to submit to it. To want this, too. To drop a hand down between his own spread legs and whimper a little as he bucked into the pressure of his palm. Shirogane thrust in a little harder and thought spun away into heat and want and raw pleasure running through him. Even when the shudders eased, the firmness of Shirogane's hand caging his head, the steady, unrelenting slide of Shirogane's cock in and out of his mouth, the purring undertone of Shirogane's moan as he came, sent another shock of heat through him.

He was still dazed when Shirogane pulled away from him, grip gentling. "Mmm." Shirogane smiled down at him, lazy, fingers stroking through his hair. "My Kou."

The words settled over him, warm and sure, and Kou looked up at Shirogane with a tiny smile and answered, "My king."

Shirogane laughed and leaned down and kissed him, slow and easy and possessive. "Yes."

Kou closed his eyes again. That was really everything he needed.

End

The River Continues

Mukuro believes in possessing what's his completely; the obvious ways are only the beginning. Mind-Porn with Creepiness, D/s, I-4

Xanxus had gotten as used as a person could, over the years, to the way Mukuro took him to bed using Xanxus' own body. All bets were off, working with someone who possessed people, including you. He got that.

But sometimes, now, it was different. Sometimes Mukuro used his own body. And then things went differently.

Those were the nights like this one, when the darkness inside him felt heavier than usual and Mukuro's presence shifted outside of him, teasing him with there-and-gone until he was twitchy. When he finally felt a firmer brush of that presence he looked up with a glare to find the man actually standing in the doorway, lean and careless and smiling that surface smile that really creeped him out.

"Yeah, what?" he growled.

Mukuro didn't move, just smiled a little wider and seized Xanxus' self harshly, without pretense or banter for once, driving Xanxus down in his own mind until he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even think of fighting any more, dazed and pliant under the ruthless grip.

And then Mukuro drew back, leaving Xanxus still and trembling and hard from the touch of Mukuro's strength.

The next touch he felt was hands running over his skin, easing him down against the bed, brushing his clothes aside. Sliding after Mukuro's fingers was possession, soft this time, stealing through his body and caressing every inch of him. It didn't restrain him this time, but this soon after being reminded so roughly and completely what Mukuro was to him he couldn't resist. It was familiar and warm, and he surrendered to it with a low moan. Mukuro stroked him, inside and out, not holding or moving him this time but easing Xanxus' body into his hands, preparing him in little ways to receive every touch.

Mukuro's hands felt different than his own—strong, yes, but slender. The touch, though... he knew that touch, knew the feeling of fingers pressing into his ass that way, knew the possessive slide of Mukuro's will down his arms and legs. It was the feeling of being wanted, because what Mukuro wanted Mukuro took.

"Exactly," Mukuro purred, speaking for the first time that evening. Mukuro's possession of his body tipped Xanxus' hips up just a little, just enough to make the first thrust perfect, and he smiled as Xanxus gasped.

That lean, tall body fucked him slowly, surely, and Mukuro's will held him, stroked and caressed him, nudged him until he was spread out just right and panting under the pleasure. This gentle possession took nothing, only urged, though the core of Xanxus still vibrated with the memory of Mukuro's crushing power. Even so, he knew this was another way of binding him just as firmly; he could feel it waiting.

"You belong to me," Mukuro murmured, low and husky.

The final surrender was one word Xanxus whispered of his own will.

"Yes."

Mukuro gathered him up and kissed him, slow and deep, the one touch that Mukuro could only give him in person, and Xanxus moaned as pleasure rolled through him, spilling in on the heels of his submission. He couldn't tell if that was Mukuro's doing or just his own response; it almost didn't matter right now. Mukuro held him as the heat wrung him out, and as it faded he gripped Xanxus' will more tightly, pressing him down slow and inexorable, stilling the first twitch of embarrassment and resistance before it could really begin. Xanxus breathed out and subsided under him.

"Some day you will surrender this completely to my gentlest touch," Mukuro said, light and soft against his ear.

The thought made Xanxus shudder with want and heat, and Mukuro smiled down at him, slow and dark and real.

End

A Better Trap

Sebastian and Ciel tease each other a lot. Sometimes Ciel gets the better of that game, and sometimes Sebastian likes it when he does. Featuring demon-esque bondage kink. Mind-Porn, I-4

Sebastian was a demon who appreciated artistry, and that was why he liked his current master so much. To be sure, Ciel's early efforts had been a bit rough. It had taken a year or two before Ciel realized that simple physical feats wouldn't trouble Sebastian and turned his ingenuity to devising more subtle traps and conundrums.

They were both careful not to overplay their game. These tests and traps should be unpredictable, and Ciel scattered them through the years they'd been together with a charmingly random hand. Every now and then, he dropped one in Sebastian's way and Sebastian smiled sleekly under the weight of his master's eyes as he unraveled it.

Or, sometimes, rarely, did not. Those were the best.

He was never eager for them; that would be gauche. He was simply watchful. Which was why his senses tingled this morning as he laid out Ciel's tea. There was a certain promising thoughtfulness in Ciel's glance that gave him hopes.

"Wait," Ciel told him, as he tucked the tray under his arm and turned to go.

"Yes?" Sebastian turned back, attentive, the perfect servant as always.

Perhaps the show frayed just a fraction as Ciel rose from his chair and strolled to Sebastian's side, lips curved faintly. But only a fraction.

Ciel leaned forward and murmured in his ear. "This is an order. Until I tell you you can stop... resist my orders."

Sebastian's eyes widened.

Ciel stepped back, watching him with measuring eyes as the binding of their contract tightened. A spell had no mind; it didn't care whether an order was possible or not. It merely followed its logic, and that logic compelled him to obey the master he was bound to. To obey by resisting, to resist by not resisting, but not to resist was to disobey.

The bindings tightened gradually, a little further for each breath that took no action to fulfill the order he'd been given, until the razor heat of the spell cutting into his very essence made him sway on his feet.

It felt so sweet.

To be caught by the sharpness of his master's mind, for him to be caught like this! To be compelled and required to obey the will of another was pleasure enough, especially with their endless games of command and insolence to give it spice. To be this utterly helpless, for all his power, in the grip of mortal will and desire, was pure delight. Yes, this trap was very sweet indeed.

The binding tightened, relentless, until he couldn't move, could only gasp for breath, until his knees gave way and he sank down to the carpet at Ciel's feet. The thrill of feeling that force across every particle of him built and built as Ciel only watched without making any move to release him, climbing towards the crest.

Just before he lost himself in it, Ciel smiled, slow and sharp. "Enough. You can stop."

The pressure vanished, leaving him hanging, and the glint in Ciel's eyes, the cruel perfection of his timing, struck through Sebastian like lightning. The beauty of his master's ruthlessness seared into him like the fire of his own realm, completed him, left even him wrung out and trembling.

"Yes," he had to take a second breath to complete it, "my Lord."

"You may go," Ciel told him coolly, and seated himself back at his desk, picking up a letter off today's correspondence.

Sebastian drew himself up and bowed quite correctly. A smile of secret delight curved his lips as he closed the door behind him.

He had chosen very well indeed, this time.

End

Sugar and Spice

In which meeting the boss's daughter changes Squalo's life. Teen and up. Genderswapped Xanxus; alternate canon history.

Squalo detested parties and everything they stood for: crowds of politely smiling people standing around, pasting thin veneers of civility over longstanding feuds and plotting to stab each other in the back, and only attended them under duress. Nevertheless, it was at a party that his life changed forever.

He couldn't remember, after, what the occasion had been, but his attendance as the head of the Varia had been mandatory. So Squalo drifted through the crowds of people with a sneer fixed on his face, staying aloof of the double-dealing and politicking and counting down the minutes till he could escape and wondering whether he should have killed Tyr after all, if this was to be the legacy he'd inherited, until a commotion had erupted on the fringe of the crowd.

Squalo's first real look at the Ninth's adopted daughter was of her standing over Vittore Barassi with a clenched fist and a thunderous glare. Vittore himself was on the ground, clutching a bloody nose and damn near howling. The howl changed to a squeal when Xanxus drew a foot back and kicked him in the balls. As every man in the room cringed, she spat on Vittore, though the gesture almost seemed to be an afterthought, and said, "Touch me again and I'll rip it off."

That was the kind of thing that would be an empty threat in the mouths of most women; as Xanxus turned on her heel and sailed out of the room, Squalo couldn't help but be sure that she'd meant every word of it.

Squalo remembered to breathe again as the Ninth came forward with apologies for his daughter's behavior, profuse as they were insincere, and the buzz of conversation resumed. He'd heard that the boss's daughter was a real spitfire, but that didn't begin to do justice to Xanxus.

He passed the remainder of the party in a thoughtful kind of a daze.

It didn't take too much time spent hanging around the main house to figure out that Xanxus was as proud as Lucifer and had a hair trigger temper to boot, and was probably more than a little bit crazy. She was spoiled rotten, too, probably because it was easier to just give her what she wanted than to argue with her.

It was just as clear that marriageable age or not, Xanxus wasn't going to stand for being traded off to some mafioso whelp in order to cement an alliance or a trade deal. Not that Squalo thought that the Vongola's old man was that stupid, of course, but it sure seemed like plenty of other Families were. On the other hand, the Ninth did seem to be at a loss for what, precisely, he was supposed to do with his daughter.

She should have been a son, Squalo thought privately, after a handful of weeks of watching her skulk around the main house, snarling at her brothers and terrorizing everyone who crossed her path. She was bold and dark and astonishingly real in comparison to her adopted brothers, and she would have made an incredible Tenth. Squalo could imagine what it would be to follow a will like hers, dense enough to bend reality around it, and the thought made him shiver sometimes as he watched Xanxus.

Fascinating as she was, though, Squalo didn't actually fall in love till the day that she turned on him, wheeling on him even faster than he'd suspected she could move, and slammed him against the nearest wall with a gun under his chin. She fixed him with a burning stare, and demanded, "What the hell do you want, you fucking stalker?"

The swiftness of it shocked Squalo; no one was supposed to be good enough to get the drop on him like that, not even the Ninth's daughter. It startled him into honesty. "You," he said.

Xanxus sneered at him. "The fuck makes you think you're good enough?"

"What makes you think I'm not?" Squalo retorted, letting the steel slide down out of its sheath under his sleeve as he hooked a foot around her ankle and swept her feet out from under her. He dodged the blast of Flame that would have taken his head off as she went down, and brought the blade up, aiming for her throat.

Xanxus caught the sweep of it on the barrel of her gun as her eyes caught fire, and she actually laughed as she came rolling to her feet and closed with him.

Squalo was dimly aware that he'd lost his damn mind somewhere along the line, since one did not pick fights in the hallways of the main house like it was the Varia's headquarters, and one especially did not pick fights with the boss's daughter. He couldn't really care, not when it was taking all his considerable skills to keep up with her. Xanxus fought like a demon, using dirty tricks that nice mafia girls weren't supposed to even know existed, and didn't seem to care when his sword caught her arm and laid it open, since that gave her an opening to press. She was magnificent, and Squalo couldn't even make himself mind when his boot caught on a rug and he went down.

Xanxus pounced, landing on his chest and pinning his wrist under a knee as she planted the muzzle of her gun right between Squalo's eyes. The half-crazy glitter in her eyes said she was going to pull the trigger, and Squalo exhaled, because fucked if this wasn't the perfect way to go, better than anything he'd dared to hope for previously.

The Ninth's voice came cracking into their little tableau like ice snapping in the winter. "What is the meaning of this?"

Xanxus didn't look away from Squalo. "He annoyed me."

"Then he should apologize," the Ninth said. "There's no call for open warfare in the corridors."

"I don't want an apology," Xanxus retorted. Her finger was hovering over the trigger still. "Blood's better."

"You'll have to make do with one," the Ninth told her, exasperation dripping from every word. The floor vibrated under Squalo's shoulders as he approached them. His face appeared over Xanxus' shoulders; Squalo suspected him of being torn between irritation and entertainment. "You may not kill the head of the Varia, no matter how much he's irritated you."

Something went sharp in Xanxus' eyes. "What's the Varia?"

So the Ninth hadn't told her, even though his sons knew. Squalo wondered why he was surprised, for a moment, and then cast it aside with a mental shrug. Wasn't like that was important just now, not when there was something bigger and better demanding his attention. "Not mine any more," he said, and lifted his free hand to fumble at his throat, pulling the insignia pinned there free of his collar. Xanxus let him do it, and took it from his fingers when he offered it to her. She eyed it curiously, muzzle never wavering from its spot between his eyes.

The Ninth protested, of course. "You can't be serious."

Squalo smirked at him. "Law of the Vongola," he said, and returned his eyes to Xanxus, who was examining the insignia. "Law of the Varia, too. Loser serves the winner."

"Yes, that's very true," the Ninth said, "but Xanxus isn't going to take over the Varia—"

It was the wrong thing to say, or maybe the right one. Xanxus' eyes flashed. "Don't tell me what to do," she said, and her fingers curled around the little pin. She rocked back on her heels and stood in one easy movement, and kicked Squalo in the side. "Take me to the Varia," she ordered. "Show me what they are."

"Sure thing, Boss," Squalo gasped, and pushed himself up off the floor.

Xanxus smiled at that, like she liked the sound of it, and after that, not a thing the Ninth said or did could budge her.

- end -

Tools of Persuasion

Unadulterated kinky porn featuring bondage, object penetration and spanking. Hibari decides to fuck Dino a little differently than usual. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Hibari/Dino, Dino's whip. Porn, I-4

Dino moaned a little, low in his throat, as Kyouya pushed his knees wider against the cool, rumpled sheets. Tonight promised to be something special.

He was used to Kyouya tying him up, of course. His tie, Kyouya's tie, a handy belt, they all brought the same glint to Kyouya's eye and Dino quite enjoyed the results of that glint. Tonight, though, after Kyouya stripped off their clothes with as much disregard for lost buttons as ever, he had turned Dino face down and tied his hands to the top of his bed with his own whip. With the pillows shoved under his hips and Kyouya's knees holding his spread wide he could barely move. And Kyouya was taking his time, now, hands kneading Dino's ass, spreading his cheeks wide, one thumb rubbing hard and slow against his entrance.

Kyouya only took his time about anything when he was savoring some particularly telling move.

"Mm, Kyouya..." Dino gasped and jerked as two long fingers pushed deep into him, slick and swift. And he was very glad Kyouya had taken the time to pad where the leather of the whip crossed his wrists, even if Dino was pretty sure he'd used Dino's own shirt to do it, because he couldn't help tugging as Kyouya's fingers worked him open until they were plunging in and out of his ass quick and hard. Dino tried to push his ass up higher, to get more, but Kyouya had him too strategically pinned, and just laughed

That was Kyouya all over. Dino did love the evil little bastard.

He made a protesting sound, though, when Kyouya's fingers slowed and slid free; he really hoped Kyouya wasn't going to tease him tonight.

"What?" Kyouya purred, and the wicked lilt to his voice made Dino shiver. "Don't you want this?"

The cool hardness of metal slid between Dino's cheeks, a long shaft of it, and Dino's eyes widened. "Kyouya...! Are you serious?" That couldn't really be...

Kyouya made a thoughtful sound as the metal slid back and forth and back until a rounded end teased against Dino's entrance. "I don't generally like the round tonfa shape, but I suppose they do have their uses in," he paused delicately and nudged the end just barely into Dino's ass, "special circumstances."

Dino moaned helplessly, pulled taut between the whip and the tonfa, and again, louder, as Kyouya slid that smooth, heavy shaft deeper into him. "Oh... oh fuck, Kyouya..."

"Indeed," Kyouya murmured. He pulled the tonfa back and pushed it in again until his knuckles around the handle pressed against Dino's ass. And again. And again. And Dino was gasping, moaning wordlessly with each thrust, because he could see it in his mind's eye, the faint smile that must be on Kyouya's face as he knelt behind Dino and drove the tonfa into Dino's ass just like he drove it into Dino's stomach when they fought, fucking Dino relentlessly on his weapon. The hardness of the steel and the way Kyouya's fist pushed Dino's cheeks apart on every stroke pulled whimpers out of his throat and he spread his knees even wider, begging for more.

"Mmm." Yes, there was that smile in Kyouya's voice. "You look good like this. Maybe," he leaned down to purr in Dino's ear, "maybe next time we fight I should do this just as soon as I win."

Heat shuddered down Dino's spine at the thought, and burst between his legs, and he groaned into the sheets as orgasm ripped through him and wrung him out around the steel shaft Kyouya drove deeper into his ass, fucking Dino short and hard until he sagged against the pillows and his bonds, panting.

"Holy fuck," Dino managed eventually.

"I'm flattered," Kyouya murmured and nipped at his ear.

"Almost enough to make a man lose on purpose," Dino said, laughing a little. He yelped as Kyouya bit down harder.

"Don't even think it," he growled.

"I said almost." Dino wriggled a little. "So, um. Think you can untie me, now?"

Kyouya didn't growl any more, and reached up to untie the whip, and Dino thought he'd gotten off lightly for the on-purpose crack. Until, that is, Kyouya pulled his hands together at the small of his back and held them there. "Now that you're warmed up," and, yes, the growl was still in his voice, hotter and lower, "I'm sure you can take something more... serious."

Dino grinned into the sheets for a moment before the hard stretch of Kyouya's cock pushing right into his ass made him moan again.

Sometimes he loved being the only one who really knew how to handle Kyouya.

End

Bonus AU ending:

"Almost enough to make a man lose on purpose," Dino said, laughing a little.

He yelped as Kyouya swatted him on the ass.

"Don't even think it," Kyouya growled.

"I said almost." Dino added, in a thoughtful tone, "It is awfully tempting sometimes, though..."

Kyouya's growl turned lower and hotter, and Dino grinned into the sheets for a moment before Kyouya's hand came down again and the quick sting across his ass made him moan. This time Kyouya wasn't stopping either, which, he had to admit, had kind of been the idea. Hot as it was to be tied up and fucked after he lost a round, it was sometimes even hotter to be tied up and spanked. By the head of the disciplinary committee, no less. Once he'd even convinced Kyouya to take him to the Namimori prefect's room and spank him on the couch there for old time's sake, bent over Kyouya's knees behind the locked door.

Dino had come to terms years ago with being kinky when it came to Kyouya.

He arched his back a little as Kyouya's hand smacked down sharply, again and again, pushing his ass up higher to take it. It made Kyouya purr with satisfaction, and his spanking turned slower, harder, more deliberate, making Dino's whole ass heat and throb. He knew it was probably turning pink under Kyouya's hand—Kyouya liked to see that and Dino liked feeling his ass burn for a while after.

The last smack was hard enough to make him grunt, bucking under it, and then he had to moan, shuddering, as Kyouya's hand slid down his ass and between his legs, palming his cock.

"Now that you're warmed up," Kyouya murmured, other hand rubbing slickly between his hot cheeks, "I think it's time we did this for real."

Dino sucked in a breath and gasped as Kyouya's cock pushed into him, so thick and hard it stole his voice.

Sometimes he loved being the only one who really knew how to handle Kyouya.

End

Between One Moment and the Next

Inspired by iss. 388 of the manga. What if that moment between Aizen and Ichigo had taken a darker and more personal turn? Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Aizen/Ichigo, touch. Porn with Mindgames, I-4

"My hand is at your heart."

The fingers resting so casually on his chest froze him for half a breath, and maybe that was what made the difference. When his muscles unlocked and he slashed at Aizen, sure and fast as he was Aizen didn't even dodge this time. His hand caught Ichigo's wrist and held it easily over his head. The world blurred and Ichigo's back slammed into a wall, and those fingers on his breastbone held him there. The world sharpened around him as he struggled against them, breath coming faster.

"Don't be foolish," Aizen murmured, and Ichigo stiffened as Aizen's leg slid between his thighs and pressed up.

Ichigo choked on a curse, eyes wide at the twist of heat low in his stomach.

Aizen smiled faintly. "Don't worry; the others don't see us. Not for the moment." His hand lifted from Ichigo's chest to catch his jaw instead and he completed Ichigo's shock by kissing him, deep and intent.

Confusion spun through his mind, but when Aizen's hand slid slowly, firmly, down his throat, only one response sang through Ichigo's body; his hips jerked helplessly against Aizen's thigh.

"You see," Aizen murmured against his mouth, "you need this." He took Ichigo's other wrist and pulled it up to join his sword hand, pinning them both against the wall over his head. "You fear your own power." Long fingers tugged loose Ichigo's hakama and slid under to wrap around his cock. Aizen's eyes held his like chain wrapped around his will.

"You need to feel a greater power control yours."

The weight of that power was locked around him, hard and hot as Aizen's fist around his cock, and Ichigo bucked into them both and moaned with dark, tempting pleasure when he couldn't break either grip.

"I'll let you feel it," Aizen told him, cool and even as he held Ichigo easily against the wall and jerked him off hard and slow. "And then we will fight. Feel free to use every iota of your power. I will subdue it." Pleasure pulled at Ichigo's nerves, answering Aizen's perfect assurance, his promise. Aizen leaned in closer and finished, softly, "And then, only then, I will bring you back to this wall and turn you around and let you feel the rest. Look forward to it."

He caught the low, harsh sound Ichigo made under his mouth, pinning Ichigo firmly in place as he shuddered with orgasm. When Ichigo hung limp in his grasp he drew back a bit and smiled. "Tie your hakama again before I break the illusion." And he was standing back where they'd started.

Ichigo pressed back against the roughness of the wall and stared at the sky and tried not to think about what had just happened.

Or why he had let it.

End

Under the Sky

Part of the Sugar and Spice arc of Choice. Xanxus doesn't like the way most mafia men drool, but she does like the way Squalo approaches her. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Xanxus/Squalo, genderswap. Porn with Characterization, I-4

It wasn't unusual for Xanxus to storm into her office, possibly destroying things in her path depending on how much of a snit she was in, but today her lips were tighter than usual and her glare was sharper. Squalo took his feet off the table, getting ready to move if he had to, and tossed the file on the latest Leone sprig aside. "Something up, Boss?"

Her lip curled up in a snarl. "Total assholes." She pronounced it like a sentence of death.

"Lots of those around, yeah," Squalo agreed, still waiting to see if the death would be literal this time or not. He tensed a little, feet under him, when she turned that glare on him.

"Like you're not just as fucking bad, whenever you forget your goddamn place."

Ah. That. Someone had tried to get fresh with the Vongola daughter again. Squalo really had to wonder just how many morons one world could hold, that word hadn't gotten around yet just how bad an idea that was.

Of course, in a way, he couldn't blame them. And this was, just maybe, the opportunity he'd been hoping for.

He leaned back deliberately, looking up at her. "I've never once forgotten my place." As she took a step toward him, hand flexing around the butt of her gun, teeth bared, he added, "I said it before, didn't I? Loser serves the winner."

That stopped her and she stared down at him for a long, intent moment. "He does, huh?" she finally asked, perfectly expressionless. Squalo smirked.

"He could."

Hell, if he'd wanted to live a long, safe life he'd never have joined the Varia.

The hard, warning glitter in her eyes as she reached down, wound his tie around her fist and yanked him to his feet with it sent a shot of heat through him. Which just confirmed that he was in exactly the right place, even if it wasn't a sane one. "Prove it," she demanded.

Squalo was more than ready to prove it and he went easily when she hauled him down to a kiss, opening his mouth for her and resting his hands lightly, respectfully on her hips. He hissed, cock twitching, as she bit at his lower lip, and she was smiling when she drew back.

"Maybe." She turned away, giving his tie a final jerk which he interpreted as a command to follow her back out into the halls. After they'd gotten a few odd looks, he tried to tone down his grin a bit. God knew Xanxus would probably shoot him if she turned around and saw it, and while that was pretty exhilarating in its own right he was hoping for something a little different tonight.

She led him into her room with every appearance of unconcern and threw the lock on the door firmly. He was about to get either laid or killed, possibly both, and as long as the second followed the first he wasn't sure he'd care. This was Xanxus, after all, and he already knew he'd follow her till he died, most likely at her own hand all things considered.

She spun around and looked him up and down, hands on her hips. "Lose the clothes," she ordered.

Squalo shrugged and stripped out of his coat and shirt, kicked off his shoes and pants, skinned out of his underthings. He spread his arms, smiling a bit mockingly. "And what now, Boss?"

Her eyes gleamed as she looked him up and down. "I guess it'll do." She set a hand on his chest and shoved him back onto the bed. Squalo stretched out and made himself comfortable, watching under his lashes as she undressed; Xanxus had zero respect for anyone who cowered.

Of course, she was also capable of shooting a person for insolence, but that just kept life interesting.

"And keep your hands to yourself," she told him as she climbed onto the bed.

Okay, that was a bit disappointing. Nevertheless, Squalo murmured, "Whatever you say, Boss," and reached over his head to wind his fingers into a pillow. Her smile gained an edge of approval. Her shoulders also relaxed, though he doubted anyone less dedicated to Xanxus-watching would have noticed it. On reflection, it didn't surprise him; given her mother's work, she must have had to fight men off before she came to the Vongola. Well, if that was the way this had to go, he didn't actually have any objections.

In fact he nearly groaned out loud when she slid a hand down between her legs, fingers stroking slowly back and forth as she considered him. Wary or not, he should have known Xanxus wouldn't be shy. "Fuck, Boss," he breathed reverently, and yeah, that did it, and thank God he already knew how much she liked the way he always, always gave her her title.

She swung a leg over, straddling him, and reached down to wrap her hand around his cock, head tilted as she weighed it in her palm. With some effort, he kept himself from rocking up into her hand; this was her show and if he tried to run it he'd be dead without even a last ride to show for it.

He couldn't keep himself from the shocked sound he made when she lifted up and guided his cock against her and pressed right down onto him, though. He wasn't fucking surprised when she hissed and slowed almost immediately.

If Xanxus had ever fucked anyone before, he was pretty sure he'd have known about it by now.

Calculation flickered through his head, even as he trembled with the urge to push up into the tight, tight heat that was closed around the head of his cock. No one told Xanxus what to do, and she'd already made it clear his role here wasn't to give suggestions. If she pushed herself now, though, who knew if they'd ever get to do this again? So... he'd just have to not-suggest and rely on her temperament to do the rest.

Actually, that would be pretty damn easy.

He let himself gasp, let himself shiver under her, hands fisting tight in the pillow. "Boss," he said, tight and pleading, "oh fuck Boss..." He let his hips lift just a tiny bit before he made himself lie still again, and damn but that took willpower.

From the way Xanxus was smiling now, slow and dark, it showed.

"Hm." She rocked up and just a tiny bit more down onto him and gasped out a laugh at the sound he made.

A little bit. And a little bit more. It was practically torture, and Squalo's skin was slick with sweat from the effort of lying still under her as she worked herself down onto him slowly. He didn't make any effort to hold back his gasps and whines, and by the time she was all the way down he was shaking and panting. Her eyes stayed fixed on him the whole time, nearly glowing.

And that was almost hotter than the grip of her body around his cock.

She planted her hands against his chest and rocked over him, slowly, not lifting up, just... moving. Grinding. That would probably have driven him crazy even if he wasn't two thirds of the way there already.

"God, Boss, please," he begged, and moaned when she rocked up and back down, fast. The edge of a purr in the sound she made nearly made him come right there and then.

She rode him slow and hard, and pleasure nailed every sense he had to the edge of bearable. The shift of her breasts as she moved, the flex of her thighs against his hips, the little sounds of pleasure low in her throat, the scent of her hanging heavier in the air until he could almost taste it as he panted, open mouthed, for breath—all of it grabbed him by the spine and fired his nerves until he was trembling on the edge.

"Please, Boss, please let me touch you," he gasped, because the tiny portion of his brain that still worked told him he never wanted to leave this woman unsatisfied.

"Mmmm." The huskiness in her voice made him shudder. "All right."

Squalo freed one hand from its death grip on the pillow and swiped his tongue messily over his thumb before sliding it between her folds to rub over her clit. She arched over him with a hiss, nails biting into his chest, and he rubbed harder, panting, dizzy with the wild heat of her, the body knowledge that he belonged to her. She jerked against his hand, driving down onto him faster, and Squalo's breath was hoarse and desperate in his throat when she groaned and her body tightened ferociously.

He finally broke and drove up into her helplessly, barely able to gasp as orgasm caught him and wrung him out like a rag over and over.

When the world stopped exploding behind his eyes he eased his hand away and let it fall back against the bed. He wanted a chance to do this again, after all, and if that meant obeying her without question in bed as well as out of it, well hell; that was a fucking bonus. "That about what you had in mind, Boss?" he gasped, looking up at her.

She bared her teeth. "Something like. I guess." She was breathing hard, too, which he took some satisfaction in, though he wasn't surprised at all when she hauled herself off him and sprawled back on her pillows, planting a foot on his hip and shoving him aside. He resettled himself out of arm's reach to catch his breath.

"Well, then. Any time you want, Boss." He glanced over at her, catching her eye and added, lower, "Anything you say."

The satisfaction that flashed over her face and the faint curve that her mouth settled into nearly made him feel ready for another round. Later, he decided, crawling out of bed to go hunt for a towel. Later, when she decided she wanted his service again. The thought coiled, hot, at the base of his spine.

The law of the Vongola. The loser served the winner. He'd meant that with all his body and soul when he'd said it, and being able to follow the scorching flame that was Xanxus' will was all the reason he'd ever needed.

End

Demanding

What Xanxus wants, Xanxus gets. Smut like nobody's business. For Porn Battle IX, prompt: Xanxus/Squalo, genderswap, boots. Girl!Xanxus, alternate canon.

Xanxus has legs that just don't quit, and she dresses to kill more literally than most women do. When they're on a mission, it's all boots to the knee and sleek leather pants that hug the muscles of her thighs and the curve of her ass and hips. There's a lot to be said for that, but even more to be said for what passes for her business attire, since she's perfectly willing to trade the leather pants for skirts that are short enough to be practically indecent when she crosses her legs and they creep up her thighs. Squalo's pretty fond of those skirts, actually, especially when Xanxus crooks a finger at him and says, "Come here," as she uncrosses her legs and spreads her knees wide.

He does, and drops to his knees for her. What Xanxus wants, Xanxus gets, and that's just fine by Squalo, who jumps to obey his boss's every whim. Most people suppose that it's because Xanxus is the dictionary definition of volatile. Fewer people suspect the truth, and Xanxus herself is not one of them. Squalo doesn't mind that; he's her man every way it matters and a few it doesn't. As long as she allows that, he's good.

Xanxus isn't much for the things other women like, foreplay and kisses and soft fluffy shit like that, so Squalo doesn't bother much with the preliminaries. When he sets his hands on Xanxus' knees and slides them up her thighs, feeling the power in the solid muscles under creamy skin as he rucks her skirt up, it's more for him than for her. Xanxus raises her hips when he hooks his fingers in her panties and draws them down, and makes an impatient sound as he takes his time about it. Squalo doesn't mind that, or the hand that descends onto his head, gripping his hair and urging him forward. Squalo goes willingly, burying his face between her thighs as she spreads her knees wider. He breathes in the damp, musky scent of her, and she tightens her fingers in his hair, growling at him, voice gone husky with demand. Squalo runs his hands up her thighs to lift her hips and leans forward to taste her, tongue sliding against the slick folds of her cunt and stroking against her clit.

Xanxus' growl changes to something like a moan as she rocks up against his mouth as Squalo laps at her. She's already wet, must have been thinking about this for a while before she put down the file she'd been reading and beckoned him over, and she makes a half-gasping sound when he slides his fingers up into her. He fucks her on them as he mouths her, tongue flicking against her fast, the way she likes it. She's tight around his fingers, muscles already fluttering as he strokes them against her, three of them twisting and curling inside her. It's no surprise to him when she comes off fast, shuddering and bucking against his mouth with a breathy little groan that sets Squalo's cock throbbing in his pants.

She's got him trained well; some women want to have a moment after they come, but Xanxus isn't that type. More is never enough for her, so Squalo keeps his mouth on her, tongue moving against her, sliding against her clit and between the folds around his fingers. He works her until his jaw aches, while Xanxus gasps above him, head thrown back against her chair, sooty lashes fluttering over her eyes as she grips Squalo's hair and the arm of the chair, white-knuckled.

Just when Squalo thinks he'll die if he doesn't get off soon, Xanxus pushes him away from her and plants one booted foot on his chest, pushing him over. He lands flat on his back and stays there while she stands and strips out of her blouse and that skirt. "Well?" she says, standing over him and wearing nothing but those boots and a challenge in her eyes.

That's his cue to undo his pants, fucking finally, and he can't help groaning in relief as he does, shoving them and his underwear down his hips. Xanxus wrenches his shirt open herself as she kneels astride his hips, so close to his cock that he can feel the heat of her. She rakes her fingernails down his chest, casual as a cat sharpening her claws, and Squalo grunts at the sting of it. He doesn't let that stop him from raising his hands and palming the lushness of her breasts. Xanxus arches into his hands as he plays with them, the only thing truly soft about her, and rocks over him, frustratingly close, until Squalo can't stand it any more and moans, "Boss, please..."

That's what it takes to get her to reach down and take him in hand, calloused palm wrapping around his cock and guiding it into her. Squalo groans at the slick heat of her body as she settles over him, one sure swift movement that nearly drives him out of his head. Xanxus plants a hand on his chest, pinning him down and balancing herself as she rides him, hips rocking over his, fast and hard. She does this for herself; it's Squalo's job to brace her, one hand on the curve of her back and the other free to fondle her breasts. He bites his lip as he does, trying to hold out against the scorching heat of her body and the way she looks as she takes her pleasure from him. Xanxus scowls as she drives herself down against his cock, as single-minded for this as she is for everything else, until she hisses at him to touch her. Squalo slides his hand down from her breast to the tautness of her stomach and then presses them against her clit, stroking hard, and that sends her off again. She groans as she comes, arching over him, wild hair damp at the temples and her chest heaving as her muscles ripple around Squalo's cock.

She's the most beautiful damn thing Squalo's ever seen, especially when he drives his hips up against hers and she gasps as each ragged thrust wrings another spasm of pleasure out of her. Squalo groans, watching her, feeling the gathering pressure of his orgasm building, and finally she looks down at him. It's the satisfaction in her eyes as she surveys him and the possessive quirk of her lips that undoes him. Another groan rips itself out of his throat as his hips buck under hers and pleasure comes crashing down on him like a tidal wave, rolling through him relentless and fierce.

When it finally lets him go, he's as limp as a jellyfish washed up on the tide, and can only pant for breath as he stares up at her. But Xanxus doesn't really care much for the afterglow and climbs off him, stretching shamelessly, with only the faintest of wobbles in her knees. Squalo pretends not to notice that, though he does take a certain workmanlike satisfaction from seeing that she's not as unaffected as she thinks she is.

Then Xanxus kicks him in the ribs. "You gonna lie there all day?"

"No, Boss," Squalo says, with a wheeze, and rolls to his feet to get them some towels to clean up with. He's just chivalrous like that, and besides, Xanxus is perfectly capable of lounging at her desk mostly naked if he doesn't.

And while Squalo really wouldn't mind that at all, it'd be hell on his productivity.

- end -

Naked Truth

Under the stress of dealing with Muramasa, Senbonzakura could do with some reassurance. So could Byakuya. Written for the Prompt Battle prompt: Byakuya/Senbonzakura, behind closed doors. Porn with Romance, I-4, light D/s

As they returned to Muramasa's suspiciously ill-concealed hiding hole, Byakuya turned away from the mindless chatter of the swords. He could only stand to listen to their foolishness for so long, and today had been more than enough.

"Where are you going?" Kazeshini demanded instantly, and Byakuya glanced over his shoulder.

"To sleep."

Predictably, Kazeshini sneered. "Humans."

Assumptions were a weakness, but Byakuya had no intention of reminding any of these about that. He walked down the tunnel that led to his temporary 'room', feeling the heat of Senbonzakura's suspicious glower on his back.

"I will watch him," his sword told the rest, and light steps stalked after him. Byakuya didn't respond in any way.

He did leave it to Senbonzakura to close the door behind them and listened to the faint slide and clack of armor as his sword slumped.

"I don't like this."

"Is there a problem?" Byakuya asked evenly.

"I know why it's necessary." Senbonzakura came away from the door and moved to light the candle lamps. "But the very idea that I would run wild this long, or that you would tolerate it...!" He tossed down the taper sharply, making the flames flicker. "It offends our honor."

"Our honor lies in our duty." Though Byakuya couldn't entirely disagree. The pretense grated on him, as well. Senbonzakura sighed softly and Byakuya turned to see him lean against the wall, head down. He knew his sword shared his pride, his determination to deal with this intrusion of the family's past, and frowned a little; was there something else wrong, then? "Senbonzakura?" He moved closer, and Senbonzakura looked up, eyes rueful behind his mask.

"It just wears, sometimes. Forgive me."

Byakuya quirked a brow. "Forgive you for your loyalty? Most certainly not."

That made Senbonzakura laugh a little. "Yes, ma—" He caught himself and finished, sober again, "Byakuya."

Ah. Was that it, then? Byakuya considered their situation and smiled faintly; unexpected benefits, perhaps. "There are other ways than speech," he murmured, coming forward until he could rest one hand on his sword's shoulder and set the other on the edge of his mask. Behind it, Senbonzakura's eyes widened, and Byakuya could hear the intake of his breath.

"Yes." It was barely a whisper. Senbonzakura's eyes closed as Byakuya's fingers tightened.

Slowly, Byakuya lifted the mask away and laid it aside, smoothing back Senbonzakura's long, sleek hair. His sword shivered under his touch, eyes opening to look up at him with unmistakable hunger. Byakuya closed his hands around Senbonzakura's face and swallowed his gasp in a slow kiss. Senbonzakura's mouth yielded and opened under his, and, as Byakuya kissed him again and again, formed silent words against his lips: yes and master and please. Byakuya smiled. The thought of reclaiming his sword this way, too, pleased him, and he ran two fingers down Senbonzakura's side, where the armor ties were.

"Yes?"

Even through the armor, he could feel Senbonzakura shiver. "Yes."

Byakuya turned briefly to cast the kidou Falling Snow over the closed door; there would be no unexpected visitors while that lasted. He wanted to take his time about this. Indeed, he had to. Zanpakutou didn't wear clothes—their form was what they were. To change that was a delicate undertaking.

So he went slowly, unfastening the sode, opening the robe and folding it down, unknotting each cord of the dou one by one. Senbonzakura stood still under his hands, chest heaving quick and light as the armor came away piece by piece. Byakuya set each aside with care; it was his own armor, after all. By the time he came to the last layer of cloth, Senbonzakura was trembling, bare hands winding tight in Byakuya's sleeves.

"Master," he said, low and husky, eyes wide, and Byakuya drew him close.

"You are mine," he murmured. "My sword. The edge of my soul. No matter what conjurer's tricks a mad and masterless sword plays against us, we will not be parted." He slid a hand into Senbonzakura's loosened hair and kissed him again, fierce. The passion of his sword's response calmed the fury that even he had had trouble holding back this long.

Briskly, now, he unfolded the futon Muramasa had provided for his lone human associate and stripped away the last of their clothes. Senbonzakura went willingly when Byakuya pressed him down, and sighed on a soft note of pleasure as Byakuya's hands stroked slow and firm over his body.

It was a strange thing. Byakuya could imagine so clearly his sword's pleasure, the building warmth within him; almost, he fancied, he could feel it himself, a delicate echo in his soul. Perhaps it was even so. The slackening of those long, sleek muscles under his hands sent a curl of warmth through him as well. This was his.

When Senbonzakura started arching up into his hands, increasingly abandoned, Byakuya extracted the vial of sword oil he kept tucked into a seam of his pillow. He hid that more carefully than anything but his own thoughts, here. Zanpakutou needed little of the care mortal steel did. The rituals of care and cleaning were for comfort, and sometimes for vanity, not necessity—a gentle reinforcement of the bond between a shinigami and his zanpakutou. To find such a thing here would make even the fools outside suspect both of them immediately. Senbonzakura laughed, breathless, as Byakuya uncapped it. "It's good to feel your touch again," he said softly, and Byakuya smiled a little at the faint color rising over Senbonzakura's cheekbones.

"Indeed." He held Senbonzakura against him and rubbed his entrance slowly, gentle as he had ever been with a lover of his own kind. Senbonzakura's body yielded to him at once, though, and his sword's sudden flush and half-lidded eyes said all was well even before his low moan drifted on the room's still air.

"I am yours," Senbonzakura breathed, hands working against Byakuya's shoulders. "I am of you. Your will is mine."

Heat spiked through Byakuya at those words, that acknowledgment, and he caught Senbonzakura closer, fingers driving deeper. Perhaps, he thought distractedly, this pretend estrangement had worn on him worse than he had thought. The press of Senbonzakura's body against his and the low, wanting sounds he made were far more satisfying than Byakuya had expected them to be. "You are mine," he agreed, husky.

Senbonzakura made an eager sound as Byakuya turned him over and gathered him back into the curve of his body, rubbing slowly between Senbonzakura's cheeks. A little more of the oil to ease his way, and Byakuya was pushing in, breath coming harder with the fierce heat of his sword around him.

"Please," Senbonzakura gasped, and Byakuya could only answer him, thrusting in deep on one long flex of his hips. They moaned together.

After that, Byakuya didn't hold back, and the echo of heat, and the way Senbonzakura pushed up to meet each thrust told him this was right. This was his zanpakutou, and they were not apart. He sheathed himself in his sword, hard and sure, again and again, and knew the pleasure winding through him was both of theirs.

"Master..." Senbonzakura's panting breaths hitched as Byakuya kissed the nape of his neck, open mouthed. "Yes..."

"Yes, my sword, my edge." Byakuya slid his hand down Senbonzakura's stomach to close between his legs, running oil-slick fingers firmly up and down his sword's length. Senbonzakura bucked helplessly under him and muffled a low cry in the bedding, and Byakuya groaned as his sword's body tightened. He pulled Senbonzakura's hips up and thrust into that tightness deep and hard, again, and again, and then the oddly doubled pleasure was too much to resist and he caught Senbonzakura close as heat shuddered through him, raking his nerves.

They lay twined together for a while, panting softly while Byakuya stroked Senbonzakura's hair, savoring their satisfaction. Finally Byakuya eased his sword back over and touched his bare face gently. The curve of Senbonzakura's lips made Byakuya smile too. "All is well?" he asked.

Senbonzakura lifted Byakuya's hand and kissed his fingers. "All is well, my master."

Byakuya nodded approval of this and held his sword closer.

They had a little time, yet, and only a fool would give up the truth before he had to.

End

Like Chile on the Tongue

Xanxus likes being on top. Adult! Part of the Fem!Xanxus branch of Choice. Genderswap, pegging, overtones of D/s. Filthy, filthy smut. Like, seriously, I think this is the porniest thing I've written to date.

Squalo's eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets. "Oh sweet Jesus, Boss," he said, staring.

Xanxus' lips peeled back from her teeth. "Yes?" She leaned back on her elbows, mother-naked. "Was there something you wanted to say?" Her eyes glittered beneath her lashes, practically daring him to object.

Squalo swallowed hard. And here he'd thought that the thing with the cock ring had been exciting. Maybe he should have seen this one coming when it'd become clear that she was digging into the catalogs.

"Well?" she said.

He wet his lips. "No, Boss."

Xanxus arched an eyebrow. "No?" Her voice was husky, practically a purr.

The thing was nestled between her thighs, jutting out from them, thick and blunt. He couldn't see any straps holding it in place, which meant that the other end was--

"Oh fuck," he moaned as his cock throbbed in his pants. "Boss..."

Xanxus' eyes passed over him, head to toe. She smiled, lips curling slowly, and crooked a finger at him. "Come here."

Squalo stumbled his way to the bed, knees weak just from looking at her, and stopped short when she grunted at him. "Boss," he said, breathless with the anticipation singing through him.

Xanxus' eyes moved over him again. "Strip."

"Yes, Boss," he said, even as he scrambled to obey the order, struggling out of his shirt and hopping on first one foot and then the other as he tugged his boots off.

Her eyes stayed on him until he'd shucked out of his pants and underwear, hooded under her lashes. "Mm," she said when he was finally naked. "Eager, aren't you?"

Squalo took pride in the fact that he had only ever given her the truth, and so he nodded, not entirely trusting his voice for the answer.

Xanxus huffed, but the sound of it was grudgingly pleased. "If you're so eager, then suck it."

Squalo couldn't move immediately because something in his brain shorted out just at the thought. "Boss..." His voice was hoarse in his own ears.

She made an impatient sound and spread her knees wide, gesturing. "Don't keep me waiting."

"No, Boss," Squalo said, and lost no more time scrambling onto the bed with her and kneeling between her legs. From this angle he could see how it fit into her, the pearly white thickness of it holding her open and gleaming slickly where her body folded around it. "Oh, God," he whispered. Xanxus made an impatient sound and he bent his head down to stroke his tongue against the base of it, tracing the tip of it against her skin and the dildo, tasting her on it. Xanxus' breath hitched at that and she spread her thighs wider, tilting her hips up as he explored the shape of it with his tongue. It was thick, fitting snugly against her clit, and tapered to a stylized head that was smooth under his lips.

Xanxus watched him run his mouth over the smooth column of it. Her eyes were dark; she kept them fixed on him, avid as he ran his tongue around the head. "Go on, then."

Squalo obeyed; it was thick enough to fill his mouth and stretch his lips as he stroked his mouth down the shaft, taking as much of it as he could before pulling back, slow, letting his lips drag against the smooth silicon of it. Xanxus watched him, cupping a hand around one of her breasts and playing with it as Squalo bobbed his head over the dildo. "That really the best you can do?"

She said it like a dare, but reached her other hand down to him, resting it against the back of his head, heavy. Squalo groaned as the weight of it demanded more of him. He sucked in a breath as her hand guided him down the dildo and it nudged at the back of his throat. It had been a long fucking time since he'd had to do something like this.

It was worth it for the way Xanxus' eyes flared and the sound she made when he relaxed his throat muscles and swallowed the thing, going all the way down it till his nose was pressed against her. "Look at you," she said, fingers curling in his hair as the scent of her filled his nostrils. Her hips lifted, pressing the dildo deeper, and she made an interested sound as it shifted against her.

Squalo moaned, too, when her fingers tightened in his hair again and she lifted him up, not too far. He wasn't surprised when her hips rolled up again, sliding the dildo between his lips, fucking his throat. She groaned, her breath coming faster as she moved her hips, and his cock tightened between his legs. He reached a hand down to it, pressing his fingers against the base, going lightheaded with the shallow breaths that were all he could manage as the dildo slid over his tongue, watching her.

Xanxus teeth were set against her lower lip, pressing down and chasing the color out of it, and her eyes went narrow as her breathing turned uneven. "Fuck," she said, breathless, "fuck, fuck..." Her skin was beginning to gleam, breasts shifting with every panting breath she took, but she didn't seem to be getting any closer. Finally she hissed her frustration and said, "Give me your fucking fingers."

Squalo moaned around the dildo and circled his fingers around the base of it, pressing them against her clit. Xanxus groaned, hips rocking up and grinding against his fingers, and her entire body shook as she finally came.

Squalo couldn't help whining, watching her, cock aching with how unbearably sexy she looked and sounded, dizzy with wanting her and with how breathless he was. But he didn't move until Xanxus opened her eyes again, the gleam of them dark over the color of her cheeks, and showed her teeth as she pulled him the rest of the way off the thing. Squalo gasped for breath as it slipped free of his mouth. "Oh, fuck, Boss," he said, when he could manage it.

Xanxus drew her knee up and planted a foot on his shoulder, pushing him over. "You can do better than that," she announced. Squalo pretended not to notice how husky her voice was, despite the petulance of her words.

He caught the little tube she pitched at him then. "Boss?" He glanced at the label--oh. Oh, yes.

"Get yourself ready for me." Then she seemed to stop and consider the order. "On your knees. So I can watch."

Squalo couldn't help the sound he made at that, hoarse, but it just made her smile. "Yes," he breathed, and rolled over to plant his knees against the mattress, spreading them wide as he flicked the cap of the lube open and slicked his fingers. The rhythm of Xanxus' breathing changed when he canted his hips up and reached down and back, turning faster as he stroked his fingers between his own cheeks. Squalo permitted himself a grin since he had his forehead pressed against the sheets and his face tucked against his forearm, and gave her a show, circling his fingers slowly, working the muscles loose before he pressed the first one in.

It'd been a long time since he'd done this, too. Thank fuck for muscle memory and the fact that he could hear Xanxus' soft breaths behind him. He could imagine her eyes on him, watching him play with his own ass, stroking his fingers in and out of himself, spread open and wanton for her. That thought was almost hotter than the pressure of his fingers; it made him groan and his cock twitch, full and heavy between his legs.

He wasn't surprised when Xanxus spoke, her voice rough. "How long are you going to take?"

Squalo let his fingers slip out of himself with a last flourishing twist that made him gasp. "I'm ready whenever you are, Boss."

The mattress dipped and moved as she did; Squalo moaned as her weight leaned against him just briefly, soft breasts pressed against his back and the dildo smooth against his hip while she retrieved the lube. "Boss..." He craned his head, trying to get a look at her, and caught a glimpse of her sitting on her heels, wet fingers slipping over the dildo, meditatively slow. "Oh God, Boss, please..."

"Mm," she said and moved again, coming up on her knees and reaching for him.

Her hands closed on his hips, holding them, and her thumbs curved over his ass, spreading it wide. Squalo panted, closing his hands on the sheet and gripping them, and gasped at the first cool slide of the dildo stroking against him, rubbing between his cheeks. Xanxus made a sound behind him, a considering, thoughtful one, and moved her hips again, slowly. Squalo shuddered at the teasing thickness of the dildo as it moved against him but not in him, taut with how close it was. "Boss, please," he groaned. "Please, I want it, please..."

"Do you really?" she asked, all idle curiosity except for the vibrant huskiness of her voice.

"God, yes, please..." Squalo groaned as she kept sliding it against him, deliberately slow. "Please, Boss, put it in me. Fuck me, please..."

"Mmm." She drew back and Squalo moaned as the blunt head of the dildo came to rest against him. Xanxus gripped his hips tightly, holding him so that he couldn't push back against it, and he whined. She laughed; the sound of it was wicked and satisfied. "All right," she said, and pushed into him in one smooth movement.

Squalo heard the sound that she made, breathless and pleased as her thighs pressed against his and she ground against him, but he couldn't focus on it, not when the sharp stretch of his muscles had all of his attention and he was gasping for breath at the feeling of being filled up so completely. Then Xanxus drew back and rocked it into him again, before he'd had a chance to adjust to that first burning stretch. The feel of it was too raw to recognize as pleasure at first, which was probably the only thing that was keeping him from coming on the spot. He gasped for breath, gripping the sheets with white knuckles as Xanxus ground against him, making low, pleased sounds with every minute shift of her hips.

Then Xanxus' fingers flexed against his hips, digging into them, and she made a sound that was low and hoarse. "Fuck," she said. "Fuck." The dildo ground deeper as she pressed against him, and the mattress shook as she shuddered, coming off again.

Squalo closed his eyes, imagining it: how her back would be arched and her face would look, fierce in her pleasure, and him on his knees for her, with that dildo buried in him, all the way to the hilt. "Boss," he moaned. "Boss, please..."

Her fingers dug into his hips. "Yeah," she said, voice gone smoky and deep. "Fuck, yeah."

Squalo's breath caught as she drew back, pulling almost all the way out of him, and escaped him on a cry as she thrust into him again, the dildo sliding in at just the right angle and raking pleasure up his spine. Xanxus grunted at him as he writhed in her hands, moaning in his throat as he tried to shift his hips, and held him in place. "There, huh?"

"Yeah, please, oh--!" Squalo moaned as she rocked into him again, fucking him at that angle with hard, sharp thrusts that sent pleasure stabbing through him. "Fuck, Boss...!" She slammed into him again, faster and harder, and he lost it, all the world narrowing down to the fire that raced through him, turning him inside out with the force of it as he cried out, keening and wordless.

Xanxus fucked him through it, hips pounding against his, dildo driving against the way his body tried to wring closed on it. She cursed as she did, the profanities rolling off her tongue in a fluid moan. Squalo sagged in her hands, gasping for breath as the short jerks of her thrusts sent sensation rolling through him, like aftershocks following an earthquake, almost too much to stand when all his nerves felt like they'd just been scoured clean. Xanxus just swore at him, too, and hitched his hips higher, holding them up as she fucked him, grinding against him and seeking her pleasure again, until she found it and her voice faltered and fell silent. Squalo's hip stung as her fingernails dug into them, breaking the skin in a couple of places as she shook.

His muscles felt like they were made of jelly; when she released her grip on him, Squalo sprawled against the bed, groaning as the dildo slid out of him and sent one last shudder walking up his spine. "Fuck," he said, low and reverent. "God, Boss..." He forced himself to curl onto his side, away from the wreck of the sheets, so he could look at her.

Xanxus was still panting, chest heaving and skin gleaming. As Squalo watched, she reached a hand that was trembling just a bit down and pulled the thing out of her. Squalo couldn't help the little sound of appreciation he made as she did, especially at the sight of the bulbous shape of the end that had been inside her, large and glistening with how wet she'd gotten. No wonder she'd ground against him so hard; that thing must have been pressing against all the right places.

Xanxus looked at it for a moment and then dropped it, snorting. "Lot of work, just to get off," she said, sounding vaguely dissatisfied.

Squalo stepped on the stab of his disappointment. "I guess so."

She flicked a glance at him, one that was indecipherable. Then she snorted again. "I'll have to get one with a vibrator in it." She settled herself against her pillows and stretched, long and hard, and spread her knees again as she gave him a pointed look. "Get your lazy ass over here and make yourself useful."

Squalo knew he was grinning and couldn't make himself stop. "Yes, Boss," he said as he marshaled his wobbly muscles and shifted himself over to bury his face between her thighs.

He really was the luckiest bastard in the world.

A Theme in Pentatonic - One

Post Infinite Fortress arc. Kazuki takes care of Juubei while he recovers from their fight, and they find their way back to each other—even if Kazuki still can't entirely admit his place in the relationship. Drama, Fluff, Porn, I-4

After the shouting was over and the rush of people had ebbed away again and all the wounded had been marched back to Gen's back rooms by a frowning Ren, Kazuki had a chance to finally think about what he had found by returning to Mugenjou. He listened to the crunch and hush of medicines being mixed, to Ren scolding Emishi, to Sakura's quiet as she sat beside Juubei, and hoped that this time he and Juubei could say what they meant, to each other, and not what they feared.

His search for a way to start that was preempted, though, when Gen stumped over to Juubei and gave him a look of professional disapproval.

"You turned your own arts against yourself; you should know better than anyone what that means. It was only the luck or fate of this place that you missed the critical points but you came close enough to shock even your system badly. I don't know," he added, more quietly, "if your eyes will recover."

"No matter," Juubei said evenly, and Gen grunted without either surprise or agreement.

"At any rate, if there's to be any chance you'll need to rest for at least a week. Take this once a day," he handed Sakura a small, blue glass bottle, "and don't do any of these things." He passed over a closely written sheet of paper.

Sakura read down it and pursed her lips, looking down at her brother dubiously. "Thank you, sir," she said all the same.

Kazuki slipped out of bed and looked over her shoulder. "Well, then, it seems that after I've wrapped up this job I'll be back for a while," he said dryly.

"Back?" Juubei asked, and perhaps only the two of them heard the crack of hope in his voice. Kazuki took a breath.

"Of course," he answered, voice as cheerful as he could make it. "After all, no one else will be able to make you follow the doctor's orders, will they?"

Sakura pressed a hand over her mouth, eyes dancing. Juubei was silent, though, and Kazuki made himself reach out, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You need me here. So I'll be here."

Juubei still didn't speak, but his muscles relaxed under Kazuki's touch.

"Perhaps you should take him back to your own apartment, then," Sakura suggested, smiling up at him with a light of mischief. "A little extra distance between him and his work won't hurt."

"Ane-chan," Juubei objected, but Sakura kept looking at Kazuki and he finally bowed his head.

"If you think that's for the best, Sakura," he murmured.

She laid a hand over his, on Juubei's shoulder. "I do."

He was glad to have Sakura's blessing on this renewal of an old friendship. And perhaps... perhaps more than that.

"I don't want to be away from Lower Town," Juubei grumbled.

"Nonsense," Sakura said firmly. "Kazuki-san may not live in the heart of Mugenjou any more, but he's only moved to the edge of Lower Town."

"...oh." Juubei subsided.

Kazuki fought for a moment with simultaneous pleasure that Sakura had kept that much track of him and the twinge that Juubei obviously hadn't. "Rest here while I close this job," he told Juubei. "I'll come get you when that's done."

And they would see what it was going to take to repair hearts and bodies both.

As Kazuki had expected, having been a spectator the last time Juubei got a cold, Juubei spent exactly one day in bed before he was sneaking out of it every time Kazuki's back was turned. Kazuki was fairly sure that one day was only because he'd been concentrating on readjusting his senses, because he moved as silently as ever when he did get up.

That didn't make Kazuki any happier about it.

"How are your eyes going to have any chance to heal if you don't rest?" he remonstrated, catching Juubei moving methodically through the kitchen, cataloging dishes and cans with his fingertips.

"I doubt they will," Juubei answered, sounding perfectly serene about it. "And that's as well. I raised my hand against you; it's just and right that I be punished for that."

Kazuki touched Juubei's cheek below the wrap over his eyes, just about ready to howl with frustration except that he didn't do such things, any more than Juubei did. They'd both been well taught. "I don't like to see you hurt," he said instead.

Juubei rested his hand over Kazuki's. "I am not in pain."

Kazuki sighed. That complete equanimity was as comforting as it was frustrating, to tell the truth. That was the Juubei he'd known for so long, this serenity and not the harsh, driven edge Juubei had shown when they fought. Juubei had always been a rock, standing firm in any stream of events, even the madness of Fuuchouin's fall.

Of course, the tiny, resentful part of his mind that he tried not to pay too much attention to said, the foundation of Juubei's serenity was still intact. His family had not fallen, and he had left it of his own will to follow the one tradition had bound him to. Even in exile, Juubei knew he was walking the straight path of his house and clan, following...

...following Kazuki.

Kazuki felt his breath stop for a moment. Without him, Juubei had not been himself. Now that he was here again, Juubei was at ease. Secure in his place in the world.

"Kazuki?" Juubei asked softly, hand closing on his shoulder.

Kazuki wrapped his arms tight around Juubei and pressed close, reassuring himself that they were both here and alive and as safe as anyone could be. Husky, against Juubei's shoulder, he murmured, "Did it truly trouble you that much... No." He took a breath. "Never mind. I shouldn't have to ask that."

He knew the answer already, in his heart. The Kakei family was proud, a samurai House who kept their traditions. It must have driven Juubei half-wild to be masterless. Kazuki understood perfectly, in the abstract.

It was only when he faced the fact that Juubei's master was him that it made him flinch away.

So instead he concentrated on the living warmth of Juubei against him, on the comfort of Juubei's arms slowly sliding around him, on the soft pleasure lurking in Juubei's voice when he said Kazuki's name. That was enough.

After a week, during which he had been only marginally successful in making Juubei rest, Kazuki had to admit that Juubei was probably as recovered as he was getting, at least for now. Juubei was moving easily and his non-visual perception had made a leap forward such as Kazuki had never heard of before.

He just hoped that advance would hold outside of Mugenjou.

The moment he was sure Juubei was going to be all right was when Juubei cocked his head to one side and turned to him with a faint frown, as Kazuki was dressing for the day. "Kazuki? You're favoring your right hand."

Once it was pointed out it felt like the faint ache and twinge got deeper, as if pleased to be noticed. Kazuki sighed, twisting his wrist carefully. "Yes. I suppose there's still a bit of forearm strain."

"Sit down." Juubei pushed him down onto the edge of the bed and knelt down beside him, taking Kazuki's arm in his hand and running a thumb down the length of the inner tendon. He made a disapproving sound as Kazuki's fingers twitched. "You're the one who should have been resting more."

Kazuki couldn't help laughing; this was so familiar, this physician's grumpiness. "Well you're fully recovered, at any rate! I'm fine, Juubei."

Juubei paused, head bent, fingers resting on Kazuki's wrist. Finally he said, low, "Allow me this."

There was a plea in those even words, and it caught at Kazuki's heart. "Of course..." he started, impulsive, and then paused himself.

It touched a chord in him, seeing Juubei at his feet, waiting on his word. Part of him could not help feeling that it was good and right, it was their familiar fate as the heirs of their Houses. Kakei was vassal to Fuuchouin.

But that thought, that way, led back into the fire.

Juubei was still waiting.

Kazuki's jaw tightened and he took a slow breath. Forget their Houses; this wasn't a House before him, it was a person! Juubei. He lifted his other hand and rested it on Juubei's head.

"Yes." As he said it, his voice turned fierce, finally saying what he had spent years turning away from. "You are mine."

The sudden openness of Juubei's face as he lifted his head, the husky note in his voice as he said, "Kazuki..." settled in Kazuki's chest and he laughed, softly, and slid down off the bed, pleased when Juubei's arms caught him. Juubei's mouth was soft, under his, startled perhaps, and Kazuki took ruthless advantage of that, kissing Juubei deep and slow until he moaned, arms tightening hard around Kazuki. Kazuki made a satisfied sound at that.

"Kazuki," Juubei murmured against his mouth, breathless.

"I will allow you a great deal," Kazuki purred back, enjoying the way Juubei's breath hitched. "Because you're my own."

And why on earth had he waited so long to say that? He couldn't really recall just at the moment. Never mind their pasts, he could have Juubei just as himself, and that would be all right.

Juubei's hands spread against his back, supporting him, and Juubei turned his face up to Kazuki. "Kazuki... may I...?"

Kazuki shivered, pressing close, half laughing with the dizzy pleasure of the way he'd found to have this. "Yes." He let Juubei lift him back up to the bed and tugged Juubei after him. If he could have managed to undress without letting go, he would have. Finally, after a few tangles of arms and legs and cloth ended in laughter—an open smile from Juubei was just as good—he leaned back, sighing, as strong deft hands trailed slowly over his skin, just as if Juubei had never touched his body before.

In fact, the familiarity of the touch was what soothed him, relaxed him until he was arching up against the weight of Juubei's body, arms twined tight around him. "Mmm, Juubei..."

Juubei's voice was husky as murmured, between kisses, "Do you have...?"

Kazuki stretched to reach the little bedside nook, purring as Juubei's hands slid over his ribs. "Here." He dropped the green glass jar into Juubei's palm.

It was very different, to feel Juubei's hands kneading gently up his thighs, to be gathered close as Juubei's fingers touched him more and more intimately, to hear Juubei's breath come quicker as Kazuki made a soft sound against his shoulder and shifted closer. The few other men and women he'd been with had been... well, they'd been brief, and most of them rather in awe of him. This was Juubei, who grumbled at him when he didn't eat enough, who had guarded his back faithfully for years, who needed jokes explained to him. This was his Juubei, touching him now with complete reverence and no hesitation.

"I missed you so much," he whispered against Juubei's ear, breathless. Juubei's arms tightened around him.

"I beg your forgiveness," Juubei said, low, in the most abject form, and Kazuki moaned as Juubei pressed slowly into him.

"Wasn't your fault," he gasped, and laughed a little as Juubei's silence disagreed with him. Juubei protected him even from himself.

Usually.

"I didn't want to leave you," he offered, softly, sliding his leg up to wind around Juubei's hip.

"Shh." Juubei's hands slid up his back, kneading hard and slow, and Kazuki gasped as muscles he hadn't realized he'd tensed unwound again; it put an edge on the rise of pleasure as Juubei's cock worked slowly in and out of him. "I lost my way, and I was a fool for letting it happen. But you brought me back to it. My life and honor are yours. Always."

That skirted close to the things Kazuki didn't dare think of too hard, hoping not to tempt fate. So all he said, as Juubei's hand slid down between his legs, was "Stay with me?"

"Forever." The intensity of Juubei's voice wrapped around him like another hand, and Kazuki let that touch carry him over the edge, moaning openly as pleasure swept through him, deep and slow and thorough.

The catch of Juubei's breath, the way his head bent, made Kazuki smile, reaching up through the brightness of it all, to run his fingers through Juubei's hair. "Juubei," he murmured, low, and rocked up into the next thrust. Juubei gasped, body arching taut as he drove forward harder, and Kazuki made approving sounds. He pulled Juubei down against him as he started to relax, and murmured in his ear, laughing, "I said say to stay with me, didn't I?"

He could feel the heat in Juubei's face against his shoulder. "Kazuki!"

Kauzki laughed again and cuddled closer, happier than he could remember being in a long time.

And as long as fate and his enemies didn't notice, perhaps he could keep some of it.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Two

After the Kami no Kijitsu arc, Juubei brings Toshiki home to Kazuki and the three of them fit themselves together with a little more honesty and understanding this time. Porn, Drama, I-4

Toshiki walked quietly beside Kakei through the familiar sounds of the Lower Town. "Makubex is everything you said he is," he finally said.

"You're content to help him, then?" Kakei asked, cutting to the heart with his usual bluntness. Toshiki's mouth quirked, hearing it again.

Only for a moment, though.

"Is this what Kazuki wishes?" he asked, low. And he had to ask Kakei, because he hadn't been able to get an answer out of Kazuki any time over the last few days. Kakei was quiet for almost a block.

"Kazuki will not stay to lead without Amano Ginji as his beacon," he said at last, "but that does not mean he doesn't wish our home safe and well. It pleases him that we support Makubex."

"Lower Town's new beacon," Toshiki mused.

"Not so powerful a one that Kazuki will follow it, but worthy of our help."

Toshiki smiled at the undertones he heard in that. Kakei would support Makubex all right, no doubt with all his strength, but there was only one person he would follow. And if that pleased Kazuki, well that was good enough for Toshiki, too. "All right," he agreed, and paused on the streetcorner, looking around at the bright chaos. It took him back, and maybe that wasn't a bad thing; maybe he should go back and try again. "I should find some place to stay, here," he murmured.

Kakei cocked his head and Toshiki had, again, that odd new feeling, that blind eyes were measuring him, considering. "It's good to stay close," he said, finally. "Come back with me, for now."

Toshiki stopped himself before he asked if Kakei was sure. Kakei was always sure, and if that got a little wearing it was also comforting right now. Familiar. He followed his old friend and rival down narrow alleys to broader streets into a tangle of shorter buildings with washing strung window to window overhead. On one side of a cracked concrete plaza they went up creaking iron stairs to an outside door in the top floor. Toshiki approved of the high ground. The rooms inside opened up, free and airy, half the interior walls knocked out long ago, much newer windows open to catch the breeze as evening came on.

Kazuki was standing in the middle of the second room, turning and smiling to see them.

"Juubei! Is Toshiki staying, then?"

"Yes," Kakei said firmly, while Toshiki stood and stared.

"But..." He was trying not to sputter, and that didn't leave him with much else to say.

"I said it's good to stay close," Kakei told him. "This solves the problem between us, doesn't it?"

Toshiki was suddenly remembering exactly why he found Kakei's habitual surety so frustrating. How was a person supposed to answer it? "I can't..." he tried, only to be cut off by Kazuki's hand on his chest.

"Do you object?" Kazuki murmured, knowing eyes holding his, and Toshiki flinched under that question, reminded now of exactly why he had followed Kazuki so long. That one question was everything he had tried to take by force from Kazuki, everything Kazuki had no need to force from him, laid bare as a drawn blade between them. He closed his eyes.

"No."

"Good. I've missed you." Kazuki's voice had no edge of triumph in it and Toshiki shuddered with the gentleness of his defeat.

"Let me stay," he begged, softly. Kazuki had been the one to release him, but he had been the one to leave; he knew better now. If only Kazuki would take him up, it would never happen again.

"Of course you'll stay." Kazuki's hands closed around his face and he opened his eyes to meet Kazuki's, bright and pleased, forgiving him before he even asked, and his arms closed around Kazuki before he could think. When Kazuki only laughed, softly, he breathed again, light-headed at being allowed this.

He started a little when Kakei's hands closed over his shoulders from behind, but they only smoothed across his back, stroked down his arms, palms open, and that wrung a wanting sound from him. It had always been love and hate both, between he and Kakei.

"You're Kazuki's knight," Kakei murmured in his ear, as if he hadn't noticed. "You'll stay."

This time the surety was entirely comfort.

Toshiki bent his head to Kazuki's kiss, breath catching just a little as Kakei's hands slid under his shirt and across his stomach. This was everything he'd wanted for years and he felt like the world's own idiot for running away from it for so long. Even that thought unraveled, though, under the slow heat of Kazuki's mouth and the small sound of satisfaction he made. He didn't think, after that, just let them strip away clothes until he was caught between the heat of their skin, light-headed with the sweetness of just being here. Wanted. It was almost too much to take in when they nudged him back toward the bed and Kazuki's eyes laughed at him.

"Juubei?"

"Yes." Kakei settled onto the bed and pulled Toshiki down over him. That made him awkward again, for a moment, unsure how they fit, but Kakei's hands were patient, stroking down his body, spreading him out, and when he felt the bed dip as Kazuki settled behind him he understood and shivered. Kakei's hands smoothed the shiver away.

In fact... they were easing away all of the places where his muscles still ached and trembled, firm, knowing fingers pressing and stroking here and there until he was just about draped over Juubei's body, breathing deep and slow.

"Kakei... what...?" he managed.

"Shh," Juubei told him, hands still passing over him. "Your punishment was harsher than mine; you aren't entirely recovered yet."

"It was only what I deserved," he muttered against Kakei's neck.

"Don't say that," Kazuki said, quick and soft. "You didn't deserve that."

"You deserved to be thoroughly beaten for being such an idiot," Kakei agreed, matter-of-fact, "but not to die."

Toshiki couldn't help laughing at that. "Juubei," he sighed. Juubei just made a self-satisfied sound, and Toshiki snorted again. Comfort and annoyance; yes, he was home again.

"So," Kazuki murmured, hands sliding up the back of Toshiki's thighs. "Is our Toshiki ready for me, Juubei?"

Juubei's hand settled at his nape. "He is."

"Toshiki?" He could hear the smile in Kazuki's voice, and it made his voice husky.

"Yes."

"Good." That was nearly a purr, and Toshiki moaned as slick fingers pressed between his cheeks, rubbing firmly over his entrance. The touch wasn't rough, by any means, but it told him that Kazuki didn't intend to be terribly patient. The heat of that thought rushed up his spine like a river and set him panting softly.

"Please," he whispered. "Kazuki."

"Yes." Kazuki's voice was darker this time and an entreating sound caught in the back of Toshiki's throat as strong, slender fingers pressed into him, again and again, working him open. They played his body with the same precision and grace as Kazuki's strings until he was gasping, hips pushing up into the slow thrust of Kazuki's fingers fucking him. Juubei caught his mouth and swallowed his moan as those fingers drove deep and twisted, and he shuddered as Juubei's hips ground up against his.

Kazuki's fingers withdrew and palms stroked up his back. "I always saw you, Toshiki," Kazuki murmured to him. "I always knew you. I'm sorry I was careless of you, my friend."

Toshiki groaned openly as Kazuki's hands spread him open and Kazuki's cock slid into him slow and hard.

"My Toshiki," Kazuki said, husky, "stay with us." The promise of being wanted, being Kazuki's pulled a whimper he couldn't be ashamed of out of him.

"Kazuki doesn't leave things, not in his heart," Juubei said softly against his ear, and Toshiki could hear perfectly well the relief in his even tone. It was what Toshiki felt himself, after all.

That and heat as Kazuki fucked him, slow and strong, never quite stopping, until he was panting, moaning against Juubei's shoulder. "Please," he begged, breathless, spreading his legs wider over Juubei's hips, and gasped as Kazuki drove into him hard enough to rock his ass up in the air. "Please, yes..."

Kazuki's hands closed on his shoulders, pressing them down, and his long thrusts turned faster, rougher. "Juubei," he bit out, breathless.

Toshiki moaned as Juubei's hand closed around both their cocks and stroked, sure and hard. It was too much, too good, caught and welcomed home between them, and he buried his face against Juubei's neck, breath torn short as the heat took fire and pleasure wrung him out ferociously over and over again. The whole world was the press of their skin against his, their movement, his as he bucked and shuddered in their hold.

The sound of Kazuki's moan sent an extra last shiver down his spine, and he thought he could have just sprawled there forever while Kazuki's hands stroked slowly up and down his body. Juubei's breath was coming quick now, though, and he mustered a grin as he reached down and batted Juubei's hand aside, stroking him quick and firm until he arched under them.

Juubei, he was distantly amused to note, didn't make any noise, and wasn't that just like him. The thought made him snicker and Kazuki made an inquiring noise against the nape of his neck as he eased back.

"Nothing." Toshiki took a few moments to untangle himself from Juubei, and he was glad when Juubei promptly pulled him down between them again. "So," he said, finally able to wind an arm around Kazuki, finally, finally, "this is where you both live?"

"This is home," Kazuki said quietly, reaching across him to tangle fingers with Juubei. "Will you stay?"

"Of course..." Juubei started, in his inarguable tone, only to be silenced by a look from Kazuki.

"I want to hear it from Toshiki," Kazuki said, firm.

"I'll stay as long as you want me. As long as you'll have me." Toshiki was light-headed with how much he wanted it; he couldn't believe Kazuki even needed to ask.

But maybe that told him something he hadn't realized about Kazuki. Who was smiling at him, soft and pleased.

"Welcome home, then," Kazuki told him, and he had to close his eyes until he could catch his breath again.

"Yes. Yes." He lifted Kazuki's hand and kissed his fingers, and managed a smile that didn't feel too shaky. "I'm back."

It was a promise.

Working for Makubex was strange and familiar. Being back in Lower Town was familiar enough, and the basic business of keeping order hadn't changed. The twisted things that came down from the Beltline were hideously familiar, and fighting beside Juubei was pleasantly familiar, though he missed the fluid chill of Kazuki's strength behind them. It was good to have a purpose he could trust again, though. And it was good to go home, after all the fires were temporarily put out, and know that Kazuki or Juubei and sometimes both would be there.

He found himself smiling again, and only realized then that he'd stopped years ago.

Sometimes he thought he was the one of them who really needed a keeper.

"Toshiki?"

He looked up from his rueful contemplation of the sky out the window and felt that smile tug at his mouth again. "Kazuki."

Kazuki came to fold up on the couch beside him, running carelessly graceful fingers through Toshiki's hair as he sat. "Is everything well?"

That casual caress still made him breathless and it took a moment to reply. "Everything's fine. I like working with Makubex. It's good..." he cut that thought off before it could get all the way out of his mouth. He was not going to whine in front of Kazuki.

Kazuki just smiled at him. "What's good?" The brush of his fingers against Toshiki's cheek drew the words out of him.

"It's good to be needed," he said, low, looking down at his hands.

"Oh, Toshiki." The breath of a laugh in Kazuki's voice made him flush and it didn't help when a cool hand on his cheek turned him back to face Kazuki. He only had a breath to take in the fond smile on Kazuki's lips, though, before he could barely breathe at all. The weight of Kazuki's presence, normally so smoothly concealed, intensified abruptly, singing in the very air around them. "Who am I?" Kazuki asked, quiet and cool.

Toshiki had to swallow before he could speak, and the name he spoke wasn't his friend's or lover's. It was the name still feared down every street of Lower Town, the name of the one he followed. "Kazuki..."

"I don't need anyone to protect me. Not Juubei, and not you." Kazuki softened again, and the pressure of him eased. "But having people people I love close... that's good to have."

"You have it," Toshiki promised, husky.

Kazuki smiled like the sun coming up. "Thank you." His arms slid lightly around Toshiki's shoulders, and Toshiki took a shaky breath, catching Kazuki tight against him.

"I'll serve you with all my life, I swear it," he murmured into Kazuki's shoulder, reminded by that moment of open dominance of everything Kazuki was to him.

Kazuki pressed closer and whispered, "Just be with me. That's all."

Toshiki stilled, suddenly remembering the way Kazuki hadn't looked at them when he'd told them they could leave if they wanted. "Was that...?"

Kazuki made an inquiring sound, drawing back a bit to look at him, and Toshiki shook his head. "Nothing," he said, mouth quirking as he spread his hands against the slim line of Kazuki's back, reassuring himself and... and maybe Kazuki too. "I'm just a fool, that's all."

He hadn't seen.

"No more than any of us," Kazuki said softly, and yes, now Toshiki thought he knew what that darkness in Kazuki's eyes was.

"Kazuki..." he hesitated, but he honestly couldn't imagine how this had happened. He lifted one of Kazuki's hands and murmured against his fingers, "If you wanted us to stay, why didn't you hold us by you?"

Kazuki shook his head sharply. "I couldn't do that! How could I demand something like that?"

Toshiki blinked. The words fit together but they didn't make any sense at all; wasn't Kazuki their leader? Wasn't it his right, the right they'd given him when they chose to follow him? He could feel Kazuki's muscles tense, though, so he left it for now and only promised again, low, "I won't leave again. Not ever."

That made Kazuki relax and settle against him, and there was so much wonder in being allowed so close, in being wanted, that he set aside the oddness and just held him.

"Yes," Kazuki sighed, hand sliding down Toshiki's chest to rest over his heart. "Now you're here." He smiled up at Toshiki with a hint of teasing. "Now you're mine."

Toshiki smiled back, though he'd never been more serious. "Always." There had never been a time when he wasn't, however he'd twisted and betrayed that trust, and Toshiki promised all over, silently, that he would serve and stand by Kazuki until the day he died doing it.

And perhaps, his sense of irony couldn't help pointing out, after. He'd done it once already, after all.

Even as Kazuki drew him down to a kiss, though, the thought lingered in the back of his mind that he should find out why Kazuki thought he didn't have every right there was to keep his own people.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Two

Toshiki needs evidence that he's wanted and welcome by the one who brought him back to Kazuki. Porn, I-4

Toshiki knew what he wanted; he just didn't know how to ask for it.

This would be a lot easier if it were Kazuki, but Kazuki had been away on work for the last two days and he and Juubei had never been good at saying what they meant, to each other. In fact, they usually had to have just finished beating the daylights out of each other or be otherwise under duress, he admitted to himself ruefully. So he took his time getting undressed for bed this evening, turning over possible approaches in his head and rejecting them one after another.

"Toshiki," Juubei said from behind him, "is something wrong?"

Toshiki turned to stare in absolute disbelief, at least until he spotted Juubei's fingers hovering over his needle case on the dresser. Of course, if Juubei noticed he would think it was some kind of danger sign. He sighed. "No, it's nothing like that. I just..."

Wonderful; how to finish that sentence?

Juubei cocked his head, giving Toshiki a very direct look for a blind man. "What?"

Toshiki took a breath and let it out. No way through but forward, and at least that was a way he was familiar with. He came to stand by Juubei, one hand against his bare chest. "Juubei. Take me to bed?" he asked, low.

Juubei was still under his hand for a moment, and then his own hand lifted to cup Toshiki's jaw. "Is that what it was?"

Toshiki nodded.

"Is that what it's been the past few times?"

Toshiki groaned, knowing Juubei would feel the heat of Toshiki's face against his palm. He should have known. "You noticed?"

"I noticed you were... hesitant at moments. Even with Kazuki." Juubei's thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. "I didn't realize why. I hadn't thought this would be something you wanted from me."

Toshiki let his head thump down on Juubei's shoulder. "You annoy the hell out of me sometimes," he said quietly. "You always have. You're too proud for words, you're highhanded, you think you're always right, and someone really needs to take that poker out of your ass. But you're my friend, you're the one I fight beside, you're the one who brought me back." Very softly, he finished, "I want this."

"Then of course," Juubei said, as easily as that, and Toshiki let go a breath of laughter. When he lifted his head Juubei pulled him closer and touched his cheek again, finding his mouth.

The kiss started out slow, but Toshiki knew it wouldn't stay that way; not with the two of them. They pressed closer, kissing deeper, tongues stroking and pushing against each other until they were almost swaying, wrapped hard around each other's bodies, mouths locked together.

"Yes," Toshiki gasped, breaking away to slide his open mouth down the line of Juubei's throat. This was what he wanted. Love between them had always been half a fight. Juubei growled in agreement and pushed Toshiki down onto the bed, following swiftly. Their hands stroked over each other's bodies as if seeking holds, and Toshiki moaned as Juubei's closed between his legs, firm and hot. He pulled Juubei in tighter, moving against him.

Juubei kissed him hard and said, husky, against his mouth, "Stop worrying. I won't let you go."

A sharp shiver ran through Toshiki. "Juubei..."

Juubei's free hand stroked up and down his back, slowly, sliding down to his thigh and back up, pressing, and Toshiki shuddered with the sudden release of tension. He needed to remember, he thought lightheadedly, that he was not the only one trained in hands-on techniques.

"I'm a healer first, even here and now," Juubei said, low, and Toshiki pressed closer, breath quick and light.

"I know. That's why I asked."

"Ah." Juubei pressed him back against the bed and both hands stroked over Toshiki's body, firm and confident. Toshiki could feel the pressure of Juubei's touch in his very blood, demanding that his body give up its strain, its tension and fear, and he moaned as his body obeyed. When Juubei gathered him close again he was lax, muscles uncoiled, dizzy with the release.

"It's..." Unlike his hands, Juubei's voice was uncertain. "It's good to know you need me. As I need you."

"Always." Toshiki laughed, husky. "I said it, didn't I? You're the one who brought me back."

"Yes. And I won't let you go again. You have my word."

Toshiki pressed closer, reassured; apparently they could say what they meant after all, if they spoke with their hands. "Yes."

It was less frantic when they touched each other this time, slower and hotter, and his body was already taut with pleasure when Juubei's fingers pushed between his cheeks, slick and slow. He buried a groan against Juubei's shoulder, hands sliding down to grip the tight muscle of Juubei's ass, rocking into that easy thrust. It felt good, sure and strong, something he could trust to without hesitation.

There was still such a thing as too slow, though, and finally he ground his hips against Juubei's and gasped, "Juubei, now."

Juubei chuckled, breathless. "All right." His hands slid up the backs of Toshiki's thighs to catch his knees and spread them wide, and then his cock was pressing into Toshiki's ass, slow and hard.

"Yes." Toshiki's arms tightened around Juubei's shoulders. "Yes." He moaned as Juubei drew back and thrust in again, moving over him, fucking him hard and steady. The stretch and slide of it spilled heat down his spine, and he relaxed into it, into Juubei's presence and solidity and care, the things he'd always cherished.

"With you," he gasped. "Always."

Juubei caught him closer. "Yes."

The sharper angle stole his breath, and he bucked up into Juubei's thrust, and again, and moaned openly as pleasure flashed down his nerves, breaking through him like a wave. Juubei gasped, over him, and drove in deeper, again and again, and when the shudders of heat finally faded they were locked together, panting. Toshiki relaxed with a soft groan, and Juubei eased back from him.

"Mm, don't go." Toshiki stretched out and pulled Juubei back down over him with a satisfied sound at his weight.

"I won't."

They lay, twined together comfortably, and Toshiki settled the peace of the moment, of the things Juubei had promised him, into his heart where they wouldn't get lost. This was his place, and he was wanted here. Needed. Valued.

And he would stay.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Three

Kazuki tops Juubei, which is a new experience for Juubei though not an unwelcome one. Porn, I-4

Juubei was puzzled.

Moreover, he was puzzled by Kazuki, which didn't usually happen. Well, hadn't happened in years at any rate. And had certainly never happened in bed.

He listened, always, for what Kazuki's body told him Kazuki wanted, and took some quiet pride in providing whatever it was. And being right. But today there was a tautness in Kazuki's muscles as he stretched against Juubei's body that was new, restless, unwilling to be soothed. "Kazuki," he murmured, stroking his hands down the slim, strong line of Kazuki's back, meaning to ask if there was something wrong, but the words were lost in a short gasp as Kazuki's teeth closed on his throat. Not painfully, not roughly, but firm enough to mark him. Juubei tipped his head back, accepting it, and he had to admit the tingle when Kazuki closed his mouth there and sucked slow and deliberate was... good.

"Juubei," Kazuki said softly against his throat, and hands settled on his shoulders and pressed him back, down against the sheets. Juubei eased Kazuki over him, gathering him close, and a shiver dragged down his spine at another nip. In fact, Kazuki's mouth was moving steadily down his body, hot and wet, open-mouthed kisses and occasional bites that made the muscles of his stomach jump. Juubei spread his legs far enough for Kazuki to settle between them, though something in the set of Kazuki's shoulders under his hands said that that was not all Kazuki wanted.

Juubei was really quite puzzled.

Not so puzzled that he didn't respond when Kazuki's mouth closed on his cock, hot and slow. The pleasure coaxed a low moan from him and he lay back, relaxing into the touch; that much he could tell Kazuki wanted from the way his hands stroked over Juubei's thighs.

When long, slim fingers stroked further back between his cheeks, though, he couldn't help starting.

"Ka... Kazuki?"

"Is it all right?" Kazuki asked quietly, fingers still but pressing gently against his entrance.

Juubei's face turned hot. No wonder he hadn't understood what Kazuki's body told him. "I've... never..." he managed, stifled.

"I know." Kazuki's cheek rested against the inside of his thigh, and his fingers were poised to withdraw or... not.

If this was what Kazuki wished... The light press of Kazuki's fingers there put a flutter in his stomach, and his voice was husky when he answered, "Yes."

Kazuki made a distinctly pleased sound and his mouth closed over Juubei's cock again, coaxing back the hardness startlement had stolen. Kazuki's fingers slid away and when they returned they were slick, cool. Juubei held down another start with determination. He knew perfectly well that Kazuki was a gentle lover; Toshiki's body told him that, over and over. There was no reason for alarm, no reason for his breath to stutter as Kazuki's fingers rubbed his entrance hard and slow and eased gradually into him.

The feeling was unfamiliar but... good. Slick and slow, like Kazuki's mouth on him. And if Kazuki wished this, then it was right. Gradually, his hips started to rock a little, down into the press of Kazuki's fingers, up into the heat of his mouth. Kazuki laughed low in his throat and drew back to murmur, lips brushing Juubei's head, "You take well to this."

Juubei could feel his face getting hot again.

Kazuki's fingers eased free and Juubei was half startled by the sound of protest that caught in his throat.

"Shh," Kazuki soothed him, and strong, gentle hands urged him to roll over. "Almost ready now."

Juubei found himself on top of two of the pillows, propping his hips up in the air, and buried the heat of his face in the sheets. "Kazuki..."

Kazuki's hands slid up and down the backs of his thighs, spreading them apart, and finally stroked over Juubei's lifted rear. "You look good like this," he teased, lightly.

Juubei's whole body flushed this time, heat tightening through him at the thought of Kazuki looking at him spread out this way. Of Kazuki enjoying looking at him this way.

Kazuki's hands tightened. "I want all of you, Juubei," he said, low and husky, and that shook Juubei more than anything else.

"You have me," he whispered.

"Thank you," Kazuki told him, soft, and the bed shifted under his weight.

When blunt thickness pressed against Juubei's entrance, his breath cut short with anticipation and a hint of trepidation he would have denied to his dying day. Kazuki felt so big. He knew this worked, but... it felt so...

Kazuki pushed.

So thick. So solid, sliding inside him, stretching his muscles hard and slow, and he realized the gasping noises he heard were coming from his own throat. He understood perfectly now why Toshiki liked this so much, liked having Kazuki, and sometimes Juubei, inside him like this. It was so intense, so intimate, and the gentle care in Kazuki's hands kneading slowly against his lower back was so sweet it unstrung him. He needed that care right now, was wholly reliant on Kazuki's gentleness, and knowing that set his cheeks burning, wrung a moan from him.

"Yes, Juubei," Kazuki answered, panting. "My Juubei." Kazuki drew back and pushed into him again, and again, and again, and Juubei shivered against the pillows, eased into pleasure by Kazuki's hands on his body, relaxing and guiding him. The slow, relentless slide in and out pressed pleasure through him, made his nerves taut with sensation. When a hand reached under him to close on his cock, slick and firm, a shudder ran through him. Now he was moving with Kazuki, spreading his legs wider, yearning toward the pleasure building with each stroke.

"Kazuki..."

Kazuki leaned down, grinding deep into him, and pressed an open kiss to the nape of his neck. "My Juubei," he whispered, fingers tightening.

That was all it took, and heat struck down Juubei's spine and burst, raking through him in quick, hard waves. He moaned openly, shocked by the feeling of Kazuki's cock deep inside as his body tried to tighten. It felt like he was pinned in place. It felt wanton and hot, and drew the pleasure out and out for timeless breaths.

He lay, a little stunned, panting for breath as Kazuki closed his hands on Juubei's hips and drove into him harder, faster, sending tingling shocks skittering down already sensitized nerves. Kazuki's moan, the way his fingers tightened sharply, made Juubei shiver. When Kazuki's weight settled against his back he made a soft sound of contentment. This was good, to receive this pleasure from Kazuki, to give way to his wishes and his care; this was right.

"All right?" Kazuki murmured, hands stroking down his arms, over his ribs, slow and easy.

"Yes," Juubei said softly, hoping his tone would tell Kazuki what there weren't words in the world to say. Kazuki's lips curved against his shoulder so perhaps it did.

He stifled a grunt as Kazuki shifted back, sliding out of him, and his muscles twinged a little. Kazuki kneaded his rear gently for a few moments, which made him flush again but helped considerably. He was only a touch gingerly as he turned onto his back again and reached out for Kazuki, who settled against his chest with a contented sigh.

"My Juubei," Kazuki repeated in tones of rich satisfaction, twining his arms around Juubei's shoulders.

"Yours," Juubei agreed quietly, hands tracing the lines of Kazuki's body again, listening.

After all, he wanted to be sure he recognized this mood the next time it came.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Three

Saizou has been watching Kazuki and the others only from a distance, and Kazuki finally corners him and convinces him that his proper place is with them again. Drama, Porn, Angst, spoilers vol 33, I-4

Kazuki felt a stray breeze brush his cheek and sighed. Saizou seemed determined to be the most troublesome one of all for him.

Juubei had been the first to detect him shadowing them, never coming close, only watching, but never leaving them. Kazuki had tried, once or twice, to drift closer, but every time Saizou slid away. Thinking about it, Kazuki didn't suppose he was actually surprised.

Part of him had always known that Saizou felt differently about their past than he did. That Saizou wanted his clan back. He had been the one, after all, to suggest that Kazuki form a new House. Once Sakura pointed it out, Kazuki could see perfectly well what Fuuga had been. At the time, though, that knowledge had been one of the things he turned his face from.

So he also understood why Saizou held back now, why he couldn't trust the thing he most wanted. Kazuki had lived the same way for a long time. Kokuchouin had forced Saizou to plant the seed of falseness in his hope for a new clan, claimed he could save Kazuki only by betraying and defeating him, and Saizou had been burned too painfully to even try grasping hope again. Kazuki knew that mind so well it hurt.

And he would not let Saizou stay there, not even if it meant flexing his own old burns. He would be what he needed to be.

"Kazuki-san?" Makubex had paused to look back at him, smiling, eyes questioning.

"I was just contemplating the view," Kazuki murmured. "Go on ahead a bit, would you?"

Makubex stilled for a moment before smiling a bit wider. "Of course." He caught Toshiki and Juubei and drew them along with him, a quick glance bringing Sakura after, trotting out into the plaza behind the building where they lived. Kazuki wondered, ruefully, when Makubex had started looking so much like Ginji to him. They both had that vision that a leader needed. Kazuki drew a slow breath; despite Sakura's insistence, he had a hard time feeling he had any of that himself.

Perhaps, though, he could borrow some of it from their example.

He watched them. It had been his purpose for so long it came naturally now, though now he watched from the shadows. As was only fitting, really. He still wasn't sure if this was his prize or his penance, but he couldn't bring himself to stop; not even when every hand Kazuki laid on Kakei's arm, every smile he gentled for Uryuu, made Saizou's heart tug. The heart he'd given for Kazuki. To Kazuki.

That part hadn't hurt. To die for Kazuki's sake was more than he'd deserved by the end. What hurt was being alive again. Alive to see Kakei's simple confidence that Kazuki would permit his protection despite being the strongest of them all. To see the flush of pleaure on Uryuu's face whenever Kazuki asked even the simplest thing of him. To see Sakura's smile as she sat beside Kazuki and he listened to her words. The worst were the nights, the ones when he couldn't quite keep himself from seeing, from hearing the way Kazuki sighed as he stretched and relaxed into Kakei's hands, the way Uryuu gasped as he surrendered himself to Kazuki. The way Kazuki laughed as he knelt over them.

Kazuki was the prince Saizou had named him, no question. He was ally and clan lord and liege to the Eastern House. Part of Saizou told him he should be there with Kazuki, that he was heir to one of the daylight schools and belonged at his clan lord's side under the sun. But all those years as a changeling, vanquished and stolen by the shadows, answered that this was his place now and he had no right to call Kazuki his lord.

"How long were you planning to stand there watching?"

Saizou's head jerked up, startled. Kazuki stood with his back to him, head cocked, apparently watching Uryuu playing tag across the plaza with Makubex while Kakei and his sister looked on tolerantly.

"Saizou?" Kazuki murmured. "I asked you a question."

Saizou winced. He supposed he'd put this particular weapon in Kazuki's hands himself, admitting his love and loyalty in such an undeniable way. "As long as I can?" he tried anyway, hoping against all just desserts for mercy.

Kazuki's head tipped down a little. "And if I tell you that you no longer can?" he asked quietly.

It took Saizou a few moments to unlock his lungs and speak after that. "Then I will not," he said, husky, and stepped back deeper into the shadows, swallowing pain as best he could.

"Saizou." Kazuki turned at last, and the irritation in his tone made Saizou's stomach turn over. "Come here."

Saizou wavered for a moment on one foot, startled. "Kazuki...?"

"I said," Kazuki said, soft and sharp, "come here."

That tone reversed his direction before his brain caught up with the rest of him, and he stepped, halting, out into the light. Kazuki was, he reflected ruefully, nothing if not ruthless when he thought there was cause. Saizou smiled, wry and crooked, and murmured, "I am here, my Prince," acknowledging the accuracy of Kazuki's chosen approach.

Kazuki sighed, sounding rather exasperated. "I never thought you would be the most stubborn one. Do you really not trust my forgiveness? Or theirs?"

"Do I really deserve it?" Saizou shrugged. "I... don't think so."

"You gave your life to protect mine," Kazuki told him gently. "More than that. You gave your very soul, for years. What kind of leader would I be to you if I failed to acknowledge that?"

The clarity of those words, of Kazuki's vision, were like a punch to the chest. "When I said that people would fear your gentleness," Saizou said, quick and breathless, "I didn't know the half of it."

Kazuki considered him for a moment, calm as he was in the heart of battle, and when he moved the grace of battle was in each step he took toward Saizou. Like any of the fools before him, Saizou was caught by that beauty and stood unguarded as Kazuki laid his hands on Saizou's shoulders.

"If this is the only way you'll hear me, very well." The soft voice bound him like Kazuki's strings would have, unable to move. "I order you, then, to come forward and stand beside me. You gave yourself to my service long ago, and I do not release you."

Shock unstrung Saizou and he sank down to his knees, staring up at Kazuki. He knew, heir to the main house or not, that Kazuki had never wished to retake that place. He'd said it often enough, that he was no longer the lord of Fuuchouin. But for this, for him, Kazuki had laid his hand on that mantle again. Saizou bent his head, outflanked and overwhelmed, and answered low and rough, "Yes, lord."

"It's a very different House we have, here," Kazuki said gently, resting one hand on his head. "But I love it all the same, and I won't leave one of my own wandering in the dark."

Saizou pulled in a harsh breath and let it out, shaky. Gentleness and strength, yes; those were what had always bound him to Kazuki—guard against one and fall to the other, turn to the second and be utterly conquered by the first.

Willingly conquered, he had to admit.

"So, are you done lurking?" Kakei asked from behind them, perfectly casual, and Saizou snorted as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Yeah, I suppose I am..." His eyes widened. "Wait. Wait, you. Um." Shit; Kakei didn't need his eyes to spot a person, even now he had his vision back, and it was possible Saizou hadn't concealed his presence as thoroughly as he should have—had he known all this time, that Saizou was watching? Watching... everything?

Kakei looked back at him, completely bland and expressionless, and Saizou clapped a hand over his eyes. The wicked edge in Kazuki's laugh only confirmed it.

"Aw, look, he's blushing!" Uryuu grinned and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Shut up," Saizou told him, heartfelt.

"What?" If anything Uryuu's grin got wider. "I thought you liked listening to me."

Saizou made a pathetic sound. They really did intend revenge: they were going to kill him of embarrassment.

"Well!" Kazuki linked his arm through Saizou's lightly, not that he fooled himself that he'd be able to get away. "Why don't we talk about that, then?"

He was doomed, Saizou decided fatalistically as he was surrounded and chivvied off toward an apartment building he knew very well by now, listening to Kazuki's soft laugh and Uryuu's shameless suggestions and Kakei's distinctly smug silence and Sakura's fading giggles as she and Makubex strolled on.

Willingly doomed, he had to admit.

In the end, they spent more of that first night talking than anything else. They held him the whole time, hands stroking gently over his back, fingers lacing through his, but mostly they just lay and spoke of what had happened after he'd died.

He still couldn't quite take it all in. He could believe that Juubei would put himself between Kazuki and the Kokuchouin siblings, and even that he'd survived doing it. That was actually the easy part. That Kazuki had defeated Yohan, though...

He stared up at the ceiling and decided he needed coffee before thinking more about that. Easing out from between Kazuki and Toshiki he pulled his jeans back on and went looking for the kitchen.

Obviously, he thought as he watched his brain-helper brew, it was true. After all, here they all were alive and with all parts attached and everything. And without any trace of the black thread; he'd checked that, as surreptitiously as possible. Which brought it all down to this Phoenix technique Kazuki spoke of, the true heart of Fuuchouin, the hidden heart. Down to Kazuki's heart and how all-encompassing it was.

Actually, when he thought of it that way, it all made perfect sense. It was never Kazuki's power alone that made him truly terrifying. Saizou sipped his coffee and contemplated that truth. If Kazuki's mercy could gather even Yohan to him, perhaps Saizou wasn't as much of a stretch.

"Saizou?"

He looked up and had to smile. Kazuki stood in the door of the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, holding a robe around him. Even just woken up, with his robe falling half off one shoulder, Kazuki managed to look elegant and poised. "Hey. Just thought I'd get some coffee."

"Mm, good idea." Kazuki came and stole his mug for a sip, giving him such a teasing look that Saizou laughed; he'd never seen Kazuki quite this relaxed.

"Well, all this did some good for you, at least." He brushed his fingers against the cut ends of Kazuki's hair and finally said what he'd been wanting to say ever since he'd seen it. "This wasn't necessary. It isn't as though you ever lost to me."

"At the time, I thought I had lost everything to you," Kazuki said softly, eyes darkening for a moment.

Saizou was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "You cut your hair for the loss of your people... but not for your family?"

Kazuki's smile was crooked. "I couldn't fight for my family. But for Fuuga," he reached up to touch Saizou's cheek, "for you, I could."

"I'm honored," Saizou murmured, a bit rueful. It was true. To be Kazuki's target or his treasure, either was an honor.

"You're being foolish," Kazuki corrected in a firm tone. "Even then... even then I still believed in you."

Saizou flinched a little.

"Was I wrong to?" Kazuki demanded, holding his eyes. "It was for my sake, from first to last. Do you think I'm cruel enough to hold that against you still?"

"Of course not." Saizou ran a hand through his hair, trying to find words for why Kazuki's faith in him could still hurt. It was times like this he remembered how much younger Kazuki was.

"Then stop this nonsense," Kazuki told him and pulled him down to a kiss.

Saizou made a startled sound; even having watched them, he wasn't quite prepared for Kazuki to offer him this intimacy so easily, so quickly. His hands came up to Kazuki's hips to steady him and one found skin instead of cloth. Kazuki's robe wasn't belted, he recalled hazily. "Kazuki..." he half protested against Kazuki's mouth.

"Hmm." Kazuki drew back and looked at him with a thoughtful light in his eye. Finally he smiled in a way that made Saizou downright nervous and backed up a few steps, enough to bring him into the light from the window.

His robe was very definitely not belted.

Saizou swallowed eyes helplessly drawn to the lean, elegant lines of Kazuki's body, framed in the folds of soft, red cloth and lit by the morning sun. "Kazuki..." he tried again, husky.

Kazuki smiled, gentle and sweet and perfectly ruthless, and held out his hand. "Come here, Saizou."

Saizou gave himself up for lost. If Kazuki wanted him there was no way he'd be able to resist. He followed Kazuki those few steps and sank to his knees on the cool tile floor looking up at the beauty of him, hands sliding up Kazuki's legs to find his hips again. Kazuki looked entirely pleased, and ran his fingers through Saizou's hair.

"Yes."

Saizou didn't have any more words; instead he bent his head and closed his mouth over Kazuki's cock, shivering with the soft sound Kazuki made. He'd had dreams like this, even years ago, and scolded himself in the morning. Kazuki had been too young, and Juubei would have carved out his liver with a spoon, quite rightly.

Now Kazuki was positively purring, rocking forward into his mouth, and the slide of his cock between Saizou's lips made Saizou moan himself. His hands slid over the curve of Kazuki's rear, up the line of his back, back down to stroke his thighs, and the flex of Kazuki's fingers in his hair, the weight of him on Saizou's tongue, was making his jeans extremely tight.

He closed his eyes, just feeling the texture of Kazuki as he sucked harder, listening to the breathless gasps of pleasure above him and enjoying the knowledge that he was the one coaxing them out of Kazuki. That knowledge was enough to eclipse everything else, and so it took him a moment to process it when Kazuki's hands eased him back.

"What...?" He looked up at Kazuki, panting a little.

"I want more." Kazuki took his shoulders and tugged him up. His eyes danced as he undid Saizou's jeans and Saizou couldn't help the shiver of relief that ran through him. "Turn around," Kazuki murmured.

Saizou blinked and turned, and realized that he'd been edged right up to the kitchen table. "Um...?" Kazuki's hands settled on his shoulders and pressed him down and his breath caught. "Kazuki...!"

"Do you not want this?" Kazuki asked gently, hands stroking up and down his bare back.

"No, I... That isn't... I just didn't think..." Actually, now that he was thinking of it, Saizou's brain might just be melting. "But I mean, are you sure?" Kazuki's hands were still stroking his back, soothing, and when he glanced over his shoulder Kazuki was laughing silently.

"I'm very sure." Kazuki's hands slid down to ease Saizou's jeans down off his hips and Saizou's eyes widened as the thickness of Kazuki's cock slid between his cheeks. "See?"

Saizou shuddered, subsiding the rest of the way down to the table. "Yes," he agreed, husky. "It's just..."

"Shh." Kazuki leaned over him and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his neck, sending another shiver trailing down Saizou's spine. "You're mine. You have all of me."

That undid him, and yes, it was really no stretch at all to imagine that Kazuki's compassion had conquered Yohan too. He put his head down on his arm and said quietly, "Yes. Please."

The rustling of cloth he expected, and the warm slide of Kazuki's palms over his ass. The low click of something glass being set down, though, puzzled him enough to look around and when he saw the open jar sitting beside them on the table he just stared. "You... planned this?"

"Well, we didn't get around to it last night," Kazuki told him, bright and innocent, as slick, cool fingers stroked against him. Saizou laughed helplessly into the crook of his arm until they pressed in and his breath caught.

Kazuki was gentle about opening him up, and it wasn't until Saizou was panting again that his fingers started to move differently. The sheer fact of having Kazuki's fingers inside him was momentous enough that it took him a while to understand why those movements plucked at his nerves. The ripple of fingertips as they drew back was what Saizou finally recognized, and groaned as electric response tightened his body.

Those were the motions to control strings.

"Mm. I thought you might like that." Kazuki sounded pleased, and his fingers twisted in the gathering motion for Autumn Rains, curved at the angle that set a barrier. Every stroke and gesture was from an enclosing technique, and Saizou moaned with the rush of heat that realization brought.

"You don't need to capture me any more," he gasped, "I'm yours." Hell, he'd been Kazuki's since they met.

"Good." Kazuki's voice was low, now, and Saizou swallowed, anticipation crinkling down his nerves as Kazuki's fingers drew back. The press of Kazuki's cock, hard and big against his entrance, pulled a wanting sound out of him.

Kazuki held him steady against the table and fucked him, rode him, slow and hard, and Saizou's thoughts broke up into little bits. He remembered the brightness of Kazuki's eyes, that first meeting, and the sharpness that surfaced when they fought; Kazuki's rare ease with Fuuga, the moments when the bleakness around his mouth smoothed away; his own hunger as he watched Kazuki move, watched all the arrogance of Lower Town fall before him. Every thrust twined him tighter into the grip of that grace and strength, and it was right, it was finally what he'd wanted from the start. He moaned openly as pleasure spilled over and swept through him like the tide, fierce and hot. Kazuki's gasp fell over him like sunlight, and the sudden roughness of Kazuki's rhythm, driving into him, trailed extra ripples of pleasure down his nerves.

He made a low sound when Kazuki finally eased out of him, and Kazuki settled against his back again, arms sliding around him. "I'm so glad you're back," Kazuki murmured against his shoulder.

Saizou rested his cheek against the table, smiling for real, for the first time in far too long. "Yeah. Me too."

Even if he was recalling, belatedly, that Juubei and Toshiki were two rooms with no doors away, and that Toshiki was probably going to tease him unmercifully, and that he probably didn't really deserve all this. He was still glad.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Five

Kazuki takes Toshiki to bed thoroughly, to reassure him and to work out his own understanding of what he is to Fuuga. Porn with Bondage, I-4

Toshiki liked being with Juubei, cherished the opportunity to feel wanted, needed. He liked it when Saizou was with them, because Saizou knew that sometimes you really did need to laugh, in bed. But sometimes it was good to belong only to Kazuki, for a while. That was how he thought of it, anyway.

He hadn't realized that Kazuki knew that.

There really wasn't any other way to interpret Kazuki's smile this afternoon, though, or the glint of his eyes under his lashes as white teeth nipped the end of his string and long fingers slowly drew the first one out. There definitely wasn't any other way to interpret it when the weave of that string caught Toshiki's wrists and pulled them together over his head.

"Kazuki?" he asked, abruptly breathless, holding very still. Not that he thought the strings would cut him, he'd been captured by Kazuki's strings once, years ago, and he could feel they wouldn't—nor let him go either. And that... that made his whole body taut and still and waiting.

"You like this," Kazuki murmured, a statement not a question. His smile got a little wider as a shiver spilled through Toshiki, under his fingertips.

Toshiki had to swallow before he could answer, "Yes." He moaned outright as the strings flashed and sang again and the net of them caught his thighs, lifting them, spreading them wide. By the time Kazuki delicately looped and fixed his string, Toshiki could barely move and he was dizzy with the rush of blood to his cock. Kazuki's fingers stroking his entrance, slow and slick, made him shudder and moan.

"You're beautiful like this," Kazuki said, smiling at the breathless sounds Toshiki made as those fingers pressed deep into him.

"I'm yours, like this," Toshiki gasped, muscles trembling as he tried to rock into the slow thrust of Kazuki's fingers and couldn't. Heat twined up his spine.

Kazuki's eyes darkened. "You are, aren't you?" he said, soft and thoughtful. It seemed an odd way to say it, but Toshiki was too dizzy with the feeling of being held and bound and touched like this to quite reason out why.

He couldn't help whimpering when Kazuki's fingers slid out of him. "Kazuki..." The hard stretch of Kazuki's cock pushing into him made him groan, and the slow deliberate slide in and out of his ass told him that Kazuki intended to keep him right where he was for a while. "Please, yes," he gasped, and the velvet huskiness of Kazuki's laugh set him shivering.

Sensation closed around him like water over his head and he lost track of time as Kazuki drove into him slow and strong, gentle hands stroking over the taut muscles of his chest and stomach, sliding down to squeeze his ass firmly now and then, and spread him wider. Wound in Kazuki's strings, he couldn't do anything but take it, feel it, know that he'd given himself completely into Kazuki's hands and they had closed on him.

It was that knowledge, the sweetness of it, that finally became more than he could take, and he cried out, broken and breathless, as slow-drawn pleasure snapped into fire and wrung out every nerve he had like a rag. He felt like he was going to melt with the heat of it, and when Kazuki's steady fucking finally turned rough and fast he didn't even have the breath left to moan.

He lay panting and dazed as Kazuki slowly released him. When Kazuki unbound his wrists, only to close his hands around them, fingers stroking gently, Toshiki flushed. "How did you know?" he asked, a little uneven.

"Mm." Kazuki settled against him, thumb sliding over the inside of his wrist. "I was recalling the other day what you looked like, the first time we met. Do you remember?"

Toshiki snorted. "Of course I remember. I challenged you, and you toyed with me. Though I didn't figure out that's what you were doing until the end." The end, when the delicate figure nearly dancing just beyond his reach had laughed, bright and pleased, and sent strings singing out to bind him in place so easily it had undone him.

"I wanted to watch you," Kazuki pointed out, "of course I drew it out. But I was thinking of how you looked at me, then." He was quiet for a moment before he said, low, "Should I have held you by me, when I turned to follow Ginji-san? Should I have demanded that?"

Toshiki's breath caught and he had to close his eyes against the knowledge of the difference that would have made. "Anything you commanded, I would have done," he said, husky.

"I knew that." Kazuki's voice was tense. "That's why I didn't. Should I have?"

"I..." Toshiki swallowed and spoke his heart. "Yes," he whispered. "Please. That's past, we can't change it, but please. Hold me by you."

Kazuki breathed deep, in and out, shoulders relaxing, and nodded. His hands tightened on Toshiki's wrists. "You're mine," he said, quiet but sure. "I won't open my hand again."

Toshiki wasn't ashamed of the sound that pulled out of him. Kazuki lifted his head and smiled down at him.

"I had thought there was a difference between having you like this," he drew a finger down Toshiki's chest, "and leading you. But there isn't, is there?"

"Maybe for some people, but not for me." Toshiki's mouth quirked. "Not for any of us, really."

Kazuki closed his eyes and asked, softly, "Truly?"

Toshiki had to wonder what Kazuki was really asking. He thought about what Kazuki had just told him, the reason he hadn't commanded them back then; thought about the fire in Kazuki and the terrifying edge it used to have; thought about his own old rage, and the assurances that had finally quieted it. And then he tugged his wrists gently loose from Kazuki's hands and wrapped his arms around him.

"We won't leave you," he whispered against Kazuki's hair. "Never again. We won't let anything drive us away from you." He smiled wryly. "Not even you."

Kazuki's breath caught against his shoulder and slim, strong arms locked around him in answer. "Toshiki..."

"I'm sorry we didn't see," he said, soft. A faint laugh shook Kazuki.

"None of us saw. Can we forgive each other?"

"Already done." How could he do anything else? Kazuki took such care of him, had given him so much. How could he not return every bit of that he could?

They lay together in comfortable quiet until the sound of the front door, and the others returning, roused them to smile at each other and get up and go out to help make dinner.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Four

Sakura wants Saizou to stop holding back from them, and from her in particular; it takes some coaxing, but she eventually succeeds in style. Drama, Angst, Porn, spoilers vol 33, I-4

Sakura was more impressed with Saizou the more she watched, after he returned to them. He was very smooth about turning attention aside. Today he was egging Juubei and Toshiki on with a laugh to a contest of who could strike most accurately at the greatest distance. It was hard to even spot the moment when he eased himself out of the competition and stood back.

No wonder he had hidden his troubles from them so well for so long.

That wouldn't do now, though. The Kokuchouin no longer held his heartbeat and will hostage. There was no reason for this any more, and it would do him no good to continue the habit. She expected Saizou would deny he was doing it if the others confronted him directly, though, especially if it was Kazuki.

That left her. Just as well, perhaps; they had unfinished business, he and she.

Sakura slipped up beside her quarry on soft feet until she was close enough to be heard by no one else when she asked, "Why do you hold yourself apart from us, Saizou?"

He stilled, laughter dying, eyes turning dark and distant though he didn't look at her. "Is shame so hard to understand?"

"No harder than forgiveness," she pointed out. She sat down beside him on the broken wall he'd been watching Juubei and Toshiki from, hands folded in her lap, and waited. Saizou couldn't hide from her after what they'd been through, and eventually he would realize the sense of that.

"It isn't that I don't want to believe it," he finally said, quietly. "I just don't understand. I stole your bodies and bound your wills. Your very hearts! I set you against your allies. And you forgive me for that, just this easily?"

Sakura was quiet too for a little, marshaling the words she needed. "It's true. You did that. But you didn't do it for ambition or hatred. You did it to save all our lives." She looked up at his hard profile. "Toshiki thinks it was only justice, considering he did much the same to Kazuki; he's almost grateful to you. And you healed Juubei's eyes, which no other technique could have done. And above all," she laid a hand on the one he had clenched, "you didn't bind our hearts. You held them safe, inside your own." He ducked his head a little and she smiled. "Yes. How else could we have seen what was in your heart? I knew; that was why I spoke, and told Kazuki why you had done all that."

"But that doesn't make up for..." he started softly, and she cut him off, brisk.

"No. It doesn't. Nothing could. But we forgive you anyway." When he finally turned to look at her, eyes wide and defenseless behind his glasses, she let her smile turn teasing. "There's only one thing I haven't forgiven you for, out of all that. And that's the uniform."

He turned red, and she smacked him on the shoulder with the backs of her fingers.

"I thought so! It was your idea!" She'd had her suspicions when she realized the thing left her bare from hips to the bottom of her breasts.

He turned redder and looked everywhere except at her. "So, I, um, I guess now you're going to tell Juubei and I'd better get ready to be a pincushion, huh?" he asked, meekly.

Sakura sniffed. "I don't need my little brother to look after my honor or avenge my slights. I can do that myself." Now he looked genuinely alarmed, and Sakura made a thoughtful sound, head tilted as if considering the appropriate retribution. He slid off the wall onto his knees, hands clasped entreatingly.

"I'm so very sorry, I honestly am, I don't know what I was thinking. The curse seal must have been affecting my brain or I'd have never done it, I swear," he said with becoming earnestness.

Sakura gave him a cool look, ignoring the fact that her brother and Toshiki had both stopped their little game and were staring. "Well. I suppose I might let you make it up to me."

"Anything you say; anything at all," he assured her.

"Very well, then." She couldn't entirely stifle the smile that crimped the corners of her mouth. "Kiss me."

Saizou stared up at her with his mouth open.

"You did say anything," she pointed out.

"You... but... Sakura," he murmured, hushed.

She smiled softly and held out a hand to him. "I'm waiting."

He took her hand slowly, wondering eyes never leaving her face. "Yes, ma'am," he finally said, husky, and leaned up on his knees. Long fingers touched her cheek softly and she bent her head to meet him. The kiss was soft and reverent, and he ducked his head after, pressing another to her hand. She stroked his hair gently and gave her brother a steely look over his bent head.

Juubei blinked and turned back promptly to his contest with Toshiki, and Sakura relaxed, pleased.

That was that taken care of, then. She'd certainly waited long enough.

Saizou knew Sakura was getting impatient. She was too well-bred to show it openly, but they'd grown up in the same kind of houses and it was there to see in the angle of her head when he hesitated to put his arm around her, in the way she turned toward him and then looked up when he was slow to take the invitation. They both understood it.

So when he finally gathered his courage to ask, he didn't need to explain. He'd brought some fresh strawberries to the pretty, airy apartment she kept high enough up the central building of Mugenjou to catch the breeze and see the sun. He watched her easy grace as she washed them and sliced a few, and remembered that same grace turning away countless men with such indifference few of them even managed to protest before she was out of sight, and he finally had to ask.

"Why me?"

Her knife paused against the cutting board for a moment before she made the last two slices and turned to wash the blade. "Because you see all of me."

That wasn't the kind of answer he'd expected and he blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

She smiled over her shoulder as she took down a plate for the strawberries. "Most men, especially here, only see that I have curves. They don't see any more of me than that. That's boring."

Saizou looked away guiltily from the curve of her breast against her arm and cleared his throat. "I imagine so."

She didn't even seem to notice, and went on calmly. "But the men who do come close enough to know me... well. To Toshiki, I'm almost as much of a sister as I am to Juubei. And Kazuki respects my strength, he honors my council, but he doesn't look at surfaces at all." Her voice softened and turned low. "He sees deeper. And that's as it should be, but... the surface is real too." She stroked a hand down the line of her hip. "This is me, also."

Saizou had to swallow. "It is," he agreed.

She looked up at him and smiled. "That's what I mean. You look at me and see both. I like that." Her gaze fell to her fingers, which were re-arranging strawberry slices more precisely than was really necessary, and she murmured, "Do you?"

"Do I...?" Saizou's brain finally kicked in and he blinked. "Do I like it? Of course!" He'd kind of thought the thing with the uniform made that obvious—more obvious than it should have been, but people who thought they were going to die before they could be pounded for their temerity did crazy things.

He could see the breath she took before she looked up, chin lifted, and said, "Show me."

That hit the off-switch on his brain again for a few moments. When he spoke his voice was husky. "Show you? That I like it?"

She colored a little, but her eyes were level. "Yes."

He crossed the kitchen quickly, catching up her hands. "I'm sorry," he murmured ruefully against them. "I shouldn't make you doubt yourself when it's only me I'm doubting."

"Do you doubt your welcome?" she asked softly. When he shook his head she stepped closer. "Then what else matters?"

He had always known that Sakura was the one with the brains. He should, he thought, rely on them more often. The thought was distant, though; most of his attention was taken up with the faint sweetness of strawberries on her fingers.

Show, hm?

Sakura's eyes widened as he drew one of her fingers into his mouth, lapping the strawberry juice slowly off it. "Oh." Her flush deepened.

"You're beautiful, Sakura; all of you," he said softly against her fingertips. "I would be honored to show you how beautiful you are in my eyes." Conscience twitched at him and he paused. "You, ah... you really don't mind? I mean, Kazuki..."

A spark of amusement lit her smile as she looked up at him. "Kazuki-sama has a generous heart. I'm sure he won't mind sharing."

This was so manifestly true that he almost forgot she hadn't answered his actual question. "Yes, but I mean, you're sure you won't mind...?"

Her smile gentled and turned serene. "I'm part of Fuuga too, you know."

Yes, and this did seem to be the pattern of their little House. Saizou gave up and smiled back. "Okay, I'll stop asking silly questions."

"Good." She caught his hand and stepped backward, toward an open door and the corner of a bed that showed through it.

Saizou followed her.

Sakura slid out of her dress and turned her back to Saizou. "Will you undo this for me?" A glance over her shoulder showed he was blushing a little, which charmed her quite unreasonably. Saizou's diffidence could be frustrating, but she was more than willing to put up with that when it also made his fingers, undoing her bra, so light, so careful. She leaned back against the warmth of his bare chest with a soft sigh as he slid the straps down her arms.

"Sakura," he murmured against her shoulder, husky, arms closing around his waist.

She rested her head back against his shoulder so she could whisper in his ear, "One more thing to go."

His laugh puffed warm against her skin and he slid his hands obligingly down to her hips and eased her panties down. She liked it very much that Saizou knew how to laugh at all these little games. She liked it even more when his hands slid back up and over her stomach, up her ribs, to stroke her breasts slow and gentle. The touch sent enticing little shivers down her body to strike heat between her legs, and she made an approving sound.

Saizou released a shaky breath and she turned to twine her arms around him. "Shh," she murmured. "It's all right. You're one of us, Saizou; you've always been one of us, even when it hurt you so much you wanted to die from it." She held him tighter as he tensed. "We are Fuuga. Be with us." She leaned back and smiled. "Be with me."

He closed his eyes for a breath, smile turning fragile and soft. "Gladly."

She backed toward her bed, hands sliding down his arms to catch his hands and pull him after her. That made him laugh, and the tension was gone from his movement as he settled onto the bed with her and drew her close. Sakura felt like purring with satisfaction as they traded slow kisses, twined together on her rumpled sheets. The reverence of his hands on her made her breath catch and the open wonder in his eyes made her press closer, torn between offering passion and offering comfort.

When his tongue slid down her collar bone to dip between her breasts she decided passion was appropriate.

"Saizou..." She gasped as his hand stroked down her stomach, muscles shivering under his palm, and long fingers slipped delicately down between her legs.

"Sakura," he whispered against her breast, husky, fingertips easing between her folds. She moaned softly as he stroked her, light and sure, and pleasure tightened low in her stomach. He followed every shift of her body as if she'd spoken aloud, fingers now firmer, now lighter, now dipping down to tease inside her, fingers sensitive and sure.

There were definitely advantages to a lover from the Fuuchouin clan.

This lover of hers certainly knew what he was doing, and seemed determined to pleasure her. His mouth closed on her nipple and she arched, pressing up into the wet heat of his mouth. His fingers slid further into her, deep and slow, and hers flexed, digging into his back as her breath caught. She gasped out loud when he dragged his fingers back up, stroking slickly over her and rubbing slow, and her nerves tingled in response.

"Saizou." She wound a leg around his hip and pulled him down against her, catching his low laugh in a demanding kiss. "Now."

"Yes, my noble lady," he teased, and gasped when she nipped his lower lip in retaliation. "Sakura..."

She rocked her hips up, smiling to feel his hardness against her. "Now."

His agreement this time was heartfelt. She laughed softly and spread her legs wider, sighing with the pleasure of his weight over her, savoring the lean solidity of him, letting her hands wander over the line of his shoulders and down his back to feel the flex of his rear as he pressed into her. The thick, solid slide of him inside her eased the taut hunger his fingers had started and she moaned, pushing up to meet him.

He would have gone slow, but she didn't want that right now and let her whole body flex, rocking up wantonly, taking him deeper, driving their pace faster. Saizou groaned and caught her closer, body answering hers. "Sakura!" His long, driving thrusts finally answered the heat in her and she gasped as pleasure started to build again.

"All of you," she said against his shoulder, starting to pant for breath. "All of you, Saizou."

He kissed her, hot and passionate, in answer, and she tightened her arms around him, kissing back just as open and hungry. She wrapped her leg around him, grinding against him, and shivered with the first crest of pleasure. Saizou thrust deeper and she bucked against him, gasping as sensation turned bright, swept out through her and clenched her body tight. Saizou's breathless moan made her smile and she reached up to run her fingers through his hair as another wave of pleasure rippled through her. She was starting to relax when he stilled over her, gasping, shuddering, and she gathered him close again.

They lay for a while that way and she carded her fingers through the length of his hair in back, trailing down his spine.

"Thank you," he finally said, breath tickling her throat.

"Mm. Thank you too." She kissed his forehead. "You're not going to be so difficult about it next time, are you?"

His shoulders shook with a laugh. "No. I promise I won't."

"Good," she said firmly. "Because you belong to us, and I'm not having any more of this foolishness."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured, meekly enough except that she could feel his lips curve against her shoulder.

Well, that was Saizou. And he wanted her, wanted this, after all.

His arms tightened around her and she settled against him with a pleased sigh.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Six

Saizou needs to know that Kazuki accepts all of him, and Kazuki is perfectly pleased to show him. Porn, Fluff, I-4

Kazuki was humming as he climbed the apartment stairs and slipped in the front door. It had been a good day to be an information broker. He was considering getting a nice cup of tea when he spotted Saizou, sprawled on the couch as if he'd been dropped there.

"Saizou?"

Saizou opened one eye and smiled. "Kazuki."

"How is your family?" Kazuki asked, cautious. Saizou's visits to Toufuuin didn't normally wear on him this much.

Saizou waved a reassuring hand. "Oh, everyone's fine. My sister, especially." He stretched out his legs and groaned.

Kazuki's concern dissolved in a laugh. "Did she demand a match?" He'd heard a lot about Toufuuin Toshi over the years.

Saizou smiled up at him, ruefully, as he came to perch on the arm of the couch. "I like to think she was being charitable, actually, and helping me work off stress. Or I could be completely wrong, and she just wanted to kick my ass for being gone so much."

"Saizou." The worry crept back. "You know I never want to separate you from your family..."

"Of course I know that," Saizou told him, voice gentle. "And I'm less separated from them now than I used to be." He leaned his head back again and looked up at the ceiling. "Yohan left them pretty much alone after he'd gotten me, but I never wanted to remind him more than I could help." His mouth quirked. "Ironic, that the last thing he ever promised me was to protect them as part of Fuuchouin. In return for services rendered, of course. At least he's still done that."

Kazuki could almost taste the bitterness of Saizou's words when he spoke of his "services" to Yohan. He reached out to brush his fingers through Saizou's hair, seeking to soothe. "That's over now."

Saizou closed his eyes under the touch. "I suppose so," he said quietly.

Which told Kazuki, once again, that it wasn't over. Of all his people, Saizou had been the most viciously wounded, even worse than Kazuki had been himself he thought, and more insidiously. He slid off the arm of the couch and down into Saizou's lap, sliding his arms around him and pressing close; this comfort at least he could offer.

Saizou started at his weight, but it was only a breath before arms closed tight around him, half-desperate in their strength. "Kazuki," Saizou breathed against his hair.

Every protective impulse in Kazuki urged him to gather Saizou to him, to hold and reassure him, but Kazuki knew from personal experience that protection wasn't always what was needed. This time, instead, he made himself relax and lean into Saizou's chest, let himself be cradled in Saizou's arms. The catch of Saizou's breath told him he was right. "I always trusted you," Kazuki said softly. "And I was never wrong."

Saizou caught him closer with a rough sound in his throat. Kazuki rested his head on Saizou's shoulder, content to be here, to accept the shelter of Saizou's embrace. When Saizou lifted a hand to touch his cheek, Kazuki smiled up at him and nestled closer. The tenderness of Saizou's touch, of his mouth on Kazuki's when he lifted Kazuki's chin and kissed him, made Kazuki's heart catch and his breath flutter in his chest.

And this was what Saizou needed. To know he could still offer tenderness and care, to know Kazuki accepted it and wanted it. And he did. Oh, he did.

"Kazuki," Saizou whispered against his lips, and drew back to look at him. "May I have the honor?" he asked, formal and courtly in the way that always made Kazuki blush. It was such a contrast to Saizou's usual jesting.

"Of course," Kazuki murmured back, lashes lowered, and gasped softly as Saizou caught him up in his arms and stood, carrying him through to the bedroom.

It took rather a long time for Saizou to undress him, since he paused at every turn to scatter kisses down Kazuki's shoulders, across his chest and down his stomach, to caress his hips and thighs and press a slow, open mouth to the inside of his knee. Kazuki was panting by the time Saizou finally got around to his own clothes, and felt like his whole body must be glowing with the pleasure of Saizou's touch. Feeling the length of Saizou's body against his, finally, as Saizou gathered him close, made Kazuki moan. Saizou caught the sound in a slow, gentle kiss, and another, and another until Kazuki was more breathless than before.

"My heart," Saizou whispered between kisses. "My lord. My love."

Kazuki twined his arms around Saizou and gasped as long fingers slid down his back and further down between his cheeks, caressing and stroking his entrance. "Saizou..."

"I always loved you," Saizou said in his ear. "Always, I swear it."

"I know. I knew." Kazuki shivered as Saizou's fingers eased away and returned slick and cool. "Saizou, I love—ahh..." Saizou's fingers, opening him, were slow and sure, almost unbearably slow and sure.

"Thank you." Saizou smiled down at him, soft and happy, and kissed him again, swallowing another low moan as his fingers pressed in again, deeper.

Kazuki let himself go, gave himself up to Saizou's hands and the pleasure they brought, and the bright wonder in Saizou's eyes was more reward than the pleasure itself. When Saizou finally settled against him and pressed into him, Kazuki was so warmed, so relaxed he barely felt the stretch of it; all his senses were caught up in the easy slide, the gentle care of Saizou's hands, the tenderness of his kisses. It was almost too much for any one person, and he couldn't do other than answer with everything that was in him, all the passion and all the pliancy. When pleasure spilled over it was just one more strand of heat and sweetness in what Saizou had woven between them.

Saizou gasped against his mouth and caught him closer, stilling, and Kazuki made a pleased sound, hands stroking down Saizou's back. Slowly, slowly, the heat eased, and Saizou's hands caressed him back into cool, stroking the last tremors from his body and leaving him cradled against Saizou's chest, quite relaxed.

Eventually Kazuki regathered enough breath and thought to murmur, "You have remarkable self control."

Saizou's chest moved under his cheek as he chuckled. "I have remarkable inspiration."

Kazuki colored a bit at that, and snuggled closer.

Saizou added, quieter, "And I've wanted for so long to use that self control to bring you pleasure and not harm."

Kazuki looked up at him, reaching up to stroke back fair, damp hair. "You bring me pleasure just being beside me." He had to smile as he admitted, "This pleasure was especially impressive, though."

It was Saizou's turn to blush, and Kazuki curled up in his arms, satisfied with a job well done.

If he had to do it again, he wouldn't object, of course.

Cat's Cradle - Omake One

Something that might have happened the second time Kazuki goes to visit Yohan, as both Juubei and Saizou are wound up over the fact. Saizou discovers a very useful way to distract Juubei and himself. Porn, D/s, I-4

Saizou wanted to pace. Unfortunately Juubei was already taking up most of the room.

"How could he go back up there?" Juubei demanded of thin air, and possibly any gods who might be listening, and whirled to stalk back across the room. "What is Kazuki thinking?"

"He did win last time, you know," Toshiki pointed out from the couch where he was sitting with his feet tucked up. "He says Yohan isn't focused on destruction anymore."

"And none of us know what he is focused on," Juubei growled. "On top of that, he's still living in the middle of the Beltline! The whole thing is dangerous!"

Saizou scrubbed his hands over his face. He kind of wished he could have an attack of screaming nerves himself, not because he thought Kazuki couldn't make short work of anything he encountered in the Beltline but because he did know Yohan. Unfortunately, his sense of duty, which he swore got him in more trouble than his sense of humor ever had, insisted that something had to be done about Juubei before he exploded. Or took off after Kazuki. Possibly both. "Juubei," he said, standing to catch Juubei's arm as he paced past again, "that's enough. You know perfectly well Kazuki can handle anything up there."

"Can he handle Yohan?" Juubei snapped, shaking free of his hand, and an answering snap ran through Saizou as Juubei put his finger right on Saizou's own greatest fear.

He caught Juubei's shoulders and swung him around until his back hit the wall, and held him there. "I said that's enough." His voice was low and hard, driving down his own reservations along with Juubei's. "Kazuki doesn't want us trailing along up there, so we won't. Nor will we make the kind of fuss that says we doubt his judgment and ability. Is that understood?"

Juubei was staring at him, eyes wide. "Saizou..."

"I said," Saizou said quietly, "is that understood?"

After a frozen moment, Juubei swallowed. "It is." His voice had turned husky, and Saizou noted with some interest that he was a bit flushed. Come to that, he supposed he hadn't shown this face to any of them since the betrayals and heartbreak of the winter. He hadn't thought it was called for, and half expected that it would remind the others of things they didn't really want to think about.

He thought he had a pretty good idea why Juubei was responding to it now, though.

Well, they could both use some distraction...

He tightened his grip on Juubei's shoulders, pinning him against the wall, and leaned in to kiss him.

Juubei didn't know where this was coming from. The only thing he could say with any surety was that the levelness of Saizou's voice, the unsmiling line of his mouth, the ruthlessness of the hands that had pinned him so abruptly, all shook him, reached down into him and turned him hot and breathless. The kiss took firm possession of his mouth, and he heard a low, wanting sound in his own throat.

"Yes," Saizou said quietly, drawing back. "I think that will do." He stepped back, releasing Juubei to lean against the wall, and crooked a finger. "Come with me." He led the way into the bedroom and Juubei took a breath and followed him.

Saizou stripped off his clothes, unhurried, and the easy confidence of every gesture fixed Juubei's eyes on him—at least until Saizou turned, mouth quirking, and raised a brow at him. Juubei flushed, hands fumbling now and then as he undressed. Saizou paced back to him and closed a hand on the nape of his neck. "So?"

A shudder ran through Juubei at that sure grip, and his voice was unsteady when he answered, "Yes."

Saizou smiled faintly and nodded to the bed. "Lie down, then. Face down."

"What...?" Juubei found the breath to ask, and lost it again when Saizou's hand tightened.

"Do as I say," he said, low and even. "You know I won't harm you, Juubei."

Heat clenched his stomach at the stillness and calm of Saizou's expression and Juubei went to lie down as he was told, head spinning. Saizou's weight dipped the mattress as he settled beside Juubei, stretched out half over him. One lean arm snaked around Juubei's chest, fingers spread over his heart, and Saizou reached up past Juubei to the bedside nook. Juubei buried his head in his arms as glass clicked and rattled, breath coming short. Long fingers pushed between his cheeks, slick and cool, massaging his entrance hard, and he moaned. Saizou was usually a slow, gentle lover, but his touch didn't coax this time, it demanded; it required that his muscles relax and yield. It scorched his senses, being handled this way, and he didn't even know why.

"Kazuki rules us gently," Saizou said in his ear, so conversational that it took Juubei a moment to make sense of the words. "He commands little, when he could command everything." A soft laugh huffed against Juubei's neck. "Of course, we give him everything without that, our loyalty, our hearts, our lives. Our obedience." A shiver ran down Juubei's back and he gasped as Saizou drove two fingers deep into him. "You, especially. You were raised to serve, Kakei Juubei, and Kazuki has always known he's your master." It was three fingers, now, working in and out of his ass, stretching him hard, and Juubei moaned into the sheets. "It was a friend he needed most, though, for all of the time he's known you, so he doesn't think to command you; especially you." Saizou raked his teeth slowly over Juubei's earlobe, fingers driving deeper, and Juubei was panting hard for breath now. "I'm not Kazuki; I'm not your lord. But I can promise you this. Here and now, your body and your mind will both answer to me."

His fingers thrust into Juubei's ass hard, and twisted, and his other hand slid up to gently pinch Juubei's nipple, and Juubei bucked helplessly between his hands as sensation and response pulled his nerves tight. "Yes!"

"Good." Saizou kissed the back of his neck gently. "Up on your knees."

Juubei was shaky as he pushed up onto his knees, and bent to rest his head against his forearms, panting. Saizou moved behind him, pushing his knees wider and wider until it was only Saizou's hands wrapped around his hips that steadied him.

Those hands tightened and Saizou held Juubei still as his cock pushed in, hot and hard. Juubei gasped for breath against the sheets, dizzy as Saizou's words echoed through his head, promising. Saizou's hips flexed against Juubei's ass, driving him in deeper. "Stop thinking. Just feel."

"Saizou..."

Saizou's voice turned cool and level. "Juubei."

That tone tumbled Juubei back down into raw heat and he moaned openly, trembling under Saizou as Saizou fucked him hard and sure. The iron control of Saizou's pace made him whine as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, low in his stomach; he could barely move, spread out like this, hips caged in Saizou's hands, only feel the slide and burn as Saizou's cock worked in and out of his ass. He was shaking, lightheaded with panting for breath, when Saizou finally took one hand off his hip and reached down to wrap it around his cock.

"Nnn!" Juubei's hands fisted on the sheets, hips jerking helplessly into the pleasure of that strong hand sliding over him.

"Let go," Saizou ordered, voice hard, and Juubei nearly screamed as heat flashed through him in response and wrung him out, wild and rough and ruthless, and he surrendered to it. Saizou's pace finally broke and he drove into Juubei fast and hard, drawing the shudders of pleasure out and out until Juubei was panting hoarsely, whole body shaking. When Saizou finally let him down against the bed he could only groan faintly.

Saizou chuckled, breathless, and worked slow hands over Juubei's ass and thighs, kneading them. "Better now?"

This, of all things, was what made Juubei's face heat, the inarguable evidence that Saizou had done this to take care of him. "Yes," he said softly.

"Shh." Saizou settled over him, warm and solid, caging Juubei down again though more gently. "It's my place to look after these things. Now go to sleep."

"But..."

Saizou's voice was kinder this time, but just as authoritative as before. "Do as I say, Juubei."

Drifting already in the aftermath, Juubei finally decided what was going on; Saizou was his elder, and spoke as such. Of course he submitted, as was only proper. "Yes, Saizou," he murmured, eyes sliding closed.

Saizou smiled ruefully as Juubei drifted into sleep and rubbed his back gently. Juubei was probably going to be just a little sore after that. He'd been a little rougher than he'd planned to be, but it had been so good to find that release of tension in answering Juubei's need. To forget his fears for Kazuki in making Juubei forget his. And he couldn't help a satisfied grin at how thoroughly he'd made Juubei forget. He curled around Juubei, hand stroking up and down his body absently, and let himself doze too.

At least until he heard the front door open and close.

"Toshiki?" Kazuki's voice drifted through the bedroom door as Saizou fished his pants off the floor and pulled them back on. "Where did Juubei and Saizou get to?"

"They decided to distract each other," Toshiki said dryly. "At length. Loudly too."

"Hey, at least it worked," Saizou protested, slipping out and closing the bedroom door behind him. A quick once-over showed Kazuki was smiling and at ease, and he tried to hide how much that made him relax. From the tilt of Kazuki's smile he didn't think he was wholly successful.

"For a second there, I thought it was going to work by the two of you getting into a fight, not bed," Toshiki snorted. "I still can't believe you just ordered Juubei to calm down and he actually listened."

Kazuki's brows went up. "Ordered him?"

"And then into bed," Toshiki added as Saizou cleared his throat and tried not to shuffle. "Which also worked. I was speechless, which may be why they apparently forgot I was still here."

Saizou could tell he was going to have to make that up to Toshiki some time soon.

"It worked?" Kazuki looked half disbelieving and half amused; and, under that, perhaps just a little disturbed.

Saizou shrugged, a bit self-consciously. "Juubei needed someone to do it, and you weren't here." And he needed to defuse Kazuki's worry. He came to Kazuki and sank gracefully to his knees, turning one of Kazuki's hands over to kiss the palm. "Will you forgive my presumption, my Prince?" he murmured.

Kazuki laughed softly at this bit of flamboyance. "Well, since it seems to have calmed him down, I suppose so."

"My lord is gracious." Saizou grinned up at him.

And that was the secret, of course. Saizou let it be half a game, with Kazuki, so Kazuki didn't worry about losing his friend inside his vassal. It was all a matter of balance.

Saizou tipped his head at the bedroom. "He'll probably be even calmer if you're the one who wakes him up."

"Probably," Kazuki agreed and leaned down to tip Saizou's head up and drop a kiss on his forehead.

"That was fairly impressive," Toshiki admitted as Saizou came to drop into one of the armchairs. "What I saw of it."

Saizou laughed; so that was it. "I'll remember to invite you next time, I promise."

Toshiki smiled. "Do that."

Saizou eeled around to sprawl comfortably over the chair. The underlying problem of Yohan and his unpredictableness hadn't been dealt with, and he honestly couldn't see how it might be, but at least he had another card in his hand for fixing the immediate problems.

He'd have to remember how Juubei responded to that tone of voice.

End

Cat's Cradle - Omake Two

An alternate way it could have gone, the first time Kazuki makes Yohan take a nap, supposing that Maiya didn't show up until considerably later. Porn, Drama, light D/s I-4

Warning: Contains consensual sibling incest.

Yohan woke slowly.

He was warm, and the light through his eyelids was soft, and his pillow was a very odd shape... oh. That was right. Kazuki had made him sleep.

He rubbed his eyes and looked up, sleepily, and yes, his brother was looking down at him with a gentle smile and there were fingers stroking his hair back from his face. "Aniue."

"Feel better now?" His brother leaned down to drop a kiss on his forehead.

Perhaps because he was still half asleep, impulse became action without thought and Yohan lifted his face so that the kiss met his mouth instead. Kazuki made a startled sound even as his hand cupped the back of Yohan's head to steady him. "Yohan?" he murmured, drawing back.

Thought woke again, urging caution, but desire had woken also with that soft brush of lips, the same desire he'd fled rather than admit after their battle. But Kazuki was here now, in any case, and Yohan wanted so much. He leaned up on one hand, laying the other on his brother's chest entreatingly. "Aniue... please?"

After a long moment Kazuki's hand rose to curve around his jaw, lifting his chin, and Yohan couldn't help the way his breath cut short in a rush of want. Slowly, watching him, his brother leaned down again to kiss him, gentle and easy, and Yohan leaned into the kiss, lips parting under Kazuki's. The invitation was taken and Yohan made a soft sound, half hope and half pleading, as his brother's kiss deepened.

He wanted this so much.

Kazuki reached out to gather him closer until Yohan was half lying against his chest, haori sliding down his shoulders. And pliant. Utterly pliant in his brother's arms. When Kazuki's hand urged his chin up further, Yohan let his head fall back, and when his brother's lips traced down his bared throat he gasped, a shiver running down his body.

"Yohan," Kazuki murmured, lips brushing his throat, "did you want me to take the clan back from you?"

It was the question and the desire he'd run from at the time, and it shook him now. "I don't..." he whispered, voice taut with the arch of his neck. "There are so many things I want to do. To change. But..." His brother kissed his throat again and he gasped, shaking. "For now... just for now, please. Please, Aniue."

He had been conquered, in that battle. Beyond technique and skill was the heart, and when the heart could no longer drive all skill failed. Kazuki had conquered his heart, and given no quarter. And in his brother's conquest, he had tasted the sweetness of being guided and commanded by his brother's will and love. The sweetness of belonging and shelter and rest.

"Please," he begged, hands sliding up to cling to Kazuki's shoulders. "Just for now..."

His brother's fingers slid into his hair, cradling his head, and Kazuki kissed him, deep and intent. "Yes," he said quietly. "For now, then."

Yohan relaxed into the kiss with a sigh, surrendering to his brother's care and guidance, and kissed back soft and open. Kazuki's hands stroked down his arms, over his back, drawing him close and holding him, and Yohan moved with them willingly.

"Do you want more than this?" Kazuki murmured against his mouth, and Yohan flushed hot at the thought.

"Yes," he breathed, and Kazuki smiled.

"We'll need some place with a bed, then," he said, low, holding Yohan against him. "Because I'm not going to lay you down on the bare tatami. And," he added, "we need something to make it easier for you."

Yohan made a breathless sound, shivering, and his brother laughed softly.

"Come, then." He straightened Yohan's clothes with gentle hands and pulled him to his feet. "Show me."

Yohan led the way through the house to his bedroom, still flushed with the way Kazuki kept a hold of his hand, fingers twined through his. Once the door was closed behind them, Kazuki caught him close again, kissing him deep and slow, loosening his robes to slide them down his shoulders. He shivered at that, at the long, knowing fingers that traced over his bare shoulders and chest. "Aniue..." He couldn't quite meet his brother's eyes.

"So shy." Kazuki took his chin and tipped it up again, holding his eyes. "There's no need."

The command in that simple gesture set Yohan trembling, and he swayed against his brother. "Yes, Aniue," he whispered.

Kazuki kept him occupied with kisses as he pulled loose belts and ties until Yohan stood with all his robes in a heap around his feet. "Now, then." He pushed Yohan gently down to the bed and stepped back, shedding his own clothes swift and graceful. The line of his body, as he returned to kneel over Yohan and press him down, made Yohan's mouth dry; he knew his own strength was second to none, but the sheer grace of Kazuki's movement stopped his breath. His brother's hands stroked down his body, slow, and he shivered with the intensity of simply feeling that on his skin. Kazuki gathered him close, one hand supporting the curve of his back as he arched up helplessly into the sleek heat of Kazuki's body against his.

"Shh," Kazuki murmured to him. "Now you need to trust me, and relax for me, little brother." One hand kneaded the small of Yohan's back, easing the building tension in him, and Yohan obeyed with a shaky breath. He lay pliant against Kazuki's chest as his brother searched through his bedside nook, and turned his face into Kazuki's shoulder. He gasped at the first touch of warm, slick fingers, and Kazuki held him closer.

Those fingers circled his entrance, slow and gentle, until his breathing evened and his body relaxed, and it was his brother's patience and care that made his face heat as much as the first slide of fingers inside him. "Aniue..."

"All right?" Kazuki asked softly, cradling him close. Yohan nodded, not looking up, and his brother chuckled. "All right, then." Still soft, but more commanding he added, "Look at me."

Yohan looked up, breathless, and moaned as his brother caught his mouth, kissing him hot and deep and intent. The answering heat in his body turned sharp as Kazuki's fingers pressed in again and he gasped, trembling in his brother's arms with the unexpected surge of pleasure.

Kazuki kissed Yohan again and again as his fingers moved in and out of him. The sensation of being touched inside made Yohan flush, and Kazuki worked him slowly until Yohan was moving with him, until they were twined tight together, and Yohan was kissing back and making wanton, pleading sounds low in his throat. He didn't have to control himself; he knew his brother would judge their pace, would know when he was ready. All he had to do was surrender to Kazuki's hands, and that was such an unspeakable relief that he was dizzy with it.

"Now," Kazuki murmured, finally. Yohan made a faint, protesting sound as Kazuki slid around behind him, but subsided, soothed, when his brother's arm wound around him and drew him back snugly into the curve of Kazuki's body. "It's all right," Kazuki said softly in his ear as he guided Yohan's leg up and forward, spreading him a little open. "I have you."

"Yes," Yohan agreed, low, and shivered at the feeling of Kazuki's lips curving against his nape. And then Kazuki was pushing into him, and he was gasping, clutching the sheets as he was stretched, pushed open, filled. It was shocking. It was incredible. "Aniue!"

"Shh." Kazuki rocked just a little, in and out of him, holding him tight, and Yohan shuddered with the sensation. "All you have to do is follow. I'll take care of everything." One hand stroked down Yohan's stomach to close between his legs.

Yohan moaned with breathless submission to Kazuki's word, and let his brother's hands guide his body until he was spread out half on his stomach, gasping with each driving thrust, rocking into his brother's strong hand. Kazuki took him slow and sure, until his nerves were singing like strings under a master's touch. Pleasure wanted to speed ahead, but Kazuki's touch held him back, let the heat build slowly, until Yohan was panting under it with an edge of desperation.

"If your heart needs someone to rule and protect you," Kazuki whispered against his ear, "remember that I'm still your elder brother." His mouth closed on Yohan's neck and he sucked hard enough to raise tingling heat.

Hard enough to mark.

Yohan cried out as pleasure broke through him, a storm of heat striking again and again as his brother gasped against his shoulder and drove into him harder, faster. It was good, so good, to be held so tight, to feel Kazuki's body over his, and he lay, panting, until Kazuki shuddered and stilled.

After a long moment, Kazuki kissed the back of his neck and eased them apart, turning Yohan gently and gathering him back into his arms. Kazuki stroked his hair and cradled him close. "It's all right."

Yohan realized that his eyes were wet.

Kazuki kissed the tears away and rocked him slowly. "You are my beloved brother and I will always be here, to guide and support you in whatever way you need," he murmured.

Yohan's breath hitched again and he nodded against Kazuki's shoulder. It was a while before he could stop crying, though. Kazuki held him through it all and dried his face on a corner of the sheet. "Better?" he asked with a soft smile.

Yohan nodded; he did feel better, wrung out but at peace. "Thank you, Aniue," he said, husky.

Kazuki pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Hush."

Yohan smiled shyly and did as he was told, and lay quiet and content in his brother's arms as the evening drew in.

End

A Love for Living Dangerously

Squalo is Xanxus' man, which means he'll let her do whatever she wants with him. Adult for smut, light bondage, breathplay, and intimations of D/s. Part of the girl!Xanxus branch of Choice.

Squalo wasn't a fan of letting his boss go off to dinners at the main house all by herselfâ€”not because she couldn't take care of herself, far from it, but because sometimes she didn't take care of herself out of some perverse stubbornness of her own, and he hated watching that happen. Not that he really thought the old man or his sons meant badly, not really, but it was God's own truth that neither Enrico nor Massimo or even the old man really understood Xanxus. They just didn't get the fire or the strength of her and kept trying to shape her into something she wasn't while they called it love.

To make things more difficult, Xanxus didn't have any kind of sense when it came to her family, not really. She trudged off to dinner with them whenever they called and Squalo couldn't find some reason to get her out of the commitment. She didn't trudge back afterwards: usually she came back in a rage, either a quiet one that left her lips pressed together tightly and didn't break until she'd broken somethingâ€”a glass, somebody's arm, once a chairâ€”or a loud one that ended with bullets flying and Squalo sparring with her till they were bloody, sweaty messes who couldn't move any more. And even after her temper had cooled off she went around brooding for days, until she managed to shake off whatever it was her idiot family had said or done this time.

When the invitation showed up, Squalo scrambled to find a plausible reason for Xanxus not to take part in celebrating the end of Federico's peripatetic education, but couldn't. For a wonder, all the Vongola's many enemies were quiet or licking their wounds and the new batch of Varia recruits hadn't yet begun trickling in. There was nothing to excuse Xanxus from attending the dinner in Federico's honor, and if Squalo were any judge, the old man had planned it that way, the cagey bastard. Wasn't anything for it, anyway, except to wait till Xanxus had left to rush around, laying in antiseptic and bandages and putting the good glasses away in exchange for the cheap mismatched stuff that wouldn't destroy the Varia's budget when Xanxus smashed it. No sense in not being prepared, after all, and it kept Mammon from bitching about the waste.

When Xanxus came in, Squalo was settled on the couch, prepared for the worst and ready to come up fighting if he had to. He wasn't prepared for Xanxus to given him an appraising look as he greeted her, or for her to stride over to him and plant a heavy hand against his chest to hold him in place as she looked down at him. Squalo looked back, baffled, because she wasn't swearing and she wasn't wearing that pinched expression that was the other normal result of extended exposure to her family.

She started plucking at his clothes instead, undoing buttons and pushing his jacket off his shoulders. Squalo moved to help, automatically, until she grunted at him. "Hold still."

Squalo blinked and did, puzzling over this strange mood until she leaned closer to push the jacket down his arms and he caught the scent of the wine on her breath. That explained a little of what was going on. Wasn't unusual for the old man to serve drinks with dinner, though Xanxus usually sneered at wine and went straight for the harder stuff, scotch and brandy and vodka, things that put a fire in her eyes and never seemed to affect her aim, no matter how much she'd had.

So that was one mystery dealt with, but it still didn't explain why Xanxus was bent over him and undressing him with her own two hands, concentrating so hard that there was a line drawing her brows together as she peeled Squalo out of the t-shirt he wore under his uniform. It obscured his vision for a moment as she pulled it over his head.

It never did to take one's eyes off Xanxus, even for a split second. While he was shaking the hair back from his eyes and wondering why Xanxus was having that much trouble clearing his handsâ€”she couldn't be that drunk, could she?â€”Xanxus moved, hiking her skirt up her thighs and setting her knees on either side of Squalo's hips as she twisted the shirt around his wrists, using it to bind them together.

Squalo went still with surprise and the way all the blood in his body rushed straight to his cock. "Boss?" he said, careful to keep his voice neutral, careful not to assume or presume anything until she gave him some kind of hint about what she was thinkingâ€”

"Shut up." Her hand fell away from his wrists and circled around his throat, not tight enough to keep Squalo from sucking in a startled breath as her thumb stroked up his carotid artery and pressed against the underside of his chin, tilting it up.

Squalo opened his mouth to hers, groaning against it as Xanxus' tongue swept against his and his cock throbbed in his pants, achingly hard just from this. Her mouth still tasted a little bit of wine, something sweet and complicated and meant for desserts. She kissed him slowly, like she meant to take her time with itâ€”fuck, Squalo thought dizzily, she probably did.

That thought pulled another groan out of him. So did the way Xanxus' fingers tightened on his throat, subtly, as he shifted his arms, settling the bundle of his wrists behind his head more comfortably. She had to have felt the way his pulse sped up at that and the way his breath hitched; he certainly felt the way her mouth moved against his, curling a bit as he stilled beneath her obediently.

Her other hand swept up his side and splayed itself over his ribs, counting them off and tracing over the patterns of old scars and newer ones, running over the places where the keloids were still shiny and pink and the places where they'd already faded to white. She'd given him some of those scars herself, but she touched them all, fingers wandering over them impartially as she kissed him, until Squalo felt shivery inside his own skin, sensitized to every light brush of her fingertips.

He groaned again when Xanxus lifted her hands away from him and pulled away from his mouth. When he lifted his head and looked, she was drawing back from him, stripping out of her shirt and unhooking her bra. That was worth losing her hands on his skin, definitely, so he stared, drinking in the paleness of her skin and the fullness of her breasts until he realized that she was watching him. Her eyes were dark when he met them; she looked like she was weighing something in her head.

Squalo raised his eyebrows at her since he wasn't sure whether her proscription against speaking was still in place. Xanxus huffed out a breath and leaned in again. Her breasts were soft against his chest and her teeth were sharp when they closed on his lip. Squalo just groaned with that, closing his eyes and shifting under her, spreading his knees wider and trying to relieve some of the tightness of his pants. Xanxus' teeth tightened against his lip, enough to sting, as she growled something at him, a warning. Then her hand slid down his stomach and over the front of his pants.

Squalo shuddered at the warm, heavy pressure of it; it took an enormous effort to keep his hips from lifting and rolling against her hand. He trembled with it, panting for breath, and was rewarded when Xanxus huffed again and stroked her tongue over his lower lip. "Don't you dare come yet."

Squalo thought she might have been waiting for a response and managed to eke out a strangled, "Yes, Boss." He'd guessed right, because she grunted her approval and thumbed the button on his fly and pulled the zip down. Squalo groaned with relief as she did, head falling back as she reached inside and pulled him out. Her fingers moved over the shape of his cock, still slow, like she was learning the shape of him. There was something curiously impersonal about it, something almost clinical in her expression, but that didn't stop pleasure from dancing over his nerves until he had to bite down on his lip himself to keep from rocking into that methodical touch.

He was on the verge of begging by the time Xanxus glanced at him again. Her eyes were still unreadable, dark beneath her lashes. "Enjoying this?" she asked as her thumb moved back and forth over his head.

Squalo thought he might have whimpered, something inarticulate and hoarse climbing out of his throat and passing for yes.

Her mouth curved, just faintly, and her fingers wrapped tighter around him. "You can come now," she said as she stroked him hard.

Some lightheaded part of his brain wanted to protest, wanted to ask about her, but he couldn't, not when the heat contracted on him at the casual command. It tore through him as he bucked into her fist, coming so hard that his vision whited out and his throat felt scraped raw with the sounds he made.

Xanxus was still perched over him, one hand gripping his shoulder for balance, when he came back down. When Squalo looked up at her dazedly, she was watching him. Her expression would have been unreadable even if his brain hadn't just melted out his ears.

Squalo had to swallow a couple of times and wet his lips before he could manage speech. "Fuck, Boss..."

Her hand was still between his legs, sticky fingers playing with skin that was almost oversensitive, dancing on the edge of what was bearable. "You like this," she said, finally. It was half a question and half a statement.

There was no way in hell he had the kind of brains left to manage this kind of conversation, so he didn't bother trying to puzzle his way to the right answer. Squalo rested his head against the bundle of his wrists and gave her the simple, true one instead. "I love it," he said as her fingers moving over him made his cock wonder whether it might be able to get up and go again.

Xanxus' fingers froze on him and she stared at him. Then the hand on his shoulder gripped tighter, enough to maybe leave a bruise and to penetrate through some of the haze fogging Squalo's brain. "Do you?"

"Fuck, yes," Squalo breathed as something hot and possibly suicidal uncurled in the pit of his stomach in response to the way her eyes sparked. "Anything you want, Boss. That's just fine by me."

There was no way she could mistake his response, not when his cock was twitching in her hand, answering the way her eyes had flared and the way her fingers were digging into his shoulder. Xanxus stared at him for a moment before her hand loosened on his shoulder and slid sideways, wrapping around his throat tight enough that Squalo could feel his pulse beginning to pound. Her grip was tight enough to constrict his breathing; black spots swam in front of his eyes and his cock throbbed in her fist.

Just when he wasn't sure whether he was going to last much longer without sliding down into unconsciousness, her grip eased and he was able to suck in a lungful of air under the weight of her hand and her stare. "Your man," he told her, hearing the hoarseness of his own voice, when he caught a second breath. "You can do whatever you want with me."

The seconds ticked past as she looked down at him. Then she snorted and stood. "Lie down," she said as her hands went to her skirt.

"Yes, Boss." Squalo couldn't quite contain his smile as her skirt slid down her hips and her panties followed it. He wriggled around, stretching out on the couch and hooking his wrists over the arm of it, and watched herâ€”bare and gorgeous and more dangerous than any three men put togetherâ€”as she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his pants and underwear and dragged them down his thighs. Xanxus just rolled her eyes at him when she caught him doing it, and threw a knee over his hips to straddle him. Then she sank down on his cock with a low, breathless sound.

Squalo groaned, fingers clutching at the cotton of his shirt as her body wrapped around him, tight and slick, and fixed his eyes on Xanxus. She leaned over him, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, and planted a hand on his chest as she raised herself up and rocked down on him again, fucking herself on his cock. Her hips moved fast, the pace of them urgent as she panted over him, until she bore down on him. She ground against his hips as she slid her fingers down between her legs to stroke herself until her body seized on his, wringing tight. Squalo watched her, breathless with the way her muscles rippled around him and how she groaned, arching over him, riding it out.

She seemed a little surprised that he was still hard when she opened her eyes again. Squalo shrugged at her as best as he could with his hands bound upâ€”wasn't like he was going to come off fast again the second time. Xanxus snorted at him, rocking against him and making a sound that was almost pleased as his cock slid deeper. Squalo sighed at that, shuddering as the slow rock of her hips added to the pleasant tension threading through him.

Then her hands spread against his chest. "The fuck am I doing all the work for?" Her teeth were showing between her lips, just a little.

Squalo couldn't quite help the laugh that bubbled out of him. "Sorry, Boss." He drew a knee up, planting it against the cushion, and rocked his hips up to meet hers, driving a groan out Xanxus as he pressed deeper, fucking her harder. He let the sounds she made guide him as she arched and flexed over him, her eyes going hazy, until his thighs were burning and he was panting with how close he was.

Xanxus looked down at him when he made a sound, something inarticulate and entreating, and her teeth showed again. "Put your back into it," she told him, and gasped when he obeyed, hips slamming up against hers, cock driving against her harder and faster. She swore, something inarticulate, urging him on as she ground down against him. She gripped his shoulders and panted as he spread his feet wider and fucked her, trying to find the angle that would send her off again, until she gasped, arching over him and shaking as she threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut.

Squalo groaned, hips jerking against hers as he chased the same edge she'd found, heat and need twining through him, but it wasn't until she'd opened her eyes and looked at him and curved her fingers around his throat again to hold him that he found it. He groaned as pleasure swept him down, breaking him into a thousand pieces with its fierceness.

It took him a long time to pull himself back together. Xanxus was still spread over him when he finally managed it, sprawled across his chest in a lazy drape, and his arms were numb with how long they'd been trapped over his head. "Jesus, Boss," he managed, finally.

Xanxus grunted something against his shoulder, apparently not inclined to move, and didn't stir when he lifted his arms and shook them free of his shirt. Squalo grimaced at the tingle of blood flowing back into them, and then realized that he wasn't sure where to put his hands now that they were free.

Well, if she were going to kill him for his impudence, she probably would have done that already this evening, he decided, and tucked a hand under his head as he settled his other arm around her.

The curve of Xanxus' back went tense under his hand and then relaxed again; her breath gusted against his throat, warm, as she snorted. Since she couldn't see him, he permitted himself a smile before indulging his curiosity. "So who did you kill at dinner?" That had to have been what had put her into such a relaxed mood. "Enrico?" He was probably her least favorite family member; Squalo had a bet going with himself over how long it was going to be before Enrico finally met with a fatal accident.

Xanxus' breath brushed against his throat again as she huffed. "Didn't kill anyone."

"Huh." So much for that theory. "Maim him instead?" This was Xanxus, after all.

"Don't be an idiot."

Squalo raised his eyebrows at the ceiling. "Sorry, Boss."

Xanxus left him to wonder what had happened for a while longer before she finally said, "Federico wants to meet you."

It didn't quite register at first that that was her explanation. When it did, Squalo blinked a little at the ceiling, wondering at it. "Okay." He'd figured that it would have to happen sooner or later; everyone knew that the old man was going to leave it all to his youngest son. Professionalism and his own curiosity made him ask, "What's he like?"

"He's not actually an idiot." Xanxus stirred against him and Squalo realized, belatedly, that he was stroking her back.

But she didn't tell him to stop and he liked living dangerously, so he kept going, running his hands up and down the sleek curve of her spine. "That'll make for a refreshing change."

Xanxus didn't answer him immediately, but when she did, it was to say, "Yeah. Yeah, I think it will."

And when Squalo finally met Federico Vongola a few days later, he understood what she'd meant.

Vantage Point

There are far worse ways to die than this. For Porn Battle XI, prompt Xanxus/Squalo, genderswap, possession, voyeurism. Part of the Fem!Xanxus part of Choice.

It ended the way sparring with Xanxus generally did: the room was a smoking ruin and Squalo was on his knees for her, out of breath and holding still because there was a warm muzzle resting between his eyebrows. And, of course, he was hard, but that was normal when it came to sparring, too. There was nowhere that Xanxus was more herself than in the middle of a fight, and what she was was amazing. All in all, Squalo figured that if he had to go out, doing it at her feet looking up at the sleek lines of her legs and the wildness in her eyes wasn't a bad way to do it.

But this wasn't going to be the day that happened. Xanxus looked him over, flicked the safety back on, and holstered her gun. "Come with me." The command was peremptory; she gave no sign of what she was thinking. Squalo rolled to his feet, adjusted himself discreetly, and followed after her without question since she was already striding away. Not towards her quarters, he noticed, stifling faint regret, but towards her office. Oh well. Sometimes the mood to fuck took her after a good fight and sometimes it didn't. Wasn't his place to complain either way. They were going towards her office; maybe she'd had a breakthrough on the Cizeta job.

At the door, Xanxus waved him ahead of her. "Inside." She still wasn't giving him any sign of what was on her mind. That may not have been a good thing; was she annoyed that he'd managed to land a strike on her? But wounds didn't usually bother her, and this one barely even qualified for the titleâ€”the slice across her thigh had been a clean one, hardly more than a scratch, and had already scabbed over. Squalo puzzled over the curt command as he entered her office and brought himself to rest at attention. Xanxus pulled the door closed; he thought she may have even locked it, though the tumblers were well-oiled and the click of them was soft.

She eyed him again and snorted. "Strip."

It wasn't worth trying to figure out what was on her mind, he decided, hastening to obey as quickly as he could make his fingers undo buttons and zippers and laces. Maybe she was in the mood after all. He wasn't going to dare presume (though his cock did). "Boss," he said, once he was standing naked for her.

Xanxus made a circuit around him, running her eyes from the top of his head to his bare feet. "Mm." She pointedâ€”at her desk? No, her chair. "Sit."

Baffled, Squalo obeyed, easing himself down into her chair. The leather creaked as it took his weight; the seat was adjusted for her height and not his, but he didn't complain. Not that there was anything in the world to complain about, because Xanxus was unbuttoning her shirt and letting it fall, undoing her bra and discarding it. Squalo made a sound, watching avidly as she undid her skirt and let it slither down her legs and then peeled out of her panties.

Her mouth curled; she came around the desk and pushed the papers on it aside to sit herself down in front of him. Squalo stared at her, hearing himself make another sound when she lifted a knee and planted her foot squarely on the armrest of the chair, spreading her knees wide and displaying herself. "God, Boss..."

She leaned herself back on one hand and draped the other across her thigh, running her fingers over the cut he'd given her, still looking at him, still silent. Squalo looked back, drinking in the slope of her breasts and the lushness of her body and the sheer unthinking arrogance in the tilt of her head, aching with how much he wanted her. Her mouth curled, finally. "Touch yourself."

His breath quickened. "Yes, Boss." He dropped a hand to his cock, fisting it.

Xanxus made an impatient sound. "So I can see." She seemed to consider her orders a bit more and added another clarification. "Slowly. And don't come till I tell you."

A shudder walked down Squalo's spine and he groaned. "Anything you say, Boss." He spread his knees wider for her and loosened his fingers around himself, running them up and down his cock and hissing between his teeth as he slid them over the head of it. He dropped his other hand down to play with his balls, determined to give her a good show, if that was what she was after.

Her eyes rested on him, heavy as a hand, as he worked himself for her. Her color was running high again, like it always did after a sparring match, and her eyes were half-lidded and gleaming. "What goes through your head when you're on your knees for me?"

Squalo's cock twitched in his hand as her question reminded him of the moment barely past; he saw her eyes sharpen. "That I'm yours." He had to string the words together carefully, thanks to how dizzy the heat running through him was making him. "That it would be a good way to go, if that's how you wanted to end it."

Xanxus made a soft sound, one part hunger, one part satisfaction. "Would it?"

"Anything you want from me is good, Boss." Squalo ran his thumb over his head, back and forth. "Because it's you."

"Mm." She ran her hand up her thigh and tucked it against herself, sliding her fingers between her folds. She was already wet; the sight dragged a groan out of him. "That why you get hard when we fight?"

"Sort of, Boss. Sort of not." He couldn't quite tear his eyes away from the slow back-and-forth of her fingers or the way she circled her clit and traced the shape of herself.

"Tell me." Xanxus' voice had dropped, gone husky; his cock twitched in his hand, responding to that tone. Squalo gasped and pressed his fingers against the base of it: not yet, she hadn't given him permission yet. "What gets you so hard?"

"You, Boss," he breathed, hearing the sound she made then. "It's you, when you fight, there's nothing else but you. That's what you were made to do, and you're so... so..."

"So...?" she prompted when he faltered, at a loss for words.

Squalo raised his eyes to hers. "Beautiful." It was the truth, whole and perfect. "You're beautiful, Boss."

Xanxus stared at him; she'd stopped moving her fingers. "Beautiful."

"Beautiful," he repeated, because he never had lied to her and he wasn't going to start now. "It's the way you move and fight and how you look when you fire a gun, and your strength, and... you. It's just you, Boss."

She stared at him, eyes gone opaque. "You are one crazy son of a bitch."

Squalo could feel the ice creaking beneath his feet. He shrugged at her and himself; if he had to go, having this be the last thing he ever saw wouldn't be so bad, either. "Maybe, Boss. But I'm a happy one."

He breathed a little easier all the same when that earned him a ghost of a smile.

Then she raised her foot and prodded his shoulder, digging her toes into it. "I didn't give you permission to stop moving." Squalo didn't even know what the sound he made then was, but it made her smile again. He nodded and began running his fingers up and down again, breathless.

She watched him, holding her own fingers still, before saying, "So. Anything I want." That was skipping right over the things that had confused her, but there weren't any surprises there. She began stroking herself again; he had to wet his lips again. The corner of her mouth kicked up. "So that's what you're thinking when I've got you on your knees."

It sounded like a dare; maybe it was. Maybe she wanted to see how far he was willing to go. Well, for her, he was willing to go all the way. "Sort of."

Xanxus made a satisfied sound, like she'd expected as much. "Tell me."

Oh, God. Squalo took a breath, steadying himself against the surge of adrenaline. "Sometimes," he began, daring a glance at her eyes. They were dark. "Sometimes I think about you. How you stand over me. And what would happen if you decided you wanted me right there." Dangerous territory, that; her eyes narrowed. He plunged on. "If you decided to pull me to you right there and have me put my mouth on you while I'm still on my knees, when it's perfectly clear how completely you own me." He couldn't help moving his fingers faster; just talking about it conjured up the image for him, how it would feel to put his face between her thighs and taste her on his tongue while she stood over him.

Xanxus made a sound; the hardness was fading out of her eyes. He went on. "I think about how you would pull my hair to tell me what you wanted." She was moving her fingers faster, stroking them over her clit. "How I'd still be able to smell the gun smoke, how it would be on your skin. How you would sound, whether you would want me to put my fingers in you. Whether you would let me touch myself, or if you'd tell me to keep my hands off my cock. So I think about that. Sometimes."

Xanxus hummed something between her teeth and pushed a finger into herself. Squalo groaned, watching her. "Go on," she said, voice low and rich, as she worked herself open right there in front of him.

"God, Boss." Squalo swallowed, hard, and slowed his hand down lest he explode. "Okay, um." He wet his lips. "I think... I think about what it would be like if you decided to wear one of your toys, maybe even while we fought. And how it would be if you decided to push me over and pin me under you so you could fuck me with it." She made a low sound and slid a second finger in with the first; this seemed to be working just as well for her as it did him. Squalo kept going, the words spilling out of him. "Maybe you'd make me suck it first, just grab my head and fuck my throat to get it good and wet, before you pushed me over and pulled my ass into the air and put it in me." She liked doing that, maybe even as much as he liked having her do it. She groaned now, listening to him describe it. "It would be so good to be on my hands and knees while you rode me, so good to have you fuck me hard, for just as long as you wanted." He was breathless, half-giddy with the fantasy he was spinning and with his fingers on his cock, and from watching Xanxus fuck herself on her own fingers, three of them now sliding in and out of her, gleaming and wet. "I'd scream for you, Boss. And anyone could walk in and see me begging you to take me harder."

That did it; Xanxus groaned, hips jerking against her own hand as she arched, eyes squeezing shut. Squalo moaned, watching her and pressing his fingers hard against the base of his cock, until she sagged against the desk, panting, fingers still tucked between her thighs. She opened her eyes again after her breathing had steadied. "That's what you think about?"

"Sometimes, Boss." He raised his eyes to hers. "Boss, please, I can'tâ€”please, Boss, let me come."

Her mouth quirked. "That what you need?" Squalo nodded, swallowing hard as she took her hand away from herself and spread her knees wider. "Come here."

"Oh, God," he breathed. "Yes."

She snorted and pulled him in against her when he surged out of the chair. "You think you can fuck me?" she asked, wrapping a leg around him and closing her hand on his nape.

"Yes," he said, nearly shaking with how much he needed her, how close she was, her body radiating heat against his.

Xanxus made a satisfied sound and reached down to guide his cock against her. "Come on and show me what you've got," she said as he moaned. She gasped when he let his hips snap forward, burying himself in her. "Fuck, yeah..." She dug her nails into his nape. "C'mon, fuck me now."

"Boss..." Squalo planted his hands on her desk and bit down on his lower lip, doing as she ordered, driving against her, hard and deep. Xanxus hissed and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper and groaning as he fucked her. It was almost unbearable to be inside her after spending so long talking and touching himself; Squalo could taste blood from where he was biting down on his own lip to keep from coming too soon.

"What else?" she demanded, hoarse. "Tell me what else you think about."

"You," he gasped, hitching her hips against his. "Putting your hand on my chest and pushing me down. Pulling your skirt up and then riding me just like that." He licked his thumb and got his hand between them to rub it against her clit; he was shaking with the effort of holding himself back from the edge. "You when you come, the way you sound and the way you smell and taste, how you feel around me, God, Boss, I never stop thinking about you, I belong to you, I have you ground into my bones, Iâ€”"

Xanxus arched under him, groaning as her body wrung tight on his. "Now," she gasped. Squalo obeyed, orgasm slamming into him like a fist and knocking the breath out of him as it whited out his vision altogether.

He was draped against her when he came back down again; she was holding him up and still had her hand on his nape. Squalo hardly dared to stir against her as the words he'd babbled to her began to come back to him as his head came clear again.

"That's what you think about?" Xanxus' words were slow, her tone thoughtful.

Squalo stared past her shoulder to the papers strewn across her desk, contemplating his own mortality. "Yes, Boss."

Xanxus tightened her grip on his nape. "Oh." It could have meant anything. "Oh."

He nodded, hardly daring to breathe.

Xanxus slid her thumb over his nape. "How long?" she asked, when he shivered.

"Since the beginning." It was only the truth.

Xanxus hissed something between her teeth, profane, and tightened her grip when he would have pulled awayâ€”to do what, he wasn't sure. Apologize, perhaps. "You..." she started. Squalo could count the number of times he'd heard her sound that confused on one hand and still have fingers left over.

"Me, Boss," he agreed.

She snorted something and loosened her hand, flattening and spreading it in the space between his shoulder blades. Squalo's breath caught in his throat when she kept going, smoothing her hand down his spine and back up again. "Boss," he breathed, very close to trembling. She kept touching him, fingers slow against his skin, and a shudder rolled through him.

She didn't say anything at first, just kept touching him till he was trembling against her. "You're mine," she said at last, curving her palm around his nape again. "Aren't you."

Not really a question so much as a statement, that, but it needed answering. "Yes, Boss." Squalo wet his lips. "Heart and soul and body. Yours."

Xanxus sucked in a breath, but didn't say anything else.

It was a long time before she let him go.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eight

Sakura and Orochimaru conclude their bargain, and their betrayal. Sasuke and Naruto do their best to catch Sakura as she falls out of this mission. Character death. Drama, Action, Porn, I-4

"Once more," Orochimaru told them.

Sakura nodded and wove her hands through the six seals for activation. She rocked on her toes as the interlocking seals spread over her back and shoulders roared to life with wild power that flooded her whole body. This time, at least, she was expecting the jumble of elemental "tastes" in it and they didn't dizzy her. She rode the upsurge, feeling her seal like a typhoon wind at her back. But this wind blew through her, poured out of her hands and feet, driving them against the floor and walls of the stone arena as she tumbled and flew, evading every one of the blades Kabuto threw. Her hands flickered through the seals for the Violent Wave, faster than she could have even seen before, and water crashed down where he'd been.

Sakura spun on her toes, tracking him, holding the inrush of energy with a light hand, balancing it against the part of her that still tasted of her own spirit. This was like playing a game of shoji against Shikamaru and playing the koto at the same time. She could do it, though. She could do it.

She saw Kabuto gathering himself for another attack, caught the faint haze at the corner of her eye that often showed up when someone laid illusion on her, and leapt just as a wire trap snapped down. "Kai!" The dispelling swept the arena, blowing away the seeming of rock Kabuto had hidden himself behind, and she touched down, braced a foot, and drove herself towards him like the wind.

The hint of something coming was barely a crinkle down her nerves, barely a suspicion, but in this state it was enough. She turned in mid-air, arms crossed and guarded by her kunai, and Orochimaru's snake lashing toward her back got a knife in the mouth instead. The force of the attack drove her back against the stone wall, bruisingly, but she got her feet under her in time and her body held, coiled, absorbed the force. Hidden for that one still moment, she exchanged herself with blinding speed for a loose stone and drove her knife toward Orochimaru's unguarded back.

Kabuto caught it on his glove-guard, just short.

"Good," Orochimaru purred, eyes alight, and Sakura knew her own were glittering back at him. She could feel the air on her bared teeth. She loved this, that he would expect her, prefer her, to attack him from behind, to test him exactly the way he tested her.

It took a moment to draw herself back and disengage from Kaubto, and a longer one to make herself fold her hands into the Horse and send her seal to sleep once more.

"Very good," Orochimaru approved as Kabuto straightened and Sakura sagged against the wall behind her, wobbly with the sudden release of that pressure on her own chakra. "Because of its construction, you will always require hand seals to activate this, but that seems a minor drawback all things considered. I think we may call this operation a success." He folded his arms, smugly pleased.

Sakura nodded. "It doesn't give me any skill I don't already have," she reported wearily, "and the effort of controlling the nature energy is very wearing. My absolute endurance is still the upper limit on this; it's hard to feel my strength depleting directly, too, I have to pay attention to the stability of the balance I'm holding. But while I can hold out, everything is stronger, faster, clearer."

"Your abilities are boosted at least threefold," Kabuto confirmed, brushing himself off and straightening his tools back into their usual impeccable array. "That was more than the final test subject achieved."

Sakura hauled herself upright and stretched; the release took some getting used to, but she thought she could see already how to balance her new strength, its duration, and the weakness after it in her strategy.

"So?" Orochimaru cocked his head at her. "Are you satisfied?"

Sakura straightened her shoulders and nodded. "I am. Have you decided where you want me to show myself, to draw Naruto and Sasuke in?"

"Hmm." He tapped a finger against his lips. "It should be something showy, of course." He smiled slowly. "I'd thought to send you against one of Akatsuki. Kabuto might enjoy the chance to kill his old master, and Sasori's grudge has become wearing."

Sakura gave him a skeptical look. "And how were you planning to get one of them alone? Every mission of theirs we've spied on was a pair." And even with the seal she wasn't about to take on two of Akatsuki, not with only Kabuto to back her up.

"Unfortunately, yes. They're getting more consistent about that. A shame." Orochimaru waved it off. "Well, then. Two renegades from Cloud seem to have crossed through Hot Springs Country to our eastern border and be harassing our border post. At least one of them is jounin; Karajin Ryouta, if I'm not mistaken. Vanquishing them should be a good debut for you."

Sakura snorted, amused by this phrasing of it. "I'll want another week or two to train, if I'm taking a jounin plus helpers. But that should do."

"Excellent. I'll have a letter sent to the Daimyou, then, he's been getting really quite tedious about the matter." Orochimaru swept out the door, leaving Sakura mouthing "tedious?" at his back with raised brows.

"Orochimaru-sama does like to apply all his attention to his researches," Kabuto murmured, but Sakura thought she could hear a thread of laughter under his bland respect.

"He should pay better attention to politics, or else get someone who can," she said firmly. "Or even he won't stay 'Otokage' long."

"Well, perhaps that will be you, Sakura-san." While she was processing the combination of pleasure and wariness that answered his suggestion, his recognition, he added, "You know, you might be able to activate your seal without the hand seals."

(What agenda of his will that serve?)

(useful for when I turn on them)

Sakura crossed her arms and leaned back against the stone wall, eyeing him curiously, not shaking her head like she wanted to a little from the echoing under-persona thoughts. "In time, I suppose. I know a technique one is very familiar with can be formed without seals eventually."

Kabuto smiled. "Ah, but even before that, if your control is fine enough, you can form the seals in your spirit without using your hands."

Sakura whistled softly. "Seriously, no wonder you make such a good spy." He laughed.

"Indeed."

Did Kabuto think her loyal enough to Orochimaru, now, that this would serve and not harm his master? Or was this another step in Kabuto's own game? Always that question, with him.

Well, there was no way to know but to play it out.

"So I need to form the seals without actually forming them?" Sakura frowned, thoughtful. "That... makes sense, actually. I suppose familiarity couldn't make the hand motions unnecessary, otherwise. I hadn't quite thought that out before."

"All you've ever needed is a little pointer here and there," Kabuto murmured.

"I'll do my best to justify your confidence," she returned, meeting his eyes. They gleamed.

"I'm sure you will, Sakura-san."

The shinobi at the eastern border post were definitely glad to see her.

"The second one isn't jounin rank, I don't think," Tomita, the chuunin in charge of the post, reported to her, "but he's still strong, especially with illusions. Two caravans have been plundered because we just couldn't find them."

"That should make things interesting," Sakura murmured, turning over possibilities in her head. "I understand that Karajin is a taijutsu specialist?" That was a strong team, if they cooperated at all. She had to assume they did.

"Yes, ma'am."

There were advantages, Sakura reflected with some amusement, to Orochimaru's habit of giving her a new team every month or so. Many of the genin and chuunin of Sound knew her or knew of her from a partner.

"...know about her?" one of the post's two genin was whispering to the other, behind her, in fact. "They call her Orochimaru-sama's left hand!"

The rage and thirst for strength in her heart drank that in and purred.

"All right," she said at last. "We need to take out Karajin's partner first. How long can you keep Karajin busy for, while I stalk the illusionist?"

Tomita's mouth twisted. "Five minutes, at the most."

"I'll organize some traps and maneuvers for you to use against him, then. That should be long enough." She pulled a fresh sheet of paper across his desk and started sketching the ground in front of the border crossing. "Once I've dealt with the partner, fall back to here."

"That far?" Tomita stared at her. "Haruno-san... we won't be able to support you at all from that far back."

She smiled tightly. "Don't worry about that."

She could tell he wanted to argue, but in the end he kept his mouth shut and only offered a few insights on the terrain around the post and the border, and showed her to her room himself.

The next caravan came two days later, not coincidentally one from Fire Country, returning from Lightning Country and still trailing its Leaf escort. Since Hot Springs had dissolved their village, no one trusted local escort across that land. And even traveling through a country whose village one's own village was at odds with was better than a country where no one was keeping the bandits in check.

Sakura perched on the gate pillars that marked the border, observing the caravan as it approached. She'd wagered with herself on just how Karajin's partner was disguising himself or the target caravans. He almost had to be hiding in the wagons themselves; the longer someone had to weave an illusion, after all, the more strongly it took and the less chance of anyone pulling free of it.

Which was why Sakura crouched with her eyes closed as the caravan passed under her, hands in the Snake, watching her own chakra. The one skill that using her new seal had sharpened fastest was sensing the flows and small differences in her own chakra, and, sure enough, she felt the brush of another influence against her as her ears told her the third wagon passed under the pillars. She traced the touch back, narrowing down the location of its source slowly, feeling like she was squinting to pick out details at dusk, and wishing she had Sasuke's eyes present to do this faster.

(Don't think about that.)

But there. There it was, the source of the subtle disturbance, which she was sure she wouldn't see if she opened her eyes. Not without performing a dispelling, and that would make her far too obvious. Instead she waited, concentrating, following the trace she'd found.

The moment the caravan passed all the way into Sound, the ground under the front wagon exploded. Now, Sakura thought fiercely at Tomita and his team. And, indeed, she heard them coming, heard them ordering Karajin to halt, heard the Cloud-nin's laugh.

Felt the flare of chakra from her target, brushing over her own as he reached out to confuse their senses.

Now. She dropped down from the pillar without opening her eyes, feeling the tingle of exhilaration and terror as the world whirled around her in un-solid flashes of chakra. She suddenly had far more respect for the discipline the Hyuuga must exercise to fight like this. She had to open her eyes at the last moment, to land safely, but she had burned the location of her target into her memory and came out of her landing crouch with an unhesitating thrust at, apparently, thin air.

The world wavered just faintly, and there was a shinobi on the end of her knife, bleeding and glaring at her. Sakura bared her teeth and whirled, heel smashing into his temple.

Few genjutsu specialists trained to fight without the aid of their illusions. Their loss.

"Get the caravan under cover!" she ordered as she sprang down from the wagon and bounded toward the whirl of combat where Karajin was throwing Tomita and the genin, now including one from Leaf as well, around with careless ease. She set her feet at the edge of the fight, wove her hands through the activation of her seal, and shouted, hoarse with the rush of strength, "Get back!"

The battered Sound ninja sprang away from Karajin, Tomita hauling the Leaf-nin with them as she'd directed him to, and Sakura launched herself forward.

It felt like the world should blur with the speed of her strike, his guard, her rebound, the whirl of blows before they broke apart. But everything was clear, almost etched in her vision: Karajin's surprise, the narrowing of his eyes, the way he set his center to take her on seriously.

Not that she was such a fool as to face a taijutsu specialist head-on. She feinted another rush only to veer aside, hands flashing, and slapped her hand down to initiate the Rock Pillar Prison. While Karajin was busy breaking the pillars, she sank herself into the power of her mixed chakra and wove an illusion. Sight, sound, scent, touch, all of them told Karajin that she was not where she was—now ten degrees to the right, now fourteen to the left, always shifting. Exaltation surged through her as she completed the technique; this was more powerful, more complete, than anything she'd ever have been able to do before. And once the illusion closed around him it was easy, so easy, to slide past his misaimed strike and drive her knuckles into his throat. Cartilage crunched under her hand, and his eyes snapped to focus on her for one breathless moment before he attempted to inhale and passed out.

Sakura stood over him for one moment, savoring her victory. But she could feel her endurance starting to wane, and folded her hands through the release of her seal before it got any worse. She'd timed it right, this time, she thought, taking deep slow breaths as the world-energy flowed past without touching her again. This time she didn't fall down.

So she was on her feet and only a little worn-looking when the caravaners crept out of hiding, starting to chatter with relief. Tomita and his genin were approaching from the other side, the Leaf-nin trailing behind them.

"Um, shinobi-san," the caravan master started hesitantly, bobbing a bow to her, "the body..."

"Yes." Sakura waved a hand at one of the Sound genin who trotted over to haul the illusionist's body out of the wagon. "We'll take care of them." Orochimaru would want both, no doubt. She mustered a smile for the caravan master. "I'm sorry you were troubled by this. I think I can assure you the rest of your route is safe, though." She nodded at the Leaf genin, who nodded warily back.

Tomita's genin had clearly spent some of the fight filling his ears with tales of her—also as she'd directed. The man was no one she knew personally, which would make things easier. He'd have no personal stake in trying to persuade her back to Konoha this moment, and had just had a vivid demonstration of why he didn't want to try anything other than persuasion. She could almost see the moment he reached the decision to let well enough alone and just report when he got home.

Tomita saluted her, crisp and correct. "Thank you, Haruno-san!"

His tone startled her. It took her a moment to realize that this wasn't just putting on a good face for outsiders. Everything, from the straightness of his spine to the glow in his eyes, said that this was real.

Real respect.

The tautness of her old bitterness eased another notch even as her thoughts jangled against each other.

(Useful for keeping my cover in the end-game.)

(it's not right, not here...)

"That will do very nicely," Orochimaru said, rather distractedly as he prodded at Karajin's body with a chakra probe and scribbled another note. He finally looked up and cocked his head at Sakura, where she leaned against the lab wall. "And what will you do, once I have Sasuke and perhaps Uzumaki as well in my hands, and our bargain is ended?"

Sakura hesitated. "I've... been thinking about that."

His smile was knowing. "Hmm?"

"I haven't done badly out of my time here," she admitted. "Even aside from the seal. Hidden Sound respects me." And it was very sweet, that respect, that deference, the speed with which any Sound-nin under her command obeyed her. It tasted sweet to every part of her, and the aftertaste of wrongness in her heart was easy enough to hide.

"So?" he murmured. "Would you swear yourself to Sound, after all? To me?"

Sakura returned his gaze for a long moment and finally nodded. She stood away from the wall and touched her fist to her heart in salute, straight-backed and on her feet. "I offer myself as a shinobi of Sound, and my life into the hands of Sound's Master."

A flash of annoyance broke through the lurking amusement in his eyes at the title she used, but Sakura just looked back blandly. She wasn't calling the village leader for a country the size of Fire's peninsula Kage. In the end, Orochimaru's lips quirked, acknowledging the fact. "I accept you as a shinobi of Otogakure," he murmured. "Your life will not be spent lightly."

Kabuto looked up from across the room, where he was working on the illusionist's body, with a cheerful smile. "I'm so glad you chose to stay, Sakura-san. Welcome!"

That open, friendly smile sent a chill down her spine that was harder to hide than her gut's protest over swearing to Sound. "Thank you, Kabuto-senpai," she answered softly, wondering yet again what his game was and what her place was in it.

(We'll all know soon.)

(soon)

She wondered how Naruto and Sasuke would react to the news that should be reaching Konoha in just another week or two.

"She's what?!"

Sasuke stood very still as Naruto surged to the edge of the Hokage's desk, feeling ice settling in his stomach. "Are you telling us," he said, very evenly, "that Sakura has been with Orochimaru these last eight months? That was the undercover mission she left on?"

"Yes," Tsunade answered, sober.

"Are you all crazy?!" Naruto howled, and Sasuke was glad because that was just what he wanted to say and Naruto could say it louder.

"She volunteered and planned the infiltration herself," Tsunade snapped. "She was working with Intelligence; she knew just how much pressure Orochimaru was putting on the village."

To find me. She did it for me. The thoughts weighed down on Sasuke like lead, and pressed out the rough whisper, "Why?"

Kakashi finally stirred by the shelves he'd been leaning against since they got here, apparently reading. "Because her team means more to her than anything else, and she has the courage to act on that."

"No one else could do the job as well," Tsunade added as Naruto started to round on Kakashi, bristling. "Her cover... well. Anyone looking at it from the outside would find it very convincing."

"What cover?" Naruto demanded, voice hard.

Tsunade looked back at him levelly. "The cover of a very skilled shinobi who nevertheless has very little power, teamed up with an acknowledged genius and the host who controls the chakra of the Nine-tails."

Naruto flinched back, eyes wide. "But... but Sakura doesn't..." He spun around to stare at Kakashi, openly appealing. "She doesn't, does she?"

Kakashi reached out a long arm and whapped Naruto over the head with his book. "Idiot," he pronounced. "Of course Sakura doesn't resent you. Either of you. She loves you. But," he added as Naruto visibly melted into a puddle of relief, "anyone who didn't know you all, and know you well, would find it easy to believe she did. Especially someone as obsessed with power as Orochimaru."

That made sense, even though Sasuke felt like his brain was frozen, his thoughts crystallized. Finally one thought made it through that felt important and he cleared this throat. "Why are you telling us this now?"

There was compassion in the Fifth's eyes as she met his. "Because you two are part of the end of this. The bargain she struck, as her cover, was that Orochimaru would give her the power he once promised you; in return, she would bring you to him. We've just received a report that Sakura has surfaced, acting openly for Hidden Sound. For Orochimaru's consumption, the story is that Naruto, hearing this, drags you off with him to reclaim your teammate. That's what Orochimaru is counting on, and what Sakura has been preparing him to think all this time."

"In reality of course," Kakashi put in, propping an elbow on a shelf. "You'll be the front of the extraction and execution team. The three of you together should be able to kill Orochimaru, and there will be a support team shadowing you to help get you out after, while our largest force strikes for his major bases as soon as his death is confirmed."

Naruto was settling down as they listened to this. "All right, then," he half-growled. "You should have told us sooner, but I guess this is okay."

Sasuke listened to the whispers eight months and Orochimaru running round and round his head, and wasn't so sure. "Is she... all right?" he finally asked, low. "Do we know?"

"We won't know for sure until you get there," Kakashi said quietly.

Naruto frowned again, ferociously, looking back and forth between Kakashi and Sasuke. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kakashi and Tsunade exchanged a long look and Kakashi stood. "Come on down to Intelligence, and we'll get you briefed."

Sakura was the only thought that came through the jumble in Sasuke's head clearly. The rest was just a slow twisting in his heart, where the friendship he'd acknowledged and the tenderness he hadn't quite put a hot, cutting edge on his fear. Sakura!

Orochimaru was deeply amused as he read over the message scroll. "They're racketing through the south of the country like a charging boar through underbrush."

"That's Naruto," Sakura muttered, arms crossed. "So, how are we doing this? Ambush?"

"Of sorts, of sorts. You and I and Kabuto will go to meet our impetuous young shinobi, I think. Quite openly. Kabuto can take the young Uchiha undamaged, I imagine. I wish to see what Uzumaki is made of." He turned from his pacing through his shadowy main hall and captured her gaze, smooth and hypnotic as one of his snakes. "And will you be able to fight your former partner beside me? Sakura?"

Sakura looked back at him, silent for a moment. "You're the one who gave me power. And..." she looked aside, "a place. A real one, fit for a real shinobi." She lifted her chin. "It's the place I chose. I'll stand here." It was all the truth, except the last part, and even that was true enough the way she meant it. She would stand here, because her duty demanded it.

(and strike from here)

"Excellent," Orochimaru purred. "Let us prepare ourselves and be on our way, then."

Sakura bowed her head and went to pack her gear.

All it had taken was one message, left in the rooms Naruto and Sasuke had reserved, to bring them here, to this clearing in the southern forests of Sound Country. Sakura stood just behind Orochimaru's shoulder, controlling her breathing carefully. She couldn't control the pounding of her heart, and only hoped that it seemed reasonable to the two men next to her.

"Sakura!" Naruto took a step toward her across the clearing, and halted as his eyes flickered up to her forehead protector and the device of Sound on it. They hadn't expected that, then. (Good; it will help him react better.) "Sakura? What...?" He looked genuinely lost, and Sakura held hard to her persona, to eight months of practice. They made her voice convincingly hard when she answered.

"Sound gave me real work, and a real place. Should it be a surprise that I swore to them?"

"To that?" Naruto hollered, absolutely incensed, pointing at Orochimaru.

Sakura flicked a glance at her Master, gauging how soon he would move. "He understands me." She looked back at them, cool, and caught Sasuke's eye for just a sliver of an instant. His mouth tightened and Orochimaru made an interested sound.

"Hmm. Perhaps I left off courting you too early, Sasuke-kun?" He smiled slowly and opened a hand, palm up. "My offer is still good, as Sakura can tell you."

Sakura didn't miss the faint crook of his fingers in Kabuto's direction, though, and she took one last breath for balance, courage, hope, and sank her mind into the concentration Kaubto had taught her, pressing her very soul into the forms to awaken her seal. Now. It had to be now. Dog. Monkey. Slowly, feeling her nerves creaking, Horse.

"I think I have power enough already," she heard Sasuke say, distantly.

"Against Itachi?" Sasuke stiffened and Orochimaru chuckled. "Indeed, I could tell you a great deal about that man."

Monkey. Serpent.

"Why?" Naruto challenged, suspicious. "You took Sakura away from us! What do you want with Sasuke?"

Orochimaru sighed. "Ah, I should have taken you three years ago. You didn't question so much, then."

Naruto's eyes narrowed, starting to burn. "You don't want anything good, then," he growled, hands slamming together, and two Shadow Clones appeared, leaping to form a Rasengan.

Wait for it. Wait for it. Hold on. Sakura set her teeth, sweat starting along her hairline and trickling down her back as she held on to the shape of the Serpent in her soul. The next seal would be the last. She unfocused her eyes, watching all of them, watching Kabuto especially.

Orochimaru eyed Naruto with interest. "Mmm. That's nothing I haven't already learned from that buffoon, but I suppose there might be more to you. We shall see."

Sasuke's eyes were red, piercing and watchful. Naruto was growling as he crouched to drive the Rasengan forward. Kabuto was relaxed and smiling. Orochimaru laughed and crooked a forefinger at her, not looking around as Naruto started to move. "Sakura."

Horse.

Power roared through her like a river bursting a dam and Sakura drove a spear hand hardened with chakra, with all the strength and speed the seal could give her, straight through Orochimaru's spine and out his chest, blood flooding hot around her arm.

Naruto shouted, Sasuke vanished, she caught Kaubto's hands lifting in the corner of her eye. She punched the base of Orochimaru's skull, spinning around as his body jolted off her hand, using every bit of speed she had to form a Fire Wall to meet Kaubto...

Who leapt back.

They all froze, the Rasengan blowing into nothing as Naruto plowed to a stop. Sakura held the Wall just short of release, poised.

"Ah," Orochimaru's hoarse voice broke the stillness, and Sakura's eyes widened with tangled horror and frustration and guilt. "I see I didn't quite have you long enough. I salute your cunning, little kunoichi. I thought I had you when you swore to me."

Not before that? But Sakura pushed the thought down, pushed all her thoughts down under the needs of this moment, and snapped, "Naruto. Make sure he dies. Sasuke, Kabuto."

"Already there," Sasuke's voice came from the trees above Kabuto, and a rush of gratitude that he remembered her strategy-shapes so well, and still trusted them, shook her.

"Naruto," Sakura repeated, husky, when he didn't move. She could hear the breath he let out.

"Yeah. Okay." His voice was tight, but she knew he'd do what he had to. She knew it, down in the heart of her, where she was burning and aching.

Orochimaru's laugh was wet and raspy. "I salute you, indeed. Sakura."

Despite all the control she could muster, a shudder raked through her and one word wrenched out. "Yes." She knew.

There was a faint, silken sound, and she gave thanks that medical ninja were thoroughly trained in giving mercy. The open glow of Naruto's chakra washed past her and a burst of flame followed, actinic and scorching. "Done," Naruto said, rough.

Kabuto, who hadn't moved yet, eyes locked with Sakura's, sighed. "Ahh. That was a waste, Sakura-san. There were years of use left in him."

"My game had to conclude before yours," she said, low. She was starting to feel the strain of balancing her seal's chakra; how was this going to end?

"So I see." He smiled and spread his hands. "Well, so it goes. But, you realize, this leaves you alone to face the greater threat."

"Itachi?" Sasuke asked, voice as harsh as Naruto's.

Kabuto laughed. "Oh, goodness no. Well, not in and of himself. No, no, Akatsuki. Orochimaru was one of them once, you know. He knew some of their plans." He sighed, sounding sincerely rueful. "I don't think I'd quite gotten all of what he knew. It really is a shame." He shrugged as if to set it aside. "Well, you're on your own against them, now, since I have no intention of standing in their way myself. Few of them would be of any interest to me; afterward... well, we'll see."

"You talk like you think you'll be walking away free," Sasuke observed.

Kabuto smiled into Sakura's eyes, and she remembered that he'd been part of all those exercises to time her endurance under the seal. "You didn't find the location of the last remote base, Sakura-san," he said softly. "The one that holds most of the experimental subjects. The woman in charge won't let them go, you know, even with his death." An artful pause, and she could see exactly what was coming. "But I could free them."

After a stretched moment, trying to weigh morality against morality, as her control pulled tighter and tighter, Sakura said, thinly, "All right."

"Sakura!" Naruto stared at her. "He can't possibly escape all three of us! Interrogation can get it out of him."

Sakura shook her head, feeling time bleeding away, and with it her margin of survival. "It's about to be just two of you and a casualty, and he knows it. He'll keep his word on the deal. I think it's the best we'll get right now."

"Acute as always, Sakura-san," Kabuto murmured, and Sakura bared her teeth.

"If we ever meet again, I'll get something better out of you."

He gave her a genuine smile, dark and pleased, and bowed to her. "Afterward, then." And vanished.

Sakura let Fire Wall go, wove her hands through the release of her seal and sagged to her hands and knees, panting.

"Sakura!" It was Sasuke beside her, holding her shoulders. "Naruto, get the flare up to call the backup squad in!"

Fire burst again, far overhead, and Sakura hauled her head up to look at her teammates. Her... her friends. Yes. The ones she'd done this to protect, and that had been her desire, her free choice, her need. Even though eight months whispered that it could only have been misguided guilt or the need to prove herself, mustn't it?

Naruto flung himself down beside them, eyes wide and worried. "Sakura, are you okay? What's wrong?" Even as he spoke his hands were passing down the line of her spine, and he frowned deeply. "You're completely drained, what did you do?"

"Seal," she panted. "Nature energy. Hard to control." And then she laughed and flung her arms, one still red with Orochimaru's blood, around their shoulders. "Finally. It's finally you... you came." Her certainty that they always would pulled hard against her whispering knowledge that they only would because they understood nothing of her, pulled like scar tissue and she gasped with the inner pain. She freed her hands, swaying until they caught her shoulders again, and formed the first seal to undo the Heart In a Net technique, struggling to remember the second through the growing pain.

"Haruno!" Miuhara was suddenly beside her, dropping from the trees with a whole squad of Leaf-nin, and he grabbed her hands. "Wait, not yet!"

"Have to," she gasped. "It's pulling loose anyway!"

"Shit." He stared at her in the babbling swirl of the squad splitting, some dashing on. After Kabuto, she thought fuzzily. Of course. "All right," he said at last and grabbed for Naruto. "Uzumaki! You're a healer. Listen up. She's been under a neural realignment technique for the past eight months, and we have to release it now. You'll have to stabilize her."

"I don't know how to do work that fine!" Naruto exclaimed, a little panicked, but he knelt beside her, hands reaching out anyway.

"That's why you listen to me. Uchiha, hold on to her. Haruno. You understand this is going to be more work for you?"

"Need to re-key on my own?" she gritted through her teeth through the nasty, tearing ache. "Yeah. Just... leave me with them. Be okay."

"I'm taking your word for it, and you'd damn well better be right. Release it now. Dog, Boar, Dog, Horse, Bird." For a moment, breaking through the intensity of his orders, he grinned. "Go ahead and scream if you need to. This will hurt."

Sakura formed the seals, one after another, almost mindless, focusing only on the shape of them. And as her hands folded into the Bird, something snapped loose inside her and lashed through her mind like fire.

She did scream.

When she could make the sounds around her make sense again, Miuhara was speaking low and quick to Naruto, talking him through one seal after another, and her hands were clenched bone-grindingly tight on Sasuke's shoulders. Sasuke held her tight, one leg hooked over hers to keep her from thrashing out from under Naruto's hands. At least she thought that was why. Her mind felt bruised.

"All right," Miuhara said at last. "That's as good as we can do for now." He drew a long breath. "She says the two of you can help her re-establish her normal pattern of thought and response, so you'll need to stay with her. I'll get a few of the squad to escort you to a secure site." He stood. "Anything you can do to remind her who she usually is, you do it, understand?"

Sasuke's arms tightened around her. "We understand. Come on, help me get her upright," he added over her head.

Sakura wobbled to her feet, an arm over each of their shoulders, looking around at the quiet bustle of the squad. "Feel like a dishrag," she panted. "With a headache."

"You've earned it, so just let us take you somewhere safe for a little, okay?" Naruto looked torn between scowling at her ferociously and giving her puppy-dog eyes. The alternation made her giggle.

"Kay."

Three of the squad closed in around them and Sasuke said quietly, "Let's go."

By the time they reached the nearest town, Sakura had her breath back, though she still ached all over. She was very glad to duck in the window of the house their escort directed them to.

"Food first," Naruto declared. "You drained yourself way too hard, and I want a look at that seal."

"Bath first," Sakura countered, trying not to look too hard at what still spattered her chest and arm.

Sasuke rolled his eyes, reassuringly normal. "You get food," he told Naruto. "I'll make sure she doesn't drown before you get back."

He seemed to take that seriously, too, helping her get undressed and insisting she sit down before he pulled off her sandals. "I'm not really injured," she protested.

"I think you are, actually." He touched the base of her skull, very lightly. "Up here. That Miuhara guy said you'd been under a technique that affects your mind and nerves, and you said it was pulling loose. Besides," he set her sandals aside and tugged off his own shirt, "Kakashi-sensei said to do whatever we could for you, on the way home, and not to let you overextend yourself. He's done this before, right?"

Sakura's mouth pulled into a crooked smile. "Yeah. He probably makes a better senpai than Kabuto." But thinking about that made her head hurt more, so she ignored Sasuke's choking sound and concentrated on getting all her tools out of her pants so she could throw them in the wash.

Sasuke was quiet for a few breaths, but seemed willing to follow her lead. "Come on, the water's hot now. I'll get your back."

They were both halfway through scrubbing down by the time Naruto got back with what looked like half a kitchen. "Hey, no fair!" he told Sasuke, who was indeed washing Sakura's back at the moment, but he was grinning.

"You can get her hair," Sasuke told him. "She hasn't said so, but I think that headache's still there."

Sakura blushed. "Okay, okay, I probably did hurt something, but seriously—"

"You hush," Naruto scolded her, and she blinked. He gave her a medic-scowl. "I can't do much about healing the actual nerves yet, but I can sure take care of bruising and muscle damage. So eat this and quit arguing."

Sakura took the steamed bun he put in her hand and ate, blinking back sudden tears at that rough, straightforward care while Naruto hopped from foot to foot getting out of his clothes.

She hadn't cried in eight months.

Naruto's fingers really did feel good, moving over her skull, draining away little bits of heat and pressure until it didn't hurt when he worked in some shampoo. "Thanks," she sighed, as she reached for the sprayer to rinse off. "That did help."

"Eat some more," he told her, and when she glanced over her shoulder he was blushing a little.

"Water's ready," Sasuke said from the other side of the room.

Sakura sighed with pleasure as they sank into the steaming tub and giggled when Naruto pointedly put a glass of cold water and a plate of dumplings beside her. "Tsunade-sama has been training you well." She leaned back and asked, softly. "Tell me about it. Talk to me. About the village and everything." She needed to remember.

"It's really cool," Naruto started, only a little hesitantly. "I kind of suck at the chemistry, so she finally gave up on antidotes and taught me how to cleanse blood with chakra techniques instead. I won't be able to do Mystic Palms for another year, she says, but I think she's hedging. I bet I can do it in another six months!"

"Your control isn't good enough yet," Sasuke observed, dampeningly, and Naruto glowered.

"So I'll use Shadow Clones for that too!"

"I'll look forward to hearing what the Fifth has to say about that."

Sakura sipped her water and nibbled her dumplings and let herself float in the familiarity of their bickering, of Naruto's boasting which wasn't just boasts any more, of Sasuke's dry, quiet humor. It warmed her, like the water did, deep inside. She could feel her heart finally relaxing.

And that was when she completely dissolved into tears.

Naruto and Sasuke left off their argument over whether Jiraiya was a more annoying teacher than Kakashi, and gathered in around her at once. Naruto just held her and made really kind of funny soothing noises while Sasuke rubbed her back, slow and quiet.

"I liked it," she wrenched out past the sobs, past the unsteady ache deep inside. "I hated it, I hated him, but by the end I liked being there, I liked that he wanted me, he respected me, I hate this!"

"He was good at finding what you wanted and using it," Sasuke murmured. "It isn't your fault."

"Yeah, look how long you went, and you still did everything you needed to," Naruto put in, anxious. "I mean, he never corrupted you, not for real, and that had to be really, really hard! It's okay."

That made her cry some more, but she was laughing a little too. Naruto really was good at seeing to the heart. And Sasuke... Sasuke understood.

"Come on," Sasuke said, gentler than she thought she'd ever heard him. "Let's get out before we really do drown."

They didn't seem to want to let her out of arm's reach, now, which made drying off a bit comical, but that was okay. She wanted to be close. When they spread out the futons and lay down, she was glad to be held again.

They're my team. They love me, and I love them. It's okay again. She pressed closer against Naruto and tugged shyly on Sasuke's wrist, and made a contented sound when he slid up snugly against her back. It felt good, they felt solid and made her feel solid too, and, oh wow, Sasuke's hands felt really good rubbing her shoulders. She sighed happily and it was the most natural thing in the world to lift her head and brush her lips against Naruto's.

Naruto made a slightly startled sound, but he kissed her back, shy and soft.

"Sure you're ready?" Sasuke asked against her shoulder, and she buried her head in Naruto's chest and laughed, suddenly remembering their last year at the Academy, and the pedantic recommendations in their textbook for how to handle "intimacy within a field team".

"Textbook," she managed to gasp, and that set Naruto off too. Sasuke just snorted at both of them. When she'd recovered a little she leaned her head back against Sasuke's shoulder and said, softly. "Thank you. Yeah. This is a good time, I think."

"Mm. I think so too." He slid his hands down her body and spread them across her stomach, and her breath caught at the little rush of heat between her legs. "Naruto?"

"Yeah," Naruto answered, husky, and bent his head to nuzzle the arch of her neck.

It felt good, so good, to feel their hands on her, to feel their skin under her palms, to know she was wanted and they were hers and it was all going to be okay. All of their hands were calloused, from knives and wire, but Naruto's were warm on her breasts and Sasuke's fingers sliding carefully between her legs made her gasp. She tightened her arms around Naruto and pulled him down to kiss her, wet and open-mouthed, breath coming deeper as Sasuke made a satisfied sound and rubbed his fingers against her.

She freed her mouth at last to gasp, "I want..." and Sasuke left off mouthing her shoulder and said, husky, "Yeah, just let me..." His fingers slid back further and she moaned as two pressed into her. Sasuke just about purred and slid his fingers free, reaching under the curve of her rear this time to press three in. That stretched a bit, but it felt good too. Sakura wrapped her leg around Naruto's hip and rocked against him, panting; well, so was he, and she liked the feel of his arms locked around her. She shivered when Sasuke nibbled on her ear and murmured, "Ready?"

"Very," she said, fervently, and Sasuke reached forward, and she heard Naruto gasp as Sasuke guided him against her. When she looked up, Naruto's eyes were so wide she had to smile at him and ask, a little teasing, "Ready?"

"Yeah," Naruto whispered, and that made her feel warm all the way through. And then he pushed against her, biting his lip, and the solid feeling of him inside her made her press closer, breathless. "Oh."

"Okay?" Sasuke asked, softly, hands kneading her lower back, stroking over her thighs, and she nodded. "Yeah. Mm, more." Naruto gasped a quick laugh and pushed in, and she moaned openly; it felt good. So good, to have them both pressed up against her, all of them moving together. When Sasuke's fingers slid between her folds again she shuddered with the tighter twist of pleasure. "Oh... oh yes." Naruto was rocking against her faster, kissing her hot and open and breathless, and she kissed back, liking it when he moaned, jerking hard against her.

"Fuck," Naruto muttered. "That was... um."

Sasuke laughed. "Good thing there are two of us." Naruto stuck out his tongue and Sakura laughed too, a little light-headed, and it really was funny as they fumbled around a little, and then Sasuke was sliding into her instead and oh that felt good. She arched in their arms, and smiled up at Naruto, and he grinned back, just a little mischievous. When he bent down to kiss her breasts, open-mouthed, hot and wet, she arched harder. "Ohh..." Someone's fingers were rubbing her firmly, and Sasuke was thrusting deep into her, and it all made her body feel like it should be glowing, hotter and hotter.

She gasped when the heat in her flashed like fire and rushed through her veins, and Sasuke groaned abruptly against her shoulder. It felt so good, the solidness of him inside her, and she jerked her hips hard to get more of that.

Suddenly she was past the crest, and all the sensation was too much. She grabbed for, yes, it was Naruto's wrist to still his fingers and buried her head against his shoulder, panting as Sasuke shuddered against her back. "Oh. Oh wow." Finally, they were all still again, pressed up against each other.

"That was... really good," Naruto murmured against her hair. "I mean, um. Thanks."

Sakura giggled. "Thank you too. Both of you." This was new. It wasn't just the past; right here and now, her team cared for her and wanted her. And she loved them back. It settled into her mind, solid and soothing.

Now, now she could think about going home.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twelve

Gaara is revived, and Naruto and Sakura take Sasuke home to recover. Drama, Angst, Fluff, Light Porn, I-5

When they reached the stone temple again, in the late, silvery light cast up by the swamp waters, Neji dumped Itachi's body next to Hoshigake's and the now headless bird-riding Akatsuki, and they went to join the others. Sand's shinobi all stood beside Gaara on a scrubby rise of hill.

Or at least, beside his body.

Even in his own daze, Sasuke drew closer to Naruto, trying to offer a little support. Naruto had been so determined to save his friend, his fellow host.

"Is he really...?" Naruto asked, voice rough.

Chiyo sighed and sat back on her heels beside the body. "You're a healer too, Naruto-kun. You know as well as I."

"It isn't right!" Naruto's hands clenched helplessly.

"No," she said, very softly. "No, it isn't." Her hands rested on Gaara's chest in a way that plucked at Sasuke's observation, even with the Sharingan closed down. That touch wasn't the farewell or silent plea for forgiveness of a medic who had failed. He'd seen that before. She held her hands like a healer preparing for a jutsu.

"Gaara," Kankurou whispered, kneeling on the other side of the body, face twisted with grief. The grief of losing his brother.

Sasuke remembered his promise to Temari and flinched.

"Kazekage-sama," Fuunotora said softly, folded hands pressed against her mouth. "He was taken because he tried to protect us instead of escaping."

"The other villages and hosts will know, now," Sakura offered, just as soft, eyes fixed on Gaara's body. "We'll find a way to destroy Akatsuki for this. That, at least."

"There may be something more." Chiyo's words dropped into the soft sounds of grief like pebbles into a pool.

Kankurou looked up with a jerk, and Naruto flung himself down beside her, all in one moment. "What?" Naruto demanded, eyes blazing. Chiyo looked back steadily. "You have great reserves of chakra," she said. "It may be enough, if you will lend me your strength."

"Anything," Naruto promised, tautly, reaching out to her, chakra already spilling into reddish visibility around his hands.

Kankurou whispered, voice harsh, "Chiyo-baasama..."

"Hush, boy," she told him with a faint smile. "It's my choice. I was the one who got Gaara into this mess, after all." She beckoned Naruto closer. "Feed your chakra to me, Naruto-kun. Don't falter. It will be a heavy draw; this is a deep technique." Softly she added, "And a forbidden one."

Naruto froze in mid-reach, eyes even wider than before. "Forbidden...?"

She smiled, quite serene, and Sasuke's heart twisted with the utter contrast between her expression and Itachi's mad calm. Chiyo's eyes were deep and shadowed, but content. "To bring back one who is already gone, my own life must be given."

Naruto flinched back. "But—!"

Chiyo reached up and rapped him over the head with her knuckles. "You hush too," she scolded. "I said it was my choice, and it is. It's one you may face someday, too, though I will hope not. It's a choice that comes to very powerful healers in time of war, though, all too often. And war is come on us again, I can see that." She looked around at the Sand-nin standing, stunned, around her. "Understand. This is my gift to our village, that our leader may live and be strong, and we may not be deprived of his will and wisdom. I believe young Gaara has both those. Don't let the silly boy brood, clear?" She fixed a sharp eye on Kankurou and he swallowed.

"Yes, Chiyo-baasama," he said, husky.

Chiyo nodded briskly. "Good. Now, then." She raised a brow at Naruto, who was biting his lip hard. The thought prodded at Sasuke that his team wasn't just his anchor; he was theirs also, and Naruto obviously had no real idea why Chiyo had chosen this. He shook himself out of his daze and went to kneel beside Naruto. He was too tired to yell or argue, the way they normally would, so he settled for just thumping down behind Naruto and resting his forehead against Naruto's back, nearly clinging to his shoulders for balance.

"It isn't wrong," he whispered. "It isn't your fault, because you want him back. Okay? It's her choice. As a noble, she's chosen her duty to her village and clan and Kage. Help her do it."

Chiyo's mouth crooked. "You're so sharp you'll cut yourself, boy," she murmured. Sasuke arched a tired brow at her. She didn't exactly hide the signs that she was from one of the Sand's noble clans. The influence she and her brother had, the size of the compound he'd heard some Sand-nin talking about—and with access to an underground river, in this desert village—wasn't it obvious? His thoughts were wandering. He hauled them wearily back.

"You're sure?" Naruto said, low and uncertain.

Sasuke tightened his hands for a moment. If Naruto was sometimes his voice, maybe he was Naruto's history—all the things Naruto should have been taught, as the son of the Fourth, but never had been. "I'm sure," he said softly.

"Okay, then." Naruto scooted forward, and Sasuke swayed, reaching out to brace himself against the ground to keep from falling over. Hands tipped him back upright, though the hands themselves were shaking. He looked up to see Kakashi looking down at him, drawn and gray like Sasuke had never seen before. The corner of his visible eye was crinkled, but not with the usual smile lines—with something softer and sadder. This mission had wrung out a lot of hearts, he thought distantly.

He managed to straighten up a bit, at least long enough for Sakura to kneel beside him and wrap an arm around him. They watched Naruto's hands pressed over Chiyo's on Gaara's chest.

"It was a technique for puppets," Kankurou muttered, broad shoulders tight, eyes fixed on Gaara. "To give them life. But it always cost a life. Chiyo-baasama forbid it herself."

Light grew and refracted around Naruto and Chiyo's hands. Sasuke wondered what he would see if he'd been able to muster chakra for the Sharingan. Gai had come to stand with them, one shoulder under Kakashi's; their commander must have spent all his reserves, too, to be accepting support like that in public. Sasuke leaned against Sakura and blinked. Lots of public. There were... more people here than there had been.

The rise of ground before the temple was filling with new figures, one after another. Shinobi of the Sand, he realized, slowly taking in the uniforms they wore. One of them was Temari.

"Gaara!"

Kankurou caught her. "It's okay," he said, low and rough, as she tugged against his grip on her shoulders, dark, scared eyes fixed on their brother. "It's okay. Chiyo-baasama has him." His mouth twisted. "And Naruto, too."

Whispers ran through the tripled crowd as he told her what had happened, that four of Akatsuki were confirmed dead. That Sand had killed their own renegade, and Leaf theirs.

"I couldn't confine Hoshigake," Gai was saying quietly to Kakashi, behind them. "I only barely defeated him, and that took opening the seventh gate. Nothing we have available could have held him, if he'd regained awareness." For once that booming, bluff voice was hard. Dark.

"Best that you killed him, then." Kakashi's voice was cool. "We'll see if we can make out anything of their plans from what the four of them said during battle."

The light around the two healers faded and Kankurou hurried forward to catch Chiyo as she fell. Naruto looked grim and drawn, across from her, hands still resting on Gaara's chest. "I'll look out for him for you," he whispered, eyes on the old woman's body. "I promise."

From the crowd, Chiyo's brother came forward and took her from Kankurou, laying her out carefully a few steps away with some low, murmured words that Sasuke thought were probably goodbye.

Gaara stirred and breathed. By the time he opened his eyes, he was wrapped in Temari's arms as she hid tears against his shoulder. "Nee-san," he murmured, and that pulled a single, muffled sob out of her.

"Hey," Naruto told Gaara, softly, smile crooked. "Everyone was just coming to save you." He looked around at the crowd and Gaara followed his glance, eyes a bit wide. Noise broke over the crowd, sounding everywhere of relief as Gaara slowly stood with Naruto's hand under his arm.

"Our turn," Sakura murmured. "Can you stand?"

"I'm not the one who died," Sasuke muttered. "Just help me up."

So he was on his feet to offer his respects to Chiyo's spirit, as Gaara requested. That was proper. Naruto came to join his team as Gaara's siblings and people closed around their Kazekage, and Sasuke reached out and hauled him closer. "It was what she wanted. Her spirit thanks you," he murmured, leaning against Naruto.

Naruto scrubbed a rough sleeve across his eyes and muttered, "You noble types are really crazy, you know that?" He leaned back, though, and some of the prickly tension Sasuke had felt, seeing Gaara dead and tossed aside just for the sake of his beast, settled in face of Naruto's solid, living presence.

That would not happen to Naruto. Not ever. Sasuke had stopped Itachi, he'd kept his family alive, he'd do it again as often as he had to.

"...and if we have another healer around who can stop decomposition," he heard Kakashi saying off to one side, "we'll take Itachi's body back to Konoha."

Sasuke spoke without thinking. "No." He turned to face Kakashi and two of the Sand shinobi, who were all looking at him, a bit startled.

"We don't dare leave one of our advanced bloodlines just lying around," Kakashi observed, brow raised.

"Then burn him here." Certainty spilled through Sasuke with the words, and he straightened a little between Naruto and Sakura. "He chose this," waving a hand at the temple and, by implication, all of Akatsuki's works. "Let him stay here. He is banished from the clan, and his spirit is none of ours." Against his side, he felt Sakura relax, and her arm tighten around him.

"All right," Kakashi said after a long, thoughtful moment. "Naruto. Do you still have enough chakra for a sustained fire?"

Naruto glanced questioningly at Sasuke and, at his nod, patted Sasuke's shoulder and stepped forward. "Yeah."

The rest of the Leaf teams gathered around Sasuke as he watched Itachi's body burn, wild and hot. Considerably hotter than he'd expected, actually, and his mouth twitched as he caught the vindictive glare Naruto was giving the body.

"What was it Tsunade-sama said about him?" Sakura murmured with a hint of laughter in her voice, apparently having noticed too.

"A pathologically overprotective beast host, who can be counted on to follow right after any kidnapping, setting forests on fire with his chakra as he goes," Sasuke recited, having had exactly the same moment in mind.

"Not that you have a lot of room to talk, yourself," she added.

They were smiling as Naruto turned back to them, and he smiled too, some of the tight lines around his mouth relaxing again.

It was a slow journey home. They went back to Sand, first, so Naruto could make sure Gaara was all right and Kakashi could talk the Sand Council into returning Hoshigake's body to Mist intact.

"We will need good will among the great villages very badly and very soon," he'd told them bluntly, and eventually they'd agreed. Sasuke thought Kakashi-sensei really was very good at diplomatic stuff when he wanted to be—though he had no idea why it made Kakashi flinch when Sakura voiced the same thought out loud.

Kakashi and Sasuke were both still tired and had to go slowly. Lee's ankle and hand had been set but weren't fully healed. Gai had pushed himself too hard while he was still recovering from the Eight Gates and had been yelled at very firmly by an exasperated Sand medic and forbidden to run at more than half speed. Neji was trying to hide it, but he was still wincing now and then from taking even an interrupted Tsukuyomi.

And Sasuke's mind wasn't focusing the way it really should. Akatsuki was out there, and here was Leaf's host in the open and only lightly guarded. He had work to do. He had a clan to re-found. He should be focused.

Instead, little random moments replayed in his mind's eye. The expression on Gaara's face when he overheard some of the Sand girls squealing over him. Sakura's excited remarks over dinner one night about fish in the underground river. A curl of sand lifting Naruto's hand up to meet Gaara's, when they parted. The Naka priestesses dancing in the empty streets of the Uchiha compound.

He nearly stumbled over his own feet at that memory, and Naruto was instantly beside him, frowning worriedly.

"Hey, are you okay? Do you need to rest? Hey, everyone, we're taking a break now!"

"I don't need to rest," Sasuke started.

"Medic says!" Naruto snapped, glaring at him.

"Use that too often, and it isn't going to work some day when you need it," Sasuke grumbled, but the group was already alighting at the foot of a tree and he resigned himself to a break whether he needed it or not.

And maybe it was best not to be running, for a moment. He leaned back against the tree and absently accepted the water bottle Naruto pressed into his hand, and looked into the past.

He hadn't thought about the cleansing in years. The village had paid for the priests and priestesses of the Naka Shrine to cleanse the compound, after the bodies were taken away. To burn the handful of buildings that couldn't be cleansed. He had vague memories of someone talking to him about the clan's accounts, of signing something to pay for an auxiliary shrine, and for a priest to tend the murdered dead of Uchiha until their violence was appeased.

And the compound had had to be cleansed so that people... so that people would move in. He hadn't thought about that, either. Not past the decision never to visit, never to see other people living in his clan's place.

That was not, he understood in the abstract, any way for the head of a clan to act. But he didn't know if he could do any differently.

"Hey." Sakura, sitting next to him, nudged his shoulder with hers. "You doing okay?" She was looking away into the trees instead of at him, which he was glad for.

"It's... there's... something I need to think about."

"Not surprised." She gave him a little, sidelong smile. "You know we're not leaving you, right?"

Sasuke snorted. "Since the two of you have barely left me alone in the bathroom for the last three days, I kind of figured, yeah." His mouth had curved up at the corners, though, and Sakura looked satisfied.

"Just making sure."

Sasuke was quiet for a moment. "After we get home," he finally said. "Stay with me."

Her eyes darkened for a moment, and she nodded.

Sasuke closed his water bottle and stood up. "Let's get going, then."

Eventually, they got back to Konoha and Kakashi went off to make reports and Naruto bullied the hospital staff into letting them all go after a check-up. He was getting good at that, Sasuke reflected, watching him wave his arms vigorously and lecture a faintly amused-looking doctor about all the tests and observations he'd made of the team on the way back.

And then he was finally home, walking through the darkening streets of his village as the lamps lit here and there, and climbing the stairs to his apartment with his teammates beside him.

Sakura promptly spread his double futon and pushed him down onto it, settling behind him. "All right," she said firmly, strong hands kneading his shoulders. "We're home. There's no one else to see. You can let go."

"Knew it," Naruto grumbled from the kitchen nook.

"You just hush up and cook," Sakura directed.

Sasuke didn't know what he wanted to say until he heard the words, "I really loved my brother," coming out of his mouth. Sakura took in a quick breath at that and wrapped her arms around him. Sasuke was glad for that; it kept the shaking in his stomach from taking his whole body. "I loved him," he said again, slowly, painfully. "And then he turned into... that."

"Maybe something happened to him," Naruto suggested, from the direction of the stove. "Like Orochimaru tried to happen to you."

Sasuke's breath caught. He didn't often think of that, these days—of the months when he'd been going, in retrospect, slowly crazy. "Oh."

Sakura's arms stayed strong around him, stilling the shaking, and he leaned back against her, just breathing. After a long, silent moment while she rocked him gently, Sakura asked, "Sasuke, what age did your clan inherit at? I mean... if there was any kind of recognition or ritual for the heir, when did that happen?" Her voice was slow and thoughtful.

"Thirteen," Sasuke answered, automatically; another reason Orochimaru had gotten to him so easily, that year when, if he hadn't been the last one alive, he should have been acknowledged, should have taken on more responsibilities. And then he froze. Thirteen. When he'd been seven. The year that his father and Itachi had started to quarrel. The year that his brother changed.

"Sasuke?" Sakura asked softly, one hand rubbing his back steadily.

"He changed, then," Sasuke whispered, starting blindly at the wall. "He did. He and Tou-san argued. That... that was the year his best friend died." A shudder ripped through him. "For the Mangekyou Sharingan... he said...."

"Said what?"

"Itachi killed him." Sasuke tried to swallow, and found his throat too dry. "That night... when we fought... he said to go to the shrine. I found records about it. You have to kill the person closest to you."

"To achieve that second Sharingan?" Sakura asked, and he just nodded.

"Well, but hang on." Naruto came to the futon with hot mugs of ramen, of course, for all of them. Sasuke folded shaking hands around his. "Kakashi-sensei has one of those. He used it while we were chasing Deidara; that's what got him in the end. Whoa, hey!" He put a fast hand under Sasuke's cup to keep it from spilling as Sasuke jerked forward, staring at him.

"I told him," Sasuke whispered, cold tightening on his chest. "After that mission to Hidden Stone, I told him, I asked him to help me unlock the records. But he couldn't..." Please no, please not again.

Naruto's snort broke the panicked circle of his thoughts. "Of course Kakashi-sensei hasn't killed anyone!" He paused. "Well, not like that. I mean... he was in the last war. He's killed people; he's a shinobi after all. But not like that."

No. Not like that, not Kakashi-sensei, the one who had taught him how not to listen to Itachi. Sasuke slowly relaxed again and managed a sip of his broth without spilling it, limp with relief.

"So there must be some other way to achieve it, then," Sakura pointed out.

He blinked. "There... was something about that. I remember. The record of the Mangekyou, it said something about killing being the forbidden way, almost like there was more than one. But it didn't say what any others might be, so I thought it must not mean that."

"Well, it's a forbidden technique," Naruto said reasonably. "They wouldn't want to say too much."

"So we know Kakashi-sensei figured out a different way; good," Sakura said firmly. "But that timing... I think something must have happened to Itachi. Something he had to do for the ritual or something he found out, then."

"Maybe it was the clan records themselves," Sasuke said, low, looking down into his noodles. "The records that were sealed in the shrine. I didn't know about them until Itachi told me. They were secret."

"He graduated young, didn't he?" Sakura murmured. "And then went into ANBU, and he'd been a kid during the last war. I bet he was under a lot of pressure. Maybe it was just too much."

Maybe the clan had been Itachi's anchor, Sasuke thought, and maybe finding something like the Mangekyou in its history had just been too much. But a lot of people had been under heavy pressure and none of them had murdered all their relatives. So it had to be something about Itachi himself too. That was the thought that led him to mutter, "I wonder if it'll happen to me, too."

Naruto thumped his cup down by the bed. "No, it won't," he said, very definitely, and rocked forward on his knees to wrap Sasuke in his arms. "You lost everything once, and it didn't happen. Even when people were trying to make it happen, it didn't happen! And we won't let it." He leaned in and kissed Sasuke, gentle and awkward, and said, more quietly, "Okay?"

Sasuke let himself lean into them, into the rare, serious softness of Naruto's eyes holding his and Sakura's hands on his shoulders, and whispered, "Yeah. Okay." His team. His anchor. His... family. They would keep him safe from this, too.

"Good. Then finish eating," Naruto ordered, giving him the medic-look instead.

Sasuke picked up his mug of ramen, raising his brows. "This is your idea of good nutrition, as a healer, is it?"

"Hey, it's salt, sugar, and carbohydrates!" Naruto protested. "What more do you want?" He sounded indignant, but he was grinning.

Sakura leaned against his shoulder giggling, and Sasuke ate a bite of ramen and felt himself settling back into his right place.

The season was turning before Sasuke could bring himself to visit the Uchiha compound. When he did he found that it wasn't, any more.

He'd known, in theory, that part of the reason the village had paid for the cleansing of the compound from the deaths was so that people could live there again. And he'd been aware that he was, technically, the landlord of many people living on the compound's ground. But he'd never paid any attention to that. The bank had assigned a trustee to the Uchiha accounts, there was more than enough money in them when he needed some, and he'd left it at that.

Now he actually saw what the figures on those quarterly statements he'd stuffed away without reading meant.

Parts of the compound were still empty, but in other places there were people: slow extensions of the surrounding neighborhoods, or a store reopened and a clutch of houses reoccupied around it. There were people walking in the streets, talking and arguing and laughing. Live, solid people, out in the sunlight under the changing leaves.

They just weren't Uchiha.

He recognized every meter of this place, and it was all strange to him. The clash of past and present was so disorienting he had to stop now and then while Naruto or Sakura gave him their hands to grip until he could walk again.

They stayed close to him, and he caught them, once or twice, silently warning off someone whose eyes widened with recognition on seeing him. He was glad of that; if someone had asked him if he was Uchiha Sasuke, he wasn't entirely sure what he would have answered. Even his own self felt strange to him, today.

Finally they came to the river, and the Naka shrine, and Sasuke stopped and stared.

There were people here, too.

The auxiliary shrine was built on a broad walk around the side of the main hall. It was well tended; the stone was clean and the paint bright. And there were people here. A woman stood before the offertory box, hands pressed together. A young couple were waiting quietly for her to finish. Two mothers and their children stood at the gate talking, smiling, perhaps waiting for the woman who prayed.

No one was afraid. No one walked too softly. They weren't here to propitiate angry ghosts. They were here because it was the compound's shrine, here to honor the clan who had held the land they lived on.

It was so much as it should be, so right, that he had to reach out for Naruto and Sakura again, and they gathered him into their arms, quick and protective.

He took what felt like the first full breath that day and said, "I need to come back here. This... I need to be here again. Here, where it's new."

He had feared, for years, that if he set foot back in the compound the weight of memory, the weight of that night, would crush him. And, at the same time, he had feared the intrusion of others, of outsiders who would desecrate the memory of his clan and his vengeance. Instead he had found... life. Life going on and yet honoring what had been, what had been his.

That was what, finally, let the tears he'd denied for almost ten years break through.

Naruto and Sakura held him through it, warm arms around him and quiet murmurs without meaningful words. And it was Sakura who found a tea shop inside the district for them and made him sit down where he could see the people passing while Naruto got hot tea and some sesame dango for them.

"This might be a nice place to live, right around here," Sakura said softly, looking around. "One of the empty areas is near here. You could take something at the edge of that." She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. "And have room to expand."

The thought, the mental image of a house known but not too familiar, was a good one. More than that, the thought of having clan again, or at least the plans and space for one, made some cranky sense of something-off at the bottom of his heart subside.

Naruto leaned his elbows on his knees and smiled at Sasuke, sidelong. "So, hey, will you give us discount rental rates, if we move in around here?"

Sasuke couldn't help smiling, even if it did stretch the rawness of his cheeks. "You can pay me part of it in babysitting." The appalled look on Naruto's face made him laugh.

"Oh, go on, Naruto, you'd be good at it," Sakura said, ruthlessly. "And it's not like I'm going to take too much time off for it." She hesitated suddenly and added, not quite looking at either of them as her cheeks turned pink. "I mean. If you want me to. I figure I would be okay with it. Having Uchiha kids."

Sasuke's face heated, and he had to clear his throat. "I'd like that. Yeah." He had a hard time imagining anyone else, though he supposed he'd better, eventually. He doubted Sakura had any intention of retiring to play clan-mother.

"Oh well, if they're yours, I guess it's okay; I'll watch 'em," Naruto muttered, also a little red himself. They all drank their tea in flustered silence.

As the thought settled in, though, Sasuke had to admit it felt good. It felt right.

His family. This time, the thought didn't hurt.

Sasuke had barely settled on a suitable house when Sakura was recalled to work by Intelligence. Naruto wasn't at all sure he approved of this.

"I'd tell them where they can stick this assignment," she told them, driving her hands through her short hair in frustration, "but Tsunade-sama is the one who requested me. It must be important."

"Can you tell us what it is?" Sasuke asked quietly.

"It's a diplomatic mission, sort of. To Hidden Valley, to tell them about the Akatsuki base in their country so they can take care of it."

Naruto frowned. Okay, yeah, that was important. But so was their team! "Can we come with you?"

Sakura's mouth tilted and she leaned back against one of the trees of the training ground with a thump. "They might let you go, but no one is going to pass Sasuke for duty yet, and I'm not leaving him here without you to look after him."

Sasuke didn't say anything at all to that and Naruto scooted over on the log they shared to lean against him, worried. Sakura came and sat on her heels in front of Sasuke, resting her hands on his shoulders. "It's okay," she said softly. "Kakashi-sensei is leading this mission. Even if we run into any more of Akatsuki, none of the rest of them are going to go after me to get a lever on you, right?"

Sasuke relaxed a little, and Naruto's eyes widened. Was that what he'd been worried about? Sakura looked over at him meaningfully. "Take care of Sasuke while I'm gone, all right?"

Stay with him so he had at least one of them in view, Naruto was betting that meant, and nodded firmly. He could do that.

Sasuke snorted. "Shouldn't you be telling me to look after him, so he doesn't eat nothing but ramen and store bought onigiri while you're gone?"

That sounded more like their Sasuke and Naruto grinned even as he drew himself up indignantly. "Hey, I can cook!"

"Yes, you can," Sasuke answered blandly. "You just don't."

Sakura laughed and everything was okay again, even a day later when they saw her off at the gates. Sasuke got quieter again once the gates closed, though, so Naruto steered them toward a takoyaki stand just to make him roll his eyes. It worked and the food tasted great. Complete win.

"If you're going to hang around," Sasuke told him, having obviously figured that part out, "you can help me pack. With luck it'll be done by the time Sakura gets back, and she can lend a hand with moving."

"Okay," he agreed around a mouthful of dumpling, and chalked up another win at the long-suffering look Sasuke gave him for his lack of manners.

Someone had to keep Sasuke from getting too serious, after all.

Packing to move was strange. Naruto was pretty sure it violated the laws of physics, because even when there was as much boxes of stuff as there had been space to put stuff, there was still stuff left. It was also, he decided after no more than an hour, not a good thing for Sasuke to be doing when he was already in a low mood. The third time he caught Sasuke sitting there on the mats, staring at a photo or a book or a kunai, he decided it was time to take measures. Sakura had entrusted Sasuke to him, after all.

The problem was what measures, and he thought about that as he wrapped up plates and bowls, of which Sasuke had about five times as many as he did. Sasuke wouldn't agree to food again so soon. He might agree to some training, but if he'd gotten into the wrong mood that might just make him even more dark and broody, the way he got sometimes when he was seeing ghosts in place of his actual target.

Well, if those were out, there was always their other popular team activity.

Naruto grinned, tucking away the last bowl. Yeah. That should work. He closed the box, stacked it with the rest and strolled over to where Sasuke was sorting his shelves. "Hey, Sasuke?"

"What?" When Sasuke looked up, Naruto took the opening and swooped down to kiss him.

Sasuke made a startled sound, one fist closing in Naruto's shirt as if to throw him. Naruto laughed, which made the kiss a little odd for a moment, and slumped forward, letting his weight bear Sasuke back to the tatami. Sasuke growled at that, eyes lighting up properly, and rolled.

They half wrestled over the floor for a few turns, laughing and groping, until Naruto got his hand into Sasuke's pants. That made Sasuke's eyes half close, and he ground his hips down against Naruto. "Mmm."

Naruto grinned. "I win," he declared, breathless.

"Oh you do, huh?" Sasuke looked down at him thoughtfully, eyes glinting, and finally smiled. "Try this, then." He closed both hands around Naruto's face and kissed him. A different kiss than usual.

It was slow and... gentle. Coaxing. And something else, too. Sasuke's mouth moved over his carefully, and his hands cradled Naruto's face like... like Naruto was something precious he didn't want to drop. That thought made a little sound catch in the back of his throat, and Sasuke's arms wrapped around him with that same care.

"I know it sounds weird for me, of all people, to say," Sasuke murmured, resting his forehead against Naruto's. "But not everything has to be a competition."

Naruto swallowed, eyes wide. "O... okay." Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Sasuke, too, and it made his heart do turny-flippy things when Sasuke relaxed, letting Naruto take his weight.

"Itachi," Sasuke said quietly. "That... that wasn't a competition either. But I want to be better than him."

"You are!" Naruto said fiercely, holding Sasuke tighter. "You already are!"

"Mm." He could feel Sasuke smiling a little against his neck. "Not stronger yet, though."

That felt wrong to Naruto, and he thought about it. "You were in the end, though," he finally said, slowly. "You won, Sasuke. That's stronger, isn't it?"

"I couldn't block Amaterasu, though," Sasuke objected and Naruto frowned.

"So what? You won. Quit trying to find reasons for it not to count!" He pummeled Sasuke's shoulder for a moment before wrapping his arms back around him. "Besides, Sakura looked in the Intelligence records and said it sounded like that Mangekyou thing is really dangerous and makes you go blind. Is that true? You'd better not be thinking of doing that if it's true."

After a taut moment, Sasuke snorted and relaxed over him again. "Yeah, okay. I guess... I did win." He leaned up on an elbow, looking down at Naruto soberly. "And yes. The Mangekyou Sharingan leads to blindness if it's used too often. I want to find a different way."

"Well that's okay, then." Naruto settled his arms comfortably around Sasuke's waist. "We'll help."

"Yeah," Sasuke said softly. "I know you will." He slid back down to lie against Naruto and added, a bit muffled against his shoulder, "Thanks."

Naruto smiled and just held him. "Yeah."

A/N: Little changes: Kakashi has slightly better aim than in canon because I'm not going to faff around with multiple rounds against Akatsuki, and Gai's fight with Kisame goes very much the same as in canon except that it's the real thing, which means he has to open up another level to beat him. I'm thinking Sasori's fight also goes quite similarly, only Chiyo has Fuunotora and her teams instead of Sakura. Since those are all basically canon-replays, I'm not going to do them up in detail. You already know pretty much what happens.

A Cup of Sugar

The young women of Sakura's age cohort go out for a night of bonding, and this winds up with Sakura taking Hinata home with her. Takes place between Chapters Twelve and Thirteen of Half Without Another One, when Hinata and Sakura are seventeen or eighteen. Porn with Characterization, I-4

The sake had gone around a couple times, and they were getting to the stage of competitive gossip and confidences that might have been embarrassing later if they hadn't had a firm pact never to speak of Girls' Night Out in the cold light of day.

"So come on, Sakura." Ino leaned forward precipitously over the table of their booth at Shushuya while Tenten giggled and Hinata blushed. "The three of you are practically inseparable, no matter how many solo missions any of you take. It's totally the three of you together in bed, isn't it?"

Sakura leaned back with a smug smile. "Of course it is." At the squeals of glee, she waved her sake cup. "Not that the two left behind don't keep each other company, but it just feels best when it's all three of us. Besides," she grinned into her cup, "Sasuke's got amazing attention to detail, and Naruto is just unstoppable, and I'm a fantastic strategist; the field isn't the only place that's an advantage." More squeals. She took another sip, thoughtfully. "Though I gotta say, I really think Sasuke was showing off on purpose when he took Naruto to bed the night I got home last time. It was a really nice view to come home to." Squeaks this time. Sakura laughed and nudged Tenten's knee. "So what about you?"

Tenten held out her cup for a refill. "We're not as, you know, committed as you three, but yeah sometimes it's all of us." With a glint of challenge in her eye she went Sakura one better on detail and added, "With us it's mostly just mouths and hands, you know. Lee's got amazing fingers, you should give him a try some time, Sakura." Everyone laughed and Sakura toasted Tenten's score.

She couldn't help asking, though, curious, "Do Lee and Neji ever...?"

Tenten nodded, eyes sparkling. "Mm. Sometimes, especially if Neji thinks Lee was taking a stupid risk and Lee keeps trying to justify it with Gai-sensei's ideas about youthful passion. Sometimes I really wonder if he does it just so Neji will snap and kiss him to shut him up." She laughed. "But then, sometimes when we're back from a mission and Lee just won't stop bouncing, Neji actually hits the pressure points to make him sleep." Her smile softened as everyone laughed. "And then he puts Lee to bed. It's really sweet to see."

Softly, looking down at her drink, Hinata said, "Neji-niisan is a kind person."

Sakura could see the speculation behind Ino's faintly narrowed eyes and pursed lips; they'd both wondered a bit about Hinata and Neji lately. But what Ino actually asked was, "So, is your team in bed at all, Hinata? I have to admit, the three of you never struck me that way." She gave a delicate shudder and slugged back the rest of her sake. "And I know it has to work out somehow, but seriously—sleeping with an Aburame?"

Hinata turned red as a rose. "It's not...! I mean...! Um..." Her fingers tangled together and she looked down at them.

"Hey, hey." Sakura wrapped an arm around her. "You know Girls' Night rules; you don't have to say if you don't want to."

Hinata actually laughed, soft and breathless. "Actually it's... they hold me." She peeked up at Sakura with a tiny smile. "Kind of like this. A lot."

"Yeah?" Sakura smiled and turned toward her, drawing Hinata closer and cuddling her. "Like this?"

Hinata blushed some more, but nodded and leaned into her, and Sakura settled her close. Ino turned a little more to face the room, leaning an elbow on the table, watching Sakura's back as casually as ever. Sakura grinned across at her.

"Um," Hinata murmured, unexpectedly. "Shino-kun and Kiba-kun do. Sometimes." She peeked up from Sakura's shoulder with a furtive sparkle in her eyes. "I think Kiba-kun likes it a lot when Shino-kun holds him down."

Tenten squeaked breathlessly and Ino looked just as wide-eyed as Sakura felt. "I think Hinata is winning this round," Sakura declared, and laughed when Hinata ducked back down against her, blushing deeply but also triumphant. "So, what do you say, Ino? Got anything to top that?"

"Hmmmm." Ino took another drink. "You know," she said, more thoughtful than salacious, "Chouji and Shikamaru are a little like that too. Only with them, it's all in their heads. But Chouji always looks to Shikamaru, even now we're all chuunin. And when Shikamaru takes him to bed..." she looked down at her cup. "Well, it's just really sweet. He takes really good care of Chouji." She smiled wryly. "When they get like that, I just go flirt with Anko-san until she tackles me onto the couch; I always learn something new from her."

Sakura laughed and Hinata squeaked. Anko had taught the week of "female sexual physiology" for their year at the academy.

"I'll tell you this, though." Ino shook off her serious mood and grinned. "When I am in bed with Chouji? His tongue can go for hours."

Everyone squealed over that, and the contest dissolved into laughter and another bottle of sake.

As they were leaving, though, Sakura touched Hinata's shoulder and said softly, "If this is none of my business, just tell me. But... it sounded kind of like you don't really go to bed with anyone." Hinata blushed, and Sakura hurried on. "And, really, you can totally tell me if this is a 'no', but..." she touched Hinata's cheek gently, "would you like it if I showed you how it goes?" The easy way Hinata had cuddled into her was really making her think Hinata needed another woman to figure this out with.

Hinata's eyes got very wide, and Sakura prepared to backpedal if necessary. "You..." Hinata's hands were clasped tight together again. "You wouldn't mind?" she whispered.

Sakura had to stifle a fast flare of anger at how timidly Hinata asked that, and reached out to hug her close again. One of these days, she swore, she was going to give Hyuuga Hiashi a piece of her mind, and he wasn't going to enjoy the experience. "Of course I wouldn't mind!" She cupped Hinata's face in her hands and said softly, "Hinata. You're a beautiful woman. Your heart is strong enough for any two people. I truly respect all of your work. And I would be honored if you want to come home with me tonight."

Hinata was flushed, now, pink and shy and breathless. "I... I'd like that, please. Yes."

Sakura cuddled her close for another breath before managing to let her go, and took her hand. "I'm glad." She kept hold of Hinata's hand as they wandered back through the evening streets, which meant Hinata was still pink-cheeked when they reached Sakura's apartment. It was really awfully cute, she thought privately, and pondered the possibilities for whacking Naruto upside the head with a clue about Hinata's crush on him.

"Oh, hey," she said, struck by a sudden thought as she unlocked her door, "is your clan going to panic if you don't come home? I mean, am I going to have Neji breaking down my door at three in the morning?"

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't break it down," Hinata answered with every appearance of earnestness. "Neji-niisan trusts your team."

Sakura paused for a breath to contemplate the implied alternatives of Neji picking her lock, or possibly camping outside her window, and shook her head. The noble clans were their own thing all right. "Well, if he's still here in the morning, I suppose I'll just make breakfast for three," she sighed, and led Hinata inside.

She didn't bother to turn on the lights. There was plenty from the windows, for tonight.

When she turned back in the middle of the room, though, Hinata was still hovering by the door and Sakura reminded herself firmly that Hinata was a lot shyer than most shinobi. Most shinobi who were interested in sex to begin with, anyway. She came back and cupped a hand around Hinata's cheek, kissing her softly. "Still good?"

Hinata nodded, pale eyes wide in the dimness.

"Here." Sakura eased off the soft, lavender coat Hinata favored and hung it by the door. Without it, in only her mesh shirt and dark pants with nothing hiding her full figure and sleek muscles, Hinata looked older, stronger, considerably more dangerous. Sakura paused, head tilted. "Is there a need," she asked softly, "to hide what you are, here in Hidden Leaf?"

Hinata didn't pretend she didn't understand, biting her lip and looking aside. "I suppose... not any more. Not really. But I was also so cold for so long—it got to be a habit."

Cold. Frozen out of her own family, given what Sakura knew of Hyuuga politics, and she had to take a long breath for calm. It was bad enough that Hinata suffered physical effects from it, she didn't need to also be alarmed by Sakura throwing things at the wall.

Maybe she'll just tell Naruto about this, and let him work on Hiashi for a while. And then she could put in her two cents once the man was already pounded into the ground a little. By this point in his medical training Naruto would know exactly what it meant, that Hinata had been physically cold. That kind of effect on a shinobi's chakra was sabotage, pure and simple. She could explain that calmly and sensibly to people while Naruto was discussing the issue with Hiashi.

And then they would let Sasuke have him.

That was for later, though. For now she just gathered Hinata close, one hand rubbing slow circles over her back. As Hinata relaxed again, she smiled and bent her head to brush a soft kiss against the curve of Hinata's neck. She half expected Hinata to squeak, but instead she gasped, soft and breathy, and the sound went right down Sakura's spine to curl low and hot in her stomach. "Bed?" she suggested, husky. Hinata nodded.

Sakura took her hands and coaxed her step by step across the wide room to where she'd spread her futon before going out tonight—it was easier than doing it very drunk later if it turned out to be one of those nights. The analytical corner of her mind observed that it was likely a good thing she'd acquired a taste for older style bedding from Sasuke; she imagined it would be more familiar to Hinata, too.

And it wouldn't creak, the way Naruto's bed did under two or more.

She took her time undressing, and helping Hinata undress, pausing with every garment to kiss the uncovered skin. She wanted to give Hinata as much time as she needed to be comfortable, of course; she also really wanted to hear more of the little sounds Hinata made. By the time she'd stripped off their underwear she was flushed and warm, herself, just from listening. When she traced a line of open-mouthed kisses up Hinata's stomach and between her breasts, Hinata's soft moan made her shiver.

"You're incredibly sexy, you know that right?" she murmured against Hinata's shoulder. Hinata gasped a small laugh.

"Sakura!"

"It's true." Sakura leaned up on an elbow and stroked a gentle hand down the line of Hinata's body. "For starters you're built like a work of sculptural art, but that aside..." she bent to kiss Hinata softly and nearly moaned herself at the way Hinata's lips parted for her, the little breath of sound that answered. "Mmm. Just the way you are, like this, would make anyone hot, trust me."

Hinata looked up at her, and even in the dim light she was blushing and bright-eyed. "Really?" she asked, and Sakura smiled helplessly back at the soft note of delight in her voice.

"Really." She stroked her fingertips along the curve of Hinata's breast. "Let me show you?"

Hinata's nod was more confident than it had been all night, and Sakura's inner strategist made a satisfied sound. She knelt over Hinata and slid both hands up to lift her breasts gently. Just that made Hinata arch a little, and Sakura was practically purring when she traced a slow spiral over one breast with her tongue to close her mouth on the nipple.

"Oh!" Hinata's hands flew up to catch Sakura's hips.

"Mmm," Sakura answered, stroking her tongue over Hinata's nipple, feeling the tiny shivers spilling through her, listening to her breath coming quicker. She cupped the other breast and circled her thumb gently over that nipple too. Heat curled tighter between her legs when Hinata moaned.

"Sakura," Hinata gasped.

Sakura drew back slowly, sucking a little, and the sound Hinata made when Sakura's lips pulled away from her nipple made Sakura's voice husky. "Starting to feel it?" she whispered, and slid her hand slowly down Hinata's body to cup lightly between her legs. "Down here?"

"Oh... yes." Hinata's eyes were half closed, lips parted.

"Will you let me show you more of that?" Sakura wasn't even trying to hide the want in her own voice. She thought that was what made Hinata smile.

"Yes."

Sakura kissed her smile, deep and slow, sliding her tongue through Hinata's mouth as she pressed her hand more firmly between Hinata's legs, kneading just a little. Good for increased blood flow, Anko leered cheerfully in her head, and Sakura had to shove the memory back down before she laughed. Hinata was making those breathless little sounds again, and Sakura couldn't help the husky sound she made in answer as her fingertips dipped into the wetness of Hinata's entrance.

"Here," she whispered. "Just let me..." She kissed her way down Hinata's body until she could settle between Hinata's legs. "I want to taste."

"Sakura...!" She could almost hear Hinata blushing, and rested her cheek against Hinata's thigh.

"Is it okay?" she asked, fairly sure that the tinge of shock in Hinata's voice was from excitement, but this was Hinata's first time with another person. There were rules among kunoichi about making very sure that went as well as possible. The rules were no less absolute for being unwritten.

Hinata's fingers stroked shyly through her hair. "Yes. I'd like... yes."

Sakura smiled. "Okay, then." She nibbled on the tendon of Hinata's thigh, just to hear her gasp, and gently spread the folds of her open. She made a pleased sound herself as she dragged her tongue slowly against Hinata, soft and easy, and felt the tense-and-release of Hinata's muscles.

"Ohh..."

"Mmm." Sakura lapped slowly at her, until Hinata's hips were moving with her and she could taste the salt of Hinata's wetness. That was when she slid two fingers into her, and purred at Hinata's low moan.

"Nn... Sakura, oh... yes." The sleek flex of Hinata's muscles made Sakura breathless herself, and she lapped firmly at Hinata's clit as she worked her fingers in and out. Hinata's hands tugged and pushed at her shoulders, and Sakura attended those cues with the concentration she'd give a new jutsu, working Hinata higher and higher until she gasped and her whole body pulled taut. "Sakura!"

Sakura drove her fingers in deep and sucked on Hinata's clit, and Hinata came apart with a shudder, hips jerking against Sakura. Sakura shivered, listening to her breathless sounds, and lapped at her softly until Hinata collapsed back against the bed. Sakura knew that her smile was smug, as she eased her fingers free and slid back up to lie beside Hinata, but she felt that was justifiable.

Hinata smiled up at her, flushed and damp and nearly glowing in the dimness. "Thank you," she murmured.

Sakura laughed, blushing just a little herself, and kissed Hinata lightly. "It was very much my pleasure." And then her breath caught as Hinata's fingers stroked a delicate line between her breasts.

"Can I try, too?" Hinata asked, and the mixture of shyness and mischief in the way she glanced up at Sakura nearly made Sakura melt.

"Of course." She kissed Hinata again, and made a soft, pleased sound when Hinata kissed back. "I'd like that very much."

As Hinata kissed her more boldly, and Sakura leaned into it with a sigh, she made a mental note to have a little talk with Neji, if Sakura and Ino's suspicions turned out to be right. Just to be sure that he'd treat Hinata with all the care she deserved.

Kunoichi had to look out for each other, after all.

End

The Blue Lights, The Scent of Water

Four linked scenes of intimacy, during Frau and Teito's journeys. Teito is stubborn, Frau knows he's doomed, Mikhail snarks briefly. Mild spoilers through issue 61. Drama, Fluff, Romance, Porn, I-4

Translation into Deutsch available: Die Blauen Lichter, Der Geruch von Wasser by JanaTearce

A translation into Russian is available here, by Opossums

One

Frau leaned back on the hostel bed they'd secured for the night, every pillow in the room wadded behind his back, and lit a cigarette. They'd made it to Pirna by dark and the border and Neal were a day away. Capella was safe with his mother, no one was chasing them, and he'd gotten the shower first. Things were going about as well as could be expected.

He hadn't failed in the people under his care, yet, anyway. None of the ones that really mattered, at least.

Some days, especially lately, he felt like there were too many of those. But compared to most of the Church's bishops he had very few responsibilities. Host Zehel's spirit in his own. Keep Verloren's damn scythe contained. Protect Teito. Oh, and banish all the Kor he came across. Just a few, but they were heavy enough he didn't have room for any of the others more normal bishops carried. Not any more.

Well neither did the brat, come to that.

So, yeah, it was probably a good thing that he'd been the one sent out with Teito. Sure as hell no other bishop would understand what the kid was carrying on his shoulders. And Frau admitted it: it was good to be flying again. He'd felt so fucking grounded the last nine years, locked up in that cathedral.

The end of his cigarette glowed as he breathed in the rough heat of smoke, eyes distant. If he could just keep the brat safe, he'd almost feel like this trip was a good thing.

Teito emerged from the bathroom rubbing a towel over his head, with the spare one slung around his hips. "You're hogging the pillows," he accused Frau after one look. "Hand over mine."

Frau blew smoke at the ceiling. "Since I'm paying for the rooms," he mused, "I think they're actually all my pillows."

"The Church is paying, you leech. Gimme." Teito made to grab some of the pillows out from behind Frau, dodging his elbow. "Mortification of the flesh is supposed to be virtuous, isn't it? You're the bishop, act like it!"

"Since when do I give a shit about virtue?" Frau demanded, grabbing for those thieving hands.

Teito froze in his grip and his bared teeth slowly faded into a frown. "How long have you been sitting there in nothing but a towel?" The frown was turning into a real glare. "You've gotten cold again!" He stomped around the room pulling blankets out of the cupboard and threw them over Frau, tugging them roughly around him. Frau watched the performance with a certain sardonic amusement. Having Capella around had turned on the kid's mothering instincts for good, it looked like.

"You do realize that, without body heat to start with, these aren't going to do any good?" He took a drag on his cigarette, mouth quirked as Teito glared some more.

"Fine, then!"

Frau blinked as the kid marched over to the bed and slung a leg over Frau's thighs, settling firmly onto his lap. Teito pulled the blankets around both of them and gave Frau a look that dared him to object. "There."

Frau sighed. "You're too damn stubborn for anyone's good. It doesn't hurt or anything, you know."

"It isn't right," Teito said, low and fierce and not looking at him. "It isn't right for you to be cold."

Frau rested a hand on the kid's head, ruffling his hair. "Yeah, it is," he said quietly. "Because this is what I am."

Teito frowned at him. "Well...! Well, then, fine! But..." he wrapped his arms firmly around Frau's neck, "then this is warm too, isn't it?" He leaned in closer and brushed his lips over Frau's, unpracticed and unhesitating.

Frau stilled, eyes widening at that soft and completely unexpected pressure. "Wha..." He closed his hands on Teito's shoulders, moving him back a little. "Haven't you ever heard of a metaphor, you little maniac?" he demanded. All his damn church training was suddenly screaming in his ear. It was usually only the tedious rules about chastity that got him in trouble, and he didn't give a damn about those. But the one law about what a person got up to in his own bed that he agreed with wholeheartedly was that no one should ever, ever abuse the trust of the children sheltered by the Church.

Teito gave him one of those rare, clear-eyed looks that made Frau think maybe Castor hadn't been completely insane to nominate the kid as a bishop. "You're not dead," he stated, like it was a known fact, and shook his head as Frau opened his mouth to protest. "You died, but you're not dead. I've made a lot of dead bodies, Frau, and this," he put a hand flat against Frau's bare chest, "isn't like that. Your heart doesn't beat, but your blood still flows. You move and breathe, but you don't have any body heat. That's impossible." He gave Frau a look like the laws of physics were his personal fault. "So. You're a spirit-body, aren't you?"

Frau settled back. He was just a tiny bit impressed. Maybe. "That's pretty much what we figure, yeah. I mean, with the transforming into huge skeletons and all."

Teito nodded, satisfied. "I thought so. So, it isn't just physical heat that can help, right?"

Frau opened his mouth and closed it again. And here he'd thought they'd gotten safely onto theology and away from disturbingly warm kisses. "That doesn't mean..." He trailed off.

Teito smiled, smugly aware he'd won that point, the little shit. "Yes, it does." And he hauled off and kissed Frau again, more confident this time.

Frau got a hold of the kid's nape to pull him back, which... didn't actually help as much as it should, because Teito made an extremely distracting sound. "Look," Frau said as flatly as he could, "you're too young."

Teito arched both brows, clearly unimpressed. "It's the new year, right? So I'm sixteen." He prodded Frau in the chest with a finger. "What were you doing when you were sixteen, huh?"

From the way the kid suddenly smirked, Frau was pretty sure he'd turned a little red. He considered it evidence of a cruel universe that that still happened to a dead man. "Yeah, and maybe if I were sixteen, like the girls I was, yes, okay fine, sleeping with whenever I could escape the damn robes, that would mean something. So how about we just say I'm too old?" And why couldn't the brat have jumped his partner, like half the baby bishops always wound up doing once the exam heated up?

Teito folded his arms on Frau's chest and remarked. "Funny you should mention that. I asked Labrador-san, you know. Turns out you're only twenty."

Frau closed his eyes, silently cursing Labrador to... to... to an annoying leaf-wilt problem or something. "Teito..." He broke off, breath catching, because Teito had taken the opportunity to press up close against him, skin to skin. The kid really was warm.

"I want you to be warm," Teito said quietly against his ear. "And I want... to know what this is." He rested his temple against Frau's and muttered, "And I trust you, okay?"

Frau gave up and wrapped his arms around Teito, holding him tight and stomping as hard as he could on the stirring interest of the scythe. Sometimes the kid really did remind him so much of himself that it hurt. "You're an idiot."

It was time to deal with this logically, Frau told himself, ignoring the way he couldn't make himself let go. The brat really was sixteen, scrawniness notwithstanding, and that was the age of consent across the Empire. So the rules could shut up. The brat was also world-bendingly stubborn (and kind of unfairly cute when he wasn't growling and snapping like a bear after winter). So Frau needed a good reason, if he wanted to get out of this. Did he have a good reason? Did he want to get out of this?

Only silence answered that question, inside of him. Waiting silence.

Teito finally drew a shaky breath and pulled back enough to grin at him, almost as convincingly annoying as usual. "I mean, aren't you supposed to know all about this stuff? Or do you just talk a good line?"

Just because a man's heart wasn't beating any more didn't mean it couldn't squeeze tight. Frau hadn't loved all that terribly often, in his life, but he knew when someone was getting to him. This one... had gotten to him. His mouth quirked and he slid a hand up to cradle Teito's head. "Brat," he said, just a little husky.

For once, Teito didn't take a return shot. Just looked at him, eyes dark and questioning. Frau didn't know what the question was, or what answer Teito saw, but after a moment Teito smiled a little and leaned forward again. This time Frau kissed back, gentle and careful.

Frau had known from the moment he saw the kid move that Teito was trained, and trained to kill. Teito moved fast and sure and fluid, when he wasn't in a rage, always poised, always ready. The readiness had quieted slowly, over the last few months, and Frau had hoped it meant Teito was relaxing from that edge. Maybe he was, but now, feeling how long it took Teito to unwind as he settled against Frau's chest, Frau thought he still had a long way to go.

Which made him feel ridiculously fucking protective of the little brat.

So he kissed Teito slow and easy, with helplessly exasperated tenderness, until Teito was flushed and pressing close. Maybe it was just the heat of Teito's body against his, skin to skin under the blankets; or maybe it was the way Teito's tongue stroked over his and Teito sighed as he relaxed and stretched out against Frau's chest; or maybe it really was Teito's living heart touching his. Whatever the truth, Frau was warm again.

In fact, Frau might just have been a little flushed himself by the time Teito drew back and tucked his head down against Frau's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, husky, running a hand slowly up and down Teito's back.

"Yeah," Teito answered softly, not moving. After a moment, Frau felt Teito's lips curve against his shoulder. "I guess you're not all talk. It might be nice to do that some more some time."

Frau snorted, trying to stifle the enthusiastic votes yes from both his cock and the scythe. "Damn brat."

"Now give me half those pillows."

Frau grinned against Teito's dark hair. "What if I say no?"

The fight for the pillows left the room a mess, but Frau had to admit it took care of any awkwardness.

Two

Frau had managed to kick Castor and Labrador out of his room in F3's frozen tourist trap by the time Teito was done with his bath, and had stretched out in his bed, arms folded behind his head. He watched the kid through half-closed eyes as Teito neatly and automatically folded and hung his towel and laid out his clothes for the next day of the race. He didn't look too much the worse for his encounter with the scythe, even though Frau's fingertips still tingled with the sensation of reaching into Teito's chest, stretching out after his bright soul.

Well, Frau had always known Teito was a tough little bastard, and too stubborn to quit.

Every inch of that stubbornness was in Teito's eyes as he pulled on his nightshirt and made for Frau's bed instead of his own. Frau stiffened. "Teito..."

"Shut up," Teito told him, burrowing under the blankets and wrapping around Frau like one of Labrador's climbing vines. "You're an idiot, you know that? The more I think about it, the more obvious it is."

Frau breathed in and out, carefully, holding down the leap of the scythe's hunger. "Are you actually trying to get eaten?" he bit out. "After you saw yourself what can happen..."

Teito pushed himself up on one elbow, glaring. "I told you! I'll pull you out of that scythe as many times as it takes! So quit using it as an excuse!"

"Excuse?!" Frau was glaring now, too. "Listen, brat—" He had to break off, jaw tight, and fight down another surge of hunger from the scythe. It growled silently, nearly drooling in Teito's direction.

As if he could hear it, Teito growled back. His right hand flashed over to clamp tight on Frau's forearm, over the name incised there. "You," Teito said, low and cold and deadly, "back off." A flicker of red shone around his hand for one breath, and Teito's grip tightened. "He's mine."

That was outrageous enough that Frau opened his mouth to protest. His jaw just hung there, though, when the scythe grudgingly settled under Teito's hand. "What the fuck?"

Teito's grip eased a little and he glanced aside. "Mikhail," he muttered. "There's still a connection even when we're apart. I guess I don't have to do anything formal, when I really need him."

That did, actually, explain a few things. Just not the one about why Frau should mean enough for Teito to risk stressing his soul that way. "And you have the nerve to say I'm an idiot," Frau scolded, closing his other hand on Teito's nape to shake him. Teito shrugged and looked up again with a tiny smile.

"It was important," he insisted, completely unabashed.

"Important, huh?" Frau narrowed his eyes, an expression that sent lowlife of all kinds running in terror and had no effect whatsoever on Teito. Damn it. He tried another tack. "And what's this about me being yours?"

Teito lifted his chin stubbornly. "You are. My bishop. My mentor. Mine, not the scythe's!"

Frau let his head fall back against the pillow, groaning. "Fuck. And I always thought Castor was joking when he said God would punish me some day."

Teito pressed close again, arms wound around Frau's shoulders. "I'm sure He'll get to it eventually."

Frau's mouth quirked and he slid a hand into Teito's hair. "Think He has already." He sighed, more or less resigned to being the kid's pillow and just glad that Teito hadn't gotten all metaphysical about warming Frau up again. Castor really would break in and try to strangle him, then.

On the other hand, it was awfully cold out there, and temper was supposed to heat people up too, right? Frau smirked at the ceiling for a moment before reaching down to lift Teito's chin and kiss him, light and gentle. He forgot the part about yanking Castor's chain for a moment as Teito relaxed against him, eyes softening as he smiled up at Frau.

"Go to sleep, brat," Frau said quietly.

Teito made an agreeable sound and snuggled down into the blankets and Frau, and a completely helpless smile tugged at Frau's mouth.

It turned wide and wicked a moment later, when he heard faint, muffled yelling over the sound of the storm outside, rather as if some manipulative bastard of a bishop was losing his grip and being wrapped up in ice roses by his partner to keep him from breaking in.

Frau closed his eyes, still smirking, and composed himself to sleep.

Three

Frau was aware of all the reasons that restoring the Eye of Mikhail to Teito was necessary, both for Teito and for the rest of the world. He didn't exactly regret it.

But the first time he looked down at Teito, curled up against him in bed, to see a pair of vastly unimpressed red eyes glaring up at him, he swore his heart started beating against just so it could stop.

"You," Mikhail declared, as if it were the worst insult possible. "You have been taking liberties with my master."

That was unfair enough to snap Frau out of his shock. "I damn well have not! Do you have any idea how stubborn the brat is? It's all I could do to convince him he's still too small to be fucked by someone my size!"

Mikhail tossed the covers back and looked him up and down disdainfully, which was the kind of thing that could give a man a complex. "Hmph." He settled back against the pillows like they were a throne, crossing Teito's arms sulkily. "Well, since you seem to belong to my master now, I suppose I won't do anything about this." He held up a finger and eyed Frau sternly. "As long as you don't get above yourself!"

And then he was gone, and it was Teito's eyes staring up at him again.

Teito, who promptly dissolved into laughter. "Your face!" he managed.

Frau sputtered. He couldn't help it. "Belong to you?" he demanded, outraged. "The cat-eyed bastard doesn't mind as long as I don't get above myself?!" His voice was echoing off the walls. Teito was still laughing, collapsed among the pillows with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Frau gave him a dour look. "And if you think you're getting anything out of me tonight..."

Teito caught his breath and crawled into Frau's lap, grinning. "Would that count as getting above yourself, if you don't do what I want you to do?" he asked, winding his arms around Frau's shoulders.

Frau growled and flipped them over, pinning Teito to the bed under him. "...show you 'above myself'..." He caught that laughing mouth and kissed Teito deep and hard.

Of course, given the breathy sounds Teito made and the way he arched up against Frau, that might have been the whole idea. "Mmm. Frau." Teito wrapped his legs around Frau's hips and rubbed his ass against Frau's cock.

"Not until you're five inches taller, goddamnit," Frau gasped, and tried not to show his response when Teito growled. If the brat ever realized just how close he was to getting his way, Frau knew he'd be doomed. And the fact was, Teito was way too impatient to keep from hurting himself, so Frau was the one who had to have self control for both of them.

Frau expected a goddamn sainthood out of this, he really did.

Fortunately, Teito was also pretty distractible, as long as you came up a good enough alternative. Frau slid down his body, tracing the hard muscles of Teito's stomach with his tongue by way of suggestion. He grinned when Teito let his legs fall back to the bed with a pleased sigh. Teito wasn't actually unreasonable in bed; he just had a knee-jerk reaction to being told he couldn't do something. Frau actually kind of sympathized, at least when the brat wasn't driving him crazy.

Which was why, when he closed his mouth around Teito's cock, he didn't tease, just sucked wet and hard until Teito's hips came up off the bed. Frau smiled around him a little and flicked his tongue back and forth over Teito's head. Teito moaned, hands working hard against Frau's shoulders, and rocked up into Frau's mouth.

It was always moments like these that made Frau reconsider his "not for five inches" rule. Teito was pretty well developed, and there wasn't an inch of childish softness anywhere on his body. When the weight of Teito's cock was sliding over his tongue it was a little hard to remember why he kept insisting they wait.

"Frau," Teito gasped, body pulling taut. Frau made an approving sound and sucked Teito down all the way, and swallowed slowly around him. The cut-off moan that answered as Teito came undone, shuddering under him, would have made him purr except his mouth was full. So he just thought it.

Well, that and smiled smugly down at Teito once he'd kissed his way back up his body, head propped up on one hand. Teito laughed, breathless. "You look like one of the cathedral cats who just stole fish from the fountain," he told Frau.

"I got you to stop arguing," Frau pointed out. "I think that's pretty damn impressive, myself."

"So why are you reminding me of it again now?" Teito wanted to know, reaching up to trace his fingers over Frau's mouth.

Frau smiled wickedly. "Never said I didn't think the arguing was fun."

Teito growled, and locked one leg around his and flipped them over. Frau smirked up at him, folding his arms behind his head. "Yeah? Something to add?"

"I think so, yes." Teito's eyes glinted down at him, and then he was sliding down Frau's body and pushing his legs apart to settle between them. The look he gave Frau as he leaned over was nearly as wicked as the one Frau'd given him.

Frau managed to stay relaxed and casual right up until Teito's mouth closed on him, and then he had to grab for the headboard. It was the same every time and he never got used to the heat of a living mouth. If fire could be slick and wet, it was like having fire slide down his cock, and Teito took his time about it. Frau moaned, low and open, and rocked up a little; Teito moved with him, lips wrapped just around Frau's head. Frau swore, breathless, and Teito snickered.

Evil little bastard was learning Castor's sense of humor.

When Teito finally slid his mouth further down, Frau shuddered. The heat, the life, the intensity of it were like nothing else, and the strength of Teito's hand working up and down his cock, slick and confident, felt like the only thing anchoring him to the world.

"Teito," Frau gasped, warning. He never lasted long when they did this. Teito drew back reluctantly, tongue flicking over him one last time.

"Mm. Just think what it would be like if you were inside me," he murmured thoughtfully, hand stroking hard down Frau's cock.

Frau couldn't quite help thinking, about heat and tightness, and the headboard creaked under his hands as pleasure hammered through him. "Teito...!"

When he caught his breath, the brat was still laughing. "I'll have to try that again," he grinned, elbows braced across Frau's chest. Frau growled and hauled him down to a rough kiss that Teito leaned into readily.

A fucking sainthood, Frau swore.

Four

It hadn't been Frau's idea, the first time he wound up in bed with Teito Klein. It hadn't been his idea to start sharing a bed, whether they did anything more interesting with it than sleep or not. It had been his idea to teach the kid how to use his hands and mouth, but only in self defense. Because the biggest thing that wasn't his idea was actually fucking someone as slight as Teito with what was, no undue modesty, a damn big cock. He'd held tight to a rule of "not until you're five inches taller" and insisted that he was not going to fuck someone who didn't at least come up to his chin.

Teito had pouted. He'd called Frau a chicken. He'd done some really, really unfair things with his mouth and asked Frau again immediately afterward. And eventually he'd gotten quiet and looked up at Frau all clear-eyed and said, "Please".

Which was how Frau had come to be leaning back against a handful of pillows with Teito straddling his lap and lying against his chest while Frau rubbed slow, gentle fingers between his cheeks. "We're taking this slow, understand?" he murmured against Teito's hair.

Teito nodded against his shoulder, arms tightening a little around his neck. "I know. I won't push."

Frau's lips quirked; he didn't trust that to last very long at all. It was a good start, though. "Okay. Try to stay relaxed, then." He dipped his fingers in the jar of gel he'd wedged against their pillows, because he'd damn well bought economy size this time, and circled his fingers over Teito's entrance, slow and hard. Teito's muscles clenched and gradually relaxed as he breathed out. Frau kept his fingers moving slow and easy, and after a few more breaths Teito gave a soft moan. Frau took a tighter grip on his self-control and pressed a finger into Teito.

Teito's muscles tightened again sharply, and Frau waited for him to relax again before moving. "All right?" he asked quietly, stroking that one finger inside Teito.

"Yeah." Teito sounded a little breathless. "Yeah, it's okay."

"How does it feel?" Frau pressed, because if Teito was uncomfortable with the length of his finger, he'd need to hold himself back hard from thrusting into the kid later.

A breath of a laugh, and another quick clench of muscles. "It feels like you." After a moment, Teito added, "I like feeling you."

Frau closed his eyes and pressed his mouth against Teito's hair. He'd long ago given himself up for lost. Teito had gotten to him, all the way into him, right down to the heart. Just knowing didn't mean it wasn't new and terrifyingly warm, though, every time Teito said something like that. "Glad for that," he said, husky. Teito looked up at him with a small smile and flushed cheeks, and Frau smiled back wryly. "Ready for more?"

Teito nodded and laid his head back down on Frau's shoulder, breathing in and out and deliberately relaxing. Frau gathered him up a little closer and pressed a second finger in. It went easily, and Teito made a low sound that Frau was pretty damn sure wasn't discomfort. He worked them in and out slowly, and Teito stretched against him a little, muscles working around his fingers easily now. He could feel Teito was half hard against him, and spent a moment breathing deeply himself.

"Mmm." Teito pushed his hips against Frau's. "Frau..."

"Yeah, okay." Frau pulled out carefully and scooped up more of the gel. "Tell me if it hurts at all, right?"

"I will," Teito promised, and Frau could just about hear him rolling his eyes. He snorted softly and pulled Teito close, so he could listen to his body as well as his words, and pushed three fingers into his ass. It was tight, and Frau went very slow, listening to each hitch in Teito's breath, waiting out each clench of his muscles. Eventually, though, his fingers were all the way in and Teito was moaning softly against his shoulder.

"Frau, move."

"Pushy," Frau muttered, a bit husky. But he did as Teito asked, sliding his fingers out to the knuckle and then slowly back in. And again. Teito moaned every time his fingers slid all the way home, and Frau was starting to wonder if he was going to have to eat his words because it sure as hell sounded like Teito really liked being stretched open hard. And it felt like he could take it.

"Not pushy," Teito panted. "Just... ohh... want to feel you." He ground his hips against Frau's and they both groaned.

"Fuck, all right, you win, okay?" Frau kissed the start of a grin off Teito's mouth, fiercely, and Teito wound his arms tighter around Frau's neck and kissed back, eyes dark and half closed. Frau groped for the gel again, still kissing Teito, and slicked it over his cock. Teito obligingly slid up a little, and Frau's arm tightened around him. "Slow," he growled against Teito's mouth, guiding his cock against Teito.

Teito huffed, but let Frau set their pace. His head tipped back and he gasped sharply as Frau started to push in. "Ahh... oh..." His arms tightened as Frau hesitated. "Don't stop."

Frau, already breathing hard with the burn of pleasure down his nerves, clenched his jaw and pushed up into Teito bit by tiny bit. And then he was in, sliding in smoothly, and Teito's gasps turned into a throaty moan. The alarming tightness of his body eased and he lay against Frau's chest panting as Frau pressed most of the way in.

"You okay?" Frau managed, husky, holding him tight, lightheaded with the burning heat of Teito's body.

"Mm, yeah." Teito slowly pushed himself upright against Frau's chest, lips parted as he settled down a little further onto Frau. "Oh..."

Frau swore fervently, hands tight on Teito's hips, and Teito grinned breathlessly at him, the little bastard. "I am going to be so glad when you are five goddamn inches taller," Frau growled, "so that I can pound your ass into the mattress like you fucking well deserve." In lieu of that, he flexed his hips slow and hard, drawing back and driving up into Teito again, careful not to push in too far. Teito lost the grin, at least, as he clutched Frau's shoulders and moaned out loud.

"Feels good," Teito breathed as Frau fucked him slowly. "Hard..."

And, yeah, Frau could feel how hard Teito was stretched around him, and it was driving him a little crazy to have all that living, branding heat locked so tight around him. "Teito..."

Teito arched over him and sighed, eyes half closed as he pushed down to meet Frau, and Frau groaned. One of these days, he swore, the kid really was going to kill him.

Today, though, was his first time doing this, and Frau knew going too long would be a mistake. So he stroked a hand down the leanness of Teito's body to wrap around his cock and pump it slow and hard.

"Ahh!" Teito's hands clenched on Frau's shoulders again, and Frau watched him, drinking in the life and brilliance of him, the abandon as Teito rocked wantonly between his hand and his cock. The way his name spilled from Teito's lips made something hot and possessive tighten through him. When Teito's body finally clamped down around him, he growled, driving up into that tightness with short, hungry thrusts until pleasure raked him over the edge.

When the fire finally stopped wringing his nerves out, Frau gathered Teito back down against him and eased carefully out. Teito winced, and Frau rubbed a hand up and down his back. "Okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Teito answered, just as soft. And then he poked Frau in the chest. "And it didn't hurt."

Frau snorted and slid his hand down to cup Teito's ass gently. "If you can ride the damn hawkzile tomorrow and still say that, I'll be impressed." He could feel Teito's face heat against his shoulder and chuckled, threading his fingers into Teito's hair. "I'm a little impressed already," he admitted.

Teito glanced up with a rare, unguarded smile, bright and sweet. Frau held him closer and tried not to self-evidently melt into a puddle of pathetic gooeyness.

Teito would seriously be the death of him, some day. Frau was becoming increasingly sure of this, and not in a metaphorical way, because life was a bastard like that.

For as long as he had, though, Frau would stay close to the pure warmth and insane stubbornness of Teito's heart, and be grateful.

End

Come Along With Me

Teito really wishes he could get Frau to stop being quite so overprotective. For the Oh My God We Need Some Porn in here Stat meme, and the prompt Frau/Teito, size difference. Porn, Fluff, I-4

Teito really liked going to bed with Frau. It was hot and alive, and if it was strange that he'd found those things with a technically dead man... well, no one knew better than he did that life was weird that way.

Now if he could just work Frau past his over-protectiveness.

Teito moaned into Frau's mouth as long, strong fingers slid deeper into his ass, and nipped at Frau's lower lip. "Frau, come on."

"Teito..."

He could already tell, just from the tone, that Frau was about to insist on preparing him for longer, and glared. "Shut up." Teito wrapped his legs around Frau's hips and rocked up against him hard. He smiled when Frau forgot to be careful for a moment and ground down to meet him, pinning Teito against the bed with his weight, one hand closed tight on his ass.

"Nngh..." Frau glared back at him, eyes dilated and dark. "Damn it, brat."

Teito grinned, rubbing up against the hard line of Frau's cock. "Come on and fuck me," he half coaxed and half demanded. "Fuck me now."

Frau growled and kissed him, deep and hot, and Teito relaxed. Now they were getting somewhere. He let Frau lay him back against the sheets, because he really did know that he had to be relaxed to take Frau in. He made a husky sound at the blunt, thick press of Frau's cock between his cheeks, the promise of it, and, when Frau hesitated, he looked up and murmured, "Please."

Frau gave in, the way he almost always did when Teito asked like that, and pushed into him slowly, eyes sharp on Teito's face.

Teito tossed his head back and moaned openly, hands working against Frau's shoulders. "Yes... oh yes... Frau..." His breath was broken into gasps by how fiercely Frau's cock stretched his body, so intense he wondered every time if he'd be able to take it for long enough. And then, every time, the stretch turned into a hot slide into his ass, and feeling the hardness of Frau inside him, holding him open, made him shudder. "God, Frau, this," he panted. "This, please, fuck me."

And however he complained about Frau's over-protectiveness, he liked the feeling of Frau's arms gathering him up and holding him while Frau's cock worked in and out of him. Sheer sensation washed away the rest of the world; he couldn't think of anything except how big Frau was inside him, the sharp flare of heat every time Frau drove in again, the flex of Frau's hard muscles under his hands, the tenderness of one large hand cradling his head. When the other hand closed around his cock, sure and strong, Teito moaned openly at the pleasure tightening his whole body.

When he came and heat wrung his body hard around the unyielding thickness of Frau's cock, Teito couldn't even moan, only gasp open mouthed. It went on and on, until the edges of Teito's vision started to close in, and even when the intensity snapped and drained away he was still full of Frau. And that was good.

Frau wasn't long behind him, and Teito sprawled under him with a satisfied smile as Frau fucked him with hard, short strokes and finally stilled over him, shuddering. He reached up to pull Frau down against him before Frau could decide he was too heavy. Teito liked Frau's weight holding him against the bed.

Frau smiled down at him wryly, eyes laughing as he panted for breath. "One of these days, brat, you're going to get yourself into trouble."

"So maybe that's what I like," Teito pointed out, reaching up to brush Frau's hair out of his eyes.

"Yeah, okay." Frau kissed his forehead gently. "Just... try not to go looking for it, okay?"

Teito smiled up at him. "Only with you," he promised.

From the rueful quirk to Frau's lips, he thought he might finally have gotten through this time.

End

To the Silver Night Sky

After one possible end to canon, Frau discovers that Ghosts tend to get stuck in Tenkai for a while. On the bright side, this means Gido is still around. Adorableness ensues. Also a good deal of sex. Drama, Fluff, Angst, Porn, I-4

In Frau's considered opinion, Heaven sucked.

He'd been here for most of a day, as near as he could tell, stalking around endless gardens. It was like someone had turned Labrador loose and told him to knock himself out.

He was trying not to think about Labrador, or Castor, or anyone else, but the flowers made it kind of hard to avoid Labrador-thoughts.

And there were people here. Other souls, he guessed. But none of them had approached him, he didn't recognize anyone, and he really wasn't in the mood to chat up distracted looking strangers. The melodious birdsong was getting on his nerves, too. His hands felt too light, without his scythe.

But Zehel was gone, now, and the scythe with him. He could feel that much, that stunning weight lifted from the center of his soul. It should probably feel like freedom, but right at the moment it felt more like failure.

He finally slumped down onto the lip of a fountain, hands dangling between his knees. He was dead. Teito wasn't. He was pretty sure Castor and Labrador weren't. That was good.

What the fuck did he do now though?

"Here you are. Been looking all over for you, brat."

Frau jerked like he'd just touched a live wire; that was kind of what it felt like. He knew that voice, or he had a long time ago. Slowly he looked up, hands closing tight on his knees.

There was a man standing in the entrance to this garden, elbow propped up on the ornamental gate. Tall and lean and powerful with black hair and a wry smile with a cigarette dangling from one corner of it. Frau had to swallow twice before he could speak.

"Gido?"

"Large as life," the man said easily. "Figured I should come find you. Give you a chance to get the yelling over with early."

"Yelling?" Frau echoed, husky. Slowly he stood up, almost stumbling as he stepped forward.

Gido lifted his brows. "I was figuring, yeah. For having died. For dropping Zehel in your lap." He blew out a stream of smoke, looking thoughtful. "Damned if I know who's going to take it up now; I don't even know who else is alive, from our House. So, yeah. You can go ahead and yell." Frau just stared at him, completely at a loss, brain spinning with memories he'd tried to put away to keep old pain from eating him hollow. "Or maybe not," Gido finally said quietly. He dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, and held out a hand. "C'mere, kid."

He dragged Frau close, and oh god he was warm, warm, and solid when Frau wrapped his arms around him. Frau was shaking, throat tight, and something alarmingly close to a sob ripped out of him when Gido's hand settled on his head and ruffled his hair like he used to. Frau buried his head in Gido's shoulder, level with his own now, just to make it all even stranger. "You fucking idiot," he gasped, raggedly, swept up in old pain that swamped the new. "You should have run! Why the hell didn't you run when they came?!"

"Ah, there's the yelling." Gido sounded amused, a little indulgent, so familiar it nearly broke Frau. Gido sighed, settling a hand on the back of Frau's neck. "If I'd run, I wouldn't have been me," he said simply. And then he shook Frau gently. "And don't try to tell me you'd have done any differently if it had been you in charge of the ship. You never ran when you were shepherding Tiashe around the Empire with the entire military on your trail."

Frau lifted his head and glared. "That was different! That was to keep Verloren from awakening, and he was Pandora's Box and I was Zehel for fuck's sake! There was no way out of it."

Gido gave him that faint smile with the steel edge that meant he wasn't going to let Frau bullshit on this one. "And you wouldn't have run even if there had been a way."

Frau's eyes fell under that piercing look. Gido snorted softly. "We can't watch all the time, but I've kept an eye on you when I could, Frau." He chuckled. "Might even have said a few prayers for Bastien, after he picked you up."

Frau flinched.

"Frau." Gido's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Don't let the end of that make you forget everything that came before. He loved you. And you saved him." Quietly he added, "I'm grateful to him for looking after the last of my crew." And then he pulled Frau's head down to his shoulder again, which was good, because more tears were forcing their way out. Frau had forgotten how easily Gido could undo him, how clearly this man had always seen him.

They ended up sitting in one of the mossy nooks by the fountain, boots and coats getting a little tangled up because Frau couldn't quite bring himself to let go. Gido just smiled and settled Frau against his shoulder. Eventually Frau cleared his throat. "So. You stayed up here?"

"Mm." Gido ruffled his fingers absently through Frau's hair. "Yeah, about that. Most souls can turn right around, if that's what they want, but those who have been Ghosts... well, it takes a while to wash that out for most of us. Asyl, the Zehel before me, she's almost ready to go back down I think."

Frau shot upright and stared at him. "I'm stuck here?!"

Gido's smile tilted ruefully. "Figured that was the next bit you'd yell about, yeah."

"But... but... Teito!"

"He's got Mikhail plus the master of Raphael to help him, doesn't he?" The smile spread into a grin. "She reminds me of Magdalena, a little. Only scarier."

"But...!"

"And every last one of the God Houses owes him, and knows it," Gido added. "Last I saw, it looked like the Oaks, in particular, were on his side."

"But...!"

Gido gave Frau a level look. "Frau. You protected him. You kept him alive. You were why he remembered a lot about love. But your part down there is done for now. And," he added practically, "it would be anyway, even if you could turn right around. You really want to wait to grow up again, all antsy and not remembering why?"

Frau let himself fall back against Gido's shoulder with a deliberate thud. "You don't have to have an answer for everything right away, you know," he grumbled.

Gido laughed, wrapping an arm more firmly around him. "What else was I supposed to spend my own time here doing, besides thinking? Well," he allowed, softening, "that and missing you."

Frau ducked his head a little, feeling very young again and a little flustered to hear that from his mentor and leader.

Gido's hand slipped down his neck, thumb running over his choker. "So you kept this, huh?"

And that reminded Frau sharply that he really wasn't all that young any more, because the brush of Gido's fingers over his throat sent a shot of heat right down his spine. Gido's brows rose at the faint sound Frau couldn't quite keep back. His fingers traced over the line of the choker again, slower this time and more deliberate. Frau's chin lifted helplessly as another husky sound caught in his throat.

Gido's mouth quirked up at one corner and Frau swallowed a little nervously. Gido was a good man, a kind one, and Frau's personal model for honor and compassion. But there was no denying he also had a wicked sense of humor. "Gido..."

"Well, that's certainly one way to get you settled down, here." Gido bent his head and dragged his tongue up the line of Frau's throat. The slow, wet warmth made Frau gasp, hand fisting tight in Gido's coat. His head was tipped back again, and he couldn't remember doing that but he wasn't going to complain when Gido was tracking open-mouthed kisses back down his throat and over his chest... and when the hell had Gido gotten Frau's coat undone?

"Gido..." he tried again, though it came out husky and breathless as Gido eased him down against the sun-warmed moss and settled his weight over him.

"Yeah?" Gido asked, leaning on his elbows while he carded his fingers through Frau's hair.

Frau wet his lips, looking up at him. He couldn't deny that he'd had a few dreams that went kind of like this, and when he finally spoke what he said was, "Lose the coat?"

Gido laughed. "That's my Frau."

Frau closed his eyes. "Always," he admitted, softly. At that, Gido's hands closed around his face and Gido kissed him, slow and gentle.

One benefit of dressing the way they both did was that it took less time to get out of. The boots took the longest, because by that time Gido had gone back to nipping and sucking on Frau's throat which made fireworks run right down his spine to his cock and distracted him thoroughly from the buckles. When they were finally both bare, Frau pressed close, winding himself around Gido and drinking in his slow kisses as Gido's hands stroked soothingly down his back. They were so familiar, those hands, that touch, just... not quite this way around. It stunned Frau to realize he'd even shaped his behavior in bed after his captain, his hero, and done it without Gido ever touching him like this before. He had to bury his head against Gido's shoulder and laugh for a while over that. "Always," he whispered again, and Gido's arms tightened around him hard and strong.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly against Frau's hair. When Frau pressed closer with a soft sound, he set his fingers under Frau's chin and lifted it, kissing him slow and deep. "So proud of you." He ran a hand slowly down Frau's body. "You never left us behind. You kept the laws of your people in your heart all your life." He wrapped a hand around Frau's cock and stroked him, strong and sure. "Don't ever believe you failed us Frau. You never did."

Frau was shaking in the curve of Gido's arm, wide eyed and shocked by the warmth of Gido's words twining around the hot pleasure of his touch. "Gido...!" He was clinging to Gido's shoulders, overwhelmed like he never had been with any other lover. Gido smiled down at him, that very same smile he'd given Frau when Gido had first accepted him on board, and Frau arched up against him, moaning as he came completely undone. Heat tore through him, and Frau shuddered with it, trusting himself blindly to the hands that held him and worked him through it.

When he finally stilled, panting against Gido's shoulder, Gido stroked his hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I've wanted to tell you that for a long time," he murmured.

Frau stirred and smiled up at him. He'd wanted to hear that for a long time; he hadn't realized quite how much. "Thank you."

Gido gathered him a little closer, and held him quietly as Frau lay against him in the boneless warmth of the garden. Eventually the faint sound of Gido's heartbeat eased Frau into a doze.

When Frau woke up again, for a second he didn't remember where he was.

And then he did. Teito, Castor, Labrador, no...

Arms tightened around him when he flinched, and a strong hand slid up his back to knead his neck. "Easy, Frau. Easy."

"Gido." At least that part was real too.

"Right here." There was a grin in Gido's voice as he added, "Done with your beauty nap?"

Frau growled and gave him a shove, which just made Gido laugh.

"Well, in that case, maybe you want to get cleaned up?" Gido sat up and brushed at the flower petals stuck to his chest. "The flowers do kind of get everywhere," he muttered.

"Is there actually such a thing as a shower around here?" Frau wanted to know, rather skeptical. "I haven't seen a damn thing but gardens, fountains, and more gardens since I got here."

Gido's smile curled up in a way that made Frau instantly wary. "I'm sure we can find something that will work."

When he led Frau, through a few more gardens, to what apparently passed for a bath in Heaven, Frau had to just stare for a while. "This place is fucking nuts," he finally stated.

"It's Heaven, it goes a little overboard sometimes," Gido said easily, tossing his boots under one of the benches.

"A little?!"

They were standing at the edge of an insane cross between a fountain, a hot spring, and a reception hall. There were pools and pillars, steam and miniature waterfalls, basins of soap and towels and jars and bottles and (of course) flowers scattered all over.

"Quit being such a wuss and come scrub off," Gido ordered, wading into a pool with water spilling down from a spout shaped like a fucking dragon's mouth, and that was just disturbing. Frau glared, but followed after him.

"Who thought all this up?" he grumbled, ducking under the spout for a moment. He picked up a sponge a little dubiously, but that, at least, seemed to just be a normal sponge.

"You get used to it."

Frau paused, staring at the falling water for a moment, because Gido's voice seemed softer than it needed to be. "Gido—"

Arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him back against Gido's chest. "You'll never get clean at this rate," Gido murmured in his ear. "Want some help?" A soapy cloth, rough and nubbly under the suds, ran down his chest.

"Gido," Frau muttered, face a little hot. "For fuck's sake, I'm not a little kid."

"Mm, you know, I noticed that." Gido's hand, covered by the cloth, slid between Frau's legs, over his cock, to cup his balls gently.

"Fuck." Frau leaned back against Gido, breath suddenly short again. Gido just laughed, softly.

"Turn around, I'll get your back."

Frau thought that was backward, but he turned around anyway, and understood when Gido pulled Frau up tight against him. The cloth did scrub over his back, though, and Frau gave in and bent his head, laughing against Gido's shoulder. Slowly he ran his hands, and the sponge, over Gido's back in turn, tracing long, lean muscle and bone. They really were built a lot alike. Not surprising, he supposed, for two of the same House, no matter how wild and scattered that House was. He wondered who would be Zehel now, and whether they would get along with Castor and Labrador. Whether Zehel would protect Teito and that little firebrand Ouka, and their personal Oak, Hakuren.

"You're thinking too much," Gido said against his ear, and Frau gasped as the cloth slid down to rub slow and hard between his cheeks.

Frau leaned against him, hands splayed against Gido's back, and moaned as a finger pressed into him, wrapped in the wet roughness of the cloth. The sensation, the soft-and-rough texture pushing inside him, turned his legs shaky, and he was glad when Gido eased them both down to their knees in the heat of the water. "Stop worrying about the world," Gido murmured to him. "You're done with that responsibility for now."

"But everyone," Frau started, only to gasp as Gido gathered him closer and worked his fingers deeper into him.

"You love them," Gido whispered against his ear. "You saved them. You served them well, and now it's time to trust them, Frau."

Frau wrapped his arms around Gido's chest, panting against his shoulder. "I do," he insisted, ragged as Gido worked the cloth slowly in his ass.

"Then miss them," Gido told him gently. "But don't fear for them." He drew his hand and the cloth back, and Frau slumped against him, breathless.

"Will it really be all right?" he asked, low, and Gido took his face in both hands, dripping warm water as he lifted Frau's head to meet his eyes.

"It will be all right," he answered with such absolute certainty that Frau couldn't help but believe him. Frau nodded a little, accepting his leader's judgement, and Gido kissed him warm and easy. "Come on."

Frau was still just a little shaky around the knees, which Gido, predictably, took as an opportunity to draw him close again as they dried off. "Notice you kept this too," Gido murmured, leaning in to close his teeth lightly on the ear cuff Frau had inherited and tug gently.

Frau leaned against him with a soft moan, eyes half closed. "Fuck, Gido..."

"Well of course; you didn't think we were done yet, did you?" There was a definite gleam in Gido's eyes, and Frau thought about the way Gido had just cleaned him and had to swallow.

"Why?" he finally asked, quietly. Gido didn't pretend not to understand, just smiled and ruffled his fingers through Frau's drying hair.

"Because you need the distraction." His teeth flashed in a grin. "And because you've grown up very nicely." His hands slid down Frau's back to grip his ass and pull him in tighter, and Frau went because, really, he was pretty damn willing to be distracted now and figure out what he was being distracted from later. Teito had put his finger right on the truth, that one night; Gido had been like a god to Frau. Frau had loved Bastien, but it was Gido he'd dreamed about. Being bent over on his knees under Gido, in a muddle of velvety grass and wet towels, had him light-headed and panting even before long, strong fingers spread his ass.

When Gido's tongue dragged slowly over his entrance, response tightened so hard through Frau that he thought he might come from this alone. Gido was taking his time, tongue circling lazily, wet and hot and soft, until Frau was gasping against the towels and pushing back against Gido's hands. When he finally pushed his tongue into Frau, opening him up, Frau could only clutch at the grass and moan. It was good, soft and strong and hot, but it also made him hungry for more.

"Gido," he gasped, pushing back against him and shivering when Gido's hands tightened to hold him still.

"Mm." Slow thumbs worked circles over his ass. "More already?" Gido purred, teasing.

"Fuck yes, please." Frau made a low, wanting sound in his throat as Gido's cock pushed into him, hard and slow and slick with something. Probably from one of the goddamn bottles and jars around here, and oh god, ten years from now would Frau know what was in all of them too? He didn't want to think about that.

Fortunately, there were better things to concentrate on.

"Gido, fuck me," he half begged and half ordered, rocking back into the slow slide of Gido's cock. Gido laughed.

"Demanding, aren't you?" But his grip on Frau's hips shifted and he thrust into Frau so hard Frau saw stars.

"Yes," he moaned as Gido took him at his word and fucked him hard and sure. Gido was not a small man, and the burn of being stretched and filled by him ran down Frau's nerves sweet and hot. It was here and now and perfect, even if here was a bunch of fucking impossible gardens and he'd thought now was too late. It was hope, ground into his skin with every thrust, every stroke of Gido's hands down his ribs, that he'd come back to this, to this man, and maybe that meant the rest of his life and love wasn't gone forever either.

"It's all right, Frau." Gido's voice was husky and breathless, now. "It's all right. Let go." His hand wrapped around Frau's cock, strong and sure, and he drove into Frau's ass hard enough to lift him up off his knees. "Let go. You know I'll catch you."

The words raced through him like lightning, bright and wild, an explosion when they hit the building fire of body-pleasure. Frau cried out with the shock of it as sweetness scythed through him, so sharp it almost cut. It wrung his body out like a rag until he could barely breathe, only shudder with the force of it, of his response to Gido's care. Gido's low, vibrant moan answered him, deep as a kiss, and Frau gasped as Gido thrust hard into him and stilled.

"Fuck," Gido sighed, finally, and Frau could only make a wordless noise of agreement. He collapsed on the towels as Gido drew back and let him down, ass throbbing very pleasantly. The brush of Gido's lips over the back of his neck made him bend his head, shivering softly. Gido's hand stroked down his back, gentle.

"Too bad you weren't that quick to follow my orders back on the Aegis," he teased lightly.

Frau stirred and turned his head to look up at him, mouth quirking. "I always obeyed you."

Gido snorted and reached over to fish two cigarettes out of his coat pocket, offering one to Frau. "Bullshit."

Frau stole his lighter and sucked in a slow breath of smoke. "It's true," he insisted as Gido snatched the lighter back and cuffed him lightly. "I yelled at you and argued with you and called you every name I ever learned, when you were being stupid. But I never disobeyed you, once you actually gave an order."

Gido looked down at him for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally said softly, fingers sliding through Frau's hair. "I know." When he pulled Frau close again, Frau went willingly, content for a while to just soak up the warmth of being here, of being with Gido once again.

He figured they'd probably get around to the yelling again in time, but for now this was much better.

Eventually, after another couple cigarettes and another dunk in the crazed baths, they finally got around to getting dressed again. Frau thought about that for a while, leaning against Gido's knees. Gido was sprawled back on the marble edge of a fountain, which made a handy bench Frau supposed, but Frau had settled on the much softer grass at his feet. It had been a while since he'd been fucked that hard, after all. Besides, this meant Gido was combing his fingers slowly through Frau's hair, and Frau kind of wanted that comfort while he thought.

He thought he might know what Gido had been doing for the last few hours, and his guess warmed him and, at the same time, scared him that Gido had thought it was necessary. What had gone on right after he died, that Gido thought he needed to be braced or cushioned against it? Only one way to find out.

"So," he said quietly. "Am I calm enough, now? For you to let me see whatever it is that lets us watch the mortal world? To see what's happened to them?"

Gido's hand in his hair paused for a moment. "You always were sharp," Gido murmured. "Look at me."

Frau raised his head from Gido's knee and looked up to meet his eyes, dark and steady and serious. "Do you think you're ready?" Gido asked. "To see the people you love, ones you probably won't see in person for a long time?"

Frau remembered Gido asking him, in exactly that voice, if he was coming along, when he agreed to let Frau fly with him. He remembered that had been the last time he'd seen Magdalena. And then he had to close his eyes for a second and swallow hard.

"This was the first thing you taught me," he finally said, husky. "To gain something, you usually have to give something else up." And then he laughed, a little unsteady but true, remembering something else. "Well, maybe the second thing." He opened his eyes again and looked up at Gido with a tilted smile. "The first was If no one else will reach out their hand, I will. If it's important enough... you do it anyway."

The light of Gido's slow smile, the open pride in it, in him, made Frau glance aside, face a little hot. It was a small calm in his heart, though—a little place to stand and rest. He had done what needed to be done, what he knew was right, and he'd found one of his homes again on the other side of that choice.

"If you want to see it, I'll show you," Gido said, softly. Frau nodded silently and Gido stood, tugging Frau up with him.

As they walked through yet more of the endless gardens, Gido explained quietly. "There's a lake. We're pretty sure it's what the Lord of Heaven uses to keep an eye on the mortal world, but other souls can influence it around the edges, too. If the ones you want to see are present enough in your heart and mind, the lake will show them to you." His mouth twisted, eyes fixed ahead of them. "It's a mixed blessing, if it's a blessing at all. It nearly destroyed Kreuz. The last Vertrag," he added, glancing over at Frau. "Tiashe's guardian. What happened to the kid was... well. It was pretty bitter, even for those of us who'd only met the kid once. Kreuz was Tiashe's second dad; he nearly tore his soul apart, watching what those Barsburg bastards did to him and not being able to do a thing about it." He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "In the end, Gala grew some mary-flower and made him sleep. These gardens listen a little to the blood of Profe, even when they're not Ghosts any more. Good thing, too. He's doing better these days, at least." Gido smiled over at him. "Helped when you and the kid met up."

Frau could understand, now, exactly why Gido had wanted to make sure Frau was settled down before showing him this lake, even if he was tempted to call the man an overprotective old hen. But then the bits of information rearranged themselves in his head and his feet froze to the ground.

"Frau?" Gido looked back over his shoulder, brows raised.

"So, um. Kreuz. Has been watching again, huh?" Frau swallowed. "Just how much has 'Teito's second dad' been watching?"

Gido blinked once or twice before it seemed to click for him too and he threw his head back and laughed, open and rich. "Oh, don't worry." That would have been more reassuring if Gido hadn't been snickering. "He thinks the two of you are cute. Got downright doting about it whenever Tiashe started bossing you around in bed."

"He did not..." Frau glared as Gido broke up laughing again. Gido just slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah, kid, he really did. It was cute."

Frau let himself be towed along, growling under his breath.

The lake, he had to admit, was a little unnerving, when they got there. There were other people gathered here and there around the edge, and the looks on their faces made Frau's nerves tighten. The first thing he thought, seeing them, was Kor. All too many of them wore the expression of someone listening to a Kor. "Gido," he said, tight and quiet.

"A mixed blessing," Gido answered, low, not looking at him. "Ghosts aren't the only souls that can get stuck, here."

That tone, that not-look, were a warning Frau recognized from the Aegis. There was, perhaps, someone listening that they shouldn't speak too freely in front of. Some things were constants, whether in the celestial world or the mortal one. Considering they'd all figured it had been a celestial messenger that had really convinced the Pope to make Teito Pandora's Box, it wasn't all that surprising. Frau nodded, disarmingly casual, and knelt at the edge of the water.

The lapping wavelets stilled, smooth as glass, and Frau's breath caught to see Teito reflected there. He'd thought he would have to do more. But no, there was Teito, sitting with Hakuren and Ouka around a small round table stacked with paper and cluttered with carafes and glasses, as Kururu chased Mikage from chair back to chair back. Frau didn't realize how tight his fingers had closed on the grass of the shore until Gido's hands settled on his shoulders and squeezed.

He watched the three of them trade lists and portfolios around, listened to Ouka's opinion of this noble and Hakuren's thoughts on that priest and Teito's quiet remarks on some general, soft and clear as if they were in the next room. It hurt, like a fist closed around his heart, to see them, so clear and so distant. And it soothed too, to watch them, safe and alive and obviously planning to take over the world though none of them would probably put it that way.

And then Hakuren said, without looking up from his file, "A message came from Castor-sama today. They're safe back at the cathedral."

Teito flinched.

"Teito," Ouka said softly, reaching across to catch one of his hands.

"I'm all right," he said hastily. "It's fine."

Hakuren threw his folder on the table and glared at him. "You are not. When are you going to take your own advice and let yourself mourn for him?"

"We don't have time." Teito didn't sound very sure, though, and he was clinging to Ouka's hand.

"The world isn't falling apart this instant," Hakuren said firmly. "We have time." He pushed his chair back and came to kneel beside Teito's, hand on his shoulder. More gently, he added, "I miss Frau-sama too."

As if the name had been all it needed to unlock Teito's resistance, he slumped back in his chair with a stifled sound of grief, curling in on himself. Hakuren promptly pulled him out of the chair and into his arms, and Ouka came around the table to wind her arms around both of them.

"You loved him," she said softly, stroking Teito's hair as he shuddered. "And he was a good man. It's all right."

"So dark without him," Teito whispered roughly against Hakuren's shoulder, and Hakuren's arms tightened hard.

"Open your eyes," Hakuren ordered, rather husky himself. "Some of the light he showed you was your own, Teito, don't ever doubt that. Don't you dare."

Some muttering answered that, out of which Frau could only hear bossy. "Miss him," Teito added, a little more audibly. Ouka rested her cheek against his hair.

"You should miss him," she said softly. "When someone leaves, of course we miss them. It hurts less, with time, but we always miss them." She took a deep breath. "But that's just the proof that your heart and your light are alive. And that means you can keep on loving people, and they can help you when it hurts."

Teito broke down for real, then, shaking in their arms, and Frau watched them, eyes burning, as Hakuren and Ouka sat on the floor and held him through it. Mikage joined them to burrow against Teito's cheek and make anxious chirps at him, and when Teito finally lifted his head it was Mikage who got a damp smile. "Thanks," Teito said quietly, scrubbing a sleeve over his face. Hakuren tsked at him and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and Teito rolled his eyes, and Ouka giggled, and they all relaxed a little.

Teito straightened and stretched slowly, and accepted a glass of water Hakuren poured him. "So." He glanced up reluctantly at the table full of paper. "Who should we be supporting for Field Marshal?"

"I think it will have to be Myers," Ouka said practically, tucking her skirts in around her knees and staying beside him. "He's the only one willing to even think about releasing the Raggs Kingdom slaves, even now we're betrothed."

Frau drew back from the water, softly as if they could hear him in turn, and their image faded, still arguing. The last thing he saw was Hakuren's hand brushing Teito's hair protectively. "Idiot," he whispered, husky. "The light was all your own."

"Who's the idiot, again?" Gido's voice startled him, and he squawked a bit when Gido pulled him in close and Frau more or less collapsed against him. He was shaking, he realized, tremors like a bone-deep chill. Gido's hand closed on the nape of his neck, strong and warm, kneading a little of the shaking out. "I swear, each of you brats is just as bad as each other."

"What... what do you mean?" Frau asked, pressing his forehead against Gido's shoulder and trying to catch his breath.

"I mean," Gido told him dryly, "that both of you have souls that burn so pure it's amazing you don't blind innocent onlookers; and neither of you seem to believe it."

The words brought back the brilliance of Teito's soul, the taste of it on his tongue, the warmth of it that promised to call Frau back from any darkness, and loss clawed at Frau all over again. Gido held him close and quiet as Frau's hands twisted tight in his coat, and Frau's breath caught and heaved with the pain.

"Listen to the girl's wisdom, Frau," Gido murmured to him. "And know that you'll see Tiashe again."

"But he won't stay, and I can't leave." That thought hurt almost as badly as losing Teito already had—it was going to happen again, and there was nothing he could do...

Gido sighed. "Idiot." He rapped Frau briskly over the head. "What did I just say about your soul?"

"But..." Frau pushed upright against him, staring. "You said the Ghosts..."

"Are stuck here for a while. But unless he dies unimaginably young for a master of the Eye of Mikhail, you'll be ready to go back with him." He smiled and ruffled Frau's hair. "Do try to remember why you're the only one of us who could handle that damn scythe. I'm not the foreseer among us, but I'll tell you this much of your future: Zehel's mark will be burned from your soul in plenty of time."

Frau leaned back into the shelter of Gido's assurance, shaken worse than ever by the thought that he might find Teito again, as he'd found Gido. "Thank you," he whispered. He didn't like to think about what might have happened to him at this lake if he hadn't had Gido to ground him and guide him through it.

"None needed," Gido told him gently. "Come on, then." He stood, urging Frau up with him. "Let's find you a place to stay."

"Is it going to be as insane as the baths?" Frau asked, casting a suspicious eye around at the unrelentingly out-doorsy landscape. Gido snorted.

"Not that bad. Most people aren't here long enough to need anything, and a lot of the ones who stay aren't in any shape to notice," he didn't look back at the captive souls by the lake, but Frau shivered anyway, "so there are only a few of us who use it. We're back in a corner by the woods."

It took a while to get anywhere near the woods, but eventually they came into sight of some very tall walls and spires. Walls which, as they got closer, formed a building very like the sector seven Cathedral—arched walkways here, open courtyards there, pillared halls leading inward. Gido chuckled as Frau craned his head back, taking in the complexity of it. "There's no record of which came first, this or the Cathedral, but we think it was probably this."

He led Frau inward. There were none of the distracted souls Frau had seen in the rest of the gardens, here. Instead they passed a handful of people who felt just a little familiar. A light haired man with Castor's nose looked up from a book and smiled as they passed his rooms. A slight, beautiful woman with Labrador's eyes waved to them from an enclosed courtyard and fountain. A man with the gold hair of the Oaks winked at them over the shoulder of a tall man with Teito's faint accent strong in his vowels, who was contemplating a chess board set between them.

"Welcome home," Gido said quietly, setting a hand on Frau's shoulder to guide him through another arch and into a wide room with a few heavy chairs, a table and shelves, a deep bed. It was so much like the bedrooms in the cathedral that Frau's breath caught.

"I was going to say this will take some getting used to," he said, looking around at the smooth, pale stone walls. "But maybe less than I was thinking."

"Usually," Gido agreed, leaning in the arch of Frau's new doorway. "You're not alone here, Frau. We're all in this together."

Frau rested a hand on the wall by his bed nook. It had half a dozen pillows, and a stack of silky, folded blankets at the foot. That silent welcome and the knowing eyes of the ex-Ghosts they'd passed settled around him, warm and steady, and he took a long, slow breath. For the first time since he'd arrived in Heaven, he felt like he had a stable place to stand.

Maybe he'd make it until his other loved ones came back to him after all.

Which reminded him of the one he'd found here, all unexpected, and he cocked his head at Gido thoughtfully. "So, hey."

Gido's brows rose as Frau strolled back over to him. "Hm?"

"You said you wanted to get me settled, here, when you found me earlier." Frau reached out to rest a hand on Gido's chest, smiling to feel the beating heart under his hand. "Think you might help me get used to the new place?" He tilted his head at the bed.

Gido laughed and reached out without moving from his casual lean against the door to pull Frau up against him. "I really did miss you, brat," he said, resting his forehead against Frau's, eyes warm. "It'll be my pleasure."

"Well, then." Frau relaxed against him with a soft sigh, finding the words easy at last.

"I'm home."

End

Say Nothing and Close Your Eyes

Frau and Castor fight constantly. Castor never expected that to change, let alone like this, but he can't forget the light in Frau's hands. Written for the Oh My God We Need Some Porn in Here Stat meme, and the prompt Castor/Frau, punishment (it went in almost completely the opposite direction; I never claimed to be in control of these characters!). Porn, D/s, I-3

The first time Castor and Frau had a fight, after their promotion to bishops, it didn't go quite the way Castor expected.

He and Frau had fought pretty much constantly ever since they'd met. Castor was, not just the son of a aristocratic house, but it's heir. He'd been raised to strict courtesy, reserve, and precision in his work. Frau was an air pirate brat who Castor was reasonably sure, from a few things Frau had let drop, had been raised in a bordello. He was loud, casual, and careless in almost everything. Castor had no idea whose notion it had been to room them together, but the result had been predictable.

After over three years, their fights had worn some of the edges off. They had cooperated very well, in the exam, at least once Castor had taken away Frau's porn, tied him to a library chair, and drilled him on enough scripture to pass the first part. Castor had actually been a little touched that Frau had refused to leave him, when they reached the last two doors, though he did think Frau could have been a little less crude in the response he'd inscribed to the examiners. They had helped each other out when their paths crossed during their apprentice periods. They were friends by now, albeit friends who fought constantly.

None of that, however, meant Frau frustrated him any less.

So when Frau leaned against the window of Castor's new (thankfully single) room and fished his Seal from around his neck to light a cigarette with, of course Castor growled and snatched for it.

"Frau! Is there no end to your disrespect? Give me that!"

Frau caught Castor's wrist and grabbed his lighter-cum-Seal back. "Oh come on, it's still the holy Seal. Who cares if it's also something actually useful?"

Castor elbowed Frau in the ribs, though it didn't land quite as squarely as usual; he still wasn't entirely used to their new vestments. Frau grunted satisfyingly and lost his cigarette, though, and they scuffled for the lighter for a few seconds.

"Don't even try it!" Frau panted, snatching Castor's other hand before Castor could get a good grip on the chain of his lighter. "You stole my porn, but you're not getting my goddamn cigarettes!" He swung Castor up against the wall by the window, trying to pin him, and Castor gave him a disdainfully curled lip and twisted his wrists against Frau's completely unscientific grip.

He couldn't break it.

Castor froze for one second in shock. It wasn't as though he hadn't noticed that Frau was taller than him now, or that Frau had been filling out a lot this past year, but Castor had been trained to fight nearly from the moment he could walk. That Frau would have the raw strength to stop him anyway...

He couldn't help remembering the last test of the exam, the stunning light that had washed through the entire hall, breaking open the candidates' isolation, erasing everyone's shadows. Erasing his father. The hands that held him were the ones that wielded that light, and that put a strange shiver through Castor.

He tried, more by reflex than intention at that point, to throw Frau off balance with a twist of his hips. And then he really couldn't help the sound he made when Frau pressed a thigh between his legs to pin him in place. Frau stilled, looking down at him with sudden question, and Castor stared up at him, shocked at his own response. He was hard against Frau's thigh.

"Castor?" Frau asked, voice low and steady.

"I..." Castor swallowed. "I don't..." He couldn't forget that light, and when Frau's hands tightened his breath caught. The piercing eyes on him softened.

"Shh," Frau said quietly, pressing Castor back against the wall. "It's okay." His mouth quirked. "Could have figured you wouldn't know what to do with it."

Castor rallied a bit at that, bristling. "What exactly do you mean by—" He broke off with a choked gasp as Frau's thigh rocked up between his legs. He tried to reach out, to steady himself at least, and couldn't; Frau's grip kept his hands pinned up against the wall, and Castor moaned softly as his stomach tightened with heat.

"That," Frau murmured. Castor's eyes widened as Frau leaned down and closed his teeth, delicately, on the edge of Castor's veil, lifting it until he could catch Castor's mouth. His mouth on Castor's was slow and gentle and utterly ruthless, and Castor was trembling by the time Frau let him go only to catch him again. This, yes, this was what he'd felt in the light that touched them all, and Castor finally surrendered to it and tipped his head back, mouth open under Frau's.

Frau kept him up against the wall, kissing him until Castor was breathless and gasping as the hard thigh between his legs rocked steadily against him. Frau's strength held him, steadied him, took him slowly apart, and Castor could only trust in Frau's assurance that it was all right. When pleasure finally snapped and shot through him, Frau's body against his was the only thing he could hold on to.

And when he finally relaxed, panting for breath, Frau still held him. Secure. Castor had to swallow against the tightness in his throat. "Frau..."

Slowly, Frau let him go, thumbs stroking gently over his wrists as that steel grip on them eased. He let Castor down and drew him a little away from the wall, gathering him close. "All right?" he asked softly, long fingers spread against Castor's back.

"I..." Castor hardly knew. But he leaned against Frau.

Frau cupped his cheek, lifting his head. He kissed Castor very gently, through their veils this time, giving Castor back that little distance. "Next time you want to do that, let me know." He smiled. "And we can keep the fighting for the real arguments. Like where the hell you stashed my porn."

Castor finally laughed, even if it was a little husky. "Don't tell me you haven't replaced it already. I know you better than that."

Frau drew himself up indignantly. "That's not the point."

"Yes, it is," Castor answered precisely, "because now I have to go looking for the new stuff too."

And they were back to normal, except for Frau's hand still resting on his back, steady and sure. Supporting him. Offering a strength that Castor couldn't break away from. Castor wasn't sure how he could ask for this again, but he suspected he was going to figure it out.

End

Shadows that Won't Disappear

Castor's life centers around control. Sometimes he needs to set it down, but sometimes what he really needs is to take a firmer grip on it. Frau is really pretty okay with that. Porn, Bondage, I-4

Castor was back from a tour of the Fifth District, and Frau had brought him a welcome-home bottle of wine. (Castor had rolled his eyes and asked, "Do you even know what the word 'abstinence' means?" but he'd also accepted the wine.)

"So?" Frau asked, taking a long swallow and tipping the chair at Castor's reading table back on its legs. "How are they?"

"Falling," Castor said shortly. "Like all the God Houses. We shouldn't be falling again so soon after Vertrag redeemed the Houses on the road to Seele." He looked down into the glass cradled between his hands, settling a little deeper into the room's single, worn armchair.

"Not normally," Frau agreed, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling. "You think it's because Mikhail is missing? Or because Raphael is..." He hesitated, groping for the right word.

"Unbalanced," Castor finished, eyes dark. "Perhaps. If so, it will fall to us to correct that, in the end."

Frau winced. This wasn't the first conversation the Ghosts had had about this. No one liked the thought of cold-blooded killing, but if Raphael's master really was as insane as the destruction of the Raggs War seemed to indicate... they might not have a choice. "Have another drink and cheer up," he directed. "It hasn't come to that yet. You're home for now, back to drinking Labrador's tea and nagging me about my perfectly natural urges and pretending to your flock that you're actually a nice guy. Relax." Castor gave him a deeply exasperated look and he laughed, hooking an elbow over the wooden back of his chair. "You need some help doing that?" he asked casually.

Castor didn't always ask for what he needed. Personally, Frau thought he'd taken the whole abstinence and penance thing way too seriously. This evening, though, Castor made a thoughtful sound and took a sip of his wine, eyes fixed on Frau over the rim. "There's something I think I want to try," he said at last.

Frau lifted his brows; okay, maybe Castor really was learning that too much repression was bad for the soul. "Hmm?"

Castor rose from his chair, setting his glass aside on the window ledge, and came to lay his fingers lightly on Frau's wrist. Feste's strings wrapped slowly around it, and suddenly Frau's arm wasn't his to move. "This," Castor said softly.

Frau looked up at him, turning that over in his head. Part of him tensed up, resisting the idea. The plain fact was, Castor was a dangerous man; he hadn't been raised to even recognize kindness much less practice it. Against that, though, was the part of him that knew Castor hated that fact, knew he embraced the Church's mandate of compassion with all his heart. So he asked quietly, "What were you planning to do with me once you had me?"

The smile that curved Castor's lips and lit his eyes was pleased and just a little shy and more than a little wicked. "I think... take my time."

Frau leaned back, laughing. He knew Castor, and he had no doubt he'd be cursing himself for agreeing at some point tonight, but... he knew Castor. And he didn't actually object to being teased, by the right person. If anyone he knew was going to have a talent for it, it was almost certainly Castor. He set his drink on the reading table and smiled up at him. "Okay. Go for it."

Castor's fingers stroked over the back of his hand and the strings came loose. "You're getting out of your own clothes."

Frau smirked; he imagined that part would change in time. Once Castor had a taste of this, Frau was pretty sure he'd want more. Castor liked being protected, but he really liked being in control. For tonight, though, he shrugged out of his surplice and undid the fiddly cassock buttons quick and easy. And then he took a moment to stretch, nice and slow.

"Show off," Castor murmured behind him, and Frau grinned as long fingers stroked down his spine.

"Maybe." He kicked off his pants and turned to see Castor watching him. He was perfectly happy to take the chance to watch back. Castor was beautiful, not with Lab's unearthly beauty, but like someone had taken a current of wind and given it human form: lean and poised and sleek. Frau smiled and held out his hands, offering. He was looking forward to this.

Castor took his wrist and tugged him onto the bed. Weightless, unbreakable strings followed after Castor's hands, winding around Frau's arms and down his thighs until he was kneeling on Castor's sheets, legs spread, arms drawn up over his head. "You sure you haven't been reading my porn?" he asked, a bit husky. It was no strain, being held by Feste's strings; he just couldn't move, and that put a sheen of sweat over his skin.

"Most certainly not," Castor murmured, settling behind Frau with a rustle. "I've simply been... thinking." His hands spread against Frau's stomach and slid up his chest, and Frau shivered.

Castor, true to his word, took his time. His hands stroked over Frau's body, down his thighs, long fingers trailing softly back up the insides. Frau's muscles drew taut in answer, but it didn't do him a bit of good. He could barely even flex his hips as Castor slid his palms over Frau's flanks and down to knead his ass gently; Frau's breath caught as fingertips carelessly brushed his entrance. He swore he could feel Castor's smile as the teasing touch drew away only to be replaced by the equally teasing slide of Castor's cock between his cheeks as Castor pressed up against his back. He moaned softly as Castor's hands kneaded over his shoulders and up his arms, easing the tautness of Frau's muscles back into waiting warmth. The strength of Castor's hands was always a little surprising.

And then Castor undid that relaxation all at once by reaching down and running his nails slowly up Frau's inner thighs. Frau gasped, arching hard against the strings holding him as heat shot up his spine, and Castor made a satisfied sound, nearly a purr. "You're enjoying this," Frau panted.

"Mm." Castor trailed light fingers up and down the hard line of Frau's cock. "It seems you are, too."

Frau laughed, breathless. He had to admit it was true. "Yeah." Castor's mouth curved against his shoulder and Castor's fingers wrapped loosely around his cock, stroking him. Frau moaned low in his throat; that touch coaxed and promised, but it wasn't nearly enough and Frau could barely move his hips an inch. "Fuck, Castor..."

"Eventually," Castor murmured, teeth closing on Frau's earlobe. "Probably."

Frau nearly whimpered as Castor's thumb rubbed soft circles over his head. Yeah, Castor was definitely good at this. The especially unfair part was how firmly the heat of Castor's cock was pressed up between his cheeks, the slow strength of his hand kneading over Frau's stomach, all in desperate contrast to the delicate way Castor fingered his cock, his nipples, rubbed a light fingertip behind his balls. Frau was a little light-headed from panting for breath by the time the strings shifted and moved him, bending him over on his knees, bound arms stretched out toward the top of the bed.

"Oh my god, Castor, tell me you're going to fuck me now," Frau groaned against the sheets. Castor's husky laugh sent a hot shiver down his spine to tighten his stomach.

"Perhaps." Frau could hear that evil smile hanging in the air, again. "If you ask nicely."

Frau couldn't actually be surprised; on the other hand, it was possible that two could play this game. "You want me to beg for it?" he asked, husky. "All right, then. I want it, Castor, I want your cock inside me. I want it so bad I can taste it, to feel how thick and hard you are working in and out of me. I want you to fuck me until I scream, and hold me still for every second of it."

"Then I imagine this will be very satisfying for you," Castor murmured, and Frau had a moment to congratulate himself on the breathless tone in his voice before one cool, slick finger pressed into him and Castor added, "Eventually."

Frau's groan was heartfelt, as Castor worked that one finger slowly in his ass. "Castor, please," he finally begged.

The point was pretty clear when that got him two fingers.

"You are such a bastard," Frau told him fervently, and Castor laughed.

"Now, is that asking nicely?"

"God, fine, please Castor, fuck me already before I go fucking insane, here!"

Castor's fingers twisted slowly, deep in his ass, and Frau shuddered in the hold of the strings. "In time," Castor said, soft and dark as velvet.

When Castor started stroking soft fingers up and down the line of Frau's cock, he broke and begged again, breathless variations on please and now. Castor gave him three fingers all right, but slowly, so slowly that Frau's whole body was taut with trying to push back onto those long fingers. Castor ignored his straining and just kept fucking him very slow, very easy while Frau panted and whined low in his throat.

"Please Castor, please, oh god, fuck me like you mean it, I need it so bad, please," Frau pleaded shamelessly. Being spread open like this and not getting more was driving him crazy.

"Yes. I think now is a good time."

Frau didn't quite manage to process that before Castor's cock was driving into him, hard and thick and so incredibly good after being teased for so long that Frau could only moan wordlessly. Castor's strings held him quite still as Castor fucked him ruthlessly, long hard strokes pounding deep into his ass and finally, finally letting all the built up heat go somewhere. Frau gasped and panted under it, more and more desperately as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, and nearly screamed when it finally snapped. Every sensitized nerve in his body caught fire as orgasm ripped through him, shaking him under Castor, and it went on and on as Castor fucked the tightness right back out of his body. The last few strokes would have driven him into the mattress in a boneless heap if the strings hadn't held him.

He collapsed anyway when Castor finally released the strings and let him down to the bed.

"Fuck," Frau mumbled into the sheets after a little while, dazed. He could feel Castor laughing against his back.

"I take it you approve, then." Castor sounded extremely smug, and Frau managed to turn his head and look over his shoulder. Yep. Castor's smile was very definitely smug.

"You," he declared, still husky, "are an evil bastard." He couldn't help the grin, though. "And, yeah, that was pretty incredible."

Castor's smile softened and he ran his fingers through Frau's damp hair. "Does that mean you'd be interested in doing it again some time?" he asked. There was a hint of diffidence lurking behind the smugness, and Frau got an arm to hold him long enough to turn himself over and tug Castor down to a kiss.

"Yeah," he said quietly, against Castor's mouth. "Yeah, I think I would."

Castor made a pleased sound and settled against Frau, one hand spread against his chest. Frau smiled and draped an arm around him.

He'd have to return this favor some time soon.

End

Crossing Every Boundary Line Between Earth and Sky

Castor and Frau both have their own quirks, and their own needs for release. Fortunately, their needs dovetail. Features Castor being evil, Frau being dominant, and Castor and Frau taking care of each other. Porn, Bondage, D/s, I-4

Frau

Every time Frau went to bed with Castor he remembered why he'd sworn the last time would be the last.

"You're a sadistic fucking bastard," he panted, body arched taut under Castor's hand on his cock, which was stroking very, very slowly. Frau strained against Castor's strings wound around his arms and pulling them up over his head, which did about as much good as ever.

Castor smiled down at him, cool and collected as if they weren't naked in bed, and as if he weren't slowly driving Frau out of his mind. "Now, now, simply because some of us prefer to savor the good things in life instead of rushing through them, that's no need to be insulting."

"You think it's a compliment, you—" Frau broke off in a moan as Castor rubbed a thumb slow and hard over his head. He wasn't going to last much longer at this rate.

"Language, Frau," Castor murmured, eyes glinting behind his glasses. "Patience is a great virtue; you should cultivate it." He leaned down to trace tortuously light, wet circles with his tongue over Frau's nipples and Frau pulled harder against the strings holding his arms, trying to get more of that soft, wet touch. When Castor closed his teeth, ever so delicately, Frau finally broke.

"Please," he gasped, "Castor, please, stop screwing around and fuck me!" He groaned as Castor made a thoughtful sound, long, slick fingers tightening around his cock.

"Since you ask politely, I suppose I could, yes." Castor caught Frau's knees and lifted them, spreading Frau wide open. More strings wrapped around his legs, keeping them there, and Castor trailed his fingers down Frau's cock, behind his balls, to rub softly against his entrance. Frau was half crazy with the heat and the teasing, and nearly aching with how badly he wanted Castor inside him.

"Please, Castor, now," Frau begged, knowing Castor was perfectly capable of drawing this out even more. "Fuck me now, you know goddamn well I can take it!"

Castor smiled, the knife-sharp smile he never showed in public, and ran his hands up Frau's spread thighs. "You want it that much?" he asked softly.

Frau shuddered in the hold of Castor's threads. "Castor," he whispered, openly pleading. "Please."

Castor leaned over him and kissed him, slow and hard, tongue sliding deep into his mouth. "Yes," he murmured against Frau's lips. And just like that he was pushing into Frau, barely slick. The harsh stretch of taking him in stole Frau's words and he groaned low and loud.

Castor fucked him rough and slow, and his eyes on Frau were finally hot, finally done with teasing and concealing. That was what made Frau let go at last and give himself up to Castor's control without reservation, moaning with every stroke and begging shamelessly for more whenever he had the breath. It was so good to feel this, the raw fire at the core of Castor. Frau didn't even mind being caught so helplessly in Castor's power, as long as it meant Castor would open up, open Frau up and fuck him hard. The pounding of Castor's cock into him, the strength of Castor's hand wrapping around him, drowned him in sensation until Frau was nearly screaming with it, every muscle hard and taut against the strings holding him. When the tension finally snapped, it wrung Frau's body so hard he could barely breathe, shuddering with the rake of pleasure through and through him.

The sound of Castor's moan, as he drove deep into Frau, pulled an extra gasp from him, and even dazed as he was he smiled at the look on Castor's face as he caught himself over Frau: at peace for a while, washed clean of the darkness that lived behind his eyes for just a little bit.

When Castor finally released him, it was Frau's turn to moan again. His muscles felt like jelly as Castor eased him back down to the bed, and he sighed with pleasure as Castor's hands kneaded gently over his thighs. "Mmmm. You know," he sighed, "you're a complete bastard. And a flaming control freak." Frau's lips curled up. "That was fantastic."

Castor laughed softly, and settled down against the length of Frau's body. "You say that every time."

"It's true every time," Frau pointed out, and made a contented sound as Castor's arms wrapped around him. His arms were still shaky, as he settled them around Castor in return, but he really liked the cuddling afterward.

Every time they went to bed, he remembered why he'd sworn not to any more. And every time, he also remembered why he still did.

Castor

One of the things Castor liked best about his bed games with Frau was when Frau stalked him. He was perfectly aware that Frau considered this evidence that Castor was every bit as perverted as himself, but Castor enjoyed the crinkle down his spine that told of eyes watching him, of a body moving up behind him on quiet feet. A part of him missed the bright edge of a threat to his life, and he didn't hesitate to take his pleasure in this softened version of it.

And for all that Frau mocked, he had a fine sense of drama about the whole thing.

Witness how patiently he had waited for Castor to take off and neatly hang his vestments, tonight, waited for the precise moment Castor was turning away from his wardrobe and shrugging off his shirt. A swift snatch, almost faster than Castor could have escaped if he'd been trying to, and he was pressed up against the wall, bare chest brushing the cool stone. Frau's hands were wrapped around his wrists, pinning them against the wall over his head, and Castor could feel the hard muscle of Frau's body against his back, holding him in place.

Willing or not, the reflex of years sent him jerking against that hold as soon as he was caught, but his hands didn't move an inch. Frau was stronger than he was, hand to hand, and his grip was like iron. Learning that all over again made Castor have to swallow in a dry throat.

"Shh," Frau said softly against his ear, pressing closer to cage him more firmly against the wall. "It's your turn."

A shadow of heat curled through Castor's body, and after another tense breath or two, he surrendered to Frau's hold, resting his forehead against the stone. "Yes," he murmured.

He never resisted Frau for long.

And Frau's grip never loosened, even as he gathered both Castor's wrists in one hand and slid the other down Castor's chest to undo his pants. Castor's breath came shorter as Frau kept him stretched against the wall and closed his hand between Castor's legs, kneading slow and strong. Castor's knees were shaky already, and the perfectly assured way Frau handled him made him moan. "Frau..."

"Shh," Frau told him again, quietly, and Castor shivered, bending his head. Frau was a gentle man. A kind man. And he was all the more inexorable, when they did this, because he knew it was what Castor wanted.

And he did want it. To have to give way, to let Frau's taller, harder body confine and shelter his while Frau fondled him until he was shaking. Little wanting sounds caught in his throat, but he knew Frau would only hush him again if he spoke. Castor enjoyed hearing Frau beg; Frau wanted Castor to know that even begging wouldn't do any good.

Finally, Frau slid his hand out of Castor's open pants with a final squeeze. As Castor sagged against the wall in his grip, he caught Castor's chin, turning his head back and up until Frau could kiss him, slow and wet and deep. Castor leaned back against him, acquiescent, and Frau made a satisfied sound into his mouth. Frau's hands were still firm, but gentler now as he brought Castor's down and caught them behind his back instead. Frau guided him a few steps to bend over the side of his bed and pulled his pants down off his hips. Castor moaned softly as Frau held him in place, just as helplessly caught as he'd been up against the wall and far readier for Frau. He turned his cheek against the sheets, watching as Frau rummaged one-handed in his wall nook.

What rubbed slickly between his cheeks, though, wasn't Frau's fingers. It was the thickness of Frau's cock, and Castor's breath caught. "Frau," he whispered, eyes wide.

Frau leaned over him, caging him against the bed. "Shh," Frau murmured a third time, lips brushing the back of Castor's neck. "It's all right, Castor. Be still."

Castor closed his eyes, breath leaving him as he went limp against the bed. The quiet authority in Frau's voice was the same tone Castor heard when Frau was most intent on his duties, the one that sometimes made Castor think Frau was the truest Bishop among them. It was a voice that told him he was safe in Frau's hands, and he trusted it now, lying pliant under Frau's hold as Frau slowly, so slowly, pressed into him.

It felt incredible.

His body opened in a slow, endless stretch, hard and breathless, until Castor was panting against the sheets, trembling with the intensity of it. And Frau just kept moving, easing back and then in with such iron control Castor couldn't help moaning just to feel it. He didn't know how long Frau fucked him like that, bent over his bed; he couldn't keep track of anything but the moment, the hardness of Frau's cock inside him, stretching and filling him relentlessly, the gentle unbreakable grip that pinned his hands behind his back.

When Frau's hand closed tight around his cock again it pulled a hoarse sound out of him, muffled by the sheets. Three hard, demanding strokes and he was gone, mindless in the wave of pleasure that dragged him down. He felt Frau drive into him harder, deeper, rocking him up off his knees, and heard Frau groan, felt the grip around his wrists tighten and pin him down ruthlessly.

It felt so good.

He didn't move when Frau let him go, just lay there and floated in the aftermath of pleasure. He didn't get to relax this completely very often and he didn't want to let it go. Frau chuckled softly and dropped a kiss against his shoulder before rising. A few breaths later, he returned with some of Castor's towels to clean up with, and helped Castor the rest of the way out of his clothes. He let Frau move him, and roused enough to make a soft, pleased noise when Frau joined him in bed and pulled Castor firmly against him. "Sleep now," he told Castor, and kissed him gently.

They would go back to fighting and sniping in the morning. But for now, Castor closed his eyes and settled meekly into the shelter of Frau's arms.

Morning would come soon enough.

End

Silence That Is Incomprehensible

Follows some of Hyuuga and Ayanami's possible history with each other pre-canon, from the Academy through the aftermath of the war. Includes porn without sex and s/m without the whip which, while quite consensual, is not particularly sane. Drama, Character Study, Porn, Kink, I-4

Hyuuga met Ayanami his first week at the Academy, and that meeting set the tone for everything that came after.

The whole class was out in a courtyard for beginning zaiphon training, and the teacher was yelling at Hyuuga. Nothing unexpected.

"Hyuuga-kun! You're here to learn to use your zaiphon, not to learn ballroom dancing!"

"But sensei," Hyuuga lilted as he sprang aside from yet another clumsy stroke by his training partner that barely left a scorch on the flagstones, "it's more fun this way! Besides," he added, as Shigetsu-sensei started to turn red in the face, "why should I wear myself out when a sword is so much faster?" He sprinted lightly forward and spun to come up at the Ochi kid's back, sword laid lightly against his neck.

More to the point, why should Hyuuga show his zaiphon here, where it was just possible someone would recognize what he was by seeing it? Not that he could say that out loud.

"What are you going to do if you can't use that sword of yours and never trained in this?" Shigetsu-sensei snapped back while Ochi swallowed tightly. Hyuuga would have to admit it was a good point, if he were actually untrained. Since he wasn't, he was just summoning his sunniest smile and another good line of bullshit when another of his classmates cut in.

"Perhaps a greater challenge is in order, then?" It was the cool boy with the silvery hair who stepped up to stand beside him. Ayanami, that was it. Who proceeded to push Hyuuga's sword away from Ochi's neck with precise, gloved fingers, using just enough pressure to move a lightly-held blade without cutting himself. Hyuuga's brows rose. This one was pretty observant. "May we switch partners, sensei? I believe Hiroki-kun would be better served to start with someone closer to his own experience."

Hyuuga sheathed his sword and glanced over his shoulder to see Ayanami's training partner, who was standing in the middle of a swath of deeply etched stone and shaking. Shigetsu-sensei looked too and sighed. "Yes, yes, fine. You take Hyuuga-kun, then. Maybe you'll rub off on him. We can hope," he grumbled as he herded Ochi and Hiroki off to the side to work on some basic focusing exercises.

Ayanami didn't speak, just beckoned to Hyuuga and turned to pace gravely through the, mostly pretty small, explosions their classmates were managing. Hyuuga blinked as he trailed after; had this guy been raised in a monastery or something? Or maybe he was from one of those noble families that was really strict and formal. Ayanami led the way through an arched arcade and into a smaller court, off to the side of the general training melee, before he stopped and turned to fix an intent look on Hyuuga. "You favor the sword?" he asked, after a moment.

The sharpness of his eyes, the pinpoint focus in them, tugged at Hyuuga, sent a tingle down his nerves. He slid his hands along his hilts and decided, impulsively, to give a true answer. "I am the sword."

Ayanami didn't frown or look puzzled, the way most people did. He just nodded. "Then we should train with both." He drew his own, perfectly regulation, sword with one hand and a swift coil of zaiphon circled the other. "Guard yourself."

The instinct he'd been born and trained to jabbed Hyuuga sharply, and both his own swords swept out to meet the fast lick of Ayanami's blade even as he leaped to avoid the lash of zaiphon that could have taken his leg off. Another three exchanges of steel, and zaiphon came scything in again. Hyuuga's lips drew back off his teeth as the world sharpened around him and he rolled down and back up in a scissoring attack on Ayanami's casting hand. This was good. He hadn't thought to find a real opponent among the other students, but this one... this one might have the edge he craved. The edge his sword needed to stay true.

He danced and spun through the storm of Ayanami's sword and zaiphon, starting to feel the pattern of them and know where he needed to strike. Ayanami was strong, but a straight sword couldn't counter the subtle binding of a curved edge, and the harshest, most precise zaiphon was no use if it didn't connect. There was an opening. Here. Here.

Hyuuga spun, wakizashi coming up from below as his katana bound Ayanami's sword, and Ayanami's last zaiphon attack would go just past Hyuuga's shoulder. He could see it, feel it, see the reflection of it in the widening of Ayanami's eyes. Hyuuga laughed with the absolute purity of the moment as he struck.

Just before his short blade touched home, the circle of zaiphon around Ayanami's hand snapped into an expanding sphere.

Hyuuga didn't have time to yelp, barely had time to cross his blades and channel a desperate burst of zaiphon through them, before the lash of Ayanami's power struck him and blew him back into the unforgiving stone wall of the courtyard with crushing force.

His swords rang on the pavement in the sudden quiet as he collapsed to his hands and knees, coughing for breath. He stared with blank, stunned eyes down at the flagstones under his palms. His defense had been good for a last-minute effort, but it had broken; he'd felt Ayanami's zaiphon against his skin. The taste of it couldn't be mistaken. "You," he rasped, and stopped, because there was a cool edge of steel under his chin. He looked up the length of Ayanami's sword to meet those still, intent eyes.

"Do you yield?" Ayanami inquired calmly.

A shiver ran down Hyuuga's spine, hot with recognition and chill with excitement. His teachers had told him, repeatedly, that a swordsman must always be prepared to meet someone stronger. He'd been torn between hoping and scoffing; it was already clear that he would be stronger than his teachers very soon, and they were the best in Barsburg. He still hadn't met a stronger swordsman, today. But Hyuuga had spoken the truth then he said he was the sword.

And the greatest of swords required, not just another sword to meet, but a hand to wield them.

"I yield to you," he said quietly, and watched Ayanami's brow quirk. Yes. Ayanami heard at least some of what Hyuuga meant. He pushed himself upright, grinning as Ayanami sheathed his blade. "Aya-san is sneaky."

Ayanami actually blinked at that. "I beg your pardon?" Hyuuga's grin widened. Good; he liked Ayanami's seriousness but it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

"I bet you knew what I was all along," he accused with a playful pout. "You could have just said."

"I was reasonably sure," Ayanami agreed, unruffled again. "My family keeps track of these things. But it's well to be entirely sure, when possible. For that, I needed to see your zaiphon."

Hyuuga hauled himself back to his feet, one hand against the wall to steady himself as he bent to retrieve his swords. "Even using mine, I couldn't hold you off," he acknowledged ruefully, feeling his ribs creak. He'd have some spectacular bruises tomorrow.

"You're not weak, though. That's good." Ayanami stepped closer, voice turning softer and deeper. "There are indications that the Emperor is considering sanctioning some of us, to serve the Empire. The strongest of our generation are being sent to the Academy for that reason."

Hyuuga sucked in a quick breath, eyes wide. "Sanctioning us?" he whispered. "But, the Church..." Warsfeil were anathema. Unholy. Both Barsburg and Raggs executed any proven Warsfeil. In fact, the Empire had been getting even more stringent about that, lately, enough that the Fallen families had stopped talking even with each other for fear of drawing the Emperor's attention.

All except Ayanami's family, apparently.

Ayanami's eyes were cool and level. "The Pope has been favoring Raggs increasingly, of late. If the Empire finds itself in need of a counterweight to the Church's strength, then we will serve that purpose."

Hyuuga whistled softly. "You think it's really coming?" He'd hears whispers of war for years, but only ever half believed them.

"Whatever comes, I will meet it in the Empire's service." Ayanami might have been remarking on the chance of rain later that day, but Hyuuga had tasted his edge now, and heard the fire underneath that coolness. "And you?"

Hyuuga grinned; he thought he would like being Ayanami's sword. "Anything you say, Aya-san."

Hyuuga wasn't really surprised when both he and Ayanami were posted inside headquarters after graduation. Someone among the higher-ups must know what he and Ayanami were; his personal pick was Field Marshal Miroku, who seemed to be making a hobby of Ayanami's career. Miroku had a reputation as a cunning strategist who knew when to gamble and when to stand pat. He was gambling on the Academy-trained Warsfeil, but not so wildly that he'd let them out from under his eye. Hyuuga understood that. It just didn't make the first handful years before their real assignment came through any less boring.

And their real assignment wasn't actually that much of an improvement.

"Oh come on," Hyuuga groaned, flopping over the back of his chair and letting the letter of appointment flutter down to the table beside his crossed boots. "We need Imperial permission to leave headquarters?" On pain of having their dispensation to, you know, keep living revoked. Great.

"We will have plenty of work in the field," Ayanami said, hands folded composedly on the table. Hyuuga's mouth quirked at the cool look Aya-san was giving his propped up boots.

"Well, at least you got a promotion out of it. A Major in just three years!"

Ayanami flicked his fingers. "An administrative promotion."

"Mm." Their third member was watching them, leaning on his elbows with his clasped hands against his mouth. "I must presume that the Field Marshal judges you will be a better leader for this unit than I would."

Since Masaru had been a Captain before Ayanami, Hyuuga filled in silently; it had been pretty blatant, to promote Aya-san over him so abruptly. He eyed Masaru, wondering if this would be a problem, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his katana hilt.

"I expect formal rank to mean little among us," Ayanami answered evenly, banked fire in every word. "All that truly matters is our strength, and ability to serve the needs of the Empire. That is the purpose of this unit, and we will fulfill it. Titles mean nothing beside that."

Masaru's eyes had narrowed at Ayanami's first words, a faint haze of almost-zaiphon flickering around his fingers as if he expected a challenge to follow them. By the last words, though he was staring, wide-eyed. Hyuuga grinned; he supposed it could be a little hard to believe, the first time a person came up against that true steel dedication.

"I understand," Masaru said slowly, and bent his head a little. "Ayanami-sama."

"Yep, that's our Aya-san," Hyuuga agreed expansively, leaning his chair back on two legs. Ayanami's hand twitched for a moment, as if with the urge to give Hyuuga's boots a brisk shove and topple him all the way over, and Masaru gave him a mildly admonishing look for his familiarity with their commander. Hyuuga grinned, lacing his hands behind his head.

Maybe their confinement wouldn't be quite such a hassle as he'd thought.

A year later, the Black Hawks had four members, the newest fresh out of the Academy and assigned as Ayanami's Begleiter. Hyuuga, long familiar with Ayanami's desperately workaholic habits, approved mightily.

Besides, Yukikaze was cute.

"Yuki-chan!" he sang, swooping in over the back of Yukikaze's desk chair only to stop short with a grin at the extremely sharp letter opener that was suddenly pressing up under his chin. He liked this kid.

"Yes, Hyuuga-san?" Yukikaze asked calmly, still writing in Ayanami's schedule book with his other hand.

"I got you some of that candy you were drooling over the other day," Hyuuga told him, dropping the paper bag onto the desk so that a few hard candies rolled temptingly out of it. Yukikaze flushed.

"I was not drooling!" He gathered up Ayanami's schedule, ignoring the candy, and marched it over to their commander's desk.

"Hm? Must have been mistaken, then." Hyuuga picked up one of the spilled candies and unwrapped it with a deliberate crackle. Yukikaze spun back around just in time to see Hyuuga popping it into his mouth. "Mm! Oh, hey, these are good." A little sweet, a little tangy: actually he kind of liked that. Maybe he'd have to snitch some more.

Yukikaze was back at his desk in a flash, sweeping the rest of the candy into its bag and whisking the bag into his desk drawer. Hyuuga laughed. "See, I knew you liked them."

"I never claimed I didn't like them," Yukikaze pointed out. "I just said I wasn't drooling."

"Yukikaze," Ayanami's murmur cut through their byplay, "didn't I have an appointment with Procurement after the meeting with the Committee on Military Research this afternoon?"

"Yes, Ayanami-sama." Yukikaze straightened up from locking his drawer. "I spoke with the General's secretary, though. Your meetings with Military Research usually run long, and it turns out that Procurement only really needs your signature."

Ayanami's brow rose. "I believe that was my decision to make."

Yukikaze stood even straighter, nearly at attention, but his tone was firm. Almost scolding. "You're over-scheduled, Ayanami-sama. The other departments take advantage of your conscientiousness. There's no excuse for it."

Ayanami sat back in his chair, eyeing Yukikaze coolly, but the corner of his mouth had quirked up with what Hyuuga could tell was amusement. "I see. That's your considered and experienced opinion, hm?"

Yukikaze bowed without losing one bit of his stubborn expression. "Please forgive me if I've overstepped myself, Ayanami-sama. But it's my duty to look after your work and health both, and I will do so to the very best of my ability."

After a long, silent moment of locked stares, Ayanami set down his schedule book and picked up the report he'd been reading again. "Bring me the document Procurement needs me to sign, then," he directed.

Yukikaze lit up with a soft smile that wasn't even a little triumphant. "Yes, Ayanami-sama."

Hyuuga drifted over to lean on Aya-san's chair. "Aya-tan is so cute with his Yuki-chan," he cooed, and just had to laugh at the identically annoyed looks they both gave him.

It really was kind of adorable.

Five years after the Black Hawks were founded, Hyuuga was pretty satisfied with life. They were a tight unit, and they had enough sweeping successes under their collective belt that the fear he saw every day in the halls had turned from "monsters from under the bed" fear into "deadly elite unit" fear. People got out of their way, and Generals quaked in their boots when they saw Ayanami coming. Hyuuga approved.

So when Yukikaze came to him with the news that Ayanami had locked himself into his rooms and wasn't answering the door, it was a bit of a shock.

He smiled for Yukikaze, though, and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll go see what's up. You just make sure his paperwork stays caught up." He strolled down to their quarters, tucked away in a spare corner of officer territory so they could all stay close, even though it meant a smaller room than Ayanami was entitled to by now. Sure enough, Aya-san's door was closed and locked.

Hyuuga shrugged and pulled out his wakizashi to bang on the metal door with the metal guard. "Aya-tan!" he caroled loudly. "Open up for your evening serenade! This is your five minute warning!" He checked his watch and leaned against the wall, whistling piercingly and tunelessly just to make sure Ayanami knew he hadn't gone away.

At four minutes and thirty-five seconds, the lock clicked.

Hyuuga frowned a little when the door wasn't opened, but it slid open at his touch. All the lights were off, when he stepped in, and his eyes narrowed. He slipped aside, back to the wall, and let the door hiss shut again. "Aya-san?"

One of the shadows beside the polarized window stirred.

"What is it?" Hyuuga asked quietly. It wasn't like their driven commander to brood, much less lock out his own unit. Had they gotten a suicide mission or something?

Ayanami's voice was low and velvety in the dimness. "How many demands on your loyalty will you accept, Hyuuga?"

Hyuuga cocked his head, watching details emerge as his eyes adjusted. Aya-san had his back turned, as if looking out the darkened window. "As many as you make, you know that."

"And if I demanded your eyes and your hands?" Ayanami asked, so distant and casual it made Hyuuga's neck prickle. That was how Aya-san sounded when he talked to Generals: disengaged. He shouldn't sound like that with his own people. "If I demanded your body to move to my command?"

Hyuuga crossed his arms, leaning his shoulders back against the chill of the wall. "You have those already," he pointed out. "I'm your sword. You can wield me as you wish."

Finally, Ayanami turned to face him, eyes gleaming in the half-light. "And if I demanded your life? Your soul in my hand?"

Hyuuga blinked. Was that what this was about? "Aya-tan," he sighed, running a hand thought his hair. "We're all Warsfeil here, you don't have to dance around the question. If you want a soul contract to act through me, all you have to do is say." Never mind that such a thing was legend. This was Aya-san; if he thought he could do it, Hyuuga would believe he could.

Ayanami stepped away from the window. "Are you saying you agree?"

Hyuuga snorted and shoved off the wall. He crossed the room to Ayanami in a few firm steps and dropped down to his knees, catching Ayanami's hand and pressing it to his chest. "Don't insult me," he said low and fierce, looking up. "You've had my soul in your palm from the day we first fought. If you choose to close your hand now, that's your right. Take whatever you want from me."

Ayanami stood very still for two long breaths before his other hand finally lifted and threaded through Hyuuga's hair, fingers gentle. "Yes," he murmured.

That was all the warning Hyuuga got before ice was driving into his chest, into something that wasn't his body. Burning cold fingers kneaded the very core of him, unbearably intimate, and he was distantly aware of his body, pulled into a bone-cracking arch of tension, of his voice, hoarse and wordless. It was more intense than any pain or pleasure he'd ever felt and in the roaring silence of his mind he prayed for it to continue and begged for it to stop. One of Ayanami's hands cradled his head carefully while the other touched him, traced him, pulled his soul in half, stretching his life and breath agonizingly thin as part was taken away from him into darkness.

Slowly, he noticed he was shaking. That his throat was raw. That the darkness around him was the dimness of Ayanami's rooms. That he was being held against Ayanami's shoulder as every muscle shuddered helplessly. His soul, the part of him that commanded Wars and shaped zaiphon, ached and burned, but he could still feel, just a little, the coolness of Ayanami's fingers stroking it.

The key of his life belonged to Ayanami, now.

Which made today no different than yesterday, really.

"Told you so," he finally managed, husky, and Ayanami's shoulder trembled against his chest with a silent chuckle.

"Indeed." Aya-san's voice was warm again.

A bare few weeks later, it was Masaru's turn to spend several days pale and wobbly, and that was when Hyuuga started to wonder, and to remember just who it was that legend said could do such things to living human souls. Let alone two or three at once. It wasn't until years later that he remembered that the week Ayanami had taken Hyuuga's soul to him had been the same week that the Emperor's chief researcher had received a medal for unspecified services to the Empire, and the week that young Princess Ouka had been confirmed as heir.

The princess who would eventually wield the Eye of Raphael in war—or, at least, who would be used to do so. The researcher who tampered with the Eye and its master so that another could command it. The Eye that was said to seal the power of Verloren.

Knowing made no difference to him, of course.

Hyuuga didn't think the soul division had any side-effects, under most circumstances. But the day Ayanami came to them and said, "War is declared," he knew the driving fire of dedication that licked at his heart wasn't his own. That was the taste of Aya-san.

He could see it catching in all of them.

Masaru bowed, hand on his sword hilt. "What are our duties, Ayanami-sama?" he asked, eagerness burning through his usual smiling courtesy.

"We are tasked with capturing or killing the Raggs royal family." Ayanami's face was still and intent. "Nothing must be permitted to interfere or hinder us. Nothing."

Even Yukikaze, normally the gentlest of them, was hard-eyed. "Nothing will. We swear it, Ayanami-sama."

Hyuuga bent his head, smiling. "Don't worry, Aya-tan." He met their commander's eyes over the edge of his glasses. "It'll be our pleasure."

Ayanami's fire flared in his blood, and Hyuuga's breath caught softly. "Entirely our pleasure," he purred.

The war was over. It had taken a hard toll on the Black Hawks. Masaru was officially dead and had returned to them only in the guise of an enemy: Katsuragi.

Yukikaze was dead for real.

"You didn't release his soul, did you?" Hyuuga asked quietly, leaning in the door of Ayanami's office, watching his oldest friend standing at a darkened window again. "Yuki-chan's."

Ayanami didn't even shrug, and his voice was remote. "I was not holding it closely at the moment he died."

"You always held his soul pretty damn closely," Hyuuga said bluntly.

Ayanami didn't stir. "You will not speak of this, Hyuuga."

Hyuuga rolled his eyes. Aya-san could be so damn stubborn sometimes. "Look—"

This time, Ayanami answered him with steel. Hyuuga froze, keeping his hands still at his sides as Ayanami's sword pressed delicately against his neck.

"You will not speak of this." There was a ragged edge under the coldness of Ayanami's voice, now, and Hyuuga closed his eyes.

"All right," he said softly, and waited for the pressure to come off his throat before he lowered his chin and sighed. "Remember you still have us, though," and his mouth quirked as he finished, "Aya-tan." As Ayanami's eyes narrowed, he fished in his pocket and pulled out a candy to ceremoniously unwrap and pop into his mouth, lounging back casually in the doorway. He raised his brows at Aya-san. "Hmm?"

Ayanami gave him a tight-lipped look for the obvious reminders of their lost member, but in the end he only turned abruptly to his desk and picked up a pen. Hyuuga smiled around his candy.

He would, he assured Yuki-chan's memory, take care of Aya-san.

The headquarter Generals were getting to be an increasing pain in the ass. It didn't matter to them that the Black Hawks had the best success record of any unit in the entire Armed Forces. It didn't matter to them that Aya-san could actually deal with the Military Minister and even the Emperor and make sense of their orders. All they saw was how fast Ayanami had risen in the ranks, and that his appointment to Chief of Staff had been Miroku's last action before retiring, and they howled about favoritism and upstarts.

It really got on Hyuuga's nerves.

Today, that officious little insect Ogi had come into the actual field with them, along with a handful of his bootlicking staff, to "independently evaluate their performance" on the boring little rebellion the Black Hawks had been sent to put down. He'd been making sure to let them see him scribbling on his little clipboard and frowning judiciously.

Hyuuga didn't like boring missions that wasted their time and didn't have any good fights for him, so he was already in an edgy mood. When Ogi actually started berating Ayanami for getting his uniform bloody in battle he decided enough was enough.

"Ooo, Aya-tan," he interrupted when Ogi paused for breath, eyes theatrically wide behind his glasses. "He's right! Just look at all that blood on your sword hand!" Which was true, even after Ayanami had stripped off his soaked gloves. Hyuuga smiled, slow and wide, and murmured, "Well, we can't have that can we?" He strolled up to Ayanami's side and sank fluidly down to his knees, catching Ayanami's hand in his. He slanted a sidelong glance at Ogi, lip curled wickedly as he licked a line of blood from the back of Aya-san's hand.

Kuroyuri squeaked and Ogi choked, and Hyuuga smirked as he turned Ayanami's hand and ran his tongue slowly up Ayanami's blood-streaked palm. He took his time about it, enjoying the way Ogi's eyes got wider and wider, and his little pack of jackals started edging backwards. A quick look up at Aya-san told Hyuuga that he was amused; he didn't show it, of course, but he was standing there quite calmly, looking down at Hyuuga without surprise, just as if his subordinates licked the blood off his hands every day. Under the amusement was hint of heat.

Hyuuga definitely took his time after that. No sense doing a job half-way, after all. Besides, the sharpness of blood was already in his mouth from their brief battle, and he liked the taste of it on Ayanami's skin. It was cutting and real, more satisfying than any opponent he'd found today. He half closed his eyes and wrapped his mouth around Aya-san's fingers, savoring the way they flexed against his tongue.

By the time he was done, Ogi and his staffers had retreated in disorder. Hyuuga chuckled as he slowly sucked the last iron trace off Aya-san's middle finger. "There, now," he said brightly. "All better."

"Indeed," Ayanami murmured, fingertips brushing Hyuuga's mouth before he drew back and turned away. Hyuuga laughed as he stood and caught sight of Kuroyuri and Konatsu, both red as beets and staring with eyes the size of saucers. It was Konatsu who finally managed a strangled, "Major...!"

"Don't worry," Hyuuga told him, ruffling his hair. "You'll understand when you're older." He grinned as his new Begleiter sputtered in outrage, and tucked his hands in his pockets, strolling back toward their ship in Ayanami's wake.

Aya-san's touch lingered on his lips.

Hyuuga considered it his special job within the unit to make sure that Ayanami didn't go too crazy. Usually this was simple—just a matter of hanging over Aya-san's shoulder on days when they were especially straight or his mouth got a little too tight, teasing until Ayanami snapped and went for his whip. It was fun, like sparring only different. A game they played.

Sometimes they played it harder than others, of course.

"You know, Aya-tan," Hyuuga remarked, draped over the back of Ayanami's chair, "you should take a break from the paperwork now and then. Live a little! Go out for dinner instead of eating in the cafeteria!"

Ayanami's fingers were getting tighter on his pen.

"You could go to one of the restaurants where the officers hang out, and the girls come to sigh over the heroes," Hyuuga continued, watching for the moment Aya-san would drop the pen. "You could even get laid!"

He expected that crack to be the one that sent him rolling aside from Ayanami's whip, but what he felt instead was a cold twinge in his chest and stomach. It made him still for a moment, eyes widening behind his glasses. That was Aya-san's hand on his soul, tightening his grip for just a moment.

That was his warning, on nights they played a harder game. If Hyuuga kept pressing, what he faced wouldn't be a weapon he could avoid or blow he could roll with.

Hyuuga smiled, slow and dark.

He pushed himself off the back of Ayanami's chair and strolled around the desk, keeping his face turned away so Ayanami would see only his back. His uniform. "Come on, Ayanami," he taunted, dropping all the familiar forms he usually called his commander by, calling him what his enemies did, "you can't really be an automaton, the way they say you are. It'd do you good!"

Over his shoulder he watched Ayanami rising slowly to his feet and stepping out from behind the desk also. Good.

"Or maybe that's not it," Hyuuga murmured, thinking about the vicious gossip he'd heard most often lately. "Maybe you just don't want to be around the other officers and hear people saying it again. That you slept your way to the top."

The first lash of Ayanami's rage sliced into his soul, burning like frozen metal, and he staggered under it, gasping. Ayanami's face was set and still, but his eyes were bright. Gleaming. Furious.

Beautiful.

"With Miroku-sama, isn't that how it goes?" Hyuuga managed, lowering his head to keep Aya-san focused on his uniform and words, not his face, not who he really was. "Or the Emperor. Maybe both."

Ayanami's grip licked out between the halves of Hyuuga's soul, wrapping around him like a fist and squeezing until Hyuuga's sense of himself broke and ran between those steel fingers. His legs gave out under the force of it and he stumbled down to hands and knees, chest heaving. The fingers of Ayanami's control thrust into the very core of him, ruthless and precise. The chill and fire of Ayanami's presence inside him, wild and furious, set his body twisting, trying to get away and trying to press into the punishing intrusion.

The raw strength of it made him hard.

"That's why they all think you'll be their dog, now," he gasped, and moaned out loud as Ayanami's will raked his soul harder. His arms gave out and dropped him down, prostrate on the rug at Ayanami's feet. There was no part of him that wasn't in Ayanami's grip, now. He was pinned down under the sword of Ayanami's power driven into him to the hilt, flayed open by its edge. It was absolute intimacy, unnatural, almost unbearable except that it was Aya-san's hand on him. Hyuuga was a Warsfeil, born to be a sword drawn by this hand, and his hips jerked helplessly against the floor in response to that taste of blood and steel in his soul.

His voice was gone now and he was lost in immaterial sensation, the reason for it nearly forgotten, but he recognized when Ayanami's touch started to turn less harsh, started to caress as well as cut. "Aya-san," he whispered, in answer. The touch on his soul softened still more, shaping him gently back to himself, stroking the taut, trembling fibers of his being until they eased. His body gradually turned limp and boneless against the floor as his soul quieted under Ayanami's hand. He heard quiet steps approaching, heard the rustle of fabric, felt light fingers brushing his hair back, and drew a slow breath as his mind started working again. He cleared his throat softly.

"Forgive me." He always asked for Ayanami's forgiveness, these nights, because he hated the thought that Aya-san might take the things he said to heart even for a moment.

"There's nothing to forgive," Ayanami murmured, fingers still carding through his sweat-damp hair. "Not for you."

Hyuuga smiled wryly into the carpet. This was the other thing that was always said.

Sure enough, Ayanami added, quietly, "This is a dangerous game, Hyuuga."

"Aya-tan." Hyuuga pushed himself onto his side with a shaky arm so he could look up at his friend, amused and exasperated. "You know I love doing it." There was a wet spot on the front of his pants to bear witness to that.

He figured Aya-san had noticed when he raised a brow at Hyuuga.

Hyuuga laughed. "What?" he lowered his voice to a husky purr. "My soul likes to feel its master's hand now and then." He looked up at Ayanami, half teasing and entirely serious, and smiled as Ayanami's shoulders relaxed all the way.

Aya-san always offered him an end to their games, offered the kind of cherished safety he held the other Black Hawks in. None of the others would ever be wrung like this by their commander's will. Neither would Hyuuga, unless he chose it. He knew that.

He chose it every time.

He chose the ice and steel, and the burning lash of Ayanami's fury. He was the sword, and those were the things that made the world come alive in his mouth and heart. He also loved the soft caress of Aya-san's fingers against his soul, of course, but that wasn't what made the world brighter.

He caught Ayanami's hand and kissed his fingers. "I will serve you in every way, in every time, with my heart and soul. I will defend you with my life."

Ayanami's touch on his soul warmed, though he was silent for a long moment. At last he murmured, "If it comes to that."

Hyuuga smiled up at him, content with that permission.

He knew it would come to that, eventually.

End

The One Who Fashions You on the Outside

Ayanami and Hyuuga spar together. It turns into something a little different once Hyuuga stops defending himself against Ayanami's zaiphon. Written for the Oh My God We Need Some Porn in Here Stat meme, and the prompt Ayanami/Hyuuga, edges. Porn, BDSM, I-4

The Black Hawks weren't really suited to training in enclosed areas, at least not if those areas were supposed to stay enclosed. So as often as Ayanami could wring permission out of the government, they stopped in at the small floating island, F34, just outside and a long way above the capitol.

It was not, Hyuuga thought, much of an island. It only had a name because the military used it for weapons testing.

And for Warsfeil to train, which was kind of the same thing.

Today, he'd sent Konatsu off to stalk Katsuragi through the wind-twisted stone of the island's west side, practicing how to track an opponent who could hide his presence. It was something his Begleiter needed to work on and Hyuuga was looking forward to seeing how he would solve this problem without power of his own. Besides, Ayanami had agreed to a work out with Hyuuga himself, and that always required some extra space. It wasn't that Ayanami was profligate with his zaiphon; far from it, actually, he was as precise with those attacks as Hyuuga was with his swords. But if Hyuuga didn't have room to move, Aya-san would pin him down in short order and that wasn't much use for training.

Or much fun, either.

Hyuuga laughed as he twisted aside from Ayanami's attack, caught his sword on Hyuuga's wakizashi and spun to strike for Ayanami's back with his long blade. A single line of zaiphon threw him back and Hyuuga showed his teeth, landing light on his toes and driving his own zaiphon out through his katana to carve apart the rock where Ayanami stood. Ayanami didn't move; his zaiphon spiraled around him, tight and perfect, and Hyuuga's broke against it.

After two more exchanges whose simplicity drew Hyuuga's nerves tighter, Ayanami finally flicked his sword out level, one hand against the flat of the blade. Hyuuga had known it was coming, and he crossed his swords before him to catch it, hot lines of zaiphon scribing down the blades as he sprang back to put some distance between himself and Ayanami's focused attack.

That did about as much good as ever.

Ayanami's zaiphon cracked his like a chisel hammered into steel, and the burning force of it wrote itself across his body. Hyuuga hit the ground hard and rolled up to his feet, breath heaving in his chest as his cock hardened. When a strike like that connected he could taste Ayanami's power on his tongue, and he had to work to keep his focus. It was good practice; no one else he'd encountered had been able break his focus for years, now.

Though it might, on reflection, have been a mistake to admit that to Aya-san.

The quirk of Ayanami's mouth made Hyuuga brace himself warily. Ayanami started casting line after line of zaiphon against his defense, bursting against the zaiphon wrapped around Hyuuga's swords until it was nearly a scent in the air. Hyuuga lunged into it, fighting to close with Ayanami, to get back into range where his swords would have the advantage, but now Ayanami was moving too, keeping out of weapon's reach while his zaiphon bound Hyuuga's.

And eventually started breaking through.

Hyuuga gasped as Ayanami's power bit into him, burned into his skin, brutal and sharp, so precise he could almost read the words that formed it. No... he could read them.

...my hunters....

...my chosen...

Hyuuga's head whipped up and he stared across the field of stone between them. Ayanami smiled, a slow curl of lips, and lifted his hand again, zaiphon twined around it in threat and promise. Another line, another, and Hyuuga could feel his defense faltering, fatally undermined by his hunger for Ayanami's power and the temptation Aya-san had put in his path today. Another line that traced my sword against his ribs, and Hyuuga knew he was defeated. He stood square in the path of Ayanami's zaiphon and let his swords fall and took it.

It burned like fire, with the icy slash of a sword cut, and Hyuuga's body jerked under the force of it. He could taste blood. But now he could read the words clearly.

...soul that belongs to me...

...my sword to draw and use...

Line after line struck him and left Hyuuga gasping desperately for breath. He didn't know if his eyes were closed or if he was blinded by the darkness of Ayanami's zaiphon. All he knew was the bite of that power into his body and the wild intensity of pain and pleasure and need that it etched into him.

...who surrenders all that he is to me...

...your master...

It was the cutting caress of that last line across his skin that finished Hyuuga, and he screamed as heat raked through him like claws, on and on and on, until it left him collapsed on the ground barely able to breathe. He couldn't even lift his head as Ayanami's footsteps approached, until Aya-san's fingers wrapped around his chin and drew his head up.

Ayanami was smiling. "You're so demanding, Hyuuga," he murmured.

Hyuuga managed a shaky grin. "But Aya-tan, you like me that way."

"Mm." Ayanami's thumb stroked over his mouth. "I suppose I do."

Hyuuga's lips parted under the touch, and he closed his eyes as Ayanami leaned in, surrendering without question to the slow kiss. He wasn't sure he knew how to do anything else, when Aya-san was involved. He did know he didn't want to.

Ayanami's zaiphon had spoken the truth.

End

True as Gold and Iron

Tseng rather abruptly sees Rufus in a new light and is struck by all the things Rufus has become that he's been trying not to hope for. Baroque and self-indulgent loyalty porn! Clothing porn! Even some porn porn! Assumes some Lullabye for the New World Order history. Drama, Porn, D/s, I-4

It was one week before Shinra Corporation's Yule ball, the offices were gaudy with decorations, the backstabbing over seating arrangements had reached its annual fever pitch, and Tseng was airing out his formal robes.

Indications of the season indeed.

He lifted each layer carefully out of its drawer and unfolded delicate, crackling paper, spreading his armfuls of silk and shining embroidery out on the floor mats so he could inspect the seams before hanging them to air.

"I never realized just how much fabric that is," Rufus said thoughtfully from where he was curled up on the end of Tseng's couch. "What's it like to wear?"

"Heavy," Tseng told him dryly as he pulled out the last layer, that being the most pertinent part of the answer for Rufus. Before Tseng had gotten his shoes and jacket all the way off or undone his cuffs to roll them up, this evening, Rufus had already shed his linen suit in favor of an ancient T-shirt and sweat pants that had migrated to Tseng's apartment in the city. He could, he supposed, imagine Rufus putting up with formal court garments if there was some overriding reason to do so, but he had no doubt whatsoever the complaints before and after would be epic. Rufus didn't even like the mere two or three layers of Midgar suits.

So he was a bit surprised when Rufus made an interested sound. "They look easy to move in, though." He rested his chin on folded arms across the arm of the couch. "Do you have any others I could try on, just to see?" Tseng raised his brows, and Rufus smiled. "You always look... different in them, at the Yule ball. I've been curious."

"Hm." Tseng sat back on his heels, considering the silk spread out around him. He did have casual cotton robes in this apartment, but that wouldn't answer Rufus' question, not really. And while a lingering part of him was shocked by the idea of dressing Rufus in these, another part of him was very entertained by the suggestion. It was the same part of him that kept thinking about taking Tifa on a tour of Wutai's temples just so he could watch her wipe the floor with every master of their arts that she met.

And after all, weren't Imperial robes appropriate to Rufus Shinra? Tseng knew he was smirking a little, and Rufus grinned back at him, straightening up. "We can use these," Tseng said, picking up the short innermost robe and shaking it out gently. "You'll need to undress again, though. Believe me, you don't want to be wearing any extra layers under all this."

Rufus shrugged and promptly stripped out of his shirt and sweats, tossing them over the back of the couch. He didn't have anything under them, and Tseng reflected with some amusement that now he knew what Rufus had originally planned for the evening.

Perhaps they'd get to that later.

He stood Rufus in the middle of the room and draped him in one layer after another, fingers stumbling now and then as he knotted ties and folded belts because he was so unused to doing them this way around, now. They weren't exactly traditional in any case; he had long ago cut each and every tie and belt somewhere unobtrusive and sewed in break-away snaps. The hems were cheated, too, carefully taken up so his feet were free under the last two layers. On Rufus they were actually far closer to the proper, floor-dragging, foot-muddling length. Even on these altered robes, though, the details were still fine enough, and many enough, to distract him from the point of the project until he tied the last, ornate knot and stepped back to regard his handiwork as a whole

And then the breath went out of him.

Rufus stood in the center of the room, straight and still under the weight of the robes, a straightness Tseng's gut recognized; it was the way every noble child learned to stand, under those layers, and the sudden sight of Rufus standing with a noble's still poise made Tseng's chest tighten. The lift of Rufus' chin was the same determination Tseng saw every day, but he now saw, abruptly, that it was also the straightness of honor fit to accompany the imperial seal embroidered into those robes. This, the silk whispered to him as Rufus shifted slightly, was indeed his rightful ruler, and the faint smile that grew on Rufus' lips as he watched Tseng was weighted with all the knowledge a lord should have of his man.

The weight of blood and history, of need and duty, pressed down on Tseng until his knees hit the floor. Rufus' eyes followed him down and the acceptance in them was not only the possessiveness of a son of Shinra. In the light reflected up from that rich silk and gold, it was also a ruler's awareness of obligation, to and from those he commanded. It was everything Tseng had longed passionately to believe Rufus could do and be. Everything he'd told himself he must not dare hope for. It felt like falling and catching himself to complete his bow, hands spread out against the floor before him, head bowed down.

"Lord," Tseng breathed in his own tongue, the single word bare of extra honorifics that proclaimed, not merely formal, but personal loyalty. The one word that paraded for all to hear that he belonged to this man, body and blood. He knew, he knew, Rufus wouldn't understand all that it meant, but he couldn't help offering it anyway. Offering it and claiming the rights of honor and service that went it.

Robes rustled with slow steps toward him, and the rhythm was off, more uncertain than any noble Rufus' age would be. Even so, it was the sound that told him his lord approached, and it kept him down like a hand on his nape.

Until Rufus' hand cupped his jaw and drew his head up.

Tseng was breathing fast, shocked by the intimacy of his lord stooping to touch him and raise him. Rufus didn't mean it that way; he touched Tseng freely all the time. But feeling the weight of Rufus' wide sleeves against his shoulder made Tseng shiver with his nearness, with the sweetness of being permitted this familiarity. There was heat in Rufus' eyes, the heat that Tseng's surrender always lit there. Tonight, though, Tseng finally thought he saw the measure of his own loyalty reflected, weighed justly by the one he'd given it to. As Rufus' thumb stroked down the line of his jaw, he prayed to every god he'd ever tried to turn his back on that it was true.

"You're mine," Rufus told him, and Tseng couldn't help the tiny sound that wrung out of him, because Rufus' voice was quiet. It wasn't Rufus' triumph that Tseng heard in that claim tonight—it was his answer to Tseng's need, and Tseng almost slid away from his hold to bow his head again in acknowledgement and gratitude. But resisting Rufus' hand would be unthinkable, in this moment. "Yes," he whispered instead.

Rufus' eyes were dark. "Come and take these off," he said, very softly, straightening up again to stand quiet and poised. Tseng shivered and nodded, wordless. He rose from his knees and began to undo Rufus' robes, lifting each one off his shoulders with careful hands. When the last one was laid aside, Rufus leaned back against Tseng, and Tseng's breath caught. He folded his arms around Rufus' waist, bending his head to press his mouth to Rufus' bare shoulder, a little dizzy with the feel of Rufus relaxed in his arms. This was a gift, not merely of Rufus' trust but of his understanding. He'd seen what Tseng needed.

"I beg you to permit me," he murmured against Rufus' skin, and he knew Rufus wouldn't understand the words but the language of Midgar didn't have the words, the forms of submission and obligation, to shape his entreaty in.

Rufus seemed to hear what he meant anyway. He leaned his head back against Tseng's shoulder, smiling, body language perfectly at ease in the curve of Tseng's body. "Yes," he said, and the word was permission and command. It shivered through Tseng and he gathered Rufus closer, one hand sliding up to press over Rufus' heart, offering his own body as Rufus' shield and shelter. This was his role, this was his place, and he was fighting not to flinch with the memory of every time the instincts of his upbringing had cried out for him to destroy whatever offered Rufus insult—and had to be stifled. This was his lord, and Tseng's heart told him he had failed in what he owed far too often, despite his mind's insistence that it was necessary, that Rufus himself would never have allowed Tseng to upset Shinra's delicate political balance to answer those slights properly.

"Tseng," Rufus said softly, and Tseng prepared to draw back, to box up this part of him again because he knew full well it was too passionate to let run free in this land. But Rufus didn't move away. He lifted his arms up and reached behind him to twine them loosely around Tseng's neck, uncovering himself completely. There was nothing to guard him at all, now, but Tseng's arms around him, and Tseng's breath nearly stopped.

"Rufus," he whispered, shaking. Terrifying warmth curled through his stomach, that Rufus would give him this, trust him like this, see him like this. His hands stroked over and over Rufus' body, helplessly protective, and Rufus relaxed into them, eyes closed. Tseng was speaking in his own tongue again, phrase after rippling phrase in the most abject form, begging humbly for the favor Rufus had just shown him because he couldn't quite believe it was this simple.

It took a long time for Tseng to quiet himself again, and Rufus leaned in his arms the whole while, apparently perfectly content. His fingers combed lightly through Tseng's hair now and then. "It's okay," he said at last, quietly, not opening his eyes. "It's okay, Tseng. You're mine." He said it like it explained everything about this night, and after what Rufus had given and shown him Tseng couldn't deny that it did. That Rufus was, indeed, a ruler who would give all of himself in return for the swords and souls his followers laid at his feet. The very one Tseng had wanted him to be, taught him to be, and never dared believe in.

It was shame for that lack of faith that put him back on his knees when Rufus finally straightened and turned—not something Tseng had expected to ever feel again in his life, but the steadiness of Rufus' eyes on him told his heart that he should have known before this. He pressed a kiss to Rufus' palm, and bent his head. "My life and honor are in your hand." The words, finally spoken out loud, hung in the air of the room like a bird hovering.

Rufus' other hand rested lightly on his head. "And my honor is in your care," he answered. It drove a gasp out of Tseng, the gesture, the words, so perfectly right even in the clumsy language of Midgar.

"Tseng." When Tseng looked up, Rufus was smiling. "Take me to bed."

Tseng had to swallow. There was knowledge in Rufus' eyes. Not the laughing victory he'd sometimes seen there when Rufus first understood his power over Tseng, nor the pleasure that had remained for all the years since. Only knowledge. This night Rufus knew, he understood the exact measure of Tseng's surrender to his mastery. And he offered Tseng back his trust in the same measure.

Tseng rose silently and followed Rufus into the bedroom. Rufus stretched out on Tseng's bed, relaxed and waiting, and Tseng had to swallow again against the tangle of desire and tenderness and reverence that rose in him. Slowly, every movement precise under the weight of Rufus' eyes on him, he stripped off his clothes and folded each item. When he turned back to the bed, Rufus was smiling with the pure appreciation he so often showed for Tseng's body. He held out a hand, offering and commanding, and Tseng came to him.

He was shocked all over again by Rufus' pliancy against him, and found himself rolling Rufus underneath him, driven to shelter him. Rufus laughed quietly and settled against the covers, arms draped easily around Tseng's shoulders. Tseng shivered at the sound, at the acceptance in it, and pressed his mouth to the curve of Rufus' neck, open and deferential. "Will you tell me," he asked, husky, "what it is you wish of me?" Because he wasn't sure how much more he could bring himself to do without Rufus' word. Not tonight.

"Mmm." Rufus tipped his head back, relaxed, fingers stroking delicately up and down Tseng's nape under the loose spill of his hair until Tseng was breathless. "I want you inside me. Slowly."

Tseng gathered him closer, steadied by that direction. "Thank you."

Rufus stroked a thumb over Tseng's cheekbone, eyes dark; he understood, Tseng thought, how much the demands of this trust unsettled Tseng. Understood and required it anyway, and Tseng could only bend his head as Rufus pressed home that proof and reminder of just how complete Tseng's submission to him was. That reminder was exactly what Tseng needed, and he was so hard from it that he was a getting little light-headed.

He went slowly, though, as Rufus had told him, gradually opening the tightness of Rufus' body with slick fingers. The husky sounds Rufus made against his shoulder as he held Rufus close and sank two fingers deep into him made Tseng's breath come quicker. And Rufus, almost without precedent, wasn't pushing. Wasn't urging Tseng on. Was relaxed in Tseng's arms and moving against him with slow abandon, following the guidance of Tseng's hands on him.

He closed his eyes and just breathed, trembling with the weight of everything Rufus laid so easily in his hands. No, perhaps not easily. But deliberately and without hesitation. "Please, lord," he whispered against Rufus' hair, not even sure what he was pleading for.

"Yes," Rufus sighed, eyes half closed as he let his head fall back. "Now."

The command, soft as it was, eased Tseng back from the edge again and his hands were steady as he laid Rufus back against the sheets and settled between his thighs. The vulnerable arch of Rufus' body as Tseng pressed into him nearly undid him again. Even after taking so long in preparation, Rufus was tight and fiercely hot around Tseng's cock, and his unrestrained moan cut Tseng's breath into gasps. His eyes were locked on Rufus' face, on the softness of his parted lips as Tseng drove into him with long, slow thrusts. To be given this, and to have this required of him... it was like a hand, Rufus' hand, reaching down into him to grasp all the things that he held behind a proper reserve and bring them up to the light, laid bare. Tseng groaned wordlessly as Rufus' fingers slid through his hair, down his throat to grip his shoulders. He was dizzy with the pleasure of burying himself in Rufus' body and the sweetness of submitting to Rufus' will.

Rufus moaned as Tseng drove into him deeper, hands stroking over his shoulders, down his chest. "Tseng." The next words were a husky whisper, "This. Needed this. Need you."

That admission, that need, broke Tseng open at last, broke through him in a graceless tumble of words gasped out between kisses as he gathered Rufus tight in his arms. "Yes, my lord, my love, I swear I'm yours, yours for all life and time, body and soul and blood, I belong to you..." Rufus' arms locked around him and his body tightened on Tseng hard. Tseng fell right after him, shaking against Rufus as heat shuddered through his bones in hard, gasping waves and the acknowledgement of Rufus' dominion wrapped around his heart.

Eventually they just lay together, panting for breath. After a few moments, Tseng stirred and murmured against Rufus' neck, "Forgive me. Forgive me for not seeing, for doubting the heart of you. I offer no excuse." This time, at least, he managed to translate his apology.

Rufus' fingers stroked through his hair. "I should have asked," he said quietly. "I was just... afraid of what the answer might be." His voice turned wry. "I mean, there are all kinds of reasons you could choose to serve me without... belonging to me. Willingly, at least."

Tseng swallowed and made himself lean up on his elbows to meet Rufus' eyes. "I serve you willingly, with all my strength and soul," he said, low. "I have belonged to you since the moment we met." And before that, truth be told, but saying that would only distract Rufus right now. "I made that choice in full knowledge." That, at least, was the whole truth.

Rufus looked up at him, eyes clear and bottomless as the sky. "Do you really..." He hesitated, eyes suddenly flickering aside as his fingers stroked lightly over Tseng's chest.

Over his heart.

Tseng really did blame a great deal on the language of Midgar, which was so gracelessly frank about these things that it made Tseng downright embarrassed to speak openly of love. He pressed a kiss to Rufus' brow and another to his lips and murmured, eyes closed for a moment. "Yes. I do. As my student. As my lord. As my friend. As my life."

Rufus shivered and pressed closer letting out a slow, slightly shaky breath. "Thank you," he said against Tseng's shoulder. And then he added, rueful. "I don't know the right words for any of it. But, yes."

Fine tension Tseng had barely even noticed relaxed all at once, and he settled against Rufus with a soft sigh of his own. "Thank you," he whispered back.

He might find the language of this city awkward and distressingly blunt for expressing heart truths in, but Rufus had never even really known the meanings of his own native words. To recognize love, loyalty, trust nevertheless... Tseng was grateful for that as he would be for any miracle. The fact that Rufus had worked this one out of the pure steel of his soul was exactly the reason every word Tseng had spoken tonight was true.

For the knowledge that Rufus truly cherished his people, that he knew the true measure of Tseng's loyalty and could return it, Tseng might just be willing to offer up true thanks. At least, he would if he'd thought Leviathan or any other god had had a damn thing to do with it, which he most assuredly did not.

No, what he offered up was himself, and only to Rufus' hands.

Which was why he wrapped himself around Rufus, close and protective as was his right. And smiled into the half-light of the city's night through his window as Rufus settled against him.

He belonged to Rufus Shinra, and this was his.

End

A Kiss Upon A Tide

More loyalty-porn! It's the new year, and after Recent Events Tseng is particularly susceptible to the rightness of his place at Rufus' side. Post-game, very loosely in the Lullabye for the New World Order AU continuum. Porn, D/s, I-4

Years of living in Midgar had blunted Tseng's senses, but there were still times of the year that tugged at him. The seventh moon, when the lovers bridged the skies. The tenth moon, when a tiny wooden canal wound its way through Little Wutai for a single night to bear lanterns down its length before being packed away in sections for another year. The turning of the year was the worst of them, but normally even that was no more than an itch in the back of Tseng's head, a memory of smoke on the night air and the sway of human bodies tracing the path of life through every city in the land, a faint tug at him to go and mark that path for the dancers as he'd been trained to for so many years. Normally, he could bear it with, if not perfect equanimity, at least outward calm and perhaps an inward rude gesture or two in Leviathan's direction on the bad years.

That, however, had been before Rufus had set his hand on his own destiny.

Tseng stepped back from the door of his city apartment, resisting the urge to keep backing up or to let his eyes follow the light trailing from Rufus' every gesture as he stepped inside. No moment of Rufus' presence had been without a faint glow, ever since they'd come back to Midgar, but the new year had fanned that fire, and their journey itself had stripped away the dimness from Tseng's sight. That light pulled at him, like the desire to mark the paths of the city's life only far stronger; it closed over him like water as Rufus stepped past him into his home.

"You're sure I'm not interrupting?" Rufus asked him, head cocked, eying the dark, patterned kosode[1] that Tseng wore. "Were you going out?"

Of course Rufus knew about the festival; these days there were very few things about Midgar he did not know. Tseng shook his head, trying to focus on the question instead of the burning of Rufus' will and soul. "That would be... uncomfortable for everyone." The most traditional immigrants would be the most torn between begging the only fully trained priest in the city to officiate, and ignoring the exile as law dictated. Tseng had just wanted the little extra comfort of rightness that proper clothing could offer tonight. "Besides," he added lightly, closing the door, "you sounded a bit desperate when you called."

Rufus kicked off his shoes and stalked into the living room, movements restless. "Not desperate, I just... needed to be somewhere every little thing wouldn't be a fight." He thumped down onto the couch in a slouch that threatened to put yet another tear in the battered jeans he'd worn over.

Tseng had to admit that, even with the worst of the old guard removed, Shinra was still a constant struggle to rebuild. He couldn't blame Rufus for wanting time and space away from that, however overwhelming his company was to Tseng in this season. "I can't promise never to argue with you," he murmured, "but at least you know you have the final word."

Rufus glanced at him, mouth quirked. "Do I?"

Clearly, Rufus was remembering some of their more epic arguments. Any other day, Tseng would have said something dry, something to tease Rufus' sense of humor, but tonight, with the brightness of Rufus' spirit in his eyes, he said simply, "You are my lord, and I am your servant." He almost had to close his eyes as the words took up the resonance of the changing year and rang his own spirit like a struck bell, true and pure and right.

When he looked up again, Rufus' eyes on him had turned dark, and he held out a hand. "Tseng. Come here."

Caught by the brilliance that followed Rufus' hand, Tseng came to him and sank down to the floor before him, smoothing his robe under his knees with an old, practiced sweep of his fingers. He knelt there, surrounded by the brightness of Rufus' presence, waiting to know what he required.

Rufus leaned forward and caught his chin, stroking his thumb along the line of Tseng's jaw. "Are those gods of yours really that strong?" he asked. "That they could make you leave everything that ever formed your life, to come here?" The flick of his fingers took in the apartment, with its mats and screens and discreet shrine, and Tseng's words and actions this night, none of them part of the ways and customs Shinra had shaped in Midgar.

Tseng smiled faintly, ruefully; Rufus saw so much, and yet he still seemed to find this hard to believe. "The gods were not that strong. You were. You are."

Tseng had understood young that he had greater strength than his brother and lord, and his disquiet at that had grown along with his strength, year after year. His training in the Temple had only given the disquiet sharper form. So many of the signs that showed a firm minister and a yielding prince were signs of overturning or stagnation. Biting Through, The Power of the Great, Opposition, The Preponderance of the Small.

The Wanderer.

That had been the sign in Tseng's heart when he'd finally fought his way through his fears and doubts to a decision to leave. He had hoped, among other things, to remove one danger from his brother's house. And that was why, underneath the incandescent rage when he'd first set eyes on Rufus and understood he had been manipulated by the gods from start to finish, there had been a seed of relief. Tseng was a powerful man, thoroughly trained in mind and spirit and body, but Rufus was stronger yet. Serving that strength, Tseng could finally take his rightful part, could yield to his lord without fear, could be at ease in the proper order of the world that even the gods and their machinations must be subject to.

"When I am at your side," he said softly, looking up at Rufus, "you make the world right."

Rufus' eyes on him softened. "Tseng." There was pleasure and possession in that naming, and Tseng wasn't surprised when Rufus slid off the couch to kneel over his folded legs, both hands coming up to close around Tseng's face and tip his head back so Rufus could kiss him. Tseng leaned into it, pliant in Rufus' hands, mouth opening under Rufus' demand. He almost swore he could feel the heat of Rufus' aura burning around those hands as they slid down Tseng's throat to his shoulders, pulling loose his robe and stroking it down to hang from his arms. When Rufus finally drew back it was hard for Tseng to let that heat go, and Rufus smiled down at him as he swayed forward. "We will make the world right, yes," he said, and Tseng swallowed at the force of Rufus' spirit flaring around him.

"Yes, Lord," he answered, just a little breathless, giving himself to Rufus' will without reservation, and he nearly moaned with the surge of rightness through his senses.

Rufus brushed a kiss over his forehead and murmured, "Turn around."

Tseng turned, hands spread against the denseness of the mats, starting to stretch out under Rufus. He flushed a little to realize just how disordered his clothes were as he felt his hair sliding over his bared shoulders and back.

And then he felt Rufus' hand on his skin pushing his hair aside, baring his nape and closing firmly over it.

A shudder of heat shook Tseng so hard his arms gave out and he collapsed down to the floor, breath completely gone. He still didn't know whether Rufus understood everything this gesture meant, but he certainly knew it was the mark of his command over Tseng. And to feel Rufus laying such definite claim, knowing or not, to his rights over Tseng's life and death undid Tseng every time. Tonight, feeling so clearly the weight of Rufus' spirit, it nearly struck him senseless. He lay still under Rufus' hand, panting softly for breath.

"You're mine, Tseng," Rufus said quietly, fingers tightening until Tseng gasped. "I won't let go."

The words fell together with Rufus' kiss, earlier, the brush of his lips over Tseng's mark of exile, and wrote their meaning in sweetness and fire down Tseng's spine. The bone-deep knowledge of place, of belonging at this man's side, broke through Tseng like a wave cresting and set him trembling. "Yes," he whispered. "Please."

Rufus' thumb stroked against the skin of his nape gently. "Shh." His other hand slid up the back of Tseng's thigh, pushing his robe with it until Rufus was pushing slick fingers slowly into him. The small corner of his mind dedicated to irreverence managed to wonder whether Rufus had brought his own lube or had fished Tseng's out of the couch cushions. It eased Tseng back from the edge a bit, the familiarity of Rufus' hands on him like this, though the hand on his neck, holding him down, still put a hot shudder through him. The slow stretch and slide of Rufus opening him up eased the desperation of that need, comforted him with the assurance that it would be met. The promise of Rufus' fingers driving deeper steadied him.

He still made a faint sound of protest when Rufus released his nape to slide a hand down his back and pull his robe the rest of the way off. "Shh," Rufus told him again, low and sure. "You belong to me, whether my hand is on you or not, Tseng. Remember that."

Tseng bent his head, flushed with the heat of his response to those words. "Yes, Lord."

"Good," Rufus purred, fingers twisting slowly deep in his ass. "Now, once again—come here." His hand on Tseng's hip urged him up.

It took a moment for Tseng to gather himself enough to move, under the weight of Rufus' spirit in this small space, but after a breath he rocked back onto his knees in the muddle of his robe, resting his forehead on his crossed arms. The delicate brush of air over his still-bared nape made him shiver. This too felt right, though, to be spread out and opened, all of him offered to Rufus. He moaned softly when he felt the roughness of Rufus' jeans against his thighs and ass and realized Rufus hadn't bothered to undress himself while he'd been stripping Tseng naked, body and heart. "Rufus, please," he whispered, hot and breathless.

"Yes," Rufus answered him, bedrock surety in his voice, and then he was pushing into Tseng, stretching and filling him. Body-feeling ran deep and fast alongside spirit-feeling, wrapping around each other into a current of pleasure so heavy Tseng groaned with it, hands clutching at the floor, at his robe, at anything to anchor him while Rufus fucked him hard and slow. But there was no anchor in this except Rufus himself, Rufus who held Tseng still for every stroke the same way he held Tseng in his right place in the world. Tseng gave himself to that strength, spread himself wider for Rufus, surrendered his soul and senses into those hands, and cried out as they closed on him tighter.

Pleasure wrung him out hard, and the velvety edge of Rufus' moan swept an extra shudder through him. Rufus kept him up on his knees, fucking him harder even while Tseng's muscles melted as all the built-up tension in him released at once. Tseng panted, cheek pressed against the mats of the floor, and groaned softly when Rufus buried himself deep, hips pressed tight against Tseng's ass. When Rufus finally eased him down again he just lay there for a while, savoring the slow stroke of Rufus' fingers carding through his hair. "Thank you," he said at last, softly.

"Shouldn't that be my line?" Rufus asked, leaning over him on one elbow, smiling. "Thanking you for your service?"

Tseng turned slowly onto his side, looking up at Rufus. His shirt was pulled up and his jeans hung open, and his hair was rumpled. He should have looked like a college student in the middle of an energetic party.

He didn't.

Tseng bent his head before the radiance Rufus wore so easily, before the knowledge and responsibility that shadowed those bright eyes after the last year. This was his lord, the one who made a true place for him in the world. "My service is your right."

After a long, silent moment, a firm hand lifted his chin and Rufus kissed him gently. "Know that I will never take that for granted."

Tseng shivered as the words slid over him, sure as Rufus' touch. "And that's why," he murmured.

Rufus snorted and stroked Tseng's hair back over his shoulder with light fingers. "After all your hard work, I should hope so." His fingers slid up to caress Tseng's nape again, easy and possessive, and a thread of heat wound down Tseng's spine.

He could still feel the changing of the year, but it didn't pull at him any more. The year, and the world, turned now on the one prince great enough for Tseng to yield his will and service to.

Tseng bowed his head again and rested under Rufus' hand.

End

A/N: Tseng's casual wear should probably be a noushi (casual or visiting wear for kuge), not a kosode (only outerwear by the period when the buke had already taken power), but we're already making a glorious mishmash of times and cultures, and kosode are sexier than noushi, so there you go. Picture a fairly casual kimono.back

Heavier Than A Mountain

Rufus is not prepared to let Tseng die. Tseng is not prepared to refuse him. Written for the Oh My God We Need Some Porn in Here Stat meme, and the prompt Rufus/Tseng, command. Porn, I-4

Happens just post-Advent Children, but assuming some Lullabye for the New World Order history.

Tseng was sorting his desk. An attack on the city always meant re-sorting his information, prioritizing the small fears and unrests that would always flare in the aftermath. The focus of the task was soothing.

Given the basic equation of fears and unrest, of course, it was predictable that he would be interrupted.

Rufus didn't bang the door open. He opened and closed it behind him very precisely, the only sound a soft click of the latch. That was a far stronger danger sign than overt temper, and Tseng prudently laid down his files and pen, well out of the way. Rufus crossed the office with a measured step and laid a hand on the back of Tseng's desk chair.

Tseng calmly tucked his knees back to keep from banging them on the desk as Rufus swung the chair sharply around and leaned over him. "Yes, sir?" he asked, leaning his head back to look up at the President. Rufus was steady on his feet, and the chair creaked under his grip; he looked entirely recovered from the Geostigma, and Tseng spared a moment of thanks to Aerith, wherever and whatever she had become now.

"You miscalculated the risk of going to the Northern Crater," Rufus stated flatly. "Don't let that happen again."

"I will certainly endeavor not to," Tseng answered dryly. Being tortured by broken fragments of Sephiroth's spirit was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

"Do more than that," Rufus ordered. "Understand me, Tseng. You do not have my permission to die."

Tseng froze in his chair, staring up at Rufus. Even in this language, the words dove down into the center of him and rang there. Death, and the manner of it, were the final right of the humblest warrior. To safeguard his family and secure his honor, to deny the enemy, to choose his own end, all that was the right of any warrior whose determination did not fail him. To surrender it...

Protest struggled with a curl of hot response, wrapping around each other in his chest, and Tseng's hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

Rufus caught his chin, burning blue eyes locked with his, fixing him in his chair sure as a sword thrust. "You do not have my permission, Tseng," he repeated softly. "Not while I live." Tseng could feel the force of Rufus' will like the heat of a fire on his face, and the part of him that had waited so many years for Rufus to grow into his own soul couldn't help but answer.

"I receive your command," he murmured in his own tongue, measured and formal, acknowledging Rufus' right. A corner of his mind remarked dryly that his family would have mass heart failure if they ever learned of this. A larger part was ruefully aware of how hard he was.

"Good." Rufus' thumb stroked along Tseng's jaw slowly. "Then come here."

Yes, Rufus had definitely noticed.

Tseng rose from his chair, and Rufus' hands were on his belt, and as quickly as that he was bent over his desk with Rufus' fingers in his ass. Tseng moaned low in his throat at the rough, slow stretch. The dry corner of his thoughts observed that the door was not locked and Reno never knocked. The part of him that was hot and hungry with his surrender to Rufus half hoped someone would come in, that someone else would witness the fire that Rufus was burning with and understand why Tseng offered his life and soul to it.

Rufus fucked him slow and hard, leaning over Tseng, hands running up and down his body. He could not have more clearly marked his possession without tattooing property of Rufus Shinra, do not touch across Tseng's back. Possession... and protection. Even as Tseng panted with the hard, driving thrusts of Rufus' cock into his ass, he could feel the gentleness in Rufus' hands as they slid up under his shirt, careful of Tseng's injuries even now they were healed. It was the care that drove a soft, unvoiced, "Lord," out of Tseng, and when Rufus leaned down, chest against Tseng's back, and whispered in his ear in the same language, "Yes," Tseng came completely undone.

Rufus worked him through it and it wasn't until Tseng was a limp, boneless mess sprawled across his desk that Rufus took his own pleasure. He had, Tseng reflected through the haze of satiation, learned a gratifying degree of control.

They rested against the desk for a while, quiet, and Tseng was content to stay there. He could feel the steadiness of Rufus' heartbeat against his spine, and the easy heat of his body. Not fever-hot and not chilled. Healed and well again. The fear and fury that had, Tseng knew, kept him searching the Northern Crater long after the signs of danger would normally have sent him back to fetch reinforcements, finally eased all the way. He was relaxed enough to make a contented sound as Rufus' fingers rubbed slowly up and down the nape of his neck.

"Remember," Rufus said quietly.

"I won't forget what I am," Tseng returned, voice steady.

Rufus' man. Life and soul.

There was an extra leash on what he could do in that cause, now, but that was all right. Fighting fate was already more or less Tseng's job. He could add this to the list of things he tried to circumvent. And if that happened to cause a disagreement or two, or give Rufus reason to reassert his command...

Tseng smiled into the crook of his arm.

End

The Command of Those Who Ask of Me

Hyuuga tends to and cares for Ayanami in the evening. In the morning, a different side of Ayanami wants rawer proof of his service. Fluff, Porn, I-4

Hyuuga peeked into his commander's quarters and sighed. According to reports, Aya-san had been standing at the picture window in his rooms for a very long time, looking out on the city as dark fell and all the lights that lived on conquered zaiphon twinkled on. That was usually a bad sign. Sometimes, when Aya-san brooded for too long, he lost himself a little, and when he lost himself to Verloren's memories of pain or anger it wasn't good for anyone. Not unless there was something on hand he could kill to regain his equanimity.

When there wasn't, well, that's when getting him back out became Hyuuga's job.

Hyuuga waved to Katsuragi, waiting down the hall, and slipped in, closing Ayanami's door behind him. Katsuragi would keep everyone clear until he was done. He came up behind Ayanami on quiet feet and slid his arms around his waist. The straightness of Ayanami's spine went a little stiffer.

"Hyuuga," Ayanami said, cold and low. It was the voice of death, sharp as the edge that could cut a soul, and if Hyuuga hadn't already guessed he'd have known right then who he had his arms around.

He bent his head under the dark weight of that voice and murmured against Ayanami's shoulder, "You are my Lord. I was born to serve your will, like every other one of the Fallen families that come from your blood." Ayanami's stiffness settled a little with what Hyuuga suspected was satisfaction, and he went on, soft and coaxing. "But you're also my commander, who leads and cherishes us. And my oldest friend, who I love." Very low, he finished, "Let me take care of you tonight?"

As he spoke he could feel Ayanami relax, slowly, until the body in his arms leaned back against him with a human sigh. "Hyuuga," his friend's voice said, quiet and level but warm again.

"Thank you." Hyuuga smiled against Aya-san's ear. "Come to bed, Aya-san? You've been standing here a long time."

"I suppose I have." Ayanami stirred and straightened, and if Hyuuga kept a sharp eye on him and a hand on his shoulder until he was sure his friend wouldn't fall after so long ignoring his mortal body, Aya-san pretended he didn't notice.

He did snort a little bit when they got to the bedroom and Hyuuga brushed his fingers aside and undid Ayanami's sword belt himself.

"Let me, Aya-san," Hyuuga said softly, eyes on the buckles. He wanted to keep Ayanami focused on the here-and-now-and-human tonight, until whatever he'd been brooding about receded a little and he was in a better temper.

He hung the sword and belts over Ayanami's weapons rack and delicately undid the hidden clasps of Ayanami's uniform coat. Aya-san's lips were ever so faintly curving up, which was a good sign. Hyuuga shook out the coat and hung it carefully while Ayanami sat down on the edge of his bed. He knelt swiftly at Aya-san's feet, glancing up at him admonishingly over the edge of his glasses, as he loosened the buckles of Ayanami's boots. Aya-san let Hyuuga tug them off and sat patiently while he put them in the closet and came back to unbutton Aya-san's shirt.

"You're starting to look overdressed," Ayanami finally murmured, and Hyuuga laughed.

"Am I? I'd better take care of that, then." He laid his sheathed swords across Ayanami's table and folded his coat over the back of a chair. Boots, shirt, and pants followed quickly, and Aya-san was definitely looking amused when Hyuuga came back to kneel by the bed in nothing but his shorts and socks.

"Less so now," he allowed, and let Hyuuga undo his pants, tugging them off, and the shorts with them, with brisk, gentle hands.

"Lie down," Hyuuga directed. Ayanami's brow rose, eyes turning hard again, and Hyuuga gave him a wry smile, still on his knees. "You command me, Aya-san. In every way. You know that. But let me be your old friend for tonight?"

After a long moment, Ayanami nodded and stretched out on his stomach, head pillowed on his crossed arms. Hyuuga slipped up onto the bed and knelt beside him. He spread a hand against Aya-san's back, leaning just a little weight on it until he finally felt Aya-san breathe out and relax a hair.

That was enough to start with.

He slid his hand up into Aya-san's unruly, silver hair to knead his fingertips over where the band of the uniform hat fell. He worked his fingers lightly over Aya-san's wrists where the cuff of the gloves bound sometimes. He ran his hands slowly down Aya-san's body to knead his calves where the boots buckled tight and his feet where the hard boot heels made cramps. All the little places where the uniform chafed or pulled, he soothed and he didn't even try to work on Aya-san's shoulders until he'd had a while to calm under the slow touches.

Finally, though, Aya-san's arms unfolded and he settled a little more easily against the bed, and Hyuuga smiled. Now he could lean over Aya-san and put some force into it as he kneaded his friend's shoulders and back. Tonight Aya-san was even at ease enough to let his breath hitch and gasp as Hyuuga worked his muscles loose.

"There," Hyuuga murmured, when the muscle and skin under his hands was warm and flushed and flexible again. He leaned down and brushed a soft kiss over the back of his neck. "Ready to sleep?"

"Mmm."

Hyuuga very carefully did not chuckle at the drowsy sound. He'd save up this triumph to tease Aya-san with the next time he wanted to match his speed against Aya-san's whip. He just raised the covers and held them for Aya-san to slide under before tugging off his shorts and socks and joining him.

It wasn't all that often that Aya-san let him do this, and Hyuuga hoarded the memories of nights that Aya-san let Hyuuga hold him, nights he consented to rest his head on Hyuuga's shoulder and drift off while his oldest friend watched over him.

Hyuuga carded his fingers slowly through Aya-san's hair and smiled into the dark.

Hyuuga woke with most of the covers kicked off and no Aya-san anywhere near. That wasn't unusual for these mornings, and he just stretched and yawned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he glanced around for his commander. He half expected to see Ayanami already in his uniform and finishing breakfast, but instead he was standing in the sun from the windows in only a robe.

"Morning, Aya-tan." Hyuuga leaned up on an elbow, lazily. "Taking it easy today?" Maybe he could even tempt Aya-san back into bed for a little...

The thought cut off abruptly as Ayanami turned and Hyuuga saw his eyes, brilliant and distant and sharp as knives over a curl of lips even sharper. Ayanami had clearly gotten over his brooding, Hyuuga thought with incongruous calm, which didn't mean he would be any less volatile as long as he stayed like this. Merely less inclined to outright bodily harm.

"So," Ayanami murmured, chill and velvety. "You say you serve me?"

Hyuuga swallowed against the scald of adrenaline through his veins, seeing that edge in Ayanami's smile, hearing it in his voice. Both focused on him, and his cock was hardening in response. "Yes, Lord," he answered, husky.

Ayanami's eyes raked up and down his body, and a curl of amusement threaded through their sharpness. "Hmm." He reached out a hand and beckoned, and Hyuuga came up off the bed in one swift movement to stand before Ayanami.

It was crazy to stay in the same room with this man, with the memory awake behind Ayanami's eyes right now, turning them inhuman. Nothing Hyuuga had ever met on any battlefield would ever be as dangerous as that soul's attention, as what Ayanami could do to him with a gesture. With a thought.

Hyuuga's breath came short and fast as he thought about that, and he was so hard he was getting light-headed.

The curl to Ayanami's lips was definitely amused, and he wrapped his hand around the nape of Hyuuga's neck with casual, inhuman strength. "Not as much to say for yourself as usual, this morning," he observed.

Thrill sang through Hyuuga and he grinned, teeth bared as he stepped up to dance with death. "Well, if you want your own personal jester, of course I'll be happy to oblige. Aya-tan."

Ayanami laughed once, low in his throat, and his hand pressed down, bearing Hyuuga down to his knees with terrifying ease. "Not today." He slid his hand up the line of Hyuuga's jaw and brushed a thumb over his lips.

"Yes, Lord," Hyuuga agreed, husky, eyes lifted to Ayanami's. Ayanami held them as he pulled loose the tie of his robe and stepped closer. Hyuuga didn't look away as he opened his mouth for Ayanami's cock, wrapping his lips around the thickness of it. This was familiar, and so was the possessiveness of Ayanami's fingers threading through his hair. But the casual force that drove Ayanami's cock deep into his mouth was something he had only tasted a few times. When Ayanami was like this, when the age of his soul walked abroad laughing, he used Hyuuga as off-handedly as if it was his right to do so.

It was, of course.

Hyuuga slid his hands up to close tight on Ayanami's hips, not trying to move him at all but still a bit of presumption, a teasing challenge to Ayanami's authority. He moaned low in his throat as Ayanami's fingers tightened, holding him perfectly still while Ayanami fucked his mouth hard and thorough. There was no other thrill, no other danger, quite like this. Hyuuga savored the edge of it as he worked his tongue over Ayanami, never looking away from the cold, brilliant eyes that looked down at him with distant amusement.

It was the eyes that finished him in the end, he thought. The way Ayanami watched his body pull taut, his breath come fast and short, with nothing but that sharp amusement. The way Ayanami held his eyes and didn't let him look away while his cock filled Hyuuga's mouth. Even when the raw heat of being pinned under that gaze finally raked through Hyuuga, sending his hips bucking helplessly against air as pleasure wrung him out, Ayanami didn't let him look away, and his moans were chopped short by the deep, hard thrust of Ayanami's cock into his throat.

When hot, salty flatness spilled across the back of Hyuuga's tongue, it wrung one last shudder of pleasure out of him.

Ayanami finally pulled away, fingers loosening and sliding through Hyuuga's hair. "That will do," he murmured.

"Yes, Lord," Hyuuga panted, voice husky, but still teasingly smug. He shivered as Ayanami drew his head all the way back and leaned down to kiss him, sharp and possessive. He didn't move from his knees as Ayanami turned and walked through his rooms to the bath, just slumped back to catch his breath.

And grinned.

He knew even the other Black Hawks thought he was a little crazy, but that was okay. It meant he got mornings like this all to himself.

And there was nothing like it.

End

(Not) Limited by Blood

This is the story otherwise known as "The Role of the Sharingan in Sex and Endogamous Bonding and Incidentally Kakashi's Massive Control Issues". I'm really not sure I can summarize it better than that. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Kakashi/Sasuke, teacher. Porn with Characterization and Worldbuilding, I-4

Warning: clan endogamy may result in incest-y vibes for some.

Look, I never claimed to be in control of the bunnies I get from this fandom.

This takes place when Sasuke et. al. are about 19.

Sasuke stood out on one of the curving verandas that every building in Tanigakure seemed to have and wondered distantly how soon he could get out of here. He pressed his forehead against one of the veranda's smooth wooden posts and closed his eyes, breathing in the faint, rising cool of the river flowing through the bottom of the valley. He wanted to be gone from this place.

Not because Hidden Valley was a trial to stay in or anything. It was a pleasant village, and if the sloping sides of a deep gorge seemed like a precarious place to build a village, at least the floor and lip of the valley were thick enough with trees to make him feel at home.

Not because the mission was going badly. It was going fine from what he could see. Valley's council had agreed to relax the border controls between River and Fire countries, to allow larger groups of Leaf shinobi across as long as they presented proper notice of their mission at the border, instead of having to wait for approval from the village. The Master of Valley even seemed a bit charmed by Kakashi, and even her most uptight councilors seemed to approve of Sasuke.

Oh yes. Sasuke knew why the Fifth had sent him along. Over half the council were members of the Yasumori clan, and Yasumori was a clan like Hyuuga, like Uchiha had been—old and dignified. The longer he was here, the more Sasuke found himself falling back into old habits, found formalities coming easily to his lips, found himself reading at a glance the little indications of clan politics, of who was supporting or feuding with whom. It was exactly what Kakashi needed as he dealt with the Yasumori, so here Sasuke was.

And it hurt.

Every time he bowed at just that angle that said he was a son of the senior branch; every time one of the Yasumori unthinkingly cleared the way for him in response; every time he recognized the tiny grimace that said Yasumori Koujirou really wanted to disagree with Yasumori Michiru no matter what their clan head had told them about solidarity in front of outsiders; every time he saw those things and looked by reflex for familiar eyes, eyes like his, and found only the green and hazel of Yasumori, it hurt.

Maybe it would have been better if Naruto or Sakura had been along on this mission. Maybe they would have been able to remind him that he was someone else, now, building a new clan and not the son of an old one. Maybe that would only have made it worse; he didn't know. All he knew was that he thought he might give his soul to look into eyes like his own tonight, and the last of those in the world were both traitor and dead.

"Sasuke?"

Kakashi's voice startled him, but he stifled a flinch (because a noble didn't show his reactions like that) and raised his head. It was starting to get dark and his teacher was a shadow in the cool dimness under the veranda roof. "Is there a meeting?" he asked steadily.

Kakashi's visible brow quirked just a bit. "No meeting. And it looks like that's just as well."

Sasuke flushed. He should be concealing his hurt better than that. "I'll be fine," he insisted. "It's just..." He bit off the explanation.

"Hm." Kakashi came to lean silently on the veranda rail beside him, looking down over the curved roofs below them, fading away into the gorge as dusk fell. Only a few lamps had come on, yet, to re-trace the outlines of the village. It was quiet here where the guest houses stood, and the soft rush of the river below blended with the murmur of people a handful of steep, wooden streets away. "It's just what?" Kakashi asked, just as Sasuke was relaxing again.

"Familiar." It slipped out without thought, and Sasuke gave his teacher a quick glower for getting that out of him.

"I did wonder about that," Kakashi murmured, not minding the glare at all which was just typical. "Unfortunately, I was the only jounin free to send on this one and you were the only noble of a senior branch free to come. At least the only one I could trust to tell me all I need to know."

That confidence in him warmed and hurt, both. "I'll be fine," Sasuke repeated, with determination if not quite as much surety as he'd have liked.

"Hmmm."

Sasuke stiffened at first, but the sound wasn't doubtful; just thoughtful. Of course, that wasn't any less alarming for anyone who knew Hatake Kakashi.

Even knowing that, though, he wasn't prepared for Kakashi to straighten and casually push up his forehead protector, looking down at Sasuke with his Sharingan uncovered. After days on end of furiously suppressing his desire for his own clan, the reminder that there was another Leaf shinobi with Uchiha eyes hit Sasuke like a fist in the gut and stopped his breath just as surely.

"I wondered," Kakashi repeated quietly, and lifted a hand to rest on Sasuke's shoulder, warm and sure, just holding him.

Sasuke caught his breath again in a deep gasp, and a confusion of words and thoughts tumbled up to his lips. "Sensei... I mean, senpai... I... Kakashi-san..." In his heart it was none of those, but he didn't dare say it. It would be too much.

Kakashi's hand tightened, strong and reassuring, and the tangle of want in Sasuke was joined by a simpler, more familiar heat that made his breath hitch a little. He swayed forward before he caught himself, uncertain. He thought Kakashi smiled just a little behind his mask, and a thumb stroked up and down his neck gently.

"It's all right," Kakashi told him, soft as the deepening dusk. "You're my team here, Sasuke; you know I'll take care of you." And then Sasuke just had to stand and stare, because he hooked a finger over the edge of his mask and slid it down.

When they'd all been younger, his team had schemed wildly to get a glimpse of their teacher's face. As they'd gotten older, Sasuke had come to understand there was no great mystery, only an entrenched habit of concealment; and he could understand that perfectly well, and had stopped trying to get past it. And now here it was, set aside for him just as easily as this. It was the simplicity of it that let the heart-deep words slip out as Sasuke leaned closer, hands coming up to Kakashi's chest, the way he would have called any of the older cousins.

"Kakashi-niisan."

His teacher smiled, a startlingly clear curve of firm lips. "Yes." He tipped Sasuke's chin up and kissed him, slow and easy, watching him with that half-lidded red eye, and Sasuke's heart turned over and sped up. There were things he'd never had the chance to learn but had still heard about; things about how the sight of the Sharingan could be used in bed. The way Kakashi's tongue stroked over his and swept through his mouth made him wonder if it had all been true, because before long he was clinging to his teacher's shoulders and panting for breath thanks to that slow, wet slide.

The street lamp outside their guest house came on, casting the fineness of Kakashi's profile into relief as he finally drew back, making the silver of his hair shine as he tilted his head toward the door. "I think this is better carried on inside, hm?"

Sasuke swallowed and murmured, husky, "Yes, Kakashi-niisan." He expected Kakashi to turn the lights on when the door closed behind him, but the room stayed fully dark, and Sasuke's eyes widened as he understood. He took a breath and activated his own Sharingan, and a flash of hope and excitement ran through him as the shapes of the room faded into his sight, dim against the shifting brightness of Kakashi. The thought of having an older clanmate again (kind of; close enough!) to guide and teach him made him shiver—hard enough that, when Kakashi held out his hands, Sasuke stumbled going to meet him. It had been so long.

He was caught and pulled close against the heat of Kakashi's body, feeling it and seeing it, and when Kakashi's hand slid down his back to just the right place to support him he knew he was being seen the same way. "Please," he whispered, and lifted his face to meet Kakashi's mouth on his.

Their clothes ended up scattered across the room, a vest flung over one chair, Sasuke's shirt dropped onto the low table, Kakashi's pants kicked into the corner, and when Sasuke finally got to feel the the sleek heat of Kakashi's skin against his own he moaned. He could see every shift of response in Kakashi's chakra as his hands traced over the solid muscle of his teacher's back and shoulders, and knowing he was just as bare to Kakashi's eyes, to his Sharingan, was enough all by itself to make him hard.

And it wasn't all by itself.

Sasuke came up onto his toes, body arching helplessly taut as one strong hand closed between his legs and calloused fingers stroked his cock knowingly. "Kakashi-niisan," he gasped, wanting, almost pleading, and Kakashi's fingers tightened as he caught Sasuke's mouth in another kiss, deep and hard. Sasuke lost it all in a second, coming with a strangled groan as heat wrung him out fiercely, over and over, until he was leaning against Kakashi and gasping for breath. "Wha..."

"Mm. Now maybe we can take it a little slower," Kakashi-san murmured against his ear, and Sasuke could hear the smile in his voice, see it in the shift of his chakra. He was sure his hot blush was just as visible, and felt the vibration of his teacher's chuckle through the broad chest he rested against.

"Yes, Kakashi-niisan," Sasuke managed, a little embarrassed and a little delighted with the teasing. It felt good, intimate and casual and like clan.

He let Kakashi guide him down to the bed, watching the tight, patient coil of his teacher's chakra, the focus of it. That focus was in the hands that slid down his body, slow and sure, spreading his thighs until he gasped, kneading the drawn muscles of his stomach until they relaxed into heat, cupping his ass and squeezing just once, hard enough to make him moan. He reached back, for once a little shy next to his teacher's experience, watching with the clarity of the Sharingan and the dizziness of the heat in him to see what Kakashi liked, what his chakra brightened for. He trailed his hands down Kakashi's chest to stroke lightly over his cock and was answered by a low sound and swift downward shift of chakra. That gave him an idea, and he licked his lips.

"Kakashi-niisan? Can I...?" He slid his fingers down the length of Kakashi's cock.

After one still moment, Kakashi's fingers slid through his hair and tipped his head back for a slow kiss. "Yes," Kakashi murmured into his mouth.

Kakashi's hand slid through his hair as he settled between Kakashi's legs, and Sasuke leaned into his fingers. That made the coiled lines of Kakashi's chakra ease before Sasuke even touched him, and fresh heat curled through Sasuke. If his teacher wanted to guide him in this, too...

"Kakashi-niisan." He rested his cheek against Kakashi's thigh, looking up at him. "Will you show me?"

"Show you?" Long fingers stroked lightly through his hair again, and Kakashi's voice sounded perfectly casual, but his chakra was still flowing in tight, poised lines.

"How to do this for you."

For one instant, Kakashi's chakra coiled even tighter, as if he hadn't expected Sasuke to see what he wanted. But then it relaxed all at once, spread out into the soft edges of acceptance. The flicker in it matched the flash of wry amusement in Kakashi's voice. "Yes. I think that will do. For both of us."

Kakashi's hand slid down to cup Sasuke's cheek and guide him down, and the heat in Sasuke's stomach turned heavier. He opened his mouth and slid his lips down Kakashi's cock, and moaned as Kakashi's other hand wove into his hair. This was good. He gave himself up to the signs of Kakashi's hand against his head, of the long fingers wrapped around his jaw, of the flow and flare of Kakashi's chakra, moving as he was shown until the thickness of Kakashi's cock was sliding in and out of his mouth, over his tongue, slow and steady.

And Kakashi was careful with him. Didn't press him down too far. Kept his hands gentle, even as his breath was coming faster and deeper and his chakra was falling and brightening. It was good, good to feel that, good to trust it, good to watch that sharp, red eye on him in the darkness and know he was being seen by kin, by clan.

(Close enough!)

And then Kakashi's hand was sliding under his chin, lifting his head. "Enough," his teacher said, husky. "Come here."

Sasuke slid back up Kakashi's body and was caught tight against him, kissed hard as he wrapped his arms around Kakashi's solid shoulders. The room spun as Kakashi turned them, laid him down, but that was all right because Kakashi's chakra was steady, a stable anchor like Kakashi's weight over him. The rush of heat as strong hands slid down his thighs and caught his knees to spread him wide open, so wide, drowned his thoughts and he moaned openly, pinned down under Kakashi's gaze.

"Mmm." It was a satisfied sound. "I thought this might do for both of us, yes." Kakashi's smile was clear. "Well, since my hands are busy, why don't you get me ready, Sasuke?" he teased. "I think your vest is by the bed."

Sasuke flailed wordlessly for his vest and fished in the inner pockets. Knife oil, muscle salve, no, ah there it was. He slicked his fingers with gel and reached down to slide them over Kakashi, completely unable to help the soft moan when he thought about the cock in his hands sliding inside him.

Knowing Kakashi, that was probably the idea.

And his breath cut short again as Kakashi's eye on him sharpened. "Now," Kakashi told him softly, and Sasuke grabbed for his arms, fingers closing tight as Kakashi's cock pressed against him, into him. Slowly. Very slowly.

"It's all right, Sasuke," Kakashi murmured to him as he gasped. "I see you. I've got you."

Shudders were running through him under Kakashi's hands. The stretch of it was hard, just on the edge of too hard but never past it, because Kakashi was seeing him, every flicker of response in his body and chakra, and that had Sasuke making little moans of want, low in his throat. The thick slide opening him just kept going; as soon as Kakashi was all the way in he was drawing back again, smooth and slow, never pausing, fucking Sasuke so steadily that he was half out of his mind with the rush of sensation.

And it just kept going.

His throat was dry with panting for breath he never caught, and his legs were trembling in Kakashi's hold, and it took him forever to even think to free one hand from their frantic grip on Kakashi's shoulders and reach down to fist around his own cock. Kakashi made a husky sound at that, and thrust into him harder, and Sasuke's stroke tightened at the rush of heat. "Kakashi-niisan," he whispered, pleading.

"Look at me, Sasuke," Kakashi ordered, velvety in the darkness, and Sasuke looked up to meet the intent eyes above him, caught by that familiar red, focusing his own gaze on it.

And it changed, spinning into the scythe wheel of Kakashi's Mangekyou Sharingan, the deepest power of their clan.

Response slammed through Sasuke like a wave crashing up the shore and he groaned as fire flashed down every nerve and wrung him fiercely until he was breathless, senseless, aware of nothing but heat and the eye that locked his gaze. His body was wringing down so hard he was barely aware of Kakashi driving into him deep and fast, but he saw the answering brightness flash through Kakashi's chakra, spilling through like a waterfall. Pleasure sang through him until he thought he might break before it peaked and dimmed slowly with the ebb of their chakra.

They were both still for a long moment before Kakashi gently eased Sasuke's legs down to the bed again and stretched out, drawing him close. Sasuke lay quietly against him, feeling completely limp and more at peace than he'd been since they took this mission.

"It's true, you know."

Sasuke made an inquiring sound, and Kakashi's hand came up to cradle his head against Kakashi's shoulder, careful and tender.

"For the sake of Obito's gift to me, I was affiliated with the Uchiha. There was no other lawful way to respect his wishes. I never claimed anything of the clan, but the fact remains." His thumb rubbed slowly up and down the tendons of Sasuke's neck as Sasuke stiffened, mind blank. "You know who your family is now, Sasuke. But if you need clan, too... remember it's here."

Sasuke wrapped his arms tight around Kakashi's chest and whispered against his shoulder, "All right."

It was a shock. And yet it wasn't. He'd never suspected it was official, but Kakashi was his teacher, the one he went to when he'd found something new in the clan records, the one who understood what the Sharingan saw and did. The one who had held him and seen him tonight, the way one of his clan would have if there had been time. Sasuke let his breath out and edged closer on the bed.

Kakashi relaxed too, and his lips brushed over Sasuke's forehead, and Sasuke settled into his teacher's arms as easily as he would into any of his kin's.

End

Take Me to Yourselves Shamelessly

Hyuuga takes notice of Konatsu's interest and they wind up in bed. Konatsu only looks like he's the sane one, really. Porn, I-4

Konatsu was used to Hyuuga teasing him. Hyuuga teased everyone, including Ayanami-sama, which sometimes led the rest of the Hawks to quiet debates at the break table over whether Hyuuga really was completely insane or just faking it for his own purposes. Konatsu argued that there wasn't really a difference. Besides, Ayanami-sama seemed quite used to it, which was actually the scariest part.

Konatsu was used to it, also, though, so when the Major's hand descended out of nowhere to ruffle his hair as he filled out action reports (the Major's action reports, of course) Konatsu just sighed and kept writing. "What is it, Shousa?"

"Just thought I should congratulate you on keeping up so well with the paperwork," Hyuuga said in his most annoyingly cheery tone as he wandered past to lean on the completely empty desk that was, technically, his. Konatsu looked up with a glower.

"This is the paperwork you should be doing, Shousa," he scolded.

He knew that the regular forces also thought he was crazy for the way he talked to the Major. But it had been obvious as the sun in the sky, right from the moment they'd met, that Hyuuga would never respect fear. So Konatsu never showed it. He wasn't really sure he'd ever even felt it—not fear. Stunned amazement, fierce delight, genuine respect, incredible frustration, all of those, but not fear.

He supposed the regular forces might have a point, by their own standards.

Hyuuga ignored his scolding and just widened his eyes earnestly over the edge of his glasses. "But you do it so much better! Would you like a reward?" He produced a candy apple from the bag in his hand and held it out with a flourish.

"I'm not sixteen any more, Shousa," Konatsu sighed, filling in another line. "The candy has lost its novelty, and even as a child I never had that much of a sweet tooth."

"Hmmmm," Hyuuga mused around a bite of the apple. "True, true. I suppose you are growing up." A corner of his mouth curled up wickedly. "Perhaps you should have an adult kind of reward, now?"

Despite knowing, knowing, that Hyuuga was doing it to get a rise out of him, Konatsu couldn't help sputtering. "Major!" As the Major laughed, obviously pleased with the results of his teasing, Konatsu pulled a new form in front of him and concentrated on it ferociously, trying to will the heat out of his cheeks.

Stupid Majors and their stupid jokes, making him think of things he tried to avoid thinking of.

"Hm." That was such an alarmingly thoughtful sound that Konatsu looked up, wary. And then he had to swallow, because Hyuuga was watching him across the room with sharp, glinting eyes. That wasn't the teasing look, that was a lot closer to the way Hyuuga watched him when they sparred—the look that made Konatsu have to catch his breath and hope everyone took his flush for exertion. Three long strides brought Hyuuga back across the room to lean over Konatsu's chair and catch his chin, and Konatsu really couldn't help the sound he made, staring up into that knife-edge focus.

No. Not knife-edge. Sword edge.

"Looks like you are ready for adult things," Hyuuga purred, running his thumb over Konatsu's mouth, and Konatsu snatched in a gasp of breath.

"Shousa..." He could hear how husky his voice was, and thought that was probably what made Hyuuga smile. The smile was what struck a spark of anger in Konatsu—that was the way Hyuuga smiled at prey, and that simply wasn't acceptable. He stood, hands flat on Hyuuga's chest to push him back a step, and then fisted in his uniform coat as Konatsu stepped into him and leaned up to kiss him.

"Mmm." That was an approving sound, and Konatsu gasped again as Hyuuga's hand on his back pulled him in tight. Hyuuga kissed Konatsu again, hot and intent, tongue sweeping deep into his mouth, and Konatsu lost his breath on a soft moan. "Are you sure you want to try to spar with me this way, though?" Hyuuga murmured into his mouth.

The words brought the heat rushing through Konatsu into gleaming focus. Sparring. Daring the Major's edge and deadly brilliance. "Yes."

Hyuuga smiled, dark and sharp, and leaned in to breathe against Konatsu's ear, "Even though you know I don't stop, when we fight?"

Konatsu swallowed, torn between another surge of heat at the thought and a twinge of alarm; that was what made sparring with Hyuuga so incredible, but Konatsu knew how to use a sword. This... he didn't know; did that mean he couldn't hold his own?

"Shh." Hyuuga's fingers slid through his hair. "I won't hurt you, Konatsu. But I won't hold back, either."

Konatsu snorted and relaxed against him; that was all the reassurance he needed. "I don't want you to hold back."

Hyuuga laughed. "That's what I like about you." He kissed Konatsu one more time, fierce and deep, and drew back with a smile that teased the same way he teased Konatsu with the sword. "Come on."

Konatsu tried to catch his breath on the way down the halls to the Major's room, right next to his own, hoping his face wasn't as flushed as he thought it probably was. It was Konatsu's room the Major paused at, though. "Go take a shower; I'll be waiting for you," he said, and brushed a kiss over Konatsu's forehead before vanishing in his own door.

Konatsu ducked into his room, face flaming, hugely thankful there'd been no one else to see. "Okay," he said to his empty room, taking a deep breath. "Shower. Fine. Nothing to worry about." He firmly ignored the way his fingers fumbled a few times as he took off his uniform and hung it up. He turned the shower on hot, also trying to ignore the sound of water in the pipes on the other side of the wall.

He was used to Hyuuga teasing him, he reminded himself.

The memory of the Major's eyes on him, as he'd prowled across the office, made Konatsu have to lean against the tile wall for a moment, though. He was going to have all of that ferocity and glee focused on him—and not on the training floor this time.

Which brought up another thought, actually.

Konatsu was aware of the mechanics, of course. There'd been enough exploration going on at the Academy, it was hard not to be. But he'd never tried it himself, not with a man or a woman. He chewed on his lip as he soaped his back, thinking. He'd kind of like to have some idea about this, before he stepped into Hyuuga's room. How it felt. Finally, he took a little soap on one finger and reached back to press it between his cheeks, probing in. It felt a little odd—unfamiliar. Intimate, maybe, touching inside himself.

He thought about intimacy, and about the Major's hands doing this, and had to put a quick hand on the shower wall when his knees shook. Maybe... maybe he'd try a little more...

Two fingers was different, that stretched like muscles during a warm-up. He could feel, now, how this might push him, especially with something bigger. And Hyuuga had said he wouldn't hold back. Konatsu leaned his head against his forearm, on the wall, moving his fingers slowly and panting for breath in the clouds of steam. This... he wanted this, yes. Oh yes.

Once he'd dried off, he hesitated for a few moments, looking at his uniform. In the end, he closed the closet door again, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stuck his head out his door for a quick look to make sure the hall was empty before he dashed over to the Major's door and inside.

The Major, he couldn't help noticing at once, hadn't even bothered with a towel.

"There you are." Hyuuga strolled toward him and pulled Konatsu up, casual and hard, against his body. "You took a while. No second thoughts, though?" He slid a hand up under Konatsu's towel to knead his ass.

"No," Konatsu said, husky, reaching up to wrap his arms around Hyuuga's bare shoulders.

The Major's eyes narrowed a little, far more visible than usual with the dark glasses tossed on top of his uniform on the couch. His fingers spread Konatsu's cheeks, pushing between to rub slow, hard circles over his entrance. Konatsu leaned against him, knees shaky again as his muscles gave way easily. Slowly, Hyuuga smiled. "Ah. You were just getting yourself ready, I see." The smile was turning dark and hot. "Good." He backed toward the bed, drawing Konatsu along with him, hand still working over Konatsu's entrance slow and firm. Konatsu was very glad when they got to the bed, because his knees were giving out completely. "Shousa..."

Hyuuga tugged away the towel and pushed him down onto the sheets. "Use my name, when we're doing this." He prowled after Konatsu, bearing him down against the bed.

Konatsu swallowed and murmured, "Hyuuga-san." He pressed closer, hands tight on Hyuuga's back, and leaned up to catch his mouth. The force of the kiss he got in answer drove his breath out, and he barely noticed as Hyuuga fished for something among the pillows; it was far more important to pay attention to the way Hyuuga's tongue fought with his, just as overwhelming as it was when they fought with swords. When Hyuuga slid a thigh between his legs, Konatsu rocked shamelessly against it, gasping with the heat tightening his stomach. When long, slick, sword-calloused fingers pushed deep into his ass, he moaned out loud.

He'd been completely right about how amazing it felt to have Hyuuga's hands doing this instead of his own. Hyuuga's fingers worked his ass mercilessly, until he was panting for breath, pressing kisses and sharp bites along Hyuuga's shoulder. "Hyuuga-san... mm, oh please..." Hyuuga had said he wouldn't hold back, and Konatsu didn't want him to, wanted to feel more, to feel everything, right now.

"Hmm?" Hyuuga purred, dark and teasing. "You wanted something?"

Konatsu lifted his head and glared at him. "Fuck me," he snapped, in no mood for being played with and not intending to let Hyuuga get away with it.

Hyuuga's smile showed his teeth. "Yeah." He kissed Konatsu hard and sure before pulling Konatsu onto his side, back pressed against Hyuuga's chest. Konatsu wet his lips; he could feel Hyuuga's cock sliding between his cheeks, hard and thick. Hyuuga pushed one of Konatsu's knees up until he was spread open, half on his stomach, and pressed another kiss to the nape of his neck. Konatsu could feel the curve of Hyuuga's lips. "Now," he murmured, and Konatsu's breath caught at the fierce stretch as Hyuuga pushed into him.

He panted for breath, fingers kneading Hyuuga's sheet, and Hyuuga didn't stop—he was deep inside and then pulling back and then driving in again, hard, and he had an arm wrapped around Konatsu to keep him pulled in snug against Hyuuga's body where he couldn't get away.

He didn't want to get away. He wanted Hyuuga to keep going.

Hyuuga did, laughing low and breathless as Konatsu moaned and pushed back against his thrusts, taking him in deeper. Now it was Hyuuga's teeth that were marking Konatsu's shoulders, sharp and sure.

When Hyuuga's hand wrapped around his cock, all Konatsu could think of was Hyuuga's hand wrapping around his sword hilt, and that sent such a wild rush of heat through him that he was over the edge before he knew it, nearly screaming as pleasure raked down his nerves hard and fast. Hyuuga's hand slid up and down his cock, quick and rough, and Konatsu shuddered, hips bucking. Hyuuga growled against his ear and pushed him all the way over onto his stomach, hands on his hips pulling him up in the air. Konatsu gasped as Hyuuga's cock drove back into his ass and fucked him hard and fierce. He moaned into the sheets with every stroke, hands finding a pillow to fist in, gasping with the aftershocks of heat that rocked through him.

The sound Hyuuga made when he finally buried himself in Konatsu and stilled, the low purr of satisfaction, sent a shiver down Konatsu's spine.

When Hyuuga let him down to the bed again, Konatsu just lay there for a little, catching his breath. Eventually, Hyuuga kissed his shoulder, the solid heat of his body stretched out against Konatsu's back, and murmured. "Good?"

"Mmm," Konatsu answered, still floating a little. "Yeah. Lots."

Hyuuga laughed and gathered Konatsu back against him again, nibbling on his ear. "Good. So, the next time I want to drag you back to my room after practice, I don't have to hold back?"

Konatsu nearly moaned again at the thought of Hyuuga's hands on him right after he'd been holding his swords. "No, go ahead."

"Mmmm." Hyuuga's mouth curved against his neck. "And the next time you're working too hard on the paperwork, I can bend you over your desk and open you up until you're begging and then fuck you until you scream?"

Konatsu almost said yes before he remembered where and when Hyuuga had just proposed to do that, and choked. He twisted around in Hyuuga's arms to glare at him. "Shousa!"

Hyuuga sighed. "Guess that's a no? Too bad." And then he grinned, dark and gleaming, and traced a finger over Konatsu's mouth and down the line of his throat. "Well, maybe I can convince you anyway. It works on Aya-tan."

Konatsu tried not to, but he couldn't help imagining Hyuuga, this wild, sharp Hyuuga, doing... something with Ayanami-sama in Ayanami-sama's office. "Shousa..." he protested, strangled.

He was never, ever again going to be able to ignore or explain away the times Hyuuga came back from the office suites shaky and grinning.

He banged his head against the Major's shoulder a few times, hopelessly, and growled when Hyuuga laughed. The Major owed him for that, and he knew, now, exactly how he was going to demand payment.

Just... not over the desk.

End

Strength in Trembling

Hyuuga has a real Thing for Ayanami's whip, and Ayanami has noticed this. Eventually, he decides to cut past the teasing and give Hyuuga what he's angling for. Porn, BDSM, I-4

One of Hyuuga's great entertainments in life was to tease his commander. Aya-san spent way too much of his time being serious, and Hyuuga felt it was his solemn duty to make sure Aya-san's face didn't freeze like that. And, while Aya-san made a great show of being annoyed by the teasing, he always played along. It was always his whip he went for, when Hyuuga was teasing, never his sword, never his zaiphon, not a brisk backhand; actually, when Aya-san responded with only a quick cuff, that was when Hyuuga knew he was genuinely supposed to straighten up and take things seriously. No, when they were playing it was always the whip, which was frankly the show-off option. Aya-san's speed and control with it were things of beauty.

And, to be honest, it made Hyuuga a little hot to watch. It sometimes made him regret that they only ever played to first touch, in those little matches. But he'd take what he could get, and that was why he was teasing Aya-san again today, lounging beside his desk in the most relaxed attitude possible while Aya-san worked methodically through a stack of tedious-looking paperwork. Aya-san's eyes were already just a little narrowed with annoyance, which was a good start.

"I'm sure you have work of your own to be doing, Hyuuga," Aya-san told him, not looking up from the papers.

Hyuuga took a cheery bite out of his candied apple. "Nope! Konatsu will catch anything that really needs attention. So I don't have anything that needs doing this afternoon." He slouched more comfortably into the chair, keeping an eye on Aya-san's hands; after a crack like that, he expected today's game to get off to a quick start.

So he was nonplused when Aya-san paused and looked up at him. "In fact," his commander murmured, "you have an assignment on your desk to take care of a little noble's rebellion in the Third District. I know because I put it there." Hyuuga blinked, startled, and Aya-san folded his hands contemplatively on his desk. "You don't ordinarily ignore that kind of work in favor of your games."

Hyuuga opened his mouth and closed it again, ruefully remembering that he was speaking to one of the premier strategists of the Imperial Armed Forces. "I wouldn't want you to feel neglected, Aya-tan."

Aya-san gave him the faintly exasperated look he seemed to save especially for Hyuuga. "I'm not in that much need of a break, Hyuuga." And then his eyes narrowed and he added, softer. "Are you? Is it a sparring match you're after?"

Hyuuga smiled at him sunnily. "You know I'll always take a match with you." Which was only the truth.

"Hm." Aya-san stood and came around the desk, arms folded, looking down at him thoughtfully. As if absently, his fingers brushed over the coil of his whip, and Hyuuga really couldn't help the way his eyes flickered down to it for a single instant. When he forced them back up, Aya-san was smiling, amused. "So that's it."

Hyuuga felt his face heating a little. He did try not to be too demanding. It wasn't his fault that Aya-san could read him like a book.

"Come with me," Aya-san ordered briskly, and turned toward the door. Hyuuga trailed after with a wry smile. He should really stop thinking he could hide things from Aya-san.

They weren't headed for any of the training halls that the Black Hawks sometimes used for pure weapons work, though, and puzzlement tugged at Hyuuga as they passed through the offices and into the halls of the officer's quarters. Was there something Aya-san wanted from his rooms? When they arrived, Aya-san beckoned Hyuuga in with a tilt of his head. Hyuuga shrugged and slipped in after him.

Aya-san's rooms were neat and orderly, almost painfully so; even the cushions on the couches were carefully squared up. At this hour the wide windows were in soft shadow as the light of the setting sun streamed past from the other side of the Fortress. Aya-san liked to have the morning sun instead. The indirect light was warm and low and a little unworldly.

In that light, Aya-san turned to face him, and Hyuuga was struck all over again by his commander's beauty and danger, balanced as a fine blade. When Aya-san said quietly, "Come here, Hyuuga," he did. He wasn't sure where this was going, but, then, he didn't need to know.

Aya-san smiled up at him, eyes sharp, and murmured, "If you want the whip, Hyuuga, all you need to do is ask for it."

Shock and heat struck through Hyuuga like lightning grounding.

"Do you?" Aya-san asked.

Abruptly breathless with what Aya-san was offering him, Hyuuga wet his lips. "Yes," he answered, husky. "Yes, I want it." And not just to first touch, this time.

Aya-san's smile curled a bit wider. "Tell me," he said softly, and Hyuuga had to close his eyes for a moment.

"I want to feel it," he whispered. "More than just one touch. I want to feel what you can do with it, god I want..." He took a shaky breath. He hadn't honestly thought Aya-san would ever offer him this, and the thought being on the other end of Aya-san's whip, not as a game but purely so that he could taste the intensity and artistry of it, made his knees a little weak.

Aya-san nodded. "Get undressed, then."

Hyuuga had to take a few seconds to steady his fingers on the buckles of his own uniform, but eventually he peeled himself out of everything and tossed his clothing over the arm of Aya-san's couch. When he turned around he had to take another second, because Aya-san had stripped off his cap and gloves, his sword and coat, even his shirt, and the shift of muscles in his back as he drew the length of his whip slowly through his hands made Hyuuga swallow hard. When Aya-san turned around, he was smiling.

"Stand here at the window," he directed quietly, and Hyuuga did as he said, breath picking up as he turned his back to Aya-san and looked out over the glow of the city. A shiver brushed through him as Aya-san's hands slid slowly down his arms. It came back, stronger, when strings of light coiled down after Aya-san's fingers and lifted his arms over his head. They were weightless, there was no pressure on his arms at all, but he couldn't move them. More curled down his legs, holding him spread open in place.

"Aya-san," he breathed.

A new touch slid over his back, rough but butterfly light against his skin. The whip, he realized, light-headed, snaking in ceaseless S curves, side to side.

"What I can do with it," Aya-san murmured thoughtfully behind him. "Yes. I'll show you that, Hyuuga." The whip snaked over Hyuuga's ass soft as a promise and he heard Aya-san stepping back a few strides. His senses strained, poised and waiting, and he tensed hearing the soft hiss of the whip through the air.

It barely kissed his back, a single delicate sting, light and teasing. Another. Another, tracking down his body like a scatter of sparks. They flirted with Hyuuga, each bite tiny and promising, until he he was hard, arched against the strings binding him, and making pleading sounds through his teeth. "Aya-san..."

Aya-san laughed softly, and the next stroke didn't sting; it laid a stripe of pressure against his skin, sharp and defined but almost soft in contrast. Again, and again, and Hyuuga could feel the way Aya-san was loosening each stroke at the last moment, easing the force from it. It made him flushed, a little dizzy, because this wasn't the way they sparred. This was the way Aya-san made love.

On the next stroke, the whip cracked and Hyuuga moaned as another spark bit the inside of his thigh, just high enough to make his hips jerk futilely against the hold of Aya-san's strings. "Aya-san." The whip fell on his back again, harder and slowly harder, each stroke driving deeper into his muscles, heating them, burning his skin, printing Ayanami's mark on him.

Hyuuga was starting to lose everything but the feeling of the whip against his body, the hard, burning lines of it across his back and ass and down his thighs. He could see the city spread out in front of him but he couldn't pay attention to it. He could hear the sounds of the Fortress around them but none of them mattered except the sound of the whip cutting the air and licking his skin. He could feel sweat on his skin and didn't know whether he was hot or cold. He was achingly hard and all he wanted was for Ayanami not to stop.

The whip was heavy on him now, jerking his body in the hold of Ayanami's strings stroke after stroke, and he was panting with it. It was sweet and intense, electric and maddening, and he yearned toward it even as it rose toward an unbearable crest. There was only raw sensation, now, a vast, hot weight of it built up under the blows of Ayanami's whip, poised to crush him and lifting him up with every gasped breath. A hard crack of the whip across his back sent him arching senselessly against the strings, body trembling. Another stroke. Another. Breath was rasping in his throat and he wavered, senses on the edge of falling into darkness.

Quiet fell. There was warmth against his back, solid and resilient, and hands stroking slowly up and down his body, easing him back to the world. He couldn't stand, but the strings held him up. Gradually, he recognized Ayanami's words against his ear.

"...easy, Hyuuga. We're done."

Hyuuga rested his head against one of his bound arms, lips parted as he panted for breath. "Ayanami-sama," he finally whispered, hoarse. It was the only thing that even started to get at how he felt in this time and place, after being brought to the edge like that.

"Yes," Ayanami murmured to him. His hands moved gently over the slowly settling burn in Hyuuga's back. "Was that what you needed?"

Hyuuga nodded quietly. He felt more wrung out than even sparring usually left him.

"Good." The strings moved, moving him with them to turn and face Ayanami, who smiled slowly and drew his head down to a gentle kiss. Gentler than Ayanami usually was with him, and Hyuuga was grateful for it. He felt too raw and open right now to take anything else.

Ayanami looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before going to the sideboard for a glass of water. He came back and fed it to Hyuuga a sip at a time without freeing him; Hyuuga remembered Konatsu doing rather the same thing the last time Hyuuga had woken up from getting a sword through him, and wondered if Ayanami had told him what to do. Finally, Ayanami led him to the bed and let him down onto it, releasing the strings. Hyuuga curled up on his side, still dazed, content to let Ayanami draw a blanket over him and sit beside him, fingers combing through his hair. "You're going to be marked from this," Ayanami remarked, eventually, and Hyuuga shivered a little, eyes closing.

"Yes," he murmured, husky. "I want that." He wanted to carry this with him for a while, the memory of that amazing touch, so skillful and so intense. The memory of Ayanami's gentleness, after the ferocity. "Ayanami-sama," he said again, softly, almost entreating, on the edge of apology. Normally, he was the one who never called Ayanami that, who never demanded, by word or sign, that his friend act as his superior, the responsible leader. But right now, marked so hard and deep by Ayanami's skill, he couldn't do anything else.

Ayanami was silent for a moment. "I value your friendship, Hyuuga," he said at last, quietly. "But your reverence is not a burden to me. You don't need to hide it. Remember that."

Hyuuga's breath caught and he found himself trembling under Ayanami's hand, under that permission and release. He bowed his head under Ayanami's fingers and whispered, "Yes, Ayanami-sama."

For just a little while he wanted to show this openly, his love and, yes, reverence for this man. Soon, he knew, he'd go back to wanting to tweak his oldest friend's nose and tease him out of his seriousness. But for now, he could be as the other Black Hawks were, could worship the man as much as the god.

His friend would still be there on the other side.

Hyuuga lay quiet under Ayanami's touch and let the moment be everything and all that it was.

End

All Our Times Have Come

Hisagi is dealing with his new captain and his old hesitancies. His new captain is having none of those. Written for the Porn Battle promt: Kensei/Hisagi, reunion. Porn with Characterization, I-4

When Muguruma Kensei returned to take back the Ninth Division, it had caused a stir. Compared to the various rejoicing, gossiping, suspicion, and the shock suffered by anyone who had to deal with Mashiro, Shuuhei knew that finding himself working in the same room with his captain was a very small change to be fretting over. On the scale of all the stir caused by the captains' return, it was really a very minor thing that Muguruma-taichou liked to have his vice-captain close at hand. It could certainly be worse. Mashiro might have wanted her own seat back, and while Shuuhei wouldn't have fought her for it he knew that would have caused a great deal more upset in the lower ranks. It comforted the people who had never known Muguruma-taichou to have Shuuhei remain.

Even if that did put him in the same office as the man he had a hopeless and ridiculous crush on.

The chair across the room creaked and Shuuhei glanced up, catching the long flex of muscles as Muguruma-taichou stretched his arms overhead. Shuuhei fixed his eyes firmly back on his paperwork, trying to remember the next thing he needed to write.

"About time to knock off for the day. You done with those yet, Hisagi?" Muguruma-taichou's voice didn't rumble the way some deep voices did, but there was a roughness to it when it was low. Shuuhei spent a lot of time in this office stopping himself from shivering, just listening to his captain.

"I should finish up a few more pages," he said calmly, not looking up again. "Please go on ahead, Taichou; I'll close the offices up."

"Hm." Muguruma-taichou's steps whispered across the wood floor to the window behind Shuuhei's desk. He could see his captain out of the corner of his eye, bare arms crossed as he looked out. "You know, if there's one thing that I really do hate Tousen for, it's this. For teaching my people to be afraid."

Shuuhei's head jerked up at that, shocked; Muguruma-taichou hadn't spoken Tousen-taichou's name once, since he'd returned. It took a moment to realize what else he'd said, and then Shuuhei flushed, caught between shame at being found wanting by his captain and the need to defend the philosophy of his other captain. "Sir, we aren't—" He broke off abruptly as Muguruma-taichou turned and one warm, strong hand caught his chin. Dark eyes held his.

"Aren't you?"

Heat rushed over Shuuhei as he realized what his captain was talking about. He could feel his heart beating against his breastbone like it wanted to get out. "It's not," he started, husky, and had to swallow and try again. "It's not Tousen-taichou's fault that..."

Muguruma-taichou's thumb stroked over his mouth and Shuuhei's words choked off in the shudder of want that ran up his spine. "You won't get what you want if you don't ask for it, Hisagi," Muguruma-taichou said quietly.

Shuuhei closed his eyes, because that was the only way he could look away from the levelness of his captain's gaze. "It isn't my place to ask."

"Bullshit!"

Shuuhei's eyes flew open again, wide at that barked word, to find Muguruma-taichou frowning down at him. "This is why I say it's Tousen's damn fault," Muguruma-taichou growled, though his hand was still gentle, wrapped around Shuuhei's jaw. "You hold back with me exactly the way you hold back with your own sword. " He shook Shuuhei a little. "I haven't seen you release that damn sword once, since I got back, and everyone says that's business as usual for you. You're ashamed of the shape of your own soul, Hisagi! You think I'm going to leave one of my people in that state?"

Shuuhei swallowed and shook his head, wordless. No, he couldn't imagine the captain he'd come to know letting that go.

"You are what you are," Muguruma-taichou told him, flat and inflexible. "And what you are is a man of the Ninth. My Ninth. You marked yourself with it, so don't try to tell me otherwise." His thumb brushed over Shuuhei's cheekbone, where the numbers 69 were tattooed, and Shuuhei flushed. A corner of Muguruma-taichou's mouth tilted up. "I haven't had much luck yet getting you to release your sword. But I'm betting Tousen never touched this part of you." He braced his other hand on the back of Shuuhei's chair and leaned over him, voice turning low again. "So tell me. Shuuhei. Do you want this?"

Shuuhei's thoughts were tangled up in a knot. It was Tousen-taichou's words that had kept him in the Division, had given him a way to fight with honesty. That's what he'd thought, even after Tousen's betrayal. But Muguruma-taichou... it had been his imagine in Shuuhei's head that led him to the Division to start with, that made him try over and over to get into the Academy until he did it, that made him work and train until he'd found Kazeshini's name and shape, and closed his hand on that strength.

Do you want this?

"Yes," he whispered, hands closed into white-knuckled fists on top of his desk, remembering the first time he'd held Kazeshini's grips and spun his blades free, the terror and thrill both. Remembering the first time he'd seen Muguruma Kensei standing proud and easy after a battle, and the flash of desire to be like that himself. Maybe it was true; maybe he had stopped at the easy answer. If anyone could teach him to walk in the dark shadow of Kazeshini's edge without losing himself, it was this man. So he looked his captain in the eyes and finished, "Please."

Those eyes were hot as Muguruma-taichou smiled. "Yeah." He lifted Shuuhei's chin and kissed him, hard and sure.

Heat twisted through Shuuhei's stomach and he reached up to fist his hands in Muguruma-taichou's haori; he didn't want to hesitate, he didn't want to hold back from fear, and his captain didn't want him to either. Realizing that one thing, feeling it in the force of Muguruma-taichou's mouth on his, pulled a faint moan out of him.

He wanted it, yes.

Muguruma-taichou made an approving sound and pulled Shuuhei up out of his chair. "Come here." Shuuhei had to swallow as he found himself pressed up full length against his captain, feeling the hardness of his body, the solid weight of Muguruma-taichou's muscles under his hands as he slid them up his captain's arms. He flushed hot as broad hands slid through the sides of his hakama and under his kosode to grip his ass firmly, and couldn't help grinding wantonly against Muguruma-taichou in answer. "Taichou!"

"I think," Muguruma-taichou murmured against his neck, "that when I have my hands on your ass you can leave off the titles." He dragged his tongue along the edge of Shuuhei's choker, sending a jolt of heat up Shuuhei's spine. "And I don't want to hear my family name from someone I'm fucking, okay?"

Shuuhei pulled in a quick breath; that was the kind of intimacy he hadn't expected, the kind that made this more than just a captain resorting to unorthodox methods with a subordinate. "...Kensei-san," he answered, low and hesitant, unsure again if it was really all right for him to have this.

Muguruma-taichou lifted his head and caught Shuuhei's chin again with one hand, looking at him steadily. "Do you think I haven't been watching all of you, the same way you've been watching me? Looking around to see who still has some goddamn fire in their guts? I didn't leave you in the vice-captain's seat just to soothe anyone's nerves!"

Shuuhei stared back at him, closer to being overwhelmed by this than he was by the heat of his captain's hands on his skin. "You really think I'm like that." And it wasn't a question, but he could hear the wonder in his own voice. "You really think I can handle it."

Muguruma-taichou slid his thumb over Shuuhei's cheekbone again, tracing the numbers slow and firm. "You know the answer to that already. You have for a long time, I'm thinking." A little gentler, he added, "You just forgot for a while, is all."

Shuuhei took a slow breath, feeling something in his spine release. He lifted his head and looked back levelly. "I'll try to remember, then. Kensei-san."

His captain smiled with a flash of teeth. "That's better." He wrapped his hand around the back of Shuuhei's neck and pulled him into a slow, hot kiss. This time, Shuuhei pressed into it, moaning softly as those powerful hands slid under his hakama again, pulling him up the thigh Kensei-san slid between his legs. Shuuhei shivered and let himself rock against that solid muscle, hands groping over Kensei-san's shoulders and back.

"Yeah, that's it." Kensei-san's hands kneaded Shuuhei's ass, strong enough to make him gasp a little, low in his throat. "Don't hold yourself back, Shuuhei."

The quiet coaxing, the promise of an anchor in the powerful body unmoving against his, undid Shuuhei's reserve strand by strand until he was riding Kensei-san's thigh, grinding wantonly against him, kissing back hot and wet and open. He barely recognized his own voice when he groaned, "Kensei-san, fuck me..."

Kensei-san chuckled against his ear, low and rough. "Right here? You want me to put you down over your own desk and fuck you right here and now?"

Shuuhei shuddered and ran his open mouth down the line of Kensei-san's neck, tasting salt on his skin, and bit down on the curve of his shoulder. Those hands tightened hard on his ass, digging into his muscles and spreading him open, and want twisted a little tighter. Want he didn't have to hold back. "Yes!"

"Good."

Shuuhei leaned over his desk as soon as Kensei-san let him go, breath coming hard; he wanted this. He wanted to feel the easy confidence of his captain's hands on him until that confidence soaked into his skin. As his hakama slid down and warm palms pushed his kosode up over his hips, he sagged down to his elbows and rested his head against the smooth wood, a little light-headed with anticipation. "Kensei-san..."

"Easy." One hand closed firmly on his shoulder, holding him steady, and tension eased out of Shuuhei's shoulders, unwound down his back. There was nothing hidden, nothing held back in Kensei-san. He could trust that hand on him, the way he hadn't been able to completely trust anything for a very long time. When Kensei-san's fingers pushed slowly into him, Shuuhei laughed against his folded arms, breathless; those fingers were slick. Kensei-san had apparently planned for this.

"I made you impatient with me," he said, husky with the slide and stretch of being opened up.

There was a faint chuckle in Kensei-san's voice. "Not impatient quite yet. But I did think about what might get through to you, since training alone obviously isn't enough."

Shuuhei flushed a little at that reminder. "Forgive me."

The hand on his shoulder shook him gently. "None of that. I'm your captain. It's your job to follow me, yeah, but it's also mine to know what it takes to get you there." He sank two fingers all the way into Shuuhei and twisted them slowly. "Not like I object," he murmured as Shuuhei moaned with the heat tightening his stomach. Kensei-san's hand stroked down his back and both of them wrapped around Shuuhei's hips, holding him. "You have what it takes Shuuhei. You spent a long time being sabotaged, right down inside, and you still have what it takes. Remember that."

Shuuhei reached out to grip the far side of his desk, panting for breath as Kensei-san's cock pushed into him, thick and hard. "Yes, sir," he gasped. It felt like the words were as solid as Kensei-san was inside him, and he held tight to that feeling.

And then he just held on as Kensei-san fucked him, hard enough to rock him up off his heels if Kensei-san hadn't kept a good grip on his hips, pulling him back into each stroke. It was hot and slick and secure, and Shuuhei moaned openly with the feeling of his captain's heavy cock driving into his ass over and over, deep and sure.

"Let go, Shuuhei," Kensei-san ordered, rough and husky. "I've got you. Stop holding back."

Shuuhei shuddered like that order was a hand stroked down his spine and let himself cry out at the next thrust, at the burst of heat up his spine, let himself spread his legs wider and push back against Kensei-san, taking his cock deeper, hungry for more. An approving gasp answered him and Kensei-san moved with him, fucking him harder, bracing his hands against the desk on either side of Shuuhei and leaning over him, pounding deep into his ass. Shuuhei let thinking go and just moved, just felt the hot pleasure of being fucked open so hard, abandoning himself to it under the solid shelter of his captain's body over his. When heat finally rushed him over the edge and wrung him out, he groaned in an already-raw throat and ground his ass back against Kensei-san wantonly. Kensei-san fucked the tightness right back out of his body until he was sprawled over the desk, barely able to moan when Kensei-san finally buried himself deep in Shuuhei and shuddered against his back.

"Yeah," Kensei-san said softly against his ear. "Like that. Hold on to that, Shuuhei."

"Yes, sir," Shuuhei agreed, rather dazed. He felt Kensei-san's lips curve against his neck.

"I'll be glad to remind you, of course."

Shuuhei's face turned hot. "Kensei-san..."

Deft fingers combed through his hair, stroking damp strands back. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," Shuuhei said softly. "For this. For coming back at all."

Kensei-san's hand slid down to rest on his nape, which pulled a soft sound out of Shuuhei as he bent his head under that warm weight. "I'm never going to trust the Captain-General all the way again, that's for sure. But you're not him. For you, for my division, for the job we actually do when moronic conspiracies and politics aren't getting in the way... for that I'll stay." He tightened his grip for a moment and pushed upright. "So come eat dinner with me and keep me from actually strangling Mashiro the way she deserves."

Shuuhei slowly pushed himself back to his feet, feeling his muscles burn with the reminder of his captain inside him. "You don't hold back, Taichou," he allowed wryly, "but you're not always completely honest either." Everyone in the division knew how fond Kensei-san was of Mashiro.

"Oh shut up. One of these days I really will strangle her." Kensei-san didn't look at him, but a corner of his mouth was curled up and he rested a hand on Shuuhei's shoulder again as he tied his hakama. "Come on."

Shuuhei smiled a little too, feeling himself settle into this new shape of things. "Yes, Taichou." After too long, it felt like there was light for his way forward again.

And a hand to steady him on it, too.

End

Euphemistic Touch

Okita's punishment for stealing Hijikata's book of haiku is designed to be something he'll remember. Porn, I-4

Souji lay on his stomach, spread out against the futon, kimono pulled down off his shoulders and pushed up over his hips. He could feel another body's heat where Hijikata-san leaned over him, and his breath caught in little gasps as strong fingers worked in and out of his ass.

He'd completely lost track of how long Hijikata-san had been doing this. Long enough to make Souji warm and open around his fingers. Long enough to find just the place to stroke to make Souji moan. Long enough to drive him to helpless heat because two fingers, slow and easy, wasn't enough. And Hijikata-san wasn't giving him any more.

Those fingers curled inside him and Souji made a sharp, wanting sound. "Hijikata-san..."

Hijikata-san's voice was even deeper than usual against Souji's ear, and Souji could hear the smile in it. "I did tell you that I'd punish you for stealing my haiku book." He drew his fingers out slowly and plunged them in again.

"I beg your forgiveness," Souji gasped with utter sincerity. "I was very wrong to offer such impertinence to my master."

Hijikata-san snorted. "It's been two years already, Souji. I'm not your master any longer."

Souji looked over his shoulder, meeting Hijikata-san's eyes for a moment, and felt another twist of heat at the dark intent look focused on him. "You are always my master."

Hijikata-san smiled sardonically. "Except when you feel like mischief, apparently." He drew his fingers all the way out and a whimper caught in Souji's throat. Maybe, finally...

But it was still two fingers that drove into him again, cool and slick with another scoop of salve. Souji pressed his forehead against the futon and pushed up into the touch, taking Hijikata-san's fingers deeper. He was achingly hard and even just rubbing against the futon might bring him off. Hijikata-san chuckled against the nape of his neck, though, and held him down effortlessly with a hand at the small of his back.

"Hijikata-san!" Souji couldn't help struggling for a moment, even though he knew perfectly well he was no match for Hijikata-san in raw strength. And it wasn't as though sword skill was going to help him here, he admitted ruefully; this would have been far easier if Hijikata-san had chosen to exact his punishment on the training floor. Finally, though, he made himself lie still again, panting, and moaned as long fingers drove into his ass deep and hard in reward.

It still wasn't enough.

He was past expecting mercy, or an answer to his low gasps and pleading moans, when Hijikata-san finally moved, kneeling swiftly behind him and pulling Souji's hips up into the cradle of his. Souji cried out with the welcome hardness of Hijikata-san's cock pushing into him, stretching the hot muscles of his ass wide around his thickness. "Yes!"

Hijikata-san's arms pulled Souji back tight against his broad chest as he leaned over Souji, curling them both up over his knees. "Be still," he ordered, low and velvety, and heat scalded through Souji again.

"Yes, Hijikata-san," he whispered.

Hijikata-san fucked him slowly, and Souji lay obediently quiet and savored the feeling of being stretched and filled with the hardness of Hijikata-san's cock, over and over until he was shuddering. Until he didn't know how much more he could take. "Please," he gasped, at last, unable to be quiet any longer. "Hijikata-san, please..."

When one large hand closed between his legs, relief made him dizzy, and after all this it only took a few rough strokes of his cock before he was shaking in Hijikata-san's arms as pleasure wrung him out ruthlessly, again and again and again until the edges of his vision wavered and turned dark.

He didn't catch his breath until Hijikata-san was finishing, and they were still for a little while, curled up together. "So?" Hijikata-san finally asked, breath stirring the fall of Souji's hair.

"I'll definitely remember the lesson," Souji murmured.

"Good."

Souji gasped as Hijikata-san drew out slowly. He'd remember it for more than one reason, he thought wryly. He stretched out slowly and let Hijikata-san pull him close again, cheeks heating just a bit as a strong hand kneaded his sore ass.

"And the next time you forget," Hijikata added trenchantly, "perhaps I really will spank you and see if that lasts longer."

Souji laughed against his shoulder. "Mm. I like it when you make me behave, Hijikata-san."

Hijikata-san just snorted at that, but Souji could see his smile in the dimness, and snuggled closer, content with the all-around success of his day's activity.

End

A/N: The manga version of the haiku-book theft features Hijikata threatening punishment if Souji doesn't return it at once. The punishment turns out, after a dramatic pause for Tetsu to fear it will be seppuku, to be one hundred spankings and no dinner. Souji doesn't seem to take the threat very seriously.

Taste of Steel

However guilty he thinks he should feel, Hijikata can't be anything but pleased by what Okita has become. Whatever second thoughts Hijikata might be having, Okita can't be other than what he is. Porn, Character Sketch, Angst, I-4

Axandra has translated this work into Russian.

"Why won't you allow Tetsu-kun to have a katana? Why won't you let him decide for himself?"

"Are you brainless? He's just a brat of fifteen."

"Nine years. I was nine years old. So that's how it is. You don't want him to end up like me, do you."

Souji didn't leave when they reached Hijikata's rooms, only opened the outer screen and stood there in the night breeze. Hijikata sat and emptied his pipe and repacked it, mouth tight; what, after all, could he say at this late date?

"Do you hate what I am so much?"

The question was soft, the tone wistful, but it still struck him like a cut from behind. "No!" he snapped, and then took a breath. "Don't be a fool, Souji. I know whose the responsibility is," he said more evenly. "It was my hand that brought this to you."

Souji spun away from the open screens, as lightly as if he were fighting, and took two steps across the room to sink to his knees in front of Hijikata. In the dimness, two pale hands closed around one of his, clenched on the stem of his pipe.

"Yes. It was." The whisper of Souji's hair sliding over his shoulders as he bent his head was scarcely louder than his voice. "They've called you the demon more than once. Am I not the demon's child?"

Hijikata closed his eyes for a breath and then let it out. "Yes," he said, low, sliding his other hand over Souji's shoulder and up under his hair. "You are." The other things he had done for the sake and in the name of the shogunate, he had made his peace with; they might stain and damn him forever, but that was the choice he'd made when he placed himself in Matsudaira's service. This, though. This was a choice he'd made for another, before Souji's spirit was grown to understanding. The sword, his sword, had consumed Souji's soul until he was an unthinking weapon in Hijikata's hands. And content to be so. It didn't help to have Tetsu always before Hijikata's eyes, these days, reminding him of how a real child thought and felt. Or to see Souji reaching out for companionship, seeing no reason why Tetsunosuke should not become what he was.

Souji was looking up at him now, and even moonlight showed the falseness of his smile. "Do you wish for me to leave this way of life?"

The false smile flicked away in a gasp, and Hijikata realized his grip had tightened fiercely on Souji's nape. His voice was lower than usual when he said again, "Don't be a fool."

This time, Souji's smile was sweet and brilliant. "Yes, Hijikata-san."

Hijikata snorted with rueful amusement, at both of them really. He set his pipe aside and pulled Souji closer, one hand finding his waist to tug loose his obi. He accepted the heat that ran through him at the way Souji sighed, the way slim, strong arms wound around his shoulders and Souji's mouth opened under his. If Souji was too much like him he knew exactly why it was, and perhaps it had been fate after all. The troop might whisper of his unbendable will, but he didn't think there had ever been a time when he could have refused this—Souji's pliancy, lying against his chest, or the pureness of Souji's response to Hijikata's hand on the sleek skin of his hip and back.

"Hijikata-san," Souji whispered, and there was a plea in it that he couldn't fail to answer. He kissed Souji deeper, intent, until he was flushed, skin heated under Hijikata's fingers.

"Demon child," he murmured back, and closed his eyes as Souji pressed closer with a breathless sound. Souji was his. His sword; his mirror. Without conscience.

But hadn't Hijikata found his conscience again, in another's spirit and voice? He could only pray that the same would come to Souji in time.

Because he would never give this up.

He tumbled Souji down to the tatami where he lay laughing softly, kimono spread out around him in disarray. "Hijikata-san," Souji said, voice dancing over the syllables of his name, light and confident again as he stretched out his arms. He made a satisfied sound as Hijikata came to them, covering Souji and pulling him tight against the length of Hijikata's body.

Hijikata had never once been able to question that this was Souji's desire as well as his own. It was the one hint of cleanliness in this polluted life they led, and he cherished it, cradled Souji's eagerness against him and tasted it, kiss after slow, hard kiss, until Souji was rubbing against him, gasping with every wanton flex of his body, hands pushing Hijikata's kimono open as they spread against his chest. "Hijikata-san...!"

Hijikata smiled and tipped Souji's chin up with his thumb, kissing down his neck, open mouthed. Subtle tension threaded Souji's body at that; even in bed, even with him, Souji was a warrior. And that made his yielding sweeter. Hijikata bit down on Souji's throat, firm enough to mark, and heat tightened his stomach at the sharpness of Souji's gasp, the way his body pulled taut and trembled, needing to respond, to defend, even as Souji held himself back from it, left himself open only for Hijikata.

He could never refuse this.

"You're mine," he whispered to Souji as he turned him over, and Souji pressed his forehead against his folded arms, panting as he lifted his ass.

"Yes, Hijikata-san."

The salve Hijikata fished out of his wall cubby was cool as he spread it over his cock, and Souji twitched as Hijikata drew slick fingers between his cheeks. The little sound of want he made nearly snapped Hijikata's control, and he wrapped his hands around Souji's hips and murmured, "Now."

Souji moaned openly as Hijikata pushed into him, hands flexing against the tatami, catching in the muddle of their clothing. He was trembling again, and Hijikata held him firmly, pressed deeper into the tight heat of him slowly, until Souji gasped and the tension flowed out of his body.

"Please." Souji's voice was low, husky, sensual as even a good fight didn't make it, and a growl caught in Hijikata's throat. He answered with his body instead, driving deep, hard thrusts into Souji's ass again and again, faster and harder as Souji moaned under him. Hot pleasure gripped him tighter and tighter, and when Souji shifted, one hand reaching between his legs, the heat blinded him. He buried himself hard in Souji, gasping as pleasure shook him, holding Souji tight against him even as Souji gasped and bucked in turn.

The stillness of the evening slowly descended on them both again.

Finally Hijikata drew back, pressing a kiss to Souji's neck. "Stay tonight," he said quietly.

Souji turned on his side, pushing his hair back to smile up as Hijikata, languid and sated. "Always."

Hijikata paused, looking down at his lover, his sword, and finally nodded. Souji's smile turned contented, and when Hijikata had spread the futon, he snuggled close, as unabashed as ever.

Hijikata held him and watched faint night shadows move over the ceiling. He would not disavow anything he had done. He would not deny his love for what Souji was. However it troubled his conscience, his spirit rejoiced in Souji's reflection. He loved the demon child with all the fierceness and pain of his heart.

There would not be another.

End

Stones In the Road

Go is everything to Ogata, including sex. This can present some difficulties, considering his best opponents. Porn, Humor, Character Study, I-3

Ogata Seiji had once been informed that it was entirely normal for people to have sexual fantasies that had nothing to do with the person or things they actually desired. Admittedly, the person who told him this had been trying to explain away why she'd called someone else's name in bed with him, but he thought it was true enough. He did not, after all, have the slightest desire to actually take most of his go opponents to bed, and yet the one thing that would reliably get him off was remembering a heated game. The click of stones onto the board, so faint and so intense when a decisive move was made; the line of smooth white or black, curling around space itself, so subtly that the opponent should not even notice until it was too late; the sudden stillness of an opponent's fingers on their stones when they did see; those were the things he thought of that made him purr into a lover's ear so promisingly that most of them seemed surprised to be tossed out the next morning as soon as he needed to study.

Those were the things he thought of when he was alone, too, spreading his legs and leaning back against the cool softness of hotel sheets, fingers wrapped around his cock. He closed his eyes, stroking slow and firm, and remembered today's game. The cut he'd waited eight turns to make, lulling the opponent into thinking he'd missed the possibility. The attack he'd made during the endgame, right when his opponent had thought he had the upper corner all wrapped up, oh yes. Seiji tipped his head back against the give of the pillows, panting as heat curled slow and heavy in his stomach, fingers working harder. The fury in the click of the next stone, mmmm yes. The narrowing of his opponent's eyes...

An image of Kuwabara's evil old eyes, narrowed amid their wrinkles and bags flashed into his mind. Seiji choked, eyes flying open, and snatched his hand off his cock. He felt like he'd run into a brick wall and been doused with freezing water into the bargain.

Seiji rolled over as his erection wilted, and groaned into the pillows. Damn it, damn it, damn it. That picture was a more effective libido-killer than anything, up to and including being laughed at. He sighed, muffled; really, he should probably know better than to use his games with Kuwabara for this. It was too easy to slip, and there went his evening's pleasure.

But they were the best games.

He couldn't help laughing at himself a little, because he could see the humor in his dilemma, and rolled back over to stare up at the ceiling, smiling faintly. All right, so today's game was off limits. Shame, that, it had been a good one. Perhaps all wasn't entirely lost for the evening, though. Opponents came and went, but go itself never abandoned him. If he just thought of the board, still and golden with all the possible moves hidden in its simple lines. Of the stones, cool to his touch and silky smooth, weighing so little to carry all the force they did.

Mmm, yes, that was better.

Seiji fixed his mind on the flow of smooth stones through his fingers and stroked his cock slow and hard, smiling with closed eyes.

End

For He Has This Grace

After the match between Kaijou and Fukuda Sougou, and the aftermath with Haizaki, Kise finds Aomine in one of the side hallways. (The porn that had to happen, Y/Y?) Spoilers for anime-only fans. Porn, I-3

Aomine Daiki ducked back inside the Metropolitan Gymnasium side doors and stalked down the dim hall, wincing a bit when he went to slide his hands into his pockets. Shougo had a jaw almost as hard as his thick skull, and Daiki's knuckles were bruised and stinging. It'd had to be done, though; Shougo was the kind of idiot who would keep going until someone stopped him. Daiki's mouth tugged up at one corner. He really was kind of like Kise, that way, actually.

He stopped at the edge of the main concourse, glancing around the thinning crowd with a bit of resignation. He'd told Satsuki to go ahead, but he knew she wouldn't have. She worried too much about him. And okay, yeah, the year had been unspeakably boring up until just recently, but Tetsu had brought him a very nice opponent (better than chocolate any day) and Kise might just be a serious challenge the next time they played. She didn't need to keep freaking out. He glanced indecisively between the main doors and the corner with the vending machines. Where to start?

"Aominecchi!"

Daiki snorted softly. It had definitely been a bad year—he'd almost gotten to miss the stupid things his teammates called him. "Kise." He leaned against the wall as Kise eeled out of the crowd and trotted down the side hall to meet him, still flushed from the game and grinning all over his face.

"You came to watch!"

"Of course I watched. Good game." Kise actually turned a little pink, at that, and Daiki rolled his eyes. Wasn't like that was some huge compliment. "About time you got over your damn block about the rest of the team."

Kise waved his hands indignantly. "Well, it was hard! All you guys are insanely talented and I've only been playing for three years, gimme a break!"

Daiki swatted at Kise, laughing when he ducked back. "Why should I give you a break when pushing you obviously works so much better? Isn't that what you've always insisted on anyway?"

"Aominecchi is mean," Kise accused, practically pouting at him, the way he did when he was teasing someone. Daiki rolled his eyes even harder.

Which meant he wasn't looking and started when Kise caught his wrist in a grip that was always stronger than it seemed it should be, when you watched him clowning around.

"What did you do to your hand?" Kise demanded, frowning down at Daiki's bruised and scraped knuckles.

"It's nothing." Daiki tugged against Kise's hold; Kise didn't let go.

"That is not nothing! I know you don't need to be as careful with your fingers as Midorimacchi, but what are you going to do if you mess up your grip?" Kise glared up from under those ridiculously long lashes before turning Daiki's hand more into the light from the concourse. "If you lose our next game because you let your hands get injured, I'm going to be really pissed off at you."

"What next game?" Daiki finally twisted his wrist free. "You're the one who still has games to play in this tournament, not me. You're the one who has to be careful." Which was why Daiki had gone looking for Shougo in the first place, after all.

And maybe he'd been thinking that a little too loudly, because Kise froze, staring at him. "Aominecchi," he finally said, low and wide-eyed. "That wasn't... Shougo-kun?" Daiki ran an exasperated hand through his hair, stifling a wince because he'd forgotten not to use his left hand.

"Quit looking at me like that. You'd better not backslide on me, Kise." He'd done it because it was right, not for Kise's admiration, for fuck's sake.

Kise's face hardened and took a long step toward Daiki, away from the bright concourse and slowing bustle there. "I can do both," he told Daiki, chin lifted with every bit of the arrogance his sweet manners usually hid. "I can admire you and still fight you with everything I've got. And next time we do have a game, you'd better keep that in mind."

Daiki smiled slowly. Those bright eyes were narrow and sharp, the way Kise always looked when he quit clowning and got serious about something. "You can, huh?" he asked softly. Kise took another step, right up in Daiki's space where he leaned back against the wall.

"I won't ever hold back with you again." Kise's mouth curved like the edge of a knife. "I promise."

There was something hotter in his smile than Daiki had seen even during their games this year, and he wasn't completely surprised when Kise reached up and curled a hand around the back of Daiki's neck and pulled him down. Daiki let him, laughing against his mouth until Kise pressed up against him, biting at his lower lip just enough to jolt Daiki a little.

"Mmm." Daiki pulled Kise harder against him, settling him snugly between Daiki's legs, satisfied by the husky sound Kise made. "Bout time you finally decided to make a move. I was getting bored with waiting."

Kise's eyes glinted up at him. "You get bored so easily, Aominecchi, I guess we'd better do something about that."

Even knowing Kise, even having watched him wind people up with his adorable-clueless-model-boy routine, even knowing that Kise and Tetsu were dead even for who had the evilest sense of humor, Daiki didn't expect the feeling of Kise's hand sliding down the front of his jeans. "Fuck!"

"If I'm not holding back, you'd better not be either," Kise told him, breathless, and squeezed.

"Ryou," Daiki growled, and kissed him hard and hot. Kise made a wanting sound into his mouth, and when his hand tightened again Daiki sucked in a quick breath. Kise's grip was warm and strong, and made him think about the same hand wrapped around a basketball. About how Kise was, just maybe, catching up. About that promise not to hold back. He reached down to close his hands on Kise's ass, pulling him in tighter and grinding their hips together. This time they both moaned, and Kise left off groping him to grab his shoulders with both hands and grind back against him. Hot pleasure licked straight up Daiki's spine, and he laughed, low and husky.

"The next time we play," he breathed against Kise's ear, "it'll feel like this. Only better. Look forward to it." Kise moaned low in his throat, and Daiki pushed a knee between his legs. "Give me everything you've got, Ryou."

Kise made a desperate sound and dragged Daiki's head down again, fingers buried in his hair as he rode Daiki's thigh shamelessly. Daiki dug his own fingers into the tight muscle of Kise's ass with every flex of his hips, grinding him ruthlessly close, hot and wild with the hope Ryou and Tetsu had held out to him this winter. The hope put an edge on the pleasure winding his nerves taut every time he rocked against Kise's hip, and it didn't take long before it all spilled over. When he came, he muffled his groan in Kise's mouth, kissing Kise like he could breathe him in and hold him that way. Kise answered him, just as open and passionate as he'd been two years ago, already relaxing against him, and that sudden sweetness made Daiki's hands turn gentle even as his body wrung itself out.

When they'd both caught their breath, and Kise lifted his head and smiled up at him, Daiki smiled back, only a little tilted. "Next year," he said quietly, "I'll be waiting for you."

"Or maybe before then." Kise's eyes glinted. "Come to the semi-finals and see how it goes. I have some revenge to get on Kurokocchi and Kagamicchi, after all."

Daiki snorted, remembering how he'd been hauled to the Tokyo preliminary finals. "Doubt I'll get out of it. Imayoshi-senpai's being a complete bastard about that." Even after he was supposed to be retired.

"You should have more respect for your senpai, Aominecchi," Kise told him, contriving to look virtuous even while rumpled and flushed and straddling Daiki's thigh. "Like me. I always do what Kasamatsu-senpai wants me to."

"Kise!" someone yelled out in the concourse, sounding irate.

"Mostly," Kise added with perfect aplomb.

Daiki had to laugh. He really had missed his old teammates, idiocy and all. "Go on, then." He kissed Kise one last time, softer, and pushed him away. "I'll be watching."

Kise flashed a true smile, so much brighter than his model-smile. "Watch me win." He brushed his uniform mostly straight, and trotted back around the corner calling, "Coming, senpai!"

Daiki slumped back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair, still smiling a little. That had been an impulsive thing to do, and now he had to find a bathroom and get cleaned up a little before he went looking for Satsuki. But he was glad he'd done it. Kise had spent a long time following him around, looking at his back. It was about time he started walking alongside, instead. Daiki made a pleased sound at the thought and pushed off the wall, stretching. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the next game.

Maybe afterwards he'd find go find Kise again.

End

Poppies in the Wind

Sometimes, Kise just wants to feel the edge of how far he can go. Sometimes, he wants that off the court, too. Sometimes, Aomine agrees. Porn, I-4

One of the things Kise Ryouta actually liked about his new responsibilities as team captain was, ironically, one of the tedious chores. At the end of every practice, he made a round through the gym and locker room, making sure everything was put away, that all the water was turned off, shoo-ing any lingering club members out and closing up. The quiet of the sports building around him was soothing, and the little clicks of lights turning off and doors closing behind him gave him a comforting sense of orderliness. It meant he went home later than almost anyone else, but that wasn't a problem for him. His mother knew exactly what kind of stress a model's job was, and just told him to play as hard as he wanted in his off hours, and his father had nearly burst with pride that his son had been chosen as captain for his second year, and didn't mind anything Ryouta did for the club. He could take as long as he wanted.

And sometimes staying later meant moments like this one, meant the warm steam of the showers around him and the cool of the tile wall under his palms, and the lean weight of Aomine against his back. Moments when there was no one else in the building to hear the sound he made as Aomine pressed two fingers, slick with soap, into Ryouta's ass and rocked them in and out.

"Is that good?" Aomine purred in his ear, flexing his fingers a little. Ryouta let the shudder of response run up his spine, moaning.

"Yeah... yeah, it's good." And it was. His muscles were already warm and tired and lax after the one-on-one match they'd played after practice was over. It felt just right to let Aomine work these muscles open, too, long fingers fondling him from the inside. Aomine's tongue stroked over his shoulder, lapping at the water running over them. Ryouta tipped his head back and sighed as the soft heat of Aomine's tongue continued up his neck. "Nnn, Aominecchi..." He shuddered when Aomine's teeth closed on his earlobe, tugging at his earring.

"I'm going to fuck you, Ryou," Aomine murmured in his ear, twisting his fingers slowly in Ryouta's ass. "Right up against the wall, hard and deep. You'll like that, yeah?"

"Yes," Ryouta agreed fervently, pushing back onto Aomine's fingers. "Aominecchi, come on..."

The husky laugh against his ear sent a shiver through him. "Sounds like you're ready." Ryouta made a petulant sound as Aomine's fingers drew back, but relaxed easily enough into the arms that wound around him as Aomine pressed up full length against him.

"Hurry up, Aominecchi." He flexed his hips to rub against the hardness of Aomine's cock and grinned to himself at the catch in Aomine's breathing.

"Pushy," Aomine said against his neck. Ryouta's eyes fell half closed with satisfaction as Aomine's hands wrapped around his hips and that hardness shifted, pushing into him.

"Mmm, it gets me what I want," he pointed out, husky with the feel of his body stretching open around Aomine's cock. And then he moaned out loud as Aomine surged against him, driving in deep.

"If that's what you want, why don't I just give it to you?"

Ryouta made wordless, approving sounds in answer to that velvety suggestion, to the way the whole length of Aomine's body flexed against his back, fucking him hard. This was good, this was what he wanted, to feel the full force of Aomine's body moving against him. Every thrust drove a moan up his throat, rocked him up on his toes, and the little growls and gasps Aomine made against his shoulder, in the same time, just made it hotter. Ryouta braced his palms against the wall and pushed back to meet him, moaning as Aomine pulled him up higher and ground his hips in tight little circles against Ryouta's ass, working his cock in deeper.

It was wild and hard and perfect, perfect to be fucked just as hard as they played, and Ryouta was gasping in the damp air, panting for breath as Aomine's ruthless thrusts drove wanting sounds out of him. He would have been more than happy to have it go on, to take it until his legs just gave out, but feeling Aomine's hand slide between his legs and wrap around his cock, pumping him hard, was sweet and intense. So he let himself go. He braced his feet and bucked between Aomine's cock and his fist as he came, and let the pleasure storm through him. The sting of Aomine's teeth on his shoulder, the jolt as his hips snapped forward, burying himself in Ryouta, put a gleaming edge on the heat wringing Ryouta's nerves.

He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, as the rush of sensation slowly let him down again and he could feel Aomine leaning against his back, arms wrapped around him. "Mmmm," he said at last. "That was good."

Aomine laughed against his shoulder. "Glad you thought so. Because you're really damn demanding."

Ryouta snorted, not bothering to move otherwise. "You like it when people are demanding."

Teeth tugged gently on his earlobe again, sending a little shiver down his spine. "And you seem to like it when I'm a little rough with you, so I guess it all works out." He pulled back slowly, and Ryouta smiled a bit at the little twinge that ran down his legs. He stretched luxuriously and pushed himself upright, turning to glance impishly up at his friend.

"Sometimes, yeah."

It was good, sometimes, to let all his control, all his sunny charm, even the honed edge he showed on the court, rest for a while. Good to just let go and move, just feel and chase after sensation. It was one kind of rest, and it kept him from thinking too much.

Maybe some of that showed in his expression, tonight, because Aomine shook his head, smile gone crooked, and stepped close again. His hand was warm at the small of Ryouta's back, supporting him as Aomine leaned down and kissed him, easy and slow. "Think you can sleep, now?"

Ryouta softened. "Aominecchi." He linked his hands behind Aomine's neck, leaning against him for a long moment. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks."

Now Aomine's mouth curved in a classic Aominecchi smirk. "My pleasure."

Ryouta laughed and ducked back under the water. Aomine joined him with the soap, retrieved from the corner where it had been kicked, and they stole it back and forth from each other, snickering over their own horseplay. Ryouta relaxed into the familiarity, the old friendship worn in over years. He completely understood why Kuroko had been willing to fight for this, why he'd fought so hard to pull them all back to him. Perhaps Ryouta could learn from him, and fight to keep his new friendships here at Kaijou. After all, he had this with Aomine even though they were at different schools now. Couldn't it happen with other teammates too?

He leaned against Aomine under the warm spray and held the thought tight.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, poppies have a variety of meanings, most having to do with joy or enjoyment.

White Camellias Turning Red

Aomine decides that, if Kagami isn't going anywhere, he has to be included. This gives Kuroko a moment of uncertainty, but the direct approach might be the best one after all. Porn, Romance, Fluff, I-4

Aomine Daiki loved a really good game of basketball. As far as he was concerned, it was the best thing in the world, even better than sex.

He actually spoke from knowledge, there. Some people got all starry eyed over anyone with talent, and some people got turned on by anything that looked dangerous. So there had been kisses and groping with girls in school who giggled over it, and there had been hand jobs in the locker room with other boys who weren't sure whether they idolized him or feared him, and there'd been a few women out on the streets who made speculative comments about his height, and there'd been that one guy on a street court who bet a good fuck on their game and he'd been a man and anted up when he lost, even though he'd had to tell Daiki what to do.

Daiki felt he had some basis for saying good basketball was better than sex, but hell, it had been something to try so he had.

What he hadn't thought about until recently was that it might be possible to combine good basketball with sex. He hadn't thought it until the night he'd come to Kaijou to play Kise and stayed so late they were the only ones in the shower. He'd watched the stream of water running down Kise's back and reached out to follow it with his fingers, and Kise had turned and looked at him with eyes still hot and focused from their game. He figured, afterwards, that Kise's experience probably came from a lot the same places his did. It was easy with Kise, and neither of them took the sex for anything but was it was: a way to stay in the place they found when they played.

Tetsu and Kagami, though... that was harder to figure out.

Daiki knew he felt a little differently about Tetsu, his oldest friend after Satsuki, his partner, the one who'd left and come back all to pull him out of the hole he'd fallen down. Tetsu had come back even after Daiki had pushed him down that hole too, something that still made him flinch when he thought about it. Tetsu was... special.

Tetsu, who had a new partner, now.

Tetsu, who welcomed Daiki wherever they met, who smiled at him again, who rested his hand against Daiki's back when Daiki flopped down across his lap during practice. Who scolded him for slacking off in a way that was so familiar it made Daiki's chest clench, made him trail along after Tetsu just to hear more of it. Who smiled at and scolded Kagami just the same way.

And Daiki couldn't damn well strangle Kagami for it, because Kagami was one of his best rivals these days, one of the painfully few who could even begin to call himself that. Daiki thought it might just kill him to lose Kagami again after finally, finally finding someone like him to play. So there was really only one thing to do, and Daiki had decided to do it tonight.

He laughed as he slammed the ball in past Kagami one last time. "Ten! Another game to me, and you pay for food!" He touched down on the cracked asphalt of the little park court and grinned at Kagami, taunting. Tetsu had left them to it half an hour ago, after reminding Kagami of their test the next day with an edge of resignation that said he didn't expect Kagami to listen.

Kagami caught his balance and straightened up, breathing hard, eyes still bright with challenge. "Fuck you! One more time!"

Daiki thought he really might be just a little in love. Well, that made it easier.

"One more time to fuck you?" he purred, showing his teeth. "Yeah, we could do that too."

Kagami paused for a long moment, blinking at him. "...wait, what?"

And it was too easy, really. Too easy to take one long stride that brought him right up against Kagami, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him after their game tonight, and wind his fingers in Kagami's shirt, and catch his mouth fast and hard. The sound Kagami made was startled, but his hands found Daiki right away, spreading against his ribs sure and easy. Daiki made an interested noise at that.

When he finally let Kagami go, Kagami stared at him with disbelief, though he still hadn't backed off either. "What the hell was that?"

Daiki shrugged easily. "Seemed like a logical next step." He watched, entertained, while Kagami opened and closed his mouth a few times, and finally kissed him again to stop him.

"Mmm... Mm! Wait, wait, wait." Kagami pushed him back a little, frowning. "What about Kuroko? I mean, you're... with him... well, it's obvious okay?"

Daiki gave him an aggravated look. Why couldn't Kagami just shut up and get down to the screwing, like everyone else? "That's why, idiot. He's not going to be happy leaving you out of it, so I'm fucking stuck with you. Might as well make the best of it." Grudgingly, he added, "And also it gets pretty heated up when we play like this, though I gotta say you're wasting all of that by talking."

Kagami stared at him for a long, silent moment, and Daiki watched his expression slowly change, through confusion, disbelief, exasperation, sneaking pleasure. Eventually, it settled on a tilted kind of amusement. "What the hell. This I've gotta see." His hands tightened, and he pulled Daiki back against him, tipping his chin up a bit to catch Daiki's mouth in turn.

That was better, and Daiki cheerfully wound himself around Kagami, sucking on his tongue. The feel of Kagami's arms locking around him made him purr, and he slid his hands down Kagami's back, groping his ass. It was a nice handful. He laughed into Kagami's mouth when Kagami growled and pushed a leg between his thighs.

"God, you're pushy," Kagami muttered.

"You're surprised?" Daiki mocked, and smiled when Kagami snorted.

"Fuck no."

Daiki laughed outright at that, amused by the way Kagami's language was sliding even further down the scale than usual, and bent his head to bite at the taut line of tendon running down Kagami's neck. That got him a satisfying thrust of hips against his. Satisfying for now, but not enough, so he closed his mouth and sucked.

"Ngh!"

Daiki smiled, eyes half lidded, at the feel of Kagami's hold on him tightening, hard enough to drive his breath out. Yeah. This was what he wanted. He relaxed into it, flowing with the flex of Kagami's muscles like he'd flow with a game, biting back up Kagami's neck until he found his mouth again, hot and intent against Daiki's. He laughed low in his throat when Kagami turned to push him against the the pole under the basket. He leaning back against it and hooking a leg around Kagami to pull him in tight. The breath Kagami sucked in when Daiki slid a hand down the back of his shorts to grip bare skin was plenty of compensation for the press of the pole's plastic padding against his spine. He slid his fingers between Kagami's cheeks and made a pleased sound when Kagami jerked against him.

"Did you plan this, or was it spur of the moment thing?" Kagami asked against his ear, fingers digging into Daiki's back.

"Mm, pretty spur of the moment," Daiki admitted, rubbing slowly.

Kagami's hips ground against him. "Then that's as far as you go," he gritted between his teeth.

Daiki's brows rose. Kagami knew what he was doing, here. That was good to know.

Knowing didn't keep him from bucking a little with the surprise when Kagami yanked down the waistband of Daiki's shorts, dragging his underwear down with them, and wrapped his fingers around Daiki's cock. "Shit," he gasped, "Kagami..." The pole padding was cold against his bare ass, and he squirmed a little.

It was Kagami's turn to laugh, low and breathless, fingers tightening. "More later, maybe, yeah?" He kissed Daiki again, slower this time, deliberate like his hand was deliberate, stroking up and down Daiki's cock.

A spark of challenge danced up Daiki's spine, hot and excited, and he plunged his other hand into Kagami's shorts too, fondling him from the front and back at once. The way Kagami moaned into his mouth tasted good, and Kagami's fingers felt good wrapped around him, warm in the cool night air and strong in a way that made Daiki's excitement burn hotter.

But no matter how Daiki touched him, dragging his fist up and down Kagami's cock, rubbing his fingers in ruthlessly hard circles over Kagami's entrance, those slow kisses didn't speed up. They just got deeper. It wasn't what Daiki was used to, but it felt good. It felt like Kagami was really paying attention to him. He liked that thought a lot.

Daiki hung on as long as he could, but when Kagami bucked into his fist, when Kagami moaned into his mouth, pressed up full length against him, when Kagami's fingers tightened and stroked down him like Kagami wanted to memorize the texture of him... well, he dared anyone to hold steady through that. He pulled roughly away from the kiss and buried his head against Kagami's shoulder as pleasure wrung out his whole body.

The weight of Kagami leaning against him was actually kind of nice, too, he decided in the floating daze after.

"Hope you have an extra towel," Kagami mumbled against his neck. "Mine's back in the locker room."

Daiki laughed.

Kagami wouldn't quite look at him while they got cleaned up, which had Daiki smirking. "Shy?" he finally prodded.

"Oh shut up." Kagami threw the towel at him, scowling, and added, "You get to explain your own insanity to Kuroko, if that's what the point of this is."

"Won't have to." Daiki balled up his towel and stuffed it into the bottom of his bag, concentrating on his hands instead of what he was admitting. "He knows me. Knows you too, now. He'll see it." And then he'd know he didn't have to choose.

Kagami heaved a vast sigh, and he had his hands on his hips when Daiki looked up. "Yeah, maybe he will, and then what's he going to think? Unless you actually open your idiot mouth and tell him that this is all for his sake and not just you and me hooking up, which is what I'm saying you should do." Not completely under his breath, he muttered, "Miracles my ass, the lot of you are total morons off the court."

"Says the guy getting twelves on his tests?" Daiki shot back, having been at Seirin the day their coach saw some of Kagami's exam papers that he'd stuffed into the bottom of his locker.

"That was in History!" Kagami snapped. "It's different here, how the hell am I supposed to catch up all at once?"

"I dunno, actually knowing how to read, maybe?"

The deflection worked, and they bickered all the way down the road to Daiki's turn-off toward the station. But Kagami's words stayed with him. Maybe, Daiki admitted grudgingly, he was good for something besides basketball.

Maybe.

Sometimes.

So what was he going to say to Tetsu?

Daiki had about a week to think about it, and then he had Seirin's practice hours during which he didn't have much time to think about it, because Aida Riko was a demon in girl-shape.

"Footwork drills?" Okay, he admitted it, he was whining a little.

She folded her arms forbiddingly. "With your style, in particular, you absolutely cannot afford to slack off on exercises to strengthen your lateral movement muscles." She pointed an imperious finger at the tapes set up on one side of the gym, looking like an insane cross between an obstacle course and a hopscotch grid. "Go! Kagami, you could stand to run this one too, but if I catch you trying to do it at Aomine's speed you'll wish you'd never been born."

Kagami closed his mouth on whatever he'd been about to argue, and muttered, "Yes, Kantoku."

The footwork drill was challenging, enough to actually keep his attention, and he had a good laugh when Aida-kantoku scolded Kagami for jumping bits of it, despite his argument that he was practicing his best skill. But all the while, in the back of his head, he was aware of Tetsu's eyes on them, measuring. When official practice was over, and they were waiting for Tetsu's senpai to finish their individual training so Daiki and Kagami could play, he wandered over to hop up beside Tetsu on the stage and sprawled across his knees as usual.

Tetsu hesitated a moment before he rested his hand in its usual place on Daiki's back.

Kagami ostentatiously scooped up Tetsu's water bottle along with his own and sauntered toward the east doors and the sinks to refill them. Daiki sighed; yeah, he got the point already. He was talking. "So, about Kagami," he started.

Tetsu's hand lightened, as if to lift at any moment. "The two of you settled something."

"Well, he's your partner now," Daiki muttered under the smack of balls against hardwood and the echo of Aida-kantoku's orders, resting his chin on his folded arms. "You wouldn't like it if I tried to cut him out. So."

"So?" Tetsu prodded after a long moment. "So... this?"

"So there was nothing to do but include him, if I want to be with you," Daiki said, a little annoyed at having to state the obvious.

After a long, still moment that kind of wore on Daiki's nerves, Tetsu let out a small huff of laughter. His hand rested on Daiki's back firmly, again, and Daiki settled at that. That was better. He watched Kagami coming back with the water bottles with half closed eyes, finally feeling properly lazy again. Kagami leaned against the side of the stage, eyeing them, and shook his head.

"You're both crazy. But, what the hell. Always seemed like it was the crazy ones this kind of thing worked best for." He took a long drink from his own water.

Tetsu cocked his head at his new partner, not minding while Daiki stole his bottle for a drink of his own. "Does that mean you're crazy too, Kagami-kun?"

Kagami's mouth curled up at the corner as he leaned back on his elbows, watching their senpai out on the floor. "Yeah. Guess I might be."

"Thank you," Tetsu said softly, and Daiki watched with a certain glee as Kagami instantly got flustered, looking off to the side with his ears turning red.

Really, it was no wonder Tetsu handled Kagami so easily, if he responded like this every time Tetsu got all earnest.

"Not like it's a favor or something," Kagami grumbled. "You don't have to say thanks."

Tetsu smiled, tiny and obviously amused. "It's something you chose to do that makes me very happy. Shouldn't I thank you for that?"

Kagami turned redder, and Daiki laughed. "Give it up, Kagami. Tetsu always gets his way sooner or later; best to save time and just agree now."

Kagami glowered at him. "Aren't you supposed to be morally opposed to that kind of thinking?"

"Kagami-kun," Tetsu said quietly, hand pressing a little more firmly against Daiki's back, and Daiki had to agree with the pained look Kagami gave Tetsu.

"If you're going to make me be nice to him, we're going to have problems," Kagami pointed out.

"I wouldn't try to do that."

Daiki always knew Tetsu was smart.

"But I don't want to argue about that."

That silenced both of them, and Daiki shifted off Tetsu's legs, sitting up to drape against his back instead. Kagami half turned, one elbow still braced on the stage, and leaned against Tetsu's knees. Daiki could feel Tetsu's shoulders ease under their silent attempts at reassurance.

"So, hey." Kagami nudged Tetsu's leg. "You want to play too, tonight?"

"Hey," Daiki objected. Kagami was getting better, and Tetsu would be a decisive advantage for either of them, now.

Kagami rolled his eyes. "I didn't say 'pick sides'. You remember that one Saturday Kise showed up and we played one-on-one-on-one?"

"And you played so long Kantoku yelled at us all the next day." Tetsu looked down at him, smiling a little. "I couldn't play the way Kise-kun does."

"No, but that could be good," Daiki said, thoughtfully, resting his chin on Tetsu's shoulder. "For us to keep a look out for you, and try to keep the ball. For you to track the game and try to take it while we're distracted with each other." Even as he said it, he could hear the parallels with how they acted toward each other off the court, and Kagami looked satisfied.

"Yeah, like that."

Tetsu nodded slowly. "That does sound like fun." He wasn't smiling this time, but his whole expression lightened at the assurance that, even in matches like these, he had a part.

Daiki exchanged what he was pretty sure was a look of complete understanding with Kagami. Maybe he was still a little jealous, and maybe Kagami still thought he was a jerk, but they both wanted to please their partner, to have those fierce, fearless eyes look at them and approve. Kagami agreed on that, at least.

He supposed there could be worse people to be sharing Tetsu with.

Later, on the way home, Daiki leaned his head back against the vibrating window of the train and stared up at the ceiling, thinking.

Tetsu and Kagami had gone with him as far as the little park Daiki and Kagami had played each other in a week ago. And, at the turn-off toward the station, Tetsu had reached up to curve a hand around the back of Daiki's neck, and tugged him down and kissed him. He could almost feel it again, just thinking about it, the warm, firm pressure of Tetsu's mouth against his. It felt like the way he remembered being Tetsu's friend feltâ€”like support he could lean against, like a demand made quietly.

And then, of course, because Tetsu was Tetsu, he'd given Daiki a perfectly bland, purely evil look and pushed him toward Kagami.

Kagami had been caught just as flat-footed, at least, and they'd stared at each other for a long, frozen moment. Tetsu had just stood there looking calm and expectant. It had been Kagami who'd broken first, scrubbing his hands through his hair with an aggravated sound. "Oh god, fine, just..." The look on his face when he'd closed the distance between them made Daiki expect something like their last kiss, something hard, but when Kagami caught his shoulder and leaned in his mouth had been light, almost hesitant. The word that came to mind, now, staring up at the lights running along the roof of the train, was gentle.

Daiki didn't know whether to be charmed or outraged.

But he thought... he thought there might have been a time when he'd have kissed like that, too.

He didn't know quite yet whether this was the right way to get back to what he'd had, with Tetsu, with his game, with his friends. But as he listened to the hum and clack of wheels on the tracks, he thought he was glad he'd reached out to include Kagami in it.

Aftermath

Tetsuya walked beside Taiga, smiling quietly. On reflection, he was glad Daiki had done what he had. Knowing he and Taiga had been together had given Tetsuya a bad moment, wondering whether he would be excluded from that the way he was from their one-on-one matches. Apparently, though, it had just been Daiki's way of not making Tetsuya choose between them, and in the end Taiga had found a way to close the circle all the way and include Tetsuya in the matches too. It was the happy warmth of being with them like that that had made Tetsuya reach for Daiki when they parted, wanting to give the warmth back again.

It was that warmth that made him pause at the turn-off to Taiga's street and look up at him, head tilted invitingly. It was hard to tell, in the dark, but he thought Taiga was blushing a little, and he had to smile. He reached out to rest a hand against his partner's chest, feeling the quick rise of his breath. "Taiga."

Taiga made a quiet sound, reaching out to close his hands lightly on Tetsuya's shoulders. "I miss hearing people say my name, you know. Nobody does, here."

"No one would take that liberty unless they were very close friends," Tetsuya agreed, and took a step closer. "Intimate friends." Yes, Taiga was definitely blushing, he noted with amusement. When one of Taiga's hands slid up to cup his cheek lightly, he had to smile. "I'm not that breakable, you know."

"I know that," Taiga protested indignantly, though his hands didn't tighten. "It's just..." He huffed, looking aside for a moment. "This... it's something people should take care, when they do."

Tetsuya softened at that. He wouldn't have thought Taiga would be a romantic, but maybe it made sense. He was so pure-hearted; it was why Tetsuya had chosen him, after all. "It is," he agreed quietly, winding his arms comfortably around Taiga's waist. Taiga relaxed and looked at him again, smiling back a little. When Taiga leaned down to him and carefully, gently tipped Tetsuya's head back, Tetsuya let him, let himself rest against the warm support of Taiga's arm around him, let himself kiss back softly.

The wonder in Taiga's eyes, at the corners of his smile when they parted, made Tetsuya reach up, gentle in his turn, to brush back the wild mess of Taiga's hair. The softness in Taiga's voice when he said, "Tetsuya," made something catch in his chest. They stood wrapped up in each other for a long moment.

Finally, though, something occurred to Tetsuya and he cocked his head up at Taiga. "I doubt Daiki let you be careful."

Taiga growled. "He sure as hell didn't. And, okay fine, it's fun that way too, but it's not like this!" His arms tightened around Tetsuya.

"Do you think it should be?" Tetsuya liked that thought; he wanted to see Daiki looking at him, at them, the way Taiga just had.

"Of course it should be!" Taiga was getting indignant again. "Otherwise it's not special, it's just fuck-buddies."

Tetsuya blinked a bit at that, but a smile spread over his lips. "I'm glad he thought of this at all, though."

Taiga looked down at him, quiet for a moment. "He wants you to be happy."

Tetsuya reached up and pulled Taiga down to another soft kiss. "I am."

And he'd be sure to tell Daiki so, too.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, camellias indicate love and longing. In particular, white camellia indicates waiting for a beloved while red indicates current love.

The Tang of Hibiscus

It's the end of the year, and Kise gets another shock from his captain, this one considerably more pleasant. Fluff, Romance, Porn, I-4

Kise Ryouta was feeling absolutely pathetic.

What else did you call a team captain who, instead of going directly to practice when classes ended, loitered around the doors waiting for one particular senpai so that they could walk to the school gates together, before the captain in question sprinted back to make practice on time? At the beginning, Ryouta had had excuses: a question about the mountain of DVDs Kasamatsu-senpai had left him to watch, a question about club policies, about how to handle this or that club member. It was all perfectly plausible; he was still a first-year, after all! Over the weeks of January and February, though, he'd gradually run out of excuses and just showed up, two or three times a week, and hoped that Kasamatsu-senpai wouldn't tell him to get lost.

Kasamatsu-senpai never had yet, and Ryouta was grateful for that. Grateful that the one person he'd had the most support, the most guidance, from was still there for him, at least a little. So he still waited, and still walked to the gates with Kasamatsu-senpai, and now they talked more about exams and college fees and whether the B-Corsairs would make it into the bj League play-offs this year.

Today Ryouta waited by one of the clumps of trees that edged the main walk, as unobtrusively as he could manage, and fell in quietly beside Kasamatsu-senpai when he finally emerged from the classroom building. "So," he said after a few steps. "Enrollment lists came out today, right? Did you find anyone to go look at Toukai's?"

Kasamatsu-senpai shuddered. "No. In fact, I turned my phone off all during class. I don't think I could stand to get that news and then have to pretend to pay attention to history review." He hunched one shoulder under the strap of his bag. "I'm going to go see for myself now."

"I'm sure you'll make it in," Ryouta said encouragingly, and ducked as Kasamatsu-senpai swatted at his head.

"As if you know anything about it, yet. Toukai is a top school; even these days they can afford to be choosy." They were nearly at the gates, and Kasamatsu-senpai straightened up and took a deep breath. "All right. Here I go."

"Good luck, senpai." Ryouta waved him out and watched for a little while before he had to sprint for practice to keep the coach from yelling at him. University, he thought as he dashed down the campus walks. It was March, and Kasamatsu-senpai was heading for university, was almost gone.

He pushed the faint panic of that thought aside and ran faster.

Ryouta worked hard, that practice, pushing himself harder than he had for a while. Their coach had kept an eye on him ever since Aida-san started throwing words like "overstrain" and "bone damage" around. Today, though, he needed this, needed to work until his muscles and nerves had the tension worn out of them.

Which meant he only jumped a little when someone spoke from behind him, as he was closing the outer door of the sports complex.

"Do you always stay this late?"

Ryouta spun around, startled. "Kasamatsu-senpai!" It took him a moment to realize he'd been asked a question and shrug sheepishly. "Not always."

Kasamatsu-senpai pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning, with an unimpressed grunt. "Maybe I should have been keeping a little closer eye on you."

"You don't really have to," Kise mumbled, perfectly well aware this was a social denial, not a real one, and probably sounded like it; then he remembered and perked up. "Hey, did you get in?"

Kasamatsu-senpai grinned at that. "Yeah, I thought I'd come tell you instead of making you wait for tomorrow. I got in."

"That's fantastic, congratulations!" And Ryouta meant it, really he did, he just couldn't help the little twist inside at the thought that it was really real. Kasamatsu-senpai was leaving.

Kasamatsu-senpai cocked his head, looking up at Ryouta steadily. "That wasn't the only thing I figured I should tell you, now," he said, finally, and jerked his head down the walk. "Come on, before we get locked on campus."

Ryouta trailed along, curious. Surely there wasn't anything left to tell him about the club; his various excuses earlier in the year had covered everything he could imagine, sooner or later. They turned toward the little shopping district Ryouta passed through every day on the way to school, quiet and dark at this time of night, except for a restaurant here and there.

"So," he finally said, unsure what to do with all this quiet and searching for something to fill it with, "I guess you won't be my senpai for much longer."

Of course, there was never a guarantee that what he found would be any better than the quiet.

But Kasamatsu-senpai sounded genuinely amused when he snorted. "Just because I'm graduating before you?" He had his eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of them. "Didn't stop me last time."

Ryouta blinked, trying to make sense of that a couple different ways before he gave up. "Um. It... didn't?"

"You entered the middle-school club your second year," Kasamatsu-senpai said quietly, almost musing to himself. "And it's not like I played every game. No reason for you to remember, and I don't think we ever even met." He heaved in a breath. "I was at Teikou too, though."

It wasn't until Kasamatsu-senpai looked back and turned around that Ryouta realized he'd stopped walking. "You..." He couldn't quite get past that first word.

"Mm." Kasamatsu-senpai shoved his hands into his pockets, watching Ryouta with dark eyes. "First string. So I met Akashi, his first year. That's... kind of why I didn't say anything."

"But..." Ryouta seemed to be stuck with single words today.

Kasamatsu-senpai sighed and came to grab Ryouta's arm. "Here. Get out of the middle of the sidewalk." He pulled Ryouta over to the concrete planters beside the sweets shop on the corner and pushed him down to sit on the edge. He thumped down beside Ryouta, looking down at his crossed arms. "I could see it, even then," he said, low. "Akashi... he was different. And he kept pushing the captain and coach for more reckless policies. Perfectly polite about it, but... you could see he didn't really think about the idea of losing. After the Cup this year, I'm pretty sure of itâ€”he didn't understand losing, or what it does to people, or how losing is part of the game itself. So he didn't care." He glanced up at Ryouta, mouth tilted ruefully. "In case you ever wondered just why I was so pissed off when you said that practice match with Seirin was the first time you ever lost."

"It... I... the first time I'd lost a game," Ryouta specified, dazed. "I lost all the time to Aominecchi." Kasamatsu-senpai's smile un-tilted, and he nudged Ryouta's shoulder with his.

"Yeah, when we played Touou I got that part." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, clasping his hands between them. "So. I didn't like what I saw of Akashi, and I didn't like what I heard after I graduated. When Kaijou recruited you, I wasn't sure what to expect. But I knew I wanted to show you something different. Something I didn't think you'd be able to associate with the name 'Teikou'."

"Something different...?" Ryouta echoed softly, still a little lost in the idea that he'd had a... a... a double-senpai at Kaijou.

Kasamatsu-senpai was quiet for a long moment. "It's not like Teikou wasn't always strict. It was. Screwing up bad enough always got you dropped down a rank. Competition to actually play was always fierce. But all that was so we could win. Not so we could win, if that makes sense." He glanced sidelong at Ryouta. "Even if I hadn't met you, you were still my kouhai. I wanted you to see what that was like."

Ryouta felt like he couldn't quite catch his breath. "I have," he said, husky. "I really have." Because, yes, what Kasamatsu-senpai said made perfect sense. And, no, Ryouta probably wouldn't have understood before this year, before his new team, his new captain. "Thank you," he finished, finally.

And then it hit him all over again, that he was about to lose this, and he pulled one knee up to his chest, leaning his chin against it so he could bite his tongue without being obvious about it. If he concentrated on that little pain he could push back the bigger one.

"Oh, not the puppy-dog eyes, come on," Kasamatsu-senpai groaned, and pummeled his shoulder. "I told you already, graduating ahead of you didn't stop me from looking after my kouhai last time, and it isn't going to stop me this time either!"

"But... you'll be gone." Ryouta's voice was unsteadier than he'd wanted it to be, and he looked away, embarrassed. He heard Kasamatsu-senpai heave a put-upon sigh.

"Idiot. Why do you think I waited to tell you this until I knew I was in at Toukai? The Physical Education program is based on the Shounan campus. I'll be right next door."

Ryouta stared down the empty street, not seeing it. That sounded... like Kasamatsu-senpai thought he might visit. That would be something, at least. "Okay."

Another sigh, softer this time, and Kasamatsu-senpai's hand settled on his hair, much more gently than usual. His voice was gentler, too, when he repeated, "Why do you think I waited to tell you? After you spent nearly three months trying to keep me from really leaving the club, I didn't want to say anything unless I was sure I wouldn't just be leaving the city right after."

Ryouta's face was hot, and he was inescapably aware that, yes, he really had been that pathetic.

"Hey." Kasamatsu-senpai's hand slid down to his nape and shook him a little. "Didn't say I minded."

Ryouta peeked at him sidelong, positive that he was completely red. "...really?"

Kasamatsu-senpai was watching him with a faint smile. "Come here." He tugged Ryouta down to him, and Ryouta's breath drew in quick and shaky as Kasamatsu-senpai kissed him. "Really."

Ryouta leaned against him, feeling how wide his own eyes were. "Senpai."

"Twice," Kasamatsu-senpai agreed, mouth quirking. "So relax a little, okay? I'm not leaving."

Ryouta swallowed, a little shocked by how relieved he felt to hear that. How much he'd wound himself up in Kasamatsu-senpai without admitting it to himself. He managed a tiny smile, still feeling the warmth of that brief kiss on his lips, and agreed softly, "Yes, senpai."

Kasamatsu-senpai's hand tightened on his nape for a moment, perfectly reassuring. "Good." And then he stood, pulling Ryouta with him. "So let's go get some food. I was too freaked out to eat before I went and looked at the admission lists."

On cue, Ryouta's stomach growled, and he laughed. "Yeah. Okay." He ducked his head and gave Kasamatsu-senpai his best winsome look as they started walking again. "Senpai pay for their kouhai, right?" It probably said something about them, that getting kicked for that settled his nerves.

"Of course they do, so quit looking at me like I'm one of your damn fanclub!"

It took a few moments for Ryouta to realize that Kasamatsu-senpai had actually agreed, and then he couldn't help the way his grin softened, how shy the sidelong look he gave his senpai was.

Or how red he turned when Kasamatsu-senpai told him, eyes gleaming, "And that look you should save for somewhere more private."

Ryouta floated through the next day in a bit of a daze, forgot all the answers on the History test, and started rumor galloping through his fanclub when someone spotted him doodling versions of the first characters of Kasamatsu-senpai's name and his own in the fanciest style he could manage.

Kasamatsu-senpai was rolling his eyes and trying to keep a smile under control when Ryouta met him after classes. "It's a good thing it is almost the end of the year, or you'd have the whole school in a panic." This said with the cheerfulness of a captain who would never have to deal with Ryouta's fanclub during practice again. "I could hear the shrieking two floors up."

Ryouta ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I'll have to figure out how to let Ryuu-chan down easy. She's the front-runner in the rumors."

"You're way too nice."

"I was trained to be!" Ryouta protested, remembering the constant murmurs from agency minders about Smile, now, Kise-kun, nice and bright. "It's just for show, and most of them know it too. You know I wouldn'tâ€”"

That was when the memory of something he hadn't thought about at all last night, or today, dropped on his head, feeling very much like a brick.

"Of course I know, don't be ridiculous," Kasamatsu-senpai was scoffing, but he paused when he glanced over at Ryouta. "Kise?"

"I should have said before, I just didn't think of it." Ryouta resisted the urge to chew on his lip, something else he'd been pretty strenuously trained out of and hadn't even felt the urge to do in years. "Aominecchi... we... it's..." He made a frustrated sound at his inability to find good words for what was between them.

Kasamatsu-senpai was wearing a tiny smile. "Aomine, hm? I like the fact that he didn't occur to you sooner, actually."

Ryouta was coming to the conclusion that Kasamatsu-senpai enjoyed making him blush. "It's just... well, after Aida-san and Momocchi set it up so we could get some matches in, it just... spills over sometimes."

"Since I'm not actually blind, and have in fact seen you two play," Kasamatsu-senpai said dryly, "that doesn't surprise me at all."

Ryouta took a deep breath. "It's just... today is one of the days Aominecchi is allowed to come here for a match after practice is officially over."

They stopped by the school gates, and Kasamatsu-senpai looked up at Ryouta thoughtfully. "So do you need me to warn him off, or do you need me to tell you it's all right?"

Ryouta gave him an indignant look. "I don't need anyone to warn anyone off, I can do that perfectly well myself!"

"So you want it to be all right," Kasamatsu-senpai said softly, watching him, ignoring the slowing stream of other students walking past just a meter or two away. One of the things that drew Ryouta to Kasamatsu-senpai was the way he could see past some of the faces Ryouta wore, some of the things he didn't say. But sometimes Ryouta wished he couldn't.

Ryouta bent his head, studying his toes. "I know it's a selfish thing to want," he said, low. "I know... what that's usually called. I just... when we play one-on-one, there's so much, and it's Aominecchi, he's the one who opened this whole world up for me, and he's coming back to us now, and..." He trailed off because Kasamatsu-senpai's hand was on his wrist, light and warm.

"He's important to you. I can understand that." Kasamatsu-senpai's hand tightened for a moment and let go. "All right. Play Aomine as much as you want. Even," a corner of his mouth curled up, "if it spills over."

Ryouta knew he was staring and couldn't help himself. "It's really all right?"

Kasamatsu-senpai's crooked smile became a smirk. "Aomine isn't the one you just spent three months trailing around after."

Kasamatsu-senpai definitely liked to make him blush.

"I'll make you a deal," he continued, lower. "Go ahead and play with Aomine tonight. Come home with me tomorrow."

There was not, Ryouta thought, enough air out here. At least, it didn't seem to be doing him any good at the moment, because he couldn't quite catch his breath. "Yes, senpai," he said, husky, feeling how wide his eyes had gone.

Kasamatsu-senpai smiled. "I've seen the two of you play," he repeated, "and you don't look at him like this, even then. It's fine, Kise." And then he hitched his bag up over his shoulder and strolled out the school gates, leaving Ryouta wondering how on earth he was supposed to keep his mind on practice, now.

"Come on in."

Ryouta stepped into the small, quiet house after Kasamatsu-senpai, toeing off his shoes and glancing around at the dimness. "Your parents aren't home yet either?"

"Tou-san works late a lot." Kasamatsu-senpai shot a small smile over his shoulder as he led the way up the stairs. "And this is Kaa-san's mahjong night with her friends."

Definite anticipation curled in Ryouta's stomach, shivery and warm, as he followed Kasamatsu-senpai up to his room. His own mother, of course, had understood immediately why he wanted to stay over at his senpai's house, and that it had nothing to do with watching match videos. She'd stood on tip-toe to kiss his forehead and told him to enjoy himself. Ryouta had smiled and nodded reassurance to the shadow of a question in those bright eyes so much like his. She'd relaxed, then, and said how good it was that he had a proper senpai to take care of him, and they'd giggled together while his father just shook his head indulgently over how flighty they could be.

Kasamatsu-senpai's room was very like he was himselfâ€”spare and compact and stuffed with basketball. There were rows of magazines and videos on the book case, several shoe boxes stacked neatly in the corner, and he dropped his bag in what was clearly its proper place, beside the desk next to a larger bag that had one end rounded around a basketball.

"Going to stand there all night?"

Ryouta started a little, realizing he was still in the doorway. Kasamatsu-senpai was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him. "I... no, of course not."

Kasamatsu-senpai held out a hand, looking rather amused. "Come here, then."

Unaccustomed nerves fluttered in Ryouta's stomach as he stepped slowly across the room. Kasamatsu-senpai's brows rose, but his smile softened. He caught Ryouta's wrists and tugged him down until he was kneeling between Kasamatsu-senpai's legs, and gathered him close. "Sure you've done this before?"

Ryouta leaned against him, enjoying the hand running up and down his back. Softly, not looking up, he said, "I have. It's just never been quite like this."

"Is that good?" Kasamatsu-senpai's hand slid up into his hair, and Ryouta let his head drop to rest on Kasamatsu-senpai's shoulder, hands linked behind his back.

"It is. I... hope it is." After a moment, putting his words together carefully, he went on. "You don't like how I have to be for work. I mean, it was kind of obvious. So I was mostly serious, for you, unless I just forgot. Or unless I was trying to wind you up," he admitted, and laughed at his senpai's growl. The fingers cradling his head stayed gentle, though, and he relaxed under them. "This isn't just being serious, though." Serious was pretty easy, actually, especially in the middle of a game. Being not-serious and also not-joking made him a little nervous, uncertain how he should be acting. It felt good, though, being held like this.

Kasamatsu-senpai's breath gusted against Ryouta's neck as he sighed. Instead of the briskness Ryouta was used to from his captain, though, his voice was quiet when he said, "It's okay. I'm your senpai, right? That means I'll take care of you. So quit worrying so much."

Ryouta shivered a little at that assurance, at the reminder of how clearly Kasamatsu-senpai saw him and understood him. "Even like this?" he asked, a bit hesitant. It wasn't like he had much basis for comparison, never having had many senpai except in the technical sense, but this seemed a little above and beyond the usual call.

A huff of laughter was warm against his neck. "Like this is special. But I'll still take care of you."

Ryouta was laughing a little himself, with nerves and happiness. "Okay." He lifted his head and leaned in, parting his lips willingly when Kasamatsu-senpai caught his mouth. The warm slide of a tongue over his made things easier, easier to just feel instead of worrying. The question of how to act would answer itself, like it always did, as a reflection of the world around him.

...he just hadn't expected it to answer itself quite this way. With each kiss, with each button Kasamatsu-senpai undid, with each slide of fingers over skin, Kasamatsu-senpai's touch turned gentler. Instead of holding Ryouta harder, he held him more carefully. By the time he'd gotten rid of the last of their clothes and tugged Ryouta up onto the bed and settled over him, he was cradling Ryouta's face in his hands, kissing him slow and coaxing.

And Ryouta felt himself answering the only way that felt right, by relaxing more for every gentled touch until he was lying under Kasamatsu-senpai flushed and open and shaking a little with it. He didn't do this, didn't let his games and smiles and teasing all fall away. Never before, at least. It had never felt so right to do it, but now Kasamatsu-senpai's careful touch was brushing those things away and Ryouta was letting it happen. "Senpai," he whispered against Kasamatsu-senpai's mouth, husky.

Kasamatsu-senpai raised his head and looked down at him with a little smile. "Under the circumstances, I think you can use my given name if you want."

Ryouta swallowed, looking aside from those clear, dark eyes, shy in face of their steadiness. He felt exposed and sheltered at the same time, and the combination made him dizzy. "Yukio-san," he said softly.

Kasamatsu-senpai turned Ryouta's face back to him and kissed him, soft and easy. "Ryouta."

The intimacy of his name, spoken like that, made Ryouta's breath catch hard. "Senpai," he gasped, a little pleading, and Yukio-san gathered him up tight.

"Shh, it's okay." A hand settled, warm, on the back of his neck, rubbing slowly. "It's okay. We'll go slow."

Ryouta turned his head into Yukio-san's shoulder, face a little hot. What he'd said earlier was turning out to be truer than he'd known. He never had done it like this before. Not with someone who saw him.

Not with someone he let see him, opened himself up for and offered himself to.

The irreverent corner of his mind observed that it was a good thing Yukio-san was prepared to treat him like a virgin. He seemed to be one after all, in a way he hadn't even known. Somehow, the thought made it easier; easier to understand why he felt so shaky. He took a slow breath and looked up at his senpai. "Thank you, Yukio-san."

Yukio-san brushed his thumb over Ryouta's lips, looking down at him seriously. "I told you I'd take care of you."

Ryouta closed his eyes for a moment at the rush of warmth that sent through him, and turned his head to kiss Yukio-san's palm. Against it, he murmured. "Thank you, senpai."

Yukio-san's weight over him was comforting, and when he caught Ryouta's chin and kissed him again, Ryouta let himself relax into the rising heat without resistance. Kiss after kiss, as Yukio-san's hands stroked down his body, over his ribs, cupping his ass, Ryouta let himself answer openly, let his arms wind tight around Yukio-san to anchor himself against the way those gentle, steady hands on him made him shake. "Yukio-san," he gasped at last, husky. "Please..." He felt Yukio-san's mouth curve against his.

"Yeah. Now is good, I think." Yukio-san's weight eased off him and he nudged Ryouta's hip. "Here."

Ryouta let Yukio-san turn him over, heat and want curling together as he stretched out on his stomach and Yukio-san leaned over him to rummage in the small, square set of drawers beside the bed, where the alarm stood. The feel of slick, cool fingers pushing into him made him moan against the sheets. It was the slide of Yukio-san's mouth against his nape that made him shudder with a rush of hot response, though. "Please..."

"Shhh." Yukio-san's lips brushed his skin. "I've got you, Ryouta. Easy."

That care, that support, the quiet, serious warmth of Yukio-san's voice, pulled a whimper out of him. The words worked his heart open the way Yukio-san's fingers opened his body, and it felt so good, so very good. When Yukio-san finally pulled him up onto his knees, Ryouta was panting and hard and more than ready. He would have pushed back into the slow stretch of Yukio-san's cock pressing in, would have taken him in faster, if Yukio-san hadn't held him firmly. "Yukio-san!"

There was a flash of Yukio-san's usual temper in his voice, softened by amusement. "I'm not letting you hurt yourself, and damn you're tight, Ryouta. Do what your senpai says, already!"

Ryouta laughed, breathless and unsteady with the slide and stretch of Yukio-san pushing in. "Yes, senpai." But he still wriggled in Yukio-san's grip and moaned openly when he sank all the way home. Softly he pleaded, "I can take it harder than that, please, senpai..."

Yukio-san snorted, and his voice was getting husky too. "Pushy aren't you? All right, then."

When he pulled back and thrust into Ryouta hard and deep, heat poured down Ryouta's spine like lava and he couldn't be embarrassed by the sound he made. His hands closed into fists on the sheets as Yukio-san fucked him breathlessly hard, holding him steady for every stroke. It was so good to let himself fall down into the pure sensation, and his whole body flexed wantonly in Yukio-san's hands, eager for this, for more. Good as that was, though, it was the sound of Yukio-san's voice that wrapped heat around him until he was a little crazy with it. That voice, softened for him, whispering things like Easy, I've got you and I'll take care of it all, just let me and Let go, Ryouta, it's okay.

It was that last one that undid him.

He moaned out loud as pleasure burst through him, shaking him senseless with the thought that he was safe, it was all right to let himself go, to feel this as much as he wanted. The hoarse gasp above him assured him that Yukio-san was with him, felt this as much as he did, but those hands were still holding him steady. Not letting go. When the heat finally faded a little and Yukio-san let him down to the bed again, he kept on holding Ryouta close and steady, and Ryouta turned and clung to him shamelessly.

"Shh." Yukio-san's hand spread against his back, warm and sure. "It's still okay."

Ryouta nodded wordlessly where his head was buried in Yukio-san's shoulder. He hadn't felt like this even when it really was the first time he'd had sex. He'd never felt like this before. Never let anyone open him up like this. "You're really staying," he said, low, just to say it out loud and reassure himself.

"Yeah, I am." There was maybe a smile in Yukio-san's voice when he said, "So are you, after all." His hand slid over the arms Ryouta had locked around him. Ryouta looked up at him, still flushed and shaky, more open than he remembered being in years.

"Yes, Yukio-san."

Because Yukio-san brushed aside all the charm Ryouta met the world with and still wanted him, saw Ryouta's selfishness and wanting and still sheltered him, because of these things Ryouta would stay here in Yukio-san's hands. The gentleness of those hands when Yukio-san tipped up Ryouta's chin and kissed him said that this was where Ryouta belonged.

More than anywhere else, right here.

End

A/N: When Aomine calls Kasamatsu "senpai" during the Kaijou v Touou game, it's pretty clear that's just Aomine offering a typically sarcastic token of respect for Kasamatsu's guts in setting Aomine up for a foul. But I couldn't help thinking, what if it had meant something more, what if Kasamatsu had been at Teikou and seen the beginning of all that craziness? I couldn't resist using the idea.

In hanakotoba, hibiscus indicate gentleness or delicacy.

Bright-line

Aomine always seems to be searching for his boundaries. Kuroko decides it's time to give him one. D/s, Porn with Characterization, I-4

Aomine Daiki dropped a couple cans of soda on the low table and threw himself down on the scruffy couch in the apartment he shared with his dad, sprawling comfortably. He was still grinning. He hadn't stopped grinning since Tetsu, acting as their referee, had declared that his last shot counted and he'd won.

Kagami was getting good enough to push him, one-on-one, and Daiki loved it.

"That," he declared, stretching luxuriously, "was fantastic."

Kagami snorted into his drink. "You would think so, yeah."

"Don't give me that." Daiki prodded Kagami's knee with a foot and laughed when Kagami swatted at him and scooted further around the table. "You wouldn't keep coming up here if you didn't think so too." And, yeah, so Daiki had started it, coming down to Seirin to catch Kagami and Tetsu after practice and goad Kagami into matches. But it hadn't taken more than a month or two before Kagami had gotten Tetsu to lead him to Daiki's door and demanded (yet another) rematch. "Isn't it the best thing ever?" Daiki asked, letting his head fall back against the couch and baring his teeth at the ceiling. "Going all the way to the edge, and then pushing against it? Getting pushed back?"

He could almost hear Kagami rolling his eyes. "You and yourâ€”"

"Taiga."

Daiki blinked and lifted his head. Tetsu had been quiet all the way back here from the court down by the overpass, a thinking kind of quiet. He hadn't joined them yet, either, just leaned against the sliding door out to the tiny balcony and watched them. Now that he'd finally spoken (and since when did he call Kagami by name like that?), there was something serious in his voice. Kagami obviously thought so too; he was looking up at Tetsu, where he stood over them, with a silent question in his raised brows.

Tetsu didn't answer him, though. Just rested his hand on the wild mess of Kagami's hair for a moment as he stepped past him toward Daiki. "What is it?" Daiki asked those steady eyes resting on him.

"That's what's most important to you." It was a statement, not a question. "Having something to push against that can stop you."

Daiki's mouth crooked up at one corner. "Not like that's a secret. It's what you went looking for, wasn't it? When you left."

"One of the things," Tetsu agreed. "To make you see me again. To bring you back. But Kagami-kun has his own reasons for playing you; we're partners, but it isn't right to use his game for my own purposes. I think it's time I was more direct."

Daiki blinked, puzzled. Tetsu couldn't be thinking of playing him one-on-one; Tetsu's game had expanded, yes, he wasn't a pure supporting player any more. But still...

Abruptly, Tetsu was more present, locking Daiki's attention like a magnet. "Tetsu, what...?" he asked, startled. It was always a bit of a shock when Tetsu did that. And then Tetsu leaned over him, sliding a knee onto the couch and resting a hand on the back of it. His other hand caught Daiki's chin firmly, and Daiki couldn't do anything but stare. He knew Tetsu was far more forceful than his polite words and self-effacing habits led people to expect, but this... this was...

This was different.

The part of his mind that wasn't blank with startlement was expecting a kiss, but Tetsu just stayed where he was, leaning over Daiki, holding him, not letting his attention move anywhere else. And, Daiki thought slowly, letting him realize that. "Tetsu," he said again, husky with the sudden curl of heat low in his stomach. "What are you doing?" He slid his hands up to close on Tetsu's hips, not to steady Tetsu but to steady himself.

"Giving you what you want," Tetsu told him quietly, and now he leaned down and kissed Daiki. It was slow and wet and demanding, and Daiki wondered hazily where Tetsu had learned to kiss, because he sure as hell knew what he was doing. When he started to lean up into it, though, Tetsu's hand on his jaw tightened, holding him still. The heat in his groin tightened too, answering that grip. Tetsu finished kissing him, taking his time about it while Daiki sat, stunned.

Tetsu was...

"Be still, Aomine-kun," Tetsu said as he drew back, and his voice was quiet and even and so utterly sure things would be the way he said that Daiki nearly shuddered just to hear it. He let Tetsu lift his chin, fingers tightening on Tetsu's hips as his head was tipped all the way back against the couch cushions and held there.

"Fuck, Tetsu..." he gasped, feeling his spine pull taut with something he didn't have a name for, anticipation or resistance or maybe both.

"Something that will stop you," Tetsu said, soft and musing, not letting him go. "Someone that will stop you." The heat of his mouth on Daiki's bared throat, wet and slow, made Daiki jerk tauter, and oh god he was hard from this, from the things Tetsu was implying. Tetsu sucked sharply, just under the point of Daiki's jaw, and he groaned with the hot almost-pain. There would be a mark there. The realization made him dizzy, or maybe that was just the way he was panting for breath now.

Tetsu lifted his head and relaxed his grip on Daiki's chin, stroking the line of his jaw gently. Daiki just looked up at him, dazed. "When we're together like this," Tetsu said in that low, even, relentless voice, "you will only do what I allow you to do." He touched Daiki's cheek softly. "Yes or no?"

Daiki sat, still caged under the arch of Tetsu's body, head spinning. This was crazy. He was crazy, he didn't even know why this was making him so hot. Except... it was Tetsu, who he had never, ever been able to overwhelm or budge from his position on any subject, in any game. Tetsu always stood firm, always came back, never backed down, was the one thing Daiki could count on without doubts. Tetsu was the one immoveable thing he could lean against.

But... like this?

"I..." He had to clear his throat and try again. "Tetsu, this is... I'm not..."

Tetsu touched a finger to Daiki's lips, eyes steady and calm. "Yes or no? That's the only choice you have."

Daiki swallowed hard at the spike of heat those words put up his spine, but...

Tetsu smiled, small and private, just between them, and closed his hands around Daiki's face, resting their foreheads together. "I'll take care of you, Daiki. You know that."

The heat in him turned molten, spreading until Daiki wondered if he was going to come from that assurance alone. Because he did know it. Tetsu had always taken care of him, held him steady, brought him back.

And, fuck it, he wanted that, not just in the game but here too.

"Yes," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Good," Tetsu murmured to him, sliding one hand down to his throat, thumb stroking the tender spot where he'd marked Daiki. It made Daiki shiver, hands flexing against Tetsu's hips. Tetsu's hands slid over his shoulders, down his arms, and closed on Daiki's wrists. "Not there," Tetsu murmured, pulling Daiki's hands away and guiding them up and back until they were pressed against the back of the couch, behind Daiki's head. Tetsu smiled down at him, and now there was a glint in his eyes. "Here."

Daiki's breath was coming short again with how it felt to be spread out under Tetsu like this, hands gripping the couch frame behind his head, legs spread. "Okay."

"Don't move until I tell you you may," Tetsu ordered, cool and level, and Daiki nearly moaned. He did moan when Tetsu reached down to unfasten his jeans and tug down his underwear just far enough to free his cock.

Tetsu stayed right where he was, kneeling over Daiki, not touching him anywhere except for his hand wrapped around Daiki's cock and fondling him slowly. Daiki's whole body pulled tighter and tighter, under him, until he was clinging to the frame of the couch, trembling with the need to rock up into Tetsu's hand. Nothing but Tetsu's word held him back, nothing but Tetsu's eyes on him, steady and unmoving, but that was enough. Daiki had said yes, given himself up to the one will that had always stood firmer than his. He did as Tetsu said.

It felt incredible.

Tetsu's fingers were gentle on him, gentle and slow, until Daiki was arched taut under him, gasping helplessly for breath, spread out and begging with every inch of his body. "Tetsu..."

"Good," Tetsu told him, warm and quiet. "That's good, Daiki. Now come for me." His hand wrapped tighter around Daiki's cock, pumping slow and sure, and Daiki made a hoarse sound as pleasure ripped through him, wrung out his whole body wild and hard, blinded him to everything but raw sensation and the sound of Tetsu's voice reassuring him.

As he came back down, slow and dazed, he felt Tetsu's hands sliding over his arms, gently loosening the grip of his hands and guiding them back down, stroking over his neck and shoulders and cradling the back of his head as Tetsu kissed him. Daiki finally pried his eyes back open and looked up at Tetsu, dazed. "Wow."

Tetsu laughed quietly. "You can move, now."

"Oh sure," Daiki murmured, completely wrung out. "Now that I don't think I can any more..."

Tetsu smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "So, was it good?" he asked.

"Yeah." Daiki took a long breath, trying to fit what had just happened into his head in some kind of sensible way. It didn't work very well, but one thing was clear; Tetsu was unreasonably good at finding what Daiki needed. "I... thanks."

There was a definite glint of satisfaction in Tetsu's eyes. "My pleasure." One hand slipped down to knead the nape of Daiki's neck, slow and easy, and he raised his voice a little. "What did you think, Taiga?"

"Jesus."

Daiki froze at the question and the husky reply. He'd forgotten Kagami was there. Tetsu had locked his attention so tight, he'd forgotten. Tetsu's hand tightened on his nape, now, and he murmured, "Only what I allow, remember."

How did that make sense of Kagami still being here?!

Kagami's voice was a little shaky. "You know, you say you're not a sadist, but every now and then I really wonder. I also think you really like making me come without touching me. God." A huff of breath, and then he spoke again, voice softer. "Aomine. It's okay, really. We're... Tetsuya and I... we're like this, too."

"Taiga won't touch you unless I say," Tetsu told him quietly. "But he's part of this too, don't you think?"

Daiki could nearly hear the fizzle as his brain's ability to make sense of things gave out, like a fuse blowing. What was left was something hot, knowing that Tetsu had taken him like that in front of someone else. In front of Tetsu's other lover. In front of the other person he held this way. Something hot and wanting curled through him, thinking about that. Daiki wrapped his arms around Tetsu and buried his head against Tetsu's shoulder with a breathless sound.

"Good," Tetsu whispered to him, fingers stroking his hair gently. And a little louder, "Taiga, come here."

It was the same quiet, utterly inflexible command that Tetsu had pinned Daiki down with, and it put a little twist of heat through him to hear it addressed to someone else. Daiki took a good breath in and out, as the couch compressed beside him, and raised his head to look at Kagami. Who was very flushed and definitely looked like he'd done his clothes back up in a hurry. And who bent his head under Tetsu's hand when Tetsu reached over to run his fingers gently through Kagami's hair. Daiki had to swallow, watching that, and suddenly it made a lot more sense how just watching him and Tetsu could have gotten Kagami off.

"Daiki. Taiga. Do the two of you want to be together, in this?" Tetsu asked. "I can keep it separate, if not, but it does seem like a sensible extension of how you two are about the game."

Kagami snorted, mouth curled in obvious amusement as he looked up. "What, you mean both of us completely in your hands, both on the court and off?"

"Taiga," Tetsu chided, tugging gently on his hair. "I'm not Akashi-kun, and no one is in my control, on the court."

"I know." Kagami smiled as he caught Tetsu's hand and twined their fingers together. "But you hold us, don't you?"

There was something unspoken there, in the way they looked at each other, some reference to another conversation, and Daiki didn't even realize his arms had tightened around Tetsu until Tetsu looked down at him, eyes soft and clear, stroking his hair again. "I do hold you," he said, as if it were an answer to Daiki and not Kagami. "No matter which side we're on."

Maybe it was an answer for him after all, because hearing that settled the flare of jealousy. "I guess we can try it." Daiki shrugged. "Together." He slid a glance at Kagami, who nodded agreement and promptly held out his other hand to Daiki.

Daiki curled his lip and glanced aside. "What are you, a girl?" He let one hand drop to meet Kagami's though.

"At least I'm not an asshole," Kagami retorted, but his fingers were almost as gentle as Tetsu's, wrapping around Daiki's.

"The two of you," Tetsu sighed, but there was a tiny smile on his lips when Daiki looked up, and his touch was proprietary when he reached out to rest his hands on their shoulders. It made something in Daiki relax, just to feel that, and he gave up attempting to get his sensibleness back on line.

Tetsu's hand on him was its own kind of sense, and Daiki thought he liked that better.

End

Reach Out and Touch Yourself

After a tournament match, Aomine calls Kuroko to blow off some steam and Kuroko thinks this has some fascinating possibilities. D/s Phonesex, I-4

Daiki had thought it might be weird, the first time he played Kagami and Tetsu in a tournament match after the three of them started sleeping together. More precisely, after he'd started taking orders from Tetsu, in bed. Would it spill over? Would any of them hesitate? Would Tetsu look at him the way he did when he had Daiki down on the bed and begging?

It had taken a few turns around the arena in the cool spring air before Daiki had been able to get his mind back where it belonged, after starting to think that, but that just made his point.

And when Touou and Seirin met on the court, when he and Tetsu and Kagami all looked at each other under the bright overhead floodlights, Tetsu had given them an order. But that order was, "No holding back. We all play with everything we have."

Kagami and Daiki had bared their teeth at each other. "Obviously," Daiki purred, feeling exhilaration rise, light in his chest.

And they'd hammered at each other, on the court, clawing tooth and nail for the ball, even fiercer than they'd played when they'd met in the Cup last year. It was Touou who won this time, and Daiki still felt drunk on the wild glee of it, hours later, and who cared if it was just a preliminary match?

It was Tetsu who'd brought that feeling back to him, and maybe that was why he found his fingers wandering toward his phone as he sprawled on his bed that evening, tapping up Tetsu's number.

"Are you calling to gloat?" Tetsu asked, when he answered, but he sounded amused.

Daiki laughed. "Well, I could if you want."

He could almost hear Tetsu rolling his eyes.

"But no. I called..." he hesitated for a long moment, but finally let the words flow. "I called to thank you. I didn't, last year."

"I didn't expect you to," Tetsu said gently. "You'd just lost."

"I'd just woken up," Daiki corrected, staring up at the slightly warped plaster of his ceiling. "I knew I should thank you for that, even then. And now..." He rolled over with a bounce and leaned on his elbows, unable to be still. "Now it's so incredible! We won, and it feels so good again, Tetsu!"

"I knew there would be gloating," Tetsu teased, deadpan, but he relented when Daiki growled. "I'm glad for you. That was what I wanted for you, again."

"I have it." Daiki softened, stretching out on one side, phone against his ear. "So thank you. I'd forgotten how amazing it feels."

And maybe his voice had gotten a little husky, and maybe it wasn't a surprise when Tetsu's voice lowered too, and turned level and intent. "How does it feel, Aomine-kun?"

Just that tone was enough to put a shiver through him, these days, and Daiki swallowed to hear it. "Really good, Tetsu," he murmured. "Like I'm flying."

"Do you want more?"

Anticipation tightened his body, flicking his nerves with heat. "Yes, Tetsu," he said, husky, "please."

"Take off your clothes and set your phone on speaker," Tetsu ordered softly, "and tell me when you have."

It only took a few seconds to strip off the shirt and shorts he wore around the house, and Daiki lay back down, hypersensitive to the cool folds of the sheets and blankets under him, the brush of air over his skin. He switched his phone over to speaker and laid it by his head. "I have."

"Good. Then wrap your hand around your cock and stroke yourself. Slowly."

Daiki did as he was told, breath catching at the warmth of his own fingers wrapped around him. A shudder ran through him at the slow drag of his palm over his cock. "Tetsu..."

"Slowly, Daiki." The firm command, and the intimacy of his given name, pulled a soft whine out of him as heat shot up his spine in response.

"Yes, Tetsu," he whispered, closing his eyes and stroking the hard length of his cock slowly, teeth set in his lower lip.

"Good," Tetsu praised him gently, and Daiki nearly whimpered. Every now and then he remembered that this was crazy, that he had no actual idea why giving himself up to Tetsu felt so good, but the thought always drowned in the sweetness of Tetsu's approval, the heat of his control. "You're getting close, aren't you?" Tetsu asked. "I can hear it in how you breathe."

"Yes..." Daiki was panting for breath all right, taut with the effort of not rocking up into his own hand. He buried his other hand in the softness of his pillow, fingers working around it.

"Not yet." It wasn't even an order, more a statement of fact, and Daiki moaned. "Hold yourself, Daiki," Tetsu told him. "Just hold your cock and rub your thumb over your head. Slowly."

This time, Daiki definitely whimpered, shuddering with the licks of pleasure snapping through him, not quite enough to bring him off. "Tetsu, please..." He circled his thumb over the head of his cock, gasping at the hot ripple of sensation.

"Put two fingers of your other hand in your mouth." There was a smile in Tetsu's voice, the slow intent smile he got when one of his lovers started begging. "Suck on them like they were mine."

Daiki sucked two fingers down, light-headed with want, with anticipation, with the heat of being held back by Tetsu's voice alone. The sensation of his tongue around his own fingers braided together with the sensation of his fingers around his own cock until he was moaning softly.

"Very good," Tetsu told him voice turning gentle again, even tender. "I'm going to use your fingers to fuck you, Daiki. Push them deep into your ass."

Daiki moaned out loud, reaching under himself to do as Tetsu said. The stretch of his fingers made his hand tighten on his cock, and his hips bucked, sharp and involuntary. "Tetsu, please," he gasped, "please let me..."

"Don't move your other hand," Tetsu ordered, perfectly even, perfectly confident of being obeyed. "Nothing but what I allow you, Daiki. Just rub your thumb over your head and fuck yourself."

Little whines of pleasure and wanting worked their way out of Daiki's throat as he thrust his fingers into his ass and fondled the head of his cock, trembling with the way sensation built and built, hot and thrilled by Tetsu's relentless control.

"Now," Tetsu finally said, voice soft over the phone. "Now you can move your hand. Fuck yourself hard, Daiki."

Daiki groaned, finally freed to pump his cock hard and fast, to let his hips snap up and down between his hands, driving himself up and up until he fell over the edge and the entire bed shuddered with him as he came. "Tetsuya!"

It took him a minute, in the aftermath, to remember that his hands did actually belong to him, and retrieve them, breath catching as his fingers slid free.

"There." Tetsu's voice was warm. "Feel more relaxed now?"

Daiki laughed, rolling over on his side toward the phone. "Yeah. A lot." He felt downright limp, after that.

"Then sleep well, Daiki," Tetsuya told him softly. "We'll see you soon."

"You too." Daiki smiled as he turned off his phone and groped for a handful of kleenex to mop up with before burrowing under his covers.

Tetsu really did take good care of him, he thought sleepily, as he turned out the light.

Tetsuya switched his own phone off speaker and smiled. "I have very demanding lovers."

Naked and hard and spread out on the bed beside him, Taiga moaned. "God, Tetsuya, please..."

Tetsuya leaned back on one elbow, his other hand working slowly over his own cock, and watched Taiga, the way he'd watched him all through that phone call, watched how he'd flushed at the sounds Daiki made and the orders Tetsuya gave. Watched how his eyes turned dark as Tetsuya touched himself, and how he'd gotten breathless when Tetsuya shook his head, forbidding Taiga to do anything but watch. "Tell me what you want," Tetsuya said now, softly.

"You," Taiga said, husky. "Let me taste you, Tetsuya..."

"Mm, that does sound good." Tetsuya settled back against the pillows and held out a hand to Taiga. "Come here, Taiga."

Familiar satisfaction curled warm in his chest as Taiga came to him at once, sliding between Tetsuya's spread legs and leaning over him. His hands slid eagerly up Tetsuya's body, but he let himself be pressed down by a hand on the back of his head and wrapped his mouth around Tetsuya's cock softly. It felt good, very good, to feel Taiga settle under his hand as he wove his fingers through Taiga's hair. The slick, wet heat of Taiga's mouth slid over him, slow and sure, following every flex of his fingers, and Tetsuya let himself lie back, supported by Taiga's hands, let himself moan openly and listened to how Taiga's breath hitched each time.

When one of Taiga's hands slid down between his own legs, and the quick rhythm of Taiga's breath turned quicker, Tetsuya smiled and let himself go, thrusting up into Taiga's mouth until pleasure broke through him, fast and bright. The deep moan that answered him made his breath catch in a soft laugh. He stroked his hands through Taiga's hair as he lay, catching his breath, eyes closed. When Taiga gasped and shuddered between his legs, he made a contented sound, sliding his fingers down to rub over Taiga's nape gently, feeling his lover relax. Taiga finally turned his head to rest against Tetsuya's hip and Tetsuya murmured, "Come up here."

When they were settled again and Taiga was wrapped around him, quiet and smiling, Tetsuya asked, "Good?"

Taiga laughed, a soft huff of breath against his shoulder. "It's always good when you finally stop teasing me."

Tetsuya ran his fingers slowly through Taiga's hair. "Should I tease you less?" He already knew Taiga needed to be held and ruled more gently than Daiki.

"No," Taiga said softly. "I like it. I like it when you let yourself be a little silly and a little evil." He curled closer around Tetsuya. "I like how it isn't that different from how you hold me all the time."

"All the time," Tetsuya agreed, sure and quiet, pleased with the way Taiga relaxed. Some day Taiga would believe, all the way down, that Tetsuya would never deny him, would not open his hands and let go. Some day. For now, he just held his lover, his partner, closer, savoring the trust they already had.

It was enough.

End

Trust in the Palm of Your Hand

The story of how Kagami wound up willing to be submissive for Kuroko. D/s, Porn with Characterization, I-4

"So, I know how I got here," Aomine remarked thoughtfully, shifting a little against the bed. "But how did Tetsu talk you into this?"

Taiga grumbled against his bare shoulder. "You pick the weirdest times for long, meaningful talks."

Aomine flexed his arms a bit, where they were draped against the pillows over his head, emphasizing the soft cuffs around his wrists. "Got nothing better to do until Tetsu decides what he's going to do with me."

Tetsuya smiled a little and dropped a kiss on the soft skin of Aomine's inner arm, sending a faint shiver through him. "You're fine where you are."

"So, there you go." Aomine nudged Taiga with his hip. "What's the story?"

Taiga sighed and wrapped himself a little more snugly around Aomine's perfectly relaxed sprawl. "He didn't talk me into it. It... just kind of happened. I guess, really, it'd been happening pretty much since we met." After a moment's though, he smiled against Aomine's shoulder. "I think the first time I knew about it was after the Cup final last year. Tatsuya waited, after, to talk to me. And Tetsuya was waiting for me after that."

Taiga stopped short on the steps of the Metropolitan Gymnasium, startled. It was late. Almost everyone who'd come to watch the Winter Cup finals was gone, including the teams who'd played. But Kuroko was still sitting on the steps, bundled in his coat. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

Taiga opened his mouth and closed it again. When Kuroko sounded that matter-of-fact there was no getting anything else out of him. "Fine, come on, then." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward the subway station. Kuroko fell in quietly beside him. He didn't say another word except 'excuse me' until they were on the train.

"Is it all right?" he asked, at last, low enough that the neighboring passengers three seats down wouldn't hear.

"It's... yeah, it's... okay." Taiga still wasn't quite sure what to make of the things Tatsuya had said, the apology for being jealous, the scolding for ever holding back, the assurance they were friends. The insistence that he was not, now, and could not be any kind of role model or guide to Taiga. Taiga touched the ring he still wore, a tiny weight on its chain, remembering what might have been the line of a matching chain under the neck of Tatsuya's sweater. Or might not.

"I see." That was all Kuroko said, but when he shifted with the curve of the tracks, his arm pressed against Taiga's and stayed there.

It helped. It settled Taiga, to know Kuroko was there, made the part of him that still felt raw and strained relax a little. It was... comforting.

And that was the first time that Taiga thought, all the way up in the front of his head, that he might be thinking of his partner as more than just his partner. Well. They were friends, of course. They did... friend things. Ate lunch together, studied together. Walked home together. Went for dinner together. Stayed out late and slept at each other's houses. Called old friends up for loans of clothing...

Okay, maybe not just friend things, now he thought about it.

By the time they got to their own station, Taiga was wondering whether he was really a complete idiot, and whether he could excuse himself by Kuroko not having noticed either. Or had he? Taiga could read Kuroko's game like book, by now, but other things were still harder to figure out. He studied Kuroko sidelong as they climbed the stairs to the street, until Kuroko glanced over and raised his brows questioningly, apparently perfectly at ease and not concerned in the least by having possibly acquired a boyfriend without noticing. Taiga shook his head vigorously to dislodge that thought, which just made Kuroko look amused.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Taiga held out for almost a block before he finally gave in and added, "Hey. Do you... I mean, are we... Um."

Kuroko waited patiently.

Taiga raked a hand through his hair with an aggravated sound. Screw it. It wasn't like the two of them used words all that much in the first place. He stopped on the sidewalk, in the shadow between street lights and reached out to touch Kuroko's cheek. "Do you... ever think about this? For us?" he asked, low.

Kuroko's eyes widened a little, and for a long moment Taiga had a sinking feeling that he'd just embarrassed himself. But then Kuroko's lips turned up in a faint smile, and he lifted a hand to rest over Taiga's, turning his head just a little into the touch. "You've been thinking a lot, tonight."

Okay, so maybe Taiga had been the only completely oblivious one, fine, whatever. "I was just... thinking, yeah," he finished a bit lamely.

That tiny smile was laughing at him. "I like Kagami-kun, too."

Heat rushed to Taiga's face and he tugged his hand away again. "You just come out and say things like that!" he complained.

Kuroko held him for a second. "How else are people going to know, if you don't say?" He smiled a little wider when Taiga stilled, unable to argue with the justice of that one, and finally let him go.

They were quiet until they reached Taiga's turn-off, and then he hesitated, looking down at Kuroko. "So. Um."

Kuroko was laughing at him from behind that little smile again. "Come here, Kagami-kun." He reached up to thread his fingers into Taiga's hair, and Taiga, rather relieved, leaned down to a light kiss, just a brush of lips against each other. "Good night," Kuroko murmured.

"Yeah," Taiga answered, finding his voice just a bit husky. "See you tomorrow."

There was an extra bit of warmth wrapped around the raw places inside him, as he walked the rest of the way home.

It didn't take Taiga long to realize that that first kiss was part of a pattern. For someone whose strengths were strategy and timing, Kuroko was very aggressive. He was always the one who rested a hand on Taiga's shoulder while they were changing for practice; the one who was suddenly watching Taiga thoughtfully in the showers; the one who pulled Taiga down to increasingly thorough kisses when they met or parted by the park court at night. Even when he was completely wrapped up in Taiga's arms, head tipped back to meet his mouth, it was Kuroko who was setting their pace.

Eventually it got obvious enough for Taiga to say something, one night they'd stayed so late practicing that even the captain had given up and gone ahead, and told them to just turn off all the lights behind them. Kuroko came to him while Taiga was sitting on the bench to tie his shoes and stepped lightly between Taiga's knees, sliding his fingers into Taiga's hair to tip his head back for a kiss. The slow, soft force of it made Taiga's breath catch, and he looked up at Kuroko after, hands linked behind his legs. "You seem different, when we're like this."

Kuroko cocked his head, fingers still running through Taiga's hair. "I don't think it's that different," he said thoughtfully.

Taiga shook his head a little. "You're a lot more... well, I can't say more forceful." This being the same guy who had slugged Taiga one to get his head back in the game. "Just... you lead a lot more, like this. Well," honesty forced him to add, "a lot more openly anyway."

"Do you mind it?" Kuroko asked after a long, quiet moment, eyes steady on Taiga. Taiga blinked.

"I... don't exactly mind it, no. It was just kind of noticeable."

Kuroko sighed and leaned against him, arms sliding around Taiga's shoulders and resting there. "I think this is something I need," he said softly against Taiga's hair. "To lead, like you say."

Taiga was quiet himself for a moment, wondering. "Why?" he finally asked, resting his forehead against Kuroko's chest. "I mean... yeah, you're the one who leads already in a lot of ways. You're the one who kept me away from whatever the hell hole it was that Aomine fell down. You're the one who doesn't quit. But we've always been partners. Part of why I needed to be stronger was so you could rely on me, back."

"I've always relied on you," Kuroko said, very softly. "You're why I could stand on my own, and find my own game. But I'm still me; I play with people, not alone, it's what I do. That's why I need to know you trust me, even more like this than when we're on the court. I need to know you trust me completely."

Taiga went still at that. "Completely?" he echoed, cautiously. Kuroko laughed a little against his hair, fingers stroking through it again.

"Completely," he agreed. "You're my partner. You trust me. I trust you. That's how we play the way we do, and I love that, but this is more personal." There was still that touch of rueful amusement hovering in his voice. "For one thing, there aren't any other teammates or opponents; just us. So it's more intense. Can you trust me that much, Kagami-kun?" He pulled away from Taiga gently, until only his hands were still resting on Taiga's shoulders. "Or should we just stay partners?"

The jolt of protest in Taiga's gut answered part of that question for him right away, but he still hesitated. He knew Kuroko pretty well, at least he'd thought he did, but there were ways 'complete trust' could go in a personal relationship that he really wasn't into. "What do you want me to trust you to do?"

Kuroko's hands were back in his hair, gentle and soothing. "Nothing that would hurt you. Nothing you don't want. Just... to lead you."

Taiga looked up at him, leaning into Kuroko's hands without even thinking, but still hesitating. The last person he had trusted to lead him... He touched the chain around his neck and took a breath. "Let me take it slow," he said quietly, meeting Kuroko's eyes. "The last time I trusted someone like that... didn't end real well."

A spark of rare anger lit in Kuroko's eyes and he stepped close again, arms closing around Taiga's shoulders. "I'm not Himuro-san. We're partners. Whether you can do this or not, that won't change." His hands drew Taiga's head back and Kuroko kissed him again, deep and possessive. It made something hot flare down Taiga's veins, feeling the fierceness in Kuroko's mouth on his, in the arms wrapped around him, supporting him. When Kuroko finally drew back, he said, softly, "Go as slowly as you need."

The perfectly earnest words, set against that fierce kiss, made Taiga laugh, wrap his arms tight around Kuroko and laugh himself breathless. "Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, let's try it."

The pleasure lighting up Kuroko's face, when Taiga looked up, made the warmth in Taiga's chest settle in deeper.

There was, Taiga learned, a particular way Kuroko touched him, when he wanted to have control. It was slower, more deliberate than their casual touches, a flex of fingers that let Taiga feel some of Kuroko's strength of grip. Never bruising, but very... definite. When Kuroko touched him like that, hand sliding down Taiga's neck or up his arm, he wanted Taiga to give way to him, to let himself be directed. Taiga found he didn't mind.

Actually, it was pretty damn hot.

Which was why he was currently stretched out naked across his bed with Kuroko kneeling between his legs, watching him intently while he fondled Taiga's cock until Taiga was panting for breath, hands clenched in the pillows over his head.

He was harder than he thought he'd ever been in his life.

It wasn't just Kuroko's hand on his cock. It also wasn't just that he was spread out wide for Kuroko to handle. It was the way Kuroko was watching him, so closely, so carefully. Every time some particular stroke of his fingers drove a gasp out of Taiga, he noticed and did it again. Every time Taiga's body started to pull taut, Kuroko's grip softened, easing him back down a little. Kuroko was paying attention to him the way Taiga had only ever felt in the middle of an especially intense game, when Kuroko's awareness of the team, and of Taiga in particular, started to seem like magic. The attention felt like being fondled inside. Kuroko ran his thumb up the underside of Taiga's cock, slow and firm, and Taiga bucked up, gasping.

"Kuroko!"

His partner smiled faintly. "Under the circumstances," he rubbed his thumb gently over Taiga's head, illustrative, "I think you can call me by my given name."

"I..." Taiga wasn't a formal kind of guy, not nearly as much as Kuroko, who was still calling him 'Kagami-kun' for god's sake. But he hadn't wanted to use Kuroko's name. It was too close to Tatsuya's name, and wouldn't that feel weird? Kuroko's other hand slid up his thigh to fondle his balls gently, and Taiga shuddered, hands clenching tighter in his pillow as the name was nearly pulled out of him. "Tetsuya!"

And it wasn't weird. He wasn't thinking of Himuro, of anything at all that wasn't his partner's eyes and hands on him, sure and intent and melting his brain out his ears. His partner, smiling and pleased and scraping the edge of his nail very delicately behind Taiga's balls. "Fuck, Tetsuya!" Taiga came undone all at once, bucking wildly against the bed while heat wrung him like a rag, over and over. Tetsuya's hands stroked him firmly through it, until Taiga dropped back against the twisted up sheets, panting and dazed.

Tetsuya leaned over him and kissed his forehead softly. "Taiga." The simple sound of his name sent another shudder through Taiga. It sounded intimate. It sounded like Tetsuya laying a claim on him.

"How the hell do you do that?" he asked, husky, finally unclenching one hand to reach up and run it through Tetsuya's soft, rumpled hair. "It's like you put a mark on me just by looking at me, when we're in bed. It almost feels like we're on the court, only..." he snorted with some amusement, waving a hand at their current naked, sweaty, sticky condition, "different."

Tetsuya settled on one elbow beside him, resting a hand on his chest. "It's similar, I suppose," he agreed quietly. "I... reach out to know who I'm playing with and against. To find you, especially. I suppose it's a mental trick a little like Izuki-senpai's, but for me it's all about who's paying attention to who, who's looking where, where each player's body says they're going to turn next. So I can move behind or around the thing they'll be looking at." He was silent for a long, thoughtful moment, stroking Taiga's chest slowly. "It's a mental trick, but... how you respond matters too. If know you trust me, if you reach back to me, it's easier to find you. Easier to keep holding you as the game moves. And you're easier to hold than anyone else. I like that." He leaned down and kissed Taiga, slow and deep and so rawly possessive Taiga's breath caught in his chest. "I want to hold you this way, too."

"Tetsuya..." Taiga reached up and wound his arms around Tetsuya, pulling him down and wrapping himself around his partner. Tetsuya let him, relaxed against him in a way that made Taiga have to swallow hard. It wasn't one-sided trust he was giving Tetsuya. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "I trust you," he said softly. "Completely. Whatever you want to do."

And if that thought made heat tingle along his nerves again... well, that was nobody's business but his. And Tetsuya's.

The pleased sound Tetsuya made put a little curl of anticipation down Taiga's spine, and he smiled up at the ceiling.

Sometimes, Taiga wondered exactly how he'd gotten himself into his current situation. And then, sometimes, he remembered it was Tetsuya and didn't actually have to wonder.

"So what is this idea you said you had?" he asked Tetsuya, wrapping his arms comfortably around him as Tetsuya slid down to straddle his lap on Taiga's tiny couch, forearms resting over Taiga's shoulders. "And, incidentally, that was a really evil thing to say to me right before practice."

Tetsuya's smile was tiny and secretive. "Was it?" The smile widened when Taiga growled, and he slid his fingers into Taiga's hair, pulling his head back so Tetsuya could nip delicately down his throat. Between quick, soft bites, he explained, "I want to tease you for a while, tonight."

Eyes half closed, breath hitching with each sharp little nip, Taiga managed, "Tease me how?" He shivered as Tetsuya's tongue stroked up the line of bites, wondering if there were going to be marks there later. Tetsuya had only marked him once before, but it had been very distracting having the whole team stare at his neck during practice. Distracting and arousing, to know he was walking around with the mark of Tetsuya's mouth on his skin, which might have been the point. That had been the day Tetsuya had jerked him off in the shower, eyes heavy and hot on him as they listened to the rest of the team's horseplay over drying off, just across the hall. Taiga shivered, remembering, and tipped his head back further.

Tetsuya drew back and ran his hands down Taiga's neck and over his chest, slow and firm. "I want you to watch me. And not do anything else, until I say you can."

Taiga's face turned rather hot. "Watch you?"

That tiny planning-something smile flickered over Tetsuya's face again. "Yes."

Tetsuya obviously had something in mind, which... actually did more to convince Taiga than anything else. Tetsuya was the strategist, after all. He laced his fingers with Tetsuya's. "Okay."

Tetsuya looked pleased and pushed up off the couch, tugging Taiga with him toward the bedroom. "Come here, then."

It was a little weird, Taiga thought as he followed along, how much this felt like their partnership on the court. On the face of it, the two were totally different. On the court, they both made their own choices, for all they watched each other and worked together. Here, he gave the choices to Tetsuya, let Tetsuya's word be the one that moved him or held him still. And yet... maybe Tetsuya was right, and it really all came down to trust, for the two of them. He trusted Tetsuya to play his own strengths, on the court, and to choose well for the team. Here, undressing at Tetsuya's soft prompting, lying back against the head of his bed as Tetsuya's hands urged him down, here he trusted Tetsuya to be with him all the way, and to choose well for the two of them. He trusted Tetsuya to hold him, even closer than he did on the court, and the feeling of being held like this was hot and secure. And that was something he wanted.

He watched as Tetsuya undressed and folded his clothes neatly on Taiga's desk. It was easy to overlook, on a high-powered sports team, but Tetsuya was solidly built. Compact, yes, but leanly muscled, and those muscles sharply defined. The flex of them as Tetsuya slid up onto the bed and knelt there, facing Taiga, held his gaze.

And then Tetsuya reached down and wrapped a hand around his own cock, and Taiga had to swallow. He hadn't really thought it would do much for him, just to watch, but... the slow, deliberate stroke of Tetsuya's fingers up and down his cock, coaxing himself harder, made him think about that hand on him.

Tetsuya smiled and closed his eyes. "Taiga," he said softly. He slid a thumb up to circle over his head, and his breath pulled in, and he tipped his head back a little. "Taiga..."

A husky sound caught in Taiga's own throat. Tetsuya sounded... he sounded like it was Taiga who was touching him. When Tetsuya moaned, faint and breathless, it sent something hot through Taiga's chest and down into his guts. He didn't think he could have looked away from Tetsuya's hand working over himself, from the way Tetsuya spread his knees wider against the bed, if he'd tried. Without thinking, he started to press one hand between his own legs.

"I didn't say you could move." The words caught Taiga like a hand on his wrist, and he swallowed and curled his fingers in the rumpled sheets under him. Tetsuya smiled, slow and clear, head still tipped back. "That's good."

Taiga was breathing faster himself, now, flushed from watching the way Tetsuya touched himself, listening to the sounds he made, all the while pinned down by Tetsuya's order to stay still. The stillness made the rest of it twice as hot.

There was something wicked at the corners of Tetsuya's smile, now, and he rocked forward to take Taiga's little bottle of lube from where it lived tucked against the blinds on the window ledge above his bed. Taiga was prepared for Tetsuya to squeeze some into his palm, for the sheen of it as Tetsuya stroked a hand down his cock. What shocked him, and sent a jolt of blinding heat through him, was seeing Tetsuya turn one shoulder to him, seeing him slide slick fingers down behind himself to press between his cheeks. "Tetsuya," he gasped, hoarse.

"Mmm. Taiga." Tetsuya's wrist flexed, pushing a finger into himself, and a flush climbed up his throat. He drew a slow breath, fingers sliding back and forth over his cock, and murmured, "Be still."

Taiga thought he could almost feel the grip of Tetsuya's will on him, like another hand, and he shivered under it. When Tetsuya pressed another finger into himself, a little moan tugged free from Taiga. "Tetsuya..."

"Shhh." Tetsuya's voice was gentle, even as his body pulled taut between his own hands. "Watch, Taiga. Think about it being your hands, here."

He pressed in another finger, slow and careful, and Taiga swallowed hard. His cock was standing hard and flushed against his stomach, now, and his clenched fingers were about to put holes through his sheets. "Tetsuya... please." Just saying it put another shiver through him. He'd never begged for anything in bed, never been pushed far enough that he wanted to. He hadn't expected how hot it would be to beg Tetsuya, and trust that Tetsuya would allow what he needed.

Tetsuya finally looked over at him, eyes bright and hot. "Yes. I think we're both ready." He drew his hands back slowly, a husky little sound catching his his throat as he slid his fingers free, and Taiga nearly moaned.

"God, yes Tetsuya, please..." He reached out as Tetsuya slid up the bed to him, and relief made him dizzy when Tetsuya let him, let Taiga gather him close and hold him tight. When Tetsuya's fingers wrapped around his cock, still slick, and slid down him, Taiga shuddered. When Tetsuya shifted up on his knees and pressed Taiga's cock against his ass, slowly sinking down onto him, Taiga couldn't do anything but cling to Tetsuya's hips and pant for breath. Leaning back against the headboard like this, with Tetsuya's weight over him, he couldn't push up much; how fast or slow that brain-melting tightness closed around him was up to Tetsuya.

He almost came just from realizing that.

Tetsuya was panting against his shoulder as he settled all the way down, and when he said Taiga's name the breathless note in his voice made Taiga close his eyes. He wanted so many things. He wanted to let go and just feel Tetsuya ride him. He wanted to wrap himself around Tetsuya and fuck him. He wanted to hear more breathless sounds like that, because he was inside Tetsuya. "Tetsuya," he managed, low, "some time... let me do this. Please."

Tetsuya leaned in, making Taiga gasp with the shift of muscles around him, and kissed him soft and open. "Some time, yes," he promised, and there was a glint in his eyes. "But not tonight."

Taiga moaned out loud with that combined promise and denial as Tetsuya rocked up and back down, and he gave himself up to whatever Tetsuya chose for them. "Yes."

"Mmm. Yes." Tetsuya smiled and did it again, slower, more deliberate, grinding down onto Taiga. Pleasure climbed up Taiga's spine, twist after twist of it as Tetsuya moved over him, hands braced on Taiga's shoulders. Half of it was the pure rush of sensation every time Tetsuya's body shifted, but half of it was something else completely. Something that wrung out parts of him that weren't his body, left him warm and shakingâ€”the knowledge that Tetsuya wanted him this much, this way.

When it all spilled over, he just let it, let Tetsuya have him however Tetsuya wanted him.

Tetsuya gasped as Taiga bucked up under him, one hand sliding down to wrap around his cock again. And just when the rush of heat was easing, his body tightened hard around Taiga and raked another wave of pleasure through him.

They leaned against each other for a while, after. "Thank you," Tetsuya finally said, straightening up a little to look down at Taiga, touching his cheek lightly. Taiga caught his hand and turned to press his mouth to Tetsuya's fingers.

"What for? Isn't this what I agreed to?" To let Tetsuya lead him when they were together like this.

Tetsuya smiled softly. "Yes." He traced Taiga's lips with his fingertips. "That's why I'm saying thank you."

Taiga looked aside and finally said, low, "It's what I want, too."

Tetsuya's kiss caught him by surprise, hot and sudden and ruthless enough to make him gasp for breath. "Then even more," Tetsuya murmured. "Thank you."

"Yeah. Okay," Taiga whispered back and they stayed where they were for a while longer, wrapped around each other quietly.

Most of life went on the way it always had. There were classes, which were still half incomprehensible but only half, which was an improvement; there was practice, which was satisfyingly grueling; there was shopping for groceries and cooking for himself, and increasingly cooking enough that he'd still get a full meal when his senpai begged or snitched bits of his dinner; there was fielding occasional visits from Aomine, when he got too fed up with his new captain's hovering watchfulness and skipped to visit Seirin, just to show he could.

But now there was also this. There was lying on Tetsuya's bed, draped over a pile of pillows that raised his hips high enough in the air to make him blush, feeling Tetsuya's hands kneading slowly down his back and over his ass. "Tetsuya..."

"Shh." Tetsuya's thumbs spread his cheeks open slow and firm, wide enough to make him gasp for lost breath at how exposed he felt. "It's all right."

Just the fact that Tetsuya was telling him, not asking, put a complex little shiver down his spine. It felt good, good to relax and trust that Tetsuya had things in hand; but there was always that adrenaline-edge of letting someone else say what would happen. Especially when what was happening was Tetsuya's fingers rubbing against him, slick with lube, making slow, hard circles against the muscles of his ass until he felt warm and relaxed back there.

"That's better," Tetsuya said softly, dropping a kiss at the small of his back. "I'll make sure it doesn't hurt, Taiga. That's why I wanted to go first, after all."

And there it was, the care that Tetsuya took that undid him every time. Taiga closed his eyes and took a slow breath as Tetsuya's fingers pressed into him. It felt goodâ€”completely unfamiliar, but every bit like Tetsuya touching him always felt, slow and intimate and sure. "Tetsuya..." He could hear how husky his own voice was.

"Be still," Tetsuya told him, gentle and firm. "Just feel." He slid his other hand down Taiga's back, kneading those muscles loose too as he worked his fingers in and out of Taiga's ass until he was panting, breath catching every time the press of Tetsuya's knuckles stretched him a little more open. That was what he felt most, right now, spread ass-up over Tetsuya's pillows with his muscles going laxâ€”so very open for Tetsuya. Open, and sure he'd be taken care of.

His own protective streak nagged at him, sometimes, to take care of Tetsuya instead. But... he did a lot of that. It was good to turn it around, to have someone else do it for him. And Tetsuya had been doing it from the first match they played in together. Tetsuya was good at it.

He trusted himself in Tetsuya's hands.

Those hands shifted on him, strong fingers twisting slowly inside him, and Taiga's thoughts unraveled again in the wash of sensation down his nerves. Tetsuya's fingertips rubbed slowly inside him, and he moaned with the surge of pleasure that answered.

"Mm. That sounds good," Tetsuya murmured to him, free hand stroking Taiga's ass.

"Tetsuya..." A shudder stroked down Taiga's spine as Tetsuya's fingers slid free.

"Be still, Taiga," Tetsuya said again, low and soothing. His hands closed on Taiga's hips, and there was a blunt pressure against Taiga's entrance that made him hot with anticipation.

"Yes, Tetsuya," he said, husky, lying still and lax in Tetsuya's hands, waiting. Tetsuya pushed harder against him and Taiga's hands closed on the sheets, tight with the breathless pressure of Tetsuya's cock pushing slowly, slowly into him. He gasped at the sudden easing and the slide of Tetsuya inside him, thick and hard, holding him stretched open. "God..."

Tetsuya's voice was breathless, too, as he leaned against Taiga, holding still. "Relax, Taiga; relax for me."

"I..." Taiga's breath shuddered in his chest. "I... yes..." He let the sheets go and let his breath go and nearly moaned with how it felt as his body eased more around the hardness of Tetsuya's cock. "Fuck..."

A soft, husky laugh answered him. "Yes. But slowly."

Taiga moaned openly as Tetsuya slid a little back and in again, a little further, and in again, slow and easy. The sensation stroked down his nerves, soft and intense. "Yes, Tetsuya," he whispered. Slow was just fine, yeah.

He'd always had a good opinion of Tetsuya's control, but it was getting better now as Tetsuya fucked him slow and sure. Tetsuya's hands worked gently over Taiga's back, easing him into the pleasure that was rising through him like a tide coming in. He trusted that control now, like he'd trusted it for almost a year, and let Tetsuya's hands guide him. He moaned against the sheets with the heat of Tetsuya's cock working in and out of him—did as Tetsuya said and just felt the heat curling tighter and tighter inside him. When Tetsuya's hand slid under his hip to wrap around his cock and stroke him firmly, he gasped and bucked, taken by surprise by the fresh twist of pleasure. "Tetsuya!"

Tetsuya's fingers tightened, and there was a smile in his voice. "Just feel, Taiga."

He couldn't do anything else, spread out like this with no leverage, and he shuddered as Tetsuya shifted over him, fucking him harder, hand working around him slow and demanding. It was so good, Tetsuya had made it so good for him, and he surrendered to Tetsuya's control, moaning as Tetsuya drove him higher and higher, and finally drove him right over the edge. Pleasure raked down his nerves and wrung him out around the hardness of Tetsuya's cock. The way Tetsuya gasped and pushed deeper sent an extra shudder through him.

When he finally came back down, muscles limp, throat dry from panting for breath, Tetsuya was leaning against him. His hands stroked over Taiga's back and shoulders gently, carefully, and a soft sound caught in Taiga's throat. This. This was why he gave himself to Tetsuya, gave Tetsuya controlâ€”so that he could feel this care. So he could do nothing but feel it, just like Tetsuya said.

He'd believed for a long time that his partner knew what he needed, after all.

So he lay quiet and let Tetsuya clean them up, let Tetsuya ease him down to the bed and wrapped his arms around Tetsuya, and bent his head under the gentle slide of Tetsuya's fingers through his hair.

He trusted Tetsuya's choices.

Taiga knew perfectly well why Aomine had started descending on Seirin after practice was officially over. He wasn't actually complaining, either; he loved the fast, wild matches they played, one-on-one with each other. That did not, of course, stop him from calling Aomine a needy bastard or asking whether Touou was boring him, just like it didn't stop Aomine from calling him a one-trick jumping idiot. That was just the kind of relationship they had.

Besides, it made Tetsuya look like he wanted to laugh at them.

Aomine waved casually over his shoulder as he turned toward the station, and Taiga stood with Tetsuya for a minute, watching him go. At least, Tetsuya watched him go, and Taiga watched Tetsuya, and the wistful look in his partner's eyes. "You guys okay, these days?" he finally asked, quietly.

Tetsuya turned back, beside him, and started on their way home. "Better than we have been in a long time."

That wasn't exactly a yes, but Taiga knew things were a little complicated between Tetsuya and his old partner.

"He's better, now he has people he has to work against," Tetsuya added, eyes distant under the slow shift of the streetlights as they walked. "You. Kise-kun. I always knew that was important to him, to have someone to push him. Sometimes I wonder..."

"What?" Taiga asked, as the silence drew out.

Tetsuya still hesitated. "I'll tell you later," he finally said.

"Sure," Taiga agreed easily, making a mental note to ask, if 'later' took too long. Sometimes, Tetsuya got a little too quiet about things that bugged him. "Oh, hey, food." The lights of the convenience store down from the park called to him, reminding him that he hadn't had his evening snack yet.

Tetsuya's eyes were laughing again as he followed along, and Taiga nodded to himself with satisfaction. Whatever Tetsuya was thinking about, whatever 'later' involved, it didn't look like it could be too serious.

'Later' arrived the next evening, just when Taiga was considering bringing it up again. They'd ended up at Tetsuya's house after practice, ears still ringing with the coach's orders to study for the year end exams. Taiga studied infuriatingly complex kanji for as long as he could stand before he gave up and stalked downstairs to get them both drinks just so he could move something besides his pencil. When he got back, Tetsuya smiled at him from where he sat on the edge of his bed, and held out his hands. "Leave those for a second and come here, Taiga."

Taiga set the two cans on the desk and came to him, curious. Tetsuya never called him by his given name unless they were both alone and intimate. He hadn't expected that so soon, tonight. Tetsuya caught his hands and tugged Taiga down until he was kneeling between Tetsuya's legs, close enough to wrap his arms around Tetsuya. Which, of course, he did. "What is it?"

"What I was thinking about, yesterday..." Tetsuya ran his fingers slowly through Taiga's hair, eyes searching his face. "I was wondering whether I should have held Aomine-kun tighter; whether that would have been what he needed." His hand drifted down to touch Taiga's cheek. "You make him feel normal again. I was wondering what I might be able to do for him, now."

"It's already you who did that." Taiga looked down, trying to put what he saw between them into words. "You're the one who knew what he needed, along with what you needed, and didn't stop until you got it." A corner of his mouth curled up. "Or after."

"And you were the one who believed I could," Tetsuya said softly, arms sliding around Taiga's shoulders. "It all connects."

True enough, but weren't they getting off topic? They'd started with Tetsuya saying he'd been thinking about holding Aomine tighter. Like he held Taiga now, Taiga supposed. And then he went very still, staring past Tetsuya's shoulder as those thoughts settled together.

All connected.

"You want to hold him, too," he said, low. "Like this. Hold him like this now."

Tetsuya gathered him closer. "Not if it will upset you," he said firmly. "Not if you don't want him to be with us like this."

With us. All connected. And Tetsuya had said Taiga was the one who made Aomine feel normal. Slowly, Taiga leaned against Tetsuya, wrapping himself tighter around him. "You really think it could work?" he asked against Tetsuya's shoulder. "Aomine's pretty possessive of you whenever he gets the chance." Of course, all the damn Miracle-types were possessive of Tetsuya, but Aomine was the one who still showed it, even after getting his ass kicked by Seirin.

Tetsuya's hand slid gently up his back and closed hard on his nape, holding him in a grip like steel. "Possessing me isn't a choice I would give him."

Taiga made a breathless sound, head bent against Tetsuya's shoulder, reminded of exactly what kind of relationship they were talking about and very hard from the reminder. "Yeah... okay." He'd been thinking something else, too, before Tetsuya turned his brain to mush... ah, right. "You think Aomine will want this that much?"

Tetsuya's hold gentled, stroking Taiga's nape until he shivered, head still bowed. "Aomine-kun always kept going until someone stopped him. Sometimes that person was Momoi-san, but the longer we worked as partners the more it was me. When he said we didn't agree on anything but basketball, it was because he always pushed until I told him to stop. And then he did, at least until he lost faith in the game and I couldn't make him stay serious. Or, at least, I didn't. I think I just didn't go as far as he needed me to, to make him."

Taiga thought about the kind of partner Tetsuya had been to him, right from the start. Demanding and fearless and very strict about Taiga's attitude toward their team and the game. He remembered Tetsuya clotheslining him repeatedly, with a perfectly immoveable look each time that said he refused to let his partner screw himself up. And he laughed against Tetsuya's neck. "I don't think that will be a problem any more."

He could feel how Tetsuya's lips were curved when Tetsuya dropped a kiss under his ear. "I don't think so either."

Taiga was quiet for a moment, thinking about Aomine, his most annoying and brilliant rival, his partner's ex-partner, the one whose edge made his fists itch sometimes. The one who always came back to him, as well as to Tetsuya. "Yeah," he finally said, quietly. "Yeah, let's try."

The way Tetsuya's arms tightened around him made him smile and hold Tetsuya closer.

"...and that got us here." Taiga paused and poked Aomine lightly in the ribs. "And why do you want to know so much, anyway?"

Aomine squirmed away until Tetsuya, laughing, rested more weight over him. "Hey, you were right here for it when Tetsu caught me, and you got to see the whole thing. Fair is fair."

Taiga thought about the things Tetsuya had said to him, about Aomine, and snorted. "I think Tetsuya caught you a long time before that. He just didn't make you know it until now."

Aomine stilled at that, eyes turning dark and heated as he looked up at Tetsuya. "Yeah, I guess he did."

Tetsuya stroked Aomine's hair back, smiling faintly. "I didn't realize myself until you," he told Taiga. "But... yes. Maybe so." He looked down at Aomine, fingers tracing down his jaw as Tetsuya tipped Aomine's head back and nipped lightly at his throat. "Maybe things would have been different, if I'd known sooner."

"Some things," Aomine said, soft and husky with the arch of his neck. "But some I think we'd still have needed Tai for."

Taiga found himself caught between sputtering over the nickname and turning red over Aomine, of all people, actually admitting that. And then he found himself just plain caught by the brightness in Tetsuya's eyes as he reached over to touch Taiga's cheek.

"Yes," Tetsuya agreed, eyes holding Taiga's. "We would."

Taiga gave way to that perfect assurance and turned his head into Tetsuya's hand, pressing his mouth to Tetsuya's palm. "Guess things turned out pretty well, then," he said, glancing down at Aomine'sâ€”at Daiki'sâ€”smirk, and watching how the edge of it softened.

"So there's that taken care of," Daiki murmured, slanting a sidelong look at Tetsuya, deliberately provoking. "Now. Thought of anything interesting to do with me, yet?"

Tetsuya had the gleam in his eye that always made Taiga look for something to hold on to. "Maybe I have." He stroked a hand up Daiki's arm to finger the cuffs, and slowly, deliberately, unsnapped them. Daiki's brows rose. "Taiga," Tetsuya said, quiet and firm, not looking away from Daiki, "hold Daiki down for me."

Taiga nearly moaned with a completely unexpected rush of heat, and he could see the way Daiki flushed, eyes widening. "Yes, Tetsuya." He could feel the tension in Daiki's arms as Taiga ran his hands up to grip his wrists and pin him down, the way Daiki never let himself be pinned on the court, the way Tetsuya demanded he submit to now. Daiki's eyes were already a little glazed.

"Kagami," Daiki breathed. "Tai..."

Taiga smiled wryly, a little breathless himself. "Only what Tetsuya allows, right?"

"Fuck," Daiki moaned as Tetsuya held his hips against the bed and leaned down to lap at his cock, light and teasing. "Yes."

Taiga leaned on Daiki's arms, holding him for Tetsuya to drive half out of his mind, and thought that he'd never been more right than he had been when he gave Tetsuya his trust. Tetsuya had seen how they fit together, how they could all have a place with each other, and Taiga didn't think this was a place he would outgrow. So maybe this was someplace he could stay.

When he leaned down and kissed Daiki, soft and questioning, Daiki kissed back.

End

A Good, Free, and Unconstrained Will

Kuroko wants a tangible marker of his committment to Kagami and Aomine, and of how they belong to him, and that's when other people start noticing what's going on. D/s, Romance, Porn, Drama, I-4

Cause

It was Daiki who mentioned it first, stroking his thumb along the line of Taiga's collarbone one afternoon when they were all tangled together in Tetsuya's bed, still a little sticky but catching their breaths again.

"You've stopped wearing that necklace all the time."

"Mm." Taiga shrugged a little, trying not to shove anyone off the bed, or scrape his shoulder blades against the wall, or show how the observation made him twitch. "I still have it. Just seemed like it was maybe time to take it off and put it away."

Tetsuya turned, where he was lying between them, unfairly graceful and not elbowing anyone in the stomach. Taiga concentrated on that, and not the question in Tetsuya's eyes. "Did something else happen between you and Himuro-san?" Tetsuya asked quietly.

Taiga sighed, giving in; he obviously wasn't getting out of this conversation, especially since he was the one up against the wall and couldn't make easy excuses to get up. "Nothing new," he said, low. "Just, the more I thought about it, the more I realized Tatsuya was right. He's not my nii-san any more."

"Yousen's Himuro Tatsuya?" Aomine asked, sliding a hand up to drape over Taiga's hip, casual in contrast to the way he was watching Taiga.

"I knew him back in the States. He was the one who got me into basketball." Taiga snorted at the way Daiki perked up. "The rings... it was a little kid's pledge, I guess; he didn't... he's not..." He sighed and turned his head into the curve of Tetsuya's shoulder, frustration bubbling up fresh. "I can understand if he doesn't want to claim something he doesn't feel like he can hold up his end of. But basketball wasn't the reason he was my big brother! It didn't have to be the only thing between us!"

Tetsuya's fingers threaded through his hair, holding him closer. "He took care of you." Taiga nodded silently. Yes, Tetsuya understood that.

"And now that you're a better player than he is," Daiki said slowly, thumb rubbing over Taiga's hip, "he doesn't think he can any more. What a moron," he added, thoughtful.

Taiga snorted a pained laugh against Tetsuya's shoulder. Yeah, Daiki, with his passion for people who didn't give up, wouldn't think much of Tatsuya's choices. "I'm not mad at him. Not really. It... doesn't change how he did take care of me, back then. It's just different now." If Tatsuya wouldn't see that he could still be Taiga's nii-san, no matter who won on the court, then it was time to put the ring away with the rest of his memories.

"Hmm." Tetsuya's fingers rubbed slowly over his bare nape. "Taiga. If you've taken off that necklace, would you let me replace it?" he said at last.

Taiga lifted his head and blinked down at Tetsuya. "Replace it?"

Tetsuya smiled and squirmed out from between them, sliding off the foot of the bed. "Here." He padded across the room and took a small box out of his desk drawer, sliding back up onto the bed as he opened it. He laid the open box between Taiga and Daiki and sat back on his heels, watching them.

There were two slim, dark necklaces in the box, just a little longer than choker length, much shorter than the chain Taiga had kept his ring on. He fished one out, curious, and ran it through his fingers; it was finished leather cord, soft under his fingertips. He glanced up at Tetsuya. "You want to..."

Wait.

This couldn't be a simple pledge among the three of them, like the rings. There were only two necklaces, not three. And Tetsuya had set them very precisely in between Taiga and Daiki. Taiga could feel his face turning hot at the implication, and his voice was a little more strangled when he corrected himself. "You want us to wear...?"

Tetsuya was watching them quietly, not demanding anything, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Taiga hot in a different way.

Daiki lifted the second necklace, running it through his fingers and glancing back and forth between them. "You want the two of us to wear these?" he asked, toying with the slim cord. "For you?" When Tetsuya nodded, Daiki gave Taiga a thoughtful look and smiled slowly. "I will if you will."

Taiga glared. That was playing dirty.

The corners of Tetsuya's mouth were curled up in a silent laugh as he leaned forward and laid a hand on each of their wrists. "Only if you want to," he said firmly. And then his fingers stroked the back of Taiga's hand gently. "But I would like very much to be able to replace that necklace, for you."

To replace the necklace. To replace what it meant. To take care of him. Taiga felt the curl of warmth through his chest that was becoming very familiar; it happened whenever Tetsuya made it clear how close he held them. And Tetsuya would never, ever give up his hold on someone just because they were stronger. Taiga had a year and more worth of proof of that.

"Yeah," he said, a little husky. "Yeah, I'd like that too."

"Good," Tetsuya said softly, and lifted the necklace out of his hand. "Lift your chin."

Taiga had to swallow against a sudden flutter of response low in his stomach as Tetsuya slid up the bed to straddle him, leaning in as he wrapped the slim cord around Taiga's neck. The tiny snick of the clasp fastening, more felt than heard, sent a spike of heat right down Taiga's spine. The delicate stroke of Tetsuya's fingers over the cool line of leather made him shudder. "Tetsuya..." God, was he ever going to get used to the way it made him feel, when Tetsuya took control?

Daiki laughed beside him, husky. "Hey, no getting ahead of yourself. It's my turn."

Taiga opened half closed eyes to see Daiki hand Tetsuya the other length of cord, smiling. He turned over, bending his head down against Taiga's shoulder, offering Tetsuya his bared nape, and Taiga wound an arm around him more or less by reflex. Daiki looked so vulnerable like this.

"Yes, it's your turn," Tetsuya agreed, voice gentle, and passed the soft leather carefully around Daiki's throat and closed the catch firmly. Taiga felt a little shiver run through Daiki. He thought Tetsuya did, too, because he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Daiki's nape, just over the clasp. Daiki practically purred, relaxing against Taiga, and Tetsuya leaned against them looking satisfied.

A thought nudged at Taiga, one that made his face heat a little once again, but he wasn't going to lie to himself. He knew perfectly well what they were doing, what it meant that Tetsuya had put this on him rather than let him do it himself. It wasn't like he objected, but that kind of meant he should ask Tetsuya about taking it off, too, right?

"I don't think we should wear these on the court," he said, touching the necklace. "They aren't very heavy; they could get broken too easily."

Tetsuya smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Of course. I want you to be sensible about them. Whatever you think is necessary."

Taiga turned into that touch, mouth tilted ruefully as he acknowledged how it relaxed him to have Tetsuya's agreement on that. His permission. Daiki stirred against his shoulder, looking up.

"I think I might be a little not-sensible." Daiki's eyes were dark, on Tetsuya, and Tetsuya's smile turned darker as he met them.

"That's fine too," he said softly, reaching out to hook a finger under the thin cord and pull it taut. "I'll put one of these back around your neck as many times as it takes."

The sound Daiki made, husky and wanting, sent Taiga's blood rushing to his cock. Tetsuya, still straddling him, laughed. "Come here, Daiki. Take care of Taiga for me." He slid to the side, nudging Taiga into the middle of the bed, and pulled Daiki down by his necklaceâ€”his collarâ€”until he was kneeling between Taiga's legs, bent over to nuzzle against Taiga's cock. "Yes. Like that."

Taiga slid his hands down Daiki's arms and over his shoulders, hands working against the sleek muscle there as Daiki licked his cock teasingly. "Daiki..." He loved the way Tetsuya drew them to each other, and it never stopped getting him hot, watching Daiki submit to Tetsuya, but Daiki could be a little disconcerting in bed. He teased even more than Tetsuya. Daiki glanced up at him, smirking a little but gently, and wound his arms around Taiga's hips, long fingers spreading against his back.

"Shut up and enjoy it, Tai," he murmured, and closed his mouth around Taiga, hot and slick and sure. Pleasure tightened on Taiga like a knot closing, and he gasped, trying not to rock up too hard while Daiki's tongue stroked over him enticingly.

And then Daiki gasped around him, abruptly flushed, hands tightening on Taiga's back. Taiga looked up and realized Tetsuya had settled behind Daiki, hands kneading over his raised ass. Tetsuya smiled just a little as he spread Daiki's cheeks wide and rubbed slow fingers over his entrance. Tetsuya had not, Taiga realized, flushing a bit himself, reached for the lube yet. He knew Daiki liked Tetsuya to be rougher with him than he ever was with Taiga, but was Tetsuya really...? Tetsuya pushed a finger in, and the way Daiki moaned around Taiga sent a shudder of pleasure right up his spine.

"Tetsu," Daiki gasped, head tipping back as he arched on his knees to push his ass up higher.

Tetsuya smiled slowly. "I told you to take care of Taiga," he reminded Daiki, working his finger in and out of Daiki's ass with short little thrusts. Taiga could watch it, from where he lay, and see how Daiki's eyes went darker at the quiet command in Tetsuya's voice.

"Yes, Tetsu," he murmured, and lowered his head again, wrapping his lips around Taiga's cock and lapping at him quick and firm, just like the movement of Tetsuya's hand. When Tetsuya pushed two dry fingers into him, Daiki shuddered and sucked on Taiga like he could coax Tetsuya's fingers deeper that way. It felt incredible, like Taiga was part of what Tetsuya was doing to their lover, and maybe that was why he whispered, "Tetsuya, please..."

Tetsuya looked up, holding Taiga's eyes as he twisted his fingers deep in Daiki's ass. "You think I should give him more?"

Taiga shuddered softly with the vibration of Daiki's moan. "Yes!"

Tetsuya laughed softly, drawing his fingers back and reaching for the bottle still tangled in Taiga's sheets. "Very well."

Taiga swallowed, throat dry as he watched. He knew how it felt, knew so well how it felt to have Tetsuya's hands wrapped around his hips, holding him while Tetsuya's cock pushed in slowly, slowly, opening him up. So he knew exactly why Daiki was making those husky sounds and why his hands were clutching at Taiga's back and why Daiki's mouth was desperate against him. He was pleading for both of them when he moaned, "Please, Tetsuya, harder..."

And when Tetsuya shifted, leaning over Daiki and driving in deep and hard, it was Taiga who came undone under the slide of Daiki's mouth all the way down his cock. He lost track of watching Tetsuya, but he could feel everything Tetsuya was doing in the pressure of Daiki's mouth on him as he clutched at Daiki's shoulders, gasping with the pleasure wringing him out. "Tetsuya...! God, Tetsuya, please!"

By the time he came back down, Daiki was sprawled across him, just as messy and breathless as he was. Tetsuya was arched taut behind him, buried deep inside Daiki, flushed and gasping softly. The sight wrung another moan out of him, and when he looked down Daiki's eyes were fixed on him. "I can see it," Daiki told him, husky. "I can see how he looks in how you look right now."

"Mmm." Tetsuya slowly opened his eyes again and released Daiki's hips to stroke down his back. "Yes. Just like Taiga could tell what I was doing and what you needed." He eased free of Daiki and pushed him gently down against Taiga, keeping a hand on Daiki's back as he settled beside them. "We're doing this together, and there's no competition between you. Remember that, all right?"

Daiki froze, staring at Tetsuya with wide eyes. "I..."

Tetsuya smiled and cupped his cheek, stroking a thumb over the sharp line of his cheekbone. "You think I wouldn't see it, when you were my partner for so long and you're my lover now? I want both of you," he told Daiki softly, touching the cord of leather around his neck. "Never doubt that."

Slowly, Daiki nodded, relaxing against Taiga, eyes lowered. "Yes, Tetsu," he said, more subdued by Tetsuya's quiet words than Taiga had ever seen him, even when he was tied up. Taiga wrapped his arms around Daiki, holding him close. He knew how that felt, too. It was, he thought, exactly why both of them were willing to walk around wearing the delicate collars Tetsuya had clasped around their necks, and he smiled against Daiki's hair.

They were all together in this, all right.

Effect

Izuki Shun had always watched the people around him; it was one of the habits that made him a good point guard. And his teammates were always worth watching, for the amusement value if nothing else. So he'd noticed a few months ago that Kagami had stopped wearing the ring on a chain around his neck that used to always be there, even during practice. And he'd noticed about a week ago that Kagami had started wearing a simple leather necklace, the kind that you could find at any accessory stall in any shopping district. That, though, he carefully removed and tucked away whenever he changed for practice or a match.

Which was, perhaps, why it took so long for anyone else to notice. Shun had laid a tiny bet with himself on who it would be, and he won it the evening Koganei looked up from tying his shoes and suddenly grinned.

"Hey, Kagami." Koganei's tone was as good as a knowing nudge in the ribs. "You've got a new necklace these days. Is there someone who wants you to wear her present, instead of your old girlfriend's?"

Kagami promptly turned red and sputtered. "It's not like that!" Shun had expected that kind of response, because Kagami really was awfully innocent in some ways. The surprising part was the way Kagami hesitated as he fastened the necklace, looking aside, and added, "Not exactly."

Of course, that was as good as waving a feather in front of a cat. "Not exactly?" Koganei pressed, sidling up to throw an arm around Kagami's shoulders despite the height difference. "So there really is a girl, isn't there? Come on, you can tell senpai all about it..."

Kagami was sputtering again, and Shun was preparing to take pity on the poor guy and intervene when Kuroko beat him to it.

"Koganei-senpai," he said, sharper than Shun had ever heard him speak to any of his seniors, "that's private. You shouldn't tease Kagami-kun about it."

The entire club fell quiet for a moment, staring. Kuroko tugged down his cuffs and stood, looking back levelly. It wasn't quite the way Shun had seen him stare down opponents, but it was close. He didn't blame Koganei for stepping away from Kagami, hands raised.

"Just kidding around."

And quick as that, Kuroko was back to his usual self, calm and at ease, giving Koganei a very proper little bow. "Of course, senpai. Excuse us, please." He slung his bag over his shoulder and led the way out, and Kagami followed him.

There was, Shun noted, predictable relief at being rescued on Kagami's face, but there was also something soft along with it. As unusually soft as Kuroko had just been sharp. He considered that thoughtfully, as he pulled on his jacket.

Maybe this was something he'd keep a particular eye on.

Junpei had separated from the rest of the team in the wake of the first winter preliminaries, and was walking home beside Riko and Teppei, when Riko finally spoke up.

"So. Did you see Aomine when we passed Touou, on our way out?"

Junpei winced. He'd foolishly hoped she hadn't noticed. "It's none of our business," he said firmly.

"What isn't?" Teppei blinked at them.

"Teppei!" Riko huffed, obviously exasperated. "Didn't you notice that Aomine was wearing a necklace just like the one Kagami wears these days?"

"Well sure," Teppei said calmly. "I'm glad those two seem to be getting along so well."

Junpei buried his face in his hands, groaning. As if Riko wasn't bad enough! "It is none of our business," he repeated hopelessly.

"I wonder if Kuroko set the two of them up," Riko speculated with gleaming eyes, completely ignoring him. "Maybe that's why he was so defensive when Koganei was teasing Kagami."

Teppei made a thoughtful sound. "I have to admit, I always expected all three of them to be together, but maybe you're right. At any rate, he doesn't seem to feel left out, and that's good."

Junpei wondered wistfully if putting his hands over his ears would drown them out.

"Oooo, if they are all together, maybe that's what it is!" Riko clasped her hands in front of her mouth, eyes dancing. "Maybe those are actually Kuroko's necklaces they're wearing."

"Kantoku!" Junpei finally yelled. "Quit talking about our players' love lives!"

From the way she broke down giggling, he figured she'd just been trying to get a rise out of him anyway, and sighed. And swatted at Teppei's hand when it landed on his head and rumpled his hair 'comfortingly'.

"Oh, don't worry." Riko bumped her shoulder against his arm and grinned up at him. "It's not like I'd say any of this in front of them."

"Although, you know, I wouldn't be surprised if Kuroko had it in him," Teppei started, and Junpei cut him off sternly.

"Both of you shut up about this, or so help me I'm going home alone tonight." Which, since his was the only house at which the three of them could reasonably spend an evening together out of reach of paternal death-threats or grand-parental ears, was a significant enough threat to make them stop.

That didn't stop him from remembering the conversation, every time he saw Kuroko smile while Kagami fastened that necklace on after practice, but he'd already become resigned to the fact that being a boyfriend to Riko and Teppei did bad things to a man's brain. He figured it was worth it.

Takao Kazunari had never really been surprised by how often Shintarou wanted to visit his ex-teammates in Tokyo. For all his quirks, Shin-chan was pretty much born to be a team player, and Kazunari actually had no trouble believing he'd been the voice of reason on the Teikou team.

Considering who else had been on that team, after all.

So, even before Kagami and Aomine started sneaking out to see each other, Kazunari had been driving his partner back and forth across central Tokyo at least once a month to give Kise or Kagami or Kuroko very backhanded advice, or to trade insults with Aomine. It was unquestionably good muscular and cardiovascular training, and some days, like today, it was good entertainment, too.

"The two of you have no discipline whatsoever," Shintarou sniffed, adjusting his glasses as he gave Aomine and Kagami unimpressed looks. Admittedly, they both looked pretty scruffy at the moment, wringing wet and gasping for breath.

"Oh, come on Shin-chan," Kazunari called, bouncing the ball easily and keeping a sharp eye on Kuroko. "How long were they been playing for before we got there?"

"That," Shintarou said in arctic tones, "is exactly my point. Both of them should have the strength to go for longer, if they ever bothered to pace themselves properly." He swept back his hair, sweat-soaked for all his breathing was still disgustingly easy, and gave the two other aces a thoroughly disgruntled look.

Kazunari was hard-pressed not to laugh at the way both Kagami and Aomine seemed torn between glaring at each other and glaring at Shintarou. "Give 'em a break, Shin-chan. We can go bug Kise, if you want more of a work-out." That suggestion focused both glares firmly on him, and he smirked back at them. He was pretty sure they'd be pacing themselves more carefully, after having to hear something like that from him; never let it be said he didn't look after his partner's interests.

"Midorima-kun is right, that's enough for today," Kuroko put in, and Kazunari blinked, finding his hand abruptly empty of the ball. Kuroko was getting sneakier every month, he swore. But that little coup seemed to be enough to settle Kuroko's own partners, and they all trouped off the court together. Kazunari stretched his calves thoughtfully as they fished out water and towels, wondering if he'd really make it to Kaijou and back without his legs giving out. Which wasn't a problem in and of itself, but Shin-chan would lecture him just as mercilessly as he did his ex-teammates. From the look in his partner's eye, though, Kazunari really didn't think Shintarou would be satisfied with this game alone, today. He'd been restless all morning, and looking forward to a hard game.

Sure enough, Shintarou was tetchy enough that even watching Kagami fasten a plain and unassuming necklace on was enough to rouse his ire. "You've always been careless, Aomine," he snapped. "I notice you didn't even bother taking your frivolous decorations off while you played."

Huh. Now Shin-chan mentioned it, Aomine did have on a necklace a lot like Kagami's, a plain leather cord number. In fact... it looked almost exactly alike. More to defuse Shintarou's temper than anything else, Kazunari grinned and asked, "What, are you two married now, as well as rivals?"

He blinked when they both turned red and sputtered.

"It's not..."

"Definitely not..."

"I mean, not like that..."

"Seriously, well okay, not exactly like that, but seriously..."

Kazunari's eyes widened with delight at every jumbled denial. "You are, oh that's so beautiful." They nearly gargled at him, at that, reduced to non-verbal protests, and he laughed.

He'd never claimed that he didn't have an evil sense of humor.

Before he could wind them up any more, though, Kuroko straightened up from zipping his bag and said firmly, "Enough."

The command in his tone was a little startling, but Kazunari had seen Kuroko play hot, and he'd seen Kuroko angry once or twice. He knew Kuroko had a cutting edge under that smooth expression. What was a lot more startling was the way both Kagami and Aomine fell quiet at that one word.

At that order.

It all fell together at once, the matching leather necklaces, the way Aomine kept his on and Kagami had flushed just a little deeper putting his back on, the way that one word had pulled them up short. Kazunari pursed his lips and whistled quietly. "Well, well. Congratulations, then," he told Kuroko, perfectly in earnest. He was impressed.

When Kuroko just dipped his head, accepting it as his due, Kazunari had to grin.

"In that case, we'll just be off and let you three get on with things," he said cheerily, slinging an arm, or at least a hand, around Shin-chan's shoulder and tugging him toward the corner of the court where he'd left the bike and cart.

Shintarou frowned down at him in obvious puzzlement. "Takao, what--?"

"Shh." Kazunari laughed under his breath. "Tell you later." Aomine and Kagami were both red in the face. "Not that I'm actually all that surprised," he added as he unlocked the bike and wheeled it around. "I mean, it's always the ones you wouldn't expect, right?" He paused, struck by an enticing thought as Shintarou gave him an exasperated look. "Hm. Speaking of which, what would you say to going straight home instead of visiting Kise?"

Shintarou looked down his nose. "And why would I agree to that, when Aomine and Kagami were barely a challenge today?"

Kazunari leaned against the seat of the bike, crossing his legs, and fished a coin out of his pocket. "I was thinking there might be a form of exercise you'd like more, today." He tossed the coin lightly from hand to hand, smiling up at Shintarou. "What do you say, Shin-chan? Heads, you let me suck your fingers while I fuck you. Tails, I let you fuck me wherever and however you please." The corners of his mouth curled a little higher as Shin-chan's eyes widened behind his glasses. "How's your fortune looking today?" he purred, and flipped the coin into the air for Shin-chan to call. Past the flash of metal, his partner's eyes gleamed.

It was always the ones you wouldn't expect.

Himuro Tatsuya was not expecting to hear his name called. He'd put his back against a nice, sturdy brick wall and was just keeping out of the way as the howling packs of shoppers swept past. But when someone called, "Tatsuya!", he recognized the voice and looked up with a smile. A tilted smile, because he expected Taiga to give him a certain amount of hell for his current errand, but a smile.

"Hey."

Taiga forged awkwardly through the crush, obviously still not used to how close people pressed. His clothes fit into the crowd down here well enough; the sneakers weren't exactly stylish, but when you were built like Taiga a pair of jeans and a shirt thrown on over a tee were all you needed to make people look around for the photo-shoot. No one did, though, because Taiga was so completely unconscious and uncaring of how he looked in the middle of crowds bent on buying things to look prettier. He always had been, and Tatsuya had shaken his head over the fact for years. The only hint of fashion on Taiga, as far as he could see, was the necklace Taiga wore, no longer the chain and ring Tatsuya had gotten him but a leather cord. Even that probably wasn't on purpose. He wondered, a little wryly, whether Taiga had just gotten that used to wearing something around his neck.

Taiga finally fetched up against the wall, a little breathless. "You didn't say you'd be in town this weekend."

"I didn't know I was going to be until extremely early this morning," Tatsuya said, dry. "Atsushi wanted to come buy some new kind of candy that's being sold starting today." He waved at one of the mammoth lines down the street, where one very tall figure could be seen looming over the competition. "First time I've ever seen him get up early." He cocked his head up at Taiga. "So what are you in for?" He'd never known Taiga to willingly go out shopping for anything but groceries.

"New shoes."

Tatsuya started at that quiet voice right at his elbow, and eyed Kuroko, who had appeared there. He was starting to suspect that Teikou's old 'invisible man' got a kick out of doing that to people.

"At least this time I know they've actually got my size," Taiga added, unsurprised. Maybe he'd gotten used to the jack-in-the-box act. "This time I ordered them ahead of time."

Tatsuya could sympathize, especially after the coach put him in charge of ordering Atsushi's supplies. No one stocked shoes that size. He'd finally resorted to online stores with direct shipping. Some of the other team members made jokes about baby-sitting, but Tatsuya didn't actually mind. God knew Atsushi was pretty much at sea anywhere except a basketball court. Someone had to look after him.

Taiga had never needed looking after that way. Not really. He'd always had a solid core in him that held him steady. If it seemed weird for someone to be anchored by wild enthusiasm for life, well it had also been fun to be around. At least, it had been fun until he'd realized that Taiga didn't need him. That Taiga had grown so much that he'd started trying to protect Tatsuya. That... that had been more than he could take.

That wasn't something they could really talk about, though. It wasn't something a person like Taiga would ever understand. So instead he laughed. "First time I've even seen you laying plans to get any kind of clothing, even for the game." He added, teasing, "Though maybe you're getting stylish in your old age." He lifted a finger to flick at the cord necklace that had replaced his chain. Taiga rocked back from the gesture, almost a flinch, and a moment of remorse nipped at Tatsuya. There was no need to be cruel, just because Taiga had grown beyond him.

That wasn't what stopped the gesture, though.

Tatsuya's brows lifted as he looked down at Kuroko, who was abruptly standing between him and Taiga with an iron grip on Tatsuya's wrist. "You have no right to touch that," Kuroko said softly, every polite ending sharpened to a cutting edge.

"I think that's Taiga's to say, don't you?" Tatsuya wasn't going to stand for Kuroko trying to protect Taiga when Tatsuya couldn't. It was ridiculous to imagine.

Kuroko's gaze didn't so much as flicker, and his voice was as hard as his grip. "This is mine to say. And you will keep your hands off it." He nearly threw Tatsuya's hand aside.

Tatsuya snorted. "Taiga, are you seriously going to tell me..." he trailed off, staring at Taiga. Taiga, who was watching Kuroko with suddenly wide eyes, whose hand lifted to touch that necklace lightly. Taiga who glanced briefly at him and then aside, color sneaking over his cheekbones.

"This is Tetsuya's to say," Taiga admitted.

For a long breath, Tatsuya's brain flatly refused to put the pieces together, but they fit so very clearly that he couldn't hold it off for long. That wasn't just a necklace.

And if this was something Taiga wanted, then maybe... maybe they could have...

"Muro-chin?" Atsushi loomed out of the crowd, brightly colored candy bag already open in his hand. "And Kuro-chin."

Tatsuya took a slow breath. No. Maybe if he'd known sooner, but it certainly wouldn't work now. He had Atsushi to take care of, and judging by the narrow look Kuroko was still giving him he didn't think Kuroko was the sharing type. "Well, good luck with those shoes, then," he said, as easily as if nothing had happened. "I'd better get Atsushi back up to Akita before anyone misses us."

"Probably wise, yes," Kuroko murmured, and Tatsuya's mouth quirked. Yeah, that was one possessive little bastard.

"We'll see you at semi-finals, then," Taiga added quietly, watching Tatsuya with shadowed eyes.

"Quit looking like that, Taiga," Tatsuya told him easily. "It'll be fun." Probably more fun for Taiga than for him, but he was used to that. "Come on Atsushi, be thinking about what kind of station bento you want to get; if we miss another train because you couldn't decide, I'm taking the cost of changing tickets out of your wallet." He waved goodbye and led his teammate back out into the crush.

He was used to wanting things he couldn't have. It was always best to just set it aside.

Result

Daiki pretty much took Tai's apartment as an extra home, these days, so he didn't bother knocking before breezing in the unlocked door. "Hey, guys, up for a..." he trailed off, startled. Tetsu and Tai were on the couch; well, Tetsu was a least. Tai was on his knees, head buried in Tetsu's lap, holding on to Tetsu like the last branch in a flood. Tetsu had his fingers buried in Tai's hair, stroking it slowly, while his other arm stayed wrapped around Tai's shoulders. He looked up at Daiki, eyes serious but not dark, and beckoned Daiki closer with a tilt of his head.

Daiki came and knelt behind Tai, pressing close against his back, and wound his arms around Tai. "Hey," he said again, quieter. Tai made an acknowledging sound, but didn't move, and Daiki looked up at Tetsu, questioning. "What happened?"

True anger sparked in Tetsu's eyes, though his hands stayed gentle, stroking Tai's hair. "We ran into Himuro-san today. He took notice of Taiga's collar."

"He let go so easy; he lets everything go so easy," Tai finally said, voice rough and muffled against Tetsu's lap.

Daiki thought about that. "Well," he said at last, "it's a good thing you're with Tetsu, then."

Tai finally lifted his head to blink at Daiki over his shoulder. "...huh?"

"That went by a little fast." Tetsu was smiling, though, and he set his other hand in Daiki's hair.

"Well, think about it," Daiki pointed out, leaning into Tetsu's fingers with pleasure. "Tetsu doesn't let anything go. I mean, I'm here aren't I?"

Tai blinked a few more times and finally looked up at Tetsu. "Not anything?" His voice was still husky, but it was starting to sound like Tai again.

There was fire behind Tetsu's calm smile, the fire that Daiki had always seen in him, always loved in him. "Not anything," he confirmed with absolute certainty. "Not Daiki. Not you." He trailed his fingers down Tai's neck to rest on the leather cord of his collar. "Not ever."

Tai took a slow, shaky breath and let it out. "Okay."

Daiki could feel Tai relaxing, between them, and pulled him closer with a little smile buried in Tai's wild red hair. That was better. It just didn't feel right when Tai freaked out; he was the steady one.

Tetsu slid his fingers through their hair, slow and gentle. "I don't let go of what's mine," he said softly, and Daiki made a satisfied sound against Tai's shoulder. That was the way it should be. He brushed his lips over the cord of Tai's collar and purred at the feel of Tai relaxing some more.

They were together in this, and that was enough.

End

Wrapped in Honeysuckle

Aomine, Kuroko, and Kagami finally all wind up in bed together. Aomine thinks he knows how this will work, but when there are actual emotions at stake he's probably the one with the least idea what's going on. Romance, Porn with Characterization, I-4

"So." Daiki flexed his foot and stretched his leg over the length of Seirin's changing room bench, working the threatening cramp out of his calf. "New school year. Seems like the kind of thing we could stand to celebrate a little."

Tetsu hesitated for a moment before he finished scrubbing his towel over his hair and nodded. "I suppose we could." Daiki softened into a smile. Tetsu was the one of them who went at the most deliberate pace. If he agreed, then he was sure of himself, and a Tetsu who was sure of himself was unstoppable. It was something Daiki really wanted to get to see, in bed.

Kagami, on the other hand, was just looking resigned. "I knew this would happen once I let on I was living alone," he grumbled. "First the senpai, now you. Fine, but if you spill any beer on the floor, you're the one cleaning it up."

Daiki blinked. For a perceptive guy, Kagami could be stunningly oblivious sometimes.

"Actually, I think it would be better to do this at my house," Tetsu said, so calm and earnest that Daiki was instantly suspicious.

"Why?" Kagami asked, looking puzzled as he finished buttoning his shirt and scooped up his water bottle. "Your place is further from the station, isn't it? More carpets to clean afterward, too."

"Because we have enough spare futons to spread a double bed that all of us will fit in," Tetsu explained, perfectly matter-of-fact.

The mouthful of water Kagami had just taken nearly hit the opposite wall and Daiki flopped back across the bench, laughing. Also a little flushed, because Tetsu had gotten to him with that mental image, too, but mostly laughing his ass off.

After a few seconds of coughing into his towel, Kagami rasped, "You know, when I came back they told me I'd have to adjust to how much more reserved everyone was in Japan."

"Don't tell me you're just now figuring out Tetsu is evil," Daiki snickered.

"Oh, I knew that as soon as he came after me with that damn dog." Kagami glowered at Tetsu for a second before light suddenly dawned. "Hey, wait. Are you serious?"

Tetsu wore a tiny smile, now. "Yes."

"Oh."

Daiki felt an urge to wave his hand in front of Kagami's face just to see if that would break the way he was staring at Tetsu. He suspected it might not, which was kind of cute and also a little embarrassing to watch. "Stop blushing and say 'Yes, Tetsu'," he prompted.

"If you want to," Tetsu added firmly.

"He's upright and breathing," Daiki felt called upon to point out. "You expect him to say he doesn't want to have sex?" Then he had to duck as Kagami swatted at him, glowering.

"I don't know why he puts up with you," Kagami growled. "I don't know why I do, either."

"Because I'm just that good." Daiki lounged back on the bench, smirking. "Don't forget to actually give us an answer, here."

Kagami glowered at him some more, but it softened when he looked back at Tetsu. "Yeah," he finally said, quietly. "I'd like that."

Daiki grinned. Now they were getting somewhere.

Four days later, Daiki sprawled in Tetsu's desk chair and considered their set-up. There was a double futon spread on the floor, taking up most of the open space in Tetsu's room, with enough pillows for everyone. There was a pump-top bottle set neatly by the top of the bedding that Daiki was pretty sure he recognized the brand of, even though half the lettering was worn off the white plastic; that wear sent his mind down very distracting paths, thinking about Tetsu lying in the bed under the windows, strong slim fingers moving over himself.

The room was also furnished with Kagami, still a little damp from the shower and just about clutching a towel around his hips. Daiki was deeply tempted to tease him over acting like a nervous virgin, but before he got any further than smirking across the futon the faint sound of running water across the hall shut off. They were both looking at the door when Tetsu came in, rubbing a towel through his hair. Like Daiki, he hadn't bothered with another, and Daiki grinned, anticipation curling through him. "So," he pushed up out of Tetsu's chair, "how are we going to do this?"

He had some ideas, of course, but he figured it was polite to at least ask.

Tetsu made a thoughtful sound, letting the towel drop. "There do seem to be some ways for three people at once," he mused, "but they looked complicated for beginners."

Daiki snickered helplessly while Kagami flushed from that towel right up to his hairline. "Of course you looked into the options."

Tetsu gave him a reproving look. "I want this to work."

Daiki softened at that and came to rest his hands on Tetsu's hips, leaning down to kiss him. "I do too," he admitted, low. He smiled wryly as he straightened, looking down at Tetsu. "So? Who gets to be first?" He didn't think either he or Kagami was dumb enough to think that was anything but Tetsu's call.

Tetsu's brows quirked up a little and his eyes got the glint that made Daiki wary. In the same perfectly polite forms he used for everything from fighting with his teammates to answering questions in class, Tetsu told him, "I'm sure Kagami-kun wouldn't mind if you'd like me to fuck you first."

Daiki froze.

"You didn't even think about it, did you?" Kagami asked, leaning back against the wall and finally letting go of his towel to cross his arms.

"Oh, like you did," Daiki snapped, because it was a lot easier to glare at Kagami than at Tetsu right now. He actually hadn't thought about it at all, he'd just... well everyone else let him do what he wanted... this wasn't actually sounding very good even inside his own head.

Kagami just snorted and gave Tetsu a sidelong look. "Actually, considering the number of falls I've taken from him, yeah I did think about it."

Daiki blinked and stared back down at Tetsu, startled.

"It was necessary," Tetsu said firmly, as if they were talking about keeping up a training regimen instead of him downing his own partner. He'd thought what Tetsu had done during the match against Hanamiya was the exception, not the rule!

"So," Daiki said slowly, "when you said, that one time, that you'd learned how to keep your partner away from the edge..."

Tetsu just looked back at him, calm and level, with such world-bending determination that Daiki nearly took a step back. "Okay, maybe I see why you thought about it," he told Kagami, ruefully.

Kagami smiled, a bit crooked, and came away from the wall to stand at Tetsu's back, arms wound lightly around his waist, above Daiki's hands. "It's Tetsuya," he said quietly against Tetsu's hair. "So why are you so surprised?"

Daiki winced slightly; he had to admit that he probably shouldn't be, and he sighed, pulling his thoughts together. "Give me a little while to get used to the idea?" he asked Tetsu, running a thumb along his cheekbone. Tetsu smiled, small and warm.

"Of course. If it's really something you don't like, that's different of course."

But he didn't get to get away with just assuming, Daiki finished the thought wryly. Yeah, he got it.

"So how are we going to do this?" Kagami asked, and Tetsu laughed softly.

"I don't actually mind receiving." He leaned back against Kagami and ran his hands up Daiki's chest, slow and exploratory. "This time, anyway."

Daiki and Kagami glanced at each other; Kagami's eyes were dark and serious, and Daiki felt knocked for enough of a loop right then that he said, quick and impulsive, "Let Kagami."

Kagami's brows jerked up. "Are you sure?"

Daiki drew himself up. "Of course I'm sure." Not like he was insecure about Tetsu or anything. Much. He caught Tetsu's hand and lifted it to press his lips to the inside of Tetsu's wrist, murmuring to his old partner, "But let me get you ready?"

Tetsu's eyes were half closed. "Yes. I'd like that."

Kagami shifted forward to support him at the same moment Daiki pressed closer, and they both stilled for a moment, eyeing each other over Tetsu's head. But the way Tetsu relaxed between them, the soft, pleased sound he made, drew both their eyes right back down. Daiki was just a little careful as he bent his head to kiss Tetsu again, careful not to knock into Kagami's shoulder, and they both slid their arms more firmly around Tetsu. This had been a lot easier to deal with when he'd only had to think about one of them at a time; then he hadn't had to worry about how it would look if he ragged on Kagami to settle his nerves or let Tetsu pet his hair until he was just about purring. But both of them was obviously what Tetsu wanted. It wasn't like Daiki disliked Kagami at all, just... they were too alike.

Alike in wanting Tetsu, in responding to him, to the warmth of his mouth against Daiki's. Alike in being what Tetsu wanted, apparently.

On the bright side, Daiki realized as Tetsu wound his arms around Daiki's shoulders and pulled him down more firmly, that meant Tetsu probably wouldn't want one of them over the other, wouldn't favor his current partner over his ex-partner who'd screwed up so thoroughly by breaking their game. Probably.

Maybe?

Daiki pressed closer, kissing Tetsu deeper, hot and wanting. And maybe Tetsu understood, because he kissed back just as hard, hands kneading over Daiki's shoulders until he quieted a little, soothed by the feeling that Tetsu wasn't going to let go. "Bed?" he asked softly.

"Bed," Tetsu agreed, a little flushed.

It took a little arranging, but finally they were all stretched out on the futon pretty much the same way they'd been standing, back to front to front, with Kagami pressed up against Tetsu's back and Tetsu's leg sliding up to hook over Daiki's hip and pull him closer. "At this rate, maybe we didn't need the double futon after all," Daiki laughed against Tetsu's neck.

"I don't think it would make anyone any less nervous to be worrying about falling off the edge of the bed," Kagami said a little dryly.

"What's to be nervous about?" Daiki asked softly, reaching for Tetsu's bottle of lube, gaze fixed on the way Tetsu closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against Kagami's shoulder. He glanced up at Kagami's silence to find Kagami watching him as Daiki squeezed cool, thick gel into his palm. Kagami's eyes were dark and thoughtful.

"No reason," he said, finally, gathering Tetsu closer against him.

Daiki relaxed a little; at least Kagami had the good sense not to spook Tetsu with his own nerves. He kept holding Tetsu close as Daiki slid slick fingers down between Tetsu's cheeks, but that was all right. Daiki wanted Tetsu to relax. He wanted Tetsu to keep making the soft, pleased sounds he was making right now, as Daiki's fingers pressed slowly into him, and if having his current partner holding him helped, then that was how they'd do this. Because he didn't want to have to stop touching Tetsu like this, feeling the heat of Tetsu's body and the shift of his muscles around Daiki's fingers, seeing the way Tetsu's pale skin turned flushed and his lips parted.

"Daiki," Tetsu sighed, tugging Daiki down to a kiss, and the sound of his bare name from Tetsu sent a little shiver of response up his spine. He kissed Tetsu slow and deep, fingers working inside him, and swallowed the little hitches of Tetsu's breath. Part of him suddenly wanted to pull Tetsu closer, away from Kagami, say that, no, Tetsu was his, only his, but... he knew that wasn't what Tetsu wanted now. He knew, it was just... He buried his head against Tetsu's shoulder, touching him slow and careful. So careful.

He started a little when a large, warm hand settled gently on the back of his neck. "Easy," Kagami told him, low and quiet. "It's okay, right? No one's going anywhere."

Daiki had a hard time not lifting his head to stare at Kagami; how the hell had he known? The goal here, though, was to not spook Tetsu, so he just took a breath and nodded a little. "Yeah." He kissed Tetsu's bare shoulder and murmured, "Think you're ready?"

Tetsu's hand on his cheek coaxed his head up again, and Tetsu met his eyes with a thoughtful look for a long moment before he smiled. "Yes," he said softly, like it was the answer to more questions than Daiki had actually asked, and kissed Daiki again. It was a gentle kiss but with a hint of fierceness; it was so much Tetsu it made him shiver. With that taste of fierceness in his mouth and Kagami's hand still resting warm and steady against his back, it was easy to reach for more lube, to stroke it over Kagami's cock and make a pleased sound that Kagami was hard for Tetsu already. Daiki fondled him, considering. He was definitely a nice handful, too.

"Fuck," Kagami gasped against Tetsu's hair, rocking up a little into Daiki's hand, and Daiki had to laugh at the slow smile on Tetsu's face, the glint in his eyes.

Tetsu wound his arms around Daiki's shoulders and pressed up against him, murmuring, "Taiga. Come on."

Kagami's eyes were dark. "Yeah," he said, husky, "all right." He slid up tighter against Tetsu's back and let Daiki guide him against Tetsu's entrance. As he started to press in, Tetsu's breath caught against Daiki's shoulder, and Daiki had an unexpected flash of panic. Would this be all right, would Tetsu be all right, was this going to work? He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of Tetsu's neck, hands sliding up to knead against Tetsu's back, and whispered, "Relax, just relax, it's okay..."

And then Kagami made a low, husky sound in his throat, and Tetsu did relax with a slow sigh, and a little shiver ran over Daiki as he stared at them. Tetsu slowly leaned his head back against Kagami's shoulder, flushed, lips parted. Kagami was curled around him, eyes half closed with obvious concentration, big hands spread against Tetsu's stomach. They were gorgeous together, and it wasn't making Daiki jealous right now. It was making him hard.

"Daiki," Tetsu murmured, tugging at his shoulders, and Daiki swallowed.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." When Kagami looked up at him with a smile, Daiki remembered that was almost exactly what Kagami had said to Tetsu, and couldn't help smiling back, crooked. Yeah, maybe Kagami was on to something when he'd thought about Tetsu being on top. Daiki ran his hands slowly down Tetsu's body, tracing the sleek hard lines of his muscles, and thought seriously about tracing them with his tongue too. That would be awkward right now, though, so maybe later. Instead he caught Tetsu's mouth and slid his tongue between those parted lips, and wrapped still-slick fingers around Tetsu's cock. The way Tetsu moaned into his mouth, low and breathless, rocking against him with the flex of Kagami's body, pulled a wordless answering sound out of Daiki.

It turned hoarse and half-shocked when one of Kagami's hands wrapped around Daiki's cock. He looked up to see Kagami watching him with hot, hungry eyes as he moved against Tetsu. "Come on," Kagami said, husky, tightening his other arm around Tetsu and rocking in deeper if the way Tetsu gasped was any clue. And then Kagami smiled, a little challenging and a little laughing, and finished, "Daiki."

Tetsu laughed, between them, pulling Daiki closer, and a little shudder of want and nerves and excitement ran through him. Tetsu wanted this. It seemed like Kagami wanted this. So maybe it was okay. "Kagami..."

Kagami's fingers on him were slow and coaxing, flexing a little in time with the way Kagami rocked against Tetsu.

Daiki took a breath and tried the name out on his tongue. "Taiga." The way Kagami's smile softened startled Daiki a little, and he responded to it without thinking, reaching up to bury his free hand in that wild red hair. "Tai."

Kagami... Taiga closed his eyes, leaning into Daiki's hand a little. "Yeah."

Heat was starting to unravel Daiki's brain, the heat of all of Tetsu's skin up against him and Taiga's hand on his cock and Tetsu's arms around him tightening when Daiki stroked Tetsu's cock harder. In the middle of all that heat, it made perfect sense to lean in and kiss Tai, and perfect sense to let Tai's tongue fill his mouth slowly, so slow and thorough and wet that he had to moan with how good it felt.

When Tetsu bucked between them, gasping, cock pulsing in Daiki's hand, it made Daiki's own body tighten, sudden and hot.

"Fuck, Tetsuya," Taiga groaned into Daiki's mouth, and Daiki could feel how he shuddered, how his thrust drove Tetsu harder against Daiki. Just thinking about that made the pleasure building low in Daiki's stomach tighten sharply, and feeling it happen was hotter than he'd thought it possibly could be. He wrapped his sticky hand around Tai's fist and held it tight around him as he rocked into Tai's grip hard and fast.

One panting breath, another, and Tai tore his mouth away from Daiki's and buried his head against Tetsu's shoulder as his whole body jerked taut. Tetsu gasped again, soft, and pulled Daiki down ruthlessly against his mouth, kissing him hot and hard. Daiki moaned as Tai's grip tightened a little more and one last thrust spilled him over the edge, breath cutting short and sharp as pleasure burst through him.

In the dazed, sticky warmth after, before any of them started to try to untangle themselves, Daiki thought about how unexpected most of that had been. How unexpected it was that Tai's hand was still on him, just as easy resting there as Tetsu's arms were around his shoulders. Or his hand in Tai's hair.

Daiki hadn't really thought he'd be a part of them being together. Not like this. He'd thought it would be him and Tetsu, and Kagami and Tetsu, and maybe him and Kagami too when they were warmed up by a good game. He hadn't thought about something like Taiga kissing him and fucking Tetsu and Tetsu holding him and Daiki fisting off Tetsu and Tai's hand tightening around him. It was a thought to make a person dizzy trying to follow it around. Dizzy and warm.

Tetsu's fingers stroked the back of his neck, and Daiki realized Tetsu had been watching him all this time. "Is this what you want?" Tetsu asked quietly.

Daiki opened his mouth and closed it again. "It is now," he finally said. Now that it was a possibility in his head.

Tetsu's brows creased just faintly at that, but Taiga looked up with dark, thoughtful eyes. His hand finally loosened from around Daiki, slid out from under the grip Daiki hadn't let go yet, and rested on his shoulder. "Hey," he said softly, "come here for a second." When he tugged, Daiki leaned in, only a little wary, and let Tai kiss him again. This one was a quiet kiss, slow and gentle, and it almost made Daiki twitch with not knowing what to do about it. "It's okay," Tai told him, thumb rubbing along the muscle of his shoulder. Tai's mouth quirked. "You're a complete idiot sometimes. It's okay."

Daiki glared a little at that, though he couldn't get much force behind it because Taiga did seem to know what to do with all this. He looked back down at Tetsu, instead. "It's what I want now," he said again, low, and Tetsu's whole expression softened and lightened. He leaned up to kiss Daiki, warm and open.

"Okay."

Daiki wound his arms tight around Tetsu, head pressed against his shoulder again, and didn't protest when Tai's fingers ran gently through his hair. It felt good, in a way that made his stomach a little shaky with unfamiliar warmth deep enough to close over his head. Maybe, he decided, sex could be better than basketball, after all.

Some of it, anyway.

In hanakotoba, honeysuckle indicates generosity or devotion.

End

Heads or Tails

Comes in the middle of "A Good, Free, and Unconstrained Will". Takao won the coin toss. Midorima doesn't actually mind that. D/s, Porn, Fluff, I-4

It never stopped amazing Kazunari how easily Shintarou relaxed for him, in bed. All right, so he colored up adorably when Kazunari started unbuttoning his shirt, and tended to fall into flustered silence when he noticed Kazunari watching him slide his pants off and fold them neatly. But all the upright reserve that saw Shintarou through the day and let him ignore as unworthy of notice the strange looks his lucky items invariably drew eased out of him as he lay back against the sheets. As soon as Kazunari's hands touched his skin, Shintarou seemed to let all that go, and by the time Kazunari's fingers started working him open he was ready to spread his legs with perfect, unconscious wantonness and rock down onto Kazunari's hand. Kazunari loved seeing him like this.

Of course, Shintarou did tend to keep an arm thrown over his face, but that was all right. For now.

"Ready?" he murmured, curling his fingers a little to rub Shintarou inside until he gasped, hips bucking up. "Mm, looks like it."

"Yes," Shintarou agreed, husky, wetting lips that were already bitten red. The sight made heat tighten through Kazunari, made his own voice rougher.

"Good." He slid his fingers slowly free, savoring the tiny sound Shintarou made, and squeezed out a little more lube to slick over his cock. Shintarou lay waiting for him, breathing deep and quick, but still not looking. And that was why Kazunari let him keep that arm over his face for a while; he was, after all, a point guard, and no one should be surprised if he liked to be in control. The way Shintarou's breath caught when Kazunari's hands slid down his thighs to spread him wider, the open way he moaned when Kazunari's cock pushed into him, the way he relaxed into Kazunari's hands so easily, Kazunari loved all of those.

But after a few slow, rocking strokes to settle himself it was time for more.

"Shintarou," he said softly, "give me your hand."

No matter how many times they did this, that still made Shintarou gasp and tense a little. "Kazunari..."

"Shhh." He reached up to rest a hand against Shintarou's chest, steady and reassuring. "Give me your hand," he repeated lower.

Slowly, Shintarou let the arm across his face fall and held out his bare fingers, unwrapped earlier at the same time he'd set aside his glasses.

Kazunari cradled Shintarou's hand in both of his, holding those wide, uncertain eyes as he lifted it. The sudden flush in Shintarou's face when Kazunari wrapped his lips around one finger and sucked, the soft moan Shintarou tried to catch back, nearly made him moan himself. Well, no, he lied; it was the things he knew were behind that flush and that moan. It was the fact that Shintarou guarded his hands so jealously and yet would trust them to Kazunari, even when uncertainty made the fingers in Kazunari's hold tremble. It was the fact that the way Shintarou responded to having those sensitive fingers sucked was one of the few things that truly made him blush, in bed, but he would let Kazunari do it anyway. That was what made him so hard as he drove deeper into Shintarou, fucking him steadily while he played his tongue over Shintarou's fingers just as slow and wet and dirty as possible. He fucked the tight heat of his partner's ass hard and sure, and slid his lips and tongue over Shintarou's shaking fingers until Shintarou was gasping, breath cut into quick little jerks. Until he was making a soft sound, almost a whimper, at the end of every thrust. Until he closed his eyes and whispered, "Kazunari," with an edge of pleading in that low, controlled voice.

"Mmm." Kazunari smiled, licking one last time down Shintarou's fingers before he guided Shintarou's hand down to wrap those wet fingers around his own cock. "Yeah. Show me. Let me see you, Shin-chan." He closed both hands around his partner's hips, lifting him up a little so Kazunari could fuck him harder, and the first thrust drove home just as long, talented fingers stroked hard down Shintarou's cock.

Kazunari tried not to use cliches, but if Shintarou's open moan wasn't music it was still a sound that put a burst of heat down Kazunari's spine. Shintarou was gorgeous like this, spread out and undone, lips parted around low gasps, fingers sliding with desperate hunger up and down the long, hard line of his own cock. Kazunari bit down hard on his lip to keep himself from coming immediately when Shintarou arched hard, head tipped back, and his body wrung itself out around Kazunari's cock. He wanted to watch this. The velvety depth of Shintarou's moan did him in, though, and he slid helplessly over the edge after him, hips jerking hard against the curve of Shintarou's ass while the rush of pleasure made the world hazy.

The sight of Shintarou sprawled out afterwards, though, lax and flushed, was just as good.

Kazunari eased Shintarou's legs back down and stretched out to settle against him, winding an arm around Shintarou's ribs. "Good?" he asked softly. Shintarou nodded quietly and rested his bare fingers on Kazunari's shoulder, lightly. Kazunari smiled and snuggled closer, satisfied with the sure knowledge that Shintarou would say yes the next time he suggested this.

End

Ring Led

Kuroko decides to push Aomine a little further, and offers to spank him for breaking his collar (again). Aomine is perfectly pleased, but Kagami needs a bit more reassurance. D/s, Porn, I-4

Daiki remembered that he'd asked Tetsu once, years ago after actually meeting Tetsu's mom, whether he minded that his mom was away so often, traveling for work. He'd been curious. She'd seemed like the kind of parent a person could actually miss having around. He remembered that Tetsu had smiled and said that she was such a good mother when she was there that it lasted him through the times she wasn't. At the time, Daiki had wondered if it could actually work that way, but he knew kind of what Tetsu had meant, now. Daiki's collar was like that for him. (Even though he'd nearly sprained his neck trying to shake the idea out of his head when it first occurred to him, because he really didn't want to be thinking about any parents at all in connection with collar-stuff.)

In any case, he was glad that Tetsu's mom was off traveling tonight, because that meant that he and Tetsu and Taiga were all staying over at Tetsu's house, and he needed that more than usual tonight.

Daiki fidgeted a little, on the walk from the station to Tetsu's house, the way he'd been fidgeting all day, having to hold himself back to keep from walking faster the closer they got. He didn't think the other two had noticed that, but as soon as they hung up their coats in the front hall Tetsu's eyes narrowed at him. Daiki wasn't surprised; whenever the three of them were together, their necks were the first place Tetsu's eyes went to.

"Where is your collar?"

Daiki fished it out of his front pocket and held it up, snapped ends dangling. "The chain broke."

"Again," Tai muttered, scuffing his house slippers on more firmly.

"It's not my fault if they're flimsy enough to break during practice," Daiki pointed out, looking down his nose. "I like having it on all the time." He really liked it a lot, which did mean a lot of wear and tear, he'd admit.

Tetsu would be rolling his eyes, if he were the sort to do that, Daiki was pretty sure. "It's a good thing I keep spares for you." He plucked the broken necklace out of Daiki's fingers. "Come on." He led the way up the stairs to his room. Daiki grinned a bit, to see that two spare futons were already spread on the floor; fitting the three of them into a regular bed meant a lot of being careful not to elbow anyone in the stomach, and sometimes it was nice to do something more energetic. He could do with something energetic, after having the broken collar itching at him all day. Tai promptly claimed the bed as a seat, stretching his legs out and bunching the pillows up at his back, so Daiki leaned in the doorway while Tetsu rummaged in the lower drawer of his desk. Finally, he straightened, a new necklace of slim leather cord just like the old one hanging from his hand.

"Come here." Tetsu crooked a finger at Daiki and then pointed to the floor before him. Familiar heat locked around Daiki, the heat of being with Tetsu like this. He took two long steps away from the door and sank to his knees at Tetsu's feet, lifting his chin to bare his throat. Tetsu smiled, and his fingers slid briefly through Daiki's hair. "Good." The cool of the leather settling lightly around Daiki's throat made him shiver, and he had to close his eyes for a moment.

"You know," Tetsu murmured, fingers stroking over the line of Daiki's new collar, "sometimes I think you let them break just so I'll put another on you."

Daiki looked up at him, relaxed by the feeling of being collared again. "You did say that you would, as often as necessary."

The corners of Tetsu's mouth curled up faintly, and he set his fingers under Daiki's chin, keeping his head tipped back. "I did, and I will. Though I'm starting to wonder if I should punish you, when you break another one, for putting me to the trouble."

Daiki's eyes widened at the sharp thrill of heat that sang through him. He liked it when Tetsu pushed him, and also when Tetsu showed him a limit and made him mind it. He had to swallow, and when he spoke his voice was husky. "Punish me how?"

Tetsu made a thoughtful sound and was quiet for long enough that Daiki bit his lip, starting to be a shade nervous. There were things Tetsu could do that really would hurt, but... he didn't think Tetsu would do them. He didn't think. Tetsu pushed him physically, but never denied him, never pushed him away. When he felt Tetsu's thumb sliding along his lower lip, coaxing it free of his teeth, his breath caught and he looked up to see that Tetsu's eyes had turned gentle. He relaxed again on a flood of warm relief and settled on his knees, waiting.

"Perhaps I should spank you," Tetsu murmured. "Do you think that would punish you suitably, Daiki? If I put you on your hands and knees and spanked you until your ass was hot under my hand?"

Heat rushed through Daiki again, and he was sure he was flushed. That was exactly the kind of thing he loved to take from Tetsu, and something more intense than they'd tried yet. "Yes, Tetsu," he managed.

Tetsu smiled slowly, thumb brushing back and forth over Daiki's mouth. "Then maybe I'll give you your first spanking tonight, while Taiga watches."

Daiki nearly moaned at that thought, at the idea of being watched while Tetsu punished him. At least until a strangled sound from the bed made them both look around. Tai's hands were locked tight in the blankets and his shoulders were taut.

"Tetsuya," Tai started, sounding a little strained, "I don't think I... I mean..."

"Taiga." Tetsu squeezed Daiki's shoulder and murmured to him, "Come." He went to Tai and straddled his lap, wrapping his arms tight around Tai. Daiki did as he was told and stretched out beside Tai while Tetsu held him, fingers stroking through that wild red hair. "It's all right," Tetsu told their lover softly. "If you don't want to watch, or be present, that's fine." He leaned back just a little and cradled Tai's face in his hands as Tai looked up at him, uncertain. "But if you're worried, perhaps it would be better if you did stay. So you can see for sure that I would never do anything to hurt either of you."

Daiki could feel the shudder that ran through Tai, and the way he slumped back against the headboard with a faint sigh. "Hey." He nudged Tai's ribs, gentler than usual. "You were watching all of that, weren't you? I want it, Tai." He smiled, slow and dark, and leaned in to nibble on Tai's earlobe and murmur, "I want it a lot. I want Tetsu to push me to the edge and hold me up against it."

Tetsu reached out and tugged Daiki's collar taut with a finger hooked under it, eyes dark and sharp. "I will hold you there. I'll hold you safe."

This time, Daiki felt Tai gasp and relax at exactly the same time he did, and he'd bet money that Tai felt the same wave of want and security. It was just the way Tetsu made them both feel. Tetsu smiled and tipped Tai's chin up with a finger under it. "Just think of it," he said softly. "The sounds Daiki will make, the way his breathing will hitch with every stroke. The way he'll spread his legs wider when his ass starts to turn red under my hand. The way he'll beg for more."

Daiki moaned against Tai's shoulder. "Fuck, Tetsu, you don't have to wait for that. Please spank me, spank me hard..." His cock was hard already, just listening to this.

A quick glance down showed that Tai's was, too.

"So." Tetsu leaned in and kissed Tai's forehead gently. "Do you want to watch it, or would you rather not?"

"I..." Tai swallowed and took a breath. "I think I want to stay."

"All right. Tell me if you need to stop."

Tai nodded, shoulders finally softened into their usual line when they were with Tetsu this way, relaxed and trusting. That was better; Daiki liked seeing how Taiga trusted Tetsu. It made things feel right.

Tetsu tugged on Daiki's collar again, making him shiver. "If you need to stop, beg me for it."

That would come easy, if he really did need it, and Daiki leaned bonelessly against Tai, smiling. "Yes, Tetsu."

"Good." Tetsu eased back down the bed and pulled his shirt off, swift and easy. "Take your pants off, then."

While Daiki hopped off the bed to strip off his jeans, and socks and underwear because anything else would just feel silly, Tetsu pulled Tai to his feet and led him to one corner of the futons.

"Here." Tetsu laid his hands on Tai's shoulders and pushed him down, following to kiss him slowly. In the middle of the kiss, he reached down and undid Tai's jeans, and Daiki made an appreciative sound. Tai was definitely hard. Tetsu laughed low in his throat as he pulled away, leaving Tai breathless, and looks back at Daiki. "As for you..." He scooted into the middle of the futons and pointed in front of him. "Down on your knees and bend over."

Daiki did as he was told, cock jumping a little at hearing such a brisk order from Tetsu, something that made it very clear who was in charge. He spread his knees wide against the cotton blanket and bent down, feeling his tank top, the only thing he was still wearing, slide up his back a little. Tetsu's hand stroked over his bared ass, slow and warm, until Daiki sighed and rested his forehead on his crossed arms, relaxing.

"That's better," Tetsu murmured. "There's no reason to be tense, Daiki. You're all mine, and I'm going to spank you until you don't have any questions at all about who you belong to."

Daiki moaned soft and wanting, and arched his back a little to offer Tetsu his ass. "Yes, Tetsu..."

Tetsu's hand lifted and came down again firmly, spanking him across one cheek and then the other. One and then the other. Again and again, firm and steady. The feeling of it set Daiki gasping. The smack of every stroke was sharp in the room, and Tetsu's hand on his ass stung every time, but it felt good too. His ass felt warm and full, and the knowledge that it was Tetsu spanking him, Tetsu's hand punishing him, made Daiki's cock throb.

"Your skin is turning red and hot," Tetsu murmured to him, pausing to rub his palm over Daiki's stinging bottom. "Do you like that, Daiki?" He slapped Daiki's ass again, sharply.

"Yes, Tetsu!" Daiki gasped, fingers closing in the sheets under them.

"Good." Tetsu's hand turned a little heavier as he started spanking Daiki again. "Remember that this will be your punishment whenever I have to put a new collar on you."

Daiki moaned into the sheets, panting for breath with the heat building under Tetsu's hand, making his ass throb in time with his cock. It almost really hurt, now, except that Tetsu's hand lingered, giving his ass a little rub after every sharp blow, easing the bite of it into a slow burn, deep and intense. "Yes Tetsu, please," he gasped, spreading his legs wider, arms thrown out along the futon. It was so good, feeling Tetsu's control of him, Tetsu's control of what he would feel and how. And knowing he was being punished made him hard and breathless.

"You definitely like this, don't you?" There was a smile in Tetsu's voice, and his other hand slid between Daiki's legs to stroke his cock. He spread Daiki's burning cheeks apart and rubbed a finger over his entrance. Daiki nearly came right then and there.

"Fuck, please Tetsu!" He whined when Tetsu rubbed his entrance a little harder, and then gasped when Tetsu drew back and gave his ass a ringing smack. "Tetsu!" It was good, so good, like being fucked really hard. Tetsu's other hand stayed wrapped around Daiki's cock, fondling him as Tetsu spanked him hard and sure, every stroke making Daiki jerk on his knees and moan with the burst of sharp heat across his ass. "Tetsu, Tetsu fuck, please!" Tetsu's hand tightened on his cock and one last punishing stroke across his ass sent fireworks down Daiki's nerves. He groaned as he came, shuddering in Tetsu's hands.

Taiga hadn't been entirely sure about this, at first, even though Daiki had sounded so turned on by the idea. It was no secret Daiki was into more extreme things than he was, after all. But he did trust Tetsuya, and seeing Daiki spread out waiting for Tetsuya was undeniably hot.

And... it sure didn't sound like Daiki was in pain.

By the time Tetsuya was spanking Daiki hard enough to have made Taiga wince before this he was also fondling Daiki's very hard cock, and God the sounds Daiki was making. He sounded, he looked like he was being fucked. Fucked hard. And really liking it. Watching Daiki's ass turn red under Tetsuya's hand and hearing Daiki begging hoarsely for more was enough to set Taiga panting himself. It was hot, just as hot to watch Daiki being taken this way as it was to watch Tetsuya drive Daiki out of his head any other way. To watch Tetsuya so focused on Daiki, so in control of his body and responses.

Even in the middle of that intent focus, though, Tetsuya gave Taiga a warm little glance every now and then, checking on him, checking that he was all right. That alone was enough to ease Taiga down into the familiar heat of following Tetsuya's lead. And that was what kept Taiga's hand off his own cock, even when Daiki finally came, sprawled open under Tetsuya's hands, so perfectly, wantonly sensual that Taiga had to curl his fingers into the cotton under his knees. Tetsuya hadn't said he could touch himself yet.

So he watched, breathless and hot and really hard, as Tetsuya eased Daiki down to the futon, murmuring to him that he was very good, that everything was all right, that he'd done just as he should. Daiki relaxed under those words, curling up on his side and watching Tetsuya and Taiga with dark, sleepy eyes, flushed and smiling. Tetsuya leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple.

And then he rose and came to Taiga.

Taiga looked up at his lover, lips parted with how quickly he was breathing. "Tetsuya..."

Tetsuya smiled for him and ran slow fingers through Taiga's hair. "Yes." He knelt between Taiga's spread knees and pulled Taiga down to a kiss. Taiga moaned into his mouth as Tetsuya's hand closed on his cock, wrapping his arms tight around Tetsuya and holding on.

"That's good," Tetsuya told him, voice soft and sure, hand working slowly up and down. That hand was warm, far warmer than skin-heat, and Taiga's breath caught as he realized. That was the hand Tetsuya had been spanking Daiki with—but it was gentle on him, so gentle, and Taiga had to bury his head against Tetsuya's shoulder, moaning.

"Shh." The fingers of Tetsuya's other hand slid through his hair, cradling his head. "I have you, Taiga, I have you safe. It's all right. Just feel."

Heat swept him down, deep, so deep he couldn't do anything but shudder as long waves of pleasure raked through him. That soft assurance that Tetsuya saw the differences between Taiga and Daiki, would hold Taiga the way he needed to be held, undid him so completely he was almost sobbing for breath against Tetsuya's shoulder. Tetsuya held him until he quieted, fondling him gently until Taiga was wrung dry.

When Tetsuya finally coaxed Taiga down to the bedding, he willingly settled against Daiki, lying quiet as Tetsuya sat by them and petted them gently. It was Daiki who finally stirred and looked up at Tetsuya.

"You haven't..." he started, suggestively, and Tetsuya laughed and set a light finger against his lips.

"I've had both of you trust me and give yourselves up to me completely, tonight. I have what I want."

Daiki colored a little and ducked down against Taiga's shoulder, and Taiga huffed a bit of a laugh, holding him closer. Daiki was the one who would try anything, who loved the edge, who wanted to be pushed, but he got all shy whenever Tetsuya laid out the emotional stakes in so many words. Taiga rested his head on Tetsuya's knees, reassured that Tetsuya knew how completely he held them both.

Tonight had reminded Taiga of why he did.

He let his eyes fall closed and relaxed against the futon with Daiki in his arms, feeling the slow slide of Tetsuya's fingers through his hair. This was where he belonged.

When Tetsuya's fingers stroked lightly over the slim cord of his collar, Taiga smiled.

End

Fitting to the Crime

Kasamatsu and Kise play bed games, and Kise gets the punishment he deserves. (And, more importantly, the spanking he wants.) D/s, Porn, I-4

Kasamatsu Yukio liked to think that he was a straightforward kind of guy. He could blindside opponents as well as any other point guard, and better than most in fact, but that was different. That was just good strategy. Friends and classmates and, for that matter, lovers, weren't a matter for strategy. So it took him a few minutes, especially in the afterglow of pretty damn good sex, to realize what Ryouta's little sidelong glances meant. When he did, he couldn't help laughing, pulling Ryouta tighter against him and ruffling his already rumpled gold hair. "You're just insatiable, aren't you?"

Ryouta's cheek heated against Yukio's shoulder as he ducked his head, but he was smiling, shy and hopeful. And since Yukio didn't have to be Ryouta's captain any more, and it wasn't one of Ryouta's infuriating pretend ploys, Yukio let fond indulgence curl warmly through him and cuddled Ryouta comfortably against him. He didn't mind playing their other game, today, if Ryouta wanted it. "So," he murmured, carding his fingers through that bright hair, "were you good for your senpai at practice today?"

Ryouta made a tiny, gleeful sound at the question, and the offer in it, before composing himself appropriately. "I'm afraid not, senpai." The way he bent his head would have looked genuinely contrite except for the sparkle of his eyes as he looked up under his lashes.

"No?" Yukio gave him a stern look, setting his fingers under Ryouta's chin to tip his head up and meet Yukio's eyes. "What did you do, Ryouta?"

"Well, Hayakawa-senpai was trying to beat his own record for successful passes after a rebound." Ryouta already sounded a little breathless, eyes wide under Yukio's steady gaze. "And I just mentioned that maybe it would help if he kept his energy up longer, and that I had a spare bottle of Yunker Fanti. Nakamura-senpai said that really wasn't the problem, but Hayakawa-senpai had already drunk the whole bottle."

Yukio had to bite his tongue hard to keep from bursting out laughing; he suspected Ryouta deliberately thought up answers to that question that would make him laugh, and Yukio just hoped he wasn't actually putting them into practice. Honestly, if Ryouta was really doing half the things he said he did when they played like this it was a wonder Nakamura hadn't strangled him yet. The thought of Hayakawa after even one slug of an energy drink didn't bear thinking on, and a whole bottle was downright terrifying to contemplate. When he thought he could control his voice again, he frowned at Ryouta. "That definitely wasn't being good for your senpai. You know what it means when you misbehave, don't you?"

Ryouta lowered his eyes and wet his lips as a flush slid up his fair skin. "Yes, senpai," he said, soft and husky.

Yukio sat up, sliding back until he could ball up a pillow against the headboard at his back, and tapped his outstretched thigh meaningfully. "Get in position, then, and take what's coming to you."

Ryouta was a little breathless with anticipation by the time he'd laid himself down over Yukio-san's lap. Sometimes they did it differently; sometimes Yukio-san made him bend over with his hands on the wall, or kneel on the seat of the desk chair and hold on to its back. This was how he liked it best, though, so that he could relax with Yukio-san's hand on his back steadying him while the other hand rubbed his obediently presented ass slow and sure. Yukio-san was always careful about preparing him for a spanking, and that always made Ryouta hard, feeling the slow slide of Yukio-san's palm and not knowing when his punishment would start.

In fact, sometimes Yukio-san took long enough for Ryouta to get a little impatient.

"Senpai," he lilted, and then yelped when Yukio-san smacked his ass once, sharply.

"Be quiet, Ryouta," Yukio-san told him sternly, squeezing the faintly stinging spot.

Ryouta shivered and subsided as he was told, waiting while anticipation wound tighter. And tighter. When Yukio-san finally lifted his hand and brought it down firmly, he yelped and jumped even though it didn't hurt very much at all. This time, though, Yukio-san wasn't stopping, and each smack of his palm against Ryouta's bare ass was a little harder than the last. Ryouta's breath came shorter as the slowly growing sting of the blows built to a hot burn across his bottom. He was gasping with each firm stroke, and still Yukio-san held Ryouta down over his lap and spanked him steadily, until he lost count of the strokes, until he felt like his whole body was suspended from that slow burn, all his attention focused on how briskly Yukio-san's hand met his upturned ass. He was moaning a little by the time Yukio-san paused, running his warm hand up and down Ryouta's thigh.

"Are you sorry for what you did, yet?" Yukio-san asked sternly, and Ryouta blushed against the cool sheets under his cheek. Most of him was swept up in the heat of being punished by Senpai, but part of him was also warmed that Yukio-san was so good to him, so careful with him.

He didn't want it to end yet, though, so he answered with perfect truthfulness, "No, Senpai."

"Tch. Of course not."

Ryouta bucked, eyes widening as Yukio-san spanked him ten times, fast and hard. By the end of it he was draped over Yukio-san's lap, legs spread, panting for breath against the sharp burn throbbing in his ass. And also in his cock.

"You are naughty today," Yukio-san murmured, and that hint of a purr in his voice as his hand rubbed circles over Ryouta's bottom made Ryouta moan.

"Yes, Senpai," he agreed, breathless, forehead pressed to the sheets, eager for his punishment to continue.

He didn't have to wait long. Yukio-san's hand on his back spread, holding him down, and the hand on his ass lifted. When it fell again, it came down with a crack of skin against skin and a fierce, hard sting across his burning cheeks. And again. And again. Ryouta whimpered, hungry for the intensity of those blows, for the certainty of being punished by Senpai.

"Look at you," Yukio-san told him softly. Crack. Ryouta bucked over his lap at the sharp bite of Senpai's hand on his ass.

"This is how a naughty boy should look." Crack. Ryouta's toes were curling up with every stroke.

"Bent over his senpai's knee with his ass turning red from getting the spanking he deserves." Crack. Ryouta whined, mouth open as he gasped for breath. His ass was on fire, and he was so hard, hard from the things Yukio-san was saying, hard from how much he was feeling. Two more of those punishing strokes, though, and he could feel his shoulders tightening, feel himself pressing up against the edge of too much. "Please, Senpai!" he gasped out.

Yukio-san brought his hand down one more time, hard and merciless. It was perfect, the perfect reminder that Yukio-san was the one in charge, the one who would choose how Ryouta was punished. All in a breath, Ryouta was over the edge, coming hard as he shuddered over Yukio-san's lap and Yukio-san squeezed his burning bottom, slow and firm. For long, endless moments, Ryouta's whole body was wringing out with the heat Yukio-san had spanked into his ass, and Ryouta just clutched at the sheets and moaned with it.

When he finally relaxed, draped across Yukio-san's lap and dazed, Yukio-san told him softly, "Good, Ryouta. That was good." His hands were gentle, now, as he rubbed Ryouta's back slow and sure, grounding him again, and Ryouta sighed a little, eyes closed. Those words reminded him there would be arms to catch him and hold him as he came back down, so he let himself drift.

Yukio watched Ryouta carefully as he rubbed Ryouta's back slow and easy, and nodded when Ryouta finally stirred and stretched a little. "Come here, Ryouta," he coaxed quietly, guiding Ryouta up off his lap and back into his arms. "That's right. Everything's all right." He leaned back against his pillows, ignoring the mess across the sheets and his thighs for now, and drawing Ryouta down against his chest so he could lie without any pressure on his rear. He held Ryouta close, running slow fingers through his hair, until Ryouta finally sighed and looked up, smiling. "All right?" Yukio asked, touching his cheek.

Ryouta nodded and snuggled closer. "It's good. Thank you, Yukio-san."

Yukio kissed his forehead gently. "My pleasure. You know that."

"I meant..." Ryouta started, and Yukio laid a finger over his lips.

"All of it is my pleasure," he said, firmly. "Including watching over you and taking care of you."

Ryouta turned pink and ducked his head against Yukio's shoulder. Yukio smiled softly, stroking his hair again. It was true; he liked knowing Ryouta would submit to punishment from him, and he liked just as much knowing that he could take care of Ryouta.

This care, this charge, this responsibility, he had succeeded in. Without question.

He cradled Ryouta closer, satisfied.

End

Flirting With...

Imayoshi may have a bit of an exhibitionist streak, and Kasamatsu may be incapable of turning down a challenge, and this may eventually get them both in trouble. They should probably stop--but maybe not just yet. Porn, I-4

Imayoshi Shouichi was enjoying himself.

So was his current partner, to judge by the sounds Kasamatsu was making, and Shouichi leaned closer, pressing Kasamatsu more firmly up against the wall to purr in his ear, “Careful, now.Â  You don’t want anyone looking down here, do you?”

Kasamatsu pushed him back far enough to glare at him in the dimness of the arena service hall they were currently taking advantage of.Â  “Like you’d care,” he hissed.Â  “You like doing this practically in public.”

Shouichi smiled charmingly at his favorite rival, mostly to hear the way it made Kasamatsu growl.Â  “So do you,” he pointed out, sliding a hand down to cup Kasamatsu’s cock, which was very definitely hard by now.Â  Kasamatsu bucked into his hand with a stifled gasp before catching his breath.

"I," he told Shouichi in a dire, if very hushed, tone, "need to learn to duck faster every time I see you off the damn court."Â Â

Of course, he immediately undercut the pronouncement by tangling his fingers back in Shouichi’s hair and pulling him down to another kiss, hot and fierce.Â  Shouichi laughed into his mouth; he loved playing with Kasamatsu, both on the court and off.Â  “So what,” he murmured against Kasamatsu’s mouth, “would you think if I turned you around and fucked you just like this?”

"I’d think you were dreaming."Â  Kasamatsu’s voice was amazingly dry for a whisper.Â  There was a glint in his eyes, though, one Shouichi recognized, and a grin curled his lips as he waited for the next part.Â  "If you wanted to put that mouth of yours to another use, though, I might just let you."

Shouichi laughed at that challenge.Â  He loved how sharp Kasamatsu’s edges could get, and how subtle they could be.Â  “That might be fun, yeah.”Â  He slid down to his knees on the dusty tile floor, grinning up at Kasamatsu as he hooked his fingers in Kasamatsu’s waistband and pulled it down.Â  “Let’s find out.Â  And see how quiet you can be while I'm making that 'better use' of my mouth.”

Kasamatsu’s eyes on him turned hot and dark, and he slid his fingers through Shouichi’s hair, tugging him closer.Â  “Yeah, let’s.”

Shouichi wrapped his mouth around Kasamatsu’s cock and purred a bit at the very satisfying way he moaned.Â  That was a good start, and so was the way Kasamatsu’s fingers tightened in his hair.Â  He sucked hard, reaching up to pin Kasamatsu’s hips to the wall when they bucked forward.

"You are such a bastard," Kasamatsu gasped.Â  "I don’t know why I keep agreeing to this."

Shouichi’s brows rose and he drew back long enough to murmur, “What, really?”

Kasamatsu bared his teeth, laughing low and breathless.Â  “Well, maybe I do.”Â Â

Shouichi smiled back, sharp, and let Kasamatsu pull him back in, sucking down the thickness of his cock and humming around it.Â  He liked it when Kasamatsu admitted just how wicked his edge could be.

He also liked the sounds Kasamatsu was making, husky and low, louder whenever Shouichi tongued him, but then caught back at once.Â  It was hot, hearing how conscious Kasamatsu was that they were in a public place, that this might be a service hall but it wasn’t that far from the changing rooms teams had been assigned, thinking about what they would look like if anyone happened to pass by and glance down this side hall.

Kasamatsu was starting to arch taut under his hands when Shouichi heard footsteps.

Kasamatsu’s fingers tightened in his hair, and his moan had a desperate edge.Â  He was too close to hold back now.Â  Maybe he didn’t even want to.Â  Shouichi sucked on him harder, fingers digging into the lean muscle of Kasamatsu’s thighs, and Kasamatsu shuddered against the wall, making hoarse, stifled sounds as he came.Â  Shouichi licked at him, half his attention on the footsteps tapping and scuffing down the hall.Â  Closer.Â Â

Past the service hall they were in.

Shouichi closed his eyes and let himself feel the hot thrill of how close they were to being seen, being discovered like this, let it run through him and pull him right down after Kasamatsu.Â  He clutched Kasamatsu’s thighs, swaying against him as heat wrung him out hard, pulsing through him sweet and wild.Â  When it finally ebbed again, he leaned his forehead against Kasamatsu’s hip, panting.

Kasamatsu’s fingers combed through Shouichi's hair and he murmured, “Pervert.”Â  There was a laugh under the softness of his voice, though, and Shouichi looked up to flash him a smirk.Â  They both knew Kasamatsu didn’t actually have any room to talk.

"So."Â  He levered himself back to his feet.Â  "Think that’ll take the edge off until we actually play tomorrow?"

Kasamatsu pulled his pants back up and stretched against the wall, lazy and satisfied.Â  “I suppose so.Â  Probably.”Â  He laughed at the mock-indignant look Shouichi gave him and leaned in to nip at Shouichi’s lower lip.Â  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Shouichi caught him close for long enough to kiss him, hot and intent; a teaser for the next day.Â  “Until then.”

He stored away the flash of Kasamatsu’s eyes to tide him over until they could meet on the court.

And maybe after.

End

Red Heart and White Sword

Lin Shu and Nihuang settle into life at court, in the field, and in Jingyan's home while Lin Manor is repaired. The rest of the court may need a few stiff drinks to recover from the process, especially once a complex political scandal breaks in the middle of it. Drama with Politics and Porn, I-4

One

"I suppose I should see if the Lin manor can be reclaimed and repaired," Lin Shu mused, hands clasped behind him as he, Nihuang, and Jingyan walked slowly through the palace complex's roofed walks toward the Eastern Palace and Jingyan's waiting work. Jingyan was the one walking slowest, he was rather amused to note.

"And perhaps beg some staff from someone," Nihuang put in ruefully. "We came on so fast we left almost the entire rest of our train and escort a day or two behind, and we don't keep more than a handful of people at the Mu house here, regularly."

Jingyan nodded to a small herd of ministers who crowded out of their way and bowed—and started whispering as soon as they'd passed, Lin Shu noted. "Go to my house in town, then. It's almost fully staffed." His mouth quirked at the corner, the quieter relative of that irreverent grin Lin Shu had always loved to pull out of him. "Since none of my officers really wished to enter the ranks of the Palace officials at this point in their lives."

"Jingyan! You didn't actually suggest that to them, did you?" Nihuang asked, eyes dancing.

"No." Jingyan's smile faded. "I wasn't in the mood for laughing, at the time."

Lin Shu laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight for a moment. "I'm here," he said, softly. "I will remain here."

Jingyan took a quick breath and visibly settled himself. "Yes. And I said it a long time ago, didn't I?" he added, more briskly. "What's mine is yours, including that house. Stay as long as you like."

It was Lin Shu's turn to feel his breath catch, though he knew it should be no surprise that Jingyan also remembered.

Nihuang slid a thoughtful look back and forth between them, and finally smiled. "We will, then." At Lin Shu's raised brows she tucked a hand into his and otherwise ignored him, still smiling, which meant she wanted to tease him over knowing something he didn't. It probably said something about his own nature that he found that endearing. He laced his fingers with hers, ignoring the sidelong glances of passing officials and the faint quivering of Jingyan's shoulders that said he was trying not to laugh at them. It was their own business if they wanted to take this delayed opportunity to act like youngsters in love. "You should join us, in the mornings, for practice forms" Nihuang added, to Jingyan.

Lin Shu winced, pinched pride twinging a bit, but Nihuang just gave him a stubborn look. He knew she was right, that a partner closer to his own build would probably help him re-find the edges of himself more quickly, but he still had to take a moment to stifle the internal wail that said he didn't want Jingyan to see how much he'd lost.

Jingyan, for his part, had stopped still in the middle of the open walk between buildings, eyes wide. "Xiao-Shu... you can do forms again?" The first, faint stir of delight in his voice, and the aching hope in those words snuffed any remaining protest like a pinched-out candle.

"My sword forms are still appallingly stiff, and I can't complete any but the lowest leaps." Lin Shu's mouth tilted wryly. "The Lin swordmaster would weep. But yes. Every morning." Looking away, through the pillars of the outer walk ahead of them, he admitted, softly. "You would be welcome."

"Then I will come," Jingyan told him, just as softly.

"Excellent," Nihuang declared, looking downright smug as she caught their arms and towed them back into motion. "Then, for now, you can show us what's giving you a headache, Jingyan."

"Nothing is giving me a headache." Jingyan disengaged from her grip, nearly rolling his eyes.

"Then show us what would be giving you a headache if you were not Lady Jing's son," Lin Shu specified, and shared a knowing look with Nihuang when Jingyan's gaze slid aside. More seriously, he added, "Jingyan. This is exactly what I came back in order to help you with. Let me."

Now Jingyan returned his gaze, steady and serious. "Even though you hoped to be done with being the strategist, after Prince Qi, my brother's, and Lin's and Chiyan's names were restored?"

For a long moment, he was silent, because that had been true. "I did finish with it, though," he said at last, slowly. "And I returned to my old self, my own world, long enough to die there. I thought that would be the end of it, and I still believe I was right about that. This," he swept a hand around, at the palace, at the ministers and officials and ladies moving through the halls and gardens, each intent on their own ends and ambitions, and the three of them in the middle of it all, "this is what comes after that end, another new life." He gave Jingyan a tiny smile. "Now, what I can do, all that I can do, is for you and with you, nothing held back. That's as it should be, and I have no wish to be done with it."

Jingyan paused at the turn in to the Eastern Palace's garden walk, and Lin Shu saw true relief in the faint easing of his shoulders. "Xiao-Shu," Jingyan said, softly. "Thank you."

"If you thank me too often, I'm going to start calling you Your Highness again," Lin Shu warned.

Jingyan laughed at that. "Fine. Come on, then." He gestured them down the walk, and Lin Shu exchanged satisfied smiles with Nihuang. Her eyes were dancing, like she was laughing at them, again.

Eventually, he'd have to figure out what it was she thought he didn't know.

Things that were attempting to give him headaches took them all the way through dinner, and for once Jingyan didn't feel bad for complaining. Nihuang might not be any more of an adept at politics than he was, but they all knew how to read a situation and xiao-Shu seemed to know most of what he said even before he said it.

"Of course Zhu Yue still bears a grudge; he's actually quite aware of the city's political currents, even if a mole would have a better view of the country's larger concerns." Xiao-Shu pointed a sliver of dried apricot at Jingyan. "As far as he's concerned, you're directly responsible for his sister's death."

Nihuang rolled her eyes and pushed his hand toward his mouth. "I'll hardly deny that it was our actions that brought Prince Yu down, but even if Lady Zhu had really died, that would have been her own choice; she wasn't condemned with him."

"I did say Zhu Yue had a narrow view." Xiao-Shu finally popped the bit of apricot into his mouth. "He'll bear watching, even demoted, but I doubt he'll go beyond a little obstructionism. She was always the one with the most courage, in that family."

Jingyan sat back, trying not to laugh as Nihuang nudged a dish of dumplings under xiao-Shu's hand without looking. "Are you practicing for your future children?" he finally asked. It was at least the fourth time she'd done it, this meal. Nihuang snorted inelegantly.

"Hardly. It's that this one has gotten careless," she aimed a quelling look at xiao-Shu's indignant sound, "and always forgets that he has an appetite again, or what one is supposed to do with an appetite."

"I eat," xiao-Shu protested mildly. Jingyan eyed the dishes around them; xiao-Shu's were, perhaps, half as empty as his and Nihuang's. At his raised brows, xiao-Shu sighed and reached for another dumpling. Nihuang gave Jingyan a pleased, complicit nod, and Jingyan made a note to see how soon he could take xiao-Shu to his mother, who could give authoritative orders about how much to make sure he ate—orders that xiao-Shu might even follow, coming from her. It was xiao-Shu's open amusement and the laughter in Nihuang's eyes that he took to bed with him, though, the still-strong wonder that the brother of his heart had returned to him, and when his eyes opened on the soft light of early morning, he was smiling.

It was good, so very good, to step out into the cool air and see Lin Shu and Nihuang standing in the middle of his house's open training ground as if they had never left. Good to settle into his stance beside them without needing a word spoken, and move as one, hands sweeping up in the opening movement of the first form they'd all been taught. Good, above all, to watch Lin Shu out of the corner of his eye and see steadiness in the slow sweep of his feet over the dusty ground, true calm in his eyes and not the brittle, desperate edge of a year ago.

They were all quiet for a long moment after closing, all three of them, he thought, basking a little in having regained this peace together. At last, though, Nihuang stretched and nudged xiao-Shu with her shoulder. "You should do paired forms with Jingyan, today."

"Are you all right continuing?" Jingyan couldn't help asking, a little hesitant to even bring it up but remembering all too well the days of illness that had come after even small exertions, last year.

Lin Shu chuckled, sweeping one hand up to guard and beckoning. "Amazingly, yes. I can't come close to full speed or force, and Lin Chen threatened some fairly grisly things if I dared break a bone while practicing, but we haven't even been out here for half a shi. I'll be fine." His smile turned into a flashing grin that nearly knocked Jingyan's breath out with the weight of years suddenly rolling back. "Just be gentle with me, hm?"

"Yes, of course." Jingyan couldn't even blame Nihuang for stifling laughter as she took up a practice sword and stepped apart, ruefully aware that he'd answered far more earnestly than the joke probably called for. But that, too, was familiar, and he was smiling back as he stepped forward, letting that old shock of contact roll over him as his arm met xiao-Shu's and his other hand drove in, past xiao-Shu's shoulder as he turned, not as light on his feet as he'd once been, not as sure, but still fluid in a way Jingyan had never hoped to see again.

Their rhythm was different now, and the shape their forms took against each other. Jingyan had always been given to driving through the center, but had also always kept his own center, been careful not to overextend. Xiao-Shu used to work around the edges of him, forcing him to turn, breaking his footing, leaping to catch his back. Now there were no leaps or lunges, only the fluid swirl of Lin Shu's movement around and past his strikes, so that any strike immediately edged on overextension, ran the risk of giving xiao-Shu his back. It was... exhilarating. Now, their rhythm together demanded all his skill, just to keep xiao-Shu from controlling it completely.

Perhaps it was exactly that which led him to push a little faster, and then a little more. In the end, it was xiao-Shu's step that stumbled, tangled, and tripped. That snapped Jingyan out of the form's focus, and he lunged forward to catch xiao-Shu before he fell. They stopped there for a long moment, clutching each other and leaning together, panting for breath. "Was that too fast?" Jingyan finally managed to ask.

"A little," xiao-Shu admitted, in exactly the same tone he'd used to allow that his first sword wound hurt 'a little'. He huffed a bit at Jingyan's dark look, and pushed himself upright. "I wasn't exactly complaining."

"You never do. That's why we worry," Nihuang pointed out, closing her sword drill to come and wind her fingers with xiao-Shu's, tugging a little. "Come wash up, both of you."

"Fine, fine," xiao-Shu agreed, tolerantly. "But if either of you try to treat me like glass tomorrow, you'll regret it."

Jingyan smiled, reassured by the familiarity of the threat. "All right."

He thought he could get used to having xiao-Shu around again very quickly.

Interlude: Appraisal

Lu Jian, one of the better architects in Jinglin if he did say so himself, stood in the first courtyard of the Lin Manor, hands planted on his hips, and turned on his heel to get a sense of the place. Six courtyards and three gardens, one of them a water garden—he wasn't looking forward to that cleaning job—not counting the tangle of the kitchen gardens, now an impenetrable riot of herbs and gourds. The bones of the place were still elegant, but rich paint was weathered off and peeling, everywhere, the metal sheathing at the feet of the pillars was grimy, and tile and shingles were cracked on nearly every surface they covered.

"This is going to be a pretty big job," his senior foreman, Shi Ping, said, squinting up at the underside of the inner gate. "We've never worked on someplace let to rot for quite this long. The framing will need checking, everywhere."

"Make sure you check the supports before you let anyone up on the roofs." Shi Ping gave him a patient look in answer, and Jian laughed. "I know you know, but there's always someone on the crew who thinks he can rush."

"If there are any, I'll give him a scythe and send him out to clear the west field; looks like they kept that one trimmed down." Shi Ping was circling the courtyard, and paused when he got to the inner hall, on the north side. "Or maybe make them work on this hall."

Lu Jian blinked at that; the steps didn't look in that bad of shape. "Why that hall?" He strode across the courtyard to join his foreman, kicking debris and broken clay shingles out of the way as he went. When he got to the steps, though, he stopped short. "Oh."

Some attempt at clean-up had been made at some point, but there was still a wide stain on the landing, just before the doors to the hall, where something dark had seeped through the paint, blistering it up and soaking into the wood. Someone had died on these steps, without question; died and been let to lie for a time.

"The Lin family have a hall of remembrance," Jian said, quietly. "You remember; last year, the Emperor himself led the first prayers. And their son has surely performed all the rites, since he returned."

Shi Ping, kneeling beside the steps to check for warping, gave him a speaking look, and Jian sighed.

"No, you're right. We'll make an offering, before we start." Jian rubbed his arms briskly, where goose-flesh had risen at the sight of that stain. "And we'll replace these steps first thing, I think."

Shi Ping grunted approvingly, as he stood. "Good idea. This is going to be a tough enough job, as it is."

Two

Cai Quan knew that, objectively, his life was far easier now than it would have been under Prince Yu or, thank the Heavens for forbidding it, Prince Xian, or even the Emperor had he still been the one whose hand was on the reins of the Ministries. He knew this. He knew that having a reasonable assurance of being able to take action when he uncovered some bit of corruption in his ministry was a gift, that the full-blooded support of a Crown Prince like Xiao Jingyan was a blessing. He knew that.

It just didn't make the apparently unending parade of peculation and bribery and misappropriation and plain old incompetence any less frustrating.

He exchanged bows in passing with a palace official, as he stalked down the breezeways to the Eastern Palace, and tried to ignore the obvious amusement in the man's smile. Yes, he was here a lot. Yes, he was usually annoyed over the reason. That was not actually a good thing! He stumped up the steps and waited for his presence to be called; at least the Crown Prince's close attendants were more sympathetic than amused. They undoubtedly got to watch the ongoing struggle to bail out the exceedingly leaky boat of the government from much closer up, and with the immediacy of it being their own master who was getting blisters from hauling the buckets.

Cai Quan shook off these rather frivolous mental images as Zhou Wei, who had taken over managing the Eastern Palace after the debacle of the old Crown Prince, gestured him in, pulling his thoughts back to the day's business. "Your Highness..." He only got halfway through his greeting before the presence of the man beside the Crown Prince's desk registered, and then he nearly swallowed his own tongue, staring. "...Mr. Su?" he finished, a little weakly. The clothes were different, finer than he'd seen on the man he'd only met once or twice, at the Prince's own manor in the city, the expression was different, the stance was different, but that was the face he remembered throwing a litany of betrayed history in the Emperor's teeth.

Su only smiled at him, a slow curl of lips that nearly made him take a step back. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else, Minister. I am Lin Shu." He bowed gracefully in greeting.

Cai Quan fumbled a bow back, stunned. Lin Shu? Lin Shu? He'd speculated, with Shen, that their Prince's brilliant strategist had to be someone from Prince Qi's or the Lin's service, but the Vice-Marshal of Chiyan, himself? How was it possible?

The Prince directed a tolerant look at the impossible man standing at his side, and Quan had to admit, dazed, that it was exactly the kind of look one would give a cherished but mischievous younger relative. "Vice-Marshal," he finally managed. "Congratulations on your return." He was most definitely dragging Shen out drinking this evening; this was news that called for alcohol along with it, and perhaps Shen's advice on how much to say to anyone else.

"You had something for my attention?" the Prince asked, and Quan shook himself back to the business at hand.

"Yes, Highness." He fished the report folio out of his sleeve and proffered it. "Evidence of some long-running misappropriation has come up, in the southern Qing Li supply depot. Investigations have only started, but this is a list of the missing equipment so far." His mouth twisted. "I learned only recently that the Ministry of War might have suffered some delay in passing the information on to you."

The Prince flicked open the report, frowning more and more darkly as he read down the fairly extensive list. "You think someone there is involved?"

"As I said, Your Highness, the investigation has only begun." At the Prince's sharp look, though, Quan admitted, "I think it likely." Shen would complain about quick judgments, but really, what else could it be?

Su... rather Lin, was reading over the Prince's shoulder. "Mmm. This was probably sold off to the Dao rebellion in Southern Chu."

The Prince looked up at him, brows raised, and Lin Shu's mouth quirked up. "Look." He leaned over the Prince's shoulder to tap the start of the list. "There's plenty of horse-gear taken, yes, but it's all basically replacement straps, no saddles, no stirrups even; that was taken to be resold for money."

"And without that all the rest is skirmishers' gear or food," the Prince murmured. "I see. You think it goes back that far, though?"

"If it wasn't critical before now..."

"...then it was a trickle over time, yes, but I thought Qi would be the ones to support Dao..."

"It's Northern Yan that's keeping Qi standing firm..."

"...which means they'd have the most stake in making sure Southern Chu was distracted..."

"...but also be the place hardest to get supplies out of."

The Prince sighed and settled back in his chair. "We'll need to check for Xuanjing involvement, then."

Cai Quan shook his head a little, trying to catch up with that rush of shared thoughts weaving back and forth like currents in one river, and asked, "Xuanjing?"

"Putting Dao in their debt, and possibly implicating Northern Yan in Chu's internal politics, would have been a desirable move, from the viewpoint of the network of Hua agents that Xia Jiang wanted to keep control of," Lin Shu supplied, and Quan's jaw tightened. Even dead, that man was still trouble.

"My investigators will be alert for the possibility."

"Good." The Prince nodded brisk dismissal, and Quan took himself out, tallying up the wagon-load of extra documentation and background he'd probably need to have his people find, to unravel this one, and which of his inherited agents he might need to keep away from it lest old loyalties interfere. Perhaps he should put Xia Dong in charge of it...

He was definitely dragging Shen out for a drink, today.

"Nihuang!" Xia Dong strode through the pale hangings and dark wood of her outer rooms in the Nie manor to catch Nihuang in a quick hug before taking her shoulders and holding her a little away, eyeing her up and down, and finally smiling. "You look well. It's true, then?"

Nihuang smiled, the way she sometimes felt she hadn't actually stopped smiling for months, now. "It's true." The smile faded a little as she reached out for Dong-jie's hands. "And I wanted to speak with you about that."

Dong-jie looked at her, dark and steady, for two long breaths and then nodded. "Come on, then." She gestured Nihuang toward the inner rooms and made shoo-ing motions at her attendants.

"Dong-jie," Nihuang admonished, laughing a little when Xia Dong rolled her eyes.

"I've never been the inside type, you know that." She settled Nihuang on one of the stools by her well-piled writing table and pulled up another. "Now. Tell me."

Nihuang folded her hands in her lap and took a breath to organize her thoughts. "There is a cure. It's not a sure thing. It depends on finding enough people who will with all their hearts for him to live, who are willing to give a little of their own lives. And I know that is a weight on Shu-ge." She looked up to meet Dong-jie's sober gaze. "And it's not... I mean, it's..." She had to bite her lip to still its stubborn trembling. "It doesn't erase anything of what they went through, before."

"Oh," Dong-jie whispered. "Oh, Nihuang..." She leaned forward, winding her arms back around Nihuang, and Nihuang let herself cling tight for a moment while Dong-jie rubbed her back. Finally she asked, gently, "I imagine touching is a difficult thing for him, still?"

Nihuang nodded, sitting back just enough to blot her eyes on her cuff. She'd thought Dong-jie would probably understand; Nie Feng had almost certainly been dealing with the same thing.

The first time Shu-ge had come to her bed, after their so very long-delayed banquet, she'd been startled by how hesitant he was. He'd seen to her pleasure all right, with slow hands and mouth, but when she'd reached for him he'd flinched. And then apologized in a stifled, helpless voice while she'd been frozen, stricken. Only when she'd insisted had he told her, one slow, painful burst of words at a time, about thirteen years of pain and exhaustion and honest forgetting that pleasure of the body was even possible. Of feeling nothing but fury and betrayal for his own flesh. Of bitter, bone-deep knowing that he'd have nothing to give any lover, and the shock and blankness of mind he'd felt the first time his flesh stirred, after he'd woken up to this new life. They'd wound up huddled together among the covers and pillows, crying in each other's arms, that night.

"The memory of pain is slow to leave," Dong-jie said quietly, stroking her hair back with light fingers. "You've recovered from injuries before; you know."

Nihuang blinked hard and nodded. "A little. Yes. But Dong-jie, thirteen years..." Those light fingers touched her lips, hushing her, and Xia Dong's smile was tight and tilted.

"Yes. It took... a long time before Feng-ge could even lie in the same bed with me, let alone anything more." She huffed, half amused and half annoyed. "Of course, part of that was convincing him his appearance wouldn't disgust me, silly man." She took a deep breath, shoulders straightening. "But we have time, now, Nihuang. Time and peace that we've all fought for and won. So take it."

Nihuang took a breath of her own, telling herself to trust Dong-jie's wisdom, which was what she'd come for, today, after all, and nodded, smiling through the wetness still in her eyes. "Yes, jie-jie."

"Better," Dong-jie said, firmly, and grinned at her. "And I hear you have a younger sister in your household, now, to help you?"

Nihuang laughed, only a little damply. "Yes. She was so annoyed that I made her watch over the rest of the train while we came ahead; I'm going to have to make it up to her, when they get in."

"Bring her to visit," Dong-jie told her. "Or perhaps I'll come see you. I still have to thank her for taking my place in the prison."

"You'll like her," Nihuang predicted. "She's a lot like your agents."

"Hmm." Dong-jie got a speculative glint in her eye. "Perhaps she'd like a job..."

Gong Yu directed the unloading of the last horse with the same smile she'd used on importunate clients when she was an entertainer, and stalked up the stairs of Prince Jing's manor (which she knew her way around very well, thank you), and made for the inner halls, tugging the sleeves of her travel robes irritably straight. She still couldn't believe she'd been left with the baggage, and yes, she knew that there'd been a definite chance of attack on the train of Lin Shu and Mu Nihuang, but really! She knew for a fact that two of the servants were men of Jiangzuo, and could look after affairs just fine without her!

"Jie-jie, the baggage is all disposed of," she reported, a bit sulkily, as she entered Nihuang's rooms, and then stopped short in the entry. Nihuang jie-jie had company. And her company was the most beautiful woman Gong Yu had ever seen.

Yu knew that she was considered very beautiful, and by classical standards she supposed it was true. She'd certainly used the fact often enough. But the woman standing to greet her was slim and straight as a sword, had swift, graceful hands that settled into place like the flick of a knife, and her sharp features were alive with a wicked, sardonic amusement.

"Thank you for taking care of the train, mei-mei," Nihuang was saying. "Come and greet Xia Dong, third rank official in the Ministry of Justice. Dong-jie, this is Gong Yu."

Yu hurried forward, and nearly wobbled as she dipped a bow of greeting. "Madam Nie."

"Gong Yu." A light touch under her elbow made her look up. Xia Dong's smile had softened, and Yu could feel herself blushing. "I didn't get a chance, a year ago, but I wished very much to thank you for enabling me to leave the prison and see my husband." She gave Yu a bow, swift and precise as every other move she'd made. "My thanks."

Yu returned it hastily, unaccustomedly flustered, heart beating quick. "It was my honor to assist, Madam Nie."

Xia Dong gave her a wry grin, and Yu's breath caught. "You're part of the clan, now. No need to be so formal."

Yu blushed deeper, cheeks hot, and clasped her hands tight, wetting her lips. "Xia Dong jie-jie," she amended, obediently.

Xia Dong clapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Better. Come tell me about how the roads are; it looks like I'll be headed a little south soon, myself." She sank down cross-legged by a low table with a tea set sitting out, fluid and graceful, without a single second of wasted motion. Yu tried not to stare.

"You have a case?" Nihuang asked as Yu settled on the cushion beside Xia Dong, carefully graceful so as not to look like any more of a fool.

"Theft from one of the rear area army depots. A leftover from Xu Anmo's style of leadership, I'm guessing." Xia Dong's mouth twisted expressively.

"Ah. That case." Nihuang poured more tea, passing Yu the third cup. "Jingyan is angry over that one. He was in the field long enough to know well what happens to the troops who have to meet action when their supplies are interfered with."

"Minister Cai isn't too happy about it, either." Xia Dong sipped her tea, and her mouth curved like a drawn bow, sweet and deadly. "That's why he's sending me."

"The roads are clear near the capital," Yu supplied, hoping she didn't sound breathless, "though they'll be worsening soon, as the wet season sets in. I hope your case goes swiftly." And that Xia Dong returned swiftly; it was a real shame she couldn't do something about that directly, any more.

"I shall see that it does." She give Yu a knowing, sidelong smile. "Would you like to help?"

Yu truly couldn't help the way a smile took over her face. "Oh! May I?" She turned to Nihuang, who was laughing behind her hand. "Jie-jie, may I? Oh, but..." she drooped on her cushion. "My lord wished for me to guard you, in the capital."

Nihuang made a hmph sound, setting her cup down with just a little more force than necessary. "Shu-ge can just learn that I can guard myself."

Yu nibbled her lip, somehow doubtful that this would satisfy Lin Shu.

Xia Dong shook her head, smile wry. "You're in little danger, now. Tell you what, we'll ask Lady Jing to have a few of her girls keep an eye out. Xiao-Shu won't have qualms about her arrangements."

Nihuang positively smirked with satisfaction. "That should work." She leaned over and patted Yu's hand. "Go have fun, mei-mei."

Yu barely managed to hold back her squeak of excitement.

Lin Shu looked down at the woman in the circle of his arms, brows raised. "Are you telling me Dong-jie stole my concubine?"

Nihuang burst into such gales of laughter that he had to wonder if that was more accurate than he'd thought. "It will be good for her," she said, when she'd finally recovered. "Gong Yu is used to having more to do; she gets impatient with nothing but household duties to occupy her."

Lin Shu smiled, stroking back her loose hair with gentle fingers. "Like you?"

"Like me," she agreed easily. "Only without the military training and experience that will keep me in place as one of the generals of the nation. This will be good for her. Besides," she smirked, "Gong Yu has a crush on Dong-jie."

When he murmured thanks to his ancestors, she swatted his shoulder, and he laughed, gathering her close. "I hope they have a good time together, then." Against the darkness of her hair he added, still a little hesitant, even after their months together, "Come to bed?"

Her smile this time was sweet and brilliant, and she stood on her toes to kiss him. "Yes."

They helped each other out of over- and under-robes and, more slowly, undergarments. He still had to go slowly, when he actually started touching her skin, had to steady his breath and remind himself that it had always caught like this when they'd kissed, that it was normal, and even to be expected, surely, that the softness of her skin under his fingers would make any man a little dizzy. When she tucked herself under his chin, arms wrapped around him, and just settled there with a pleased sound, he had to hang on in return and close his eyes for a moment, nearly overwhelmed by the warmth of her pressed against him.

She waited for him. Waited for him to convince himself, again, that this was real. Waited until he stopped trembling and could slide his hands gently down the curve of her bare back to smile up at him and tug him toward the bed. As they stretched out together, he murmured against her shoulder, "Thank you."

"Oh hush." The words were impatient, but her voice was gentle and her hands were slow as they slid up his chest. "We have time."

"Even so." He kissed her softly, and laughed at the faintly exasperated sound she made into his mouth.

His awareness of his own body still came and went sometimes, but tonight, when she hooked a leg around his hip and rocked against him, slow, heavy heat curled at the base of his spine, and it felt... sure. Immovable. As steady as the knowledge of where his own center was, when he took a step in their training forms. And so, tonight, he slid his fingers into her hair and kissed her deeper, open and openly wanting, moving with her, sliding against her until she shivered, arching against him, and murmured, "Shu-ge..."

"Oh yes." He almost didn't recognize his own voice, rough and husky with the urgent heat running in his veins. She was wet against him, now, and the sound she made when he pressed into her was nearly a growl. The heat of her filled his mind, his lungs, and all he could do was catch her closer, drive into her, let the tide of sensation take him and trust that the ferocious intensity of it would be pleasure. Nihuang ground up against him, strong arms winding tight around him, and the burst of brilliant heat as her body tightened knocked the breath out of him in a wordless groan, drowned everything else in the wild surge of his body's response.

Other sensations settled back into place slowly. His mouth was dry from panting. Nihuang was pressed tight against him, shuddering as her body settled from her own pleasure. Her hands were stroking up and down his back, the slight scrape of callouses reminding him again that this was real.

"There," she finally said, voice just as rough as his, "see, we're getting better at that."

And, at that, he couldn't do anything but laugh, helplessly, and kiss her again.

Three

While Jingyan had been entirely correct about how easily he could become accustomed to having xiao-Shu always near, again, apparently this was not the case for his officials and ministers. Nearly a month after his arrival (or re-arrival) in the capital, whispers still followed Lin Shu through the halls of the Palace like an over-robe trailing off his shoulders. Xiao-Shu only smiled at them, though, small and amused, so Jingyan paid it as little mind as he could.

The distraction of half the officials reporting to him, he was less willing to ignore. He tapped a finger meaningfully against his desk, and the Minister of Personnel started a little, gaze jerking back to him from where it had been wandering off to the side. Admittedly, the tangle of tables and shelves, all stacked with books, scrolls, ink, bushes, and the occasional candle tree, which was slowly engulfing one side of Jingyan's outer receiving room, was worth a second glance. But He Jingzhong had seen what Jingyan couldn't help thinking of as xiao-Shu's command center before, and there was other work to get through, today. He raised pointed brows, and He cleared his throat.

"Ah. Yes. So, all the ladies the Crown Princess requested be inducted to the Palace staff have been approved." He bowed and offered a report folio. Jingyan refrained, with what he felt was admirable self-discipline, from rolling his eyes, and flipped through it quickly. Everyone An had discussed with his mother was, indeed, present.

"Very good." He nodded a dismissal, and He took himself off, a little slower than was really necessary.

Jingyan gave in and rolled his eyes.

From his own desk, xiao-Shu chuckled, finally looking up from the stack of reports and letters he had been giving every appearance of being completely engrossed in. "Give them a little longer to become accustomed, before you start thinking of distant posts you can banish people to."

"I wasn't thinking of banishing anyone," Jingyan said with dignity, if not with entire truthfulness. Xiao-Shu laughed out loud, at him.

"Of course you were. It's exactly the same little lines between your brows that you always got when dealing with idiots. It's probably the same look Nihuang is giving the Ji army generals at this very moment."

Nihuang had declared, when offered her own work space in the Eastern Palace, that she had just escaped a princedom's worth of paperwork, and demanded some field work to clean the paper dust out of her throat. Jingyan had sympathized too heartily with the sentiment to argue, and had asked her to inspect the armies posted to the interior. He trusted that she would bring back reliable accounts of whomever she didn't terrorize into shape on the spot. And also that she would make Lin Shu stop looking softly distracted and then a little disappointed immediately after. As he was, for example, at this moment. "She'll be back in ten days," he offered.

Xiao-Shu actually blushed, and Jingyan couldn't help laughing. "An thinks the two of you are adorable, you know." Actually, so did he. The two of them had only recently grown out of teasing each other mercilessly, when everything went wrong, and he treasured the chance to see them acting properly lovestruck. And, because that clearly meant someone else would have to do the teasing for a while, he added, "Mother thinks you're adorable, too."

Xiao-Shu snatched up a report folio and threw it at him, half-laughing and half-glowering. Jingyan grinned as he caught it, and ignored Zhou Wei's faint sigh from the side of the room. He didn't think the man actually disapproved. He did turn back to his work, though, because there was just so much of it to get through. "Do we have that review of boat-masters shipping under an Imperial charter yet?" he asked.

"Yes. You're holding it." Xiao-Shu smirked at him sidelong, and Jingyan snorted. All right, fine, yes he should know better than to try and get the better of his cousin.

That did not, of course, mean he would stop.

Jingyan was smiling as he bent over the endless reports.

Li Len climbed the steps to the Eastern Palace in Cai and Shen's wake. The two of them were already, or perhaps still, arguing.

"You should have gotten rid of Tian Gen as soon as you knew he was corrupt!"

"The point is that I didn't know; I can't just purge my ministry on suspicions."

"Suspicion is good enough for demotion, and then he couldn't do as much damage."

"Cai Quan..."

In a way, Len could see why the Crown Prince favored the two of them together. They did provide a fairly balanced view of any topic if you let them argue long enough, but it was a little nerve-wracking to be around, and he could do without extra nerves on any visit to the Crown Prince. At least Cai and Shen stopped arguing long enough for their entrance to be called.

That didn't actually help Len's nerves any, though, because Lin Shu was at the Crown Prince's side, today, as he was so constantly since he'd returned, leaning casually on the Prince's writing table and pointing something out over his shoulder. As someone who'd survived by adherence to protocol for decades, Len freely admitted to getting twitchy over how easily the Prince accepted Lin Shu's unpredictable shifts between knife-sharp observance of protocol and casual disregard of the same. How was a man supposed to know how to keep his head on his damn shoulders without at least a few guidelines?

He salved his nerves with a rigidly proper bow, along with Cai and Shen, and took a deep breath. Today was going to be tense enough as it was.

"Ministers," the Crown Prince greeted them, sitting back. "I take it you have something significant to discuss, today, to have all three of you here?"

"Unfortunately so," Shen agreed. "Your Highness will recall the misappropriation from the Qing Li southern depot. We seem to have struck an impasse, on it."

At Shen's nod, Len stepped forward. "Minister Cai's investigator determined which of the depot officers was responsible for the theft, and he has been remanded to prison already. Unfortunately, he has not yet been persuaded to give up the names of who else he worked with." He spread his hands, half helpless and half frustrated, and tried not to wince at the way the Prince's always-stern expression was turning dark and hard. "I am willing to approve sterner questioning, but..."

"I doubt it would be of use," Cai finished for him, clearly and entirely frustrated. "If he's this resistant to interrogation, to begin with, we'd have to use extreme measures, and the information that comes from that is always questionable. We do have a suspect, one Tian Gen, but I will admit that the evidence is very circumstantial."

"I see." The Prince's increasingly cold gaze turned to Shen. "Someone from your ministry, then?"

Shen nodded rather wearily. "What we do know points that way. Sergeant Yang covered his appropriation of supplies by reporting a good deal of spoilage, more than would have normally gone without question or inspection of the depot's storage itself. Investigation traced that money, and some of it was sent back to someone in the capital, but the trail ends at a pick-up point and a false name, and we have not been able to get a definitive description of the man who picked up those moneys."

"But you assume it's Tian Gen," Lin Shu murmured from where he stood by the Prince's chair, arms crossed, eyes distant, as though he were reading a scroll no one else could see.

"He's the one who should have overseen reports from that area." Shen gave Cai, who was nearly bouncing on his toes, a patient look, and added. "And he rose very quickly under Lou Zhinjing. I will admit that many of those who did likewise have been... less than reliable. But it is not evidence."

"He fits the description we do have," Cai grumbled.

"So do a quarter of the men in the city!" Shen pointed out, exasperated. "I can't throw the man out of the ministry just for that!"

"I can," the Prince stated flatly, and Len saw Lin Shu's head jerk up.

"Jingyan," Lin Shu said, sharp and warning, and Len tried not to actually pale with shock. He knew the man was sometimes casual with the Crown Prince, but this...!

Beside him, Shen sighed and murmured, under his breath, "Oh dear."

The Crown Prince nearly exploded up out of his chair, rounding on Lin Shu. "If he should have had oversight, he's guilty in any case!"

"Then let him be tried and removed for that," Lin Shu snapped back. "You cannot set a precedent for removing officials at your whim!"

The Crown Prince gestured sharply, as if to strike that aside. "This is hardly a whim!"

"It is if you don't wait for evidence!"

The two men glared at each other for a long moment before the Prince turned away and planted his clenched fists on the table, head lowered. Li Len wondered, a little distantly, if he could sneak out now and pretend he'd never witnessed this. He jumped a little when Shen patted him on the arm. "Calmly, Minister," Shen said out of the corner of his mouth, nearly whispering. "They do this now and then."

Before Len could ask how, in that case, Lin Shu was still alive and walking around free, Lin Shu sighed and stepped forward, anger falling away as he laid a hand on the Crown Prince's shoulder. "Dong-jie is very good at what she does," he said, quietly. "She'll bring you what you need, to act on this. Trust the people we've chosen."

The Crown Prince didn't answer, but did lift a hand and lay it over Lin Shu's. When he straightened again, his fury seemed to have washed away, or at least eased into a focused calm. "Minister Cai," he said quietly, "when do you expect Xia Dong to return?"

As if there was nothing at all strange about the Crown Prince, and de facto emperor, having a public shouting match with his closest advisor, Cai answered, "Likely another month; she's following the matÃ©riel trail to see whether we can trace more conclusively where the goods went. She sent the girl who accompanied her back, along with her interim report, though." He made a dubious face. "She suggested we try the girl on Tian Gen, actually."

Lin Shu smirked, where he was still standing close at the Prince's shoulder, and put in, "Gong Yu was one of my agents in the Capital for years. She's very good at getting men to talk."

"Ah." Cai bowed briefly. "With both of you vouching for her skills, sir, I'm willing to let her try."

"Do so," the Prince approved. "Let me know when you have more information. You will have my support for whatever needs to be done, to clear this matter."

Len bowed acknowledgment, along with Cai and Shen, and followed them out the door, finally releasing a relieved breath, when they were clear. And then he spun to Shen and demanded, "Exactly how often is 'now and then'?!"

Shen and Cai exchanged thoughtful looks. "Twice?" Shen suggested.

"This time makes three, that we've seen." Cai clapped Len reassuringly on the shoulder. He thought he must look as horrified as he felt. "Don't worry so much!"

"They both obviously have the family temper," Shen put in, more quietly. "Better they use it to keep each other in check than otherwise, yes?"

"I suppose so," Len had to agree, albeit a little weakly. He shook himself and continued down the steps with them. After a few more, in which he recalled the lack of space between the two men, and the gentleness of Lin Shu's tone, he added, "Do you think the two of them are... that way, perhaps?"

"You have to think," Cai agreed. "Considering."

"Oh certainly," Shen murmured. "Just as soon as one of them notices."

Len and Cai both stared at him, Len picturing Lin Shu's easy hand on the Prince's shoulder and the Prince's hand covering his. "You think they haven't?"

Shen chuckled. "Remember your son's courting, if not your own. Not quite yet, I don't think."

Len considered how his own son had behaved, when he'd finally noticed his betrothed was a girl, and a pretty one at that, and rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on already.

"My turn to host drinks," Cai stated firmly, and Len let the two of them steer him toward the gates with gratitude. He felt badly in need of a little fortification.

Interlude: Clearing

Lu Jian was knee deep in slimy mud, the day Princess Nihuang, Madam Lin, visited, debating with the boss of his garden crew whether the bed of the water garden needed to be dredged. By the time he'd scrambled up the ladder and over the edge, he was even muddier. The Princess only smiled, returning a courteous nod to his bow. "Your message said you wanted someone who was familiar with the manor to look at something?"

Jian tried not to goggle at her, and hastily bowed again. "One of the servants would have done, Milady!"

She waved this off. "There aren't many left, and none in the city at this time. What is it?"

"Well..." Jian ran a hand through his hair, hoping against hope to neaten it after his morning climbing in and out of muddy holes. "I was hoping to speak with someone who knew how the manor was furnished. I know the family belongings probably can't be recovered, but... well, I was hoping to at least come close."

Her smile warmed, and Jian suddenly understood why one of the premier generals of the nation also had so much poetry written about her. "That is a kind thought, and one I will be pleased to assist with."

"Yes, Milady," he agreed, just a little faintly, before he pulled himself together and called for the senior secretary on site.

He tried to make the tour of the premises quick, but the Princess herself kept pausing, considering the Inner Hall for a long moment before telling him that the candle trees had been four-tiered, sighing at the eastern garden's disarray before telling him that the Royal Princess Jinyang had favored azaleas and roses there, touching the fresh timber of the main hall's rear supports with light fingers before confirming that they had been colored a deep black. By the end of it, Jian felt somewhere between guilty for making the lady relive the past to answer his questions and delighted that he now had a chance to match her memories (and thus Vice-Marshal Lin's memories) so closely.

It was not a comfortable mix.

"Anything for me to take to the suppliers?" Shi Ping asked, once he'd seen the Princess off.

"Quite a bit, actually." He gestured for his secretary to pass over the list. "This renovation might just restart the fashion for painted hangings."

"Well, at least they'll be less expensive right now," Shi Ping pointed out, practically. "I'll see about these. You go talk to the garden crew again. Whatever we save on hangings, I'm thinking we'll have to spend on rock to re-line the water garden."

Jian groaned at the mere thought of the expense, but he couldn't actually argue; a water garden with that kind of slime built up at the bottom had to be cleaned out completely, or it would just pollute the new water and kill off any new plantings. You couldn't argue with the facts of nature—only work with them. He turned and made for the third garden.

He was probably going to need two baths by the end of the day.

Four

More and more often, lately, Lin Shu found himself remembering Prince Qi, the brother Jingyan had idolized, the Prince that Lin Shu himself had thought to serve. Once in the field, the Emperor had been a distant, abstract sort of memory. It had been Jingyan at his side, his father in command, and Prince Qi's orders, thoughts, ideals guiding them. Now that management of the whole nation, rather than just one army, had fallen on he and Jingyan, he cast his thoughts back to those ideals whenever he could.

He also found himself wondering how Prince Qi had possibly been able to keep his relatively cheerful disposition when buried in the paperwork of government.

"Xiao-Shu."

He believed in staying informed as much as the next man, and considering the next man was often Lin Chen this was saying something, but he would be happier if more officials and ministers spent a season or two writing via messenger pigeon to master the art of concise language.

"Xiao-Shu?"

The explanations for official expenditures ran especially long, and he was seriously considering sending sub-minister of Public Works Huang a note advising him to simply put "bribe to expedite construction" in his next report. Both honesty and efficiency would be served well, thereby, and he wouldn't have to comb through his own height in paper just to find out which shippers were building up unusual funds and might, therefore, be trailed back to foreign sources he could use to track future goods smuggled out of the country.

"Xiao-Shu." A firm hand fell on his shoulder and shook him out of his concentration, and he blinked up at Jingyan.

"Hm?"

Jingyan was smiling down at him, openly amused. "Nihuang only returned yesterday. If you miss dinner because you were reading reports, I hesitate to imagine what action she'll take to rectify matters."

"Ah." Lin Shu straightened in his chair, glancing around at his stacks of reading, and he had to smile himself, a bit wryly. He was, perhaps, too used to working alone with a small network, still. "Yes, all right. I suppose the rest of this can wait." As he stretched upright, all the muscles in his back registered their agreement.

There was definite approval in Jingyan's voice when he said, "Good." He squeezed Lin Shu's shoulder and let him go.

Perhaps it was only that Lin Shu was already paying attention to what his body was telling him in the moment, but when Jingyan's fingers brushed against the bare skin of his neck, drawing away, that one moment of contact poured a warm shiver straight down his spine to pool low in his stomach, hot and startling.

Or... perhaps not startling, exactly, because Lin Shu could remember many moments like this, when they were younger. They spilled through his mind, quick and visceral, those moments of heat, of awareness, that had accompanied Jingyan's hand in his hair, on his neck, on his wrist, moments so easy to fold into his love for his cousin, his desire to always be near, the easy knowledge that Jingyan would never deny him. Now... now he had fourteen years of separation, of fiercely ignoring his body and its pain, of ignoring everything he knew he could never have again. Now it stood out.

And what did he do with it, now?

"Xiao-Shu?" Jingyan had turned back, half-way to the entrance to the inner rooms, brows lifted. Lin Shu shook himself and stood.

"Yes, of course." He made his way to Jingyan's side and tried not to let his breath catch at the easy nudge of Jingyan's shoulder against his as they passed within.

What on earth was he going to do with this now?

Nihuang eyed her husband thoughtfully, as they ate, aware of Jingyan doing the same, with, perhaps, a shade more concern. Of course, Nihuang was fairly sure she knew what was behind all the moments when Shu-ge hesitated just a bit longer than usual before answering someone, when his hand stayed poised just a beat too long before actually conveying food from dish to mouth. The decisive clue, she thought, was that, in each one of those moments, Shu-ge's eyes slid toward Jingyan and then snapped away an instant later. Even An was giving him a puzzled look, now and again. Nihuang caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile, rolling her own eyes toward both the men. An looked down quickly, stifling a giggle, and relaxed again.

She and Nihuang had talked about this before Nihuang had ever left the capital.

And tonight, Nihuang thought she might just be able to get through another of the necessary discussions to untangle her husband from his own uncertainty. So as soon as they'd finished, she reached out to twine her fingers with Shu-ge's and said, "Come and talk. I've missed you."

Jingyan chuckled at that, which made her think he'd been teasing Shu-ge about her, which was an encouraging sign. Shu-ge only smiled, though, small and warm. "Yes, of course."

So she tugged him off to her own rooms and promptly snuggled close as soon as he sat. It was entirely true that she'd missed him, after all, and missed the way he gathered her into the curve of his arm and pressed his lips to her hair. There were other matters that were overdue to be seen to, though, so as soon as she was settled to her satisfaction, tucked up against him, she asked, "Shu-ge, is something wrong? You spent all evening not looking at Jingyan."

He huffed softly. "I suppose I should have expected you to see it."

"So what is it?" She nudged him and added, leadingly, "You must know he'd never disapprove of anything you wanted to do."

"It's not like that. I just... That is, today..." She waited while he took a long breath and let it out. "Today, when Jingyan touched me, I remembered how it used to be, back then."

"Ah." Now they were getting somewhere. She smiled and cuddled closer. "You mean when, every time he touched you, he was smiling like the dawn sun, and, every time, you looked back at him like he was the world's first sunrise?" His arms tightened around her sharply, and she reached up to touch his cheek and maker him look at her. "And how is that in any way different from how it is now?"

After a long, wide-eyed moment, he smiled down at her. "Well. I'd forgotten how it felt."

"So now you remember." She stroked her thumb along his cheekbone, gently. "Shu-ge, do you remember what we used to talk of, back then? That we'd find another girl of a military family for Jingyan, and all live together in one house, and be together always?"

A soft, unsteady laugh escaped him. "And that we'd all four take the field together, and be as fierce as legends, and sweep the enemies of the nation before us?"

She smiled back, a little unsteady herself with the sweetness of those memories. "And look at us, now. All in the same house, much of the time. And if An isn't of a military family, she is the one who understands best the other ways you fight, now." She reached up to cup both hands around his face, finishing in a whisper, "And have we not swept our enemies before us?"

He caught her close, burying his head in her shoulder, and she could feel him shaking a little in her arms. "Yes," he answered, low and rough. "Yes, we have."

"Then be as fierce as the legend we will become," she told him, completely sure of this one thing. "What is there to fear, after all this?"

Finally he lifted his head, eyes a little wet though he was smiling. "You've grown so wise, my heart." He still hesitated, though, and she cocked an eyebrow. "I know you were jealous of him, sometimes," he said, low.

"Sometimes, when we were first betrothed," she agreed, quietly. "Yes. But Shu-ge... do you know how you looked at me, back then?

He smoothed back a strand of her hair with light fingers, eyes soft. "How?"

"Back then, you stopped in your steps, now and then, and looked at me like I'd just stepped out of the sky itself to take your hand. And I looked back like you were the beating heart in my chest." She leaned up to kiss him, softly. "And that, too, is no different, now, than it's ever been."

He caught her closer, tight enough to drive her breath out, this time. "No different at all," he agreed, husky, and kissed her back, slow and tender. Against her mouth, he murmured, "So, may I be legendarily fierce tomorrow? I believe I'd like to stay here, for the the rest of tonight."

She laughed, free and open, and twisted to pull him down to the bed with her, hands buried in his hair as they kissed again, sweet with the fierceness that was always at the heart of her brilliant boy, even when he didn't see it. That was all right. The ones who loved him saw it for him.

And she had always known that Xiao Jingyan was a true partner, in that.

Predictably, Lin Shu found himself even more distracted the next day. It felt like the first few weeks after he'd returned to Nihuang, all over again. His eyes constantly strayed to Jingyan, to the tilt of his head as he read, to the movement of his hands over paper, to the occasional curl of his mouth. His memory, now thoroughly stirred up, insisted on recalling all the other times he'd seen Jingyan smile, so many of them at him.

Of course Jingyan noticed.

"Xiao-Shu?" he finally asked, quietly, once they'd sent the sub-minister of Rites away with a quelling promise that Marquis Yan would review his recommendations, coming to stand close. "Are you all right?"

And, of course, that was where Jingyan's mind would immediately go; he should have anticipated it. Lin Shu reached out, in unthinking reassurance, and rested a hand on Jingyan's chest. Just as unthinkingly, Jingyan's had rose to cover it. "I'm well, I promise," he soothed. "I just..." he paused as the warmth of Jingyan's hand on his finally registered, and looked down at his own hand on Jingyan's chest. They were standing so close, and he hadn't even noticed, because that was how they'd always been. Always, save for a year ago, and that had been two solid years of restraining himself at every turn from stepping closer, reaching out, knowing that Jingyan would never deny him if he did. That Jingyan hadn't denied him, once he'd known. Jingyan's voice wound through his memory, low and sure, stating like a fact, We are as one person.

Now he felt like a bit of a fool.

"Xiao-Shu?" Jingyan asked, softly.

Lin Shu took a breath and let it go, uneven with the thread of laughter in it. "Sometimes I miss the obvious, it seems. In my defense, I never even thought to be alive, here and now, let alone returned to you."

"You, miss something?" Jingyan asked, straight-faced and teasing. "Surely not."

Lin Shu shoved at him, lightly, and then turned his hand to catch Jingyan's, smiling. "Say rather I wasn't letting myself remember. This," he added, as Jingyan started to ask, and lifted their clasped hands to press a kiss to Jingyan's fingers. In the quiet of the room, he could hear the quick draw of Jingyan's breath. When he looked up again, Jingyan was standing very still, eyes wide and dark.

"Xiao-Shu."

It was little more than a whisper, but the weight it sank into his chest like a sea anchor in a storm. "You said it, didn't you, a year and a half ago?" he answered, low. "We are as one." Agreement and promise and apology wrapped together in the simple words. "I won't forget again."

Jingyan's stillness finally broke, and he stepped closer, free hand lifting to curve around Lin Shu's nape. Gentle as he was, the gesture caught Lin Shu's breath short with the heat that curled through his stomach in answer. He was remembering now, all right, but he wasn't used to this any more.

A faint, meaningful cough from the direction of the doors reminded him that they were also standing in Jingyan's outer receiving room in the middle of a work day, and that Zhou Wei was probably going to give them both long-suffering looks for days, over this. He leaned his forehead against Jingyan's, trying to hold back laughter, which would only make the long-suffering last longer. Jingyan's mouth curled in an answering smile, and he murmured, low, "Later, then."

Well, there was his concentration gone for the day, Lin Shu reflected, ruefully.

He did make it through the rest of the day without any really egregious lapses, but by the time Zhou Wei firmly closed the Eastern Palace's main doors his expression had turned from long-suffering to downright exasperated. Jingyan thanked him, with, perhaps, just a bit of suppressed merriment in his eyes, and calmly set his hand on Lin Shu's back to guide him toward the inner rooms. Lin Shu swore he could hear Zhou Wei rolling his eyes behind them.

By far the majority of his attention was on the heat of Jingyan's hand through his robes, though, not a light touch, not the pro forma gesture of everyday courtesy, and he had to concentrate a little to put one foot steadily in front of the other. By the time they reached Jingyan's rooms, he felt as though all his skin was sensitized to that simple, steady touch. "Jingyan," he said, softly, not entirely sure what he meant to say after that. Whatever it might have been was lost as Jingyan turned to him, smiling, and drew him close with that hand on his back.

"Do you remember this?" he asked, low and intimate, just the sound of his voice enough to stroke a finger of heat down Lin Shu's spine. Even so, even a little breathless, he had to laugh, because Jingyan was teasing him.

"I certainly do." Which was true. It hadn't been at all unusual for them to end up pressed together, and sometimes, if training had devolved into rough-housing, tangled together. And he remembered the times Jingyan had pulled him close, triumphant or laughing or... just leaning together at the end of the longest days. He slid his hands up Jingyan's arms and over his shoulders. "I wondered, a few of those times, whether I shouldn't do something rather like this." He leaned in and kissed Jingyan, light and questioning—the same question he'd had in his heart, those times, wondering if the beloved cousin who gave his world a center would wish this, also.

Jingyan's hand slid up to cradle his head, mouth unhurried and sure on his, kissing him back until he was a little dizzy with the thoroughness of it, the slide of Jingyan's tongue through his mouth, tasting him slowly. When Jingyan finally drew back, he answered Lin Shu's half-forgotten question, softly, "I would have welcomed you then, too."

The assurance unwound something deep in Lin Shu's chest—the lingering wonder whether Jingyan would have merely indulged him or actually wanted him in return. He'd been used to being wanted, really, but Jingyan was the one, the only one, he'd never been able to easily move to his whim. The one who really counted. Jingyan must have felt him relax, because he shook his head, mouth quirked wryly. "Xiao-Shu. You have always been my heart and soul," he said, quiet and easy.

Lin Shu's breath stopped for a moment, as those words sang through him, resonating in his own heart. "Jingyan..."

"It's true," Jingyan told him, perfectly serene, gathering him close. Lin Shu settled against him willingly, smiling small and true. Jingyan rubbed slow fingers up and down his neck and made a satisfied sound when Lin Shu unwound a little more, leaning against him. "Will you come to bed, xiao-Shu?" he asked against Lin Shu's ear, low and warm, sending a little shiver spilling down his spine.

"Yes," Lin Shu answered, husky.

Jingyan stayed close as they undressed, hands sliding down Lin Shu's arms and chest as he took each layer away, as if he wanted to re-learn Lin Shu's body. He was far more careless of his own clothing, tugging belts loose quickly and shrugging out of all his layers together as soon as the ties were undone. That simple motion fixed Lin Shu's eyes like nothing else could have, though. Jingyan had always been beautiful to him, and he'd grown into something magnificent, the hard muscle of one campaign after another shifting under his skin, sleek and powerful as a tiger prowling, as he stepped through the muddle of silk toward Lin Shu. He reached out for Jingyan because he could scarcely help it, and Jingyan gathered him close again with a smile. The heat of Jingyan's bare skin against his, the line of Jingyan's back under his palms, took up all of his awareness, at least until Jingyan's mouth found his again for a slow kiss, this one so unmistakably possessive that it pulled a soft, wanting sound out of him.

"My own," Jingyan said against his mouth, answering Lin Shu's want as easily as he always had.

"Yes." Lin Shu pressed close, arms tightening hard around him. "I wish that." He had wished that, even when he'd carefully slipped away, determined that those he loved would not have to watch him die. And now... He gasped, breath driven out by the force of Jingyan's arms closing around him.

"Then I will not let you go." Jingyan's words felt like they burned into him, fierce and hot as the kiss that followed, and he answered with all his heart, moaning out loud as Jingyan's mouth moved down his jaw to his throat. The pull and soft sting of Jingyan sucking a mark into his skin, nearly made his knees give way. Jingyan made an agreeable sound against his skin and let them both down to the bed, leaning over him on one elbow. "You like that," he observed, satisfaction clear in the curve of his lips as he ran a slow finger over the tender skin he'd marked. A hot shudder ran through Lin Shu, in response, and he reached up to pull Jingyan down against him, to another kiss.

"I do," he finally answered, when that burst of heat had eased a little, settled by Jingyan's weight over him. He was so hard he was dizzy with it, in fact.

Jingyan smiled, slowly, eyes bright. "Well, then." He leaned down, nuzzling under Lin Shu's jaw until he tipped his head back, and kissed slowly down the line of his throat, biting gently here and there until Lin Shu was pushing up against him, breathless little sounds catching in his throat as need and pleasure danced down his nerves.

"Jingyan..." He nearly whimpered as the wet heat of Jingyan's mouth continued down his chest and stomach, and he should really have remembered how much trouble they'd almost always gotten into when Jingyan got that look in his eyes. When Jingyan settled between his legs, broad shoulders pushing them apart, arms curled around his thighs, he moaned out loud. "Jingyan."

"Xiao-Shu." Jingyan looked up at him, and this smile was quiet and sure. "It's all right." The assurance in that deep voice settled over him like summer sunlight, warmth and comfort and security sinking into his bones. Jingyan made a pleased sound as he relaxed, and pressed a soft kiss to his inner thigh, and another, and then slowly sucked a mark there.

Relaxed as he was, the answering rush of heat went through him like the breaking of a storm-front. "Jingyan!" Jingyan only purred, marking his inner thighs again and again, holding him gently in place as Lin Shu tried to spread his legs wider, to press into his hold. He kept going until Lin Shu was twisting breathlessly against the bed, hands closed tight in the soft blankets under them, half wild with the hypersensitivity of his skin under Jingyan's mouth and the knowledge that Jingyan wanted to lay such a thorough claim on him.

When Jingyan's mouth finally closed over the length of him, hot and wet, he was so overwhelmed by sensation that all he could do was groan, wordless, and all it took was Jingyan's mouth sliding down him, slow and sure, to undo him completely. Pleasure shook him senseless for endless moments, left him wrung out and panting, muscles trembling under the warm stroke of Jingyan's hands.

"Mmm," he finally managed, reaching for Jingyan, and sighed with satisfaction as Jingyan's weight settled against him again. Jingyan smiled down at him, fingers sliding gently up into his hair.

"Looks like I guessed right."

"Very right," Lin Shu agreed, softly.

"Good." Jingyan slowly tugged loose the pin of his hairpiece and unraveled the snug twists of Lin Shu's hair until he could run his fingers all the way to the ends. "Do you remember this, too?"

"Mmmm." Feeling nearly liquid under the slow, easy strokes, Lin Shu wound his arms more snugly around Jingyan. "Of course. You always liked to take my hair down." He could feel the vibration of Jingyan's silent chuckle, this close.

"Well, you put it all the way up so young. I didn't think you needed to, to be taken seriously." He pressed a kiss to Lin Shu's forehead, and murmured, "And I liked being the only one who got to see it down, when we were in the field."

Lin Shu smiled up at him, sliding his hands up the broad line of Jingyan's back. "And is that all you wish of me, right now?" Lying this close together, it was fairly clear that it wasn't.

"Do you want more?" Jingyan countered, hand sliding gently down his neck, thumb stroking over tender, marked skin. "Or is this enough, for now?"

The curl of heat that answered that caress actually startled him, and he pulled in a quick breath. "Oh..." Jingyan's eyes on him darkened, hot and focused, but he still waited until Lin Shu reached up to cup his cheek and answered, "My desire for you has never had an end. I just never thought I'd be able to feel it like this again."

Jingyan caught him close, at that, and his mouth on Lin Shu's was fierce and hungry, this time. "Then you need do nothing but feel." Those words, wrapped in Jingyan's deep voice, stroked down his nerves like a fine brush, dark and soft, and left him flushed and breathless against the bed as Jingyan slid away to reach for the small cabinet beside it. When Jingyan gathered him up again, one hand sliding under him, slow and slick, he pressed close, accepting Jingyan's word and letting that touch fill his mind and senses, clinging to it just as fiercely, now, as he'd pushed sensation away for years. It was easier when Jingyan's fingers pressed into him, intimate enough to leave him gasping for breath against Jingyan's shoulder, and completely new. Jingyan went slowly, working his muscles open with gentle, relentless fingers until he was thoroughly unwound, hands flexing against Jingyan's back with each slow push in.

When Jingyan set his teeth on Lin Shu's throat and bit down softly at the same time, the sensation took fire all in a rush and it shook an open moan out of him. "Jingyan."

Jingyan kissed him, deep and sure. "Yes."

The feeling of Jingyan's hands sliding down the marked skin of his thighs, to catch his knees and press them back and open, put a hot shudder through him and he was already breathless when Jingyan pushed slowly into him. The hard stretch and slide of it stole the rest of his breath and most of his thoughts, leaving only want and the anchor of Jingyan leaning over him, dark eyes intent on him.

"Just feel," Jingyan told him, low and husky, rocking into him slowly, over and over. "Xiao-Shu. I have you. Just feel."

"Jingyan..." It was almost a plea, and Jingyan leaned down to kiss it off his lips, gentle.

"Just feel," he repeated, deep voice soft and coaxing, and reached down, wrapping still-slick fingers firmly around Lin Shu's length.

Lin Shu didn't think he could help it, as pleasure spiraled through him in a dizzy climb that jumped with every stroke, every slow thrust. And it was Jingyan with him, in him, holding him, so he didn't try—just let the rush of pleasure take him, groaning out loud when it finally burst through him in a wash of fire down every nerve. Jingyan's deep moan answered him, and he looked up, dazed, to see Jingyan arched over him, flushed and gorgeous, lips parted. Every short, hard thrust into him sent another shock of pleasure up his spine, and he clung to the sweetness of feeling so much, so close.

When Jingyan drew back a little, easing his legs back down to the bed, Lin Shu shivered and reached out, not wanting to be parted even that little bit. Jingyan smiled and settled over him, holding him tight even as Lin Shu wrapped around him. His fingers slid through Lin Shu's loose hair, slow and easy, familiar and soothing after that wild surge of sensation.

"My own," Jingyan murmured against his ear, and the reminder relaxed him further, that he didn't have to lose this.

"Yes." He touched Jingyan's cheek to turn his head, and caught his mouth for a slow, open kiss. "As I always have been."

Jingyan positively purred at that, mouth curling in a satisfied smile. "Then I will keep you. My treasure."

Lin Shu felt his face heat at that, and bent his head, laughing. "Jingyan!"

"It's true," Jingyan said, calm and immovable, and Lin Shu gave in with a sigh, settling against him. He couldn't deny that the part of him that had always turned to Jingyan, always sought him as Lin Shu's personal pole star, was warmed and settled by every tender word.

"My heart," he admitted, softly, winding closer around Jingyan. He could feel Jingyan's lips curve against his temple, and smiled helplessly against his shoulder in return.

Now, now he truly felt he was all the way home.

When he'd been selected as the head of Prince Jing's attendants, on Jingyan's creation as Crown Prince, Zhou Wei had been pleased. Possibly even a little excited. Whatever his reputation for bullheadedness, Prince Jing was clearly the rising star of the Palace, and Zhou Wei would be the one responsible for looking after his affairs. It was even possible, given the Prince's equal reputation for rectitude and loyalty, that this would put Wei on track to become Chief of the palace officials, when Gao stepped down. Gao-gong had even spoken with him personally, about the appointment, and had a few quiet words of advice, which Wei had taken firmly to heart.

He had sought out Lei Zhanying, the Prince's left hand, and asked him how the Prince preferred to be served. Thanks to that discussion, Wei kept himself close to the Prince, whenever he was in the Eastern Palace, but unobtrusive. He firmly discouraged the other palace officials from attempting to fawn, the way the last Crown Prince had liked, and hustled ministers and officers in and out of the Prince's presence as expeditiously as possible.

Thanks to Gao-gong's advice, he'd also sought out the Noble Consort Jing and made himself known to her. The Lady had smiled, faint but warm, and invited him back a month later, to what had turned out to be a strategy meeting with the young Lady Liu. That had been invaluable, and only the suspicion that Lady Jing would dislike fawning as much as her son had kept him from truly effusive thanks. Wei and the Crown Princess now sent each other at least weekly notes about the Crown Prince's health, temper, and schedule.

The last piece of advice Gao-gong had given him was to never, ever speak ill of Prince Qi or Chiyan or Lin or, most especially, Lin Shu. To think of Lin Shu, in particular, as his Prince's dearest brother.

That advice had served Wei very well, indeed, in the months following the Crown Prince's ascension, and had made him careful of his Prince's grief during the year that followed.

It had not, however, quite prepared him for Lin Shu's return.

Suddenly, the man was everywhere, never apart from the Prince except when he was boring through some unfortunate Ministry's records like an arrow through straw. A few of the younger officials actually hid when they saw him coming, now, and the keepers of the Royal Library looked pained, because no one could stop him. Lin Shu might as well be an extension of the Crown Prince. If the Prince was in the Eastern Palace, so was Lin Shu, and if Lin Shu was in the Prince's city manor, so was the Prince.

And they were really not discreet in the slightest.

Zhou Wei caught a rustle of robes from the room behind him and resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He knew without looking, without even looking at the half-delighted, half-scandalized expressions on the door attendants as they peeked past him, that Lin Shu was stealing another kiss from the Prince. They'd been doing it all morning, and sooner or later someone besides their own attendants was going to notice. Wei made a mental note to speak personally with the Crown Princess about how to manage the rumors. A note was not going to be sufficient this week.

A messenger started across the plaza to the Eastern Palace steps, and Wei sighed, stepping back into the outer receiving room. Sure enough, Lin Shu was leaning over one arm of the Prince's chair and the Prince's hand was curled around his nape, fingers sliding under the collar of his robes.

"...been able to feel the marks of your mouth on my thighs with every step I take, all day," Lin Shu was murmuring, as Wei got back into earshot. Wei attempted to quash that mental image, violently, and made sure to kick a bench in passing. The Prince, at least, had the grace to flush a little when the two of them looked up at the little clatter and saw him approaching. Lin Shu just smiled, straightening up slowly and folding his hands.

"A ministry messenger for you, Highness, Sir," Wei said, trying not to sound harassed. From the upward crimp at the corners of Lin Shu's mouth, he didn't entirely succeed.

"Let him in," the Prince ordered, reaching for one of the report folios on his desk, as if he'd been paying any attention to them at all, today. Wei sighed and waved at the door attendants.

He'd entered Palace service, among other reasons, because he didn't want to deal with a family and children. Why did he suddenly feel like he was getting all the annoyances of parenthood anyway?

The messenger bowed quickly. "Message from Minister Cai, Highness, Sir. He says the lady is in place."

Gong Yu stepped lightly through the halls of Jinglin's second best brothel, a demure smile settled over her like a fine headdress, drawing eyes and clearing her way at the same time.

She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed this work.

The actual arts of the body she found merely tiresome. Give her a sword drill any day. But this—the careful tension between a welcoming smile and averted eyes that kept all the clients at just the right distance for her to stalk her prey—this was almost like the strings of a zither under her fingers.

Today, she'd painted her cheeks darker, to make them look thinner, sharpened the line of her jaw, dressed her hair up high to lengthen the lines of her head. No one had recognized her as Miao Yin's finest musician, least of all the rather discontented looking man watching the dancers in the public room. Gong Yu exchanged a nod across the room, with the house's Madam, and folded herself down beside him in a sigh of fine silk, leaning in just enough to suggest intimacy without touching him. "Does our company not please you this evening, good sir?"

He harrumphed and tossed back his cup of wine. "Apparently," he said with heavy sarcasm, "all the private rooms are taken. What kind of House is this, to keep clients sitting out so long?"

She poured him another cup and lifted it in her fingertips to offer with a smile. "How unfortunate, good sir. Perhaps you will deign to allow me to entertain you while you wait, then?"

He finally looked at her properly, and the tight line of his shoulders relaxed a bit. "Hm. Well, now, that's a little more like it." She smiled back, sweet and winsome, and leaned a little closer, playing the developing tension in the air between them, delicately.

And all the while she cooed and snuggled at this fool, she held close in her heart the memory of Dong jie-jie's teeth flashing as she bared them in a fierce grin the day Gong Yu had gotten past her guard during morning training, the hardness of her eyes when they'd finally pinned down when Qing Li's southern depot had started losing goods—just a year after the man beside her had gained his current office in the Ministry of Revenue. Even more than that, the sober confidence in her voice when she'd told Gong Yu to return to the capital without her and close this half of the net. She made her smile bright with that memory and poured more wine.

Tian Gen was getting to what Yu privately thought of as the usefully drunk stage—expansive but not so loud or sloppy that the House's attendants would start trying to nudge him outside. "I have plenty of money for the best room here!" he declared, waving his empty cup in a broad gesture.

Yu promptly filled it again, making her eyes wide and impressed as she hung delicately on his shoulder. "Truly?" Dong jie-jie would have laughed long and hard at the breathless note in Yu's voice, she reflected.

"Ha! I have more money than even a Second Rank Minister, these days! And no one knows how!"

Yu molded her body a little closer against his side. "But... how can no one know, good sir?"

Tian Gen smirked and leaned toward her, clearly woozy though he kept his voice down, and Yu leaned in with a conspiratorial giggle. "I was smart, see. I never touched the money myself. I sent my man to get it for me."

Yu covered her mouth with her fingertips. "Oh!" Really, it was a good thing Tian Gen was this drunk; surely no one sober could have kept from laughing at her performance. She leaned on his shoulder, lips just brushing his ear, and breathed, "Are you sure he won't tell anyone? If it's that much money..."

Tian Gen laughed out loud, wrapping an arm around her, and Yu deliberately called to mind the feel of Dong jie-jie's hands closed around her face and the gentle kiss she'd given Yu in parting, letting that memory flush her cheeks and make her eyes soft. Tian Gen grinned down at her. "Deng has been with me for fifteen years. I've no worries about him!"

Yu smiled up at him, and if that smile's brilliance was due to the fact that she had a name to bring back for Dong jie-jie and her lord, well, Tian Gen didn't need to know.

She hoped Dong jie-jie's hunt was going as well.

Xia Dong crawled out of a drainage ditch in the Northern Yan capital, spat out muddy water, and wondered yet again if she should have kept Gong Yu with her after all. Trying to infiltrate another country's capital and steal the financial records of one of their royal factions was not a solo job. Though she had to admit, the contact Yu had sent word of her to wasn't doing too badly.

Her current associate, Wen Ru, landed in the slick grass beside her, breathing hard. "I think we're clear."

"Good. Do you know where I can get a fast horse?"

His grin winked in the darkness. "Who do you think you're talking to, again? One of the stable-boys at Prince Kang's manor is Jiangzuo."

Kang being the prince who had lost the succession race to Northern Yan's present Crown Prince, which would nicely derail any suspicions that it had been a Liang agent who'd raided the secret records of Duke Ma, the Crown Prince's strongest supporter. She hauled herself upright and made a dash for the nearest alley, Wen on her heels. "I like the way you think."

"It was the Chief who set it all up." He grabbed her arm to hold her back while a city patrol passed. "How is he doing, by the way?"

Xia Dong paused in the shadow of a wagon and gave him a sidelong look. "With Jiangzuo's information network, I'd have thought you knew better than I."

"I know he lived, and that he's making himself busy in the Capital." Wen jerked his chin up and leaped for the top of the wall beside them. She followed, landing light-footed and careful on these unfamiliar tiles. "What I don't know is if he's happy."

She shot him a searching look at that, but even in the moonlight up here she still didn't recognize him. "Were you one of his men?" she asked as he led the way over one ridgepole after another.

A faint snort answered her. "I suppose that was obvious, yes." They both froze, flat to the roof tiles as a clutch of servants passed by below. Xia Dong was very glad of a guide who knew his way, by the time they got to the edge of the manor, and its stables; alone this would probably have taken her past dawn, and then things could have gotten... exciting. Instead, a few low words from Wen got them both into Kang's livery and onto some of his horses in short order.

Once they were into the streets again, she said, quietly, "I think he is happy, yes. There's a great deal of foolishness to deal with, in the Court, but he's with the people he loves. That makes a very great difference." As she had cause to know.

His answer was a sigh in the darkness. "Good." For a long moment, she thought that would be all, but eventually he added, "He made a home for we who had lost ours; that's what Jiangzuo is, for we few who survived. But it never was for him. Madam Nie," she had to stifle a start at being recognized when she swore she hadn't known him, and he gave her a wry smile as they turned onto a torch-lit boulevard, "for the sake of what you regained, too, look after our Vice-Marshal?"

She swallowed back the memory of those cold years without Feng-ge, along with a lump in her throat, and nodded. "I will. As will others, as well."

He nodded back solemn acceptance of her word, and lifted his reins. "Then let's get you and your information out of here."

Jingyan and all his people were fortunate that xiao-Shu had returned, bringing back much of his old fire as well as his new and formidable network of alliances and loyalty. As they trotted briskly toward the city gates, though, stolen armor rattling, Xia Dong's hard-trained suspicious side had to wonder just who was going to end up ruling Da Liang, when xiao-Shu's reach was already so much greater than Jingyan's.

Interlude: Supports

Lu Jian wished that, just once, they could all get through a job without anyone trying to argue Shi Ping (and by extension him) into cutting corners.

"But if we don't trim the ends short, we won't be able to get the beam into place without cutting into the roof again!"

Just once.

"Not the roof," Shi Ping stated. "We'll cut the wall to bring it in upright."

Xu Hai, Jian's soon-to-be-ex head carpenter ignored the flatness in the foreman's voice and positively wheedled, "It will be just as stable once it's in place..."

"We are not going to shim the foot of a load-bearing beam," Jian snapped, ducking into the 'office' they'd set up in the south-western hall. "Have some pride in our work, man!"

Xu Hai jumped a bit at his arrival, but only sulked at his words. "How can we be sure we're even going to get paid for doing that kind of work, this time?" he muttered.

Shi Ping only looked a little weary at this; Jian, less reserved by nature, groaned out loud. "Is the entire crew doing nothing but listening to court gossip and rumors?" he implored the heavens. "Look, if the Crown Prince doesn't know his own childhood friend, surely the Princess must know her own betrothed! Isn't she the one who refused to marry anyone else for years? You can't seriously think the Vice-Marshal is really some kind of impostor."

Too late, he caught Shi Ping's urgent throat-cutting gesture and saw the gleam of an avid rumor-monger in Xu Hai's eye, as the man leaned forward eagerly. "But what if he really is Su Zhe? He was supposed to be such a brilliant courtier and scholar, and then he just vanished into thin air, and now there's another brilliant courtier showing up. What if it's him?"

"If it is, then he's obviously got the Crown Prince's favor, and we'll still get paid," Jian said, with as quelling a glare as he could generate. "And that means we are doing to do this job right, so stop gossiping and get back up to the main hall. I want calculations by the end of the day, on where to cut the back wall, to bring in a new support beam without having to do any stopgap shimming once it's in!"

Xu Hai deflated and allowed Shi Ping to herd him out at last, while Jian scrubbed both hands over his face. "Why can't anyone just do the job?" he muttered.

Shi Ping, ducking back through the door, clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "At least our client is probably doing his job, if there are this many rumors flying around," he offered.

As he'd probably intended, Jian laughed. "We'd best do ours, too, then. Once that support is replaced, we'll be ready to re-roof the main hall. Is the last load of shingles in?"

Properly tallied figures and solid workmanship, that was the thing that would always win out, in the end.

Five

Gao Zhan had many years of experience with Palace politics, and knew well the importance of having either an impenetrable smile or an equally impenetrable blank stare at all times. It was solely due to this long experience and habit that he was able to refrain from rolling his eyes at Pan Bai, the under-minister from the Palace Affairs Bureau, who was slowly edging his way toward a point that Gao, for one, had seen coming two ke ago.

"...so the Crown Princess' new additions to the palace ladies are very well thought-out, really, she is clearly a thoughtful and accomplished lady."

"Of course she is," the Emperor said, impatient, tossing the redundant report the man had brought onto the edge of his table.

"Surely, then, she should not be slighted or set aside...?" Pan Bai suggested, raising his brows in what he clearly thought was a meaningful, way.

The Emperor frowned at Pan. "Obviously not; there's been no thought of such a thing." He sounded rather offended on Lady Liu's account, which clearly heartened Pan. Gao stifled a sigh.

"Even though the Crown Prince and Vice-Marshal Lin Shu are..." the man trailed off and coughed delicately. "Well, it does seem to have become clear that the Vice-Marshal is a man the Crown Prince would cut his sleeve for..."

The Emperor snorted, sitting back in the throne with an audible huff. "If the idiot boy would take a cup of poison for him, I fail to see how that should surprise anyone."

Pan's eyes bugged out, and Gao had to bite back a snicker. He returned the man's stare blandly, not offering the tiniest clue what the Emperor might be speaking of. He'd had a good deal of practice doing so, in the past year, as Lady Jing's drugs did loosen the Emperor's tongue just a bit.

"I... that is... Then, ah..."

"Is that all you had to report?" the Emperor demanded, cutting off Pan's stammering.

"Yes, Majesty," he answered, sounding a bit dazed, and bowed himself out at the Emperor's brusque wave.

The Emperor settled back with a disgruntled look. "Do they think I have time for idiots wasting air, just because Jingyan is dealing with the day-to-day work?"

"Perhaps it will entertain Your Majesty to watch how Lin Shu deals with them, then," Gao suggested, just a bit slyly, he would admit. He'd observed that, much as the Emperor complained about Lin Shu, he also seemed obscurely proud of the young man's political ability. And, indeed, his suggestion drew a smirk from the Emperor.

Gao smiled with satisfaction, and made a note to see about sending young Zhou Wei some extra help at the Eastern Palace, to compensate for the increased headache his charges were about to become.

Dinner had become a more cheerful affair, over the past months, which Jingyan had to admit he enjoyed. This particular evening, though, his young wife appeared to be stifling actual giggles, which was a little unusual. "An?" he inquired courteously, and quietly, leaning a little toward her. He was a bit disconcerted when that made her turn very pink. Xiao-Shu, on the other hand, seemed to understand, and gave her a conspiratorial smile across the dishes and trays.

"How are our rumors progressing?"

An burst into helpless giggles behind her sleeve. Xiao-Shu seemed to think this was a good sign, or at least he sat back with a satisfied expression. When An caught her breath again, she glanced up at Jingyan, eyes dancing, and said, "Lady Hui thinks the two of you are romantic."

Xiao-Shu definitely smirked. "Romantic, hm?"

"Returning to your love from beyond the grave," An recited. "Realizing your heart is too full to refuse your second love. Finally requiting the Crown Prince's silent yearning. Oh, and the Princess Nihuang is very noble and generous; that's a new one to encourage."

Nihuang and xiao-Shu both burst out laughing.

Jingyan was still halted over the mental image of the royal Consorts gossiping over his bed affairs. "Xiao-Shu," he started, because he had no doubts whatsoever who the planner behind this was.

"Jingyan, there are going to be rumors," xiao-Shu told him, pulling himself back to some semblance of dignity. "We need to steer them as much as possible, and that means indulging the Palace's taste for drama. Besides," he smiled, gentler this time, "Lady An is very good at it."

An blushed pink again at the compliment, and peeked up at Jingyan, hesitant and hopeful. Jingyan gave in with a sigh, and rested a hand over hers. "Very well, then." He almost felt guilty, seeing how she relaxed and brightened, at his approval. They were still learning their way around each other; he supposed he should be grateful that xiao-Shu and Nihuang had so clearly accepted An into the family circle.

If only they hadn't also infected her with their terrible senses of humor.

"Speaking of rumor," Nihuang put in, picking up a piece of melon and nudging the plate toward xiao-Shu, "one of the officials from Personnel tried to sympathize with me, today."

"Ah." That was all xiao-Shu said, but there was such a weight of understanding and satisfaction in it that Jingyan raised his brows. Xiao-Shu smiled, sharp as the edge of a knife, and selected a melon slice for himself. "I was wondering whether the Chancellor would use Personnel or Rites, for this."

All three of them were looking questions at him, now. "None of Chancellor Yu's assistants have been involved in any of the rumors, so far," An said, slowly.

Xiao-Shu's smile widened. "Exactly."

An nodded, eyes turning distant and calculating for a moment. "I'll speak with Zhou Wei about watching that, then."

"What could the Chancellor possibly have against you?" Jingyan demanded, annoyed. "Aren't you only making his job easier?"

Now the other three were all looking at him with varying degrees of amusement. "Even I know that no minister is going to be happy about someone else touching his work," Nihuang pointed out. "Even to help."

Jingyan knew it was true, but that didn't make him any happier about it.

"It's more than that, actually." Xiao-Shu leaned against his back-rest. "The Chancellor, and the entire Department of State Affairs really, has had to deal with the Emperor's secretiveness, and his preference for using off-record methods like Xuanjing's agents to solve a lot of internal issues. Now, just when they thought they were done with that, here I am, bringing an unknown network of unknown strength with me. From the outside, would I not look very much like your private action or enforcement agent?"

"Then the rumor that you are the Crown Prince's lover..." An said, slowly, frowning.

Xiao-Shu nodded. "Makes some of them fear that either I will be unassailable, if they let me become entrenched, or even that I will seek to become the true ruler by manipulating Jingyan from behind the throne." He opened a hand, palm up. "Chancellor Yu is a good enough man, who has done his best to stay out of factional strife after being promoted to this position, but all men have their limit. He's reaching his. So he will use Personnel and Palace Affairs to put pressure on me, to set me off balance, and then attempt to cut the ground out from under me, when he sees a chance."

"Can you prevent him, then?" An asked softly, still looking a bit worried. "Without impairing his function as the Chancellor, I mean?"

Xiao-Shu gave her an approving smile. "I believe so, yes. He'll be far less trouble than the ones who are merely trying to safeguard their own personal power, of which we still have an unfortunate number."

"And I suppose there's still no hope of getting me eighteen more like Cai, to put under the Inspector of Discipline," Jingyan grumbled. That would fix a lot of problems, he was still convinced.

"We can work on it," xiao-Shu told him, smiling.

Nihuang nudged him with an elbow. "You couldn't have just gotten him some peaches? You had to get him a government, instead?"

Xiao-Shu colored a little, at that, but shot back, "Governments last longer, at least if you're doing it right." He paused, then, and looked down at her, suddenly serious, lifting a hand to brush her cheek with light fingers. "Nihuang..."

She leaned just a little into the touch, smiling up at him, so softly that Jingyan picked up his cup to have an excuse to look away and give them a little privacy. "Don't be silly, Shu-ge. Didn't I tell you, already? You still look at me that way; that's all that matters." The softness of her voice suddenly turned bright and wicked. "Besides, I already share the care of you with my younger sister. Why should I object to sharing with a brother, too?"

Jingyan nearly choked on a swallow of water, An squeaked, eyes wide, and xiao-Shu caught Nihuang close, laughing out loud against her hair. "If I need a charge to break the ministries' ranks, I'll definitely call on you," he promised, eyes bright.

She leaned up to kiss him, with a satisfied smile. "Good. Do so." She pushed to her feet. "Now, you haven't spent the night with Jingyan all week. I am going to make sure Gong Yu doesn't actually sleep out in the mews, waiting for word from Dong-jie."

An promptly stood, as well, eyes dancing as she bowed to Jingyan. "I will bid you a good night, then, my lord."

Jingyan gave her a faintly exasperated look, but had to allow, in justice, that she was only following the example of her elders. Unfortunately. "Yes, yes. Good night, then." He drew her close and dropped a light kiss on her hair, and she smiled up at him, sweet and happy, before following Nihuang out.

Xiao-Shu was still laughing. Very quietly so, but Jingyan could tell, and eyed him thoughtfully, stepping around the trays to close the distance between them. "So. It appears that I'm the one who's joining your household, then?"

Xiao-Shu rose to meet him, almost straight-faced as long as you couldn't see how bright his eyes still were. "It is the business and expertise of the ladies to arrange these things; I try to always trust in my experts."

Jingyan reached out to catch his hips and pull him closer, smiling at the slide of xiao-Shu's hands up his arms, slow and firm, as if xiao-Shu wanted to memorize how he felt. "Do you trust my expertise, then?" He bent his head and nipped gently at xiao-Shu's neck, making a pleased sound when xiao-Shu's hands tightened sharply on his shoulders.

"Entirely," xiao-Shu answered, a little husky with the way he tipped his head back as Jingyan kissed down his throat.

"Good," Jingyan murmured against his skin, and sucked a mark into it, just under the line of his collar. Xiao-Shu's body arched taut against his, like a bow drawn by his hands, and the sweetness of feeling xiao-Shu answer him so freely made Jingyan smile and stroke his tongue over the mark he'd left.

"Jingyan." Xiao-Shu pushed him back a little, flushed and dark-eyed. "Bed."

Jingyan grinned at him, pleased, and agreed. "Bed."

There were times, he had to admit, when he showed his own share of his family's sense of humor.

Xiao-Shu had recovered his composure by the time they were both undressed, and came to press close against him, catching Jingyan's mouth for kiss after heated kiss, murmuring between them, "You make me want, so."

"What is it that you want?" Jingyan asked against his mouth, hands sliding down the lines of xiao-Shu's body, still lean but no longer so desperately thin.

Xiao-Shu's slow, wicked smile warned him to brace himself as xiao-Shu leaned in and spoke against his ear. "I want you to fuck me." Hearing xiao-Shu's smooth voice wrapped around the kind of barracks language they'd both learned from soldiers in the field sent a shock of heat through Jingyan, and he caught xiao-Shu closer as xiao-Shu leaned against him, laughing.

"If that's what you wish," he agreed, a bit breathless, and drew xiao-Shu onto the bed, pressing him gently to his knees.

Xiao-Shu smiled that slow, heated smile again and bent over, stretching his arms along the bed for a moment before folding them loosely and resting his head on them. "It is what I wish."

Jingyan knelt behind him, sliding his hands down the arch of xiao-Shu's back, slow and easy. "Then feel," he urged quietly, the way he'd learned he had to coax xiao-Shu along to do just that. After a moment's thought how best to effect it, he smiled, perhaps a little wickedly himself, and settled his hands on xiao-Shu's lifted rear, spreading him gently open. The faint catch of xiao-Shu's breath turned fast and shocked when Jingyan leaned down and stroked his tongue slowly over xiao-Shu's entrance.

"Jingyan!"

"Shh," he said softly, hands tightening a little as xiao-Shu shivered. "Just feel." He lapped, soft and slow, at xiao-Shu's entrance, and made a satisfied sound as xiao-Shu slowly unwound, under him, with a low moan. He listened to xiao-Shu's breathing as it turned deeper, faster, waiting for the muscles under his hands to relax. It wasn't until they finally did, accompanied by a soft sigh, that he slid a thumb down, working the pad of it against xiao-Shu's entrance in slow, firm circles, urging those muscles further open.

"Jingyan..." Xiao-Shu's arms were unfolded, now, thrown out along the bed as his hands flexed slowly in the covers, and Jingyan could see that his eyes were closed, his lips parted. "Jingyan, please..."

That went through him like a stroke of fire; xiao-Shu still asked for so few things. Jingyan's voice was rough and low as he answered, "Yes, my own." He leaned over the side of the bed to rummage out the sealed jar of seaweed gel (one of the few medicinals he did not get from his mother). The slickness of his fingers sliding down his own length made him shudder, hot anticipation pooling low in his stomach. The tightness and heat of xiao-Shu's body around him as he pushed in made him moan, low and open. And the wordless, entreating sound xiao-Shu made drove his hips forward, sinking all the way in, leaving them both gasping for a moment.

"Xiao-Shu," Jingyan breathed, when he had his voice back, leaning down to wrap his arms around xiao-Shu, curling his body over his lover's until he could gather xiao-Shu in against his chest and nuzzle the curve of his neck. All the gathering tension in xiao-Shu's body loosened again, and he moaned softly as he unwound to lie quiet and breathless in Jingyan's arms; the trust implicit in that relaxation caught in Jingyan's chest. "Thank you, my heart," he whispered against xiao-Shu's shoulder.

Xiao-Shu laughed, soft and breathless. "Why thank me for the things you do to me?"

Jingyan smiled against his shoulder. "Because you let me." Before xiao-Shu could argue with that, which he knew was a distinct possibility, he slid a hand down xiao-Shu's stomach to wrap around him and stroke, slow and firm. Feeling xiao-Shu lose his breath on a soft moan, feeling the way his body tightened, braided pleasure down Jingyan's nerves, and he rocked into xiao-Shu, sure and hard.

The sounds xiao-Shu made were breathless and openly wanting, and Jingyan couldn't help but catch him closer, drive into him harder, drawn on by how rarely abandoned xiao-Shu was, tonight. The flex of xiao-Shu's body under his was so open, so wanton, it took his breath, and when xiao-Shu tightened around him with a low moan, Jingyan let pleasure sweep him down, as well, shuddering as heat burst through him.

Eventually, they both lay quiet, catching their breaths together. When he had the sense to, again, Jingyan eased back and stretched out on his side, and promptly gathered xiao-Shu back against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his nape. "My treasure," he murmured. This close, he could feel xiao-Shu's skin heat as he colored, and smiled. "It's the truth." He found himself repeating that a lot, to xiao-Shu, but that was all right; he was perfectly willing to repeat himself until xiao-Shu believed it.

And perhaps that was closer than he'd thought, because although xiao-Shu didn't answer, he did cuddle deeper into the circle of Jingyan's arms. Jingyan held him closer, breathing in the warmth of that simple acceptance, and closed his eyes. Nothing undid him like these small moments of closeness and trust, the reassurance that his xiao-Shu was returned to him, whole and entire.

He cradled xiao-Shu closer and let the sweetness of his presence sink into his bones and soothe away the chill that had grown there over the year and more he'd had to bear the growing shadow of the throne's weight alone.

Six

Normally, Cai Quan rather liked seeing Xia Dong stalking into his offices. She was undeniably his favorite official, in his own Ministry, and the knife-sharp smile she wore when she'd secured unarguable evidence of some wrongdoing never failed to cheer him. Today, though, her expression was darker, fiercer, and Quan braced himself as he accepted her report folio.

"I tracked the goods," she said, flatly, folding her hands behind her, "and the money. It came from us."

Possibly, he had not braced himself quite enough. "Did you find from what faction?" he asked, grimly, not looking forward to the scandal and infighting this could spark.

"I recognized the name given by the courier." Her jaw was tight. "He was one of Xuanjing's agents."

Quan's hands closed tight on the edge of his writing table as a cold wave of fury and reflex fear washed over him. "This... this was approved by the Emperor? Undermining one of his own armies?"

Now he understood perfectly the hardness in her level gaze. "The Emperor never favored the military. This is the man who approved the execution of Chiyan's commanders when, as far as he knew, the Da Yu army was still a threat on our northern border. I suspect he would have thought the extension of Xuanjing's network and influence beyond our borders a decent trade."

As would Xia Jiang, Quan added to himself, as she probably would have added if she ever spoke Xia Jiang's name, these days. He glanced over her summary report and scrubbed his hands over his face with a resigned sigh. "Their Crown Prince's faction, wonderful. I'll probably have to bring the Chancellor's office in on this." That was never pleasant. The whole of that office tended to an approach they called 'pragmatic' and he called 'morally questionable'. Well, no help for it. He straightened and gave her a firm nod. "I'll probably call for you, when we go before the Crown Prince. For now, get some rest and catch up with yourself. And also with that girl you recommended." He had to smile a little, remembering. "She's impressive, but she also drove the mews-keepers to distraction, waiting for word of you."

The tight line of her mouth softened a little, at that. "Gong Yu gets very focused," she agreed, and took what looked like her first full breath in a while. "I'll be standing by, Minister." She gave him a short bow, and strode out.

Quan contemplated the tangle of military, ministries, and imperial plotting that an apparently straightforward case of misappropriation had developed into and indulged himself in one heartfelt groan before picking up his brush and starting to write his requests for time and information from the other ministries.

Jingyan was beginning to be just a little sympathetic to his father's tendency to shout when arguments broke out in front of him. Not terribly sympathetic, but he was aware of a growing urge to gag his ministers with their own hats.

"This wouldn't have happened in the first place if military officers were paying more attention to their duties than to promotion!"

"This isn't about the Ministry of War, this is about a history of corruption in State Revenue..."

"We can't just strip either Ministry, this is going to take time to fix..."

"The real point here is that this was approved at the highest levels..."

"No, the real point is that Northern Yan's Duke Ma is threatening reprisals, and we don't have enough money to support another extended campaign, yet..."

"And he only knows because your agent was careless!"

"Duke Ma and their Crown Prince clearly knew the source of that money." Xia Dong's voice cut easily through the bickering. "It's a safe gamble, to accuse us." She stood straight and calm at Cai Quan's shoulder, not bothering to defend herself further, for which forbearance Jingyan was grateful.

And, through it all, xiao-Shu sat out of the way, at his own desk, reading reports and correspondence with a calm smile, not even looking up at the racket of the ministers arguing. Jingyan was starting to suspect, a bit darkly, that xiao-Shu was willing to indulge the Court's taste for drama, at least in part, because he enjoyed it himself. Jingyan drew a fortifying breath and waded in.

"Sergeant Yang Liu and under-minister Tian Gen are already in the custody of the Ministry of Justice, and their trials will be conducted according to the law," he started, and waited until Li Len and Shen Zhui had bowed acknowledgment. "Minister Cai has already judged the competence of his agent in this matter, and I have accepted his judgment." Cai Quan and Xia Dong bowed in their turn, and Jingyan turned to Yu Qiao, the Chancellor of the Department of State Affairs, for the past two years. "Chancellor Yu. What, exactly, is Duke Ma saying to us?"

Yu Qiao stopped giving Xia Dong a dark look and drew himself up. "Highness. He is insisting that we were clearly behind the recent raid on his sealed records, and demanding recompense under threat of a military raid. I believe that we can still negotiate with him, though, if Your Highness will empower an envoy." His gaze flicked sidelong at xiao-Shu, who appeared oblivious, only looking up to take a handful of paper from the Eastern Palace attendant xiao-Shu had unofficially annexed as his secretary and courier, who had sidled in and along the side wall. Xiao-Shu glanced over it all, nodded, handed back a sealed note, and went back to reading. Jingyan thought he saw a flash of satisfaction in Yu Qiao's face before it smoothed into respectful entreaty. "The Department of State Affairs has many officials who are experienced in diplomacy, Highness. If I may suggest Huang Fu? We may have to make some gifts to Northern Yan, to smooth this unfortunate affair over, but Huang will be able to prevent the matter from escalating to Northern Yan's Crown Prince."

"On the contrary," xiao-Shu called, from his desk, still not looking up from his reading. "Involving the Crown Prince is precisely what we wish."

Yu Qiao's turned to glare at him. "There is no benefit in forcing an international confrontation to a higher level!"

Finally, xiao-Shu looked up, smiling. "Chancellor Yu. I understand very well your frustration, and I have no wish to add to it, but I have a responsibility to my own people. My workings cannot all be transparent to you." He stood, brushing his robes straight and laying aside his papers. "I am, however, willing to make the results transparent."

Jingyan thought that Yu Qiao suddenly looked less angry and more wary.

Xiao-Shu stepped out onto the floor before Jingyan's desk. "You fear that Northern Yan's Crown Prince stands behind Duke Ma, is using the Duke to test us, our cohesion, our readiness to war or to words. The reality is that, on the contrary, Ma is the one who wishes to test us. The Crown Prince will restrain him."

Yu Qiao drew himself up, face hard. "Vice-Marshal, I ask that you not interfere in state matters on the basis of such wild supposition."

"Supposition?" Xiao-Shu raised his brows at Yu, looking quite entertained, and Yu's temper snapped.

"There's no way you could possibly know—!"

"Under-minister Huang Fu requests entry!" one of the door attendants called. Yu turned away from xiao-Shu, every movement sharp and annoyed, and bowed to Jingyan.

"Highness, under-minister Huang undoubtedly has news of this matter."

Jingyan eyed xiao-Shu, who folded his hands and stood calm and smiling, and had to stifle a snort. Clearly, xiao-Shu's game was still in play. "Very well. Let him enter."

Huang Fu hustled through the room and bowed hastily to everyone. "Your Highness, Sir, Ministers. Chancellor Yu, we just received a letter under the seal of the Crown Prince of Northern Yan."

Yu Qiao stiffened. "Already? What is he..."

"He apologized!"

In the resulting silence, Huang Fu proffered a folded letter. Yu Qiao slowly accepted and opened it, looking more and more baffled the further he read.

"Well?" Jingyan finally prodded.

Yu shook himself and looked up. "Highness. It's as Minister Huang said. Northern Yan's Crown Prince states that there is evidence this matter is internal, and apologizes for Duke Ma's hasty judgment." He stared at the letter for another long moment before it seemed to sink in, and then his head whipped around toward xiao-Shu. "How...?"

Xiao-Shu was still smiling, but it was a sharper, fiercer smile, now, and his voice was dangerously soft when he answered. "I know, Chancellor Yu, because I was the one who set their sixth Prince there, to be a friend and ally to my Emperor."

Something like a shiver ran through the room. Everyone there knew it was not the current Emperor that xiao-Shu spoke of, and long years of stepping softly around the Emperor's paranoia made xiao-Shu's fierce candor chilling. Yu Qiao was looking wary again, perhaps even a little afraid. Xiao-Shu considered him for a long moment, and finally shook his head, smile turning wry. "Peace, Chancellor Yu. I understand your concerns, but, really, does this affair not assure you that I work only for the benefit of my lord?"

Jingyan tried very hard not to turn red at the familial title xiao-Shu used, especially when Shen Zhui started 'coughing' behind his fist and Dong-jie smirked outright. Trust xiao-Shu, he reflected, ruefully, to use everything to his advantage, even this. Yu opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally throwing up his hands. "Fine! You work for His Highness' benefit. Have it as you will!"

"Only when it's important," xiao-Shu murmured.

Jingyan really did snort this time, at the magnitude of that untruth. Xiao-Shu nearly always got his way, and always had.

Yu's expression said that he also doubted xiao-Shu's words very much, but he only bowed to Jingyan. "It appears my Department's concerned are resolved, for the present, Your Highness."

"Then we're done, here." Jingyan held out a hand for the letter Huang Fu had brought. "I will respond to this myself." After all, if xiao-Shu had arranged this alliance, for him, he should probably do his part to secure it.

Yu surrendered the letter with good grace and all of the ministers bowed themselves out. Finally. Jingyan contemplated the letter in his hands for a moment, and cocked a brow at xiao-Shu. "To be my friend and ally, hm?"

"We could use some," xiao-Shu pointed out, dryly, leaning a hip against his writing table. "Northern Yan and Southern Chu were not the only places your father sought to keep busy by funding one faction against another. Admittedly, Prince Ren didn't refuse the funds, or the plot, but he's the sort that prefers fair dealing, when it's possible." He smiled at Jingyan, small and warm. "You make it possible."

Jingyan smiled back, helpless, as always, to respond otherwise. "Very well, then. Let's begin it here." He unfolded the letter and spread it out over his desk, and xiao-Shu came around to read over his shoulder. The warmth of him against Jingyan's side eased all the muscles that the morning's arguments had pulled tight, and Jingyan settled down to read.

His ministers would hopefully learn this, in time: Lin Shu was the best hope they could have for an Emperor who would stay sane.

It was one reason that, while he would be glad for xiao-Shu's sake, Jingyan wasn't actually looking forward to the Lin Manor repairs being finished.

Interlude: Fulfillment

Lu Jian took a last turn through the Lin Manor, once everything was done. He always did this, with any project he worked on, making sure the blinds and dividers were all rolled evenly, picking up the bits of wood and paper that were always missed in shadowed corners, putting away the pails and scrub brushes that inevitably got left out. Shi Ping didn't protest, or call him 'fussy' for it, just followed after him with a sack for the scraps, which was why Shi Ping was his senior foreman.

The Lin Manor wasn't perfect. It was clear that major repairs had been done, and some of them showed, especially where he'd had to replace support beams and parts of walls. There were still places where the paint didn't quite match, where the newer tiles stood out. This was still a manor that had been neglected for fourteen years before being repaired. Even so, Jian was proud of the job they'd done. The place was solid and safe; it was even beautiful again. The gardens were clean and growing to some good order again. The sharp lines of each hall's framing were softened and graceful with hangings. Jian watched the breeze send ripples across the pools of the water garden and nodded, satisfied. "This was a good job."

"Do you think they'll actually use it?" Shi Ping asked, as they turned back toward the gates.

Jian blinked at him. "Why wouldn't they?!" He gestured around at the just-finished and, frankly, quite expensive renovation they'd completed, and and been paid for by Lin Shu.

Shi Ping examined the roof-lines, as they passed through the second courtyard. "You hear rumors."

Jian rolled his eyes. "Rumors are only rumors. And even if it's true," he had to clear his throat, because some of the rumors were downright lurid, "they commissioned repairs. Someone is intended to live here." He patted a pillar of the inner gates as they stepped through. "They aren't living at Mu Manor either, are they, but that certainly isn't being left to rot."

Shi Ping looked satisfied, and Jian shook his head, amused. Shi Ping invested a lot more in each job than anyone who'd just met him would ever realize from his laconic manner. "Lin Manor has a master again, and one that cares about the house" he said, firmly, as they stepped through the main doors and he turned to pull them shut, pausing to rub a stray speck of paint off the bronze ring. "That's what keeps a house alive."

His foreman knotted the sack of trash and tossed it over one shoulder. "Well, then. On to the next job."

Jian laughed and clapped him on the other shoulder. "As always!"

Seven

Lin Shu's fingers paused, unfolding the accumulated night's notes over breakfast. "Lu Jian writes that the repairs are finished," he said, quietly.

Sound around the room hushed, just like the sound in his head felt like it had. Jingyan looked up, sober, hand a little halting as he set down his cup. Gong Yu clasped her hands tight, dark eyes watching him intently, waiting for a cue. An was biting her lip, just a little, glancing back and forth between Lin Shu and her husband. After a moment, Nihuang reached over and closed a hand over his, tight and sure. "Shall we go and see, today, then?"

He took a breath, trying not to be obvious about how much he needed the moment to settle himself, and nodded, turning his hand up to lace his fingers with hers, anchoring himself. His eyes slid back toward Jingyan as if pulled there, though, and Jingyan caught them. When he smiled, small and warm, and asked, "Shall I come along?" it felt like release through his chest and down his spine.

"If you have time." That was disingenuous, of course. He needed them both with him, very much, these two who had been there, who shared so many of his memories. Fifteen years ago, he'd have said so. Fortunately, both of them still understood him perfectly well, at least if the exasperated looks they both gave him were any indication. He bent his head with a slightly unsteady chuckle. "Yes, all right."

Nihuang leaned against his shoulder, warm and steady. "Watch over things while we're gone," she directed Gong Yu, who nodded seriously, as if she'd heard more than just the words Nihuang had said. If Lin Shu hadn't spent his entire life observing every man of his acquaintance have just as little control over what was allegedly his own inner court, perhaps he'd be worried about that. As it was, he took a moment to be rather smug that his mother had chosen so well, for him.

It was a moment's distraction, anyway.

He continued focusing firmly on little things, as they made their way out through the north-east district—the brightening of the gray sky as morning drew on and lit the overcast clouds, the tug of the leather reins in his hands as his horse tossed it's head at a passing wagon, the steady chime of the bells on Nihuang's horse's chest-band. And these little things brought him, without panic, to the steps of Lin Manor.

The last time he'd seen the entrance, it had been overgrown, even in winter, untrimmed bamboo running wild, flowering trees sprawling messy and unpruned, doors hanging open and a little askew. Now the summer-green trees framed the fresh, dark paint of the doors neatly. It looked like someplace people might live, where he might expect a house servant to open the door at any moment and bow greeting. Except that they wouldn't, at least not the servants he remembered. Not more than a bare handful, if they even wanted to return, by now.

Jingyan's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present with a jolt, and he swallowed the shock of it, nodded, and put his foot on the stairs. And another. And another. Until he could touch the doors, and see Nihuang's hand beside his. When he glanced over, she was looking up at him, eyes dark, and gave him a steady nod. He returned it as well as he could, and, together, they pushed open the doors.

The house was bright and clean. As he stepped through to the inner gate, feeling like he might be walking through a dream, he saw fresh paint, washed flagstones, scrubbed tile everywhere he looked. The first courtyard was neatly swept, autumn flowers just starting to show buds in the lining beds. The deeper into the house he walked, the more he felt like these simple sights were knocking his breath out.

He didn't quite realize it was literal until Nihuang pushed him down on the steps of the west breezeway and rubbed his back, frowning. "Shu-ge, look at me." She studied him intently, when he looked up, and pursed her lips. "Well, you're not in shock. Yet. Sit and catch your breath for a minute, though, all right?"

He took a deeper breath and nodded, trying to ground himself in the warmth of her hands, and of Jingyan's hands when he knelt in front of him and took his shoulders.

"Xiao-Shu..."

He flinched at the way Jingyan's voice echoed in memory and the present both, and Jingyan frowned, worried. Lin Shu reached out to rest his hands on the sleek, heavy silk of Jingyan's robes, so much finer than anything he'd have bothered to wear back then. It helped.

"I'm all right," he finally managed, husky.

"Should we leave, for today?" Nihuang asked, still rubbing his back slowly. He shook his head.

"I want to see it all." To see and know, and not wonder later. Nihuang and Jingyan exchanged not entirely pleased looks over his head, and he huffed a faint laugh. "I need to see it all as it is, now."

"All right," Jingyan sighed, and held out his hands to pull him upright.

Lin Shu took them and stood, and was grateful that both of them stayed in contact once he was up, Nihuang's hand wrapped around his arm, and Jingyan's resting on his shoulder. It helped remind him of what was real as they circled the mansion slowly, passed through the third and fourth courtyards, newly painted red framing gleaming gently in the day's indirect light, echoing with the memory of his younger cousins running down the outer walks, laughing, calling for Lin Shu ge-ge to hurry up.

They took one turn through the rear building and started back toward the gate through the main hall. His steps slowed there, caught by the memory of his father leaning one elbow against a backrest, cup half-forgotten in his fingers as he argued strategy with his generals, of the sweep of his mother's sleeves as she gestured, laughing together with Aunt Yueyao, when she visited.

The inner hall was easier, in a way; the room for the family shrine was empty, but he'd seen the hall where the tablets did stand, now, had finally performed the proper rites for them. That was a memory he could hold on to without being cut. There was new wood here, too, he noticed as they stepped out. It was smoothly set into the landing, and the whole steps and landing re-painted, but it flexed a little differently under his feet than the older wood. He wondered what had happened to it; the framing, and sometimes walls, had been replaced elsewhere, but not the floors.

A memory slid past his mind's eye, of his mother standing at the top of these steps, smiling, hands held out to welcome him home.

Something that wasn't a memory, something made of whispers and rumor and horror, followed—his mother, at the top of these steps, sword drawn, watching strange soldiers burst through her home. His mother's blood spreading and pooling over the wood, sinking in and staining, too deep to ever plane away. His knees hit the steps, and he reached out, half expecting his hand against the wood to turn red.

"Shu-ge!"

"Xiao-Shu!"

It took long, long moments to remember where he was, and when, and why, to understand why there were arms around him, why the shoulder under his head was wet and the hand against his neck was shaking just as badly as his own were. It took long, gasping breaths before he could gather himself enough to lift his head, to see Nihuang and Jingyan looking back, faces just as wet as his. "I can't," he whispered, voice rough and choked. "Not where Mother..."

Nihuang pulled his head back down, arms tightening around him fiercely. "Then we won't. It's all right."

"But..."

"So stay in the home you already have," Jingyan told him firmly. "With me."

He looked up again at that, with a faint, helpless laugh. "Zhou Wei really will resign if we try to do that."

"Nonsense," Jingyan said at the same time Nihuang was saying, "Don't be ridiculous." They smiled at each other in a way that made him laugh again, rough in his throat after the tears. Jingyan reached out to wipe the wetness off his face with a gentle palm, and he couldn't help leaning into the touch, the reminder of what he still had, here and now.

"Most of the Court already knows perfectly well that you're lovers," Nihuang pointed out, rubbing her hands gently down his arms. "And half the ministers already treat the two of you like you're some eight-limbed beast named Highness-Sir."

Jingyan snorted over that, mouth tugging up in a wry smile. "True enough."

Lin Shu shook his head a little, thoughts turning over again, albeit a little slowly still. "Maybe that will work for now, but when you take the throne..."

"Then our rooms will be further apart," Jingyan stated, flat look daring anyone, including Lin Shu, to argue. "I won't say that I'll like that, but I also won't let it make any more difference than that."

Lin Shu felt too wrung out to argue with Jingyan's stubbornness. especially backed by Nihuang's. Perhaps he'd best leave that to Gao. Yes, surely Gao would have the wisdom and patience to argue them back to reason.

He couldn't. Even if it would be the wise thing to do, he couldn't. Not now.

They both smiled, obviously feeling the tension in him slacken, and he rolled his eyes and let them help him to his feet, keeping his back carefully to the inner hall. By the time they'd reached the outer gate, he managed to say, quietly, "Perhaps we could keep some staff here, if anyone wishes to return." He didn't want to see Lin Manor fall into disrepair again, just because he couldn't bear to walk here again.

Nihuang smiled up from where she'd ducked under his arm, eyes a little wet again for a moment. "Yes. Let's do that."

Stepping back out into the city, feeling the support of Jingyan's arm around his shoulders, and Nihuang's warmth against his side, he took what felt like his first free breath all day, and turned toward the horses that would take them home.

Coda

Gao smiled benignly at the youngsters gathered in the inner receiving room of the Eastern Palace, folding his hands. "Why yes, I don't see why not."

The Crown Prince smiled with immense satisfaction, and the Princess Nihuang exchanged a pleased nod with the Crown Princess, while Lin Shu stared at Gao with a betrayed look.

"Gao gong-gong," he started, nearly sputtering. Gao waved dismissive fingers.

"Palace Affairs may complain a bit, at first, but, really, it's hardly the first time this has happened. They'll find precedents, and then they'll be happy again." And if they weren't, well, they would be once Lady Jing was finished with them. Gao's smile may have broadened a hair at the thought, and the young Vice-Marshal threw up his hands.

"All right. All right! Fine!"

Gao bowed, hiding the urge to laugh outright at the young man's dramatics. "If that was all, then I will take my leave." He patted Zhou Wei on the shoulder, on his way out, and got a harried look in answer. Yes, they were all settling in quite well. Zhou Wei had always needed a challenge to bring out his best.

He strolled back through the Palace complex, enjoying the late-summer warmth of the evening, reflecting on how pleasant it might be to have an Emperor who loved, rather than feared, those nearest to him, and was loved by them with such fierce loyalty. Gao liked the thought quite a bit. He thought the Court and country would, too, once they got accustomed, and if time had taught him anything it was that people did get accustomed if you just gave them a little while. He smiled up at the first stars coming out in the darkening sky, and though he'd never gained the learning of the royal scholars who read the skies, he felt deep in his heart that those stars agreed with him when he murmured, softly, aloud.

"All will be well."

End

The Yellow Season

Jingyan is figuring out why Lin Shu likes to be held tightly, in bed, and in the process shakes a few truths loose that he didn't expect. Porn with Characterization, I-4

I swear, I do not normally make terrible linguistic jokes in my titles, so let's just consider this one truth in advertising.

One of the things that had surprised Jingyan the most about xiao-Shu, in bed, was that he liked to be held. Jingyan had very clear memories of xiao-Shu being always in motion, always a little restless. He'd liked being in contact, definitely, always reaching for Jingyan's arm or leaning into an arm thrown around his shoulders, so it hadn't actually surprised him that xiao-Shu liked it when Jingyan left the marks of his mouth on xiao-Shu's skin. That was the kind of reminder he could have guessed xiao-Shu would enjoy having. But the xiao-Shu of fifteen years ago had been quick-fire and restless, and not the type Jingyan would ever have expected to like being in any way restrained.

Xiao-Shu now, though, made little sounds of satisfaction when Jingyan's weight settled over him, or when Jingyan folded his arms around him and held him close. When Jingyan's fingers wrapped around his wrist so that Jingyan could press a kiss to the inside of it, xiao-Shu's eyes dropped closed for a breath and his lips parted softly.

And so, this evening, Jingyan let his hold on xiao-Shu's wrist tighten, winding his fingers firmly around it, and watched xiao-Shu closely. The quick hitch in his breath made Jingyan nod to himself; he was fairly sure he was right about this.

"Jingyan?" xiao-Shu asked, a little husky.

Jingyan gathered xiao-Shu closer and turned them, easing xiao-Shu back against the bed and stretching out over him. He caught xiao-Shu's soft, pleased sound in a kiss, and said quietly, against his mouth. "My heart. My own." Xiao-Shu relaxed back against the blankets, a smile curving his lips in response; xiao-Shu, now, also liked it when Jingyan reminded him that he belonged here, with Jingyan. Belonging—that was the key, wasn't it? Jingyan wrapped his fingers gently around xiao-Shu's other wrist as well and pressed them both to the bed over xiao-Shu's head.

Xiao-Shu's eyes went wide and dark, and his whole body arched up taut under Jingyan's. "Jingyan..." He could feel tiny tremors running the length of xiao-Shu's body, feel the sudden quickness of his breath.

"My own," he repeated, low and sure, sliding a leg between xiao-Shu's thighs and pressing up between them. Xiao-Shu moaned, low and open, grinding up against him with a complete lack of restraint that made Jingyan's own breath come faster. Perhaps this wasn't something he would have expected of xiao-Shu, but that didn't mean he couldn't put the pieces together when they were in front of him—and he was more than willing to oblige. He tightened his hold on xiao-Shu's wrists a little and bent his head to bite, slow and firm, up and down the line of xiao-Shu's neck.

"Jingyan...!" The note in xiao-Shu's voice was breathless and yearning, the flex of his body under Jingyan's hold increasingly wanton. Jingyan made wordless, encouraging sounds as he sucked the marks on xiao-Shu's neck darker, each one sending xiao-Shu bucking up against him.

"My own, my xiao-Shu," he murmured against xiao-Shu's ear, rocking his thigh firmly between xiao-Shu's legs. "It's all right; I won't let go."

"Yes, this, please." Xiao-Shu sounded near incoherent, and he was pushing up against Jingyan so hard that, if he weren't begging, Jingyan might be having second thoughts. He had to hold tight enough to xiao-Shu's wrists, to keep him pinned, that he might be leaving marks there, too. Given the way xiao-Shu was pulling against his grip, he wondered if that was exactly what xiao-Shu wanted. The thought sent a curl of heat through him.

So he settled his weight more securely over xiao-Shu and pinned his wrists hard against the bed. He pushed his thigh up between xiao-Shu's legs and, when xiao-Shu arched up against him, head falling back, leaned down and closed his teeth on xiao-Shu's throat.

Xiao-Shu cried out, shaking under Jingyan's hold as he came undone all in a rush, flushed and half-wild, so beautiful in this moment that Jingyan couldn't look away. It took a long time for xiao-Shu to quiet again, and even then his breath was still quick, his eyes dark and dilated when he looked up at Jingyan. Jingyan held him against the bed, gentle and firm, and waited.

"Jingyan," xiao-Shu finally whispered, wetting his lips. "What...?"

"It seemed like something you wished," Jingyan answered, quietly.

Xiao-Shu took in a quick, trembling breath, eyes falling closed. "I..." He couldn't seem to find words to go on.

"If it is something you wish," Jingyan finally said, voice soft, "then you can have it." He tightened his hold on xiao-Shu's wrists for a moment.

The sound xiao-Shu made was low and rough and wanting, and the words that followed seemed shaken from him. "I do. I want it, I wanted it so much, then. For you to hold me by you, and not release me. Even when—"

"Even when what?" Jingyan prompted, when he broke off. When xiao-Shu opened his eyes, the desperation in them struck Jingyan breathless.

"Even when I pushed you back, because I couldn't stand what it would mean." Xiao-Shu's voice was raw. "To watch you watch me die... I couldn't do it. And even so, even then, I wanted."

Jingyan let his wrists go only so that he could catch xiao-Shu tighter against him, wrapping himself close around xiao-Shu, as if he could ward off even that memory with his own body. Xiao-Shu held just as tight to him, still shaking a little. Jingyan ran a hand up his back into his hair and told him, soft and fierce, "Then I will hold you by me, and not release you."

"Yes," xiao-Shu said, low and breathless, pressing his forehead to Jingyan's shoulder. "Please. Until I can believe it."

"And after, too." Jingyan smiled against his hair and stroked his thumb down xiao-Shu's neck, pressing gently over the marks he'd left, pleased by the hitch of xiao-Shu's breath—this time, there was a bit of a laugh in it.

"And after," xiao-Shu agreed, softly, and if there was still more hesitance in it than Jingyan liked, at least it was agreement. He settled xiao-Shu more comfortably against him, running slow fingers up and down his nape, soothing that flicker of tension in him until xiao-Shu sighed and relaxed against him again. And he let the knowledge sink into him, that it hadn't actually been politics that xiao-Shu had put ahead of their hearts, two years ago.

Jingyan held xiao-Shu closer and smiled, soft and open.

End

Candles Lit at the Doors

Jingrui is finding himself drawn back toward a military position, after fighting at the northern border, and Yujin follows along, as he always has, despite his own reservations. Along the way, the two of them get into trouble, politics, and eventually a deeper understanding. Drama with Politics and Romance, and also a Sprinkle of Porn, I-4

Finding a Path

The road that led past the river north of Jinling was a good one for racing on. It got less traffic than the others, and ran fairly flat until it reached the tree line. Yujin had raced Jingrui down this stretch many a time, once they were both old enough to be let out on their own horses without an older cousin to mind them.

Today they gave their horses their heads, but it wasn't a race. They rode close all the way to the trees, horses running shoulder to shoulder, slowing together as they passed between the first tall trunks. Yujin waited until they were well under the unfolding spring leaves before he spoke.

"It's really true, then."

Jingrui flashed a bright smile over at him. "It really is." And then he looked faintly hangdog. "I'm sorry I didn't say, in the winter, when he first visited. Aunt Jing made me promise not to."

Yujin waved that off, scoffing. "Don't worry so much; of course you kept quiet if she asked." He did give Jingrui a long, searching look as they turned onto the path to the river, though. "That's why you've been thinking about returning to the military, though, isn't it?" He'd wondered about that, a little. He knew Jingrui had stayed in contact with some of his men, even once their year-long obligation was up, and he'd been watching the capital patrols with a more and more considering look in his eye all winter.

Jingrui smiled down at his horse's neck. "A little." They reined in at the edge of the clearing by the river's wide bend and dismounted as one. They'd always moved together, like that, but Yujin was starting to wonder how much longer they could do so. His own military experiences, so far, had left him ambivalent, aware he could likely be a good commander but sickened by the waste of every fight, and furious that some ambitious fool's failure of thought had made it necessary. Though he admitted he'd felt somewhat less of that under Lin Shu's direction, on the north border.

"Everything I've heard says he'll never take the field again," he said to his saddle, loosening the reins so his horse could drink from the river. "You would never be under his command again."

"Not in the field," Jingrui agreed. "But... well, it's Lin Shu ge-ge. If he's back, then..."

Yujin couldn't help the grin that tugged at his mouth. "Then he'll be the one in charge anyway." Only Prince Jing had ever really been able to stand firm against Lin Shu's impatient assumption of command, and the Crown Prince certainly wasn't going to be refusing any military distribution the brilliant Vice-Marshal of Chiyan might advise. Not after the battle at the northern border had demonstrated so conclusively that Lin Shu had lost none of his tactical brilliance. Yujin pulled his horse gently back from the water and tied it so he could walk around to join Jingrui at the water's edge. "You're sure, then?" he asked, quietly.

"I think so." Jingrui gave him a bright, open smile, elbowing him lightly. "So, what about you?"

Very few of Yujin's reservations had ever held up in face of Jingrui's smile. Not when they were little and stealing sweets off Aunt Jing's table (with her amused connivance, Yujin had realized years later); not when they were a little older and Jingrui had dragged Yujin everywhere after their glamorous, if also sometimes alarming, older cousins; not when they'd come of age and Jingrui hauled Yujin out onto the roads to wander the country with that very same smile. He could barely imagine leaving Jingrui's side, at this point. So there was really nothing else to do but elbow him back until they managed to shove each other into the shallows, laughing.

In the end, it was Meng Zhi's still-pressing need for commanders he could trust without question that quashed the last of Yujin's reservations. Because he could see the uncertainty, at every gathering he attended, hanging in the air like smoke—the doubt in the eyes of nobles and ministers alike, whenever they looked sidelong at the Imperial Guard, or even the City Guard. He'd learned young how dangerous that kind of doubt and fear could be, and had no intention of letting his loved ones live in that kind of capital again, if he could do anything to help it.

"You're sure you won't mind?" he asked his father, a little hesitantly, as they sat together over wine in the evening. "I know our family is a scholarly one, it's just... I feel as though I could do something, there."

His father's mouth quirked faintly under his mustache. "If I'd minded you taking up martial pursuits, I'd have needed to do something about it a long time ago."

That was not, Yujin had to observe, actually a 'no', and he chewed on his lip behind his cup.

This time his father laughed, quietly. "It's fine, Yujin. You did well, dealing with both politics and battle two years ago, and you obviously already know how to listen for what's not said." He settled back a little on his cushion though his eyes were still sharp and thoughtful, resting on Yujin. "The Imperial Guard isn't a bad place from which to watch the workings of the court and the ministries. I doubt that's what Jingrui needs or will find in it, but for you... well, go and see."

Something in Yujin relaxed, hearing that, something deeper than his concern for his father's approval, the hot thread of outrage that curled tight every time he saw yet another thing about the capital that was still broken in the aftermath of the princes' fight for the throne. "It just... it makes me so angry, sometimes, to see what always seems to lead up to an actual battle," he admitted, looking down.

"What, stupidity?" his father asked, blandly, taking a sip of his wine. He smiled a little at the sputter of laughter Yujin couldn't hold back. "That's why I'm not worried, boy. You're true blood of the Yan lineage. You'll never be content to fix the results when you could be laying hands on the cause."

Yujin took a deep breath, feeling the words settle into his heart and ring true, there. "Yes," he agreed, softly. And then he had to sigh a little, as his heart did a prompt and familiar about-face and tugged in the other direction. "Jingrui..."

"Jingrui has to follow his own path." His father softened the flat statement by laying a hand on Yujin's shoulder, and added, "That doesn't mean your paths can't go in the same direction, if you both choose."

Yujin paused, suddenly remembering the handful of times he'd heard his father refer to 'Lin Xie da-ge' in his hearing, always with affection and fierce loyalty, and nodded slowly. "I'll remember, Father." He still didn't like the thought of not being right at Jingrui's side, but... perhaps it truly would be enough to travel the same way, if not quite the same road.

He would hope so.

And for now, at least, they could go together. He didn't have to try to explain another road to Jingrui, yet. He would hold tight to that, while he could.

Li Gang stepped past the house servant who'd shown him through to the Chief's rooms, here in Prince Jing's city manor, and gave the Chief a quick look up and down. He looked far less like a man trying to outrun a slowly festering gut wound, these days. He also snorted as Gang and Zhen Ping bowed.

"I'm fine, yes, and don't try to tell me you haven't been in communication with our members in the Imperial Guard, to get reports on me, all this time."

Gang exchanged rueful looks with Zhen Ping, and didn't try to deny it. "You called for us, Chief," he said, instead.

"Mm." The Chief jotted a note on the lists spread over his writing table, and said, in the thoughtful tone that meant he was saying more than it sounded like, "Neither of you have accepted reinstatement, yet."

This time, the look Gang traded with Zhen Ping was wary. "It didn't feel right, without you in command." He could hear the faint edge of entreaty in his own voice, and didn't try to stifle it, because if the Chief was about to give the orders it sounded like he was thinking of...

The Chief looked up, eyes steady on them. "You had a chance to see a bit of how Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin commanded, at the north border. What did you think?"

Gang blinked a little, but he was used to not being able to follow the Chief's quicksilver turns of thought. He settled back and considered. "They're both strong warriors, and not afraid to lead from the front. They're not as good, yet, at keeping a whole unit's position in mind, when they're fighting, but I thought they both had potential, as commanders."

"Yujin is better at strategy than Jingrui," Zhen Ping put in. "At least right now. Yujin thinks more. But Jingrui..." He raised a brow at Gang and Gang nodded agreement.

"Jingrui has stronger command presence, with the men."

"It's not that Yujin doesn't have it," Zhen Ping added, "but he doesn't throw it out into the world, as Jingrui does. In time, the men would follow Yujin, with a good will, because they'd know he'd make wise choices. But they'll follow Jingrui right now, because he calls on their hearts."

"Romantic," Gang accused, under his breath.

"Not like you don't agree," Zhen Ping muttered back.

From the smile the Chief was stifling, he'd heard that.

"There is one thing, about Yujin, though," Zhen Ping said, slowly. "I noticed it at Jiu An. Most of the time, in the field, he's a thinker. But he has a streak of savagery in him, when he's protecting something. That day, with his father, and then Gong Yu, behind him... he never took a single step back toward those stairs. Not one."

Gang's brows rose; that had been a close, bloody fight, from everything he'd heard. For someone who'd never experienced a battlefield before to hold his ground so hard... yes, 'savage' was a good word for it. That could be a helpful tool, in the field, but it could also get a lot of people killed. "It would almost be ideal for them to be co-commanders, then, wouldn't it?" he mused.

A faint huff of laughter escaped the Chief. "Except for the part where Jingrui is one of those things Yujin would defend to the death," he pointed out, dryly. "But what is it in Jingrui that makes you think so?"

Gang settled himself more firmly into the familiar flow of reporting to the Chief, focused on question and answer, and never mind the side-tracks the Chief himself might dart down. All Gang had to do was answer the questions as they came. "He's protective enough, but he doesn't fight to protect, and he doesn't get lost in that urge. He fights for his ideals. What he wants is to help."

"Hmm." The Chief settled back in his chair with a distant look in his eye. "Help whom?" he murmured.

"His friends. His people. His nation." Gang thought for a moment, about what he'd seen of the young man, at the north border. "The nation, that part is still unformed. He's not very fond of the government, and who can blame him? But, having traveled as much as he has, he's seen a lot of the people. His men kept mentioning that he recognized where a lot of their homes were. He values the wellbeing of those people he met."

The Chief was smiling. "Yes. For a young man who never had the slightest ambition for the scholar's way, Jingrui does a fine job of embodying righteousness and benevolence."

"He still assumes those in others a little too much, but," Gang shrugged, "that's what makes the men respond to him, too. At the north border, he fell very easily in with the brotherhood of soldiers. He just needs to learn not to trust everything reported to him."

"So Jingrui will be well, with a little more seasoning and a commander he believes in," the Chief mused. "And Yujin will need someone to watch his back." He straightened and looked directly at them again, tone slipping out of thought and into command. "Jingrui and Yujin are both considering entering the Imperial Guard, this season. I need some experienced officers under them, to keep an eye on them. Zhen Ping, you'll go to Yujin. Li Gang, you will go to Jingrui."

"Chief..." Gang half-protested, looking at Zhen Ping for support.

"If we're reinstated, that isn't something we can go back from easily," Zhen Ping agreed, just as anxious as Gang felt.

"Nor is the Palace somewhere I can easily return from, any more," the Chief said quietly.

That halted them both, and Gang turned this new charge around, in his head. If the Chief was part of the Palace, now, and they returned into the Jin army, they'd be closer to hand than anyone but the Palace eunuchs could get.

And Gang didn't really want to become a Palace official, at his time of life.

Relief spread, warm, through his chest, and he bowed, Zhen Ping a second behind him. "Yes, Chief."

"Tomorrow, then." The Chief gave them a sharp nod that was so very much their Vice-Marshal's gesture, Gang had to brace himself against the spike of nostalgia, so intense it was nearly pain, like hot blood rushing back into a long-deadened limb.

He'd been with the Chief long enough, he didn't think for one second that it was accidental.

"So, we're going back," Zhen Ping murmured, as they stepped out into the slanting, early evening sunlight.

"With yet more of the family, to look after," Gang agreed, a little ruefully.

"At least they can't possibly be as much trouble as the Vice-Marshal and the Prince were." Zhen Ping sounded hopeful, but Gang winced a little.

"Don't tempt fate."

Zhen Ping laughed, quietly. "All right, but at least the capital barracks are supposed to be better than the border cities."

Gang finally smiled. "Now that, I'll drink to."

Following a Path

It didn't actually take Yujin long to settle in to his new work. From his point of view, not a great deal changed.

There was training and drill, but that had always been true, especially once Dong jie-jie had started taking his training seriously. There were suddenly a lot more people he was responsible for, but he'd been the one looking after the Yan household for a long time, and just like he had the steward and housekeeper at home, he had sergeants to help with his battalion.

(The first day he'd met his unit, and watched the man he still thought of as Mei Changsu's personal swordmaster step forward, with a professionally blank face, to hand over the tally of his men, he'd been startled enough to ask, "What, really?"

"You're his family, Commander," Zhen Ping had said, under his breath but apparently quite calm. "Of course he wants to make sure you're taken care of."

Yujin hadn't quite had the nerve to protest, at the time, and he had to admit that Zhen Ping was very helpful.)

And he and Jingrui were both currently assigned to the bulk of the Jin army garrisoned outside the Palace itself. So, really, Yujin was feeling a great deal like this was an extension of his travels with Jingrui, except that both of them actually went home at night.

It was possible that their 'business as usual' approach was not endearing them to their superior, though.

"You want to do what, now?" Sun Wen, the Vice-Commander they both reported to squinted at them like he might be getting a headache.

"A mock battle," Jingrui repeated, brightly. "It'll keep everyone from getting too bored and losing their edge."

"They like being bored," Sun Wen pointed out, a bit dryly. "The alternative to bored is called 'battle'. And, frankly, we want hundreds of soldiers all crammed together to have less of an edge to them than a couple of hot-blooded young warriors used to gallivanting around as they please. Just for example."

That was definitely to their address, and Yujin stepped in to deflect it with a hopeful smile. "Varying the way they train will keep their skills sharper, won't it?"

"Which is exactly why we have several mock battles a year, out on the plains, about which you'll be informed in good time." Sun Wen picked up the report he'd put down when they entered.

"This would be indoors, though." Jingrui leaned forward, earnestly. "Won't that be good training for our Palace rotation?"

"Indoors?" Sun Wen looked up at them, brows arched incredulously. "Where, exactly, do you think we have space for two battalions to go at each other indoors?"

"The old Zhang manor, in the west-central district," Yujin supplied promptly. "Old Man Zhang's daughter has been trying to convince him to have it knocked down and rebuilt for years. If the army rents it for a while, then he's happy because it isn't getting knocked down yet and she's happy because they'll be getting more money to eventually rebuild it, and we get an interior practice area that's almost as complex as some of the Palace."

"So everyone's happy, hm?" Sun Wen eyed the two of them, and Yujin gave him his very best reassuring smile. Sun snorted. "All right, you seem to be reasonably organized about this; you can try it once. But if there are too many injuries out of this, and the physicians come after you, I'm going to leave you to their mercies. Just keep that in mind."

Yujin immediately thought of Aunt Jing's scoldings and quailed. From the look of trepidation on Jingrui's face, he was remembering exactly the same thing. "Yes, sir," Jingrui hastened to assure the Vice-Commander. "We'll make sure everyone is careful."

"Do so." Sun Wen nodded dismissal in answer to their bows, and picked up his reports again. And if he was shaking his head as Yujin left on Jingrui's heels, well, at least they'd gotten permission to convince him.

Yujin grinned at Jingrui as they clattered down the steps to Wen's office, and Jingrui grinned back, and they clapped each other on the shoulders, laughing. This should be fun. Also productive, of course, because that's what they were here for, after all, but it was very gratifying to find that he could still combine the two, now and then.

Perhaps he could find uses for more than his martial skills around here, after all. The thought made him relax under Jingrui's hand, smiling.

Zhen Ping crept through tall, dry weeds beside a weathered breezeway, after his Commander, and had to hold back a smile. He'd wondered, a little, how much of Yan Yujin's determined pleasure in life would survive something like Jiu An, especially once Yujin took a military post. But his Commander's eyes were bright, and he grinned as he watched their forward scouts sneak up to the tattered doors of the next hall and signaled Ping for two more squads to follow them. That cheer seemed to ripple out through the men who caught a glimpse of him, like a gust of wind through grass.

Ping observed that, and thought about the fact that Yujin did seem to have a good instinct for the morale of his men, and finally asked the question that had been nagging at him. "So, for this exercise, we're supposed to be rescuing a Minister from kidnappers who are holding him in his Palace offices, aren't we?"

"Exactly," Yujin agreed, and added thoughtfully, "It's really too bad we can't use the actual offices, but I suppose that would be too much disruption."

Ping took a moment to offer silent and fervent thanks that his Commander hadn't suggested that plan to Vice-Commander Sun. Sun Wen had been recalled from retirement to fill one of the two posts left empty (again) after the executions that had followed Prince Yu's rebellion. He didn't have a reputation as a harsh man, but the whole Jin army knew that his patience had a definite limit, after how briskly he'd restored order among his battalion Commanders. Thinking on the Vice-Commander's potential lack of amusement with them, Ping was a little cautious when he asked the next question. "If that's so, sir, then why do I keep hearing Commander Xiao's men yelling about having spotted the kidnappers?"

"Because their objective is to defend a Minister against the attack of kidnappers who have penetrated the Palace offices," Yujin said, quite calmly, eyes on the progress of the men clearing the hall ahead.

Ping had been afraid that was going to be the answer. "Sir," he started, searching for a respectful way to put this, "isn't that a little too..."

"Realistic?" Yujin's smile was crooked, now.

Ping had been thinking 'cynical' and still was, but 'realistic' also worked. "Yes, sir."

"That's the all clear sign," Yujin said, instead of answering. "Come on."

Ping ran forward on his heels, keeping a sharp eye out for anywhere around the dilapidated court that bowmen might be hidden. Li Gang believed quite devoutly in extra precautions, and Xiao Jingrui turned out to have a good eye for crossfire positions, as they'd already found out once. Over fifty men had had to retire, grumbling, with ink-spattered armor showing where they'd been shot.

It wasn't until they were safely under a rear window, with scouts ducking underneath the breezeways to crawl forward again, that Yujin said, quietly, "Jingrui said people fight better if it's for the right reason. And I didn't want any of our men thinking too long about being asked to attack the government." He looked over his shoulder at Ping, eyes steady. "If anyone asks, we thought it would be a good joke, for both sides to actually have the same objective."

Ping couldn't help giving an abbreviated bow to that level expression. "Yes, sir."

He still thought that it was Yujin who had the better strategic sense, but the longer he spent at Yujin's side, the more he heard 'Jingrui wants' or 'Jingrui said'. He was starting to wonder if Yujin ever really did anything on his own account or for his own sake, or if, perhaps, someone should suggest the idea to him.

And then one of the scouts popped out of the long weeds, signaling back that they'd found an opening, and Yujin lit up, laughing. "We've got them!" He bounced up onto his toes and dashed forward.

Or perhaps, Ping reflected, ruefully, as he sprinted after his Commander, he'd better save his worrying for keeping his charge in one piece right now, and let the future take care of itself.

Yujin loved sparring with Jingrui. Jingrui's sword form was beautiful, full of clean, sharp turns that swept aside any weakness in defense, meeting his blade only to spin aside and suddenly return from another angle. Yujin was, justifiably he thought, proud of the demonstrated effectiveness of his own style, but sparring with Jingrui was like playing a line of music.

Of course, all that sleek economy of motion and momentum did tend to mean that he often got worn down before Jingrui did, when they fought with swords.

"Ha!" Jingrui's eyes were bright as the line of his sword settled delicately against Yujin's neck. "Finally got you!"

"What 'finally'?!" Yujin demanded, laughing and out of breath, as cheers and groans broke out from their spectators around the drill field. "You think you shouldn't have to work for your win?" He tossed his sword back to his off hand and elbowed Jingrui as Jingrui flung an arm around his neck.

"Should I have to work, against you?" Jingrui teased, leaning against him until Yujin rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to dump him off, one of the most useful moves Dong jie-jie had ever taught him. Jingrui stepped through, graceful as ever, to catch his balance, laughing.

"Time to give someone else a chance, you two," one of the onlookers called out, and Yujin looked up to see Wan Fa, the Commander who'd been shifted over to take Jin's Second battalion while Yujin took over the Fourth from him. A little murmur of anticipation ran through the noise of bets changing hands, around them, enough to make Yujin nod to himself.

The battalion hadn't been in bad shape, when Yujin took it, not the way Jingrui's had been, with their previous Commander dismissed from service, the company captains anxious or wincing, and the sergeants uniformly grim. But Yujin was used to listening for what wasn't said, and that wasn't only useful in keeping a party going cheerfully. He'd watched his men watching him, seen how his captains' shoulders eased down when he'd called them in, that first month, and asked about the distribution of men and equipment across each company, whether anyone needed him to go argue for extra from the Logistics Bureau or needed to be on light duty while they got new men trained up.

The battalion hadn't been in bad shape, but it hadn't been well cared for. It had made Yujin think of what Yan Manor might have been like, without him, for the years his father had had his mind on other things. And that made him smile at Wan Fa with just a bit more teeth than usual, and say cheerfully, "I was thinking of a round unarmed. You interested?"

Jingrui's brows rose for just a moment, because normally an unarmed match was Yujin's chance to get his own back, if he'd lost with swords, but one look at Yujin's smile made Jingrui clap him on the shoulder and agree, brightly, "I wanted to steal Zhen Ping for a little, anyway!"

They exchanged a quick, complicit grin and Jingrui faded back into the onlookers, positively smirking. Yujin sheathed his sword and stepped back out, re-settling himself, waiting for Wan Fa to come at him.

As he'd more than half expected, Wan Fa had no problem with making the first move, and a showy move at that, a broad, circling strike at Yujin's ribs. Yujin's smile thinned, and he shifted for a high, sweeping kick, arm snaking out to lock Wan Fa's against his side as it came in. Wan Fa didn't quite yelp, but his expression looked like he wanted to as he twisted under the kick, only barely pulling free enough to keep from breaking his own arm in the process.

Mostly because Yujin let him.

Wan Fa was glaring when he came in again, this time with a more focused chest strike. Yujin flipped back out of range, easy and springy, and then, to bait him more firmly, flipped up over Wan Fa's head. The 'just swallowed a bug' expression on the man's face as he spun around nearly made Yujin laugh. He knew a lot of people looked at his stocky build and assumed his form would be thin on aerial maneuvers, grounded and strength-based.

And it wasn't as if they were entirely wrong, after all.

Yujin stood his ground as Wan Fa spun into a series of high, scything kicks. He bent back from one, blocked the next cleanly, and then he was far enough inside to wheel on his own center and land a brutal double punch that threw Wan Fa back to the circle of spectators to land in a gasping heap. Yujin came back to a neutral finishing stance, and gave his collapsed opponent a bow and a sunny smile, and whoops went up all around. Yujin laughed and went to give Wan Fa a hand up, as comradely as could be. He wanted to shake the man up, after all, not actually alienate him.

"Dong jie-jie would have twisted your ear off for that flip," Jingrui told him, grinning, as Yujin joined him at the edge of the circle.

"Dong jie-jie isn't here, or I wouldn't have done it." Yujin jostled through the press of men, as they broke up to return to drills, and grabbed a dipper of water. He turned a little, as he drank, casting a quick eye over the training ground, listening for the tone of it the way he'd listen to the tone of a social gathering. The men of his battalion, and for that matter of Jingrui's, were mostly grinning, smug. The few who wore darker expressions were still satisfied, just with a far harder edge of pride in it—he'd already marked most of them as soldiers who'd been at Jiu An, and he added the ones he hadn't known of yet to his mental tally. In turn, Wan Fa's men elbowed each other and rolled their eyes, some exasperated but most only rueful. That was a good sign. He'd ask Zhen Ping to check on that battalion, and make sure their morale (and supplies) really were being kept up reasonably, but it didn't look like more energetic measures would be needed.

"Yujin?" Jingrui asked, softly, stepping closer and turning a little to watch behind him. "What is it?"

"Nothing right now," Yujin murmured, leaning against his shoulder for a moment, warmed by how easily Jingrui still guarded his back. "Just keeping an eye on things." He grinned up at Jingrui. "Ready to go look commanding, Commander Xiao, and make sure your men are doing their drills properly?"

Jingrui drew himself up, managing to look dignified despite the way his eyes were dancing. "Always, Commander Yan."

Yujin gave him a mocking bow, and laughed as Jingrui pulled him along across the training field.

Nothing was wrong right now, and that was why he'd keep an eye out. Yujin didn't intend to be caught in the crossfire of politics and poor choices twice, and he especially didn't intend to let Jingrui be caught, no matter how much of an uphill battle that had always been, against Jingrui's lack of self-preservation.

Jingrui looked up with a satisfied smile as the last of his company captains filed in, and waved the letter with their new orders between his fingers. "Get everything polished up, this week; we're on rotation at that Palace starting next week!"

"Really?" He Niu sounded shocked, and the rest of them were exchanging equally startled looks, some pleased, some alarmed, but all about equally taken aback by the news. Jingrui shook his head at them.

"It's our turn, in the schedule; there's no reason to think we wouldn't be. You can't be held to blame for obeying your commander," he said firmly. Again. He felt a bit like he'd been repeating some variation on this at least once a week for months, now. And it wasn't as though Peng had even been clearly in collusion with Jin's late, unlamented Vice-Commanders. Personally, Jingrui thought it likely the man had just been currying favor with whoever presented themselves above him; he'd seen a lot of similar behavior, since he'd come here, and that, at least, he found understandable, if not at all admirable.

What he found less understandable, and wouldn't have believed if he hadn't heard it from Yujin, was the real reason his men never quite seemed to believe him. It still shocked Jingrui down to the core, what the Emperor had almost done to even the surrendered Qing Li soldiers, what had only been averted by the Crown Prince and High Commander's pleas. To hold a servant to blame for following his master's orders... Jingrui knew he'd been only a middling-good student but even he knew that struck against both the codes of law and the roots of civility itself. The limits on a servant's responsibility, or a soldier's, (or a son's) were all that made obedience a virtue and not some form of madness. Jingrui had been fresh from the orderly (if rather voracious) atmosphere of his blood-father's court, when Yujin had told him the story of Jiu An, and the thought that the Emperor, the nation's source of order, would do such a selfish, chaotic thing had chilled him.

At the same time, and much though the Crown Prince should never have had to do it, Jingyan ge-ge's example had heartened him. If he could follow that example, give the men he was responsible for some of their moral certainty back... well, he'd think that worthwhile work. No matter how many times he had to repeat himself.

His captains ducked their heads at the reminder, He Niu with a sheepish expression.

"Yes, Commander. Sorry, sir."

Jingrui smiled at them. "Just make sure the men are ready. The timing of our rotation means we'll be escort for the Fall Hunt; remind everyone. If there are any who are likely to have trouble at Jiu An, let me know and keep an eye on them." He nodded dismissal to their bows of acknowledgment, and only shook his head ruefully once they were all gone.

"They're getting there, sir," Li Gang said quietly, at his shoulder. "Who else is on this rotation with us?"

"Yujin's battalion, and Wan Fa's, and the First and Third too."

Li Gang snorted a little with amusement. "Everyone Commander Yan has under his wing, then. Probably a good thing."

Jingrui smiled, only a little wryly for the fact that Li Gang was so very right. "Yujin is good at looking after things." He touched the pile of tallies and lists on the side of his writing table. "So, I have the inventory reports, reports from the stables, though I want to double-check those before the Fall Hunt, preliminary patrol schedules for the Palace complex, and I'll be meeting with the other Commanders tomorrow to finalize those..." He looked up at Li Gang with a soft chuckle. "Anything I'm forgetting?"

His sergeant gave him an approving look for asking (he was getting better about that!) and answered, respectfully, "Have you written the City Guard, yet, to arrange the route we'll take to the Palace complex, sir?"

"No," Jingrui sighed, reaching for his brush to jot a note to himself. He was coming to realize, this year, that while he was actually fairly good at command, he was not good at bureaucracy. He was working dutifully, if not exactly enthusiastically, to get better, but he was also starting to have a terrible suspicion that he was going to wind up in Marquis Ning's position some day, buried in reports with a perpetual headache, even if he genuinely managed to avoid politics. He couldn't see any way around it, not if he wanted to actually have enough rank to do some good for the nation his greater clan ruled.

On the other hand, at least Yujin would be with him, and Yujin was very good at this side of things. Jingrui added the first character of Yujin's name to his note, and smiled.

They'd manage together, the way they always had everything. He honestly couldn't imagine it being any other way.

Duty at the Palace complex was a prized and prestigious one. People actually competed for it. There were even rumors people had killed for it, if the High Commander wasn't careful to maintain even rotations of the duty.

Yujin was incredibly bored by it.

He did, actually, understand Vice-Commander Sun's point that boredom was desirable, especially here. But Palace duty involved a great deal of doing nothing. The Imperial Guard detachment stood rigidly in place at their posts. They escorted palace officials on their very brief trips out into the city, to act as the Emperor's voice, or, more commonly these days, as the Crown Prince's voice. They patrolled the Palace complex, keeping a careful eye out for any untoward behavior, of which there had not been any, lately.

And Yujin spent most of his time in the Imperial Guard's offices, writing up duty rosters and patrol patterns without even being able to get out to walk many of the patrols. He'd started debriefing the on-call troops who rode out escorting palace officials, just to have something mildly interesting to do. He'd pulled out all the detailed and confidential maps of the Palace complex their offices contained and baited Jingrui and Wan Fa and Xu Jian and Yuan Kang with the housekeeper's best snacks until they all sat down and drew up freshly optimized patrol routes to submit to the High Commander. He was actually looking forward to the Fall Hunt. He was also starting to understand why the Palace guard detachment trained so very vigorously; it was probably so they didn't die of boredom.

Or, in Jingrui's case, because Meng Zhi was around to train with.

Yujin couldn't help smiling at the delighted grin Jingrui wore as he spun just a breath past Meng's kick, palm driving hard toward Meng's ribs. Not that he connected, but Jingrui looked pleased to have come as close as he had. Jingrui really was adorable, when he was around someone who could teach him. Yujin had thought, more than once, that Zhuo Qingyao was a lot of the reason Jingrui had thrown himself so wholeheartedly into being a son of Tianquan Manor, all those years. Jingrui made a good enough big brother, responsible and kind, but he was a lot better at being a little brother.

"Good afternoon, Commander Yan."

Case in point, Yujin thought, a little wryly, turning to bow to the man who'd come up quietly to stand beside him. "And to you, Vice-Marshal Lin."

Lin Shu chuckled softly at their formalities, folding his arms and joining Yujin in watching Jingrui and Meng separate and then close again, twice as fast as before, both of them grinning. "This is my first chance to see how the two of you are getting on," he murmured. "Jingrui looks to be enjoying himself."

Yujin had to give him a long look, at that, brows raised. "Have Zhen Ping and Li Gang been forgetting to send all their reports? That doesn't seem like them."

His cousin's mouth crimped up at the corners. "My first chance to see for myself," he specified. "They've only kept me generally informed. It's not quite the same." He glanced sidelong at Yujin, smiling. "So, how have you been? Keeping busy?"

Reminded, Yujin made a face and grumbled, "Not very. I'm wondering if the request process over in Logistics and Supply can be streamlined, actually."

Lin Shu made a sound that may have started life as a snort of laughter. "Is there a particular reason you're contemplating take-over of a bureau?"

Yujin sighed. Yes, he'd been afraid that was what it would probably take. "It's not that there are any particular delays, yet, it's just that I was looking at the timing of fulfillment so I could write up the next few months in advance, since I had the time..." He paused, blinking, because Lin Shu had dissolved into helpless laughter.

"Ah." His cousin finally straightened up again. "All right, now I see why Meng da-ge asked me to come speak to you."

Yujin started a little at that. The High Commander had? He glanced up at the practice area where Meng was throwing Jingrui's kick briskly back off crossed arms. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of opportunities to speak, himself, now Yujin and Jingrui were on Palace duty. A hand closed on his shoulder and shook him gently, and he looked back to see his cousin smiling.

"What he actually said," Lin Shu told him, still amused, "was 'he's getting almost as bad as you used to be, in camp'."

Yujin's eyes widened, and he felt quick heat in his cheeks. Chiyan's brilliant Vice-Marshal was one person he'd never thought to be compared to, even in exasperation.

Lin Shu patted his shoulder and let him go. "You think too much, for ceremonial duty, is all. It's not a bad thing." His mouth quirked up again. "Unless it leads you to start taking over the Ministry of War, one bureau at a time. Save that for when you're a little older."

That was not helping Yujin stop blushing. "Shu-xiong," he protested. "I'm not going to..."

His cousin's eyes sharpened, and he held up a hand, cutting Yujin off. "Yujin, we both know you won't let Jingrui go down this path alone or unguarded."

After a moment, Yujin nodded slowly, mouth a little tight. He wasn't exactly surprised that Lin Shu had seen that particular motive, but he still didn't like having it said out loud. Lin Shu's expression softened a bit. "Don't worry too much, yet. Jingyan and I are watching. We'll make sure nothing happens."

All in a rush, Yujin remembered the warm, easy comfort he'd felt when he was younger, before the Chiyan case, before his first priority had become being able to pull Jingrui back from the capital's political bear-traps. He'd been sure, back then, that nothing too very bad could ever happen, because his cousins would watch over them—Prince Qi, kind and patient, Prince Jing, so strong and steadfast, Lin Shu, bright and fierce. And had Lin Shu not still watched over him, even after it all? He had to swallow hard, blinking back those memories and the echo of them in his cousin's quiet assurance. His voice was a little husky when he answered, "Yes, Shu ge-ge."

For a moment, he thought Lin Shu might ruffle his hair, the way he had back then. Thankfully, given they were surrounded by half of Yujin's battalion, his cousin only smiled and turned to look back at Jingrui and Meng's match, which had now moved on to swords. "For now... hm. Perhaps I'll ask Meng da-ge to let the Guard escort ministers around the city, again, as well as the palace officials."

Yujin perked up at that. That would surely make for far more interesting gossip that he could get. "Did we used to?"

"Before the ministries got so enmeshed in the fight for the throne, yes. Now that there's less danger of the Guard getting pulled in after the ministers, I think it would benefit everyone to take that duty back off the household guards. I'll suggest it." Lin Shu winced at the next step Jingrui took, which was apparently an over-extension, because in the next moment his blade went clattering aside and Meng was at his back with his own sword across Jingrui's throat. Jingrui shook his head ruefully as Meng let him go, but Meng just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"That was better than last time! Try it again." He backed up, beckoning, and Jingrui's smile turned brilliant as he scooped up his sword again and flowed into a low stance.

Lin Shu smiled, wry but not quite as bitter as Yujin thought it would have been two years ago. "I'll suggest it later," he corrected himself.

Yujin couldn't help laughing.

It was a little strange, for Jingrui, to return to Jiu An as a commander of the soldiers who guarded the Emperor and his retinue, after so many years as part of that retinue. Everything was brushed with newness and unfamiliarity, seen from this new angle. The mountain and its forests were still wild and full of life, but hunting the wild creatures was not his focus. The fortress itself was still airy, its long halls gracefully shadowed, but he was in a new wing of it, with new shadows.

Some of them in the eyes of the men around him.

It put a little chill down Jingrui's own spine, to see the bright newness of the gates, set in the middle of the old, scored walls, but some of the men stepped through that new gate into the plaza on the other side and shuddered.

Yujin was one of them.

Jingrui knew he'd been hovering a bit, since they got here. A Yujin who wasn't smiling or frowning or pacing, always expressive and in motion, a Yujin who paused so still he might not be breathing and wore no expression at all for a handful of heartbeats before turning with a smile harder than it was bright, was a Yujin who worried him a little.

And apparently hovering had actually worked, because Yujin had just rolled his eyes and taken Jingrui's hand to slap a stack of reports into it, and told him, in a tone of rare exasperation, to go fill in the rest of the injuries log, if he didn't have anything else to do. That had been more of the usual Yujin than Jingrui had seen since they'd arrived, complete with deeply expressive eye rolling. Jingrui smiled as he scanned down the list of men who'd been involved in Tingsheng's little mishap with a yearling boar. There was someone who'd gotten a wrenched shoulder when his horse threw him, Jingrui was sure, but who had it been?

He almost rolled his eyes at himself when he remembered; it had been one of Wan Fa's men. He was getting as bad as Yujin about casually counting them in among his own.

On the other hand, if they wanted complete accounts, which Yujin clearly did, then he should get the man's name anyway. Jingrui laid down his brush and crossed the small courtyard of their wing to the rooms Wan Fa had taken, rapping lightly on the open screens as he stepped in. "Wan Fa, can I get the name of the man who was injured in that little scuffle with the boar, the other day?"

His fellow Commander looked up from his own paperwork with a snort. "Yan has infected you, too, has he?"

Jingrui couldn't help laughing. "Always, sooner or later."

And clearly Wan Fa wasn't that annoyed, because he got up from his writing table willingly enough and opened up a chest to one side. "Just a minute, then."

Jingrui waited politely while Wan Fa dug out what looked like the list of his whole command, though he couldn't help raising a brow at the fact that Wan Fa apparently didn't have any more concise reports of the incident handy. Possibly it was a good thing Wan Fa had his back turned. Jingrui glanced over his writing table, a little curious to see what he was doing, if not writing up the reports he really should have ready. A familiar hand caught his eye, on the top of a letter sticking out from underneath a few other reports. Had Yujin been sending notes over already? Alright, perhaps Jingrui could understand a little huffing, if so...

A chill uncurled down his spine, though, as the realization settled into his mind: Jingrui recognized it, but that wasn't Yujin's writing.

It was his sister's.

Yuwen Nian wrote to him often, and he replied as often and kindly as he could, knowing she was still disappointed that he had not stayed in his blood-father's court long enough to escort her wedding journey north. Knowing how impetuous she could be, he could well believe she might have written to any Da Liang officer she knew to be in contact with him for more news. What he couldn't image was why any officer of Da Liang would keep or reply to a letter from the highest ranking Princess of what was, after all, an enemy state.

He stole a quick look at Wan Fa, who was muttering under his breath as he wound through his long scroll, and set his fingertips on the letter, inching it out from under the reports it lay under until he could slide it into his sleeve.

"Ah! That was it, it was Lu Qiang." Wan Fa turned and caught up his brush to jot down the characters on a bit of clear report paper and tore the strip neatly off to hand to Jingrui. "Was that all?"

"Yes," Jingrui said, as calmly as he could, taking the slip. "Thank you." He sketched a short parting bow and made for his own rooms with a quick stride. He hoped this would turn out to be nothing but one of his sister's headstrong whims, the letter one that Wan Fa simply hadn't had a moment to burn, yet.

He really hoped.

Yujin was just putting away his sword, after cleaning, when Jingrui burst into his rooms, so abruptly that Yujin nearly drew on him. "Jingrui, what...?"

"Yujin," Jingrui interrupted, only to stop short, looking over his shoulder. "Not here. Come on." He seized Yujin's arm and more or less dragged him out and down the interior passage.

"Jingrui!" Yujin tugged loose once he'd managed to catch up, frowning at the set look on Jingrui's face. "What's wrong?"

Jingrui's jaw tightened. "Not here," he repeated, and didn't say another word until he'd led them back into one of the unused inner halls. Once there, where, Yujin couldn't help noticing, the doors and screens he'd left open in their wake gave them very clear line of sight in all directions, he thumped down onto the hall's veranda and put his head in his hands.

"...Jingrui?" Yujin settled slowly beside him, watching him closely. "What happened?"

Jingrui didn't look up, but he did fish a letter out of his sleeve and hold it out. "This. Read this."

Yujin frowned, quickly turning over, in the back of his mind, the tally of who might have news that could make Jingrui look like this. When he saw the letter was addressed to Wan Fa, not Jingrui, he just blinked. "What...?"

"Read it," Jingrui insisted, and the flatness of his voice made Yujin settle back and unfold the letter.

My thanks, once again, for your news of my honored brother, Commander Wan. It has been a great comfort to know he is well!

Yujin put down the letter and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "She didn't really."

"She really did," Jingrui sighed. "I'm sure she didn't mean any harm at all, she just doesn't think things through sometimes."

Yujin found that a little rich, coming from Jingrui. Though Jingrui had been getting better. Maybe it just ran in the family? He stifled a groan over how much coaxing was likely going to be required to get Nian to stop this—especially when she could, with at least a small amount of justice, insist that she was betrothed to an Imperial prince and could write to Imperial officers if she wanted to—and glanced down the rest of the letter. He froze when his eyes got to the last fold.

"Yes," Jingrui said, tone suddenly flat and grim again. "That part."

The last bit was written in a different hand, smaller, as if it had been added as an afterthought. Or, more likely, without the Princess' knowledge.

We always welcome news from you, and you rise higher in my cousin's esteem all the time. One hopes that Da Liang values such a perceptive officer as he deserves.

Yuwen Xuan, Prince Ling

Yujin had found out more about the court of Southern Chu, after Jingrui had left to visit there. Their current king, Jingrui's father by blood, was said to have mellowed a little, as he aged, and was currently concentrated on assimilating Chu's recent conquests rather than expanding the borders again, but no one believed that would last long. Many of the younger nobles, Prince Ling vocal among them, were in favor of new forays to bite off land to the north. And now Prince Ling had found a path to communicate with an ambitious officer within the Imperial Guard of Da Liang. He'd most likely been the one to provide the Princess, his cousin, with a way to send secret letters north in the first place, and the one who had, almost certainly, given that phrasing, sent this letter on its way with some token of his own 'esteem'.

In short, the one who was trying to suborn a Commander of the Imperial Guard.

Yujin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the letter. What a mess. "Well, first we need to convince your sister to stop writing to Wan Fa."

Jingrui surged up off the veranda and stalked back and forth across the small garden below it, scowling. "No, the first thing we have to do is report Wan Fa! No matter how foolish Nian-er is being, it's Wan who's passing information to the prince of an enemy nation!"

"We don't know that!" Yujin said, sharply, trying not to think about all the gruesome things Dong-jie had let slip, over the years, about how investigations around the Palace usually went. He would have expected Jingrui to be the one most against risking any such thing. "We don't know that he's done anything more than send news of you, personally."

"Which means Wan is passing on information about a Commander of the Imperial Guard. And probably more that was addressed to Prince Ling separately. You saw what he wrote! Admiring how 'perceptive' Wan is." Jingrui's mouth was tight, and his eyes hard. "And Wan is using my sister to do it, just as much as Yuwen Xuan is."

Yujin bit his lip for a moment. Now Jingrui's anger made sense; he'd become doubly protective of his family ties after losing so many of them. "But Jingrui... if we report this officially, the Emperor will hear of it."

That stopped Jingrui's furious pacing, at least for a few breaths, though his eyes were still dark. "We can just report it to the High Commander, then."

"Who's sworn directly to the Emperor!" Yujin threw up his hands, exasperated. "Do you know what would happen to him as soon as the Emperor got the tiniest hint of him withholding information?"

Jingrui's temper sparked again. "So we'll tell the Crown Prince! You can't tell me he can't keep a secret from the Emperor!"

Yujin made an inarticulate sound of frustration. He knew Jingrui didn't always think things through, and it was clearly a family trait, but he had to know better than that. "Like the Crown Prince taking direct action to discipline a Guard Commander isn't going to be talked about?!"

"We have to do something!"

Frustration pushed Yujin to his feet as well. "If you'll just stop for a minute..."

"No," Jingrui said, harshly, eyes burning, hand sweeping up as if to strike Yujin's words aside. "Not this time!" He started to storm past Yujin, and Yujin reached out to catch his arm, frustration suddenly sharpening into fear, fear that Jingrui would push himself into the Emperor's notice after all, and all the risk of destruction that notice brought with it.

"Jingrui...!"

Jingrui half-turned, sharply, throwing off his hand.

Yujin felt his face turn cold and stiff as blood drained from it, felt his eyes widening, felt his breath stop in his lungs for a long moment as he stood, hand still stretched out toward Jingrui. When he managed to take a breath again, his knees shook, along with the air in his chest, and he stumbled down to the edge of the veranda again. "Jingrui?" This time it was barely a whisper.

At least Jingrui had stopped. At least that.

After a long moment, Jingrui sighed and stepped back toward him. "Sorry. But I can't just stop this time, Yujin; I have to do something."

"All right." His voice was still rough, and all the fear in him had turned over, turned inward, turned sharp and cutting to hear Jingrui say only I. He reached up to catch Jingrui's sleeve, fingers closing white-knuckled in the fabric. "All right, we will, just..." the words pushed out, and he was shaking too much, inside, to stop them, "don't leave."

"I wasn't... I mean, not leaving leaving. You know that." Jingrui took another step closer, frowning down at him a little, puzzled. "Yujin?"

"No, it's fine." Yujin tried to pull himself together, to brush the spike of cold panic off with a smile, but he could feel it waver, unconvincing.

It probably didn't help that he couldn't make himself let go of Jingrui. But Jingrui had left once, even if he'd come back. And he'd been going to leave for the same cause this time, hadn't he? Family, it was always family with them, and this time it had caused Jingrui to show Yujin his back, just like Yujin's father always had, for so long. Shouldn't he be afraid, then? He felt like his thoughts fractured on that question.

"Yujin." Jingrui sat down again, beside him, hand covering his, still fisted in Jingrui's sleeve. The warmth of it cut through the tangle of Yujin's thoughts, and he looked up to see Jingrui looking more concerned than angry. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, really." Yujin felt like this smile was maybe a little more successful. "I'm just... I don't..." It would be better if he could get his words out in order, but he wasn't even sure, himself, what they should be. "I didn't mean to say I wouldn't help." That was better.

Jingrui ducked his head a little, looking penitent. "No, I know. I shouldn't have..." He trailed off, thumb running over Yujin's still-white knuckles, and he was frowning when he looked up. "Yujin?"

Yujin finally managed to force his fingers open, glancing away as he retrieved his hand. Or, at least, tried to. Jingrui's fingers caught his again, half way. "Tell me what it was you were thinking of doing, then," Jingrui said, quietly.

Yujin swallowed to get his heart back down out of his throat, not looking down to see his hand folded with Jingrui's. "Well. If Nian stops writing, then that gets her out of the line of fire, on the Chu end. And Wan Fa will already have had a scare, when he can't find that letter. If we let him know that we'll have to report any further communication, I think that will stop him. Without any of this getting back to the Emperor." He looked back at Jingrui, intent and serious. "Because if the Emperor gets any hint of collusion with an enemy state, we don't know how many he might order executed, and you're right in the middle of it."

Jingrui's eyes widened, and he flushed red. "Yujin." He reached out and pulled Yujin close, hands closing tight in the back of his robes. "I'm sorry. I was an idiot."

Yujin leaned into him, nearly shaking with the sudden release of tension. "Yes," he managed, against Jingrui's shoulder, a little husky. "You are. But that's okay, that's what I'm for."

Jingrui's huff of laughter against his ear, light and teasing, nearly made him melt with relief. "Are you sure? I thought it was for the comic relief."

Yujin elbowed him, finally managing to laugh, himself, and they both sat back, smiling.

That was all he needed, really.

Jingrui had felt like the worst friend imaginable, when he'd finally realized what Yujin's real concern was, and all the more so because Yujin's plan worked. Wan Fa was applying himself strictly to the business of his battalion and had started fading to the back of any gathering that included Jingrui or Yujin with nervous, sidelong glances at them. And perhaps Jingrui's own guilt over his temper was what made him pay a little more attention than usual. He kept remembering the white-knuckled clench of Yujin's hand on his sleeve. For whatever reason, he'd really scared Yujin, and he had no wish to do it again.

The reason had finally clicked, for him, a week after they'd all returned from the Fall Hunt, when he'd stopped by the Yan Manor in the morning, to ride in to the Palace complex together.

Yujin had been coming down the stairs of the inner hall, as Jingrui passed through the first courtyard, and he'd laughed and called, "You're actually out of bed early! Should I mark the date specially?"

Yujin had elevated his nose. "A gentleman maintains moderation in everything. Besides, Father wasn't here for breakfast, today."

There'd been a flicker of darkness in his eyes, and it had come to Jingrui, abruptly, that it was the same darkness he'd seen when Yujin was staring at him, stiff and pale, that day. The same darkness Jingrui had seen Yujin push so determinedly away for years, whenever his father came up. The darkness of an empty house, echoing around them, and nobody in it but them and the servants. That was the moment it had come to him that he'd nearly walked away from Yujin, nearly left him in a literally empty hall, that day.

The worst friend ever.

So he tried to stay closer, for a while, to stop in after drills to ask whether Yujin had taken over any more ministry paperwork, yet; to glance at Yujin's schedule to be extra sure they'd meet in the training yard to spar together; to wrap an arm around Yujin's shoulders when he pulled his friend toward the gates in the evening, to head home (where, more often than not, he'd stay until Marquis Yan also arrived home). And, perhaps because he was paying extra attention, he'd noticed the thread of tension, in Yujin, that seemed to ease every time Jingrui touched him. Noticing that, of course he'd done it more often, let his arm lay there longer, and taken satisfaction in feeling Yujin's shoulders drop just that little bit.

Which had gotten them to today.

A late autumn storm had chased everyone indoors who could go, and after making sure that the men had cleared all the equipment off the drill grounds, Jingrui and Yujin dashed for the Guard offices, though the cold rain, piling inside on each other's heels. Jingrui's arm found its way around Yujin's shoulders out of growing habit, and they leaned against each other, breathless from cold and laughing a little. Yujin wiped rivulets of rain off his face, leaning into Jingrui more firmly for a moment as he tossed back his head, hands sweeping the wetness back over his hair. Jingrui sputtered as a few drops hit him in the face.

"Yujin!"

Yujin grinned up at him, bright and teasing. "Hm? Was there something?"

And Jingrui felt his heart turn over, at the same time his awareness of Yujin's body against his escaped his control and unfurled like eager spring leaves.

"Only the honorable Commander Yan's lack of manners," he shot back automatically, and Yujin's laugh shivered down his nerves, made him tighten his hand on Yujin's shoulder. Yujin leaned back into him, easy and relaxed, and Jingrui had to swallow a little hard.

Probably the only thing that kept him from doing something rather rash right there in the entry room was the pointed clearing of a throat behind him. He and Yujin finally broke apart and stepped further in, to let Li Gang get inside after them. Jingrui gave his sergeant a slightly sheepish smile in return for his dryly raised brows, and the moment passed.

For now.

Jingrui retreated to his writing table to stare at the patrol rosters blankly, thoughts in complete disarray. He'd thought, for years now, that Yujin must not have any interest in men; if he had, well, surely Jingrui would have heard about it, wouldn't he? He'd teased Yujin, often enough, about the time he spent flirting with shop girls and courtesans alike. So he'd turned his thoughts away from the idea of ever having Yujin like that, sunk himself deeper into the oneness of heart, between them, and refrained from touching too much. But the easy way Yujin leaned into him... was Jingrui deceiving himself, that there was acceptance, and maybe even hunger, in it?

The thought lodged itself in the back of his mind with a firmness that said he wasn't going to be able to just ignore it any more.

So perhaps... perhaps he could test it, a little, instead? Carefully, of course, but if he was right, if Yujin did welcome his touch, then just maybe...

Jingrui smiled and picked up the top report, bending over it with a better will than usual.

"This is your fault; you jinxed us."

"I did not!" Zhen Ping looked over his shoulder at where their Commanders had their heads together over a plan for cavalry drill. Yujin had his whole body oriented on Jingrui, and Jingrui was stealing soft little glances at Yujin whenever Yujin wasn't looking. "This is not my fault," he muttered.

"The heavens were listening." Despite this contention, Li Gang held out a flask to him. "Drink?"

"We're on duty," Ping said, not with a great deal of conviction.

On the other side of the Guard offices, Yujin elbowed Jingrui indignantly for whatever he'd just said, and Jingrui threw an arm around his shoulders, laughing, pulling him close for a breath. For the space of that breath, Yujin relaxed against him, grin softening.

Li Gang gave Ping a speaking look and shook the flask invitingly.

Ping accepted it with a sigh, and took a long drink.

For the most part, Yujin was pleased with his life at the moment. Palace duty had ended, and he'd left behind a legacy of reporting procedure for all Guards on escort duty. He was fairly sure Lin Shu had been the one to insist it be continued, which he tried not to blush like a little boy over. The Jin army's field drills, battalion against battalion, had arrived as promised, which was fascinating. Yujin was not a fan of battles, or the idiocy that seemed to lead up to them, but the strategy of maneuver caught his imagination.

Unfortunately, being out in the field, beyond the city, seemed to have revived one of what Yujin personally considered Jingrui's worst habits—waking him up early.

Yujin was not, by nature, an early riser. Jingrui, however, was, and when they traveled, he sometimes decided that Yujin should be as well. Yujin invariably got revenge, one way or another, but apparently it had been too long since he last did, because Jingrui had taken to visiting his tent at ridiculous hours to wake him.

At the first whisper of canvas being pushed aside, Yujin pulled the covers over his head.

"Commander Yan," Jingrui called, light and teasing. "Good morning!"

Yujin made a wordless sound intended to convey that it was not morning, yet.

"Time to get up," Jingrui declared, in defiance of all reason, coming to tweak the covers down.

Yujin yanked them back up by reflex. "Still dark," he mumbled.

"Of course it's dark, with the covers over your head." Jingrui yanked them down again.

Yujin swiped at him without opening his eyes and snatched the covers back, diving under them with a growl.

Jingrui had the gall to laugh. Yujin stayed stubbornly still for as long as he could before admitting that he was actually awake, but eventually he had to give in. He shoved the covers back and glared up at Jingrui. "I will kill you slowly," he declared.

Jingrui positively grinned down at him, eyes sparkling, entirely too awake for not-quite-sunrise. "After breakfast?" he suggested.

"I will poison your food," Yujin threatened, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Once you're awake enough to," Jingrui taunted, and then chuckled as Yujin pushed himself upright. "You're a mess, after fighting with the covers like that."

He ran a hand over Yujin's hair, hopefully smoothing it down a little, and Yujin was still drowsy enough to lean into it. "Mm. Whose fault is that?" He took a breath and blinked himself a little more alert, only to realize that he was still leaning into Jingrui's hand, which had settled along his cheek. "...Jingrui?"

Jingrui colored and drew his hand back. "Sorry. Should I not?" He looked disappointed, Yujin realized, slowly.

Yujin was going to blame the way he caught Jingrui's retreating hand on not being awake, though that wasn't the whole truth by any means. "No, it's fine, I just..."

Yujin had been perfectly aware of the silent apology in Jingrui's increased tendency to touch, to drape an arm over his shoulders, to lean against him. To be honest, he'd been enjoying it very much. But this was different; this was starting to spill over into the kind of thing he'd never expected from Jingrui. At least, not directed at himself.

"I thought it was Lin Shu ge-ge, with you," he finally said, quietly, trying to stifle any urge to hope. "I mean... even when we didn't know it was him..."

Jingrui just blinked at him, sitting back on his heels beside Yujin's bed, hand resting easily in Yujin's grip. "Well, but that's different." Yujin raised both brows, because he remembered very clearly the way Jingrui had always tagged after Lin Shu, with shining eyes, and dragged Yujin along. Jingrui ducked his head a little and added, "It's you I never wanted to be apart from."

The way he smiled, sweet and open, made Yujin's chest squeeze tight, made him breathless with the dawning realization that this wasn't a mistake or the result of wanting so much that he saw what wasn't there. "Oh." He took a breath and reached up, fingers shaking just a little bit, to touch Jingrui's cheek. "Me too."

Jingrui's smile turned brighter at that, so simply and openly happy that it made Yujin forget to breathe for a moment. "I'm glad." Jingrui turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Yujin's fingers.

Yujin made a small, wordless sound, at that, unable to catch it back, not when everything he'd thought was too much to ask for had fallen suddenly into his lap. Jingrui looked back at him, chewing his lip for a moment, before taking a breath and leaning in. His glance was a little shy, under his lashes, but hopeful, and Yujin was as helpless as he'd ever been to resist that. He leaned forward to meet Jingrui, and the brush of Jingrui's mouth over his made him close his eyes, every sense narrowing down to this touch, this moment.

"Oh," he said, softly, as their lips parted, feeling the reality of it all settle into his heart.

"Yes," Jingrui answered, just as soft.

They sat there, smiling breathlessly at each other as sunrise finally lit the walls of the tent white.

The last exercise, in this year's field drills, set double battalions against each other, as if they were vanguards clashing in the first engagement of a battle. It was the kind of exercise that was, honestly, more to Jingrui's taste than maneuver of huge blocks of soldiers, even if he knew that maneuver was preferable to engagement, if it could be managed. This was practice, though, he told himself virtuously, as he urged his horse to the front of their running line, and he needed more practice converting his sword form to the balance of horseback. And also in not letting himself get too caught up in trying to convert everything.

Or, as Li Gang had succinctly put it, after Jingrui's first few horseback drills, "Less dueling, sir, more hacking."

And, best of all, today he was paired with Yujin again, could see Yujin's quick-footed black coming up beside him, from the corner of his eye, could catch the way Yujin was shaking his head but still grinning.

And then it was time to close his knees tight around his horse, shift his weight forward with the sweep of his sword and the momentum of their gallop, and bash one of the other side's company Captains soundly out of the saddle. It registered, in the back of his head, that with anything but the blunted wood they were given for the drill, it would have been a disemboweling cut, but the thought was distant, subsumed in the urgency of another target in front of him, and then another, the press of horses lunging against and between each other—

—and, abruptly, the awareness that he'd outpaced his own men just a little too much.

He ducked under the jab of a spear from one side while blocking the swing a sword on the other, tried to send his horse forward so he could get space to turn, but he was hemmed in too close. This, the back of his head informed him, was why Li Gang kept looking disapproving of how fast Jingrui went during horseback drills. Jingrui gritted his teeth and heaved against the swordsman on his right side, swung his sword around to strike down another jab from the spear, risked pulling one foot free of the stirrup to kick the swordsman solidly in the hip, and that was one side about to be open...

A completely unorthodox but painfully effective sideways sweep from the spear hit him in the ribs and swept him right out of the saddle. The ground smashed the breath out of him, and for a long moment he could only gasp for air and be grateful that his horse was stepping to the side rather than on top of him. A furious shout rang out above and behind him, and he hauled himself up to his knees just in time to see Yujin sweep past him, cutting down the spearman, and the swordsman behind him, with two brutal strokes, barely a pause between them. Zhen Ping galloped past on Yujin's heels, both swords out, guarding his back as Yujin set his position and two charging soldiers broke against it, one down and the other pulling his horse around to retreat. Jingrui grabbed at his horse's stirrup to pull himself further up, staring. And perhaps he'd banged his head on the way down, but what was floating through his mind right now was something Zhen Ping had said months ago, when they were all still on duty at the Palace.

He'd been teasing Yujin about how Vice-Commander Sun might take his proposed improved patrol routes, and Yujin had been insisting roundly that the logic of them would be obvious to anyone. Jingrui had actually been a little rueful about not being able to see it, himself, before Yujin had explained it, and apparently their sergeants had caught that fact.

"You'll probably start to see it soon, sir," Zhen Ping had said, looking up from the gear he'd been cleaning. "You see it clearly on the smaller scale already, don't you? Where your opponent is likely to step or cut next."

Jingrui had cocked his head, curious. "You think it's the same thing?"

Zhen Ping had smiled a little, wryly. "The Vice-Marshal always said it was, and the way he talked about seeing the movement of a battle... I think he's right. I can't do it with more than a squad, myself, but it really did sound like the same thing."

And now, watching the brief, clear wake Yujin's savage attack left, watching the way the other vanguard was drawing back toward the right like a swordsman shifting his weight, the swift gathering of horses like an arm drawing back to strike, Jingrui did see it. Saw it and saw how it would sweep over Yujin's position, the opening he'd made, and threw himself back up into the saddle, hauling in a deep breath.

"Third Company forward! Now!"

He heard the horn repeat the order, behind him, saw the company to his left start to move, like his own sword sweeping in to meet the opponent's, and kicked his horse forward to join Yujin, ignoring the painful jar of bruises. After all, it was the two of them who were going to be the hand that pushed the opponent back off balance.

Yujin looked around as Jingrui came up beside him, Zhen Ping sliding to the side to let him through, and the set, furious darkness of his expression lightened. Jingrui leaned out to clap a hand on his shoulder. "One more push forward?" he called, and was glad to see Yujin's head come up, turning to take in the field around them, before his friend gave him a firm nod.

Jingrui was grinning as their horses leaped forward again, together this time.

Lin Shu had already gotten reports from both Li Gang and Zhen Ping, so he was unsurprised to hear Vice-Commander Sun's voice raised, as he approached Meng da-ge's offices.

"...never putting them on the same side of an exercise again! The physicians are nearly in revolt, half of Eighth battalion is terrified of Yan and the other half is enamored of Xiao, and thanks to the fact that they won I'm going to have to deal with idiots trying to imitate them!"

"Bear with it for a handful more years, if you'd be so kind," Lin Shu said, stepping into the room and exchanging nods with Meng da-ge, who was looking wryly amused and possibly a bit envious of the fun the boys had had during the field exercise. Sun Wen, on the other hand, looked suspicious.

"And what is it that will happen in a few years, Vice-Marshal?" he asked, a little stiffly. Lin Shu mentally marked down another who was uncomfortable with his lack of a clearly defined position, here in the capital.

"In another few years, I expect Xiao Jingrui will be promoted." Lin Shu raised inquiring brows at Meng, who nodded, judiciously. "When that happens, Yan Yujin will retire—from the military, at least. He won't be able to protect Jingrui without a political position, at that point, and he's spent far too long guarding Jingrui from politics for it to be imagined that he'll give it up, now."

"I can't argue that he's fiercest in Xiao Jingrui's defense," Sun Wen said, slowly. "That's where a quarter of the broken bones in the vanguard exercise came from." He gave Lin Shu a long look. "Are you saying you want us to encourage that, in someone going into politics?"

Lin Shu turned one hand palm-up with a little shrug. "It is what it is, Vice-Commander. I'm saying nothing any of us do will change it. Therefore, the best course of action is to place the two of them where it will be most beneficial. Jingrui's leadership and example, his sense of loyalty and righteousness, will be of great benefit in the Imperial Guard, and his presence there will ensure that Yujin's efforts are bent toward maintaining the integrity of our armies and preventing internal strife." Sun Wen was looking increasingly sour as he listened to this, and Lin Shu smiled faintly, adding, "It's also where they'll be happiest. They wouldn't stay there, if it weren't."

Sun Wen sat back, at that, eyeing him. "I trust you'll excuse me if I still try to reduce Yan's tendency to extreme action, while I have him," he said, at last, rather dryly.

"Not at all." Lin Shu tapped one of the taller stacks of report folios on Meng's writing table. "You might also consider keeping him busy by putting him in charge of some intelligence and analysis."

Meng da-ge snorted, obviously remembering Yujin's rotation at the Palace, and the new reporting structure that had resulted from his boredom, very clearly. "I'll approve that."

Lin Shu smiled, satisfied. Yujin needed a new information network, now he had less time to spend in the capital's social circles. This would be a good start. In another handful of years, Yujin would enter Ministry politics well equipped. And, once he had more leverage in the political arena, perhaps Yujin would calm a little from his fever-pitch of protectiveness.

They could hope, at any rate. After all, it had worked on Lin Shu, when he was thirteen and furious over Jingyan going into the field without him.

"...and Zhang Ying will be back on duty next month."

Jingrui made a quick note on his roster of those injured in the field exercises. "Good; I hoped that wouldn't be a bad break." Reminded, he frowned and glanced up at Li Renshu, captain of his Sixth Company. "What about Wu Shen?"

Li looked gratified that his fourth squad leader had been remembered, which Jingrui was pleased to see—six months ago, he'd have been surprised. Every now and then, Jingrui was still possessed of an urge to hunt down these men's previous Commander and kick him soundly in the behind. Not for the little cravenness of following questionable orders, but for leaving these men so uncertain of their purpose and worth that the smallest gestures reassured them so.

"He won't be cleared for full-length drills for another few weeks, but he's back on his feet, Commander."

Jingrui sat back from his table with a satisfied smile. "We'll be back up to full strength, then. Good. Is there anything else I need to know of before I write up the battalion's monthly report?"

His company captains shook their heads with murmurs of "No, sir," and "No, Commander," and Jingrui nodded approval and dismissal. He jotted down one last note, as they filed out, and stretched his arms over his head, glancing at the water clock. It was definitely time for him to head home.

The way from his office, through the barracks that housed his battalion's soldiers, and around their drill field, was familiar by now, and Jingrui absently noted to himself the old planking he'd been meaning to ask to get repaired, nodded to the squads changing watch as they stood aside for him, paused to raise an eyebrow at the wrestling competition that spilled off the edge of the drill grounds into his path, trying to stifle the grin that really wanted to break free. He thought his men might have seen it anyway from the sheepish but unalarmed way they ducked their heads as they scrambled back out of his way. By the time he reached the gate to their block of the ward, his horse was waiting for him.

It felt comfortable, to have his battalion around him. Welcoming and stable, in a way he hadn't really felt for three years. His mother's manor still echoed with the breaking of his family, if only because she was there and still mourned. When he traveled outside the cities, he was always a little tense, part of him always watching out of the corner of his eye for any sign of his other family, and flinching every time he caught himself at it, because he had no right. Here, though, he could feel again that loosening in his chest, the complete ease of his breath, that came from knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he belonged to these men, and they to him.

And here, of course, he still had the one constant that had been his all his life, still so one in thought that he wasn't at all surprised to see Yujin turn onto the central road just ahead of him and rein in to wait for him.

"I bet your monthly report is finished already," he said, in greeting, and Yujin laughed as he nudged his horse forward again.

"Of course it is. Unlike some, I know how to be efficient. That's how I caught up with you so easily, despite being born later."

"Ah," Jingrui nodded, wisely. "This is what they call the genius of laziness, I see."

The guards on the east gate of the quarter were stifling grins as they stood back to let Jingrui and Yujin pass. Out of the north-west quarter, the roads were too busy for much conversation, and they rode in companionable silence until they reached Yan Manor. Yujin glanced sidelong at him.

"Will you come in?"

Jingrui's breath hitched a little at the heat and uncertainty in that look, so close a match for his own feelings, of late, that he couldn't help the rueful smile that tugged at his mouth. "Yes," he answered softly. "I'd like that."

He'd grown up as much in Yan Manor as in his own house, but today he found himself not quite knowing where to step, what to do with his sword, what to do with himself once the doors of the east wing were closed behind them. He looked over to find Yujin looking back, chewing on his lip. Their eyes caught, both wide and uncertain, but as one moment and then another slipped by, Jingrui saw Yujin start to smile, felt his own answering smile spreading, and then they were laughing, reaching out to each other as easily as ever, and when he caught his breath again Yujin was folded tight in his arms and he could feel the solid strength of Yujin's arms around him.

From there it only made sense to lean in and kiss him.

Yujin's arms tightened around his ribs, and his mouth opened against Jingrui's, turning the kiss softer, hotter—a wet, hungry slide of lips and tongue that put a shiver down Jingrui's spine. When they finally drew back a little, though, Jingrui had to take a moment to understand what he was seeing. Yujin's lips were parted in a way that made Jingrui want to dive right back into the kiss. But his eyes were wide, soft, wondering, and that made Jingrui stop. He was fairly sure that, of the two of them, Yujin was the more experienced in this kind of thing. Why wondering, then? "Yujin?" he asked, softly.

Yujin shook his head, and this laugh was barely there, just an unsteadiness in his breath. "I never thought..."

There it was, again, and Jingrui freed a hand to touch his cheek. "Why not, if you wanted it?" He had a hard time imagining anything he would deny Yujin. Surely the one person he'd shared the whole of his life with didn't think a crush Jingrui had always known was hopeless would really stand in his way?

Now Yujin looked exasperated and pummeled him lightly on the shoulder. "Because I thought you were in love with someone else. That you've been in love with him since we were barely old enough to know what that meant!" He looked down and added, low, "And I didn't want to come second."

That closed around Jingrui's heart like a fist clenching, and he pulled Yujin tight against him. "Yujin..." He could feel the tension in Yujin's body, against his, and stroked open hands up and down his back, trying to soothe it. Yujin pressed close, silent, and he spoke quietly, against Yujin's ear. "I suppose I always have been a little in love with Lin Shu ge-ge. But I'm not actually blind, and I always knew there'd never be anything there, not for me. You..." he leaned his forehead against Yujin's. "You've always been there for me, Yujin. You're like my breath, my heartbeat." He laughed, a little unsteady in his turn, arms tightening. "I don't even know how to speak of love, to you, because you're so much, to me. You could never come second to anyone."

He could hear the way that made Yujin's breath hitch, sharply, feel the tremor that went through him. "Why didn't you speak, then?" Yujin asked, husky.

"Well, I didn't think you liked men that way!" Jingrui protested. "I mean it was always the shop girls you were flirting with."

Yujin dissolved into laughter against his shoulder, and took a while to stop. That was all right, though, because he didn't let go the entire time. When he lifted his head, Jingrui wasn't surprised to see wetness on his cheeks, but there was a familiar smile, too, bright and rueful. "Well, I didn't want to put you off, if you ever did decide to get over him and speak up." He grinned at Jingrui's exasperated sound and scrubbed a palm over his cheek.

Jingrui smiled, soft and helpless, and reached up to wipe away the wetness on the other side, and then had to catch his breath at the way Yujin's whole face softened, expression turning open and unguardedly happy as he turned his head into Jingrui's hand.

"It's easier for me to see women's beauty," Yujin said, softly, lifting a hand to lay over Jingrui's. "But I can see the beauty in men, too." He looked up to meet Jingrui's gaze, eyes dark. "I've seen it in you, for years."

Jingrui had to swallow at the curl of deep, soft warmth that sent through him, and now he thought he understood the wonder a little better. "Yujin..."

This time, it was Yujin who leaned in to kiss him, hands sliding up over his shoulders to close around his face, and Jingrui was entirely content to relax into that gentle hold. Yujin kissed him again and again, soft little sips of kisses that made Jingrui open his mouth against Yujin's, tongue darting out to stroke against his and coax him deeper. It seemed to work, because Yujin relaxed against him, and he was smiling when he drew back.

"Jingrui. Let me try something?"

Normally, those words, matched to the sparkle in Yujin's eyes, might have made him a little wary, but here and now Jingrui couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't be happy to let Yujin do. "Of course."

Yujin laced their fingers together and tugged him through the outer rooms, toward Yujin's bed. Another sidelong look, questioning and a bit shy, made Jingrui smile, tightening his hold on Yujin's hand before reaching for his own sashes to undo them. Yujin only let him get his outer robe untied, though, before coming to him, his own inner robe still trailing off his shoulders, and laying his hands over Jingrui's. Very softly, eyes steady and serious, he asked, "Let me?"

Jingrui's breath drew in swiftly, a tiny shiver running over him at the earnestness of that question. He had to swallow hard before he could answer, and his voice was husky when he said, "Yes. Always."

Yujin smiled, quick and brilliant as a lightning strike, and it stole Jingrui's breath all over again, to see how much it meant to Yujin, that Jingrui would welcome this small intimacy, would promise it to Yujin's hands and care. He stood quiet while Yujin undressed him, turning with his gentle nudges. Yujin's hands were so careful, on him, that it made Jingrui have to blink back wetness in his eyes. When he was finally bare, and Yujin had come to stand in front of him, hands resting on his shoulders, the soft satisfaction in Yujin's smile finally crystallized what this was telling Jingrui's heart.

"You've always been taking care of me, haven't you?" he asked, softly.

"As well as I could," Yujin answered, simply.

Jingrui had to swallow again, but he was smiling when he reached out and slid his hands down the open collar of Yujin's robes. "Will you let me take care of you, now?"

Yujin blinked, very much as if the notion had never occurred to him, but then he smiled, small and pleased, ducking his head a little. "Yes. If you like."

"Of course I like." Jingrui tipped his chin back up and kissed him, softly, promising again, against his mouth, "Always."

Yujin's breath caught, and Jingrui kissed him one more time, gentle, before setting about divesting Yujin of his inner robe and undergarments, just as carefully, as tenderly, as he could, hoping to ease the fragile edge on the hope in Yujin's face. When he was done, he gathered Yujin tight against him, and repeated softly, against his ear, "Always." The fierce tightening of Yujin's arms around him was enough to drive his breath out, and he would have pursued the issue further—surely Yujin knew they were for always?—but Yujin drew back and tugged him down to the bed.

"Let me?" he asked again, pressing Jingrui back against the stacked pillows.

"Of course. Anything you... want..." Jingrui's answer ended rather breathlessly, as Yujin nudged his knees apart and settled between them, leaning on his elbows. Yujin looked up at him under his lashes, with that wicked sparkle back in his eyes. Jingrui made a wordless sound that was definitely not a squeak, as Yujin leaned down—a sound that dissolved into a moan as Yujin's tongue ran up the length of him, hot and slick. Yujin made a pleased sound of his own and leaned down further, wrapping his mouth around Jingrui.

Jingrui had already been most of the way hard, just from touching as they'd undressed each other, but now it felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to fill his cock. He could feel every movement of Yujin's lips and tongue, against him, and each soft, wet stroke sent a thrill of pleasure up his spine, leaving him gasping. "Yujin..."

"Mmmm?"

The vibration of Yujin's mouth around him wrung a groan out of him, hot sensation bursting wildly down his nerves. Jingrui clutched at the folded covers under him, completely unable to stop the little upward jerks of his hips. After some hesitation, Yujin finally folded his arms over Jingrui's hips and leaned his weight on them, making a pleased sound as he slid his mouth back down and Jingrui found himself without enough leverage to move. Jingrui moaned out loud at the way that sent heat twisting through him, tight and sweet, and when Yujin sucked on him, hard, it all came undone in a wild rush of pleasure uncoiling. "Yujin!"

He felt Yujin's fingers tight around him, stroking him through it, and looked up to find Yujin watching him, eyes dark with heat, mouth red, and that wrung him out yet again, until he moaned, breathless. When he finally lay quiet again, undone and panting for breath, Yujin slid back up to wind around him, settling close with a satisfied smile. Jingrui wound slightly shaky arms around him, and laughed. "Have me where you want me?" he asked, husky.

Yujin smirked and snuggled closer. "Pretty much, yes."

After a few quiet minutes of cuddling, Jingrui regathered enough of his thoughts to stroke a hand down Yujin's body, a little shyly. "Let me, now?"

Yujin looked up from his shoulder with a smile that had the same edge of shyness in it. "Yes."

Jingrui gathered him closer and turned them, settling Yujin back against the now-disordered pillows. A little wryly, he added, "Though I'm not sure if I'm ready to try exactly that, just yet."

Yujin settled back with a small, contented sound, and reached up to brush back Jingrui's hair. "Of course not. I don't think I'd have tried it myself, yet, if I hadn't had advice."

Jingrui stopped quite still for a long moment. "...advice?"

Yujin's eyes were sparkling again. "Mm. From the ladies I visit. They thought it was sweet, that I asked."

Jingrui sputtered. "You... you asked... Yujin!"

Yujin laughed at him, reaching up to pull him down and hug him tight. When Jingrui had given up and stopped sputtering, and Yujin had finished laughing, he added, softer, "If it ever happened, I wanted to get it right."

Jingrui gave over and held him close, helplessly tender. "Then thank you." When he lifted his head, he could see Yujin was blushing at that, and cradled him closer, kissing him softly, coaxing. The way Yujin answered him, so open, so willing, made it easy to run his hands down Yujin's body, slow and caressing, glad to have an answer for the hunger in him. When he wrapped his fingers around Yujin's length and stroked him, the shaky edge to Yujin's moan made heat curl through him in response. The knowledge that Yujin wanted this, wanted him, so much, settled warm in his chest, and he worked his hand over Yujin, slow and firm, attending to what made him gasp or arch up against Jingrui.

Yujin liked to be touched firmly. He liked to be kissed while Jingrui rubbed a thumb over the head of his cock. And when Jingrui bit gently at his lower lip, hand tightening on him, Yujin bucked up sharply into his hand, moaning out loud, hands tight on Jingrui's shoulders as he came undone. Jingrui smiled, pleased, and swallowed the sounds he made in a deep, fierce kiss, stroking him until he stilled.

"Oh," Yujin said, softly, eyes a little dazed when he looked up at Jingrui. Now Jingrui understood the satisfaction in Yujin's smile perfectly, and cuddled Yujin close with a contented sound. When Yujin curled into him, relaxed and easy, Jingrui thought he might be perfectly happy to stay this way for always. At some point, no doubt, food and work would get them out of bed again, but for now at least, they could stay here and he could soak in the feeling of Yujin, warm and close in his arms.

Jingrui pressed a kiss to Yujin's now-mussed hair, and smiled.

Contrary to the image he'd cultivated over the years, Yujin was actually quite well-versed in self-control. A seamless social front was not achieved through lax control, and even less by ignoring the unspoken rules of one's environment. Nevertheless, he had to admit that it was extremely tempting to ignore them for just long enough to lean over the writing table that held their latest plans for interior drills, and kiss Jingrui. From the way Jingrui was grinning sidelong at him as they sorted lists of archers to decide who got the fixed position and who got to sortie, Yujin was fairly sure he was aware of the urge, which did nothing to discourage the idea. Rather the reverse, actually.

Just as he was about to abandon the personnel lists and kiss that curve off Jingrui's lips, though, there was a brisk rap on the door frame and Yujin looked up to see Lin Shu standing in it. From the way the corners of his mouth were curling up, he probably knew just what they'd been about to do, also. Yujin sighed; this was what he got for letting his guard down, he supposed. "Lin Shu ge-ge. Hi."

Jingrui promptly blushed and straightened up with a self-conscious look. Yujin shook his head, smiling helplessly. Jingrui was so transparent. It was adorable, when it wasn't alarming him.

Lin Shu chuckled and stepped in, taking the seat Jingrui hastily cleared off. "Good afternoon to you. I'm glad I caught you both here."

"Was there something you needed..." Jingrui hesitated and glanced at Yujin before finishing, more formal than usual, "sir?"

Yujin tried not to let that little bit of thoughtfulness make him smile too foolishly, and settled himself to attend to their cousin.

"Just some clarification, really. We're finally ready to start clearing out the problems among the lower ranks of the armies, and that overlaps your own work in places." Lin Shu gave Yujin a level look. "Did you want to keep working on Wan Fa, yourself?"

Yujin froze, reflex panic flashing cold down his nerves; if they knew about Wan Fa, they knew about Jingrui's involvement...

"Only Jingyan and I know," Lin Shu said quietly. "We have not spoken of it, even to his mother or wife." Just as Yujin was starting to take a full breath again, he added, "Not yet." He sighed and shook his head at Yujin's hand, suddenly clenched around the list he'd been holding. "Yujin, think. Lady Jing, at the very least, will need to know of this when Yuwen Nian marries Prince Ning, if only to guide her against any repeat." A little more gently, he finished, "And you have to know you won't be able to keep Jingrui entirely in the background any longer, now you both have positions in the capital."

"What are you talking about?" Jingrui was frowning. "Yujin has never..." He stopped at Lin Shu's raised hand, but he was still frowning, still puzzling at the words, and Yujin took a long breath, trying not to glare at their cousin for letting on so much. That wouldn't help.

"We're only Commanders. There's no reason for anyone but Vice-Commander Sun or High Commander Meng to take notice of us, is there?" he asked, tightly, more a demand than a question, really.

"For now," Lin Shu agreed, so easily Yujin was already wary when he added, "But the two of you are bright and skilled. You can't imagine you'll go very long without being promoted." He leaned over the table, eyes turning sharp. "Especially when we need exactly that, in our officers."

Yujin bit his lip. He didn't need Lin Shu to draw it out for him, from there. If there was need, then of course Jingrui would be promoted, quite possibly into Sun's position; the Vice-Commander had made no secret of his desire to get back to his retirement once the Jin army was back on its feet. And a Vice-Commander of the Jin army was too high and too close to the Palace to be ignored any longer. The first minister who happened to be nearby the next time Jingrui was irritated over some remnant of corruption that affected his men or their duties would know the kind of vulnerability Jingrui's idealism could provide, likely before Jingrui got to the end of his sentence. And, at that point, Yujin wouldn't be able to stop whoever it might be from using Jingrui as a lever or a tool, from blackmailing him with the threat of reporting disloyalty to the Emperor, from using him as an unknowing conduit to the Crown Prince's ear, from using Jingrui's easy friendship as a counter in the games of court, not unless...

"So," Lin Shu said quietly. "Knowing what is coming, do you wish to keep working on Wan Fa yourself, or shall I deal with this, for now?"

Yujin closed his eyes. Now he knew what Lin Shu was really here to find out. "I'll keep this one," he answered, low. The sooner he got started building his contacts and reputation, the better.

A warm hand covered his wrist, and he opened his eyes to see Jingrui leaning over the table toward him, eyes sharp and rather fierce. "Yujin, what are you talking about?"

Yujin chewed on his lip, looking back. He'd never actually told Jingrui what it was he did. Jingrui had been so angry and upset over the little they'd understood of the fall of Lin and Prince Qi's household that Yujin hadn't thought he'd go along with it, and that had never quite changed. But there was trust and belief looking back at him, now, in Jingrui's level gaze, and he couldn't betray that.

"Yujin," Jingrui said again, softly, hand tightening. "You're about to do something dangerous, aren't you? Tell me. Let me help."

Yujin's mouth quirked. As much as Jingrui didn't usually pay attention to social (or political) nuances, Lin Shu's very presence was surely enough to tell him this was dangerous, yes. "I..." He sighed, leaning both elbows on the table. "Ever since the Chiyan case, I've tried to keep you away from politics."

Jingrui blinked at him for a moment, but then, slowly, nodded. "Because you thought it would be dangerous?"

"Because it was dangerous," Yujin said, flatly. "Idealists die in our court. It's just what happens. I think..." he looked down at his hands. "I think that's why my father withdrew to the temples, as much as he could."

"It was," Lin Shu put in, softly, and Yujin nodded.

"So I listened, at parties and events, for the names of the people who were playing court games, and I tried to keep you from getting involved, sidetrack you however I could. Which didn't get any easier when the Marquis started playing both sides," he added, disgruntled just remembering how much that had complicated his life.

"That was why...?" Jingrui huffed a soft laugh. "Oh, Yujin." He let go of Yujin's wrist and laced their fingers together instead, gently. When Yujin looked up, he was smiling. "Thank you. For taking care."

That gentleness pulled words out of Yujin before he thought to stop them. "Of course I took care. You and my father were all that was left."

The slow widening of Jingrui's eyes made him tense again; had that been too much to admit, too much to ask for (again)? But Jingrui's hand tightened on his, holding him. "Yujin..." Jingrui took a breath and said, steady. "I'm sorry."

Yujin blinked, caught flat-footed by that, and Jingrui smiled a little, ruefully.

"I'm sorry I didn't see. I made life harder for you, didn't I?"

Yujin shook his head. "It was something I chose to do on my own." Jingrui's grip tightened again for a moment, stilling him.

"If we're promoted... it will be harder again, won't it?"

Yujin took a breath and shook his head again, feeling certainty settle in his chest. "No more than usual. Not if I'm in the ministries."

Jingrui took a breath to protest—Yujin knew it was going to be a protest—but then he stopped. Slowly, watching Yujin carefully, he asked instead, "Will you be happy, doing that? I know you're good at it. I know you can. I know you think you need to. But will it make you happy?"

Yujin opened his mouth only to close it again, a little nonplussed at how thoroughly Jingrui had closed down all the answers he'd normally have used to dodge the actual question. Jingrui's smile, a little chiding and a little coaxing, said he knew it, too. "All right, all right," Yujin huffed, but had to smile back. "Yes. I think it will." He waved a hand at his writing table, stacked with more reports than any other Commander in Jin willingly invited, all in the name of knowing what was going on. "It seems to be what I do."

"All right then," Jingrui agreed, softly, and lifted their hands to press a kiss to Yujin's fingers.

Yujin turned very red and shot a quick look at Lin Shu, who was, thankfully, pretending to look at the shelves and not notice. "Jingrui!" he hissed.

Jingrui just laughed, not letting go of his hand, and Yujin gave him a long-suffering look. He didn't pull away, though.

"Well, if that's settled," Lin Shu murmured, looking very entertained, "think about where you'd like to enter, Yujin. Either State Revenue or the Bureau of Discipline would be easy to fit you into, but if you have your eye on another route, tell me."

"Where are you expecting those routes to go?" Yujin asked, a little cautious. He had cause to trust Lin Shu's ability to plot these things, and that he was well disposed toward them, but he also had a lively respect for his cousin's ruthlessness. And however much affection Lin Shu ge-ge had for them, he was the Crown Prince's man, now. Whatever he did would serve Jingyan's ends first of all.

Lin Shu rose, shaking his robes straight, and smiled down at them. "Yan has produced two Chancellors, for this nation. Perhaps it should be three, hm?"

Jingrui's eyes widened, but Yujin smiled, even as he felt his face heat again at that casual vote of confidence. He'd been seen, and seen clearly, and for once he thought he didn't mind it—not when it meant Lin Shu understood how far Yujin would go to keep his own safe, and was willing to support him in that. "If you think so."

"I do."

Yujin ducked his head, honestly flattered by the firm certainty in his cousin's voice, and Lin Shu ge-ge patted his shoulder as he stepped past, toward the door. Yujin sat back as he swept out, and tightened his grip on Jingrui's hand, feeling more settled than he had in a long time.

This was his, and this he would guard.

The year had turned, and all through the city families celebrated whatever fortune had favored them, hoped for more in the new year, gathered to drive out the winter darkness and welcome in the new life of spring.

Jingrui wandered through the soft, colored brightness of the Lantern Festival at Yujin's side, as they'd done so often over the years. This year, though, he found himself suddenly more aware of some things. He'd always teased Yujin about how much attention he tended to attract, during the festival, but this was the first time Jingrui had gotten personally annoyed by the number of matrons and chaperones and matchmakers who found a moment to pause their party by Yujin and Jingrui, and have a few smiling words with the son and only heir of the Yan family. This year, he had to stop himself from 'accidentally' stepping between Yujin and the next party they saw that included a girl out for a promenade at the festival.

No sooner did he notice the urge, though, then he also noticed something else. Yujin looked like he was flirting; he smiled and flattered the older women, and said kind things about the young women, loudly enough to be overheard. But he was also, unmistakably, turning them away. It tugged at Jingrui's attention more and more as the evening drew on, and once he started really watching, he could see that Yujin's body language turned reserved, straightening into a quiet restraint, every time another party approached them. Without a word spoken directly, one mother or matchmaker after another patted Yujin's arm and passed on, sweeping the girls along without a backward glance.

And then Yujin would relax, and lean against his shoulder, and laugh openly again.

The more Jingrui saw, as they wound past the stalls of lanterns and the bright-glowing fronts of the capital's mansions and pavilions, the more he thought back over other festivals or parties or outings he'd seen Yujin at, always smiling and laughing—what else had he been doing, all that time, that Jingrui hadn't noticed?

Not that he really needed to ask, after Lin Shu ge-ge's recent visit. Still, when they fetched up at a grove on the edge of the east district's pond, quieter and a bit darker than the streets if still fairly crowded with strolling groups, he drew Yujin closer and asked softly, "How much of that have you been doing, all this time?"

Yujin's dark eyes looked bottomless in the evening's soft glow. "As much as seemed necessary," he answered, low.

"Necessary," Jingrui repeated, slowly, turning over the things Yujin had said during that startling meeting. "To keep me safe."

Yujin just nodded, as if it were perfectly self-evident, and Jingrui couldn't help laughing, soft and more than a little stunned. "All that... all this time..." Jingrui swallowed hard and reached out, careless of who might be watching, and pulled Yujin close, holding him tight.

"Thank you," he whispered against Yujin's ear.

Yujin made a dismissive sound, but his arms wound tight around Jingrui. Jingrui leaned back far enough to look him in the eye, and closed his hands around Yujin's face, gently, to make sure of it. "Yujin, listen. I'm yours, all right? Whatever happens, whatever it is we do with our lives, I'm yours. Just like you're mine. You have my word." He could feel the tremor that went through Yujin, at that, though the only visible sign of his reaction was a little widening of his eyes, and nodded to himself. He thought he was figuring out how to read Yujin properly again, the way he hadn't, perhaps, since they were much younger. Since before the fall of Lin and Prince Qi.

Thinking that, he listened to the way Yujin's body swayed just a little towards him, and leaned back in to kiss him, slow and sure, in the warm light of the lanterns—kissed him until the quick clench of Yujin's hands in the back of his robes eased, until Yujin's mouth against his softened from the first desperate hunger.

Then, at last, he drew back and rested his forehead against Yujin's, smiling. "So. Go ahead and take over Jingyan ge-ge's government, if it will make you happy, and I'll see to his soldiers. And let me guard your back, as you guard mine."

Yujin smiled back, brighter than all the lanterns in the streets behind them, and answered, softly, "Yes."

"Good." Jingrui stepped back, sliding a hand down to tangle their fingers together, and tugged Yujin back toward the brightly lit streets. As they plunged back into the light, even when Yujin's grip on his hand eased, as if to obey propriety and reserve, and let go, Jingrui only tightened his hold.

He would never let this go, again.

End

Ground Fire

Their work finally pushes Akai and Furuya together once too often, and Akai forces the issue of what happened to Scotch. In the wake of it, they find in each other some of the understanding they've both needed. Kinda Romance, Porn with Characterization, I-4

This arc is undoubtedly in the process of being jossed, but that just means I get to write it again in another couple weeks. Or months. Well, by the end of the year, surely.

One
Furuya Rei, currently known to his targets and associates as Amuro Tohru, knew he was not at his best when he was surprised. As Hiro had trenchantly put it once, Reiâ€™s observational ability meant he just didnâ€™t get surprised often enough to figure out how to deal with it very well. Rei knew it was a vulnerability, but since he wasnâ€™t about to stop observing the world around him, he hadnâ€™t seen any good way to fix it.  At least not until just recently. Akai Shuuichi had been responsible for most of Reiâ€™s least pleasant surprises over the last few years, and Rei rather hoped that his pursuit of Akai would help fix the issue. Surely it wasnâ€™t unreasonable to want Akai to be at least a little useful before he died? Unfortunately, it seemed Rei still had a ways to go. Admittedly, Vermouth's message was enough to occupy anyone's mindâ€”that Gin might be scouting the same professional sniper that Conan was currently tracking (and of course he was, if there was one place their miniature Holmes should not be, you could count on finding him there every time, and yes Rei was aware of the irony of his exasperation). So when he came out of the stairwell onto the roof, he was prepared to either tackle a sniper or bullshit Gin just as fast as humanly possible, and perhaps to restrain Conan from charging straight at a rifle barrel. He was not expecting to find Akai Shuuichi vaulting up the last steps of the fire escape onto the same roof.  They both froze for one long, startled second, and then years-long rage sent Rei's hand diving for his gun in the same moment that Akai lunged straight for him. He tried to turn out of Akai's line, but even the most sternly trained muscle memory tripped over the unexpected. One hand occupied, he missed his stance (trying to do two things at once, the remembered voice of the Academy jujutsu instructor berated him, in the back of his head) and the full weight of Akai's body slammed him back against the wall beside the stairwell door. When Rei had managed to haul breath back into his lungs, he was pinned, and Akai had an iron grip on his gun hand. Rei bared his teeth in a furious snarl, outraged that he'd had a clean chance at Akai, and as himself instead of as Okiya for once, and he'd missed it. Akai's expression, half in shadow as he looked down at Rei, was pensive. "Can you not let this go?" he asked, quietly. "Let it go?" Rei spat, yanking futilely against Akai's grip, nearly wrenching his own shoulder with a twist he didn't have the leverage to complete. "Let it go that you killed my best, oldest friend, with your damned illegal interference?" Akai's eyes narrowed. "You know better than that. You, of all people, must have seen better than that." "So he pulled the trigger himself! You were the one who made him do it, just to keep your cover!" Rei threw back at him. "You must have been! He'd never have done that on his own!" Akai stared at him silently for a long moment, and then bent his head and let out a long, faint sigh. Anticipation pulled Rei's muscles taut, waiting for the moment that well-earned guilt might give him a break in Akai's hold or attention. "It wasn't on his own, no," Akai said, very quietly, and rage cranked Rei's whole body a notch tighter, teeth grinding hard on that admission. When Akai lifted his head, though, it wasn't guilt in the pinch of his brows or the sudden softness of his mouth. Only... what? Sadness, yes, but also something else. "You see so clearly, most times," Akai said, very softly, almost a whisper between them. "Remember what you saw, Furuya-kun. He didn't do it on his own. Think about what he would have seen and heard, up on that roof. Already sure that the Organization would be coming for him, what did he hear right before he shot?" Rei stared up at him, mind turning the thought over and poking at it automatically. Did Akai mean there was something he'd said to Hiro just then? Or was he trying to palm this off on something else, a phone call, or another member approaching, or... Rei's breath froze in his lungs. Another member approaching. Footsteps, fast and intent, rattling up the metal steps of the fire-escape stair. Rei's memory played them back as if it were just yesterday. "No," Rei whispered, eyes wide and blind with the image building itself inexorably in his mind. Hiro had heard footsteps approaching and thought it was another member. He'd heard Rei's footsteps. And then he'd pulled the trigger. "No!" It ripped out of his throat on a scream, furious and helpless and pained (it had been him) but the sound was muffled in his ears. It took a moment for Rei to realize there was a hand cupped around his head, pulling him down against the worn leather of a jacketed shoulder. It took longer to realize that the hard clatter he'd heard was his own gun, fallen from his hand. The realization was like a fist in his stomachâ€”it had been him. He hadn't thought anyone could have found Hiro before him, had counted on his friend's steadiness, even under the worst pressure, to make Hiro wait and see who was coming, never thinking that someone else might have gotten there first, that Hiro might already be on a hair-trigger. He hadn't thought. Hadn't looked ahead. Hadn't seen what was right in front of him, that night. Hiro had died because of him. Rei barely felt the rough tar-paper under his knees as he collapsed, didn't think about whose hands caught him or whose jacket was muffling the sobs tearing out of his chest. That one damning thought echoed through his mind and pushed out everything else, until all he could do was howl with the pain of it. But there was nothing that grief could changeâ€”that was why it was grief and not rage, even though he'd tried so hard to make it stay rage, to imagine that vengeance would change something, if only in his own heart. Eventually even nearly four years worth of tears ran dry, because there was nothing else to do. That was when the realization finally made its way to the surface of Rei's thoughts that Akai was kneeling on the roof with him, and the hand resting on his head was Akai's, and so was the shoulder his face was buried in. The very wet shoulder. As soon as he stirred, the hand dropped to his arm, helping him upright as he pushed away. Rei didn't look up as Akai stood, just scrubbed his sleeve over his aching eyes; how were you supposed to talk to the man you'd just cried all over, who you'd been trying very hard to kill right up until that moment?  Two hands appeared in front of him. "Up," Akai said. Rei did look up at that, startled. "Come on, up," Akai repeated, and flicked his fingers, beckoning. "We can't stay here." That was good enough sense that Rei mustered the coordination to take Akai's hands and haul himself upright, biting back a curse as he almost fell and Akai had to catch him again. "What do you mean 'we'?" he jabbed, half-heartedly, voice rough and hoarse. The look Akai gave him made him feel like a rookie again, and the heat in his face made his raw cheeks burn. "You shouldn't be somewhere the Organization knows about, right now. So you're coming with me." "They know about Kudou's house," Rei protested, even as he stumbled toward the fire stairs after Akai. "Which is why we're going somewhere else."  Rei sighed and climbed onto the stairs after Akai, wondering if he was this annoying himself, when he was keeping some tentative conclusion behind his teeth. It was hard to hold on to the thought, though, or to noticing the way Akai stayed poised just a few steps below him, as if he thought he might have to catch Rei yet again. By the time they reached Akai's car, he'd completely lost track of why he should refuse, and climbed into the passenger seat silently. He didn't keep good track of the passing streets outside the dark windows. The disorientation seemed of one piece with the fragments of thought that spun through his head, bits of memory and shards of future plans swirling together. Hiro's quiet laugh. The glint in Conan's eye when they found that sniper's name. The number he'd meant to call in a tip to, when the man's location was nailed down. The lyrics of the first song he and Hiro had ever written. The name of the garage he'd left his own car in. None of his thoughts connected to one another. When they finally stopped, and Akai's hand under his elbow guided him up some stairs and over to a low bed, he was glad to let those fragments go, to let himself sink down onto the worn blanket and down into the dark as his eyes fell shut. The last thing he heard was a faint creak of floorboards as Akai sat beside the bed.

Shuuichi was just finishing a message to Conan, agreeing that yes, it would be wise to take some of the Metropolitan police along to the next stop he hoped to find the sniper at, since "Subaru-san" was delayed and Gin might be present, when he heard Furuya stir. He closed his phone and slid back from the little apartment's low table just a bit, in case it took Furuya a minute to remember why he might not want to kill Shuuichi any more. When Furuya's eyes opened, though, they were dark with knowledge and memory, and he pushed himself upright on the bed slowly, as though his whole body ached. Shuuichi silently passed him the tumblr of water waiting on the table, and Furuya took it with a tiny nod. It wasn't until he'd drained it that he even looked around, and Shuuichi noted that he'd won his bet with himself. Furuya was still in shock.  Not completely out of it though, because his first question, voice still hoarse despite the water, was, "Where are we?" "One of my bolt-holes, just over the district border in Edogawa." As he'd half hoped, though after a longer pause than he liked, a faint smile tugged at Furuya's mouth. "Edogawa?"  Shuuichi let his own amusement warm his voice. "It seemed appropriate." "And you brought me here." Furuya stared at him for a long moment, and finally gestured with an open hand, as it to take in the whole past day. Or possibly the past year. "Why?" Shuuichi had known that question had to be coming, but he still sighed a little as he leaned his elbows on the table. "Because I've lost someone I loved to them, too."  Furuya blinked at him. "You really loved her, then? Akemi-san?" And that was why Shuuichi hadn't really wanted to say it, but Furuya was already wincing at the clumsiness of his own words and Shuuichi couldn't hold them against him right now. He has his own share of responsibility for Scotch's death, and for the shape Furuya was currently in. "I did, yes," he said over the beginning of Furuya's apology. "It was probably unwise, with someone who was only supposed to be a way to get deeper into the Organization, but this job is easy enough to die in as it is. Anything that reminds us we're alive is worth some risk." The memory of Akemi's smile flashed through his head, and he pushed himself abruptly to his feet, gathering up his glass and Furuya's to refill at the sink. When he thought he could keep his voice steady again, he finished, "Even if it ends." Furuya had his head down when Shuuichi turned around, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. Shuuichi recognized the shape of it, the braced position that you hoped would hold you steady through something shaking your heart so hard you thought it might stop beating. He'd spent weeks, after Akemi's death, sitting like that. He set the glasses on the table and sat beside Furuya on the bed. Jodie had spent more than one day sitting beside him like this, just being another living person close enough to hear her breathe, and it had helped. "Morofushi Hiromitsu," Furuya said, voice low, not lifting his head. "That was his name. We grew up together. After the Academy, when we both chose Public Security, the Tokyo bureau for him and National for me... It was natural to assign him as my liaison, and we did a lot of fieldwork together." Furuya lifted a hand to rub his forehead, shoulders hunching a little tighter. "I was the one who took the assignment to infiltrate the Black Organization. Once I was inside, I asked to bring Hiro in after me." Furuya's hand banged down on his knee, and his voice turned stifled. "And then, up on that roof... It was my fault...!" Shuuichi straightened, eyes narrowing at the tight-wound strain in Furuya's voice. He'd said something similar, once, on the phone with his mother right after hearing about Akemi's death. She'd nearly reached through the phone to shake him by the scruff, and maybe now he knew why, if he'd sounded anything like this. "It was hardly your fault alone." Furuya laughed, ragged. "You were the one who told me to think about what he heard right before he pulled the trigger." Shuuichi frowned; yes, that was more than enough of that. He reached over to take Furuya's chin and force his head up again. "Three people made choices, that night, Furuya-kun," he told those startled blue eyes, "and we all made mistakes. I shouldn't have let go of the gun. You shouldn't have charged in without warning or scouting the situation. He shouldn't have been so quick to assume the worst and fire before even seeing who it was." Furuya started to shake his head, and Shuuichi tightened his grip. "I'm glad you don't think I drove him to his death, any more, but that doesn't mean you should take all of that guilt and pile it on yourself instead." "I don't... I'm not..." Furuya's voice was softer now, much less certain, and trailed off completely at the look Shuuichi gave him. "All right," he finally said, face a little red, eyes falling away from Shuuichi's. "Better." Shuuichi started to let go, but his attention was still snagging on something about Furuya's expression. It wasn't that dangerous bleakness, any more. In fact, now he was thinking about it, that flush looked less like embarrassment and more like... something else. Especially with the way Furuya's lips had parted when Shuuichi had grabbed his chin. That had been startlement, yes, but also... Well, now. Wasn't that interesting?

Rei was in so much trouble. He watched Akai's eyes flick over his cheeks, his mouth, his throat as he swallowed, and he could nearly read the words of the conclusion forming behind that look. So, so much trouble. And the thing was, Rei knew this about himself. He was careful about it! He hadn't had many senpai worth the name in his life; the ones who hadn't turned away from the halfblood had been scared off by his intelligence, the things he saw, his passion for the chase. So when an older student or agent had stepped up, once or twice, to try to guide him... well, Rei responded pretty intensely. He watched that, in the field, to make sure his little quirk wouldn't get him into trouble! And now he'd been blindsided by a stern talking-to from Akai Shuuichi of all people, whose brows were lifting just a little, whose thumb was sliding up to stroke gently over Rei's lower lip. Rei pulled in a quick gasp of breath, stumbling over just the man's name. "Akai... -san?" "I wouldn't mind," Akai murmured, fingers still curled around Rei's chin. "As long as you're sure." "I... it wouldn't be..." Smart, or sensible, or other reasonable things that he couldn't quite think of with the warmth of Akai's fingers against his skin. It had been so long since anyone had really touched him. And Akai... Akai was waiting for him calmly, eyes steady on his. Anything that reminds us we're alive is worth some risk. The words echoed back to him, and they rang so true. So painfully true he had to squeeze his eyes shut against it and try to breathe through it. They'd both risked love and lost it to the Black Organization. Rei understood very well some of the fire that drove Akai, and of all the people he might call on in this moment, of all his allies, old and new, permanent and temporary, Akai Shuuichi was the one who knew right down to the bone how this was driving Rei. And god but he had to find someone to confide in, to reach out to, before Vermouth started looking like a good option! He opened his eyes again, calm settling over his spinning thoughts, the familiar certainty of having found the right answer, and answered quietly, "I'm sure." Akai nodded, unsurprised. "Come here, then." His fingers tipped Rei's chin up as he leaned in, and Rei really couldn't help the way his breath caught. In the back of his mind, he was expecting a kiss between the two of them to be fierce, to be heated with the memory of how they'd stalked each other through this city. It wasn't, though. Akai's mouth on his was warm and slow, and Rei closed his eyes, leaning into the understanding that warmth told him of, more clearly than any words. Akai slid back to stretch out full-length on the bed, tugging Rei down against him. The steady slide of his hands up and down Rei's back eased away Rei's hesitance until he settled against the length of Akai's body and tucked his head into the curve of Akai's shoulder. "That's better," Akai murmured to him, and Rei felt his face heat again. He was never going to be able to listen to that husky voice turn low again without getting turned on, was he? For as long as they both survived, anyway. The thought made his fingers wind tighter in the dark cotton of Akai's shirt, and the corner of Akai's mouth quirked like he'd heard the words out loud. He slid his hand up to curl around the nape of Rei's neck. "Easy, Rei. I've got you."  The intimacy of his bare given name tugged a breathless sound out of Rei, sent him pressing closer. "Akai-san..." Akai turned his head and pressed a kiss to Rei's forehead. "Shhh. I'm not going anywhere." His lips curved against Rei's skin. "You should know that better than anyone." It wasn't desire that made Rei's face heat, this time, and he growled a little, thumping Akai on the shoulder when he laughed. "Easy, easy!" Akai gathered Rei closer and Rei let him, though not without one last glare. Akai smiled down at him, wry and warm. "We've both beaten the odds for years. We know how to keep doing it." He hesitated for a breath, but finally finished, "We will keep doing it; even after we're finished. Deal?" Rei froze, eyes widening. For one moment it was Hiro's face he saw, and the private smile they'd shared over agreements. No one else had ever had seen Rei clearly enough to put their finger on the risk that he'd spend his life to finish the last job they'd taken together. And maybe no one else had for Akai, yet, either. Rei swallowed hard and pressed close, ducking his head back down against Akai's shoulder, suddenly ashamed that he hadn't let himself see how alike the shape of their actions were, since the business with Miyano. It had been less than a year ago, hadn't it? And even still raw from that, Akai hadn't lashed back at the man trying to expose and kill him, had understood, had been amazingly gentle about fending him off, all things considered. Akai didn't press him now, either, just waited again, fingers sliding slowly through Rei's hair. "All right. It's a deal," he finally agreed, and added more fiercely, "You'd better keep it." Akai's arms tightened around him. "I will. After all," his voice lightened again, "I've found a number of things around here that make me think it might not be such a bad thing to keep going on." "Myself, and Conan, and what else?" Rei asked with a sly glance up at him. Akai's open laugh warmed him like another kiss and Rei pressed closer, holding tight to that warmth.
Two
Rei had thought it would take longer to get used to working with Akai Shuuichi, instead of against him at every opportunity. The handful of jobs they'd both been sent on, when they were both still in the Organization, had been tense and edgy even before Hiro's death, neither of them sure of the other, neither of them trusting the other with his back. Rei had thought, after three solid years of enmity, that working together would still be rough. But it wasn't. Three nights ago they'd sat on the roof across from the cafe and the Mouris, talking about a hacking attempt on the agency's records, plus both Ran and Conan's school records. They'd throw the thread of reasoning back and forth as smoothly as a shuttle to weave the profile of the hacker, until their eyes had met and neither of them had even needed to speak Bellini's code name out loud. Rei hadn't been too very surprised by the shared reasoning, after the number of Conan's cases they'd met over. But now... Now he barely needed to glance at his watch to know that Akai was in position, and it was just in time, just as Bellini was about to break through Rei's defense to Agasa's records. Rei was folding his tablet as the network icon blinked off, and he smiled, imagining the way Bellini was probably swearing. He stood, dusting off his jeans, and slipped in the fire-door without bothering to glance across the street at the next roof. The crack of quite a high-caliber handgun didn't make him start; he was expecting it. It did start the timer in his head, and he waited as seconds ticked away, as the door four floors down slammed open and hurried steps started upward, waited until he knew Akai had crossed the street to start down the stairs, letting his heels ring against the concrete.  "That complex has bulletproof glass on the windows," he'd said, three nights ago. "But only Level 3, at that age," Akai pointed out, eyes gleaming in the nighttime lights of the city. "She wouldn't have thought more was necessary. After allâ€”" "Gin prefers handguns," Rei finished. "Especially his 92. If you're going to make it across the road inconspicuously, to catch her at the bottom, though, you'll needâ€”" "Who do you think you're talking to again?" Akai asked with a smirk. "I can handle a .50." Rei excused himself for not knowing that, honestly. Akai had never shown just how much ability he had as a sharp-shooter, in the Organization. Understandably. To do so would have sent him straight to the snipers, and the Organization liked snipers who didn't ask questions, which meant they had a lot of crazy ones with little intelligence value. Of course, Gin didn't like anyone who asked questions, which undoubtedly led to both Bellini's precautions in her living space and the panic behind her hurried footsteps after getting one of her bulletproof windows shot out. The footsteps below hesitated. Rei took another heavy, measured step and smiled as Bellini reversed and made for the ground floor, clattering downwards and slamming out the back fire-door. Right into Akai. By the time Rei reached the ground himself, Akai had just finished zip-tying the unconscious woman's hands and ankles. He looked up, smile sharp, already reaching out a gloved hand. Rei bared his teeth in answer and handed over the printed note with Bellini's code name and affiliation, to tuck into her waistband. And, right on time, there were the sirens of the police who would have been called by someone after the gunshot earlier. Rei sprinted after Akai down the back alley. Around two corners, over a wall with two running steps and a vault that they made in perfect unison, slowly down a well-lit block like two friends out for a drink, quickly down another side-street, and they were safe in an alley with no connection to the first. Rei leaned back against the wall, laughing softly as the rush of triumph swept through him. Akai leaned beside him, breathing just as quick as he was, with a light in his eyes that made Rei think of the gleam on the edge of a sword. Rei knew that light, could feel it burning hot in his veins, and it was that feeling, that knowing, that made him reach out, slide his hands over Akai's shoulders, curl his fingers in the collar of Akai's jacket, and pull him down for a kiss. The way Akai's hands wrapped around his hips and pulled him closer told him that Akai recognized the same thing in him, and he laughed into Akai's mouth, hooking a leg around Akai's and grinding up against him. Yes, Akai was definitely feeling the same thing Rei was. "Akai-san?" he purred, sliding his hands down over Akai's chest. He could feel the vibration of Akai's silent chuckle. "Yes?" Rei smiled up at him, hot and wild. "Fuck me. Now." Akai surged a step forward, bearing Rei back against the wall of the alley, brick prickling along his shoulders. His voice was low and cool, though, and the contrast stroked a shiver up Rei's spine. "Are you sure? I don't have anything on me..." Rei snorted. "What kind of an agent are you? Isn't 'always prepared' the motto of one or another of you lot?" "I believe that's the Boy Scouts." Akai's voice was perfectly sober, at least until Rei fished a foil packet out of his jacket's inner pocked and slapped it against Akai's chest. He was laughing as he caught Rei's mouth again. Rei only waited until Akai took the packet before he reached down to undo both their pants, reaching into Akai's to stroke slow fingers down the already-hard length of him. Akai groaned, husky, against his ear. "Rei."  The sound of that smoky voice wrapped around his bare name slid through Rei, hot, and he hooked his thumbs into his own pants, pushing them down off his hips. "Akai-san, now." In three quick movements, Akai had the packet ripped open, a handful of slick stroked over his cock, and was sliding his hands under Rei's thighs to lift him. Rei approved completely, and wound his legs around Akai's waist, deliberately relaxing into his hands as soon as Akai's weight pushed him up against the bricks. Akai made an approving sound of his own, and finally Rei felt the blunt press of Akai's cock against his entrance, pushing into him hard and slow and steady. The fierce stretch of his muscles matched the edge this whole night had had in his senses, and Rei moaned, low and breathless, feeling his body open up for that that burn and slide. "Yes." "Ah." Akai's sound of understanding was huskier than usual, but when he pressed a kiss under Rei's ear, his lips were curved against Rei's skin. That was all right, though, because he also lifted Rei up a little higher and drove into him hard, which felt just perfect. Akai fucked him deep and sure, every stroke sinking in and driving him up against the rough brick, and the flood of hot sensation shook loose all the tension of the night and the days running up to it. It was sweet and wild in a way Rei hadn't felt in years, and it shouldn't have surprised him that he didn't last long, but the crest of pleasure still came as a shock. His voice echoed off the close walls as heat burst down his nerves and wrung him out around the hardness of Akai's cock inside him, and oh it had been too long since he'd had someone close enough to trust with these moments. Akai's groan, against his ear, told him Akai was still right with him, and it felt so good to know that that he was breathless with it. When they'd both stilled, they just stayed there for a moment, and Rei let the settling calm sink into him. Finally, though, Akai shifted back and eased Rei down to the ground. Rei winced a little as his muscles protested their rather abrupt workout; it had been worth it, though.  "Better?" Akai asked quietly, and Rei couldn't help his chuckle. "Much." He slid his hands over Akai's shoulders, thoughtfully. They did seem a bit lower. "And you?" Akai's smile was crooked in the shadows of the alley. "Not one of my usual coping methods, but I think I like it." And then he pulled a packet of tissues out of his jacket pocket and handed them over. "A bit messy, but very effective." It took a moment before Rei could stop laughing and clean up. He really should have known Akai would have exactly this sly sense of humor, after the go-around with the ambush at the Kudou house. At the time, he'd just been too blazingly furious to really consider it. He'd certainly never expected Akai to be openly protective, and he rolled his eyes a little as they moved toward the lights at the mouth of the alley and Akai's hand settled at the small of his back. "Akai-san..." "You know, after this evening, I think you can probably call me Shuuichi. Don't you?" Rei paused with a startled glance up at him. This certainly wasn't the first time they'd had sex. That wasn't what Akai had said, though, was it? The glittering clarity of their work that evening came back to him for a breath, and he remembered the weight of it in his mind, like his gun in his hand, of knowing where Akai was at every step of the way. A tiny shock ran through him with the thought that Akai... that Shuuichi might have felt the same thing. Rei swallowed and took a breath, feeling like all his attention was taken up by the warmth of the hand at his back. His voice was husky when he said, "Shuuichi-san." Shuuichi smiled, eyes warm for him. "Better." Out of everything that had happened, that night, that was the thing that made Rei's face heat, but he didn't shrug off the hand at the small of his back as Shuuichi guided him out of the alley.
Three
At the sound of five long strokes[1] rapped on the back door, Shuuichi marked his place in the book he was reading and switched off his voice-changer. They were rapped considerably harder than was really necessary, so he was expecting it when Rei stalked into the living room glaring fit to set something on fire. He'd been expecting that even before Rei tried to leave dents in the door with his code knock, to be honest. "Long day?" he asked, mildly, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the arm of the couch. "Kir is an absolute madwoman," Rei snapped, immediately starting to pace the room. "How she's lived this long, I don't know. She's taking ridiculous risks to eavesdrop on Vermouth, of all people, and remind me again why I should be risking my neck for a foreign operative?" "You diverted Vermouth for her," Shuuichi translated, and cocked his head at the blistering glare Rei gave him. If he was that annoyed... "You mentioned Conan to do it, hm?" Rei growled and paced another length of the room. "It's just about the only thing that's sure to turn her aside. The woman is obsessed! And if I can get her interfering with Rum, all the better." Shuuichi felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rei was very good at what he did, and used that expressiveness of his to create just as impenetrable a mask as Shuuichi's own calm. But he never showed anger, as part of that. Anger was too revealing, for both of them. Rei would smile charmingly while he pulled the trigger.  He never showed open temper to anyone but Shuuichi, and the intimacy of that always settled warmth into places that had been cold for years and frozen hard for months.  On Rei's next pass by the couch, he reached out to catch Rei's wrist, returning Rei's irritated look with a calm, "Come here." He tugged until Rei huffed and let himself be pulled down to the couch to stretch out with Shuuichi. "Vermouth won't do anything to hurt Conan," he said quietly, running his fingers through the fine texture of Rei's hair. "I know that, that's why I did it." Rei still sounded snappish, but Shuuichi could feel the subtle tension in Rei's body easing. Sometimes, he knew very well, even they needed to hear a conclusion echoed by someone else. Who knew if he'd have been able to carry through the plan that had landed him on this very couch as Okiya Subaru without Kudou's fierce (if pint-sized) agreement and backing? And if he hadn't landed here, who knew if he'd have ever come so close to Rei, again, that he'd need to force the issue of what happened on the roof the night Morofushi had died? Thinking of that, he settled Rei closer against him. Rei promptly undid his effort by leaning up on an elbow to examine him, but softened against him almost immediately, settling close again. "I thought I was the one getting wound up, today," Rei murmured against his shoulder. "You are," Shuuichi told him, and chuckled silently when Rei thumped him on the other shoulder. "It was just a passing thought." It wasn't really a surprise when Rei said, quietly, "I'm not going anywhere." They knew each other's minds so well, after years of sparring in the shadows. He gathered Rei closer and pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know." The entire length of Rei's body unwound against him, at the quiet certainty in Shuuichi's voice, and Shuuichi smiled against his hair, settling back against the couch cushions. They knew each other's minds and responses so very well.
Four
"You're just incapable of not looking alarming, aren't you?" Rei smirked at the raised brow Shuuichi gave him.  He was teasing, but at the moment it was also true. In the middle of a club full of people dancing, drinking, laughing, shouting, Shuuichi was a silent, watching shadow. Plenty of people in here wore black, but Shuuichi wore it with a definite air of being working clothes rather than play clothes. That and an unsmiling expression seemed to be keeping everyone but Rei at arm's length, despite the crush. "Stop worrying about me," Shuuichi told him, putting his finger directly on why Rei was teasing, of course, which made Rei's smile turn sharper. "I don't dislike being here." Rei flicked a glance up and down Shuuichi's body, noting the way his weight was on his heels, and completed the sentence for him. "You just don't dance." Now it was Shuuichi's mouth that curved, sharp and pleased. "Mm." He plucked the drink from Rei's hand and set it down beside his own, supplying an iron-clad reason, for any watchers, why he was staying at the table. "Go have fun." Rei laughed out loud and turned for the dance floor. He loved the electric flow of thought and perception between them; there was nothing quite as much fun as that. He had come to dance, though, and that would be fun too. He was kind of overdue, actually. This was one of the reasons he'd lasted as long as he had in his current cover, after all. He was careful. Not just the way all agents were taught to be carefulâ€”with what they said and where they went and who they saw. But also careful to make room in every cover for something that the core of him loved. For music in some form. For crowds and sound and moving to a beat. For food he could make with his own hands. He might have gone out as Furuya Rei, tonight, but Amuro Tohru was also with him, and there was a wild laugh in the back of his head whenever Amuro remembered he was out with Akai Shuuichi at his side. It was a good night to dance. Aside from an absence of Organization interest, Rei had broad standards for acceptable clubs. This one had generally cheerful crowds, mostly palatable drinks, and actually quite a good DJ, so it he was marking it a success. It also had the usual share of cheerful groping out in the surge of moving bodies, but nothing he'd have to break anyone's fingers for yet, so he shook his head, laughing, at the most persistent young woman and gave himself up to the rhythm driving out of the tall speakers. It resonated in his chest, drove the sway of his hips and opened up the swing of his arms until he felt like he was breathing all the way down in his lungs again. He was drenched by the time he finally decided it was time for a drink and pushed his way back off the floor to the table Shuuichi was still holding down. He was entertained to see that, despite the crowd, no one was even looking suggestively at the empty stools on the far side of it. He broke out of the crowd and fetched up beside Shuuichi, catching up his now-acceptably-watery drink and finishing it in three long swallows. "Thanks for watching it," he teased, smirking up at Shuuichi, knowing that it was the people Shuuichi had undoubtedly spent most of his time watching. "Mm, it's an excellent evening for watching things, yes." Rei saw the gleam in his eyes, but was still startled when Shuuichi reached out, set his hand against Rei's back, and pulled him in close, so firmly Rei stumbled against him, hands spread against Shuuichi's chest to catch himself. "What...?" he started, laughing, only to lose it on a gasp as Shuuichi set a knuckle under his chin and tipped it up. "Shuuichi-san?" he asked, considerably more breathless than a moment ago. "I noticed quite a few people getting pretty familiar with you, out there." The gleam was definitely wicked amusement, Rei noted, despite considerable distraction. "Since you brought a scary-looking companion along, you might as well get the full benefit out of it."  Rei had just connected the dots when Shuuichi tipped his chin up a little further and kissed him, deep and slow and thorough, and Rei's inarticulate sound of maybe-protest-maybe-not slid into a breathless moan. His thoughts tangled between mischievous glee and a little honest shock at being so public. His senses overrode all of it for a long moment, though, with the lean, warm line of Shuuichi's body against his, the slide of Shuuichi's fingers into his hair to cradle his head, the heat of Shuuichi's mouth and the wet stroke of his tongue against Rei's. When Shuuichi finally drew back, smiling down at him, still with that wicked quirk at the corner of his mouth, it took Rei a second to pull words together. It came out a little husky when he said, "That wasn't necessary." "Probably not, but it was fun."  Rei couldn't help laughing at that deadpan delivery. "And is that why you still haven't let go, yet?" Which was making sure the flush of heat over his skin didn't go away; he could feel the eyes on them, from the surrounding tables and possibly even from the dance floor, watching how close Shuuichi was holding him. It hadn't taken him long at all to realize that Akai Shuuichi liked to tease, if he thought you could take it. "That too, certainly." Shuuichi's hand against his back spread wider, thumb sliding under the edge of Rei's shirt to stroke against bare skin, and the sensation pushed Rei up onto his toes against Shuuichi's body. "But I was also serious, Rei. If you don't enjoy something, there's no reason to tolerate it. Not here. Not right now." Rei closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He knew that Shuuichi had seen the hunger, in him, for a guiding voice. Shuuichi teased him about it enough, after all. But that was just it; Shuuichi teased him, let it be an inside joke between them. Except that, every now and then, he turned it real, and those moments shook Rei. "I wont, then," he agreed, softly.  Pressed up this close, he could feel Shuuichi's silent laugh. "Not now you won't, no." Rei reflected on the likely effect of having a tall, dark, dangerous looking boyfriend standing on the sidelines watching over him, after a display of apparent possessiveness like this, and had to laugh out loud. He pushed back, hands against Shuuichi's chest, teeth bared in the flashing lights of the club. "I'd better go take advantage of it, then, shouldn't I?" Shuuichi let him go easily, mouth curling up at one corner. "You should, yes."  Rei's own smile softened helplessly at that encouragement, the unspoken assurance of Shuuichi's support that ran under it. "I will, then." He would accept it. He would trust it, this alliance between them. Shuuichi nodded silently and held Rei's eyes until he spun to dive back into the crowd of dancers. All of whom suddenly minded their hands much more carefully. Rei stretched his arms up to the glare of spotlights above, whole body arching up on his toes, head tipped back as he laughed. Some people might think he was crazy for giving this much trust to the man he'd tried to kill for three years, but those years were exactly why he knew he could. The wonder of having an ally he would rely on lifted him up like the beat of the music, and he let it. This was a rhythm he could dance to. It felt amazing
Five
Shuuichi pressed closer up against his lover's back and nipped at Rei's nape, lips curving at the breathless sound Rei made. He loved Rei's contradictions. His precise reasoning and his impetuous actions. His sweet manners and his cutting ruthlessness. His fashion-conscious looks and his ability to fade out of people's attention. His iron will and his desire to be overruled. It had taken Shuuichi a while to be sure how deep that last one ran. He'd never really had that wish. For Shuuichi, the desire that lived deep in his heart was to have his judgement trusted by those he trusted and loved. For Rei, though, who seemed not to have had much support he could lean on for a very long time... well, he wanted some. Provided that support could prove itself to him. Given Rei himself, Shuuichi wasn't sure anyone besides Shuuichi himself would passâ€”an older agent who could match Rei's brilliance and skill, who knew exactly what it was to take dubious actions while fighting to keep hold of your soul. Shuuichi was possibly the only person in the country right now who Rei would trust to overrule him. This evening, Shuuichi was finally sure enough to that trust that he was prepared to act on it, further than just teasing. He leaned up on one elbow and tugged Rei over onto his back, smiling down at him. Rei was always lovely, but there was something more elemental about his beauty, like this, flushed and relaxed, skin nearly glowing against the white of the sheets. When he ran his fingers through Rei's hair, Rei tipped his head back, nearly purring with pleasure at the simple touch. "Yes," Shuuichi told him, softly. "Just like that." He leaned down and closed his mouth on Rei's neck, sucking firmly enough to mark. Rei arched up taut against him, hands closing hard on Shuuichi's shoulders. "Shuuichi-san...!" He sounded shocked, and Shuuichi wasn't surprised; they'd been careful not to mark each other anywhere that would show, until now. "Hush, Rei," he said, quiet but firm, satisfied at the shiver that ran through Rei. Shuuichi stroked his tongue over the mark and Rei pressed against him harder, breath coming short. "Shuuichi-san..." Rei's voice was a little uneven, now, and Shuuichi wound an arm around him, cradling him close. "Hush, I said." When Rei did finally hush, he brushed a soft kiss over Rei's lips. "What's the point of having learned excellent disguise skills if they can't hide a love-bite or two?" Rei was staring up at him, eyes wide at the suggestion that Shuuichi would use those skills for something like this, and it took him a moment to whisper, "Oh." Shuuichi smiled and caught Rei's chin, feeling the pulse against his thumb speed up. "Easy, Rei. I have you." It was what he'd told Rei that very first night, and he could feel the memory easing the tension in Rei's body even as Rei's breath came faster. When Shuuichi kissed him again, deeper this time, Rei moaned softly into his mouth, and Shuuichi made a satisfied sound. "That's good."

Rei shuddered as Shuuichi's mouth moved down his throat again, heat curling low in his stomach. He'd known Shuuichi understood, but he hadn't expected him to take that understanding this far. Which had been, he was realizing, very foolish of him. Akai Shuuichi had never been a man who did things half-heartedly. Re's heart was still beating fast from the jolt of his response to Shuuichi hushing him so firmly, and when Shuuichi's teeth closed, hard enough to mark his skin again, Rei nearly came right there and then, hips bucking up sharply against Shuuichi. The sound Shuuichi made could only be called a purr, and it stroked down Rei's spine like a finger. The wet heat of Shuuichi's mouth slid down to his chest, scattering slow kisses down his body, and Rei's eyes widened as Shuuichi's hands stroked down his thighs, caressing and sure, and spread them wide for Shuuichi to settle between them. "Shuuichi-san..." Those sharp, green eyes flicked up to meet his, and Shuuichi smiled, a slow curl of lips that made Rei shiver. And then Shuuichi's hands closed around Rei's hips, pinning him firmly in place against the bed. Heat surged through him before Shuuichi's mouth even touched his cock, and when slick, wet heat did wrap around him, Rei lost any hope of coherent thought and groaned out loud. Shuuichi's mouth moved over him, slow and deliberate, and Shuuichi's hands held him still for it however Rei pulled against his grip as pleasure stroked down every nerve. It felt so good. So good to be safe in hands he trusted. To know he could, for just a little while, relax and know someone else would do the worrying. That was the feeling that undid him in the end, shaking him apart in a wild burst of pleasure that Shuuichi held him steady through. When he'd recovered enough of his scattered thoughts to put one next to another again, Shuuichi had settled beside him and gathered him up close. Rei lifted his head from Shuuichi's shoulder to look up at his lover, still a little stunned. "Shuuichi-sanâ€”" he broke off with a tiny gasp as Shuuichi pressed a finger to his lips. Even completely wrung out, that still sent heat curling through him. "You're the one who's still under as one of the Organization, without the support you must have counted on when you first took the assignment," Shuuichi said quietly, holding Rei's eyes. "You deserve this. You deserve everything I can do for you, Rei." Rei sucked in a hard breath, arms tightening hard around Shuuichi. He'd never had anyone actually say that to him, and he had to blink back water in his eyes with the enormity of it. "Shh," Shuuichi told him, pressing Rei's head back down to his shoulder, and Rei made a small sound of agreement, curling close.

Shuuichi cuddled Rei close, one hand sliding up and down his back, soothing him. Slowly, the faint hitch in Rei's breath evened out and the fierce tightness of his arms around Shuuichi's ribs relaxed a little. It seemed, he reflected a bit ruefully, that he was doomed to lovers who didn't say anything was wrong until they were nearly breaking. Admittedly, he knew he hadn't been much better, himself, for some time. Jodie had had enough to say on that subject that he was aware of how he'd been slipping. He just hadn't been able to stop. He'd been heading for a crash, had even started to see the shadow of the wall ahead of him. Until a pint-sized detective had looked up at him with a gleam in his eyes, confident that they were thinking the same outrageous thing, and proposed a way to make it work. And just like that, his life had opened up again, had filled with the Kudous, with Agasa and the children, with whole divisions of the Tokyo police. With Shiho, not dead after all, not yet beyond reach of his promise to Akemi. With Furuya Rei, the last one he'd expected to settle this deep into his heart. Shuuichi rested his cheek against Rei's hair, smiling small and crooked. One of these days, he'd have to find a way to thank the boy. Rei stirred and lifted his head to eye Shuuichi a bit suspiciously. "You're laughing. I can feel it. What's so funny?" Imagining Kudou's face if Shuuichi ever specified exactly what he was thanking Kudou for, Shuuichi couldn't help chuckling out loud. "Just thinking about how surprising our lives have gotten." Rei snorted. "Of course you think that's amusing. You have the worst hobbies." He was smiling as he snuggled close again, though, and Shuuichi's own smile softened. He didn't like a lot of how they'd gotten here, but this... this was good. This was something he'd hold on to. End

1. International Morse code for 0 is five dashes. back

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Two

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

They paused in the hallway between their apartments, staring at each other in silence for a long moment. Yunlan would deny to his dying breath (and beyond, obviously) that he ever had or ever would feel anything in shouting distance of â€˜bashfulâ€™, but he did have to admit to a sudden moment of regret that heâ€™d never gotten at lot of practice at taking a date home. Or being taken home, for that matter, except that Shen Wei didnâ€™t seem to be doing any taking anywhere, either, and was just...

...just standing there, quite still. Watching him.

Yunlan laughed a little, feeling the sneaking tension in his shoulders let go all at once. He knew that look. Knew the stillness of xiao-Wei restraining himself. More than that, he knew the heat shuttered behind that waiting gaze.

â€œSo.â€ Yunlan scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing around the empty hallway for inspiration before he finally gave up and swept his arm toward his own door, inviting. â€œCome in?â€

The waiting in Shen Weiâ€™s gaze melted into intent heat, and he smiled, slow. â€œYes.â€

â€œRight. Yes.â€ Yunlan turned to open the door, and the light pressure of Shen Weiâ€™s hand settling at the small of his back nearly made him trip over his own threshold.

The path from his door to the bed had never seemed quite so full of obstructions, even if they only consisted of some scattered shoes and a bit of a corner.

â€œYunlan.â€

The sound of his bare given name, rolled over Shen Weiâ€™s tongue like he was tasting it, made Yunlanâ€™s breath shudder in his lungs. â€œYeah?â€ he managed, almost his nonchalant self.

Shen Weiâ€™s hands slid over his shoulders, turning him to see that Shen Weiâ€™s smile had softened. â€œLet me?â€

Old, deep certainty washed over Yunlan again. This was the one he could always trust, beyond sense or reason, beyond question or doubt. His smile was easy with that certainty, if tilted with the newness of the oldness. â€œYeah.â€

Shen Weiâ€™s hands closed around his face, careful, tender, as though Yunlan was the most precious thing heâ€™d ever held, and it was so very easy to relax into them, to reach out and settle his hands on xiao-Weiâ€™s waist, and open his mouth for the soft, cool lips sliding over his.

One slow, careful kiss after another, Shen Weiâ€™s tongue stroked deeper and deeper into his mouth, until Yunlanâ€™s breath was coming fast and short and his fingers dug into Shen Weiâ€™s hips, pulling him closer. Urgency coiled tighter and tighter in his belly, and finally spilled over into words.

â€œAll right, can...â€ Another kiss. â€œCan we just...â€ Another, and this time he felt the curve of Shen Weiâ€™s lips against his. â€œXiao-Wei...!â€ His laughter was what finally broke them apart, though the quiet mischief dancing in xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes made Yunlan lean their foreheads together as he caught his breath. â€œBed?â€

â€œIâ€™d like that.â€ Shen Weiâ€™s hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms to catch his hands, and Shen Wei backed up without so much as looking over his shoulder, drawing Yunlan toward the bed. That amount of attention focused on him made his breath quicken again. And Shen Wei himself...

Yunlan had always thought Shen Wei was beautiful. He had eyes, after all. But it was amazing what you could get used to when it walked beside you day after day, stuffed breakfast into your hand way too early in the morning, and silently petitioned the heavens for patience over your unfolded clothes. Now it was leaping out at him all over againâ€”the economy of Shen Weiâ€™s movement as he shrugged out of his unbuttoned shirt, the fullness of his lips as he smiled, the careful strength of long fingers wrapping around the back of Yunlanâ€™s neck and tugging him down to another kiss. When Shen Wei pushed Yunlan down to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt to tug his boots off, the grace of it stole Yunlanâ€™s breath. Seeing Shen Wei smile up at him under his lashes nearly distracted Yunlan from the fact that Shen Wei was undoing his jeans.

It wasnâ€™t awkward at all to lie back, to stretch out on the rumpled sheets, and feel the weight of xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes on him, and Yunlan had another moment of disorientation at how not-strange this felt. It blew away like milkweed down, though, when Shen Wei prowled up onto the bed to settle against him.

Part of him expected the cool of xiao-Weiâ€™s skin against his, and all of him positively purred at how good it felt. â€œXiao-Wei,â€ he murmured, sliding his hands up the sleek line of Shen Weiâ€™s bare back, the way heâ€™d really, really wanted to that one time Shen Wei had volunteered to have baseline energy readings taken. He could feel Shen Wei shiver under his palms.

â€œYou keep calling me that.â€ Shen Wei didnâ€™t sound upset, but he did sounds a bit wistful. Yunlan smiled, wry.

â€œDonâ€™t think I could call you anything else, when weâ€™re like this. It just... itâ€™s the name thatâ€™s there.â€ More slowly, sorting the urge out in his own head, â€œItâ€™s my name, for you.â€

Xiao-Wei kissed him again, at that, swift but so tender it made Yunlanâ€™s chest tight. â€œYes,â€ he agreed, against Yunlanâ€™s mouth. Yunlan wound himself tighter around xiao-Wei, breathless with the simple amazement that this was really his.

And then a lot more breathless with the way xiao-Weiâ€™s hands slid down his body, open and openly possessive, and maybe he should have expected the jolt of heat that sent through him but he really hadnâ€™t. â€œI can tell you again, now,â€ xiao-Wei murmured against his throat. â€œYou are the heart of me. Whatever life Iâ€™ve had, all this time, is because you stopped and smiled that very first day, so long ago. I have always treasured you.â€ With every word, the heat in Yunlan sank deeper, softened, filled him with a warmth and sweetness that he thought might undo him all by itself. That old-new familiarity ran under it, but twined through the familiarity was wonder. Yunlan had to close his eyes and just breathe, holding tight to xiao-Wei, when he realized this must always have been a wonder to him, to have xiao-Weiâ€™s love and care.

â€œThe more things change, the more they stay the same.â€ He meant it to come out light, but his voice caught and cracked on the words. Xiao-Weiâ€™s hand cupped his cheek, cool and gentle, and Yunlan opened his eyes to see xiao-Wei smiling down at him, eyes bright with laughter and soft with understanding.

â€œYes.â€

And then xiao-Weiâ€™s smile widened and Yunlan braced himself on pure reflex, both old and current. â€œPerhaps we should test that a bit, though,â€ xiao-Wei murmured. His hand slid down from Yunlanâ€™s cheek, trailed across his chest and down his stomach, and Yunlan barely had time for his eyes to stretch wide with realization before long fingers wrapped around his cock. The chill of xiao-Weiâ€™s touch against heated skin felt incredible.

â€œXiao-Wei... oh fuck...â€ Yunlanâ€™s hips rocked up into xiao-Weiâ€™s hold, and he shuddered with the heavy curl of pleasure up his spine. â€œOhhh fuck.â€

Pressed this close, he could feel that xiao-Wei was laughing. â€œWell, I see thereâ€™s no change there.â€ Yunlan made an inarticulate sound and reached up to pull xiao-Wei down to another kiss, deep and wet and wanting. Xiao-Wei gathered him closer, touch gentling. "Yes," he murmured. Yunlan wasnâ€™t at all surprised when xiao-Wei reached unerringly for the bottle tucked under the bedside table, and those cool, deft fingers were slick when they closed around him again. Yunlan groaned, hands working against xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulders as pleasure coiled low in his stomach, hot and slow. It felt so simple, so stunningly easy, to let his senses take him, to just move with xiao-Weiâ€™s hands on him as the heat wound tighter and tighter, and finally broke like a storm, shaking him apart until he was gasping for breath, holding tight to xiao-Wei against the intensity of it.

And xiao-Wei held him secure through all of it.

In fact, when Yunlanâ€™s thoughts started fitting sensibly together, again, he realized that xiao-Wei was just holding him, fingers sliding through his hair, slow and soothing. â€œSo, um.â€ Yunlan cleared his throat and glanced up, â€œwere you...?â€ He trailed off completely when he saw the warm satisfaction in xiao-Weiâ€™s smile.

â€œLater,â€ xiao-Wei said, simply.

The familiarity of that care rang through Yunlan like his heart was a struck bell, sweet and certain and so overwhelming to him now that he could barely breathe, only catch Shen Wei close and hold on. This. This was the one who would always care, would never leave, who had proved his trust over and over again.

It took a while for Yunlanâ€™s breath to come evenly again.

As he quieted, though, the unquestioning steadiness of xiao-Weiâ€™s arms around him connected one thought to another, and Yunlan stared up at the ceiling, past Shen Weiâ€™s shoulder. â€œIt must have hurt you so much,â€ he whispered, â€œwhen I didnâ€™t know you. Didnâ€™t remember you.â€

Xiao-Wei went utterly still, against him, for one heartbeat, another, and then stirred with a tiny shrug. After the past year, Yunlan was ready for that, though. â€œAh-ah! Donâ€™t try to deny it.â€

A tiny snort answered him, but at least xiao-Wei's body stopped shifting toward dismissal. Xiao-Wei was quiet for a moment. â€œI could hardly blame you for not remembering when I was the one who took Shen Nongâ€™s bargain without consulting you.â€

â€œOf course not,â€ Yunlan agreed, waiting for xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulders to settle, under his hands. â€œBut that doesnâ€™t mean it didnâ€™t hurt.â€ He felt the tiny, instantly stifled flinch, too, and sighed, rubbing a hand slowly up and down xiao-Weiâ€™s back. â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œDonâ€™t apologize,â€ Shen Wei snapped, pushing up on an elbow to glower at him. Yunlan smiled and touched a finger to xiao-Weiâ€™s lips.

â€œIâ€™m not apologizing. Iâ€™m just saying that Iâ€™m sorry you had that pain.â€ As heâ€™d grown to expect, and felt heâ€™d probably learned to expect a long time ago, xiao-Wei didnâ€™t contradict his insistence, only made an irritated sound and dropped back down against his shoulder. Yunlan smiled wider and snuggled up until xiao-Wei relaxed and curled around him again. Yunlan let his eyes drift closed, satisfied.

Even without prior (current) experience, he felt like he was getting a pretty good handle on how to do this relationship thing.

Knocking woke Yunlan up, and it took him a moment to figure out why, when he turned over to bury his head in the pillows, he wound up pressed tight against another body instead. "Ngh?" he asked, squinting at the expanse of chest in front of his nose.

"Do you want me to answer the door to your apartment?" Shen Wei asked, sounding both amused and far too awake.

Imagining the response of any of his team to that, Yunlan winced and pushed up onto his elbows. "I'm awake, I'm awake."

"Hmm." A cool hand settled on Yunlan's cheek and suddenly he was being kissed, slow and thorough. A curl of heat licked through him, in answer, and his hand reached up to thread through xiao-Wei's hair. The ease of it, the knowledge that this was his and he could reach out for it any time, for any reason, left Yunlan more breathless than the kiss. When xiao-Wei drew back, Yunlan stayed leaning over him for a long moment, stunned all over again.

"I'm awake," he finally said, soft and wondering.

Shen Wei smiled up at him, small and bright, and so perfectly content Yunlan's heart ached. "Then go answer the door."

Another knock underscored the point, and Yunlan crawled out of bed and into some clothes, since whoever it was obviously wasn't going away. When he opened the door, though, he had one moment of wondering whether he really was awake or not, because he came face to face with himself. But no, heâ€™d seen this, hadnâ€™t he, while holding fast to the gateway into the Lamp? Zhang Shi had done as he'd promised and taken Yunlan's place.

"Well." Yunlan ran a hand through his hair and stood aside. "This is going to be awkward."

"That depends." Zhang Shi pushed a large cardboard box with 'Shen - clothes' written on it inside and shouldered past him to dump an entire backpack full of files on the table. "If you want to avoid the hero worship and bureaucracy that's trying to swallow the Division, you could always start running now. Otherwise," he gestured to the files, "get reading on the past year's cases and new personnel, and I'll try to catch you up. Your cat informed me of things last night, so I came prepared."

"You know, I get the impression that you might just tackle me and drag me back to the paperwork if I tried to run." Yunlan flopped down on the couch and eyed the stack of binders; it didn't actually look that bad, for a year's worth.

Zhang Shi interrupted his calculations of how fast he could get through this to lean over him and jab a finger into his chest. "When I thought you were dead, that was one thing. Now I know you're not, you had better not ever make me accept an award in your place again."

The face might be Yunlan's, but that glower was one he'd seen more than once on his father's face, always after he'd done something that was maybe a little more reckless than it should have been. Just a little. Yunlan patted his other dad's hand, smiling. "Don't worry. We won't let it happen again."

Plates clinked very distinctly as Shen Wei set breakfast down beside the files. "We most certainly will not."

"Now, why does that sound more like a threat than a promise?" Yunlan asked, lightly.

Shen Wei gave him a dark look. "I had things under control, with Ye Zun. There was no need for you to come rushing in when you were still a human. He could easily have killed you by accident. He nearly did."

Yunlan knew exactly where xiao-Wei's sudden anger was coming from, because he could feel it leaping up in his own heart. Now they had time for it, and a reminder of it, his blood was abruptly boiling with the fear and pain of watching Shen Wei take the blow meant for him and fall, limp as a broken doll. "Your entire 'plan' consisted of sacrificing your life to force-feed Ye Zun an incompatible energy," he snapped, "and do you want to talk about the part where that means you had to be poisoning yourself to set it up?"

Shen Wei's hands flinched into fists and he jerked his chin aside, breaking Yunlan's gaze to look past him. Yunlan made an inarticulate sound of frustration, and threw himself onto his feet to pace a few lengths of the room before he started wanting to throw something else.

"If I may interrupt..."

It was his own voice, but his father's tone through and through, and Yunlan buried his face in his hand, biting back a groan. He'd just had a fight with his lover in front of his demi-dad. The morning couldn't get any better. "Sure, feel free," he muttered into his palm.

"My Lord Envoy," Zhang Shi said, very formal, and sounding less and less like Yunlan, which was a relief, "may I ask your assurance that you are well, now?"

Yunlan could hear the deep breath that Shen Wei took to make his voice quiet again. "You may. And I am well, now, though it may take a little time to be sure of the other effects."

Yunlan spun around sharply at that. "Other effects?"

Shen Wei gave him a tight-lipped glance. "You shared a spark of your soul with me, created a soul in me where there never was one, and that's in addition to the part of your nature you shared with me ten millennia ago. I'm not even sure what I am, now."

Cold fear washed over Yunlan, though he felt it break against an old, deep certainty, and he took a step back toward xiao-Wei. "It couldn't hurt you, though, right?" He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could take hold of that certainty. "That's right, isn't it?"

The hard line of Shen Wei's shoulders softened at once, and he reached out to wrap a hand around Yunlan's arm. "Yes, that's right. If there were going to be problems, it would have been obvious immediately." He hesitated for a long moment and finally sighed, his giving-in sigh, and Yunlan couldn't help a tiny grin when he realized he could recognize the sound. Xiao-Wei snorted at him and pushed him back over to the couch, settling beside him. At xiao-Wei's wave of permission, Zhang Shi nudged plates of dumplings and fruit aside and sat on the table.

"I am well," xiao-Wei started, firmly, "but between what I did and what you did, it's very likely that my entire nature has been changed. When I realized the kind of disruption the Dial had caused in my being, it was just when I'd become sure that my brother was breaking free. I'd been considering asking the sacred tree to release our bargain and reclaiming the Guardian token already, because a significant part of my power was bound up in creating it. If I'd been able to reclaim that power, to reconvert it into my own, I could have faced Ye Zun evenly, though it would have meant all restraints on the power of my people in this realm would be removed. It seemed like a reasonable risk, if it meant I could stop Ye Zun early enough. But once I was injured, my chances of containing Ye Zun again went down considerably. That was when it occurred to me that if I absorbed the token's power without reclaiming or reconverting it, especially if I could displace enough of my own power to keep the conflict of energies from being apparent, it would be very easy to bait my brother into consuming it."

The shock on Zhang Shi's face was, if anything, even greater than Yunlan's. "If the Guardian charge was a bargain with the sacred tree... that's a heavenly power, you would have had to reduce your strength to almost nothing!"

"As I said," Shen Wei answered, terrifyingly level. "Very easy."

After a long moment, Zhang Shi bowed his head to Shen Wei. "Noble Lord," he said, softly, more formal than ever.

"Stop encouraging him!" Yunlan snapped. "That was not a reasonable risk!"

Xiao-Wei raised his brows and gave Yunlan a very pointed, sidelong look. "So, it's reasonable when you do it, but not when I do it?"

"Don't tell me you don't think exactly the same thing." They eyed each other for a long moment before the essential ridiculousness of their mutual insistence caught up with Yunlan and he had to stifle the snort of laughter that was trying to escape. When he spotted the twitch at the corner of xiao-Wei's mouth, he lost it, and the two of them leaned together, laughing low and helpless for a long moment.

"At any rate," xiao-Wei finally said, adjusting his glasses for composure just like a cat resettling its fur, "the half of my nature that has always been ghost was considerably weakened, in part replaced with the token's power, which was half mine and half the sacred tree's, and then on top of that the same one who gifted me with a god's nature added soul fire." He spread his hands. "I have no idea, yet, what all that became in the process of regaining matter on our way out of the Lamp."

"A god," Yunlan said, quietly, words that came whole and certain from that deep sense of memory inside him, now. "A god of ghosts. I think... I think that was what I always meant and hoped for."

The sound xiao-Wei made was wordless, as soft and amazed as his eyes had gone.

"That's quite the courting gift," Zhang Shi murmured, sounding both impressed and paternally amused.

A choked laugh escaped xiao-Wei, and he added, "Better than antique books." Yunlan gave serious consideration to sinking through the couch in embarrassment, at least until xiao-Wei leaned into his side again with a tiny, warm smile.

"Well." Yunlan scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Maybe the first order of Division business is actually some test-runs to find out what you can do now, and how."

"After breakfast," xiao-Wei specified firmly.

"Right, fine, breakfast." Yunlan agreed peaceably, raising his hands. He didn't so much as glance at Zhang Shi. He could feel the doting-dad vibes from here, which would be too bizarre to see on his own face. "Also, we need to get Zhang Shi a new identity."

"I called Dr. Cheng this morning." Zhang Shi sounded relieved. "She knew of a good prospect at once."

"Cheng Xinyan has great integrity," xiao-Wei commented mildly, between small bites of orange. "I trust her judgement. A candidate sheâ€™s chosen will be acceptable, but to stay here you will need to re-join one of the law enforcement departments. Not," he added a bit dryly, "the Supervisory Bureau." Yunlan had actually forgotten, for a moment, that Zhang Shi would need the Envoy's approval to continue living in this realm. His other dad was his lover's subject and quite possibly about to be his employee.

It was a good thing he'd never much wanted a normal life.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Three

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

The three of them snuck out of Yunalnâ€™s own apartment and into his car as carefully as if they were smuggling a body, which he had to admit amused him. After all, in a way they were. It was Shen Weiâ€™s directions they followed, though, through the city and skirting around the edge of Yashou territory to one of the parks near the University. Shen Wei led them through the trees, keeping out of human or mechanical sight with an unthinking ease that made Yunlan mark this place in his mind as one xiao-Wei considered his own. Through a tunnel of concrete and twining vines and past a round brick plaza, they came to a concrete fountain, a low burble of water from a square, tiered base.

â€œHere.â€

Shen Weiâ€™s voice was tight and controlled, the voice that Yunlan had heard often from the Envoy, at the start of their acquaintance. Hearing it now locked Yunlanâ€™s attention like a chain wrapped around it, and he stepped up quickly to lay a hand on xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulder. Sure enough, it was straight and hard and still under his hand.

â€œHey,â€ he said, softly, just between the two of them. â€œQuit worrying. Whatever came of the change in you, weâ€™ll deal with it.â€

Xiao-Wei released a breath, shoulder easing just a little bit. â€œAll right. Step back, though. Just in case,â€ he added, glancing over to see Yunlanâ€™s brows going up. Yunlan scoffed, but took a couple steps back, arms spread.

â€œGood enough?â€

â€œI suppose weâ€™ll see.â€ Before Yunlan could try again to ease that sharp tension in him, Shen Wei closed his eyes and lifted a hand. Slowly, far more slowly than the flash and burst of power Yunlan was used to seeing, a glow built.

Heâ€™d gotten used to the colors of Shen Weiâ€™s power, the flowing black threaded with deep blue. More than just familiar, now, the memory of it alone made him smile, called up echoes of playfulness and peace from deep inside him. The familiar colors were still there, in what grew and flowed between xiao-Weiâ€™s hands, but now it was the blue that predominated, like a cloud of evening sky drawn into daylight.

Shen Wei wavered on his feet, as if heâ€™d stumbled without taking a step, and his eyes snapped open, wide and startled. Yunlan started forward to catch him with a hand under his arm, and marked the depth of xiao-Weiâ€™s shock by the complete lack of any warning to stay back. â€œXiao-Wei?â€

â€œThereâ€™s no... Iâ€™m not...â€ Xiao-Wei swallowed and took a deep breath, hands steadying around his own power as he found his balance again. â€œI think you were right. Before now, my power drew somewhat through my own life but mostly through the lives around me. Now... now itâ€™s entirely through my own life, my own place within this world.â€ The next breath he took shook a little, and his voice turned softer. â€œMy own soul.â€ Yunlan could feel all the remaining tension bleeding away as xiao-Wei straightened, reaching out with both hands to direct the flow of his power toward the fountain.

The shifting blue of it flowed across the water, around it, and the water rose in answer, sparkling up through the air to form thin bubbles, leaf shapes, even a snowflake or two out of running water. Yunlan had seen Shen Wei fight and heal, entrance and command, but heâ€™d never seen such delicate shaping as thisâ€”though that deep echo inside him felt like it had. Had even seen xiao-Wei play with his strength, perhapsâ€”had coaxed or maneuvered him into it, most likely. Predictably, xiao-Wei looked entirely serious the whole time, as if this little whimsy was nothing but a functional test of control. Someone, at some point, must have convinced him that it was an appropriate test, though, and Yunlan was pretty sure that someone had been him. He gave his past self an approving internal nod.

Eventually, xiao-Wei let his power fade back into the air and his skin, flexing his fingers. â€œIt will take a little getting used to, having that much to work with again,â€ he murmured, and then frowned. â€œZhang Shi. In the past year, has there been any deterioration in the Division staff who come into contact with lao-Chu Shuzhi?â€

â€œThat would be xiao-Guo, and no one else,â€ Zhang Shi noted, a bit dryly. â€œNo. Though if youâ€™re right about what xiao-Guo's becoming, there wouldnâ€™t be. They haven't taken harm from me, either, though, even without a host to absorb my power. And there havenâ€™t been any reports of strange wasting deaths at all. I did start looking for them when I recognized the unbinding of my own power.â€

"Possibly just luck, so far," Shen Wei murmured. "We'll have to keep an eye on that."

Yunlanâ€™s mind flickered through the connectionsâ€”unbinding, old legends of ghosts eating life, the one thing Shen Wei had said he had taken into himself. â€œThe Guardian Treaty or whatever was a literal binding on all Dixingren?â€ When Shen Wei and Zhang Shi both nodded, he prodded at the echo-memories, but couldnâ€™t make head or tail of the tangle of ruefulness and hope and grief he got out of them. â€œHow does that work?â€

"I am the ghosts' ruler," Shen Wei said quietly, not looking at either of them. "The strongest among them, and the most feared."

"Not only feared," Zhang Shi interjected, but softly, as if he wasn't sure it would be allowed.

Shen Wei shrugged, a faint motion under his jacket, as if he could barely be bothered to make the gesture. "Whether it's for fear or loyalty, greed or love, the one who's the focus of a whole people can affect all of them."

"So," Yunlan summed up, "you're saying that you've been sacrificing your power and safety for thousands of years, to keep humanity safe, and that now, having sacrificed your actual life, you're worried you haven't done enough." He shook his head, smile tilting crookedly, and reached up to rest a hand on xiao-Wei's cheek, turning him to look at Yunlan. "You know, I'm not even surprised, any more?"

Xiao-Wei's eyes were wide again. "I—"

"Ah!" Yunlan stroked his thumb along the sharp line of xiao-Wei's cheekbone. "I dare you to say that's not what you're doing."

Xiao-Wei huffed softly, turning his head a little into Yunlan's hand as he looked away. "You are ridiculous."

Yunlan smiled. "Sometimes, I've been told." And now it was probably time to move along, because he could just feel Zhang Shi paternally doting on them again. "So! Do we have to visit the hospital next?"

Dr. Cheng didnâ€™t even blink to see two of him, just shook her head with an expression that suggested she was resigned to the SIDâ€™s nonsense.

â€œThis way.â€ She led them back through some utility corridors. â€œThe patientâ€™s name was Li Huiliang. Her husband and son were both killed in the fighting, a year ago, and the shock wasnâ€™t good for her mind or her heart. Sheâ€™s been in and out of the hospital often, since then.â€ She brought them back into one of the regular corridors and paused in front of a closed door, head bowed. â€œLast night was the final time. She just... slipped away, this morning. I was about to report it when you called.â€

â€œI give you my word, Dr. Cheng,â€ Zhang Shi said soberly, in what Yunlan had long mentally labeled as his fatherâ€™s â€˜responsible officialâ€™ tone, â€œI will honor this gift, and keep her place in the world.â€

Dr. Cheng turned with such a steely look in her eye that Yunlan straightened up on pure reflex. â€œYou will invite me to her memorial.â€ It wasnâ€™t a question; it was an order. Yunlan suddenly found it a lot more understandable than he had, that this woman was Shen Weiâ€™s friend.

â€œIâ€™ll make the arrangements today, Doctor.â€ It would have to be private, of course, but she was quite rightâ€”it was the least they could and should do. Dr. Cheng nodded firm acceptance and opened the door.

Li Huiliang had been an older woman, hair just starting to gray in streaks here and there. There were lines of stress around her mouth, even now with all muscles slackened in death. Yunlan watched quietly as Zhang Shi stood beside the hospital bed for a moment, one hand resting gently on hers where theyâ€™d been folded over her stomach. When he stirred, though, Yunlan had to ask, â€œSo, how are we doing this? Thereâ€™s about to be an unexplained body, isnâ€™t there, since you werenâ€™t sharing mine?â€

Dr. Cheng made the face of someone who wished she were a bit less capable, right this moment. â€œI suppose I can arrange something, as long as you can make sure the documentation matches outside the hospital...â€

â€œActually,â€ Zhang Shi hesitated, glancing between Shen Wei and Yunlan. Finally, he spoke to the air between them. â€œIt takes a great deal of energy, to inhabit a body thatâ€™s died. Iâ€™d planned to ask the Envoyâ€™s help, but it might be... cleanest to use whatâ€™s bound up in this form.â€ He spread a hand over his (Yunlanâ€™s) chest.

Shen Wei stilled for a breath, but it eased away as soon as he looked over at Yunlan. Yunlan spread his hands and shrugged. â€œItâ€™ll be a little strange,â€ he answered the question in xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes, â€œbut honestly it was already a little strange, when I feel like all of me is right here,â€ he waved at his current body. â€œI say go for it.â€

Xiao-Wei nodded slowly and turned back to stand beside Zhang Shi, one hand on his shoulder. One slow breath, and the night-blue flow of his power rose around them. â€œBegin,â€ he ordered, quietly.

A darker something flashed between Zhang Shi and Li Huiliangâ€™s body, and Yunlan pushed back the shiver that wanted to walk up his spine, watching his own body (as was) just... dissolve into that blue, ribbon away in streamers like blowing dust. It reminded him sharply of what heâ€™d seen Ye Zun do, of the fact that Ye Zun and Shen Wei had been twinsâ€”the most powerful among their kindâ€”and that when it had come to a contest between them, Ye Zun had lost. Twice. Part of him was wary of that kind of power, while part of him, especially the deep echos of his past self, was just mildly pleased and approving and blasÃ©. The clash felt like it should be giving him a headache, even though it wasn't.

All right, and a little part of him was turned on by how effortlessly Shen Wei wielded that power, but he was ignoring that right now. That was for later.

As the last of â€˜himâ€™ faded away, the body on the bed drew a slow breath, healthy color flushing her cheeks and hands. Dr. Cheng, standing beside Yunlan, let out a breath that it sounded like sheâ€™d been holding for a while, and smiled a bit wryly when Yunlan patted her shoulder.

â€œRemember your promise,â€ she said, softly. â€œHonor her memory.â€ Yunlan nodded, accepting the weight of that.

â€œWe will.â€

A sudden flash of golden brightness snapped his head back around toward the bed. Shen Wei was starting back from it, and Zhang Shi had jerked upright, one hand clenched tight in the light blue cotton over his (her) chest, eyes wide.

â€œWhat happened?â€ Yunlan snapped, mind suddenly full of all the physiology heâ€™d ever read, including neurology, and all the ways it could go wrong, Dixingren powers or no.

â€œWas that...?

â€œThat was...â€

Shen Wei and Zhang Shi just stared at each other some more, while Yunlan waited. â€œThat was?â€ he prodded.

â€œSoul-fire,â€ Shen Wei finally answered, barely above a whisper.

Zhang Shi sucked in a shaking breath, and her (his?) voice came out even softer, reverent. â€œMy Lord...â€

Memory wasnâ€™t just an echo, this time. It washed over Yunlan like a flood, and for a breath he knew himself as Kunlun, knew xiao-Weiâ€™s distaste for the formless, mindless nature of so many ghosts with the depth of centuries, knew triumph that heâ€™d succeeded in giving his dearest friend and love the full gift heâ€™d intended. It took long moments for the knowing to ease, and it left Yunlan shaky, leaning against the wall for support. â€œThe focus of a people affects the whole people,â€ he repeated back to xiao-Wei, a little breathless.

Xiao-Wei spun to stare at him. â€œYou... this...â€ He pressed a hand to his throat, where the pendant had rested for so long. Yunlan spread his hands with a flourish, smiling.

â€œAll part of the plan. Apparently.â€ After a momentâ€™s reflection, he added, â€œDa Qing definitely isnâ€™t allowed to insult my ideas of courting gifts, any more.â€

That drove a faint breath of stunned laughter out of xiao-Wei.

â€œYouâ€™re going to tell me all of what that was about, later,â€ Dr. Cheng ordered, going to to peer into Zhang Shiâ€™s eyes and measure her pulse with quick fingers, eyes on her watch. â€œFor now, just tell me: is it going to cause any health problems?â€

â€œNo.â€ Xiao-Wei slid his glasses up to rub his eyes briefly. â€œNo health problems. Much larger political problems, perhaps, but that neednâ€™t concern anyone but me.â€ Yunlan cleared his throat meaningfully, and xiao-Wei added, on a bit of a sigh, â€œAnd perhaps the SID. Speaking of political problems and their solutions,â€ he went on, otherwise ignoring Yunlan, â€œwill there be any problem with the paperwork showing I was hospitalized here for the past year?â€

â€œNo, we had several cases that needed long-term care, after the fighting.â€ Dr. Cheng stepped back, giving Zhang Shi an approving nod. â€œThe fact that you were an SID consultant will actually help explain why we would have kept your presence confidential.â€ She gave xiao-Wei a stern look. â€œYouâ€™d better be back to explain things, later, but for now, letâ€™s get Ms. Li discharged.â€

â€œAnd then maybe ask lao-lao-Chu to drop by the apartment?â€ Yunlan suggested quietly, as they headed out into the halls once more.

Shen Wei glanced at him once before fixing his eyes straight ahead. â€œI think that would be wise, yes.â€

Yunlan nodded, satisfied. However much this whole contagious soul-fire thing might have been a gift of his past self, his present self wanted to know exactly what it was going to take from Shen Wei before letting his lover go haring back off through the gate between realms.

Yunlan read personnel and case files with all his concentration while they waited for lao-Chu, pressing Zhang Shi for details of temperament, of flexibility, of fears and dreams and motives. Clearly, he was going to need to take his re-entry into life at a run, and he didn't want his own Division tripping him up. When lao-Chu arrived, attention immediately fixing on Shen Wei to the exclusion of anyone else, Yunlan barely took the time to roll his eyes.

Shen Wei explained the situation, voice quiet and steady. Reassuring. Yunlan thought that might be the voice his students were used to hearing. â€œWeâ€™re not sure if this is normally transferable, or if it only happened because I was involved so deeply in the process of Zhang Shiâ€™s transfer and revivification. I donâ€™t know, yet, how deep I might need to reach into the being of another of my people, or...â€ He broke off as lao-Chu snorted and flipped his coat aside to kneel down at Shen Weiâ€™s feet and wait there, head bowed.

Really, it was enough to make a mere boss feel inadequate.

â€œNot only fear,â€ Zhang Shi murmured, from Yunlanâ€™s other side, and xiao-Wei closed his eyes for a breath.

â€œI know.â€ Yunlan thought the ruler-straight line of lao-Chuâ€™s back eased a little at xiao-Weiâ€™s soft words. He was sure xiao-Wei saw it, too, because he reached out, the way he almost never reached out to anyone but Yunlan, and laid a hand on lao-Chu's shoulder.

And golden brilliance flickered around his fingers.

lao-Chu jerked upright like it was an electric shock, staring up at xiao-Wei. "Lord...!" That sounded shocked out of him, too.

Xiao-Wei was holding very still, which meant he was just as startled, but slowly he tightened his hold on lao-Chu's shoulder. "So." Finally he smiled, achingly slow but with a brightness in him like the sun rising. "It can be done."

Lao-Chu, who Yunlan had never seen willingly discomposed unless he was trying to scare the liver out of someone, looked like he was one breath from bowing his head to the ground before xiao-Wei, and his voice was rough. "Noble Lord, thank you. I've watched Changcheng every day, ever since we were unbound, every day ready to leave if he started to fail. I never thought..."

Xiao-Wei's face tightened, so much pain in the flinch of his brows together that Yunlan started to get up, to go to him, even as xiao-Wei lifted his hand to rest it gently on lao-Chu's head, quieting him. "I know." Xiao-Wei's eyes rose and Yunlan froze under the darkness of them, breath stopping. Xiao-Wei was talking about him. That certainty went right down to the bone. Some time, somehow, he had died because of xiao-Wei's nature.

Suddenly, xiao-Wei's fierce insistence on his safety felt a lot less like a Dixingren underestimating a human and a lot more like frantic, desperate grief. Suddenly, the information that xiao-Wei had been the one to create the instrument that halved his people's powers in the human realm felt less like politics, or even compassion, and more like love—reckless, headlong love and a deep fear running under it.

"Xiao-Wei," Yunlan whispered, reaching out, and xiao-Wei came to him at once, caught him close with an absolute disregard of anyone watching that told Yunlan everything he suspected was painfully true. He let out a slow breath and wound his arms around xiao-Wei, one hand sliding up to urge his head down against Yunlan's shoulder. "I'm here," he said softly, and promptly lost most of his breath to the way xiao-Wei's arms tightened around him. He barely registered the apartment door closing behind Zhang Shi and lao-Chu. "Tell me?" he asked, hands rubbing slowly up and down xiao-Wei's back.

"You did something foolishly noble and got injured. I was the only one there. I couldn't leave you like that." Xiao-Wei's hands tightened on him. "And then I couldn't leave you." His voice was muffled against Yunlan's shoulder. "I should have known better, but part of me still couldn't believe..." A quick, hard breath in and out again. "In two years, you were dead."

And then Shen Wei had spent who knew how many years and how much power changing the world so that it wouldn't happen again. Yunlan closed his eyes, breathless with the weight of the thought. It was like the morning he'd found Shen Wei draining his blood, allegedly to repair the wound he'd taken sharing his life force with Yunlan, all over again, only turned on its head. Instead of furious shock that anyone would sacrifice himself so completely and unhesitatingly for Yunlan, it was a warm weight of certainty inside him. Because Yunlan had spent twenty-eight years waiting for the man in his arms, barely looking at another person, even casually, and he was sure in his heart, all the way down to the echoing memory of his first life, that he'd spent ten thousand years worth of lives that way.

Shen Wei's devotion wasn't the alarming imposition it had seemed, in the shock of that morning. It was the answer Yunlan hadn't realized he was listening for, so intently he hardly noticed any other.

"I'm here, now," he repeated, smiling against the darkness of xiao-Wei's hair. "And so are you."

A faint laugh shook xiao-Wei's shoulders, and he finally lifted his head, starting to smile again despite the redness of his eyes. â€œYes.â€ Whatever he saw in Yunlan's face, it eased the tension out of his body, and Yunlan made a pleased sound as they leaned more comfortably together.

â€œThatâ€™s better.â€ He linked his hands behind xiao-Wei's neck, thumbs stroking absently up and down xiao-Wei's nape, and smiled wider at the sudden heaviness of his eyes, the quick, soft draw of his breath. "Xiao-Wei. Come to bed?" Personally, he could think of no better way to ground them in the present. In fact, when xiao-Wei lifted a hand to cup his cheek, thumb stroking along the curve of Yunlan's mouth, Yunlan stopped being able to think of anything but the present moment.

"Yes," xiao-Wei agreed, softly.

Yunlan suddenly wanted very much to have xiao-Wei's bare skin under his hands, and made such short work of undoing xiao-Wei's vest and shirt that xiao-Wei was laughing under his breath by the time Yunlan went after his pants. He was willing enough to stretch out on Yunlan's bed and be touched, though, and that was the important part. The soft contentment in dark eyes as Yunlan's hands slid down his body, fingers tracing along his ribs, over his hips—that was the important part.

One such thought led to another, and Yulan made a thoughtful sound as he pressed a kiss under xiao-Wei's ear just to hear him laugh again. "Hey." He leaned up on his elbows, looking down at xiao-Wei. "Okay if I try something?"

"Anything you like." The promptness of xiao-Wei's answer, so ready and unthinking, made Yunlan smile, probably quite foolishly. He didn't care.

"Thanks." He stole another kiss and slid down the bed, nudging just a little hesitantly in to lie between xiao-Wei's legs. The sharp intake of xiao-Wei's breath was promising, though, so Yunlan went ahead and leaned down to close his mouth around xiao-Wei's cock.

"Yunlan...!"

He made an inquiring sound around his mouthful, and observed the way xiao-Wei's hands clenched tight on the blankets. That seemed like a good sign, too. Yunlan slid his mouth carefully further down, tongue stroking against smooth skin, taking in the taste of it—a little flat, a little salt, ever so faintly sweet, all twined together into one. The newness of it faded into the back of his mind, though, when xiao-Wei moaned, low and open.

"Yunlan." The huskiness of it locked Yunlan's attention, and he glanced up at xiao-Wei as he drew back. The pleasure and heat in the heaviness of his eyes on Yunlan, the part of his lips, made Yunlan grin, quite pleased with his experiment, so far. He wrapped his mouth back around xiao-Wei and sucked on him. He could feel the tremor that ran through xiao-Wei, the fierce control that caught short the lift of his hips, and positively purred around him. He liked this. He liked knowing that he could bring xiao-Wei pleasure, and he liked xiao-Wei's care for him, even in the midst of it.

The same part of him that enjoyed the possessiveness of xiao-Wei's hands sliding over his shoulders liked even more the thought that he was the only one who was ever going to see xiao-Wei like this. Ever see him flushed, head tossed back against the pillows, breathing deep and fast. Ever hear that clear, precise voice turn velvety with hunger.

When xiao-Wei gasped out a warning, Yunlan just made a pleased sound and sucked harder.

Xiao-Wei groaned, body arching taut as long shudders rolled through him. The upward surge of his hips drove him deeper into Yunlan's mouth, and Yunlan suddenly understood the warning. It put a curl of excitement down his nerves, too, though, and he relaxed into it the way he would into an unexpected fall, hot and breathless with the rush that filled his mouth.

He did wonder, as xiao-Wei dropped back against the bed, suddenly lax, whether there was a graceful way to wipe one's mouth after this kind of thing. He suspected there might not be, but it could be worth a little research, later. Right now, it was far more important to slide back up to settle against xiao-Wei and bask in how gorgeous his lover was, panting and undone, eyes closed as he slowly relaxed from the edge of pleasure.

When xiao-Wei opened his eyes again, he huffed a soft laugh, reaching up to run his fingers through Yunlan's hair. "You look pleased with yourself."

"Mmm, I think I am," Yunlan agreed, and leaned down to kiss him. Against xiao-Wei's mouth, he added, "We're here, and it's now. You can feel it here," he spread a hand over xiao-Wei's chest, "can't you?"

Xiao-Wei stared up at him for a moment, eyes wide and dark. Finally he laughed again, soft and rueful. "I can," he murmured, hands sliding down Yunlan's back. "And yet, you're still the same." He drew Yunlan down to him and kissed him, slow and deep. "Still the one I love with all my heart." Another lingering kiss. "That will never change."

Yunlan made a breathless sound at the surge of wanting that shook him. Xiao-Wei caught him closer and turned Yunlan under him. "Always," he promised, and the intensity of it left no room for doubt, no room for anything but the certainty that Shen Wei would never let go. Yunlan let out a slow, shuddering breath, holding him tight as that certainty settled into his chest, warm and soothing.

"Yes."

They lay quiet for a while, twined together, and Yunlan relaxed into the rare peacefulness. Eventually, though, xiao-Wei stirred against him.

"Don't think this gets you out of eating a decent dinner, tonight."

It startled Yunlan into an open, genuine laugh, and xiao-Wei leaned up on an elbow, smiling down at him, eyes soft and warm just for him. "I think I probably have some fried rice cakes that should still be good," he suggested, just to see the exasperated look xiao-Wei gave him. It eased away when Yunlan reached up to touch his cheek, though. "We're going to be all right, now, yeah?"

Xiao-Wei leaned into his hand, smiling. "We will."

Yunlan thought it was getting a little easier for both of them to believe it.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Five

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

"You were always a morning person, weren't you?" Yunlan asked from under his pillow, far too early the next morning. Why hadn't he remembered that sooner?

"Just because we're not going to the office doesn't mean we don't have work to do." Xiao-Wei's clear voice and unreasonably firm step approached, and something clinked on the bedside table. "If you're not up in ten minutes, I'm going by myself."

Yunlan groaned and flopped over onto his back. There was a cup of coffee waiting. He couldn't even complain without being an ungrateful ass, which seemed very unfair. Suddenly, he was remembering just how sly of a weiqi player xiao-Wei was. He hauled himself out of bed, grabbing for the cup, and reached down to rummage a pair of jeans out of the clean-laundry basket.

They were all folded.

Xiao-Wei was watching him with open amusement from the couch, already brushed and dressed and eating noodles at the kitchen table. Yunlan decided it was too early to deal with anyone that much more awake than he was, and silently made for the bathroom to scrub the sleep off.

"All right," he said when he emerged, coffee and cold water having kick-started his brain for the day. "Anything particular we need to do to get through the gate, now the Lamp's lit again?"

Xiao-Wei put a steamed bun into his hand. "It may take a little more effort, but I doubt I'll notice it with my power unbound, and the seal itself was a part of you. Changed as you are, it should let you pass easily."

Yunlan glanced from the bun to xiao-Wei's calm, expectant expression, and sighed, taking a bite as he locked the door behind them. Breakfast was apparently going to be part of his life, going forward.

By the time they reached the crossroads where the gate was, his sense of humor had caught up with him, not least because of the echoes of memory that said xiao-Wei had always been this way with him, and also that the fact was adorable. He wasn't sure about that second bit, but had to admit he felt more settled and alert than he usually did at this hour. Possibly that was just from being with xiao-Wei, but he wasn't ruling out the coffee and food.

Xiao-Wei paused as they reached the tree and closed his eyes for a moment, with a slow breath in and out. At the end of that breath, shadowy blue swept over him and left familiar black robes behind and an equally familiar weight of power sweeping outwards. "Ready?" he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the flex of light and space that, Yunlan abruptly realized, he could see clearly.

"Whenever you are." Yunlan held out his hand to xiao-Wei, waiting out his still moment of startlement, and smiled when xiao-Wei took it. They were doing this together, whether xiao-Wei was in his working clothes or not.

When xiao-Wei raised his other hand, Yunlan felt what he did more than saw it, as though xiao-Wei pulled open a window and let snow in to fall on their skin. He stepped forward at the same moment xiao-Wei did, stepped over the threshold and out beneath the arch that marked the gate on Dixing's side. Yunlan turned his face up to the bright sky with pleased recognition; at some point, he'd known that the Lamp's light gave Dixing a sky.

And then he had to stifle a laugh as the gate guards nearly passed out over having a revived Envoy descend on their shift. Holding on to the humor helped keep him from getting too tense about the way he could feel everything around him trying to pull bits of him away as they moved swiftly through the city. Not to mention the way that, when the Regent hurried out to meet them on the Palace steps, he stopped short and stared like Yunlan and xiao-Wei both were a surprise banquet of all his favorite food.

"And how did this come about, my Lord Envoy?" he asked with a quick bow that didn't hide the gleam of avarice in his eyes.

"My passage through the Lamp completed Kunlun's gift to me." Xiao-Wei ignored the welcoming gesture that tried to guide them inside the Palace. "Now that it is complete, I have already determined, it flows outward from me to my people." The Regent froze in the midst of his attempts to herd them inside, and the faintest breath of a smile curved xiao-Wei's lips. "So tell me, my lord Regent. Am I your ruler?"

Yunlan had to take a moment to appreciate how effortlessly xiao-Wei could lay down the winning move, when he chose to. It was beautiful to watch, at least when it didnâ€™t involve xiao-Wei sacrificing his life.

Slowly, the Regent straightened, and Yunlan could nearly see the power he usually hid behind fawning or age or whatever other slight-of-hand was available settling around him like the folds of a robe. "You are the strongest of us, Lord, the one no other has ever been able to even dream of consuming—not even your twin, in the end. You have always been my ruler, even when I wished or feared it otherwise."

"That will not change, whatever else we become, through this gift." Xiao-Wei's voice was cool, but his eyes, even behind the mask, were steady on the Regent. Sympathetic, Yunlan might even have said, if he had to name that look.

After a long, silent moment, the Regent grumbled, "Well, that will be something stable, at least." And then he bowed, deeply, and stayed down. "Your will, Lord.â€

Xiao-Wei gestured him back up, graceful and easy. "Call our people together, then."

The Regent cast a look down the Palace steps and snorted. "Somehow, I don't think that will be necessary."

A corner of Yunlan's attention had also been on the gathering crowd below as people pointed and whispered and broke away, only to reappear dragging more people with them. With the confrontation done, Yunlan let himself search the gathering faces until he found his favorite bar-tender, staring up at them with open excitement. Yunlan glanced back at xiao-Wei and gave the man a nod of confirmation. He lit up like a streetlamp turning on, and promptly darted away into the city.

It wasn't long before the square in front of the Palace was packed with bodies, overflowing into the nearby streets. The pull Yunlan had felt since he stepped through the gate was very noticeable, by then, and he let old-new reflex push back against it until the air near him had glints of green. When xiao-Wei stepped forward to the edge of the steps, the rustle and chatter of the crowd turned sharper.

And then it abruptly cut off as xiao-Wei lifted his hands, folded back his hood, and removed his mask.

"Ten thousand years ago," he said, into the deep quiet, "I was given a gift by one of the first gods of this world. You have all followed the shape of human understanding, and called them something else—simple heroes and ancestors—and forgotten their natures, and sometimes even your own. Now I call on those who can to remember why some of you called me traitor to our kind, then. Not for any politics, but for the change in my nature that Kunlun wrought and I accepted." He held out one hand to the crowd, open and palm up, and Yunlan could see a faint flicker of golden light starting to grow around his fingers. "I call on those who can remember to bear witness, because this very year that gift was completed, and in its completion it has become one that I may share. The gift of a generative nature, of a soul that can anchor you in this world and take the fear of dissolution from death. The gift of beginning again. The gift of an end to endless hunger." The light curled around him, now, rising like a fire, and there was absolute silence as Shen Wei asked, quietly, "Will you have it?"

For a long, suspended moment, nothing moved. Yunlan wondered if any of them would dare answer, and couldn't entirely blame them if they didn't. If the Regent's power had been a cloak around him, xiao-Wei's burned outward like the sun's corona, beautiful and searing, terrifying in the vast sweep of it. Slowly, though, the crowd swayed forward as one, whispers threading through the air again.

"Lord Envoy..."

"Yes..."

"Black-cloaked Lord..."

"Please..."

One person after another reached out, sank to their knees, faces turned up to the shadow standing above them, surrounded by golden brilliance, and xiao-Wei bowed his head, eyes sliding closed.

"Then it will be so."

The low words reverberated like a shout, and the light around him leaped outward like a star exploding, bursting through the square, the Palace, the city. It curled around and past Yunlan, but he could see it running into and through everyone else present, see the shock of it in wide eyes and gasping breath all around him. Anyone who wasn't on their knees already was by the time that golden wave passed.

Finally, xiao-Wei lifted his head to look out at his people again. "This is a gift." His voice silenced the growing babble of the crowd as some started to catch their breaths. "Do with it as you will. Know, however, that I will have no more tolerance than I ever have for violence or trespass."

"...but if we are no threat?" Near the front of the crowd below, a young women scrambled to her feet, and stumbled a few steps forward, hands held out, entreating. It took Yunlan a moment to recognize her as the mirror-girl, who took Weiwei's place. She was still wearing the same face, but it looked fiercer, now, longing and hunger tangled up together. She fell to her knees again at the lowest step, staring up at Shen Wei, and her voice was pleading. "If we are no threat, now, Noble Lord?"

Xiao-Wei was still for a long moment, looking down at her, but finally Yunlan saw the faint fall of his shoulders that meant a silent sigh, and he descended the steps to stand directly over her. "Demonstrate to me that it is so," he said, flat as an order. "Show me, when this gift has grown in you, that you are no longer driven by hunger alone, that you have mastered the violence at the core of you." He lifted his head to sweep his eyes over the whole crowd before looking back down at her to add, more quietly. "Do this, and I will speak in your cause."

All the breath seemed to leave her at once, as her face lit up, and she bowed down to the ground before him. "Yes, Lord!"

Whispers of excitement swept through the crowd, as xiao-Wei came back up the steps. The Regent, however, was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Was that entirely necessary to say right now?" he asked, sounding pained.

Xiao-Wei huffed a faint laugh. "If the question was asked now, the answer was necessary now."

"You could have said no!" The Regent gave back an aggravated look to xiao-Wei's unamused one. "This will lead to many of them presuming on your mercy and attempting the border well before they've met your requirement, and the seal will no longer stop them."

Xiao-Wei's eyes turned hard, and his voice fell. "Then they will find that they have assumed incorrectly." He turned on his heel and strode into the Palace, and Yunlan followed.

And caught him as xiao-Wei stumbled on the stairs down to the central hall. "I thought that probably took more out of you than it looked like."

"I'm not tired," xiao-Wei protested, though his hand lingered on Yunlan's arm as he straightened. "It was just a little disorienting."

"Directing your being as a god would?" Yunlan smiled at xiao-Wei's sudden stillness. "It didn't occur to you that was what you were doing, did it?" He'd made the connection when xiao-Wei had reached out to lao-Chu and passed the gift along simply by intending it. It was exactly how xiao-Wei had described the potentiality and actualization of a god's nature. Clearly that particular change hadn't quite sunk in yet, for xiao-Wei, and Yunlan shook his finger, admonishing. "You never think enough of yourself."

"Never mind that," xiao-Wei said, abundantly proving Yunlan's point and apparently not even noticing. "Do you know how you want to present this to the Ministry, yet?"

"Blame everything on the Lamp," Yunlan answered promptly and smiled at xiao-Wei's exasperated look. "Just wait and see." Not least because his own thoughts about what he'd need to tell the Ministry had started to change, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that.

Xiao-Wei's eyes narrowed a bit. "This is your way of getting back for all the times I didn't tell you all of what was going on, isn't it?" Hurrying steps approached from the archway and xiao-Wei swept his hand out brusquely. The Palace dissolved around them in a wash of shifting blues that flowed away in turn to leave them beside the gateway tree.

Part of Yunlan was amused by xiao-Wei's temper, the part of him that took a bit of enjoyment out of getting a rise from the ever-collected Professor Shen, and quite a significant part of him was increasingly distracted by watching those beautiful hands wield such power so easily. Business first, Yunlan reminded himself regretfully, fishing out his phone. "Let's see if the Minister can fit us in today."

It took him half the distance through the city to get an appointment set for three hours on. Yunlan growled as he tossed the phone onto the seat between them and accelerated a little more sharply than perhaps he should have when the light changed. "You'd think, considering how much I try to avoid the whole Ministry building, that when I actually ask for an appointment, they'd understand it's important." Especially when he didn't want too much time to overthink this.

"Bureaucracy tends to work the other way around," xiao-Wei told him, mouth quirked. "People they don't see often go to the bottom of the list." He laughed softly at Yunlan's growl. "Back to the offices, then?"

Yunlan spotted the road they were about to pass and made an abrupt decision, followed by an abrupt turn. "No. No, I think there's a better way to spend the time."

Xiao-Wei's brows rose as they pulled in to their apartment building. "Yunlan."

Yunlan held up a finger, trying not to show the little shiver that xiao-Wei's voice wrapped around his name put down the back of his neck. "Three hours. If I go to the office right now, I'll just be snapping at the new kids when they only half deserve it." He slid out and closed his door firmly.

"And what are you going to do at home?" xiao-Wei asked, sliding out the other side.

"Ask me that again in three minutes."

Xiao-Wei was looking tolerant as he followed Yunlan up the steps to their floor. "Has it been three minutes?" he asked as he closed the apartment door behind them with a soft click of the latch. Yunlan felt like the tiny sound snapped the last bit of calm he'd been holding between himself and the thought of what he might just be about to do.

"Close enough." Yunlan turned on his heel and reached out to touch xiao-Wei's cheek, tracing down the line of his jaw with light fingers.

Xiao-Wei paused, first startled and then laughing. "Yunlan..."

"Please," Yunlan said, husky, and watched xiao-Wei's breath still, his eyes go dark and intent, all hint of teasing drain away into open hunger. Xiao-Wei reached out to take Yunlan's shoulders, pressing him back a step and then another, until Yunlan came up against the wall of his entryway. Xiao-Wei took one last step into him, body fitting against Yunlan's. When he spoke, his lips almost brushed Yunlan's.

"Anything you wish."

"Then kiss me," Yunlan said, soft.

Xiao-Wei ran his hands gently up Yunlan's neck, threading into his hair, and leaned in to kiss him, mouth slow and cool against his. Between kisses he murmured, "You are my heart. Anything you wish. Anything at all."

The knowledge, just recently reinforced, of what 'anything' might mean from a man like Shen Wei wrapped around Yunlan like a coat in winter, warm and solid and comforting. He let his hands spread wide against Shen Wei's back, sliding up under his jacket. "What if I asked you to fuck me?"

Shen Wei smiled slowly. "Then I would."

Even knowing it, even having just heard it, the simple, bare agreement caught Yunlan's breath short. Xiao-Wei pressed a little closer, bending his head to trail light kisses down Yunlan's throat, and asked against his skin, "Is that what you want, right now?"

Yunlan tipped his head back and laughed, feeling a fizz of reckless glee rising through him at the very idea of it being this simple. "Yes."

Shen Wei kissed his way back up Yunlan's throat to murmur into his ear. "So do I."

Undressing for each other in the middle of the day made Yunlan a little uncertain again; it seemed so much more intimate, a thing with so many more assumptions attached, to be looking at each other bare in daylight. He really couldn't help but feel a certain sense of accomplishment, though, in the fact that Shen Wei's clothes ended up tossed over a chest instead of folded. When Shen Wei's hands slid over his bare shoulders and down his chest, open and caressing, he managed to relax again into the certainty that Shen Wei wanted him.

Yunlan thought xiao-Wei had started to realize at least part of what was going on, because he stayed close as they settled onto the bed, always in contact with gentle hands or slow, hungry kisses. "Anything you wish," he said again, into Yunlan's mouth, and the assurance made it easy to relax into the rush of heat as Shen Wei's hands pressed his thighs apart.

The slide of Shen Wei's fingers between his cheeks put another shiver through him, want and uncertainty twisted together, and Yunlan reached up to pull xiao-Wei tighter against him. The weight against him settled Yunlan just like the fierce intentness of xiao-Wei's eyes on him, the nearly tangible weight of his attention. Being at the center of all that focus made Yunlan remember again what he'd just seen that morning, remember those long, deft fingers wrapped around hope and light and power, and that pulled a low moan out of him as Shen Wei's fingers pressed in.

"Yes..." Yunlan's hands slid up the straight line of Shen Wei's back as that slow, intimate stretch danced down his nerves. "Yes, I want..."

"Anything." Shen Wei said it like it was a declaration of unbreakable law, and Yunlan moaned out loud, spreading his legs wider against the bed. It felt so good, the care in Shen Wei's hands as he opened Yunlan up.

"Xiao-Wei." Yunlan smiled up at him, breathless and a little wild with how much he wanted and the growing certainty he would get it all. "Fuck me."

Xiao-Wei caught Yunlan tighter against him, kissing him deep and fierce, on the edge of uncontrolled. Yunlan made a satisfied sound, winding around him and kissing back with open pleasure. He was the reason for that wildness in Shen Wei, and he liked the taste of it very much. He liked it even more when Shen Wei's cock pushed into him, thick and hard inside him. The muscles of his legs went watery with the sharp stretch and hard slide, and Yunlan groaned as Shen Wei's hands slid up his thighs, cool and sure, spreading him further open, sinking into him deeper, and it felt incredible.

Xiao-Wei wasn't stopping either. He leaned over Yunlan, rocking out and back in, slow and steady, dark eyes fixed on Yunlan's face. The weight of his focus eased away anything resembling tension, until Yunlan was moving with him, boneless and hungry for the slow, heavy pleasure of feeling xiao-Wei inside him.

"Mm, yeah..." Yunlan smiled up at Shen Wei and purred at the flare of heat in his eyes, the way his hands tightened on Yunlan's thighs.

"Yunlan." There was answering velvet in Shen Wei's voice, and the slow curve of his lips made Yunlan brace himself—as much as he could. Which turned out to be not nearly enough when Shen Wei reached down and wrapped long fingers around Yunlan's cock, stroking him slowly.

"Ah...!" Yunlan's whole body arched taut against the sheets as the new layer of pleasure curled through him like a tide, washing him under in a surge of hot sensation. His breath cut into quick gasps as pleasure wrung his body tight around Shen Wei's cock.

Shen Wei drove deep into him and moaned, head tipped back, and Yunlan couldn't take his eyes away. Shen Wei was always beautiful, but like this, with his eyes closed and lips parted, flushed with pleasure because of Yunlan, he was enough to strike anyone senseless.

Which was, maybe, why it took until Shen Wei had resettled them both against the rumpled sheets and gathered Yunlan close for Yunlan to find words again. He wound closer around xiao-Wei and reached up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the line of his cheekbone. "Thank you," he said, softly.

Shen Wei caught his hand and turned his head to kiss Yunlan's palm, smiling. "What for?" His eyes were warm.

Yunlan shrugged a little, glancing down. "Letting me haul you back here in the middle of the work day?"

Shen Wei nipped gently at one fingertip, and startlement pulled Yunlan's eyes back up to his. "Anything you wish, I said."

Just remembering it made Yunlan unwind again, calmed enough to tease a little again. "Well sure, but what about what you wish?"

Shen Wei smiled. "I have everything my heart desires."

Yunlan remembered xiao-Wei's lips brushing his as he murmured, My heart. It made his voice husky. "Xiao-Wei..."

Xiao-Wei made a distinctly satisfied sound and Yunlan laughed, low and helpless, winding his arms around him.

It was the warm, quiet certainty of xiao-Wei's care that Yunlan held onto two hours later, when they walked into the Ministry offices to meet both Minister Guo and his father.

"You don't often visit in person," the Minister said as they all sat down around his conference room table, with a distinct edge of worry behind his smile. "What was so important it couldn't go in a report? Things have sounded very quiet for the SID, lately."

"Yes, it's been like a vacation." Yunlan leaned back in his chair and watched his father's mouth tighten out of the corner of his eye. So, it looked like he had been missed after all; he honestly hadn't been sure—maybe his father would have preferred Zhang Shi as a son. It was nice to know, but it wasn't going to stop him. "The thing is, we finally tracked down the reason for some of the strange readings from the energy detectors Lin Jing created. It seems the Lamp getting re-lit had an effect on the levels of dark energy in the whole Dixing people."

"The Lamp was lit for thousands of years without any such thing happening," his father noted, voice sharp. Yunlan interpreted that as 'come up with a more plausible story, idiot boy' and gave him a tight smile.

"That was why I asked Professor Shen his opinion, though I hated to disturb him so soon after his recovery." He waved to Shen Wei, who folded his hands on the table and gave the Minister the kind smile of an expert about to reveal all the answers. The Minister settled back a bit with an attentive look.

"To be more precise, I believe it was the interruption and then re-initiation of the Lamp that caused the effect we're seeing now." Xiao-Wei leaned forward, serious and intent. "Unlike the other Holy Tools, the Lamp is a positive-polarity energy source. It counter-balanced the dark energy that Dixing life forms produce, and maintained a stable environment for them. As a biologist, I can tell you that abrupt environmental changes often trigger rapid expression of latent traits. The vacuum of vital energy left when the Lamp was extinguished appears to have prompted a change in the balance of energy Dixingren generate. In that destabilized state, the reignition of the Lamp and reintroduction of such an intense positive energy source has encouraged dominance of a matching, rather than opposing, trait." He spread his hands as if to present the new state of affairs between them. "The life energy produced by Dixing people as a whole has shifted polarity as a result."

Which was the most plausible-sounding, half-true, non-disproveable explanation they'd been able to come up with. After a moment to digest it, or possibly just a pause to indicate uncomprehending respect for an expert in the field, the Minister went straight on to practicalities, as Yunlan had hoped he would. "What does this mean for interactions between us and Dixing, then?"

"Simple, or even extended, contact will no longer be dangerous in and of itself," Shen Wei declared with calm authority, apparently ignoring the way Zhao Xinci's hands clenched on the table. "The difficulties of law enforcement are more than I can speak to, as a biologist, of course."

"Will Dixingren powers persist?"

Xiao-Wei inclined his head. "It seems likely, yes. Expression of those genes does not seem to have been affected by the fluctuation from negative to generative life energy, based on the cases I am aware of as a consultant to the SID."

"And as a consultant, what is your opinion of the upcoming difficulties of law enforcement?" the Minister asked, with a faint smile. Shen Wei returned it, and Yunlan had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Xiao-Wei might profess distaste for politics and bureaucracy, but he was alarmingly good at them, and frankly seemed to enjoy the game. At least when he was winning.

"I would say that the problem will continue to be twofold: one of information, and one of capability. The difference in capability will be more of a problem if humans remain largely unaware that Dixing powers are a possibility. If that remains the case, then more effort, and funding, will be needed in the one enforcement body that is aware, the SID. If accurate information is more widely available, then policies and approaches sufficient to deal with low-level powers can be put into place across all enforcement bodies, leaving the SID only necessary to deal with the unusually great powers."

"If contact increases, there will be significantly greater risk to humans, regardless of policy," Yunlan's father interjected, sharply. "Maintaining separation is the only approach that will truly reduce harmful incidents. That was what the improvement of conditions in Dixing was supposed to facilitate."

"Oh, I think we're already pretty well situated to deal with any risks." Yunlan slouched a little deeper into his chair as his father rounded on him, and held out a hand. Both his father and the Minister jerked back from the table as green curled around his fingers, and his father pushed further back when Yunlan wrapped his grip around his father's untouched glass of water and drew it back into his hand.

"What...?" His father's voice was thin, edged with disbelief. Yunlan kept his eyes on the glass hovering over his fingers, and shifted just enough in his chair to feel the twinge of recently-worked muscles; it helped keep his voice even.

"You remember Professor Ouyang?"

"There was no report that you were injected with his product." The Minister was looking a little grim, when Yunlan glanced over, but not actively alarmed. Yeah, he thought this would probably work.

"It was during the last fight with Ye Zun, so it wasn't exactly documented. At first we all thought it just hadn't had an effect. The screens that Lin Jing ran, when we all returned, showed nothing." Which was true enough. "I was only sure of this effect recently, myself."

His father stirred, quick and short, but said nothing. Yunlan marked down another point for himself on his mental scoreboard. Heâ€™d thought Zhao Xinci would most likely stay quiet about Yunlanâ€™s year in an alleged wormhole rather than reveal his own long-time passenger.

"Have you evaluated what you can do?" Yunlan was hard pressed not to sag with relief at the Minister's question, which skipped over all the worst outcomes (including lab rat and prisoner) to go straight for how useful Yunlan could be. Compassionate pragmatism was the best possible trait to see in the man who was his father's boss. Especially when the quick glance he couldn't quite prevent showed his father's expression shuttered and cold.

He also carefully ignored the tension in xiao-Wei's arm, beside his. However warm it made him feel, personally, to know xiao-Wei was prepared to defend him, he didn't actually want to set the Black-cloaked Envoy at odds with the Ministry.

"Not formally." Yunlan set the glass down and folded his hands over his stomach. "Do you want there to be a formal record of this?" Not an offer he'd have made to Guo's predecessor, but this man was Changcheng's uncle. He was hoping at least some of that world-bending purity of heart ran in the family.

The Minister laid his hands flat on the table and contemplated them for a long moment, during which Yunlan's father got tenser and Yunlan tried hard not to notice that. When Guo finally spoke, it was with certainty. "Yes. It should be internal, to begin with. But I think the events of a year ago showed us just how vulnerable to disruptions we are when we try to maintain a wall of silence between two peoples who live in the same world."

"Xiao-Guo." Yunlan's father leaned over the table with the earnest look he used to convince superiors he was on their side. Yunlan couldn't quite keep his hands from clenching on each other. "I can't think it entirely wise to open relations between two such disparate groups without more assurances than we have, that Dixing powers can be contained."

Guo's smile was more formal than Yunlan had seen directed at his father in a long time. "I understand your concerns. But we cannot allow fear to hold us back forever."

"I'll talk to Director Li about what measuring sticks she's developed for this kind of power, then," Yunlan interjected before his father could attempt further persuasion, setting his jaw against the paint-stripping glare he got for it. "Let us know how the SID can support the Ministryâ€™s policy."

"I will." The handshake he offered as they stood was firm, and Yunlan returned his gaze as steady and sure as he would be if he were trying to encourage one of his team. The rather wry smile Guo gave him said that the Minister had noticed that he was trading Zhaos, and hoped Yunlan would be worth it. Yunlan swallowed down the nerves tightening his throat and nodded farewell.

Xiao-Wei was quiet until they were out of the building and back inside the Jeep. "You hate politics," he finally said. "You always have, then and now both."

"I'm not fond of them," Yunlan agreed, with generous understatement.

Xiao-Wei gave him a quick, sidelong look. "So what was that about?"

Yunlan's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I can't let my father's fear of Dixing keep shaping everyone's actions. You took the action you felt was right, for your people, no matter how much trouble it might cause you. How could I watch you and then do less?" Xiao-Wei's soft laugh made him look over. The look in xiao-Wei's eyes was... old.

"You always were a far better Mohist than Confucian."

Yunlan smiled, crooked, turning back to the road. "That too, I suppose. But it's really simpler than that." There was quiet in the car for a long moment while xiao-Wei just waited for him, not looking away. It was so much the perfect representation of Yunlan's reasons, in one moment of time that he laughed a little, himself. "I want you to be happy." They stopped at a light, and he looked over. "You hate having to be the law of death to your people, but you made the bargain anyway, for me. How could I let it go on, knowing?"

He could hear the tremble in xiao-Wei's breath, see the slow, slow dawn of hope for his old bargain's true dissolution that turned his eyes wide and unguarded, and the slowness of it told him all he needed to know about how deep this pain ran. He reached over to rest his hand on one of xiao-Wei's, clenched tight on his thighs. "Youâ€™re the one who cares for me above all else; why would you think I feel any different? I want you to be happy," he repeated, softly, feeling it echo all the way down inside him.

Xiao-Wei turned his hand over and lifted Yunlan's, pressing a kiss to his fingers. Softly, head bowed, he answered, "I am."

The warmth of that settled deep into Yunlan's chest and eased away the tightness of knowing he'd chosen another over his own blood. He'd chosen to go another way a long time ago, well before he'd known who it was he was turning towards. Knowing all the parts of his choice, now...

He couldn't regret it at all.

Swallow the Mountain

Zhao Yunlan provides a temptation that Shen Wei has no intention of resisting. Even if they are in his office. Porn with Characterization, I-4

A knock on his office door made Shen Wei look up, and he started to stand when he saw, not one of his students, but Yunlan in the doorway. "Is there—?"

"No, no, no problems today," Yunlan assured him, strolling in.

After a moment of fruitless waiting for an expansion on that, Shen Wei sat back, brows lifting. "You usually wait for me at the Division headquarters, if there are no problems," he pointed out.

Yunlan waved an airy hand. "Oh, nothing urgent. Just a little matter I wanted to consult our consultant about." He hopped up to sit squarely on the desk, planting his boots casually on Shen Wei's chair, on either side of his thighs.

"Ah, I see," Shen Wei agreed dryly, and crooked his fingers at his office door, beckoning it closed and locked for good measure. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, looking up at Yunlan, just as mild and enquiring as possible when there was a bubble of laughter trying to escape his chest. "And what is this little matter?" Just as Yunlan was drawing breath, he wrapped his hands around Yunlan's calves and suppressed a smile at the tiny hitch of breath that answered.

Yes, he'd rather thought that was the point of today's visit.

"We have a new applicant who listed a biosciences degree from the University in their background. Shang Xie. Was he ever one of your students?"

Yunlan leaned temptingly close, elbows braced on his knees, and Shen Wei smiled, not bothering to soften the predatory edge. There'd always been a hint of wildness in Kunlun, for all he'd preferred peace and quiet—the intractability of stone and snowmelt—and he'd never feared this side of Shen Wei, in any life. "I would have to check my rosters to be sure, with just the name," he murmured, stroking his fingers down the curve of Yunlan's calf muscles and watching the way Yunlan wet his lips, slow and deliberate. "Did anything else about him stand out?"

"He sounded pretty laid back, but he had good grades." Shen Wei slid his hands over Yunlan's knees, thumbs stroking little circles against the insides, and pushed them ever so slightly wider apart. Yunlan's eyes went dark and dilated, but his voice was still even when he added, "Graduated three years ago, I think."

"Mmm, I think I do remember a Shang Xie about three years ago." Shen Wei could hear his own voice sinking into a purr, and didn't try to stop that either. After all this time, he didn't have a great deal of control left, when it came to Zhao Yunlan, and he didn't particularly care any more. "Not an outstanding student, but very precise." He ran his hands slowly up Yunlan's thighs, thumbs tracing quite precisely along the inner seams of his jeans. Yunlan leaned back as he did, hands catching the far edge of Shen Wei's desk. Shen Wei stopped his hands just short of Yunlan's increasingly evident erection and smiled up at him. "Shall I check my office records for his assignments?"

Not a lot of control, but plenty of motivation to pay Yunlan back for all those damn lollipops.

"No, no that's not necessary." Yunlan sounded gratifyingly breathless, now, and looked like a calligraphed invitation to debauchery, leaning back on his hands with his legs spread for Shen Wei. "I was just hoping to get a general feel."

Shen Wei couldn't help laughing at that slip (or perhaps not a slip) of the tongue. "Oh really?" He slid his hands just a little further up and ran his thumbs firmly over the bulge in Yunlan's jeans.

"Nnh!" Yunlan tipped his head back, hands tightening on the edge of Shen Wei's desk. "Oh yeah, definitely."

"Well, then." Shen Wei undid Yunlan's jeans, fingers light, not looking away from the heaviness of Yunlan's eyes on his. He didn't look away until he leaned down and closed his mouth, softly, over Yunlan's cock. At the sharp, wanting sound that jerked out of Yunlan, he drew back just far enough to speak, the soft breath of words directly against wet skin. "Shh. It's still working hours here, you know." The bitten-back moan that answered made him smile.

He wrapped his lips around Yunlan's cock and slid his mouth down, slowly, and slowly back up, deliberate and caressing, watching Yunlan under his lashes, savoring the way he arched back over the desk, flushed and gasping for breath. Shen Wei made an approving sound and wrapped his hands around Yunlan's thighs, holding them apart while Shen Wei took him in again, all the way down, and sucked firmly. Yunlan whimpered, pushing up against his hands, and Shen Wei smiled around him. He worked his mouth up and down, slow and wet, and took his time about it, which was only what Yunlan deserved—in every sense of the word.

Yunlan moaned for him, all the more intense for how soft it was, and Shen Wei let his hands slide up Yunlan's thighs, over his hips, to hold him fast. And then, ever so delicately, he bit down.

"Nngh!" Yunlan jerked in his hold again, but this time Shen Wei kept him still. Again and again, he closed his teeth lightly around Yunlan's cock, working up the length of it, and then slid his mouth back down all in a rush, sucking hard.

A groan burst out of Yunlan as he came undone, arched taut over Shen Wei's desk, and Shen Wei swallowed around him, drawing him out and out until Yunlan collapsed back on his elbows, panting hard. Shen Wei drew back and smiled, satisfied.

"Oh." It took a few moments for Yunlan to find the second world. "Wow."

Shen Wei laughed softly and stood up, holding out his hands. "Come here."

Yunlan reached back, lazily, clasping his hands, and Shen Wei pulled him upright, gathering Yunlan into his arms. He made a pleased sound at the relaxed way Yunlan leaned into him. Against Yunlan's ear, he murmured, "You know you can have anything you wish, from me. I would never deny you anything."

"I know," Yunlan agreed, just as low, lacing his hands behind Shen Wei and tugging him a little closer.

In other words, Shen Wei reflected a bit wryly, he knew it the same way Shen Wei knew Yunlan remembered him, now. He knew it, but old habit still made him hesitate sometimes before he spoke of shared moments from long ago. He spoke as softly as Yunlan smiled at him, every time Shen Wei mentioned those memories after all. "I don't mind demonstrating, in the least."

Yunlan laughed against his shoulder. "I noticed that."

â€œI should hope so.â€ When Yunlanâ€™s hold on him eased just a little, with the teasing, Shen Wei drew back far enough to meet his eyes. â€œAlways.â€

The promise eased the rueful edge from Yunlanâ€™s laughter, softened his smile into something a little more peaceful. â€œYes. Always.â€

Shen Wei smiled back, warm with the satisfaction of Yunlanâ€™s agreement, and set his fingers under Yunlanâ€™s chin, tipping it up so Shen Wei could kiss him, deep and slow and thorough. Yunlan nearly purred into his mouth, pulling him closer again.

â€œI have students coming soon,â€ Shen Wei murmured against the fullness of Yunlanâ€™s lips, sliding his hands down Yunlanâ€™s back to stroke bare skin under his loosened waistband, â€œor Iâ€™d demonstrate for you further.â€

Yunlan groaned, low in his throat. â€œYou are coming straight home after that, right?â€

â€œDirectly,â€ Shen Wei promised, reaching around to tuck Yunlan in and do his pants back up. â€œYouâ€™ll be there?â€

â€œAbsolutely,â€ Yunlan said, husky. He slid off the desk and stole one more kiss before tugging his shirt straight, running his hands through his hair, and sauntering to the door.

Shen Wei took his seat again, and a good breath for composure, and didnâ€™t let his smile escape at the little cascade of scandalized giggles and whispers from the hall, as Yunlan strolled out.

He rather looked forward to watching the Dean try to come up with a suitably indirect and polite way to tell him not to have sex in his office, at least during office hours. He looked up with a calm smile of welcome to greet his two oâ€™clock appointment. â€œMr. Wu, come in.â€

He had spoken truthfully. He did hope, very much, that Yunlan's hesitance to ask for things he wanted eased in time. But the deep current of possessiveness in Shen Wei's heart hadn't changed with his changing nature; he didn't mind demonstrating as often as Yunlan desired.

He didn't mind the least.

End