Hopeless Cause



I’m enjoying a cup of tea before I get on with my other chores, watching the clean laundry wave slightly in a light, cool breeze, when Sano wanders in. His looks have been unusually despondent lately, but as yet I haven’t been able to get him to tell me why. Today he seems even more cast down than before, sighing as he sinks onto the porch beside me, and looks as if he hasn’t slept well the last few nights.

I return his unenthusiastic greeting, and that I can do so with “Good morning, Sano” is another indication something is wrong; usually we don’t see Sano here until the afternoon. I don’t delay in asking him, though I doubt he’ll be any more forthcoming than he has been the last few times I’ve inquired.

“I don’t know,” he replies somewhat dully. When he sees me patiently waiting for elaboration, he sighs again and goes on. “I mean I really don’t know. I don’t know if I’m going crazy or what.”

He doesn’t appreciate being pressed to explain his feelings, so I simply wait. And since I’m sure he never had such consideration from him, maybe that will invite him to open up to me.

“It’s been months,” he says in a tone of protestation, as if responding to some conversation we haven’t actually had yet, then adds more softly, “Five months.”

I don’t correct him out loud; picking at Sano’s inexactness is something he would do. Four months and twenty-five days is close enough to five, at any rate. And at least now I have a general idea of what’s bothering him. I’m not exactly shocked.

Sano sighs and mutters, “I just wish I knew if this is normal, or if…” And he shakes his head.

I want to shake him, to insist he tell me what’s wrong, to demand, “Why could he always get you to literally shout out what you were feeling, but I have to sit through your uncertain mutterings and head-shakings just to get a hint?” But I won’t do anything of the sort; I won’t be like him. Still, I can’t bring myself to say nothing, so after several moments of silence I prod gently, “If what is normal, Sano?”

“That I can’t stop thinking about him,” he finally admits. “I knew it would stick around for a while — I know that’s normal — but I figured it would stop eventually… but it hasn’t.”

I want to sigh. I want to tell Sano that he isn’t worth thinking about and that, normal or otherwise, such obsessing isn’t healthy or wise. But at the same time, I want to be supportive of my friend like he never was. So I merely ask politely, “What kind of things do you think about him?”

“I can’t stop going over every little thing we said…” he replies, staring hard at the ground. “And then how I feel about it keeps changing. One minute I’m justifying something one of us said, and the next I’m blaming it for everything that happened. Is that normal?”

Is it normal to try endlessly to untangle the dynamics of a relationship that was destined from the beginning to be twisted and confusing? But while he might be more than willing to write Sano’s efforts off as pointless and tell him to find something better to do, I won’t be so callous. “So you are trying to assign blame?”

“Well…” I don’t think he would have gone on if I hadn’t asked. Why can’t he confide in me? “I thought I knew exactly whose fault it was back then, but now… goddammit…” He’s speaking with a little more energy than before as the emotions associated with his thoughts creep into his words. “First it’s mine, then it’s his, then it’s neither of us, then it’s both… there’s no right answer.”

I know the right answer: he was always the unreasonable one, and the only thing Sano did wrong in leaving was putting it off for so long. But somehow I don’t believe expressing that opinion so forcefully will encourage Sano to continue; I must remain relatively impartial. I can’t help asking, though, “Why do you blame yourself at all?”

He shrugs. “Little things. I keep thinking if only I’d said this or if I hadn’t done that… even when I’m pissed as hell remembering something he said or did, something inside me still wonders, What could I have done different? That’s not normal, is it?”

The whole thing wasn’t normal, Sano. Your attraction to him, your interaction with him, the way he treated you — none of it was normal. It would be so easy to open my mouth and just tell him all of this, tell him this and more, what I’ve wanted to for so long… but I won’t. There’s a time and a place for disparaging bluntness — something he needs to learn — and this isn’t it.

“But it’s not just that kind of shit, all about how it ended.” Finally Sano seems to be willing to go on without my prompting him. “It’s like something in my head still thinks we’re together, because everything I do, practically everything I just see, like walking down the street, I’m thinking of telling him about it before I even remember I’m not going to be talking to him anytime soon.”

He very rarely tells me about things he sees walking down the street, and he talks to me all the time. Am I surprised? Not particularly. Close to miserable? Yes.

“And I’ll think things… just stupid shit, the usual stuff I think whenever… and even though I know what he’d say if I told him — god, and it wouldn’t even be nice — I still want to tell him. Is that normal? I mean, it’s been five fucking months and I’m still wanting to tell him fucking everything…”

Him fucking everything and me almost nothing. Is that normal? Is it normal for a man to ignore his best friend — somebody who’s always there for him, would do anything for him — and throw away all his effort and thought and affection on someone who never deserved or appreciated it?

“And I remember things just out of the blue, and they affect me way the hell more than they should. The other day I remembered some funny conversation we had once, and it made me laugh ’til I was crying… or I’ll suddenly think about the last time he kissed me, and–” He turns away as he breaks off abruptly, obviously unwilling to tell me what reaction he had to that memory. I’m not sure I’m entirely disappointed he didn’t continue. There’s a part of me that wants desperately to know that kind of physical detail; it’s largely overridden by my politer side, but there’s no denying it’s there.

“And you know I’m a pretty happy guy most of the time,” he goes on, perhaps a little too quickly, “but every once in a while if something goes wrong, why the hell is it him I keep thinking of going to? Lately it’s been building up worse than usual. I’ve been trying to ignore it — that and all the rest of it — but I can’t help feeling like it’s just not normal to be thinking all of this after this long. I mean, at first, sure, but still?”

He pounds his face against his fist, and with his elbow propped on his knee and his leg drawn up so his foot can press against the porch pillar, his body appears strangely cramped and contorted — though perhaps it’s more his emotional state giving that impression.

“Tell me I’m not going crazy, Kenshin.” He looks up at me now almost imploringly, and I can see how much this really has him worried. “Tell me this is normal.”

If ever I wanted to call my friend an idiot, this is the moment. That he can be so utterly blind, both to what’s in his own heart and what’s right in front of him… He almost deserves to be ridiculed. But of course I won’t. It’s completely reprehensible to call the person you love an idiot, and I won’t be like him.

“Yes, Sano, that is all quite normal…” I take a deep breath, steeling myself, before finishing the statement. “…if you still love him.”

Sano is staring at me now, his mouth open slightly as if he was about to make some further point and suddenly has no breath left to say it with. His face, rather than red with the blush I was expecting, is actually a little pale. “I don’t…” he stammers. “I never… It wasn’t…”

My smile feels more patient and sad than teasing. “Yes, you did, Sano,” I tell him gently. It’s hard to continue, desperately hard, but I’m not the type that neglects to mention important details to his associates. That’s something he does. “And I think you still do.”

“But he…” Sano has gone even paler, and the fact that this concept is such a shock to him tempts me more than ever to apply that affectionately insulting epithet I know perfectly well Sano is only willing to receive from him.

And this is, quite possibly, the most painfully difficult thing I’ve ever said. “Sano, I would be very surprised if he does not love you in return.” Even if he doesn’t deserve to, I don’t add. Even if he barely has any idea what love is. Even if he could never come close to returning the kind of love you’re capable of. I would be very surprised, because anyone who knows you and doesn’t love you is completely insane.

“But… but it’s been five months,” Sano protests, and now I can hear, to my sorrow, a tone in his voice that is something like the beginnings of desperate hope. “He hasn’t said anything…”

“And neither have you,” I remind him quietly. I can’t go so far as to make a suggestion; from my very soul I’m aching to advise him to give up, to forget, to move on, to live down the emotion he’s finally recognizing, but after those few words I keep silent.

Sano stands abruptly. “God dammit…” he mutters, more to himself than to me, but I can read the purpose in that purposeless exclamation. I think I know Sano better than he ever could, and I can hear the self-castigation in that curse. He wonders why it took him so long to see; he wonders how badly he’s wounded the person he’s only just realized he loves; he wonders if it’s too late.

He turns to me at last, and his eyes are full now of pain and determination. At first he has nothing to say, and neither do I, so for several moments we stare at each other in silence. And, somewhat guiltily I must admit, I can’t help hoping that while our gazes are thus locked and Sano is in this mood of perception, he’ll somehow begin to notice at last how I feel. My emotions are mixed when, unsurprisingly, he doesn’t.

“Thank you,” he says intensely.

I can only nod, even as he turns to leave me.

Do I hope it won’t work out? Do I wish him failure in his endeavor, to see him back here within an hour even more unhappy than before? No. Unlike him, I don’t hold grudges. And I know a hopeless cause when I champion it. Still, I wouldn’t complain if this heaviness, this dark turmoil in the back of my head, this uncomfortable pressure on my heart were to abate somewhat.

With a slight sigh I stand and glance around the courtyard. Life goes on, after all; I suppose I’d better get started with the rest of my chores. But I do turn again before going inside and watch Sano walk away with a much lighter step than when he approached.

“Ahou ga…”


This story was for 30_kisses theme #4 “Our distance and that person.” I’ve rated it .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Imaginary Moon


There was no response to his knock, but this didn’t surprise him, given the hour. He believed, however, that Saitou was inside and not likely to ignore him all night, so after a few moments he knocked again more loudly. Listening carefully and still hearing nothing from within, he raised his fist to pound a third time — but at that moment the door opened.

Sano’s hand unclenched to wave at the irritated man glaring from the darkness within. Saitou looked pretty damn hot in a yukata, though Sano wondered why he’d bothered to put it on when he must have known who waited at the door.

“What,” Saitou demanded.

“I gotta show you something,” Sano replied. “Get clothes and come on.”

Saitou’s eyes rolled and narrowed at the same time. “Tomorrow,” he said flatly, “or maybe never.” And he started to close the door.

“No, no, no,” Sano protested, stopping the door’s progress with a foot. “You gotta see it right now. It’s — how do you cops put it? — time-sensitive.”

For a moment Saitou stared at him, probably trying to decide whether it would be more trouble to get whatever Sano had planned over with or put up with Sano’s disappointed harassment for the rest of the night, and finally gave a half-audible sigh. “Fine.” And he disappeared into the dark house.

“What do you mean ‘What am I talking about?'” Sano was demanding, sounding truly startled.

Saitou barely glanced up from his paperwork. “What I meant by that was, ‘What are you talking about?’ It seems a logical question when you come in here talking about ‘last night’ when I didn’t see you at all yesterday.”

“But you did see me last night,” Sano insisted, his apparent confusion only growing at Saitou’s words. “You know, when I came to your house and woke you up?”

Now Saitou looked up more pointedly, fixing Sano with a skeptical expression. “If you had done that, you would know better than to be in here bothering me now.”

Sano stared, as if searching for some sign on Saitou’s face that this was a misunderstanding. Saitou shook his head and went back to the work at his desk.

Sano couldn’t be sure Saitou wouldn’t just return to bed, leaving him standing at the door waiting until whenever he finally caught on, but it was a chance he had to take; he’d known perfectly well what Saitou’s initial reaction was likely to be in this situation, and had proceeded anyway. And given that Saitou hadn’t threatened him with physical violence if he didn’t get lost, things were already going pretty well. Sano alternated between listening hard for whatever Saitou was doing inside and hopping from one foot to the other glancing impatiently over his shoulder into the sky.

To Sano’s great relief, Saitou eventually did reappear, clad predictably in blue police pants and one of those sexy black shirts. Sano had hoped he would wear something more interesting, but at least he’d left off the jacket. With an air of supreme annoyance Saitou locked his door and turned to glare at Sano, who had already advanced a few paces toward the street like an expectant dog anticipating a walk.

“So what is it you’re showing me?” Saitou wondered darkly as he stalked toward him.

Sano seized the cop’s hand and tried to urge him along faster, but Saitou resisted and eventually shook free. “What are you showing me?” he demanded again, more insistently.

“I can’t tell you,” Sano said doggedly. “You just gotta see it.”

“Ahou, if you’ve dragged me out of bed just to look at some drunken animal or something–”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Besides, you thought that was as funny as I did.”

“It wouldn’t have been nearly so entertaining in the middle of the night.”

“Well, this isn’t anything like that.”

Again Saitou sighed quietly, quickening his steps slightly, obviously sure that whatever Sano had to show him was little more worth his time than the aforementioned, but apparently having decided on the get-it-over-with method of dealing with it.

“But…” By now Sano was thoroughly baffled. “I knocked on your door until you woke up and came outside! How can you possibly not remember that?”

Saitou threw Sano another quizzical look, eyebrow even higher this time. “And I didn’t kill you?”

“No! We went on a walk!”

“A walk.”

“Yes! ‘Cause the moon was really big and shit…”

“The moon.”

“Yes, dammit. It was really… pretty.”

“I see.”

Their destination lay not far from Saitou’s house, though the distance took longer to cover than it had the other direction since Sano had run to fetch his reluctant lover to come see. When Sano left the street, however, for the space where a couple of trees grew and the ground sloped up to a hill that stood behind two properties, Saitou complained again. “I will arrest you before I’ll let you make it look like I’m party to your trespassing.”

Sano rolled his eyes jovially. “Well, if you hurry up, we’ll be past their houses before anyone even starts to wake up.”

They’d been walking mostly in shadow until they topped the rise, the houses of Saitou’s neighborhood having blocked the ascending moon. But as they emerged from the trees and looked out, there seemed to be a surplus of light. Even after coating the downward slope of the hill and the treetops and the roofs below, it made the very air feel heavy and sparkling, and the river appeared full of that rather than water.

“Well?” Saitou demanded when they’d stood still for almost a minute.

Sano gestured. “Isn’t it great?”

Although Saitou didn’t look too terribly impressed, at least he also didn’t look away as he asked, “This is what you woke me up to look at? A nice view?”

“Even you said it was a nice view.”

“And you expect me to believe I not only got up in the middle of the night at your request, but actually went somewhere with you? And still didn’t kill you even when it was just the moon you’d dragged me out to see?”

“Holy shit, Saitou, I can’t believe you don’t remember all this happening! Do you have amnesia or something?”

“Ahou, try to be logical about this. Why on earth would I do what you’re describing?”

Sano looked away and said in a petulant tone, “Because maybe you like me a little.”

“Whether or not I like you has nothing to do with it. If I had work the next morning, there’s no way I would be out in the middle of the night with you.”

“But I remember it all, even if you don’t!” The desperation of Sano’s confusion was beginning to calm, and doubt seemed ready to creep in. “How could I remember all that if it didn’t really happen?”

“Sake?” suggested Saitou mildly.

“Well,” admitted Sano, his gaze shifting back and forth between the silver view and Saitou’s face, “it was also a test.”

“A test?” Saitou still did not look at him; however much he did or didn’t appreciate the breathtaking scene, he certainly was observing it meticulously — that or lost in thoughts of his own, perhaps entirely unrelated to the situation.

“I heard somewhere that sometimes guys get turned into wolves under the full moon…” Sano cleared his throat. “I thought maybe it might work backwards too.” Even from this angle he could see Saitou’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, turn a wolf into a real guy. Who likes to spend time with his boyfriend sometimes. You know?”

“I wasn’t drunk!” Sano burst out, sounding insulted. “You think I can’t tell when I was drunk the night before? I know you think I’m an idiot, but even an idiot can tell the difference between waking up after a night of drinking and waking up after other shit.”

“And where did you wake up?”

“On the hill.”

“Alone?”

“Like you’re ever there when I wake up.”

“Maybe it was a dream.”

“It…” Sano had obviously been about to discount this new theory just as immediately and energetically as the last, but apparently thought better of such a determined denial.

Finally, slowly, Saitou turned to face him, and Sano’s breath caught. A good percentage of the extra moonlight seemed to have pooled in the older man’s eyes, making them almost silver rather than gold, and they stared now into Sano’s with an intensity Saitou rarely wasted on him. “You…” Saitou reached out and took his hand. “…are a complete idiot…”

Sano’s spirits fell at the failure of his experiment, and thoughts flitted through his head of bitterly spending the remainder of the night in a bar somewhere cursing unromantic cops and their cynical ways — but this lasted only a moment before Saitou drew him close and kissed him, threading fingers leisurely through Sano’s hair and holding Sano’s body tight against his own with his other arm.

Given that he hadn’t really been prepared for his silly idea to work, this was something of a surprise. It was nothing, however, compared to how he felt when Saitou pulled back far enough to speak, still staring into Sano’s eyes, and finished his statement: “…and I love you more than anything in this world.”

“So what else did we supposedly do?” Saitou asked in a tone that could almost be called politely disinterested, “after I supposedly didn’t kill you for all this?”

“We were standing on top of the hill looking at the moon,” Sano explained, his voice sinking to a murmur as he continued. “You kissed me and said…” and he trailed off unintelligibly.

“I said what?” Saitou wondered.

“Something romantic,” Sano muttered, still almost inaudible.

Sano couldn’t help thinking the moonlight must actually have had some transformative effect, considering he’d never been able to wring even a standard ‘I love you’ out of the normal Saitou. This longer version of the phrase, the like of which he’d never expected to hear from his pragmatic lover, had sent his heart into a strange, quick, erratic pattern, and the night was suddenly hot. But he didn’t have a chance to comment on the wonder of it, rendered speechless as he was by an even greater wonder: Saitou released him and sank suddenly to his knees.

“And then?” prompted Saitou, still in the same relatively gentle tone as if humoring a lunatic or a small child.

“All right, fine, you’re right,” Sano admitted bitterly, “I probably was dreaming or something.” And he even seemed to be blushing slightly; Saitou hadn’t thought there was anything that could call up that reaction in Sano these days.

“It’s not a bad idea, though,” was the officer’s reflective concession as he returned yet again to his paperwork. He could almost hear Sano’s head snapping up to look at him hopefully. “Just the kind of romantic nonsense women like to read about. You should get your friend to put it in his newspaper. With different names, of course.”

As the recovering Sano attempted to remember how many times Saitou had ever done that before (something like maybe once), Saitou was encouraging him to give in to the demands of his trembling legs. And as soon as Sano lay in the grass without pants, it didn’t take long for Saitou to join him in a similar state.

Somewhat caustically, “At least the sex was good,” muttered Sano.

Saitou laughed and remarked softly, to no particular purpose other than derision, “Sex with you in a public place…” He shook his head. “Go home, ahou. I have work to do.”

After a long moment of silence during which Sano clearly didn’t leave, Saitou looked up again. The young man stood quite still, staring at him with wide, sad eyes, appearing so crestfallen and disappointed that Saitou really couldn’t stand it. “Why don’t you come by my house at some reasonable hour tonight?” he added, successfully making it almost sound like he’d meant to say it all along. “I doubt we can recreate your little fantasy, but I’m sure we can find something you’ll enjoy.”

This seemed to cheer Sano immensely, for the storm in his eyes cleared up and his demeanor brightened. “All right,” he said, though still a little morosely. “I’ll see you then.”

Saitou nodded and again returned his gaze to the papers in front of him as Sano finally left the room. Maybe now he’d be able to get something done. Then he should probably go home a little early; he needed to take a bath before Sano arrived, just to make absolutely certain the grass stains were gone from his knees.


Dear Saitou,

You are a terrible person.

Love, this faery.

This story is for 30_kisses theme #27 “Overflow.”

It has been suggested that the italicization here should be reversed, and for the longest time I resisted that proposal without precisely knowing why, since the choice of italicizing what I did was one of those instinctual things I wasn’t at first able to define. Eventually I realized I’d done it because, although it’s more standard for the scenes taking place farther in the past to be italicized, I like it better this way because it emphasizes that some aspect of reality in each scene is in question. In the end it turns out that there is more truth in the non-italicized portion of the story than in the italicized part, which seems appropriate. I’m not sure if this explanation makes sense, but to me it feels right the way it is.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Fourteen Strange Looks


1. A woman loading groceries into her trunk glanced over at a young man emerging from the car that had just pulled into the space next to hers. “I still don’t get why I have to come with you,” he was complaining.

“You’re the one who said it would be ‘really cool’ if they visited over Spring Break,” the car’s driver replied as he also disembarked, dropping a cigarette and grinding it out with his foot.

“Yeah, but just because I like your kids better than you do,” the first said, “doesn’t mean I should have to come grocery shopping with you!” They were now walking past the woman toward the building, and the younger was eyeing the store warily. “You totally owe me sex for this.”

2. A courtesy clerk collecting carts from the parking lot caught part of the conversation of the customers he’d paused to let past. “I don’t owe you sex just for making you pull a fraction of your own weight,” one was saying. “And I don’t want to make ten trips from the car to the house to get all of it brought inside.”

“Like you need me here for that,” the other was grumbling. “I coulda just helped you when you got home.”

“Somehow I have a hard time believing you’d have been any more eager to abandon your beloved video games in that case either.” The man had stopped to glance at the carts lined up by the employee, and, with a nod to the latter, disengaged the one at the end and propelled it in front of him into the building.

“Hey,” the other was protesting, “you bought me that X-Box.”

“Proof that I do sometimes make mistakes,” the first muttered, almost inaudible to the clerk as he entered the store.

3. A shopper emerging from the checkout lane to the sound of a bagger’s friendly goodbye was nearly run down by another customer bounding over to a display that stood in the middle of the store entry. “Ooh, donuts!” the young man was saying. “I wonder if they have any filled ones.”

“No donuts,” another man, wheeling an empty cart past the first, said flatly. “And try not to kill people.”

“But they’re on sale!” the first pointed out, throwing an apologetic grin at the shopper he’d almost run into and then returning to what was evidently a much more important matter.

“They’re ‘on sale’ every weekend.”

The younger man laughed. “Why am I not surprised you know that?” He threw one last longing glance at the donuts before following his companion.

“Because you’re entirely too credulous?”

“No, because you’re a cop!” Their voices were fading as they walked away.

“Maybe I don’t need your help. Maybe I should just kill you.”

“You said not to kill people!”

4. The florist, thinking she was being addressed, looked up quickly with a professional smile at a young man’s voice saying, “I want some roses.” She found, however, that the young man in question was not talking to her. “How come you never buy me roses?” he was complaining to an older companion.

“First of all, because you’re an idiot,” the latter answered. “Second, because you don’t really want them. Third, because I think giving someone dead plants is stupid.”

“You could get me one of these candy bouquets,” the first suggested. He’d stopped next to a display full of the item in question while the other moved on without even looking. “I could eat that, so I’d definitely want it.”

“But you’d still be an idiot,” the second replied from where he’d already left the floral department and hadn’t slowed.

5. Store security, making the rounds as usual and noticing the overly-casual way the brown-haired teenager in produce seized a plum and started tossing and catching it repeatedly, thought he’d found a vandal or a grazer. However, the man with the cart behind whom the boy was strolling turned suddenly and snatched the fruit from the air, fixing his companion with a rather dangerous-looking expression of irritation. “If you start throwing things, I really will kill you.”

“God, fine,” the boy acceded with an injured, surly air. This didn’t last, however, as when the two continued walking he immediately noticed a display full of cherries and started chuckling. “Hey, hey, Saitou,” he chortled, taking up a bag and bounding back to his companion’s side. “Dyou want my cherry?”

The man elbowed the boy in the arm. “Put those back.”

“How could you say no to that?” the boy demanded in a falsely hurt tone, stepping back and obeying the order.

The man threw a disdainful smirk over his shoulder. “You’re a few years late to be offering, aren’t you?”

6. The pharmacist, in the absence of customers of her own, had been watching an odd pair of shoppers that had spent several minutes arguing over something at the end of produce nearest her counter before moving on. She wondered if the older man was aware of the seemingly random items the younger was continually snagging off shelves and slipping into the cart. Somehow she got the feeling the younger didn’t really care what he grabbed just as long as the other didn’t see — and somehow she got the feeling the other did see and simply wasn’t bothering to say anything at this point.

7. A father whose children had dragged him down the candy aisle noted that he wasn’t the only one having problems controlling a juvenile sweet-tooth. The other shopper apparently in need of controlling didn’t technically appear to be juvenile, however — though his excited bounding from one side of the aisle to the other and one overpriced Easter candy selection to the next could have led anyone to believe he really was just an oversized kid.

“Why am I even on this aisle?” the second newcomer was wondering as he wheeled a cart and a skeptical expression behind his companion.

“Why would you not want to be on this aisle?” the young man answered, his question sounding every bit as rhetorical as the other’s had.

The other merely rolled his eyes and sped up. “Come on.”

“No, wait, we’ve gotta get some candy!” the younger protested. “I know you like chocolate.”

“Only in situations that aren’t going to arise any time this coming week.” The older didn’t stop, and was halfway down the aisle by now.

“No, wait, look at this!” The younger started laughing as he examined a package he’d seized off the shelf, and hastened after his comrade to show him. “These have sticky stuff on them so you can put them in weird places… check this out: Hide Easter Eggs where they’ve never gone before.” The chortle accompanying this showed plainly the context in which he was taking that statement. “We should totally get some and do that.”

“What did I just tell you about this coming week?” was the last audible comment of the other as the two progressed too far down the aisle to be heard clearly — and the bemused father realized somewhat belatedly that he should probably be paying better attention to what his own children were getting into anyway.

8. A cutter in the meat department did not look up from his work as a young man’s voice nearby sniggered, “‘Meat department.’ Heh…” That joke was so old it didn’t deserve acknowledgement.

“Don’t even bother elaborating on why you find that funny,” said a second voice.

“We should call our bedroom the ‘Meat Department,'” the first suggested, still childishly entertained.

This caused the cutter to look up, in time to see the second man — a tall, dark, very straight-looking guy — roll unamused yellow eyes as he examined a package of hamburger. “Why must you keep bringing up sex?”

“Can you blame me for thinking about something more interesting than grocery shopping?” the other wondered. The cutter, straining to hear the end of the exchange as they walked away, managed to catch the final comment, “But seriously, we should steal that ‘Meat Department’ sign and put it up over the door…”

9. A businessman not too accustomed to grocery store aisles but in dire need of something to bring to the office potluck was practically run down by a pair of little girls — one frantically propelling a cart down the lane, the other clinging to its far end, both screaming. Looking around irritably for parents or guardians, he found instead, not far behind him, an apparently unrelated teenage boy watching the swiftly-disappearing cavalcade with a rapt and covetous expression. This boy didn’t seem to notice the disapproval either of the businessman or of his own companion, to whom he now turned with shining eyes.

“Let me drive the cart.”

“Absolutely not,” replied aforementioned companion, a much more reasonable-looking man perhaps twice the other’s age, who now sped up to avoid the boy’s hands that groped after the cart he was pushing.

“Just for a second,” the boy persisted.

“No.”

“Come on, I promise I won’t crash it.”

“No.”

“Fine, asshole, then I’m going to get some snacks.”

“Do as you please.”

As the boy stalked somewhat huffily away, the companion’s eyes met the businessman’s briefly and rolled. Wondering what their relationship was — they didn’t quite seem like father and son — but certainly not about to ask, the businessman returned to his own quest for suitably edible items as the other man moved slowly on down the aisle.

10. A woman perusing the frozen foods, on hearing a deep voice saying, “Idiot. You may not have all that junk food. Go put it all back,” looked up indignantly to see who was treating his child so unkindly — only to be somewhat surprised at finding the ‘child’ in question a man of perhaps twenty bearing a huge armload of chips, cookies, and various other unhealthy snack foods.

This young man was replying as petulantly as any child, however, “Aww, come on, don’t be such a jerk!”

“You may have one,” the older man replied sternly, still sounding for all the world like an overly harsh parent of a misbehaving youngster. The shopper wondered if the other man was perhaps mentally challenged.

“But there’s going to be three kids in the house all week!” the young man was protesting.

“You mean four,” murmured the older.

Fearing the condition might rub off, the woman abandoned her search for whole baby onions and left the frozen section.

11. The cake decorator looked up with a polite, “Yes, sir?” when someone appeared in her bakery requesting an answer to a question.

“Has anyone ever grabbed one of these pies and just–” The young man on the other side of the counter mimed an elaborate pitcher’s windup. “–just thrown it right at the guy they were shopping with?”

The decorator’s reply that this had never happened in her presence was completely cut off when an older man nearby said in a pointed tone, “You might as well ask her if anyone’s ever strangled the guy they were shopping with, too.”

“So…” It seemed for a moment that the young man was, in fact, going to ask her this. “Has…” But apparently he couldn’t. “So has…” He kept interrupting himself by glancing over at his companion with an expression of growing interest and amusement, until finally he turned away from the decorator and followed the other man with the comment, “Strangled? We’ve never tried that.”

“No,” the other agreed emotionlessly, “we haven’t.”

“So, what, did you want to?”

“Not any time in the next week. Can you imagine one of my sons walking in on that?”

The young man’s laughter seemed to be the end of the exchange, but when the decorator realized she’d absently trailed a line of blue frosting across the counter in front of her, she stopped even attempting to listen.

12. The checker at checkstand 6 was slightly baffled by the behavior of the man with the funny bangs: as he’d begun to unload his groceries onto the belt, he had also seized a basket from under the counter and placed a decent number of items into that instead. He barely looked at these things, but each one’s removal from the cart seemed to cause the young man beside him increasing distress.

One object over which the black-haired man did pause was what looked like a bottle of vitamins. “Calcium pills?” he asked the other. “The rest of it almost made sense, but this…?”

The other took the bottle with a slightly perplexed expression and examined it. “Calcium? I thought it was…” He glanced up at the checker, grinned slightly, and didn’t finish his sentence, instead tossing the bottle back into the now-nearly-empty cart.

“We’re not buying it, idiot,” the first said, retrieving it and shoving it into the basket. This he thrust at the younger man. “Now go put all this stuff back.”

“You are so no fun,” the second grumbled. “You’da bought it if it had been what I thought it was.”

“If it had been what you thought it was, we wouldn’t have needed it.” The first’s smirk was decidedly inappropriate, and the checker was beginning to think she could vaguely guess what the brown-haired man had thought the bottle contained.

13. The bagger at checkstand 6 at first received no answer in response to his query whether the odd pair needed help out, since they seemed too busy discussing items they weren’t buying to pay him any attention. But eventually, once the younger of the two had run off back to the aisles with a basket full of stuff, the older mentioned they wouldn’t require assistance. Thence the bagger paid him little more attention until the younger returned, panting.

“You put it all back?” the older demanded, hardly looking over from where he was busy with the card-reader.

“Yeah,” the younger replied breathlessly.

“Where it goes?”

“Yeah.” The younger man was distinctly annoyed.

“You didn’t just drop the basket somewhere or put it all onto random shelves?”

“Yes, fuck you very much.”

Without even needing to glance at his target, the older man struck neatly out with a fist and caught the younger rather hard in the shoulder. “Idiot,” he said. “Don’t swear in front of people with children.”

“Ow! Sh–” The younger punched the older back, seemingly rather harder, also in the shoulder. “What the f–” He glanced around with a surly sort of self-consciousness at the other shoppers nearby. “What was that for?”

The older, who didn’t seem even to have noticed the return blow, just rolled his eyes and pushed past the younger to direct the cart, now full of bags, out of the lane.

“Have a nice day…” the bagger said uncertainly as they headed for the exit.

14. A woman loading groceries into her trunk looked up when one of her children pointed out a little worriedly, “That guy is hitting that other guy.”

Indeed, one of the two men approaching across the parking lot was continually punching the other in the shoulder.

“They’re just playing, honey,” the woman assured her daughter, blatantly lying if she was any judge of the strength behind the blows.

The pair evidently belonged to the car immediately next to hers, for there they stopped. “I think we’re more than even now,” the object of the blows was saying in a slightly irritated tone.

“Oh, you finally decide to admit you don’t like that, huh?” the other teased, and stopped punching his friend. “Poor Saitou. Can only pretend it doesn’t hurt for so long.” And with a grin, he leaned up and — unexpectedly, it seemed, to everyone except him — kissed the older man soundly on the mouth.

The woman’s own mouth dropped open, and it was a moment before her wits returned enough even for her to check on whether her children were watching. Of course they both were.

“Idiot,” the older man said as soon as his lips were free, “did I not just tell you–”

“You told me not to swear in front of people with kids,” the younger interrupted. “You didn’t say anything about kissing.” And before the other could say a word in response to this he added somewhat forcefully, “And if you think I’m going all week without kissing you just because your kids are here, you better think again, ba– uh, jerk.”

“Mommy, that guy just kissed that other guy,” the woman’s daughter whispered, tugging insistently at her mother’s sleeve.

“They’re just…” No spur-of-the-moment explanation came to mind.

“They’re gay,” whispered her son, the older and unfortunately savvier of her children.

“What’s ‘gay?'” her daughter asked.

“No, one of them’s a girl,” the mother said desperately, shoving the last of her groceries haphazardly into the trunk and hastening to get the children into their seats as quickly as possible.

“They both look like boys,” her daughter stated.

“They’re gay boys,” her son stated, this time not quite in a whisper, just before his door crunched shut.

“What’s ‘gay?'” her daughter asked again.

“We’ll talk about it in a minute,” said the woman quietly, trying to sound firm.

But before she could lean in to fasten the seat belt around her daughter, the latter leaned out the door and called to the two men, “Are you boys or girls?”

After a startled hiss, hurriedly subduing and buckling her daughter, and a hasty, red-faced apology to the strangers whose eyes she could not quite meet, the woman got herself into the driver’s seat as fast as she was able. She couldn’t help hearing, however, before her own door closed, the laughter of the one, nor noticing through the window the other’s somewhat amused smirk and roll of eyes. Pulling out as abruptly as caution allowed, she tried to ignore the goodbye wave the corrupting young man gave her children as she left the parking lot.


This fic, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #28 “Wada Calcium CD3.” It’s mostly only amusing if you find homophobia and the shocking of bigoted people funny. What I like about it, though, is how devoted Saitou obviously is to Sano here. He does little more than threaten him when Sano embarrasses him in public, he has his kids over to visit for a whole week at Sano’s insistence, he buys him a freaking X-Box… so cute.

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Magic



Chou’s temper hovered on the fiery brink when Sano showed up at the police station, so, although he didn’t know why Sano was here again, he was glad to abandon his task for the moment and come sit on the edge of Saitou’s desk for another meaningless conversation with the roosterhead.

“So how’s it going?” Sano asked.

Chou gestured toward his corner and rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ paperwork.”

“As usual, huh?”

“Not as much lately,” Chou acknowledged. “But I still hate it.”

“Where’s Saitou?”

Shaking his head slowly, as he’d found himself doing quite a bit recently when the senior officer came to mind, Chou replied just as slowly, “Dunno…”

Sano caught at the gesture and the tone. “What?”

“Well, the boss is…” He couldn’t quite figure out how to put it.

“Something wrong with him?”

“No… more like just the opposite, actually.”

“So something’s right with him?”

“I guess. It’s weird.” Observing Sano’s curious look, Chou scratched his head and wondered where to start. “It’s not like he’s really different or something,” he finally began. “It’s just, for maybe a month or so, he’s been…”

“Been what?” The prodding rooster seemed inordinately curious now.

“Well, nicer,” admitted Chou, then quickly amended, “just a little.”

“Really?” Sano suddenly had a strange grin on his face. “Nicer how?”

It took a moment for Chou to come up with a concrete example. “This one time before when he caught me sleeping on the job… uh, at his desk, actually… he thought the best way to wake me up was to hit me really fuckin’ hard on the head. Woulda been almost funny if he’d knocked me out trying to wake me up. But then it happened again the other day, and he just slammed his sword down on the desk really hard and startled me half to death.”

“I guess that’s nicer…” Sano’s grin had turned slightly skeptical.

“It ain’t just that,” Chou protested. “He’s just… in a better mood… all the time. Before, he’d come into work already pissed off and ready to bite my head off at practically anything I said. Now it takes a while for him to get to that point, sometimes all the way ’til lunch time. Oh, and he lets me have a lunch break, too. He never did that before.”

Sano was watching Chou with that same inexplicable little grin, pleased and amused and maybe somewhat surprised. “Really…?” he said thoughtfully. “And how long you say this’s been going on?”

“I dunno how long it’s been, really,” the blonde shrugged. “I just started to notice, so I’ve been looking back and trying to guess when it started. Maybe a month, but that could be way off.”

For a long moment Sano kept silent, apparently wrapped up in whatever thoughts were bringing that odd expression to his face… or perhaps just having a hard time imagining what Chou was describing. Finally he said, “So Saitou’s been happier lately, has he? For about a month, you think?”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Chou agreed.

“What else does he do?” asked Sano, an almost eager curiosity still marking his tone.

Wondering more than ever why his companion was so interested, Chou enumerated the further examples he’d managed to call to mind. “Well, he doesn’t hit me nearly as much in general — not just when I’m doing something I know I’m not supposed to like sleeping at his desk, but just when I annoy him or whatever. And he stopped doing that thing where he completely ignores me when he feels like it. Course that just means he tells me my ideas are dumb that much sooner, but at least I don’t have to repeat myself. Oh, and he doesn’t intentionally scare the shit out of the rookies half as much as he did before.”

Sano, who’d been chuckling through this entire speech, picked up quickly on the last point and asked, “So it’s not just you he’s being nicer to?”

“No, it’s everyone! I’d think he was maybe just getting used to me or something, but he even had a whole conversation with the chief the other day without completely antagonizing him!”

“I should send Kenshin up here sometime and see how Saitou treats him,” Sano suggested with a crafty smile.

Now it was Chou’s turn to chuckle. “Somehow I don’t think the magic works that well.”

“So you think it’s magic, huh?” Sano grinned.

“What the fuck else could make Saitou be that nice?”

Sano shrugged. “Well, I hear getting laid can put a guy in a pretty good mood. Maybe he’s found some decent ass.”

At this Chou laughed outright. “Are you crazy? Not even magic could make that happen.”

“Well, next time you see him–” Sano hoisted a brow suggestively– “look for hickeys and stuff.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Chou reiterated, still laughing.

Grin widening, Sano jumped up. “Well, this is good news. If it means your job’s not sucking as much anymore, I mean.” Clapping Chou on the back, he added, “You’re a good guy, houki. Let’s go drink sometime; my treat.”

The sword-collector was slightly confused at this, not having thought their often-dubious friendship had progressed to going drinking together, nor that he’d said anything today to push it to that point… However, it wasn’t an offer he was about to refuse, so he just grinned back and said, “You mean your tab’s treat?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Sano agreed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and ambling toward the door. That mysterious smile had returned to his face, and he already seemed a mile away, at least in thought.

Chou couldn’t help it. “What’s with you?” he demanded.

Glancing back, “Good-mood-magic spreads,” Sano said with another shrug, and was gone.

Chou gave a baffled laugh, and found his own smile still remaining when that was finished. “I guess it does,” he muttered, and returned to his work in a much better temper.


I was in the middle of playing video games on a sick day when I thought I wouldn’t get anything done when this story suddenly decided it wanted to be finished. And who was I to argue? Technically this is the nice story I promised Chou after How Chou Got Fired, which is part of why it starts out very much like that one did.

Anyway, this was for 30_kisses theme #2 “News; letter,” except that I completely ignored the “letter” part. It’s also a companion to Responsibility and Corner of the Eye. I’ve rated it .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


How Chou Got Fired


When Sano, bored as all hell, wandered into the police station looking for his lover, all he found was his lover’s assistant scribbling away messily at some paperwork or other at his tiny desk in the corner.

“Hey, tori,” Chou greeted him in a far more welcoming tone than usual, obviously glad of any excuse to set down his pen and think about something else.

“Hey, houki,” Sano replied, carefully pushing some of the things on Saitou’s much bigger desk aside to make room to sit. “Boss skipping out on work again?”

“If he was, you wouldn’t be here,” Chou grumbled, “since it’d be to fuck you.”

“Yeah,” Sano grinned complacently. “So where is he?”

Standing and stretching his long back, Chou reached his arms out and flexed his hands, trying to dispel the cramps induced by his small workspace. “Out investigating some shit he didn’t want me in the way of; no idea when he’ll be back.” He added as if it were the natural conclusion to these remarks, “I am so sick of this job.”

“Thought you said it was fun.”

“It was fun before I was a fuckin’ secretary.” Chou came out from behind his desk, giving it a vindictive push so it slammed into the wall, and stood in front of Sano with his arms crossed and an irritated expression. “These days he just gives me all the fuckin’ paperwork while he does the fun shit, and there’s never any end in sight, so I’m sitting in that little piece of shit–” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the now-crooked desk– “all fuckin’ day and half the night.”

“That is tough,” Sano agreed, though, as he was busy wondering where Saitou might be, it came out sounding more absent than sympathetic. After a moment he added, somewhat more attentively, “Why are you still even here, if it’s that boring?”

Chou’s face went thoughtful. “That ain’t a bad question,” he muttered. “Maybe it is time for me to get the hell outta here…” Sano watched with growing interest as the frown melted slowly into a contemplative expression and then a slow, crafty smile. “You know…” Chou began slowly, almost as if deciding whether or not to say what he was pondering, “you and me could sneak outta town real easy without anyone knowing. Go find some fun somewhere.”

“Somewhere far away from obnoxious cops and paperwork, huh?” Sano chuckled.

“Exactly,” Chou replied, emphatic and now on the verge of enthusiasm.

Sano laughed again. “As if he couldn’t find us anywhere. Guy’s like a fucking bloodhound. Probably bring the paperwork, too. And his laundry for me to wash.”

“He wouldn’t waste the time looking,” Chou snorted with an unexpected level of derision. “He’d just find some other flunky to push that pen around and some other pretty boy to fuck.”

Sano blinked, the statement hitting him like a blow from out of nowhere along with the sudden startling realization that Chou was serious. He didn’t even know what to say; or, more accurately, didn’t know where to begin among the myriad astonished responses that came to mind.

Chou leaned forward suddenly, planting his hands on either side of Sano and bending down to stare into his face. “Come on,” he said, the crafty smile returning, “you gotta admit it’s a good idea. We could even leave the country. You wanna see the world; I know you do.”

Sano put his hand firmly over Chou’s nose and mouth and pushed, causing him to stumble back a step as Sano stood. He still didn’t quite know what to say; Chou was just too clueless for words. Finally he managed, his voice thick with incredulity, “Have you forgotten everything you know about everything or something?”

“Yeah, that’s my policy when I get tired of some shit and go somewhere else,” Chou replied, still serious and still evidently oblivious to Sano’s chagrin and surprise.

Sano stared at him. “All right, more to the point, have you forgotten I have friends and a jealous lover and kindof a life here?”

Again Chou snorted. “Beats me how you can call him your lover when he treats you like shit.” Now he was subtly advancing toward Sano, who was backing away just as gradually. “I’d treat you better than that.”

With a slow nod of disbelieving understanding Sano said in even greater incredulity, “So us fucking’s included in this plan of yours too.”

Chou’s eyebrows did an absurd little dance above his eyes, both of which, disturbingly, were now open and narrowed slightly. “Don’t say you never thought of it. You think I’m hot and we both know it.”

“So?” Sano wondered, his back dishearteningly meeting a wall. “I’ve got someone already.” Coming to grips with the fact that this was really happening, he was starting to get annoyed. Not angry yet — he knew how Chou was, and felt a little sorry for anyone that lived the way Chou did — but it couldn’t be long.

“You can’t really care all that much about that bastard,” the broomhead said dismissively. His gloved hands again came to rest on either side of Sano, and his face was once more a little too close. “You and me are way better for each other. We’re a lot more similar than you and him, and he’s so damn old anyway…”

Sano shook his head slightly. It was baffling, staggering that Chou, someone both he and Saitou saw constantly, could so completely have missed the development of their relationship. “Look,” he said firmly, “I am not running away with you. You can go and I won’t say anything for a couple of days if you want, but I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“But you will fuck me first?” Chou wondered hopefully.

“Where did you get that idea??”

“You knoowww you want to.” Chou’s eyes narrowed even further as he drawled out his response. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not curious what it’d be like.”

“No, I’m not going to try,” Sano replied irritably, flushing slightly. “But just because I’m a normal guy and think someone’s hot other than my boyfriend doesn’t mean I automatically want to fuck them without thinking about the situation!”

“He’d never find out,” Chou cajoled. “It’d be real easy. Hell, for all he pays attention to me anymore, we could do it right here. Wouldn’t that show him.” His suggestive smile turned to a dark grin at this thought, until he added a little regretfully, “Except that we wouldn’t let him find out.”

“So this is all about ‘showing’ Saitou.” Sano was starting to get angry now, but his continued semi-daze of surprise at Chou’s behavior prevented it from becoming severe just yet.

“No! It’s about being bored out of my fuckin’ mind.”

“So go downtown and buy a whore or something.”

“I don’t want a whore, man, I want you. Come on… just once…”

To prevent the broomhead from coming any closer, Sano had raised both arms and planted them firmly, fists clenched, against Chou’s chest. Now he contemplated pushing again, but realized that if he only applied enough pressure to get Chou out of his way, he would soon find himself cornered again; whereas if he pushed hard enough to knock Chou across the room and unconscious, the result in this small office would undoubtedly be broken furniture, which would piss Saitou off whenever he showed up. It was a dilemma.

“He doesn’t know everything,” Chou went on, encouraged by Sano’s silence. “We could try it out and see: if you don’t like it — which I don’t see how that would happen — he’d never know, and if it’s good, we’d be way better together than you and him.”

“This really came out of nowhere,” Sano remarked, almost conversationally, as he continued to ponder how to escape this situation without breaking anything. He didn’t know if he even could knock Chou out with a single hit in this position.

“Nah, I just couldn’t risk my ass saying anything until I was planning to leave anyway. You really never noticed before that I like you?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk about not noticing shit…” If Sano kicked him in the groin first, he could probably knock him out with no problems immediately thereafter… but, though he wasn’t particularly happy with Chou at the moment, that still seemed a tad low.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I’m not cheating on Saitou. Not once, not ever.”

For one promising moment, Chou was nonplussed by Sano’s granite tone… but he was back on track again almost immediately. “Hey, I can see how the thought of getting on his bad side is kinda… scary as all hell… but you guys are just no good together!” His tone was understanding and wheedling at the same time. “But we would be… we’re like a matching katana and wakizashi.”

Sano just couldn’t help laughing, despite his irritation. “And who’s which?” he wanted to know.

Chou grinned and avoided answering that. “My point is that we go together really well.”

“Well, maybe we do,” Sano said, his tone sobering again. “But the big difference is that I have lines I won’t cross, where it seems like you have no fucking conscience at all.”

“You just need convincing,” Chou murmured, leaning forward for a kiss.

Since he hadn’t come up with any other solution, Sano decided it was time for a knee to the groin and a fist to the skull. However, before he or Chou could move any further in any direction, the latter was suddenly gone from the vicinity, hauled violently away and tossed bodily across the room in much the same manner Sano had been contemplating earlier, smashing a chair to bits as he crashed down. He shuddered into a comatose heap at the foot of the now-visibly-dented wall and lay still.

“Oh.” For a moment Sano stared at the red and purple mass that had only a moment before been trying to kiss him. Then, shaking himself slightly, he turned toward Saitou. “Thanks.”

Saitou had crossed his arms, one of his hands still twitching as if he would like to go pick Chou up and throw him again just to be sure. “Why didn’t you do it yourself?” he demanded.

“Well, I was trying to figure out how to not break the furniture,” Sano admitted. “If I’d known you didn’t mind…” He trailed off, realizing how it must have looked if Saitou hadn’t been in time to hear any of the conversation and had only seen the beginnings of a kiss between lover and subordinate.

But Saitou’s next statement erased Sano’s worries on that score. “Conscientious forethought and mature reasoning at the same time.” He was shaking his head as if to ask wordlessly whether wonders would ever cease.

“Yeah, and that’s all you get of both for the next year,” Sano shot back, relieved that Saitou didn’t suspect him of infidelity.

The officer glanced over at the unconscious Chou. “Still, you were cutting it a little close there.” His tone was somewhat dark: not quite accusatory, but not entirely pleased with Sano either.

Sano shrugged. “I was about to kick him in the balls.” Following the other’s gaze he added, “Probably woulda hurt less…”

Suddenly he found himself crushed against Saitou, bent half backward in the man’s arms and kissed passionately and thoroughly until he was breathless and his heart was racing. Even when it was over, the unexpectedness of it left him speechless for several moments. Finally he said, “Shit! Is that what happens when I talk about Chou’s balls?”

“Depends on the context,” Saitou smirked, looking a trifle out of breath himself. “Come on.” He gestured toward the door.

Sano mimicked the expression. “Don’t wanna be here when he wakes up?”

“That, and it’s about time to prove we’re not as bad together as he thinks.”

This remark brought a sudden, hot pressure into Sano’s chest. “I already know that,” he said quietly.

Saitou looked back at him. “So I noticed,” he replied, and in just those words and his deepened smile, it was clear how much the overheard conversation had meant to him. “But I assume you won’t object to some proof anyway,” he added, eyes narrowing.

“Hell, no,” Sano grinned, and hastened after him.



This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #18 “a~an?”

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Biting Off (Something Presumably Worse)


It felt a shame to spend any time in jail as a result of such a boring brawl, but he was too central to the affair, physically and in terms of culpability, to dodge the police now; and he’d had enough dull fighting for the night that the idea of knocking any of them down and making his escape wasn’t particularly palatable. So he remained seated on the floor in approximately the middle of the room, with a broken table on one side and an unconscious opponent on the other, and waited for the officers to work their way through the various results of the melee to the guy that had started it all. And even the waiting wasn’t much more boring than the fight had been.

Eventually, after the man to his left had been hauled off and the table dragged out of the way so the police could stop tripping over it, one of the officers laid a heavy hand on Sano’s shoulder and commanded, “On your feet.” The other floor-bound participants had been asked if they were able to stand, but the police knew perfectly well who Zanza was and that he undoubtedly had no debilitating injuries. Sano had never been able to decide, in situations like these, whether such treatment was compliment or insult, but he didn’t much care. At the moment he just looked up placidly, ready to acquiesce.

A familiar voice from the other side of the room, however, disrupted that placidity completely: “Leave that one.”

Sano’s head whipped around toward the door and the officer in command of this raid or whatever it was. Not that he wouldn’t recognize that voice any time and anywhere, but his body didn’t quite obey his mental command not to make the unnecessary effort in looking. He decided, at least, to stay where he was, to forget entirely about getting up and going peacefully.

“Sir?” (It must, Sano reflected, take some guts for a normal cop to question Saitou’s orders, even with a single, polite syllable.)

“Leave him to me,” Saitou said, unmoved and unmoving.

“Sir, this is–” (Guy must be new.)

“I know who he is,” interrupted Saitou. “Just get the rest of them out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

So Sano was allowed to continue sitting on the floor in perfect tranquility — except for the thought of what Saitou might do to him once the others were gone — while the police hurried around him removing all the rest of the brawlers. More than half of the latter, Sano knew, would be given a dark eye and a talking-to and released immediately; only those with a history of this type of violence would be held for any length of time.

And he would certainly have been among those sleeping on a hard cell cot for the night if Saitou didn’t have something presumably worse planned for him. Briefly he toyed with the idea of trying to escape now the room was starting to clear out, but found he was actually somewhat morbidly curious about Saitou’s intentions. At the very least, it might turn into a fight that would be a hundred times more entertaining than the one that had brought the wolf here in the first place.

Except then Saitou would start going on about defense again, lecturing and making all sorts of points that hit even closer to home than his iron blows… Sano wasn’t sure if the fight was worth it. Saitou got under his skin like nobody else he’d ever met; was it really a good idea to sit here calmly waiting for that? Hell, Saitou might well be keeping him back just to lecture him and would then deliver him to the police station.

Why the hell did Saitou care about Sano’s ability to defend himself anyway? Like it had anything to do with him anymore. Or maybe this was what Saitou did when he got bored: pretended to be a regular policeman just so he could track Sano down — Sano specifically — and lecture him about defense. What a dumb hobby.

At a sound of finality in Saitou’s latest orders, Sano looked up and noticed the last of the other officers, towing a distraught bartender that wanted to remain behind and assess the damage, leaving the room. And as the door, half-broken from someone having been thrown against it at some point, screeched closed behind them, Saitou turned to face Sano. Languidly, tossing away a spent cigarette as he came, he moved across the mayhem-cluttered space to stand before him.

Sano didn’t allow Saitou the first word. “I know what you’re going to say, so just fucking don’t.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes,” Sano grumbled. “Get lost.”

“After specifically arranging privacy for this conversation,” wondered Saitou, still in that perfectly unperturbed tone, “do you really think I’m going to just ‘get lost?'”

Sano sighed slightly. “All right, fine, get it over with.”

“What is it you think I’m going to say?”

“You know and I know, so why bother?” Stubbornly Sano was staring at the floor between his knees, but he could hear the faint amusement growing in Saitou’s tone, and fancied he could picture the exact arrangement of the man’s mouth.

“Maybe I want to hear you say it.”

“Well, maybe I’m not going to give you the pleasure, asshole.” Sano’s tone, on the other hand, had become almost a snarl.

“Your ineptitude is no pleasure of mine.”

“Coulda fooled me…”

Nearly audible over the long silence that followed was a sort of countdown to the moment Sano gave in.

“Better defense or whatever wouldn’t have helped here anyway,” was his eventual surly mutter.

“Oh?” Saitou seemed only calmly pleased at having dragged it out of him, as if this were simply the natural progression of the conversation and nothing to be particularly enthusiastic about.

“This was just a brawl, not a real fight.”

“Ignoring that staggering lack of logic for the moment, you’re still missing the point.”

Sano looked up in vague curiosity to find Saitou staring down at him with a much more serious expression than he’d anticipated. Though quite aware he would probably regret it, he couldn’t resist: “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t enjoy this.” Saitou gestured to the pervasive destruction around them.

Climbing to his feet and avoiding the gaze of the far too perceptive officer, Sano finally responded, “No.”

“But I understand you started it. Care to explain?”

“Guy pissed me off.”

With a nod Saitou said, “That’s what I thought.”

“So?”

“So, when I say you need better defense, I don’t just mean in battle. You’re too reactive, too open to attack in every area. You allow yourself to be manipulated emotionally because you don’t guard yourself against it.”

Brushing fruitlessly at rumples in his clothing, Sano looked warily over at the other man. This wasn’t the usual lecture, and he didn’t quite see Saitou’s point, but wasn’t eager to say so.

“For example,” Saitou continued, taking two steps. “If I…” And unexpectedly — indeed, it was the last thing in all time and space Sano could have expected — he seized Sano’s jaw in a firm grip, yanked his face forward, bent down slightly, and kissed him hard.

It was as if lightning had struck.

The impossibly enjoyable physical sensation was nothing to the others that came rushing over and around Sano with incredible speed: the shock that kept him still and let Saitou wreak havoc on his mouth; the surprise at his own reactions and belated realizations; the thought of who and what Saitou was and how Sano really felt about that; the longing for Saitou to put his arms around him and not let go, to take him home, to keep him — it all swept up in an instant’s fraction, forming an impenetrably swift whirlwind of sudden comprehension and confusion and desire at whose center Sano was dazed and helpless.

But the most intense part of this rapid, unstoppable cavalcade, the most overwhelming and engrossing thought, was the relentlessly baffled and angry query, How did Saitou know? How did he know when I didn’t even know?

Sano stumbled back and nearly fell when Saitou let go. Everything still flurried through him at speeds that kept him from regaining anything like a sense of composure or balance, and he could do nothing more than stare, open-mouthed, at the other man.

The latter was smoothing out the collar of his jacket where Sano had unconsciously been clutching it. “Not only couldn’t you have stopped that if you’d wanted to,” he said, “but when you realize I only did it to make a point…” He left the statement eloquently unfinished as he stepped abruptly away.

There was a half moment of recognition, which Sano could perhaps have used to brace himself if he’d had the presence of mind, before it hit home. He was conscious of something twisting and perhaps snapping inside him, which was doubtless what caused the twisting change of expression on his face, and then…

As quickly as it had all come, it all vanished. And it left behind merely a sort of chilling vacuum that echoed vaguely of the previous hurricane. This didn’t exactly hurt, he thought abstractedly; it was more like the sensation a child might feel at the sudden removal of a promised treat they’d never anticipated and that had been in the first place a little incredible. He hadn’t even had time to get used to the idea, and now it was withdrawn. And in that remaining void — the eye of the storm? — he found his thoughts unusually clear and moving at a speed similar to that of his emotions just moments before.

Watching Sano’s writhing expression settle, Saitou evidently interpreted it to his satisfaction, for he smirked briefly, then turned and began walking away without so much as a goodbye. He was searching out a new cigarette, and lit it as his measured steps carried him toward the door.

Sano was surprised at the sound of his own voice as he said, “All right, I get it.” Yes, there was a hint of anger, a touch of hurt, but overall it was simply level and serious.

“Good,” Saitou replied without stopping.

“At least, I get the point you were trying to make just now. What I don’t get is why you bother.”

Pausing and turning again, Saitou regarded him, unreadable and wordless.

“You go to so much trouble trying to make sure I get things like that,” Sano continued when it was obvious Saitou didn’t intend to reply. “You track me down just to lecture me, you beat me up, you go out of your way to do all sorts of stupid shit to let me know what’s wrong with me and how you think I should be instead.” He felt somewhat detached — as if he knew this should, eventually would affect him emotionally, but for the moment was riding a current of pure logic to an unknown conclusion. “Why? What’s so important about this, Saitou? Why should it matter to you whether I stay the way I am or turn into whatever you want me to be?”

Finally Saitou spoke. “Who says it does matter?”

You do. Over and over and over again. Every time you show up somewhere and show me some ‘example’ of why the way I am doesn’t work. Obviously it bothers you. Why? Why do you care? Why is this important? I’m not getting in the way of someone you’re trying to send to Kyoto, or involved in some case of yours where you don’t want me to screw up, or even really connected with you in any way at all… so why do you want to change me so bad?”

Saitou said nothing, only looked at him with those inscrutable golden eyes, so Sano was left to ponder the answers to his own questions in silence. What seemed the obvious explanation and would have been his first guess had, with Saitou’s dismissal of a passionate kiss as solely ‘to make a point,’ been denied before the questions even arose… but that, Sano realized, was the exact and only explanation he wanted. He didn’t want some other bullshit excuse for why Saitou felt the need to prod him continually on his skill levels and way of life… though Saitou doubtless had one.

But he wouldn’t make more a fool of himself than he already had. However much he would like to believe Saitou’s concern was a sign of his personal interest in Sano, he couldn’t — not after the sight of the wolf’s cold, unmoved face after a kiss that had changed Sano’s world but had really been intended merely to prove how emotionally assailable he was. And yet what other explanation was there?

Saitou hadn’t said anything. Obviously he had no enlightenment to offer, so why was he still here? He’d made his goddamn point and more, so why didn’t he just go? Or did he plan on forcing Sano to give some admission of edification again? Irritation swelled in Sano at the thought, and he muttered rebelliously, “You’re so fucking sure you can do it, too…”

“You think so?”

“It makes sense, I guess. Arrogant bastard like you probably thinks he can change anything in the world. It explains your job and everything.”

“If I thought I could change anything I wanted to,” Saitou replied evenly, “would I be wasting my time on you?”

“I don’t know,” was Sano’s frustrated response. “You tell me.”

Saitou smirked.

The brief and inexplicable calm was over. Sano could feel the full force of his emotions returning, filling the void with throbbing, rushing pain, anger, and confusion that swiftly became a storm as rapidly churning as the last had been. “Listen to me, bastard,” he seethed, all his levelheadedness vanishing like the smoke of Saitou’s cigarette into the air. “I’ve worked really fucking hard not to be the kind of person I was turning into because of the shit I went through as a kid and growing up. I finally figured out what I do want to be, and there is no way in fucking hell you are going to change that; you are not going to change me, so you might as well just give up now.”

“So you think you have no room for improvement?” Eyes flashing, Saitou took a step away from the door, toward Sano again. Evidently the younger man’s words had provoked him, but he also looked distinctly surprised. Honestly, Sano was distinctly surprised he’d let slip something so personal.

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Sano snapped, a burning urge (born partially of chagrin) to be yelling right in Saitou’s face pushing him a step forward as well. “But why the hell do you think it’s your business to point that out in the first place?”

“You keep asking me that,” replied Saitou darkly. “Why don’t you figure it out?”

“You think I haven’t?” Sano growled. “You think I asked because I don’t already know?” And then, despite every screaming warning from his better judgment, he really did say it. “You want me, but since I’m not your type and you’re too much of a bastard just to get over it, you’re trying to change me into whatever the hell is your type so you can justify to yourself being interested!”

As he waited for the crushing riposte, the reminder that the kiss hadn’t meant anything he wanted it to, the assertion that being pathetic and desperate didn’t excuse jumping to conclusions, he noticed they were within a pace of each other now, their demeanors combative and tense. Perhaps he only observed this because he refused ot meet Saitou’s eyes. Moments dragged by more and more heavily, and he became increasingly disbelieving he’d actually said all of that. Or any of it.

Finally the blow fell.

“You’re right.”

Another few moments dragged by while Sano wrestled with an entirely different disbelief before he managed to look up into Saitou’s serious and still slightly annoyed face. And he found that the rushing was back, this time removing his latest turmoil and replacing it with another confusing set of thoughts and emotions. He was apprehensive, he was skeptical, he was perplexed, he was hopeful…

“What did you just say?” he managed at last.

“I said you’re right,” Saitou replied bluntly, speaking those unspeakable words again. “You’re on the right track, at least, which for you is close enough: I can’t justify being only statically interested in potential like yours.”

Sano stared at him, the new vortex in his head and chest whirling at even faster rates and, he thought, making his heart pound and his body heat up unnaturally. Because when Saitou put it like that, it almost seemed… flattering. Still… “If my ‘potential’ is the only thing you’re interested in, you can just fuck off.” It came out hoarsely, angrily, and yet somehow invitingly. Or at least Saitou seemed to think so, for, yet with the air of one grudgingly giving in to something he’s long known to be inevitable, he closed the distance between them for the second time during that encounter and pulled Sano into another harsh kiss. And this time arms clutched tightly and forms pressed together and didn’t separate even when their swollen lips did.

“And if you tell me that was just to prove a point,” Sano gasped, “I swear I will smash your fucking head.”

“Though I doubt you’re capable of it, no, it wasn’t.”

“The other one wasn’t either, was it?”

“Yes, it was.”

The furious tension between them, augmented by close proximity, had become pricklingly tangible. It wasn’t sexual (though Sano had a feeling it could be used in much the same way); rather, it more closely resembled anger, building up like electricity at their contact. Typical.

“But there were other ways you coulda made that point,” he persisted; “it didn’t have to be a kiss.”

“Maybe I wanted to see how it would change things.” It was so irritating when Saitou started statements about his own damn motivations with ‘maybe,’ as it always gave Sano a feeling of being toyed with. In this situation, however, the rest of the sentence was more gripping.

“You and your changing things,” he grumbled.

“It’s not going to stop, you realize.”

“Yeah, I think I get that now.” Sano didn’t bother expressing the growing impression, directly in contrast to what he’d thought all along, that Saitou’s desire to improve him was actually somewhat complimentary now he felt Saitou didn’t entirely disapprove of him. “But you realize changing me is way more than you can handle?”

“Or maybe you’re in over your head trying to prevent it,” Saitou snorted.

Or we’re just going to drive each other fucking crazy and when they find our bodies they’ll have to pry our cold dead hands off each other’s throats.”

“I’ve never considered that unlikely,” replied Saitou as he released him. Their separation was like that of two objects charged with static: although the field of violent energy surrounding Sano’s body did technically feel less fierce, there seemed to be a sort of crackling around them both, most chaotic where they were closest, invisible sparks of continued strain.

“How did you know, anyway?” It was embarrassing to admit, but he was painfully curious. “I had no idea until…”

With a raised brow Saitou replied, “You really don’t realize how easy you are to read, do you?” Sano flushed, but before he could retort Saitou went on. “It’s very tempting to tell you this was all just an extension of my original point, and see how you take it.”

Open-mouthed, Sano stared at him. The wolf was lighting yet another cigarette, replacing the one he’d dropped for the second kiss. “You wouldn’t,” Sano said in a low tone that would have been deadly if it were at all possible for Saitou to feel threatened by him.

“Not to you, no,” Saitou agreed.

“What does that mean? You’d do it to someone else?”

“Let’s go. I’m sure the bartender is more than anxious to get back in here and see how much of his property you’ve destroyed.” And Saitou headed again for the exit.

Sano hastened after him, annoyed. “No, seriously, what do you mean ‘not to me?’ You better not mean you go around doing this kind of bullshit all the time — setting people up like you’re interested in starting something and then tell them it was all a fucking act?! Saitou!!”

The expression that turned toward Sano’s passionate demand was sardonically amused. “Vulnerable,” was all Saitou said, in a tone both of irritation and reminder.

“Hey, fuck you,” Sano growled. “I really wanna know.”

“At least having you around more often should make beating you into shape a little easier,” Saitou smirked darkly as he gestured Sano to precede him through the open way.

“I already told you…”

Their voices faded as the door screeched shut.


This was done for 30_kisses theme #17 “kHz.” I’ve rated it .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Canine Impulses

He could have made a list of problems that afflicted him on a day-to-day basis, and right there between ‘having to pay rent’ and ‘the Meiji government’ would be ‘inability to look at or think about Saitou Hajime without getting insurgently aroused.’

Realizing Saitou is to-die-for sexy (in addition to being a complete jerk) is likely to drive Sano out of his wits, which may be exactly what Saitou intends.


Panting, trying to control movements that had originally been a bit panicky, Sano slowed, then finally drew to a halt. The night air, cool as steel, instantly chilled the sweat that was no longer renewed by effort, and he shivered. Turning, staring hard with searching eyes in the direction he’d come, he could detect nothing… but that didn’t mean nothing was there.

When after an additional few paces the high building walls let in a greater amount of light, he glanced around more searchingly. This seemed like a dead end; wasn’t that just his luck? And at the very moment he came to this conclusion, he heard again those calculated steps approaching up the street, cutting off any escape.

His heart was doing funny things, and he told himself very firmly not to be stupid. But at the same time, he found himself backing away, eyes locked on the impenetrable darkness he’d just left, until he really did come up against a wall and undeniable proof that he could flee no farther. He tried again to catch his breath, rallying for the final confrontation. He hadn’t wanted to get involved — which was why he’d run — but now it had come to this, he would not go down without a fight.

The pursuer appeared. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Saitou Hajime detach himself from all-concealing shadow, a flesh and blood extension of the night, but it was the first time the sight had caused him to shiver so uncontrollably. He’d never thought Saitou could be so damn scary until being chased by him… until realizing just how sneaky and quick the cop truly was. He’d never been scared of him at all before, actually… Honestly, for all the stabbing and name-calling, they’d always technically been allies. Now Saitou had some purpose that didn’t necessarily put Sano on his side… that, considering Sano really had been in the way back there, even if merely by coincidence, quite possibly made Sano a target.

The officer emerged fully from the darkness and paused a moment in the pale light from the slivered moon. He raised an eyebrow as Sano fell silently, breathlessly into a fighting stance. “Your logic is so animalistic,” he remarked, beginning to move forward again with steps so slow they seemed almost languid.

“What do you mean?” Sano demanded. He should have known Saitou wouldn’t just kill him; he had to torment him first, of course.

“You’re like a dog. You sniff around in things that aren’t your business, you run off when you’re startled, and you turn and fight when you’re cornered.”

“So what?” If Saitou’s aim had been to make Sano angry, he’d succeeded. It hadn’t been Sano’s fault he’d stumbled on that shit just when the police were about to crack down on it; they should mark their stake-outs better. And hadn’t he tried to get out of their way as quickly as possible? Sure, that did make him look kinda guilty, but still…

Saitou was stalking toward him yet. “Aren’t you even going to protest you had nothing to do with that deal?”

“What good would it do when you never listen to anything I say anyway?” was Sano’s surly answer. He was just waiting for the damn cop to get within striking distance.

“And you think running from me and then attacking me is a better indication of your innocence,” concluded Saitou as that distance closed and Sano flew at him with clenched fists. Sano’s only reply was a sort of roar.

Saitou dodged most of his blows, blocked a few of them, returned several, and suddenly had Sano pinned against the wall in an iron grip. The young man struggled, panting and growling out half-intelligible profanities, but could not get free. He could only gasp in the scent of cigarettes as Saitou’s face came close to his and the older man said in a low tone, “This is what happens when you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Sano’s angry retort took a moment developing as he worked through the logic. “Wait… you knew I wasn’t involved and you chased me anyway?”

That insufferable smirk spread across Saitou’s face. “You ran.”

“Like I was going to stick around when you showed up!” Sano squirmed, angrier than before at Saitou’s nonsensical answer, but the other held him nearly still against the rough wall. “And, what, would you chase me whenever I ran?”

“Of course,” replied Saitou immediately.

“Weren’t you after those other guys, though?” Sano demanded. “Do you really have time to chase someone who’s not involved?”

“My men had them before you were halfway down that street; there was no harm in my entertaining myself for a while.”

“Figures your idea of entertainment is to make my life miserable. I thought the only thing you enjoyed was destroying evil shit.”

Saitou’s smirk widened.

Sano’s eyes did likewise, and again he strained in vain to get free. “You really are gonna kill me this time, aren’t you?!”

“Something like that.”

“Something…” Sano began, annoyed and confused, then trailed off both at the sudden flash in Saitou’s narrowed gaze and the fact that the latter was drawing very close. Sano, not sure what to think or feel in response to this, tried to back away, but he was already against the wall and there was nowhere to go. Saitou’s mouth closed over his, and Sano’s struggling ceased as if he were paralyzed. Saitou, who he’d always thought hated him, or who seemed to like nothing better than belittling and annoying him, or who at best didn’t really acknowledge his existence… that same Saitou… was kissing him. Was, moreover, working his mouth open with an insistent and far too dexterous tongue, pressing against him with a firm and far too hot body, and holding him in place with gloved and far too motionless hands.

This last condition made Sano disregard any potential pleasure in the action and break away violently — for however tightly those hands had clamped onto his hips, it was a less restrictive hold than the previous. He staggered two paces, fingers over his lips and rage swirling like the noisy blood through his body, and whirled, glaring death. His heart was racing, his skin burning, and he was sure his face must be bright red. And whether it was worse that Saitou Hajime had kissed him or that he’d really liked it, he couldn’t say.

“You asshole,” he snarled. “You think you can just do whatever you want whenever you please! Stab me or chase me or fucking kiss me or whatever the hell you feel like!”

Saitou raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I?”

“No!! You can’t just–“

“Do you really mean ‘can’t?'” Saitou broke in, still with that same expression on his face. Overriding whatever Sano might have planned to say in return, he continued, “Do you really mean to say that if I wanted to throw you down and have my way with you right here and now, there would be anything to stop me?”

Sano was absolutely horrified at the hot shudder that ran through his entire body at this; since when was he even remotely sexually attracted to Saitou? Since being kissed by him, apparently. “Like I’d ever let you touch me.”

The officer’s evil smirk did not diminish, but he rolled his eyes as he again began moving toward Sano. “You wouldn’t have any say in the matter.”

Sano couldn’t believe this. Was Saitou actually going to… to… And what was this burning that ran down his chest, twisted briefly in his stomach, and settled, tingling, in his groin? How could he possibly be having feelings like that in a situation like this?? As a result, he became more irate. He hated Saitou and his stupid ideas of entertainment and his stupid random threats and his stupid sexy eyes. There really wasn’t much to say, though, so he just attacked again.

Saitou proved even more slippery than before; Sano didn’t think a single one of the hits he threw connected, whereas Saitou bounced him off the wall a couple of times and eventually knocked him to the ground. Sano found himself unable to move, bruised, bloody, exhausted, with Saitou on top of him. The cop straddled his hips, leaning over him holding his arms above his head pinned to the ground, their faces close together. Sano didn’t close his eyes or attempt to look away as Saitou’s mouth again descended, but it wasn’t exactly a kiss; Saitou was saying, “You see?” — though the murmur was barely audible over Sano’s gasping breaths; and Sano could barely concentrate on the words as he was too busy fighting the traitorous impulse to raise his head and capture more of Saitou’s lips than just this light brushing against his own.

It was an effort even to remember that he abhorred this bastard, and several moments of staring breathlessly into searing gold before he managed to grate out, “Just get it over with.” This show of resistance would be entirely belied in a few moments, though, if the heat of Saitou against him down there didn’t diminish quickly.

“Get what over with?” Saitou wondered in a casual tone as he released Sano’s wrists and began to stand. “I think I’ve made my point.”

Disbelieving and irate, Sano sat up. Saitou was watching him impassively and lighting a cigarette, and, when Sano didn’t have anything to say just yet, smirked and turned. “Good night.”

Staggering to his feet, Sano felt his hands tingle as he clenched them. “Wait just one fucking minute, you son of a bitch!” This demand rose to a roar by the time it was finished, but Saitou did not pause or respond. And Sano, for all his rage, simply could not move. He trembled with a mixture of severe emotions, trying to come up with anything he could say that might bring Saitou back so he could kick his ass. Provided he could move at all, and provided that movement didn’t involve flinging himself on the older man and stuffing his tongue down that stupid throat.

That image — of Saitou melting out of the darkness once more, coming back over here, and again grinding Sano into the wall with a scorching kiss — was the last thing needed to send Sano’s blood rushing downward; skin prickling, head spinning, he tried to come to grips with the fact that Saitou Hajime had just given him a hard-on and the idea that either the asshole had some uncanny seductive powers… or Sano had been repressing something rather serious for quite some time.

“Goddammit,” he growled, turning unsteadily and slamming a fist into the wall behind him in a jerky motion. His other hand was threatening to wander to the frustrated bulge in his pants, so he clenched it as well and punched the wall again with an inarticulate angry noise.

He couldn’t believe that guy. What kind of person chased someone around for no good reason, kissed him, threatened to rape him, and then didn’t go through with it? Not a fucking normal person! Not that Sano wanted him to go through with it, but why did Saitou have to be such an equivocal freak? If he was going to get Sano in trouble for being ‘in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ he should just arrest him and be done with it; if he acknowledged Sano was an innocent bystander, he should leave him the hell alone! If he wanted Sano he should fucking say so; if he didn’t, he should keep his hands off.

What was Sano thinking? He should keep his hands off, period. His hands and his damn mouth.

Unattended, one of Sano’s own hands had crept exactly where he didn’t want it, and with the realization that it had came the similarly infuriating realization that he didn’t want Saitou to keep his hands — or his mouth — off.

His night was obviously ruined beyond any hope of repair. He was ready to kill something, literally kill, tear it apart and blood and guts and everything; he was that angry. And what made it a hundred times worse was that he couldn’t be entirely certain this hypothetical violence was directed at Saitou. For all Sano wanted to do any number of horrible painful things to the officer, he was still combating the desire for the officer to do any number of horrible pleasurable things to him.

When he got home, it was a natural impulse to deal with his not-so-little problem, but the very idea of finishing what Saitou had started was infuriating and wrong. Giving in to what Saitou had made him feel would be making Saitou the winner, handing him a victory without a fight. Most of Sano’s body, though, was wondering who, exactly, was the winner here and who was the loser.

So he lay in bed with clenched fists and clenched teeth and tried not to think about anything exacerbating. There were two difficulties with this: first, that he wasn’t used to restraining himself when he was horny, and trying to keep from jacking off was an unusual and engrossing exertion; second, that he’d never been able to keep Saitou out of his head when the cop made him angry. It had been a problem even before thinking about the bastard had rendered Sano inexplicably, uncontrollably aroused.

If Sano had entertained any hopes that a good night’s rest would put the whole thing behind him, it didn’t take long to clear up the misconception. The maddening events of the night before immediately captivated him again upon awakening, and he had a sneaking suspicion his morning wood was really more of a carry-over from then. Still, he studiously didn’t touch it.

Whatever he’d been planning to do that day — if anything — was entirely forgotten in his frustration, but staying home lying around thinking about things offered far too many temptations. Once he’d cold-watered himself into presentability, he dragged himself up and out, and began wandering aimlessly.

Daylight (and people who didn’t know or care that he’d spent the night trying not to want to bang his arch nemesis) helped, and, when he ran into Katsu (who definitely didn’t know and definitely wasn’t going to), he had increasing hopes for a tolerable day.

“Morning, Sano,” the artist yawned.

“Morning,” replied Sano, trying to sound like nothing was going on. He was very bad at sounding like nothing was going on when something was going on, and Katsu threw him an immediate quizzical glance. But Katsu was very good at reading people, and apparently realized Sano didn’t feel like admitting something was going on — and therefore, good friend that he was, did not question. Yet. Sano, a little annoyed with his own lack of circumspection, feared it would not take much to change his mind. Still, he put on a brave face and added to his greeting, “You look like you been up all night.”

“So do you,” Katsu said mildly, with only the barest rise in the level of his left eyebrow.

Sano cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around. “So what are you up to?”

“Trying to get my shopping done before I collapse.” Katsu had adopted his So we’re pretending everything’s normal, are we? tone. “I haven’t slept in a few days.”

“New issue’s all done, though?” Sano guessed, trying very hard to be and sound interested.

Katsu nodded with a slight smile. “And since you’re here, we might as well find some lunch before I finish shopping.”

Of course this caused Sano to brighten a bit almost in spite of himself, and he agreed readily. The idea of free food even took his mind off… everything else… for about five minutes, and during these minutes he actually managed some natural, rational conversation… until, when they’d nearly reached the restaurant they’d agreed upon, the matter intruded on his relative peace rather forcibly once again.

“No drug deals today, I see.”

Sano wasn’t sure why he turned. It wasn’t as if he needed confirmation of who was speaking, or wanted to see him. But turn he did, and — perhaps not so unexpectedly this time — felt a hot shiver run up and down his spine and then dissipate to tingle across his entire body. Why was he suddenly noticing how Saitou walked like a predatory beast always ready to pounce, continually waiting for, but never actually finding, worthy prey? Why did Sano seem to see for the very first time the almost teasing way Saitou’s jacket bunched slightly at his belt and that the man had the most amazingly nice-looking legs conceivable? He didn’t care about any of that, and he didn’t want…

Well, he did want. That was the problem.

He realized he’d been staring, silent, for several moments while Saitou, smirking, came to a halt.

Sano, burning with rage and whatnot, turned without a word and stalked away.

“What the hell was that?” Katsu wondered, catching up with him and sounding like he was waffling between amusement and worry.

“What the hell do you think?” Sano growled. “It’s Saitou.”

“Yeah, but when don’t you have anything to say to him?”

“I’m more pissed than usual, all right?”

“Why, what’s he done now?”

“Nothing,” Sano grated out truthfully; it was what Saitou hadn’t done.

Katsu was evidently baffled, but just as evidently entertained. “Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were checking him out just now. But of course I know better.”

Sano barely restrained himself from exploding. This would normally make him angry, of course, and Katsu would be expecting some sort of irritated outburst — but anything Sano said in reply at this point would be too angry, so he tried not to respond. But the fact was, he had been checking Saitou out, and he wasn’t very good at restraining himself, so as he walked a string of indistinct growling complaints leaked from between his clenched teeth.

So much for that good day. Just when he’d thrown Katsu off the scent, too. God damn that fucking bastard. Now he couldn’t even have lunch with his friend like he’d planned, which meant he either had to go hungry or find some other source of nourishment in an unstable frame of mind. Oh, and it meant he had to find some excuse for deserting Katsu, too. In that same unstable frame of mind.

“You look really tired, man,” was what he eventually came up with. “Why don’t we do lunch another day? You should go home and get some sleep.”

And although Katsu accepted this and let him off, his expression — slightly concerned, definitely amused, and penetrating overall — told Sano exactly how much he bought it as the actual reason for not having lunch together.

That Katsu was too good at figuring things out, combined with evidence that Saitou intended to plague Sano with this bullshit, meant Sano wouldn’t be hanging out with his friend until this issue was resolved. Exactly what resolution he anticipated he couldn’t be certain, but in the meantime he didn’t need Katsu’s knowing glances and ‘casual’ remarks.

This doomed him largely to solitude. He had other friends, of course, who were less perceptive, but their pursuits and the circumstances under which he generally interacted with them were too unhurried, left too much time open for reflection. Similarly inadequate was any part-time work he might have taken on, as the only type for which he qualified made good use of the muscles but small use of the brain. Opportunity for thought was the last thing he needed. He needed a distraction… something Katsu, what with politic talk and art talk and general banter, usually provided. Damn Saitou and his bastardly timing. The only real option was to try to keep himself occupied watching and interacting with the general populace of Tokyo and hope the problem would go away if he ignored it.

He should have known, though, how unlikely a circumstance that was. A few days after the brief but aggravating meeting with Saitou in the street, as Sano was trying to determine whether he was likely to fall asleep any time soon if he lay down in bed or whether he oughtn’t to go back out and find something to entertain him until it was a little later, there came a knock at his door. Without much thought he answered it.

His first impulse was to pretend nobody was there and slam it shut again, but this impulse only arose after a moment of shock that lasted long enough for Saitou to come inside and close the door himself. Sano’s second impulse was to attack immediately, but he didn’t act on that either. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled instead as Saitou stepped leisurely onto his floor and looked around.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” the other replied without looking back at him.

“Maybe you came to apologize.” Sano thought some sarcasm of his own was not ill-placed; he really couldn’t imagine Saitou actually apologizing for anything.

Neither could Saitou, apparently. “Apologize for what? I don’t think I’ve done anything to you lately.”

“You sure as hell made it seem like you were gonna.”

Saitou threw Sano a piercing glance over his shoulder. “Would you prefer I had?”

“No!”

“Then there’s obviously nothing to apologize for,” the cop shrugged. “No, I’m just here because I’m curious how you live.”

This was entirely incredible, and Sano wanted to say so, but there was no way he could accuse Saitou of actually being here to torment him further… for that would mean admitting that, ever since that night, the very sight of the man — almost the very thought of him — was enough to set Sano’s entire body on fire, to say nothing of the effect of having Saitou here, in his home, so damn close to his bed. Eventually all he said was, “So now you’ve seen it.”

“Yes,” replied the older man with a slight sneer. “It’s exactly what I expected.”

Sano had already voiced a defiant, “Oh?!” before the thought crossed his mind that he didn’t really want to hear Saitou’s assessment of his living conditions.

“You really are like a dog.”

Incensed, Sano seized him by the shoulder and yanked him around. “What the fuck is your problem, asshole? Is it really that much fun to give me this kind of shit all the time? Why don’t you find some other way to get your damn rocks off?!”

At Saitou’s casual glance up and down Sano’s figure, and at the latter’s deep shudder that couldn’t be invisible to those penetrating gold eyes, Sano became painfully aware of just how badly he’d worded that.

“I’m sure I could if I looked,” was Saitou’s reply.

Sano absolutely must cut this short before it ended like their last close encounter, so he commanded with as much collection as he could, “Get the hell out of my house.”

“Good night, then,” Saitou smirked as he nodded and obeyed. And that he’d gone so docilely could not make up for the ache that developed rapidly in Sano’s groin at the inadvertent study of the way Saitou’s lips curled and the unwanted ensuing mental image. They weren’t even nice lips, and Sano definitely didn’t want them sucking on him anywhere.

He tried to restrain the urge to make one of his usual destructive demonstrations of anger, not merely because he would prefer not to damage his own home but also because he was tired of Saitou dictating how he felt. Avoiding the demonstration did not negate the feeling, however, and that only made it worse. Additionally, neither ire nor restraint could change or lessen this intense arousal.

How could he be almost hard again after a mere couple of minutes? A few words, a few glances — how could that be all it took? It hadn’t happened before… he could only imagine (in horror) how much trouble it would have caused if Saitou had had this kind of effect on him back when serious events had forced them together so much… but Saitou had never kissed him back then… had never pressed against him like forge-hot iron conforming to the shape of Sano’s body…

And what was he supposed to do about it? Just get used to the fact that he could barely look at the man anymore without getting any number of obscene images in his head and similar urges all through his body? It wasn’t fair! He shouldn’t have to get used to something like that! He didn’t want to have sex with Saitou; he didn’t want to have anything to do with Saitou. He hated Saitou. It wasn’t fair to have his brain invaded with fantasies of the stupid cop shoving Sano down on the stupid hard floor and shoving his stupid hard cock into Sano’s ass, and it wasn’t fair how much he liked the idea. And he wasn’t curious how big it was, either, whether those fantasies were doing it justice.

“Fuck,” he growled, and said it again for good measure.

Obviously he couldn’t go to bed now. Gambling, drinking, fighting, anything… he had to find something else to do. In a nearly uncontrollable rage he stormed from his house, very possibly causing the same damage he’d tried to avoid only minutes before.

So evidently this problem wasn’t going to go away just because he ignored it. For one thing, Saitou wouldn’t let him ignore it. For another, neither would his own damn hormones. And Sano’s options — at least the ones that didn’t involve letting someone else dictate a major change in his life — were running out.

Something had to be done, though, as it was becoming a disturbingly routine issue. He could have made a list of problems that afflicted him on a day-to-day basis, and right there between ‘having to pay rent’ and ‘the Meiji government’ would be ‘inability to look at or think about Saitou Hajime without getting insurgently aroused.’ Such issues he usually learned to deal with if they seemed insurmountable, but, aside from Saitou striking him as very mountable, the very idea of learning to deal with something like this sent him into fresh spasms of anger whenever he considered it.

He was never surprised to see Saitou anymore; the bastard showed up anywhere and everywhere, whenever was least convenient for Sano to lose his presence of mind. The sequence of events was always very much the same: Saitou ‘coincidentally’ appearing wherever Sano happened to be with some perfect excuse for being there; announcing himself with a sarcastic comment that usually had some damnable double meaning; giving Sano any number of ambiguous looks while ostensibly ignoring him, until Sano’s body was on fire and his tongue completely tied; then making a smooth retreat back to his asexual life of police spying and hypocritical condemnation of evil. After a couple of weeks of this, Sano was beginning to feel like a high-strung puppet manipulated expertly by gloved hands.

The thought did cross his mind that perhaps it wasn’t Saitou specifically that had him so worked up — maybe he was just starved for sex in general, Saitou’s odd behavior had opened his eyes to that condition, and Saitou himself was merely taking advantage of what must, to him, seem an amusing situation. The theory held water; it had been a while since Sano had gotten any. He’d always been somewhat picky about lovers, despite being in no position for such an attitude.

For one blissful day of unrestraint this idea stayed with him and allowed him to believe he really could escape. Although he didn’t relish the thought of finding some random source of satisfaction for this need, he liked it better than that of living this way any longer. Throughout his mostly unsuccessful foraging for lunch among his acquaintances, his somewhat uninteresting barroom brawls in the afternoon, and his largely unproductive gambling in the evening, the inspiration carried him. All the way to the appropriate district he rode a wave of impending freedom, up until the very moment he found himself, not entirely without abashment as he’d never done it before, surveying the selection… and wondering disconsolately why they were all so young and pretty, and not a gold eye among them.

Damn that fucking asshole! As if it wasn’t bad enough for him to grab Sano’s attention, did he have to take all of it? Twist Sano around his little gloved finger, flick him away like ash, and leave him unfit for anything or anyone else? God fucking damn him!!

Well, Sano wasn’t sure he would have been able to go through with it anyway; he’d never slept with a whore (that he was aware of), and didn’t know that this was the best way to start.

Even so, damn fucking Saitou to fucking hell.

Of course, in the search for something — anything — to take his mind (mind?) off the subject that had lately wrought utter destruction on his stability as a person, eventually the dojo and its inhabitants became candidates. They were poor candidates at best; he would have to expend so much energy making sure they didn’t sense anything was wrong, he might end up keeping a very firm mental hold on the issue and defy his purpose… and this was a good indication of how desperate he’d become.

The outer doors had been repainted since the last time he’d been here — how long ago? He rarely came here anymore unless he thought he could get something out of it, and recently he’d been too distracted even to consider it. But he realized now that the last time might actually have been on that day. Which meant it had been… but, no, it didn’t matter; counting the time since that night would just imply he cared.

When nobody was immediately apparent in the yard, he entered the house. At the minimal lighting and utter silence, he might have assumed they were gone — at the Akabeko or rescuing someone or whatnot — if the outer doors hadn’t been unlocked. So he made a quick search through the halls and rooms, until he found himself unexpectedly staring up at a calendar on the wall. It was Saturday the nineteenth.

“Three fucking weeks,” he muttered. Twenty-one days he’d wanted to get into Saitou’s stupid pants. How the hell could it have lasted that long?

“Oh, hello, Sanosuke.” Kaoru smiled at him from the doorway. “What’s three weeks?”

“Nothin’,” he replied gruffly, turning from the hateful calendar and attempting to look casually at the young woman. “So where is everybody?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing; I just got home.”

Examining her more closely, he noted the clothes patchily dark with sweat and face bright-flushed with exercise. To his absolute horror, his reason (if it could be called that) skipped right over the shouldered shinai and came up with a completely different explanation for her dishevelment than ‘teaching at another dojo.’ And this was Kaoru. God, even if he didn’t have an entirely one-track mind, it sure as hell didn’t stray far. Would visit be at all worth it? His tone was still rough as he suggested, “Let’s go find them.”

Yahiko was practicing while Kenshin finished up the day’s chores. The rurouni had, of course, been aware of Sano’s presence but, not wanting to interrupt his work so close to its end, hadn’t come to greet him. They had a bath ready for Kaoru, and, once she was thus safely out of the way (after criticizing Yahiko’s stance), found themselves free to sit down and talk.

“We have not seen you for a while,” was Kenshin’s opening remark. “What have you been up to?”

Sano bit his lip against the immediate reply, Trying not to want to fuck Saitou, and, with a little more difficulty, managed to come up with, “Same old shit.” No… so far this didn’t seem worth it. Gathering up his energy, however, he proceeded boldly. “What about you guys?”

“Very little is new here,” Kenshin smiled. “I am sure you saw the doors.” And he went on to describe the other minutiae of recent changes to dojo life. It was a topic he never lacked words to discuss, which always bewildered Sano. It made a certain amount of sense that Kenshin preferred a placid and even rather boring existence to living under constant attack, but Sano just couldn’t quite wrap his head around the concept of so much complacency. Kenshin was happy for things to remain exactly as they were for as long as that state could be preserved; no wonder Kaoru hadn’t managed to get him into the sack.

God dammit.

Eager to abandon that train of thought, “And what about you, kid?” Sano forced himself to ask next. He knew this attention to the lives of the dojo menfolks might appear slightly unnatural, but was drawing a blank trying to dredge up any other subject (besides Saitou, or sex, or sex with Saitou) to introduce.

“Not much new with me either,” Yahiko shrugged. He seemed, Sano had noticed, consistently on the edge of defiance when talking to any of them. This was no surprise, given the treatment he received, at least on a superficial level, from the adults with whom he generally interacted — Kenshin kindly patronizing, Kaoru impatiently critical, and Sano blatantly teasing — but it seemed a bit out of place when merely describing the day-to-day trivia of the Akabeko. Sano wondered if he still talked to Tsubame like that; girl wasn’t likely to be giving it up if he did.

God fucking dammit.

Apart from and beyond his complete inability to divorce random sexual thoughts from innocent remarks and ensuing reflection, Sano found himself simply impatient with his friends’ conversation. It was as if they had a responsibility to entertain him and weren’t delivering. Everything they said struck him as profoundly boring, to a degree far closer to utterly intolerable than usual, and he found himself continually holding his breath for something more exciting — an inevitably futile expectation.

For a while the very oddity of this frame of mind carried him, but eventually the knowledge of exactly what kind of excitement he would prefer became too present to ignore, and his mood soured.

“I meant to ask,” Kenshin said suddenly as Yahiko had just finished up his narrative, “why you did not accompany Kaoru-dono to the Maekawa dojo today. You finished your work at the Akabeko early enough that you could have gone with her.”

“She’s only going over defensive moves I already know,” Yahiko grumbled. “I don’t need to hear her harping on that again.”

“A good defense is critically important,” Kenshin reminded the boy.

“Fuck that,” Sano muttered with vehement understanding of Yahiko’s plight. Trust that to come up just now.

Kenshin smiled placidly, aware of why the subject bothered Sano but not of the extent to which it did.

“Well, I’m gonna get going,” Sano declared, standing abruptly. He really had no excuse to offer for not staying, so he didn’t bother trying. “I’ll see you guys around.”

They didn’t question, and the robed appearance of Kaoru from the bath to issue orders was enough to distract Kenshin from any concern he might have felt at Sano’s behavior. So the young man was able to slip out with a wave and no further conversation.

Outside the pristine doors, he let out a long sigh. More trouble than they’re fucking worth, he reflected bitterly as he took off up the street toward home.

All such ungenerous thoughts about his friends (and, indeed, all his rational or semi-rational thoughts on any subject) were obliterated when he turned a corner and found Saitou, not a block from the dojo, smoking calmly alone and watching the lane in the direction Sano was headed.

This really was too much. Most of the previous encounters had been set up to look like chance, at least on their rudimentary surface level and to others, but now here was Saitou deliberately standing around at some random point on Sano’s route home very obviously waiting for him. It was more than he could bear.

Clenching his fists, he stalked over to the wolf and demanded, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Saitou turned toward him coolly. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” The tone was that of a question.

“It turns into my goddamn business when you quit even pretending it’s a fucking coincidence we keep running into each other. What do you fucking want?”

“From you?” Saitou asked, his narrowed eyes giving Sano the slow once-over to which Sano was becoming sadly accustomed. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Right.” Yet again Sano had to grit his teeth against the desire to call Saitou on this utter bullshit. “Of course.” If the cop didn’t want anything from him, he wouldn’t be here deliberately tormenting him… but, again, to raise this point would require admitting it did torment him. “Why would I think you standing around here like you’re waiting for me actually has anything to do with me?” Knowing Saitou was already quite aware of Sano’s condition and admitting to that condition were two completely different things.

“I wouldn’t care to guess why you think anything you do,” Saitou answered disdainfully. The motion he made as he said this, tossing his cigarette down and turning slightly as if to watch it fall, drew Sano’s eyes first to his unusually bare hand, then to the spot just beneath his ear where neck and jaw met. But Sano tore his gaze away before he could start reflecting on the harsh elegance of Saitou’s physical attributes.

“Yeah, same here,” he muttered, and even he wasn’t sure whether he was attempting to throw the insult back at Saitou or agreeing about the futility of trying to comprehend his own mental state.

“And if I wanted anything from you,” the wolf continued, “I could have had it long ago.”

Sano, who had turned to escape, pleased with himself for getting out of this situation so quickly, was frozen abruptly where he stood by this statement. It wasn’t so much the words themselves — maddening though they were — as the way they’d been spoken: a softer, more intimate tone than any he’d ever heard from Saitou, containing an undeniably personal sound — a feeling of you know what I mean — and an edge… Sano could only call it… seductive… He hadn’t thought Saitou capable of that, but it made perfect sense the officer would only employ it in saying something so antithetic to seduction.

Not that it mattered what he’d said; he could have been reading a grocery list in that tone and it would have stopped Sano in his tracks, dragged him back, set his heart pounding wildly. Entirely against his will the younger man turned again and looked at the older. The latter was a mere step away, much closer than Sano had thought; he could easily close the distance and…

“Yes?” Saitou said mildly, watching Sano with smirking unconcern, as if they’d just had some sort of normal conversation and Sano turning back at this point merely indicated something he’d forgotten to mention and not a nearly unconquerable desire for public sodomy.

Sano, captivated by the glint in Saitou’s narrowed eyes, had nothing to say.

Observing this, Saitou’s twisted smile grew. “Well, good night,” he remarked, and started to turn.

To this Sano did have a reply. “Goddammit, I fucking hate you so much,” he burst out in ultimate frustration. Clenching a fist, he intended to hit Saitou full-force, for all the gesture was more defeated than challenging, but Saitou raised his own hand and caught Sano’s with little effort.

“So I’ve noticed.”

At the hot tremor that moved through Sano’s form as Saitou’s ungloved hand kept hold of his, Sano by now could not be remotely surprised. He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. “Fuck you,” he whispered.

The very solid heat of Saitou’s body moving forward almost against Sano’s made him stifle a gasp; he felt like he was swaying, about to fall over, dizzy with the burning and the desire, divided between wishing that Saitou would do a whole hell of a lot more than just stand very close to him and that Saitou would fucking die and go to hell this very moment. A hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him even closer, and breath moved across his face; Saitou was going to kiss him. Sano, in a sort of continual shudder, found his face tilting upward without having willed his muscles to do so; his lips parted and he tasted the cigarette flavor of Saitou’s proximity as he drew breath.

And then nothing happened.

He opened his eyes to find the infuriating golden ones of the other man very close to his, the officer’s narrow, sculpted lips half an inch from his, and on Saitou’s face an expression that was unalloyed rage-inducing smugness.

Sano tore away, his own face twisting irately, his legs weak, his heart pounding violently much like the throbbing in his prominent erection. Stumbling backward, he clenched both hands into fists. He wanted to punch Saitou; actually, he needed to punch Saitou, several times, right in his goddamn smirking face, but he didn’t dare go close to him. “Fuck you,” he said again in a hoarse growl.

If anything, Saitou’s smile widened.

Sano backed up another three faltering steps, his eyes locked on Saitou’s and his entire body threatening to shrug off his mental control and do something he would really regret, then turned jerkily and ran.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

After that he went on a semi-destructive rampage through some of the trashier neighborhoods near his own, pulling his punches only when not doing so might have gotten him arrested (a night in jail was the very, very last thing he needed right now). This made him feel slightly better for a few moments here and there throughout the night, and the relatively unfamiliar sensation of swiftly-approaching sleep born of exhaustion was a definite comfort, but none of it changed the fact he had to face in the morning:

He was about to break.

With this painful and aggravating awareness, which seemed the coloration of his thoughts the next day, came a voice almost more desperate than angry echoing through his head, Kyoto… Kyoto… No arguments, in particular, accompanied this to combat the heated retort, I am not letting that asshole force me to move to another fucking city! …just the constant reiteration, Kyoto… Kyoto… and the knowledge that down that road lay escape.

Possibly.

As his heavy footsteps traversed the streets absently and irately, related concepts swirled through his turbulent head: options he had in Kyoto… sex……… the truth that, for all he complained about them, he liked the Kenshingumi… sex with…… the ambiguous fact that that loud little girl and her companions lived in Kyoto… sex with Saitou… don’t forget, Katsu’s here in Tokyo too… sex with Saitou, intense, rough, extremely satisfying… not to mention other friends, less close but undeserving of casual abandonment still, who were also in the capital… not to mention Saitou…

“God fucking fuck it!” he cried out all of a sudden, utterly regardless of his location. The latter was a somewhat run-down street on the way to the docks, and his outburst startled a ragged and disreputable-looking stranger to jump and hastily make his way out of sight into an alley. Sano took off at an irate, pounding run toward the sea.

At the end of a short pier, ignoring the curious or wary looks those working on the dock occasionally gave him, Sano sat with his knees drawn up to his chin and stared out over the water. He tried with all his being to think about anything else — the ships slowly making their way in or out of the bay; the noisy gulls squabbling over the leavings of someone’s lunch or just wheeling and scanning with long, bored cries; the occasional sign of aquatic life beneath the shadowed water. And, whether the consistent lapping of this last against the supports or the cries of the sea-birds had a soothing effect, or because of the amount of effort he was putting into this, it worked for a while, and his mood calmed.

Even this slight improvement seemed, by contrast, like walking from a hellish landscape of war and terror into a blissful, pristine paradise, and he smiled as he finally stood from his place of reverie and retraced at a less hurried pace the steps he’d taken so precipitously to get there. Maybe now he could go dig up an early dinner somewhere.

Or maybe there was fucking Saitou fucking talking to some random fucking person just near where the fucking pier joined the rest of the fucking dock with his fucking back to Sano as if he fucking didn’t know Sano was fucking there and hadn’t fucking shown up just in fucking time to intercept him right the fuck after Sano had finally fucking managed to improve his fucking mood.

Stone-still, dumbstruck, a mixture of rage and despair pouring over him, pounding through his veins, and Kyoto seeming suddenly, in the back of his mind, a golden dreamland of freedom, Sano just stared. He’d continually told himself he didn’t want to be driven by someone else — especially someone like Saitou — to a major change in his life… but wasn’t Saitou already inducing major change in his life just by showing up every-fucking-where and toying with Sano like this, now on a near-daily basis?

The wolf turned a casual glance upon Sano’s motionless form, and the bright gold had its usual effect: Sano’s skin prickled and heated, and a tight center of desire began forming somewhere just below his gut. From there, however, the meeting went nothing like usual.

Sano saw it where Saitou could not, and didn’t have time to be irritated that his initial reaction was momentary concern for the other man’s safety. One of four dockhands carrying among them a huge, heavy crate, just as the group passed behind Saitou, caught his foot on something and stumbled. The object crashed to the ground and the man fell heavily into the officer, knocking him forward full against Sano.

And that was when everything, everything changed.

Though Saitou had touched him occasionally since that night, it had been nothing more than casual, circumstantial (though certainly calculated) brushes against arms or shoulders, or more pointed but still relatively innocuous incidents such as the seizure of Sano’s hand last night to prevent violence. There had been no full-body contact since the beginning of this debacle.

But now, as Saitou was pushed entirely against him (finally), Sano could feel the immediate stiffening, the hot tension, of the officer’s lean, muscular, perfect frame; he could see the fleeting unguarded look in the startled face; and the gloved hands that took hold of him inadvertently for their mutual balance seemed almost to tremble as they clutched at him, and to withdraw with pained reluctance as Saitou stepped hastily back the instant it was possible to do so.

Sano could feel his eyes widening, and his mouth opened slightly… but if he’d been speechless before, he certainly had nothing to say now. Actually he was slightly dizzy — whether because of the volume of blood now gushing violently downward to other parts of his body than his brain, or from overwhelming shock, he wasn’t sure.

Saitou, however, neither taunted nor berated him as expected. He’d looked away, under the pretense of locating a cigarette to replace the one that had been knocked from his mouth in the little accident, and this was the last clue the younger man needed, if indeed he needed another at all. Sano wasn’t even sure by what force of will he managed to turn and run away yet again. Really, he wasn’t sure he was even running; it felt more like stumbling.

Saitou wanted…

Saitou… wanted… him…

At first this revelation was so monumentally shocking as to render him nearly senseless; he reeled as if drunk all his breathless way home, and could barely make out his path or his destination. Why, exactly, it should be such a surprise took him some time to determine, since rational thought had fled and wild fantasy prompted by the realization ruled his chaotic mind. Eventually, though, he fixed on the idea that, not being much in the habit of self-restraint himself, he would never have interpreted Saitou’s behavior as such, nor believed that beneath it the man’s emotions were actually much the same as his own. That they were soon caused Sano’s shock to give way to the more customary wrath.

If Saitou did share Sano’s inconvenient desire — and Sano was fairly certain he hadn’t misinterpreted the signs — why in the name of fucking god was he playing this maddening game? Sano knew that was just it: it was a game. He and his feelings were a game to Saitou, who had even admitted, that first night, that he was ‘entertaining himself.’ Entertaining himself by tormenting them both and seeing who would crack first. Who would be the one to beg for what they both wanted, whose pride would take the beating when they eventually got it. Only Saitou would consider that entertaining. Only Saitou would come up with a game this unfairly biased, where he had all the self-control required to win and his opponent barely any.

Sano would have loved to declare, at that point, “Well, this is one game he damn well isn’t winning!!!” But he wasn’t at all certain that was indeed the case. Because Saitou was right: he was like a dog — a bitch in heat. At this thought he pounded a fist into the wall, which shuddered and creaked. Even Saitou’s fucking similes were invading him now. But it was true… he wouldn’t be surprised, at any moment, thinking of that bastard, to hear a growling whine grow out of nowhere in his throat, to find himself scratching at the door. And if he did go running off to him, if he did give in… would Saitou… surely Saitou would…

Oh, god, the thought was just too much. Of Saitou attacking him again, this time with no question of how it would end… of Saitou’s hands, Saitou’s mouth, Saitou’s cock acting on the desire that earlier today had been so harshly restrained… of an end to the tension and rage because surely Saitou couldn’t really say no if Sano pushed him…

If it was going to happen eventually anyway no matter what he did… and if that sadist would be amusing himself at Sano’s expense every moment between now and then… wasn’t the victory of depriving Saitou of that entertainment, even though it meant giving in, greater than the somewhat dubious triumph of holding out against the inevitable for as long as he could and driving himself crazy in the process?

It wasn’t really a difficult decision. He’d known he was cracking, and the afternoon’s encounter hadn’t exactly had less of an effect on him than it had on Saitou. He was close enough to the abyss that a few steps were all it took to hurl himself headlong into the darkness, headlong out of his apartment into the night that had fallen while he’d been marveling and stunned and deliberating. His movement was not entirely steady, but it was swift and vehement — now that he’d made his choice, he needed to act upon it as quickly as possible before the stubborn dignity that thought it still existed and was still, somewhere in his head, screaming out against this course of action got the better of him and changed his mind.

Saitou actually looked a little surprised when Sano, astonished himself at the luck that found the man at home but not about to waste time thinking about it, burst into his house and interrupted his quiet dinner with the scowling demand, “Fuck me now.”

“And if I don’t feel like it?” the officer wondered dispassionately.

“I don’t believe you,” growled Sano. “I don’t give a shit what you feel like doing anyway; we’re gonna have sex now, and there’s not one damn fucking thing you can say that’s gonna make it not happen.”

Glancing at the clock, “My wife should be on her way over by now,” Saitou replied in the same placid tone.

His wife…

Sano felt suddenly cold, lost, directionless. He hadn’t really wanted to do this, not least because of the blow to his pride… to have that blow struck without even the consolation of the resolution he’d been anticipating… he didn’t know what to do. He was at his wits’ end.

“You could come back later,” suggested Saitou, “if you’re that desperate.”

If you’re that desperate.

That. Was. The. Final. Straw.

Sano had been on edge for a month now, the tension building and building without any foreseeable release, and this was simply too much. Like a really good orgasm, slow and extended yet sharp and overwhelming, the fury returned all at once in an inexorable wave. It took control of him, blinding him and directing him, and before he even realized what he was doing, he’d flung himself at Saitou with every ounce of strength in his body.

The sensations of knuckles meeting cheekbone and knee meeting stomach, especially followed as they were by the second full-body contact of the day, might have been the most erotic experience of Sano’s life. It even seemed to surprise Saitou, who grunted and fell beneath the assault; he quickly recovered, however, and immediately gained the upper hand, returning the punch to the face so hard it made Sano see stars. They wrestled across the floor until Sano found himself, not for the first time, helplessly pinned beneath Saitou’s body, flat on his back, panting, aroused to the point of pain.

A throbbing haze surrounded everything and distorted his vision, and gave Saitou an even more sinister look than usual… but could not disguise the expression on the cop’s face, close to Sano’s as that was. In his earlier assessment Sano had been absolutely right: Saitou wanted him, still, always, with a fury to match his. He might pretend to be cool and aloof, but he couldn’t hold out under this kind of pressure any more than Sano could.

The movement by which their lips met was abrupt and intense, yet startlingly natural and almost smooth. Saitou’s hands had locked so fiercely onto Sano’s upper arms that the latter were in danger of losing circulation, his knees tight around Sano’s hips; and they were both very clearly as hot and ready as Sano had been during their every previous encounter — though the younger man was beginning to rethink his assumption that it had been he alone feeling it. To the extent he was able to think about anything at all, that is.

They broke apart, and this movement seemed as angry as everything else — angry at each other for what they were doing, angry at the need to breathe, or just angrily aroused, it was impossible to tell. As soon as he had sufficient air in his lungs, “Fuck me now,” Sano growled again.

“Fine,” Saitou replied, in essentially the same tone, and attacked their clothing in quick and efficient succession. Insistent — no, frenetic hands dove beneath Sano’s wraps and began removing them so deftly that only the consoling thought, At least he’s not wasting time, kept him from the much more disturbing and infuriating thought that Saitou must have studied what he wore beneath his clothing in detail in order to get him out of it so easily.

Saitou’s fingers were inside him before Sano had even realized he was accessible in that area. “Fuck!” the younger man gasped, attempting to beat back his wrath by forcing himself to try to think of this as just sex instead of sex with Saitou… pretend it was someone else… pretend he was merely touching himself… That didn’t work, of course, since his wrath was in proportion to his lust and both were aimed specifically at the man on top of him. So the reaction he actually went with was to squirm angrily downward, trying to force those fingers deeper.

The officer had shifted his body somewhat to the side the better to go about this preparatory action, had shifted his mouth down to Sano’s neck and shoulder the better to bite and suck with wounding force. In response to this Sano was writhing and snarling — he really couldn’t call the sound ‘moaning,’ though it was just as much a positive reaction to the sensations as that more friendly type of noise would have been — and attempting rather unsuccessfully to wrap one leg around Saitou’s waist.

As if it wanted to dig into him just as energetically as the first, Saitou’s other hand was traversing Sano’s chest and side from arm to hip, abrading upward with the heel and raking back down with the nails in hard, insistent caresses that might leave bruises and were certainly drawing blood. Sano therefore felt no guilt (and wouldn’t have even if he’d been thinking clearly) digging his own fingertips into the tense, muscular back that shifted above him as Saitou ground his erection against the younger man’s leg with force that bordered on complete abandon.

Saitou had no proper lubricant, and merely worked at stretching Sano open as methodically as the atmosphere of desperate need could allow. Sano wasn’t exactly what he would call ‘relaxed,’ but the determination to get this over with that infused him (not to mention the perpetual explosion of uncontrollable hormones under which he was currently operating) assisted in keeping him from tightening up too exceptionally. It still hurt, but he didn’t much care. And when Saitou abandoned his erotic mutilation of Sano’s chest in order to draw his tongue thoroughly and wetly over his other hand and then transfer as much as he could onto his straining cock, Sano knew it was going to hurt even more, and still didn’t much care.

Similar to Sano’s previous exclamations, Saitou’s groan upon entering him was more of a growl. For his part, Sano finally managed a sound more typically suited to the current activities… mostly because, though it did hurt, the pain was so much in keeping with the anger, and the accompanying pleasure so great, that the combination of these multiform feelings largely took control of him. Able now to wrap both legs easily around Saitou’s torso, he rotated his hips insistently, encouraging Saitou farther into him. The older man shuddered above him, still growling slightly, and kissed him again so hard they both tasted blood.

The self-control Sano had, earlier that very day, been cursing in Saitou he now blessed, for the wolf’s motions were slow at first, giving Sano time to adjust. As the young man’s body fully integrated the pain with the pleasure and welcomed the mixture with no uncertainty, his erection, which had softened on penetration, hardened completely again. Whether Saitou felt this, trapped as it was between their rocking bodies, sensed Sano’s readiness by other cues, or was simply no longer able to hold back, he proceeded to a quick, hard pattern of deep thrusts, locking as he did so his teeth into the flesh of Sano’s shoulder as if to muffle his sounds of pleasure or his loud, trembling breaths.

Sano could do nothing but clutch at him, his own panting and groaning much the same, occasionally twisting his hips for a new, mind-shattering angle. How long it lasted he had no clear concept; he only knew the orgasm it led to was hard, protracted, and monumental — possibly the most perfect thing he’d ever felt. His head, which had lifted off the floor slightly at some point along with his shoulders, fell back, eyes closed, to ride the wave of white heat before he returned slowly and reluctantly to reality. There he lay, gasping, partially limp, against the warm floor while Saitou finished.

With a final thrust almost brutally vigorous, a groan, and a tightening of his teeth into Sano’s skin, Saitou came as well, and finally lay still, except for a slight, subsiding trembling as his tight muscles relaxed. His damp, ragged breaths, stinging a bit against Sano’s shoulder in the wound he’d occasioned there, mixed with Sano’s as the only sound in the room.

This near-silence, after the glorious chaos of moments before, seemed extremely loud. Though the burning glow throughout Sano’s entire body, the echoing shockwaves of pleasure and pain, seemed to discourage any sort of verbal communication at this point, he was starting to feel he really needed to say something — if only he could think what. Then the peculiar haze of indefinite emotions and half emotions, frames of mind shattered and rebuilding in different forms, was pierced abruptly by the sound of insistent knocking.

“Shit,” muttered Saitou close to Sano’s ear.

At this, now he wasn’t as angry as he had been for the last several weeks, Sano could feel nothing but surprise and perhaps some amusement. He’d never heard Saitou swear quite so blatantly before. Incredulous, he wondered, “Is that actually your wife? You actually weren’t lying about that?”

“It is and I wasn’t,” Saitou replied sourly. He pulled out of Sano with a slight noise of discomfort, and, standing slowly, looked around with a very abstracted expression. When his eyes passed Sano, however, the latter got the impression the officer was combating a strong temptation to ignore the obstinate knocking and… do something else.

“I’ll get out of your way, then.” Sano, a little surprised at the comradely way he’d made this statement, also stood — more slowly than Saitou had, and with a great deal more discomfort — and attempted to locate his clothing. His wraps were torn to unusable pieces, which earned Saitou a few muttered curses that yet lacked the vehemence of anything Sano had uttered against him for a month or perhaps forever; the scraps were, however, at least suitable to wipe away the evidence — including some blood — of their activities. Soon the young man was reasonably clothed and inquiring of the similarly reasonable other the way to the back door.

Halfway out this aperture, Sano couldn’t help hesitating, glancing again at Saitou. It felt strange, almost bewilderingly so, to look at that sharp, handsome face without the rush of overwhelming wrath to which he’d become so accustomed. He didn’t have anything to say, but still felt something needed to be said. Finally he just decided on, “Well, good night.”

This might, Sano thought, have been exactly what Saitou had intended to say, and Sano’s having gotten to it first rendered it a less desirable farewell. But before Saitou turned to answer a call of, “Hajime? Are you home?” from the other end of the little house, he did fix unreadable but very pointed eyes on Sano as if to make some other, silent comment… Sano had no idea what. So the young man moved away, closing the door as quietly as he could, into the small yard behind the house whence he had to climb a low wall to reach the street.

He had no idea where things would go from here. Why that tolerant atmosphere? Why that last, serious look? Why this drastic decrease in anger? It was paradoxically infuriating that, now he’d actually done the deed, the idea of being fucked by Saitou wasn’t nearly so infuriating. Though fairly certain he still didn’t want to want Saitou, he was far less certain of the ‘game over’ he’d anticipated on the way here. Goddamn confusing bastard. The one sure aspect of the situation was that it had been every bit as enjoyable — for both of them — as he’d predicted, that he was finally satisfied.

For the moment.

Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to think about that little addendum, nor speculate on what Saitou’s next move would be… or what he wanted it to be. But as he slipped away into the night and concentrated mostly on the residual pain and dissipating afterglow rather than the future, he couldn’t help reflecting with a grin — somewhat bitter though it was — that a dog and a wolf weren’t so dissimilar after all.



This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #24 “Good night.”

Admittedly few of the Saitou/Sano scenarios I set up were 100% healthy relationships, but this… this is completely fucked up. Why did I write it? Why did I find it funny back when I wrote it? I don’t know. I guess it’s not too bad, though, as an examination of a really bastardly version of Saitou.

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Black and Blue and White All Over



“Kenshin!!”

The rurouni paused and turned. As the young man, slipping occasionally but never quite falling, pelted up the hill toward where his friend stood on the more level road, Kenshin wondered, “What is wrong, Sano?”

“Look out!” Sano cried as he reached him, and, ducking behind Kenshin, this time really did fall full-length into the snow. Kenshin didn’t have time to worry about that, however, for, the very moment Sano was behind him, a snowball struck his scarred face so forcibly it knocked him backward; he tripped over Sano and fell, and his tofu bucket went flying.

“Thanks, buddy,” Sano gasped as he wriggled from beneath Kenshin and took to running again, off the road once more into the field on the other side.

“I’d apologize, Himura,” came a new voice, “if that hadn’t been the most comical thing I’ve seen all week.”

“No need for an apology, Saitou,” Kenshin replied as he sat up. “I am used to Sano using me as a shield against missiles. Of course,” he added, smiling brightly and bringing a large handful of snow with him as he stood, “that does not mean he always gets away with it.”

Saitou smirked.

Sano had ducked behind a hedge, presumably to assemble an arsenal, and it only took a single glance between the other two men to coordinate their attack: Saitou crept around the shrubbery’s far end while Kenshin approached it broadside just at the point where he sensed Sano opposite him. Then, simultaneously, Saitou came charging at Sano from the right while Kenshin cleared the hedge in a jump and landed on his left; Sano was pelted with multiple snowballs from both directions.

With a yelp, Sano tossed the one he’d been making at a bad angle, missing his two assailants entirely, and, ducking away, once again ran off.

Kenshin, obviously satisfied with this, turned with a grin and the intention of searching for his lost bucket. However, as he did so, a snowball struck him squarely on the back of the head, and when he turned again another hit his face. Saitou, who’d been more alert and therefore successfully dodged Sano’s attack, threw Kenshin a look that said, Are you just going to take that?

Kenshin bent and scooped up another handful of snow.

Sano wasn’t giving much thought to strategy, but was vaguely aware that the belt of trees toward which he was slowly being driven by the now-doubled enemy force was 1) not likely to provide much snow for further missiles but 2) likely to provide better cover than the field. It was just as he started trying to think what to do about this change in terrain when he noticed someone on the road off to his left and his face broke into a grin.

“Hey, Katsu!” he called.

The figure, which was indeed that of his good friend Katsu, stopped and looked in his direction just in time to see him take two snowballs to the chest. Sano’s subsequent cry of, “Help a guy out, will ya?” was a little breathless as a result.

Katsu stood quietly watching for several moments as Sano dodged another assault. Deciding that the hedge he’d abandoned was probably a good option as long as he didn’t let anyone take him by surprise by jumping over it again, the kenkaya tried to run back that direction and throw snowballs at both Kenshin and Saitou at the same time. One endeavor worked better than the other: although he hit his targets, his calculated movement was entirely thwarted by the return volley.

And that was when Katsu’s first snowball struck him squarely between the shoulder blades from behind.

“Katsu!!” Sano bawled in anger and surprise.

“Sorry, Sano,” said the grinning Katsu, “I like these odds better.”

“Your friend has sense,” Saitou smirked.

“My friend’s a fucking traitor!” Sano growled, now trying to watch all three of them at once.

Kenshin laughed.

“Besides, Sano, I still owe you for shoving snow down my pants last week,” Katsu explained as he took careful aim and hit Sano’s forearm so accurately that the ball Sano had been about to release from it was knocked right out of his hand.

“He shoved snow down your pants?” asked Saitou in an odd tone.

“It was a non-sexual shoving,” Katsu assured him quickly.

“I am not sure in what context shoving snow down someone’s pants could be considered sexual,” remarked Kenshin.

“Well, with Sano, you never know,” was Katsu’s mock-sober response.

They all got back to business. The brief exchange, though, had given Sano an opportunity to take a better stance against them and hastily manufacture enough snowballs that he was able to hold his own for a few minutes. He felt rather proud of himself, actually; he knew he excelled at facing off against multiple enemies, but he wouldn’t have thought he could last this long at snowballs against both Saitou and Kenshin — and Katsu was proving uncannily good at this, too.

“What’s this??” A new voice from the road. “Nobody told me it was Everybody Throw Snowballs At Tori-Atama Day!”

“Shit,” Sano muttered.

As Chou came sliding down the slope to join the others, Sano had another moment of relative freedom in which to replenish his collection of weapons somewhat desperately.

“You’re supposed to be at the station,” Saitou was admonishing.

“I think you are too,” Chou grinned. “But I need to get even with this bastard for shovin’ snow down my pants the other day.”

“Hmm…” Thoughtfully Kenshin cocked his head to one side. “Whose pants has Sano not shoved snow down recently?”

“His own, presumably,” Saitou replied.

“We should totally fix that,” Chou suggested.

Sano did not like the sound of this. Gathering up his snowballs, he turned and fled into the trees.

They followed him — Kenshin the most quickly, of course, but Sano, expecting that, slowed him up with a pointed missile. Then his heart lightened as he cleared the trees and came upon exactly what he needed.

A little ridge of rock curved toward the forest belt, a considerable snowdrift piled between its protective arms. If his enemies kept to the cover of the trees, they would have little ammunition; if they advanced to where the snow began again, they would be forced into the narrow space between the rocks, and he would have an easy shot. And he had plenty of snow within reach; he didn’t even have to bend down for it. He grinned in triumph and turned to face them.

They must have seen immediately the advantageous circumstances in which he’d placed himself, for after a few missiles they’d probably brought with them from the field, everything went still and silent. Sano watched carefully for their movements behind the trees they were using for concealment, a snowball in each hand and a defiant smile on his face.

Finally, after a tense minute or so of this stalemate, Saitou stepped out into plain view.

Sano threw immediately; Saitou dodged one and took the other, and kept walking forward. Sano reached back for more snow, at which the officer raised his empty hands and Sano paused. He would accept their surrender graciously.

“You’re freezing,” Saitou murmured as he came within arm’s length of the younger man and observed his heavy shivering.

“And whose fault is that?” Sano wondered.

“Entirely your own,” replied Saitou with a smirk. “We should probably stop…” He bent and kissed Sano soundly, working the coldness from his lips with a massaging motion.

As he drew back, Sano’s shivering increased, but his eyes were sparkling. Then his expression changed completely as Saitou added softly, “…but not yet,” and sprang abruptly backward, bending for a handful of snow.

“What the fuck was–” Sano began, but was cut off as snowballs came flying at him from all directions. He dashed for cover, but found the very ridge he’d been using for that purpose now held against him. Two of his enemies must have scrambled up it from either side while he’d been too distracted to notice and thwart them.

“Your diversion techniques are rather unusual, officer-san,” Katsu remarked from high on Sano’s left.

“What?!” Sano demanded as he attempted to dodge in multiple directions at once and failed miserably.

“Yeah, I gotta try that one one of these days,” Chou laughed from high on Sano’s right.

“No, you don’t!” Sano growled as he went to scoop up more snow to retaliate, only to have an unfairly accurate projectile knock his hand away.

“Sano, you really should know better than to lower your guard in the middle of a battle,” Kenshin’s voice came from not far behind Sano to his left, “no matter who it is kissing you.”

“‘Battle?'” Sano swatted a snowball out of the air but took another to each side of his head.

“I keep telling him that,” Saitou remarked from Sano’s right, “but he really is too thick-skulled.”

“You’ve never said a word about kissing in the middle of a battle!!” Again Sano attempted to fight back, but started to recognize the futility of his efforts. Soon there was nothing to do but fall to his knees and try to guard his face and head with upraised arms.

“Well, Sano, do you give up?” Kenshin wondered cheerfully.

“Never!” Sano roared.

“Come on, Sano, my hands are getting really cold,” Katsu prodded, nearly as cheerful as Kenshin.

“Not mine,” Chou put in, more cheerfully than both of them. “I could do this all day.”

“You’re wearing leather gloves,” Katsu pointed out.

Despite his defiance, Sano was weakening. What’s more, he was beginning to be able to distinguish which snowballs were whose, and that was pretty pathetic: Saitou’s hit hardest, Kenshin’s came fastest, Katsu’s were the most accurate, and Chou’s were just sloppy. Not that it mattered much; four on one would suck in any case. He was getting to the point where he was almost ready to start thinking about maybe giving in when he was unexpectedly saved.

What is going on here?”

The tone was enough to stop them all in their tracks, frozen more thoroughly than the snow could render them.

“Kenshin, I sent you out after tofu an hour ago!”

Sano, peering warily through his arms, saw Kaoru standing back beyond Kenshin and Saitou in the trees, brandishing the bucket Kenshin had dropped earlier and glowering like death incarnate. “I come out looking for you because I’m worried something might have happened to you, and what do I find?? A bunch of grown men playing around in the snow!?!”

“And if you were all gonna beat up on Sano,” grumbled Yahiko from her side, “you could at least have invited me.”

After smacking Yahiko briefly, Kaoru held out the tofu bucket and growled, “Kenshin…”

“Yes, yes, Kaoru-dono.” Kenshin dropped the snowball he’d been about to throw and began self-consciously brushing and shaking snow from his clothes even as he went to join his dojomates.

“I swear, you’re as easily distracted as Sano is!” Kaoru ranted as she turned sharply and walked away with a tight, hauling grip on Kenshin’s sleeve. Sano noticed Yahiko casting those that remained in combative positions a somewhat wistful glance as he followed.

Watching with grins and rolling eyes, Katsu and Chou began making their way off the high ground they’d so unfairly captured — one careful, the other reckless. “I’ve entirely forgotten what I was on my way to do,” Katsu said.

Chou glanced over at him. “You were on your way to have dinner with me?” he suggested hopefully.

“Oh, was I?” wondered Katsu with a laugh. “I guess I’m late, then.”

“Oh, I have a feelin’ you’ll get there the same time I do,” Chou grinned, “so it’s probably all right.”

“Better get going, then.” Katsu returned the expression, then glanced at Sano. “Sano, it appears I’ve got a date, so we’ll have to finish this another time.”

Sano, who had not yet removed his arms from over his face, grumbled from behind them, “You’re wasting your time with that guy, but all right!”

Soon, therefore, the only people left were the two with whom the entire drama had originated, and the scene had become very quiet. Seeing both of Saitou’s hands engaged in lighting a cigarette, Sano deemed it safe to emerge.

“How the hell did that start, anyway?” he wondered, standing at last.

Saitou looked over at him with a raised brow. “By you stuffing snow down my pants?” he suggested.

“Oh, yeah,” Sano grinned. “Well, I guess that was worth it.”

“You’re going to be black and blue,” smirked Saitou.

“No shit, man.” Grimacing, Sano glanced over the various red spots that had already developed on his raw, aching skin. “I swear Katsu’s had little eyes and brains of their own.”

“He does seem to be quite a good shot,” Saitou agreed. “But I meant you’re going to be black and blue once I’m finished with you. Come on; let’s go take a bath.”

Sano’s grin widened as he bounced over to Saitou’s side and took his arm. “All right!”

With narrowed eyes and a puff of smoke that seemed double in the frosty air, “And we’ll make sure it was ‘worth it,'” Saitou added.


I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


The Reaction I Always Have

Businesspeople stay at classier places. Vacationing families stay at cleaner places. The homeless looking for a temporary refuge stay at cheaper places. Which leaves really only a couple of reasons for anyone to come to this run-down old motel. That said, it seems appropriate that the little soaps in the bathroom have been reproducing during the night. At least I assume that’s why there’s two more of them than last time I looked.

I don’t like to shower right after he leaves every time, but I can’t have the distraction of his scent hanging around me all day. Construction work isn’t the safest job in the world even when you’re not stopping at random moments to moon over someone who’s by now far off.

Far off in more senses than one, since it isn’t just that he lives in a city half an hour away and only comes to this dumbass little town to see me. There’s a wife and some kids and a normal, upstanding, heterosexual life in there somewhere too. It doesn’t matter that I’m not working today; I don’t need that thought, which his scent always leads to, hovering around me in any case. Too fucking depressing.

I always take a cold shower the morning after. I’ve found it’s just a good idea. And I never use the little soaps, which are creepy for reasons other than that their numbers have doubled since I last looked.

Sometimes — a lot of the time — I think it would have been better if we’d never met. If his car hadn’t gotten a flat that day just in the right spot for me and some of my co-workers to help him out, if I hadn’t caught his eye for whatever reason.

None of the times I think that are when he’s actually here.

You might take me for a gay stereotype if you saw how long I spend washing my hair, but it’s really only in this motel. At home it’s just an in-and-out thing, but here I’ve got a cold, empty room to face once I’m finished; there are some things a guy’s just not strong enough for, embarrassing as that is to think about.

I never know when he’s going to show up; it’ll be some day like every other, and near the end of my shift I’ll look over and see him on the other side of the chain-link rent-a-fence around the construction site… just standing there smoking, waiting for me.

The other guys think he’s my parole officer. In another situation, that might be hilarious.

It’s the weirdest mix of emotions, the reaction I always have to seeing him. First — and, yeah, I’m aware that’s significant — it’s this rush of happiness like he’s my best friend I haven’t seen in years, even though he’s just a fuck-buddy I might have seen a week ago.

Second, of course, there’s the arousal. The first time we slept together, it was some novel one-night stand for me — not every day this kind of bum snags a hot P.I., is it? — and some sort of stress-relief for him — for his purposes, I could have been anyone — but there’s no denying that we turn each other on, and seeing him there by the fence where he wasn’t the last time I looked is a jolt like nothing else.

Next it’s this intense irritation, because it also brings up every last bit of confusion and guilt I feel each time I think about him and this situation — not to mention he’s always got on this aloof expression like he’s better than everything he’s looking at, or this self-satisfied smirk that’s just annoying.

And then, after that… well, did I mention confusion and guilt?

It’s confusing because when I get off work, we spend the rest of the day together. I don’t remember when that started or even really why; we used to just head straight for the motel, because it’s not like we get along all that well outside it. But now we sit around at some stupid restaurant talking about what happened that day and that week and what’s going on at work — his is always way more interesting than mine — and whatever else might come up… sometimes it seems like we’re not talking about anything at all, and we argue over most of it anyway, but we’re always saying something.

The guilt’s a little more complicated. He doesn’t love his wife, and things never go smoothly at home; I don’t think they have for a while. He doesn’t talk about his family much, but when he does I get the point: they’re only still together for the sake of the kids. But they are still together. The problem isn’t really on my end, though. I’m too selfish to feel all that bad because I’m ‘the other woman’ or whatever you want to call it, and sometimes I just wish they’d get a fucking divorce already and end all the drama.

No, the problem arises from his unshakable code of moral absolutes: it’s wrong to cheat on your wife; end of story. It’s another thing he doesn’t really mention outright, but as much as I’ve talked to him by now, I can tell. He hates what he’s doing with me, hates or at least is angry at himself for it. But he keeps doing it anyway: purposely taking a route that’ll bring him by this town on every job, even when it’s out of his way; planning slightly longer trips just so he can come here and see me unsuspected… come here and fuck me…

And the next morning I get up and head straight for the shower without looking behind me at the other side of the bed or around me at the room, unwilling to admit yet that it’s painful to wake up alone… that it’s painful to think maybe he leaves so early each time because he can’t stand to look at me and think about what he’s doing wrong. And I try to keep myself from imagining what it would be like if there was no wife waiting at home, no kids that need two parents…

I guess I should be flattered that I seem to be worth breaking the rules so consistently for, but really all I feel is a little sick when I think about it. Because one of these days I know he’s going to tell me this was the last time, and he’ll just be doing what he believes he should have done long ago, doing the right thing — so I won’t be able to argue with that, because it would hurt him if I did. Or, worse, he won’t tell me anything and’ll simply never show up again. And I’ll live out my meaningless life in this boring town glancing over to the fence to see if he’s there, and he won’t be… and I’ll keep telling myself that if I just look one more time, he’ll be there… that he’s just been busy but today’s the day…

All right, yeah, so maybe I love him. God dammit, how the hell did this happen.

Motel wash-rag’s like sandpaper, but at the moment I kinda like it. It’s distracting, and I spend a couple of minutes just scrubbing at random parts of my body watching my skin turn red. I almost wish I could bleed. But I don’t really go in for all that emo shit — my hair won’t comb down over my eyes anyway, even when it’s wet — so I might as well just get out and face the music. Face the empty depressing motel room, I mean.

And, you know, the long shower’s actually made it worse today. Why did I have to fucking realize I love him just now when he’s already gone, when I’ve acknowledged he may never come back? I’m an idiot, that’s why. He calls me that sometimes, and I guess it’s true. Fucking worthless idiot.

“Were you trying to use up all of their hot water?”

These words, the smell of fresh cigarette smoke, and the bafflingly unexpected sight hit me simultaneously as I exit the tiny bathroom, and I find the rough white towel slipping from my suddenly weakened fingers to cover my bare feet on the cool, hard carpet. And I can only stand and stare.

He smiles; it’s the same look as always, but there’s added to it something more personal than I’ve ever been privileged to see before: it’s a much more private, inclusive smirk that, as soon as my utterly stunned brain manages to get control of my motionless body again, draws me inexorably to where he’s lying casually on the bed.

“You’re still here,” I state inanely as I slide across the cheap sheet to his side.

“This is your day off, isn’t it?” He seems to be enjoying my shock, the bastard. “My wife’s not expecting me home until tomorrow morning.”

And somehow, “Why?” is all I can come up with to say.

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t I tell you yesterday? My case took an entire day less than I’d expected.”

Is that statement entirely honest? Or is it his way of saying he planned ahead to spend the day with me? I don’t have the nerve to ask. I can’t yet bring myself to tell him what I’ve realized, because what if that’s the catalyst for him to end it? I don’t think I could bear to tell him and then have him walk away forever.

I shift into a better position for a long, slow kiss, and he reaches blindly for the ash tray on the bedside table before slipping his arms around me. The hot, ecstatic feeling of having him here, still here, here with me, ready to spend the day with me, perhaps even by prearrangement, leaves little space for other thought: for the moment I’m so full of joy I can’t help thinking that someday he’ll get things worked out on his end, we’ll get rid of the fence, and he’ll be mine for real; we’ll make this room and this motel and this town and this two-edged situation just an ambivalent memory.


This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #25 “Fence.”

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Helpless


It was stupid and crazy and he knew it. After a day of chaos and a night of worry and little rest, he was barely cleaned and patched up, and decidedly exhausted. Beyond that, he had to evade a doctor, several concerned friends, and a house full of fucking onmitsu just to get to the door. And that was all before taking into account his terrible sense of direction. But despite everything, here he was sneaking from the half-ruined Aoiya, pockets stuffed with spare bandages, heading out of town.

There wasn’t much he could do to deny the reasons for this foolishness, but he didn’t really want to think about it, so he concentrated on walking, on the physical pain, on not thinking about too much of anything. One foot in front of the other, don’t stumble, try to keep to a relatively straight line.

But a burning image was seared across the insides of his eyelids every time he blinked, and an unusually ambiguous rage tore at his heart. He might have identified that anger if he’d wanted to; might have associated it with memories, with missed opportunities — none of them from too long ago, yet all bearing the mental stamp of circumstances deliberately distanced from associated recollection because they were too painful to consider.

He would have stayed if he’d been the only one, or even if Kenshin hadn’t needed him quite so desperately.

Walking. Physical pain. Not thinking about anything. Not getting lost.

Smoke rose from the site; it was visible from the edge of town, but soon hidden again by trees. His progress was slow, and he found himself pushing, frustrated, for greater speed, as if there were something up there that couldn’t wait. As if there were anything up there at all.

He couldn’t be sure, after not too long, that this was the right direction, but he kept moving. The sun was high and the path bright between the trees’ shadows: the perfect day for a nap, something Sano was certainly in a condition to appreciate… but instead here he was plodding up a mountain, probably killing himself, looking for…

…nothing.

Eventually he lost track of how long he’d been walking; awareness of a lot of things was fading, actually, and it was perhaps this general dimness that prompted the worried voice in the back of his head that vaguely suggested he stop. Or perhaps it was something else. For, slowing to a standstill as he rounded a bend, he raised his gaze from where it had preceded his footsteps along the ground and saw before him, among the mountain foliage and the imaginary gloom created by his own weakness, what he took at first to be a hallucination. For a while he merely stared. It was almost as if he’d been expecting it, for there was no surprise at the sight… no surprise, only a slow, magnificent fury.

How could he make an ambiguous exit like that and then get out just fine? Finally play the hero and then just walk away??

“Asshole,” Sano growled. Everything about Saitou was so maddening, from the indifferent expression to the slow way he stood straight from the tree he’d been leaning against as if Sano was barely worth his attention, that the young man could not restrain himself. He would show that arrogant bastard…

Saitou twisted so Sano’s arm passed over his shoulder, and unexpectedly met him chest to chest, his weight driving them both back a pace. Thus Sano’s fist barely brushed the bark of the tree, and his eyes went wide. If Saitou had answered his attack any other way, a very solid trunk would have met the very sensitive hand about which Sano himself had, in the ire of the moment, almost forgotten.

“I doubt that’s the way you want to fight me,” Saitou murmured.

Sano could find no answer. This guy knew everything; he’d been unconscious when Shishio had crushed Sano’s hand, yet had noticed at some point and now had the presence of mind to spare Sano further injury.

Also, he was still pressed against Sano for some reason, seeming almost limp.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Sano, nonplussed.

“Didn’t you know?” Saitou replied in what was barely an echo of his usual tone. “This is my new hobby.”

This was the first intimation that Saitou might not be fine, and at that thought Sano’s rage drained instantly away. Returning common sense seconded the supposition: Saitou had been wounded in the fortress; getting out of the fortress, through that inferno, couldn’t have improved his condition. In a movement almost panicky, arms rose to clutch at Saitou’s form. Now that Sano was paying attention, he could smell charred clothing and flesh, and he thought something wet was soaking through Saitou’s jacket onto his chest. For half a moment he had no idea what to do.

“Make yourself useful, ahou,” Saitou commanded faintly.

Annoyance restored Sano’s presence of mind. “I’m waiting to see if you’re gonna die before I waste my time on you,” he retorted, though his voice sounded nearly as weak as Saitou’s. Honestly, just supporting the other man’s weight as well as his own was almost more than he could handle. Trying to remember how far back along his path lay the nearest potential place of rest and medical care was futile; he could barely remember how far he’d come from the city, let alone what he’d passed along the way. “How far can you walk?” he asked doubtfully.

“If I could still walk, do you really think I’d be leaning on you?” Saitou’s sarcasm was distinctly blunted under these circumstances.

Sano snorted. “Fine,” he muttered, looking around for a decent place to… what? Make camp? Play doctor? Preferably not in the middle of the path.

Eventually he chose a somewhat clear spot among the trees to their left and helped Saitou to the ground. The officer really didn’t look good. Beyond merely wondering, Sano was baffled as to why he hadn’t noticed at first. His emotional response at finding Saitou still alive at all might have been some explanation — if he wanted to think about that.

Before he could do anything else, he had to take some rest himself. Both of his hands hurt desperately, the pain in his skull was steadily growing again, and his entire body ached. He felt he could sleep for a year — and probably would, forgetting Saitou and everything else in the world, if he lay down. But, though there were times when it seemed forgetting Saitou would make his life a good deal easier, that didn’t strike him as the best plan at the moment. So he leaned against a tree and drew an arm across his face, closing his eyes in search of comfortable darkness.

His breathing, which he hadn’t realized was so uneven, became gradually more regular, and the sounds of the wooded mountain were soothing — until he felt himself tilting, succumbing to gravity, falling asleep on his feet. Straightening, dropping his protective arm, he opened his eyes to the somewhat jarring day. Surprisingly, he did actually feel rested — readier, at least, for the task at hand. His steps weren’t as steady as he could have wished, however, as he made his way back to Saitou.

The officer’s eyes had closed, but Sano thought he was still conscious. And at least he didn’t seem to have any respiratory problems. “Any idea what’s worst here?” Sano asked almost conversationally as he knelt at Saitou’s side and began unbuttoning the man’s jacket. It was almost a pointless exercise — the front of the thing was a mess, the dexterity of Sano’s fingers far from its usual level — but he didn’t want to start destroying clothes before he had to.

Saitou took a breath as if to answer, but then let it out without a word; Sano guessed he’d had some unhelpful sarcastic impulse that he’d thought better of, and had nothing to say in its place. He did open his eyes, though, and these seemed alert enough for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” was Sano’s next remark. He was taking in the extent of the wounds on Saitou’s chest as he started to peel the jacket away from them. “How’d you even make it this far?”

“Good question,” Saitou replied, and it was nearly a whisper; Sano thought he was perhaps trying to cover up his hiss of pain as torn, bloody cloth that was already hardening onto similar bloody tears in his flesh tugged at the latter.

“Water…” Sano muttered. He wasn’t going to get much farther without it.

“Listen,” admonished the officer, and just in that single, weary word the implication was strong: “You should have thought of that earlier.”

It was true, and there was no purpose getting annoyed about it now. Sano closed his eyes, alert this time and concentrating. His head was pounding, and it interfered somewhat with the pursuit of distant sound, but he forced himself to perceive past it, and restrained his breathing until he felt he must faint; never in his life had he listened so hard. And Saitou was right, of course: he did hear water, some way ahead and to the left — whatever direction that actually was.

It took him longer to physically locate his goal than it had to perceive it, and by the time he reached the little stream he was frustrated and tired. But the thoughts of rest he entertained as he sank again to his knees were dispelled when he glanced down and saw Saitou’s blood patterned across his borrowed gi. Having no container of any kind, after some thought he pulled off the garment and held it in the water until it was entirely soaked. Then, wadding it up and trying to keep it as much as possible from dripping, he rose and returned (after a few false starts in wrong directions) to where he’d left the other man.

Although Saitou’s eyes were again closed, he was still obviously awake, and Sano grudgingly had to admire that; lying flat, Sano would long ago have been out cold. The officer even went so far as to grunt and speak an entire sentence when Sano wrung out one corner of the waterlogged gi over his chest: “Do you have… any idea… what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” Sano replied indignantly. “Any decent street-fighter knows how to treat wounds… basically.”

“‘Decent…'” Saitou muttered, eyes still closed.

“Hey, fuck you,” Sano shot back, responding to the disdain he assumed Saitou intended; “I could just leave you here.” But somehow, facetiously as he’d meant it, this was a disturbing idea, so he added more seriously, “But don’t worry. After I get you cleaned up and you have some rest, we’ll get you down to a real doctor. In the meantime, I’ve got all sorts of bandages.”

Now one of Saitou’s eyes cracked open, but it seemed all he could manage was a very faint expression of skepticism and consternation. “I’m not sharing your dirty bandages, ahou.”

“No,” protested Sano, piqued again, “I grabbed a bunch from the Aoiya before I left, just in case–” He broke off, his face heating for some reason.

Saitou, even in his present state, didn’t miss it. “‘In case–?'”

Choosing to ignore this, a luxury he didn’t often have with Saitou, Sano bent his full attention to the duty before him. His stupid blush was undoubtedly answer enough anyway.

It was a laborious process conducted mostly in silence. Sano was forced, after all, to use the nihontou from the officer’s belt to cut free the front sections of shirt and jacket, and getting these out of the clotting wounds was an ordeal for both of them. Sano’s hands didn’t fancy the exertion, and obviously it was a good deal less pleasant for Saitou. But eventually it was done, and the newly-cleaned cuts were beginning to ooze fresh blood, which, after the mélange of blackening cloth, looked positively healthy.

Sano hastened to empty his pockets of the various rolls of bandages he’d managed to pick up on his way out on this absurd quest. Presently he found that he’d either overestimated the amount he’d brought or underestimated how much length was required to treat any significant hurt, for by the time he got Saitou’s chest sufficiently wrapped, very little remained. He could only hope, as he turned his attention to Saitou’s lower half, that the officer had no other severe injuries. The hastily tended wounds on his thighs were obvious and should probably be re-wrapped, but other than that he couldn’t tell.

“Don’t,” Saitou murmured as Sano’s hand touched his belt. Glancing back at the wolf’s slitted eyes, Sano got the impression Saitou’s struggle against unconsciousness was nearly lost.

To see Saitou like that, vulnerable and hurting, gave Sano the oddest feeling and the oddest impulses. His bandaged fingers had reached out and grazed the harsh face before he even realized what he was doing. “Just checking for other shit you might die from,” he replied softly, trying to fight off another blush at his own foolishness. “Didn’t figure you for the modest type.”

Saitou’s answering twitch of lips was a far cry from his usual smirk, and faded quickly. “I just don’t think… you need another reason… to be jealous of me,” he whispered. Then with a slight sigh he closed his eyes, this time clearly abandoning wakefulness.

Reflecting that Saitou would be sarcastic even on his deathbed, Sano continued with his planned course of action. Saitou was probably right; removing an unconscious man’s pants was always an awkward procedure, and given the lack of large bloodstains on them it was to be assumed he didn’t have any life-threatening wounds below the waist… but Sano would be perverse even on his deathbed, and Saitou’s parting shot was an indomitable inducement at least to look.

He bit back a… remark. Figured Saitou would be right about that too. Though it wasn’t exactly jealousy Sano felt.

Of course he really had only given himself unnecessary work by disturbing the bandages on the officer’s thighs. But he persevered until he had those wounds cleaned and re-wrapped (simply rotating the same bandages, unfortunately) and had at least wrung the last of the water he could from his now very bloody gi onto the burns that covered Saitou’s legs in painful-looking patches from the knees down. Then it was even more awkward to get the pants back on, but finally his work seemed finished.

Almost without another thought, he stretched out on the ground beside the other man and went to sleep.

***

Saitou awoke, cold and in pain, in an unfamiliar and decidedly outdoor setting, and wondered for a long, disoriented moment why this didn’t bother him more.

Concentrating first on the physicality of his situation, the sensations of the ground beneath him and the pain throughout his body, he determined in what position he lay and recalled each of his wounds in succession, and the world seemed a bit less nonsensical. What he couldn’t quite make sense of was the warmth all along his left side. But as the events preceding his period of unconsciousness slowly, vaguely returned to him, he realized what it must be.

His mind was almost blank; he didn’t know what to think, and it was easier just to hurt. The one solid reflection he was able to entertain was that he’d been helpless: truly helpless, with only an extraneous factor standing between him and a variety of possible causes of death, the circumstances entirely beyond his control; a state he hadn’t been in since… he couldn’t remember when. Though trying to remember did awaken his cognitive faculties somewhat.

He didn’t think he would have made it more than a few steps further on his own. Whether he would have survived his inevitable collapse, he didn’t know — but even if the idiot hadn’t saved his life, he had certainly saved him from complications and greater discomfort. Sagara Sanosuke, of all people.

Though Saitou knew perfectly well why Sano had done it. It was the same reason Sano was huddled up against him now, rendering imperfect the chill that had settled across his body.

Slowly and with a great deal of discomfort, Saitou sat up. His next breath was a gasp as the wounds on his chest flared with a burst of pain, and he had to lean heavily on his hand to keep from falling back to the ground. Once it had died down (or he’d become accustomed to it), he assessed his condition. It took only a brief examination to see that Sano had done an unexpectedly good job with his ‘just in case’ bandages. Saitou was still in rather dire shape, but he wouldn’t die and might not get infected.

Next the officer turned his eyes to his companion. Sano lay on his side, curled up, shirtless, shivering occasionally but untroubled by Saitou’s movement in the deep sleep of exhaustion. Saitou stared at him for a long time — until weariness and pain dragged him back to the ground and his eyes closed, in fact. What kept his gaze riveted until that extremity was the unfamiliar and unanticipated reaction he had to seeing the young man there like that: far from clinical indifference, or even the vague tolerance he would have expected if he’d thought about it at all, the sudden rush of emotion he experienced was, rather, something discernibly positive… something that went beyond fondness, even, and held traces of possessiveness and sympathy.

When had that started?

At some point while Saitou had been in the aforementioned rare helpless state, undoubtedly. Helpless, evidently, in more ways than one, if, as it seemed, the big brown eyes and stupid remarks had finally gotten to him. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now but let it run its course, whatever that might be. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, anyway. Himura had predicted it. Saitou himself had not ignored the possibility in his calculations for the future — he just hadn’t thought it a very probable possibility. And here it was.

He could already hear Tokio’s comment: “So you just woke up one day” — it was a phrase she used consistently, which was why it crossed his mind at all — “and decided you liked this kid?” And when he replied that, yes, that was exactly how it had happened, she would say… but he didn’t have the energy to play out that hypothetical but inevitable conversation, entertaining as it was and would be.

A burning sensation lay just beneath his flesh throughout his body, and he thought illness might be the greatest danger to him at this point. In direct contrast, the surface of his skin was uncomfortably cool, and sweat stood clammy across his form. Though the day was warm, the sun’s light, diluted by the trees, did little to comfort him. And at his side he thought Sano shared his condition. But there was nothing to be done about it; he wasn’t yet rested enough to finish the walk back to Kyoto — and because of his wounds, he couldn’t even find a better position to lie in for shared body heat. He did, however, seek out Sano’s wrist, in lieu of a broken hand, and hold onto it as he fell asleep again.

When next he woke, he felt, if not exactly better, more like he might be able to stand and walk. Sano still slept soundly at his side, now with Saitou’s hand lying between both of his — which, though unclenched, yet managed to seem tenacious. When Saitou pulled his away as he sat up, Sano gave an angry-sounding mutter but did not stir. It was dusk, and getting steadily colder; Saitou thought that was what had awakened him. High time to get back to civilization.

“Sano,” he said, but his voice came out weak and faint. Bending, awkward and painful, until his lips brushed Sano’s ear, he repeated the hoarse call.

Sano stirred slowly, mumbling, as Saitou drew away, and eventually opened his eyes. Disorientation seemed to last about twice as long for him as it had for Saitou, but when on sitting up he caught sight of the older man, recollection flashed in his face. “Shit, how long–” He broke off as he looked around at the evening shadows.

“Long enough,” Saitou replied quietly.

“How’re you feeling?” was Sano’s next query. It was made with some abashment, but the young man seemed to have gained greater mastery over the apparent embarrassment of having come up this mountain in this state specifically to find Saitou, and the blush from earlier did not reappear.

Saitou pondered a moment on what reply was most likely to recall that blush, and decided honesty would probably do the trick. “Grateful,” he said. “You may have saved my life.”

It worked, for which victory the concession was only a small discomfort in exchange. “Well… I wasn’t…” Sano’s tone was amusingly defensive, as if Saitou’s statement had been one of accusation rather than gratitude. “I couldn’t just…”

“I know,” said Saitou, and his tone only served to intensify the blush. He smirked, albeit faintly.

“Look…” Sano began, but hesitated, evidently unsure how to continue.

Unfortunately, this was not the best moment for the wavering idiot to work himself up to a confession, so Saitou changed the subject. “Let’s go.”

At this Sano seemed to return to reality. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely, and scrambled to his feet. Saitou noted his expression when his hands touched the ground; and, thinking Sano in this mood might want to try to help his companion up and hurt himself in so doing — he was reckless like that — Saitou made his own way to a standing position.

Immediately he foresaw difficulties: his legs were very stiff and reluctant to move, and a nearly overwhelming wave of pain, originating in his chest, swept through him with every breath the instant he was upright. “I’m going to need your help.” His voice grated out in a whisper once more, but Sano was at his side in half an instant, literally almost tripping over himself. Saitou smirked again. “You’re just the right height for this,” he remarked, still very softly, as Sano supported him. Sano seemed to overlook the possible offensively objectifying interpretation of this statement, for it threw him into another dither of abashment as they set off.

So the first time they ever had their arms around each other, it was because Saitou could barely walk. It made for a long and awkward trip back to Kyoto, but at least Sano’s warmth at his side was a comfort in the growing dark; and, though his thoughts became hazier with every moment he spent perpendicular, he used the time to accustom himself to the idea of seeing a lot more of Sano’s from now on.

They did not speak until they’d entered town, and it was Sano who broke the lengthy silence. “Where now?”

Saitou’s energy was almost entirely gone, and his answer, “Police station,” was a barely intelligible mumble.

“Are you insane?” Sano demanded. “I go to all this trouble to get you back here alive, and you want to kill yourself going to work?”

“Ahou…” He was about to continue with an explanation about police doctors in as few words as he could condense the idea into, but Sano cut him off at the epithet:

“‘Sides, the police station’s gone. Juppongatana destroyed it.”

This news was so startling, it seemed somehow to put up a wall in the officer’s brain. He couldn’t get his thoughts past it, and they ran in circles at its foot. At a complete loss, near the end of coherent reflection, he couldn’t speak.

“Aoiya, then,” Sano pronounced, sounding at once dogmatic and concerned.

This, at least, Saitou was aware he didn’t want, and it roused him somewhat. “No,” he whispered, and with a great struggle managed to come up with the name of one of the doctors that answered to the precinct. And that was the real end of his logic for the day; he was content thereafter to lean increasingly heavily on Sano and let him take charge. In the fog of confusion that seemed to have fallen over Kyoto, relying on someone that was confused under normal circumstances didn’t even seem strange.

The next thing he knew was waking up alone. Though not as disorienting as waking up on the forested mountain, this was also more jarring than that unusual occurrence had been. Why did finding himself lying beside Sano feel so natural where in a similar condition finding himself in a clinic bed felt somehow off? Well, the answer to that must be obvious… if a somewhat alien concept.

Noting simultaneously the improved state of his various wounds and his lower level of pain, he looked around languidly at his sterile but comfortable environment, taking in details but not straining himself. He didn’t remember and couldn’t really imagine how Sano had managed to find the right place. Actually, he wasn’t even sure this was the right place. But it was obviously the right type of place, and not that ninja inn, and for the moment that must be enough. Though he didn’t feel significantly better, it was now a placid discomfort aware of drugs and a soft bed and the promise of as much rest as he needed. His mind still wasn’t entirely clear either, but at least now this didn’t result from him being about to collapse.

The end of last night’s events at first completely eluded his recollection, and, content to drift in and out of a half-sleeping state, he didn’t fight for it. But finally the thought of Sano’s face and voice managed to conjure up certain expressions and statements that he was fairly sure had been made during the period in question. He knew he’d spoken to Sano as well, replying to his remarks, and that there had been a doctor and possibly a doctor’s assistant that had also probably had something to say… but he still couldn’t remember most of it. In his struggle for recollection, all he heard was Sano.

“I’d stay, but I kinda feel like shit too, and they’re probably having fits about me being gone this long.”

Saitou reflected with a slight smirk that they would probably have fits when they realized why he’d gone, too. Himura would understand… but would he approve? That was a question for another time.

“But I’ll come by tomorrow if I can and make sure you’re not dead, all right?”

This had been spoken in such an odd tone… as if Sano had been more than a little anxious to reassure him. What had Saitou said or otherwise indicated to have prompted that? He simply couldn’t recall. And then…

Then Sano had kissed him. Right in front of the doctor and god knew who else.

Saitou sighed, rolling his eyes, but found he also wore a small smile. It was an inevitable result of being helpless in Sano’s hands… and conceivably an inevitable result of involvement with Sano in general. He might as well get used to it.

The effort of remembering had tired him, so he closed his eyes and drifted again, musing vaguely, speculatively, and not entirely unpleasantly about the future.

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

He wondered how long Sano would keep him waiting.


This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #20 “The road home.”

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Inappropriate Methods


The first thing that caught Saitou’s eye as he entered his office was Chou’s expression. Such a broad smile on the face of someone that lived to be entertained never signified the day would go well. “What are you grinning about?”

“Nothing,” Chou replied, blatantly lying. “Chief wants to see you.”

“Why?” Saitou asked.

Chou shrugged. “Maybe he wants an update on the other night?”

Saitou restrained his roll of eyes, not wishing to give Chou any reason to widen his grin, and headed for the chief’s office.

They were unmistakably dead. This was highly irritating.

There were three of them, and all had been alive only a few minutes ago. From the way they’d fallen, he guessed two of them had killed each other but that the last had been stabbed by some fourth party now absent. This was, as he had already noted, highly irritating.

“First, let me commend you on the progress you’ve made on this case,” was the chief’s first comment, his air that of disclaimer. “Before you took it over, Kanbu-kun couldn’t figure out whether he was looking for five murderers, three murderers and two hostages, or three thieves and two hostages.” The chief sighed. “Or five thieves. Or some combination of those options. He was wasting resources going every which-way, but you cut straight to the heart of things as usual.”

Saitou nodded acceptance of the compliment, unsure what was coming. The chief appeared unusually grim and worried, and, Saitou thought, perhaps a little nervous. It was an odd combination of emotional nuance.

Of course he’d intended to kill them anyway, but not until after his questions had been answered. He didn’t think any of these corpses were the hostages, but he couldn’t know for sure now, could he?

As he stood scowling down at them, he became aware that somebody else — somebody not dead — was present. Somebody watching the scene from the shadows under the bridge. Somebody…

He growled when he realized who it was, and stalked into the blackness to confront him.

“Since I’ve said this much, you must understand I’m not trying to undervalue your work. Your methods are unusual, but you always get results. However.” The chief crossed his arms and lowered his brows. “There are some methods I would have thought beneath you.”

Saitou frowned. “What are you referring to?”

“I never thought I’d be saying this to you.” The chief took a deep breath. “Sexual abuse is never an appropriate way to get answers out of witnesses.”

Saitou blinked.

“Evening,” was Sagara’s greeting. “Nice night, ain’t it?”

Gripped with a sudden premonition that this would not go well, “What happened here?” Saitou demanded.

“Oh, it was funny,” Sagara grinned. “Great small-gang drama. I’da stepped in, but they were doing a pretty good job killing each other without my help.”

Such a flippant reply was a little unexpected even from Sagara, and Saitou’s foreboding increased. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he commanded; “start from the beginning.”

What little light there was glinted off Sagara’s teeth as his grin widened. “What’s it worth to you?”

Of all the things he might have expected to hear in this room, that was not on the list — yet it took him only a moment to realize exactly what the statement pertained to and how the news must have reached Uramura’s ears. A plan of action was slower in coming than comprehension, however. And completely taken aback was not something Saitou frequently found himself.

The chief took advantage of the stunned moment to remark, “I’m not going to speculate on why this is such a surprise to you. Just let me remind you that helping some of the innocent at the expense of others entirely undermines our purpose.”

Saitou had absolutely no patience for further delay in this case. He gripped the edges of Sagara’s gi and pulled him roughly closer. “I’ll consider not killing you.”

Sagara raised his hands to grip Saitou’s tense arms — not to disengage them, merely to hold them — and replied with no concern, “You can’t kill me if you wanna know what happened here.”

“Try me,” Saitou grated back. Sagara just continued to grin. Finally, as the sense of wasting time continued almost painfully to heighten, Saitou demanded in the same tone, “What do you want?”

“Kiss me,” Sagara replied promptly.

“Don’t lecture me,” Saitou snapped, buying time while he considered how to word his explanation for the least potential loss of face. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“And that’s what I’ve brought you here to explain.” The chief crossed his arms again. He still didn’t seem entirely comfortable, and no wonder. Not once in his acquaintance with Saitou had he been forced to carry out this sort of conversation with him, and doubtless had never expected to.

Not yet entirely sure what he could say, Saitou opened his mouth to reply.

Slamming Sagara abruptly against the wall and closing in angrily he snarled, “How many times do I have to tell you–“

He broke off when he realized his violent movement had put his body a good deal closer to Sagara’s than he would have if he’d been paying attention. Now the shameless young man was grinding against him provocatively and completely ignoring his words. Saitou shook him. “Ahou, I have no time for this.”

“You never have time,” Sagara purred. “You’d be less grouchy if you cut loose now and then.”

“This isn’t about me. There are two men–“

“Then you better kiss me quick,” interrupted Sagara.

“Sir?” The door opened and someone put his head in. “I’m sorry to intrude, but you requested–”

“Yes,” the chief broke in. “You found him?”

Saitou restrained himself from repeating incredulously, ‘Him?’ Had they tracked Sanosuke down as a witness against him? And if so, what kind of nonsense testimony was the idiot likely to provide? Even the absolute truth would — Saitou was not afraid to admit it — be embarrassing; god knew how much worse Sagara was likely to make things sound.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, bring him in.”

And, indeed, here was Sagara, escorted by a couple of low-ranking officers who then, at the chief’s word, took up places by the door as if to guard the room. Sagara appeared at first somewhat defiant, but when he saw Saitou this expression vanished, replaced by sudden understanding that was quickly stifled. “So, what’s going on?” he asked in a tone that was nothing more than casually curious.

Saitou’s fury was cooling; he had the feeling he’d lost his chance for further pursuit. Which didn’t make Sagara’s information less desirable (provided he wasn’t lying about having witnessed the fight), but did make his absurd behavior more worthy of retribution. Saitou punched him in the chest.

With a grunt Sagara remarked in a tone that was a good deal less sultry than his previous, “I shoulda known you’d like it rough.”

Saitou knew Sagara would cease with the seduction attempts (which were always a good deal closer to successful than the officer would like to admit) once he was angry enough, but not only would that process take too long, an angry Sagara probably wouldn’t be willing to tell him anything. Nothing useful, anyway.

“This officer questioned you the other evening, correct?” The chief gestured at Saitou.

Sagara nodded somewhat blankly.

“Can you describe that encounter?”

Although Sagara’s face was serious, Saitou didn’t like the look in the young man’s eyes when they touched briefly on his. The deep breath he took before beginning to speak gave him somewhat the appearance of nervousness, but Saitou believed rather that he was merely trying to think fast. “Well…” he started slowly. “He wanted me to tell him what I saw those gang guys and their prisoners doing, since they’d mostly killed each other…” He hesitated as everyone looked at him expectantly.

“Fine,” Saitou snapped, and kissed him. Just to make absolutely certain Sagara would be satisfied enough not to hold out on him further (or perhaps just too dazed), he dug his tongue into the idiot’s mouth and his hand into the idiot’s pants. Sagara groaned into the kiss and squirmed, and Saitou pushed firmly aside the inconvenient wish that there weren’t a glove between his hand and the hot flesh.

When he broke away all at once, he was pleased to note that the surprised brightness in Sagara’s eyes bore no trace of further deviousness.

“I knew it,” the boy whispered.

Not caring what Sagara thought he’d known, Saitou demanded, “What happened here?”

After a moment the chief turned to Saitou. “If you would step out for a few minutes…” He gestured to the door leading to a small adjoining briefing room — not to the door into the station proper, which implied that this affair, however informally it was being conducted, was a disciplinary issue. Saitou wasn’t even sure how to react.

“He doesn’t need to leave,” Sagara said unexpectedly, drawing all eyes once more. His expression was now one of slight confusion, but, again, when his gaze met Saitou’s, there was a spark of amusement in it. Saitou would never had thought him such a skillful actor. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I think maybe you guys have the wrong idea…”

“Were Fujita-kun’s methods in questioning you not inappropriate, then?” The chief’s tone was grave.

“Oh, they were definitely inappropriate,” Sagara chuckled, “but…” Then like clockwork the confusion was gone from his expression, replaced by skepticism. “Don’t tell me you guys don’t know…”

At this Saitou knew what was coming. He might have interrupted to prevent it, since Sagara had paused for effect, but he feared that what the roosterhead had in mind was the least of the possible evils; he was busy bracing himself for it.

“Know what?” The police chief’s tone was somewhat impatient and perhaps a little suspicious. It could be he also anticipated Sagara’s statement and began to sense the absurdity of the situation.

“Fujita and me are lovers,” Sagara announced with offhand grandeur.

With a deep breath Sanosuke began. “They were on their way from a job, far as I could tell, and they started arguing. It seemed like they were just continuing some argument they’d had before, and they kept getting louder and louder, and that was what made me really start paying attention. When I realized they must be the guys you and houki been after for the last fifty years, I was about to jump in and take ’em out…”

Saitou shifted in irritation and some discomfort. He still didn’t know whether these thieves had also been the murderers, and it was so typical… what would he have done if, when he’d come upon the scene, Sagara’s body had been among those he’d found?

“But then one of ’em just suddenly attacks the others and boom, one’s down. It was about then I realized two of the guys had their hands tied behind their backs. It all went pretty quick from there: another guy went down, and somehow one of the tied-up guys got loose and stabbed the last of the other three. Then he cut the ropes on the other guy and they ran off. It all took about three minutes.”

The officers by the door twitched, and Saitou, in a moment of prescience, saw very clearly how quickly this gossip was going to spread through the entire precinct. Then there was another moment of silence.

Finally the chief turned to Saitou and asked in a measured, inscrutable tone, “Is this true?”

Very stiffly, Saitou nodded — and did not miss Sagara’s expression of triumph in so doing.

“He hates letting aaaaanyone know about his private life,” the young man continued, “but, yeah, me and old Gory here’ve been going at it almost since I was too young for that kinda thing.” Lowering his voice slightly, suggestively, he added, “He can question me however he wants.”

Another twitch from the men at the door; another long moment of silence.

“Very well, that’s all we’ll need from you, then.” And at the chief’s gesture, the other officers escorted Sagara out.

Saitou was silent and still for a few moments. This tale, though not delivered with the conciseness and level of detail he would have preferred, was undeniably useful. Whether it was worth having given the lovesick idiot undeniable encouragement he did not know, but it did answer most of his questions.

“Ran off where?” he asked.

“Hopefully to a doctor,” Sagara replied. “They weren’t looking too good.”

Saitou shook him slightly, just for good measure. “Which direction?”

Sagara tilted his head. “That way. Up the bank. I didn’t hear ’em cross the bridge.”

With a nod, Saitou released him.

“I gotta find something bigger to witness next time,” Sagara murmured in evident satisfaction.

Saitou scowled at him.

He fully expected a reprimand from the chief for not explaining himself at first, but, as it turned out, Uramura was just as intrigued as his subordinates by the suggestion that Fujita-kun was not, in fact, an inhuman entity of chiseled stone that lay only with his sword and loved only justice. So, rather than any sort of remonstrance, Saitou only had to suffer a few leading remarks before he was allowed to go about his business.

Not exactly to his surprise, the beehive-like noise of the station’s main room quieted almost to nothing when he appeared, and Chou met him with a smirk even wider than before. “Get back to work,” was all Saitou was willing to say in response to the latter’s grinning questions. Then he left the building. The noise had redoubled before he was entirely out the door.

As he had expected, Sagara joined him nearly the moment he was off the police station grounds. His expression was similar to Chou’s, but somehow a trifle less maddening.

“One of these days I really am going to kill you,” was Saitou’s greeting.

“And here I thought you’d be thanking me,” Sano grinned.

“For what? What exactly did that accomplish?”

“Besides getting you out of trouble?”

“May I remind you that the ‘trouble’ was your fault in the first place?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who was getting all fancy-fingers in my pants.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

Saitou snorted.

“But, no, what it really accomplished,” Sano explained in self-satisfaction, “was to get rid of one of the million stupid things that keep you from getting with me. Now you don’t have to worry about people finding out and what they’ll think and all that.”

“Putting it that way might make it sound like you’d planned the whole thing… if that hadn’t been the worst ‘solution’ to that ‘problem’ anyone could possibly come up with.”

“Maybe I did plan it all.” Sano attempted, and failed, to look mysterious.

Saitou rolled his eyes slightly, a more hopeless than disdainful gesture at this point. How had he managed to catch the attention of history’s stubbornest idiot? And how was it that he never quite managed to give him the decisive negative he needed to hear?

“So now I’ve just got, what, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine more bullshit reasons to deal with, and then you’ll be mine.”

“Ahou.” It was, for some reason, all he could think to say. But as he turned back toward the station, readier now to face the rest of his day, he wasn’t scowling quite as much as when he’d left it.

“Sir?” It was a hesitant call — almost tremulous — from behind him. Saitou had nearly forgotten about his subordinate’s presence.

“This way,” the wolf replied as he stepped back out from under the bridge and gestured up the slope. And though the younger officer tried his best to hide it, Saitou easily marked his searching glance into the shadows where Sagara stood. How much had he seen? It was anybody’s guess, as was what he would make of it. It must have seemed excessively odd, if he hadn’t been able to catch the accompanying conversation.

Well, let him wonder. No harm could come of that.


This story was for 30_kisses theme #21 “Violence; Pillage/Plunder; Extortion.”

Can you imagine having to formally reprimand someone that consistently adheres only to his own moral code and, you have a sneaking suspicion, only nominally recognizes your authority? Also I love that Saitou is so blatantly teetering on the edge of giving in but is still resisting. And “Old Gory” may be the most hilarious nickname for Saitou (or anyone) I have ever come up with. Sano is a jerk here, though.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Finally

Sano’s skeptical gaze followed Saitou not to the futon on one side of the room but to the desk at the other.

Though he’s finally back from his business trip, Saitou still has things to do before he can give Sano what he wants.


When Saitou reached his house, he found Sano seated in front of the door unabashedly tossing a bottle of lubricant from hand to hand. Given that Saitou’s trip out of town had taken nearly five extra days, it was anyone’s guess how long or how frequently Sano had been there. Now, at seeing his lover approaching, the younger man bounded up. “Finally!” he cried accusingly.

As if it weren’t already too late, “Try not to make a scene,” Saitou admonished as he walked past him.

“You were supposed to be home Friday!” Sano’s tone had not changed.

Although he didn’t answer as he unlocked the door and entered the house, Saitou also did not resist when Sano wrapped insistent arms around him and kissed him enthusiastically. “I take it you missed me, then,” the officer remarked as soon as he could.

With an entirely unconvincing shrug and air of indifference Sano replied, “I missed some things.” His steps were springy as he accompanied Saitou out of the entryway. “And you better not say you’re tired now.”

“Not particularly,” was Saitou’s answer, “but I do have paperwork to finish.”

“What, tonight?” Sano’s skeptical gaze followed Saitou not to the futon on one side of the room but to the desk at the other.

“Yes, tonight.” As he lit the lamp, Saitou reflected that he really should have anticipated this.

“Not tomorrow morning?” persisted Sano.

“Tomorrow morning is when the commissioner needs it.”

“Never woulda thought you were the type to put something off until the last minute…”

“It wouldn’t have been the last minute if I hadn’t been delayed in Kobe.” This statement’s curtness stemmed from the fact that Saitou was rather annoyed about the circumstance himself.

Sano threw himself onto the futon with an impatient grunt. “Well, hurry up and get it done, then.”

Saitou needed no urging.

After perhaps ten minutes of restless shifting — which was actually a good deal longer than Saitou had expected — Sano remarked loudly, “Uh, you know…” At first he left it hanging, as if Saitou would have something to say at that point. Then he jumped up and came over to the desk. “This is really boring.”

Saitou gave a vague monosyllabic response.

“Why don’t we fuck for a while, and then you can finish that after?”

At the thought of ‘fucking for a while’ with Sano, Saitou snorted. But it wouldn’t do to tell the idiot that once he got his hands on him he wouldn’t be able to let go for the rest of the night… so Saitou merely said, “I have to finish this first.”

Sano’s lack of response — indeed, his complete quiescence — dragged out so long that Saitou eventually looked up at him. And the moment he did so, Sano started stripping. The older man watched for a few moments; although the calculated motions tended to look more silly than sensual, the mere fact that Sano was disrobing could not help but captivate. Then he went back to his paperwork.

With another grunt, Sano turned and stalked to the futon. The view of the latter was just beyond the edge of the paper Saitou held, so it was impossible not to observe the erotically absurd contortions Sano seemed to feel were necessary in traversing the distance between standing and lying down. But still Saitou made no response. No verbal response, at least, and Sano couldn’t see under the desk.

Experience had taught Sano that, while unsolicited seduction attempts involving physical contact with his victim tended to get him tossed out, there was no restriction on physical contact with himself. Thus Saitou was not at all surprised, after another minute or two, to hear a low moan from the other side of the room. Resolutely he did not look up, though just the motions caught by the corner of his eye were enough to worsen the situation in his pants.

Sano’s sounds of pleasure steadily increased, and Saitou worked on with iron determination. Pointing out that such distracting behavior could do nothing but slow him down, thus lengthening the entire paperwork process and further delaying what Sano was looking forward to, would only start a purposeless debate; better to let the idiot get it out of his system so Saitou could finish in peace.

But eventually even Sano could recognize the futility of a futile plan, and his groaning — which was starting to get a little repetitive, given that it had been mostly theatrical anyway — stopped abruptly as he jumped up again and began prowling the room. He was grumbling to himself. Saitou steadfastly ignored him, even when Sano seized the sheathed sword he’d removed from his belt before sitting down. But while the sound of the weapon rasping out could not raise Saitou’s eyes from his task, the subsequent clatter of the nihontou hitting the floor could.

Sano, a peculiar glint in his eyes, was examining the slightly rounded end of the sheath carefully. “I think I’ll fuck myself with this,” he stated.

Only a very hasty return of his ostensible attention to the paper in front of him saved Saitou from giving Sano the satisfaction of a visible reaction. “Do as you please,” he murmured.

For several moments Sano stood still, no doubt waiting for Saitou to retract that remark and come do the job himself. Finally, again tardily recognizing blatant lack of success, he muttered, “Che,” and returned once more to the futon.

This time the noises were a good deal more convincing, and, consequently, a good deal more difficult to ignore. Though struggling to keep eyes and mind on the current report, Saitou yet was very aware that Sano was preparing himself with large amounts of lubricant and giving the occasional attention to his straining erection. Then, just when the officer thought he’d managed to build up a relatively impervious frame of mind, the foolish young man let out a broken gasp that dragged Saitou’s gaze immediately and inexorably in that direction again — just in time to see several inches of sheath disappear into Sano.

Saitou took a deep breath that was nearly as unsteady as his lover’s had been. He hadn’t thought Sano would actually do it, and as such had not given much thought to the physicalities of the action — the uncertain sanitation, the potential discomfort to Sano, the unstoppable wave of arousal watching it could quite possibly occasion… He was tempted to order him to desist immediately, but to do so would be to admit the effect it was having on him. As it was, it took a staggering effort just to tear his eyes away from the sight of Sano’s taut, shuddering body and the object slowly sinking deeper and deeper into it.

Perhaps Saitou was more stubborn than Sano after all; the paperwork effort was certainly beginning to appear increasingly futile. He could barely write a single word between glances, and every exclamation that issued from between Sano’s trembling lips brought his head snapping back up to look again. But he kept at it until the moment Sano started stroking himself again; at that point, the expression of ecstasy on the idiot’s face and accompanying evidence of that state throughout his body were simply too compelling. They raised an odd combination of reactions in the officer, not all of which were pleasant but which were certainly too potent to ignore.

“Saaitoouu…” groaned Sano, very much as if he knew, despite his eyes being squeezed tight shut, that his lover was now watching intently.

“You will never convince me that thing feels anything like me,” Saitou muttered through clenched teeth.

“Why not?” Sano gasped. “It’s… long and hard…”

Saitou would have rolled his eyes if they hadn’t been so thoroughly occupied.

“Oh, god, Saitou… you have… no idea… how good this is.”

“Nor will I ever.”

After which Sano was evidently beyond the point of coherent speech, for the only reply he could come up with was another string of inarticulate moans. He seemed to be experimenting with various angles at which to pump the end of the sheath steadily in and out… which experiment, to judge by his curling toes, seemed to be going rather well. Saitou could see the constriction of the opening around the object, could see the slickened skin give and shift with its movement, and felt his own breaths emerging very short. As Sano’s moans turned into cries and his cries to wails, the unblinking watcher’s fingers were turning white as they strained against the surface of the desk. The officer feared, despite his specific efforts not to let those hands stray anywhere detrimental, he might actually come along with Sano when it got to be that time.

It didn’t take much longer. With a ragged shout that didn’t seem at all staged, Sano arched slowly upward as his erection spilled the evidence of his excitement all over his hand and stomach. Then he lay back, eyes still closed, panting hard and appearing thoroughly worn out.

The spell broken, Saitou went reluctantly back to his paperwork. He’d gotten through the distraction relatively unscathed, but couldn’t help finding the contents of his desktop rather… unsatisfying after what he’d just observed. He could only hope, now the nonsense was finished, he could get this done quickly and see if Sano was up for a second round.

“That was fucking amazing…” Sano was muttering breathlessly. “A couple more times with that could spoil me for your little cock, old man.”

This time Saitou really did roll his eyes, and definitely refrained from watching whatever Sano did next. Presumably the latter involved getting himself un-penetrated and curled up in the blankets — what he did with the mess on his stomach Saitou very firmly didn’t contemplate — for his form gradually relaxed and his breathing evened out into quiet snores.

Well, it was disappointing, but not surprising. Saitou allowed himself a slight sigh as he started on the last stretch of the damned paperwork. There was always tomorrow.

Eventually it was finished. Never one for carelessness, Saitou looked it all over meticulously before he set it aside, correcting a few mistakes he’d made during his moments of greatest distraction. Then, stretching slightly, he rose, briefly and absently rubbing at the bulge in his pants that had not by any means diminished, and looked to where Sano lay placidly with his back to the rest of the room.

He didn’t say ‘ahou’ out loud, but he was certainly thinking it. After undressing, he fetched his sword sheath from where Sano had eventually let it fall, and, without scrutinizing it too closely, tossed it into the laundry basket at the other end of the room. Then he put out the light, lay down against his lover, and tried to resign himself to a very ungratifying night.

Finally,” the young man grumbled unexpectedly, twisting around to speak practically into Saitou’s mouth. “I thought you were never gonna be done with that shit.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Nah, just bored into a coma waiting for you. Now let’s see how you compare to your sword sheath.”

Again Saitou would have rolled his eyes, but… well… now that it looked like he was going to be satisfied after all, the frustration and absurdity of tonight’s unusual activities really had been worth it, hadn’t they? …for a memory he would cherish in quiet retrospective amusement and arousal forever more.


This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #5 “Ano sa…”

“Ano sa…” is generally much more hesitant than how I ended up using it, but I thought it not inappropriate for Sano to give it the perverse, belligerent inflection that he did in this context. Other than that, I have no idea where this story came from. It kinda fails both as a real story and as a PWP: too pointless to be the former, and if it were the latter I should have gone on to describe the actual sex. But since I hate doing that, I certainly wouldn’t waste the effort on a one-shot XD Well, whatever. It’s still entertaining.

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Corner of the Eye

It did rather seem typical of Sano to have gotten himself into a relationship that wasn’t ever likely to go smoothly.

Much as Kenshin and Katsu would like to pretend they don’t care about Sano’s breakup with Saitou, something has to be done.

Sano’s behavior today had been entirely inexplicable from beginning to end, and at this latest, Kenshin had to whisper his name in some embarrassment.

“What?” Sano wondered as the girl ran off with a giggle and a wave. “Just saying hello.”

“Since when do you say hello to girls in the street by kissing them?” said Kenshin in the same chagrin.

With bright innocent Sano replied, “Isn’t that the best way to do it?”

“Maybe,” Kenshin allowed. “But you were in such a bad mood before…”

“Kissing makes things better; didn’t you know that?”

“Sano, I have known you for almost two years, and I have never seen you kiss someone — especially not a casual acquaintance in the street — to put yourself in a better mood before.”

“You never saw me kiss anyone at all, huh?” Sano asked curiously; Kenshin believed, despite the jovial tone, the bad mood hadn’t entirely disappeared after all.

“Not that I can remember.”

“Huh. I thought everyone knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew… that I hate relationships because all people ever do is fight and then do stupid shit to make each other jealous.” Sano seemed to be struggling for continued lightness of tone with this incongruous remark, and Kenshin was puzzled. “Anyway,” Sano continued, his voice intensifying even further, “let’s get out of here before someone decides to arrest me for public indecency.”

This couldn’t be aimed at anyone other than Saitou; Kenshin had been aware of the officer’s presence unobtrusively observing the street in a recessed doorway close by, but hadn’t thought Sano had noticed. He certainly hadn’t associated the circumstances of the wolf’s proximity and Sano’s strange behavior.

Saitou evidently heard and likewise assumed he was the target of the statement, for he replied immediately, “I can’t arrest you every single time you go out in public, ahou.”

“Not even for making out with girls in the middle of the street, huh?” Sano made no move to depart as he’d just proposed; that and the words spoken were adding up to an almost incredible explanation for all of this.

“If you want me to arrest you,” Saitou sneered, “I’m sure I could come up with a charge — but whatever you were doing just now, I didn’t notice.”

Sano snorted. “Well, that’s good. Wouldn’t want you trying to insult my taste because she was too short or had the wrong color hair or something.”

“It’s true brunettes tend to be idiots,” Saitou sniffed.

“Thought you didn’t see her,” shot back Sano in dark triumph. “How would you know what her hair looked like?” And Kenshin had to admit that for Saitou to make such a slip, just for the sake of insulting Sano’s hair, was rather telling.

Whether the officer agreed or not, all he said was, “Hn.”

“Che… let’s get the hell outta here, Kenshin.” And this time Sano really did turn and stalk away.

Kenshin, after a baffled glance in Saitou’s direction, hastened after his friend. “That did not work very well,” he commented carefully once they were in the next street.

A sidelong glance served as Sano’s acceptance that Kenshin now understood the situation, and the young man replied gruffly, “You didn’t think so?”

“Did it make you feel any better?”

“Fuck,” Sano muttered, and said nothing more for several moments. Finally he grumbled, “I should kiss you next time.”

Kenshin struggled to recover from how much this startled him in time to nip the idea in the bud. “Sano,” he said very seriously, “I am not getting involved in this. I will not let you kiss me to make Saitou jealous.”

Sano seemed a little startled as well at Kenshin’s severity, and after staring at him for a few moments, again said, “Che…” and fell silent.

Kenshin had no desire to kiss his friend, or to take part in any petty jealousy scheme; he had no idea what were the circumstances of Sano’s relationship with Saitou, nor what exactly might be going on between them now; indeed, it was a little difficult to wrap his head around the idea of them being together at all — and all of this provided a formidable barrier to helping Sano as he naturally wanted to. Therefore it took him a while to decide what to say next. Eventually, “Sano,” he ventured delicately, “whatever kind of fight you may have had with him, it is obvious you still care about him.” Even that felt strange: that Sano cared about Saitou

“No shit,” the young man mumbled.

Kenshin smiled wryly. It did rather seem typical of Sano to have gotten himself into a relationship that wasn’t ever likely to go smoothly. Still, even with that in mind… Saitou? But he forced himself to go on. “Have you talked to him since…” He trailed off; he assumed it had been a fight, but couldn’t really be positive.

“Talked to him just now, didn’t I?”

“I mean really talked to him,” said Kenshin sternly.

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, but talking to Saitou doesn’t work very well.”

“It cannot work any worse than what you are trying now. You should not need me to tell you that playing this kind of game is not the right way to heal a relationship.” He didn’t want to accuse Sano outright of being childish and vindictive… no matter how clearly Sano’s reply proved the point:

“I don’t figure I need you to tell me much of anything.” Sano was obviously stung by the reproof. “Why don’t you go heal your relationship with jou-chan?”

While this did not quite hurt or insult, Kenshin didn’t much feel like sticking around for something that might. “That is a very good idea, Sano,” he smiled. “I will see you some other time.” And he broke away from his companion without waiting for a response.

He planned on leaving it at that. Sano had obviously never mentioned the Saitou thing for reasons of his own, and just as obviously didn’t want advice on the subject; Kenshin found it somewhat bizarre and better left uncontemplated at any rate; so there was no reason the issue should come up again.

But Sano’s absence from their circle from that day forward was so prolonged, so marked by lack of any contact from him whatsoever, that Kenshin could not but think things must have gone from bad to worse and Sano didn’t feel he could come to the dojo anymore. And though Kenshin wasn’t sure it was either his place or his inclination to intrude (mostly because Saitou was involved), he did keep an active eye open for Sano — and worried quietly when he still never saw him.

It occupied his mind enough, in fact, that once or twice he actually probed delicately at the distasteful idea of what a relationship of that sort would be like with Saitou, how it could be patched up once broken, and why in the world it would have this kind of effect on someone if it wasn’t. At times he even thought it might have been better to let Sano kiss him than to let him decide there was no support among friends, run off and brood to decide who knew what, and stay away for who knew what reason — not that Kenshin thought he really could have gone through with any charade that involved kissing Sano, and not that the current circumstance might not eventually have resulted in any event.

Then, as if purposely to augment his concern, the artist/bomber/newspaper friend showed up. It was a rare occasion that brought Katsu to the dojo, and previously he’d never been unaccompanied by Sano, so Kenshin’s immediate reaction to the sight of him was a frown of intensified worry.

Katsu came over to where Kenshin was hanging laundry and said without preamble, “I take it you haven’t seen him either, then.”

Kenshin shook his head with a sigh.

Echoing the sound, Katsu appeared more exasperated than worried. This was a good sign, as it suggested he knew something of Sano’s absence — more than Kenshin did, at any rate. Presently he said, “You know what this is about, don’t you? This is another stupid attempt at getting that stupid cop’s attention.”

Accepting the explanation with a nod, Kenshin remarked ruefully, “If he thinks Saitou will go looking for him, it really is stupid.”

“The one consolation to us is that he can’t stay in hiding long and still eat; he has to show up again soon.”

The redhead agreed. “And since we have an explanation for his absence, we do not have to worry about his safety in the meantime.” And they shared a glum look that spoke clearly just how much they weren’t going to worry.

“Well, I’ll send him your way if I see him,” Katsu sighed.

“I will do the same for you,” replied Kenshin.

Despite this very logical speculation about food, however, Sano stayed gone. Katsu became almost as much a regular at the dojo, exchanging news (or lack thereof) with Kenshin, as Sano had ever been; and Saitou, whenever they saw him, scowled more than ever.

The idea of discussing the matter with the officer seemed so impractical that it had never seriously crossed the rurouni’s mind; the fact that Katsu hadn’t suggested it seemed to indicate he felt similarly — on the point of the futility of talking to the wolf, at least, Sano’s friends agreed with him. But the third or fourth time Kenshin, running his usual errands in town, caught sight of Saitou glowering over a bowl of inferior soba at a cheap open-air restaurant, he felt almost compelled. Despite the fact that Saitou seemed every bit as disinclined to have the conversation as Kenshin was, the latter approached and cleared his throat.

“Have you seen Sano lately?”

Saitou’s expression of displeasure strengthened, and he did not look up. “Why would I have seen him?”

“Well, you have been eating at this restaurant a lot, and it is one of his favorites…”

With a snort Saitou remarked, “Given the quality of the food, that’s no surprise.”

“I have been questioning Sano’s taste lately,” Kenshin couldn’t help but admit, trying not to smile.

“He’s an idiot,” muttered Saitou somewhat pointlessly, his scowl and the accompanying lines on his face deepening even further.

It was obvious there was nothing to be gained from this. Saitou had no more idea where Sano was than Kenshin did… which actually made the theory about why Sano was gone less plausible: why go to such lengths to attract somebody’s notice if that somebody couldn’t find you? “I just hope he is all right,” Kenshin murmured, half to himself.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” the officer demanded with a little more attention, glancing up at last.

Kenshin shrugged.

Saitou, apparently recalling the frame of mind he would prefer to convey, went back to his soba with a reiteration of, “He’s an idiot.”

The redhead made a noncommittal noise and turned to leave.

Well, odd as it seemed to think about, Saitou cared too — which made the entire situation even more foolish. Kenshin didn’t have much experience with romantic spats, and it was still Saitou, but it wouldn’t take a relationship genius to figure this one out. How the two stubbornest men in Tokyo — and a pair with that kind of history, no less — had ever managed to start something, Kenshin could not begin to guess.

At that moment, just as he turned the corner away from the restaurant, he found himself joined unexpectedly by Katsu. “I found him,” was the artist’s somewhat breathless announcement; he appeared to have been running.

“Oh? Where is he? Is he in trouble?” Given the reflections Kenshin had just been entertaining about the stupidity of quarreling lovers, his queries would not have been so energetic if he hadn’t been aware of Saitou right around the corner listening.

Katsu seemed similarly aware of this (having run past him), for his reply, “I think he may be; he wouldn’t let me in to see him,” didn’t feel entirely honest. “And now someone’s caught up with him, he may relocate again, so you should come talk to him while I still know where he is.”

The rurouni raised a curious eyebrow as if to ask, Do you really think this will work?

To which the artist replied with a wry smile and a shrug that said, Do you have a better idea? Out loud he just requested, “Come with me.”

Any internal debate Saitou might have had about whether or not to follow them must (by necessity) have been conducted in haste; Kenshin sensed the wolf’s presence behind them barely a street away. Was Saitou aware he was being baited? Possibly. It was no more important than whether or not he cared; all that mattered was that he did follow. This had gone on far too long.

Katsu led them straight to the wretched area of town where Kenshin would have looked first if he’d been actively searching for Sano — which didn’t speak well for their friend’s creativity or, perhaps, sense of hygiene — and into a grimy hotel that barely warranted the title. The attendant in the lobby was asleep or something similar, and if his opium-scented slump was any testimony to his backbone, he probably wouldn’t have stopped them in any case. Kenshin wondered whether Saitou was concerned enough about Sano to look the other way; it would say something about the relationship if he was.

Of course, his mere presence in a place like this looking for the recalcitrant kenkaya at all said something about the relationship.

It seemed the officer was willing, for the moment at least, to overlook the opium in the interest of following them upstairs. In doing so, rather than join them and admit openly what they were aware of anyway (that he’d been there all along and they all three knew it and this whole thing was idiotic), he was forced to employ greater stealth than the perfunctory level of care he’d given to tailing them thus far — to the point where Kenshin’s awareness of him sank to purely ki-based. Katsu glanced around as if wondering whether or not they were still being followed; at Kenshin’s slight gesture, though, he returned to his guide duty.

It was the last room on the second floor — which floor, incidentally, seemed in danger of collapse at any moment — where Katsu stopped. Standing still, glancing around, Kenshin frowned. What kind of unhealthy and poorly formulated decisions might one come to, moping all alone in a place like this?

Katsu knocked emphatically.

“Who the fuck is it now?” was the grumpy-sounding demand from within.

“Sano, exactly how long do you plan on sitting around in there doing nothing?” Katsu replied in nearly the same tone. “And how the hell are you eating, anyway?”

“I already told you–” began Sano severely, apparently moving closer to the door the better to debate with his friend.

Kenshin cut him short. “Sano, a lot of people are worried about you; it is rather rude of you to go into hiding without a word.”

“Oh.” It was a barely audible exclamation as the footsteps within the room stopped abruptly. “Hey, Kenshin.”

Given that the true purpose of this visit had been to deliver Saitou, the rurouni didn’t quite know what to say next. It seemed Sano, even after so long, was still in the mood to be difficult and refuse any assistance… it also seemed a shame, however, to have coaxed Saitou this far and then just leave before at least showing the two of them the path of reconciliation (if not necessarily forcing their feet onto it). But Kenshin assumed the officer wouldn’t step forward and speak up, admit he’d come looking, unless they prodded him into it somehow.

Hadn’t Kenshin specifically told Sano at one point that he wasn’t getting involved in this?

“I’ll tell you if I decide to leave town,” was the defensive grumble from behind the door. “Not like I’m just gonna disappear.”

“‘Leave town?'” Katsu echoed in disbelief. “My god, Sano, you’re running away?”

There was a long silence before Sano finally replied, “It’s better than what I’ve been doing…”

“What, sitting around sulking?” Katsu sighed in exasperation, but instead of continuing the conversation with Sano turned rather to Kenshin and remarked in a quieter tone (though still loud enough, doubtless, to penetrate the door and permeate the hall), “He’s behaving like a woman.”

“I was going to say a child,” replied Kenshin, wincing at the thought of how the women he knew would react to that statement.

“Hey…” Sano protested from within.

“No wonder Saitou didn’t come looking for him,” added Katsu decisively.

“Hey!”

Kenshin saw where this was going; considering how far Katsu’s last idea had brought them, he decided this one was also worth a try. “I am certain there are other reasons for that,” he suggested calmly. “I doubt Saitou is any more capable than Sano of maintaining a serious relationship; he was probably glad of an excuse not to try.” Which was entirely true (that is to say, he did doubt it), and seemed to cause a sort of invisible twitch down the hall.

Katsu shrugged. “Let’s be honest, though; you can’t blame even a preoccupied bastard like him for having a hard time dealing with Sano.”

“Backing down might actually be the easiest thing for Sano.”

“It isn’t like that asshole would ever pretend to be human and admit he wants Sano back.”

Though uncertain yet whether Saitou was aware of being shamelessly goaded, Kenshin could sense a nearly palpable ill will and disquiet from around the corner. It was matched by what emanated from the room whose door he still faced. “But I am starting to believe Sano may not have any idea what he wants,” he sighed. “He is easily confused.”

“Well, we know what he doesn’t need,” was Katsu’s emphatic declaration.

“And it is therefore fortunate Saitou does not know a good thing when it punches him in the face.” Kenshin had a hard time keeping the smile from his lips after that one.

“They bring out the worst in each other,” concurred Katsu solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching as well.

Finally the door burst open. Looking disheveled, hollow-eyed, half starved, disturbed, and very annoyed, Sano glared at them. “Anything else you guys want to decide for me?” he demanded.

“We weren’t deciding anything for you, Sano,” the artist nearly drawled, evidently trying to mask how much seeing his friend like this bothered him.

“We were merely reaching our own conclusions,” Kenshin agreed, feeling much the same.

Sano’s expression made a sudden and drastic shift to an indescribable blend of positive and negative emotions, most of them much more serious than the irritation that had prompted him to open the door, and his eyes were focused neither on Kenshin nor on Katsu. The former wondered vaguely how Saitou had come all the way up the hall to stand behind them without either of them noticing.

“These two terrible actors have a few good points,” the officer remarked drily as he pushed his way past said terrible actors.

“You mean like about you being a preoccupied bastard?” Sano growled, looking up into Saitou’s face. The officer did not deign to reply in words, only snorted and dragged Sano back into the room, slamming the door behind them. The sound of their angry voices, which rose immediately into animated argument, receded gradually to the far side of the chamber.

“I believe we have done all we can,” said Kenshin quietly.

Katsu nodded, then added conversationally, “If they ever do this again, I’m bombing both their apartments.”

“I will not stop you,” Kenshin agreed. And to the continued sounds of the reunited couple making up, making love, making new dents in each other’s heads, or whatever they were doing in there, the two men turned and walked away side by side.



This fic, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #1 “Look over here.” It’s also a companion (chronologically latest in the continuity) to Magic and Responsibility.

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


"Make Me!"

It was one of those days when the sun was too hot and the breeze was too cold and the alternation was too annoying. In the still air, Sano’s gi was heavy and sweat-inducing; when the wind picked up, he pulled it tight around him and scowled. He’d taken the thing off and put it back on about twenty times so far.

He was bored as hell, and consequently ambling slow circles outside the police station. He’d been doing it for almost an hour in the hopes that at least one of three things would happen: he would get arrested for loitering and get to make a huge scene; Chou would appear, and they could fight about something or nothing; Saitou would decide not to be a workaholic for one day in his life, leave early, and fuck Sano’s brains out for the rest of the day and the whole night. These could happen in pretty much any order, except that the Saitou one always had to be last.

None of them had happened yet; he kinda wondered what was taking so long.

He glanced up at the window to Saitou’s office. The sun’s glare on the glass made it impossible to see anything within, and he wondered if the old mantis knew he was out here. It was unlikely he didn’t; half the precinct knew Sano was out here. Trying to imagine what they guessed he was doing made him chortle.

He took off his gi again.

They thought he was a less official version of Chou: some weirdo Saitou ordered around that wasn’t exactly a cop but wasn’t exactly not. And that was pretty much true, only Saitou didn’t sleep with Chou.

Where was Chou, anyway? Sano wondered as he put his gi back on and began restlessly digging a hole in the ground with his foot.

A junior officer emerging from the station’s main doors and heading purposefully toward him was a heartening sight. Sano straightened and waited with a hopeful grin to see if the guy would try to tell him off. No such luck, but the flunky did have a little folded packet to deliver. Evidently assuming the latter contained orders that didn’t need to be discussed, the blue-clad peon didn’t speak as he handed it over, only nodded to Sano and disappeared again into the station.

Sano put his gi back on — he didn’t even remember removing it this time — and unfolded the note. Why don’t you go home and wait for me instead of giving my coworkers a strip show? it said in imperative language. A single small piece of candy in shiny blue paper had been folded within. Sano wasted no time getting this into his mouth. Just the candy, not the paper.

So he thinks he can bribe me, huh? Well, on a day when he wasn’t so intolerably bored, it might have worked. Today there was no way in hell Sano would be willing to ‘go home and wait’ like the good little wife he wasn’t. And the fact that he’d already pushed Saitou far enough for the cop to offer a bribe at all was very encouraging.

He stood back and waved vigorously at the glowing window above — not that he really thought he didn’t already have his lover’s attention, but he wanted to make sure. Then he blew a kiss extravagantly upward and called out two defiant words before, backing away a few paces, he slid his gi slowly off his shoulders and began a semi-erotic dance against the gate-post.


This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #23 “Candy.”

Bored Sano is great, and devious bored Sano is even better. I can just imagine Saitou inside getting all annoyed and turned on and trying not to look.

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


State of Attire


Saitou had just risen from a full night of unbroken sleep when noisy footsteps sounded in his entry hall. They were familiar footsteps (though when Sano had acquired the means to let himself into the house Saitou wasn’t sure), so he merely continued with his preparations for the day. Having become accustomed, lately, to half nights of less perfect repose, snores and sprawling limbs, the unexpectedly smooth period of rest had left him slightly less alert than usual upon awakening; he was, in fact, splashing cold water onto his face as the bedroom door opened.

It seemed like Sano stood in the doorway, and Saitou stood staring at him, for a very long time.

With the appearance of the tired, slightly grinning, very rumpled young man with clothes and hair in great disarray, there came also the faint smell of flowery perfume; it floated into and seemed to permeate the room in a single instant: a clinging, distinctly feminine scent that might have been considered an olfactory representation of the pinkish color smeared faintly in places on Sano’s face and neck.

It seemed like Sano stood in the doorway, and Saitou stood staring at him, for a very long time, but it actually took only half a moment for the story of the night to be told — half a moment’s dismay and resentment of which Saitou had no real desire to make a great display — before he returned without a word to the task of getting dressed.

He should have known better. This was Sagara Sanosuke, after all. He had known better: he’d always known the young man for an impetuous idiot and a good-for-nothing. However, he wouldn’t have guessed even a clearly intoxicated Sano would have the nerve to show up here smelling like the woman he’d spent the night with.

After not too long, he heard footsteps behind him and felt the delinquent’s arms slip around his waist to stop his progress in fastening his pants. “Do you really wanna put those on?” Sano wondered in a rumbling slur, drunken hands attempting clumsily to enter the garment in question.

Saitou pushed him roughly away, marveling at this shamelessness. “It would be inconvenient to go to work without them.”

The moron could sleep with whomever he wanted, of course, and be as reckless and indiscreet about it as he chose, of course. When had anyone implied anything else? Since when did Saitou want anything else? Why should Saitou want anything else?

Obviously not even a little put off, Sano asked, “Well, do you really wanna go to work?”

“In case you didn’t notice as you stumbled over here, ahou,” Saitou snorted, “the sun is coming up. Those of us who don’t waste our lives gambling and whoring have things to do.”

For once, he had to admit, his irritation with Sano was not as great as his irritation with himself: that Sano hadn’t even bothered to wipe the lip-color off his neck was brazen or perhaps just careless, but either way seemed typical of him; that Saitou reacted to it like this was more than a little atypically foolish… when had he starting thinking of their convenient-sex arrangement in relationship terms?

Sano was frowning in bleary disappointment. Evidently the ‘whoring’ comment hadn’t made even the slightest impression. Of course not; why should it have? “Guess I’ll just take a nap, then.” And he flopped down onto the futon Saitou had yet to put away.

“I don’t want you in my bed smelling like you’ve been rolling in a gardenia bush all night,” Saitou said coldly. Or rolling some cheap woman in a gardenia bush all night.

Sano buried his face in his sleeve and inhaled loudly. “Damn whore was wearing a fucking gallon of that shit,” was his muffled comment. Then, with a yawn but not even a touch of compunction, he rearranged the blanket around himself, put his hands behind his head, and looked blandly up at Saitou.

As he finished buttoning his shirt and donned his jacket with movements that might perhaps have been a little more forceful than was entirely necessary, the officer considered tossing the thoughtless young man out on his ear, telling him to go back to aforementioned whore if he wanted to freeload. It would certainly be the appropriate treatment.

But for some reason he didn’t.

“Chou had better be on time today,” he was growling to himself as he put out the lamp and turned to leave.

“I doubt it,” came Sano’s faint, unexpected, and uncalled-for reply, “if he shows up at all…”

Saitou paused in the doorway and turned to look back at the groggy ahou. “Why?”

“He took that stupid woman home…” the younger man answered sleepily. “Broke up a really good game, too, horny bastard.” He yawned again before adding, “Well, least it stopped her getting all over me.” Turning onto his side and tugging on the bedding so all Saitou could see of him was a blanket-covered lump ending in a jagged brown mass, he finished at a mumble, “Some chicks just won’t take ‘I have a boyfriend’ for an answer.”

Heavy seconds passed as Saitou stared, wordless and motionless, down at Sano. Presently the latter began to snore.

So Chou wasn’t likely to show up at all today, was he? That meant Saitou had to run his own errands. He hated running his own errands when there were more important things to be done; perhaps, he thought as he started to remove his jacket, having Chou at his beck and call had spoiled him. Unbuttoning his shirt, he reflected that Chou was hardly competent enough to merit that distinction. By the time he got his pants off, Chou had entirely fled his mind.

Working his way under the blanket in which Sano had twisted himself was no easy task, but, once he’d gotten there and wrapped his arms around the young man, he was rewarded with an incoherent but affectionate-sounding mutter and a sigh as Sano’s body squirmed slowly to fit against his.

“Next time tell her you have an extremely jealous boyfriend,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to the spiky head. In doing so he caught a stronger whiff of the omnipresent flowery scent, and had to reflect that, on his Sano, it actually smelled quite nice.



This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #11 “Gardenia.”

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).