As evidence is heard about Sanosuke’s treasonous father, so is the story of Sanosuke’s involvement with the undercover agent that brought that treason to light.
During the deep winter, having the wood stove on the arbiter’s platform was a distinct blessing. In late autumn, however, with a temperature chilly enough for a fire but not nearly low enough to justify the remarkable level of heat the stove produced in the immediate vicinity of Kenshin’s entire right side, he could never determine whether too hot or too cold was the better option. But since he now approached his fifth anniversary as an arbiter for the sovereignty and his requests to rethink the arrangement of the assessment hall had consistently been ignored, he doubted anyone would jump to accommodate him any time soon.
Too hot or too cold, he would cease to be bothered by the uncomfortably fluctuating temperatures the very minute this assessment became a little less tedious — that is, if they ever managed to get through the small fry. These consisted of acquaintances of the accused — from household slaves to employees of the young man’s father to ‘friends’ probably better described as ‘convenient drinking companions with no real depth of attachment’ — and Kenshin couldn’t think very highly of any of them.
Of course the avowal of slaves at an assessment wasn’t worth nearly as much as that of any person at liberty, since, caught between potentially vengeful masters and the law, they tended to say what they believed would best benefit them (or at least stave off punishment); but even the free and supposedly honest people that had been offering information thus far hadn’t struck Kenshin as particularly reliable. Half of them had sworn up and down that the accused was buried to the eyebrows in his father’s treasonous dealings, while the rest had maintained he’d taken no part whatsoever in them and was, in fact, the best guy in the world.
Kenshin found each style of avowal suspicious in this situation, and reflected wryly that liars would always lie. Respect for truth, most likely, would not be found among the undoubtedly numerous reasons any of them might want this assessment to go one way rather than another. Some of those reasons would probably come to light, bidden or unbidden, during their assessments, many of which Kenshin would also have to arbitrate. He didn’t greatly anticipate that.
This assessment, however, teased interest despite the frustrating tangle of dishonesty that had comprised its first hour and a half. The accused had a very handsome and honest face and a lively, compelling manner that could have predisposed anyone in his favor; his air of mingled annoyance and concern was understandable at the moment, too, given that, whatever his state of innocence or guilt, it must be disconcerting and worrisome to hear half the people he knew painting him as a saint while the rest decried his many evil deeds.
The queue of liars seemed, thankfully, to have come to an end with the latest one, whose earnest statement that, “Nobody who buys everyone drinks as much as he does could be a bad guy,” had the ring more of rote practice than of genuine feeling. As this particular young man was not in custody, he could go about his business freely when dismissed, and he gave the accused a casual encouraging wave on the way out. Neither circumstance forced Kenshin to rethink his opinion that the avowal had been more than a bit of an act aimed at freeing the frequent buyer of drinks.
Kaoru, overseer of assessments, watched the last of the riff-raff allowed out the exit, which was relocked behind him by the sentinel there, then glanced back to where a messenger had been waiting, patient and silent, beside the door near the back of the hall that led deeper into the building. At her movement, the man shook his head. She gestured her thanks, and the messenger imitated the latest witness by leaving the room and having the door locked behind him. Then Kaoru turned toward where Kenshin sat on the arbiter’s platform. “Looks like the father of the accused continues to refuse to avow.”
“All right,” said Kenshin. None of them could be happy about this, but unfortunately no inference could be drawn from it; conceivable motives came to mind in droves for someone to refuse to avow, whether the accused was innocent or guilty. It did decrease the amount of information the arbiter had to work with, but there was nothing to be done about it. The accused, Kenshin noted, merely appeared to have been expecting this; there was no guessing the exact significance of the deep breath he drew and released at hearing the news.
Again Kaoru glanced around the hall, a somewhat unnecessary movement as she stood at its head beside the arbiter’s platform and therefore had a clear view of everyone present. “The last witness will be here as soon as possible; there’s no telling how long it may take. Do you want a break, or would you prefer if Megumi questions the accused out of order?”
Kenshin’s eyes were drawn to the accused, who, where he waited in the care of a two-person armed escort, had twitched visibly at the mention of ‘the last witness.’ Evidently the final participant’s avowal would be the most important — or, at least, the information that had the accused most agitated. Curious and wishing to proceed, Kenshin said, “I would prefer to hear from the accused.”
With another nod, Kaoru also fixed her eyes on the young man. “Sanosuke of lineage Shishio, please step onto the witness’ platform.”
Unlike Kenshin’s platform, which was reached by a small flight of stairs in order that the arbiter might observe the proceedings from an elevated angle, that from which witnesses avowed was a single step up from the floor and mostly surrounded by a plain railing as if the witness were in a cage. This cage Sanosuke now entered, moving with a vigor that matched the energy of his gaze and general bearing, seeming somewhat loath about the upcoming questioning but with an evident determination to get this over with.
“Megumi,” Kaoru said, “the time is yours.”
The questioner had been availing herself, in between witnesses, of the drinking water on the table where the hall scribe sat recording what was said. Now she turned with her usual impassive gaze and began the traditional reiteration of the initial statement of the accused: “At the beginning of this assessment, you maintained your innocence of the accusation of complicity in the treasonous activities of your father Makoto. After the avowals we have heard from the previous witnesses, do you wish to change this statement in any way?”
Sanosuke scratched his head and appeared a little annoyed. “I don’t see why I’d want to change what I said because of any of that bullshit.” Then he threw a quick look, half penitent and half concerned, with an overlay of sheepish joviality, up at Kenshin. “Guess I shouldn’t swear in an assessment, huh?”
The young man was so winning that Kenshin couldn’t help a somewhat indulgent feeling as he looked down at him. It was Kaoru, however, as overseer, that replied: “You may not abuse anyone present, but otherwise we’d prefer you to speak as naturally as you can.”
The grin Sanosuke returned for this seemed relieved he hadn’t landed himself in trouble with almost his first statement, but still far more determined to get this over with than in any way happy to be here. Then he turned back to the questioner and said squarely, “So, yeah, I don’t want to change what I said. Still innocent of that.”
“Very well,” Megumi replied. Kenshin didn’t think he imagined a slight smile, if not on her face, at least in her bearing. It took a lot to compromise Megumi’s professionalism, but Kenshin knew her well enough that he could tell when she was hiding amusement. “If you are willing to avow on your own behalf, you will need to take the Oath of Honesty.”
Over the years Kenshin had seen many witnesses — even some he’d eventually declared innocent — display reluctance or discomfort regarding the Oath, so he knew the signs. And if Sanosuke had any problem repeating the ritual words after Megumi, swearing to speak the exact truth to the best of his ability and belief, he certainly hid it well. He was either completely ingenuous or an extremely convincing actor.
Megumi’s first question once the formalities had been seen to was, “If you were not involved in your father’s treasonous activities, surely you must at least have been aware of them?”
“Uh, not exactly,” Sanosuke replied. “I wasn’t really surprised when I heard what the accusation was, but I didn’t realize before that’s what he was doing.”
“So you always knew your father didn’t have the most solid moral code regarding business?”
“Regarding anything. ‘Always’ might be an overstatement, but, yeah, I’ve known that for years.”
“But you were not aware specifically of any criminal activity.”
Megumi excelled at her job of drawing from witnesses as much information as she could so the arbiter of the assessment could make the fairest judgment possible. And it not infrequently happened that she got a hint of some crime additional to or separate from the one in question; in such cases, she strove to clarify the situation as far as she could. Here, Kenshin could see, she was working to differentiate between the stated accusation ‘complicity in treason’ and the unspoken possibility ‘failure to report criminal activity,’ of which Sanosuke might still be guilty even had he never taken part in his father’s misdeeds.
“Would you tell us,” she requested, “what details you know about your father’s business?”
“Um, sure.” Sanosuke sounded a little skeptical, as if Megumi was asking for either a large amount of or some particularly dull information. “His main job is — I guess was — working with different factions all over the kingdom negotiating accords and shit. I always thought it was the most boring job I ever heard of, but I guess if he was secretly working with enemies of the sovereignty, that makes it more exciting. Probably more money in that, too… not like we ever needed more money.”
As Sanosuke went on in a very rambling fashion to describe his father’s work as he understood it, Kenshin was hard-pressed to restrain blatant laughter. Very little of what the accused had to say contained any significant detail, and some of it seemed so improbable as to suggest Sanosuke either knew next to nothing about the actual workings of Makoto’s employment or was, once again, an extremely skilled — and entertaining! — dissembler.
Megumi was a bit too deadpan as she asked her next question for Kenshin to believe her unaffected by Sanosuke’s amusing account. “You just recently turned nineteen, I believe. As a legal adult, how is it that you know so little of your father’s business?”
Sanosuke’s straightforward gaze strayed from Megumi’s face for a moment as if he didn’t want to meet her eyes. Tone equally abashed as he eventually looked back at her, he said, “Well, you know… up until just this last month or so, I never really cared about… serious shit. I mostly just fucked around and enjoyed myself. Dad’s been trying to get me into the business for years, but that was just so boring…”
“But I understand that changed when you turned nineteen. Your father finally managed to force some responsibility on you.”
“No!” It was the vehemence of annoyance. “Well, he tried, but that’s not what made me start thinking about things more seriously and shit. He just sat me down on my birthday and said it was time — ‘long past time,’ he said, asshole — time for me to start taking responsibility and learning how to run things and whatever, and said I was going to have to start doing some shit around the estate if I wanted to keep doing everything I liked doing. So all that did was make me really pissed at him.”
“And your new duties included the purchase of domestic slaves?” When Sanosuke replied in the affirmative, Megumi pursued, “And that was how you first encountered the sovereignty agent?”
It was the same discernible twitch as before. Evidently Sanosuke really did have some significant agitation relating to this person, who must be the final witness they were waiting for and was probably delayed on official business. Kenshin congratulated himself on having been correct about the interest level of this assessment, and waited in great anticipation, rubbing at his overheated right thigh and shifting slightly away from the wood stove, to hear the rest of the story.
“Yeah,” Sanosuke said. “Yeah, that’s how I met him.”
“Describe how that happened, please.”
“I went to the slave market looking for a kitchen girl, but I saw this guy — Saitou, the agent, who of course I didn’t know was a sovvie then — and I decided to buy him instead.”
“Why did you decide to purchase someone completely different from the type of slave you needed?” Megumi asked.
“I really didn’t want to be there,” grumbled the accused, “especially since the slave market’s open so damn early so you have to go first thing in the morning to get the really good ones. But dad made it pretty clear I wouldn’t get any more money or get to do anything I wanted ever again if I didn’t do what he wanted. So I was really pissed at him. I figured if I bought some slave who was totally not what we needed, it’d show him I wasn’t the right choice for that job and he’d let me off it. Plus it might make him mad, so it was sorta revenge too. Also the slave was really fucking hot, so, you know…” Sanosuke cleared his throat, blushing, and his eyes strayed from Megumi’s face again.
“So you purchased what you believed to be a slave” — Megumi was shifting smoothly onto a new track, Kenshin could tell, though Sanosuke probably couldn’t — “with the express purpose of raping him.”
Sanosuke’s hands had been lying on the railing in front of him, occasionally sliding idly from side to side, but now they jerked back toward his body as he stiffened upward, looking appalled. “What?! No! Of course not!”
“You did just say,” Megumi pointed out calmly, “that one of your reasons for buying the slave was that he was ‘really fucking hot.'” Her coolness made the quoted profanity sound very childish indeed, and Sanosuke flushed a deeper shade of red from an apparent combination of emotions.
“I don’t rape slaves, all right? That’s something my asshole dad does, not me! I mean, I know it’s something a lot of people do, but not me!”
This, Kenshin reflected, though it could not be entirely verified, was consistent with the attitude the Shishio household slaves had displayed toward Sanosuke in their avowals.
“I won’t say I didn’t totally want to have sex with him or that wasn’t part of the reason I bought him, but I always ask. I’d never force someone — I told him he could say no and it wouldn’t be a problem.” Sanosuke’s voice dropped to a mumble as his hands came down on the railing again and his gaze fell to the floor. “And he seemed like he was totally fine with it.”
“In what way did Saitou indicate he was engaging in sex willingly?”
Pensiveness now seemed to overcome Sanosuke’s chagrin, and he appeared, as he slowly drew breath and opened his mouth to answer, as if he wasn’t sure his explanation would make sense to his listeners. “He seemed so strong and so in-control…” Distinct admiration rang in his timbre. “It felt like, if he didn’t want it, he would’ve definitely said so. He didn’t really seem like a slave at all, and after a while I couldn’t even think of him as one. Sure, I gave him a job to do, but he was more like… I don’t even know. I didn’t know he was a sovvie, but from the way he talked I did get the feeling there was something else going on — like he had a reason to be there besides just that I bought him and brought him there.”
“And since you’ve discovered he did have another reason to be there, have you considered that Saitou might only have accepted your sexual advances because he believed it would endanger his position or even his personal safety to refuse you?”
Hotly Sanosuke replied, “I told him he could say no!”
“You were in a position of absolute authority at the time, and he was in the position not only of a slave and someone who needed to maintain cover, but someone who had never met you and couldn’t be familiar with your personal policy regarding slave rape. Did that never occur to you?”
Sanosuke looked stricken. “I… no. Shit. No, I… never thought of that. I really… really… didn’t feel like it was… I thought it was all just fine at the time, but… shit…” His eyes broke from Megumi’s again, fixing on the floor, and in this instance they did not re-ascend.
With a tone infinitesimally more gentle than before, Megumi shifted the subject slightly. “How did your interaction with Saitou proceed from there?”
“I… well, I had no real job to give him,” Sanosuke told the floor, “so I made him just a sort of odd-jobs man to do whatever muscle-work anyone needed. There wasn’t a lot for him to do, so mostly he just ended up… in… in my room.” He hastened on in a faintly defensive tone, “But we talked a lot! It wasn’t like we were just having sex all the time.”
“And what did you talk about?”
“He would never want to talk about himself. Obviously that’s because he was a secret agent all along, but at the time I just figured a slave didn’t have a lot of interesting stuff to say about his own life. So we mostly talked about me, and how I grew up, and what I liked to do. Oh, and about dad and his work.” Sanosuke’s mouth tightened into a frown before he went on more slowly, “I guess…” This point seemed to be novelly occurring to him here and now. “I guess he got a lot of information out of me, actually. I couldn’t have helped him with details, but what I said probably told him what to investigate and where to look and shit.”
Kenshin repressed another smile. If the vague and rather hilarious information Sanosuke had given earlier about his father’s business was typical of his elaboration on the subject, it might not have actually been remarkably helpful to the sovereignty agent.
Megumi suggested next, “You seem to regret these interactions.”
With a faint sigh Sanosuke admitted, “Yeah, I guess I do. I was thinking before that we had some good times, and he had some important stuff to say to me, but I guess I was… always kindof a dick to him. I didn’t think it was rape, and I thought it made sense he didn’t talk about himself… but I was always the one in charge, and he probably couldn’t say no, and I just talked about myself on and on like a total ass.”
“You say he had important things to say to you?”
“It seemed important at the time.” Sanosuke shrugged, and the casual gesture did not nearly suffice to downplay words he obviously meant very intensely. “When he got to know what kind of life I always had, he had things to say…” He chuckled faintly and with a mixture of bitterness and appreciation. “He was fucking rude about it, but he always got his point across. He just made me kinda realize how I was wasting my life. I was already not really thinking of him as a slave, so that’s probably why I didn’t notice how weird it was that this supposed slave — who’d been a slave his whole life, supposedly! — knew so much about… life stuff.”
So that was the real reason Sanosuke had started ‘thinking about things more seriously and shit.’ Even from the brief description of their interactions, Kenshin could see what an impact this Saitou agent had made on the young man.
“Was it your inability to see Saitou as a slave that kept you from determining he was a spy?” was Megumi’s next question.
“Yeah, that was probably part of it.” Sanosuke scratched his head, appearing a little easier now they’d left behind the question of whether or not he had committed rape — especially on someone he obviously admired. “But also I didn’t want to ask him a bunch of questions in case I blew his cover. I knew he was up to something, and I kinda really wanted to see him do whatever he was there to do because I figured that’d be one in my dad’s eye.”
“So your attitude toward your father had not changed?”
“Actually it did change.” The young man’s brow furrowed as he recollected. “I kinda went from thinking of him as this mean old dad who was forcing me to do work and threatening to take away my allowance and shit to thinking more about how I grew up with this terrible person who probably kept me from being… something better, you know?”
Kenshin had a feeling he could guess at the origin of this alteration in attitude. It was a stroke of luck Sanosuke had run into someone that could cause that revolution in him when he had. Really, it was a stroke of luck that laziness and thoughtlessness were (to all appearances) the worst of Sanosuke’s bad traits, given the circumstances of his upbringing.
“But, yeah, as far as wanting to get back at my dad for whatever I was mad at him for? That didn’t change.”
“But you still didn’t question Saitou about his intentions?”
“Yeah, like I said, I didn’t want to ruin the plan. Whatever the plan was.”
“I wonder if you didn’t want to ruin your sexual arrangement with Saitou as well.”
To Kenshin, an experienced arbiter that had worked extensively with Megumi in the year and a half she’d been questioning at his assessments, it was obvious why she returned to this topic: though slave rape was a matter of hazy legality and Sanosuke had been unaware of the true identity of this supposed slave, still sexual assault of a sovereignty agent was serious — another potential crime for which Sanosuke might be condemned — and it was essential the issue be examined thoroughly.
But to Sanosuke this probably wasn’t nearly so evident. His eyes had previously, gradually returned to the questioner’s face and his expression had cleared somewhat, but at this latest statement his brows drew back together as his gaze fell once more. “Yeah, there was probably some of that too. I didn’t want to change things with him. I didn’t want to scare him off.”
“Given the way things turned out, do you wish now that you had questioned him?”
Sanosuke scraped a foot, at which he stared fixedly, back and forth on the wooden flooring of the platform. “I don’t really know. I’m afraid shit would have gone down just the same even if I had.”
“So you don’t consider yourself in any way responsible for your father becoming aware that Saitou was a spy?”
“He didn’t know Saitou was a spy–” Here Sanosuke interrupted himself impatiently in order to answer the actual question right in the middle of his protest– “no, I wasn’t responsible for that! — but if dad knew Saitou was a spy, I bet he would have just killed him right then.”
“Are you aware of your father having committed murder in the past?”
“Not for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past him.” Sanosuke’s voice grew somewhat distant. “Actually I always wondered, when my mom died… not right at the time, but later I wondered… did she maybe cheat on him, and he…” His shoulders lifted somewhat helplessly, and Kenshin guessed this dark speculation was one he’d never been able to put into words before. The most lazy, resentful teenager had certain lines he might not want to cross, even in his own mind, about his father.
“You may want to hold onto that thought,” Megumi remarked somewhat sardonically, “for when it’s your turn to give avowal at your father’s assessment.”
Sanosuke scowled, and, forcing the scribe to lean forward abruptly to catch what he had to say, grumbled something about maybe just completely refusing to show up, then fell into an unhappy silence. Kenshin doubted the young man looked forward to the referenced event, even if he knew the assessment of Makoto would be little more than nominal, a last courtesy offered to someone already condemned in all but the final legal sense and doomed to high-security imprisonment for the rest of his life.
“But to return to the compromise of Saitou’s situation,” Megumi went on. “How exactly did that happen, if you had no part in it?”
“‘Exactly‘ is tough,” Sanosuke admitted. “I just noticed one morning that I couldn’t find Saitou anywhere, and I kinda wanted… to find him… so I was wandering around looking, and my dad noticed and called me into his room. He asked me what I knew about Saitou — called him ‘that slave you’ve been fucking’ all annoyed — so I told him — and it was totally true! — that I didn’t really know anything about his past. Of course I knew a lot about Saitou personally by then, but I knew that wasn’t what dad wanted, so I didn’t bother saying that. Anyway, dad said he noticed Saitou could read (which I never noticed because I was too busy ordering him around and talking about myself like a little shit), but of course dad got suspicious.”
That such a revelation would render a person like Makoto suspicious made sense, Kenshin reflected. In a house-slave, a certain degree of literacy might not be totally unheard-of; but in the type of person Kenshin was envisioning based on the description given of this agent thus far — probably someone, in the eyes of a slave-owner, pretty distinctly intended for manual labor — the ability to read would seem decidedly out of place. And anything out of place might set off alarms in the head of a paranoid traitor to the sovereignty.
“He said he wanted to question Saitou — whatever that actually meant — so of course I was starting to freak out a little bit on the inside. But he was going away on business for a couple days and couldn’t put it off, so he couldn’t get to questioning Saitou right away. He said he already had him locked up, and he needed to stay that way — with a guard — and I wasn’t allowed to see him.”
Just as locks and guards came up in the avowal, Kenshin noticed the sentinel at the inner door step aside and allow a man to enter the room. At Kaoru’s nod of acknowledgment Kenshin had to assume this was the agent, Saitou, their final witness and a significant part of this interesting drama; so he said nothing as the newcomer silently passed rows of benches standing empty at this private assessment and took a seat at the end of one in front. Sanosuke, his back to the door and apparently having missed the overseer’s nod, had noticed none of this.
Megumi was asking, “Do you believe your father ordered you not to contact Saitou while he was gone because he was suspicious of you as well?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Dad was just trying to get back at me for having Saitou around in the first place. We’d already had this big argument about me buying a slave just for… uh, personal reasons… instead of what we actually needed, and he wasn’t any less pissed about it at this point… but I think it was just the usual ‘why can’t you take life seriously?’ bullshit, not him thinking I was working with Saitou on some secret mission or something.”
“And did you obey your father in this instance?”
“Hell, no! The second he was gone, I went straight to see Saitou. I was trying to think of a way to get him out of there, but I didn’t have any ideas that weren’t totally crazy, and he didn’t have any ideas either, and I was really frustrated… I told him I was sorry, since it was basically my fault for buying a slave just because he was really hot and to annoy my dad… Saying sorry didn’t fucking help, but it was all I could do for him right then. Well, I mean, besides…” Sanosuke cleared his throat.
Kenshin rather expected Megumi to probe further into this latest implication of sexual activity, but what she asked instead was, “Your father had left him under guard?”
Sanosuke scowled. “This guy Usui, who’s worked for my dad for a while — he’s this asshole thug — he was guarding the room when I got there, and even though I supposedly wasn’t supposed to see Saitou, Usui let me in pretty easy. I didn’t think that was weird at first because I was distracted, but later I did wonder why he did that. Only then, as soon as his guard shift was over, he showed up in my room saying he wanted to make a deal.”
Sanosuke’s lip curled in distaste and discomfort. “He knew me and Saitou were fucking. I mean, it probably didn’t help that… Well, anyway, he figured I might be willing to do something for him if he agreed to help Saitou escape.”
“Do what for him?”
“Um, basically… fuck him too.”
Megumi looked a little taken aback. “Why?”
Sanosuke flushed. “You don’t have to make it sound like it’s impossible to imagine or something.” At these words, one of the guards that stood a couple of steps behind the witness’ platform was forced to turn an inadvertent laugh into a cough. Kenshin noticed Kaoru giving the man a reproving look.
“What I mean,” Megumi said composedly, “is that allowing a prisoner to escape would be a dangerous risk for this Usui to take. Why would he jeopardize his position working for your father for the sake of sex?”
“You have to understand…” Again Sanosuke looked as if he feared this explanation might be a little beyond him. “Usui’s always wanted dad’s business. Not just like he wanted to work for him; he wanted to take his place. He probably knew my dad was doing illegal stuff, and he wanted to be doing it himself, I guess. Anyway, the weird thing was that dad always knew what Usui wanted, so I never could figure out why he kept him around — friends close and enemies closer and all that, I guess? So Usui could never do anything open to try to get some advantage over my dad; he had to do sneaky shit.”
“And he would have believed sleeping with Makoto’s son would give him leverage in the future?”
“All right.” Megumi nodded her understanding. “But why would you believe such an obviously untrustworthy person would keep his end of any bargain?”
“I didn’t really have any choice!” protested Sanosuke. “I couldn’t just let my dad do whatever he was going to do; I had to try something. And, I mean, I have… a lot of sex… most of the time, so what was a little more if it might help with something? And, hell, it did end up working, didn’t it?”
“Well, yeah, he did keep his end of the deal, didn’t he?” Sanosuke’s expression gradually became pensive. “Actually that’s kinda weird, now I think about it. He really isn’t the kind of guy to keep a deal like that… but since he did, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
In order to allow her to draw out information as effectively as possible, Megumi, like any questioner, was given an overview of events relevant to an assessment prior to interrogating witnesses. And Kenshin could tell now that what she’d just heard did not entirely tally with what she’d known before entering the hall today. As usual, however, surprise was absent from her voice as she wondered, “Usui himself told you he had released Saitou?”
“Actually I haven’t seen Usui since then. I figured he was keeping his head down until after dad got back so one of the other guards could take the blame for Saitou escaping. They were really freaking out, too, when it turned out Saitou was gone — one of ’em ran away, and I really couldn’t blame him. And then the second dad came home, the whole place was just suddenly swarming with sovvies, like they knew exactly when he was going to be back, and we were all arrested. But, yeah, if you need me at Usui’s assessment — he is getting assessed, right? — I can tell you everything I know about him.”
In direct contrast to how he’d reacted to the idea of making avowal at his father’s assessment, Sanosuke seemed to be taking a grim pleasure at the thought of disclosing everything he knew about someone he disliked so much more straightforwardly. And there was a touch of tightness around his mouth, a tilt to his brows, a fleeting haunted look in his eyes that he seemed to be trying his best to hide, indicating (to Kenshin, at least) that, no matter how bravely he’d implied this encounter had merely been an additional instance of something he had quite a lot of, he was more distressed about his interactions with Usui than he was letting on verbally.
If Megumi had also noticed how much Sanosuke had really suffered by fulfilling his part of the bargain he’d made, still she chose to wrap things up and not pursue the matter. And when the questioner had declared herself finished with the accused, Kaoru took over by wondering whether the arbiter had anything to ask.
Kenshin smiled at her. Both she and Megumi could probably tell how engrossed he was in this assessment — for one thing, he hadn’t made a single request regarding the nearby overhot stove — just as he could read Megumi’s little reactions of surprise and the outrage Kaoru had been subtly evincing about the Usui business. He shook his head.
Kaoru nodded again, then turned back to Sanosuke. “The sovereignty thanks you for your avowal, Sanosuke of lineage Shishio. You may take your previous place.” She gestured to where Sanosuke’s escort still stood behind the platform.
Though he’d clearly been depressed by several items brought up during his avowal, and though he appeared understandably wearied by the ordeal, the young man’s energy of movement didn’t seem to have decreased; he hopped down the single step and turned with alacrity to face the guards that had come to meet him. Kenshin had been watching meticulously for how Sanosuke would react to his first sight of Saitou since before his arrest, what might happen when their eyes met, but the seat Saitou had taken was to the right of the platform, and Sanosuke had stepped down on the left and again entirely missed his presence in the room.
He could not long remain in ignorance, however, as Kaoru next said, “Our final witness will please step onto the platform.”
Even had Kenshin not been specifically observing, he doubted he could have failed to catch sight of Sanosuke stumbling abruptly on his way back to the open space where the accused and his escort stood and then turning in a movement that incorporated a deep breath and a significant stiffening of spine. Sanosuke still could not meet Saitou’s eyes, however, since the agent, having taken his place on the witness’ platform, now faced away from him.
As the assessment proceeded, Kenshin divided his attention between the final witness and the accused. Saitou took the Oath of Honesty, and in doing so immediately displayed a disposition seemingly the polar opposite of Sanosuke’s: perfectly composed, with no emotions tied up in this business whatsoever. And he wasn’t what Kenshin would have described as ‘really fucking hot.’ Of course Kenshin had little interest in men — the elegant questioner or the lively assessment overseer were more his speed — but even by his admittedly vague standards of what made a man attractive he found this one a little too harsh. But there was no accounting for taste.
“To begin,” Megumi was saying, “for clarity: you are an agent of the sovereignty transferred here from another location in order to investigate Makoto and his business dealings.”
“That is correct,” replied Saitou.
“You had arranged to pose as a slave in order to enter Makoto’s household, because you had some information that led you to believe he would be inclined to buy you.”
“Yes. The scar on my chest, which would be visible on a slavers’ platform, would draw associations with an old enemy of Makoto’s. We believed he would not be able to resist purchasing me.”
Kenshin noticed Sanosuke nodding slowly as if this information, though he hadn’t put its pieces together before, added up to a reasonable conclusion.
“But in fact,” Megumi pointed out, “it was Makoto’s son who purchased you. Do you believe it was a coincidence that Sanosuke had taken over the task of buying household slaves just at the time you were planted in the slave market?”
“Yes, I do.” Saitou’s demeanor made Megumi’s seem warm and casual by contrast.
“Sanosuke tells us that when he brought you home and sexually propositioned you, he indicated you had the option of refusing. Is that true?”
With a curt nod Saitou replied immediately, “He made it as clear as someone in his position at the time possibly could.”
“Would you have felt safe rejecting Sanosuke’s advances?”
Here, Kenshin was interested to note — though he couldn’t be entirely sure he wasn’t imagining it — Saitou hesitated briefly before answering, “No. I would have believed doing so would endanger my position in the household.”
A quick glance at Sanosuke showed a stricken expression so poignant as to infect Kenshin somewhat with its sudden misery. And guaranteeing the continuance of that unhappiness, Megumi persisted on the dreary topic by asking Saitou, “Do you believe Sanosuke took advantage of you?”
Saitou frowned, and spoke in a pensive tone that, though as cool as before, held a touch of darkness. “Slavery has allowed mankind new and more incisive ways to objectify and abuse each other. Even the best master treats a slave differently than he treats any free man, whether he realizes it or not. No one who has not acted as a slave can realize the layers of oppression that can be inflicted on one human by another, nor how humans change when they are put into the positions of master and slave. It’s a system the sovereignty would do well to examine closely in the near future.”
It was such a lengthy and unexpectedly moralizing answer that everyone stared at him in silence for a moment. Then Megumi gave her head a tiny shake and said, “I wonder if you aren’t trying to avoid the question.”
“I apologize,” Saitou replied dryly, “if I got a little too philosophical.” Much more bluntly he continued, “I believe I took advantage of him by cultivating a relationship under entirely false pretenses and using him for information.”
Watching Sanosuke, Kenshin believed he could pinpoint the exact instant of heartbreak — during the last syllable of ‘entirely false pretenses’ — and felt his own heart go out to the young man. It was a shame Saitou never looked around and saw the face of the accused, on which rampant emotions played as openly as children on a lawn.
Kenshin also noted, however, that Saitou, for all his cool bluntness, had still avoided the actual question Megumi had asked. He probably did believe some advantage had been taken, and now had deliberately eschewed specifically saying so — Kenshin didn’t think it was mere wishfulness on Sanosuke’s behalf that made him believe it — in order to spare the accused the pain of the admission. Whether that would have hurt more or less than ‘entirely false pretenses,’ Kenshin wasn’t sure.
Megumi seemed satisfied, at least for the short term, on the point of whether or not Saitou had been sexually assaulted, for she moved on to another part of his interaction with Sanosuke. “Is it true that Sanosuke was not responsible for the betrayal of your intentions to Makoto?”
“Yes, it is true. That was a slip of my own.”
“And did Sanosuke contact you during your imprisonment in an attempt to determine a way to free you?” When Saitou confirmed this as well, she went on. “Sanosuke reported that neither of you had any idea how you might be able to escape your confinement; yet you were able to escape soon thereafter, so clearly you did have some idea.” Saitou nodded. “Was it because you didn’t trust him that you didn’t confide your plans in him at that time?”
Kenshin, accustomed to seeing the story of events twist and evolve as it passed through various witnesses at an assessment, was not disturbed or surprised at hearing a slightly different account of Saitou’s escape from the Shishio estate than Sanosuke had presented. But Sanosuke was looking distinctly confused, and that expression only intensified as Saitou answered, “No, not because I didn’t trust him. It was because I believed it would be safer if he were not involved in my escape attempt.”
“Then you were unaware,” Megumi suggested, “of the bargain Sanosuke was making with Usui.”
“I was unaware.” Now there was a discernible, if still minimal, hint of emotion, of tightness, in Saitou’s words and bearing. He had never once looked around at Sanosuke, but at this moment Kenshin believed a certain muscular tendency indicated he would like to. “I was unaware of that,” he repeated stonily, “until just now at this assessment. If I had known of Usui’s intentions, I would have escaped and killed him much earlier than I did.”
Abruptly Sanosuke seemed to understand how things had really happened, and it might only have been possible to detangle the mess of emotions on his face with a decent stretch of time and some fine tools. It looked as if he might burst out with some surprised and unhappy exclamation, contrary to the rules of the assessment hall that forbade witnesses not on the platform from speaking, but he managed to control himself, and the mouth he’d opened snapped back into miserable closure.
Kenshin got the feeling Megumi wanted to be done with this; she probably felt the dreary atmosphere emanating from Sanosuke as well as the arbiter did. “You spent nearly a month in the Shishio estate,” she said to Saitou, “and must have become fairly well acquainted with Sanosuke and his lifestyle. Do you believe Sanosuke had any connection with his father’s illegal dealings?”
“No, I don’t believe it. Sanosuke has merely been lazy and useless and a waste of significant potential for most of his life, not actually criminal. In fact, whether he intended it or was even aware of it, he assisted in my investigations and should be commended.” Though this statement was spoken with the same lack of hesitancy as most of Saitou’s statements, it was also even more coldly professional, and Kenshin could tell Sanosuke drew very little comfort from the proposed commendation. It was evident, moreover, that Sanosuke believed Saitou had no personal interest in him and regarded him only as a facet of a job he’d been busy with that was now about ready to wrap up.
Whether or not Megumi, like Kenshin, remained far less convinced than Sanosuke was, she now turned to Kaoru and declared herself finished questioning this witness. And Kaoru wondered formally, as before, if Kenshin had anything he wanted to ask.
Kenshin stared at Saitou for a moment, and came to the conclusion that it was unlikely he had any clearer idea of the situation that Sanosuke did. He hadn’t been present for the more emotional parts of Sanosuke’s avowal, hadn’t even looked him in the face this entire time; and Sanosuke’s described behavior during their near month together had been very… frivolous… certainly nothing to indicate his interest in Saitou had been anything beyond physical, casual, transient — and that in a context of master and slave not easily translatable into normal interaction.
Saitou didn’t know what a difference he’d made in Sanosuke’s way of thinking. He didn’t know that what Sanosuke had done in an attempt to free him had been a real and deliberate sacrifice rather than the throwaway action the young man had implied it was. He didn’t know Sanosuke had never really been able to see him as a slave — especially given that, based on Saitou’s comment, ‘Even the best master treats a slave differently than he treats any free man, whether he realizes it or not,’ that perception of Sanosuke’s had not been strong enough to be plainly demonstrable.
Kenshin, having leaned far toward ‘completely ingenuous’ and away from ‘extremely convincing actor,’ fully planned on declaring Sanosuke innocent of the crime of complicity in his father’s treason. He wouldn’t even need to spend his mandatory ten minutes considering the matter; rather, he could concentrate on cooling down his right side for a bit. He did consider Sanosuke guilty of some misconduct in his sexual relationship with Saitou, but that behavior, Kenshin was sure, arose from an ignorance and thoughtlessness that Sanosuke was at least on his way to relinquishing. Besides, Saitou had clearly reached a philosophical breakthrough regarding the system of slavery and the treatment of slaves during his time posing as one, so it wasn’t impossible that Sanosuke might have some assistance in considering matters of authority and consent.
And Sanosuke would need assistance in more than that. He’d just had his entire attitude about life turned upside-down, been arrested for and accused of treason and displaced from his longtime home in the process, had his father (whatever his father might be to him) exposed as the worst of men and finally come to terms with his own suspicions about him, and discovered that he himself might be a rapist and was probably at least, as he’d put it, ‘a total ass.’ He needed someone strong and steady and wise in his life right now, and Kenshin had a pretty good idea who that person could be.
If those two ever actually spoke to each other again. Given the level of misconception Kenshin believed he currently observed between them, he wouldn’t be surprised if they went their separate ways from this hall and became little more than bitter memories in each other’s lives.
But what was an arbiter for if not the prevention of such gross injustice?
“I do have a question for you,” Kenshin said, fixing Saitou with a calm but penetrating gaze. “And I would like to remind you, before I ask, that you have taken the Oath of Honesty.”
Saitou looked wary. “Of course.”
“What,” Kenshin wondered in a friendly tone, “are your precise feelings toward the accused at this time?”
There was a long silence during which Saitou’s narrowed eyes remained locked with Kenshin’s, and the arbiter feared the witness might attempt to refuse to answer. Of course if Saitou believed Sanosuke had been doing nothing more than enjoying casual and convenient sex with a perceived slave, he would feel pathetic admitting to any deeper sensibilities. No one liked declaring unrequited love, and the strength to be completely open about something so personal, something that could be turned so easily into a weapon in callous hands, was not one everybody possessed.
But Saitou rallied with a nearly invisible breath and squaring of shoulders. He kept hold of Kenshin’s gaze with his eyes as if it were a lifeline and stated, in just as indifferent a tone as he’d used for anything else he’d said here today, “I have developed an emotional attachment to the accused that, though I can’t call it ‘love’ at this time, is more than friendship and certainly more than I would feel for someone I was merely using to further my investigative efforts.”
A choking sound issued from where Sanosuke stood, but Kenshin was not looking in that direction; he’d felt it more courteous to maintain that eye contact Saitou so clearly needed to make his declaration. Now he gave a slight smile. “Thank you,” he said, and stood, making an automatic and almost unconscious movement away from the wood stove as he did so. “I will withdraw to deliberate, and return with my arbitration in no less than ten minutes’ time.” As Saitou twitched slightly toward the step down from the witness’ platform — on the side away from Sanosuke, of course — Kenshin added, “Please remain where you are until I return.”
Saitou nodded, and stood very still and stiff where he was without looking around. Kenshin met first Megumi’s eye and then Kaoru’s as he turned for the door into his cloister, and each gave him a subtle smile of her own. They knew him too well; they must be aware both of what he’d been aiming for out here and what he planned on saying when he came back.
The arbiter’s cloister was normally unpleasantly chilly at this time of year, but today it was a nice change after the wood stove. Kenshin closed the door behind him and stretched his arms and back, rolling his shoulders and yawning. Then he drew out his pocket-watch to begin counting down.
He hadn’t arbitrated such an interesting assessment in quite a while; and he felt that when, ten minutes from now, he returned into the hall and declared Sanosuke innocent of all criminal behavior at this time, and dismissed both the accused and the final witness to go about their business simultaneously, he would have done a good day’s work.
When the victim of Sano’s prank texting turns out to be an intimidating cop, Sano’s friends are every bit as amused as Sano is terrified.
When Katsu got home from work, he found his roommate chortling on the floor. Sano’s head was under the coffee table, his legs up on the couch, and he held a cell phone in the air above his face. The moment Katsu entered and looked at him, he rolled onto his side in a spasm of laughter — the sort of laughter that sounded like a relapse, as if he’d just managed to get himself under control and Katsu’s appearance had set him off afresh.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Katsu remarked as he closed the apartment door behind him.
At first Sano could not answer except with further paroxysms, but he did sober enough to read the text message that presently chimed in to his phone. But if Katsu expected an explanation thereafter, he was disappointed, for the message sent Sano into another rolling fit of amusement.
Being a patient young man, Katsu moved off into his own bedroom to change from his work uniform and turn on his computer; he left the door open, though, in case Sano should recover to the point of volunteering information.
Eventually he did. “I’ve been prank-texting this dude for, like, an hour now,” he explained at a shout. “Pretending to be some chick named Sandra.”
“Oh, god,” was Katsu’s (not entirely unamused) response.
“I asked him out and everything. He thinks I’m a girl…” And Sano lost it again.
Katsu shook his head, rolling his eyes and grinning. “And who is this guy?”
“I dunno… Chou gave me his number.”
“Are you sure it’s smart to be randomly texting somebody Chou gave you the number of?”
“I dunno. It’s just some–” The phone chimed again, appropriating all of Sano’s attention. “Oh, he says he’s going to–” But again the phone cut him off, this time with a genuine ringtone. Sano’s mirth quickly turned to consternation as he realized, “Oh, shit, my voicemail! What do I do?”
“You should have thought of that before.”
With a deep breath, Sano answered the call.
Now Katsu had to bury his face in a couch cushion, for at the first sound of, “Hey, Sandra here!” in the most unconvincing falsetto he’d ever heard, he simply could not contain himself any longer.
As soon as Katsu emerged again he saw Sano waving violently at him in a gesture that clearly communicated, It’s hard enough for me to keep from laughing without you doing that. “No, I’m not,” he was saying into the phone, still in that awful fallacious tone. “I lost my voice for a few days and it’s just coming back, so if I sound weird that’s why. Hmm, oh, really? That sounds so sexy. Ooh, that sounds totally sexy too! What? No, those are hot too. Ha ha, no. I love a car with good gas mileage.”
Whether this was a euphemism and what they could possibly be talking about Katsu couldn’t guess, but the absurd discussion dragged on and on and on; the man at the other end must either be phenomenally stupid or enjoying the joke just as much as Sano was. Every little while, Sano would turn aside and let out a string of muffled guffaws into his sleeve, and Katsu wondered what the stranger thought of these breaks in the conversation.
“He keeps getting all quiet for, like, a minute at a time,” Sano explained in a choked whisper on seeing his roommate’s expression at this. “What do you think he’s–” But he was forced to return to the phone at this point, his stupid falsetto even less convincing than before. “Oh, no, sugar, I was talking to the TV. I told you I was bored…” Sometimes a random little accent crept in too, and Katsu wasn’t sure whether Sano even knew it was happening. “What else do I have to do when I don’t have a man to keep me busy? Oh, can’t you guess? Well, I’ve been told I give really good blow jobs. Hmm? Oh, yeah, any time.”
Things had gone so far that just about everything Sano said was too much for Katsu, and eventually he would surely betray his friend by laughing more loudly than the pillow could stifle or too suddenly to hide it. Besides, he had other things to do. However, he’d barely reached his room again when there came a knock at the apartment door. Assuming Sano was too busy — and in no fit state — to answer it, Katsu reemerged.
“Dude, he stopped talking again,” Sano was chortling as Katsu turned the dead-bolt and then the knob.
“Yes, he did,” said the man at the door in a carrying tone, ostentatiously snapping shut the cell phone he held.
Sano sat up abruptly, dropping his own phone. He dove for it, found the confirmatory evidence of the call’s having ended on its screen, and stared at the man again in growing dismay.
“A word of advice for you,” the stranger remarked as he stepped inside unhindered by any motion of Katsu’s. “Chou isn’t a very good accomplice. He can’t keep a straight face.”
Katsu restrained a snorting laugh.
“And the fact that he works at a police station should have given you some idea of the type of people he’s with all day.” The man pulled aside his jacket to display the badge he wore on a lanyard around his neck.
This time Katsu couldn’t contain it; the laughter burst out of him. “Oh, god, Sano, you do know how to pick them.”
“So what?” demanded Sano, worried and obviously trying to cover it up with surliness. “Are you gonna press charges or something?”
“Harassment is a fairly serious charge,” the cop agreed with a smirk, “but I’m more inclined to take you up on your offer.”
“What offer?” Sano wondered blankly.
The officer held up his phone again and answered blandly, “Among other things, you asked me out.”
This was almost too much for Katsu. And if the pronouncement itself hadn’t been enough, Sano’s stunned expression — as if he’d just been shot in the middle of a laugh — certainly would have been.
“That was… that was just a… I wasn’t serious!”
“Still, you did offer.”
“I have a girlfriend,” Sano stated defiantly.
“Of course,” was the cool reply. “And that poster there was her idea of a joke.”
Katsu almost lost it again as the man indicated with a gesture the half-naked Speedo model adorning the wall. The interlocking rainbow male symbols that formed the poster company’s logo didn’t help.
“Yeah, OK, it’s a boyfriend.”
The cop glanced at Katsu, who was still struggling not to collapse bonelessly onto the floor as he shook his head without a word.
“Katsu!” Sano yelped in protest at this betrayal.
The stranger’s mouth twisted into a smile. “So it appears you have no legitimate cause to object to our arrangement.”
“Except that it was just a joke! I was just messing with you!”
“So you would rather I pressed charges for harassment?”
“I…” Sano’s brows went down over wide, astonished eyes. “That’s blackmail! Isn’t that just as illegal?”
“It’s called ‘settling out of court,'” the stranger corrected. “You’ve had your fun; now it’s my turn.”
Katsu thought Sano went a little pale at this.
“Come on,” the man insisted, jingling his keys. He added with a smirk, “I thought you wanted to see my car.”
Sano took a step toward him, jerkily, as if drawn against his will. “Katsu…” he said helplessly.
“Have fun, Sano,” Katsu grinned.
With a look at his friend half stricken and half irate, Sano began to move a little more naturally: evidently he realized he had no choice in the matter. Stopping just short of arm’s length of the stranger, however, he turned to Katsu and said darkly, “If I’m not back in a couple of hours, call the…” He threw a glance at the policeman and amended his statement. “Call someone.”
“I may call a pizza place and order something to eat…” Katsu offered.
“Oh, fuck you,” Sano said. And then they were gone.
Katsu didn’t have long to laugh himself sick over all of this while wondering desperately and impatiently what was going on; he should have known Sano would keep him posted. The first text arrived only a few minutes later: I’m going to fucking die!
What are you guys doing? Katsu inquired in return.
We’re going to play pool, I guess, was Sano’s answer.
That’s not so bad.
It is with THIS psychopath! Now he’s asking if I’m harassing someone ELSE, so I’ll tell you more later.
Katsu sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be too much later, since this was funnier than anything he could have found on TV, and had made his day a good deal better not only than it had been but than any recent day he could think of or future day he was likely to have. Living with Sano was always an adventure.
This guy kicks ass at pool, was the next message, after perhaps half an hour.
Better than you? wondered Katsu.
I’ll beat him pretty soon, Sano replied evasively, but Katsu could hear the irritated determination as clearly as if they’d been talking rather than texting.
Relative pool skills were all well and good, but what Katsu was mostly interested in hearing about… Is he still being creepy?
Not really. He bought me some snacks. This didn’t tell Katsu much, since Sano was so fond of being bought snacks that he might overlook a good deal of creepiness on the part of the buyer.
Another twenty minutes or so passed before Katsu heard anything more. Then it was, I’m going to kill Chou. He TOLD this guy who I was after my FOURTH text. He told him I was gay and everything.
And probably that you were his neighbor, too.
You should totally hear this guy talk about him, though. Shit’s hilarious.
“Oh, Sano,” Katsu murmured, laughing as he read this and refraining from making the obvious reply.
The next communication, after another interval spent impatiently on Katsu’s end trying to find anything that hadn’t gone bad in the fridge, was a call. Of course he picked up immediately. “Sano?”
“Shit, man, I don’t know what to do!” Sano sounded panicked “You gotta help me!”
“Calm down! I can’t do much to help you from here. What’s going on?”
“He… this guy…” Sano’s voice echoed somewhat; since the signal was fine and the words otherwise undistorted, Katsu guessed him to be making the call from a restroom.
“Is he assaulting you, or what?”
“Well, sortof… I mean, he keeps saying things…”
“That’s quite an accusation, Sano.”
“He keeps saying… flirty… things.” The word didn’t really seem an appropriate descriptor for the man, briefly as Katsu had met him, but the concept at least was clear.
“You guys are on a date,” Katsu pointed out. His tone was mild, but it was probably a good thing Sano couldn’t see his face.
“Only because he forced me!” Sano sounded far more confused than anything else.
“What’s really bugging you is that you’re enjoying this.”
“What?! I am not! Just ’cause he’s… How could I possibly–” At this moment Sano made an indescribable and very undignified sound, and his phone clattered as it evidently fell to the floor. Hastily Katsu turned off the TV and pressed his own phone hard against his ear so as not to miss a word of the subsequently distant conversation.
“What are you doing in here?!” This was Sano, startled and angry.
“Seeing what’s taking you so long,” said the man’s voice; he sounded amused. “You just can’t stop harassing people with that phone, can you?”
“And what are you promising this one?”
“I seem to recall you promising me a ‘really good blow job.'”
“I… what?!” Sano sounded a little hysterical. Or perhaps ‘giddy’ was a better term. “I didn’t… No!”
Even from here, Katsu could tell that the man was teasing just as easily as he could tell that Sano didn’t mind the idea nearly as much as he claimed to.
“Then I think you owe me a kiss at least.”
The guy was probably giving Sano some kind of look Katsu couldn’t appreciate from afar, for Sano was obviously very flustered. “Not… not… not on the first–”
There came a scuffling sound, during which the transmitting device was apparently kicked into a corner or something, followed by a long silence. Finally, almost inaudibly now (thanks to the phone’s new position? or the man’s lowered tone?), the police officer said, “That wasn’t so bad.” And whether the statement aimed at reassuring Sano or commenting on his performance Katsu couldn’t tell.
“You are the worst cop I’ve ever met,” Sano responded with relative distinctness — and relative calm, too, especially for how breathless he sounded; it really must not have been so bad.
“That’s quite an achievement, considering you’ve met Chou.”
“And he backstabbed me.” This grumble of Sano’s was suddenly a good deal louder as he evidently bent to retrieve his phone.
“I don’t know what else you were expecting,” the man said, a sentiment with which Katsu had to agree.
Some profane statement of Sano’s cut off as he hung up the phone without a goodbye, and again Katsu waited for the next update on the edge of his seat (figuratively, as he was, rather, sprawled on the couch in weariness from laughing so much and never having found anything readily edible in the kitchen).
Sano’s eventual comment was, So he’s a good kisser.
So I gathered, Katsu replied.
And he’s actually pretty hot.
I noticed that too.
And he bought me ice cream.
Plying you with dessert, is he?
He’s still an asshole.
I’m sure he is.
During the next information lapse, wherein Katsu tried futilely to pay attention to the show he was supposedly watching but kept checking his phone so frequently he might as well just have turned the TV off again, there came a knock at the door. A little irritated at an interruption he doubted could be anywhere near as interesting as the ongoing drama, Katsu went to answer it. He knew who it must be, however, when the knock was repeated and elaborated upon before he’d made it halfway to the door.
“Hiya, Katsu,” Chou greeted him, craning his neck to look past into the apartment.
“He’s not here.” Katsu gestured Chou inside, shut the door behind him, and checked his phone again. “And you’re lucky he’s not, because at the moment he wants you dead.”
Chou grinned broadly. “Hey, I tried not to give him away… but it was just too fucking funny.”
“It’s better than you think.” Katsu couldn’t help promising great things with his own grin. “At this very moment they are out on a date.”
“What?!” yelped Chou. “You’re shitting me! No way!”
“Last I heard–” Katsu held up his phone– “your boss or whatever he is was buying Sano ice cream.”
Chou staggered over to the couch and collapsed onto it, breathless and helpless with laughter. “Do you…” he panted eventually. “Do you know… what he came over here… to do…?”
“Threaten Sano with death if he ever did something like this again?”
“Yeah, something… something like that…” Chou buried his screwed-up face in the same cushion Katsu had been using all evening to muffle his own laughter.
“Well, he pretty much took one look at Sano and changed his mind.”
When Chou could speak again he said, “Oh, we live in a fucking insane world.” His posture having returned to more or less upright, he’d freed up the other half of the sofa; Katsu came to sit next to him and give a more detailed account of what was going on somewhere else in town — including reading out all the messages sent and received thus far.
At the end of the tale, Sano’s newly arrived comment on the proceedings could be appended: I guess we’re done now.
Did you ever beat him? Katsu wondered.
I would have if he wasn’t so distracting, Sano answered, to the great amusement of his friends.
“‘Distracting,'” Chou chortled. “God, of all the fucking weirdness I never expected…”
Katsu shook his head. “This is so typical of Sano.”
“This is so not typical of my boss,” replied Chou.
“You’d better get back downstairs,” Katsu advised. “I don’t know where they went, but it might have been that pool hall just up the street, and if Sano gets back and finds you here…”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Chou grinned, rising. “Thanks for the entertainment, though.”
“I think I should be thanking you. Sano probably should too, but I doubt he ever will.”
Chou’s grin broadened, and he turned in the exit. “You’ve got my number, right? Let me know if more fun shit happens.”
“Roger that.” And Katsu shut the door behind him.
His speculation regarding Sano’s date venue was pretty much confirmed when Sano arrived, solitary and angry, after only a few more minutes.
“He didn’t walk you back in?” Katsu wondered, fighting to keep his face grave; his levators and zygomatics were aching enough as it was.
Sano’s answer was a short, irritated negative.
“Did he at least try to molest you in his car?”
“He didn’t even kiss me again,” was Sano’s reply, and exactly what the surliness of his tone was aimed at was rather up in the air.
“Well, I’m glad you survived,” Katsu said placatingly.
Sano snorted and threw himself down onto the couch.
Gradually the apartment grew quiet, except for the continued chime of incoming texts to Sano’s phone. Katsu, moving around straightening things up and getting ready for bed, wondered whether Sano was threatening Chou or continuing his ‘distracting’ interaction with the other cop. Eventually, too curious to refrain from being nosy, he stepped to the couch and looked down over it, and Sano’s shoulder, from behind.
It was fun, said the latest message Sano had received. Despite the angle, Katsu saw the conflict in the lip-biting scowl on his friend’s face. He also saw that Sano had created an actual contact for the man. The name confirmed what Katsu had guessed at seeing the man’s face: another gay Japanese guy. How did Sano keep finding them?
Finally, Yeah, I guess, Sano replied.
Katsu rolled his eyes, and didn’t move. His quiet patience was rewarded, soon thereafter, by the sight of another message from the cop: Same time next week?
Sano made a What the fuck, man? sort of gesture, and suddenly noticed Katsu. “God!” he cried, startled. “How long have you been standing there?”
Katsu grinned. “A while. What are you going to tell him?”
Sano grimaced at him, and got up in something of a huff. “I don’t know!” He headed for his room, and Katsu watched him complacently, still grinning.
He was pretty sure he knew what Sano’s answer would be.
So there’s a dumbass story behind this story. It is, in fact, based on actual prank-texting that happened at one point. It was my brother in real life, pretending to be a girl and asking some guy from school to homecoming and whatnot. It happened very much like this, too: the dude eventually called, my brother realized that his voice on the voicemail recording would give him away, and falsetto conversation ensued.
So, yeah, Sano would definitely chatspeak, abbreviate, typo, and misspell all over anyone he texted (especially with T9 and whatnot, which is the era this story is set in; ah, nostalgia), but there was no way in hell I was going to write it like that. Consider this a translation.
I’ve rated this story .
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?”
“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.
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.
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… 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.
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.
Certain interactions between Saitou and Sano, taken slightly out of context, may get Saitou in trouble at work.
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.”
“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.
“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.”
“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 .
Regarding a one-night stand between Saitou and Sano, there’s some confusion that takes a little time to work out.
It was cold. Very cold, for October. He wouldn’t be surprised if the morning’s frost was more like snow. He looked forward to home and tea and bed. Of course, he always looked forward to those after a particularly long day’s work, but on a night like this any remotely sensible person would be hurrying home. Which was why it wasn’t much of a surprise to find Sagara Sanosuke loafing around in the street appearing not to care that his nose was turning blue. He also looked somewhat drunk.
Saitou debated whether to say something or just walk by. Harassing a drunk was a little too easy, but shots at Sagara were always cheap and he didn’t enjoy them any less. And it had been so long since he’d last had the chance. It was cold out, and he did want to get home… but he couldn’t resist. Maybe it was a little sorry, but Sagara’s seeming helplessness (as always) was just too enticing.
“Apparently you’ve realized how pathetic your life is and decided on a slow suicide.”
This relatively good line seemed to have been a waste of breath, however, as Sagara only turned slowly to fix bleary eyes on Saitou. It seemed he was actually more than merely ‘somewhat’ drunk. Saitou frowned; in this cold, that was dangerous. Typical that the boy could get himself into a life-threatening situation without anyone’s help…
“Saitou?” Sagara was wondering, stepping slowly toward him. “Izzat you?”
Saitou rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“How much did I…” His face took on a deeply pensive expression. “Since when’re you alive?”
Oh. How irritating. “I talked to Battousai just last week, and it wasn’t the first time since Kyoto… how can you have still been under the impression that I wasn’t alive?”
Sagara seemed confused by the question. “What kinda game’re you playing? The whole place blew up!”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Saitou replied easily, “but I don’t play games.”
Sanosuke staggered a step closer. “Maybe I’m just drunker’n I thought.”
“You probably are, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not dead.”
The roosterhead conceded unexpectedly. “Right. Good to know. What’d’jou want?” Although this answer was (relatively) coherent, it didn’t seem he was keeping very good track of the conversation.
“What I don’t want is to trip over your body on the way to work tomorrow, so I suggest you go home before you freeze to death. I would add that you should also learn some temperance in the future, but I know a hopeless cause when I see one.”
“Go home?” Sanosuke echoed vaguely, seeming not to have caught the rest. “Yeah, I think I live ’round here.”
“No, you don’t.” Saitou sighed as he saw how this was going to turn out. He hadn’t particularly wanted a detour through this kind of weather, but leaving the idiot to wander in this condition would be akin to killing him. Which might be interesting, yes, but then he’d have to come up with a legal excuse for it more watertight than that, as he hadn’t wanted to arrest him because the police station was too long a walk from here, it had just been easier. “Come on.”
It was better proof of Sano’s state than anything yet offered that he followed dutifully, if not at all steadily. “Where we going?” he asked.
“Home,” Saitou replied shortly.
“Why’re you coming home with me?”
Gold eyes rolled again skyward. “Because you’ll never get there on your own.”
“Oh. All right.” Sano had barely made this acquiescence when he retracted it with, “What?! Yes, I will! ‘Mnot that drunk!”
“Yes, you are,” Saitou assured him. “Keep up!”
And though Sano quickened his pace to walk at Saitou’s side, he was still protesting. “Like I need you to show me how to get home.” And at that moment he tripped violently and would have fallen on his face if Saitou had not caught him. “Shit!” Suddenly he sounded more amused than angry as he admitted he’d been wrong: “Guess I really am that drunk.” And if his words weren’t evidence enough, the officer thought, his uncharacteristic mood swings must be.
“You’n let go,” Sano said petulantly. “I can walk without your help.”
Upon Saitou’s compliance, Sano promptly lost his balance and fell. The wolf did not hesitate to laugh as he hauled the idiot to his feet and pulled one arm of Sano’s around his shoulders.
This action appeared to confuse Sano quite a bit; Saitou was beginning to think that, in addition to ordinary drunkenness, Sano had also perhaps taken a blow to the head — simply because the wolf didn’t think anyone could hold the amount of alcohol it would take to confuse him this badly and still be standing, let alone walking. Of course, if anyone could, it would be Sagara Sanosuke.
He wasn’t even entirely sure how or why he knew where Sano lived, but his memory of the location evidently had not failed him; as soon as Sano caught sight of the place, he started groping through his pockets for something — a key, it turned out, which naturally he dropped the moment he extracted. Saitou retrieved it, nearly losing hold of Sano before he got the door unlocked and the young man inside.
There, Sano looked around for a moment in continued confusion before a triumphant expression took his face and he said, “See, toldja I could get here just fine!”
“Yes, you did tell me that,” Saitou agreed. “Now, sit down.”
Sano, still with that bizarre (injured?) air of patient compliance, did as he was told, stumbling over to a worn futon of dubious sanitation and indistinguishable original color and taking a seat thereon.
Saitou looked around for a light source. The sooner he could test his head-injury hypothesis and deal with the situation accordingly, the sooner he could get home. Finding a small and dilapidated lamp, he lit it with his own matches and turned to find Sano watching him (predictably) with confusion in his gaze. He went over to him and knelt down. “Hold still,” he commanded, removing his gloves.
“What’re you doing?” Sano wondered as Saitou reached around to the back of his head and began to search for anything unusual.
Instead of answering the question, Saitou asked, “Do you remember fighting anyone tonight?”
“Uh…” Sano looked puzzled for a moment, as if it took him that long to comprehend the question, then contemplative. Finally he answered, “No.”
Having found no signs the young man was hurt, Saitou nevertheless persisted, “Do you remember falling?”
“Yeah,” Sano replied slowly. “Yeah…”
Saitou’s theory was right, then. He resumed his cautious examination of the thick skull until Sano added, “And then you laughed at me.”
Oh. Saitou scowled. What now? He was no doctor, of course, but he couldn’t think of anything besides certain types of head injuries that would so flummox someone without visible signs such as blood loss or severe pain. Maybe Sano really was just superhumanly drunk. Saitou wasn’t quite satisfied with this explanation, though, and, nudging one edge of Sano’s gi aside, slowly probed his chest looking for other wounds that might not be immediately apparent.
“Shit…” Sano gasped.
Thinking he must have found the problem, inexplicable as that was when Sano’s chest seemed perfectly fine, Saitou looked up into the young man’s face — and Sano leaned forward and kissed him.
Oh. What he’d just been doing could be construed that way, couldn’t it? Especially by someone superhumanly drunk. It opened up a whole new set of unexpected possibilities for the night’s heretofore minimal entertainment, and what with the can of worms that was the ensuing ethical dilemma, Saitou was distracted for several moments and did not bring the kiss to an end.
The decision he came to in those moments was, he thought, impressively unbiased for someone that was avidly (if clumsily) being groped by a hot and willing teenager too drunk, most likely, to remember any of this in the morning. That is, assuming he was ready to go with the drunkenness explanation after all. But, again, Saitou was no doctor, and not qualified to diagnose anything more than drunkenness.
Kissing Sano harder, he pushed him down onto his back on the futon.
It was late. Much later than he usually woke up after such an experience. But since this was the mutated mother of all hangovers, that made sense.
But Sano didn’t so much wake up as come to the realization that, despite a host of convincing signs to the contrary, he had not, in fact, died and gone to hell. As greater lucidity filtered in, much like the nearby
hellfire light and just as painful, he started vaguely to wonder whether whatever he’d done last night had been worth this. It was quite some time before he had the energy to make even the least persistent attempt at figuring out what that had been. And nothing was coming back to him.
That he was still desperately tired after such a long sleep didn’t seem quite logical, or that his entire body was aching so very much… though, for the second, perhaps he would find a justifying fight in his memory once he recovered it. Eventually, aided by the in-rolling of some clouds to dim the evil sun outside, he started slowly to gather his wits. He found in them no explanation for the unusual amount of exhaustion and soreness, however. There were holes in the story of the night, to be sure, but none of them were large enough to fit a battle and its aftermath into… In fact, he was beginning to be able to piece together which bars he’d been to and after which one he’d headed home. Maybe this was just going to end up as one of those unsolved mysteries of the universe.
He didn’t know how long it took him to get his eyelids up for more than five seconds, but once he managed that, he figured he might as well try to sit up too. And even as he did so, he froze, eyes going wide. Had he…?
Yanking the blanket off in a motion that hurt his vision only because it was so abrupt, he gazed down at himself and the futon and the unmistakable signs, then around the room at his scattered clothing. Yes, it looked like he had.
But… he didn’t recollect leaving with anyone… or even meeting anyone interesting… maybe he’d run into someone on the way home? He couldn’t remember. Whoever it had been, he’d worn Sano completely out. Which made it not only unfair but also a little creepy that he couldn’t place him.
God, did he need a bath…! But there was no way he was getting up just yet. He turned over and buried his face in soft cloth, still trying to recall the details of the encounter. The worst part of not being able to was, what if it had been somebody embarrassing? He’d done his share of sniggering at his friends when they’d gotten too drunk to realize their one-night-stand was the crazy fish-vendor or someone with no eyebrows and buck teeth; now was the shoe on the other foot?
Although, again, he didn’t remember leaving that last bar with anyone. Had there been another bar he couldn’t recall? Otherwise, nobody would know. He hoped. But he wanted to know. How could he show his face around town if he wasn’t sure he hadn’t slept with fish-merchant Dochou-jiisan? Or somebody worse? He gave a muffled groan. No way would he be this tired after a night with crazy Dochou, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that, but he definitely needed to figure out who it had been. Maybe if he thought really hard…
Feelings… the typical ones associated, or… maybe rather better… well, that was promising… of course, he might have been imagining the guy was a good lay because he was too drunk to tell for sure, or it could just be wishful thinking now… He had to remember. He got the impression he’d been more pleased than usual about the arrangement — why? Well, the conviction it had been really good sex was not diminishing, so that would explain that, he supposed…
“Oh, god,” he moaned. “Please tell me I didn’t…”
No such luck. The more he thought about it, the more his weary head was filled with images that would not disperse of Saitou Hajime touching him in ways he never could have imagined.
So. He’d gotten desperately drunk at a friend’s birthday party, hooked up with some random guy on the way home, had wild, fatiguing sex, and pretended very enthusiastically all along it was his dead rival and erstwhile crush. Greeaaat. It didn’t get much more embarrassing than that.
Unless he’d managed to pick up a police officer.
Yeah, that actually would be more embarrassing than just some random guy. And given how convinced his brain seemed to be that it really had been Saitou, he thought it more than likely.
He was never going outside again.
He’d known he liked the unlikeable wolf, but had put it down to the maddening stress of Kyoto, and (he thought) gotten over it when it obviously wasn’t going to go anywhere (due to said wolf’s untimely dissolution). Well, it must have been worse than he’d thought. It figured Saitou could embarrass him even after death.
And how might he have behaved in the company of his anonymous fuck-buddy? What kind of telling things might he have said, or, better yet, cried out at the worst possible moment? And would he hear about it the next time he spent a weekend in jail for brawling? Well, if the stranger had been as drunk as Sano had (proportionally speaking, of course, as few people could actually get as drunk as Sano could), he might never hear about it. But there were just too many possibilities here. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to make any effort at deciding what to do with them until his head hurt a little less.
Until then, it couldn’t do any harm just to lie here with his face in the futon imagining what it might have been like if it had been Saitou.
It was not what he’d been expecting. Whatever that had been. True, he had remarked to himself that Sano was unlikely to remember, the next day, what they’d done, but he hadn’t actually thought that would happen. And what other explanation was there for hearing nothing from him in the week that had passed since that night? Sano wasn’t the type to sit back patiently and let things play out; surely if he were fully aware of what had occurred, whatever his reaction, he would have found some way to confront Saitou about it by now. Obviously he didn’t remember.
That would be a little irritating if not for the pleasing recollection that Sano had started it. Even if he didn’t remember, he must still want Saitou, and would inevitably react the same way to a similar situation. Saitou had very easily determined that he wanted Sano again… In fact, it was safe to say he wanted him again every night until further notice. So he planned to go see him as soon as the case he’d just opened was finished and his evenings were a little more free; and then it would be like the first time all over again.
But for a second time, things did not go quite as he’d expected.
As there was obviously nobody home when he found his way to Sano’s apartment, he decided to let himself in and wait. The room was as he remembered it, and he couldn’t help smiling as he removed his shoes and went inside, looking around for the best place to sit to startle the returning Sano.
His attention was caught by a folded sheet of paper laid conspicuously on the table, and he paused to examine it. Slowly a frown grew on his face as he read what was written inside:
If you’re reading this, means you broke into my place like I figured you would looking for me. I’m all right… got into a bad situation the other night when I was drunk, though, so I’m gonna hang out in Kyoto for a while. If any cops come asking about me, you don’t even know me, all right?
Saitou refolded and replaced the note with frown still in place. Had he misinterpreted so badly? He’d been certain Sano had wanted him, but, looking back, was it so certain Sano had even really recognized him at that point? Just because he had earlier meant nothing. It wasn’t inconceivable the roosterhead had awakened the next day, then remembered and completely understood, and been less pleased in full awareness than he had been the night before.
Of course there was the possibility Sano meant something entirely different by ‘bad situation the other night when I was drunk,’ and the reference to cops was ambiguous as well… but each was also too coincidental for Saitou to ignore.
It seemed, then, he’d gone too far. And what must have been the effect on Sano if, instead of blazing out to kill Saitou for what he’d done, he’d decided to leave town? Saitou could only assume he’d hurt him, which rendered a situation he’d thought simple and pleasant complicated and unfortunate. He wasn’t even sure what to do about it, although he didn’t need to decide just yet as in any event he didn’t have time for a trip to Kyoto until next week.
With a sigh he left the apartment and headed for home.
But, following the trend, things didn’t go quite as he’d expected, for just as he was leaving the neighborhood, whom should he run into but Sano himself.
There was no time to choose words or actions; he turned the corner and there was Sano walking toward him with a travel bag over his shoulder and not the world’s happiest expression on his face. He looked up as Saitou came around the bend, and stopped dead.
“S-Saitou?!” Well, that was odd… Sano didn’t seem angry, but was blushing. Why would he blush if he didn’t remember, but why if he remembered and wasn’t angry had he not approached Saitou about it? “I… thought you were dead…” Sano continued, his tone not much more collected than before.
Now Saitou was very confused.
“If you were alive, you sure as hell coulda said something about it, you know that?”
But if Sano had believed him dead, he obviously couldn’t remember — so, again, why the blush?
“I was just going outta town, but I forgot something at home.” It seemed Sano was not used to, nor comfortable with, Saitou having nothing to say in response to his statements, for he was speaking with the nervous air of one trying to fill an awkward silence. Which was not something Saitou had ever seen him do before, and made this all the more confusing.
“It’s just like you to be dead and not say a fucking word to any of us and then show up at random like this and…”
Saitou was still trying to figure this out.
“…and you’re still not saying a word.” Sano’s face took on a worried look. “Hey, are you all right? You’re not sick, are you? This is a weird neighborhood for you to be in anyway, and usually you’d’ve insulted me by now… Djyou hit your head or something?”
For this there could be no response but laughter.
Sano’s expression was now very concerned, and he stepped forward a little nervously. Raising a hand, moving slowly as if Saitou were a skittish animal, he pressed the back of it to the older man’s forehead, testing against the temperature of his own. “You don’t feel sick,” Sano murmured, moving even closer and sliding the hand around Saitou’s head, presumably searching for injuries.
Well, just because this seemed too good to be true didn’t mean it wasn’t actually happening, so Saitou leaned forward and kissed Sano decisively.
It seemed Sano was as surprised by this as Saitou had been similarly the other night, but the twitch he gave was not violent enough to break the contact. And after a moment, his arms crept around Saitou’s chest and clasped him tightly.
It was a long kiss. Very long and passionate, heating up the frigid night and indicative of what things were going to be like from now on. A nice thought, that. And at last Sano drew away, gasping, a delighted sort of shock on his face. “God damn!” he panted. “You really musta hit your head or something.”
Saitou smirked. “Maybe I did.”
“And that was you the other night, wasn’t it?”
The smirk grew. “Maybe it was.”
“Asshole,” Sano grinned, and kissed him again.
When he had use of his tongue once more, at great length, Saitou asked, “So, going out of town, are you?” He still didn’t quite understand what had been going through Sano’s mind, but he had time now to figure it out.
“Oh, hell, no,” Sano answered. “And leave you acting all weird? You obviously have a serious head injury; I gotta take you home and make sure you’re all right!”
“Well, I’m glad I’m in such capable hands,” Saitou said with friendly dryness.
Sano’s grin expanded. “Come on, then,” he ordered, pulling Saitou by the wrist. “Keep up!”
OH MY GOSH SAITOU REALLY
Ahem. Drunkenness does not equal consent. I’m glad Saitou at least recognizes the possibility of having behaved very inappropriately, but he still doesn’t seem to take it very seriously; and since things worked out in the end, he probably won’t even give it any thought after this. What a rapey story I have written.
Anyway. This was first posted on my twenty-fifth birthday, and, corresponding with that, the story was originally set in September. I eventually recalled, however, that not everyone lives where I live where snow in September isn’t terribly unusual. Even October is pushing it, for Tokyo, but that’s at least a little better.
Also, I had really wanted to have Saitou trip over Sano’s sleeping form on his way out the next morning, but POV and arrangement didn’t allow for it.
I’ve rated this story .