Pattern


Saitou removed his gloves, briefly massaged one of his temples, lit a new cigarette, and settled in for another perusal of this seemingly random collection of evidence. It was his fourth cigarette and his sixth perusal; when each was spent, and he richer by no significant insight, he sighed and slumped a bit.

Rustling sounded behind him, and presently Sano’s strong warm hands slid down over his collarbones. As the young man’s body pressed against his from behind, as closely as possible with the back of the chair between them, Sano half yawned in his ear, “I shoulda known better than to expect you any time soon.”

Saitou let his head fall against Sano’s shoulder with another exhalation. He’d been concentrating so hard that the unrelated rest of the world had gone out of focus, and now Sano’s warmth against him restored his awareness abruptly. He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been sitting here; it was probably three in the morning by now.

Sano’s hands roved slowly across his chest in an almost massaging motion, and now he was leaning forward to look at the desk. “You’re not even actually doing anything, are you? Just going through those same notes.”

“There has to be a pattern,” Saitou muttered, sitting up straight again and forcing his eyes back onto the papers in front of him.

“No, there doesn’t,” replied Sano flatly. “There isn’t always a connection between shit like this.”

“There is here,” Saitou stated. But the notes on the desk were blurring.

“Sure there is.” Sano pressed closer against him. “Guy gets assigned boring criminal shit whenever he’s not investigating dirty politicians, and he usually gets through it about twice as fast as the other cops because he’s some kind of crazy genius or something. So obviously this guy’s gonna want to get all his cases done twice as fast so everyone keeps thinking he’s some kind of crazy genius or something.”

Saitou gave a brief, dry laugh and murmured, “Ahou.”

“What?” protested Sano. “It makes perfect sense!”

“There are other reasons I might want to wrap up a case quickly. Don’t assume I’m as frivolous as you.”

I don’t think trying to keep up your reputation is frivolous.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t.”

“And I know this is an Aku Soku Zan thing too,” Sano went on in a more serious tone, “but you gotta sleep sometime.” Saitou looked down at his papers again, but Sano persisted before he could speak. “Come on, man, it’s not a murder case! Sure, these guys are all organized and getting away with expensive shit, but it’s not like anyone’s dead.”

“You’ve been reading my notes,” Saitou remarked in some surprise.

“I gotta find something to do while you’re busy,” shrugged Sano.

“There are quite a few more useful things you could be doing.” But Saitou couldn’t help smiling as he made this remonstrance. He stood, pushing the chair aside and turning into Sano’s embrace.

After a warm, leisurely kiss Sano said, “Here, let me help you,” and attacked the buttons of Saitou’s jacket.

Helping Sano ‘help’ him, Saitou chucked low in his throat. “And here’s the real point of all your persuasion. Don’t you ever think about anything else?”

“Hey!” Sano gave him a (mostly) facetious glare. “I’m looking out for you, trying to make sure you don’t work yourself to death, and you make me sound like some horny kid!”

“I’m afraid you’re going to work me to death one of these nights,” Saitou smirked.

“That would be a way better way to go.”

Saitou had to agree.

Sometimes all he really needed in order to solve a problem was to step back and think about something else for a while. Sometimes he forgot this in his single-minded pursuit of evil. Sano’s intervention might not have done much to compel Saitou to rest, since dawn found him again seated at his desk in full uniform, but now as he looked at the collected information all the pieces of the pattern were falling into place almost without effort.

As he gathered up his things, ready to head to the station and initiate a plan of action he’d been miles away from even forming just hours before, he threw a fond smile over at his sleeping lover. His involvement with Sano had more benefits than merely his own perpetual happiness.


This fic is dedicated to TsukiNekoSama, an old friend from DeviantArt that used to like this pairing too.

I’ve rated this story . Short and sweet.

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


Silent Sunrise

Saitou has a thing for sunrises, and watching them brings out his (for lack of a better term) nice side.

Sano reminisces on the circumstances that finally brought him and Saitou together.



Everyone knew about the first stage. Anything that starts with a stabbing and someone getting shoved through a wall is pretty memorable, and then the rest of it was so visible and loud: they’d fought — literally fought as well as arguing — for months. Sano won’t even pretend he wasn’t every bit as unreasonable as Saitou throughout, and he’s sure everyone was sick of their drama by the time it ended.

But then they were all surprised and concerned when the third stage started. And that’s reasonable: they didn’t see the second, so to all appearances things just suddenly went from arguing and fighting to arguing and fucking. It must have seemed pretty unprecedented.

Well, and even if they had seen the second stage, they still might not get it.

Sano was a little short on cash around that time — more than usual, that is — so he’d taken a job as a night guard at a warehouse. This happened to put him walking home right at sunrise. And it turned out Saitou really likes sunrises.

That particular day, he’d taken what he thought would be a shortcut through a relatively nice neighborhood to get to his own crappy one, and he came upon Saitou standing on a hill between houses looking out east. He’d never thought about where Saitou lived, but wasn’t surprised to find him in this area.

He was feeling fine; work wasn’t difficult or too boring (yet), and he’d gotten his first pay that day, so things (including his mood) were pretty good. Still, the encounter might have gone very differently if Saitou had given him the type of caustic greeting he usually did. But (as previously mentioned, but which at that point Sano didn’t know yet), Saitou has a thing for sunrises, and watching them brings out his (for lack of a better term) nice side. Which just meant he glanced at Sano without a word and went back to what he was examining.

Sano also stopped to look. He doesn’t have a thing for sunrises, in particular, nor did he particularly desire Saitou’s company, but the burning colors on the horizon and Saitou’s shape against them reminded him so much of Shishio’s fortress, the explosions, the officer’s disappearance… Sano had been so angry at the time, at Saitou for not trying to save himself and at himself for being unable to help; on finding out Saitou was still alive he’d almost been angrier, that time solely at the bastard for not telling everyone. He never really did get around to realizing he was glad Saitou hadn’t died. Until now. And he was suddenly curious…

“Hey, Saitou.”

Saitou looked at him again.

“How’d you escape Shishio’s fortress?”

With a raised brow Saitou wondered, “Is that what you’re here to ask me?”

“I’m not ‘here to ask you’ anything,” Sano protested. “I just happened to see you, and I wondered…” He added something at a mutter about the colors that undoubtedly didn’t further the explanation at all.

“Of course Shishio had an emergency escape route from his arena,” Saitou replied, looking slightly amused at this nonsense. “I had a map.”

Shaking his head Sano demanded, “That’s it? That was your great escape? You ‘had a map?'”

Saitou’s smile widened a little. “That’s it,” he confirmed sardonically. “Though if it’s any consolation to you, it was very unpleasant.”

Closing his eyes a moment, Sano gave a short laugh that was half a snort, and after that neither of them said anything: Saitou because he’d gone back to watching the sunrise and smoking one of those stupid cigarettes he loves so much, Sano because a strange feeling was rising in him like the dawn. He’d just had a real conversation with Saitou, and, short as it had been, it had opened his eyes: he wouldn’t mind having more real conversations with Saitou; when they weren’t trying to kill each other, even the silent moments afterwards were not unpleasant. This was a revelation he was completely unprepared for.

Eventually, startled and sobered, he walked away without another word. But he came that way again the next day. There was probably some denial in there at some point — Sano claiming he still thought this was a shortcut or whatever — but it didn’t last long: the instant he saw Saitou was there, he headed straight for him like he’d never had any other purpose in taking that street.

Saitou looked over again, and again offered no greeting. And Sano found he had nothing to say either. But somehow he couldn’t walk away. He wasn’t used to not talking around Saitou, though, and it felt weird. Beyond that, the sensation from yesterday had heightened; it seemed so strange and wonderful that he could be with him without getting angry or even really having a reason to be there… maybe that wasn’t such an amazing thing in itself, but this was Saitou. It was almost uncanny to be watching a sunrise with him in a silence that resisted being broken more stubbornly than Sano ever did anything… so he just stood there. And, eventually, just like yesterday, walked away without a goodbye.

Saitou gave a skeptical glance when Sano showed up the next day; but whether he also felt the silence as something bigger than both of them, or he simply didn’t care why Sano was there, he didn’t ask. And Sano still couldn’t say a word.

So that was how it went. It didn’t last too long, but it was like no other period in Sano’s life. That weird feeling changed or grew into some kind of longing he either didn’t understand or pretended not to… but he gradually came to accept that it was more than only reasonable conversation and benign silence he wanted from Saitou. Don’t think that means he was able to say a word, though; speak up and admit that?

To this day Sano doesn’t know what was going on Saitou’s head during those sunrises. Obviously Sano had intruded on a daily ritual, but somehow Saitou had accepted it… maybe he was farther down the road to the obvious than Sano was. If he wasn’t, Sano still can’t imagine what Saitou must have been thinking when he kept showing up and standing there alongside him not saying anything; Sano still hasn’t really had the nerve to ask. Maybe someday he will. Anyway, though, the result was the same: Saitou realized or decided he didn’t hate Sano as much as he might have thought. And he was the first one to break the silence.

“Come with me.” It was more of an order than an invitation, one day after they’d watched more sunrises together than Sano had ever seen in his entire life before that.

“Where?” Sano wondered.

“Breakfast,” Saitou replied.

It was a policy of Sano’s never to refuse free food, but the leap his heart gave at that point really had nothing to do with the prospect of eating. Those few words seemed momentous, life-altering (and they were) — probably because silence was something relatively unheard of in his life and therefore the breaking of it felt all the more significant to him.

Of course it took them only about five minutes to start arguing again, and the arguing hadn’t changed at all — but everything else had. And after that it was like Sano had been released from some kind of spell… the job got boring and he quit, and there was no more sunrise-watching. But the damage (if you will) was done; they’d started running into each other elsewhere and having more than just breakfast.

So maybe his friends wouldn’t understand even if they’d seen it. Honestly, Sano’s never really known if he understands; that second stage of his relationship with Saitou was like something out of a dream. But looking back, it’s pretty clear that the whole thing was as inevitable as the sun coming up every single day since the beginning of time, and if what it took to get started was a couple weeks of uncharacteristic silence… well, whatever.


I’ve rated this story . Despite having been reworked several times, it’s still not very good.

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


More Than Just His Scent


Saitou had an excellent sense of smell, especially when it came to things that were important in his life, such as blood or Sano. Thus he could easily discern that Sano had been wearing his uniform. Why Sano had been wearing his uniform was something he couldn’t begin to guess, but Sano’s distracting scent suffused the material covering his body and made it nearly impossible to think of anything else all the way to work. Sano was going to pay for this.

The younger man’s dogged independence prevented him from officially moving in with Saitou, despite the condition of his own quarters and the fact that he spent more than half his nights at the officer’s house anyway — so it hadn’t been entirely surprising not to find Sano there when Saitou returned home from his business trip… but had the purpose of Sano’s absence been to escape punishment on the eventual discovery of his uniform-borrowing trick, or to worsen the latter by forcing Saitou to smell him all day when he hadn’t seen or touched him for a week?

Immediately inside the door to his office, Saitou bent his head and brought the unbuttoned collar of his jacket to his face, inhaling deeply. He couldn’t describe it — it wasn’t particularly similar to the smell of anything else he could recall — and, really, he had very little inclination to try; but it was more or less intoxicating.

Sano couldn’t have done anything particularly strenuous — or even, most likely, what Saitou would have expected (taken a nap, that is) — given the still-relatively-crisp state of the clothes when Saitou had pulled them from the closet; actually Saitou was a little surprised the careless young man had managed to refold them so neatly in the first place. But what had he done? Saitou could just imagine Sano strolling around town dressed as a cop… Sano, with his tenuous grasp of legality and occasional tendency to vigilantism. If he’d done anything stupid in public wearing a police uniform, he was really going to get it.

With a sigh Saitou dropped into the chair at his desk and, unconcerned with the effect this might have on the garment, dragged a handful of the black shirt under his jacket to his face. The shirt smelled even more heavily of Sano; whatever he had or hadn’t done, he must have been wearing it for some hours. Saitou was inconveniently curious.

It did occur to him that Sano might have put the uniform on for the same reason he was sitting here smelling it now — if the thing reminded him of Sano after presumably only a few hours, the memory of the man that wore it every day probably never washed out. And the thought of Sano wishing to surround himself with his lover’s scent while Saitou was far away brought a hot, happy feeling into the wolf’s chest as images of his roosterhead arose in his mind. If he had Sano here right now, he would give him more than just his scent.

Even his gloves smelled like Sano. Saitou’s eyes drifted shut as he breathed it in. Yes, if he had Sano here…

He knew perfectly well he might be making more of this than was actually the case. He had an excellent sense of smell, it was true, and definitely did detect Sano’s aroma in his clothes, but wishful thinking born of his week-long absence might be exaggerating it. He didn’t care; the remembered and anticipated sensations of Sano’s body against his were not something he wanted to dismiss just yet, whatever their source.

“Uh… boss?” Confusion and amusement warred in Chou’s voice, and for good reason: Saitou had been stationary for at least a minute with his hand to his face, eyes closed and mind far away. And somehow he hadn’t noticed he’d neglected both to lock his office door and Chou’s presence. Damn that distracting boy of his. He was definitely going to get it. Which, Saitou considered as he chased his grinning subordinate from the room, might have been Sano’s only intention all along.


I’ve rated this story .

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


"I Love You Too"

It was a phrase he’d always hated, even before this Sano thing had started, back when he’d thought he had no use for love.

There’s a certain phrase Saitou dislikes, but the one he’d rather say gives him even more trouble.


It was a phrase he’d always hated, even before this Sano thing had started, back when he’d thought he had no use for love. Tokio’s sweetheart would say, “I love you,” and Tokio would reply, “I love you too,” and Saitou would get annoyed. Of course they were women, and women said incomprehensible and irritating things, but this one bothered him more than many.

“I love you too.” It was something people said like a greeting, a polite reply that was expected of them, and after time it started to come out as thoughtlessly and as much by default as the quick positive response to “How are you?” It was a second-place phrase, an admission made only by those who couldn’t get to “I love you” first. It was a pressured phrase, one that was demanded by “I love you,” however sincere it might or might not be. How could the first speaker ever take it seriously? How could anyone ever be sure that “I love you too” was anything more than a meaningless, automatic answer — forced out, tossed out, rendering the “I love you” less significant?

Nevertheless it was a phrase Saitou found himself using more and more frequently lately, because the alternative was to let Sano believe he didn’t love him, which thought he couldn’t stand. Or to come up with something more meaningful (and consequently more romantic), which he didn’t think he was capable of. Or… to somehow get “I love you” out first. Which he was working on.

There was a rigmarole of contemplation involved in this effort that was almost as bad as leaving it at “I love you too.” For instance, Sano only mentioned love about once a week (on average), and Saitou didn’t want to bring it up too soon after Sano had. But wait too long and Sano would say it again. Then, it was usually after sex when Sano said it, and Saitou spent far too much time wondering whether or not to uphold this tradition. Would it seem strange if he didn’t? He wasn’t afraid of the fact that their relationship was becoming this serious, but did he really want to be declaring love at any old moment? But if he said it after sex, might that not seem to imply his love was based mostly on sexual attraction? Not that he interpreted Sano’s words thus…

It was irritating to be thinking so much about this. Yes, Sano was important enough to him that he wanted at least once to make the statement on his own terms in a way he would consider meaningful… but why did that require so much attendant deliberation?? Saitou generally wasn’t the type to overthink things; it was a rare occasion when he didn’t immediately know exactly how to behave. But being annoyed with Sano for effecting this change was just a little counterproductive.

Eventually he decided to do things by the book (as it were), and took to waiting for the opportunity to arise. But days were passing, and always some circumstance unfitted the moment for his purpose, and he came gradually to realize that the overthinking might be a defense mechanism, or at least a way to soften a trial that was really incredibly hard for him. Scorning “I love you too” for being too easy didn’t make “I love you” any less difficult.

But that it was such a struggle made it all the more crucial to him that he manage it, and, of course, finally, he did. One night with Sano in his arms, their pulses calming as they settled in for sleep in perfect warmth and contentment, Saitou took a deep breath and said it before he could find an excuse not to: “I love you.”

Sano would never know how much work had gone into this, or how much more it meant to Saitou than their usual exchange, and Saitou wasn’t sure he wanted him to. As Sano snuggled more thoroughly into his arms and replied, oblivious, complacent, “I love you too,” Saitou was satisfied to note that hearing it wasn’t so bad.


I’ve rated this story .

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


Black and Blue and White All Over



“Kenshin!!”

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

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

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

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

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

Saitou smirked.

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

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

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

Kenshin bent and scooped up another handful of snow.

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

“Hey, Katsu!” he called.

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

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

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

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

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

“Your friend has sense,” Saitou smirked.

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

Kenshin laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” Sano muttered.

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

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

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

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

“His own, presumably,” Saitou replied.

“We should totally fix that,” Chou suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And whose fault is that?” Sano wondered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never!” Sano roared.

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

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

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

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

What is going on here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


I’ve rated this story .

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


The Reaction I Always Have

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


Helpless


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When had that started?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Long enough,” Saitou replied quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

He wondered how long Sano would keep him waiting.


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

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


Inappropriate Methods


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

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

“Why?” Saitou asked.

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

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

They were unmistakably dead. This was highly irritating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saitou frowned. “What are you referring to?”

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

Saitou blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me,” Sagara replied promptly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, bring him in.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sagara nodded somewhat blankly.

“Can you describe that encounter?”

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

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

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

“I knew it,” the boy whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

At this Saitou knew what was coming. He might have interrupted to prevent it, since Sagara had paused for effect, but he feared that what the roosterhead had in mind was the least of the possible evils; he was busy bracing himself for it.

“Know what?” The police chief’s tone was somewhat impatient and perhaps a little suspicious. It could be he also anticipated Sagara’s statement and began to sense the absurdity of the situation.

“Fujita and me are lovers,” Sagara announced with offhand grandeur.

With a deep breath Sanosuke began. “They were on their way from a job, far as I could tell, and they started arguing. It seemed like they were just continuing some argument they’d had before, and they kept getting louder and louder, and that was what made me really start paying attention. When I realized they must be the guys you and houki been after for the last fifty years, I was about to jump in and take ’em out…”

Saitou shifted in irritation and some discomfort. He still didn’t know whether these thieves had also been the murderers, and it was so typical… what would he have done if, when he’d come upon the scene, Sagara’s body had been among those he’d found?

“But then one of ’em just suddenly attacks the others and boom, one’s down. It was about then I realized two of the guys had their hands tied behind their backs. It all went pretty quick from there: another guy went down, and somehow one of the tied-up guys got loose and stabbed the last of the other three. Then he cut the ropes on the other guy and they ran off. It all took about three minutes.”

The officers by the door twitched, and Saitou, in a moment of prescience, saw very clearly how quickly this gossip was going to spread through the entire precinct. Then there was another moment of silence.

Finally the chief turned to Saitou and asked in a measured, inscrutable tone, “Is this true?”

Very stiffly, Saitou nodded — and did not miss Sagara’s expression of triumph in so doing.

“He hates letting aaaaanyone know about his private life,” the young man continued, “but, yeah, me and old Gory here’ve been going at it almost since I was too young for that kinda thing.” Lowering his voice slightly, suggestively, he added, “He can question me however he wants.”

Another twitch from the men at the door; another long moment of silence.

“Very well, that’s all we’ll need from you, then.” And at the chief’s gesture, the other officers escorted Sagara out.

Saitou was silent and still for a few moments. This tale, though not delivered with the conciseness and level of detail he would have preferred, was undeniably useful. Whether it was worth having given the lovesick idiot undeniable encouragement he did not know, but it did answer most of his questions.

“Ran off where?” he asked.

“Hopefully to a doctor,” Sagara replied. “They weren’t looking too good.”

Saitou shook him slightly, just for good measure. “Which direction?”

Sagara tilted his head. “That way. Up the bank. I didn’t hear ’em cross the bridge.”

With a nod, Saitou released him.

“I gotta find something bigger to witness next time,” Sagara murmured in evident satisfaction.

Saitou scowled at him.

He fully expected a reprimand from the chief for not explaining himself at first, but, as it turned out, Uramura was just as intrigued as his subordinates by the suggestion that Fujita-kun was not, in fact, an inhuman entity of chiseled stone that lay only with his sword and loved only justice. So, rather than any sort of remonstrance, Saitou only had to suffer a few leading remarks before he was allowed to go about his business.

Not exactly to his surprise, the beehive-like noise of the station’s main room quieted almost to nothing when he appeared, and Chou met him with a smirk even wider than before. “Get back to work,” was all Saitou was willing to say in response to the latter’s grinning questions. Then he left the building. The noise had redoubled before he was entirely out the door.

As he had expected, Sagara joined him nearly the moment he was off the police station grounds. His expression was similar to Chou’s, but somehow a trifle less maddening.

“One of these days I really am going to kill you,” was Saitou’s greeting.

“And here I thought you’d be thanking me,” Sano grinned.

“For what? What exactly did that accomplish?”

“Besides getting you out of trouble?”

“May I remind you that the ‘trouble’ was your fault in the first place?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who was getting all fancy-fingers in my pants.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

Saitou snorted.

“But, no, what it really accomplished,” Sano explained in self-satisfaction, “was to get rid of one of the million stupid things that keep you from getting with me. Now you don’t have to worry about people finding out and what they’ll think and all that.”

“Putting it that way might make it sound like you’d planned the whole thing… if that hadn’t been the worst ‘solution’ to that ‘problem’ anyone could possibly come up with.”

“Maybe I did plan it all.” Sano attempted, and failed, to look mysterious.

Saitou rolled his eyes slightly, a more hopeless than disdainful gesture at this point. How had he managed to catch the attention of history’s stubbornest idiot? And how was it that he never quite managed to give him the decisive negative he needed to hear?

“So now I’ve just got, what, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine more bullshit reasons to deal with, and then you’ll be mine.”

“Ahou.” It was, for some reason, all he could think to say. But as he turned back toward the station, readier now to face the rest of his day, he wasn’t scowling quite as much as when he’d left it.

“Sir?” It was a hesitant call — almost tremulous — from behind him. Saitou had nearly forgotten about his subordinate’s presence.

“This way,” the wolf replied as he stepped back out from under the bridge and gestured up the slope. And though the younger officer tried his best to hide it, Saitou easily marked his searching glance into the shadows where Sagara stood. How much had he seen? It was anybody’s guess, as was what he would make of it. It must have seemed excessively odd, if he hadn’t been able to catch the accompanying conversation.

Well, let him wonder. No harm could come of that.


This story was for 30_kisses theme #21 “Violence; Pillage/Plunder; Extortion.”

Can you imagine having to formally reprimand someone that consistently adheres only to his own moral code and, you have a sneaking suspicion, only nominally recognizes your authority? Also I love that Saitou is so blatantly teetering on the edge of giving in but is still resisting. And “Old Gory” may be the most hilarious nickname for Saitou (or anyone) I have ever come up with. Sano is a jerk here, though.

I’ve rated this story .

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


Gold Eyes False

Gold Eyes False

It might not be so bad if we weren’t outside in the rain, and he wasn’t such a complete bastard.

When Sano is forced to live a day as Saitou and Saitou is forced to observe, the resulting realizations are nothing like what they expect.



Unique to this comic: astonishingly ugly art.

000

Image 1 of 101


In full spite of the ugly art and often confusing layout, I’ve rated this comic . What do you think of it?



Finally

Sano’s skeptical gaze followed Saitou not to the futon on one side of the room but to the desk at the other.

Though he’s finally back from his business trip, Saitou still has things to do before he can give Sano what he wants.


When Saitou reached his house, he found Sano seated in front of the door unabashedly tossing a bottle of lubricant from hand to hand. Given that Saitou’s trip out of town had taken nearly five extra days, it was anyone’s guess how long or how frequently Sano had been there. Now, at seeing his lover approaching, the younger man bounded up. “Finally!” he cried accusingly.

As if it weren’t already too late, “Try not to make a scene,” Saitou admonished as he walked past him.

“You were supposed to be home Friday!” Sano’s tone had not changed.

Although he didn’t answer as he unlocked the door and entered the house, Saitou also did not resist when Sano wrapped insistent arms around him and kissed him enthusiastically. “I take it you missed me, then,” the officer remarked as soon as he could.

With an entirely unconvincing shrug and air of indifference Sano replied, “I missed some things.” His steps were springy as he accompanied Saitou out of the entryway. “And you better not say you’re tired now.”

“Not particularly,” was Saitou’s answer, “but I do have paperwork to finish.”

“What, tonight?” Sano’s skeptical gaze followed Saitou not to the futon on one side of the room but to the desk at the other.

“Yes, tonight.” As he lit the lamp, Saitou reflected that he really should have anticipated this.

“Not tomorrow morning?” persisted Sano.

“Tomorrow morning is when the commissioner needs it.”

“Never woulda thought you were the type to put something off until the last minute…”

“It wouldn’t have been the last minute if I hadn’t been delayed in Kobe.” This statement’s curtness stemmed from the fact that Saitou was rather annoyed about the circumstance himself.

Sano threw himself onto the futon with an impatient grunt. “Well, hurry up and get it done, then.”

Saitou needed no urging.

After perhaps ten minutes of restless shifting — which was actually a good deal longer than Saitou had expected — Sano remarked loudly, “Uh, you know…” At first he left it hanging, as if Saitou would have something to say at that point. Then he jumped up and came over to the desk. “This is really boring.”

Saitou gave a vague monosyllabic response.

“Why don’t we fuck for a while, and then you can finish that after?”

At the thought of ‘fucking for a while’ with Sano, Saitou snorted. But it wouldn’t do to tell the idiot that once he got his hands on him he wouldn’t be able to let go for the rest of the night… so Saitou merely said, “I have to finish this first.”

Sano’s lack of response — indeed, his complete quiescence — dragged out so long that Saitou eventually looked up at him. And the moment he did so, Sano started stripping. The older man watched for a few moments; although the calculated motions tended to look more silly than sensual, the mere fact that Sano was disrobing could not help but captivate. Then he went back to his paperwork.

With another grunt, Sano turned and stalked to the futon. The view of the latter was just beyond the edge of the paper Saitou held, so it was impossible not to observe the erotically absurd contortions Sano seemed to feel were necessary in traversing the distance between standing and lying down. But still Saitou made no response. No verbal response, at least, and Sano couldn’t see under the desk.

Experience had taught Sano that, while unsolicited seduction attempts involving physical contact with his victim tended to get him tossed out, there was no restriction on physical contact with himself. Thus Saitou was not at all surprised, after another minute or two, to hear a low moan from the other side of the room. Resolutely he did not look up, though just the motions caught by the corner of his eye were enough to worsen the situation in his pants.

Sano’s sounds of pleasure steadily increased, and Saitou worked on with iron determination. Pointing out that such distracting behavior could do nothing but slow him down, thus lengthening the entire paperwork process and further delaying what Sano was looking forward to, would only start a purposeless debate; better to let the idiot get it out of his system so Saitou could finish in peace.

But eventually even Sano could recognize the futility of a futile plan, and his groaning — which was starting to get a little repetitive, given that it had been mostly theatrical anyway — stopped abruptly as he jumped up again and began prowling the room. He was grumbling to himself. Saitou steadfastly ignored him, even when Sano seized the sheathed sword he’d removed from his belt before sitting down. But while the sound of the weapon rasping out could not raise Saitou’s eyes from his task, the subsequent clatter of the nihontou hitting the floor could.

Sano, a peculiar glint in his eyes, was examining the slightly rounded end of the sheath carefully. “I think I’ll fuck myself with this,” he stated.

Only a very hasty return of his ostensible attention to the paper in front of him saved Saitou from giving Sano the satisfaction of a visible reaction. “Do as you please,” he murmured.

For several moments Sano stood still, no doubt waiting for Saitou to retract that remark and come do the job himself. Finally, again tardily recognizing blatant lack of success, he muttered, “Che,” and returned once more to the futon.

This time the noises were a good deal more convincing, and, consequently, a good deal more difficult to ignore. Though struggling to keep eyes and mind on the current report, Saitou yet was very aware that Sano was preparing himself with large amounts of lubricant and giving the occasional attention to his straining erection. Then, just when the officer thought he’d managed to build up a relatively impervious frame of mind, the foolish young man let out a broken gasp that dragged Saitou’s gaze immediately and inexorably in that direction again — just in time to see several inches of sheath disappear into Sano.

Saitou took a deep breath that was nearly as unsteady as his lover’s had been. He hadn’t thought Sano would actually do it, and as such had not given much thought to the physicalities of the action — the uncertain sanitation, the potential discomfort to Sano, the unstoppable wave of arousal watching it could quite possibly occasion… He was tempted to order him to desist immediately, but to do so would be to admit the effect it was having on him. As it was, it took a staggering effort just to tear his eyes away from the sight of Sano’s taut, shuddering body and the object slowly sinking deeper and deeper into it.

Perhaps Saitou was more stubborn than Sano after all; the paperwork effort was certainly beginning to appear increasingly futile. He could barely write a single word between glances, and every exclamation that issued from between Sano’s trembling lips brought his head snapping back up to look again. But he kept at it until the moment Sano started stroking himself again; at that point, the expression of ecstasy on the idiot’s face and accompanying evidence of that state throughout his body were simply too compelling. They raised an odd combination of reactions in the officer, not all of which were pleasant but which were certainly too potent to ignore.

“Saaitoouu…” groaned Sano, very much as if he knew, despite his eyes being squeezed tight shut, that his lover was now watching intently.

“You will never convince me that thing feels anything like me,” Saitou muttered through clenched teeth.

“Why not?” Sano gasped. “It’s… long and hard…”

Saitou would have rolled his eyes if they hadn’t been so thoroughly occupied.

“Oh, god, Saitou… you have… no idea… how good this is.”

“Nor will I ever.”

After which Sano was evidently beyond the point of coherent speech, for the only reply he could come up with was another string of inarticulate moans. He seemed to be experimenting with various angles at which to pump the end of the sheath steadily in and out… which experiment, to judge by his curling toes, seemed to be going rather well. Saitou could see the constriction of the opening around the object, could see the slickened skin give and shift with its movement, and felt his own breaths emerging very short. As Sano’s moans turned into cries and his cries to wails, the unblinking watcher’s fingers were turning white as they strained against the surface of the desk. The officer feared, despite his specific efforts not to let those hands stray anywhere detrimental, he might actually come along with Sano when it got to be that time.

It didn’t take much longer. With a ragged shout that didn’t seem at all staged, Sano arched slowly upward as his erection spilled the evidence of his excitement all over his hand and stomach. Then he lay back, eyes still closed, panting hard and appearing thoroughly worn out.

The spell broken, Saitou went reluctantly back to his paperwork. He’d gotten through the distraction relatively unscathed, but couldn’t help finding the contents of his desktop rather… unsatisfying after what he’d just observed. He could only hope, now the nonsense was finished, he could get this done quickly and see if Sano was up for a second round.

“That was fucking amazing…” Sano was muttering breathlessly. “A couple more times with that could spoil me for your little cock, old man.”

This time Saitou really did roll his eyes, and definitely refrained from watching whatever Sano did next. Presumably the latter involved getting himself un-penetrated and curled up in the blankets — what he did with the mess on his stomach Saitou very firmly didn’t contemplate — for his form gradually relaxed and his breathing evened out into quiet snores.

Well, it was disappointing, but not surprising. Saitou allowed himself a slight sigh as he started on the last stretch of the damned paperwork. There was always tomorrow.

Eventually it was finished. Never one for carelessness, Saitou looked it all over meticulously before he set it aside, correcting a few mistakes he’d made during his moments of greatest distraction. Then, stretching slightly, he rose, briefly and absently rubbing at the bulge in his pants that had not by any means diminished, and looked to where Sano lay placidly with his back to the rest of the room.

He didn’t say ‘ahou’ out loud, but he was certainly thinking it. After undressing, he fetched his sword sheath from where Sano had eventually let it fall, and, without scrutinizing it too closely, tossed it into the laundry basket at the other end of the room. Then he put out the light, lay down against his lover, and tried to resign himself to a very ungratifying night.

Finally,” the young man grumbled unexpectedly, twisting around to speak practically into Saitou’s mouth. “I thought you were never gonna be done with that shit.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Nah, just bored into a coma waiting for you. Now let’s see how you compare to your sword sheath.”

Again Saitou would have rolled his eyes, but… well… now that it looked like he was going to be satisfied after all, the frustration and absurdity of tonight’s unusual activities really had been worth it, hadn’t they? …for a memory he would cherish in quiet retrospective amusement and arousal forever more.


This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #5 “Ano sa…”

“Ano sa…” is generally much more hesitant than how I ended up using it, but I thought it not inappropriate for Sano to give it the perverse, belligerent inflection that he did in this context. Other than that, I have no idea where this story came from. It kinda fails both as a real story and as a PWP: too pointless to be the former, and if it were the latter I should have gone on to describe the actual sex. But since I hate doing that, I certainly wouldn’t waste the effort on a one-shot XD Well, whatever. It’s still entertaining.

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


Corner of the Eye

It did rather seem typical of Sano to have gotten himself into a relationship that wasn’t ever likely to go smoothly.

Much as Kenshin and Katsu would like to pretend they don’t care about Sano’s breakup with Saitou, something has to be done.

Sano’s behavior today had been entirely inexplicable from beginning to end, and at this latest, Kenshin had to whisper his name in some embarrassment.

“What?” Sano wondered as the girl ran off with a giggle and a wave. “Just saying hello.”

“Since when do you say hello to girls in the street by kissing them?” said Kenshin in the same chagrin.

With bright innocent Sano replied, “Isn’t that the best way to do it?”

“Maybe,” Kenshin allowed. “But you were in such a bad mood before…”

“Kissing makes things better; didn’t you know that?”

“Sano, I have known you for almost two years, and I have never seen you kiss someone — especially not a casual acquaintance in the street — to put yourself in a better mood before.”

“You never saw me kiss anyone at all, huh?” Sano asked curiously; Kenshin believed, despite the jovial tone, the bad mood hadn’t entirely disappeared after all.

“Not that I can remember.”

“Huh. I thought everyone knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew… that I hate relationships because all people ever do is fight and then do stupid shit to make each other jealous.” Sano seemed to be struggling for continued lightness of tone with this incongruous remark, and Kenshin was puzzled. “Anyway,” Sano continued, his voice intensifying even further, “let’s get out of here before someone decides to arrest me for public indecency.”

This couldn’t be aimed at anyone other than Saitou; Kenshin had been aware of the officer’s presence unobtrusively observing the street in a recessed doorway close by, but hadn’t thought Sano had noticed. He certainly hadn’t associated the circumstances of the wolf’s proximity and Sano’s strange behavior.

Saitou evidently heard and likewise assumed he was the target of the statement, for he replied immediately, “I can’t arrest you every single time you go out in public, ahou.”

“Not even for making out with girls in the middle of the street, huh?” Sano made no move to depart as he’d just proposed; that and the words spoken were adding up to an almost incredible explanation for all of this.

“If you want me to arrest you,” Saitou sneered, “I’m sure I could come up with a charge — but whatever you were doing just now, I didn’t notice.”

Sano snorted. “Well, that’s good. Wouldn’t want you trying to insult my taste because she was too short or had the wrong color hair or something.”

“It’s true brunettes tend to be idiots,” Saitou sniffed.

“Thought you didn’t see her,” shot back Sano in dark triumph. “How would you know what her hair looked like?” And Kenshin had to admit that for Saitou to make such a slip, just for the sake of insulting Sano’s hair, was rather telling.

Whether the officer agreed or not, all he said was, “Hn.”

“Che… let’s get the hell outta here, Kenshin.” And this time Sano really did turn and stalk away.

Kenshin, after a baffled glance in Saitou’s direction, hastened after his friend. “That did not work very well,” he commented carefully once they were in the next street.

A sidelong glance served as Sano’s acceptance that Kenshin now understood the situation, and the young man replied gruffly, “You didn’t think so?”

“Did it make you feel any better?”

“Fuck,” Sano muttered, and said nothing more for several moments. Finally he grumbled, “I should kiss you next time.”

Kenshin struggled to recover from how much this startled him in time to nip the idea in the bud. “Sano,” he said very seriously, “I am not getting involved in this. I will not let you kiss me to make Saitou jealous.”

Sano seemed a little startled as well at Kenshin’s severity, and after staring at him for a few moments, again said, “Che…” and fell silent.

Kenshin had no desire to kiss his friend, or to take part in any petty jealousy scheme; he had no idea what were the circumstances of Sano’s relationship with Saitou, nor what exactly might be going on between them now; indeed, it was a little difficult to wrap his head around the idea of them being together at all — and all of this provided a formidable barrier to helping Sano as he naturally wanted to. Therefore it took him a while to decide what to say next. Eventually, “Sano,” he ventured delicately, “whatever kind of fight you may have had with him, it is obvious you still care about him.” Even that felt strange: that Sano cared about Saitou

“No shit,” the young man mumbled.

Kenshin smiled wryly. It did rather seem typical of Sano to have gotten himself into a relationship that wasn’t ever likely to go smoothly. Still, even with that in mind… Saitou? But he forced himself to go on. “Have you talked to him since…” He trailed off; he assumed it had been a fight, but couldn’t really be positive.

“Talked to him just now, didn’t I?”

“I mean really talked to him,” said Kenshin sternly.

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, but talking to Saitou doesn’t work very well.”

“It cannot work any worse than what you are trying now. You should not need me to tell you that playing this kind of game is not the right way to heal a relationship.” He didn’t want to accuse Sano outright of being childish and vindictive… no matter how clearly Sano’s reply proved the point:

“I don’t figure I need you to tell me much of anything.” Sano was obviously stung by the reproof. “Why don’t you go heal your relationship with jou-chan?”

While this did not quite hurt or insult, Kenshin didn’t much feel like sticking around for something that might. “That is a very good idea, Sano,” he smiled. “I will see you some other time.” And he broke away from his companion without waiting for a response.

He planned on leaving it at that. Sano had obviously never mentioned the Saitou thing for reasons of his own, and just as obviously didn’t want advice on the subject; Kenshin found it somewhat bizarre and better left uncontemplated at any rate; so there was no reason the issue should come up again.

But Sano’s absence from their circle from that day forward was so prolonged, so marked by lack of any contact from him whatsoever, that Kenshin could not but think things must have gone from bad to worse and Sano didn’t feel he could come to the dojo anymore. And though Kenshin wasn’t sure it was either his place or his inclination to intrude (mostly because Saitou was involved), he did keep an active eye open for Sano — and worried quietly when he still never saw him.

It occupied his mind enough, in fact, that once or twice he actually probed delicately at the distasteful idea of what a relationship of that sort would be like with Saitou, how it could be patched up once broken, and why in the world it would have this kind of effect on someone if it wasn’t. At times he even thought it might have been better to let Sano kiss him than to let him decide there was no support among friends, run off and brood to decide who knew what, and stay away for who knew what reason — not that Kenshin thought he really could have gone through with any charade that involved kissing Sano, and not that the current circumstance might not eventually have resulted in any event.

Then, as if purposely to augment his concern, the artist/bomber/newspaper friend showed up. It was a rare occasion that brought Katsu to the dojo, and previously he’d never been unaccompanied by Sano, so Kenshin’s immediate reaction to the sight of him was a frown of intensified worry.

Katsu came over to where Kenshin was hanging laundry and said without preamble, “I take it you haven’t seen him either, then.”

Kenshin shook his head with a sigh.

Echoing the sound, Katsu appeared more exasperated than worried. This was a good sign, as it suggested he knew something of Sano’s absence — more than Kenshin did, at any rate. Presently he said, “You know what this is about, don’t you? This is another stupid attempt at getting that stupid cop’s attention.”

Accepting the explanation with a nod, Kenshin remarked ruefully, “If he thinks Saitou will go looking for him, it really is stupid.”

“The one consolation to us is that he can’t stay in hiding long and still eat; he has to show up again soon.”

The redhead agreed. “And since we have an explanation for his absence, we do not have to worry about his safety in the meantime.” And they shared a glum look that spoke clearly just how much they weren’t going to worry.

“Well, I’ll send him your way if I see him,” Katsu sighed.

“I will do the same for you,” replied Kenshin.

Despite this very logical speculation about food, however, Sano stayed gone. Katsu became almost as much a regular at the dojo, exchanging news (or lack thereof) with Kenshin, as Sano had ever been; and Saitou, whenever they saw him, scowled more than ever.

The idea of discussing the matter with the officer seemed so impractical that it had never seriously crossed the rurouni’s mind; the fact that Katsu hadn’t suggested it seemed to indicate he felt similarly — on the point of the futility of talking to the wolf, at least, Sano’s friends agreed with him. But the third or fourth time Kenshin, running his usual errands in town, caught sight of Saitou glowering over a bowl of inferior soba at a cheap open-air restaurant, he felt almost compelled. Despite the fact that Saitou seemed every bit as disinclined to have the conversation as Kenshin was, the latter approached and cleared his throat.

“Have you seen Sano lately?”

Saitou’s expression of displeasure strengthened, and he did not look up. “Why would I have seen him?”

“Well, you have been eating at this restaurant a lot, and it is one of his favorites…”

With a snort Saitou remarked, “Given the quality of the food, that’s no surprise.”

“I have been questioning Sano’s taste lately,” Kenshin couldn’t help but admit, trying not to smile.

“He’s an idiot,” muttered Saitou somewhat pointlessly, his scowl and the accompanying lines on his face deepening even further.

It was obvious there was nothing to be gained from this. Saitou had no more idea where Sano was than Kenshin did… which actually made the theory about why Sano was gone less plausible: why go to such lengths to attract somebody’s notice if that somebody couldn’t find you? “I just hope he is all right,” Kenshin murmured, half to himself.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” the officer demanded with a little more attention, glancing up at last.

Kenshin shrugged.

Saitou, apparently recalling the frame of mind he would prefer to convey, went back to his soba with a reiteration of, “He’s an idiot.”

The redhead made a noncommittal noise and turned to leave.

Well, odd as it seemed to think about, Saitou cared too — which made the entire situation even more foolish. Kenshin didn’t have much experience with romantic spats, and it was still Saitou, but it wouldn’t take a relationship genius to figure this one out. How the two stubbornest men in Tokyo — and a pair with that kind of history, no less — had ever managed to start something, Kenshin could not begin to guess.

At that moment, just as he turned the corner away from the restaurant, he found himself joined unexpectedly by Katsu. “I found him,” was the artist’s somewhat breathless announcement; he appeared to have been running.

“Oh? Where is he? Is he in trouble?” Given the reflections Kenshin had just been entertaining about the stupidity of quarreling lovers, his queries would not have been so energetic if he hadn’t been aware of Saitou right around the corner listening.

Katsu seemed similarly aware of this (having run past him), for his reply, “I think he may be; he wouldn’t let me in to see him,” didn’t feel entirely honest. “And now someone’s caught up with him, he may relocate again, so you should come talk to him while I still know where he is.”

The rurouni raised a curious eyebrow as if to ask, Do you really think this will work?

To which the artist replied with a wry smile and a shrug that said, Do you have a better idea? Out loud he just requested, “Come with me.”

Any internal debate Saitou might have had about whether or not to follow them must (by necessity) have been conducted in haste; Kenshin sensed the wolf’s presence behind them barely a street away. Was Saitou aware he was being baited? Possibly. It was no more important than whether or not he cared; all that mattered was that he did follow. This had gone on far too long.

Katsu led them straight to the wretched area of town where Kenshin would have looked first if he’d been actively searching for Sano — which didn’t speak well for their friend’s creativity or, perhaps, sense of hygiene — and into a grimy hotel that barely warranted the title. The attendant in the lobby was asleep or something similar, and if his opium-scented slump was any testimony to his backbone, he probably wouldn’t have stopped them in any case. Kenshin wondered whether Saitou was concerned enough about Sano to look the other way; it would say something about the relationship if he was.

Of course, his mere presence in a place like this looking for the recalcitrant kenkaya at all said something about the relationship.

It seemed the officer was willing, for the moment at least, to overlook the opium in the interest of following them upstairs. In doing so, rather than join them and admit openly what they were aware of anyway (that he’d been there all along and they all three knew it and this whole thing was idiotic), he was forced to employ greater stealth than the perfunctory level of care he’d given to tailing them thus far — to the point where Kenshin’s awareness of him sank to purely ki-based. Katsu glanced around as if wondering whether or not they were still being followed; at Kenshin’s slight gesture, though, he returned to his guide duty.

It was the last room on the second floor — which floor, incidentally, seemed in danger of collapse at any moment — where Katsu stopped. Standing still, glancing around, Kenshin frowned. What kind of unhealthy and poorly formulated decisions might one come to, moping all alone in a place like this?

Katsu knocked emphatically.

“Who the fuck is it now?” was the grumpy-sounding demand from within.

“Sano, exactly how long do you plan on sitting around in there doing nothing?” Katsu replied in nearly the same tone. “And how the hell are you eating, anyway?”

“I already told you–” began Sano severely, apparently moving closer to the door the better to debate with his friend.

Kenshin cut him short. “Sano, a lot of people are worried about you; it is rather rude of you to go into hiding without a word.”

“Oh.” It was a barely audible exclamation as the footsteps within the room stopped abruptly. “Hey, Kenshin.”

Given that the true purpose of this visit had been to deliver Saitou, the rurouni didn’t quite know what to say next. It seemed Sano, even after so long, was still in the mood to be difficult and refuse any assistance… it also seemed a shame, however, to have coaxed Saitou this far and then just leave before at least showing the two of them the path of reconciliation (if not necessarily forcing their feet onto it). But Kenshin assumed the officer wouldn’t step forward and speak up, admit he’d come looking, unless they prodded him into it somehow.

Hadn’t Kenshin specifically told Sano at one point that he wasn’t getting involved in this?

“I’ll tell you if I decide to leave town,” was the defensive grumble from behind the door. “Not like I’m just gonna disappear.”

“‘Leave town?'” Katsu echoed in disbelief. “My god, Sano, you’re running away?”

There was a long silence before Sano finally replied, “It’s better than what I’ve been doing…”

“What, sitting around sulking?” Katsu sighed in exasperation, but instead of continuing the conversation with Sano turned rather to Kenshin and remarked in a quieter tone (though still loud enough, doubtless, to penetrate the door and permeate the hall), “He’s behaving like a woman.”

“I was going to say a child,” replied Kenshin, wincing at the thought of how the women he knew would react to that statement.

“Hey…” Sano protested from within.

“No wonder Saitou didn’t come looking for him,” added Katsu decisively.

“Hey!”

Kenshin saw where this was going; considering how far Katsu’s last idea had brought them, he decided this one was also worth a try. “I am certain there are other reasons for that,” he suggested calmly. “I doubt Saitou is any more capable than Sano of maintaining a serious relationship; he was probably glad of an excuse not to try.” Which was entirely true (that is to say, he did doubt it), and seemed to cause a sort of invisible twitch down the hall.

Katsu shrugged. “Let’s be honest, though; you can’t blame even a preoccupied bastard like him for having a hard time dealing with Sano.”

“Backing down might actually be the easiest thing for Sano.”

“It isn’t like that asshole would ever pretend to be human and admit he wants Sano back.”

Though uncertain yet whether Saitou was aware of being shamelessly goaded, Kenshin could sense a nearly palpable ill will and disquiet from around the corner. It was matched by what emanated from the room whose door he still faced. “But I am starting to believe Sano may not have any idea what he wants,” he sighed. “He is easily confused.”

“Well, we know what he doesn’t need,” was Katsu’s emphatic declaration.

“And it is therefore fortunate Saitou does not know a good thing when it punches him in the face.” Kenshin had a hard time keeping the smile from his lips after that one.

“They bring out the worst in each other,” concurred Katsu solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching as well.

Finally the door burst open. Looking disheveled, hollow-eyed, half starved, disturbed, and very annoyed, Sano glared at them. “Anything else you guys want to decide for me?” he demanded.

“We weren’t deciding anything for you, Sano,” the artist nearly drawled, evidently trying to mask how much seeing his friend like this bothered him.

“We were merely reaching our own conclusions,” Kenshin agreed, feeling much the same.

Sano’s expression made a sudden and drastic shift to an indescribable blend of positive and negative emotions, most of them much more serious than the irritation that had prompted him to open the door, and his eyes were focused neither on Kenshin nor on Katsu. The former wondered vaguely how Saitou had come all the way up the hall to stand behind them without either of them noticing.

“These two terrible actors have a few good points,” the officer remarked drily as he pushed his way past said terrible actors.

“You mean like about you being a preoccupied bastard?” Sano growled, looking up into Saitou’s face. The officer did not deign to reply in words, only snorted and dragged Sano back into the room, slamming the door behind them. The sound of their angry voices, which rose immediately into animated argument, receded gradually to the far side of the chamber.

“I believe we have done all we can,” said Kenshin quietly.

Katsu nodded, then added conversationally, “If they ever do this again, I’m bombing both their apartments.”

“I will not stop you,” Kenshin agreed. And to the continued sounds of the reunited couple making up, making love, making new dents in each other’s heads, or whatever they were doing in there, the two men turned and walked away side by side.



This fic, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #1 “Look over here.” It’s also a companion (chronologically latest in the continuity) to Magic and Responsibility.

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


"Make Me!"

It was one of those days when the sun was too hot and the breeze was too cold and the alternation was too annoying. In the still air, Sano’s gi was heavy and sweat-inducing; when the wind picked up, he pulled it tight around him and scowled. He’d taken the thing off and put it back on about twenty times so far.

He was bored as hell, and consequently ambling slow circles outside the police station. He’d been doing it for almost an hour in the hopes that at least one of three things would happen: he would get arrested for loitering and get to make a huge scene; Chou would appear, and they could fight about something or nothing; Saitou would decide not to be a workaholic for one day in his life, leave early, and fuck Sano’s brains out for the rest of the day and the whole night. These could happen in pretty much any order, except that the Saitou one always had to be last.

None of them had happened yet; he kinda wondered what was taking so long.

He glanced up at the window to Saitou’s office. The sun’s glare on the glass made it impossible to see anything within, and he wondered if the old mantis knew he was out here. It was unlikely he didn’t; half the precinct knew Sano was out here. Trying to imagine what they guessed he was doing made him chortle.

He took off his gi again.

They thought he was a less official version of Chou: some weirdo Saitou ordered around that wasn’t exactly a cop but wasn’t exactly not. And that was pretty much true, only Saitou didn’t sleep with Chou.

Where was Chou, anyway? Sano wondered as he put his gi back on and began restlessly digging a hole in the ground with his foot.

A junior officer emerging from the station’s main doors and heading purposefully toward him was a heartening sight. Sano straightened and waited with a hopeful grin to see if the guy would try to tell him off. No such luck, but the flunky did have a little folded packet to deliver. Evidently assuming the latter contained orders that didn’t need to be discussed, the blue-clad peon didn’t speak as he handed it over, only nodded to Sano and disappeared again into the station.

Sano put his gi back on — he didn’t even remember removing it this time — and unfolded the note. Why don’t you go home and wait for me instead of giving my coworkers a strip show? it said in imperative language. A single small piece of candy in shiny blue paper had been folded within. Sano wasted no time getting this into his mouth. Just the candy, not the paper.

So he thinks he can bribe me, huh? Well, on a day when he wasn’t so intolerably bored, it might have worked. Today there was no way in hell Sano would be willing to ‘go home and wait’ like the good little wife he wasn’t. And the fact that he’d already pushed Saitou far enough for the cop to offer a bribe at all was very encouraging.

He stood back and waved vigorously at the glowing window above — not that he really thought he didn’t already have his lover’s attention, but he wanted to make sure. Then he blew a kiss extravagantly upward and called out two defiant words before, backing away a few paces, he slid his gi slowly off his shoulders and began a semi-erotic dance against the gate-post.


This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #23 “Candy.”

Bored Sano is great, and devious bored Sano is even better. I can just imagine Saitou inside getting all annoyed and turned on and trying not to look.

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


No Reservations

From the moment Saitou had stepped into that dojo knowing more than Shinomori did, a subdued air of competition had reigned between them and marked their every meeting.

Has Aoshi really invited Saitou to a private interview because he has case-related information? Or is this a complicated cover for something else entirely?


It had always been a contest of sorts, ever since they’d first met. Though never any good reason for it, there it was: from the moment Saitou had stepped into that dojo knowing more than Shinomori did, a subdued air of competition had reigned between them and marked their every meeting. And so far, they were about even. Saitou had consistently been better-informed than the Okashira during the Shishio affair, but while trying to deal with Yukishiro in Tokyo, Shinomori had generally been one step ahead.

Which was what made Saitou so wary now.

He paused before knocking on the blue-roofed building’s side door, the staff entrance, as he’d been instructed. He really had no idea what to expect within. This was an odd situation, more even than usual when a possible informant requested a private conversation with an investigator — and that was saying something. The offer was not entirely on the level, and it was a sense of intrigue about that that had drawn Saitou here more than that it might be a useful lead for his case.

“Oh, hello, officer,” said the young woman who answered when he did knock. “Shinomori-san is expecting you.”

He said nothing as she bowed him inside and led him upstairs to one particular room of several on the third floor. There she rapped at the shouji, waited for the quiet welcome from within, and left him.

Saitou entered. Contrary to what he would have expected of the former Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, it was a bright, comfortable room, at whose other end Shinomori stood looking out a half-open window. Despite this orifice, the air was somewhat heavy with a rather oppressive-smelling incense, but otherwise the scene was not unpleasant. Rather than being relaxing, however, this rendered the wolf all the more cautious.

“Saitou.” Shinomori turned. “Hisashiburi.” He wore a yukata pulled close, which, especially against the daylit window, marked the almost unhealthy-looking slenderness of his figure. With the light to his back, his eyes beneath his long bangs appeared very dark.

“Good morning,” Saitou replied, watching him, and calculating the accuracy of the ninja’s greeting: indeed, they hadn’t really spoken since the end of the Yukishiro incident, though they’d seen each other often enough since Saitou had transferred to Kyoto.

Shinomori moved from the window, walking past the officer to the door and listening at it for a moment before locking it. He then seated himself beside a tea service. “Join me.”

As he complied wordlessly, Saitou’s tension was rising, and he kept a careful watch on the other man without letting it appear that he was doing so.

“Youngest child of a rich family abducted,” Shinomori was saying succinctly as he poured tea for them both, “and a government spy assigned to the case because the only existing clue is a name overheard from one of the kidnappers that matches that of a recently-subdued and supposedly-dissolved revolutionary group.”

Saitou had to appreciate this kind of conciseness; he wished the people he worked with could command half as much. “You seem to have a decent grasp on the issue,” he nodded, accepting the cup from the ninja’s slender hand.

“Better than you do,” Shinomori replied.

“Which is why I’m here.”

A placid nod. “The kidnapper was once a bitter enemy to the Oniwabanshuu.”

That, perhaps, cleared things up a bit, but Saitou still couldn’t believe that the other man was really being anything like candid.

“He is dangerous,” Shinomori continued, “and what’s more, he knows who you are.”

Saitou pretended to sip his tea. It didn’t smell unusual in any sense, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Shinomori wouldn’t bring him here without a specific purpose, and so far the information provided only bordered on useful. “It’s true there are more that do than I’d like, but it usually doesn’t make much difference.”

Still impassive, the ninja went on. “It might. You could defeat him in battle, it’s true. But he knows this. He won’t be straightforward; he won’t come at you fairly.”

“I’m used to that,” Saitou remarked, then added with a slight smirk, “I’m not altogether straightforward or fair myself.”

Shinomori brought his own cup slowly to his finely-formed lips; Saitou didn’t think he actually drank, either, though. “What’s important to understand about this person is that he has an obsessive nature, and absolutely no reservations when it comes to getting what he wants.”

“That’s true of most people on some level or other.” Growing a little tired of the excessive incense in the air, Saitou lit a cigarette. Shinomori must burn the stuff all day and all night, to be inured enough to sit right next to it with the smoke floating up into his face like that.

The Oniwaban didn’t seem to care that the officer was smoking in his private chamber without bothering to ask permission. “This man has not only motive and drive, but ability and resources, to get what he wants.”

So far this felt like either a diluted warning or a very abstract tip; neither was likely to be particularly helpful, nor could Saitou believe that such roundabout information could possibly be Shinomori’s reason for inviting him here. Maybe a more straightforward treatment of the exact nature of this exchange would get better results. That had been Saitou’s main point of curiosity in coming, after all — what Shinomori would demand in return for his communications, whatever they were. And perhaps once that was established they could get down to names and other actual facts… if there were any. Well, depending on what the ninja wanted and how Saitou felt like responding to it. Which latter idea had been another point of curiosity that had brought him here.

“You’re getting impatient,” Shinomori observed calmly. “But what if I tell you that you are this man’s target?”

Well, that did get Saitou’s attention, as it was obviously meant to. Still, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“But you might not escape this time.”

Saitou noticed the very faint upturning of Shinomori’s lips in the same instant he reflected that his cigarette tasted odd — the flavor of the tobacco combining with the incense creating an unusual sensation in his throat — and that his limbs felt strangely and increasingly sluggish.

The tea had been a distraction; that idea had crossed his mind, but as a distraction from what, he had not been able to discern. He hadn’t considered the incense a threat, given that Shinomori was closer to it than he was. And he rarely gave his own cigarettes a second thought, which, of course, Shinomori had counted on. But all this reflection was too late now.

“And his name I believe I can guess,” he said quietly, finding every word more difficult as what resembled a great weariness began to spread inexorably through his body.

“By now I hope you can,” Shinomori replied, reaching out and catching the cigarette as it fell from Saitou’s lips. It was the last thing the officer saw.

Any doubts he’d had about the intentions with which he’d been summoned here were erased when he began to regain consciousness.

He didn’t think he’d been out long, for he could not yet move, could not even open his eyes. His breathing was shallow, and he felt somewhat dizzy even lying still. His senses were vaguely in tact, however, so he was aware of lying stretched out on his back on a soft surface — a futon, if he was not mistaken — of Shinomori beside him — right up against him, actually, with a hand on his chest — of a significant lack of clothing — yes, both of them seemed to be naked — and of certain things that had been done to him while he was unconscious — namely, he seemed to have been… washed. Since he didn’t think Shinomori had a general cleanliness fetish that went quite as far as drugging people in order to clean them up, the intent here must be sex.

No reservations indeed.

The ninja, apparently noting Saitou’s return to awareness, sat up; though still in darkness, Saitou could feel the movement and sense its direction. Shinomori did not speak, which came as no surprise, only grazed his palms over Saitou’s chest. A slow, soft caress, it awoke in Saitou instant frustration that he could not move, and gradually changed to a more pointed touch as the Oniwaban’s fingers began languidly to explore the contours of the officer’s stomach and chest. A few of Saitou’s muscles twitched slightly under this treatment, and a shiver ran through him as the dragging fingertips circled almost carelessly one of his taut nipples.

He was momentarily preoccupied with the gentleness, the apparent fragility, of Shinomori’s hands. They were long and warm and seemed more like those of an artist than someone who practiced heavy kenpo. But there was not much time for such thoughts, as their actions at the present moment must be infinitely more engrossing than their shape. For, moving slowly farther and farther down his body to brush and probe and lag along his hips and thighs, their almost delicate application became more teasing, more maddening, with each passing moment.

Abruptly the touch ceased entirely, and Saitou shivered again as echoes of the tantalizing sensation crept over him like remembered pain from an age-old wound. Then breath moved across his face and Shinomori’s lips, unexpectedly soft but decidedly purposeful, descended onto his.

Saitou couldn’t respond to the kiss, and wasn’t entirely sure he would have if he’d been capable — to show willingness in this situation would be unbecoming — but Shinomori’s talent at it left little to be desired, considering the motionlessness of Saitou’s own lips. He was quite impressed, actually, that a kiss so necessarily one-sided could be so enjoyable. And with the action heightening the responsiveness of his own body and thereby, perhaps, hastening his recovery from the drug, he finally managed to open his eyes. He found himself staring into bright blue, and was amused (and not particularly surprised) at the little jolt of sensation that went through him at the sight.

The ninja drew back slightly, trailing his tongue over Saitou’s lips as he did so and maintaining the lock between their eyes. He stayed away only long enough to remark, “I would prefer you more responsive, but that isn’t an option,” before, closing the distance once more, he ran one of those exceptionally fine hands down Saitou’s body and gave him something he might have wanted to respond to. Whatever his chemical state was, Saitou had no trouble becoming very erect at the touch.

The ninja worked his hardening length slowly and methodically from base to tip as he began unhurriedly traversing Saitou’s jaw and neck with his agile mouth. The officer’s breathing, previously the deep consistence of a sleeper’s, rapidly shortened to a quick and audible cadence, a marked contrast to Shinomori’s deliberate, measured movements.

As the kisses moved down Saitou’s chest and the ninja’s skilled grip made him harder and harder, the older man also began to wish he could be a little more responsive, regardless of whether it would be appropriate voluntarily to give a positive response. He was glad of his inability to show surprise the next moment, however, when, without warning, oiled fingers pressed slowly inside him. Why this should be a surprise he wasn’t sure; it made perfect sense, given the situation. It was just that he’d never been penetrated before, and had become so accustomed to being on top that he had perhaps started to take for granted the way things worked.

And suddenly Shinomori’s tongue was gliding along Saitou’s erection, meticulously-rubbing fingers close in its slick wake. He never actually took him fully in his mouth, and Saitou was certain that this, along with the unnecessarily leisurely process of preparation, was just another deliberate torment and reiteration of the ninja’s complete control. Yes, the former Okashira played this getting-what-he-wanted game very well. So well that, torment notwithstanding, Saitou was not wasting any effort at the moment considering what he was going to do when this was over.

Shinomori added another finger. The sensation was odd, but elating, and increased the pleasure of his attentions elsewhere in a way Saitou would not have guessed. Should have guessed, given that he’d been on that end of this sort of exchange often enough, but still could not entirely have fathomed without experiencing. The other caresses were slowing, however; Shinomori evidently didn’t want him to come yet, and must be aware that Saitou could have less control of it in his current state.

For all he was enjoying this, lying still did not make for the most satisfying sex. Saitou’s body, whether aided by his will or not, was exhausting itself straining to work through the chemical influence and regain control, while Shinomori, with the utmost patience, systematically continued his arousing preparations. Saitou heard himself moan inarticulately, and thought that was probably a good sign. Shinomori apparently thought that was the signal for the main event.

As the ninja drove slowly into him, Saitou could hear his own voice again, wordless but unmistakably approving. His lips had managed to move somewhat this time, and when Shinomori’s again closed over them the kiss was much closer to mutual than the previous had been. Though unable to reciprocate when his mouth was worked open and thoroughly overrun by Shinomori’s tongue, he could feel thus the muffled groan from the Oniwaban’s throat that indicated just how good it was to be inside him.

He could never have guessed from the symptoms exhibited by his partners in the past how this would feel. The clinical awareness that it was tight and uncomfortable as well as almost overwhelmingly thrilling and stimulating could never encompass his present sensations. He wondered what it would be like when he had control over his body; for the moment, however, he dismissed this thought, as well as the subsequent query as to whether he was planning on finding out.

Shinomori was stroking him again, and Saitou’s clarity of mind was deteriorating; it was a short-lived reflection that his inability to move and imperfectly-parted legs couldn’t make for a very convenient position, that it was lucky the younger man was so flexible. The rhythm into which Shinomori had smoothly guided them, the building tension and pleasure, was overcoming logical thought.

Twitching fingers longed to clutch at and test the texture of the skin above him, but Saitou’s arms were still too heavy and unresponsive. Authority over his muscles was returning, however, gradually but certainly; how much time passed before he was able to reach up sluggishly and grip the ninja’s rocking body he did not know, but as his climax approached he was aware that his nails were digging into the scarred flesh of Shinomori’s sides.

Evoking a low cry that did not sound even slightly drugged, the white-hot rush of orgasm spread through him. He could feel himself tightening almost painfully around Shinomori, who groaned and quickened his pace with hands bracing against the futon. Not long after, even before the clenching sensation throughout Saitou’s body had fully dissipated, Shinomori let out a long, unsteady sigh that ended in a slight moan, and grew still. He dropped his form back onto Saitou’s and lay panting against the officer’s shoulder for some time.

Well, this had certainly been an entertaining and unique experience, and now that its intenser moments had passed Saitou had opportunity to contemplate its ramifications. He wasn’t really sure what he planned on doing; this was so much more than anything he’d expected in coming here… though at the same time not entirely surprising. But if Shinomori thought he was going to take it lying down (in the figurative sense, of course), he was very much mistaken.

The ninja raised his head and kissed Saitou languidly as he slowly drew out. Here was another unfamiliar sensation that the wolf found rather pleasurable than otherwise, the constriction and return to normal configuration of that particular opening; but, though he returned the kiss to the greatest extent of his current ability, he did not otherwise react. Shinomori’s eyes, staring into his, were equally devoid of communication; they were exceptionally bright, though, and the flush on the former Okashira’s face was particularly attractive.

Finally Shinomori sat back with a soft, contented sigh, and, leaning away, busied himself with something Saitou did not care to make the effort to look at. After a few moments the officer felt something cool and wet touch his chest, and shivered inadvertently. As Shinomori continued to sponge him off fastidiously and almost, he might have thought if he’d been given to such fancies, affectionately, Saitou reflected that this fixation with cleanliness seemed eminently typical of the younger man. It was amusing and perhaps somewhat charming.

Once they were both cleansed to the Oniwaban’s satisfaction, Shinomori took the water basin away somewhere and, returning, pulled Saitou up with both hands. Saitou found that the drug had worn off so far as to allow him to sit unswaying with little trouble, but he was still dizzy. Of course Shinomori, placid and apparently emotionless, was aware of this, and, logically, had no fear of retaliation at this point.

He had produced a neatly stacked and folded set of clothing — Saitou’s uniform — and was shaking the articles out in preparation for helping the officer into them. Saitou did not refuse the assistance, nor, when he was fully dressed, did he object to Shinomori giving him a hand up. As the ninja donned his yukata again in continued silence, Saitou concentrated first on maintaining his equilibrium in this precarious standing position, then on fastening his upper garment.

But fine motor function was still beyond him, it seemed, and after a moment Shinomori pushed his hands away and buttoned the jacket for him. As he did so he finally spoke, quietly: “The boy will be returned to his parents this evening; they will find him unhurt and probably the better for our hospitality.”

Saitou made a noise of acknowledgement; then, as the ninja’s deft fingers finished their task and the imperturbable gaze rose to meet the officer’s, he decided to try for something with a few more syllables. “You do realize…” But as even this short phrase left his reluctant tongue in more of a slur than he would prefer anyone to hear from him at any time, he broke off there.

Shinomori’s eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners of his mouth twisted upward by a fraction; it was obvious he didn’t need the I’m not just going to let this go spoken aloud. “Of course.” Leaning up, he touched a brief kiss to Saitou’s lips. “It’s your turn.”

After a moment, Saitou returned the pseudo-smile and nodded slightly. Then, very slowly at first so as to accustom himself both to the foreign ache in his lower half and the precautions necessary for walking in his still-slightly-blurry state, he turned and headed for the door. He was fairly sure that before he would run into anyone, he had the entire length of the hallway beyond and a staircase to make sure his movements would not betray the events that had just transpired. He did not throw so much as a glance behind him as he left the room.

So his case was closed. The dangerous, roundabout, obsessive former enemy of the Oniwabanshuu had had his way, and the only question remaining now was what Saitou was going to do about it. The officer’s emotions were mixed, to say the least.

By the time he’d reached the street below, he had resumed, if not his usual brisk stride, a natural enough gait. This disturbing dizziness would certainly pass; the bemusement was sure to take more time, the animated scheming that had already gripped his brain even longer.

Though he wanted a cigarette, he didn’t consider himself up to the task of extracting and lighting one just yet. He glanced back at the third-floor windows of the Aoiya, but, though a little disoriented, didn’t think Shinomori’s room was on this side of the building. Noting that his enunciation was still somewhat inhibited he murmured, “My turn…”

The possibilities were endless.



I’ve rated this story .



State of Attire


Saitou had just risen from a full night of unbroken sleep when noisy footsteps sounded in his entry hall. They were familiar footsteps (though when Sano had acquired the means to let himself into the house Saitou wasn’t sure), so he merely continued with his preparations for the day. Having become accustomed, lately, to half nights of less perfect repose, snores and sprawling limbs, the unexpectedly smooth period of rest had left him slightly less alert than usual upon awakening; he was, in fact, splashing cold water onto his face as the bedroom door opened.

It seemed like Sano stood in the doorway, and Saitou stood staring at him, for a very long time.

With the appearance of the tired, slightly grinning, very rumpled young man with clothes and hair in great disarray, there came also the faint smell of flowery perfume; it floated into and seemed to permeate the room in a single instant: a clinging, distinctly feminine scent that might have been considered an olfactory representation of the pinkish color smeared faintly in places on Sano’s face and neck.

It seemed like Sano stood in the doorway, and Saitou stood staring at him, for a very long time, but it actually took only half a moment for the story of the night to be told — half a moment’s dismay and resentment of which Saitou had no real desire to make a great display — before he returned without a word to the task of getting dressed.

He should have known better. This was Sagara Sanosuke, after all. He had known better: he’d always known the young man for an impetuous idiot and a good-for-nothing. However, he wouldn’t have guessed even a clearly intoxicated Sano would have the nerve to show up here smelling like the woman he’d spent the night with.

After not too long, he heard footsteps behind him and felt the delinquent’s arms slip around his waist to stop his progress in fastening his pants. “Do you really wanna put those on?” Sano wondered in a rumbling slur, drunken hands attempting clumsily to enter the garment in question.

Saitou pushed him roughly away, marveling at this shamelessness. “It would be inconvenient to go to work without them.”

The moron could sleep with whomever he wanted, of course, and be as reckless and indiscreet about it as he chose, of course. When had anyone implied anything else? Since when did Saitou want anything else? Why should Saitou want anything else?

Obviously not even a little put off, Sano asked, “Well, do you really wanna go to work?”

“In case you didn’t notice as you stumbled over here, ahou,” Saitou snorted, “the sun is coming up. Those of us who don’t waste our lives gambling and whoring have things to do.”

For once, he had to admit, his irritation with Sano was not as great as his irritation with himself: that Sano hadn’t even bothered to wipe the lip-color off his neck was brazen or perhaps just careless, but either way seemed typical of him; that Saitou reacted to it like this was more than a little atypically foolish… when had he starting thinking of their convenient-sex arrangement in relationship terms?

Sano was frowning in bleary disappointment. Evidently the ‘whoring’ comment hadn’t made even the slightest impression. Of course not; why should it have? “Guess I’ll just take a nap, then.” And he flopped down onto the futon Saitou had yet to put away.

“I don’t want you in my bed smelling like you’ve been rolling in a gardenia bush all night,” Saitou said coldly. Or rolling some cheap woman in a gardenia bush all night.

Sano buried his face in his sleeve and inhaled loudly. “Damn whore was wearing a fucking gallon of that shit,” was his muffled comment. Then, with a yawn but not even a touch of compunction, he rearranged the blanket around himself, put his hands behind his head, and looked blandly up at Saitou.

As he finished buttoning his shirt and donned his jacket with movements that might perhaps have been a little more forceful than was entirely necessary, the officer considered tossing the thoughtless young man out on his ear, telling him to go back to aforementioned whore if he wanted to freeload. It would certainly be the appropriate treatment.

But for some reason he didn’t.

“Chou had better be on time today,” he was growling to himself as he put out the lamp and turned to leave.

“I doubt it,” came Sano’s faint, unexpected, and uncalled-for reply, “if he shows up at all…”

Saitou paused in the doorway and turned to look back at the groggy ahou. “Why?”

“He took that stupid woman home…” the younger man answered sleepily. “Broke up a really good game, too, horny bastard.” He yawned again before adding, “Well, least it stopped her getting all over me.” Turning onto his side and tugging on the bedding so all Saitou could see of him was a blanket-covered lump ending in a jagged brown mass, he finished at a mumble, “Some chicks just won’t take ‘I have a boyfriend’ for an answer.”

Heavy seconds passed as Saitou stared, wordless and motionless, down at Sano. Presently the latter began to snore.

So Chou wasn’t likely to show up at all today, was he? That meant Saitou had to run his own errands. He hated running his own errands when there were more important things to be done; perhaps, he thought as he started to remove his jacket, having Chou at his beck and call had spoiled him. Unbuttoning his shirt, he reflected that Chou was hardly competent enough to merit that distinction. By the time he got his pants off, Chou had entirely fled his mind.

Working his way under the blanket in which Sano had twisted himself was no easy task, but, once he’d gotten there and wrapped his arms around the young man, he was rewarded with an incoherent but affectionate-sounding mutter and a sigh as Sano’s body squirmed slowly to fit against his.

“Next time tell her you have an extremely jealous boyfriend,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to the spiky head. In doing so he caught a stronger whiff of the omnipresent flowery scent, and had to reflect that, on his Sano, it actually smelled quite nice.



This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #11 “Gardenia.”

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


No, More Pretending

Pirika was the one who’d gotten him to this point; it seemed like betrayal to question his relationship with her.

Horohoro realizes and comes to grips with the true nature of his feelings toward his sister.


From a recumbent position that wasn’t likely to change any time soon, no matter what happened or who insisted that breaktime was over and they should all get back to their training, Horohoro watched languidly the interaction of a trio of figures not far off. The largest — standing solid and unperturbed by the heat as usual — was not particularly interesting; the other two — the slender, elegant woman and her scowling brother — held the teenager’s attention now as they often did.

Ren was so clearly excessively devoted to Jun… It had surprised Horohoro when he’d first noticed it, and had not ceased to fascinate him since. Ren, who didn’t seem to care about anyone other than himself, think about anything other than his own pursuits, or (understandably) feel even the smallest connection to his odd family, yet appeared to put everything second to his regard for his sister. It made Horohoro grin, among other reasons because it proved that Ren had decent emotions and the capacity to be concerned with something that relatively normal human beings thought about; additionally, it reminded Horohoro very much of himself and Pirika.

He’d been gloating up until now that Ren wasn’t as different from him as the pointy team leader would like to think… but gradually, as he lay watching them over there, his grin faded. For the more he observed the way Ren and Jun interacted, the more he saw that they really weren’t much like him and Pirika. Despite the curtness that Ren showed even to her, it was obvious that his esteem for Jun bordered on worshipful, that he wanted to protect her above all things… Horohoro couldn’t think that Ren’s mental images of Jun were consistently naked, or that they’d ever shared a bed.

This, of course, forced the Ainu very seriously to examine his attitude about his own sister. He sat up, crossed his legs, and frowned.

It was not entirely strange that he’d never thought about it before, as he’d apparently been pretending all along that he’d forgotten they were related — and therefore his potentially questionable feelings for her hadn’t raised any objections in his mind. Whether he objected now, he wasn’t sure. The shaman fight was designed, among other things, to hone the participants who lasted by making them face themselves as well as others, question the way they lived… but Pirika was the one who’d gotten him to this point; it seemed like betrayal to question his relationship with her. On the other hand, she must have understood that, and had sent him nonetheless; and if she accepted that he must question, was willing to risk it, it almost seemed cowardly not to question.

He growled and tugged on his hair. He was twisting himself into knots here! What use was it questioning whether or not he should question?? He was already questioning! Should he face the fact that his feelings for Pirika might not be entirely appropriate, or keep on pretending that their relationship was perfectly normal?

Kororo landed on his shoulder, wondering if he was all right, and Horohoro realized he hadn’t stopped pulling his hair. “Sorry,” he mumbled, patting her. “I don’t mean to make you worry… just thinking about some stuff.”

She hugged his face and flitted off, and he had to smile. It faded quickly, though, as he considered that to make one of his dreams come true, he might well have to give up another. And was he man enough to handle that? Oh, but why should he?! Why couldn’t he have both? …because it wasn’t normal to pretend your desire for your sister was innocuous, all the while wishing out loud for a girlfriend but knowing subconsciously, complacently, that you’d never get one because you didn’t really need one. It wasn’t right.

But couldn’t the Shaman King determine for himself what was normal and right?

This was still a stupid and frustrating debate, especially since he wasn’t really considering the real issues. He turned and looked again at Ren and Jun as a sort of distraction. An inneffectual one, though, as they were what had brought this to mind in the first place. A little bitterly, he projected his dilemma onto them: what if Ren had……. that same kind of feeling for Jun? (No, Horohoro could not define it clearly just yet; that was part of his problem.) What if she returned it? Well, Ren never let anyone else dictate the way he should live, so the two of them would surely act on those feelings. Horohoro wasn’t assigning a concrete definition to that either, that action, but there was no denying that the idea made him feel… good… warm… happy. It was a sweet concept, and didn’t seem at all wrong. Was that because his thinking was warped by his own situation, his selfishness? Was it time to admit his weakness and stop pretending?

But his earlier reflection, that Ren didn’t and wouldn’t let others tell him how to live, now hung before him like a challenge. Was he to be repressed by a world that he already wanted to change? Was he to let even a hypothetical Ren live more freely, live better, than he did? Was the future king of all spiritualists to let his destiny be guided by a blind and arbitrary code?

No, more pretending was fine. Because he shouldn’t have to define it at this point, but he shouldn’t have to give it up either. So until things took their natural course — until he faced and admitted what he wanted, or until it faded, or whatever the case turned out to be — he would pretend, and he wouldn’t regret, because the world was big enough for things like that.



No, there is no mention of the potential Yoh/Horo implied in the first story simply because Horohoro is utterly oblivious to that possibility XD

I’ve rated this story . What do you think of it?