5.

It wasn't until Sanosuke stepped into the chamber, and saw Shishio half-lounging on his favorite peach-colored davenport, that he realized how badly he needed to go to the bathroom. His tummy hurt too much, hurt a deal far greater than he'd ever felt, that he couldn't think of any way to get rid of the pain other than to defecate.

Which was, of course, not exactly the best idea at the moment.

"Sit here." Shishio motioned idly for the empty space on the large sofa, next to his left, as he gave Sano an appreciative look from head to foot (or ankle, at least; he had on bunny slippers after all). "I can't think of anyone more stunning in such a drab color as white," he affirmed.

Sano let out a brief, affected cough in embarrassment. "Uh, thanks, Mr. Shishio," though he shook his head as if to contradict the very words he'd just acknowledged.

As usual, Shishio himself was in all white, as in bandaged-up, of course, save for his ebony, silk sarong that glittered with little gold diamond prints. The design was itself stunning, and went well with the regal, oriental-inspired, black and gold interior of the room.

Shutting the heavy door behind him -- and on Cho who still lingered out in the hallway trying to snatch one last glimpse inside -- Sano began to make his way over to the sofa.

Shishio sat with his right hip leaning on the sofa's lone arm, left foot resting flat on the seat, pulled close to himself. In his hand was a short, stout glass of iced bourbon which he kept steady atop his raised bent knee. The picture he made gave a relaxed, intimate mood, however it did nothing to ease the knotty state of Sano's guts.

It wasn't like he hadn't ever had a moment alone with the man; this had happened about five times already before. And considering that Shishio wasn't exactly someone who made his flesh creep just by being around him -- not anymore, anyway -- this really should be no different from taking a stroll in the park or something like that.

And yet? -- it still filled him with an acute sense of uneasiness. It was like waiting for his turn in the dental chair, only this felt a myriad times worse, because this could just very well cost him his future, and/or his...life.

Hell, whatever.

Anyhow, in spite of his limbs growing heavy, the taste of his mouth turning putrid, and the need to hit the toilet increasing, Sano made it virtually trouble-free to the sofa. He sat himself with care beside his waiting boss.

"Oh, before anything else, Sanosuke: there's someone I'd like you to meet next week. He's a skillful boxing trainer who had once worked for me; Anji is his name. I believe he may just be the person to help you regain your fierce boxing form -- when you're ready to use that hand again, of course."

"Yeah? That's great." Sano tried to look like he meant his words by flashing a most jovial smile.

Just then --

like a bolt from the blue --

Shishio threw a rapid, solid right hook at him.

'What the?!'

If he hadn't whipped his head back to the side, thanks in a big way to his sharp reflexes, Sano was dead sure Shishio's fist would've gotten him smack in the jaw and smashed that side of his face in two or twenty places. He glared right at the man, seething and almost out of breath from the totally precipitate attack on him.

"Wonderful," Shishio remarked, grinning at the young man, and at the right hand Sano had instinctively formed into a fist. "You still have it in you, as I thought. Ne, Zanza?" And he was quick to give him an easy pat on the knee.

This little gesture, while ambiguous, put Sano back at ease somehow, however that seeming test back there made him feel like a fool.

"Isn't that sash a bit too tight?" suddenly Shishio asked him.

"Oh, this?" Sano started to titter, sliding a hand along his wide obi. "Yeah it is. I'm dying to get outta this outfit, actually."

"Let's make this quick, then, so you can already change." Shishio sat himself up against the sofa arm. "You wanted to discuss something?"

Sano nodded, if not a little too solemnly. He shifted his position on the sofa so he was now almost face to face with Shishio, and then looked him pointblank in the eyes. Shishio was looking him straight up likewise, his pair of shadowed eyes dark, intimidating, enfeebling in their seriousness, and...and... amiability?

Wait a minute now, what the hell shit was this? Shishio was a heartless, evil crime lord, okay, not a kindly, gentle father figure who...

Dammit.

Sano resisted the urge to do at least two decisive things at once right that instant: look away from Shishio, and change his mind about leaving altogether.

Hell no.

This was it. He was going to say his goddamn goodbye, and there was nothing in hell now that could come close to persuading him otherwise. Hence:

"Mr. Shishio," he began, just after swallowing hard. "I want out of the group."

...Now wasn't that easy.

Shishio took a quiet sip of his drink, not taking his eyes off Sano nor coming out with anything in reaction.

At that instant Sano felt like slapping himself in the face. It really was a mistake not to have prepared something for this. His approach, he only figured now, was too blunt, his words sounding like they came from someone who couldn't wait to get the hell away now from the sofa and from the bandaged man that sat there with him. Which wasn't far from the truth, actually, but Sano wasn't really aiming for the impression that this was the easiest thing for him to do. Because, wrong as it was, he wished he didn't really have to break with Shishio and forget everything he'd done for him since he'd had his hand wrecked.

Thus, after a few moments of contemplation Sano got it all together, and decided to fill the absolute quiet with speech that was fair to them both. "Mr. Shishio. You know, I don't think there's anything I can do or say that'd thank you enough for all you've given me 'n shit, for all your help, y'know? To hell with all that negative crap everyone says about you, they're all just prob'ly jealous anyway. You're 'bout the most awesome guy there is and I'd prove it to any dumbfuck out there who says otherwise..."

"...but...?"

Sano paused a little, his mouth hanging unshut. He thought he heard wrong, but Shishio was actually prodding him on to continue -- or at least get to the point finally, which was what Shishio seemed more interested to hear than the grateful words Sano had just spewed out: why Sano was leaving him to begin with.

"...but," the young man continued. He was just getting to the but part anyway. "...But I guess there comes a time when you figure you want some change in your life, 'n stuff, something new y'know, and, and you can't really have it 'til you let go of the things y'got now, like, like my being part o'your group and all? -- but it's not like I don't want you or being with you or anything like that, just, well, I think I'd be better off outta the group."

Although Shishio was all eyes on Sano all the while, there didn't show any readable emotion in his gaze, as if he hadn't heard anything of Sano's expository words.

"Out, you know," Sano persisted, fearing Shishio didn't get the idea, "as in out completely? For good?"

"Aa," Shishio stated, his raspy voice clear as a bell. "I know what you were trying to say. Just give me a moment to let it all sink in." Then, he smiled at Sano.

Or at least, his lips did. They were curved upward in the corners, only his eyes remained the same.

Quietly, Sano watched Shishio down his remaining bourbon. He had to wince, though, when Shishio took the ice cube into his mouth, and swallowed it up whole as well, that Sano half-anticipated him to choke. But Shishio didn't choke, of course.

Instead, he calmly placed his emptied glass down on the sidetable, and turned right back to the anxious Sano with a couple of probing questions: "What are you going to do about your financial situation? How do you plan on supporting yourself?"

"W'll," Sano nodded as he spoke, more times than was probably necessary, "I'll get me a job, eventually. I got enough saved up for now anyway."

"I see. You do realize you'll have to move out of the apartment?"

"Uh-huh, sure. I'm movin' out of town, actually."

"Oh? Where do you intend to live, then?"

"Kyoto."

"Why there?"

The young man took a rash moment to come up with a lie: "I like the scenery." A half-lie, anyway; he did love the view from that little balcony.

Shishio's lips curled up anew in a smile, and this time Sano saw some mysterious sort of amusement in his eyes. "I see no reason for you to leave the group."

"What d'you mean?" Sano demanded, keeping his growly voice in check.

"I have more than a hundred people in my organization who live in various parts of the world, Sanosuke. Distance has never been reason for them to rend ties with me."

"But, but this isn't just about moving to Kyoto, Mr. Shishio."

"Hence would you mind telling me just what, exactly, is this leaving business of yours all about?"

In the end Sano supposed he ought to be just out with it finally, so he didn't bother anymore to conceive another lie. Neither did he hesitate to declare: "Love."

Shishio went utterly still for a good many seconds, and when he neither moved nor spoke yet in a good many more seconds, Sano felt compelled to make his point further:

"I met this really great and, and amazing man, Mr. Shishio, and, I dunno, I'm just too hard on for him I guess -- anyway my point is, he's willing to give me a good decent life, you know, something I've always wanted? He's got a little house down in Kyoto that's real nice and, 'n decent. I wanna grow old in that house with him, Mr. Shishio, that's all that means to me right now. But I can't do it if I stay with you. It's true. He's a selfish prick and wants me all for himself, so..." Sano hushed himself up before he could reveal anything more. He'd made his point enough, anyway.

Shishio scratched briefly at the side of his head, at the few short locks of his black hair that stuck out from under his bandages. "That's still no reason."

This so dumbfounded Sano he couldn't even get himself to yell The fuck?! like he wanted to.

"There are far more essential things in this world than love, Sanosuke," Shishio asserted.

Sano stared frowning at him. "I can't think of one," he asserted in return.

"Of course you can't. Love is all you know as of yet."

"I'm not sure that's so bad."

"Tell me how long have you known this man, this selfish prick as you call him."

"Uh, just under two weeks now."

"That short, and you say you already love him?"

"Yes."

"I'll be..." It was an extremely soft, low sound, but Sano couldn't be mistaken that was a sigh he just caught from the man. "I can't do anything to change your mind, now can I, boy?"

Unless his ears were just making an easy sucker of him, Sano was pretty sure Shishio sounded a lot like he was finally surrendering. "So, uh, do you think you'll let me go?" he hopefully asked.

"Yes, I'll let you go. On one condition."

Sano practically felt his knees shudder. Inwardly he winced. 'Please not sex,' his mind chanted.

"Kill Mifune for me."

When Sano finally found it in himself to speak, after a straight one minute of stunned silence, he couldn't hold back the incredulity in his voice. "That's the condition?"

"Yes. You kill Mifune and you're free. You don't kill him, then you stay."

That simple.

Sano was itching to yell, 'Kill?! You want me to fucking murder someone?! What kind of a sick fucking joke is that, you mummy freak?!' but he could only stare disapproving/grimacing/itching to puke at the bandaged-up figure before him.

Kill.

How grossly naïve he'd been to think Shishio didn't do that kind of shit. Fuck. Saitou'd probably been right in calling him a rotten bastard all along.

"How...how can you expect me to kill someone...just like that?"

Shishio appeared to shrug. "You've done it with Ozeki."

"But, but that was, different, and I, I didn't really... You know I can't do something like that, Mr. Shishio."

"Then are you saying you'll stay?"

"No way, goddamit," Sano cried, but shut his mouth abruptly before he could forget himself altogether. Shishio didn't seem bothered nonetheless. "Why can't you just let me go, Mr. Shishio?" Sano then asked in his earnest voice. "Why do I gotta do that shit first?"

A frown gathered slowly under Shishio's bandaged brow. "My boy, if I was so opposed to cede to your plea, I could have assured you I'm going to kill you the minute you leave."

A pause. "W'll, y-yeah," Sano stammered, "but, still..."

"I don't force myself on people," Shishio maintained, "I don't get anything out of that. If they don't want me, very well, I won't bother. However, I've already invested a lot on you, Sanosuke. Financially, yes, but emotionally more so. You don't know how I long to witness both you and Soujiro become full-fledged adults under my care. If I am to grant the favor you ask of me then I'd like you to at least do something for me in exchange, so I could say to myself it was all worth it. You say you're grateful for all I've done for you -- then prove it and do as I say. If you truly want to leave us, then kill Mifune, and with all my heart I'll let you go."

"...But why should I kill? Why Mifune anyway, was that just, like, random?"

"If you must know, Mifune's a terribly stupid bastard. He thinks the reason I've reforged ties with him is I want us to be partners in business again. He thinks I never did find out he was behind that attempt on my life five years ago. A stupid fucker, that Mifune. He shouldn't have come back here if he were any bright. I can easily have him killed if I truly wish to, but now that you're doing this to us I'm afraid you leave me with no choice..."

Sano could barely listen straight anymore. His heart was thumping so loud in his ears he could probably lose his hearing any moment.

Continued Shishio, "...we're fortunate, in any case: Houji's informed me that Mifune had asked for a private session with you on Wednesday. That's four days from now. He's going back abroad shortly, so that might perhaps be your only chance. I would advise you to ask Soujiro how to go about it."

Helplessly, Sano watched Shishio turn to the sidetable to pour himself another half-glass of bourbon. When Shishio turned to look back at him momentarily, there was a fairly pleased smile on his face. If it was meant to offer support or reassurance, Sano felt nothing at all from it.

He'd be damned if he still felt anything at this point.

"I think I'll be going now, Mr. Shishio," he hastily said.

"Come here." With a nod, Shishio motioned for him to move closer. Without fervor Sano obliged, leaning forward as the man cupped his head in his hands. Then, Shishio himself leaned forward, and placed a kiss just below the headband across Sano's forehead. "I know you'll do it for me."

Sano shut his eyes hard, taking a deep, deep breath. The kiss seemed to burn a hole right through his skull.

+

The coffee table was a colorful collage of photographs now before Saitou. Surveillance photos, all of them, shots of Takatori taken in several different occasions -- some of them public, most of them covert.

From among the thirty or so photos documenting some wedding Takatori had attended last month, Saitou picked six and lined them up for a more thorough scrutiny. Then, he reached for his red marker pen that had rolled off to the floor, took one of the six chosen photos, and drew a neat circle around these two men in the crowd that stood nearby Takatori.

+

The hallway seemed to never end.

Well, it was that or Sanosuke just wasn't getting anywhere with his sluggish walking. Either way, he was too distracted to move further. Thus he stopped dead in his tracks there along the dim hallway, and leaned himself back weakly against the cream-colored wall, his arms hanging at his sides, palms touching the wall.

It had only been a few minutes since he'd parted company with Shishio, and yet it felt like it'd been forever that he'd been pondering Shishio's words.

Kill Mifune for me...

Kill...

Mifune...

For Me...

...And I'll let you go.

...

I know you'll do it for me.

Sano's troubled face broke into a scowl.

No.

If Sano would indeed kill Mifune, he wouldn't kill him for Shishio. He'd do it for Saitou.

Because he had promised Saitou he'd leave Shishio, and he would do anything he had to -- even to kill a person -- to fulfill that promise to him.

That simple.

He would kill Mifune. Leave Shishio. And go with Saitou. Then everything would be all right...

"The fuck it has to," he muttered to himself. "It has to be alright..."

At that moment, all suddenly, Sano thought he felt a slight chill in the air.

Before he could try and tell where it could've come from, just then there was the guy with the long orange hair and green eyes, approaching him quietly from one end of the hallway.

Him again.

Sano's first thought was to walk away. He wasn't really in the mood right now to shit around with anyone, much less that particular dickhead; with any luck Schuldig would take the hint.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Schuldig spoke to him in an eerily singsong voice.

Sano's form bristled up against the wall. With gradually narrowing eyes, he stared at Schuldig who now stood in front of him, close enough for Sano to see how a few strands of his orange hair peeped out coyly from under his bandanna. "Nice girl?" he snarled.

Schuldig shook his head briefly, a tight little simper pinching his lips. "No, no. If I was referring to you I'd've said 'nice boy.' I was talking about the movie."

"Movie?"

"Yeah. 'What's a Nice Girl Like You Doing in a Place Like This?' Ever seen that one?"

"What?? What the hell's that gotta do with anything? -- and what're you doin' here anyway, you can't just come up'ere and cruise around like you own this place!"

"Oh? Why not?" Another voice, deep and cool. Before Sano knew it there was the tall, black-haired man with the glasses, Crawford, approaching from where Schuldig came, and just as quietly as Schuldig did. He smirked at Sano right as he stood next to his partner. "Do you own this place?"

The two men shared a soft little laugh.

It sounded pretty taunting, and would've inflamed Sano no doubt, if only he hadn't taken that moment to notice Crawford's eyes fully for the first time. Behind those thin glasses, his eyes were golden in color, just like Saitou's, only duller and less fearful, though they seemed to pierce through anything they encountered.

From this close Schuldig's eyes, on the other hand, were a jewel shade of green that danced flirtingly before Sano's own eyes. By this time Sano was inclined to believe those eyes were designed just to sicken him.

Also he noticed how tall they actually were. Even with Sano now straight up against the wall, they were still taller an inch or so than him. And this pissed him off for some reason.

What the hell really were these two doing here, anyway?

Schuldig now crossed his arms before him and, in a flat voice, told Sano, "I should commend you, kiddo. That was such a, a moving performance back at the hotel. Did you know there wasn't a dry crotch in the audience?"

Sano frowned in distaste. "That's just classy."

"Thank you."

"I was being sarcastic."

"No, I mean thank you for that performance." Schuldig grinned, nodding, "I would definitely pay to see you pose again."

"Yeah, well too bad for ya," Sano snorted, "'cos I quit just now."

"Aw, that's sad to hear. How come?"

Sharply, "None o'your fucking business!"

"Heh, it's probably not. Unless it concerns Uncle Mifune?"

Sano grimaced. "Mifune?"

"Yeah, our boss. We're his bodyguards."

"I know that."

"Good, so you know we're hired to protect him by all means." Schuldig tilted his head to the side. "If we're to do our job, we're not to let anyone touch him, of course."

With gradually widening eyes, "What're you talking about?" Sano demanded, unsure if he really wanted to hear the answer. How was it that Schuldig was speaking this shit with him, as if...as if he was warning him or something?...as if he knew, for a fact, what Sano was planning to do anyway with their boss?...

"Don't worry." Crawford shook his head lightly at Sano, chuckling for a moment. "You don't need to take him too seriously. He's just kidding with you."

Sano had a good idea by now where that slight chill a little while back had come from, because he was starting to feel it once again. It was these two men. As much as he thought it perplexing, these two just seemed to make him feel like wrapping his arms around himself now real tight.

Moreover, one thing was becoming even more indisputable to him: he truly didn't know anything about these two at all.

"Who the fuck are you?" Sano dared to question, staring into dark gold eyes and bright green eyes back and forth. "What do you want from me?!"

Schuldig raised his hand to touch one end of the headband that fell down Sano's shoulder, and rubbed it easefully between the tips of his thumb and fore and middle fingers. Sano cussed himself for being too slow to turn away.

"It wouldn't do to scare the boy, Schuldig."

"You dicks don't scare me!" Sano gamely defied Crawford.

As if amused, the two taller, older men laughed softly once more at him.

"May I ask what is so amusing?"

Right as he heard the familiar voice Sano turned to his right, and was immediately brought to ease by the sight of Soujiro drawing near.

Together, Crawford and Schuldig looked at him with distance.

"I'm going to my room," the younger boy informed Sano, as he made his way calmly behind the two men. "Want to come?"

"Sure." And quite immediately Sano took the pale little hand offered him.

Soujiro smiled up at the bodyguard duo as he and Sano began to walk away. "Good night, gentlemen." He even bowed.

Meanwhile, Sano found it a hell of an effort for him not to glance back.

And then, after a few steps, just as he shut his eyes and thought he felt himself shiver for no reason, Sano suddenly saw an image of himself flash before him: he was naked, sprawled out on a bed of immaculate white sheets. He saw orange hair.

"Meeooow."

Schuldig.

At once he looked over his shoulder, only to find that end of the dim, long hallway now completely deserted.

+

"I'll just tell you 'bout it tomorrow, okay?"

"You haven't answered my question." Saitou frowned hard. "Are you out?"

"Not yet."

"Why not yet?"

"I will be though. Look, I said I'll tell you everything, ol' man! Just lemme get some sleep now and I'll see ya tomorrow. Bye, I love you."

And Sanosuke hung up.

... Not yet?

Well. It seemed like things hadn't gone according to plan after all, as Saitou had feared.

In any event, this was unacceptable. He would go see Sano first thing in the morning, and the boy had better have an exceptionally good explanation for all of this, or else Saitou might just be compelled to take care of Shishio himself.

"That goddamned bastard," he scowled, finally pushing the off button on his phone.

After appeasing himself with a few deep breaths, and taking a hard sip of his hot coffee, Saitou decided he wasn't ready to go to bed yet. Thus, he sat himself back comfortably in his couch, and turned back to the photograph he was studying just before Sano had called.

Once again, he stared hard at the two men in the crowd that he had marked in a red circle.

The two foreign-looking men, one of them with short black hair and the other with long orange hair, were, apparently... looking straight at the supposedly far-hidden lens of the camera.

And they weren't just looking, too. They were grinning -- smirking, as it were. They were smirking right at the surveillance camera.

Not only did this show they were aware of the police taking furtive shots of them; they were bold and unafraid in the least, too.

Slowly Saitou rubbed his furrowed brow. Takatori seemed to have bodyguards more dangerous than he.

6.

"You're Detective Saitou Hajime. Did I get that right?"

"Aa."

"That was completely unnecessary of you, forcing your way through my men."

"I suppose I should have asked nicely?"

"You could have tried."

"Perhaps next time then."

"...Well, now that you're here, would you care to explain why you've insisted upon speaking to me personally."

"I'm here to ask you to let Sanosuke go."

"Let him go? You've taken all this trouble just to tell me that?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm afraid you've only wasted your time. Not to mention you're wasting my time as well. Now if you could --"

"You don't own the boy. I can't allow you to use him anymore."

"You are too presumptuous of your place, Detective. Who are you to tell me all this? I don't even know you."

"You don't want to know me, I can assure you that. Not all of us can be your...friends."

"Is that supposed to intimidate me?"

"Perhaps. I'm not inclined to waste any more of our time, Shishio. I'm not going to repeat my demand."

"Hardy man. Go ahead and threaten me all you want, but know this: I don't let go of someone unless I don't want him anymore."

"Or he doesn't want you anymore."

"Oh, so you think that's how it is with Sanosuke. Very well, then. I will only let the boy go if he himself asks to be let go."

"...You know he wouldn't do that."

"Which brings us precisely to my point, Detective..."

+

There were times when Saitou felt like he didn't care one bit about the outside world. Making love to Sanosuke was one of those times. Probably all of those times, even. He could just go on thinking all he wanted to do in his life was have Sano lie wantonly arched up beneath him, to devote every infinitesimal piece of his energy and strength to thrusting his cock into the hottest, deepest hub of Sano's body like it was the one single thing required of him to survive, to exist. To be.

...yes. Apparently, times when he felt like a fucking romantic, for God's sake, like a schoolgirl high with the euphoria of first love.

He'd scoff at himself, of course...only he lacked the facility to deny how true it probably was.

"Nhaanmnnh... Saiiitooouuu..."

Saitou grew even harder than he already was, though it wasn't so much brought about by the guilelessly licentious way Sano called out his name in a moan, or the ruthlessly sensuous way Sano lay pressing his hips up at him in the radiance of the early afternoon sun -- with his hands above his head clutching the edge of the white-sheeted mattress and his long legs flexed out wide in flagrant submission -- as it was by the look of affection and devotion and passion all over Sano's face, letting him know it was perfectly fine by the boy if Saitou felt like fucking him relentlessly enough to break his body in half.

He leaned forward then and slid his hands up to grip the backs of Sano's knees, and as he pushed his cock more forcefully inside his young lover he wondered if there was the same look of affection and devotion and passion all over his own face right now, too, if Sano could see how he couldn't wait to take him down to Kyoto already and live with him like husband and wife. ...so to speak.

"God, Saitou. You should...look...at yourself...right now... see yourself fuck. You...you got the most beautiful scowl... fuck."

... He was scowling?

All of a sudden then there was Sano's come right in his squeezing grasp, a thick surge of fluid too hot that it was almost scalding his hand. He regretted, if only for a moment, that it wasn't his mouth getting almost scalded instead.

All the same, his own climax now drawing nearer, Saitou gave it all with his few final thrusts, pounding himself too fast and too hard against Sano that when it was all over he thought he'd gone numb from all the exertion.

Even as he'd spilled everything into the boy now, and sensed exhaustion setting in with a rush, he could feel as though he was still...hard. He was damned beat and fatigued, yet he felt seemingly determined still to fuck this damned fuckably tight ass, especially as Sano lay there with his tawny skin glowing in sweat and every fleshy part of him smelling strongly of raw, wild lust. And as though he was even seducing him for a second consecutive fuck all right, Sano, his eyes closed and his head tossed back to the side, rubbed one hand across his slick flat belly, and the other along the smooth, exposed inside of his thigh.

"Stop that."

Deep brown eyes drifted open. "Whajassay, ol' man?" Sano drawled.

"I've got my breath to catch."

In haste, Saitou drew himself out of Sano's wet clinch of muscle and slumped back against the pillows at the head of the bed, trying to catch his breath now alright.

Sano let out a full laugh, a laugh of a robust young man who could probably spend the entire afternoon just having sex and not die.

Shortly thereafter, the boy rolled over onto his stomach. He pushed himself up beside Saitou until he could place the damp side of his head against the man's chest, and for some couple of moments he just lay there listening to the pounding, racing beat of Saitou's heart. "You're gonna live," Sano then stated, and cracked a broad, slack grin up at him. "I'm thirsty, think I'm gonna go get me beer. Y'want some?"

Saitou's only response was a mute nod. He was still a little breathless, but at least his cock had started to soften all the way now.

With a heave Sano dragged himself off his sizable bed, kicking away the snarl of sheets around his ankles. He picked up a cast-about t-shirt of his from the floor and wiped himself with it between the legs, back and front. Then he tossed the same t-shirt over to Saitou, who decided to use it to himself clean his sticky-wet crotch.

Not bothering to pull on some clothes first (Katsu was out of the apartment, anyway), Sano then made to go get them some beer. Saitou watched Sano's smooth, lean figure wend its way out of the bedroom, until his cellphone rang and jolted him right out of his quiet engrossment. Promptly he reached for his trench coat he had hung onto the nearby chair, and pulled the thin black phone out of its right pocket. The unsaved number on the screen indicated the caller to be one of his chief informants.

"Yeah," he answered the call. He sat back with more ease against the pillows, stretching his long bare legs out before him.

"I've got 'em," his informant relayed.

"What did you find out."

"Bodyguard A is Bradley Crawford, 28. American."

"Really." Saitou slightly frowned. "Doesn't look like one. Bodyguard B?"

"Goes by the name of Schuldig. 22 years old, and believed to be German."

"Since when have they been under Takatori?"

"I wouldn't precisely call it being under the guy. They've been with him for almost a year running now."

"And how long have they been in the country?"

"I don't have an exact figure, as yet."

"I see." The man cast a thoughtful look at the wide naked window.

"Oh and it's confirmed: the prime minister is attending the sumo matches today. Your targets should all be there, too."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We've already reserved you a ticket -- there's two, actually, so bring a friend along if you like."

"What time do the matches start?"

"Earlier than usual, it's the last day of the tournament. The higher level matches will probably start about a half hour before four."

Saitou glanced at the digital clock on the computer table. 1:49 p.

"I'll be in a red and black baseball cap."

"Alright." About that point Saitou caught the sound of Sano's approaching footsteps. He turned to watch the boy shamble on back over to the bed, guzzling down a can of beer and toting three more of them in a six-pack. "Be there early," he told his informant.

"Roger."

"Make sure to bring everything." And then Saitou ended the call, flipping shut his little cellphone.

"Who was that?" Sano asked, handing him a chilled can as he settled himself comfortably, cross-legged, before Saitou.

"My informant. I'm meeting him later at the Kokugikan stadium."

"That one where they hold sumo?"

"Yes."

Sano's face positively glowed. "Hey can I come with ya?"

Saitou ripped off the tab of his beer can. "I don't see why not," he replied with a small shrug, before proceeding to take his first swig.

"Cool. I'll get ta see live that shitty new Yokozuna lose, hah!"

"Settle down, alright, we still have time. First...we need to talk." Saitou set his drink down onto his thigh and locked fairly intent eyes onto Sano. Well, he'd bided his time enough since Sano had awoken the whole past hour; he wasn't about to wait another whole hour to finally get all his questions their answers, and all the missing details straight. "Tell me what you and the bastard spoke about. Why aren't you out yet?"

Sano took a slow lick of his beer-moistened lips, apparently just finished with his own drink. "Well," he began, scratching briefly at his nipple, "I'm not supposed to be out 'til after Wednesday."

A frown was quick to form between Saitou's eyebrows. "Why's that?"

"I just found out last night that, that Houji has me for somethin' on Wednesday."

"You mean a posing session?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why didn't you just back out?"

"I'd've asked Houji to cancel it, but, y'know, I couldn't. Once it's scheduled it's final."

"Can't Seta do without you?"

"W'll, it's a solo, actually. 'Sides, Soujiro's leaving for Hakodate tonight, he prob'ly won't be back for a while so he can't really fill in for me or sumthing."

Saitou put his beer down on the bedside table and crossed his stretched-out legs by the ankles, all the while staring pensively at Sano. "So you're saying what he told you was, that you only have to pose on Wednesday, and then you're out."

Sano chucked his crushed can into the litter basket. "Exactly."

Hn.

As much as Saitou felt disposed to believe it was that simple, that easy, he couldn't help sensing something wrong about it somehow. In fact, he couldn't see anything right about the arrangement at all.

However, before any of a hundred-and-one doubts could come infesting his consciousness, Sano thwarted it all with a smile of blaring reassurance, a smile that Saitou couldn't find any reason not to trust. "Just think, man," he sighed. "Three more fucking days and I'm all yours."

... All right then. Saitou took his word for it.

"Well? Don't just sit there frowning at me, you old dick, say something!"

Saitou shrugged, saying nothing much but, "Okay."

"Okay? Just okay?"

"What else should I say?"

"Forget it, hell you just ruined the mood. I was trying to get romantic and all there."

"What, with that 'I'm all yours'?"

"You know what Katsu said to me when I told 'im we were moving to Kyoto? Well he said it's the worst town to live in. Like the weather's constantly bad, the local government's corrupt, and the yakuza has everyone under its thumb. Now I'm thinking, you know, he may be right as hell."

"Ah. If I say something romantic to you now, will you think he's wrong?"

"...Fuck you."

On that note, Sano snagged himself another can and guzzled down its contents without zest. His frown was evidently growing into a tight scowl now, but Saitou saw no more of its completion as the boy weakly shifted himself to the edge of the bed and turned his back to him.

Saitou gazed at Sano's back with no tiny urge to run his hands down its entire length, knead the tattooed flesh on the base of his spine, circle his arms around him to press him tight to himself, and then tilt his head back against his shoulder so he could take his mouth with his own mouth in a violently passionate kiss.

In the end, however, he decided to act on another urge. He spoke his thoughts.

"Three days is too long..." Then he grabbed for his beer again and took a heavy swig. "...But that's fine. You're worth the wait, in any case."

Sano turned momentarily to meet his eyes. Saitou almost gasped. He had never quite seen a smile so divinely bright.

+

When Crawford straightened back up, after shutting the bottom drawer of the dresser, he paused a moment before his reflection in the mirror. It was very brief, and detached, the way his steely amber eyes passed over the nakedness of his toned, lean body, over his swollen red cock that stood at an incline against his abdomen, as though he was looking at something that meant the scarcest interest to him.

"You're such a narcissist, Brad," Schuldig remarked, half of his grin buried in the mattress. "...not that I can blame you."

"I'm not a narcissist," Crawford shot back, sounding grim, but apparently it only made Schuldig grin wider.

Nonetheless, bottle of fragrant oil now in hand, the older man padded his way over to Schuldig on the bed close by.

Schuldig was lying face down on the foot of the bed, his knees and shins spread in position on the floor of wood. His slim, fair body was as stripped of all clothing as Crawford's, and from the way his hips were shifting and wriggling and rubbing against the squeaking mattress, there was probably little doubt as to his sporting an erection, too.

"Come on hurry up, will ya?" he frowned up at Crawford, who meanwhile only continued to move without the slightest hurry. Schuldig folded his arms up before him now, one hand placed on top of the other to prop his bandanna-less forehead.

Upon reaching the younger man, Crawford knelt down right behind him, and began to twist open the bottle cap.

"Does it absolutely have to be this Wednesday, though?" Schuldig asked.

"Not absolutely."

"Good. Then get a later flight."

After pouring a lavish amount of oil in his hand, Crawford put aside the little bottle and proceeded to coat his fingers with the oil. "No," was his delayed answer.

"You are such a fuck."

"We need to get to Hong Kong the soonest possible and get back in time for the next job."

A loud groan came rushing out of Schuldig as Crawford now started to push two of his slickened fingers between the cheeks of his buttocks. "Can I pass on that job, huh?" Schuldig said after a moment. "Sounds boring to me, anyway."

"Nothing ever does sound not boring to you, anyway." It was precise, almost mechanical, the way Crawford worked his fingers to lubricate Schuldig, his eyeglasses catching the rays of the sun as he pushed them further up his nose with his free hand.

"Not if there's a brunet kitten involved."

"That obsession of yours really isn't helping us."

"D'you know how cute you sound when you're jealous?"

"You think I'm jealous." Crawford was swift to pull his fingers out of Schuldig. "Who's the one so full of himself, then?"

Schuldig let out a twitting laugh, but Crawford seemed to pay more mind now to his task at hand. With barely a small moan out of his lips or a trace of a look in his stern features, Crawford moved his slippery hands up, down, up along his twitching cock, before he grasped Schuldig by the hips and started to penetrate him, drawing the younger man to himself rather than pushing into him.

It was long and loud, the immediate cry/moan out of Schuldig.

Setting a fairly slow rhythm, at first, Crawford bent forward to kiss his way up along the side of Schuldig's torso. "Did you miss this?" he asked, brushing his mouth against the spill of orange hair across wiry shoulders.

"Hell yeaaahh." Schuldig punctuated his reply by pushing himself back against Crawford.

In response, Crawford began to shove hard into him. "I missed this, too."

Almost tentatively Schuldig angled his face up from his hands, but not towards the back enough for Crawford to get a glimpse of the strange... earnestness... in his green eyes. "I haven't been sleeping around...recently. FYI."

"Is that right?" Crawford smirked, for only the first time that day. "So what have you been doing out the past few days?"

"Getting rid of everyone I could find I remember having fucked."

"Why."

"Oh, payback."

"For what."

"Well... I've been feeling this pain lately everytime I'm having a piss."

The muscles in Crawford's face appeared to harden, but not for one second did he stop his thrusting. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner."

"Thought you'd eventually find out for yourself."

"That isn't the point. Any fool could foresee you'd get sick sooner or later."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You've been hiding this from me."

"You got nothin' to worry, hey, I'm being a good boy and taking some medication."

"What kind?"

"You know, shit and stuff, antibiotics. Heh, you shouldn't be too concerned, anyway, you're too damn careful to catch anything from me."

"Of course I am."

"Then there's no fucking problem, is there?"

"You'd better make sure that doesn't worsen. I can't afford that fucking disease hampering us on the coming jobs."

"...I'd never let that happen."

For the next several moments there was only the squeaking of bedsprings heard throughout the room, as neither of the two men -- one of them frowning, the other gnashing -- uttered anything at all the whole while through that Crawford continued to ram himself against Schuldig.

Until, suddenly, Schuldig began to raise his hips from the mattress, pushing himself back forcefully against the man that was fucking him. "Get off me," he growled, before fully shoving themselves back away from the bed and right down to the floor.

"Shit." Crawford gritted his teeth, just managing to brace an arm against the wall behind him.

The next instant, they had disentangled themselves from each other. Schuldig attempted a swing at Crawford the instant they got to their feet, and it would've hit Crawford flush in the jaw, too, if only he hadn't the quicker reflex to dodge it. He tried to grab at Schuldig's shoulder in retaliation, but Schuldig was quicker himself to yank it away from his reach.

What followed next was a tumultous exchange that stretched into a good three or four minutes, a frustrating scuffle where each blow released (mostly by Schuldig) was parried, and every kick thrown (also mostly by Schuldig), averted. It could have probably gone on in perpetuity, were it not for the sharp, sudden ring of a cellphone.

"Fuck you you selfish fuck I hope you get this fucking disease yourself!!"

The cellphone rang sharply a second time.

In an effort to get him out of his way, apparently, Crawford pushed -- actually, threw -- the snarling Schuldig to the wall. Then, as though he hadn't engaged in some fisticuffs just now, and with his eyeglasses still neatly in place, the man went over, coolly, to the small desk, and picked up one of the three shiny cellphones lined up on the oaken top.

Right as Crawford pushed the button to receive the call, Schuldig, slumped down on the floor, reached out for the boombox that sat just by his feet and turned on the radio at full shrieking volume. In an instant the entire room, the entire house for that matter, was filled with the guitar-heavy racket of an old glam rock song.

"YOU KNOW YOU'RE CRAZY,
CRAZEHHH...
YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY...
OH YE-AH..."

From across the room Crawford hastened to turn off the noise, as the now-snickering Schuldig meanwhile crawled his way calmly back to the bed.

"I'm sorry about that," Crawford said promptly to the phone, his voice acutely controlled. He turned to the side away from Schuldig and listened quietly to whoever was on the line.

Up sitting on the bed now, Schuldig pulled open the nightstand drawer and took out a hand mirror. With a rub of his fist he cleaned the cloudy marks that had gathered, gazing into the mirror studying the red, inch-long line across the side of his neck, just below the jaw. "Fuck," he scowled.

It was a couple of seconds later when Crawford got off the phone. "Get dressed, we're going to the sumo stadium."

Schuldig said nothing, only continued to scowl at his gash.

Just before he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, Crawford announced, "Your brunet kitten will be there."

Schuldig saw the face in the mirror grin wide.

+

It only barely surprised Sanosuke that every seat in the stadium was taken. Besides it being a Sunday, and the last day of the Grand Autumn Tournament at that, everyone was hoping to see the new, foreign-born Yokozuna Gaijin lose to the championship against his closest rival, the veteran, local boy Yokozuna Honda. As a matter of fact, even the prime minister, up there at the Emperor's Box due north of the stadium, was on hand to cheer proudly for his countryman. Of course, that he was there to officially award the Cup was only at most trivial.

From his choice seat in the upper levels, Sano took the time to observe the presence of politicians in the VIP crowd, just two rows away to the right. There were a good several of them that he found, at least four he could remember having seen once or twice in countless tea parties at Shishio's. Somehow, their being there as spectators seemed to take the fun out of the spectacle of sumo itself for him.

Or maybe it was just because one of them there was giving him the eye, looking at him in a way he didn't approve. Hmm...if he had posed for that pervert at any time, Sano had no great desire to recall.

In reflex, he drew the zipper of his white cardigan vest all the way up to the collar, and crossed his bare arms tightly over his chest. To his displeasure, Mr. Politician even grinned right at him, in a way that suited him none too well either. ...Shit, maybe he had posed for that pervert before, after all.

Frowning, he turned beside him to Saitou, who was himself quietly regarding another part of the crowd. He had his chin propped on the knuckles of his left hand, his right hand clutching his right knee. Sano stared at his lover with a heavily contained urge to weave his fingers through his smooth black hair, and kiss the flesh on that side of his neck just above his shirt collar. Notwithstanding the scene he might make, Sano would've damned his sense of shame to hell and followed his urge right there and then, too, if only Saitou weren't the kind of man who might throttle him for it.

"What." Saitou was now staring him back with a mildly inquiring look.

Sano flashed him a smile, rubbing a finger lightly against the long sleeve of the man's shirt. "I love how you look in that shirt."

As if suddenly conscious that he looked good in it, Saitou pressed his hand down the buttoned-up front of his pale blue shirt and straightened up further in his seat, but said nothing to Sano in return.

Smiling wider, the young man propped his own chin on the knuckles of his hand and focused attention to the dohyo ring finally, just in time to see the wrestler in the green mawashi cloth tumbling down into the audience. He howled in laughter.

"Sorry," he then hiccuped, as Saitou looked sideways at him with a frown. "I just really love watching these guys, y'know?"

Saitou only grunted, crossed his arms before him.

Meanwhile Sano spent the couple-minute lull before the next match looking about them once again. "Any sign of your contact yet?" he asked Saitou, who shook his head.

"He's late. Anyway, I've already found my targets."

"Yeah? Where?"

"There's one right there, Takatori." With a nod, Saitou gestured at one part of the audience. "Big man, with the mustache."

Sano turned to take a look, but before he had the chance to spot Takatori -- whoever in hell he was, anyway -- among the crowd, a familiar-looking man with a bushy goatee caught his eye. What the hell...? Almost immediately he felt his stomach turn.

Mifune.

The man had a look of glee on his face as he watched the match now in progress, apparently enjoying the clash of jiggling cellulite. For one dark moment Sano pictured how Mifune might look when he... when he...

His thoughts turned his stomach all the worse.

"-- Saitou, I gotta go to the bathroom."

"Right now?"

"Yeah. I'll be right b --"

And Sano was out of his seat flying.

3-4. 7-8.