Squall Leonhart stood silently near the center of the room, staring intently at the large monitor set in the wall before him. The images on the screen were constantly changing. Seemingly random bits of video and film were clipped together, forming an endless montage centered around one person – Delgadia Garou. Seed had been watching the man for months – ever since they’d first gotten word from one of Garou’s former allies that Garou was planning an attack on the Garden. Unfortunately they didn’t know how or even when. Their informant had been murdered within minutes of informing Seed. The raid on Delgadia’s headquarters had turned up nothing, he’d left his family behind and disappeared underground along with dozens of supporters.

Garden staff and a few select members of Seed filtered in and out of the room, creating a faint buzz of motion around Squall that was completely ignored. He’d been like this for days, so intent on learning Delgadia’s plan that he’d spent every waking hour pouring over every scrap of information Had he been listening he would have noticed that some of the conversation was about him and his obsession with the video.

One of the room’s many doors slid open with a sigh, allowing a confidant blonde to stalk into the room, white coattails fanning out behind him like a banner. His eyes scanned the room quickly, taking in every detail before ignoring everything to concentrate on one person. The echo of Seifer’s boots died as he stopped abruptly in the center of the room, scant inches away from the Garden’s Commander.

“Come on.”

Out of all the voices in the room, only one penetrated through Squall’s intent concentration. His eyes pulled away from the screen slowly, visibly forcing himself to turn away.

“What?” There was annoyance in the Commander’s voice but that was commonplace even on a good day. The fatigue Seifer heard there wasn’t common, nor the slight undercurrent of worry.

“You need sleep.” On another day Seifer might have simply demanded Squall come with him at that very moment. Neither of them was in the mood for a fight, at least not with each other.

Squall turned back to the screen. “I’m fine.”

Seifer knew better than to go head-to-head against Squall in terms of stubbornness. Thankfully he had more than one manner of persuasion at his disposal.

“Just a few hours,” Seifer said slowly. “You’re tired. Your eyes are tired. Take a break for a little bit. Rest your eyes.”

There was little Squall could hide from him. He glanced away from the screen for a quick second. Squall was considering it – he wanted to, knew he needed to, but he couldn’t let himself rest when the Garden was in danger.

Seifer wasn’t above playing dirty. “If you keep it up you’re going to miss something.” Seifer spoke very carefully. He kept his voice emotionless, no incrimination, no pity. Just pure logic to appeal to Squall’s rational side. “Just a short break and a quick nap to clear your head, make you nice and sharp for when you get back.”

Squall wanted to argue with him. He wanted to rage and say that he wasn’t weak, that he didn’t need to stop. Thankfully Squall had never been one to let his emotions rule him. He shifted sideways slightly, finally looking away from the screen and running an hand through his messy hair.

“Fine.”

Seifer allowed himself a small smile of triumph. He linked his arm in Squall and turned to escort the Commander back to their shared rooms.

Squall froze. “Wait.” The brunette turned back, one hand resting on Seifer’s arm as if forgotten.

Pulling completely away, Squall took two steps towards the screen.

“Go back.”

The techs littering the sides of the rooms jumped into action. The video footage scrolled backwards across the screen.

“Stop.”

On screen, Delgadia was talking to a small group of his men. A tiny boy clung to the terrorist’s hand.

“There.” Squall stalked towards the screen with renewed energy.

Seifer couldn’t see what the fuss was. “What?”

“There.” Squall pointed at the boy’s hand. Not the one holding onto Delgadia but the one clutching a tiny toy. “Damn.”

“We still have the kid’s stuff right?”

A short female in uniform stepped up, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield. “Yes, sir, Commander. It’s in storage.”

Squall’s eyes turned to Seifer. “Get it,” he ordered. “I want to know what the furby heard.”

Seifer had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well, but he complied anyways. “Alright. As long as you take a short rest.”

Squall opened his mouth to protest. Their eyes locked across the room. The corner of Seifer’s mouth quirked down in a frown. He crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow.

Squall’s mouth shut with a click. “Fine. Go.”

Seifer turned away with a strong feeling of victory.

Seifer barely resisted the urge to start swearing. His first impression was right. This wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it’d be.

How the hell was he supposed to interrogate a toy?

The tiny stuffed… thing stood on the coffee table in front of him, pink fur sticking up in haphazard clumps. He’d been trying for almost an hour to get real words out of the thing but all he’d gotten was that strange cooing language.

At his wits end, Seifer had started flipping through the manual, at a loss for other ideas. He couldn’t threaten the toy with violence, much as he’d love to hack at the thing with his gunblade right now, and every question he could think to ask kept getting him nonsense in response.

“Wee…” Seifer glared at the toy. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

“Wee-tah.” He kept his voice low, barely above a whisper. Squall was sleeping in the other room and there was no way he was going to let Squall hear him reading from the toy’s manual. “Wee-tah-kah-wee-loo.” That was the only thing in the phrases they gave that seemed like it might be even remotely useful.

“Kah-may-may-u-nye,” the toy responded. It said that a lot.

“What?”

“Kah-may-may-u-nye!”

Seifer frowned and flipped through the manual to check for a translation. Maybe if he dealt with this thing in its own language. What had it said? Kay-mah?

“Say that again,” Seifer told the toy.

“Kah-may-may-u-nye.”

Seifer found the phrase on the third page and swore. ‘I love you’ indeed.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Seifer looked up with a mix of embarrassment and guilt. Squall stood in the doorway to the bedroom, staring aghast at Seifer and the furby.

Seifer frowned. “I’m trying to interrogate this bloody toy like you told me to. These things are impossible to get information out of.”

The expression on Squall’s face darkened as he stomped across the room. Part of Seifer felt a bit guilty that he hadn’t managed to get the information they needed. That part was overshadowed by the much larger part that wanted to smash the stupid toy into tiny little bits.

Squall grabbed the toy off the table without a word. With his other hand he reached into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. The knife snapped open with a solid click and Seifer’s jaw dropped as Squall viciously stabbed the toy in the back. The blade cut down the furby’s back, little bits of stuffing appearing around the newly formed opening. Squall flicked the knife closed with one hand before reaching inside the furby and removing a small, square microchip.

“I meant for you to have one of the techs analyze the memory chip,” Squall bit out.

The gutted toy hit Seifer square in the chest as Squall stormed out of the room, furious. Seifer’s gaze slowly fell to his lap where stuffing and tiny gears spilled from the toy like blood.

“Oh.”

Squall wiped blood from his face and glared at his opponent. “Bastard.”

Seifer glared back, his face equally bloodstained. There was no guilt on the blonde’s face, only smug self-assurance. “I won.” The cocky grin on Seifer’s face made Squall want to start their fight all over again, just because he knew he could seriously kick Seifer’s ass with how pissed he currently was.

“You cheated,” Squall protested. He pressed his coat sleeve against his forehead in hopes that the bleeding would stop.

A hand not his own appeared in front of his face. For a brief moment Squall considered chopping it off with his gunblade. Instead he moved his hand away from the bleeding cut across his forehead and let Seifer pull him to his feet. He could have stood on his own. Seifer knew that, and knew not to even try to make any comments about Squall being too weak to stand. Weakness had nothing to do with the proffered hand.

“I did not cheat.”

The rain was getting stronger, not thick enough soak through Squall’s leather coat but enough that he was starting to feel the chill. His pants clung tightly to his legs, squeaking faintly as he moved.

Squall was the first to start away from the rocky plain. Seifer followed, walking as if he just happened to be going the same direction as the man he’d been dueling less than five minutes ago.

“You used a prohibited spell,” Squall pointed out.

Seifer responded with an undignified snort. “Like you don’t have a couple Thundaga tucked away for emergency. Only difference is I actually had the balls to use it.”

Squall chose to ignore the insult for the moment. He couldn’t really argue with Seifer on that point. He did have a dozen Thundaga spells, as well as a few others he shouldn’t hidden away in a chest in his room.

He shifted the argument away from the illegal spell use. “You didn’t have to cut me. I was already down.” Squall pressed cold fingers to his forehead. It was hard to tell with the water running down his head whether he was still bleeding or not. The skin felt tacky. It was too dark to tell if there was blood on his fingers.

“You cut me too.” He hadn’t meant to. He’d been furious when Seifer’s blade sliced across his face.

“Weren’t you the one that said no face shots?” Squall pointed out. They were lucky neither of them were seriously injured. A few centimeters to either side and they could have been blinded permanently.

“Oops.”

That was about as close to an apology as Squall would ever get. The Garden shone softly in front of them, forcing them both into silence. Squall stepped into the Garden with relief. It was enough just to finally get out of the rain, even if Seifer was still following him.

“This way.” Seifer tugged on his sleeve as Squall started to head off to his own room. The blonde started down an opposite corridor. Despite his better judgment, Squall followed.

“Why?” Seifer knew what he was asking.

“Your roommate’s nosy.”

Squall shrugged, as close to agreeing as he would come. He wasn’t sure what Zell would do if he ever walked in to find Seifer Almasy in Squall’s room. Probably call security. Raijin, at least, they knew was discrete, even if the dark-skinned man shook his head every time he found Squall in Seifer’s rooms.

The doors to Seifer’s room slid shut behind them and Squall felt briefly annoyed at the feeling of relaxation that swept over him as soon as they were alone. Raijin was gone, somewhere. He tended to disappear a lot. Squall never complained.

“You really are a bastard, you know?” Squall lightly touched his forehead. The rain had washed off most of the blood. His fingers came away clean.

Seifer ignored him and walked into the bathroom.

“Here.”

Squall easily caught the thin tube, squeezing out a small amount of ointment before tossing the tube back. He applied the ointment by feel, more worried about protecting the wound from possible infection than what it might do to his appearance.

“I may be a bastard,” Seifer started as he emerged from the bathroom a second time, “but you like it when I am.”

Squall glared. “I do not.”

The grin spread across Seifer’s face should have been his first warning. Seifer stepped close, one hand going around Squall’s waist while the other settled quite firmly over the front of his pants and squeezed.

“This part says you do.”

Squall opened his mouth to protest but then Seifer was there, shoving his tongue down Squall’s throat like that was where it belonged. Seifer would have argued that it did. Squall would have let him win that argument.

Seifer stepped forward into Squall, knocking him off balance with his weight. Thankfully there was a couch behind Squall. He hit the cushions hard, barely having time to catch his breath before Seifer was on top of him. Their clothes left wet stains on the fabric but they were gone too fast to be much of a concern. Squall’s fingers wove into the hair at the back of Seifer’s head, gripping tightly as Seifer slid his already slick erection inside of Squall.

“Admit it,” Seifer argued a bit breathlessly, “you love this.”

Squall arched against the couch, his breath coming as harsh as Seifer’s if not more so. “I like this,” he admitted, “but I could live without you being an ass all the time.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Seifer’s hands gripped his hips tightly, pulling Squall’s hips up with each thrust so that he could drive in deeper. Bracing one foot against the cushions of the couch, Squall hooked one leg around Seifer’s hips, spreading himself wide for his blonde lover.

“The fun’s in me not punching you in the balls every time you piss me off.” It was hard to talk when Seifer was inside of him. Hard to think of much beyond the need for imminent release, but he managed.

Seifer’s breath was hot against the side of his face. Squall gasped as blunt teeth bit into his shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood but enough that there’d be a mark.

“Do you think that would work?”

Lips brushed across Squall’s. He used his grip on the back of Seifer’s head to force him down into a hungry kiss. Seifer’s thrusts were loosing control, becoming harder and more erratic.

“We could t-try.” Squall’s breath hitched on the last word. He gasped, body tightening as he came hard against Seifer’s chest.

The blonde finished seconds later. They stilled slowly, relaxing almost hesitantly back onto the couch. Blue eyes stared down at Squall.

“We could try,” Seifer agreed.

“Okay.” Nodding slowly, Squall pulled away. He sat up, left Seifer on the couch as he headed towards the blonde’s room.

The blonde watched him with a perverted smile. Squall could imagine the kinds of thoughts that were running through Seifer’s head.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” he told Seifer quietly and walked into the bedroom.

Ichigo looked up with a glare as the door opened. He said nothing as one of his captors, Ulquiorra, walked in. They stared at each other across the room silently for several long minutes. Ulquiorra seemed content to hold still and Ichigo had no choice. This was not a new arrangement for Ichigo. Aside from Aizen, Ulquiorra was Ichigo’s only visitor. Sometimes the black haired arrancar would merely watch him silently for hours. Other times he would speak quietly, telling Ichigo of the way of the arrancar and vague hints of Aizen’s plan.

“Have you considered our offer?” Ulquiorra asked slowly. Apparently this visit would not be one of the silent ones.

Ichigo was tempted to say yes, just to end his confinement. He couldn’t.

“You know my answer.”

Ulquiorra nodded. They were going from rote at this point. Nothing changed in this white prison.

Ulquiorra took a step closer and Ichigo’s eyebrows quirked in surprise. He’d almost come to believe there was some sort of invisible barrier cutting off half the room by the way both Aizen and Ulquiorra had hovered on the far side of the room.

“I must apologize in advance. Aizen-sama has been quite…” Ulquiorra paused to choose his next word. “…displeased with your reluctance. I would have you know that, regarding what I am about to do, I am acting under orders.”

Ulquiorra paused at the edge of Ichigo’s bed. Ichigo wanted to shift away, suddenly nervous of the arrancar’s strange closeness, but he forced himself not to. He wasn’t so weak that he shied away from the other man’s mere presence. Not that he could move far if he tried. That blasted collar that Aizen had put around his neck kept him from moving more than a foot to either side, and with the way Ulquiorra was standing his choice was to either shift closer to Ulquiorra or into the wall.

“I’m not afraid of pain,” Ichigo said instead. Words were the only rebellion he had left in his confinement. He couldn’t fight like this, and until now none had come close enough for him to even try. It seemed that Aizen merely wanted him to wait. He’d waited for Ichigo to come into Hueco Munde to save Orihime, then waited until Ichigo and the others had almost escaped before snatching Ichigo away from the group. At least the others were safe, as far as he knew. Rukia and Renji would have seen them safely back home.

“We are aware of that.” Ulquiorra’s answer only increased the slight fear that was working its way through Ichigo’s body. The arrancar were still new to Ichigo. In battle he could handle them. He understood violence and honor and all those things. This manipulation… this was new. He didn’t know what to expect, but him imagination was happy to fill in the details for him.

Ulquiorra shifted closer, placing one knee on the side of the bed and Ichigo was almost glad for the collar because it kept him from trying to run away. There was something incredibly unnerving about the arrancar. Ichigo knew a lot of it had to do with the first time he’d fought against Ulquiorra – he’d never felt so utterly powerless in his life. He had power now, but it was out of his reach. Something in Aizen’s strange collar kept his Shinigami powers locked away from him.

“There are other ways of persuasion than pain,” Ulquiorra muttered, his new proximity causing his voice to drift softer than usual. “Your particular case,” Ulquiorra continued, “has caused Aizen-sama to consider some rather… unorthodox methods. His hope, and mine, is that you will come to consider your situation in a new light.”

“I’m not going to change my mind. I’m not helping you. No matter what you do to me.”

“We’ll see.”

Ulquiorra half-turned back towards the door. “Grimmjow.”

The other arrancar stepped through the door at the summons, a cocky smile fixed on his face. Ulquiorra shifted again, body flowing as smoothly as his words always did. Ulquiorra knelt over him and stared at Ichigo. It reminded him of some of the doctors his father knew, the ones more interested in the illness than the patient they were treating.

What now, Ichigo wondered? Ulquiorra had said he wasn’t going to hurt him but with Grimmjow in the room, the possibility of violence seemed much more imminent. His speculation came to a halt as Ulquiorra pulled two thick pieces of cord from his pants pocket. Ichigo’s eyes widened and he shifted nervously on the bed.

“Hold him,” Ulquiorra commanded.

Ichigo fought without even being fully sure what he was fighting against. He tried to push Ulquiorra off of him but the black haired arrancar caught his wrists easily, trapping Ichigo in a strong grip that belied Ulquiorra’s frail image. Struggling did him no good as control of his wrists were transferred from Ulquiorra to the wickedly grinning Grimmjow. The cord went around Ichigo’s wrists, binding him securely to the metal bed frame.

Even without use of his hands, Ichigo could still fight, and he did – or at least he tried. He bucked his hips, trying to throw Ulquiorra off of him and to get room to kick. Grimmjow moved before he could even bring his knee up. He grabbed Ichigo’s ankles in as tight a grip as he’d used when pinning Ichigo’s arms.

As soon as his hands were free, Ulquiorra reached for the fastenings of his clothing. Ulquiorra took great care in undressing. If Grimmjow thought it strange for the other arrancar to be suddenly stripping, it didn’t show on his face. Instead he watched Ichigo from behind Ulquiorra, seeming to revel in the emotions flitting across Ichigo’s face.

Naked, Ulquiorra returned to his contemplation of the bound Shinigami below him. “Of course, by now you realize my intent.”

“Don’t you dare,” Ichigo warned. “Get off of me.”

“I cannot.”

Ulquiorra reached down and pulled loose the tie that bound the Shinigami’s hakama. Black fabric fell loose, parted by hands impossibly cold. He flinched at Ulquiorra’s touch. The arrancar’s skin was cold, almost impossibly cold, a reminder that the other man was far from human – as if the bone covering half his head wasn’t reminder enough. It was as if his inability to move amplified sensation – he felt the slide of fabric across his skin keenly, felt Grimmjow’s hands on his ankles like they were cold bands of iron. The reality of what was about to happen smacked him full in the face as Ulquiorra carefully parted Ichigo’s legs.

“Stop it,” he yelled, louder than he needed to with Ulquiorra scant inches away from him.

“I can’t.”

Cold fingers pressed inside of him, and unwelcome invasion. Ichigo bit his lips. He wouldn’t scream. He refused to, as much as he refused to give in, no matter what they tried to do to him. Still, a faint whimper of sound betrayed him through his gritted teeth. He was shaking, as much as he hated to admit it. This was worse, far worse he decided, that the pain of defeat. After his time in the Soul Society, death no longer scared him.

This did.

Closing his eyes, Ichigo tried to ignore what was going on. It was the only way he could resist, short of trying to bite Ulquiorra and he was loathe to think what they’d do if he tried that. But it was hard to keep control when he felt Ulquiorra’s hands on his thighs as he moved to kneel between Ichigo’s legs. Grimmjow worked with Ulquiorra wordlessly, sliding Ichigo’s ankles up on the mattress to give Ulquiorra the flexibility he needed as he arranged Ichigo around him. His knees were bent, though not enough to give him any sort of leverage.

His control shattered completely as he felt Ulquiorra slide into him. His head went back reflexively, smacking hard against the iron wring behind him. The pain in his head distracted him momentarily from the pain of Ulquiorra inside of him and he couldn’t hold back the whimpers this time. His vision danced in black and white as he was momentarily stunned.

He couldn’t understand this. Why him? Why this? He stared stupidly at Ulquiorra. Exertion was obvious on the arrancar’s face, but beyond that there was nothing. No pleasure, no guilt – he looked like he was fighting rather than fucking, and not even a difficult battle at that. The only noise in the room came from Ichigo. Each time Ulquiorra moved, each time that cold length speared inside of him, he gasped. The pain was fading and he didn’t know if that was good or bad. At least the pain reinforced that this was bad.

A smile drifted across Ulquiorra’s face and he leaned forward towards Ichigo’s ear. “I see Aizen-sama was right to think you’d like this.”

The smiles both arrancar were giving him made Ichigo want to throw up. “I don’t…”

His words cut off as Ulquiorra wrapped his hand around Ichigo’s erection. The touch sent a jolt up his spine and he really thought he was going to throw up. His voice rose in pitch – he couldn’t control the sounds that were coming out of his mouth anymore. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t… But the proof of his enjoyment was thick in Ulquiorra’s hand, and in the way it no longer hurt when Ulquiorra shoved into him. Somewhere along the way his soft cries of pain had turned into moans of pleasure. There was no denying that his body was enjoying this kind of treatment.

He wanted to die.

“Stop it!” He screamed, closing his eyes as tightly as he could. Cord dug into his wrists as he fought against his restraints but they were as unyielding as Grimmjow’s hold. He struggled, trying to move away, to force Ulquiorra out of him, but his movements only made him feel it more, as if he were helping Ulquiorra hit deeper inside of him.

“It’s not going to stop,” Ulquiorra whispered in his ear. “Not until you give us what we want.”

“No!” He cried out even as he came. Ulquiorra let out a slow breath as his hips stilled, the sudden wetness between Ichigo’s legs telling him he wasn’t the only one to find release.

Ulquiorra pulled out and dressed. Grimmjow let go of his legs though Ichigo could still feel the arrancar’s gaze on him as he slumped weakly against the headboard. Guilt filled him, as if he’d just betrayed everyone he cared about.

“You only have one choice,” Ulquiorra told him softly, his eyes seeming sadder than usual.

Ichigo watched quietly as Ulquiorra turned to leave. There was nothing he could say. Nothing.

Ulquiorra paused with his hand on the door, turned and stared first at Ichigo and then at the blue haired arrancar that still knelt at the foot of the bed.

“Your turn, Grimmjow.”

The arrancar smiled at him and Ichigo felt fear.

Next Chapter

It was well-known, both within the company and outside, that Shinra’s new President, the previous president’s golden child and former Vice-President, was an avid playboy. His conquests before becoming President had been legendary. There were few beautiful women among the media elite – actresses, models, singers – that could not claim to have graced the Vice-President’s bed. Of those who had not fallen prey to the Vice-President’s advances, fewer still that wouldn’t lie and say they had.

All of that stopped when Rufus became President. It was as if the new role added restrictions that only he could see. There was something about being President that restrained Rufus in a way the Vice-Presidency had not. The company rumor mill was baffled by the almost overnight change. A few weeks without another legendary fling would have been excusable – there was a lot of work that needed taken care of with the changeover. But the especially attentive would have noticed that this strange pattern had begun weeks earlier as Rufus’ one night stands had slowly decreased in frequency.

Rufus made no secret that there was someone, perhaps several someones, that he was sleeping with. He never said anything about the new woman in his life, but he didn’t have to for his staff to know there was something going on that they couldn’t see. It was obvious in the way he would arrive for meetings on time and seemingly perfectly composed except for the slight wrinkling of his collar, or in the ways he would disappear for hours at a time at random intervals during the day and yet never seemed to leave the Shinra Corporate Headquarters. Even more obvious were the times one of the secretaries or aides would catch a glimpse of a kiss mark barely hidden by the collar of Rufus’ shirt – worn open almost as if to flaunt the tiny bruise.

Evidence of Rufus’ mysterious lover abounded and yet no one knew this woman’s name, or even what she looked like. She was never seen. None of the media starlets made any mention of having been with the President. Either she worked inside the company, or she was somehow being smuggled into the headquarters in the deepest of secrecy.

The Turks knew, of course, but there was little going on in Shinra that the Turks weren’t at least vaguely aware of. They were with Rufus always, his personal bodyguards as well as an elite killing squad that answered directly to his command. They knew, and they weren’t telling.

The ceramic cup clinked lightly against the glass top of Rufus’ desk. The blond executive glanced up from the paperwork in his hands. His office was dark, lit only by the small desk lamp beside him and the moonlight. Still, he didn’t need light to know who would be bringing him coffee this late at night.

Rufus turned back to his papers, shifting them into his right hand while the other reached out for the cup, placed easily within reach. His feet were propped up on the corner of his desk, a bad habit his father would have berated him for but one he no longer worried about after the former President’s death. He sipped the coffee slowly, due more to his preoccupation with the words in front of him than out of concern for the dark liquid’s temperature. The coffee was perfect, as he expected it to be. Two creams, one sugar, slightly above room temperature.

He set the top page aside, placing it face down in the slowly growing pile on his desk. The cup was exchanged for a pen. Black ink spread across the margin of the new page before it was added to the pile with a small post-it note sticking out from the top corner.

Tseng’s presence was a palatable force behind his back. Any other man would have been considered a distraction.

“Sit down,” Rufus said quietly as he read over Hojo’s latest budget request. Black marks danced across the paper.

“I’d prefer to stand, sir,” came the carefully measured reply, just the right amount of polite respect and determination.

“It wasn’t a request.”

There was a brief moment of silence and then Tseng stepped around Rufus’ desk to sit on one of the couches in front of the large windows that made up the far wall.

Rufus finished reading Hojo’s report before he glanced over the papers at the shadowed figure across the room.

“If you’d like me to finish for the day, all you have to do is say so.”

There was no hesitation in the reply. “I can wait outside if I’m distracting you from your work.”

“There is no need.” Rufus turned back to his paperwork, barely concealing a smile.

He ran his thumb along the side of the stack, judging the amount left to read. At least thirty pages if he was being optimistic. There seemed to be nothing but paperwork since he’d taken over. The stack on his desk was more than enough to hand over to his secretary; the rest could wait. Setting the remaining papers aside, Rufus slowly lifted his feet from the corner of his desk and stretched.

A pair of hands landed on his shoulders and started kneading out the knots in his muscles. Rufus closed his eyes, the only outward sign of his enjoyment as Tseng slowly rubbed away the day’s tension. He stayed perfectly still until Tseng’s hands finally moved away, gone as abruptly as they’d appeared.

Rufus stood, stretching his arms out once more for good measure before walking away from the desk. Tseng pushed in his chair and turned off the desk light. The room seemed to plunge into darkness for a brief moment. Tseng was beside him before his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight. Rufus paused to stare at the city laid out below him. Midgar glowed in the darkness, alive even this late into the night.

Tseng’s hand brushed his lower back, a reminder of the very lateness he’d just been contemplating.

With a brief nod, Rufus turned away from the windows. Tseng followed a bare step behind.

His office door opened before he’d reached it, a familiar redhead and bald man on either side of the door. They took their places behind Tseng as Rufus swept past. These were his trusted guards, more loyal to him than the company. If Tseng hovered a fraction closer than was strictly necessary, he didn’t complain. None outside the Turks who saw would understand. His secrecy was perfect, hiding his largest weakness in plain sight.

The best kept secrets were the ones no one expected.

“Here.”

Zack slipped the black leather around Sephiroth’s neck before either of the other two men in the room had a chance to react. Zack beamed proudly as he bounced away to admire his work.

Sephiroth frowned and fingered the collar. The leather was thin and relatively plain, adorned only with a few simple silver studs and a small loop in the center.

“What’s this for?”

Zack shrugged easily and pulled out a second one from the bag he’d brought with him. Cloud didn’t protest as Zack stepped behind him, fixing a similar collar around the blonde’s neck.

“I just thought they looked cool,” Zack answered.

Sephiroth stared intently at Cloud, making the young fighter blush under the scrutiny. After several long minutes he nodded. “Yes, I see your point.”

Cloud’s blush deepened.

“Is there a point to these beyond decoration?” Sephiroth fingered the silver loop again. His eyes were fixed on the loop on Cloud’s collar, the slight upturn of his lips giving away the nature of his thoughts.

Zack reached into the bag again and pulled out a pair of matching leashes. “Well there are other uses, but I thought these would do for start.”

Cloud was the closest. The blonde fidgeted only slightly as Zack stood behind him, pressing closer than was strictly necessary. The leash snapped on with a loud click. Strap in hand, Zack started towards the bed where Sephiroth was sitting. All it took was a slight tug on the collar before Cloud obediently followed.

Sephiroth’s gaze was ravenous as the pair approached.

“Want it?” Zack teased lightly as he held out the end of Cloud’s leash.

Sephiroth didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.” He grabbed hold of Cloud’s leash, pulling until the blonde was crawling across the bed to sit in Sephiroth’s lap. The blush seemed to be permanently affixed to Cloud’s face, with no signs of abating.

The second leash snapped onto Sephiroth’s collar and Zack let the strap go, leaving it up to Sephiroth to choose who to hand it off to. One hand tangled in Zack’s hair briefly as Sephiroth pulled Zack forward into a deep kiss. Zack sighed as Sephiroth pulled away, and he wasn’t surprised when Sephiroth held out the strap to Cloud.

“I…” Cloud squeaked, blushing so hard Zack wondered if he had any blood left anywhere else in his body.

“Take it,” Sephiroth ordered softly.

Cloud didn’t refuse. He gripped the strap lightly, as if he was afraid of hurting his commanding officer.

“Go ahead,” Zack whispered from the side. He placed a reassuring hand on the small of Cloud’s back and started rubbing a slight circle there.

Very carefully, Cloud pulled on the leash, pulling Sephiroth closer until their faces where near enough to kiss. The sheer sweetness of the kiss made Zack want to melt.

Leather tapped against Zack’s hand. He glanced over at Sephiroth, reading his superior’s plan in the elite Soldier’s heated gaze.

Letting go of the leash briefly, Zack quickly stripped off his clothes. He came up behind Cloud, embracing his young lover from behind as both he and Sephiroth attacked the fastenings of Cloud’s clothing.

“Wait…” Cloud was surprised, as always, when he suddenly found himself naked between the two men. He started to tentatively reach towards Sephiroth’s clothes but Zack stopped him with a slight tug of the leash. Using light pressure he turned Cloud around and brought the blond forward on his knees. Zack brought the leash down to the covers, guiding Cloud with unmistakable intent.

Cloud’s hands settled on Zack’s thighs as he lowered himself. A light pink tongue darted out from pale lips, nervously wetting them before Cloud closed the distance. His mouth opened slowly to fit over the top of Zack’s erection. This wasn’t the first time Cloud had sucked one of his lovers, but he approached each time with a fresh newness – as if it was his first – that only served to heighten Zack’s ardor.

Behind them, Sephiroth had finished undressing. Reaching into the drawer behind him, Sephiroth slicked his own erection before moving behind Cloud. Zack could feel the moment Sephiroth entered Cloud in the way Cloud’s mouth tightened briefly around his erection. Cloud moaned deep in his throat, the vibration causing a similar sound to echo from Zack’s throat.

Cloud’s mouth bobbed in time with Sephiroth’s movements. The two Soldier shared a glance over their lover, twin smirks painting their faces while Cloud writhed between them. The leash, previously forgotten in Cloud’s hand jerked, forcing Sephiroth to lean forward.

Zack met him halfway. They kissed over Cloud, stabling each other with their hands as their tongues intertwined. Zack was the first to let go, still engaged in kissing Sephiroth as he came into Cloud’s mouth. A tiny bit of white liquid dribbled out the corner of Cloud’s mouth as he bobbed his head one last time over Zack’s erection, licking away the last of his spent seed.

There was a contented look on Cloud’s face as he slowly sat up. That same pink tongue Zack had been admiring earlier darted out, clearing away the last traces of Zack’s seed from the corner of his mouth. Sephiroth moved with Cloud, sitting back on his heels so that Cloud was straddling his lap.

Cloud’s eyes took on a slightly glazed look as Sephiroth lifted his hips up and then settled him back down at a new angle. Zack knew from experience how wonderful that felt – spread out and engorged over Sephiroth’s thick cock.

“Want me to help?” Zack offered.

Cloud looked over in surprise. He was far from coherent at the moment, too lost in the pleasure of Sephiroth sliding inside of him.

Grinning widely, Zack leaned forward and returned the favor. He slid Cloud’s member into his mouth, moving slowly at first until he picked up Sephiroth’s pace. High pitched moans filled the room as Cloud bounced in Sephiroth’s lap. He didn’t last long in this new position. It was only a matter of minutes before Cloud cried out, spilling his seed into Zack’s mouth. A soft sigh was the only sign of Sephiroth’s release.

They crawled under the covers an exhausted tangle of limbs.

Zack carefully unfastened Cloud’s collar and dropped it over the side of the bed while Sephiroth did the same with his own.

“So, what did you think of the collars?” Zack asked softly. Cloud was snuggled tight in his arms.

“Quite acceptable,” Sephiroth answered from Cloud’s opposite side. “I can think of a few other ways in which they would be entertaining.”

A tired grunt was Cloud’s only response.

Naoya absently toyed with the tiny electronic in his hand. It was a simple thing – a cell phone. Nearly every person in Japan had one, though his was a more recent acquisition. He hadn’t even picked it out. Reiji had just handed it to him one day and said it was his. Reiji had a bad habit of doing that with things Naoya really didn’t need.

He’d gotten along fine for the first eighteen years of his live without a cell phone. He still didn’t think he needed one, despite Aoe’s and Kiichi’s protests that it would come in handy in case he needed to get in contact with them. It was unnecessary, a wasted expense, but still, somehow, it was touching all the same.

Naoya had never really noticed how many good people he’d managed to surround himself with until Aoe had given him the phone. Flipping open the phone, Naoya scrolled to the address book. He still wasn’t sure how to work half of the things on his phone. Izumi had tried explaining once but he’d talked so fast that it had all just flown straight through Naoya’s head.

When Reiji had given him the phone he’d expected never to use it. He hadn’t expected to have anyone’s number in the phone except for Reiji and Kashima’s – those had both been programmed in before he’d gotten it. Even now, months later, he was amazed at how often he used it. He wasn’t on the phone nearly as much as his classmates – he’d seen girls who seemed to never close their phone. The fact that he used it at all was more than he’d originally expected.

It was strange counting the people he knew through his cell phone, but in a way the little device had become just that – a reminder of how many people unexpectedly cared for him. Izumi had grabbed Naoya’s phone the minute Naoya mentioned it and plugged in both his and Takamiya’s numbers. He also had Kiichi’s various numbers, and even Haruomi’s. For some reason even the most vague mention that he had a cell phone prompted people to snatch his phone away, as if they didn’t trust him to enter in their numbers.

They were probably correct in that assumption. Naoya only vaguely remembered how to. As of yet he’d only had to enter one number, and that was with Izumi hovering over him telling him exactly what to do. He felt somewhat guilty at the thought of adding someone to his phone, as if he was initiating some new level of intimacy.

Naoya knew he was making a bigger deal out of it than he needed to, but he’d been alone so long that he expected people not to care. Thus it came as a surprise, even after he’d been living with Reiji for so long, when people actually did notice him and want to be around him.

It was something he was still, slowly, getting used to.

A cheerful tune interrupted his contemplation and Naoya stared at his phone as it started ringing. He wasn’t sure what the song was – it was yet another thing Izumi had programmed in for him. Naoya kind of liked the song – he liked it more each time he heard it – so he’d never really bothered learning how to change it. The id on the screen showed Aoe’s name. Naoya almost dropped the phone in his haste to answer it. What was the right button? Naoya pressed the green one and hoped he’d gotten it right.

“Naoya?” Aoe’s voice came through clearly.

“Yes?” Naoya reflexively sat up straighter, even though he knew Aoe couldn’t see him. “Good afternoon, Reiji-san.”

In the back of his mind Naoya vaguely started to worry. Reiji didn’t normally call him, at least not this early in the afternoon. Sometimes he called in the evening, to tell Naoya that he would be late coming home, or when he was really busy he’d have Kashima call.

“Where are you?”

Naoya glanced up. He’d been wandering a bit aimlessly after school had let out. He didn’t have work today and he’d wanted to enjoy the sunshine.

“I’m at Nadesico Park.” Naoya’s nervousness increased. “Do you need me to come home? Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s fine. Stay there. I’m coming to pick you up.”

“But, I…”

“Stay there.”

The line went dead. Naoya sighed and started to put his phone away. The ringer went off again. Naoya frowned at the phone. Why was Kashima calling him?

“Good afternoon, Kashima-san,” Naoya answered formally.

“Good afternoon, Naoya-kun.” Kashima sounded as calm as ever. “Aoe-san just called you, correct?”

Naoya instinctively nodded, feeling a little stupid as he did since Kashima couldn’t see him. “Yes, he did. Is everything alright?”

“Aoe-san didn’t tell you about his plans?”

Reiji had plans? He hadn’t mentioned anything. He would have gone straight home if Reiji had.

“What day is today, Naoya-kun?” Kashima asked softly.

Naoya struggled to remember. He hadn’t really been paying attention. “Wednesday?”

“Yes, Naoya-kun, it is Wednesday,” Kashima answered slowly, as if he were talking to a young child. “What is the date?”

Naoya frowned. Was he forgetting a holiday? It wasn’t his birthday, and he knew it wasn’t Aoe’s. Kiichi’s maybe, or was it Izumi’s?

Naoya quickly flipped his phone around and glanced at the date on the front screen. “February fourteenth,” he answered carefully. He’d feel bad if he was forgetting someone’s birthday but he was sure he wasn’t. They were written down on his calendar at home and he knew he’d looked at it this morning.

“You are familiar with the tradition of Valentine’s Day, correct?”

A blush spread like wildfire across Naoya’s face. He knew about the holiday but he hadn’t even paid attention to its approach. School had been so busy with the approach of graduation that no one in his class had bothered to give valentines, at least not in the classroom.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” He could tell Kashima was trying hard not to laugh at him. “I can assume then, that you are no longer worried?”

“Yes, Kashima-san. Thank you.” Naoya was a little ashamed of himself for not noticing the holiday.

“That’s good. I hope you both have a very pleasant evening.”

“Thank you, Kashima-san.”

Naoya couldn’t help smiling as the line cut off again. It was nice having people who cared for him, even when he didn’t expect it.

The key turned easily in the lock, an action so common to Goh that it barely required thought. The door opened to his apartment – their apartment, the same one they’d shared for over a decade. It was more than an apartment. Originally just a place to live – a small shared space that housed their equipment, now it was a haven, a place of relaxation and a haven from the constant battles of the outside world. This was his home, more than any other place he’d ever lived. Goh’d give his life to protect this small space and the man who shared it with him.

He dropped his keyring by the door, not bothering to muffle the sound the metal made as it hit the wooden table. Taki already knew he was home, just from the sound of the door opening and the hour, but it didn’t hurt to add a little extra warning. Taki really did not like it when Goh snuck up on him.

“I’m back,” Goh called cheerfully. The smell of food filled the apartment, reminding him of the old sitcoms he had watched as a kid – the ones where the husband always came home from work to a hot, homemade dinner and a loving wife. His reality was different in a lot of ways from that idealized image, but for Goh it was close enough.

Taki would kill him if he knew Goh thought of Taki as his wife.

Shrugging off his coat, Goh pulled a hangar from the closet and hung his coat next to one of Taki’s. His shoes were toed off before he stepped out of the recessed entranceway. He bent down out of forced habit to neatly arrange his shoes against the wall. There were some things, he’d learned, that Taki was quite fastidious about.

Goh padded quietly across the living room, the carpet muffling all but the barest sound of his movement. Their furniture was definitely better than it had been in the first few years of living here. They’d gone through two sets in a decade, mostly due to the considerable, and somewhat unorthodox, wear their furniture received. The apartment had also changed in more subtle ways. There were little signs of both of them around the room – photos of them together or with their friends, the dip in the couch where they normally sat snuggled together. Their lives had meshed so tightly that Goh couldn’t imagine what life would be like without Taki in it. Or more precisely, he knew he wouldn’t have a life without Taki.

Closing his eyes, Goh smiled as he pictured what Taki would look like right now, standing in front of the stove in the cute apron that Goh had bought for him. Taki complained about it but he still wore it anyways and Goh thought it was the most adorable sight on the face of the planet. But really, nothing could win when compared to Taki. Opening his eyes, he continued on his way towards their bedroom.

His smile widened as he passed the picture of him and Taki on top of the TV. They had been younger when the picture was taken, but no less happy. They’d been in the park for the cherry blossom festival and had finally managed to sneak away from Kanji and the others for a moment. Kanji had caught them under one of the cherry trees and taken the picture without them realizing he was there. There wasn’t much to the picture, just Goh with his hand on Taki’s cheek, but it was one of the best presents Kanji had ever given them.

Goh stepped into the bedroom almost reluctantly. Left to his own devices, he probably would have stood there staring at the photograph all evening. But Taki was in the kitchen and Goh was already fighting the instinct to head straight for his lover.

He dropped his wallet and cell phone on the bedside table – the left side, his side. Opening the drawer, he dropped a folded slip of paper from his pocket inside, where it landed among a pile of similar receipts. Marks of jobs successfully completed. His shirt was tossed aside to join the rest of the dirty laundry on the floor. It was his turn to do laundry but it could wait until tomorrow.

A cough interrupted his thoughts. Taki leaned against the doorframe. The apron was absent, most likely left folded over one of the kitchen chairs.

“You’re late.”

Goh shrugged easily and grinned at his lover. “Hatozaki was talkative today.”

Taki didn’t respond, though his eyes followed Goh as he moved over to the dresser. Goh pulled a black t-shirt out of the drawer before turning back.

“Should I even bother putting this on now?” He smiled suggestively at Taki as he held up the shirt. It was a common offer, one that Taki took him up on most of the time.

This time wasn’t one of them. Taki shook his head and gestured back towards the kitchen. “I’m still cooking.”

“It can wait.”

Years ago, he would have gotten punched for a comment like that. Now Taki just smiled and shifted slightly on his feet. “You can wait.”

Goh accepted the answer easily. He wasn’t in any hurry. He’d just handed in the results of their last mission, which meant they had at least the next two days to themselves. Besides, Taki was always more into it when they didn’t rush.

Taki started to turn back towards the kitchen but Goh caught him, encircling his arms lightly around the blonde’s waist. The skin at the base of Taki’s neck tasted salty with perspiration, which meant that Taki was baking something. That guaranteed him at least a few more minutes until Taki had to head back into the kitchen.

Goh’s lips traveled upwards over exposed skin, leaving a line of light pink marks in their wake. Taki shivered in his arms, his lips parting in a soft sigh of pleasure. He didn’t make any move to escape so Goh let his hands wander. The fabric of Taki’s jeans was rough under his hands, growing obviously tighter as he cupped Taki from the front.

In the kitchen a timer went off, causing both men to curse.

Taki slipped easily from his grip and heading back to the kitchen to rescue their dinner from the oven. Smiling to himself, Goh pulled on his t-shirt and followed.

“Hey.”

Nakaya froze in the short hallway, startled by the sound of a voice he’d never expected to hear again… at least not like this. For a brief moment, he thought he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time his love-sick mind had created such fantasies. Then he half-turned and looked up into a very familiar face framed by long, loose black hair. He almost dropped his hockey stick.

“Akihi.”

“Hi,” Fuse repeated. He leaned against the railing a few feet above Nakaya’s head, smiling down in one of the most open looks Nakaya had ever seen from him.

Nakaya shifted closer to the wall. There were still a few teammates straggling in off the ice after their practice, and he was well aware that he was blocking the way to the locker room.

“When did you get back?”

Fuse’s smile widened slightly. “Just now.” Belatedly, Nakaya noticed the bag on the floor behind Fuse.

Nakaya couldn’t help frowning in confusion. He’d just gotten Fuse’s last letter two days ago and he hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to Japan. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Fuse was teasing him, like he used to though there seemed to be a lighter air about it now. Canada seemed to have done well for Fuse. “I can see I succeeded.”

“Yeah,” Nakaya responded slowly. His mind was still trying to get over the fact that Fuse was here. It felt like a dream, a familiar dream for him in the past few years but one he’d never really expected to come true. Questions flitted through his head faster than a puck whishing towards the goal. Nothing was the same as it had been when he’d been in high school. “How did you…”

“Shino,” Fuse answered before he’d even figured out what it was he was trying to ask. Nakaya opened his mouth to ask another question but Fuse cut him off. “Weren’t you going to….?” Fuse gestured towards the locker room.

Nakaya glanced indecisively between the locker room doors and Fuse. Part of him was afraid that Fuse would disappear if Nakaya turned away. Considering their last parting, Nakaya felt his fear was more than justified.

“I’ll meet you at the exit,” Fuse offered. “Which one do you use?”

“Gate A. Give me five minutes.”

The locker room doors swung wildly with his passing. He ignored the curious glances from his teammates as he changed in record time, haphazardly shoving his gear into his bag as fast as he could. He was out of breath from running through the halls when he reached Gate A. Fuse was waiting and that made the rush worth it.

“You didn’t have to hurry.” Fuse was teasing him again, but Nakaya didn’t mind. He grinned like a fool and bounced on his feet.

“How long are you in town for? Are you staying a while? Did you have someplace to go? If not, you could stay with me. I…”

Fuse clasped a hand over Nakaya’s mouth. He looked like he was trying to frown but his smile kept winning out. They both were a pair of lunatics, with the way they were grinning.

“Slow down,” Fuse admonished. He couldn’t keep the mirth out of his voice. Turning away from the stadium, Fuse started off into the streets of Tokyo. Nakaya followed at Fuse’s side. “I hope you don’t mind, but I already left my suitcases at your apartment.”

Nakaya hadn’t thought his grin could get any wider but he just proved himself wrong. “How did you get…”

“Shino lent me his spare key. He assured me that you wouldn’t mind. He and Tenryuu-san seem to be doing quite well.”

“I don’t,” Nakaya answered quickly. Belatedly he realized how his statement could be misconstrued and corrected himself. “Mind that you stay with me, that is. I’ve gotten used to Tenryuu-san. He’s good for Shino, as much as I hate admitting it.” He was honored that Fuse would want to stay with him while he was in town. That reminded him of one of his unanswered questions. “How long are you staying?”

Fuse smiled over at him. “A while. A long time, actually. I just accepted a coaching job here.”

Nakaya’s eyes went so wide he was afraid they might fall out. “Really? You mean it? You’re back for good?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“That’s great!” Nakaya was practically skipping down the sidewalk at this point, hockey stick still clutched in one hand. “When do you start? Did they give you a couple days to settle in? I don’t have classes tomorrow so we could spend the day together, unless you need to run errands, though I wouldn’t mind going with you if you…”

“Nakaya!”

Fuse was laughing at him. Actually laughing. It was weird, in a very good way. Nakaya shut his mouth with a snap. He turned away from Fuse quickly with a blush and suddenly realized they were in the same neighborhood as his apartment. He was confused for a brief second but he guessed that if Fuse had dropped his luggage at Nakaya’s apartment, that meant he obviously knew where Nakaya lived.

His brain really wasn’t working right now. It seemed to have taken a permanent vacation as soon as Fuse had appeared.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Fuse slowly started to talk again, a bit of his usual dour mood showing through. “You’ve gotten better.”

It took Nakaya a minute to realize Fuse was talking about his playing. “Thanks. I’ve been practicing a lot. You should come watch us some time. The team’s really great.”

“I did watch,” Fuse pointed out. “The team works alright together, but there are still a few rough points that you need to work on. Your skating, for example. You could be a lot faster. Did you do the exercises I told you about?”

Nakaya pouted. “I have been! They don’t do anything for me.”

Fuse eyed Nakaya critically. “How long have you been doing them?”

He couldn’t hide the guilty blush that crept across his face. “Only three weeks.”

Fuse gave Nakaya a reproachful glare and nodded to himself. “Of course you haven’t seen much improvement this early. Give it a few more weeks.”

They fell into silence as they reached the stairs up to Nakaya’s apartment. He hadn’t really considered Fuse’s bad knee when he’d moved in here. He hadn’t ever really expected Fuse to see his apartment. Thankfully he was only on the second floor. Belatedly he worried if he’d left any dishes out or dirty laundry scattered around the place. It was still early in the week, so he hadn’t had much time to really mess up the apartment since he’d cleaned it Sunday. Or at least he thought he hadn’t.

Nakaya stared at his door nervously and fumbled for the keys.

“I’m sorry.”

Nakaya looked up as he inserted the key into the lock. “Huh?”

Fuse stared at him in complete seriousness. “I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long.”

Nakaya couldn’t look at Fuse just then, so he stared at his hand, frozen at the lock. He’d thought about what he would say when- if Fuse returned. Sometimes he pictured himself yelling at Fuse, furious at being abandoned. Sometimes he cried, so happy to finally be with his love that he couldn’t bring himself to speak. None of those scenarios seemed appropriate.

“It’s alright,” Nakaya said finally. “I understand. Or at least I do now. I didn’t then. It hurt. But your letters helped and I understand why you had to leave.” He turned the key, unlocking the door. His apartment – their apartment, now – opened up before him. He shifted closer to Fuse and placed a soft kiss on the older man’s lips. “Welcome home,” he said with a bright smile and knew it would be the first of many such greetings.