If I became gay, and I mean the whole hypothetical ‘I did not just have a cock in my mouth last night’ big if, it would be his fault. One hundred percent, totally, certifiably his fault. Okay, so maybe eight percent my fault, but still one hundred percent his fault. Yes, I know that adds up to one hundred and eight. That’s how big this is. Really.

Who’s he? Damn, I thought we were both on the same page here. Haven’t you been keeping up? Him, he. There’s only one he I could be talking about. Like I’d really go around sucking anyone else’s dick. Ew. That’s just gross. Bad puppy, thinking such thoughts. I think I have to go wash my mind out with soap now. There’s only one guy I would ever, ever do… those things with.

What? Yes, I mean Perry! Come on, get with the program.

So, anyways, like I was saying, it’s all his fault. I didn’t intend to turn gay. ‘Really, your honor, his dick just accidentally slipped up my ass.’ And I’m sure someone, somewhere has used that excuse back when sodomy was still illegal. ‘I tripped and it just fell in. Honest.’

Don’t get me wrong, I love Harmony. I still do. Always have, always will – that sort of deal. But I don’t love her. I thought I did. She thought I did. Hell, even Perry thought I did, and his gaydar is just scary. I mean, really, really scary. If NASA had radar as good as his gaydar, fuck all those U.F.O.s, they’d all be I.D.O. Identified Domestic Objects. We’d know everything about them down to their cock sizes. I mean it.

Harmony and I, we tried. We really did. But dating Harmony…. Ever thought about dating your sister? Yeah, it was a lot like that. When the time came, when we actually got down to it, I mean to do it, we just couldn’t. Wasn’t happening, and man was that embarrassing. For both of us. And that’s how it ended. No big fight, no loss of limbs, just putting our clothes back on and calling it a night.

I didn’t say anything to Perry about it, but he sorta got the picture. He’s good at that, the whole detective thing. So he took me out for a couple drinks – didn’t say anything, just drove, then paid. That was the big sign that Perry knew something was wrong. Perry never pays. Even now, when we’re actually vaguely dating, he never pays. Okay, so to be fair, he does sometimes, but it’s rare and I have to be really fucked up for him to do that.

That night, I drank a lot. I was upset. Not that upset, I mean it wasn’t world-ending kind of upset, but in a way, really, it was. All my life, up to that point, had been about loving Harmony and now that was gone. I was at a loss like… well, like she’d cut off my heart along with my finger. And that was bad, because I needed something to fill that void and guess who was there, less than five fucking feet away from me? Perry, that’s who.

(For those of you in the back who’ve been too busy talking on the phone or giving your boyfriend a quick hand-job in the back of the theatre, a quick recap: Me, Perry, bar, consolation after loss of Harmony. Alcohol plus loss of love-of-life plus a life of really repressed homosexual tendencies. You’ll see where I’m going with this if you shut off the phone and get your hand out of his pants.)

Like I was saying, Perry just happened to be right next to me, plying me with more booze than was strictly necessary. Well, you know how some guys can’t get it up when they’re really wasted? I have the opposite problem. So Perry, thinking I’m just a harmless drunk and completely blitzed out of my gourd, takes me back to his place. He drops me on the couch, does the whole nice guy thing of getting me a blanket and a pillow and tucking me in – at the time I remember asking him if he’d been in any cornfields recently. He didn’t get the reference.

Perry leaves me there on the couch and goes upstairs to his bedroom. I think I waited a whole five minutes before I followed. Actually, it was probably more than that since he was already in bed and it takes Perry a bit to get undressed. See, he’s actually neat about it – folds his clothes, puts them in a hamper and all that so that they don’t get wrinkled. It’s something about clothes that cost more than they should that turn people into complete neat freaks. Or maybe it’s just Perry.

But, he was in bed, and buck-ass naked. He’s gay, probably has a ton of guys over, so really I kind of expected it. I even came prepared – I left my clothes down on the couch. It was dark, so I kinda get Perry not noticing the whole mutually naked thing until I crawled into bed with him. Kinda. I mean, he is a detective after all.

Needless to say, Perry was a little surprised. More so after I straddled his hips and stuck my tongue down his throat. I have to tell you, that was really not great for my first gay kiss. Alright, alright, I see there really is someone in the audience paying attention. Second gay kiss, but that first one was completely accidental. On my part at least. But it got the cops to go away and that was probably what put that first bit of ‘maybe’ in my head in regards to the whole me plus Perry thing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Perry asks me as soon as I pull away, with that whole ‘I’m so much cooler than you’ and ‘did the sky just turn fuchsia’ tone of his. Okay, so technically that’s two tones in one, but Perry’s good like that.

Take it from me, Perry’s really good like that and in a lot of other ways too. But we’re getting to that.

So I lay it all out for him, plain and simple, give him the whole story. “Kiss me,” I say, and he just stares at me like he’s never had a naked guy on top of him before. Maybe he hadn’t. You never know.

“Harry…”

I don’t let him finish. Or even start. “Kiss me,” I tell him, and then do so because obviously he’s not going to get around to it on his own.

This time he pushes me away, and I’m starting to get a little miffed now.

“Harry, you’re drunk.” Like that’s ever really an excuse.

“No shit.” I decide to change tactics. “Fuck me.”

“No!”

Now, at this point, I’m starting to really feel down. First the thing with Harm, and now I’m getting turned down by Perry. Gay Perry. With a nickname like that, you really expected he’d be up for a little gay action. So I started to think, maybe it was me.

Then I punched Perry. Not hard, and definitely not in the face. Really it was more of a solid tap on the chest.

“Why not?” I demanded. Rather loudly, if I recall.

“Because you’re drunk, Harry. You li-liked Harmony. You’re going to regret this in the morning. You don’t even like guys. Now get off of me.”

So, like I was saying before about me being the opposite kind of drunk. Well, there was very definite proof that I liked at least one guy poking Perry in the stomach. Really shoddy detective work if he couldn’t figure that one out.

At this point I was starting to think that if I wanted this to get anywhere, I’d have to take matters into my own hand. So I did. Literally. “I do like you,” I told Perry while I slid backwards down the sheets, “and this isn’t entirely about Harmony and I’m not that drunk and I’m not going to regret it in the morning and I might be gay.” That was a big mouthful, but Perry always said I had a big mouth, and I think he was really impressed that I managed to say it all without pausing for breath. I’m good like that. Bit of foreshadowing, if you think about it.

So there I was, mostly under the covers with a naked Perry under me who really doubted my whole newfound ‘I like cock’ routine. He needed proof, so I gave it to him. Kinda hard to argue that a guy isn’t gay when he’s sucking your cock. Which I was, by the way. I wasn’t great at it, I mean I’d never stuck another guy’s cock in my mouth before but I was familiar with the experience, at least from the receiving end. No, not with another guy. Some of my girlfriends actually did suck me off, so I knew, at least in theory, how the whole thing worked.

Perry didn’t complain, and he still hasn’t. He may grumble and call me a pushy bottom, but he has never once complained about my ability to suck cock. Never complimented it either, but I’ll take my victories where I can get them.

And that’s the story of how…. Oh, wait, you wanted to hear the rest of it? Ha! Most of you didn’t even know there was a ‘rest of it’. Not paying attention, were you? Remember that whole court defense joke I was doing? Yeah, I know it was bad, but there is a point to it. See Perry’s cock did end up in my ass, but he didn’t trip and it definitely wasn’t an accident.

See, thing with guys is, you really can’t just stop in the middle. Doesn’t work that way. You get one of us wound up, and we have to finish somehow. Maybe take matters in hand, spank one off, maybe find a substitute. You get a guy horny enough, he really will fuck anything… within reason. I don’t know about you but there are a lot of things, and people even, that I wouldn’t fuck even if you paid me. I have my standards, really.

Now the great thing about being a guy trying to get laid by another guy is, you know this. So, middle of the whole sucking Perry’s cock thing, I stop. Just cold turkey pull my lips off and stop. Picture if you will, me smiling like a guy who knows he’s won and Perry frustrated out of his skull because he’s about a minute between two wet lips from getting off.

So I ask him, “Now will you fuck me?”

Perry just gives me this look, this mean mother-fucker of a look that says if I hadn’t been sucking his dick, he would have killed me on the spot.

Instead, he flips us over, practically rips the drawer next to the bed off its runners, and shoves two fingers up my ass. Now that I know better, I have to be a bit thankful that Perry’s not a complete asshole. He could have just rammed it in in one go, but he didn’t. I got about fifteen seconds of lube before he really did ram his cock down my ass.

It hurt. I’m not gonna lie. I’ve heard some first times are fine and dandy. ‘course that’s when the other guy actually takes time to prepare and all that, get you used to it, maybe even a bit of a hand job or a little sucky to start things off. But when you’ve never been with another guy before and it just gets shoved right in… yeah, bit of a pinch, to say the least.

I think, all in all, I handled it well. I didn’t scream, and I didn’t pass out. I think I have working with Perry to thank for it, since I really have built up my pain tolerance just by being around him. Plus the whole getting shot, getting my balls zapped and, oh, yeah, loosing a finger. So it hurt, but I stuck with it and after a minute or two, yeah, it started to feel kind of nice. Couple more minutes and ‘kinda nice’ turned into ‘really nice’, and at that point I don’t think you could have got Perry’s cock out of my ass with a crowbar.

There are times when the words ‘wild monkey sex’ pale in comparison. This was one of them. Best goddam orgasm of my life. Really. And I’ve had a lot, by now. I did say Perry was good.

I take that back, Perry’s phenomenal, at least in bed. Damn. I mean really, damn.

I don’t think I sat right for a week after that, and Perry kept grinning at me every time I fidgeted. Of course, I probably wouldn’t have been fidgeting for a whole week if he hadn’t fucked me over his desk. Twice. And a couple more times in his bed.

Harmony, she’s cool with it. She says that our little ‘break-up’ was the beginning of my new, unheeded life, and that really she just let me express who I really was. I’m not sure if I fully buy that, or maybe it’s just that if I can’t be with her then I don’t want to be with any other woman and that left just one option. Well, two options really but I’m not going to go fucking goats. That’s just sick. So, one option, and if it had to be a guy, then it had to be Perry.

Way I see it, it’s more than just a time-and-place thing. It’s Perry. He’s just good like that. So he may not know it, but he was meant to buy me all those drinks and I was meant to get totally plastered and he was meant to fuck me up the ass.

So in the end, everything worked out the way it’s supposed to.

And now I have to go because Perry wants his desk back. Or maybe he wants me on his desk on my back. It’s hard to tell sometimes. Either way, I have to go.

I really hope it’s the ‘on the desk’ option.

And I’m gone.

Previous Chapter

Aizen drummed his fingers on his chair and contemplated his captive. The boy was asleep, for now, held in a room two floors down. Marks stood out vivid on his now pale skin – signs of the 4th and 6th Espada’s ‘tender’ administrations.

Ichigo had never fully been a part of his plan. Aizen did have to admit that the boy’s appearance in the Soul Society had greatly lent itself to sowing chaos and confusion among the Shinigami, but his own simple, smiling appearance and the facade he’d built up would have been enough by itself. The boy was an unforeseen part of his grand scheme, but not an inopportune one. Now that Ichigo was in his keeping he no longer had to worry about what chaos the boy might bring to bear against him.

The neutralization of that power had left him one option – turn it to his own use. Simple in theory and in word, but there was that small, minuscule problem of the boy’s current loyalty to the Shinigami that must be conquered first.

Grimmjow and Ulquiorra were working on that for him, but as Aizen watched the boy toss on his bed, plagued perhaps by memories of what waking held in store for him, he wondered if a more personal touch was called for.

The thin white sheet draped over Ichigo’s naked body slid down as the boy rolled over, exposing his lower back and giving Aizen a glimpse of shadows below. Aizen’s fingers slowed in their drumming. Curling his fingers around the armrest, he pushed himself up and waved the monitor off with a single flick of his hand.

White halls stretched in seeming endless lengths. He turned right and the hall shifted downwards for him, moving him towards the level below.

It was his experience that loyalties were like water in many ways. They shifted frequently, always following the path of least resistance. In some cases, they were a great torrent, a rush of force that was both unstoppable and immovable. Those kinds of loyalties were few and far between, and also plainly obvious. Then there were the loyalties he was used to, the ones that could be diverted with careful planning and subtle manipulation, or simply forced where he wanted them.

A cocky smile slid across Aizen’s lips. He knew well what kind of loyalties Ichigo had.

After all, powers aside, the boy was mortal, and mortals were so terribly fragile. As long as Ichigo was alive he could be hurt, and he could be killed. It was the fear of both of those things that were Aizen’s best weapons.

Unmarked doors filled the hallway Aizen entered. His steps made no sound as he approached his target, his current prey. Fourth door down, right side.

The door slid open with a touch. Inside, the lone occupant froze. Good. That meant he was learning, and that he was afraid.

Eyes opened and stared warily from the bed.

“Did you think we were done with you?” He couldn’t help but taunt. The flush of anger that painted the boy’s face was like an aphrodisiac. It was so much more fun to take what wasn’t willingly given.

Aizen stopped at the side of the bed and stared down at his prisoner. Neither moved for several long minutes.

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Ichigo said finally, his voice raspy, almost broken.

He was going to enjoy pushing it that last little bit.

“Oh, but you do.” Aizen reached for the collar of his coat, yanking the fastenings loose with a hard tug. On the bed, Ichigo shivered. The boy couldn’t help it, not after what the Espada had done to him. Ichigo’s eyes followed the coat as it fell to the floor. To his credit, he didn’t move when Aizen leaned forward, setting one knee on the bed.

He’d learned the first lesson, at least. There was no running here, no escape from what they might do to him.

Aizen smiled as he drew the sheet away from Ichigo. With a thought, he lowered the temperature in the room until Ichigo started shivering for real. In the boy’s head, he’d associate it with Aizen’s presence, with a kind of supernatural pall that came with the lord of Hueco Mundo. That suited Aizen well. Everything in this world was under his control, and Ichigo was no exception.

His pants were unbuttoned as he moved, his other leg swinging around until he was straddling Ichigo’s legs. On the boy’s back was a pattern of bruises, a pattern that told a story. With his thumb, Aizen traced the spots where Ulquiorra had held him down – only a few, Ulquiorra’s preferred avoiding physical tactics – and then moved to Grimmjow’s more vivid handiwork – bruises where the boy had been hit, scratches, bite marks, full handprints where Grimmjow had restrained the boy with sheer force.

Even without the marks, he knew exactly what had happened. After all, he had been watching.

Ichigo did nothing to stop him as Aizen pushed him flat face-down on the bed. The boy’s hips were raised, positioned methodically and Aizen let him wait there, holding the pose while Aizen finished disrobing, taking more time that he really needed just to see if Ichigo would move, roll over, do anything that could be taken as a sign of resistance.

Lesson two, take what you’re given.

Aizen’s cock slid inside and the boy whimpered. He was loose, probably raw from the way Grimmjow had fucked him earlier – going for hours, regardless of whether the boy was conscious or not. There’d be no pleasure in this for Ichigo. Aizen would do nothing to change that.

He started slow, because he could, because he wanted to. In, out, in, out. The pace became as common, as steady as breathing until he didn’t have to think about it anymore.

Ichigo was still beneath him, hands fisted in the sheets above his head, face turned into the pillow, eyes shut.

“You can’t escape it.” Aizen’s voice cut through the still silence of the room. “It’s not going to stop. It’s never going to stop.” He slid his hands down Ichigo’s sides possessively, then leaned forward to close sharp teeth over one shoulder blade.

With his face close to Ichigo’s he could hear the boy whimper, muffled through fabric. Aizen grinned wider.

Both hands went to Ichigo’s knees, gripping the hollow of flesh found there and pushing forward until Ichigo’s ass was high in the air, lifting the rest of the boy’s body with it.

A choked sob echoed in the room.

Lesson three, know when you’re beaten.

Rearing up, Aizen slammed his hips forward, breaking his earlier rhythm in favor of fucking Ichigo the way a beast would – hard, raw, holding no power back and taking everything. The sobbing only increased and Aizen’s cock pounded inside that trembling heat to the time of high pitched breath and wavering moans. Fluid slid between them and down Ichigo’s legs, staining the sheets a delicate pink.

He sat back and took the boy with him. For a moment Aizen wondered why the boy was no longer making sounds before realizing the collar around Ichigo’s neck was choking him. Aizen was tempted, briefly, to leave it just to watch the boy turn blue and pass out but that would have ended their fun far too quickly. Grabbing the collar’s chain, he pulled, forcing more length to form from the wall.

Ichigo trembled against Aizen’s chest, face red as he gasped for air.

Aizen brushed the hair back from Ichigo’s ear with fake tenderness and whispered softly, creating the perfect parody of a lover’s tone. “Even after you give in, it won’t stop.” Ichigo’s eyes turned to him as he spoke and there Aizen saw true fear. “You will give in, you know, and after, once you’re one of mine, you’ll still be our plaything. Do you think I’d protect you, keep Ulquiorra and Grimmjow away to save you?” He chuckled, the sound as cold as the continually dropping room temperature. “They’re not going to let you go now that they’ve had a taste, and neither will I. But…” Aizen’s tongue lapped at the sweat forming on Ichigo’s neck. “…if you play along, if you’re a good little fuck-boy, there are some rewards.”

He trailed his hands along quivering thighs while he let the boy sweat it out. Ichigo was close, teetering on the edge but Aizen couldn’t push much more. Ichigo had to….

“What do you mean?”

Aizen hid his triumphant grin by kissing Ichigo’s hair. “For starters, we may let you enjoy it.”

He moved Ichigo’s knees again, placing Ichigo’s feet flat against the mattress.

“Move.”

The boy’s indecision was a tangible force, vibrating like Ichigo’s shaking back against Aizen’s chest.

Slowly, Ichigo lifted himself off of Aizen’s cock, rising until the head was barely left inside. He froze there again, pausing before sinking back down.

Lesson four, know your master and serve him well.

Aizen barely restrained himself from laughing. Instead, he touched the boy, running his hands over Ichigo’s legs and chest then down, circling the erection that Ichigo had been sporting the moment Aizen walked into the room. He’d known from the beginning that it would end like this. Pain and pleasure were intertwined in Ichigo, and Aizen was going to enjoy teaching the boy all the lessons there were of it.

The boy squeezed around him, slightly more pleasing, in a physical sense, now that he was making an effort. Ichigo’s body was tensed, a warm cavern of heat that felt better than most Aizen remembered having. He waited, letting Ichigo move in his lap for another minute before he allowed himself to come. Seed mixed with blood, slick and wet in his lap.

Removing his hand from around Ichigo’s cock, Aizen shoved the boy off of him. Ichigo’s come spattered on the mattress.

Wiping himself with the bed sheets, Aizen stood and redressed. He let his fingers brush the collar at Ichigo’s throat, dissolving the chain but leaving the rest as it was. He left the room without looking back.

“Come.”

Ichigo followed.

Cloud wasn’t sane, and sometimes he wondered if he was the only one who knew it. Well, Sephiroth knew it, and so did Zack, thought Zack was arguably the reason he wasn’t sane.

Scratch that, Sephiroth was the reason for his insanity, Zack was a factor of it.

It was on quiet days like this when it was really noticeable. He’d thought the voice would go away after they defeated Sephiroth. Instead, he was finally able to match a name and a face to the ghost inside of him.

“You know you want to,” it whispered to him, not a new conversation for them but now that he had his memories, all of his memories, he felt like Zack was right behind him as he said that. “Go on.”

Tifa was out, would be gone for hours. Barret and Vincent were out on missions of their own, Cid and Yuffie would be spending the day finding their own amusement in town. The house was silent, and would be silent for a while, barring any unexpected phone calls. Cloud was, in the physical sense, alone.

“Lock the door.”

Cloud did as he was told and therein laid the proof of his insanity. He really shouldn’t be following the orders of a dead man, and yet that seemed to happen far too frequently in his life.

The ties on the curtains slipped loose in two quick tugs, heavy drapes falling forward to blanket the room in darkness. He made his way to the bed in the center of the room without a problem, though even without his mako-enhanced night vision it wouldn’t have been difficult. He loosened his belt as he lay down, not bothering to climb all the way onto the bed but resting, half on and half off.

“You know what to do.”

If he closed his eyes, it was almost like Zack was sitting in the corner, directing him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He lifted his hips off the bed enough that he could unfasten his pants and slide the fabric down far enough that gravity carried it the rest of the way to his feet. His boxers followed.

“Now that’s not much of a show.”

“I’m not playing up for someone who’s not really here,” Cloud said, and then immediately cursed himself an idiot for speaking to an empty room. “Not really here, not really here,” he chanted, though that did nothing towards making him actually believe it.

Like he said, insane.

The bed dipped around his knees and Cloud had to remind himself that he was hallucinating to stop himself for diving for his sword. Breath tickled his ear as Zack leaned close again.

“Touch yourself.”

He spat into his palm and reached down. Fingers closed around his cock with almost reluctance and he slowly started to slide his hand along the semi-erect flesh.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Zack chided. “You hardly look like you’re enjoying it. Come on, you gotta grip tighter.”

His fingers closed and Cloud couldn’t help the moan that fell from his lips.

“Now faster.”

He sped up, hips hitching up slightly with each stroke. He didn’t do this often, so when he did it was like a giant coil winding tight inside of him, pent-up emotions spilling out from his usual control.

“That good, huh?” Cloud nodded, not caring that Zack wasn’t really here. “I know what you’d like more.”

A low whine was Cloud’s only response.

“Why don’t you put a couple fingers in your mouth.”

His free hand moved to his lips without any thought on his own part. He opened his mouth, letting the fingers slide inside and wet them with a tongue. In his mind, it was Zack’s hand in his mouth and Zack’s fingers that he sucked on.

“That’s a good boy. You always did like this part.”

He moaned again, the sound muffled through his closed lips, as his cock, now fully erect, started leaking. Wet pre-cum dribbled on his fingers, providing extra lubrication for his hand as it trailed up and down, the pads of his fingers brushing once around the head before running down along the vein on the underside of his cock. His hand tightened when he reached the bottom of his stroke, squeezing the sensitive flesh as his hand moved back up.

“Good, good. You ready for the next part?”

Even now, years later, he didn’t need prompting to know what Zack wanted him to do next. He slipped his bare feet out of the clothing tangled around his ankles, bringing his legs up until his feet could perch on the edge of the bed. Hips raised as Cloud moved his fingers away from his mouth.

Moist fingers pressed against his anus and Cloud didn’t hesitate before pushing inside. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t what he wanted or what he was used to but it was what he had, for now. In his mind it was Zack’s cock pushing inside of him, teasing past the tight ring of muscles at his entrance and then burrowing in, shoving inside like Zack was supposed to be there, like he was meant to.

The way Cloud’s mind worked, maybe that was right, maybe Zack was the only one that was ever going to be inside of him. He didn’t think his mind could really handle any more ghosts.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

Images flashed through his head now, and he wasn’t quite sure if he was the one remembering or if Zack was. He saw himself, tangled in the starch white sheets of the barracks as Zack, his commanding officer at the time, pinned him down and rode him raw. He looked up at Zack, this time at a motel, and wound his arms around Zack’s neck while the black-haired Soldier leaned down to kiss him. He saw Zack from across the room, grinning madly, hands fisted in the fabric at his knees while he ordered Cloud to touch himself. He saw his own back as Zack knelt behind him, moving at an agonizingly slow pace while Cloud begged him to go faster.

Fingers brushed against his prostate and Cloud came with a shout, memories and hallucinations swirling together so fast that he forgot which was which.

Cloud opened his eyes and saw the ceiling plainly above him. There was no chair in the corner. The room was empty, save him.

With a sigh, Cloud sat up, clenching his hands against the edge of the bed.

“I really wish you’d stick around after,” he said to himself, and then started towards the shower.

“Hey, watch where you’re swinging that shit!”

Ichigo grinned and just barely missed hitting Grimmjow in the face with his zanpakuto. The Hollow on the other side of Grimmjow shattered, spraying particles of… whatever it was Hollows were made of onto the surrounding creatures. The remaining Hollows shifted in agitation, the distraction of their fellow only seeming to increase their bloodlust.

If they weren’t trying to kill him, Grimmjow would have been impressed. Still, there was a part of him that just got more wound up each time the Hollows growled. Danger was a taste spreading thick over his tongue and he glanced sideways at Ichigo, wondering briefly if he had a moment to share it. Ichigo would taste the same, he knew. Much as the boy tried to hide it, his Hollow side still affected him and it was in battles like this where he shined.

“Watch your ass, Grimmy.”

Grimmjow destroyed the Hollow charging him with a backfist, not even bothering to look as the creature faded to oblivion. “Don’t call me that, Strawberry!” He shouted instead, stepping into Ichigo’s personal space.

For a moment, their eyes met and with it their egos. Ichigo stepped up to him, opening his mouth to say something nasty. Off in the distance Orihime was shouting at them – probably telling them not to fight – before her own group of Hollows distracted her. In his mind he could already imagine the pleasure he’d get from kicking Ichigo’s ass, proving again which one of them really was the strongest. The look in Ichigo’s eyes was a reflection of his own.

A fist crashed down where they both had been, and the impending fight between them dissipated as they sprang in opposite directions. Five more Hollows died before Grimmjow spotted the Shinigami again, black metal cutting through the Hollows with ease.

Shaking his head, Grimmjow decided he’d be nice, for once, and let Ichigo’s little nickname for him slide just this once. He’d take it out on Ichigo later, when they were the only Hollows around and he had Ichigo pinned beneath him on their bed.

A dozen more Hollows bounded towards them through the trees and Grimmjow could only grin wider.

“I can’t believe I turned against Aizen for this shit.”

The streets of Deling were dark. Half of the street lamps were out, and those that weren’t flickered dimly, as if too tired to put in any real effort into illumination. Squall Leonhart walked quietly, barely making a sound as he trod through the streets – just another shadow passing over the dirty cobblestones. It was late, well past midnight and the point where most sane people had already made their beds. Most of the windows were shuttered and all were dark, not a soul visible save Squall.

He knew he wasn’t alone.

Eyes watched him, following his every move, every breath. He was used to it by now. As the head of Balamb Garden, the son of the President of Esthar, and a hero of the latest Sorceress War, he was used to people watching him. Some watched him with admiration, others with fondness or loathing, or even envy. This was different than all of those, yet still familiar. He knew this gaze, though that didn’t stop his fingers from curling, itching to reach back and loose his gunblade.

These eyes watched him with an emotion so dark it bordered on obsession. That didn’t make Squall move any faster down the empty street.

He turned down an alleyway, a shortcut back to the hotel. Quistis was probably foaming at the mouth right now, wondering what was taking so long. Or maybe she’d taken his earlier advice about not waiting up and gone to bed already.

Hand grabbed him unexpectedly and Squall was taken by surprise for a brief moment, not because he was being accosted but because he’d honestly thought his observer was behind him instead of in front. That surprise gave his attacker the edge he needed. Squall barely caught himself before his hands hit the wall. His gunblade clattered to the floor, it and the entire holster stripped off of him in a second. A move like that required practice, confirming Squall’s suspicion on the identity of his attacker.

Not that he’d really doubted it to begin with.

Squall’s elbow came up as he turned and he stepped with it, trying to move around the larger man. The elbow was caught before it could connect, but he kept moving, getting ready to bring his knee up and…. He forgot about the opponent’s second hand until it hit him square in the gut.

Pain doubled him over. His breath was gone and he wheezed through his open mouth, trying to regain both his balance and the ability to breathe. The hand on his elbow propelled him back around and this time his head did hit the wall, forehead rapping against rough brick.

He did not look forward to explaining that to Quistis tomorrow.

Fingers knotted in the hair on the back of his head, pulling his head and then slamming it forward hard enough to make him see stars. He felt light-headed and he knew, distantly, that if it weren’t for the wall and the large man pressed right up behind him, he wouldn’t be standing anymore.

Hands settled on his belts, reaching down blindly to unhook one, then the other. The zipper of his pants slid down with a hiss barely heard over Squall’s labored breaths, and then they too joined his belts on the ground.

He placed a hand flat on the wall, intent on pushing back, pushing them both away from the wall, but fingers twined with his, pulling Squall’s arm up as his attacker used superior height to his advantage in keeping Squall off-balance.

“Easy, Squally,” the man behind him murmured, lips ghosting light over the back of his neck. “Just let me have my fun.” If he closed his eyes, Squall could imagine those lips touching, planting rows of kisses down the side of his neck and his spine, trailing soft, wet butterflies of pressure from one shoulder to the other.

Without his eyes closed, he didn’t have to wait long for the first kiss as lips found their way beneath his hair and a hot tongue gathered up a bit of the sweat along the nape of his neck. Something slick and thick pressed against him and Squall gasped, shivering in the brief second before it pushed inside. It hurt, but that was to be expected when it was like this, barely a step away from a dry fuck. Legs lined up behind his own, pushing forward until his knees hit the wall. His head slid down, scraping against the brick and now Quistis really was going to yell at him for getting so banged up.

“You like that?” The man behind him asked. A large hand settled on Squall’s hip possessively, guiding it back until his ass was arched away from the wall.

Flesh slid on flesh in a slow, agonizing movement that reminded Squall of battle – of swords drawing out of a still carcass or bandages being peeled away from wounds dried with blood. He must have made a noise because he suddenly heard chuckling and the fingers on his hip tightened.

“You do like that. I know you do, though you won’t say it. But I know something you like more.”

Hips slammed against his and Squall couldn’t be quiet, barely had time to think let alone breath before they were drawing out again and then thrusting home like Squall was a sheath – a home for the burning mass that was splitting him apart from the inside. It was torture and heaven rolled into one. He brought his other hand, his free hand, up, not sure what he was going to do but then it joined his other, pinned against the brick and grinding in time with the rocking of their bodies. There’d be blood on the wall, not just from his hands, but Squall really couldn’t begin to care. Maybe he could find a Potion, or something, before Quistis saw them.

Then the hand moved off his hips, sliding around to grab the base of him, right between his legs and it was like a handle his opponent, his adversary, his rival, his not-quite-lover used to control him. Squall was pushed back, impaled deeper on the cock inside of him and then forward, away from one kind of bliss and into another. The motions mixed, speeding up until he wasn’t sure whether it was his attacker that was fucking into him or him that was making his attacker fuck him.

Squall felt dirty and bloodied, bruised, beaten, conquered and yet somehow whole. Lips kept time on his neck, leaving yet more marks, both those visible and not, teeth and tongue and a whole realm of emotions that Squall didn’t have the time or energy of inventing himself into exploring. He had no control in this, no say, no negotiation, and there wasn’t a single word he could say, would say, to make it stop.

He came first, a burning in his legs and arms that spread down into his belly and out to spatter against the wall like some carnal form of artwork. The night swallowed up his cries and then he was borne nearly into the wall, his arms falling limply to his sides, free but aching too much from blood loss and abuse to be of any use. His knees and forehead ground one last time against the brick as he was shoved forward by the hips behind him and then they too stilled, jerking slightly as Squall felt liquid pouring out of him and down his thighs.

They were both breathing hard, sounding raucous compared to the previously quiet night. A last kiss settled on the back of his neck, directly over his spine and then the man was pulling out, stepping away. Squall heard the rustle of cloth and then a zipper being pulled up. He debated the merits of staying against the wall or falling over.

A dry cloth ran over his thighs and between his cheeks, cleaning off the spent seed before disappearing into the rubbish littering the alleyway. Breath ghosted against his legs as his pants were pulled up, refastened. Both belts reappeared, and then finally his gunblade. Squall felt loaded down with the weight of it all as he was finally forced to move. Two hands turned him, kept his back against the wall as blonde hair tickled the scratches on his forehead.

“Good thing I’m not actually out to kill you,” Seifer said with a smirk. “Where would your sorry ass be without me following you around to save you?”

Squall snorted, the sound coming out a lot softer than he intended. “You’re the one I need saving from.” Even his voice sounded tired. Squall didn’t blame it. That Potion might have to wait until after he’d gotten some sleep. “Anyone else would have been dead before they got within five paces.”

“That close? You’re getting sloppy.”

His fist connected sharply with Seifer’s chest. Squall was proud of himself for managing that much effort.

“Come on. You’re helping me into bed and then explaining to Quistis in the morning why her leader’s all banged up.”

The look on Seifer’s face made Squall grin openly. Maybe he’d skip the Potion entirely. A few bruises and scrapes were worth watching Quistis chew Seifer to bits.

The sex, he admitted to himself, was worth it too.

There was something odd about the day but Roy couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The sun was still shining through the curtains of his living room window, no strange shadows or peeping forms. The stove was not on, he hadn’t left any fires burning, and there were no experiments in progress in the basement unless Edward had forgotten to mention one, again. The house was spotless, for the most part, though that was more due to the usual lack of inhabitants rather than his or Ed’s cleaning habits.

Everything was quiet, almost.

A faint sound was creeping slowly through the room, starting off almost inaudible, gaining a slight volume, and then disappearing again. Slowly, Roy lowered his book and surveyed the room from his position on the couch. The doorway was behind him, but there were no shadows and Ed was facing that way, his nose similarly buried in a book.

Roy’s eyes narrowed. Ed lay flat on his stomach on the floor, dressed in his usual black pants and tanktop but the rest of his ensemble was missing – most likely folded over a chair in Roy’s bedroom. Bare feet swayed absently in the air, and the quiet of the room was interrupted by the brief slide of paper as Ed turned the page. Ed was… humming. And smiling, both sights that Roy rarely saw.

Carefully, quietly, Roy let his book rest on his bent knees and he turned his eyes away from the pages to watch the young alchemist. Ed’s book, whatever it was, seemed to have absorbed his attention, and the boy either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he was being watched.

Blonde hair tickled the sides of Ed’s face, a few wispy strands fallen loose from his braid and Ed would brush at them occasionally, tuck them behind an ear before they slid out again a couple pages later. All the while, Ed smiled, humming parts of a tune intermittently – not enough that Roy could identify the song, but enough that he knew he liked it. But then, it was quite likely that he liked it simply because Ed was humming it and it made Ed happy.

It isn’t often that he gets to see Ed smiling, so when he does, at least when they’re alone, Roy likes to savor the moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but he keeps a tally of how often Ed smiles when they’re alone and when they’re not. The times they’re alone have always won.

“Katsuki, there’s someone up front is asking for you.” The way Toori was looking at him said Katsuki wasn’t going to like it.

Katsuki closed his locker with a frown. “It isn’t Homuraki-san again, is it?” If it was someone they knew, Toori usually had nicknames for them. Seiichi was ‘your sempai’ and Jin was ‘the wolf’. When it was people he knew Katsuki didn’t want to see, Toori didn’t call they anything.

“Sorry.”

Katsuki swore. “Can you tell him I’m off today?”

Toori gave him that pitying look. It was a lot like the look Seiichi gave him whenever they were at the bar and Jin’s name came up. “I think he saw you come back here.”

“Shit.” Katsuki resisted the urge to pace. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and then glanced at himself in the mirror. His uniform was still perfectly in place, his hair unruly but acceptable. There was nothing Katsuki wanted more than to be able to punch Homuraki in the face, but if he did that the owner would fire him in an instant. Katsuki would put up with just about anything if it kept him his job.

Steeling himself, Katsuki walked out of the locker room like nothing was wrong. He couldn’t quite bring himself to pasting on a fake smile, but he could at least keeps his face straight and not scowl at the bastard.

“Ah! There you are.” Homuraki was indeed waiting for him, right at the limit between the guest’s area and employee’s only section. The hallway was vacant, the employees were either in the back or out on the floor, and guests only came back here to use the restrooms. Or, in Homuraki’s case, to stalk employees that they’d started to fancy.

“Here!” Katsuki had intended to just walk past Homuraki but something bright and red was shoved in his face before he could take two steps. Katsuki quickly grabbed it before Homuraki accidentally smacked him in the face with it… and suddenly found himself holding onto a bouquet of roses.

The strangeness of it was enough to keep Katsuki from lashing out on the spot.

“I’m glad you like them.” Homuraki smiled. He wasn’t sure how Homuraki had gotten like from not wanting to be smacked in the face.

No one had ever given him flowers before. He’d sent them, but never received them. It was strangely touching in a way that, if Homuraki had been anyone but himself, Katsuki would have found romantic.

Homuraki leaned forward, smiling like a shark that had spotted a particularly slow and tasty-looking fish, and kissed Katsuki on the cheek. “Expect me to be more forward from now on.”

Katsuki belatedly realized that Homuraki was walking away before Katsuki could tell him off. “No, I….” The rest of the sentence died before he could get it out. ‘I have a lover’, he wanted to say. The guests could never know about him and Jin, but beyond that… he didn’t think of Jin as his lover. He was in love with Jin. Jin wasn’t in love with him, but they fucked sometimes and he occasionally showed some fondness for Katsuki.

“It’s okay,” Homuraki was looking at him again with that damn smug smile, like he thought Katsuki was just playing shy, “I won’t tell your boss. Don’t worry.”

That was the least of Katsuki’s worries, but before his brain managed to work out ‘I have someone I’m in love with already’, Homuraki had already walked away.

“Fuck!” The roses went in the first garbage can he found. He stalked to his apartment, fowl mood out in full as soon as he was on the employee elevator and out of the sight of any guests. He changed out of his uniform with far more stomping around and noise than was even remotely necessary, but it felt good to let of a little steam.

Going to Jin’s was out of the question – he was scheduled to be with a client until later in the night, which left one option.

Five drinks later and he’d forgotten about Homuraki. By the seventh, Seiichi had joined him and his thoughts had turned back to his usual reason for coming down to the bar and getting piss-drunk.

Katsuki looked up at Seiichi with watery eyes. “Why do you think Jin doesn’t love me?”

Seiichi exchanged a look with the bartender and they both sighed.

“Are you sure he doesn’t love you?”

Katsuki sniffed. A few stray tears were already starting to roll down his cheeks. “But… but… but he never buys me flowers or takes me out to dinner! It’s like he doesn’t want to do anything that might mean we’re in a relationship, he just fucks me and makes fun of me.” Katsuki let his head fall onto his arms as the tears started to fall for real. “Homuraki bought me flowers and I don’t even like him.”

The silence at their end of the bar was broken only by Katsuki’s sniffling.

“Who’s Homuraki?”

More drinks followed and by the tenth he couldn’t stand straight, let alone pay attention to what was going on around him. His head hurt from crying, and his stomach hurt from drinking too much and not eating dinner. Someone carried him home, and it felt like he was floating, all the way through the halls of Blue Boy and up to bed. He heard two voices talking and they sounded far away. It was dark where he was and the voices – Jin and Seiichi, his mind puzzled out after a minute – came from a light that seemed far off. They talked and then the door slammed, taking the light with it.

Katsuki dozed, too ill to sleep but he dreamed. He dreamed that Jin hated him and threw him out of Blue Boy. He dreamed that Homuraki was a shark, chasing him through a swimming pool while Jin sat on the diving board and laughed at him.

“Wake up.”

The lights flicked on and Katsuki groaned, curling away into the blankets as his head pounded. Jin’s hand on his shoulder forced him flat on his back and then something large temporarily blocked out the light. Red and green showered around him.

Slowly, Katsuki sat up and stared at the bed around him. Roses lay scattered on the white sheets – more than a dozen, maybe more than two dozen if Katsuki was counting right. He picked one up, rubbing his thumb along the stem. No thorns.

“There,” Jin was staring down at him with his usual frown, “have your flowers.”

Katsuki stared at the flowers, then at Jin. A smile crept across his face and he couldn’t help but laugh. Mentally, he revised what he’d thought about Homuraki. A bouquet of flowers wasn’t romantic. This was romance, the only kind of romance he needed.

Reaching up with one hand, Katsuki pulled Jin down in bed with him.

“Thank you,” he said between kisses, followed by, “I love you.”