I made jelly today, and I thought of Ritsuka and Soubi. I also thought of the endless possibilities if they were making some of their own. And now, while the jelly is hardening, do I write this. A little bit of fluff for all you shounen-ai fans. To clarify, jam has seeds. Jelly doesn't, and our family uses nylons in order to get rid of the berry seeds. The step I didn't include was adding Certo to the jelly, but I didn't know what brand people in Japan used, so I left that part out. Reviewers get a jelly-filled doughnut. And a hug.

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"Love is a fruit in season at all times,
and within reach of every hand."
Mother Teresa

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Jelly is like life, Soubi tells his sacrifice. You wait and wait for the berries to ripen, then pick them, boil them, drain them, and end up staining your clothes. Ritsuka had discovered the last step of this process with a sour face.

Soubi seemed to be enjoying himself, however. It had been his suggestion to make blackberry jelly this quiet day of summer, the door to the balcony wide open and the warm breeze fanning them. It would sometimes catch on Soubi's hair, dragging the light locks to his shoulder. He would often, then, snag a dumb-stuck stare from Ritsuka's direction before the back of the younger boy's head.

Ritsuka wasn't denying that he liked the man. What he was denying was that he loved him. There were things he adored about Soubi; his hair, preferably let loose, his eyes, the splotchy apron and his strong, graceful movements. Soubi was a work of art, the product of many days spent molding and carefully designing, unlike the jelly, which had been quite spur of the moment (or so Soubi let Ritsuka believe). Soubi had, remarkably, been prepared with the pots, nylons, and vast amount of sugar needed.

After adding the five-and-a-half cups of sugar, Soubi was currently pouring the liquid-jelly into the nylons to separate the remaining berries and seeds from juice. Ritsuka was in charge of holding said nylons, trying hard to avoid the boiling liquid, and more than once yelped when it made contact with his skin.

"Soubi," He whined after the fourth time burning himself. "Can't we switch jobs?"

"You'll spill it."

"Can't we take a break?"

"Then it will harden and ruin, Ritsuka. Don't you want something good on your toast tomorrow?"

So Ritsuka stayed stationary, his arms growing tired of the constant weight and heat. Soubi continued emptying the liquid into the nylons and the pot underneath. When Soubi was at last done, Ritsuka was left holding a pair of dripping nylons over a pot of juice, looking quite pathetic and tired while the floor was slowly transforming into a murder scene.

"Now what?" He asked, shifting his feet, which were starting to match the ache in his arms.

"We wait for it to drain." Soubi replied, busying himself in cleaning the mess in the kitchen (why, Ritsuka had no clue, because they would just make another one when they attempted to relocate the bulging nylons. He was too sore to comment, though).

Ten minutes later, Soubi was staring at the weary Ritsuka, concentrating more on the flow of the draining (which was only a few drops every now and then) than he was the state of his sacrifice.

"Soubi," Ritsuka groaned, almost in a state of pleading. "I order you to help me."

Soubi smiled that fond, knowing smile of his, walking behind Ritsuka and slidding his arms to encase the boy's chest. Ritsuka yelped, scattering a trail of bloody-looking dots across the floor. "That's not helping at all!"

"Yes it is," Soubi argued calmly, his embrace only growing tighter. "I'm helping that heart of yours. You know it's happier this way."

"But my arms aren't," Ritsuka said, gritting his teeth to keep hold of the swinging weight in the nylons. "Actually help me, Soubi."

"What part of you?"

Ritsuka was losing his patience with the fighter. He closed his eyes, knitting his brow in frustration at the situation's current outcome. "My arms, Soubi."

"Gladly." Soubi moved his hands down Ritsuka's, where he unlatched the woven fingers from it's grasp on the nylon. There was a loud splash as the nylons hit the warm jelly in the pot, and then Ritsuka's arms were forced around Soubi and they were kissing, leaving big, crimson smears on each other's clothing and skin.

Soubi's palm was on Ritsuka's cheek, and Ritsuka's own hands were climbing higher, higher, to the neck of his fighter, where they circled it and held on for dear life. The man's tongue was sweet and forceful, trying to make one plus one still equal one, the equation most lovers wrestle with in their moments alone.

It was a breathless Ritsuka who fell back first, his ankle brushing up against the cooling pot. "Uh, I think it ruined," He managed, turning a shade of red that would make the jelly envious as he wiggled away from Soubi's glance. If he didn't know better, surveying the room, he would have assumed they had been trying to kill one another than simply make jelly.

Soubi looked at the contents of the pot, giving it a measured thought as he lifted the nylons into the sink. "We've still got enough for breakfast. It will take a while to cool, though." He placed the pot onto the counter, walking over the bloodied floor like it wasn't an issue. "I hardly think it's enough of a reason for us to stop."

Ritsuka looked from Soubi's stained hands to socks and wondered if he as well was admiring the handprint he'd created on his sacrifice's cheek. Ritsuka turned his face away, aware it was coloring, and at this rate would be pink enough to camouflage with the handprint. "I should shower. I'm all sticky."

He had never seen Soubi's face as delighted as it was now, his features hinting at an alternate meaning to the request. "Right this way," Soubi grinned, scooping the small, protesting Ritsuka into his arms and leading the two of them in the direction of the bathroom.

"No- Soubi- I didn't mean together!"

---

The next morning, they indeed had a small portion of blackberry jelly on their toast. Kio nearly fainted at the first sight of the kitchen and the smears of vibrant color on various fixtures of the bathroom. The towels had, also, been permanently dyed a rather feminine tone.

It certainly made an interesting story to add to their pictures. Ritsuka had taken several shots of the floor, of Soubi off guard in his no-longer-white shirt and bubbles erupting from the tub. Kio had later commented that he didn't think it was possible to make such a mess, and Soubi had just smiled in that knowing way of his.

Ritsuka was still not able to understand why Soubi had compared jelly to life. He stayed up late into the evening, warm under his own covers, trying to grasp the hidden meaning. In the end he concluded that Soubi had been meaning to compare jelly to love, rather. Ripening and picking the berries was waiting for your friendship to develop. Boiling and draining stood for taking the friendship and making it into something more. Staining your clothes- well, Ritsuka figured they hadn't yet gotten to that stage. His face flushed as he flipped sides on his bed, attention turning to the curtains that Soubi sometimes emerged from.

And Ritsuka found he was unable to deny his thoughts of completing the process, if the result was anything as rewarding as the jelly had been.