Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Junjou Romantica. If I did, I'd tell the guys in the Emerald Division to get to work!

Of course, reviews are coveted!

Crushed

Like so many of the problems in Isaka's life, it could be traced back to events in the izakaya. He kept reading in the business press that nomikai, the after-hours business drinking parties, were on their way out. If nomikai were dying, they were certainly taking their sweet time. Despite Isaka's pleas, Asahina scheduled one of these get-togethers most Thursday nights. Somebody-san was in town and expected to be entertained; it would show disrespect for What's-his-name-sama if Isaka didn't host him; the members of Such-and-such division just wrapped up a big project.

Didn't these guys - and they were almost all men - have wives to go home to? Mistresses? Girlfriends? Boyfriends? Parents? Cats? Miniature poodles, even? Why did they have to ruin his evening telling their pointless stories and drunkenly repeating themselves?

Of course, it was all well and good for Asahina. He almost never drank. He poured drinks and stood around, playing the role of the perfect subordinate, waiting to settle up the bill and drive his boss home at the end. Isaka was left with the role of genial jester: making introductions and toasts, filling the glasses of important guests, participating in whatever asinine drinking games they played.

It was all in the service of a pact they had formed 12 years ago. They had pledged themselves to a partnership - in love, in life, in work, and in a shared future. They were like teenage sweethearts, Isaka sometimes thought, who'd married young and started a family. Their baby was Marukawa Shoten.

"Isaka-san, I gotta tell you about this girl. You're gonna go nuts for her," the man next to him leaned into him and whispered, slurring slightly. It was Fujiwara, a vice president at one of the primary printing companies used by Marukawa.

"I don't have time for a girl. You know that." Isaka responded, using the same excuse he'd been handing out for over a decade now.

"Idiot! Not for you! For Marukawa! I just met her today. I got her name here somewhere. I'll find it. You gotta meet her. Grew up in California but went to University of Tokyo and back to America for business school."

Isaka let the topic go, and Fujiwara fumbled in his various pockets until he apparently forgot what he was looking for.

The alarm sounded the next morning promptly at 6:30 a.m. Isaka opened his eyes slowly against the light. A hangover is a minor inconvenience when you're 22, an annoyance when you're 27. When you're 34 and didn't want to get drunk in the first place, it just makes you mad.

"Asahina? Karou?" he called out.

"Good morning, Ryūichirō-sama," answered a voice from the kitchen. "Do you want breakfast?"

Isaka's stomach recoiled at the thought. He sat up gingerly and looked for the pain reliever he usually kept next to the bed.

"No, thanks. What do we have this morning?" Isaka was secretly hoping he could convince Asahina to rearrange the schedule so that he could sleep just one more hour.

"Meeting with Sales and Emerald team at 8:30; Executive Committee at 9:30; conference call with the production company for the Japun anime feature at 11; lunch with bookstore executives; then . . . "

"Okay, okay. Got it. No more nomikai, okay? I'll take them golfing or whatever they want. I just can't do the drinking thing. I either end up acting like an asshole or feel like shit in the morning. Usually both."

"You never could hold your liquor."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep making me drink with these idiots."

Asahina sighed.

The day disappeared in the usual morass of spreadsheets, statistics, charts, and reports. Takano wanted a run of 250,000 while Yokozawa would only agree to 200,000, and their brittle politeness toward one another grated on everyone's nerves. The Executive Committee members lobbed questions at him based on their own pet interests rather than the overall state of the company. He'd had to monitor the production company's every move to make sure they didn't cut corners on the anime version of one of Kirishima-san's most successful series. The bookstore executives were blessedly undemanding, though, happy to eat the lunch paid for by Marukawa . And that was just the morning.

At 6 p.m., Asahina retrieved Isaka's briefcase along with his own. He stuffed each to its limit with a collection of papers, books, and photocopies. This action signaled quitting time, and if tonight was like most nights, they would go to a restaurant near their condo or perhaps Asahina would cook something simple. If it had been an especially good day for some reason, they might share a bottle of wine or some rich dessert.

And then, like almost every other night for the past 12 years, the real work would begin.

Dinner was at home that night; no wine or dessert. They washed and dried the dishes while laughing over some gossip heard from an assistant editor regarding one of their prize authors, Usami Akihiko, and his endless attempts to force a commitment from his younger live-in boyfriend, a thoroughly sincere and kind-hearted kid whom he probably didn't deserve.

Then it was time for the second business day to begin.

Asahina pulled out his laptop, and and Isaka did the same.

"I want you to see something I noticed," Asahina started. "Open up the spreadsheet for Sapphire Divison sales this month."

Isaka studied the computer screen for a moment.

"Do you see what I'm seeing?" asked Asahina.

"Yeah. What happens if we pivot it with Emerald? Do you think there's any relationship?"

Both men stared at their screens.

"I see what you mean," Asahina conceded. "Let's look at it by mangaka."

Each man clicked and re-sorted the information.

"See?" said Isaka. "And now look at it by style. You see? Murasaki and everything done in that style is what's selling. Look at it over the past six months."

"Uh huh," Asihana mumbled.

"See? You can start to see the trend back in September."

For the next hour, the two men hunched over their computers, making notes and discussing strategy. The data that determined which authors were promoted; which contracts were renewed; which divisions received extra manpower - all the decisions that would affect the lives of those who labored for Marukawa Shoten in the coming weeks and months.

Then they moved on to reviewing each division's current status and extrapolating what problems to anticipate. Isaka made notes regarding conversations he would need to hold with various managers, while Asahina sent out emails summoning the parties to meetings.

The next portion of the evening involved a review of the competition. Asahina unloaded competitors' periodicals and books from the briefcases. Several packs of sticky bookmarks were produced, and they went through the materials, marking and annotating the elements they felt Marukawa should copy and those it should avoid. They evaluated the comparative sales appeal and debated which authors, photographers, mangakas, and editors might be poached.

Finally, Isaka brought two beers from the refrigerator, signaling the last segment of the night's work. Asahina spent part of his day identifying news articles, technological developments, and cultural trends he felt might be important for Marukawa's long-term success. Isaka read through these quickly, and they discussed their ideas. Sometimes they would stream a lecture or test a new software trick that Asahina thought might be useful.

At 11 or so, Asahina sent any final emails and the computers were powered down. Briefcases were packed for the next morning. They showered or bathed, set out their clothes for the next day, and if they had any energy left, made love.

It was a schedule they had developed early on, and it was a grueling one. Isaka had the advantage of being heir to the company, but both he and Asahina were ambitious. Inheriting the job of president was not enough. They wanted to make Murakawa bigger, better, and more profitable than it had been under Isaka's father or grandfather. They wanted the entire publishing world to recognize that Isaka Ryūichirō and his trusted assistant, Asahina Kaoru, had truly reinvented Murakawa Shoten.

Their partnership relied not only on a division of labor but a division of roles. Each knew his lines. Isaka was the goof-off, whining and complaining about the work, getting drunk at nomikai. Asahina was the steady, responsible one who sighed and scolded. Isaka pouted and made jokes while Asahina threatened and punished. It was a long-running show with multiple performances each day, even when there was no audience.

"Onishi Rin" read the name on the traditional resume, with its sober picture of a young woman in a black suit and white blouse. Underneath, though, was a colorful Western-style resume in English. That was the one that caught Asahina's eye. Orange and teal spilled over the page, with photos running down the page showing publications she'd been instrumental in promoting. A note from Fujiwara-san at the printer was attached. Asahina put the two resumes in the pile of papers that would go home with them that evening.

Each day seemed to bring its own crisis, and today's was a mini-breakdown on the part of a star mangaka who'd been pushed one step too far by her editor. Isaka was on the department floor immediately, deftly reassigning work and subtly keeping the editor-in-chief from making the situation any worse. He summoned Takahashi Misaki, a relative newcomer (and incidentally the younger boyfriend from the previous night's gossip). Isaka had noticed that Takahashi had a rare talent for calming and quieting the high-strung artistic types they had to deal with. Hell, it was worth keeping him on the payroll just to make sure Usami more-or-less met his deadlines. Takahashi was dispatched to the apartment of the mangaka to work his magic.

Isaka slowly allowed the editor-in-chief to reassert his authority and the atmosphere gradually changed from unbridled hysteria to the barely-controlled chaos that always accompanied the last few days before an issue went to print.

Several more meetings; lunch with a visiting literary agent; a few fawning calls to various writers and artists; another visit to the floor of the department on deadline; a quick chat with the frazzled mangaka; a follow-up call to Takahashi, who seemed to be tidying up her apartment and cooking dinner while the mangaka finished the last few panels. And then it was 6 p.m., and Asahina was packing the briefcases.

"What do you think? Pretty impressive, eh?" Asahina asked, passing the traditional resume to Isaka.

"Yeah. Probably out of our price range, though," grunted Isaka.

"True. Besides, what would we do with her? Just because someone would make a good employee doesn't mean you have work for her."

"Oh, that's easy," Isaka said, suddenly pouncing on the topic. "We're dragging our feet when it comes to getting our product in Canada and America. Imagine if we had someone who could manage sales and distribution and who was comfortable enough with American culture to make sure we don't waste our time doing useless things."

"We've got tons of people who know American culture and have fantastic English," Asahina argued.

"What we've got, Karou, are 25 employees who each spent a semester or two in college in America, mostly drinking beer, and a couple of guys with Western moms. And they're all creative people, not numbers people."

English was a sore point for Isaka. He'd been terrible at it, while Asahina had found it fun and easy. As if to drive home the point, Asahina handed the English-language resume to Isaka, who was equally captivated by the vivid graphics but had absolutely no intention of investing the time he would need to decipher it.

"Let's bring Onishi-san in for an interview. Worst case, she'll laugh in our faces and go off to work for some huge multinational," Isaka decided. He penned a few notes on the English resume and handed it back to Asahina with a smile.

While interviews of new graduates were generally done before a panel, Isaka decided to conduct this more like a meeting. Really, it was unlikely that this young woman would be interested in what Marukawa could offer, so there was no need to jump through ceremonial hoops. Asahina was in a human resources meeting, and the receptionist showed Onishi-san into Isaka's office.

What Isaka first noticed about Onishi Rin was what she was not wearing: the black suit worn by 99.9 percent of job applicants. She wore light colors, tans and taupes, and the design of her jacket and blouse gave a nod to traditional Japanese style but with modern flair. Her distinctive interview attire would have disqualified her at many companies, but Isaka liked it. It made him think of his visits to Southern California, with its warm weather and atmosphere of easygoing freedom. She had grown up in California, Isaka recalled.

After the introductory pleasantries, Onishi took a seat across from Isaka at the small conference table in the executive office.

"Do you mind if we speak Japanese? My English is terrible! You can probably tell." Isaka said in English with a self-deprecating grin. His natural charm engaged automatically, as if set to a timer.

"I'd actually prefer Japanese, if you don't mind. English is good for details and specifics, but I think ideas are better expressed in Japanese," she answered.

Isaka looked at her face, really looked, and smiled. This time, the smile was not part of a well-practiced performance. It was genuine, reaching his eyes. Onishi-san smiled back.

That night, as they reviewed the status of each division, Isaka said casually, never taking his eyes off his computer screen, "I made Onishi-san an offer for a 2-month contract. We'll see if she takes it."

"How much?" Asahina asked sharply.

Isaka named a figure, and Asahina whistled softly.

"Hope she's worth it, Ryūichirō-sama." His tone of voice made it obvious he thought it unlikely.

Onishi Rin had been a star since she was in diapers. She was always the smartest, best looking, most accomplished . . . just the most . . . of any group. She was also the hungriest, always looking for a challenge, never taking the path of least resistance. With degrees from prestigious universities in both Japan and America and a string of internships, part-time jobs, and demanding projects, she could pick and choose.

The choice she made, in the end, was Marukawa Shoten. The money wasn't great, but when she met the young president, Isaka Ryūichirō, she knew she would be accepting whatever offer he made. He was adorable, and without that unpleasant, blatantly sexual vibe that she felt from so many men. She wanted to work with him: she could tell that he was hungry, too.

Isaka was paying more than the company could afford, but he hedged his bets by offering a 2-month contract. Onishi had other offers, obviously, and if things didn't work out at Marukawa, they'd simply call it a consulting contract. If she decided to stay, they would renegotiate. Murakawa was not the kind of large multinational company that typically recruited high-flyers. At heart, they were the same post-war publishing company that Isaka's grandfather had started, conservative and averse to risk. That, Isaka thought to himself, was about to change.

Her first few days at Marukawa saw Onishi trailing after Yokozawa Takafumi, the acknowledged sales wunderkind who had risen by the age of 30 to a position usually held by men a decade or two his senior.

A taciturn man, Yokozowa said little to Onishi. Indeed, she noticed a warmer side only when he took the occasional personal phone call. The calls were always from someone he called, "Hyori," and Onishi assumed it was a wife or girlfriend, though that had been called into question when she heard him promise to help with algebra equations later in the evening. Okay, probably his daughter. Somehow, it made her like him more to know that he would be spending his evening doing algebra.

Each afternoon at 4 p.m., Onishi met with Isaka.

"Let's see the figures for the number of online sellers currently shipping manga within the U.S. and Canada," Isaka said, opening up his laptop in the small conference room near his office.

"As you can see, the figures you're looking at are broken down by state and include online-only vendors as well as those with brick-and-mortar shops," Onishi explained. "The second worksheet shows our penetration by state as well as by type of vendor."

Isaka studied the spreadsheets for a few moments.

"So what you're saying is that we're being screwed in the online market?"

"Royally," affirmed Onishi.

"And what do we do about this?" Isaka asked playfully.

"We do one of two things. Or both. First, we offer an incentive program and fast track ordering and shipping for online vendors. Second, we put up our own online store with top-of-the-line SEO."

Isaka's entire body strummed with the vibrancy of his smile. Why couldn't his other managers and executives think like this?

"And one other thing," Onishi continued. "Do any of Marukawa's translators actually speak English? Know anyone who speaks English? Ever met an English-speaking person?"

"Hey, don't look at me! Asahino-san won't even let me order in a restaurant when we're in America. Says I'm an embarrassment to Japan's educational system."

"Seriously. I've been reading the English-language versions our mangas and light novels every night, and they're not terrible, but we have to do a lot better. The competition is just too fierce, and you need translators who can get across the meaning, not just translate the words. If that's all they're doing, you can run it through Google Translate."

"Okay. Okay. So for our meeting tomorrow, do the following: come up with a plan, timeline, and budget for reaching the online vendors and setting up our own English-language website, and figure out which mangas need to be rewritten in English. Oh, and what about having some of the literary works translated for sales to colleges and that kind of thing."

"You're going to spend thousands of dollars translating somebody like Usami-sensei so that he can complain about every third word while you sell ten copies to a Japanese literature class at UCLA?" Onishi responded acerbically.

Isaka laughed. Oh, yeah. Fujiwara had been absolutely correct. He was nuts about this girl!

Onishi's phone range at shortly after 6 a.m. the next morning. Assuming it was a friend from America, she answered without looking at the caller.

"Hey, Rin here!"

"Ms. Onishi, this is Karou Asahina, assistant to Director Isaka," a cool voice responded, speaking in English with surprisingly little accent. "Because of some scheduling difficulties, Director Isaka would like to know if you are available to meet over dinner at 6 p.m. today."

"Yes, that will be fine. Thank you for your consideration, Asahina-san," she answered, speaking Japanese just to be contrary.

The call ended, and Onishi sighed. Not about the dinner meeting; that was normal enough. No, the young woman who had always been "the most" could spot jealousy a mile away.

Onishi never gossiped herself, but she resolved to keep her ears open, especially about Director Isaka's assistant and why he might consider her a threat.

"You said you studied literature in college, not business. So how did you become such a whiz at the number crunching?" Onishi asked over dinner one night.

That first dinner meeting had led to many more. In fact, at least twice a week, the 4 p.m. meeting was extended into a 6 p.m. dinner at a local restaurant. Initially, Asahina joined them; lately, though, he was absent. Onishi felt more comfortable without him. She always felt that he disapproved of her. Did he think her work was shoddy? Did he disapprove of women in such jobs? Did he find her too Western? Did he think she was overpaid?

Whatever hidden animosity or disapproval Asahina harbored, Isaka was just the opposite. Of course, he was still her superior, but their meetings had become more and more informal and enjoyable. Isaka challenged her and made her defend her opinions, and he seemed to love the fact that she wasn't a sycophant; she told him the truth, but with a smile. He even seemed to like her American bad-assery!

"Oh, God! I was a complete idiot when I started. I'd wanted to be a writer when I was a kid, but somewhere along the line I discovered that I couldn't actually write that well. I could tell what would sell, though. You should have seen us! Every night, Asahina and I would spend the whole evening trying to figure out how to use a spreadsheet or what the accountants were saying. Hell, I don't think I could even read a bank statement when I started," Isaka answered, laughing at the memories of his naiveté.

"That's pretty damned impressive!" Onishi said it matter-of-factly, without fawning.

Isaka took a sip from his glass of wine and felt his chest expand slightly with pride at the compliment.

It was 7 p.m., and Asahina was still in the office. Isaka was with Onishi-san. He'd been invited, of course, but he'd begged off, claiming he needed to catch up on paperwork. The real reason was that he didn't want to go. He hated that woman. She was too loud; too brash; too . . . everything. She might be Japanese by birth, but her years in America had rubbed off too much, in Asahina's opinion.

Deep inside, buried almost beyond the reach of his conscious mind, he realized why he really hated her. He hated her because Isaka liked her so much. Every third sentence out of Ryūichirō-sama's mouth was about her. She was so smart. She was so cute. She was so funny. She was so interesting. She was so fashionable. She was so . . . Asahina wanted to scream.

Isaka found himself thinking about Onishi more and more. He'd never had someone at Marukawa before who understood his vision so completely. He could throw any crazy idea at her, and she'd find the kernel of a real strategy buried within. She admired him, too, and that felt incredible. Not just because he was the managing director, and not just because it was, essentially, his company. No, she seemed to actually understand how hard he worked and how much Marukawa Shoten prospered because of him.

Onishi was fun, and Isaka liked himself better when he was around her. He was not a deeply introspective man, but occasionally he found himself wondering how his life might have played out had he not fallen in love with Asahina so many years ago. He was attracted to women, and he'd had girlfriends as a teenager. What if he'd met someone like Onishi Rin all those years ago? Or what if he were single now? Would things have turned out differently? It was a stupid thought. He loved Asahina and couldn't imagine life without him. But sometimes . . . well, it made for an interesting fantasy. Even more so because Asahina had been inexplicably distant lately.

Six weeks into Onishi's tenure, Isaka was virtually crowing over what a savvy hire she had been. A functional website was up and running for online vendors and all kinds of incentives were encouraging them to stock and advertise Marukawa offerings. Plans were in place for direct online marketing, as well.

Onishi, however, had come to a very different conclusion about her future at the company.

She had discovered that virtually everyone at Marukawa claimed to know something. The majority view seemed to be that Isaka and Asahina were lovers. However, a sizeable minority pointed out that they had grown up together and therefore perhaps shared brotherly bonds. Still others suggested that some dark secret in their families' pasts linked them forever.

Whatever the reality, it held little sustained interest for the employees of Marukawa Shoten. Juicier drama was provided by the Emerald Division, where an ongoing series of romantic entanglements kept everyone talking. When things got slow there, some kind of incident between Usami-sensei and his beloved Takahashi filled in the gossip gap. Lovers, brothers, best friends - or all three - Isaka and Asahina worked, went home, and worked some more. Not much for water cooler wags to work with, it seemed.

"Director Isaka," she said formally at their next meeting, "I must speak to you about my plans. As you recall, we had agreed on an initial commitment of two months. I regret to inform you that I have accepted another position. However, I hope that you are pleased with the progress I've made during my time at Marukawa Shoten."

Isaka had realized this was a significant possibility, but he'd tried to push it out of his mind. Yes, she could get more money elsewhere, but perhaps she enjoyed the challenge of helping a smaller firm . . .

"I cannot say that I am not disappointed," he responded. "May I ask why you made this decision without further negotiations between us?"

"I am very happy at Marukawa Shoten, but I have been offered a position that will allow me to split my time between Tokyo and Los Angeles. My boyfriend lives in Los Angeles, so this decision is partially based on that."

There was no boyfriend in Los Angeles. Well, not a serious one. It was unprofessional for an employee at her level to bring up a thing like that. But Onishi knew that such a reason would keep Isaka from pressing. He was a romantic at heart, she suspected.

Isaka went through the next two weeks in a daze, feeling alternately sad and silly. It had been a kind of a crush, not unlike the crushes young girls have on singers or upperclassmen, he told himself. He actually knew very little about Onishi Rin. Well, that's what crushes were. They weren't based on really knowing the other person; they were based on impressions and ephemeral feelings. They were based on the needs of the crush-er, not on the merits of the crush-ee. In all the time they had spent together, Onishi-san had never even alluded to a personal life, let alone a serious boyfriend. Well, neither had he, to be fair.

It was her last day at Marukawa Shoten, and Onishi Rin had one more task to complete. It was a delicate one, though, and timing was crucial. She staked out the small conference room where she and Director Isaka had met each day and waited.

"Asahina-san," she called out when she saw the assistant emerge from the office he shared with Isaka.

"Yes, Onishi-san. How may I be of help to you?" He wasn't smiling.

"A private word, if I may," Onishi requested, gesturing at the empty conference room.

"I am very busy. Is this something that human resources might be better suited to assisting you with?" Asahina answered.

"I won't impose on much of your time. I realize that you are a very busy man."

Asahina entered, and Onishi closed the door, leaving it a few inches ajar. She sat down, with Asahina grudgingly following her lead.

"I must say something to you, Asahina-san," she began. "I am afraid you will not like what I must say, but I believe it is important. Perhaps you find me too blunt, not subtle enough. It is true that some of my attitudes are very American, and I apologize in advance for giving advice to my superiors and elders. However, this concerns you and Director Isaka."

"I have no interest in listening to gossip, and I would advise you to avoid the practice, as well." Asahina said coldly.

"Please allow me to finish, Asahina-san," she continued in a quiet tone. "I have noticed during my time at Marukawa Shoten that Director Isaka is not always respected for his accomplishments. Perhaps it is because this is his family's company. However, his father is not yet elderly; he would not have stepped aside had he not been confident of the Director's abilities. Director Isaka is a remarkable man, and I feel that you must work to ensure that everyone involved with Marukawa Shoten realizes that much of the company's success is due to his intelligence and hard work."

Asahina started to speak, but Onishi cut him off.

"I must say something more personal to you, as well, Asahina-san. Director Isaka needs the respect of those who are close to him. I have heard many versions of your relationship, and none of it is relevant. But I can tell you one thing: your opinion is most important to the Director. If Isaka-sama does not feel that respect, you will eventually lose him. Perhaps it will be a romantic interest or maybe it will be a new trusted employee or possibly just a good friend. Again, it does not matter. Your heart will ache regardless."

Asahina wanted to yell at this young woman, to tell her that she'd gotten everything wrong and had no right to speak in such a manner to someone a decade or more older. It wasn't possible, though. For one thing, Onishi Rin rose from her seat, bowed, and made her exit before he could gather his thoughts. For another thing, he knew that she was right.

In the wake of Onishi Rin's departure, nothing at Marukawa Shoten really changed. At the same time, Isaka felt, things seemed different. It started with the hated nomikai. They mysteriously ended. Isaka hadn't been consciously aware of the fact until the owner of the nearby izakaya called to ask if Director-sama was displeased with some element of the establishment.

The schedule changed slightly, too. Meetings were scheduled for 9:30 or so instead of the previous 8 or 8:30 a.m. It wasn't a huge change, of course, but Isaka once overheard Asahina holding firm on the time, claiming that it was inappropriate to demand the Director's attendance at an early morning meeting when he was required to speak at a publishing industry event the night before.

Asahina himself even seemed different. He seemed less prone to second-guess Isaka's decisions and made fewer snide remarks about Isaka's bad habits or minor failings. He laughed a bit more easily and gave compliments a bit more freely. He sighed less.

Or perhaps it was all just Isaka's imagination.

What wasn't imaginary was a certain increased sexual tension between the two. Asahina privately believed Isaka to be more eager as of late, and Isaka secretly felt that Asahina's drive had increased.

They tumbled into the genkan that night, pawing at one another like they had when they were first together. Shoes were left in an untidy pile along with suit jackets, ties, and Isaka's shirt. They reached the bedroom, and Asahina stretched out on the bed.

"Your turn tonight, Ryu," he said in a light voice as he unfastened his belt.

"Huh?" came the response.

"I'm tired of doing all the work. It's about time I got to lie back and get fucked."

Isaka blushed, oddly shocked by his lover's words. It wasn't that they'd never done it that way; of course they had. But, well, they'd fallen into a rhythm, a habit, a way of doing things. Isaka loved giving up control to Asahina, loved the feeling of being ridden.

"Hmm, are you sure that delicate ass can take it?" Isaka teased.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be very gentle." Asahina laughed while Isaka removed his partner's remaining clothing and spread his legs.

"Don't count on it, Karou. Once you make the offer, you have to live with the consequences."

Isaka retrieved the small bottle of lubricant and began using his fingers to prepare Asahina's passage while alternately teasing his erection. Asahina bucked into Isaka's hand as additional fingers were added, each massaging the tight walls.

"Last chance to back out, no pun intended," Isaka offered breathlessly.

"No! God! Do it! Fuck me!"

Isaka dribbled more lubricant over his own erection and slowly entered his partner. Asahina's body accepted the intrusion, relaxing and moving with Isaka's gentle thrusts.

"You okay?" Isaka's eyes were closed, lost in the sensation. He used one hand on Asahina, massaging up and down his length. A garbled affirmative from Asahina, and Isaka picked up the pace, his thrusts going deeper.

"C'mon! Harder, Ryu!"

A few minutes more, and Asahina let out a hoarse cry, his release bathing Isaka's hand and covering his own chest. The sight of Asahina's climax and those heavenly pulsating walls gripping him so tightly pushed Isaka over the edge, and he collapsed on top of the one person who meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

A long while later, they roused.

"So what brought that on, Karou?" Isaka asked.

"I dunno. I guess I thought we should mix things up a little. You know, it can be kind of crushing to be stuck in the same roles all the time. Gotta keep you on your toes."

"I thought you liked to keep me on my back," Isaka smirked.

"Well, normally, yeah. But I figure a guy with your talents ought to be able to do a lot of jobs and be great at all of them."

"Or you just felt like getting fucked . . . "

"Yeah, that, too," Asahina agreed.

They dozed for a few minutes more before showering and retrieving the trail of clothing they'd left.

Asahina got drinks from the kitchen, and when he returned, Isaka was poring over his computer screen.

"So why don't you tell me what you're looking at," prompted Asahina.

"Get your computer out and look at it with me."

"Nah, you can tell me about it."

Isaka launched into a description of his concerns about literary sales and relying too heavily on Usami-sensei's reputation. Asahina asked questions and contributed his thoughts while cutting up vegetables for the next night's dinner.

Everything was just the same. Yet somehow, different.