Sweeter than Chocolate, a yami no matsuei fanfic

Sweeter than Chocolate

Disclaimer: I don't own YnM, and I don't make any money off of writing fanfics. Don't even think about suing me, I have maybe eight dollars in my wallet and all I can taste right now is Chinese food. Cursed pork fried rice.

Rating: R for language and limey sensuality

Pairing: Tatsumi/Watari

Summary: A Valentine's themed vignette narrated by a grumpy Watari in something close to stream-of-consciousness form. Luck just doesn't seem to be on his side this holiday…or does it? That is the million-dollar question!

Notes: I cobbled this together in no time flat, mostly because I was inspired by Kouri's incredible writing style. If you haven't read "Live Through" and its subsequent sequels, or the Tats and Tari flavored "Mating Habits of the Species Shinigami," you really can't call yourself a YnM fan.

If I wasn't already dead, I'd say that life sucks. It's been an all-around miserable week and I do believe that I've hit the absolute rock bottom. I'm limping through the streets of some unrecognizable suburb in Tokyo, stranded in Chijou without a stitch of power, not even healing power considering the fact that I'm limping, at some ungodly hour no human being or Shinigami should ever have to be outside for, in the middle of a rainstorm. I'm bleeding from one shoulder, my glasses are cracked, and my hair weighs about a metric ton. Oh, and did I mention I'm completely directionally challenged? This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen to me! You don't send me out on a case, I don't care how hard-pressed for Shinigami the district is, I'm the lab boy! You only send me out on dire emergencies and when there's a readily available partner, preferably Tatsumi, given that his shadow-magic more than adequately compensates for my severe lack of anything considered useful in combat.

But no, I'm here, wandering the streets of Chijou, sodden, bruised and broken, and hopelessly lost. And you wonder how I ended up here? Hmph. It's the story of my afterlife. Konoe-Kacho and his favorite lackey Tatsumi call a staff meeting; announce the arrival of a new case. Tsuzuki and Hisoka are already in the middle of some unfortunately messy ordeal, potentially involving Muraki or one of his ilk. Wakaba and Terazuma are dealing with a crisis in one of the Ministry's other sectors. Saya and Yuma are off this week. Tatsumi's busy grappling with the Powers That Be over giving our section a bigger budget. So, what solution does that leave us with? Give Watari a chicken and send him! Yes! Oh, and did I mention that 003 absolutely despises the Gushoshin twins? It was like one of those "When Animals Attack" specials…only with a talking chicken god thing creature pitted against an owl the size of a tennis ball that looks strikingly similar to a Furby.

Anyway, back to my original story, one of the Gushoshin and I are dispatched. And we discover, much to his horror and my expectancy that it isn't just the clean retrieval case that Konoe had advertised it to be. There were demons involved. Big ones. We all remember which Shinigami I am, right? Watari, the one who doesn't exactly have phenomenal shadow-raising powers, the ability to summon an entire freaking pantheon of gods, or empathic abilities that could make somebody spontaneously combust. Hence the injuries. I got my ass kicked before we managed to rein those bad boys in, draining any sort of powers I may have previously possessed in the process, including those simplest of abilities most Shinigami take for granted. Like regeneration, teleporting, flight, and my personal favorite, invisibility. I'm stuck in my human form looking like a hobo or a streetwalker, and somewhere between dropkicking a demon and ending up here I lost the Gushoshin…and one of my shoes, I think. I can't tell, that's the foot that's gone numb from my swollen ankle.

I pass a convenience store, one of maybe thirty I've passed in the span of ten minutes, and all of them have the same display in the window. Valentine's Day gifts, chocolates and cards, dopey little trinkets most likely imported from America. Those Americans, they blow holidays way out of proportion. I roll up a sleeve with a bloodied hand, I'm still clutching my bleeding shoulder, remember, and squint down at my watch. It's one of those really nice jobbies that has the date set into it. Hmph, yeah, I shouldn't have even bothered looking because I can't read it without my glasses. If I'm not mistaken, though, I think it's Valentine's Day. And I'm sorely lacking a valentine. Not that I ever really celebrated the holiday anyways. Traditionally, girls give their male objects of admiration chocolates today (if it's today) and the favor is returned on White Day. I prefer to celebrate it in the American tradition of candy for everybody. One, because nobody loves me and I'd rather make everyone happy than be bitter about the whole thing. And two, because I'm one hundred percent flamingly gay, so the whole concept of the holiday falls apart for me. But I sort of wish that it could work. I also sort of wish I could get my powers back so I could go home, but that's not going to happen any time soon. To be honest with you, and don't you dare tell anybody because I swear if you do…wait, I'm making idle threats to empty air, aren't I? Come on, Watari, no time to be going crazy, the blood loss and the numbness and the blurred vision aren't that bad. Where was I?

Oh yeah, big secretive revelations. I'm in love with Tatsumi. No shitting. I've had a serious thing for him since I died, and that was close to thirty years ago. Of course, I'd never tell him that. He'd probably brush it off as another one of my practical jokes anyways. Yup, I figure my chances with Tatsumi are about as good as the chances of Muraki going to Heaven. But I love him anyways. I don't even know why, maybe it's because I know he's not the penny-pinching stick-up-the-ass curmudgeon everybody paints him to be. I've seen the way he acts around Tsuzuki and Hisoka, how (dare I say it) loving and kind he can be. Tatsumi is nothing if not genuinely sincere and brutally honest, two qualities I like in a man. That, and drop-dead gorgeous. I know having European blood was frowned upon in his time, but seriously…a tall, well-built Japanese man with the bluest eyes known to mankind? I'll raise my hand and admit that's my kind of wet dream right there. But, as I said, he doesn't reciprocate. He's pleasant to me at best, and that's on a really good day. Most of the time, he's either yelling at me because I blew up the lab, or kicking my ass in for experimenting on the coworkers again. It's not like I experiment on him anyways. No sense in turning the man you love into a garden gnome, right?

If it were possible I would've had a heart attack when I saw the Torii Gate over my head. See, Torii Gates are, as far as I can surmise, kind of a "get into Meifu free" pass. They're a link between Meifu and Chijou, according to shrine priests, and are a perfectly good deus ex machina for a poor little lost Shinigami who'd be stuck wandering around for all eternity or until somebody cared enough to go looking for me. I pass through the gate and into the comfortable surroundings of Meifu, perpetual cherry blossoms and everything, and heave a sigh of relief. That is, until I realize it's raining buckets here too and I'm still wet and cold. Damn it all to hell. But there's an apartment complex nearby, maybe I can bugger one of my kindly coworkers to loan me some floor space to crash on tonight.

I don't think I realized just whose apartment door I was knocking on until it swung open. Tall, lithe, well-built, currently shirtless…oh Gods of Meifu he's got the tightest washboard abs I've seen on any man and I can tell even with fractured glasses…wearing a comfortable pair of sweatpants (so out of character!), his hair darkened from dampness, and those eyes. The most indulgently beautiful eyes, the color of twilight skies in autumn, just before the first stars shudder into being. He's staring at me, nonplussed, glasses hanging on the end of his nose. I must look an absolute sight. I fell in a muddy puddle hobbling here, so I'm soaked down to the marrow, mud down my front and ground into my ratty and limp hair, bleeding profusely, ankle in some form of bad shape, one shoe missing, glasses cracked and now leaning off my nose at some unnatural angle…much like my ankle's position…and I can taste blood, which means either I'm suffering from an anime-style nosebleed or I've split my lip. I might be crying too, but my face is too cold and numb for me to know.

"Watari-san?" Always with the 'san.' Formal as ever.

I smile weakly, my lower lip burning. Yup, split lip. "Can I come in? Please, Tatsumi? I barely walked away from my case, I lost Gushoshin, my powers are completely gone, I'm hurt, cold and wet…please, I just need…"

Before I can beg him further, my legs finally give out and I fall forward. Good thing that he's got such sharp reflexes. If I was still completely conscious, I'd feel badly that I got him all dirty and junk, he must've just come from the shower.

When next I wake, I'm all but naked, wrapped in a blanket on Tatsumi's couch as he pokes and prods at my chewed up shoulder with a cotton ball soaked in…I sniff experimentally…as I expected, hydrogen peroxide. I blush, realizing how nearly naked I really am. Looks like Tatsumi's now discovered whether I wear boxers or briefs. I'm not telling you. Suffer. My ankle's been bandaged and there's a bag of ice on it, a pillow propping it up. A steaming mug of tea rests on the coffee table at his elbow, next to the small first-aid kit. You wouldn't expect somebody who can heal instantaneously to possess a first-aid kit, but that's Tatsumi for you.

"Watari-san?" he asks again, chewing his lip with something that might be worry. Don't look at me, Hisoka's the empath. I'm just the current damsel in distress.

I shudder despite the thick blanket. "I…um…thank you, Tatsumi. Really."

"Watari-san, how did you get here? With no powers, I mean. You said…" he trails off, rubbing some Neosporin into the wound and wrapping a length of bandage around my shoulder.

"I did, and I don't have anything. I walked. I walked for I don't know how long until I happened to find a Torii Gate and stumbled back into Meifu, saw your building and high-tailed it on over."

He gives me a sort of remorseful look. "I'm sorry, I should've gone with you. Had I known this case would have turned out the way it did…"

"You have your work, I've got mine. It's okay, Tatsumi. I just appreciate your helping me out like this." He presses the tea into my hands. "How badly would you say I'm hurt? I'd gauge for myself, but my head's still so fuzzy and I can't see straight."

"I'm almost positive you've fractured your ankle. Which, Watari-san, is why you will be staying here tonight. I don't even want you to try and move. Not until your powers are back and at full capacity," he mandates, giving me a pointed 'now drink your tea, son, it's good for you' look.

"Tatsumi, I can't ask that of you, it isn't…"

"Shut your mouth, Watari. You are staying here tonight and there will be no discussion on the matter. Let me see if I can find you something to wear, the girl I have do my laundry hasn't brought anything back yet, I don't think."

He disappears into the bedroom and comes back moments later with a huge shirt, probably triple-extra-large, and surprisingly enough, he tenderly helps me get into it. Shoulder, you know. In the span of seconds he had disappeared, I'd come to the realization that he had momentarily dropped the honorific from my name. It'll be put back on next time he addresses me.

"I'd loan you some pants, but I neither have any other than the ones I'm wearing nor want to move your ankle nor think you could fit into them," he states. "Is there anything else I can get you, Watari-san?"

"Yeah, answers as to why you're up at…" I squint at the clock on the opposite wall. "Two…forty…"

"Two forty-seven in the morning. I've been tending to you."

I gawk at him. "Beg pardon? Tatsumi, how long have I been here? How long was I out?"

"Watari-san, it was only eleven-thirty when you got here. I was watching the evening news when you battered my door down."

"So why were the streets so empty? It was like it was a ghost town out there! Not a single soul on the streets…or…I can't remember. God, how much of a wreck am I, Tatsumi? I can't even tell if I'm near people or not? How do I know you're really you and not some random whacko who's decided to humor me and only knows my name because he stole my wallet?"

Tatsumi leans over and brushes his hand against my temple, his fingers catching my hair. "Because you aren't stupid enough to do something like that. And because you didn't snap back awake and protest profusely when I washed you hair."

"You what?!"

He chuckles. "In the kitchen sink with dishwashing soap. I couldn't drag you any farther…for someone so thin he's practically anorexic, you're rather heavy."

"I'm not heavy," I whine, going to fold my arms across my chest until burning pain sears my shoulder and I quickly put them back where they were. "…But again, thank you, Tatsumi."

"And again, it's not an issue, Watari-san. Now give me your arms, I'm transferring you into my bed. This couch isn't big enough for your long legs and I don't want you to jar your ankle."

I can only blink and comply, too stunned to respond. I, Watari Yutaka, am going to be lying in the bed of Tatsumi Seiichiro? I don't care if it's just out of professional courtesy and concern for my injuries, I'm going to be lying in his bed! I give him my arms and he carefully lifts me into his, not making any comments about my weight like I expected him to. And he doesn't protest when I lean into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of soap and skin. Once again, Tatsumi, you're getting me hot under the wristwatch, and won't I look like an idiot if you find out?

His bed is a Western style one, rather than a traditional futon, and I'm so glad for that. Sleeping on a mat on the floor like we Japanese are supposed to is not conducive to smutty R-rated fantasies. It's really a nice bed, and it's huge, not something one man sleeps alone in. The thought of Tatsumi in it with his previous boyfriend…coworker and good friend Tsuzuki…flashes through my mind and I stuff it back into its dark recesses. Tatsumi does not date him anymore, paranoid psyche, that broke off about fifty years ago! Then that gets me thinking that I was born the same year Tsuzuki and Tatsumi ended their relationship…does that make me born to love Tatsumi? Oh, now I'm waxing poetic, bloody brilliant.

He sets me down carefully, the bed partially turned down for the night, throwing the bedclothes over me after sticking a throw pillow or several under my leg. Tatsumi goes back for the tea and the first aid kit, putting on the bedside table next to his clock, picks a suspicious-looking box up off of his bureau, hands that to me, and sits down on the opposite side of the bed.

"What's this?" I ask, opening it. It's one of those Chinese takeout cartons, only red, with the Kanji for 'love' written in bold black strokes on the sides.

"Tsuzuki asked that I give this to you, he stopped in late yesterday while picking up some research from Gushoshin and gave them to me. He said he wasn't sure if he'd see you today between his case and yours. I assume it's Valentine's Day chocolates. You best pray he didn't make them himself."

They are, indeed, chocolates, lots of little heart-shaped chocolates. I pop a small handful in my mouth, and while chewing; ponder on the concept of my eating candy at three in the morning lying in Tatsumi's bed in a vastly oversized button-down shirt of his. Sounds like all the makings for a trashy romance novel or some cheesy porn. I hope that's how it ends up. The chocolate has a funny aftertaste, like there's something in it that shouldn't be there.

"Tatsumi, does this taste odd to you?"

He takes a handful. "A bit. But this is probably poor quality chocolate, Tsuzuki most likely didn't have enough money to afford anything better."

"So why are we still eating it?" I inquire as we take more from the box.

"You need to get your blood sugar back up. I have no idea why I'm indulging in these things. Perhaps simply because they're there," he responds, biting one thoughtfully.

I nod. "It's Valentine's Day, isn't it?"

"Yes, and what a miserable holiday it is. I find no pleasure in it at all whatsoever, barring my current company, mind you. This ridiculous day was obviously designed as a torture device for anyone lacking someone to share it with."

"I couldn't agree more," I say, digging in for another handful of chocolate. Damn, for such terrible tasting things, we've eaten half the box already. "Especially when I see Tsuzuki and Bon getting all cuddly. I'm happy for them, really I am, but…"

Tatsumi fishes a piece of paper out of the box, scrutinizing it with some confusion. "Shit…"

"What?"

"To Watari and presumably Tatsumi," he reads. "Congratulations! You've just eaten half a box of chocolates laced with a combination truth serum and aphrodisiac courtesy of Watari's lab…thanks for leaving it unlocked during your lunch breaks, buddy. Everyone in Shokan-ka knows how you two feel about one another; it's high time you were clued in. Happy Valentine's Day from Tsuzuki and Kannuki Chocolatiers."

"Truth serum! I expect this from Tsuzuki, but Wakaba?!" I cry, shoving the box away. "Maybe if we don't say anything, nothing will happen."

"Can't," Tatsumi responds. "There's a postscript that says if we remain silent, the serum will simply force the truth out of us."

"How long do we have?"

"It doesn't say. Not long, I presume. Perhaps we should just say what we have to say so we don't have to suffer the injustice of having it dragged out of us."

I sigh heavily. "This was not the way I'd anticipated this happening. Especially not looking like something that was fished out of a gutter and immobilized until my powers…Tatsumi, I'm in love with you." I clap my hand over my mouth immediately.

Well, that was fast. I'd hoped to get my rant over before any gut-wrenching confessions. Whichever one of those two mixed the chemicals did a nice job, I'll have to admit. Tatsumi is just staring at me, his expression unreadable…more because I can't see it, though.

"Watari…" he says, hesitantly dropping the honorific.

"I've loved you since the moment I met you," I continue, unable to stop now that I've been kick-started. "I know it sounds ridiculously schmaltzy, but it's true. I don't even care if you don't love me, just being near you is enough. You're a beautiful man, Tatsumi, in every aspect of the word and…I love you."

He's still just staring at me, and it's making me feel very uncomfortable. I want him to say something, anything, even just whack me upside the head and call me a complete idiot. This silence is bothering me. I wonder what happens if you don't say anything for too long, other than the promised blurting of secrets. Maybe your head explodes. That's probably one of few things Shinigami regeneration can't recover, heads getting blown off. Almost blown off, sure, but complete spontaneous combustion, it's adios amigo.

"Tatsumi, please, say something…"

He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair away from my face, curling it around his fingers. I can't tell if he's smiling at me or giving me the 'I'm going to cut your paycheck if you don't shut up' look…I curse being so blind. I think I'm going to start wearing contacts from now on, this is ridiculous. I can't even see him and…oh gods. He leans over, forehead touching mine, and all I can see is blue.

"You're the only one who's ever told me they loved me," he murmurs, ghosting his lips over mine. My breath is hitching in my throat. "Watari…"

"Say it," I demand, deliciously uncomfortable from the closeness.

Another feather-light kiss. "I need you."

Though I'm a bit surprised at the words, I realize they mean more to me than anything. Tatsumi admitted to needing me, I've never been needed by anyone. And the way he spoke them, with such conviction, said more than 'I love you' ever could. Funny how Tatsumi can make 'I love you' sound hollow. I just hope it's not the aphrodisiac talking and when this is all over he's not going to bash my brains in and call me a fool for letting him get duped by Tsuzuki's tampered chocolate.

"Let me…" he whispers, fingers sliding over my jaw.

"I'm all yours," I reply, my own fingers playing along his vertebrae. "Just be gentle."

Tatsumi smiles, genuinely smiles, taking his glasses off and setting them beside the now cold mug of tea before straddling my hips, towering over me. I try to prop myself up but my shoulder protests, followed by my ankle, and I voice my pain. Tatsumi pushes me back down into the pillows before descending, his mouth crushing against mine. Never in my wildest…wait, no, I'm lying…my wildest fantasies are far racier than this but still, the point is I'm being brutally kissed by the one man I never expected to do so. Shit, maybe this means that Muraki's getting his halo and harp after all. Shut up, Watari, stop thinking.

His hand threads behind my neck, mine to his, pulling him downward, willingly submitting to him. I think it's a general rule of thumb that if you can't move your ankle, you're automatically made uke, and damned if I'm going to argue. I don't think I could be on top if I wanted to, given my current condition. His slips his tongue into my mouth and all I can taste is that chocolate, only sweeter. His tongue slides across mine, sparring playfully, and I moan, pulling him closer still. He shakes his head slightly, drawing back, a smile cutting across his features again as he runs his tongue along my ear. I nip at his throat, fingers tangling in his damp hair, breath ragged.

"You're being rather forward," I observe between gasps, helpless under Tatsumi's careful ministrations. He shoots me a look.

"Truth serum," he replies tersely. "And aphrodisiac."

"Aa."

He kisses the corner of my mouth gently, stroking my hair. "I've lost control, I can't stop myself, Watari."

"Then don't," I tell him, offering my throat.

He kisses down it and I can't help but shudder, my throat's always been one of those erogenous spots that, upon contact, renders me a helpless and quivering lump of Watari-goo. I can't breathe, hands splayed across his shoulder blades, my whole body numb to every sensation other than his touch.

"Tatsumi…" I groan, unable to articulate my request. Somehow he seems to understand and all but rips the shirt open, sinking his teeth into the juncture between neck and shoulder, lapping at the puncture. The vampire Lestat claims another, I think wryly, one of few lucid thoughts flashing through my mind. The other was a gleeful promise to come in to work wearing a low collared shirt so I can show off the hickey and proudly proclaim I got it from the "office troll."

"I died clean, don't worry," he murmurs in my ear.

"Can Shinigami even contract sexually transmitted diseases?" I ask in reply.

"Probably not," he admits. "But it doesn't hurt to be safe."

His hands roam across my chest, the skin so dark compared to mine. I was naturally pale to begin with, but I only made my complexion fairer by never going out into broad daylight. His mouth descends again, over a collarbone, a nipple. I can't even speak coherently anymore, simply content to moan and try to land kisses when and where I can. One lands on a faint scar that runs over Tatsumi's right collarbone, I knew where it was because I'd seen it at the bathhouse in Hokkaido. He shudders, flicking dusky eyes at me, a severe smile on his bruising lips. Shit, that's Tatsumi's calculative smile.

He rises, throwing off his sweatpants and his boxers (I've always thought of him as a boxers kind of guy) in one clean toss, moving to close the partially ajar door. In my studies as a jack-of-all-trades…I might have gotten my major in engineering but I have about a dozen minors including chemistry, linguistics, and art…I'd spent time studying Greek and Roman sculpture, the freestanding nudes, and the perfection of form they displayed. Those cold marble statues don't hold a candle to Tatsumi. I didn't think anyone that beautiful could hide himself under starchy and drably colored suits.

"Tatsumi…" I whimper, feeling neglected. He jerked my choice of undergarments clear off, mindful of my ankle still, tossing them to land with his clothes, covering myself completely with his body. I scream at the full-on skin-to-skin contact, he muffles me with another deep and heady kiss, grinding his hips against mine. I can't take much more of this, I really can't. I'm either going to burst or pass out, and I'd rather it be the former.

"So beautiful…" he sighs, kissing my jaw. "Love you…"

I push him away just a little, just so I can see his face, his eyes. My sight is just enough so I can see if it's very, very close up, and Tatsumi's in that very, very close range currently. He's smiling at me, such a handsome smile, eyes warm and compassionate. This was the man I knew was hidden under so many stony layers, worlds apart from the man with the pointer stick and the case files.

"You all right, Watari?" he murmurs. "I'll stop…"

"Don't you dare," I hiss. "Leave me like this and I'll spike the coffee come morning and turn everyone into llamas. I told you, I'm yours. Take what I'm giving, dammit."

He chuckles. "Gladly."

He props me up, shifting himself lower. I start to ask how this translates to sex when his mouth closes over my length. I scream, fighting the urge to jerk my hips…don't want to choke him, after all. He hums in pleasure, taking me in, teasing, stroking. I'm breathless, fists clenched in his soft russet hair, moaning and crying his name. My head lolls wildly, hair flyaway, body convulsing as he continues, unrelenting.

"Tatsumi!" I howl, hips snapping up. My ears are ringing and all I can see is white light and stars, the feeling of a wave breaking over my head crashes down on me. He's hovering over me again, licking his lips before kissing me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, mimicking what he'd very much like to do to me if it didn't involve worsening the condition of my ankle. I can taste myself on his tongue, though I'm not exactly sure what I taste like, I just know that's what's there, and the taste of Tsuzuki and Wakaba's chocolate still lingers, and a taste that's uniquely Tatsumi.

"What about you?" I ask him breathlessly.

He shrugs. "Don't worry about it. You're more important."

I shake my head, taking him into my hand, stroking, teasing, getting revenge for that sizzling completion he'd brought me to. He groans, thrusting eagerly, eyes rolling back into his head. It doesn't take much to finish him, a wordless moan issuing from bruised lips. I bring up my hand and lick it, winking.

"Sweeter than chocolate."

He shakes his head. "Anything's sweeter than the ones Tsuzuki sent, at least."

Tatsumi rests his head on my chest; arm sprawled over my abs, humming contentedly into my skin. He seems uncharacteristically happy, drunk even.

"What's this?" I ask, nudging his shoulder. "You being so oddly happy."

"You're constantly complaining that I'm a 'grouch-faced stick-up-the-ass grump' and now you're complaining that I'm not? Damned hypocritical scientist."

I laugh, shoving his shoulder again. "Bastard."

"I love you, Watari."

"You better mean that," I tell him. "It better not be because of those chocolates."

He shakes his head. "I do and it isn't. I didn't want to say anything, not after last time. I didn't want my heart to suffer another fatal break."

"Well, you're stuck with me now, love. How much time before we have to get up for work? I'm going today, you know, broken ankle or no broken ankle."

"About an hour and a half. Try and get some sleep, all right?"

He kisses me once more and settles in. I still just can't believe it. I go from being bedraggled and miserable to hot steamy sex with Tatsumi…the same Tatsumi who yelled at me for not wanting to go on that damned case. Talk about your ironic situations. I close my eyes and let my exhaustion take over; still really hoping my ankle heals up quickly. Maybe I'll throw a little of that chocolate into Tatsumi's coffee in the morning, the thought of being pinned to the shower wall sounds deliciously enticing…gods, he's going to make a nymphomaniac out of me.

We amble into the office the next morning, Tatsumi putting on his scary secretary persona while I drag myself into the infirmary for some painkillers. My powers came back around breakfast and let me tell you, bone regeneration hurts. I can feel every shard knitting itself back together. Tsuzuki stumbles in, still in his 'I haven't had enough coffee yet' stupor. He snaps out of it as soon as he sees me. I stole a pair of Tatsumi's slacks, nice khaki ones, and a pale blue dress shirt. He knows they're Tatsumi's, especially considering I had to belt them five notches past the last hole since I'm so ridiculously skinny.

"Watari, you whore!" he greets me.

I throw the bottle of aspirin at his head, he narrowly ducks it. "Shut up, bitch, it's your fault."

"Uh-huh," he sings. "Like you were going to say something to him any time soon. So, how'd it go? How was he? He was on top, wasn't he?"

"I don't know why I should be telling you this, Tsuzuki Asato, you lecher. But since you'll explode if I refuse, yes, he was more or less on top, but we didn't go all the way all the way because I've got a broken ankle. As for how it was…"

Tsuzuki gives me an expectant look, as if life or death hinges on my answer. I grin easily.

"…Sweeter than chocolate."

fin

That turned out to be surprisingly PWP-ish. I wasn't originally going to make it so much so, but at some point the fic screamed 'limey!' And once it started down that path, there was no turning back. I would've made it an all-out lemon, but it's going on ff.net and we all know how anti-lemon they are. Happy slightly belated Valentine's Day, hope you got your requisite flowers and chocolates.