Aishuu Offers:
Thirty
Disclaimer: Konomi-sensei
Pairings: TezuFuji, OishiEiji, RyoSaku
Notes: Sequel to Dross. Reading Stoic would also help.
Summary: Trouble comes in threes, as Tezuka is about to find out. As he stares down thirty with a week to spare, Tezuka's life is about to get entirely rearranged.

Part One: Bury My Past in the Depth of the Sea

The thing about being single and rich was that people felt compelled to match make to perfect your life, Tezuka Kunimitsu had long ago realized. Apparently there was some kind of unwritten rule that stated that being single meant that you were doomed to a life of lonely despair, and therefore it was the duty of everyone else to rectify the situation. It didn't matter if you protested you were happy as you were, because you really didn't know what you were missing.

Tezuka was, by nature, a retiring personality. He didn't date, he didn't socialized unless forced to, and he was happiest when left alone. He wasn't exactly anti-social; it was more that he found other people tiring.

Especially woman.

If they weren't throwing themselves at him, they were throwing their friends at him. He knew most considered him good looking and with his position he was definitely able to promise them a secure future, but he found them grating. Most of them were brainless twits, and the ones that weren't tended to irritate him for other reasons.

Maybe that was why he finally announced he was gay a few weeks after his twenty-eighth birthday. His father had died the previous year, and without him, there seemed little point in pretending he'd someday get married and breed an heir. The idea of having a child out of obligation stirred his sense of justice. He wouldn't marry a woman he didn't love, and he had the feeling he would never fall in love with a woman.

He honestly didn't think he could fall in love with anyone. The closest he'd ever come to having a relationship had been Fuji, and he still couldn't think of Fuji as an ex-lover.

He tried not to think of Fuji at all.

He had reasoned, though, if he declared himself homosexual, the matchmaking would stop. There might be a bit of stigma attached, but he was positioned well, and his company was global and prided itself on its modern morals. How wrong he had been.

It was true that hardly anyone lifted an eyebrow when he made his preferences known, but it had if anything, made matters worse. The women had decided that he was now "safe" and would make perfect best friend material - antisocial tendencies be damned. When he politely tried to explain to them that he wasn't interested in all the feminine frippery and emotional bonding they seemed to assume he was now magically aware of, they ignored him. After all, he was gay, and that was part of being gay, right?

And the match making continued. The men tended to try to match him with women who would either be understanding of his "tastes" and ignore affairs on the side, or be willing to try to screw the gay out of him. Neither type was particularly appealing, but his female acquaintances were worse, since the ones who accepted he was gay thought he needed someone to love...

That led to their attempts at matchmaking. Since he was the tall, silent type, they all decided that he needed a delicate, pretty male... and that meant there was a long line of pretty, brainless femme flamers being thrown at him, since they would all "compliment" his personality. He could tell all of them were yaoi manga fans, because it was clear all of them were trying to find him an uke.

It was just too bad he hated effeminate men.

There had been a few incidences which were almost funny in retrospect, but Tezuka had finally put his foot down and declared that there was no way he was going to let himself be paired up with anyone. He was happiest at home, with his cat, Neko, for company.

It didn't seem to sink in.

A week before his thirtieth birthday, he found himself invited to dinner with one of his best clients, Atobe Keigo, and his wife, Mariko. He'd known Atobe since their school days, and their acquaintance - he wouldn't go so far as to call it friendship - had been one of the reasons Atobe had elected to have Tezuka's law firm oversee the Atobe Group's overseas dealings whenever they needed a lawyer.

"I know you, Tezuka, and I know your work is nearly as perfect as my own. Since you're not conquering the world through tennis, I suppose you can help me conquer it through business," Atobe had said three years ago when Tezuka had been given the account. It had been arrogant, but Tezuka knew better than to let that bother him. He actually worked very well with Atobe, since he and the other man had long held each other in unspoken mutual regard.

Landing the account had done wonders for his career, vaulting him through the firm's other junior lawyers and giving him a full-partnership at twenty-seven. He might have resented the "hand up" if he hadn't received the truckload of work to accompany it. All in all, it was a very nice deal, with one small exception: Mariko.

Mariko was Australian, though her parents had immigrated directly from Japan. Tezuka knew that their marriage had little affection in it, since Atobe was currently maintaining two rather expensive mistresses, and he personally found Mariko to be one of the most vapid people he'd met in ages. There had been a lot of money involved in the marriage, though, and she was quite beautiful and willing to turn an eye to Atobe's infidelities, so did make the perfect trophy wife.

Tezuka's problem was that she apparently thought that since he was "friends" with her husband, that extended to him, and she despite her own less than perfect marriage, she still believed in true love - and that meant match-making.
Atobe just laughed every single time she tried to set him up, finding the whole affair plain amusing. Tezuka had tried to politely convince him that being set up on "double dates" was not his idea of fun, but the other man had shrugged off his protests.

"Now, Tezuka, you're not going to be such a spoilsport, are you? It makes Mariko happy, and when Mariko's happy, my life is easier," Atobe had said six months ago as they had shared coffee. "Besides, it's not like you don't have the art of the brush off down."

Needless to say, it was with great reluctance that Tezuka agreed to dine with Atobe on the first day of October. It had become their tradition, some years back, to reserve that night to spend together. Usually it would be a chance to exchange birthday gifts away from the prying eyes of others, since their birthdays fell three days apart. It wasn't friendship, so much as a chance to... irritate the other.

Which both enjoyed.

Mariko, though, had heard about their meal and invited herself along, and said she had a "friend" that she wanted Tezuka to meet. It was only through a few pointed reminders from Atobe about how his business was worth that kept Tezuka from finding something else to be doing. Atobe wasn't above blackmail to get his own way.

That night was colder than he liked, and Tezuka pulled his jacket collar up higher in an attempt to keep the air from rushing down his shirt and chilling him to the bone. His old tennis injury was sensitive to extremes in temperature, and he was starting to become prone to the flu. Last year he wound up with a particularly nasty bug which had him laid out flat for nearly a week, and he didn't want to chance a repeat. Getting old sucked, honestly. But in less than a week he would be... thirty. Not anything he wanted to think about.

He shook his head slightly as though to chase away those thoughts as he paid the cab driver, before turning to the restaurant. Argent was relatively new, and very in vogue with the stylish crowd, which was why Atobe had probably chosen it. The chef had been taught in France, and worked in England, America and Germany before buying a restaurant in Japan. Tezuka had heard his rognons de veau flambes was to die for.

The restaurant was reservations only, but a line of hopeful diners was queued outside, hoping for a cancellation or that someone would finish their meal quickly. Tezuka ignored the dark looks he was slanted as he sailed by them, swinging through the door and heading to the maitre de. "I believe the reservation is under Atobe," he said.

Atobe's name opened doors. The man's rather dour expression lightened and became nearly sycophantic as he studied the tall man who stood waiting in front of him. "Ah, yes. I believe two members of your party have arrived. If I may escort you?"

Rather than summon a host, the maitre de left his station to lead Tezuka to what was surely the best table in the house. They took a rather narrow staircase to a small second floor, and found a balcony reminiscent of an opera house. It was private, with no other tables near it, yet allowed the diners to see and be seen.

Atobe sat with his wife, twirling a glass of red wine between his long fingers. The light caught it and cast strange reflections ruby across his knuckles, and played particularly across the platinum and sapphire rings Atobe wore on each index finger. No wedding rings; Atobe had managed to worm out of that part of marriage.

Mariko was a pretty enough woman, with a friendly smile and an even more welcoming body, if a man was attracted to the "sex on two legs" type. Her long black hair was piled on the top of her head in a haphazard fashion, and slumberous black eyes regarded Tezuka from underneath lashes that were surely fake. Something about the satiated look on her face told him Atobe had probably screwed her in the backseat of the limo on the way to the restaurant. In a year or two, he was expecting an announcement that the Atobe heir was expected, since Atobe was definitely interested in that whole empire building thing Tezuka himself had rejected by announcing his sexuality.

Atobe slanted him a look, one which Tezuka had long ago learned that the other man used to evaluate his opponents and friends alike. His eyes looked nearly violet in the low lighting, and there was a slight languor to the way he set his glass aside. "Ah, Tezuka."

"Atobe."

It was as it always was between them. He couldn't remember how many times Atobe had purred his voice in that particular tone, the one which said he knew exactly what Tezuka was thinking and was amused by it. Tezuka let his eyes land on Mariko briefly, and quirked an eyebrow, but Atobe merely just shrugged, indicating that she should be allowed to have her fun.

Mariko missed the subtle byplay, and instead indicated the seat nearest Atobe. The table was set for four, and if he were to take the proffered chair, he would have his back to the stairway, but it would be rude to refuse her without reason. "Atobe-san," he said, nodding to her as he gracefully accepted his fate.

"Kunimitsu," she said in a particularly odd drawl that always betrayed her Australian upbringing. She was always too familiar, and the way she said his name was like running fingernails along a chalkboard. He had tried once to politely ask her that she address him more formally, but she had laughed his request off as a joke. She just didn't get it.

He settled in, and rather than draw him into small talk, Atobe simply poured him a glass of red Bordeaux. "You should like this, Tezuka. It's 40,000 yen a bottle, so savor it."

Tezuka tried not to sigh. Atobe was firmly convinced that spending money made things taste better, and while he had to agree that the wine was wonderful, the way Atobe wallowed in his money was something that irritated him. Then again, many of Atobe's habits were grating to someone who was as self-effacing as Tezuka. It was a wonder they hadn't killed each other in their decade and a half of acquaintance.

"It's good," he admitted as the wine danced along his palate. It was smooth and flowed beautiful down his throat, but he was having a hard time relaxing.

Mariko was sipping on mineral water, and her eyes kept glancing behind Tezuka, obviously awaiting the person who she had invited to complete the dinner party. A slight smile danced on her lips, which was set Tezuka's nerves even more on end.

"Do you want to tell me who you have invited, Atobe-san?" he asked, finally breaking down enough to give into his nerves. He had a vision of another would-be artist, or a sensitive musician, which seemed to be the type that most women figured he would adore.

"Oh, just someone I wanted you to meet," she said airily. "I hate thinking of you home, alone, when you're such a wonderful person."

Atobe definitely snickered at that, and Tezuka resolved to ignore him.

"Atobe-san, it is very kind of you to be concerned, but I have told you before that-"

"Oh, this isn't like Nagoya! He's really gay this time!" she assured him. "Well, bi."

Tezuka didn't want to be reminded about the time she'd inadvertently set him up on a date with a guy who was just very feminine, and not gay. Atobe had laughed for months afterward, but at the time Tezuka had been ready to kill her. In fact, Tezuka saw Atobe was laughing right now out of the corner of his eye, politely muffling it behind a hand, at the memory.

"I am not interested in acquiring-"

"You need someone!" she insisted. "Kunimitsu, in less than a week you'll be thirty!"

Thirty.

The number rang like a death knell in his mind, and he saw Atobe stop laughing as well. "Mariko, if this engagement doesn't work, leave Tezuka alone," Atobe commanded suddenly, his eyes sharp and biting as he glared at his wife.

She blinked, realizing she'd apparently hit something that was a sensitive topic. "It won't be a problem! I won't need to match make anymore after this! I'm sure Fuji is perfect for Kunimitsu!" she said brightly.

Tezuka choked on his wine, and Atobe actually looked surprised. "Fuji?" Tezuka echoed quietly.

"Yes, his name is Fuji Syuusuke. He's a doctor of some sort, so I thought you might like him a bit better than the artistic type. I met him at the last tennis tournament Keigo-chan dragged me to. His brother is a professional... ever hear of Fuji Yuuta?" she asked cheerfully.

It was all Tezuka could do not to walk out of the restaurant there and then. The last person on earth he wanted to see was his ex-boyfriend, and he couldn't believe how this had worked out. Atobe was working hard on smoothing his expression over, but there was still a slightly stunned look in his eyes.

"Mariko, did you tell Fuji who you were setting him up with?"

"Oh, I didn't say a thing about setting him up. I said that I'd like him to meet my husband, so would he accept a din- wait a second. You know him?"

Atobe gave Tezuka a glance that was almost sympathetic. "Tezuka and Fuji were teammates while they played tennis. I played against the both of them," he said diplomatically enough.

"Oh... oh," she said as she thought it through. "Well, I guess you can just have a reunion, then," she said, obviously trying not to pout at having a match-making scheme foiled.

It was on the tip of Tezuka's tongue to "remember" a contract he had left unfinished at the office, but the sound of someone climbing the stairs stopped him. He felt a strange thrill of recognition race across his body as Fuji approached - he could sense the other man without having to turn around. Fuji carried some kind of strange electricity in his presence that Tezuka had always been able to tune into.

"Hello," a soft voice said, one which Tezuka hadn't heard in nearly two years.

He didn't deign to turn around, even though all of his instincts were screaming for him to examine the enemy which was approaching. Having Fuji around automatically set him on edge, and if he was smart, he would figure some way to make an excuse and avoid what would be a very trying night.

He had never been smart around Fuji, though.

"Fuji," he said softly.

Fuji had apparently recognized him before moving forward, because there was no faltering in his step as he came forward and took the last seat. The slight smile which had always been his trademark danced around his lips, but the half-lidded eyes said that he was in the mood to fight.

"Hello, Tezuka," he said, before turning and greeting the others.

Tezuka took the opportunity to evaluate Fuji, and how he had changed. Fuji looked like someone set out to seduce. The other man was still slender, and he had grown his hair long enough that it was pony-tailed at the nape of his neck. It seemed he had recently been somewhere sunny, because he was sporting a nice tan, which was nicely set off by the cream silk shirt and blue ascot he was wearing. He had a black velvet jacket as well, but he'd already draped that over the chair.

Fuji turned his attention back to Tezuka, and his sharp glance told Tezuka that the appraisal was mutual. Tezuka's clothes were more traditional, with a simple Armani suit and tie that Oishi had given him last Christmas. The paisley pattern was sedate and unassuming, but Tezuka didn't try to stand out in a crowd. "How have you been?" Fuji asked.

"Well enough."

Fuji nodded, before turning his attention to Mariko. "You should have told me who you were planning on setting me up with," he chided her gently. "I could have told you that Tezuka and I are... incompatible."

Mariko's eyes went wide at being caught. "I- I-"

"Dear, Fuji's very like Oshitari. He probably read you like a book," Atobe said, raising a glass in a sanguine fashion. "Cheers!"

Fuji poured himself a glass of wine and met the toast merrily. "You're looking well, Atobe," he said. "Married life seems to agree with you."

"It's not so different from being unmarried," Atobe replied.

Tezuka tried not to groan. The last thing he needed was Mariko to finally catch onto exactly what Atobe was up to, but the suggestive look Atobe sent at a woman who was dining twenty feet away made it clear he was in a reckless mood.

"I wouldn't know," Fuji said. "I broke off my engagement six months ago, so I don't think I'll be entering any state of marital bliss anytime soon."

"Engagement?" Tezuka found himself echoing.

"We didn't work out." Fuji's eyes locked on Tezuka's, the barb sly and subtle.

Tezuka had used those same words when explaining to Kikumaru that he and Fuji weren't friends anymore - and then later... No. He didn't need to think about the reunion. It had been a disaster.

"Sometimes people just aren't meant to be together."

"It would be nice if both parties knew they were together before they broke up," Fuji said. "Then again, they have to be willing to communicate."

"It takes two to screw things up," Tezuka replied evenly. He knew that his communication skills were a weakness of his, but Fuji was being exceptionally trying to poke at it. He wouldn't accept full blame for how poorly things had gone between them, because Fuji had pushed his buttons more than once. It seemed like Fuji was the only one who was aware those buttons existed in the first place, and loved toying with them.

"But blame is not always distributed evenly, don't you agree, Atobe?" Fuji said, drawing Atobe into the discussion.

"It depends on the situation," Atobe agreed. "Remember out first game, Tezuka? Everyone blamed me for wrecking your arm, but you were the one who allowed it. I think the whole mess was your fault."

It was an old argument, something that Tezuka wished would die, but Atobe seemed determined to keep alive if only to irritate him. Sometimes Tezuka wondered if he was a masochist, to elect to spend so much time in the presence of a person who derived delight in trying to agitating him, but then he remembered he'd also slept with Fuji for two years. He was just stupid.

"Atobe, you will be old and gray and still arguing the blame on that incident," Tezuka said, taking a sip of his wine.

Atobe winced for the second time in the evening. "Let's not talk about getting old."

"Oh, that's right! Happy early birthday!" Fuji said, beaming merrily at the businessman. "If I remember right, your birthday is in a few days! Aren't you turning thirty?

Atobe looked ready to reach across the table and strangle him. "Thank you," he said icily. "It'll happen to you, too, so don't gloat."

Fuji sighed and looked wistful. "It will be a while. I'm only seven."

Mariko looked confused. "Seven?"

"He was born on February 29," Tezuka explained.

"He'll be lucky to see seven and a half if he doesn't knock it off," said Atobe grouchily.

"Knock what off?" Fuji asked innocently.

Tezuka didn't buy it. Fuji was as innocent as a rattlesnake.

They finally did order. Tezuka went for the rognons de veau flambes, while Atobe selected pate de fois gras, unsurprisingly. He didn't even bother paying attention to Mariko's order, but Fuji ordered civet de lievre. The conversation around the table idled a bit, with Mariko trying to fill in the blanks, but the three men were wary, all waiting for the next volley.

It came at dessert, when Atobe decided it was time to exchange their annual gifts. It was part of their tradition, started back in their senior year of high school, and there always was the question of what to get the man whose company was rapidly inching toward the Fortune 500. Atobe was fond of lavish gifts for his friends, but Tezuka didn't really respond to his generosity in a fashion which made giving them fun. After two years of offering ridiculous presents (Tezuka had returned the car and donated the boat to a charity auction), he had finally struck on the idea of giving gag gifts.

No one ever had given gag gifts to Tezuka before. The first year there had been a "fish finder" and a collection of self-improvement books - along with a note that all he had to do was act like Atobe himself to become a better person.

Tezuka hadn't taken the whole matter lying down. The year after Atobe had started the gag gifts, he'd returned with a book on STDs. Then the next year there had been a book on the joys of humility, and then there had been the year he'd convinced Atobe's alma mater to sponsor a scholarship for a gay student in Atobe's name. Atobe had a few hang ups over being called gay (he may have been a peacock, but he swore up and down he was one hundred percent heterosexual), and his reaction that year had been particularly brilliant.

This year Tezuka pulled out an envelop from his pocket and lay it on the table, earning a quizzical glance. Atobe's beautifully wrapped gift was pretty clearly a book, and Tezuka stared at the purple wrapping paper with a bit of dread.

Fuji sat back in his seat and Mariko had the sense to keep her mouth shut as the two former rivals squared off.

"You first, Atobe," Tezuka said.

Atobe called for a waiter to bring him a knife, and then carefully slit the white envelop open. He frowned as he slid out the official-looking paper, and quickly read it over.

"This... is rather unusual, Tezuka," he said after a moment, though he wasn't displeased.

"I thought you might like it."

"It's... different," Atobe said, as he tried to wrap his mind around what he had been given.

Mariko leaned over to see the paper her husband was holding, and blinked when she realized what it was. "That's so sweet, Kunimitsu! You named a star after Keigo!"

Now Fuji looked interested. "You named a star Keigo?" he asked.

"No, I named it Atobe," Tezuka said. "It was that or name it Diva, but sadly someone else already used that name." His voice was so deadpan that he knew that most people would have problems telling if he was serious or not.

"If you'd done that, I would have had one named Four-Eyes in your honor," Atobe replied smoothly.

"Please note it's a blue star."

"They burn the hottest and brightest," Atobe said thoughtfully, and nodded in satisfaction. "Next year, I want some lunar property."

"I can get it this year for you, Keigo-chan!" Mariko interrupted.

"Don't interrupt our game, Mariko. Give me the engraved Rolex, and I'll be satisfied."

Her mouth opened and closed, and she finally rolled her eyes. "Monitoring my accounts again?"

"When do I not?"

The gift Atobe had given Tezuka took very little time to unwrap, and he stared at the book like it was going to bite him. "You gave me the a book on gay sex tips."

"I was stressed for time, but I figured your sex life could use a boost," Atobe returned, and he actually had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. Apparently the joke wasn't as funny as he thought it would be.

Tezuka carefully rewrapped the package in the wrapping paper's remnants, hoping to smuggle it out of the restaurant. "Your concern for my love life is so kind."

"Is there some reason why everyone is hinting, Tezuka?" Fuji asked.

Tezuka shrugged. He wasn't going to reply.

The bill thankfully arrived just in time to keep Atobe from giving his reasoning. Atobe and Fuji at the same dinner table was enough to make Tezuka long for a nice, long soak in the bath, maybe chased by something strongly alcoholic - or mixed with. The place between his forehead where his headaches usually started was beginning to throb, and he rose to his feet.

"You have the bill," he told Atobe. There was no way he was going to pay for the meal which had been a delicate exercise in torture.

"Don't I always?" Atobe said, then stretched languorously. "I'll call you later this week - there's a company I'm thinking of acquiring, but..." he shrugged.

"Tuesday."

"Afternoon, then."

Their half-finished sentences made little sense to others, and Mariko wore a resigned sigh, having long ago given up on making sense of what passed between her husband and Tezuka. "Happy birthday, Kunimitsu. I'll be dropping your gift off on your birthday."

"I may not be home." He certainly wouldn't be, if he could figure out when she was coming.

"I'll leave it for you," she promised.

He nodded, and started out of the restaurant, purposely neglecting to say farewell to Fuji.

It wasn't a surprise to find the other man at his elbow as he ended up on the curb, waiting for a cab. The maitre de had offered to call him a cab, but he had brushed it off, preferring instead to take his chances instead of having to wait for the preferred company which would probably take twice as long.

"Shall we split a cab?" Fuji asked. Even though it had gotten colder while they had dined, Fuji was still carrying his jacket, ignoring the wind which seemed to tear right through their clothes and bite at their skin. His posture was relaxed, and the question had been asked with the same casualness an old friend would offer.

But they weren't friends anymore.

"I don't think that would be wise."

"It would be cheaper. We only live two blocks away from each other," Fuji said, and his teeth glinted in the streetlight as he beared a smile.

Tezuka hasn't known that. In Tokyo, it was possible to live in the same building and not know a person, but he found it unsettling that Fuji knew where he lived.

"I hope that's accidently."

"I'm not stalking you, Tezuka. Fate is a funny thing, though. When Eiji heard where I moved, though, he..." Fuji let the sentence trail off.

Tezuka shut his eyes, able to figure out exactly what had happened. "I see."

"When's the last time you saw Oishi?"

"About six months ago."

"Falling out of touch again?"

"We're both busy people. He'll probably stop by this week, knowing Oishi."

"With Kikumaru in tow."

"You sound bitter." Tezuka wasn't above trying to get a little of his own back.

A certain tilt in Fuji's head warned Tezuka that it was a bad subject to broach. Kikumaru was one of Fuji's sore points, and always had been. "He's happy."

"Did you ever love him?"

Instead of answering, Fuji smiled at the cab which was pulling in front of them. "Shall we?"

The wise would have declined and taken a later cab, but Fuji's presence made Tezuka's skin prickle and his wits were more alive than they had been in years. It was intoxicating to be around him, a drug that Tezuka knew was bad for him but could never deny.

The cab ride was thankfully brief, and Fuji seemed to fall into some kind of contemplative mood. His eyes were locked on the passing scenery, and the red lights of the street caught his hair and face, distancing him from the real world. Tezuka was unable to keep his eyes off the man who had been his first sex partner. He'd had sex a couple times since, but none of those - two men and a woman - had managed to make him find satisfaction as completely. There was just something about Fuji.

It could have been the strange androgyny that many people associated with Fuji, but Tezuka knew that despite his appearance, Fuji wasn't fragile. He wouldn't break. He was strong, stronger than anyone Tezuka had known. Their was no steel in his being - rather, he was made of willow, and would always bend until he had the chance to lash back into place.

The ponytail did catch Tezuka's eye, though. It was strange to see Fuji without the overly long sideburns brushing his cheeks, but he guessed that Fuji had probably decided that it was too teenage a look. Now he looked like a chic professional, one who was a bit on the edge of style.

"Are you done staring at me?" Fuji asked, finally breaking the long silence.

"There's nothing better to look at," Tezuka returned, not feeling like denying that he had been staring, since Fuji would inevitably start arguing that fact.

"Don't you find Tokyo interesting?"

"I've seen this part before."

Fuji's gaze never left the window. "That's always been your problem. You never look twice."

The cab slowed, and Tezuka reached into his pocket to fish out some money, but Fuji's hand on his wrist stopped him. "I'll get it, Tezuka. Consider it a birthday gift."

Seconds later, both were outside of the cab, and Fuji stared at Tezuka's apartment complex curiously. The twenty-story building was imposing and post-war, and Tezuka wondered why Fuji was still there.

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to invite your date in for some tea?"

The "go away" that was on his tongue died as Fuji slipped his arm through his - and he knew how the night was going to end.

"Aren't you going to ask to look at the etchings on my ceiling?" he asked as he made his way to the elevator, ignoring the doorman who gave him a discreetly raised eyebrow. Tezuka Kunimitsu never had guests, let alone ones who traced their fingertips suggestively along his arm.

"You have them?"

"No, but it's a polite euphemism for what you want, isn't it?"

The elevator "pinged" and Fuji spun around pressing his body against Tezuka. He was still short, but the look in his eyes made Tezuka fear how much damage he could do. "Shall we just abandon subtly, then, and get on with it?" he demanded, and his hands were in Tezuka's hair, yanking his head down for a kiss which knocked Tezuka's glasses askew and sent his senses spinning. The book Atobe had given him fell out of his hands, landing on the floor with a loud thump.

Fuji's tongue invaded his mouth demandingly, and Tezuka found his hands on Fuji's sides, gripping the white silk tightly. It was hard to get a firm hold on, as it kept slipping through his fingers, and he adjusted his hands several times, trying to bring Fuji closer. It was madness, to be making out like a hormone-crazed youngster in an elevator that had seventeen stories to ascend, but Fuji was sliding a leg between his, running it up and down suggestively as his tongue danced enticingly in and out of Tezuka's mouth.

He could hear the chime of the bell as they flew past floors, but since they were going up, no one stopped to get on. His fingers managed to free Fuji's shirt from where it was tucked, and then he found the warm skin of Fuji's waist.

A slight hiss as he ran a hand up to find a nipple, rolling it between his thumb. Blood was rushing to his groin, and he knew that as soon as they reached his apartment, they were going to...

"Fuck," he whispered as he realized something important.

"Here? I thought you'd want to wait till we got to your apartment," Fuji said, his hand going to the swelling in Tezuka's pants.

It was his turn to hiss. "Damn you, I don't have anything," he said warningly.

Fuji pulled back, his eyes suddenly blue. "You're kidding."

"I'm not into casual sex."

Fuji pulled back, leaning against the wall, and started to laugh. The chuckle was low in his throat, and then he was suddenly practically hunched over, his eyes watering as he tried to breathe. "This is just too damn funny."

Tezuka took several deep breaths as he tried to regain his equilibrium. "If you say so." At the moment, his body was demanding he say the hell with safety, and just bang Fuji already. He hadn't been this aroused since the last time he'd slept with Fuji.

"Maybe it's a sign," Fuji mused.

"A chance to get our senses back. We don't even like each other," Tezuka said, his body still feeling far too aware of the other man.

"So? What's that got to do with lust?"

"Fuji..."

The doorbell "pinged" and suddenly Tezuka found himself in the hallway to his apartment. Fuji waggled the fingers of his right hand playfully as he pressed the down button with his left. "Au revoir!" he called cheerfully.

Tezuka stared as the doors closed on Fuji's smiling face, knowing that his life had just gotten one hundred times more complicated.

He was going to kill Atobe and Mariko - but first he needed a cold shower.