Chapter 7: Where is my mind?

The conclusions from the first round of the game were:

The matter of who Yamato was doing, how he was doing them, and anything remotely associated with the subject, was off the list of viable conversation topics for the near six months or so.

Taichi's lungs were pure, white, and virginal. He avoided smoke-ables like the plague. He faced the risk of things coming up in his coaches' surprise blood tests, and regular cigarettes will reduce his stamina and lung capacity.

Sora was weirdly ignorant regarding the identity of her grandparents.

Koushiro wasn't gonna turn into a ninja on them any time soon since he hadn't learned any martial arts.

Jyou had never been himself hospitalized. Oh, the irony!

Takeru was still a regular virgin and it surprised no one.

Finally, there was also the fact that Hikari, to the day, is still clueless about what her dad does for a living. She only knows that he returns home utterly caned, and that it irks her mum to no end.

"…and I don't get it. I mean, I know he's a salaryman, and it's for business, so he has to go with his boss and blah-blah-blah, but he's not young, you get me? Getting loose is fine, but moderation is a thing, right? What kind of a kick does he get from being so plastered and arseholed every night he face-plummets through the front door first thing when he gets home?"

"You know what they say: falling on your face is still moving forward," Koushiro attempted to comfort her under the daze of half a Lager can.

Now the 'punishments' were due for all those who had five fingers folded.

"Right, what can we do to shake up our quiet, responsible Iori?" Miyako said, a notch more sly than usual.

After Yamato vehemently refused to send Iori to his neighbours in a school-girl outfit, to try and convert the couple from downstairs to the cult of Pazuzu, Takeru came up with an elegant solution.

"Have him get his ear pierced or something."

A low murmur escalated into a crescendo of inclusive agreement.

Iori hummed, reluctant, but seemed to have accepted his hole-inducing fate. "What types are there?"

"Yamato?" Takeru, like-minded with Iori, was ready for that issue.

"Please don't make me do something too conspicuous. I don't think my grandfather will appreciate it," Iori added.

Ever the happy one to consult the wayward minds of the inexperienced about body-modification, Yamato moved the blonde strands from his ears.

"All right." Yamato pointed to the appropriate metals assimilated into his ear-shells, explaining them as he went along: "These are Tragus, Snug, Daith, and Rook – they can hurt if you have thick flesh." He moved his finger up and around the outer flesh. "Helix – easy to hide. This here," he tapped on a serpentine piece which spiralled from the top of his lobule up to his anatomical helix, piercing his ear with every coil, "is an Ear Weaving Piercing. It's not restricted to the ears, though. You can do it on every body part." Yamato finished with the tutorial and let his hand drop. "Any piercing you do around the ear area can usually be hidden behind your hair and all piercers will do them for you."

Iori wasn't too keen on any of the options Yamato laid out. "Is there anything which is not around the facial area?"

A bit more hesitant, Yamato mumbled a soft, "Sure," and pulled his shirt from the restrictions of his jeans, exposing his hips and a bejewelled navel.

Bam! Before Yamato even got to untuck his shirt all the way, the warm flesh of fingers tenderly brushed against the sensitive skin of his belly. Those moved in slow, entranced motions before starting to tinker and tug energetically at the petit titanium rod. They seemed extra fond of the small orb which jutted from his body and kept the metal in place, unable to stop touching it very lovingly.

Shivers ran up Yamato's spinal cord.

Taichi was like a petulant child, who couldn't help himself from touching everything even remotely resembling a toy he fancied.

"When I'll get a girlfriend, I totally want her to have one of those."

Yamato didn't want Taichi to stop but he didn't want to tell him that. He swatted the intrusive hand away, finding a convenient method to vent the arousal and heat which spiked around his pelvis and branched in all directions.

'Turning you on, am I? So help me – I wanna suck you off till I pass out from lack of oxygen and die, overjoyed, with your semen in my oesophagus.'

"Party pooper."

Yamato shrugged off the comment and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, to the encouraging whistles and catcalls.

"Take it off!" Miyako shouted to his left.

Yamato rolled his eyes, too aware of his flush, but continued anyway.

"Down girl, down!" Daisuke said, though he was also staring and wasn't hating on what he was seeing. 'Blondie's hot. Everybody knows that.'

"Nipple."

Yamato spun around from the waist up, displacing bright yellow hairs to expose his nape. An elongated metal bar, which extended over the width of his neck, was revealed and looked like it was welded into his skin. "That's a surface. You can have those wherever you fancy." He turned back. "And-" Yamato stuck out his tongue.

Iori took a moment to comprehend it. "I think that's a bit too modern for me. The nipple one seems the most reasonable option from your catalogue."

"I read somewhere that mid-line tongue piercings were practiced by French prostitutes in the 17th century," Yamato answered. "Said to make gobbling knobs much better on the receiving side. I think it's as old as the Aztecs, actually." He smiled. "But nipple's a good choice. Lots of nerve endings there, though, so it will hurt."

There was also his new ring, snuggled under the sensitive folds of his ball-sack. Pissed out of his skull though he was – smashed, really – he retained the mental acumen to reject it as a viable option for Iori. Yamato didn't feel like talking about it in general. Ideally, he'd tell Taichi first, but he probably wouldn't do that either.

"I have a few spare rings. I can go bring a needle if you want it," Yamato suggested. He'd do whatever distracted him from his previous thought.

"As the responsible adult in the room, I insist that if Iori is going to mutilate himself, it'd be done by a professional," Jyou cut in, face straight as a ruler.

So Yamato gave Iori Victor's card. "Tell him you're my friend."

"Will he give me a discount?"

"No, but he may not smoke in your face."

From Taichi's vantage point, he had a perfect view of the silver pole penetrating the coral bud on Yamato's chest. The asymmetry it attributed to it was brilliant to look at, and Taichi admired the way it gave an edge to Yamato's otherwise skinny physique.

'Fitting.'

He also noticed the rest of Yamato's shirt was strategically covering the scarred portion of his chest, and that the topic of his needle-full hobby made Yamato act a bit flirtier. How aware was Yamato of that fact? It was kinda cute, though. Not a side Yamato had much of. Letting it out was healthy for him.

Another punishment was for Sora to lick cream cheese out of Jyou's belly button – "that's probably the closest he's got in a while to a girl who wasn't sick, bleeding, or dead," Daisuke chipped, to which Sora deadpanned, "who said anything about not bleeding?"

Yamato and Mimi were charged with swapping underwear with one another. The current, used underwear. No cheating.

"That is rather unsanitary," Koushiro offered, not too enthusiastic about the prospect.

"Hogwash! It's a fresh pair and I changed before coming over," Mimi answered.

Yamato nicked the vinegar crisps Taichi was about to crunch on from Taichi's salty fingers, scrambled to his feet, and entered the shower room.

"Proof or it didn't happen!" Miyako yelled the moment Yamato and Mimi re-emerged, five minutes after entering – much to the cheering of their friends.

Mimi pulled up her skirt to reveal a pair of black, tight boxer trunks which she accompanied with a small pirouette.

Yamato lifted a leg to show a foot clad in transparent, black stockings and tried diving to his seat.

"No!" Daisuke shouted. "Show us the goods!"

"No," Yamato hissed as Taichi deliberately spread his leg all over Yamato's space, smug little shit that he was.

"But big brother," Takeru offered in an over the top, whiny voice, "what about an encore for your adoring fans? We didn't yet bask in the pleasures of your booty."

Yamato swivelled in his place, ready to give Takeru a what for.

The top of his pale butt-cheeks landed right in Taichi's face. 'Huh.' And Taichi spotted the black, satin string passing right in their midst, covering the bare minimum to pass as lingerie.

"AAH!" Yamato almost hit his head on the wall, after Taichi pulled said satin string right up Yamato's butt and announced, "Found it!" over him.

"Let me see!" Daisuke was about to crawl over, but Taichi stretched over his other leg and it blocked Daisuke's path. Yamato's three-metre-jump caused a mini-striptease to happen to his jeans and it accompanied a little jiggle of his non-existent bum-fats.

"Nuh-uh," Taichi wiggled his finger in Daisuke's face with the hand which wasn't clutching then-Mimi's-now-Yamato's thong. "This is a private show. Adults only."

Yamato smacked Taichi's hand off his ass with Daisuke whistling in the background, kicked Taichi's leg away, and threw himself back down to his place beside Taichi.

The moment his arse parked, legs crossed under his weight, Taichi gave him a small nod, indicating towards the spot Mimi had reclaimed.

Yamato followed his gaze, not entirely sure what he was looking for, but found it nonetheless: the gentle, shy strokes Koushiro was passing against Mimi's hand with his pinky – the small motions of uncertain flirting.

Yamato still couldn't believe this brilliant programmer, who can bend the world to his will with a portable screen and a keyboard, has done diddly-squat to make his feelings for the sweetest, most fun girl in the world, clear. Not that Yamato was one to talk.

Blue met brown eyes.

'Bloody hell, are we playing matchmakers now?' A near-invisible rise in Yamato's eyebrows stretched his crumpled-from-thinking physiognomy, and laugh-lines edged into his skin-folds.

Taichi's spreading lips were almost audible – and contagious.

Yamato's formed a mirror image; the left side of his mouth twitched imperceptibly higher into his cheek.

'Go get them, Ishida,' Taichi answered with a look.

Yamato tried to bite off the hint of a smile he had on him before anyone asked about it. Communication between him and Taichi was fast and efficient, composed of effective synergy.

Yamato turned right. "Hikari, can you help me with something?"

"Sure."

Yamato took Hikari's wrist in the palm of his left hand. With the fingertips of his right, he drew feather-light circles and paintings of vines along the sensitive skin of her inner arm. Hikari squealed and let out periodical giggles every time he touched a particularly ticklish area, or in a particularly pleasant way.

"Sorry." He let her go. "I just wanted to confirm somethi-"

"What was that about?" Mimi jumped, insinuating she opted for the same treatment.

'Score!' was written all over Taichi's face as he, the proud accessory to the crime, and his partner exchanged brief glances of mutual content.

Yamato crawled over to their targets and crouched, sitting on his haunches in front of Mimi. He restarted his service, brushing and tugging on the delicate strings of her skin.

He registered the indignant frown Koushiro shot him, but didn't show he acknowledged it. If everything will go as intended, the red-head will owe Yamato pretty much all the way to the grave.

She mewled with the pitch of a violin and raised fingers to block her mouth, wholly embarrassed and partially excited.

"You are going to make some girl really happy one day," she said, unable to contain the smidgen of awkward arousal, and, after a moment's thought, added, "or boy."

Yamato smiled at her for a moment and went back to concentrating on what he was doing. It was more embarrassing than he thought it'd be. He hadn't touched a girl like this in a very long time. "It's one of the side-benefits of being a bassist. That and numbness. Zero almost electrocuted me once – the bell-end put a raw cable in my fingers, but I didn't feel a bloody thing. My nerves are factually, medically non-existent. These fingers no longer dread the penalties of kitchen appliances and there is nothing I can't play."

He let his act go on for a little while longer before the muscles on his calves protested in pain.

"Sorry. Everything from my waist down is getting cramped." Yamato straightened up, and, for a second, pretended to mull over an idea in his mind in response to Mimi's much anticipated pout.

"Take over?" Yamato gave Koushiro an encouraging pat on the shoulder and the sort of expression which urged him to catch on the goings-on and seize the moment. Yamato saw the gears in the genius head spinning and the confusion softening into gratitude.

He aimed for his seat but his friends, who wanted a personal demonstration of his skill, were not going to let him have it.

And they were young enough to get away with ridiculous amounts of ridiculous shit, but old enough to try and drink beer through their noses as Ken and Daisuke were attempting to demonstrate.

That meant eight people on the overall count, precluding Yamato himself, Koushiro, who busied himself with the delicate task of pleasing Mimi, and the girl who was being pleased.

When he finally, finally got back to his place, he stretched his poor, strained legs – which would have started shouting war-cries if they had had proper mouths to do that with.

Hop! Taichi's arm was in his lap. Yamato followed the trail of the offending limb to confront its owner about the rude infringement into his personal space.

The mop-for-hair simply replied, "What? I want to know what the fuss's about."

'Well, butter my buttocks and never call me anything – a willing victim'.

Cheri Bomb, resting on her stand down in his room, was Yamato's first association. He'd play Taichi like he played her; make lovely sounds come out.

He started with two, callous finger-pads against Taichi's palm, loving the contrasts of their skins. The index and middle finger chased one another in scant, teasing touch, drawing slow and tentative patterns along the warm length of Taichi's exposed arm and throbbing veins.

Occasionally, they returned to the beginning and stroked each of Taichi's sun-soaked knuckles with equal dedication. Then they flew upwards again to explore the topography of the welcoming flesh.

Taichi had such a smooth skin, he could make baby-oil commercials. A research should be conducted on the ratio between the sweat Taichi exudes as a natural moisturiser to the hours he spends on the field.

The Chosen Children circle distorted and reformed into smaller bands of conversation which talked over each other. Sora and Iori were engaged in a debate about formal Kendo attire while Daisuke, Jyou, Mimi, and Koushiro – who was still mimicking Yamato's motions on Mimi – were talking about the first's academic future. Though Daisuke was blabbing on about something else entirely.

Ken's eyes darted to Yamato and locked on the ministrations Yamato was carrying out on Taichi. When their eyes met for a second there, Ken offered a knowing smile before joining the others.

Yamato himself was content with listening to the pleasant buzz of people in his house and catching snippets of their talks, while being captivated by the tango he performed with his hand and Taichi's arm.

He could so easily imagine him and Taichi in bed together. It was scary how easy it was. He'd have Taichi between his legs and each of said legs would be hooked over broad, tan shoulders. His tender behind would be pillowed by Taichi's thighs while he'd be telling Taichi, as seductively as he'll ever get, how lucky he, Yamato, is. That's what he was trying to convey with his hands right now; with them thoroughly delving into the expense of Taichi's warm flanks.

Taichi noticed the sweet touch of Yamato's long and calming fingers lingered on him much more than on anybody else. Shifty little spiders those things were; aristocratic, like those of pianists, but also coarse enough. They were attractive. Not that Taichi cared at all how long Yamato took. It felt amazing.

Their languidly paced massage was getting more daring, as they braved underneath the short sleeve of his jersey and claimed the uncharted regions of his triceps, satiating their curiosity with an almost innocent caress. Almost.

Taichi wasn't going to complain. Yamato should do this for a living. How the hell they went through their entire friendship without Yamato doing this to him?

He melted into the comfortable touch and hummed, pleasured. Taichi didn't mind those small, intimate physical expressions between himself and Yamato. They came very naturally. How wouldn't they?

There was also something about it being Yamato touching him like this. Yamato was not a gentle person and he didn't touch people. When Yamato was being so gentle with Taichi, there was a whole lot of 'HOLY SHIT!' going on inside Taichi's everywhere.

The first thing Yamato noticed during his wanton invasion was the impressive, firm swell of Taichi's upper arm.

'Well… that's new,' Yamato thought before, 'bad Yamato! Bad, bad, bad Yamato!' He put forth active effort to stop thinking – specifically about what those strong arms could do to him. Better before the current of heat circulating in his chest would plummet all the way down into his trousers, and Taichi would realise how hard Yamato is.

Away from the view of others, Yamato drew past the moist area of Taichi's armpit, the one smelling of cheap men's deodorant and Taichi's particular sunshine scent. Him groping Taichi's muscles? An accident. Keyword 'accident'. An accident and no one can prove it wasn't.

Sensing Taichi bristle a bit as he tugged at the hairs there, Yamato scaled almost all the way up to Taichi's shoulder before smoothing his way back to the shapely curve he was admiring.

"Oi, Taichi, great job on those biceps."

It was neutral, stating-simple-facts the way Yamato said it. He wouldn't go for more.

The self-satisfaction Taichi got from having his exercises acknowledged was smeared all over his face and he grinned so wide Yamato could see his incisors. "Thanks!"

That was the final draw. Hikari had an outburst of periodical giggles which did their best not to explode into a fit. "Yamato, will you please stop shamelessly flirting with my brother?!"

Yamato wasn't even slightly fazed by being caught in action. Instead, he was the spitting image of someone who shagged his boss' hot wife right on the bloke's posh desk – complete with a tell-tale smugness pasted to his face.

Since the alcohol told him it'd be a good idea, he stopped fiddling with Taichi's arm and instead wrapped his own around Taichi's shoulders. That, while bringing his body into Taichi's lap and squashing it under his arse. Oh, and Yamato loved that lap. It accommodated the shape of his tush perfectly. Taichi may not have known it, but Yamato was pretty certain it was a bespoke lap made for him.

With his other hand, Yamato ran his fingers along the rugged, mocha cheeks and jawline, rubbing the unshaved stubs, and looking for the cute, little dark freckles beneath them. "I see you were lazy here today," Yamato faked a purr down Taichi's ear – almost, almost nuzzling the crook of his warm neck –

but it was obvious everyone was supposed to hear him. Taichi's normally chapped lips were less so than usual, probably due to the humidity.

Armed with the best wistful eyes under his long fringe, Yamato glanced over at Hikari before replying to her rhetorical question. "But why? Since you are doing my brother, shouldn't I do yours?" he kept on going matter-of-factly, relishing the way in which both of his and Taichi's siblings looked like they took a bite off the same double-decker spunk sandwich. He considered it a fair retribution for 'adorkable' earlier. "For symmetry, you get me? Besides, you don't get to where I do with shame."

It was their old shenanigans again, and Taichi was used to this game between them; he and Yamato played it many times. They've been flirting with each other to take the piss out of their friends ever since Angemon and Angewomen shot those 'arrows of love' through them. Sweet, innocent little Hikari, who was only eight at the time – or were those Koushiro's parents?! – mentioned they were like cupids.

That cute metaphor was the doom which sealed their fate from that point on. They knew what was coming: slews of gay jabs, bender jokes and running gags about who was topping, sprinkled lavishly with detailed, totally bogus stories which would get rowdier with every incarnation.

So, they did the one logical thing they could come up with and beat everyone to the punch.

The habit ended up sticking through the years – every now and then becoming bloody ridiculous. Really dancing on the lines and edging on the rims of what was admissible within the boundaries of normative, man-to-man interactions. Mimi and Takeru had instructed them several times to 'fuck the sexual tension out of their relationship'. Hikari said they had a 'romantic friendship' once – whatever that means. Not that he and Yamato started off with what could be considered 'normative' anything. Nine years later, they have no social barriers around each other and 'appropriate' isn't part of their dictionary. They wanked together rather a lot. They'd probably bring a potential shag home and screw them while the other was on the other side of the bed. Yamato cleaned Taichi's vomit once, after an after-party Taichi'd been at where his mates got him to drink beer out of a funnel. Not one of them gave a mad baboon's half a shit – not to mention a whole fuck – about what outsiders thought. When they were together, they ruled their own world. So when the mood took them, they let it have them.

It was a convenient enough arrangement. Yamato got to fondle Taichi without it looking suspicious; Taichi got to let out all his touchy-feely fixations. Both got to be little shits. Win-win.

Obviously, Taichi was the one who started it. Later, he often used alcohol as his excuse to get out of his skull and come on to Yamato – because why not? It earned him plenty of slaps until Yamato loosened up a bit, got used to it and, eventually, proved his sense of humour was every bit as corrupt as Taichi's. At first he said it's cruel. Taichi asked why in his best ho-hum voice. Yamato tried slapping him – but not hurting him. The rest is history.

Taichi was willing to wager Yamato actually liked the touches a bit. To see him initiate, like today, was still so bloody rare, though, and Taichi knew that having so many of his friends here made Yamato happy, even if he won't admit it.

Oh, and he was piss drunk, yeah? Yamato was a guarded person, controlling whatever he let out. Things got pent-up in there sometimes. But the moment he got down with some brewsky, all those inhibitions moved in inverse proportions to his alcohol consumption. And 'Mato could drink a lot. Like a damn proud Russian, he did. So with Yamato, when it rained – it poured. Any more booze, and he'll start poll-dancing. Or worse – he'll become human. More than once, Taichi saved Yamato from drunk-Yamato – but that was sober-Taichi's duty. Drunk-Taichi often joined drunk-Yamato in raising havoc, while trying to out-drunk him.

Most of those times, though, Taichi wanted to wrap Yamato in blankets and hide him from the world. He didn't like how exposed Yamato became.

Taichi gave the once-over to the untamed spitfire of a man sitting in his lap, so much bolder than usual, making false passes at him and taking the piss. Yamato's pupils were blown all over his irises – amped up on the weed. His lips were tinted and swollen from alcohol, looking like he'd been thoroughly kissed. His hair was dishevelled. He may as well have emerged from the bedroom after a wild round of hard sex.

There was something about him – Taichi understood that.

'What a piece of pheromone-exuding eye candy. Is this how he looks when he's on his knees, staring between the legs of some Suit and Tie? And that baritone – how does he use it? Mewling? Moaning?'

Taichi shoved the thought so far back to the darkness of his mind, Wizardmon couldn't conjure it to his foreground ever again.

'Fair,' Taichi took a swig from his Tuborg and wiped the foam from his chin with the back of his sleeve. 'Can't blame Yuri and the boys. I'm not gay but I'm sure as fuck not blind. And Yamato is damn good at making people want him – knowingly or not.'

Yamato's knee was jabbing Taichi's rib and Taichi couldn't decide whether to go along with the joke or leave him dry as retribution for picking on his sister.

Eventually, he compromised and took the middle ground.

"You are so full of shit…" he said but leaned into the touch, placing his chin on Yamato's shoulder. Taichi's cheeks lifted into a fat grin that turned into him laughing in a low place down his throat.

'There it is. That's my sexy laugh.' Yamato crooned, satisfied, while Taichi rubbed his brow against him, brushing Yamato's hair with his nose as if they were two, overfed, and contented cats.

"But… You know…" Taichi negated the previous statement, imitating Yamato's sweltering intonation with an evil face of his own.

"Jokes aside, do you know how much money I can make selling the paparazzi affectionate pictures of you two? The scandalous front-man of the biggest local rock band with the victorious captain of the football team?" Hikari fished her phone from her pocket and set it on camera mode. "Come on! Pucker up!"

"Yes! Yes! God, just do it already! The muffled sexual tension between you two can be heard from a distance!" Takeru gesticulated hectically with hands over his head, thanking whatever.

Dropping the act, Taichi's face crumpled and he splayed his fingers over his chest for the added drama- queen routine. "My own sister, selling me out for the greed of fame and fortune. Et tu, Hikari? Et tu?!"

Hikari tapped on her phone expectedly.

Seeing as his sister was almost eclipsing the room at the prospect with the shine of her ivories, Taichi nudged Yamato for mental support. Someone had to prove her how much of an absolute loony–bin material she was being.

Yamato, on the other hand – utterly non-committal – kept silent as though he was the most innocent lamb in the room. One who just happened upon this sibling feud.

It registered all wrong.

"Holy crap, are you actually thinking about it, Taichi?!" Hikari exclaimed, all giddy.

Takeru placed his arms on his cocked hips and utilized his best reprimanding tone. "Right, let's get this sorted out once and for all – Taichi, are you gay for aniki?"

That elicited a loud one out of the accused – "trust me, Tick, everyone, and I mean everyone, is gay for your 'aniki' - it's not a choice. 'Cept for lesbians, I guess. They're straight for your brother. I'm not kidding – that arse," he pointed down the general direction of Yamato's rear end, "is single-handedly responsible for the divorce rate in the country. It does horrible, horrible, horrible things to people's sexualities."

Another instance of Taichi waxing poetic about his nether regions, and Yamato would have off him. It was a weird combination of embarrassing and arousing he was not cropped up to deal with.

"Going to take a leak." 'Bout now was Yamato's cue to go and re-familiarise himself with his dear urinal, and unload from his kidneys everything he drank. Now, before anyone dared Taichi to do something Yamato will be the one regretting.

Slapping both of Taichi's hands away from him, Yamato rolled his eyes and stormed off.

'For bloody Hilda's bloody manush's sake, our drunk, fearless goggle-head won't take a pass on a challenge even if it comes rushing down his way in a semi-trailer packed with the mysteries people find in their bellybuttons.'

"That's not an answer," Takeru said with an annoying sing-song voice.

Taichi gulped down the last sip from the amber glass bottle and tossed it to the plastic bin they'd adopted as an improvised wastebasket. "Sorry to disappoint, 'Keru, but I'm not yet ready to realise I'm not a special snowflake. I don't even think I'm his type."

'You couldn't be more wrong, you arsehole,' thought Yamato, whose house doors weren't moulded with a bunker-grade thickness in mind, and let him hear everything that's been going on outside. He shook off the last few drops from his urethra, and put Mimi's thong back in its arse-splitting place before buttoning his trousers. Rejection is pretty shit when you're in the loo. Right, yes, maybe Yamato wasn't delusional, and didn't expect a heart-throbbing confession which would lead him to ride Taichi's dick into the sunset – or any other sappy bollocks of that kind. But this wasn't the most fun way he could think of to have his wounds poked at.

"Yamato, resolve a quandary for us: what is your type?" Ken asked when Yamato returned to the vivacious bunch, greeting his target with engagement he usually reserved for his prey – the one they were all too familiar with during the Kaiser chapter in his life. It was accompanied with his matching smirk. It screamed danger!

Nowadays, he mostly employed it against the extra difficult questions he conquered in the field of mathematics, but Yamato's instincts told him nothing good was coming his way. He wasn't sure if the pretty boy was flirting with him or storing blackmail information for future use.

Yamato mulled over the question, considering what details should be omitted. "Don't really have one. I'm either attracted to something or I'm not."

"Theoretically speaking?" Ken pushed.

At that exact moment, the ultimate cinnamon bun – AKA, the object of Yamato's misguided sexuality – yawned tremendously and stretched, arching his entire back for the motion. No one would convince Yamato Taichi wasn't worth watching. When Taichi raised his arms over his head, the movement pulled the hem of his shirt just right. Just enough for Yamato to catch a sliver of the brown stripe of skin which accommodated those lean, drool-icious abs so neatly. That flat, numnumnum-able belly.

Yamato shifted his weight and discreetly pulled the crotch of his jeans down.

"I guess I fancy athletic body types? For both sexes. No relation to furries, but WereGarurumon's physique is ideal; triangular shape with natural muscles – not the body building volume or what you see on gym-junkies who're married to their subscription. I don't want to date a brick shithouse."

'And especially Taichi's. Definitely ripped, but not beef-cake-ish. '

"No, that's your fuckboi of choice," Sora said, "but who do you wanna be with?"

"I-" 'Taichi.'

"Seems to me like I'm just whatcha need, sexy." Daisuke winked Yamato's way, undeniably libidinous, and scratched his sideburn. And saved Yamato's arse.

The younger boy talked big but had more mouth on him than experience. As far as subtlety was concerned, the word wasn't part of his lexicon, and despite the bombastic ego – his real motives were laid out for all to see in broad daylight. It wasn't a negative thing; relationships which are based on power games will become vexing. It was better if Daisuke didn't learn to play to begin with.

Daisuke also admired Yamato as his mentor, but made it damn obvious he wouldn't push him out of bed.

It was endearing, really. Yamato liked the kid a ton, and he could do pretty much whatever he wanted with Daisuke. The powerful cringe Yamato was experiencing down to his internals loosened up some.

'Am I sloshed enough? Yes, yes, I'm sloshed enough.'

So Yamato went along with his carnivorous instincts, giving himself up for a provocative mood. Today was meant for them to use it to its fullest, get loose, and take for granted.

"Yeah?" He propped himself on his elbows and stretched one leg forward, resting suggestively against the younger boy's bare knee.

Daisuke blinked, taking himself a second to process the new contact, and followed it all the way down across legs which seemed to be going on to infinity and to the tantalizing person at their end.

He wasn't sure if he should be terrified or aroused, but he was able to distinguish every single second his face became one shade closer to his hair colour and one Celsius degree closer to the sun.

Yamato flexed his toes and drew small, tickling hoops along the radius of Daisuke's joint, before crawling under his khakis and up his inner thigh in long, petting motions.

"Yeah…" Daisuke drawled, having lost too much blood in one head in favour of the other to express any form of eloquence. A lump formed in his throat, but there was no way, in any plane of existence, he'd refuse the blonde bombshell if he came on to him now.

What Taichi said was true. Everybody wanted a piece of that ass.

Yamato rose on all six and slithered his way across to the sitting space occupied by the younger Chosen.

Once he reached his mark, he descended, almost all the way, to meet that quivering lip.

The room was so quiet one would think someone pressed an omnipotent 'mute' button, and Yamato sensed the pairs of eyes settling on him – wondering will he, or won't he.

Daisuke's eyes became lidded and he slanted that tad bit forward, anticipating.

Yamato brushed passed his cheek and brought himself to his ear.

"No."

Daisuke snapped back to reality only to see Yamato towering over him. The remains of the spliff, stolen from Daisuke's loose grip, were now nestled between that bombshell's pale knuckles. Yamato flipped him off while taking a long, proper hit from it right in Daisuke's face.

Takeru turned his head away as though he'd witnessed a horrendous vision and whistled, "shit! I heard Daisuke's balls break all the way up here."

"Why not?!" Daisuke whined, his half-boner slinking.

Yamato didn't say anything else. He ruffled those maroon strands of spikey hair to let Daisuke know he still liked him, before returning to Taichi with the spliff as his victory prize.

Taichi elbowed him. "Cut him some slack. Why not give him a chance?"

Yamato almost swallowed the stick. "He's all Ken's. I won't do that to them. And I bet you'll be a bitch about it for a week."

"Will not!"

"Besides…" Yamato ignored the loud disapproval, and blew the last fumes of his forcibly induced cheer before stubbing the butt against the mug and tossing it into the murky liquid inside. "I think he wears your old goggles in bed. I don't wanna think about you when I'm screwing."

"That's not very nice," Taichi commented, though he was clearly amused.

"I'm not a nice person."

"Fuck you."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"