Paved with Good Intentions

by surefall and aishuu
Disclaimer: Based on Prince of Tennis, by Konomi.

Part 9: A Gathering of Angels (Plus a Devil Or Two)

When Tezuka had made a quick trip to heaven to obtain Fuji's address from Yanagi, he had not expected to be surprised and he wasn't. Not that he was often surprised, really. Spending time with his archly angelic colleagues had pretty much beat that emotional possibility right out of him. He sometimes wondered if 'surprise' even existed anymore in his personal dictionary.

He snapped into existence with his usual precision and tightly defined beam of power, where he was promptly met with a scene of completed debauchery that also wasn't a surprise. Three mortals at once? Fuji had been busy, it seemed. There was a pair of twins looped around each other like so much spagetti and a Shinji spooned up against the twin with longer hair, a smile of bliss still plastered across his sleeping face.

Tezuka pointedly ignored both the state of undress and the smattering of fluids better left unidentified to focus in on Fuji, who unfortunately was also in a state of undress and splattered with unmentionable fluids. Tezuka decided to stare at a point just above Fuji's shoulder in the area of his ear. Another flicker of power sealed the mortals quite neatly into a deeper sleep while he waited patiently for Fuji to bother to acknowledge his presence.

Fuji smiled a cat-like smile of contentment. Shinji hadn't been that good a lay, but he'd been desperately eager to please, which more than made up for his lack of experience. The twins, who'd he been training for the past month, were nearly broken in perfectly, though, so all in all, the last few hours had been quite pleasant. Having Tezuka walk in at the end was merely icing on the cake, because he could taunt his prey.

Tezuka observed the sewing of the sheets with carefully studied boredom, solving Fermat's Little Theorem in his head.

Stretching slowly, Fuji trailed a hand down the spine of the nearest twin before unwinding himself from the sprawl, completely unashamed of his nudity. "Did you want something in particular, Tezuka?" he asked.

"Yes. I would appreciate it if your minions did not plot the complete annihilation of my associates." Tezuka wasn't one for beating around the bush, especially when quickly getting his business done meant he could leave.

For a minute instant, Fuji lost his laid back poise, twitching as he realized who was up to what. Then the smile found its way back to his face. "Didn't you realize we're evil? We're supposed to be bad."

"Of course. That is to be expected. However, you usually do not bother to include me in your schemes for my associate's annihilation - and I do mean annihilation, Fuji, not death."

"Well, I'm sure Kirihara's just a bit of an overacheiver... trying to damn you and get rid of Sengoku in one fell swoop. He's a little prodigy, isn't he?"

"So you are watching them. I had wondered."

"Watching who?"

"Sengoku and Kirihara."

"They're rather amusing, don't you think?" Fuji yawned daintily. "Care to hand me that shirt on the chair over there?"

"I am sure." The shirt lifted itself off the chair and flung itself at Fuji's face.

Fuji somehow managed to use the shirt's momentum to his advantage, deftly catching it with one hand, slithering into it like a serpent. The dress shirt was too big to be his, but he apparently didn't care, buttoning it up in a slow, reverse strip tease.

Tezuka ever so calmly readjusted his focus to the headboard, putting Fuji quite effectively into this blurred peripheral vision. "You should rein in your minions now and again. It would be unfortunate if this were to spark off another war."

"There's never been a divine war without the leader of Hell getting involved, and I have no intention of upsetting the status quo at the current point," Fuji replied. He'd be stupid to, since right now the balance favored Heaven (barely, but it did). He slipped off the bed, moving over to stake his claim on the chair (which had straps on it). The shirt barely teased the top of his thighs.

"A couple of select assassinations would no doubt tip the status quo in your favor," Tezuka idly observed, turning to follow Fuji's motion to the chair. He would have been inviting trouble if he hadn't. Who leaves their back open to the Lord of Hell? Tezuka kept his gaze very carefully to the top and right of Fuji, keeping him in that blurred periphery. There was no point staring at temptation head on, either.

"Which would easily be countered by a concerted effort at you redeeming some of my key players," Fuji said, waving it off. "Really, Tezuka. There's rules we play by."

"I am not coming to you because we are playing by the rules. Annihilation, Fuji, not death. You know as well as I that death means nothing. Kirihara wants something permanent."

Fuji sighed, and the blue of his eyes was clearly visible as he stared at Tezuka. "I am well aware of the situation."

"And you plan to do nothing." It was a statement and not a question.

"My plans have always been my own," Fuji said smoothly. "Of course, if you wanted to try to persuade me to tell..."

"No," it was short and to the point, accentuated by the barest tightening of an inexpressive mouth and followed by the ever so polite, "Thank you for your time, Fuji. If you will excuse me, I will waste no more of it."

Fuji pouted. "Pity. I'm sure there's room for you, if you feel like-" He didn't get to finish.

Tezuka vanished from the room without sound, though the air rushing into the space he had abruptly left did make an impressive crack.

No matter what, some things were pretty much guaranteed. The sun rose (when it could be seen through the smog), the Cubs lost (it was Niou's favorite team to watch, after all), and Sakaki Tarou held math class. Which meant the usual suspects were in a room, shivering a bit at an unseasonable cold snap.

Unlike Hanamura-sensei, who taught the other section of calculas, Sakaki took attendance. Miss two classes, and you flunked, so sorry, see you next year as you paid to be tortured to replace the F. Hanamura was a bit kinder, perhaps, but a few of the three tests she gave were so hard that NASA had requested she reconsider its job offer. She refused, saying she liked working with young minds (actually, it was young bodies she was interested in, but her relationship with Shinjou thankfully doesn't come into this story).

The point was that Monday saw Kirihara in a room with Sengoku, considering various methods he could employ to finally get that fucking bastard.

You know how it is when someone is glaring daggers at the back of your head. Tick Tock. Contemplating just stabbing you maybe, for the hell of it. Tick Tock. Sengoku looked up, vaguely disquieted. Tick Tock. Where was that -- oh, of course. Tic -- he closed his pocket watch and slipped it back into, well, his pocket. Damn newfangled noisy machinery.

Where were we? Oh yes. So there was Kirihara and there was Sengoku, and it should be obvious what Sengoku was doing: snickering wildly while making funny faces at Kirihara.

In the front of the room, Sakaki droned about something (probably to deal with math, but there was no telling - he was awfully fond of Mozart). Kamio had wisely found a seat across the room, and Mizuki and Yuuta were way in the back, doing unspeakable things to each other. Saeki had started next to Sengoku, as per usual, but his highly developed instincts of self-preservation had sent him to the bathroom... from which there was no doubt he wouldn't be returning.

Kirihara's thoughts ran in its standard pattern. Murder, kill, torture... murder, kill, torture, murderkilltorture, repeating like a loop on an old-fashioned record player that kept jumping the track. The red head didn't seem to acknowledge the sheer danger he was in... so what if he was an archangel? Kirihara was going to be the next...

Well, it's better if he didn't think about that. No telling who could be reading his mind.

Sengoku's thought processes ran along the lines of 'well, someone's always out to get you, so why worry', he was also admiring the fine bit of leg the girl down the way was showing, not to mention the effects of the electromagnetic waves slowly penetrating the earth, and the way Saeki had fled with true outstanding grace. He had to admire that. Oh yes, and he thought his hair might be burning. Sengoku patted it out before anyone noticed.

Kirihara blinked in surprise as the slight whiff of smoke from Sengoku's hair drifted upwards, dissipating smoothly with no one noticing except himself. He hadn't meant to do that, but sometimes his temper got the better of him. But maybe the fire thing had something going for it...

Narrowing his eyes, he sent out a drift of power to create a small fire right under the fire alarm nearest the boy's bathroom. Thirty seconds later...

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGG!

Sengoku turned in his chair to give Kirihara a look. Everyone else around him gave a not so silent cheer and packed up their bags, stampeding for the door.

The cat-like smile of contentment on Kirihara's face couldn't be contained as he sauntered for the door. "Poor Saeki... how foolish of him to leave just then, don't you think? I hear campus security is really cracking down on these incidents..." he said, brushing passed Sengoku. If you couldn't torment someone directly, torment their friends.

Sengoku swung his bag over his shoulder, "So cold, so cold ... and to someone you're trying to damn, too."

"He doesn't need any help - besides, I don't think temptation would work on him. He does what he wants anyway."

"Abandon all hope all ye who enter here."

They brushed through the crowd of students, many of whom decided to take off instead of waiting patiently for the building to be reopened. Kirihara, never one to deny a chance to play hooky, headed for the cafe, deciding to grab something to eat. Annoyingly, Sengoku stayed by his side.

Like mildew, he was. It would take a strong fire to remove him, and you know how it is with really bad mildew ... might take the whole house down with it. Sengoku grinned and eyed the selection of food that was really grease, grease, little grease, and more grease. "So whatcha want?"

"You to suffer eternal torment, cursing my name for damning you there in the first place?" Kirihara said brightly, playing it safe and grabbing a pre-packaged bag of popcorn and a drink. Smiling at the cashier, he waved over to Sengoku. "He's paying."

"Hmmm, guess I do owe you a small sum ... " and with that Sengoku very cheerfully paid the lady with the correct change and a button (after grabbing a small animal roasted on a stick that may or may not have been a chicken).

By anyone sane's recogning, the fact that the two arch-enemies (well, that's not quite right, but...) were seated at the same table munching on a mid-afternoon snack playing hooky was a recipe for trouble. They would be correct.

"Tell me, Sengoku-san, why an archangel like you is bothering with a small-fry assignment like this," Kirihara started, opening his food carefully.

Sengoku leaned back, eyeing his critter on a stick with mild interest, as if to divine from which animal this deep friend flesh had come. "I thought you would have figured that out by now."

"Shinji doesn't seem to be that much of a focus." Kirihara frowned as he thought it through. "You're just bored, aren't you?"

"Possibly," Sengoku contrived to look innocent.

Kirihara popped a couple of pieces of popcorn into his mouth. "Seriously. Isn't there a war somewhere you should be playing with?"

"There hasn't been a good war for ages, and it's so much more interesting here!"

Kirihara opened his soda, which miraculously managed to explode all over him. He didn't think he'd shaken it.... and all he could do was swear as the Jolt! went all over his clothes and pooled into his lap before being absorbed by the material. He blinked slowly, trying to keep his temper in check.

Sengoku struggled not to crack up right then and there. Really. He made a good effort. Such a good effort that he leaned over the table and licked Jolt from the tip of Kirihara's nose.

Kirihara blinked at the green eyes which were two inches from his own. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked. Around them, the cafeteria came to a standstill as two very cute boys confronted each other in what was obviously a very private moment. One girl took photos with her cell and sent them to a friend, then scooted around to find a better angle in case they ended up kissing. Real live boy action!

Sengoku grinned, "Helping you clean up the mess."

Kirihara smiled a bit. "You do realize I hate you with every fiber of my being?"

"Yes," the answer was as even as anything could be, "Though I am curious as to why."

Kirihara wasn't quite sure if there needed to be any specific reason. "You just irritate me." True, but it was hard to explain how being around Sengoku was like being a cat with its fur getting rubbed backward.

Sengoku settled onto the table, using his elbows to prop his head so he could look up at Kirihara, "Oh ho Little Kiri doesn't like getting irritated?" It was a deliberately mocking singsong.

"I spend my life in a constant state of irritation. I'm only happy when someone else is miserable. It's two reasons why I'm very good at what I do."

"Hmmm, perhaps I should offer to do something to ease your irritation ... as a servant of God and all that."

Kirihara muttered something under his breath, of which only "servant" and "Fuji" were audible.

"Am not! Me? Bend to Fuji-kun? You must be joking!" Sengoku managed to look affronted.

"Fuji's very flexible." Kirihara gave up trying to use the napkins from the table, and decided it was a good time to leave. "I need to go change... goodbye." He left the bag of soggy popcorn and half-full container behind, assuming the cafeteria staff would clean it up.

Sengoku abandoned his stick of unknown meat and trotted after, not quite obviously watching the way Kirihara's backside moved beneath his clothes.

The hall was too full of students to teleport, and that girl with the camera was still trailing him. Kirihara scowled as he heard the distinctive rhythm of Sengoku's footsteps, the light sound of someone bouncing only on the balls of their feet, like the earth's gravity was not meant to contain him.

Sengoku bounced forward, looping an arm through Kirihara's and tugging him into a classroom. It was momentarily empty and Sengoku stepped with Kirihara out of the plane of the real and into the metaphysical without pause before tearing them both out of the natural immortal plane of the metaphysical and into the ephemereal. Order, chaos, the jerk of natural forces, and they faded into the library as though stepping out of shadows into light.

They were back in the bookstacks, and Kirihara pushed Sengoku away, sending him into the bookshelves. "Do you know you just violated one of the most sacred treaties?" he demanded. "No divine being takes control of another's freedom!" He was pissed. He was beyond pissed, soaked with sticky fluid and in the presence of someone who he loathed. His eyes began to flicker red. Amazingly, no one came to check on the disturbance, maybe because of the fact ehy were used to unusual sounds coming from the stacks... or it might have had something to do with the "Closed for Repairs" sign on the door of the entire facility.

Sengoku pushed himself carefully away from the bookshelves, shaking himself as if to dislodge bits of attached knowledge, "You did want to get away, didn't you?"

"Bastard! You just screwed up my assignment deliberately - miraculous teleportation is not going to be overlooked!" Kirihara planted himself agressively, his feet slightly apart and leaning foward beligerently.

"Miraculous teleportation by you not by me. And we didn't teleport per se ... "

The look Kirhara leveled cut Sengoku off. "Can it."

"Mou"

Kirihara stalked forward, fully prepared to rip Sengoku's heart out of his chest. "I'm cursing you. I curse you, Sengoku Kiyosumi, archangel of heaven-" he started, formal words that were rarely used. A demon's true curse was something as precious as an angel's blessing, and as potent. A curse from a demon who had been wronged had the power to topple nations.

Sengoku sealed his mouth over Kirihara's before he could finish the sentence. If there was anything he didn't want, it was Kirihara's curse ... if only because it would screw things up royally. Really. That was the only reason. Truly.

Kirihara found it hard to talk with tongue down his throat, and Sengoku was a Damned good kisser. Kirihara was a demon, and always more sexually inclined than most, and having someone French you like he meant it was enough to make you forget how mad you were at that moment.

Sengoku looped an arm around Kirihara's waist and pulled him closer, blithely unconcerned about the spread of sticky Jolt. Kirihara tasted like fire and popcorn and something that was just himself and Sengoku didn't want to stop. Who needed to breathe anyway? That's what power was for.

Kirihara hated Sengoku, but it made it spicy since he knew he'd kill him later. Sengoku kissed like his personality - teasing and not quite serious, but with an underlying something Kirihara couldn't quite grasp. Kirihara's hands ran over Sengoku's shirt, finding a smoothly muscled physique, before reaching down without embarassment to unsnap the button of the angel's jeans. The long, slow sound of the zip being dealt with filled the air between them, and Kirihara pulled back, challenging Sengoku with a smirk. "I don't love you, this is sex and sin. Going to play, angel boy?"

"I wouldn't be kissing you if I didn't, neh, my own?" Sengoku purred, sliding fingers into Kirihara's dark hair and jerking him close for another kiss. He wanted this and the rules could go and hang themselves.

Kirihara let himself be kissed before pulling back. "I'm going to make you scream," he purred, hands going down to Sengoku's waist to push his pants down.

Sengoku's fingers tightened, tugging sharply in curling locks, "I don't think you're demon enough for that."

Kirihara merely smiled before sinking to his knees. He knew a challenge when he heard one, and he never lost.

It took a lot of alcohol to get an angel drunk, since in their earthly incarnations, they had supernatural healing. The old "one an hour" rule didn't apply - their bodies processed it in about ten minutes per drink. But Oishi hadn't stopped drinking since Shinji had gone home with Fuji yesterday, which meant even he was feeling it.

Oishi, remarkably, was tipsy.

He sat at the bar, which he had closed already. It was nearing 2 a.m., and he was throwing back sake like it was going out of style. The neon lights advertising that YES, there was Budweiser! in the front window were the only illumination in the entire place.

Where there are tipsy angels, there will be a devil. Or if there isn't one, there will be shortly. Kikumaru Eiji appeared with the customary air displacement crack ten minutes and seventy-six seconds late. He considered a fashionable lateness, but was still glad no one had beat him to the Tipsy Angel Punch.

Eiji sidled over the bar and smiled at Oishi benignly, "Oishi-san"

Oishi looked up blearily at Kikumaru.

Eiji reached out to trail fingers not to subtley down Oishi's cheek, "Neh, Oishi-san, I'm lonely. Keep me company tonight?" It was a purr, soft and seductive.

Oishi caused a bottle of sake to levitate over to Kikumaru. "Help yourself," he said, not really paying attention. How, how, how had his assignment gone so wrong? he wondered. It was his fault that Shinji was on the road to hell. He hadn't done his job right... Oishi was the worst kind of drunk: a guilty one.

Eiji took a swig out of the bottle on demonic principal before making a face at Oishi, screwing himself up, and belting out a, "OISHI! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!"

No reaction from Oishi. It was questionable if he still had a pulse, from the slightly dead look on his face.

Eiji was annoyed. He was being ignored. He was a demon, by darkness, and no angel was going to ignore him! "OISHI!" No response. "OISHI!" No response. Eiji lunged forward, grabbed Oishi's face in his hands, and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Oishi blinked at the sudden assault. With a slight sigh he leaned forward, deciding that he'd screwed up enough so one more massive mistake really wouldn't matter.

Eiji purred and deepened the kiss, licking along Oishi's lips with an inquisitive tongue.

Oishi shut his eyes, and let Kikumaru do what he wanted. It felt good, at least, and Oishi had forgotten what "good" felt like. Of course, it wasn't really "good" since it was a sin, but apparently there were different types of "good..."

Eiji was utterly gleeful. This was victory! This was success! This was ... too easy. He made a face and pulled back, "Oishi!"

"W-what?" Oishi stammered. He had just started feeling good again, and now Eiji seemed determined to talk to him instead of... well...

"What's that all about?" Eiji put his hands on his hips, "You're supposed to be fighting me."

Oishi just sighed and looked at Eiji. "You know, the universe is supposed to have purpose," he said, changing the topic.

Eiji stared at Oishi like he had lost his mind, "Well of course it does! You keep it alive and I destroy it! See! Plenty of purpose!"

"No." Oishi shook his head. "Mine's to be a screw-up."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?"

Oishi started muttering in a fashion that was reminscent of his damned charge. "I screw up so Tezuka keeps fishing me out. If I didn't screw up, I wonder how things would be? I mean, I guess there has to be someone who is an example of what not to do...."

Eiji stared at Oishi in complete disbelief. This was crazy talk. Crazy talk! What angel talked like this? Oh, that's right, one that could be damned. Eiji checked the room quickly in case any other devil might be sneaking up to take advantage of his target.

Oishi was still muttering about his failures. "You know, it would be better if I didn't screw up in the first place... I just cost a mortal his soul, and I don't think I can fix that..."

"Eh?! You cost a mortal his soul?" Eiji was mortified! Oishi! Costing a mortal his soul! Without help! He was supposed to be the one to teach Oishi all those things! Then Fuji would be pleased and scratch behind his ears!

Oishi winced. "It wasn't intentional, I just didn't do a good enough job. Of course, when you're pitted against Fuji himself, it's hard to protect someone, but I should have done something..."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?! But I'm supposed to be the one who takes Shinji away from you!!! Fuji-san, no fair!!" Eiji wailed.

Oishi sighed and patted the wailing inubus on the back. "Want to get drunk with me?" He levitated another bottle over. "Mezcal... even better than tequila..."

Eiji flailed, "I don't want a drink, I want to get EVEN."

Normally Oishi would have dreaded that, but at the moment it seemed like a swell idea. "Sure. Let's drink to it." He took a long swallow directly out of the bottle before handing it to Eiji.

Eiji took a long swig and thumped it back down on the table.

Oishi smiled, his thought processes suddenly clear. "So, how do we go about bringing down the Lord of Hell?"

"We get some good allies?"

"I know just the angel."

Meeting a denizen of Hell was always a tricky business, but for Yukimura, there was the added complication of his health. Despite suggestions they meet in Disneyworld, Yukimura had politely demanded it be held in Purgatory.

Denied the hope of getting to visit Disneyworld at angelic expense, Dan pouted on the top of the red slide, pushing himself down it in a desultory manner. He kicked the sand in the Purgatory playground for lost youngsters and gave Yukimura a look of extreme woe. That was all it could be described as really: a look of extreme woe.

It was hard not to feel a little bit of pity, but Yukimura was ruthless. It was true that the playground was substandard and didn't meet safety codes (the floor was made of plain old sand instead of any kind of synthetic version), but he figured it was better than what the demon usual got to use. He sat on a swing, watching the sulky demon as he tried to decide what to say.

Dan twisted his face up into pout #23 and pointed dramatically at Yukimura, "You owe me for this one!"

"You were the one who decided to come even when I made my terms clear." Yukimura offered a smile which was eerily reminiscent of Fuji's.

"Doesn't matter! You still owe me."

Yukimura merely cocked an eyebrow, hitching his hands up the swing's ropes. There was no way he'd get into a divine debt over something so silly. "Aren't you interested in why I wanted to see you?"

Dan made a hmphing noise. "Probably over something happening on earth." He couldn't help but be a bit bitter about the fact that he couldn't go to earth. It had been so long since he had gotten to play ...

"You're partially right." Yukimura looked consideringly at the devil who was one of the oldest beings in existance as he frolicked around the playground. "It's something to do with Sengoku, actually."

Dan paused, "Sengoku-san?"

"Yes." Yukimura motioned to the swing next to him, indicating Dan should take a seat. "There's some potential trouble, and I need you to help me sort it out."

"What kind of trouble?" Now Dan was curious, as anyone would be. Why would Yukimura being worrying about Sengoku-san? Despite the standard reasons ... but they were all used to that.

"I know we usually let him do what he wants, but..." Yukimura hesitated. "Dan, you're old enough to remember. What happened the last time Sengoku was in a romantic relationship?"

"There was a lot of sex?" Dan asked with every look of innocence, finally climbing into the swing beside Yukimura.

"Dan. I need you to focus here," Yukimura said calmly. "Remember the flood?"

"I remember that," Dan smiled, recalling the time fondly. So much water to play in. He had puffed up an inner tube and floated around.

"Yes." Yukimura could be patient. "That."

"That was hardly the fault of Sengoku-san's romantic relationship."

"It was certainly a trigger." Yukimura looked a bit distant as he thought about what had happened. "Dan, hardly anyone's left that remembers what happened, and it's up to us to keep it from happening again."

Dan tipped his head to the side to look at Yukimura, only to have his headband fall down over his eyes. He pushed it back up before sighing, "The circumstances aren't the same, Yukimura-kun."

"It's close enough to be worrying. You know as well as I do that Kirihara..." Yukimura was interupted before he could finish.

"It's not the same," Dan reiterated sharply, "Stop seeing the past in the present just because you can't play anymore!"

"History repeats itself. You know as well as I do that we're stuck in a series of loops."

"And you're afraid, aren't you? That this time you won't make it."

"No matter what happens, I will do my duty." Iron edged Yukimura's words.

"Duty. Duty. Duty. Always about duty. Where's your faith, Yukimura-kun?" Dan returned, in words just as sharp. He pushed back on the swing to get some motion started and rocks back and forth for long moments before asking quietly. "Are you asking me to side with you against Sengoku-san, this time?"

"I'm asking you to get Kirihara away from Sengoku. If not, I'll be forced to kill him."

"Kill Kirihara-kun ... " Dan could acknowledge that there would be benefits to having the younger demon removed, if only to strengthen his own position int he demonic ranks, "I don't think you could kill Kirihara-kun, Yukimura-kun. Not unless you had someone else do it."

"Why not? I killed him before."