Disclaimer: TeniPuri belongs to Konomi and the only thing I can claim ownership to is the half-assed idea/attempt to write a oneshot AU which really should've been a multi-parter.
Warnings: FujiRyo, hints of TezuAto and OishiKiku, TeniPuri-meets-Ocean's Twelve-meets-Mr. & Mrs. Smith type AU, sketchiness abound and... weirdness. Just weirdness.
Author's Notes: Writing this thing didn't nearly kill me. It, without a shadow of a doubt, DID kill me. It KEELED ME DED. (My last request would be for my OT5 to have dirty kinky sex on my grave... XD kidding).
One of the longest Thrill Pair oneshot (rounded at 5500 words) since Jennifier D's wonderful ficcage. This thing seriously drained me of my creativity juices like nothing else. There's so much potential for this idea and it still feels horribly incomplete as it is. There should be so much more back-story and explanations to fill in the loopholes, since this is an AU after all, but today is Mei's birthday and I just finished this at 9:30 pm and am seriously Running Out of Time. :cries: So yeah. PLEASE, leave your thoughts to this.
Dedication: Happy birthday Meitachi/Ryuuza! Hope you don't mind this half-assed attempt to write quality Thrill Pair again after so long of an inactive period.
Fair Exchange
by kasugai gummie
The main house was dark when he arrived home very much tired and no little sullen. When his half-hearted "tadaima" into the shadowed recesses of the parlor went unanswered, he automatically stalked down a familiar flight of stairs into the massive underground complex normal households would otherwise refer to as a basement.
Tawny eyes narrowed at the sight that greeted him.
"What the fuck is this?"
At the other end of the threshold was his visibly perturbed pet. Its large blue eyes followed the parade of lines that danced around the apparatus upon which it sat without so much a tail-twitch.
"You're home late today, boy."
Ryoma transferred his irate frown from the entire setup to the owner of the mocking voice seamlessly. "What is this Oyaji?"
The careless shrug wasn't quite mirrored in the challenging smirk on his father's unshaven face. "A practice run for your Saturday night assignment. Which," the older man added, "I hope you won't screw up like you did tonight's."
"I ran into competition. Again," Ryoma snapped, "and it's not like I dropped the other two stamps on my way out like you did twenty years ago with that government seal." He jerked his head towards his cat, mouth set in a thin line. "Now explain to me, why the hell is Karupin sitting in a plexi-glass display case?""
Nanjiroh smiled in a nonchalant manner. "He was the first thing that came to hand before I automated the sensors."
Ryoma looked unconvinced. "And?" he prompted, quick mind piecing together the facts before his father's grin even began to tighten.
"He fit."
"And?"
"... he polished his little claws on my July issue of—"
"Thought so," Ryoma cut him off, "you perverted, animal abusing old man."
His father snorted, sullen.
"Are there any air holes at least?"
"Air holes?" Ryoma watched with vague but steadily growing horror as his father scratch at his midriff absently. "No, I don't think so."
Precious seconds ticked by; had they been outside, a cold wind would have blown past them.
The staring contest continued for another minute before Nanjiroh yawned obnoxiously, slanting his eyes to the visibly disturbed cat within the sealed stand and giving Ryoma a pointed look.
"Well? Aren't you afraid that Karupin might suffocate if you just stand here? It's been in there for—seven minutes already. Don't know how much air is left and the release switch is somewhere on the control panel. Now, off you go!"
The younger man muttered a few choice insults under his breath before stepping further into the setup area. "You," Ryoma began while bending away from his scruffy sire with practiced ease to let an electric blue beam pass over his head, "are beyond twisted." He cast one last baleful look back at Nanjiroh (who looked altogether much too smug), before relaxing his neck muscles in a casual head roll and started to weave his way towards Karupin.
Nanjiroh just grinned.
A soft, intentional foot scuff against the spotless tiles alerted Inui to another person's arrival. "How'd it go?" he asked without taking his eyes off the scrolling lines of information on the massive monitor.
"He showed up again."
"Yes, there was an eighty percent chance that he would."
"And coincidentally, we were after the same thing this time as well. Interesting, don't you think?"
The typing stilled to a worried halt. "The stamps?"
A sharp little smile cut across an otherwise pleasant face. "I retrieved two out of three. The little brat somehow managed to filch the third while I disabled the alarm." An indulgent chuckle floated towards the ceiling, causing Inui to arch an eyebrow, unnoticed. "He's quite the ingenious opportunist." The pleasant voice turned a shade thoughtful. "Bit of an attitude problem though."
Inui pushed his glasses up and started typing again with an unvoiced sigh. "The client is going to very displeased. The incomplete collection is worth—" the glasses lens glinted "—only fifty-five percent of the original value."
Fuji laughed. "Let him be. Atobe needs to exercise his inglorious temper once in a while anyway. Besides, I'm more than willing to retrieve the missing piece for a discounted commission." Blue eyes focused in on the screen as Inui pulled together pertinent bits of information. "It'd be fun."
Ryoma held Karupin close, staring at nothing in particular and smiling a small, smug, self-congratulatory grin. He'd finished his father's so-called exercise in a sufficient amount of time—sufficient, as in enough time after having freed his pet to catch the older man off guard and lock him in the basement complex with the lights off.
The muffled, but still audible, yells of outrage somehow filtered their way to his room, two levels above. If he listened carefully, he could make out the semi-garbled complaints of how his actions were wholly unjustified, how his uncute attitude was too much like his mother's, and how girls just didn't like anti-social brats with no compassion.
Ryoma sniffed dismissively into Karupin's fur; His mother could (would) inflict far more damage if she knew exactly what he'd initiated their only child into. As for having to appeal to girls... well, everybody was allowed their inexplicable phobias.
But, though getting one up on his father more than made his day, the events prior did equal damage to his mood. And his father's taunting remarks never helped either.
"You have talent Brat, but you're not reaching your full potential fast enough. Compared to me when I was your age, you're still lacking. I'd managed to steal and replace, with no one the wiser, that hag Ryuuzaki's antique Wimbledon racquet collection when I was nineteen, but you? You aren't even able of pulling off a simply stamp collection job. Face it Brat, at this rate you can't and won't beat me."
Hand moving on its own volition, Ryoma reached into his left pocket and retrieved the plastic sleeve containing the small colored square of ink and adhesive residue. Tracing over the perforated edges with a blunted fingernail, he frowned at the stamp as if it were responsible for everything bad that had happened to him as of late. And in some ways it was, part responsible for his abject situation of the moment that is.
Eyes caught the yellowing light of the ceiling's light and the flimsy paper was in danger of being crushed in a convulsive hand spasm turned ruthless grip. If only his mother, whom they had left in America when they fled the Interpol's prying eyes, could see him now: just a few months short of his nineteenth birthday and already immersed in illegal activities. As for his stupid father who had dropped him into the world of strike-and-flight and adrenaline rushing games at the tender age of five...
A sound reminiscent of a displeased growl tumbled from his throat. Even after more than a decade of merry capering and the odd lessons, the whimsical bastard still had the gall to even suggest that his presence in the underground was a mistake.
It wasn't often when someone had the chance to mock, much less underestimate Echizen Ryoma, and he would rather be damned then let his father of all people get away with it. Blue eyes, calculating and cold, flashed before his own mind's eyes, causing his thoughtful frown to deepen. Then there was also the issue of the unwelcome competition he'd found himself on his last holiday assignment a few months ago.
"I'd managed to steal and replace, with no one the wiser, Ryuuzaki Sumire's antique Wimbledon racquet collection when I was nineteen."
Ryoma reached back beyond his bed's headboard and flicked the light switch "off" to throw his room into sudden darkness. Ignoring Karupin's questioning mew, he began to scheme. There were a few things that he'd have to see to first and those would require good, reliable connections. Preferably good, reliable connections with a monopoly of shady operations and a goldmine of confidential information to dig into.
He wondered if he still had Atobe Keigo's number.
"I still can't believe you only brought two thirds of the collection!"
"Saa..."
"Not only is the value decreased because of your carelessness, but you're suggesting that Ore-sama pay extra to recover the missing piece which you failed to collect!"
"Well..."
Accusing eyes glared from under a dark fringe of immaculate hair. "Ore-sama expected better from the Seishun Syndicate."
Fuji smiled, expression equally placating and controlled. "I do apologize for the circumstances Atobe-san, and we really do value your patronage of our services, but the contract is non-negotiable. I'm sure you recall section five, corollary C—"
"—should a mark only be partially retrieved due to unforeseen circumstances, the client may accept what is available with no refunds or be completely refunded and amuse him or herself elsewhere."
"Exactly!" Fuji said, tilting his head charmingly. "You understand that we do not allow things to slip from our grasps just for kicks and giggles."
"Hmph. With you, it's harder to believe," Atobe murmured as his mind began to reassess his situation. He stared hard at the smiling man seated across from him. "And therefore I'm willing to pay for an extension that I'm sure you're willing to offer. Kabaji."
Fuji continued to smile his disarming smile.
The large man who'd been standing in the shadows behind Atobe's plush revolving seat stepped forward with an affirmative grunt.
"Pay him in full for the incomplete collection."
"Usu."
They sat on opposing sides of the same room, one insolent and the other impassive.
"Fancy seeing you here Tezuka."
"Echizen," the bespectacled man acknowledged, eyes watchful and distrusting. "I would say the same. It's rare seeing someone such as yourself in place like this."
"I have a meeting with the Monkey King," Ryoma dismissed Tezuka's veiled barb with an easy shrug. His looked at the other through his wayward bangs mischievously. "It's also odd to see the prefecture's prized investigator in the waiting room of Japan's most influential business man."
Thin lips pressed together in a firm line. "I'm merely here to ask Atobe-san a few questions regarding a recent theft case."
"Oh?" Ryoma leaned back in his chair. He'd long perfected his "uncaring-but-willing-to-listen" façade and it appeared that Tezuka was still none the wiser to it. "What'd he do? Rob the emperor of his ceremonial robes?" He paused as a certain unwanted memory hit him. "Because, you know, I think he would."
Tezuka hid his pained look well. "No," he said expressionless, though Ryoma could see that the brown-haired law-enforcer wanted desperately to pinch the bridge of his nose.
But Ryoma could care less.
"Then...?" he prompted, burnished eyes compelling the other to elaborate on the issue.
Tezuka frowned to himself. "I'm here to question him concerning his knowledge of stamps."
"Stamps?" Ryoma echoed.
"Last night a set of three was stolen from Hanamura's private collection. Atobe Keigo is reputed to be... knowledgeable in terms of collectables and their value." Tezuka watched the younger man close his eyes in what he perceived to be disinterest. "He's been very resourceful in the past."
Ryoma hmm-ed noncommittally and looked away with boredom writ large over his sharp features. They both lapsed into silence then, ignoring each other's presence. That's why when the door leading to the inner office opened, they both startled to attentive awareness.
"Thank you for your time Atobe-san. It's been a pleasure working with you."
Ryoma didn't stare in shock. Echizen Ryoma never stared unless he needed to compel someone to do something. He just...
"Saa... so you did come. I was almost getting worried. I'm presuming you're after the Jyousei collection, hmm? Think you can beat me?"
Ryoma stared.
The light-haired man seemed less sharp in broad daylight. But Ryoma knew better. He remained silent, willing himself to go unnoticed. And Tezuka, unknowingly, helped him.
"Fuji Syuusuke."
The pleasantly surprised look was flawless. "Aa? Oh my, Tezuka! It's been a while."
"It has," Tezuka agreed, tone curt and suspicion locked under a professional blandness. "Your brother is still determined to find enough evidence to convict you. He somehow managed to convince his supervisor Mizuki Hajime to relinquish all other agents from your case."
"Good!" Fuji said, delighted. "He was such a cute little boy when he was still in Junior High, trying to surpass me in this and that. I leave his care to you then, Tezuka. But—" here the room's temperature dropped, "—please make sure that odd colleague of yours with an affinity for purple stays away from him as much as possible. Anyway," Fuji opened his eyes from their usual disarming expression, "are you both here to see Atobe-san?"
A blue-eyed gaze turned unerringly to pin Ryoma to his seat and the mocking laughter behind them compelled Ryoma into some sort of action. He hissed like Karupin after Nanjiroh stepped on its tail. "You again!"
There was a twitch of movement beneath amused blue eyes. "Me again."
Tezuka switched his glance between the two shorter males. "You two have met?" he ventured, uncomfortable with how he was no longer an active part of the situation at hand.
"Just recently," Fuji offered without releasing Ryoma from his assessing gaze.
"Unfortunately," Ryoma snapped back.
"Well then," Fuji suddenly looked back towards Tezuka. "Good luck with your meeting then, Tezuka." He slant one last secretive smile at the uneasy Ryoma, one that the younger man was sure read "see you later," and walked out the door leaving the other two speechless in his departure.
It wasn't until another man, hulking in both size and presence stepped from the inner room.
"Are there any more visitors, Kabaji?" a distinctive voice drawled from within.
Kabaji looked at Tezuka and Ryoma. "Usu."
"Choose one and bring him in. Ore-sama does not have all day."
Ryoma caught the personal assistant's gaze, not bothering to hide his smirk at Tezuka's failure to catch the lumbering giant's attention earlier.
"You," Kabaji gestured with a massive hand and they left a troubled investigator in their wake.
Fuji contemplated the slim device in his hands, turning it over and over again. Seeing the boy (or was it young man?) from last night's job was a surprise—a pleasant surprise at that. And here he was sure the afternoon would be only a succession of trials against his patience with Atobe.
"Nyaaah, Fuji stole something for fun again?"
Fuji chuckled as his seatmate snatched away Atobe's electronic organizer. "We all have our bad habits, Eiji."
Their driver joined in with a rueful laugh of his own. "You do the same thing Eiji, all the time."
"But Oishi! I have you to look after me! Fuji's a loose cannon sometimes! A wild meteor that can rip away everybody's belongings and gold fillings upon impact!"
"Eiji..." Oishi admonished with a laugh disguised as a cough. Kikumaru's next words made him choke however.
"We need to find him a significant other Oishi!" Kikumaru continued with the light of divine discovery in his eyes. "Someone who can put up with his irrepressible ways and keep him in line!"
"Eiji!"
"Actually, I already have my sights set on somebody." Fuji gently pried the organizer away from Kikumaru's enthusiastic grasp. "And he's very interesting."
"He?" Oishi sounded surprised.
Fuji remained silent for a while as he went through the list of contacts on Atobe's hand held machine. The thumbnails of pictures flashed past his eyes before the highlighted name stared back at him from beside a disgruntled boy with a tousled head of inky. "Remember the competition I've been meeting by chance on a regular basis?"
Oishi couldn't avert his attention from the road but he voiced surprise his nonetheless. "You mean that young man who was responsible for complicating most of our latest operations?"
Fuji held up the enlarged profile image so that the mild-mannered man could see in the rearview mirror. When Kikumaru grabbed at the device, he let go of it willingly and settled himself into the leather backing of their car comfortably.
Propping his face in his hand with his elbow on the door handle, Fuji grinned as the redhead beside him started fawning loudly over the petulant expression on the boyish face. "His name is Echizen Ryoma and I think he missed his growth spurt because he's shorter than me." Fuji's expression was almost vicious in its amusement. "Don't you think he's cute?"
In all various times he visited, Atobe's office was never the same. Ryoma suspected that the narcissistic man redesigned everything according to the season or his mood. One could never be too sure with the eccentric but brilliant head of Atobe Enterprises.
Sitting down rather ungraciously and without prompt, Ryoma set his demands on the proverbial table. "I want information."
"A bit rude, don't you think Echizen?" Atobe smirked, amused at the edginess pouring off the person sitting but three feet away from him. "Does this have anything to do with the man who was just in your seat a few minutes ago?"
Ryoma narrowed his eyes. "Yes. I'm willing to pay for anything you can tell me."
Atobe sighed in annoyance however. "I don't need money, and don't presume that Ore-sama can be bought that easily."
Ryoma refrained from doing something decidedly childish, like flicking the CEO off. He wasn't about to take his chances with the obedient Kabaji looming right behind the high-back chair. "Then what do you want Monkey King? I know for a fact that you're not on the best terms with most of Japan's black market syndicates right now. Seishun included."
"Eavesdropping is a very bad habit, Echizen."
"Among others... and I can't help it if my hearing is more sensitive than others," Ryoma countered. "You know how the old man and I operate and I need to do something on my own before he gets another stupid idea stuck in his primary head and wastes away more of my nights."
Atobe steepled his fingers together. "I'd like for you to retrieve something from Fuji for me. If you agree to my terms, I'll give you the information I've amassed on Seishun Syndicate's most valuable employee—including his next job."
Ryoma blinked, for a moment appearing younger than his eighteen years. "That organizer he was toying with was yours?"
Atobe looked invariably pained.
The night was cool and the sky clear. Ryoma leaned against the second floor window, watching the lights of Kyoto's night traffic flash below the ledge he stood upon. Impatiently he glanced towards where the person he needed to speak with was supposed to arrive through. In his impatience, he almost missed seeing the dark shadow the slide down the wall on his other side. He grudgingly thanked his father in the depths of his mind for his good hearing when it was apparent that he'd noticed the other before the other noticed him.
"Fuji Syuusuki."
The other man landed and turned at the same time, slightly jerky motions betraying his surprise. "Oh? Echizen Ryoma-kun, is it?" Fuji tilted his head to the side, eyes disappearing into his winning smile. "What a coincidence it is to find you here again."
Ryoma opened his mouth, indignant. "How did you know—" he cut off, remembering one of his objectives and replaced the rest of his question with a sullen "never mind."
They both stood with their backs to the museum's stone wall with an ornate window (unlocked just a few minutes ago) between them, looking as if loitering two stories above ground and clinging to the side of a building was a normal occurrence.
"I assume that your objective is the main piece of the Edo globefish exhibit?" Fuji watched the younger thief closely, secretly delighted at the refusal to rise to the bait that was his "assumption."
"Who's your client this time?" Ryoma asked.
"Sakaki of Hyoutei Sports brand fame; I got referred this time by our mutual friend."
Ryoma snorted at the thought of Atobe being friends with anybody but his "Ore-sama" himself. He didn't bother correcting the other's mistake though.
However, Fuji read the exasperation on Ryoma's face easily despite the limited light sources and showed his amusement accordingly. "Aa, right. Keigo-sama is too above us petty thieves to even associate with us. But he referred me to his peer nevertheless. And what about you, Echizen-kun? Whom are you doing this for?"
Ryoma neatly sidestepped the probing question and bluntly put his plan into action instead. "I propose a competition of sorts," he said calmly. He knew he was taking a gamble, presuming that that the information he extorted out of Atobe was correct. But according to the preening egotist, Seishun Syndicate's prodigy had an overt fondness for challenges and what he was about to suggest should act as effective bait. When he saw the slant blue eyes regard him in a closer fashion, he smiled, triumphant.
"I'm aware that your president has a very old and very valuable collection of antique racquets in her possession that she has under an overkill of protective measures."
Fuji closed his eyes with a smile. "Yes. Sumire-chan does. And I think I see where you're going with your proposition..." The Seishun genius stretched all of a sudden and shifted his weight so he was closer to the window. "But I have a better idea."
Ryoma arched a slender eyebrow at the smooth interruption. His pointed silence prompted the other to continue.
"Let's start the game now. Should you manage to get to the art piece before me, I'll hear out the rest of the details and agree to play with you." Fuji said, ignoring how Ryoma bristled at the indirect comparison of him to a child. "But should I win," his smile slipped off to be replaced by an intense blue-eyed stare, "You're to return the stamp you took two nights ago and take me to your father."
"Wait, what? You want to meet that old man? Why?"
There was no hint of compromise in Fuji's expression. "I need to have a word with the formerly infamous King of Thieves." He stepped forward lightly, effortlessly and invariably closer to Ryoma who now doubted the practicality of holding this conversation on a ledge one-and-a-half feet wide.
"Your father is a very busy, very unpredictable man, Echizen-kun and I'm sure you already knew that. But, his recorded movements are puzzling." Here Fuji revealed more of his startling blue eyes as he leaned in closer to the younger man. "One wonders why he does not pursue what could be a lucrative career by joining a syndicate."
Ryoma looked perturbed at the slowly disappearing personal space. "That pervert isn't in the business for the money," he said, still trying to shy away from the close proximity in an unobtrusive manner. He was also failing miserably.
"Oh? Then why continue targeting ludicrous marks such as the darling oddities of society's top echelon? Why does your father make you aim for such difficult objects, and most of which are the jobs of Seishun Syndicate's as well? Don't you think it's just the slightest bit too coincidental, Echizen-kun?"
Here Ryoma laughed, voiced strained from the invasion of his breathing space, but he laughed nonetheless. "Because he can," the tawny-eyed youth snapped, looking much like a trapped animal. A dangerous animal that was ready to lash out at the light-haired man, regardless of their precarious footing.
"Hmm." Fuji quirked his lips up in a predatory manner but retreated a bit nonetheless. When he'd fully extracted himself from Ryoma's personal space, he was all-smiles again. "So are we agreed? Even though you're still too inexperienced to beat me."
Ryoma's eyes mirrored his competitive drive, both catching fire at the playful jibe. "We'll see," he promised, eyes flashing a lighter shade of gold when a stray beam of light from a nearby apartment flashed over them, and slipped through the window to begin the race.
They'd chosen opposite directions: Ryoma heading directly for the exhibit floor and Fuji running towards the back entrance. His was the shorter path; Fuji's route would take him through at least two more hallways of showcases and artifacts before he would reach the vaulted hallway that would grant him access to the prize.
The two routes both had their advantages and disadvantages. Fuji had to bypass a hallway of sensors, crisscrossed at ground level, but stationary, and also deal with the ten-digit combination on the back door's lock. Of course, he had an entire organization of hackers, genius inventors, peers of similar ilk and technological wonders backing him up; so in truth the blue-eyed devil was at no disadvantage whatsoever other than the difference in distance.
Before they parted ways, Fuji had called back, "I hope you know what you're doing," before picking up his speed and sprinting around the corner, confidence radiating from his slim form.
Ryoma allowed himself a moment of smugness at the very recent memory. Now faced with the most advanced security system the museum had to offer, he knew exactly what he was doing. The beams of light emitted from the moving heat sensors were a different color, red instead of blue, but Nanjiroh's replication of the sensors' random motion and room dimensions was without peer. If he'd timed everything correctly, Fuji was halfway through the exhibit of Showa-era hair ornaments and floor sensors whereas he was only twenty-five feet away from his destination.
Time to put his experience of saving helpless things locked within glass cases to use.
Today was a good day, Ryoma decided as he nimbly stepped over a beam crawling near his left foot, flowing effortlessly into a backbend that carried him away from the twin beams that would've swept through him like a apparitional cross. He was in full control of his movements, no matter how boneless they seemed and years of practice against the Interpol's failed traps lent him a surety of his capabilities.
Ten feet. He performed an aerial that straight-lined him through a quartet of parallel beams.
Five feet. He dropped to the floor, breathing steady though a red line passed no more than an inch or so away from the tip of his nose.
Three feet. Rocking back and lightly grabbing onto a nearby pillar of squared off red wood, the dark-haired thief propelled him forward, disregarding the light that moved in a slow parody of a caress down the pillar, right over where his hand had been, a few seconds later.
Ryoma danced his way across the polished floor, projecting a feline grace that he would have rather attributed to Karupin than to himself. When he finally reached the elevated stand and its contents, he'd yet to see Fuji walk through the back door.
Wasting no time, Ryoma removed a glasscutter from the small utility pouch strapped to his waist. Just as he was stowing away the artifact he heard a deliberate "Saa..." and looked up to the sight of Fuji stepping out of the shadows and applauding softly.
"Very nice, Echizen-kun," Fuji murmured, no hint of disappointment at all. Instead, he looked ridiculously pleased. "That was spectacular. In fact, you move like my best friend Kikumaru Eiji who's—"
"Your infiltration and stealth specialist, I know."
Fuji frowned then shrugged. "I was going to say body contortionist, but I suppose infiltration and stealth specialist works as well." His close-eyed gaze seemed to go through Ryoma as he continued in a speculative voice, "You're obviously very comfortable with your body..."
Ryoma decided that he really Didn't Want To Know and so he gave Fuji a Look.
"Now, since you won, I suppose I shall have to uphold my end of the deal."
"Don't appear so excited to do so," Ryoma deadpanned, "I'm impressionable."
Fuji did everything softly; he spoke softly, moved softly, and it was softly when Fuji laughed as he led Ryoma through the unlocked vault-hallway.
They were finalizing the details on Ryoma's first brainchild when a previous promise kindly made itself known last minute to Ryoma's rather poor memory.
"The Monkey King wants his organizer back," he said suddenly, cutting into Fuji's suggestions that they not fight overkill with overkill and rob the entire prefecture of its power just so they could bypass the security measures dependent on electricity. "I agreed that I'd retrieve it for him in exchange for detailed information on your organization's history."
Fuji tsked at the abruptness. "But what if I didn't want to give it back? You should at least make your argument more persuasive, Echizen-kun. Besides, Keigo-sama's little toy wasn't included in our deal earlier so it would be grossly unfair for me to give it up without a fair and equal exchange, don't you think?"
Ryoma muttered a few choice oaths against him before pulling out a small square of plastic with a stamp nestled within. "Trade you."
Fuji smiled. "Aa, you'd give me the much more valuable stamp in exchange for Keigo-sama's toy? That's so noble of you, Ryoma-kun. Which is surprising since I've heard that you grew up in the United States?"
"I have inborn ethics that you apparently lack." Slender brows furrowed together in distaste. "And if you insist on calling me by my first name, don't tack on the '-kun.' Cause, yeah, I lived in the U.S. before coming here and hearing my first name with that honorific tacked on is just weird."
Fuji placed his left hand right below his collarbone. "You wound me deeply Echizen-kun. Who are you to say that I have no morals?"
Ryoma snorted. "I'm the one who has to put up with you as of the moment. I have every right. And your heart's on the other side by the way."
Fuji's expression didn't even waver as he calmly slid his hand to the left a bit. "Then I should even out the score a bit, hmm?"
Ryoma blinked, and suddenly noticed that his position put him at a disadvantage. They were slowly making their way across the ledge to where their respective methods of escape were stationed but Fuji's announcement halted their progress.
"Fair exchange," was all the warning Ryoma received before a pair of softly smiling lips descended on his. The firm pressure on a part of his anatomy that he'd never really associated with anything other frowning or smirking was enough to rob him of his wits. In fact, his brain was addled enough for him to barely register the slim electronic organizer being pressed into the palm of his hand in exchange for the prized stamp; his brain was addled enough for him to overlook the fact that he very well knew the other had also filched his wallet.
Nanjiroh was busy being an utter sloth when the front door slammed open, suddenly and violently. A padded bundle hurdled through the air and landed squarely in his lap.
Blinking owlishly, he looked in question from the package to his son who looked decidedly... odd. Nanjiroh squinted at the mixture of bewilderment and determination that warred in Ryoma's cat-like eyes and wished that Rinko were there to help him decipher their son's current mood.
The door closed behind the younger Echizen in a less abrupt manner. There they stayed for a good five minutes; father on the couch and very much lost; son by the door, layered bangs hiding his mixed expression. Then, for the second time that night, the silence was broken in a spectacular manner.
"I'm going to make you cry, Oyaji."
They met up again, a week after they had successfully wreaked havoc on Ryuuzaki Sumire's heavily protected treasures, and spent an evening in each other's company. The unstructured trip through the park, to the ice cream parlor, back through the park, finally led them to an isolated hill that overlooked the dimly lit expanse that was Kyoto.
There they sat, each to his own thoughts before fabric shifted over fabric and disturbed the moment of odd silence.
"Either you just groped me or you took something. Again."
Their relationship was nothing like Kikumaru and Oishi's; it was nowhere close to the thing Atobe had going on with Tezuka. But neither would have it any other way.
"I personally like the former choice."
"... give me back my cell phone Syuusuke."
"Not until you put my car keys back where they belong Ryoma-dear."
"But you still haven't returned my driver's license from last week you psychotic klepto!"
"Tsk. Such a hypocritical flatterer you are."
They continued to watch the Kyoto night traffic a while longer.
"... NOW can I have my phone back?"
Fuji was sure the younger male could feel his cheeky smile, what with the lower half of his face pressed against the other's neck. He allowed for another second of mock consideration before declaring, in his brightest, most obnoxiously happy manner, "Nope."
FIN
Completed: 08/24/05
EXTRA - In the Process of Writing this Monstrosity moment:
(Occurring around 1500 words into the piece)
kasugai gummie: breaks a spare keyboard above Fuji-muse's and Ryoma-muse's heads
Fuji-muse: curled up with Ryoma-muse in a corner. Doesn't even register the destruction
Ryoma-muse: flops the other way. Doesn't move again
kasugai gummie: bitter I hate you both SO much right now.
Ryoma-muse: mumble Mada mada...
kasugai gummie: Why do I get the lazy muses? WHY? crying as she continues to beat out paragraphs from her own backup stock of inspiration