Disclaimer: See first installment. Also, any similarities to real life people was not intended.

Warnings: See previous installments. General mockery made of fast-food restaurants. The depictions of the state of "WcDonalds" is completely for entertainment purposes only, so if anybody reading this does in fact work in a restaurant, I recommend not taking offense.

Notes: Finally completed the first One True Fivesome multiparter for TeniPuri and on the birthday of one Echizen Ryoma no less! (I congratulate myself, shut up). It's been quite awhile since I've written for TeniPuri however, much less this particular fic, so the writing here might not jive with the previous two chapters. I've had quite the kick with writing Atobe though and, much to my surprise, Sanada as well.

Thank you to all of those who helped spread this... orgy and supported this fic piece from the beginning!

Dedications: My two darling fiancées exwaiz and ladyandrogene; the big day is almost upon us :O

Certification of Sanitation - 3
by kasugai gummie

It takes two to tango. Three to crowd. Four to party. And five to orgy.

Atobe was furious. Enraged. Infuriated. Absolutely and justifiably furious.

Sidestepping another grease-stained pissant who dared to try and apprehend him, Atobe finally found himself within the inner sanctuary of WcDonalds—a few steps ahead and a mob of fast food employees an entire grill counter behind. The smell of refried grease still persisted, however, and the further damage that was being done to his hair as a result was simply unacceptable. Atobe gritted his teeth before letting out his breath in an elegant sigh of high-class annoyance and turning to address the punitive menace threatening his back.

"Ore-sama would prefer to see the owner of this pathetic establishment without any more attempts made at dirtying my being with your lowly selves," he began, condescension dripping from every pore. "Ore-sama will speak to your manager and you will all go back to your disgraceful posts."

And then, for a whimsical second, Atobe thought they all looked like a school of leprosy-infected albino goldfish.

"Trying to further restrain the great me from exacting my legal due as a severely unsatisfied customer will result in extraneous consequences," Atobe continued coolly, cutting off the blustering cook who had maybe managed to annunciate a single syllable before being silenced. Raising his head even higher and practically emitting waves of "Important Person; Grovel Damn it," Atobe sneered down at the pack of glowering workers. "Therefore I strongly suggest that you all back away before I start remembering your faces and make sure none of you flip another miserable burger again for the rest of your lives. Have I made my great self clear?"

Without bothering to see if his advice was heeded (not that he ever needed to in the first place), Atobe turned back to face the drab office door. Dark eyes narrowed in on the opaque glass while plans of tanking this particular franchise organized themselves obediently within his steel trap of a mind. He'd probably have to make it up to the brat again at some later date for taking such drastic (but wholly necessary) actions against his preferred chain but for now…

Pushing the door open with all the authority at his disposal (an amount that all four of his lovers would later accuse him of overkill for), Atobe strode into the manager's office.

"You knew, Ryoma?"

Ryoma shrugged noncommittally even as two other pairs of disbelieving eyes stared at his face. Truth be told, he found himself more amused by the fact that Tezuka was so preoccupied with the emergency at hand that he failed to correct Fuji's use of his first name in public. "I guess."

Sanada muttered a few choice profanities—under his breath, if only to avoid drawing more scandalized glares towards their table in this supposedly family-friendly establishment. "How could you forget to mention that?" he finally growled. "Especially knowing Keigo's standard reactions…"

Ryoma wordlessly slanted another look to Tezuka who still seemed as if he were trying to find a way to patch what remained of their questionable relationship with the food industry sector of society. Looked like the Proper Name Usage in Public was no longer one of his bespectacled lover's top ten priorities. Leaning on the tabletop, Ryoma continued to pick at the rapidly cooling fries. "It wasn't like I could do anything, you know," he reasoned.

And really, there wasn't. He was just as annoyed at Fuji for completely nuking his plans of feeding Atobe a Big Wac as he was entertained with how things had progressed. "Had I pointed out Fuji's hair to you, Keigo still wouldn't have touched the sandwhich."

Fuji laughed softly as Sanada buried his face in his hand. Though not as dramatic as Atobe, the Rikkaidai graduate did share certain sentiments with their arrogant lover.

"When we get home I'm going to—"

Ryoma merely smiled, sly, while Sanada suddenly found himself with Fuji's right hand covering his mouth and left hand in his lap. (That there were no fainting mothers and questioning children bespoke of how well placed and convenient the table really was.)

Sanada however, didn't find his current predicament as entertaining and frowned expressively at the censoring hand.

"Now, now Genichirou," their resident genius chided sweetly when he felt the pair of thinly pressed lips move against his palm. "Please remember we're in a public setting. No spilling confidential information, yes?"

Blue eyes winked almost conspiratorially from their youngest's derisive snort to the "You Hypocrite" accusation imbedded in Sanada's expression. "Or at least, not until Kunimitsu is less insecure," Fuji amended. "So we must all be on our best behavior. Besides, do recall the positions we were assigned to this month. I doubt you'll be able to do anything lasting to Ryoma. Or me for that matter."

Sanada twitched. Whether the shudder came as a result of Fuji's insinuations or because of whatever was going on beneath the table, Ryoma couldn't be sure. He would have checked out of sheer curiosity's sake too, but as luck would have it, Tezuka chose that particular moment to finalize his internal debate on the appropriate course of action.

"Ryoma," Tezuka said, catching the younger man's attention by straightening out of the booth completely.

Ryoma blinked in mild surprise at hearing his name, honorifics unattached, come out of Tezuka's mouth in a public restaurant. Maybe this farce of a dinner might actually have some lasting benefits: even his former captain with one of the largest non-phallic objects up his ass was yielding to the necessity to defuse Atobe and defuse him now. The screaming had died down for a good minute now, and as much as he liked the taste of WcDonalds, he didn't like it so much as to have Atobe not want to join in on explicit activities in retaliation for this experience. In the aftermath of the night Fuji took them out, for example, both Atobe and Sanada went on strike. For ten days.

Ryoma remembered the bed seeming abnormally bigger during those unpleasant days.

Casting a last, almost imperceptible look of longing at his unfinished order, Ryoma followed Tezuka with bland indifference masking his thoughts.

Before they turned to go however, he nodded questioningly at the remaining two of their group who also waited for Tezuka to finish addressing them.

"Ryoma and I are going to go try and find Keigo," Tezuka informed them curtly, impatiently. "Genichirou, Syuusuke. You two guard the food. Make sure nobody steals it."

Though the background accompaniment of eating and children had been returning as a crescendo, the party of five (which somehow found itself reduced to two) was suddenly plunged into silence.

Sanada and Fuji watched quietly as Tezuka and Ryoma hurry along the path of legal destruction Atobe had laid out for them before contemplating the food and exchanging significant looks with each other.

"… well, that went better than I expected," Fuji said with a winning smile and slowly removed his right hand. Sanada merely arched an eyebrow in disbelief (though he made no mention of the left hand that obviously stayed). When Fuji directed a courteous nod to the affronted mother who hurriedly ushered her children past her, however, Sanada groaned and buried introduced his forehead to the crinkle of trademarked packaging.

Fuji patted Sanada's thigh consolingly. "We better watch the food carefully Genichirou," he reminded blithely, even as he ate a pickle slice that once belonged on Tezuka's unfinished sandwich. "You never know who might actually be desperate enough."

So they watched, waited, and endured nasty looks directed towards them from the remaining customers.

One minute turned to two.

Two minutes turned to five.

The scuffling noises coming from the back had started again, then quieted (Sanada continued to wonder when someone with common sense would call the police). But still nobody, familiar or strange, came out.

At the end of the eight minute mark, Sanada found himself wishing for his old cap from his junior high days. Or a paper bag—he wondered if there were any cashiers left who would be willing to fulfill his request for a to-go bag before running away in abject horror because of his relation to their reigning drama king. Atobe had that effect on people sometimes. Actually, upon deeper contemplation, all of them did.

Sanada looked over to Fuji who had calmly resumed eating fries, and ended up frowning at the little girl who had toddled over and was mock zapping them with her meal toy. Gently plucking the cheap piece of badly assembled LEGO pieces out of her hands, he opened his mouth to lecture her—never mind that he was a big, bad stranger she wasn't supposed to talk to. Unfortunately, the moment he set the sorry piece of shit down on the table, it broke. So when the little girl with her Hello Kitty pigtails started crying, as opposed to making annoying laser sounds, Sanada frowned even harder.

The truth was that Sanada had been one of those children who, though took very good care of their toys, had absolutely no respect or affection for those unfortunate objects.

The frown graduated into a grimace when the LEGOs seemed to mock at him from between the limp lettuce and cold fries.

"Smile for the camera, Genichirou," Fuji called out as he smiled intently at his cell phone screen.

Sanada looked up from where he was failing to console the screaming child and wished he hadn't.

Upon his entry into the drabby sewer with fluorescent lighting, what was going on outside was the last thing on Atobe's mind. Sprawled on the cluttered desk was a middle-aged, grey-haired male with a toupee slipping off one centimeter per minute. Atobe curled his lip in disgust at the level of depravity he found.

He stood by the doorway for another moment, mentally deducted another twenty points (multiplied by fifteen thousand yen) from the useless lump for sleeping during work hours (which made the total come to a two hundred-three thousand yen settlement), and then slammed the door shut.

Seating himself into the ratty armchair facing the desk, Atobe watched imperiously as the manager spluttered awake.

"What? Who?" Squinting pig-like eyes peered at him blearily. "Who are you and how did you get in here?"

"Atobe Keigo," he stated, noticing the dilation of pupils with the barest flicker of satisfaction. Right on time: Years of sitting atop an entire community of which was composed of some merit but more stupidity had suggested that this piddle of a man was no more than an uneducated amoeba and would probably going into the standard sensory overload induced by his commanding presence under less than three minutes. Next would be excretion of bodily fluids…

The manager began sweating almost uncontrollably, much to Atobe's displeasure. "Oh, um…" The toupee fell off with a muffled thump on a mass of illegible paperwork. "What can I do for you Atobe-sama?"

Barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Atobe snorted softly. He didn't even need to exercise his insight on this man: obviously one of those suck-up types. Not wanting to waste anymore of his precious time (he had wanted to do some "product testing" with his lovers instead of coming out anyway), Atobe decided to speak in as simple of language as was possible.

"Your food inspection papers. I'd like to see them."

Those puny eyes struggled to blink. "What pap—"

"Your certificate that states this building passed the federal sanitation inspection. I'd. Like. To. See. It," Atobe annunciated carefully, irritation edging his voice. Gods above, what was wrong with this peon that he didn't seem to understand? "I am here as an unsatisfied customer with questions regarding the state of your establishment."

"O-oh. Yes, yes, of course." The pudgy little man staggered to his feet, whereas Atobe rose gracefully with a watchful eye trained on the now drenched figure as it disappeared into the adjoined filing closet.

Minutes later, the manager returned, a slim, battered folder clutched between trembling fingers. "Here you are," he croaked, standing anxiously behind the much taller youth.

Taking the files gingerly out of the randomly twitching death grip, it didn't take long for Atobe to find the information he needed. Dark lashes lowered gradually but surely, until the steel blue eyes were no more than smoldering slits.

"These," came the dangerously low declaration, "are expired."

When Ryoma and Tezuka finally cleared the apprehensive (and highly defensive) payroll of WcDonald employees, they were greeted by something… not entirely unexpected.

It had been a little tricky to step around the huddled person (who they presumed to be the manager) without actually stepping on him, and to Atobe who was looming behind the desk, referencing a carpet of papers on said desk, cell phone out, and barking commands to whichever unfortunate underling on call.

"—also want the documents that state the requirements for passing the fucking—"

Ryoma moved forward first, wordlessly assigning the task of returning some semblance of personhood into the manager to his more responsible lover.

"Don't sue him Monkey King," he warned, falling back on the questionable nickname he reserved for when Atobe was being particularly over-excessive. Sidling up to Atobe with an unobtrusive hand in the small of the older man's back, Ryoma effectively cut the other's call short by pulling the device out of his hands and snapping it close. "We'll make it up to you, Keigo," the sharp-eyed youth offered in a low murmur while Tezuka approached the quivering manager as one would approach a cornered animal. "Syuusuke and I especially."

"Syuusu—" Atobe looked from where Tezuka was trying to counsel the lost cause and down at the unrepentant tennis genius sharply. "I'll be expecting a thorough explanation from both of you later then," he said finally after a good minute of suspicious thought.

"Fair enough," Ryoma said in a satisfied manner. And he had much to be satisfied over too: this night had been productively eventful after all. Walking over to Tezuka who had finally given up and was eyeing the gibbering man warily, he motioned for Atobe to follow before tapping Tezuka on the shoulder. "We're leaving now."

Their journey through the kitchens was understandably tense, a result from both the killing aura emanating from the spatula wielding cooks and the ominous silence from an equally murderous Atobe.

Once they went out the double swinging doors however, Tezuka sighed. "Let's just forget this ever happened."

Ryoma smirked impudently. "Like the other times?"

Tezuka frowned wearily at their youngest who ignored the look and focused his attention on the far scene of Sanada valiantly holding off an enraged couple and a screaming child while Fuji laughed softly behind his cell phone.

When Atobe decided to stalk on ahead with a snapped, "Ore-sama has had enough of this idiocy; go fetch Syuusuke and Genichirou before I shut this miserable place down and into the next century," Tezuka sighed again.

The next time anybody noticed a coincide of schedules was not until a good three months later: enough time to drown out any feel-bad reactions. It was on an early weekend morning that Tezuka approached all four of his lovers with his observation and suggestion.

Tezuka cleared his throat. "I was thinking of something along the lines of a picnic."

"Picnic?" Ryoma echoed in disbelief when the others weren't as forthcoming with their reactions.

"Yes."

"Outside?"

"Yes."

"During the day?"

Tezuka "ah-ed" his final affirmative.

Ryoma broke eye contact immediately thereafter, as if ashamed to have helped clarify the proposition, hand spasming once around his pen before he managed to get the nervous twitch under control. Atobe and Sanada, on the other hand, weren't as subtle with their reactions and exchanged a very blatant Look that translated to something along the lines of "Oh, Fuck."

Tezuka ignored them however, preferring to wait, expressionless. His patience wasn't wasted either, because seconds later a soft "hmm" drifted up from behind the couch.

"... does this mean the world is ready for us now?" Fuji mused.

Fin
Completed: 12/24/05