Author's Note: Here's chapter two! Fair warning, things might be a little spicier from here on out ;)

Big thanks to my fantastic beta FloraOne for taking time out of her busy weekend to give this a final look-over. She is eternally wonderful and if you have time to give her a little extra love, please do!

Chapter 2 – One more time is not enough

As she'd noted on countless occasions, Chiba Mamoru was generally a pretty boring person.

When he wasn't swooping in to help her save the world or making fun of her hairstyle, it seemed like all he did was work at the hospital, sleep, or study – or, more recently, spend his study breaks with his lips against her skin, making her quake with earth-shattering orgasms.

He had exactly one friend that she knew of, and she couldn't remember ever seeing him hang out anywhere other than the Crown, his apartment, or occasionally at the Hikawa shrine for Senshi meetings.

She had certainly never run into him at a party, a restaurant, or a bar – and why would she? He cooked all his own meals, drank alcohol sparingly and responsibly, and thought the library was the peak of socialization.

So why in the hell was he currently sitting at the other end of the bar in the Hiroo Miya izakaya, drinking an Asahi and talking with that giggling redhead?

Was he also on this goukon? Minako hadn't warned her that he was going to be there. Had she not known? Or had she just thought Usagi wouldn't care?

"Usagi-chan?"

She blinked, her date coming back into focus on the barstool next to her. "I'm so sorry, Mitsuo-kun, I didn't catch that," she said, forcing her brightest smile and placing an apologetic palm on his arm.

Not that she did care. Mamoru could flirt with anyone he wanted. It didn't matter to her.

Her eyes drifted over Mitsuo's shoulder to watch the redhead lean in, her head tilted to show off the curve of her slender neck, fingers twined in her curls.

Blue eyes flicked up to meet hers, as though aware he was being watched, and she jerked her attention back to Mitsuo just in time to hear him say "What about you?"

"Oh, yes, I agree," she said, hoping this was an appropriate answer.

"Really? I don't meet a lot of other people who appreciate herping."

She smiled weakly, having no idea what that even was – one follow-up question, and he would immediately realize she hadn't been listening to a word he'd said.

"Why don't you tell me more about what you like about it?" she said, hoping she could buy herself some time to figure out what the heck he was talking about and fake her own interest before he asked her for her opinion again.

But as she did her best to focus on his words, she was distracted again – this time by a tinny beeping from her small white handbag.

Feeling horribly rude, as she so often did when superheroing intruded on her day-to-day life, she slipped off the barstool.

"Mitsuo-kun, I am so, so sorry. My roommate is home sick and she's calling me now…" The lie rolled off her tongue, her excuses frustratingly practiced. "I need to go check on her, but could we try this again sometime?"

He waved her off, all polite understanding. As she paused in the doorway, eyes flicking across the bar counter to see Mamoru was also on his feet despite the redhead's pouting, she realized Mitsuo had already bought the girl on his opposite side a drink, pulling her into a new conversation.

Oddly stung, she let the door swing shut behind her before flipping open her communicator and clearing her throat.

"Where's the youma?"

Gloved fingers tightened in the chain link fence, her breath coming in shallow pants. Every nerve ending in her body was alight as Tuxedo Mask kissed his way up her leg, pausing momentarily to rake his teeth along the meat of her inner thigh.

His fingers – already stripped of their gloves – first tugged and then tore into the fabric of her fuku, exposing her pussy to the cool spring air. A shudder wracked through her as his warm breath teased at her entrance, his tongue laving a trail of fire up the crease of her thigh.

Her heart beat the insistent pattern of more more more as the pads of his fingers traced nonsensical designs along her hipbone; she squirmed, trying to redirect his hand about six inches left and down. Down to where she pulsed, ached for his touch.

Instead, his fingers curled tight around her pelvis, holding her captive. His nails bit into her skin, hands pressing her ass against the cold metal grate. She shivered.

Her voice, barely recognizable, was a breathless gasp carried like cherry blossoms on the wind: "Please, please, please, please."

His lips parted from her skin with a sucking pop she knew would leave a purplish-pink stain. With a whine bubbling in her throat, she looked down to find him staring up at her, his face impenetrable behind the white of his mask.

When he spoke, his voice was low, throaty. "Do you want me to touch you?"

Hers was a babbling wail: "Yes, god, please."

But, aside from stroking his thumb along her quivering adductor, he didn't move. "Say it."

It rippled through her body, beginning low in her core and escaping out her mouth "Mamoru, touch me, please, please, oh please."

He answered her beg by finally – finally – dropping his head between her thighs.

His tongue traced her inner labia, making her shudder. He slowly moved up, the tip of his tongue just-grazing her clit. Then, he stopped. Waited. Only after she made a sound of protest did he again brush against the sensitive little bud, this time with the flat of his tongue. When she moaned, dug her fingers into his soft dark hair, he licked it again, and again, lapping at her clit first with the flat and then with the tip of his tongue until she thought her entire body might shake apart.

With her orgasm only seconds away, her hands tangled in his lapels and dragged him off his knees, up to her face so she could crash their lips together.

This time it was her hands fumbling blindly, ripping apart the fly of his tuxedo pants so she could draw his cock out, running her fingers over the swollen head.

His gasp was harsh in her ear, his hands shaking as he pulled a condom from somewhere within his jacket's pockets.

Ripping the foil packet open, she carefully rolled the condom down. She paused, taking a moment to tease her fingers along the length of the shaft, loving the way it twitched against her palm.

He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest as she lined them up, guided his cock into her slippery-wet cunt with a low moan.

She trembled as he slid inside her, filled her perfectly.

Who was that redhead? she didn't ask.

Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, hooked her fingers into the grate of the fence so she could leverage herself up, roll her hips in time with his.

Close as she was, it lasted barely as long as the battle with the youma had, ending with an altogether different kind of explosion. Her cry pierced the moonlit sky as she came undone, collapsing into Mamoru's arms.

One, two more thrusts, and with a long low grunt he tumbled over after her. When she could breathe again, she found they were slumped together on the ground against the fence, his fingers carding idly through her hair.

For a moment, she refused to move, wanting to enjoy his warmth and knowing that as soon as she did, he'd begin rebuilding those walls of propriety between them.

It seemed silly to pretend there could be such a thing when she knew the feel of him intimately, frequently got distracted during Senshi meetings just watching the motion of his too-perfect hands and remembering what they could do to her – what they frequently did do to her.

Even if he still drove her crazy, she liked to think they were beyond acting like stilted acquaintances, at least in private – but then again…

It had been a few weeks into their arrangement – around the time, she guessed, that Mamoru had worked out that her sexual appetite wasn't going to slow down anytime soon.

She had dragged him into the bathroom at Crown, locking the door behind them. She'd shoved him up against the wall, kissing him like she never wanted to stop.

He'd apparently had other ideas.

His hands had pressed into her shoulders, creating space between them even as his eyes stayed tightly shut, his neck craning forward as though unconsciously seeking her lips.

"Usa-Odango. Maybe we should talk about this."

She'd pulled back for real then, indignant at the interruption.

"About what?"

"I… you know. Maybe we should set some ground rules. Disclosing other partners, getting tested-"

"I don't care who else you're sleeping with," she'd cut off his train of thought. "I don't need to know. That can be one of the rules."

His blue eyes had glinted like ice chips. "Okay. Don't ask, don't tell. What else?"

She'd raised her chin in defiance. "Monthly STI screening as long as we're doing this is probably enough, right? Having sex doesn't make us friends."

His jaw had tightened slightly as he shook his head. "No, you're right. That's probably sufficient."

Now, she wondered why she'd been so flippant.

The laughing redhead lingered in her mind, but she had no right to ask about her. They always used a condom, and his last STI panel had come back clear. She had no other claim on him. She didn't want any other claim on him.

Right?

She pushed herself up to a seat, and it was like she'd flipped a switch. The lazy hand that had been tracing patterns along the back of her neck fell away, his momentarily languid limbs tensing back to Mamoru's usual baseline neuroticism.

Swallowing hard, she rose to her feet and dropped her transformation, her ragged fuku fading back into the short black dress she'd bought for the group date. The one Minako had told her was 'hella sexy.'

He didn't even look at her.

Instead, he fixed his fly, straightened his cape, and vaulted into the sky – probably going back to Hiroo Miya. There was no point in her going back. Mitsuo had probably already exchanged numbers with that other girl.

A bone-deep weariness struck her – one she didn't much feel like examining. She brushed a pigtail over her shoulder and began to make her way home.

As she walked, she caught herself wishing – just for a moment – that Mamoru didn't hate her.

She squished the thought down.

AN: Thanks for reading! I hope you're still enjoying, and I'd love to hear what you thought!