Heat.

At the end, that's all there is. A fire in the blood, flames that radiate outward from the core. Lips tingle, numbing to sensation. Sasuke and Ieyasu are both bathed in sweat, breathing heavily. Panting…

Brown eyes meet green ones, without the barrier of the glasses that Sasuke tossed aside moments ago. There is pain, and through the pain a hint of euphoria. "Yield," Ieyasu manages to find the breath to gasp. "Tell me you yield."

Sasuke stays as expressionless as always, though a sheen of perspiration covers his face. "More," is all he says.

How did we get here? Was it half an hour ago, when the heat was still merely a pleasant burn? Was it the moment when Sasuke had Ieyasu kabedon'd against the castle walls, and pleaded for one tiny favor? Or was it earlier that day when Sasuke was seized by a desire…

Earlier that day…

"You want Ieyasu's… autograph?" Mai couldn't prevent herself from gaping at her friend, who had dropped in on her (literally) and announced his quest.

"I er, might be the founding member of the Tokugawa Ieyasu appreciation society at Kyoto University. An autograph… and perhaps some personal item, such as a scrap of material, a lock of his hair…" Sasuke's eyes had a faraway look in them. Mai cleared her throat. "Yes, a lock of his hair."

It wasn't the craziest thing she had ever heard of, and since she needed to deliver a kimono to Ieyasu anyway, she allowed Sasuke to accompany her.

That might have been all there was to it, but as it turned out, Ieyasu was not in the mood to sign a piece of paper, let alone allow Sasuke to touch his hair. In fact, after accepting the kimono from Mai, he curtly thanked her and strode off without a word.

Sasuke followed.

Ieyasu walked faster.

As did Sasuke.

The situation mushroomed from there, with Ieyasu breaking into a run, and Sasuke chasing after him. Alarmed, and worried for both their sakes, Mai hurried off to find Masamune, in the hope that he could arbitrate a settlement.

By the time Masamune and Mai caught up with them again, Ieyasu was backed up against the castle wall while Sasuke loomed against him ominously. "Just a tiny snip of hair. I'll take it from the back, and no one will be able to tell."

"As if anyone could tell anyway," Masamune said quiety to Mai. "The lad's hair resembles a lionfish, even in the best of circu- oof!" He rubbed his stomach where Mai had just elbowed him. "Kitten!" He glared at her reproachfully.

"Help them out, please! I don't want this to escalate." Mai doubted that Sasuke would dare harm his idol, but Ieyasu was unpredictable.

Masamune waded in and soon had the two separated. "Lad, Sasuke's request is a bit odd, but harmless. Just give him some hair, and he'll go away."

But Ieyasu's stubborn mode had been activated, and he was in no way interested in giving anything to Sasuke. "Don't be ridiculous. I won't even give him one hair. Who knows what he's going to do it?"

Meanwhile, Sasuke, having gotten this close to Ieyasu did not want to waste the opportunity. "I'm willing to work for the chance. We could spar for it?"

"No!" The objection came from peace-loving Mai.

Determined, Sasuke threw out desperate suggestions. "Ground spike hopscotch? Ceiling races through the castle? Throwing star dodgeball? Hot sauce challenge?"

"No. No. No. N- er…" Ieyasu paused, his interest caught. "What is this hot sauce challenge?"

"The Hot Sauce Challenge is a popular game from our… village." Sasuke paused to find a non-anachronistic explanation. "It involves the consumption of increasingly spicier foods."

"Um, Sasuke?" Mai tapped his shoulder. "You should probably know that-"

But it was too late. Sensing a chance to be free of the pesty ninja forever, Ieyasu agreed to the competition. "If I win, you promise to never bother me again? To never look at me again?"

"I promise, Lord Ieyasu." Sasuke bowed to him.

At that, Masamune willingly offered his services as sauce provider. He spent the afternoon in the kitchen, in his element, as laughing to himself he crafted wicked (and yet still tasty, if he said so himself) bowls of hot sauces.

The contest began slowly at first, with neither challenger even needing to resort to the milk that Keiji (who still had those goats) had provided.

As each container of sauce was set in front of them, they would stare each other in the eyes, drink the sauce straight from sake cups, then slam the cups back on the table as if they were doing shots of liquor, rather than liquid death.

"Refreshing," Ieyasu remarked early on the in the competition, as he drank a cup sauce that was more than fifty percent karashi.

Sasuke gulped his own cup down without even a twitch to betray the fact that his esophagus was on fire. Although the mist in front of his eyes was slightly concern- oh. His glasses had fogged up. Carefully, he set them aside.

The sun set, the room darkened. Wasabi sauce… yuzukosho… shichimi togarashi… Then the first casualty - it was neither Sasuke or Ieyasu, but kitchen-helper Mitsunari, who accidentally rubbed his eyes and had to be attended to by Mai and Hideyoshi.

But neither competitor would yield, even after a dish made almost purely of sansho pepper. The sauce's delayed response caused Sasuke's lips to tingle, and he was certain Ieyasu was suffering the same, for he was rubbing his thumb across his lower lip. He could feel sweat trickling between his shoulder blades and his nose had been running through the last four sauces.

And so, now… we return to the beginning, which is now also the end…

"Yield," Ieyasu says, and for a moment, a brief hopeful moment, Sasuke thinks that Ieyasu is yielding to him. But the man continues, "Tell me you yield."

Not today, Satan. Sasuke hasn't endured four years of Kenshin's training, four years of pickled plums, four years of sake-soaked nights to be defeated by hot sauce. "More."

"Are you certain, lads?" Masamune stands over them – both men are red faced, sweating, breathing through their mouths. Brows and faces are mopped with hand towels, milk is sipped, determination is renewed.

Ieyasu slaps his hand on the table. He can no longer speak.

Masamune sets the last dish on the table. "I call it… Dragon's Breath."

There's a long … long… pause…

Before both men, with barely a tremble to their hands, throw back the sauce, gulping it down.

It's like drinking lava. The molten shot races down their throats, like a scorpion on a water slide.

Neither speaks.

Neither screams.

Neither can scream… their vocal cords have been temporarily cauterized.

Instead, they only stare at each other in mutual agony. And… maybe… mutual respect?

"That's it." Masamune clears away the dishes. He worries that anything hotter might literally rip out their guts. "I declare this competition a draw. Congratulations."

Without a word, Ieyasu gets to his feet, bows to Sasuke, and walks away.

When Sasuke can move again… it's to grab the hand towel that Ieyasu has left behind. Carefully, he folds it up and tucks it into his kimono.

It's been a good day.