So guys, someone on AO3 told me they're going to plagiarize my work (like actually said, "I'm going to use your ideas in my fic"). In particular, they're stealing from chapter 25 of this series. I'm so angry, but there's nothing to be done. I thought briefly of cursing this individual out and then reconsidered. In lieu of that, I decided that I'd let Hirato vent my frustration. Thus, this Christmas ficlet was born.

Also, this might be crackish. I'm not sure anymore, honestly. At any rate, I wish you all happy holidays! Consider this your seasonal gift; I hope you like it.

Hirato is growing increasingly impatient by the second. It's unbecoming of him; he's known for demonstrating the sort of stoic poise that would shame Socrates himself, after all. Were it any other Christmas party, he'd take everything in stride. Being hosted by Karasuna Incorporated means that he must spend the better part of the evening in his presence—Kirei Karasuna, former professor of molecular biology and current CEO of said company. The drug conglomerate is developing a medicinal cocktail to counteract the effects of Varuga blood. It's a promising treatment. As a result, Circus and Research Tower have been ordered to essay a partnership with Karasuna—hence tonight's indecently ostentatious soiree.

It's not novel; Hirato's been asked to play nice before. In fact, no one plays nicer. Effortless charisma, strikingly good looks, and a penchant for politesse make the commander a born charmer. Schmoozing with Akari's ex-lover, however, is absolutely out of the question, no matter how many wonder drugs the man invents. He therefore adopts a bearing better-suited to his fractious, intemperate paramour and watches from the periphery of the party. Amethyst eyes narrow in murderous malice as Kirei strides over to his doctor and leans in a little too close for casualness. Touch him and I break your hand.

"You'll wake up in one of Akari-chan's labs if you keep staring at him like that." While he's entertaining fantasies of the admittedly destructive variety, Tsukitachi sidles up beside him.

"Like what?" Hirato asks coolly. Circus' First Captain always sees too much.

"Like he's your property."

He may not be property, but he is mine, Hirato thinks. Still, he knows better than to voice such sentiments. "I'm being watchful; I don't trust Karasuna."

The red-haired man laughs heartily at that, and then stops abruptly when his companion stalks off, drink in hand and spine taut with what Tsukitachi immediately recognizes as fury. Golden orbs follow the line of Hirato's path before widening in understanding: Kirei Karasuna has made the fatal mistake of wrapping his fingers around Akari's arm. Consigning the night's mission to failure, he saunters off towards the bar, eyeing a double scotch and a certain blue-haired goddess.

Hirato settles a gloved hand on the small of Akari's back for the briefest of instances, surreptitiously signifying his ownership. It's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort of gesture—characteristic of the captain's masterful subtlety. Kirei doesn't blink. Neither does Akari (although he does raise an inquisitive brow). "I don't believe we've met," he says, offering his hand. "I'm Hirato."

"I'm Kirei Karasuna," the businessman replies cordially. "It's a pleasure to meet you, mister... What did you say your name was again? I'm afraid my memory is overrun with chemical reactions and enzyme properties."

"Hi-ra-to. Captain of the Second Ship, National Defense Agency."

"A pilot, then. How delightful! I've just earned my pilot's license." Kirei flashes a toothy grin.

"Is that so? I'd love to meet you in the sky." Sarcasm drips from each syllable, and if Hirato ever doubted his beloved's occasional propensity for mischief, he finds himself terribly mistaken. The corners of the researcher's lips turn up in a wicked leer. Akari hurriedly takes a drink of his wine to hide the delight he's deriving from allowing his lover free rein.

"I've been trying to talk Akari here into getting one. He's quite fond of flying, if memory serves." Kirei slips a hand through his glossy blue-black locks—the hand Hirato has vowed to break. Vain though he may be, he is indeed attractive. One would expect no less; Akari has immaculate taste. If the Second Commander were the diffident sort, insecurity would overwhelm. Fortunate, then, that he is a self-assured bastard.

"Sensei."

"Excuse me?"

"Akari-sensei. SSS-ranked personnel ought to be addressed appropriately. And he doesn't need a pilot's license. I endeavor in all ways to keep his head in the clouds."

The doctor in question nearly chokes but remains otherwise silent. This, of course, is interpreted as tacit permission for Hirato to be on his worst behavior.

"I imagine you perform a number of odd jobs. I hear Circus is very demanding of its guard dogs."

"Kirei—" the blond finally cuts in, tone sharpened by warning.

Circus' watchdog chuckles in supreme amusement. "It's okay, Akari. It's the truth."

"And what is it that they've tasked you with tonight, Captain Hirato?" the CEO asks, condescension evident.

The pilot's smirk turns sickle-sharp and chillingly malevolent. It's the kind of affect he reserves for soon-to-be-dispatched individuals. In that instant, all present parties are made inescapably aware of the fact that Hirato is a very dangerous man. "My mission tonight is the same as always—search out and destroy all threats to Circus' interests." Violet eyes dart to the physician at his side before leveling on Kirei. No one misses the meaning in this glance.

In the tense hush that follows, Akari clears his throat awkwardly. "I think it's time we left. It's late and I've an experimental surgery in the morning." He turns to Hirato. "Shall we?"

"You'll pay dearly for that little stunt," the doctor mutters as the two settle themselves in the back of their limousine. "Bizante-sama is going to crucify you."

Hirato is far too preoccupied with undoing his bowtie to attend to the bureaucratic nightmare he's created. "I don't know why; I was merely looking out for Circus' interests," he says distractedly.

"Meaning me?" Akari queries. "Like I'm some precious gem?"

The brunet chooses his next words with consummate precision: "You are exceedingly valuable, my dear doctor."

Suddenly, he registers warm weight in his lap and nimble fingers pulling his tie loose before working feverishly on his buttons. He's rendered nearly breathless by the assault, but he doesn't much mind, not when Akari's tongue seems intent on sampling every millimeter of skin within reach. It rasps against the commander's neck, licking fire in its wake. "I want to be clear," the blond murmurs, breath hot in Hirato's ear. "I abhor it when you channel your inner caveman." Insistent lips slant across his mouth while Akari slides roughly against him, eliciting a soft moan. Sometime in the last five minutes, he's been divested of tuxedo jacket and vest. He'd applaud his lover's prowess if he weren't so indisposed. "But sometimes you're so alluring that I want nothing more than to fuck you right then and there."

"Did you just say—" There's something tantalizing about hearing this atypical vulgarity fall from the other's lips. It's heady—knowing he's managed to thoroughly disarticulate the SSS-rank's trademark composure.

"Fuck. Yes. Now," Akari demands, hands roving underneath his shirt with reckless abandon.

Those hands reach for the captain's belt. As excruciating as it is, Hirato seizes the other man's wrists. "Hey—wait—" His feeble protest is swallowed by yet another kiss. Such underhanded methods have him smirking against his bedmate's mouth. Using my own tricks against me, hmmm? When did you get so devious? At this point, he's considerably incapacitated, but not so far gone as to forget where they are. "We're only fifteen minutes from Research Tower. You can have your way with me then."

Akari's laugh is a deep rumble against his collarbone. "This is me we're talking about. I've worked miracles in fifteen minutes."