Author's Notes:

The smut continues through most of this chapter, so again, if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to skip this chapter. It'll be the last chapter of smut for a while, so rest easy. For those of you who do read KuroSyao, your feedback is very much welcome and appreciated.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A jolt of anxiety shot through Syaoran's heart, but he said nothing, sitting up and staring at the ninja's chest. His voice was hoarse. "What do you want me to do?"

The question seemed to surprise the ninja. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before he answered. "I don't know. This is the first time I've been with someone who's not a woman."

"Oh. Right." Well, at least that gives me a place to start, Syaoran thought, doubtful. Now, if only there was some sort of handbook for this sort of thing . . . Uncertainly, he moved his hand between their bodies, reaching past the man's abdomen until he felt the curve of his hips. He wanted to look at Kurogane's face, to check if he was doing it right or if this was just hopelessly awkward, but he couldn't make himself look up. He tried to mimic the slow, rhythmic strokes that had driven him over the edge a moment ago and felt the other man harden in response.

"Syaoran."

The sound of his name jerked him out of his anxious ministrations. He bowed his head, fingers unfurling.

Kurogane's voice softened in response to his unspoken apology. "Don't think so hard. You don't have to do what I did, just do what comes naturally."

Syaoran thought about that for a moment. He'd never wanted to please anyone this much, and certainly not in this way. It was so different from searching for approval from a mentor or father figure. He didn't know how to take control, how to initiate this part of the exchange. He'd barely considered what it would be like for himself, here, in this bed.

He'd read plenty of books in his lifetime, some more graphic than others, but the mere thought of trying to mimic those circumstances drove spires of fear into his stomach. But maybe he could buy himself a few minutes while he got used to the idea of something . . . more. "Sit up," he said, voice quavering. Surprise flitted across Kurogane's face, but he obeyed without question. Syaoran repositioned himself so he was kneeling just behind the ninja, his knees on either side of the man's hips. He wiped the sweat from his hands with the sheets, then lifted them to the juncture between the ninja's neck and his shoulder.

He began massaging Kurogane's shoulders, thumbs moving in slow circles over the tense muscles. His tanned skin was smooth, save for a few shallow scars, no doubt a byproduct of his time in Tomoyo's service. After a while, when those muscles began to relax, Syaoran moved down the ninja's back, digging his fingers into the rigid cords there until his hands started cramping. Once, as he kneaded the man's lower back, he heard Kurogane sigh. It was a contented sound, like the yawn of a pet dog as it curled up at the foot of the bed.

Eventually, though, Syaoran had to admit there were no more knots to iron out, no more ways to stall. He pressed his cheek against the ninja's shoulder, encircling him with his arms and running his fingertips over the man's stomach. It didn't surprise him one bit to feel the sculpted plates of Kurogane's abdomen under his fingers. A life devoted to fighting had made the ninja trim but muscular.

Much better shape than I'm in, Syaoran thought wistfully, moving his hand lower. This time, he didn't shy away when he felt the hard lump under his hand. He gave an experimental squeeze. With one ear pressed against Kurogane's back, he was able to hear the sharp intake of breath, feel the brief shudder that ran down the man's spine. The reaction made him realize this was almost as new to Kurogane as it was to him.

Had it been confidence that had allowed Kurogane to make it look so easy, or had it been his own inexperience and quick reaction to being touched that had made Kurogane seem so competent?

The realization was enough to strip away the last of Syaoran's shyness. He curled his fingers around the red-eyed man's shaft and tugged, starting slow, then speeding up as he found a rhythm. All the while, he listened to the ninja's breathing, trying to determine what made him respond and what didn't. His free hand clawed at the ninja's chest, possessive in a way he'd never expected himself to be.

Mine. He is mine.

Kurogane shuddered against him, a strangled moan breaking through his control as a thick, sticky fluid flowed around Syaoran's fingers. Relief washed through him, almost as potent as the relief he'd felt when he'd reached his own climax. He waited a moment, leaning against the ninja's back as he listened to his heavy breathing.

"Was that . . . okay?" he asked timidly.

"Yes," Kurogane panted, tilting his head back. "Fuck, yes."

Syaoran leaned forward and pressed his lips to the base of the ninja's jaw, wiping his hands on the sheets. I'll have to wash those before the others get back, he thought distantly, heart fluttering like a butterfly's wings.

He slipped out of the way before Kurogane could collapse on top of him. Together, they laid down atop the messy sheets, both of them breathing hard. The ninja pulled him close, their bodies pressing against each other, and Syaoran went limp in his arms, exhausted. For something that was supposed to feel good, there was an awful lot of stress that went into it. "That was . . . different . . . from what I thought it was going to be," he said, pressing his face into the ninja's shoulder. A lot less painful than I'd imagined it.

Kurogane grunted in agreement, rolling onto his side so they could face each other. His wine-red eyes were tender, tranquil. "Not bad," he conceded.

Syaoran smiled. From Kurogane, even the barest hint of approval was worth several minutes of heartfelt praise from most people. It warmed him inside, and he snuggled closer to the ninja's chest, closing his eyes.

"Don't fall asleep," Kurogane said. "We've got to get cleaned up and dressed before the others get back."

"I know. I just wanted to lie here for a minute first. If that's okay." He looked up, pleading for approval.

A rare, genuine smile flitted across the other man's face. "For a minute, then." His hand moved through Syaoran's hair, ruffling it so it stuck out in a disarray. Kurogane kissed him once, tenderly, as they lay there. The gesture seemed so strange to him. Kisses had always struck him as the kind of thing that led up to sex, not something that happened after. It seemed particularly strange coming from a man more given to subtler methods of affection.

After a couple minutes, Kurogane withdrew his arms and sat up. "We've got some cleanup to do. Might be awkward if anyone sees the sheets."

The mere thought of how he would explain that to the others had Syaoran on his feet in a second. Hastily, he searched for his discarded clothes, trying to put them back on even as his mind reeled.

"Take the bed sheets to the laundry room," Kurogane muttered. "It's been long enough since you washed them that it won't look suspicious, but we'll have to be more careful next time."

Next time. The words echoed in his mind, a symphony of possibilities, anxiety, hope, and desire. They were a promise that all was well, that their relationship hadn't shattered because they'd pushed it too fast. His heart fluttered again, the back of his neck warming.

As he gathered up the sheets, he watched Kurogane dress, transfixed. The ninja had always moved with a subtle grace, but it was even more pronounced without the cover of clothes. His muscles stretched and rippled, like those of a lion stretching on the plains, powerful even in relaxation.

There'll be a next time, Syaoran thought, tearing his eyes away from the red-eyed man. He wadded up the soiled sheets, folding them in on themselves so no evidence of their interlude would be visible to anyone. As he started for the door, he felt a light pressure between his shoulder blades; he looked back to see Kurogane standing behind him.

"I mean it." This close, it took only a murmur to be heard. "You did good."

Syaoran tilted his head back so he was touching the ninja's chest. "Thanks. You, too."

Kurogane snorted, stepping back. "Well, naturally."

He smiled. He'd never seen the ninja in such high spirits. It was nice to be the reason for that.

Nice to be wanted.

He dumped the sheets in a laundry basket, pausing just a moment in the bathroom to fix his hair so he wouldn't look like he'd just done what he'd done. He hurried to the building's laundry room, ready to spend the next few minutes getting rid of evidence.

After all, this was the sort of thing one kept . . . discreet.