The cherry blossoms were out, and they were making Schuldig sneeze. Still, he sat on a park bench and sipped at his coffee because it was currently a better option than going home. Crawford and Nagi were arguing. When Nagi was this worked up, Schuldig's teasing only got him slammed against the wall and the damn cherries were making it hard enough to breathe as it was. He sniffled.

Yohji sat down beside him and passed him a tissue.

Schuldig squinted at him. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you?"

"I like being drowned in pollen," Schuldig said.

"Doesn't everyone?"

Schuldig blew his nose, loudly. "You really want to know why I'm here?"

"Oh, yeah. I really do." Yohji sat back and laid an arm along the back of the bench. His fingers brushed Schuldig's shoulder blade through his jacket.

"Fine. I'll tell you." And he did. He started with Nagi's infatuation with crazy bunny girl, explained Crawford's sudden, massive control-freak crackdown, and ended with, "And then I left so my teammate wouldn't crush me like a bug. Really, is it fair to give teenagers psychic powers like that? I don't think so. The worst I could do was spill everyone's secrets and mock them mercilessly. I couldn't kill anyone. I mean, not without a lot more effort than he has to put into it."

"Uh huh," Yohji said, and Schuldig realized with amazement that he hadn't been listening.

"Yohji!"

"Yeah, yeah, crazy psychic assassin antics, I got it. If somebody had teased you about your first crush, wouldn't you have killed them if you could? Without too much effort, obviously."

"...Maybe."

"Oh, shut up, you totally would have."

"Fine! What's your point?"

"If you're allergic to the goddamned trees, stop whining and go somewhere air conditioned."

"Like where?"

"Like a hotel."

Yohji looked at him, and Schuldig finally got it. "You want to have sex? Now?"

"Is this why you were at my place the other night?"

"What?"

"All this crap with your friends," Yohji said. "Is that why you snuck in through my window and tried to fuck with my head?"

No part of that sentence sat comfortably in Schuldig's head. 'Friends' for a start. Crawford? His friend? That didn't work, no matter which way he twisted it around. And it only got worse from there. It was possible that was exactly why he'd stopped by to fuck with Yohji's head. He hadn't given it a lot of thought at the time, beyond knowing Yohji would be worked up after the blond kid's bad night. Knowing that Yohji's reaction was bound to be distracting. It had been.

"Fucking with your head is its own reward," he said.

Yohji just looked at him.

"What?" Schuldig snapped. There was nothing obvious going on in Yohji's thoughts, and he couldn't be bothered to dig deeper. Crawford did that too, that not-thinking thing. It pissed Schuldig right the hell off. He threw the now-used tissue back at Yohji.

Yohji batted it away. "That's disgusting and so are you. Do you want to go to a hotel or not?"

"It's suddenly okay to screw around with, what was it, the bad guys?" He put air quotes around bad guys, and Yohji rolled his eyes.

"I'm spying on you," Yohji said. I want you. My friends are as fucked up as yours. I don't care.

Schuldig couldn't tell whether he'd meant to let those thoughts slip through or not, but it didn't matter. He meant it. He didn't care. Schuldig was pretty sure he wanted to care, and maybe when his friends stopped acting like superfreaks, he would, but not now.

"Okay. Be sure to tell them how good I am in the sack."

"Sorry," Yohji said. "I already told them the truth."

He said it so straight out that Schuldig was left gaping for a second. He shoved his way into Yohji's head, ignoring the cross look it got him. No, it had just been sarcasm. Of course it had. Like Yohji would tell them anything about Schuldig if he didn't have to. Right.

"Whatever," Schuldig said. "You're paying."

The room was small and pink, with a stuffed pink octopus on the bed, leaning against the pillows.

"I can't believe this is my life," Schuldig said.

"It's not my fault! It was the only room left, and you were standing there groping my ass! What did you want me to say, thanks but we'll go do it in the alley?"

"Oh, just get your clothes off."

"Wow, Mr. Romance." But Yohji did start stripping, shoes and socks first, until he stood naked on the pink shag carpet. "Well?"

Schuldig smirked and unzipped his jeans.

Yohji crossed his arms and glared.

"Oh, fine." He threw his clothes piece by piece onto the (pink and white striped) chair. There was an awkward moment then, and Schuldig thought this was probably the first time they'd been naked together on purpose.

Yohji turned down the bed and got in. The sheets were pink too. "Turn off the lights."

"Got something to be ashamed of?" Schuldig said, which was a little stupid, since he knew Yohji didn't.

"Turn off the lights and get in bed or I swear I will punch you right in the face."

"Jesus," Schuldig muttered. "Fine."

With the lights off and the blinds closed, the room was a solid block of darkness. He only found the bed by tripping over it. Yohji pulled him closer, and his feet tangled with the sheets. He kicked briefly to free himself and nearly rolled off the bed. Yohji caught him around the waist, one hand spread out warmly across his side. They were both still.

"Okay?" Yohji whispered.

"...Yeah."

He eased closer, and Yohji tugged the blankets up like they were going to sleep or something. Which they weren't. And the whispering was stupid, and he'd been doing it too, what the fuck. He reached for Yohji and grabbed something fuzzy and soft instead.

"What--"

"Octopus," Yohji said. "I think." He was still whispering as he pushed the octopus away and curled his hand around the back of Schuldig's neck. "Lip still hurts. Be nice."

That should've made Schuldig want to bite, but it didn't. Yohji's lips felt good against his, warm and wet, opening easily at the brush of his tongue. Not being able to see Yohji's faced helped, he decided; that, and the inaudible hum of pleasure Yohji was generating. It sounded like yesyesyes without the words, and felt a little like a drug.

Yohji's hands swept over his back and ass, and Yohji's cock was hard and nudging against his hip, and the kiss just got more. Wetter, deeper, slicker, more of everything, and it took Schuldig a stupidly long time to remember that he could breathe through his nose too and that they didn't have to stop.

Yohji smelled like oranges and tasted like alcohol and why had he been drinking so early in the day? Schuldig couldn't quite believe he cared even as he sorted through Yohji's thoughts to find the answer: a fight with the surly one whose hair color had to come out of a bottle.

"Would you rather be fucking him?" The words were quiet and fell mostly into Yohji's waiting mouth, and from the way Yohji pushed still closer and licked at his lips, Schuldig hoped maybe he hadn't heard.

"Who?" Yohji mumbled. And then, as he rolled Schuldig onto his back and slid a leg between his thighs, "No. Rather be fucking you." He stopped, then. His hand rested almost possessively on Schuldig's stomach, fingers curling over his hip. Everything about his silence and stillness said he was expecting a refusal.

"I bet there's lube in the drawer," Schuldig said.

"Yeah." Yohji was still whispering. "Bet there is."

The lube came in little single-use packets and glowed in the dark. Yohji's coated fingers glowed green. "Abracadabra," he said softly, and drew glowing patterns in the dark.

"Crazy," Schuldig told him, but laughter escaped him as Yohji's glowing finger flipped him the bird.

One whole packet got used up in little obscene stick figure drawings on Schuldig's thigh. There were stick men doing it doggy style and stick men doing it up against the wall and several stick men and women doing increasingly improbable things involving vegetables.

"Pervert," Schuldig said. "What's the cantaloupe for anyway?"

"That's her boob!"

"You suck at drawing, too." He thought he should tell Yohji to get on with it, get it over with, get to the orgasm already, but he didn't. He thought about the last guy who'd fucked him--Farfarello didn't count--some American tourist who'd gone home with a desire he couldn't explain to tell his wife about an illicit affair with his boss that he'd actually never had.

Yohji's fingers finally slipped lower, and Schuldig thought about his last year at Rosenkreuz, some oversized kid shoving him face first against a wall and clawing at his pants. He'd smelled like sweat and cabbage, and Crawford had yanked the guy away before Schuldig could even start to fight back. Farfarello had bitten bitten his ear clean off. The memory still made Schuldig smile and made him even more sure that friends wasn't the right word for Schwarz. Not at all.

"Your balls glow in the dark," Yohji said seriously.

"As long as they're not radioactive."

And then Yohji's finger was pushing into him, slick and easy. The knobs of his knuckles were thick, and his skin was cool enough to be a shock. Schuldig hissed a little and closed his eyes.

"Okay?" Yohji asked, and Schuldig had to wonder if this was some parody of care, maybe an attempt to make him feel guilty about the way he'd fucked Yohji the first time, but no, the inside of Yohji's head was all too sincere.

"I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"I do this all the time, asshole. Just not with you." All the time was an exaggeration. The American tourist was over a year ago. And what's worse was that Yohji wasn't even annoyed; just relieved.

Apparently his relief was best expressed by driving Schuldig crazy. He crooked his finger and rubbed over Schuldig's prostate again and again, rocking into Schuldig's body with little twists of his wrist and arm. He added another finger and it went in easy, and suddenly there was the whole weight of his body behind those short thrusts, and Schuldig was gasping.

His feet slipped on the sheets and the room seemed too warm. He could feel fluid seeping from the head of his cock to make sticky trails on his shaft and belly.

"That's enough," he said, but Yohji just worked in a third finger, twisting, stretching him wider. "Yohji."

"Hm?"

"Did I mention not being a fucking virgin here?"

"Not enjoying yourself?" Yohji's hand rubbed up the length of his cock, and Schuldig could almost hear Yohji's smirk.

But Yohji pulled his fingers out anyway. He wiped them against Schuldig's inner thigh and started working another packet of lube open. Schuldig clenched his teeth and fought not to yell at him to hurry up. He didn't like the three-finger thing exactly because it left him empty and twitchy and wanting more in a way that left him dependent on whoever he was with to get him untwitchy. He hated that.

It was way too fucking long before he felt Yohji's cock settle at his opening and Yohji's hands push his thighs wider, up and back. He went with it. The stretch to the backs of his thighs felt good and so did the stretch lower down when Yohji finally started to push inside.

"Fuck," Yohji muttered. "Fuck, tight, you're sure this doesn't hurt?"

"Keep going."

He did, surging forward probably harder than he meant and ending up half draped over Schuldig's body, between his legs. They panted together, and Yohji's hand flexed on the inside of his thigh, nails digging deep and releasing.

"Jesus," Yohji breathed. His thrusts started out short and irregular--not surprising given that it was the first time he'd fucked anyone in months--but they smoothed out and lengthened into something Schuldig could ride like a wave. His own hips tilted up to meet Yohji's but he couldn't do much else from his position except take it.

He did, and Yohji gave it to him faster and rougher, and Schuldig's mind went beautifully blank as he reached up a hand to stroke himself off. Nothing but white noise and fucking for long, long minutes, and he came like a slow fall, and Yohji was still fucking him. He let himself float along on afterglow and Yohji's pleasure, and he felt Yohji's orgasm almost like he was coming again himself.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until after he woke up.

Yohji was propped up against the pillows next to him, smoking. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed. His hand rested lightly on Schuldig's hair.

It was an effort not to freeze up. Leaving himself so defenseless was bad enough; letting Yohji know it had been an accident would be worse. Yohji could've killed him in his sleep. Could've done anything at all.

Not that he had a reason to think Yohji would, but he had no real reason to think he wouldn't. No certainty. And he should've been certain before he dropped his guard like that.

Schuldig clouded Yohji's perceptions as he slipped out of bed and dressed. He'd be halfway home before Yohji even noticed he was gone.