Disclaimer: Maki Murakami and others own Gravitation. I'm just borrowing the boys for a bit.
Length: 5,800 words
Status: Complete
Timeframe: Post-series
Rated: 'R' for Yuki's lustful thoughts.
Author's Notes: This story is dedicated to Rae-chan, because she knows the answer. Names are presented in Western format with the surname coming last. I debated about it and I apologize if this decision annoys people. I honestly was trying to work on CC and DM, but this popped out instead. When I was writing the summary, I tried to keep the reason Shuichi is upset a secret, but then the summary sounded like almost every other Gravi story summary: 'Yuki busy, Shuichi upset. My oh my, what's troubling Shuichi? And why the hell is he baking a souffle?' :D Well, Gravi fics don't usually include souffle, but you know what I mean. ;) Enjoy!
It was a typical evening in the writer's apartment... which was to say that Shuichi was nattering on about something or other and Yuki was trying to get some work done and faxed before he had to suffer another frantic phone call from his editor.
"Yuuukiiiiii," Shuichi whined. "Haven't you been listening? It's important. This is exactly what I'm talking about."
Yuki took stock of the situation.
Shuichi: pouting lips, eyes dewing with emotional moisture, the harem outfit direct from the singer's latest video shoot... the harem outfit with near-transparent pants... Yuki's eyes narrowed... the harem outfit with near-transparent pants and a cropped vest that brushed against the boy's nipples often enough to make them stand out.
Right. That was enough with the cataloguing of the boyfriend. Moving to the other competitor for Yuki's attention...
Work: writing thirty more pages and then revising a scene that made him want to scratch his eyes out.
Yuki saved his files and shut the laptop.
At least he'd enjoy fixing this problem. Especially if he was reading the hunger behind Shuichi's tears.
"Happy now?" Yuki asked. Shuichi was staring at the shut laptop as if he'd never seen it before... which might've been true. Yuki couldn't remember actually closing it in the boy's presence. "Well?" he prodded. "I'm listening. Speak."
"Oh..." The singer turned away, showing embarrassment. "It doesn't seem so important now. I'm sorry. Never mind."
Yuki sighed and bit back the first two responses that had flickered through his mind. He caught the boy around the middle before he could flee. "Too late to take it back now," he said, not unkindly. "What's running through that head of yours?"
Shuichi squirmed. "I should've known better than to bring it up. It's better that you weren't paying attention. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter," Yuki said flatly. His patience, never that sturdy to begin with, was wearing thin. He wanted Shuichi bent over his desk, the waistband of those damn see-through pants pulled back to the teen's thighs and exposing something very precious. He wanted this to have happened two minutes ago.
It was time for a change of tactics. He used his most seductive voice, applied strategically close to his lover's ear. "I should have been listening. What were you saying? Tell me."
Shuichi shuddered, the words having the desired effect. "I wanted to hear you say you loved me," Shuichi mumbled. "You never say it. And I just..." He shook himself. "No," he said firmly. The haze veiling the teen's eyes ripped away and he stared up at Yuki with determination. "It doesn't matter. I know you love me. I don't need to hear it."
Yuki considered Shuichi to be the most honest person he knew, but he wondered if the boy was lying to himself just then or if he was just really that clueless.
"Idiot," he said gruffly while brushing the hair back from his lover's face. "I love you."
"What? Just like that?"
"What more do you want me to say?"
"I. . . um, well." The boy looked away unhappily.
Yuki frowned and set his plans for a break-time stress-relief session (i.e. sex) aside. He'd be damned if he showed the teen that he was concerned, but Shuichi's attitude worried him. Maybe his lover was falling ill? Shuichi shifted, the material glimmering against his hip. Desire bit at Yuki and he smirked. Gauze could certainly be drafty. Perhaps his lover simply needed to be warmed. Yuki tugged on the thin pants, pulling Shuichi closer, then let his hands drift lower to knead the boy's firm ass. Shuichi pressed closer and went oozingly limp upon his shoulder as Yuki's hands played up the singer's spine and down the backs of his thighs, turning something purely sexual into something comforting, warming, loving.
"I love you, my own little idiot," he said softly, letting his fingertips make light strokes and meandering circles upon his lover's skin.
Yuki felt, more than heard, Shuichi sniff. "I love you too, Yuki."
"Now..." From his seat, he tilted the standing boy's chin downwards so that their eyes could meet. "What's brought this all about? Did something happen at the video shoot? You were in a much better mood last night."
A much better mood, as Yuki recalled... Despite the fact that Shuichi had to be pretty for the cameras today, the teen had proven last night (and not for the first time) just how flexible he was. Repeatedly and with creativity.
"No, the shoot went fine," the singer murmured, refusing to meet Yuki's eyes. The fluttering glance shifted to Yuki's closed laptop. "I should let you get back to work." Shuichi's sudden smile unleashed a soft glow in the boy's face that made Yuki tingle when soft lips brushed his own hard ones. "I -- I'll wait up for you." It was said with a blush and a fleeting hopeful look.
"Later would be fine, but..." Yuki drew his lover nearer when it appeared the door was a more interesting subject to study than Yuki himself. "I want you now."
The lithe body squirmed in his grasp and slipped away, the glow gone. The singer paused at the door. "I'll wait up for you," he repeated, this time looking unhappy.
The writer had half-way risen from his seat at the boy's departure, but in the end he forced himself to sit back down. Shuichi, if left alone, would either get over his mood or become upset enough to actually explain the problem. Forcing the issue now wasn't an option. The way Yuki's libido was raging, he wouldn't be able to patiently coax the reason for Shuichi's hesitance from the boy as the situation called for. There was a way, he acknowledged. But it would most likely involve Yuki pushing, deliberately goading, raised voices, and make-up sex. And while make-up sex with Shuichi was unbelievably shattering, that wasn't what he wanted right now. He offered up a silent, mocking prayer. When no warm body materialized in his office to receive a nice, hard fuck, he grudgingly returned to his task.
Yuki reopened his workspace and managed to type for a solid hour. He then had to spend a further half hour to remove all references to a harem outfit that had popped up out of nowhere.
He ground his teeth. Twenty-five more pages to go.
When Yuki emerged, a harrowing six hours later, his mood was none too happy and his stomach was protesting the self-abuse with alarmingly loud squelches. It hadn't been this bad when he'd been writing in a long while. The writer frowned.
Usually Shuichi was good about keeping track of how long he'd been working and would bring him a tray of food at appropriate intervals. It was always something delivered or store-bought, of course. Yuki had set strict rules about Shuichi in the kitchen after the boy had unsuccessfully explained, once the writer had made good use of his fire extinguisher, why there had been flaming cheese stuck to the ceiling.
The non-disruptive reminders to eat were probably the only benefit of having the brat underfoot while he worked. Yuki had found that if he let himself go writing for too long, as was his wont, he'd accomplish a good deal of writing, but afterward, he was useless. Today it didn't matter so much. There was just the one project and then he could safely crash and slowly regain his physical and mental strength.
If he chose to acknowledge the feeling, Yuki would be upset that Shuichi had brought him nothing this night. But he chose to not do so and it was with just a general grumpiness that he stomped his way towards the fridge.
To what used to be his kitchen.
"Shuichi, what the HELL have you done to my kitchen!?!"
The oven closed with a soft thump and the singer squeaked in surprise. He spun about to face Yuki, his face a model of innocence. The harem outfit, Yuki was disappointed to see, had been exchanged for casual wear. "I was just trying to make something special for you to eat." He glanced about nervously, then continued, the smile making the words all the more aggravating, "Nothing's on fire."
"And I thank the gods for their small favors each day I live with you," Yuki replied. Eggs, slick and sticky, and their pulverized shells littered the cramped floor and counters. Yuki's eyes narrowed. He hadn't even had that many eggs in the house this morning to match the present mess. Shuichi had shopped, taking into account his tendency for disaster, apparently. This had been a premeditated attack on Yuki's kitchen.
He sniffed and smelled nothing. "Just what were you trying to make that needed so many eggs?"
"Souffle," the answer came as the boy fiddled with an over-used whisk. "I kept messing up and having to start over."
How the hell had the boy found out that he liked souffle?
Part of him wanted to go over and shake some sense into the brat, but he was not going to be caught cleaning egg gook off of his bare feet. Just imagining the texture made his toes curl in disgust. He settled for a gruff admonishment. "You can't cook simple dishes, idiot. What possessed you to make a difficult thing like a souffle? Even I haven't tried. And what made you think that I would actually want one in the first place?"
The teen's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Yuki. I'll heat up some of the leftovers and bring it to your office. I'll clean it up, I swear."
The boy looked suitably miserable, maybe even more so than was necessary. Yuki was tired and hungry. He didn't have the energy to be mad.
"Wait," he found himself saying. "This wasn't a break. I'm finished."
"Oh. I'll bring it to you on the couch, then." The singer started toward the fridge.
"Have you got another one baking now?" Yuki asked, halting the boy.
"Er," Shuichi glanced at the oven. "Yeah."
"When will it be done?"
"Um..." Cheeks flushed pink. "Do you know what time it was when you came in here?"
Yuki lifted a derisive brow. He'd been quite generous by implying that he'd try Shuichi's concoction, but clearly, this one would fail along with the rest. He spun on his heel. "I'll order us something."
"I've been timing the rest, honest!" came the teen's wail from behind him.
In his office, Yuki hit a speed-dial combination and ordered a small meal for two, then sank wearily into his chair. He sat there for a few minutes, then braced himself for renewed battle.
Shuichi was setting the souffle on top of the stove just as Yuki arrived.
Yuki sighed and cursed his timing. "Well?"
"Nope. This one's no good either."
The writer had a partial view of the souffle pan... the souffle pan? Shuichi must have bought that too. Yuki searched his memory and couldn't recall ever mentioning the dish. What had possessed his lover? He shook his head and focused on the matter at hand. He could see a part of the pan and the souffle hadn't fallen completely. The center was definitely concaved, but the rim looked firm.
"Bring it here." Shuichi turned, wide-eyed. "A fork too."
"But it's no good," he protested softly.
Yuki glared. "Just do it."
The teen meekly brought over the dish and held it out to Yuki with hot pads, the requested utensil jutting out from the crook of his thumb.
The writer took the fork by the wrong end and determined with a quick poke that the center was, indeed, still quite undone. Holding the implement properly, he broke a piece from the edge. It was firm, fluffy, tasted vaguely of lemon, and melted in his mouth. He offered the next piece to Shuichi and smiled when the singer's eyes lit with surprise.
"It doesn't look pretty, but the taste's not so bad," Yuki told him. "How many others did you waste?"
"This was the best one."
Yuki grunted in response as his mouth was currently full with more souffle. He tried to give Shuichi another bite, but the singer turned his mouth away.
"There's not enough for me."
"Idiot. I ordered food for both of us."
"Oh." The teen nibbled at the piece, innocent of how sexy his behavior was.
Yuki was glad the boy was the one holding the hot pan when a pink tongue darted out to catch stray crumbs.
Yuki took turns feeding them both the salvageable parts of the souffle, cursing Shuichi's completely subconscious seductive nature the entire while. When the singer moaned on the last bite, Yuki dropped the fork into the pan with a clang.
"Put that in the sink and toss me a damp rag. I'll clean what I can reach from here. You," he fixed the teen with a glare, "will clean the rest. With bleach solution. If I get so much as a mild bellyache in the next few days, you'll be sleeping on the couch for a week."
He would have threatened longer, especially where the unpleasantness of food-borne illness was concerned, but they both knew it could never last longer than that. Even accepting the fact that sleeping on the couch did not mean they weren't having sex, Yuki had grown used to the presence of the other in his bed. And for some reason... it did not bother him that the boy knew his change in preference.
So they cleaned.
Yuki did what he could without actually entering the kitchen, using his longer frame to reach a wider area than was really necessary. The food arrived and Yuki ate his share at the entrance to the kitchen, shaking his head at Shuichi's insistence on finishing the job before eating. He wasn't going to set foot on the messy floor to drag the boy out to eat, so he let the younger man do as he pleased.
Perhaps it was the mental exhaustion, or the way his belly was pleasantly full, or the way Shuichi was humming softly as he cleaned, or the way the singer's ass jiggled as he scrubbed, or perhaps it was simply that Yuki was tired and was comforted in some way by Shuichi's presence. Whatever the cause, the writer's eyes slowly drooped shut and he fell asleep.
A crash jolted him awake. Countless months of sleeping with Shuichi had taught his body to become immediately and fully aware in moments like this. The threat to Yuki's person this time was negligible. Shuichi was nowhere near him. The teen was squatting on the floor, crying softly, as he picked up pieces of the shattered souffle dish. The rest of the kitchen was cleaner, the eggshells gone, but the surfaces still shone with drying egg white -- it was far from his immaculate standard.
The singer turned a little to glance at him, probably to check that Yuki hadn't awakened, and his face fell at the truth. "I'm sorry."
Yuki wasn't sure what Shuichi was apologizing for anymore: the mess, the broken dish, waking Yuki up. He glanced at the clock. It was late and all the possible reasons were stupid. The food that had been in front of him was gone.
He pinned the youth with his stare. "Did you eat?" The boy had better answer him in the affirmative.
Shuichi shook his head. "It's in the fridge if you're still hungry."
"No. Why didn't you eat?"
The teen glanced to the side. "I had a big lunch at the shoot."
Yuki knew better than to believe that. "Taking care of everything else won't help if you fall over, idiot."
"I know," came Shuichi's soft answer after a pause.
"I'm not sure that you do," Yuki replied sharply. "That's enough. Put that down. It's time for bed."
And cue the waterworks. "No! I can't! If I leave it until morning, the egg will dry and it'll be impossible to get it off!"
"I'm telling you to let it be," Yuki said, struggling to keep from yelling at the over-tired boy.
"I won't! It's my mess. I promised. I'll clean it up."
"Idiot. If letting things rest for ten hours will damage it as much as you believe, I'll just buy a new damn kitchen. I never much liked the floor and countertops here anyway."
Shuichi gasped in surprise, although the writer wasn't sure what he'd said that had warranted such a response. "I... I... Yuki... I..."
Yuki rolled his eyes. Enough with the babbling. "You are going to go to bed. Now."
Though soft, his tone brooked no argument and the singer nodded meekly.
Yuki would have preferred it if Shuichi had at least a small meal before bed, but judging by the way the boy's eyes were fighting to stay open, Yuki knew it was a wasted desire.
The teen scuffed his way to the door, arms open for a hug. The younger man had to be almost entirely asleep to even think that Yuki would hug him when the boy was covered from head to toe in egg residue.
"Hold it. You're not coming anywhere near me or my bed like that. You're filthy."
Shuichi's eyes started to swim.
"In fact, I don't even want you walking to the bathroom to clean up. Your feet are as dirty as the rest of you."
Shuichi sniffed, blinked, opened his mouth for a few false starts before he finally hung his head in defeat. "Okay. I'll try cleaning up in the sink, then." He turned on the water, started washing his hands, then turned his head to look up at Yuki plaintively. "I tried to fix it, Yuki. I tried. I tried, Yuki."
"Idiot. Shhhhh." Yuki soothed, before the boy's ragged emotions turned into a complete meltdown. "Come here." Shuichi shut off the faucet and stumbled to obey. The writer made a quick decision then. He'd never cared much for his current outfit anyway. Once he was close enough, Yuki cupped a hand to the singer's cheek to catch his attention. He pulled the teen in for a hug, wet hands, egg residue, and all.
"That's enough tears," he told the boy. "I doubt even you could produce enough for a shower."
"Then how...?"
"Idiot. There are forms of transportation other than your own two delicately shaped legs." The singer's weight was light in his arms. Perhaps they both had to make sure the other was eating regularly.
Shuichi appeared to be in shock as Yuki set him back on his feet in the bathroom.
"You've got egg in your hair," Yuki growled, noticing it in the brighter lighting. He snorted when the boy remained silent. "You probably would fall and hit your precious, empty head if I let you shower by yourself, wouldn't you," he said. "Fine."
It was an easy matter for Yuki to strip himself, tossing the wad of discarded clothing into the bin to be washed later. Shuichi was as pliant and silent as a doll while Yuki removed the teen's clothes. He guided the younger man into the shower and there the boy stayed passive, letting Yuki touch him and clean him as he wished.
The writer wanted to erase the haunted, sad look on the boy's face, but he didn't want to start anything here in the shower. Not while they were both so tired. Someone -- probably Yuki, knowing Shuichi's irritating good fortune -- would get his skull cracked open.
Yuki finished cleaning them both to his satisfaction. Shuichi was still distressingly acquiescent in his arms. There was more here going on than the kitchen and the souffle and Shuichi's odd refusal to speak earlier in the day.
"Come on."
He led his lover from the shower, dried them both, and gently propelled the boy to their bed.
Yuki's ministrations had produced some positive effects, at least. Curled up in Yuki's arms, the teen's eyes were open and mostly clear, his expression one of deep contemplation.
"Talk," Yuki commanded. It should have been said softly, with infinite tenderness, but Yuki had spouted enough of that for the day.
If the singer took note of his gruffness, the teen gave no sign. He tucked his head beneath Yuki's chin and spoke into his chest. "At the shoot today, Hiro and Ayaka-chan broke up."
"Oh?" Yuki couldn't say he was surprised. It had been only a matter of time before Ayaka decided she wanted someone else. Hiroshi had been her rebound-boyfriend, after all.
"Hiro broke up with Ayaka-chan," Shuichi said softly, pained as if he were the one the guitarist had broken up with.
Well, that was more interesting. Although, if Shuichi had said something in defense of Ayaka that had damaged his friendship with Hiroshi... "Are you and he still friends?"
"Of course." Shuichi blinked at him and Yuki made a silent sigh of relief, happy that he had feared wrong.
The writer let the side of his thumb stroke along the teen's upper arm. "How did you find out about all this? Did Hiroshi talk to you?"
"Later, yeah, but Fujisaki, K, and I heard the fight, saw how the whole thing happened."
"Tell me."
Shuichi shifted so that they could see each other's eyes. "Seriously? You're interested?"
Yuki squirmed at being caught. He was mildly curious. Not that he'd ever admit it. He was urging the other to talk for the boy's own benefit... and maybe Yuki's too, if it got him into Shuichi's tight ass. Aloud, he said, "I am a romance writer. Juicy public blowouts make good fodder for the masses."
"Yuukiii, you shouldn't--" At Yuki's smirk, the singer wisely accepted the point and continued. "Hiro was asking Ayaka-chan what she wanted him to cook for her next. Then you got brought into the conversation." Yuki's brow raised at this. "And then Hiro just... flipped. He said that he didn't want them to be together if he was always going to be Ayaka-chan's second choice. She was so upset, crying, saying it wasn't true. And then she got mad, said he had to tell her the real reason. And he said he'd met somebody else. They yelled some more, she slapped him and left." The boy sniffed. "I don't think she's coming back."
Inside, Yuki smiled. That had sounded exactly like Ayaka. Hiroshi's behavior was more shocking, but as a man, Yuki understood. Shuichi clearly didn't, though.
"He always seemed just so devoted to her," the singer said. "And now... he doesn't want her anymore."
Which meant that in Shuichi's world, Yuki could do the same. Had done the same. Could, if the writer was honest with himself, very likely do the same again. But he said none of this to Shuichi. If the boy understood why he was so upset, fine. If he didn't, it was probably kinder this way.
The teen pressed closer, mumbling, "We've been together longer than them."
"That we have," Yuki agreed. Shuichi's bare skin was warm against his own. The writer caressed what he could reach. "Don't worry. I love you, my own little idiot."
Shuichi trembled. "I love you too, Yuki."
The writer pressed a kiss onto clean hair. "So, I understand why you needed extra reassurances from me today. You want to explain what you thought you were doing trying to cook me a souffle?" He didn't have to see Shuichi's face to know the boy was blushing.
"That is, erm, ... Earlier, when Hiro asked Ayaka-chan what she wanted, she told him cookies. He told her to pick something more difficult, since he was putting his love into the effort. Then she said a souffle, because that was your favorite and she'd never tried one."
"How the hell did she know that?" Yuki spat out before he could stop himself.
"Huh?"
The writer smirked and blessed his lover's lack of precise attention. "Why did she think she knew that?" he repeated slower.
"Hiro asked her that, too. She said she'd asked your brother."
"Tatsuha," Yuki growled and vowed revenge.
"It-- it's not your favorite, Yuki? You don't like it after all?"
Yuki looked at the moron. "I ate it, didn't I?"
For some reason, Shuichi cracked a little smile, but it dropped shortly thereafter. "I asked him," the singer said. "I asked Hiro if he'd planned on breaking up with her today and he said that he hadn't. It had just happened. I guess he was just planning on dating them both for a while, which I think... would have been more awful, you know? You-- You're not going to try to hurt Hiro, are you?"
Yuki wasn't sure the question was being asked out of concern for the guitarist's well-being, or if it was a backward attempt to see if he harbored feelings for his ex-fiance. In Shuichi's heart, it was probably the nobler of the two. Either way... "No, because I understand his decision exactly."
"What?" the teen asked, looking utterly betrayed.
"Shuichi, your friend is loyal, but he's also no older than you are and the member of a very famous band."
The cuddling kitten in Yuki's lap turned to spit and fury. "Age and fame have absolutely nothing to do with a person deciding to break up with someone for no reason!"
Delusional, was the only word for it. "He did have a reason, Shuichi. He met someone else. You might not like it or accept it, but that was his reason. He might have handled it better, but it's his right to decide if he wants to spend time romantically with another person. People meet each other all the time. It's very rare that a person's first love, or even their second or third, sticks around. You didn't expect them to get married and stay together forever, did you?"
Shuichi's distressed face told him the answer.
"You did." Yuki said it as a fact, without accusation or condemnation. "Is that what you want? Do you want forever from me?" The singer was tense in Yuki's arms and did not reply. "Ask yourself this: Do you need it? Would you really want it?"
Damn. Shuichi was crying again now, his hands clenched into fists even as his body burrowed deeper into Yuki's embrace. "We've been together longer than Hiro and Ayaka-chan," the boy said, the words a miserable whisper ghosting across Yuki's shoulder. "And you're my first. So, it's only... a matter of time... before we..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
"Maybe," Yuki told him honestly. 'Probably' would have been too much of a lie and reminding the teen that he wasn't Yuki's first would dredge up a completely separate problem.
The singer didn't catch the subtle difference and was uncomforted. Yuki ground his teeth. He had to fix this. There was no way he was going to let Shuichi's friend's breakup ruin their relationship. The idea was preposterous.
There was a way.
He'd actually thought of it before and had decided against it then, but if it would calm his upset lover now, Yuki could deal with the consequences. He petted the teen's hair and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
"Wait here. There's some work I need to finish up."
Shuichi looked up at him, then let his head roll to the side. "Sure. Fine," he said, sounding as if the situation were neither.
"I won't be gone long."
He wasn't.
Shuichi looked up at Yuki's entrance less than ten minutes later.
"Here." The writer held out a piece of paper. "I just faxed this to my editor. It's the dedication to the book I'm working on."
Shuichi read it then tossed the paper back in his face. Yuki had to admit that he was miffed by this response. Grand gestures of love were not things to be rebuffed lightly.
"Don't you like it?"
The boy's gaze was bitter and accusatory. "I don't want you to write me words that make women swoon. Save that crap for your fans."
Shuichi was criticizing Yuki's writing? Yuki let the hypocrisy slide, happy that the boy had quit blubbering and was finally showing a bit of backbone. Picking this particular subject to get stubborn on was not, however, what the writer preferred. "This dedication isn't for my fans. It's for you."
"Yeah, and what about the other ones you've written?"
Yuki glared at him. "Have you even looked at one of my books?"
"I skimmed through one once," Shuichi replied in a defensive tone. "I know you come to my concerts sometimes, but it's not the same thing." His brow wrinkled in thought before his expression swiftly turned to one of deep remorse. "Ohhh... Oh, I'm sorry, Yuki," he said, his voice a ghostly rattle too exhausted to be a sob. "I should have read at least one. I'm sorry. I... It's just it never seemed important to you and I--"
Yuki stemmed the flow of heart-felt but stupid words with a rough kiss. "Dammit, that's not what I meant," he said, pulling away. "Stay here," he ordered.
He returned moments later with a stack of barely-touched books from his office. He dropped them on the bed next to Shuichi without any regard for their condition. He only kept the disgusting things around for reference, but he was glad now that he did have at least this many.
Yuki grabbed one at random, opened it to where the dedication should have been, and shoved the evidence in front of Shuichi's nose.
"Look here," he commanded. With an annoyed glare, Shuichi obeyed, leaning back so that his eyes could actually focus on the page thrust rudely in front of him. "There aren't any dedications. Just a note of thanks to my editor and the other publishing house staff. And that is more a tradition of the industry than me actually being grateful to those money-grubbing bastards. If I actually got rich from a few books, I wouldn't be writing so damn many of them."
The boy's mouth opened in surprise, but he said nothing. Yuki waited for his lover's eyes to track down the columns of print from one side to the other, then he picked up another book, flipped it open, and held it at a more comfortable distance for Shuichi to see. He'd gone through half the pile in this manner before Shuichi's hand stilled his.
The teen opened a book for himself, flipped through the front pages back and forth. "They're all empty like this, aren't they?"
Empty wasn't the right word for it in Yuki's opinion, but he didn't protest Shuichi's choice of phrase. He felt an ache surface that hadn't pained him in far too long. "My first book was dedicated to Yuki Kitazawa. The rest are blank."
With this explanation, Shuichi, his compassionate lover who was so dense to other things, immediately understood. Yuki could see the burden of pain that was his alone to carry being shared and taken up by Shuichi, the weight bringing tears to the teen's eyes.
Yuki had to say it now, or he never would. He was never having this conversation with Shuichi again. "Listen, idiot, to remember in times when you wonder what you could possibly mean to me: Dedicating a book to you now is just the natural thing to do." Shuichi didn't look impressed and looked ready to protest the point, but Yuki didn't give either of them the chance to interrupt his admission. "I... I was the one who killed Yuki and you were the one who brought him back to life."
The tears that had been building silently leaked free.
Yuki let the boy cry, busying himself with collecting the books and returning them to their spot. He needed a moment too. In the privacy of his office, he took it. It wasn't anything more than a slammed fist, a marring death-grip on the leather of his chair that he would regret later, and it certainly didn't include an angry swipe at his cheeks. Most importantly, it had taken him no longer to have his moment and put the books away than it had to pull them out.
He returned to Shuichi's side, pulling the now softly sobbing boy into a tight embrace and holding the paper with the dedication typed on it for the singer to see again.
"I'm not promising you forever, Shuichi. I won't. But I will promise you this much: You've made a mark on my life -- one I'll share in print with the world if it will help you believe me and remember. As for our future, I promise you that if it ever comes to it, I won't lie to you like Hiroshi did to Ayaka, or... as I've done to you before. I'll tell you why, as best as I can explain it. You deserve that much from me, at the very least."
Yuki could see the boy trying to be happy and failing miserably. It made him want to grind his teeth.
"So," Shuichi ventured, "I'm good enough for right now, but you'd still make me leave?"
"Enough!" Yuki barked, giving the boy in his lap a little shake. "You are not going to whimper your way into making me recite the multiple reasons of why you might decide to leave me!"
Shuichi stared up at him for a few seconds. Blinked, as if the thought were completely foreign. And then the writer couldn't breathe due to the arms constricting his chest. "Oh, Yuki!"
At those familiar words, in that familiar tone, Yuki heaved a sigh of relief, or tried to, anyway, seeing as how Shuichi hadn't released him yet. Yuki ignored the minor discomfort. He hadn't screwed this up and his lover was back to what passed for normal. It was all the permission his brain needed to switch over to satisfying his own needs.
He bit down hard enough to leave a mark on the column of the teen's neck, then husked into his ear, "Why don't you put those pants from the shoot back on and I'll show you just how much I love you."
"Ohhhhh, Yuukiiiiii!"
Yuki was glad he'd been patient with his lover earlier. Make-up sex was in no way comparable to the wild bout they'd just had. Holding a slumbering Shuichi in the afterglow that reigned after a respectable three rounds, Yuki mused that the teen was good for his creativity and that perhaps he shouldn't fight the inspiration so much.
He sensed that his next book would have something to do with a lustful, flexible harem boy.
And if Shuichi was willing to help him with the research, so much the better.
Eiri Yuki was, after all, a writer very dedicated to his craft.