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lysapadinTitle: The Delicate Art of Defusing Frustration and Other Subtle Courtship Techniques
Characters/Pairings: Imayoshi and Kasamatsu
Summary: Imayoshi is a big picture kind of guy.
Notes: Over on Tumblr a while back (and then some), cozynoon requested a drabble featuring Kasamatsu having to visit anger management therapist Imayoshi, and now here we are. Adult for smut. 2428 words.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Delicate Art of Defusing Frustration and Other Subtle Courtship Techniques
Shouichi takes one look at Kasamatsu when he shows up for their game and can see at a glance how their afternoon is going to play out. Not that it takes a genius to suss out Kasamatsu's mood, generally speaking, much less so when he shows up for their meeting with his eyes burning hot as a gas jet and grinding his teeth hard enough to put himself at risk of needing dental work done. Shouichi doesn't bother asking what's got him all riled up; these days it all tends to be of a piece.
Who would ever have thought that miracles could be nuisances too?
Pissed-off is a pretty good look for Kasamatsu, which is probably a good thing considering how much time he spends that way. Shouichi permits himself the luxury of taking the scenery in as Kasamatsu stomps over. The court's empty, so when he tips his head in wordless greeting and then nods toward it, Kasamatsu nods back and drops the ball from the crook of his elbow. He drives for the net and just like that, the game is on.
These one-on-one games with Kasamatsu aren't like the games they play with their teams—those games have rules, for one, and witnesses too, which this little street court doesn't. It's just Shouichi and Kasamatsu and the ball, playing basketball like it's a full-contact sport. What's a few thrown elbows, anyway, against the freedom to play all out against his favorite opponent? Bruises heal sooner or later and are a small price to pay for what he gets instead: Kasamatsu Yukio with all the brakes taken off. That's worth any number of bruises, and more besides.
In these matches, there's no dwelling on strategy or holding back in order to maneuver one's opponent into doing what one wishes him to do—there's no time for that, not when Kasamatsu goes after the ball and the basket with single-minded focus. Shouichi will never see him playing like this during a formal match—formal matches require holding back, considering one's teammates and their places on the court, and Kasamatsu is a good captain. He'd never cut loose like this in a real game.
Shouichi doesn't bother keeping a score—there's no point when Kasamatsu shows up in a mood like this, and it would be a distraction from the important things anyway. Instead he pours his energy and attention into keeping up with him, matching him move for move, stealing the ball to hook a shot into the net while Kasamatsu snarls, jumping to try blocking one of Kasamatsu's shots and catching the rebound when Kasamatsu gets through him anyway. Anything goes in these games; Shouichi sometimes thinks this is as much for his own benefit as it is for Kasamatsu's.
They play until their shirts are soaked through with sweat and the sky is fading from blue to black, and then they play some more, until the lone street lamp that lights this court flickers on. They don't stop until exhaustion forces them to—fatigue slowing them, turning them both clumsy and ruining their reaction times. Shouichi can't even say whose fault it is when they foul each other, bodies colliding and gravity doing the rest of the job of sending them crashing down. Hitting the pavement knocks the breath out of Shouichi. He grunts with the impact; next to him, Kasamatsu swears.
He doesn't sound as though he's feeling any calmer. But then, sometimes basketball alone just isn't enough.
Shouichi heaves himself over, though his muscles aren't the least bit pleased with the exertion. Kasamatsu's flat on his back, which makes some things easier, and he doesn't move before Shouichi manages to fling a leg over him and brace himself over him. It takes him a bare second to drag his thoughts back from whatever it is that's put him in such a foul mood, but his eyes focus and he scowls up at Shouichi. "What."
"You don't really need me to answer that, do you?" Before Kasamatsu can do more than growl at him, Shouichi bends down and seals their mouths together.
Kasamatsu has it in him to be plenty contrary when the mood strikes him, but it seems like tonight isn't going to be one of those occasions. He grunts against Shouichi's mouth, and then he reaches up to grip the back of his neck as he returns the kiss with interest. This is what Shouichi likes best about this particular court—it's screened from casual view and sees very little use aside from his and Kasamatsu's games, and that means neither one of them has to feel any compunctions about changing the register of their game like this. (No compunctions in the moment, that is to say; Kasamatsu has been known to turn the color of ripe cherries after the fact.)
There's nothing that is the least bit sweet about the way Kasamatsu kisses him; he twists his fingers in Shouichi's hair, holding him tightly, and bites at Shouichi's lips. Just as well that Shouichi doesn't mind a little bit of rough play; he returns the favor by reaching down to palm Kasamatsu's cock through his shorts. Kasamatsu's already getting hard; he growls beneath the pressure of Shouichi's palm, moving impatiently against its weight. That's good, but it could be better, so Shouichi hooks his fingers in Kasamatsu's waistband and drags it down.
Kasamatsu swears at him, coarse words tumbling from his lips as Shouichi circles his fingers around his cock, already slick and hot against his palm, and begins to jerk him off. It's not going to take long, because it never does when Kasamatsu looks like this, flushed and half-wild as he rocks his hips up, fucking Shouichi's fist and panting for breath. In a way, that's a shame, because Kasamatsu is a sight when his back comes off the asphalt and he drops his head back to show the corded lines of his throat (so tempting; one of these days Shouichi is going to run out of the self-control that's kept him from biting Kasamatsu's throat; it's probably going to get him punched, but he's pretty sure it's going to be so, so worth it.). His breath rasps in his throat, harsh, and he crams his fist against his mouth to muffle the sound he makes when he comes, spending himself over Shouichi's fingers in quick, hot pulses.
Shouichi doesn't even pretend not to be watching and enjoying the show, and why should he? It's not every day that a body gets to see Kasamatsu Yukio with his guard down and all his sharp edges softened by pleasure, not every day that Kasamatsu lets himself be seen with his lips parted just so and his lashes fluttering over his eyes as he sprawls out during the afterglow. Shouichi keeps on holding him, even after the immediate rush of pleasure, and Kasamatsu allows him to do it, hitching his hips against Shouichi's hand while he catches his breath again. It's tempting to keep going, see whether he can't get Kasamatsu to go off again—
Kasamatsu speaks without opening his eyes. "What, once isn't enough for you?"
"It's like you can read my mind," Shouichi tells him, sliding his thumb over the slit of Kasamatsu's cock.
Kasamatsu has a whole expressive range of sounds that he deploys to convey his feelings on any given subject; this time he snorts, eloquent, and it's every bit as unimpressed as an eyeroll would have been. "Who needs to be able to do that? You're not half as sneaky as you think you are." He reaches down and grasps Shouichi's wrist, removing his hand from his cock.
"Not when it comes to you," Shouichi agrees, but that's as much because Kasamatsu knows him so well as it is because he chooses to play fewer games with him than he does anyone else. But that's neither here nor there. "Are you saying that once is enough?"
Kasamatsu cracks his eyes open, just a bit. "Don't go putting words in my mouth." He plants his hands against Shouichi's chest and pushes; Shouichi allows himself to be shoved over onto his back, trading places readily enough. Kasamatsu sits astride his hips. "I just don't see any reason to let you get too far ahead of me, that's all." He's definitely feeling less irritable than he was earlier; it's only too bad that it's not the done thing to say hello with a handjob. The world might be a friendlier place if it were.
"I didn't realize we were keeping score."
Kasamatsu pauses in the act of reaching for Shouichi's waistband and turns a look of disbelief on him. "You didn't?"
Now, they wouldn't be in this particular situation if Shouichi weren't willing to blur some of the lines between sport and sex, to be sure, and yet—"Can't say that I did." It wouldn't be the gentlemanly thing to do, to his way of thinking.
Kasamatsu frowns. "Huh." He looks like he doesn't know what to make of that, and so he dismisses it and slides his hand into Shouichi's shorts with no more ceremony than that.
Shouichi decides they don't need to resolve the matter in the next five minutes as long as Kasamatsu keeps on doing what he's doing, which happens to be cupping Shouichi's cock and bearing down on it just. He grunts his appreciation of the gesture and rolls his hips up, seeking more—more pressure, more sensation, more heat tingling at the base of his spine. Every last bit of his skin feels doubly sensitized as Kasamatsu wraps long fingers around him. Shouichi groans at the rush of sensory input, feeling the grit of the asphalt sticking to his skin and the way the sweat-soaked cotton of his shirt clings to him, the trickle of sweat beading on his upper lip and the steady rasp of Kasamatsu's fingers on his cock.
Shouichi leans his head back as heat winds itself tighter at the base of his spine. He closes his eyes—mostly, anyway—and watches Kasamatsu from behind his lashes. Kasamatsu is scowling fiercely, eyebrows beetled together over his nose, though the rhythm of his hand never falters. It's a pity to see all his hard work relaxing the guy undone so easily, but whatever, he can fix it later if that's Kasamatsu's actual grumpy face (as opposed to his what-the-fuck-are-you-up-to-now face). Kasamatsu strokes his hand up and twists his wrist just a tiny bit; Shouichi can't help groaning as sensation flares at the base of his spine. "Fuck… fuck, Kasamatsu…" As Kasamatsu flicks a look up his body, Shouichi allows himself to tip over the edge, shuddering in Kasamatsu's hand as orgasm pulses through him, long and slow and sticky-sweet as summer ice cream. After, Shouichi sprawls against the asphalt, all his muscles unstrung and glowing, warm and loose.
Sadly, he doesn't get to enjoy the afterglow for very long, because Kasamatsu interrupts it. "Just now. What was the score of our game?"
Shouichi pries his eyes open; Kasamatsu is still scowling at him, more's the pity. He sighs and levers himself up, propping himself up on his elbows. "I don't have the faintest idea."
"Why the hell not?" Kasamatsu demands.
Shouichi shrugs. "That's not the point of playing, is it?"
This turns out to be precisely the wrong answer. Kasamatsu goes red and the veins at his temples actually throb visibly. "If you haven't been playing seriously, you asshole, I swear—"
As fun as it might be to find out what sorts of dire threats Kasamatsu has in store for him, this misunderstanding cannot be allowed to stand. Shouichi sits the rest of the way up and uses Kasamatsu's shirt to haul himself close enough to kiss him. (It might be the first time they've kissed outside the lead-up to sex; he'll have to mark his calendar.) "You idiot," Shouichi says as Kasamatsu sputters at him, fondness warming his chest. "That's not what I meant. I don't give a damn whether I win or lose. Playing these games is enough of a reward for me." Kasamatsu stops sputtering and just stares at him; his eyes are wide and clear; his scowl has gone slack. Shouichi figures this must be what they mean when they say someone looks gobsmacked. He's never claimed not to be an opportunist, so he leans in and takes advantage of Kasamatsu's surprise to kiss him again. "I always take you seriously."
"What the actual fuck." Kasamatsu sounds genuinely bewildered. "Are you even allowed to do that?"
Shouichi grins at him. "Only for very special situations."
Kasamatsu starts to make a face at him and then stops, apparently struck by some thought. "Just how long has it been since you stopped keeping score?" he demands.
This is why he likes Kasamatsu so much; he keeps up so effortlessly. "Oh, roughly about the time they made you captain of your team and you started coming around regularly."
He is going to treasure the way Kasamatsu looks then, all wide-eyed and amazed, for a very long time.
Of course, Kasamatsu promptly grimaces at him. "What the fuck," he says, aggrieved. "Why didn't you say something?"
Shouichi snorts. "Are you saying that you wouldn't have run screaming if I had?"
Another thing he likes about Kasamatsu is that he's so scrupulously honest. He scowls and looks aside. "Maybe I wouldn't've."
"Maybe not," Shouichi allows, since he's feeling magnanimous. "But you can't blame me for not wanting to risk it, can you?"
To his vast delight, Kasamatsu colors. "I can blame you for anything." He might be trying to be gruff, but the way he's sneaking glances at Shouichi undercuts that pretty thoroughly.
"You wound me," Shouichi murmurs.
Kasamatsu snorts. "Not yet I don't." He stands, abrupt, and holds his hand down to Shouichi. "So you'd better not tempt me."
"You never let me have any fun—" Shouichi begins as Kasamatsu braces him and helps haul him to his feet.
Kasamatsu interrupts him by pressing his mouth against Shouichi's, a little clumsy, and Shouichi stills. Kasamatsu pulls back almost immediately and looks away again. "For the record, I was winning."
"Of course, of course," Shouichi says, sly, causing Kasamatsu to growl at him. "I'm sure you were."
As Kasamatsu launches into a spirited defense of his superiority as a basketball player, Shouichi smiles again, because Kasamatsu's fingers are still wrapped around his, and the way he figures it, he's the one who won in the grand scheme of things.
end
If I ever get tired of the combination of sneaky, conniving assholes and straightforward assholes with integrity of pure diamond, you will know that I am dead.
Comments are always lovely!
Characters/Pairings: Imayoshi and Kasamatsu
Summary: Imayoshi is a big picture kind of guy.
Notes: Over on Tumblr a while back (and then some), cozynoon requested a drabble featuring Kasamatsu having to visit anger management therapist Imayoshi, and now here we are. Adult for smut. 2428 words.
The Delicate Art of Defusing Frustration and Other Subtle Courtship Techniques
Shouichi takes one look at Kasamatsu when he shows up for their game and can see at a glance how their afternoon is going to play out. Not that it takes a genius to suss out Kasamatsu's mood, generally speaking, much less so when he shows up for their meeting with his eyes burning hot as a gas jet and grinding his teeth hard enough to put himself at risk of needing dental work done. Shouichi doesn't bother asking what's got him all riled up; these days it all tends to be of a piece.
Who would ever have thought that miracles could be nuisances too?
Pissed-off is a pretty good look for Kasamatsu, which is probably a good thing considering how much time he spends that way. Shouichi permits himself the luxury of taking the scenery in as Kasamatsu stomps over. The court's empty, so when he tips his head in wordless greeting and then nods toward it, Kasamatsu nods back and drops the ball from the crook of his elbow. He drives for the net and just like that, the game is on.
These one-on-one games with Kasamatsu aren't like the games they play with their teams—those games have rules, for one, and witnesses too, which this little street court doesn't. It's just Shouichi and Kasamatsu and the ball, playing basketball like it's a full-contact sport. What's a few thrown elbows, anyway, against the freedom to play all out against his favorite opponent? Bruises heal sooner or later and are a small price to pay for what he gets instead: Kasamatsu Yukio with all the brakes taken off. That's worth any number of bruises, and more besides.
In these matches, there's no dwelling on strategy or holding back in order to maneuver one's opponent into doing what one wishes him to do—there's no time for that, not when Kasamatsu goes after the ball and the basket with single-minded focus. Shouichi will never see him playing like this during a formal match—formal matches require holding back, considering one's teammates and their places on the court, and Kasamatsu is a good captain. He'd never cut loose like this in a real game.
Shouichi doesn't bother keeping a score—there's no point when Kasamatsu shows up in a mood like this, and it would be a distraction from the important things anyway. Instead he pours his energy and attention into keeping up with him, matching him move for move, stealing the ball to hook a shot into the net while Kasamatsu snarls, jumping to try blocking one of Kasamatsu's shots and catching the rebound when Kasamatsu gets through him anyway. Anything goes in these games; Shouichi sometimes thinks this is as much for his own benefit as it is for Kasamatsu's.
They play until their shirts are soaked through with sweat and the sky is fading from blue to black, and then they play some more, until the lone street lamp that lights this court flickers on. They don't stop until exhaustion forces them to—fatigue slowing them, turning them both clumsy and ruining their reaction times. Shouichi can't even say whose fault it is when they foul each other, bodies colliding and gravity doing the rest of the job of sending them crashing down. Hitting the pavement knocks the breath out of Shouichi. He grunts with the impact; next to him, Kasamatsu swears.
He doesn't sound as though he's feeling any calmer. But then, sometimes basketball alone just isn't enough.
Shouichi heaves himself over, though his muscles aren't the least bit pleased with the exertion. Kasamatsu's flat on his back, which makes some things easier, and he doesn't move before Shouichi manages to fling a leg over him and brace himself over him. It takes him a bare second to drag his thoughts back from whatever it is that's put him in such a foul mood, but his eyes focus and he scowls up at Shouichi. "What."
"You don't really need me to answer that, do you?" Before Kasamatsu can do more than growl at him, Shouichi bends down and seals their mouths together.
Kasamatsu has it in him to be plenty contrary when the mood strikes him, but it seems like tonight isn't going to be one of those occasions. He grunts against Shouichi's mouth, and then he reaches up to grip the back of his neck as he returns the kiss with interest. This is what Shouichi likes best about this particular court—it's screened from casual view and sees very little use aside from his and Kasamatsu's games, and that means neither one of them has to feel any compunctions about changing the register of their game like this. (No compunctions in the moment, that is to say; Kasamatsu has been known to turn the color of ripe cherries after the fact.)
There's nothing that is the least bit sweet about the way Kasamatsu kisses him; he twists his fingers in Shouichi's hair, holding him tightly, and bites at Shouichi's lips. Just as well that Shouichi doesn't mind a little bit of rough play; he returns the favor by reaching down to palm Kasamatsu's cock through his shorts. Kasamatsu's already getting hard; he growls beneath the pressure of Shouichi's palm, moving impatiently against its weight. That's good, but it could be better, so Shouichi hooks his fingers in Kasamatsu's waistband and drags it down.
Kasamatsu swears at him, coarse words tumbling from his lips as Shouichi circles his fingers around his cock, already slick and hot against his palm, and begins to jerk him off. It's not going to take long, because it never does when Kasamatsu looks like this, flushed and half-wild as he rocks his hips up, fucking Shouichi's fist and panting for breath. In a way, that's a shame, because Kasamatsu is a sight when his back comes off the asphalt and he drops his head back to show the corded lines of his throat (so tempting; one of these days Shouichi is going to run out of the self-control that's kept him from biting Kasamatsu's throat; it's probably going to get him punched, but he's pretty sure it's going to be so, so worth it.). His breath rasps in his throat, harsh, and he crams his fist against his mouth to muffle the sound he makes when he comes, spending himself over Shouichi's fingers in quick, hot pulses.
Shouichi doesn't even pretend not to be watching and enjoying the show, and why should he? It's not every day that a body gets to see Kasamatsu Yukio with his guard down and all his sharp edges softened by pleasure, not every day that Kasamatsu lets himself be seen with his lips parted just so and his lashes fluttering over his eyes as he sprawls out during the afterglow. Shouichi keeps on holding him, even after the immediate rush of pleasure, and Kasamatsu allows him to do it, hitching his hips against Shouichi's hand while he catches his breath again. It's tempting to keep going, see whether he can't get Kasamatsu to go off again—
Kasamatsu speaks without opening his eyes. "What, once isn't enough for you?"
"It's like you can read my mind," Shouichi tells him, sliding his thumb over the slit of Kasamatsu's cock.
Kasamatsu has a whole expressive range of sounds that he deploys to convey his feelings on any given subject; this time he snorts, eloquent, and it's every bit as unimpressed as an eyeroll would have been. "Who needs to be able to do that? You're not half as sneaky as you think you are." He reaches down and grasps Shouichi's wrist, removing his hand from his cock.
"Not when it comes to you," Shouichi agrees, but that's as much because Kasamatsu knows him so well as it is because he chooses to play fewer games with him than he does anyone else. But that's neither here nor there. "Are you saying that once is enough?"
Kasamatsu cracks his eyes open, just a bit. "Don't go putting words in my mouth." He plants his hands against Shouichi's chest and pushes; Shouichi allows himself to be shoved over onto his back, trading places readily enough. Kasamatsu sits astride his hips. "I just don't see any reason to let you get too far ahead of me, that's all." He's definitely feeling less irritable than he was earlier; it's only too bad that it's not the done thing to say hello with a handjob. The world might be a friendlier place if it were.
"I didn't realize we were keeping score."
Kasamatsu pauses in the act of reaching for Shouichi's waistband and turns a look of disbelief on him. "You didn't?"
Now, they wouldn't be in this particular situation if Shouichi weren't willing to blur some of the lines between sport and sex, to be sure, and yet—"Can't say that I did." It wouldn't be the gentlemanly thing to do, to his way of thinking.
Kasamatsu frowns. "Huh." He looks like he doesn't know what to make of that, and so he dismisses it and slides his hand into Shouichi's shorts with no more ceremony than that.
Shouichi decides they don't need to resolve the matter in the next five minutes as long as Kasamatsu keeps on doing what he's doing, which happens to be cupping Shouichi's cock and bearing down on it just. He grunts his appreciation of the gesture and rolls his hips up, seeking more—more pressure, more sensation, more heat tingling at the base of his spine. Every last bit of his skin feels doubly sensitized as Kasamatsu wraps long fingers around him. Shouichi groans at the rush of sensory input, feeling the grit of the asphalt sticking to his skin and the way the sweat-soaked cotton of his shirt clings to him, the trickle of sweat beading on his upper lip and the steady rasp of Kasamatsu's fingers on his cock.
Shouichi leans his head back as heat winds itself tighter at the base of his spine. He closes his eyes—mostly, anyway—and watches Kasamatsu from behind his lashes. Kasamatsu is scowling fiercely, eyebrows beetled together over his nose, though the rhythm of his hand never falters. It's a pity to see all his hard work relaxing the guy undone so easily, but whatever, he can fix it later if that's Kasamatsu's actual grumpy face (as opposed to his what-the-fuck-are-you-up-to-now face). Kasamatsu strokes his hand up and twists his wrist just a tiny bit; Shouichi can't help groaning as sensation flares at the base of his spine. "Fuck… fuck, Kasamatsu…" As Kasamatsu flicks a look up his body, Shouichi allows himself to tip over the edge, shuddering in Kasamatsu's hand as orgasm pulses through him, long and slow and sticky-sweet as summer ice cream. After, Shouichi sprawls against the asphalt, all his muscles unstrung and glowing, warm and loose.
Sadly, he doesn't get to enjoy the afterglow for very long, because Kasamatsu interrupts it. "Just now. What was the score of our game?"
Shouichi pries his eyes open; Kasamatsu is still scowling at him, more's the pity. He sighs and levers himself up, propping himself up on his elbows. "I don't have the faintest idea."
"Why the hell not?" Kasamatsu demands.
Shouichi shrugs. "That's not the point of playing, is it?"
This turns out to be precisely the wrong answer. Kasamatsu goes red and the veins at his temples actually throb visibly. "If you haven't been playing seriously, you asshole, I swear—"
As fun as it might be to find out what sorts of dire threats Kasamatsu has in store for him, this misunderstanding cannot be allowed to stand. Shouichi sits the rest of the way up and uses Kasamatsu's shirt to haul himself close enough to kiss him. (It might be the first time they've kissed outside the lead-up to sex; he'll have to mark his calendar.) "You idiot," Shouichi says as Kasamatsu sputters at him, fondness warming his chest. "That's not what I meant. I don't give a damn whether I win or lose. Playing these games is enough of a reward for me." Kasamatsu stops sputtering and just stares at him; his eyes are wide and clear; his scowl has gone slack. Shouichi figures this must be what they mean when they say someone looks gobsmacked. He's never claimed not to be an opportunist, so he leans in and takes advantage of Kasamatsu's surprise to kiss him again. "I always take you seriously."
"What the actual fuck." Kasamatsu sounds genuinely bewildered. "Are you even allowed to do that?"
Shouichi grins at him. "Only for very special situations."
Kasamatsu starts to make a face at him and then stops, apparently struck by some thought. "Just how long has it been since you stopped keeping score?" he demands.
This is why he likes Kasamatsu so much; he keeps up so effortlessly. "Oh, roughly about the time they made you captain of your team and you started coming around regularly."
He is going to treasure the way Kasamatsu looks then, all wide-eyed and amazed, for a very long time.
Of course, Kasamatsu promptly grimaces at him. "What the fuck," he says, aggrieved. "Why didn't you say something?"
Shouichi snorts. "Are you saying that you wouldn't have run screaming if I had?"
Another thing he likes about Kasamatsu is that he's so scrupulously honest. He scowls and looks aside. "Maybe I wouldn't've."
"Maybe not," Shouichi allows, since he's feeling magnanimous. "But you can't blame me for not wanting to risk it, can you?"
To his vast delight, Kasamatsu colors. "I can blame you for anything." He might be trying to be gruff, but the way he's sneaking glances at Shouichi undercuts that pretty thoroughly.
"You wound me," Shouichi murmurs.
Kasamatsu snorts. "Not yet I don't." He stands, abrupt, and holds his hand down to Shouichi. "So you'd better not tempt me."
"You never let me have any fun—" Shouichi begins as Kasamatsu braces him and helps haul him to his feet.
Kasamatsu interrupts him by pressing his mouth against Shouichi's, a little clumsy, and Shouichi stills. Kasamatsu pulls back almost immediately and looks away again. "For the record, I was winning."
"Of course, of course," Shouichi says, sly, causing Kasamatsu to growl at him. "I'm sure you were."
As Kasamatsu launches into a spirited defense of his superiority as a basketball player, Shouichi smiles again, because Kasamatsu's fingers are still wrapped around his, and the way he figures it, he's the one who won in the grand scheme of things.
end
If I ever get tired of the combination of sneaky, conniving assholes and straightforward assholes with integrity of pure diamond, you will know that I am dead.
Comments are always lovely!