“I HATE you,” Nagi stormed.  “You’re always condescending to me in front of the others.  You’re always giving me more work than anyone.  You’ve been looking at that Weiss boy, Omi.  And now you tell me I have to stay away from Tot?  I HATE you and I never want to see you again!”  With that, he made his boyishly dramatic exit, slamming the door with much force.

“Ja, Nagi,” he said mildly to the door, lifting a hand in belated farewell.

Crawford shrugged and adjusted his tie.  Teenagers were so damned touchy.  One would swear they walked around with their heart a raw, exposed tangibility that jostled with the slightest perceived mistreatment.  It wouldn’t stop him from going to lunch.  More importantly, it wouldn’t stop him from finding a new lover as quickly.  Nagi might be hurt by that, but he seemed more interested in exploring the heterosexual charms of that girl Tot in any case.  Doomed as the relationship was.

It helped his coping mechanisms, being able to anticipate the future.  His precognition was an ability that long practice had rendered into a useful tool.  Of course, it was precognition of what *might* be, if Crawford didn’t use his knowledge to alter it.  Knowing of any future upsets enabled him to compose himself in advance.  Crawford had found that the best way of being prepared involved presenting a calm, confident, unmoved demeanor to the world.  It made him seem in control, and in that seeming was the first step to truly being in that position.

Ah, well.  Nagi had been good for awhile but it was transient pleasure they’d sought together.  Their relationship had been uncomplicated by any declarations of deep emotion.  Crawford was too pragmatic; Nagi, unwilling to ‘settle’ for an older man.  Now was not the time to ease comfortably into a long-term relationship, even if he were capable.  Crawford allowed that he was probably too selfish to share his life indefinitely with another person.  Add to that his finicky nature in choosing partners, and his dislike of a ‘ring-in-the-nose’ commitment, and he doubted he’d ever be domesticated. It would require a very unique boy or man to capture his attention more or less permanently.  Plus he’d have to be willing to relocate to the States.

There was an American restaurant down the street that he frequented, owned by real Americans, even.  Crawford did not like Japanese food and ate it very little.  Schwartz was not a long-term assignment for him.  Initially the SS had recruited him for a bodyguard.  They had assessed his abilities and offered him the contract for leadership of Schwartz.  Schuldich had been in the running, but they didn’t trust the easy-smiling German.  Crawford didn’t trust him as far as punting him and made a special point of keeping his thoughts under close guard.

An image flashed into his mind as he moved towards the curb, of himself stepping up, a young boy lurching into him, blond hair screening his face, lean little body pressing to his for an instant. Violet eyes meeting his.

Crawford stepped onto the curb and reached out, catching the boy by his thin arms as he stumbled.  It was a perfect catch and the boy shook fine sandy-blond hair out of his eyes, pools of violet lifting up and brimming with surprise. And something else.

“Ya caught me,” he spoke in a husky voice, still wobbling on the edge of manful change.

“Yes,” Crawford said evenly, “I saw it coming.”  He allowed his tone to color reproachful.

The boy blinked.  “I wasn’t going to pick your pocket, or anything like that, o-jii-san.”  He drew out the insult to Crawford’s age with relish, remarkable eyes glimmering up at him.  Daring him.

“I’m hardly *that* old,” Crawford began dryly, rising to the bait.

“You’ve got a funny accent,” the boy interrupted.  “You Amerikajin?”

Crawford regarded him with faint astonishment.  That bit of amazing insight clicked with the way the boy had moved - not like a normal boy his age, but one who’d been trained to fight and do it well - to make him realize this one was more than what he seemed.  And with the superb bodily control that came with such training, he...  “You didn’t bump into me accidentally, boy.”

Wide expressive lips curved up in a smirk.  Crawford spared a moment to admire it.  The features revealed once hair was shaken aside were quite lovely, the violet eyes languid and expressive and filled with wicked mischief.  “Heh.  Pretty perceptive, mister,” the boy returned.  “What’s your name?”

Crawford looked into the boy’s face and the next few minutes and released him.  He wasn’t going anywhere.  It was amazing.  Not even five minutes into their acquaintance, he knew the boy had bumped into him after sizing him up - with sex on the mind.

Some days he *loved* Japan.

“Why do you want to know?” Crawford inquired, a smirk of his own turning up his mouth.

The boy appeared to consider it, tipping his head to the side, crossing arms over a lithe chest.  “Well... buy me lunch and I’ll tell you.”  Violet twinkled up at him, daring and urging him.

Crawford pretended to consider, too.  He already liked the look of this boy.  He liked the potential inherent in his movement and the confidence and, of course, good taste in approaching *him.*  At the very least he’d like to know more of this boy.  “Angling for a meal, then?”

“More,” the boy assured him, smirk widening.  Although the tone itself was innocent, the intent behind it was clear.

“Your name is...”

“Touma.  Kiryuu Touma,” the boy told him, cocking a hand on his hip in a manner both pert and appealing in one.  It wasn’t a studied move but it was sexy.  The boy exuded it practically by breathing, alone.

Crawford nodded.  “I’m Brad Crawford, from America indeed, Touma-kun.”  The boy was breathtaking.  How old was he?  Well, no matter.  It was next to impossible to find a young, willing, *attractive* boy in America.  And so he loved these Japanese darlings.

“So.”  Touma gave him an expectant look through sandy bangs.  “Will you buy me lunch, Mr. Crawford?”  With very little accent he pronounced the honorific.  Crawford experienced another flash, seeing in different context those eyes, glancing up at him, sultry and hot and framed with sweaty bangs.  That look he was getting was only a slice of the real thing.  It promised things a boy his age shouldn’t have much experience with beyond wet dreams.

Crawford’s smirk broadened.  They were both grinning cordially at one another.  Without a doubt only one thing was on both their minds.

“Why yes, Touma-kun.  I believe I’d be delighted.”

“Great!” Touma exclaimed, dissolving into childlike enthusiasm and seizing his hand.

With vague surprise Crawford reassessed him again.  He’d adopted the guise of an exuberant, innocent child - with the unmistakable pretext of touching him.  This Touma was a wily one, and more than worth his while.  Matching wits with him would be an interesting prospect.  Luring him to bed would undoubtedly gain him a willing and, from his manner, uninhibited partner.  Crawford was unexpectedly seized with a hunger to skip the preliminaries and take him straight to bed.  It was an unusual desire, for him.  Generally he liked to draw out his anticipation as long as possible, heightening eventual satisfaction.

“Kiryuu,” Crawford mused, as they walked into the restaurant.  He glanced down at the boy with a proprietary smile, tightening his fingers as the boy looked up at hearing his name.  “Where have I heard that before?”  He sensed his comment would provoke reaction.

Touma’s face went curiously expressionless.  “No doubt my aunt, Kiryuu Sayuri.”  His tone lost its animation, those lovely eyes going lusterless.

“Ah,” Crawford inhaled.  He knew of her.  She was on the list of Takatori’s connections.  “I’d not heard she has family.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Touma’s voice was colder now.  “She prefers it that way.”

Crawford took the hint and dropped the subject.  “Table for two, please,” he said in English to the hostess.  Smiling, she picked up menus.

“Can we have a seat by the window?” Touma added in careful but good English, his light boyish attitude reasserted.

The hostess smiled at him, charmed, and led them to a window table.

The boy could be quite useful at social functions, Crawford noted.  He looked around.  The window seats were the only tables in relative isolation.  The boy was quick-witted for sure, a trait that only increased his appeal.  The question was - what did he want from Crawford?  With his intelligence, there was surely a reason beyond the obvious sexual one.

“Quick of you,” Crawford complimented, “to get us seated somewhere we can speak freely.”

Touma grinned a response.  “Oh, you noticed?”

“I’m not your average guy off the street,” Crawford noted wryly.

“No,” violet eyes danced, “that’s why I picked you.”

Crawford picked up his menu.  “Order whatever you wish, Touma-kun.”  He ignored the obvious opening to inquire into Touma’s purpose for willfully bumping into him.  It could wait for when he chose to deal with the subject.

After the food arrived, they ate well.  Touma ordered more than one dish and polished them all off, displaying the hearty appetite of a growing boy.  They spoke on neutral topics - where Touma went to school, what it was like in America, martial arts and even a couple of news items.  The conversation confirmed Crawford’s impression of Touma’s quick and agile mind.

He *wanted* this boy.

It wasn’t just Touma’s mind that was fascinating him with its potential.  The slightest shift, a gesture, a tilt of the head, glancing through a thatch of blond bangs with half-lidded, inviting violet eyes... there was a keen sense of sexuality throughout as if by long practice the suggestion of the act itself was imprinted on him, in movement, or stillness.  The boy couldn’t be older than sixteen.  But Crawford would forfeit his own future ticket back to America if Touma was a day older than fourteen.  Yet he was obviously experienced, if not skilled - and every moment furthered in his presence the conviction that he *was* skilled - and the seeming incongruity between age and knowledge was proof of his precocious nature.  That it was more than simply sexual was Crawford’s good fortune.  Touma could be very useful to him...

Crawford caught himself in these thoughts.  He was thinking of Touma as far more than a potential fucktoy; he was looking at him as a partner.  More than just a bedwarmer but a boy of actual assistance and function in his life.  And moreover he knew it would be *good.*  Call it conviction.

Over dessert - Touma ordered a sundae; he got coffee - he placed his hands on the table and eyed the canny creature masquerading as an innocent young boy.

“Now, we talk in earnest,” Crawford said calmly.

Touma looked up, an intent gleam from beneath the slanting fall of sandy bangs.  “Yes?”

“I won’t insult you by beating around the bush,” he said.  “I would like to invite you to my apartment.  If you pretend not to know why, I’ll think less of you.”

“Hidoi, Crawford-san,” Touma responded, spooning up more sundae, eyes full of mirth.  And sex.  That was definitely there too.  “I think we both know why I bumped into you.”

“Do we?” Crawford smiled softly.  There was alert watchfulness to the expression.

“Why, yes.”  The sly gleam vanished.  Like a switch had been flipped, Touma’s face changed and he was looking at a young, shy, slightly overawed boy.  “You’re such a nice big brother to buy lunch for a boy like me, hard on his luck.  And giving me a place to stay tonight - I’m so grateful, oniisan!”

Crawford stared at this perfect simulation of a normal, slightly vacuous fourteen-year old boy.  Caught off guard again, he burst out laughing.  He re-revised his opinion.  Touma could be *priceless* to him.  The boy was grinning, act dropped but still guarded.  He could be cautious, too.  That was good to know.

“I know what I want from you, young Touma,” Crawford told him, eyes still silently laughing.  “It’s more than just compensation for lunch.  What I need to know is why you selected *me.*”

Violet eyes assessed *him.*  “I don’t suppose you’d accept... that you seem very familiar?”

Crawford frowned at him.  It had the ring of truth, but...  “Sorry, try again.”

Touma went still for a moment, eyes searching.  Then his whole body relaxed and he smiled.  The curve of his lips was sensuous.  “What you do for a living - it shows in the way you move.”

Crawford tensed.  “What?”

“You’re a fighter.  You’ve killed people, haven’t you?  It’s a nice business suit, very well-tailored and all, but... are you a bodyguard?  Or just an assassin?”  Touma’s wide mouth was smiling, body relaxed - voice utterly serious.  Anyone simply looking at the two of them would see nothing out of place.

Touma’s worth skyrocketed to him from priceless to essential.  Crawford burned.

He *had* to possess this boy.

Crawford took stock of his options and decided, for a change, to be honest.  Touma would appreciate it and it would work better for him in the long run.  “I’m an assassin and bodyguard, Touma-kun.  Very astute of you.”

Touma’s mouth quirked.  ‘I’ll bet you have a *really* nice apartment,” he purred, chasing the last bit of ice cream ‘round the dish.  With a glance at Crawford, he popped the spoon in his mouth and sucked.  Deliberate seduction.

Crawford smiled.  Perfect.  “Come and see it, boy,” he invited.

“I’m not *that* much of a boy,” Touma tilted a violet eye at him, careless glance ready to be angry.

“You’re right,” Crawford acknowledged.  He looked at him piercingly.  “What do you want from me?

Touma sighed and pushed his sundae dish away; glanced around the restaurant with a pensive expression.  “I don’t suppose I can convince you to kill my aunt.”

Crawford’s eyes widened.  Then he smirked and pushed his glasses up.  “Kiryuu Sayuri, the local, prominent, female politician.”

Touma looked back steadily.  Nodded once.

What further surprises would this Japanese darling reveal?  He could be ruthless, as well.

“What inducement are you offering?” Crawford’s small, confident smile was firmly in place.

“Me.” Touma’s smirk returned.

Crawford regarded him for a long moment.  The boy didn’t even squirm, as any other boy of his age would normally do so under such intense scrutiny.  He continued to display that vague but sultry expression.  “I assume you’re offering more than just a one-shot deal,” he said at last.

“Good guess,” Touma beamed.  He slipped back into that innocent facade.  “My, you’re awful smart, Crawford-oniisan.”

“Don’t call me that,” Crawford said, nettled.  He flagged down the waitress for the check.

“Then what should I call you?” Touma seemed to regard it as integral to the acceptance or rejection of the offer.

Maybe it was.  If Touma became his, he could hardly go on calling him Crawford-san.  On the other hand, contracting to kill Kiryuu Sayuri, no matter what the tempting inducements, might be a bad career move without consulting Takatori first.  Although from all accounts he suspected Takatori would be glad to be rid of the harpy.

“Call me Brad,” he instructed, glance wry.  When Touma’s face lit up, he added, “This doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll kill your aunt.”

Touma grinned.  “But you’ll take it under consideration.”

Crawford ran his eyes over the lithe developing body.  “Something like that.”  He took care of the check.  “Is she your guardian, Touma-kun?  Does killing her give me undisputed claim to you?”

A tongue moistened that wide welcoming mouth.  “My only living relative.”  Crawford recognized the distraction tactic and was still unable to take his eyes off the now-glistening lower lip.

“No parents? Siblings?” he plowed doggedly on.

“Dead.”  The violet eyes turned flat.

That betraying reaction was something they’d have to work on.

“Very well.”  Crawford tossed his napkin to the table.  “You’re coming home with me.”

Plum-dusk eyes lit up with hungry anticipation.

“Let’s go.”

“Nice building,” Touma appraised the gleaming tower of metal and concrete as they walked up to the entrance.

“It’s my employer’s,” Crawford shrugged.  “It’s near his residence, and they are luxurious accommodations.”

“Perks of the trade,” Touma said, eyes speculative.

Crawford glanced at him.  “Yes.”

It took a moment to process the boy through security, but once it was finished Touma would be recognized as a permanent visitor of Crawford’s.  Building security was under his ultimate supervision and that, too, had its perks.  Namely that whatever beautiful young boys or men he brought home for his enjoyment stayed anonymous and unnoticed.

Schwartz had an entire level of the building to itself, for living and working quarters.  Crawford scanned the options the immediate future provided.  He scowled.  If he went that way, they’d bump into Nagi.  If he went the roundabout way to his apartment, they’d bump into Schuldich.  Guess which he considered the lesser evil?

Touma had taken his hand in the elevator, sliding strong slender fingers between his in a caressing sort of gesture.  If he’d been the type, Crawford could have hit emergency stop and taken him right there.  But as enjoyable as spontaneity could be, practicality usually won out.  He didn’t have any means of lubrication or protection on his person.

“Yo, Crawford,” Schuldich lifted a hand as they met him in the corridor.  His green eyes widened at the sight of the boy.  Then a smirk remarkably similar to Touma’s appeared on his face.  “Well, hello there.”

Violet eyes blinked up at him.  Touma smiled guilelessly.  “Hello, oniisan.”

Schuldich stared at him.  He burst out laughing.  “This one is a real catch, Crawford,” he chuckled, stepping towards them and tipping Touma’s chin up with a finger.  “His mind is about as duplicitous as yours.  Give him a few years and he’ll catch up.”

Touma jerked his chin away, eyes angry.  “Don’t touch me, old man.”

Schuldich’s face turned dark, but he looked at Crawford.  “Intriguing.  Can I borrow him sometime?”

Crawford met his gaze calmly with upraised eyebrow.  Touma’s fingers convulsed around his.  “I don’t share, Schuldich,” he stated, and the boy relaxed.

“Spoilsport,” the German muttered, and moved off.

“He...” Touma glared after the redhead.  “What *is* he?”

“A telepath,” Crawford said calmly.  “His abilities come in very handy, within our little group.”  He wondered if the boy had any powers.  Not that it indicated he’d make a good long-term partner or not - look at Nagi.  The boy was a telekinetic and a computer genius but completely lacking discipline or maturity.  Temporary gratification, indeed.

Touma’s eyes widened a little but in no other way did he seem surprised.  That could mean something.

They reached his apartment and Crawford unlocked it, waving him through.  “Please.”  He watched Touma, expecting a response similar to some of his other boys.  ‘Wow.’  A whistle and a quietly-uttered ‘sugee.’

“Pretty nice digs,” Touma murmured, giving the place a brief once-over then turning back to Crawford.

Crawford smiled.  He should have expected; he knew the boy wasn’t like his normal partners - hence the unusual attraction.  “Well, then.”  He eyed his welcome intruder.  “We’ve attended to the meal I promised.”

“And I’ve told you what I want,” Touma’s eyes laughed up at him.  “You’re very restrained, Brad-san.  Most guys would be all over me by now.”

“I’ve found that courtesy is often a refreshing approach to the kind of boy I like,” Crawford said dryly.  “It usually gets me further.  And knock off the ‘-san,’ Touma-kun.”

“I will if you knock off the ‘-kun,’ ” Touma returned.  He draped himself in an inviting sprawl on the couch; looked around again.  “This *is* a really nice apartment you’ve got.”

Crawford moved to join him, unbuttoning his suit jacket and laying it aside.  The desire for the boy that had first drawn him so, fading with distractions of lunch and the walk back to the building, had quickened once more.  He felt things low in his belly stir and tighten, watching Touma give an unselfconscious - unutterably sexy - stretch.  It was true that the type of boy he enjoyed was more often accustomed to rougher company.  Dominating bastards out for a brief fuck or old, perverted, but influential men.  Touma himself seemed to’ve been braced for a quick handling, as if Crawford would bum-rush him the minute he locked the door.  So he seated himself on the couch and smiled as the boy turned to him, violet eyes expectant, moistening his lips.  Crawford could wait for it and he wanted only willing partners.

With a tilt of his head, Touma cleared bangs from his eyes.  “Now?”  His voice was a little lower, huskier.

Crawford nodded.  Waited to see how Touma would react, given no guidance.  It was important.

Touma’s eyes dropped and his slender hands pressed into his lap.  Crawford stifled disappointment.  He was quieting his ability to sense the future, forcing his senses to remain only in this moment because he wanted no hints, no prescience for where this encounter would go.  He wanted to be surprised, aroused, the way the boy’s eyes had promised.

With a sharp inhalation, Touma dragged his hands up the length of his torso, lifting his head, bangs falling out of his eyes.  Violet pinpoints fixed on him, half-lidded as the boy reclined against the arm of the couch.  He drew up a leg and pushed his shirt up, exposing a strip of lean, tanned belly. He tilted his head, eyeing Crawford, the hint of a grin on his lips, then slid a hand up his shirt, hidden, toying with a nipple.  His other hand pressed firmly against the band of his jeans and he clenched his legs together.

Crawford’s body leapt in response.  Inwardly, of course. He was far too self-controlled to allow a real start.  Touma was putting on a show for him.  How -- *how* the hell did the boy know that was his biggest turn-on!?

“Brad,” Touma’s breath hitched imploringly, breath speeding up, as he caressed himself.  His hand was only partly visible beneath the shirt, which hiked up higher as Touma continued to pinch his own nipples, slivers of violet burning up at him.  His other hand tugged open the top button of his jeans.  “Brad...”

Crawford hissed.  The little vixen was everything he’d ever wanted, responding it seemed unconsciously to his every desire.  He folded a hand over the rising peak constrained in his trousers.  Not yet.

“Unnh!  Brad...” Touma gave him a smoldering but pleading look as he slipped a hand into his jeans, hips bucking up to meet his own touch and eyes sliding shut with that ecstatic sensation.  His shirt was nearly up to his neck now, exquisite little brown nipples bared and stiff.  Crawford was aching to lick them.  Not...  “Oh, Brad, please!”  ...yet...

He pressed almost absently down on his own erection as Touma’s hand moved in his pants, widening the split in the gaping ‘V’ of the zipper.  Touma was a tease and good at it, revealing every bit of flesh at his own pace, enough to make Crawford dearly anticipate the next move.

“Brad,” Touma’s voice was very husky, “won’t you touch me?”  As he invited, the tip of his erection emerged from his jeans, extracted from small briefs by clever fingers, clasped in that rough grip, red and wet.  Hazy eyes looked up at him.  “I want you to touch me.”

Ohh, that was it.  Crawford moved on the sofa, muscles liquid but controlled as ever, covering Touma’s body with his own.  He pushed Touma’s hand away from the stiff little erection he was working and took hold of it himself, swallowing Touma’s answering groan with his lips.  Slowly he stroked the boy, learning the taste of him with a deep eager kiss.

Making a breathless noise, Touma’s legs hooked around him, jeans moving further off the slender, almost bony points of his hips.  Crawford drank his mouth and the skilled touch of his tongue.  He was most definitely not the boy’s first kiss, but he preferred it that way.  His erection was wedged under him, an uncomfortable lump beneath the juncture of Touma’s thighs, but he could live with it for now.  Touma’s breath sped up as Crawford handled his cock with ungentle fingers.  The mouth was feverish on his, tongue stabbing between Crawford’s lips as if contesting for dominance.

He pushed himself up, breaking the deep kiss long enough to disentangle Touma’s shirt for him, the boy lifting his arms up willingly.  Crawford ran a thumb over his high cheekbone, near the slanted, exotic purple eyes, then bent to kiss him again.

The intercom buzzed.

His lips went slack on Touma’s mouth, part surprise, part irritation.  Crawford slanted his mouth down harder, and Touma met him with fervor, tongue pushing next to his.

“Ignore it,” Touma urged, voice husky.  Crawford nodded and stroked a hand down the sleek muscles of the boy’s stomach.  He wasn’t about to be diverted from his prize now that they’d gotten this far.

*“Crawford,”* Schuldich’s voice crackled over the speaker, *“it’s Takatori.  He’s summoning us to his presence.”*  The German’s voice held a thread of contempt for their august employer.

“Shit,” Crawford swore, pulling his mouth away.  “That ill-timed son of a bitch...”

“Brad?” Touma pleaded, arms tangling around his neck, hips pushing up.  “Don’t go.”

“Later, Touma,” Crawford sat up on the couch, Touma clinging to him like a burr.  He glared viciously at the intercom and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

Touma scowled.  “We were getting to the good part,” he noted, voice shaky with arousal.  One hand released his neck to stroke possessively over the impressive bulge he’d caused in the front of Crawford’s slacks.  “At least let me...”

“No,” Crawford decided regretfully, “it would take too long.”

“Oh?” Touma’s eyes flashed up at him.

Crawford gave him a slight smile, running explorative fingers through the silken-tawny hair.  It was not as soft as it looked, but still very nice.  “If you do the job I know you will.”

“Oh.” Touma relented, releasing him with a last pat to the burgeoning front seam of his trousers.  He seemed unconcerned about his own arousal, the angry-looking erection sticking up over the gaping maw of his zipper.  Crawford mused wryly that the boy would undoubtedly take care of it himself, after he left.

“Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone,” Crawford cautioned, rising from the sofa and checking himself in the mirror beside the door.  He picked up his suit jacket and adjusted his tie.  “There’s some very expensive equipment on this level.”

“What do you take me for, a fool?” Touma tilted his head, scornful.  He had fisted his own hard sex again, appreciable size for a boy his age, surely not at his full growth.  Yet.  The tawny head fell back and Crawford spared an instant for admiration and sharp anger towards Takatori.

“No,” Crawford acknowledged, “that, you most certainly are not.”

Touma’s pretty features lit up in a grin.  “Why, thank you.”  It was surely something he didn’t hear often, Crawford judged from the response.

He paused at the door, tuning out the soft noises behind him, Touma’s small cries as he pleasured himself.  Crawford sucked in a breath, willing his own hardness to abate.  Schuldich would make fun of him as it was, from the proof of his thoughts.  No need to give the others food for amusement.

“B-Brad!”

Crawford halted with the door half-open, glancing back.  It was a mistake, of course.  Touma’s eyes glittered wickedly at him, mouth open and panting, hips rising into the steady pull of his hand.  Renewed lust shot straight to his cock and he shut the door hastily, Touma’s husky laugh in his ears.  The boy was a wicked little tease.

He was completely perfect.  Crawford didn’t need to know the proof of pushing deep into his body to know the sex would be incredible.

He met Schuldich at the elevator.  The German grinned at him, a broad and insolent expression.

“Don’t even say it,” Crawford growled a curt forestallment of the commentary.

Schuldich’s grin widened but to his credit, he didn’t say it.

“Where are the others?  Nagi and Farfarello?”

“It’s just us he wants,” Schuldich replied.  “Nagi is busy on a hacker assignment, and Farf... well, Farf...”

“Is in his straitjacket,” Crawford supplied coolly.

Schuldich nodded.  “Um-humh.  Best to leave him there when he’s in a violent mood.”

“Which you can tell, of course.”

“Of course.”

The elevator doors pinged open.

Finally Schuldich opened his mouth over the smirk.  “Gets you hot, doesn’t he?”

Crawford adjusted his glasses and pretended he *didn’t* know Schuldich was referring to the sizable bulge that still decorated the front of his trousers.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Schuldich,” he said shortly.  “I’m always in control.”

Schuldich looked knowing, but said nothing more.

Which was just as well.

Touma looked around the apartment with interested eyes after he’d brought himself to a swift, effective climax.  It sucked rocks compared to what he would’ve had with Crawford, but it was better than just lying on the couch like a dead ass, touching himself from time to time and waiting for the man to return.

Hot damn, that buzz had come at the wrong time!

He found the bathroom and got himself cleaned up.  Hunh, he could hang around and not ‘get into trouble,’ as Crawford had put it... or, he could hunt through the man’s belongings for anything interesting.  He weighed his options and snorted.  Fat chance he would just sit around and watch TV!  Besides, Crawford was the type of man who would surely expect that kind of behavior.  He seemed to know Touma’s inclinations quite well.  So he’d hardly expect Touma *not* to go prospecting.

“Hmm...” Touma bounced around for awhile.  The apartment was neat, for the most part.  If there were any doubts in his mind about Crawford’s sexual orientation before the inspection, they were dispelled by the absence of clutter.  In a single man’s apartment, it was tidy as only a gay man could make it.

“This is boring,” Touma decided.  He hesitated briefly at the door.

Well, he was *born* to be wicked.  Touma bounded out the door, grinning, and set off to explore the premises.  Crawford had said this floor was for his little group of assassins, so he’d stick to this level.

Which turned out to be a lot of locked doors.

“Taku,” Touma muttered.  “This is no fun, either.  Pisses me off.”  He wandered up and down and finally found an open door.  His eyes widened.  “Computers!”  He went in.

One of the monitors was on, further in, a brown head bent and illuminated before it.  Steady clicking of sure fingers over a keyboard filled the room.

“Yo,” Touma said cautiously.

“Whoever you are, you’re not supposed to be here.”  The voice was young and smooth.  The steady clicking never ceased.  “I’m busy, so go away.”

“What was that!?” Touma bristled.  “Hey, I’m with Crawford, so I’ve got every right to be here.”

The clacking of keys stopped.  “What did you say?”

He’d said it plainly enough.  “I said, I’m here with Crawford.  Brad Crawford.”  Touma blinked at the back of the slender boy, who’d definitely stopped typing.

The chair swiveled around. The boy was young, maybe a year or two older than he was, and his face was breathtaking.  His blue eyes fixed on Touma, hard and defensive.  “That’s not possible,” he stated.

Touma saw straight through him with that one statement, and the look in his eyes.  It wasn’t so much his tone that was revealing, or his expression, but the combination of the two.  “A~ra,” he drawled.  “You thought Brad would never get tired of you?  Well, he’s moved on, and this time he picked something with more substance than a scrawny thing like you.”  Violet eyes flicked scornfully over the other boy.  It was a pose, of course - the boy was gorgeous.  But Touma knew he was pretty good-looking himself, and wagered *he* was better in bed.

The boy’s jaw dropped.  Possibly he’d never been spoken to so rudely by a near-stranger.  His face turned angry.  “Ch-chotto!  Who’s the scrawny one, you under-sized... you... you pint-sized slut!”

Violet orbs went flat and narrow.  “Brad’s with me now, not you.  Truth hurts, doesn’t it, senpai?”  Touma plastered a cocky grin on his face.  With that, he turned on his heel and made his exit.  Not exactly running, but pretty brisk - he sensed this one was the type for histrionics.  He regretted not being able to look around with all the fancy high-powered equipment in the room, but there was no way he could stay after tossing out a line like that.

There were no other unlocked doors on the level, and Touma was cautious enough not to go exploring other levels without Brad’s permission.  In the line of business Crawford admitted to, there were some secrets only a smoking gun could keep safe.  Touma had an active interest in preserving his own hide.  If only to see through his revenge on Aunt Kiryuu, but there were other nice benefits to being a live warm body.

With some reluctance, he returned to Crawford’s apartment.  It had been a pretty fruitless trip, no insight gained into the man who’d casually picked him up off the street with barely a raised brow. He wasn’t comfortable only knowing that Brad was American, and an assassin.  But he also sensed that Crawford would tell him more in time, if he proved himself trustworthy.

*Can you love me, Touma-kun?*

Touma shuddered slightly and leaned against the closed door.  That had been why he’d left his last lover. He wasn’t only looking for revenge; he was seeking someone to be with for more than a handful of nights.  His last lover had sensed that and looked so sad, the last few times, that he couldn’t bear to go back.

Crawford was strong and he wasn’t sentimental.  Those were good qualities.  Maybe, something... well, this time...  Touma sighed and flomped onto the couch again.

He watched television for awhile, then felt himself dozing.  He’d lost track of the time and when Crawford had left when at last a soft click and the door swung open.  He sat up and admired the man as he entered the apartment, shrugging his suit jacket off, looking annoyed, from the crease that had settled between his dark brows.  Crawford was the type of man who could wear a suit and look elegant, yet there were defined muscles beneath his clothing.  His body was deceptively lean, but a sense of power rippled through each movement.

That part *definitely* attracted Touma.  He sat up, one leg cocked up on the sofa, and gave the man a rakish grin.

“Oh, Brad!” he gushed, clasping his hands over one knee, giving him a fatuous look.

Brad’s generous mouth quirked.  “You’ve been watching the wrong American movies.”

“Just about the right ones, I’d say,” Touma responded pertly.  He dissolved into a smile.  “How was work?”

“I work for a man of narrow vision and few talents, with idiot sons,” Crawford growled, moving for the couch.  “I don’t want to talk about work.”

“Okay,” Touma assented.  “Let’s talk about sex.  I’m much more interested in that, anyhow.”  For now, he added silently.  He wasn’t going to let Crawford out of their tentatively-formed bargain.

Crawford’s gaze was deceptively mild.  He put a hand to Touma’s knee, toying with the ripped denim there.  “I did, however, receive the go-ahead to terminate Kiryuu Sayuri, if you so desire.”

Touma’s breath stuck.  “Wh-WHAT!?”  That was quick, he thought numbly.  Crawford must *really* like him.

Brad’s mouth turned up.  “Takatori mentioned it was not a good idea, because there is a minor who depends on her...”

“You told him that wouldn’t be a problem?”  Touma lifted his face, thoughts whirling.  There was lust pounding through him, of course, but it was mixed crazily with the surprise of Brad’s news, and the unexpected flavor of - regret?  Apprehension?  He didn’t know.

“It won’t be, if you intend to stay with me.”  Crawford gave him a piercing look.  “I assume you have a compelling reason for wanting your aunt dead.”

Touma’s face hardened.  “Yes.”  Aya-chan... Aya, his little sister, had died from neglect and mistreatment.  Locked up in a closet, crying, screaming, fighting to get out and smothered under the linens when they tumbled from the upper shelves.  And Touma had been at school, unable to help or save her.  He was pretty sure Kiryuu Sayuri had been more upset at the ruination of her good linens than the death of her niece.

That was when Touma had stopped going ‘home.’

“Touma?”  A hand brushed over his cheek.

Surprised, Touma jerked his head up.  Brad was looking at him with a patient expression.  The hand was gently massaging his knee.

“You can tell me about it, if you like,” Brad offered.

Touma pursed his lips and considered.  He believed in something called premature disclosure - telling too much, right up front, could drive someone away.  But Brad was asking him, and he’d already asked Brad to kill someone for him.  Payment in advance.

A knock on the door made them both look up.

“Bad timing,” Brad muttered in English.

“Yes,” Touma gave him a smile that felt funny.  Brad patted his knee encouragingly, and got up to get the door.

It was the boy from earlier, and his face closed into sullen furious lines when he spotted Touma on the couch.  “Crawford, you don’t waste any time,” he spat.

“Nagi,” Brad greeted the boy with a sigh.  “I knew you would make a scene.  It doesn’t take any kind of talent to predict *that* much.”

“A scene?”  Nagi’s voice went up an incredulous octave.  “You’re cold, Crawford.  We have one fight and I’m shoved aside for some little grade-schooler with big appealing eyes.  You really are a shotakon-hentai, aren’t you?”

With no change of expression, Crawford smacked him sharply across the mouth.  “Watch your words,” he warned, tone as cold as Nagi accused him of.  “There was never anything between us, and I could respect you as long as we both admitted it.  It’s your injured pride talking, not any real desire to be with me.”

Nagi lifted a hand to his reddening mouth, an angry flush spreading over his fair cheeks.  His gaze went to Touma, sitting on the couch watching the scene unfold with a dreadful sort of fascination, like being unable to look away from a car wreck.  “I’m not going to forget this insult.”  His voice shook.

Crawford looked at him, eyes blue as steel.  “If you take out your frustration on Touma, I will finish this in a manner you won’t like.”  The threat was low and not dreadful at all; simply a statement of fact.

“I can’t believe this.”  Nagi’s eyes widened.  He looked as if he would say more, faltered, then spun on his heel.  Footsteps thudded up the hall.

Closing the door, Crawford looked at Touma, then bowed his head with rueful smile. “I apologize for Nagi’s behavior.”  He locked the door.  “And all these rude interruptions.  Touma, was there something...?”

Now was his opportunity to unburden himself, if he chose.  But the darkness inside of him weighed too heavily to speak of it, yet.  Maybe later.  Right now, he wanted to lose himself in the heat of Crawford’s body the way those kisses had promised earlier.  The interval since they’d pressed together had in no way quenched his lust, and finishing himself by hand was a mechanical relief; not the real thing at all.

Touma’s lips curved up.  “Nothing at all,” he replied, holding up his arms.  “Can we...?”

“Of course.”  Crawford bent and scooped him off the sofa.  “Someplace more suited, perhaps.”

He yelped as he was picked up in strong arms.  “Dammit, I can walk there myself!”

“I’m sure you can,” Crawford acknowledged, “but this is more fun.”  The grip shifted until Brad’s hand kneaded one of his buttocks, and Touma relaxed, clinging to him, reaching up to the sensual mouth with his own eager lips.

Lips tangled as Touma was lowered to the bed with the silk sheets he’d found earlier.  He grabbed onto Brad’s shirt and deftly worked the buttons loose, fingers tracing over smooth hard muscle.  Brad’s tongue pushed into his mouth.  Hm, was there time for foreplay, or not?  Some guys liked to jump right in, and some liked the preliminaries almost better than the real thing.  Touma’d always been the ‘fuck now’ type, and he was sure Brad had had his share of frustration from earlier.

Brad pushed him down flat, running a tongue over his lips, pushing it deep inside.  Touma grabbed onto the waistband of the dress slacks and kissed back enthusiastically, noise muffled as the man knelt above him, bodies pressed nearly together.  Brad was large enough to cover him with room to spare but didn’t yet.  He worked the little button free on the ivory slacks and gasped as the man moved to his neck, nipping, tongue tracing his flesh.

Very little foreplay, he decided.  Touma lifted his body against Brad’s, testing strength although it was no real contest.  It was good just for the pressure pushing him down.  He touched the hardness growing in Crawford’s silky briefs and the man made a noise, low but enough to give Touma triumph.  He pulled it free and shaped its length in his hands and Brad lunged against him on the mattress, pinning him securely.  Teeth raked over the hollow of his throat.

Pushing himself up, Crawford looked down at Touma.  His eyes had darkened, lust looking at Touma through clear blue and he drew a hand through his hair, smoothing it back.

Touma reached up and plucked the glasses from his face.  “You don’t need these.”  Gods, he was hot.

With a slight smirk, Brad tugged at his top and Touma lifted his arms the way he had earlier, letting the older man do the work for him.  A mouth closed over his nipple and he jerked, then relaxed into it.  Brad’s lower body had lowered to rest against him completely and Touma explored the broad back, enjoying the feel of Brad’s tongue lapping against him and the restrained teeth as he tried to push the dress shirt off.  The man’s erection was flush against his thigh, digging into him with the subtle motion of Brad’s pelvis.

Without a doubt, he was good at the preliminaries.

It was driving him wild, though.  What had happened - almost - earlier was enough to get him hot now, and the pressure of Brad’s cock against his leg was making him unbelievably hard.  He’d *been* wanting it enough already to skip the foreplay.

Or jump straight to burying his face between Brad’s thighs.

“Brad,” he struggled to open his legs wider beneath the confining pressure of Brad’s body on top of him.  It was hard to move, damn it.  “Please...”  The man kissed him again, a forceful sort of serious kiss that made him lurch in his briefs.  Then he was moving.

“Strip,” Crawford commanded, settling himself to the side.  And what a sight he was - like a pin-up, he sprawled on his side, dress shirt rumpled around his hard chest and stomach, pants unbuttoned, one hand playing with his erection.  Without his glasses, he looked - Touma stifled the smirk - adorably mussed, an expression that would undoubtedly provoke displeasure.

Touma sat up and considered it remarkable restraint that he didn’t go for his own hard cock immediately.  It was obvious that Brad wanted a repeat performance of his little show from earlier.  He inhaled and touched himself, eyes half-closing, concentrating on what pleasured him best and what he *knew* a guy liked to watch.  One hand folded between his legs as if trying to hide his arousal; the other ventured near a nipple still wet from Brad’s lips.  He trembled, rocked his hips against his hand, milked the little bud with his fingers.

“Brad!”  The sound tumbled from his lips as he hooked a hand into the band of his jeans, twisting up as if yearning for a touch.  Well, he was.

He let his eyes dwell on the hard red length Brad was fisting, letting his breath speed up, pinching himself deliberately as the hand slipped into his jeans.  Then, as if accidentally, he let his eyes flicker to meet Crawford’s and his hips heaved up to meet his hand.  “Un!”

Brad leaned towards him, involuntarily it seemed.  Touma gloated.

There was no really graceful way to get rid of his jeans.  Touma leaned back, bracing himself against the bed, and arched his body.  Crawford’s lips parted.  His hand was moving faster.  Touma fished himself out of his jeans; stroked himself with a slow, thorough hand.  It was interesting to *hear* Brad swallow at that.  He let go of his erection, feeling it bob, and eased the jeans off his hips.

Touma twisted on the bed, lifting up his ass, denim hanging just beneath to frame his bare bottom in a way he *knew* was appealing.  Hopefully in a take-me-now sort of sense.  Just to rub it in, he waggled his bare uplifted ass slowly as he worked the jeans down his legs.  Crawford produced a noise that resembled a growl.

Jeans disposed of, Touma settled back onto the bed and splayed his legs, toying with himself and giving Crawford another look.  Knowing the man, he’d want to strip Touma’s briefs off himself, before taking him.

“That’s enough,” Crawford told him, rejoining him long enough to kiss him hard and thoroughly.  Then he shifted to the edge of the bed and finished taking his shirt off.

Touma pressed his body to Brad’s back, shaping himself to the older man, imploring with the rigid sex that made a wet mark above the fancy pants that Brad was hurrying to get rid of.  He moved his thumbs over the taut pink nipples, flesh colored so much fairer than his, and explored the ridges of muscle he’d noticed before.  Crawford raised his hips off the bed’s edge and got rid of his pants mostly by kicking.  Then he turned and Touma was flat on his back, their thighs sliding together and broad hands plucking at his nipples.

“Enough teasing, little demon,” Crawford said, somewhat hoarse.

Touma smirked up into dark blue eyes, proud of himself for being the cause of such loss of control.  True, it was the skill of experience - but Crawford was more stoic than most.

“I don’t tease,” he asserted, reaching up to flick his tongue at the corners of Crawford’s mouth.  “I promise.”

Crawford laughed shortly at the distinction, then made enough space between their bodies to peel away Touma’s underwear.  He stroked the sensitive inner skin of his thighs, making Touma squirm, then his hands were giving direction to the stiffness of his erection again.  Touma opened his mouth and was silenced with a kiss.  He made soft pleading murmurs against Brad’s tongue, which invaded him in slow tandem with the hand pulling sensation from him.

He’d tormented Brad with his little show and the interim delay, and now...it was Brad’s turn to drive him crazy, he guessed.

Touma whimpered, meeting the kiss with surrender, trying to lift his hips.  He wanted to be impaled.  Hell, he’d been wanting this for an infinity of minutes since their eyes had locked.  Everything’d been delay until now.

“Touma...”  Brad pulled away, gave him a caress, licked an already-hard nipple.  “What do you want?”

Touma lay amazed.  Here they were, arranged in a sprawl of limbs on a silk bed, swapping spit and the hope of other more intimate fluids, and Crawford was ASKING!?  Then he realized Crawford thought he was being considerate and that was another kind of shock.  Only one of his other lovers, the very first, had ever thought of Touma’s needs before his own.

“I don’t care what I have to do,” he said, hooking his fingers into broad lean shoulders, “as long as you get *inside* me, Brad!  Hasn’t it been long enough?”

The wide mouth twitched.  “Perhaps it has, at that.”  The man brushed another kiss over his lips, gentle and then deep and demanding.  Then he sat up again.

Touma felt like he was floating in the bed, without the pressure of Crawford’s warm body to keep him secured.  He watched absently, running anxious hands over his thighs and warm-hard cock, as Brad finally discarded his own briefs and pulled a few items out of the bedside drawer.  He noted that the man was *very* hot without his glasses, dark hair falling over his forehead with a few stray wisps in his eyes, lean beautiful body naked and approaching his.  Touma’s lips quirked.  Like all Americans, Crawford was bigger than the average Japanese in all respects, and it was quite lovely to behold.  Not so thick that it would do him a lot of damage, though.

“Are you ready?” Brad asked solicitously.  Even now, he was controlled.  Touma was gonna have to work on that.

“Unnnngodsyes,” he agreed, touching himself again in a way designed to drive Brad up the wall.  If he liked to watch, Touma was sure as hell gonna put on a show.

Brad’s blue eyes flared and he moved close again, running a hand up Touma’s inner thigh, the other drawing his legs apart by the knees.

“Like this?”  Touma lifted his hips for emphasis.  “Or...”  He trailed off, wondering what Crawford’s favorite position would be.  Then again there was the get-inside-Touma-as-fast-as-possible position, which usually involved taking aim and pushing in no matter how awkwardly Touma happened to be arranged.

“Lay back,” Crawford instructed, coating two fingers with oil.  It smelled pleasant.

Touma complied and then Crawford was half-covering him, one hand wrapped around his hardness and pumping, the fingers of the other reaching beneath to push inside and stretch.  He lay and enjoyed it, but the glowing warmth of two fingers only made him want more.  He reached between Brad’s legs and found the length of his cock and tugged, shaping it with an expert touch, finally wringing a noise free from Brad.  The older man growled, lifted up tawny legs, settled himself firmly - and Touma was enthralled with the stretchy-soreness of being split open.  Brad’s tongue flicked away a few tears that managed to leak free.  It *did* hurt, a little bit anyhow.

Crawford held still at first above him, as if being cautious not to break Touma with one thrust.  Then Touma was pushing up at the body connected so intimately with his, wanting to feel more of the stiffness buried within.  Crawford began to move and it was like a rolling volcano breaking free.  The man made love to him like he was losing control, delivering stinging bites to his neck, provoked by the tight heat surrounding him and the stiff little erection throbbing against his belly.

It didn’t seem like very long, though it was more than a few minutes of Crawford rocking inside and against him, burning hot strokes, before Touma was arching and clasping his hands at the base of Brad’s neck and half-sobbing with the urgency of climax.  Crawford’s thrusts had grown short and urgent and soon he was doing the same, spilling inside him, growling something into Touma’s ear as he came, then kissing and nipping his neck.

They lay in a tangle of body parts even after Crawford had disengaged.  Touma stroked over the ridges of Brad’s stomach muscles with an idle hand, very pleased with the world at present.  This was a good one, and he sensed Crawford had only gone for a quick encounter on this occasion.  Kinda like...

“So, did I pass?”

Brad hoisted himself on one elbow, intent blue eyes studying him.  His dark bangs were half-plastered to his forehead with sweat.  Mussed, he looked somehow younger than his normal composed self.  “Pass?”

Touma grinned at him.  “The test drive.”

Brad’s lips curved up in a genuine smile, the first real one, perhaps, that he’d seen.  A finger moved over Touma’s face and wiped away moisture he hadn’t even realized was there.  “You blew the test away,” Crawford assured him.

Oh boy.  Now they were entering the post-sex phase of their relationship, which was always a sticky one.  Crawford didn’t seem the cuddly type.  He didn’t seem particularly chatty, either.  Would he get up out of bed and take a shower, leaving Touma alone in the king-sized bed?  A couple of men had even felt guilty and apologized to him, after.  Maybe he’d fall asleep.

Crawford sat up.  “You coming?”

“I just did that,” Touma gave him a sly look from beneath his lashes.  He stretched.

Brad shook his head, a faint smile lingering around his lips.  “I’m going to shower.  Are you joining me?”

“Hai!”  Touma bounced up.

“I can give you a tour of the building, after.  And then we’ve got some things to discuss.”

Touma shoved down the momentary, reflexive shudder of apprehension. “Okay.”

Brad paused in the bathroom and gave him a look over his shoulder. “Touma.”

“Hm?”  The sick apprehension doubled, fight it as he might.

Brad raised an eyebrow.  “I think I’ll keep you.”