The bookcase rattled as Sengoku was slammed into it.
"Ow! Neh, Jin, what did I -- "
The rattle caused a reference book perched on the top of the shelf to tip forward,
poising precariously on the edge.
"Shut up," Jin snarled, thumping the smaller boy harder against the shelf.
The book fell, slamming down onto Jin's head. He groaned in pain, grip loosening, as the
book slid off and onto the floor. Before he could reach up to clutch the hurt and curse, his
arms were filled with concerned Sengoku, who twined his arms around Jin's neck to pull his
head down, "Jin! Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay, you crazy fuck?" he snapped, clamping his hands onto Sengoku's shoulders
to push him away, but it was too late to be rid of him. Sengoku's hands had slid into his
hair, fingers tangling with the pale gelled strands, gently pushing them away from the growing
He knew what was coming. Jin's breath caught as he stared furiously at the pale column of
Sengoku's throat, laid bare by the casually unbuttoned uniform. He should bruise it, mark it.
Perhaps if he did that, the insufferably lucky prick would stop.
Lips pressed against the throbbing ache, warm and gentle and soft. Fingers stroked
through his hair, nails scraping lightly against the skin. One kiss became several soft pecks,
coaxing the pain away. A soft exhale, cool against the sudden burn, "There. That looks
He scowled, remembering his hands were clenched in the fabric covering Sengoku's
shoulders, and shoved the smaller boy away, thumping him against the bookcase again as he
straightened. "Better? Shit. You need to keep your hands to yourself."
Or he could just stop testing the karma that enveloped Sengoku like a golden
cloud. If he did, he would stop getting hurt ... and Sengoku would stop kissing the hurt away.
Jin scowled again, turning to stalk away, leaving Sengoku sprawled against the bookcase.
But Jin couldn't admit that maybe that was why he kept doing it.
Part Three |
Prince of Tennis |