Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3656955.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      名探偵コナン_|_Detective_Conan_|_Case_Closed
  Relationship:
      Hakuba_Saguru/Kudou_Shinichi_|_Edogawa_Conan/Kuroba_Kaito_|_Kaitou_Kid
  Character:
      Hakuba_Saguru, Kuroba_Kaito_|_Kaitou_Kid, Kudou_Shinichi_|_Edogawa_Conan
  Additional Tags:
      Threesome_-_M/M/M, Oral, a_lot_of_plot_to_get_through_first, yay_cases,
      AU
  Series:
      Part 5 of Deal
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-01 Words: 13902
****** No Great Revelation ******
by joisbishmyoga
Summary
     When Saguru is twenty-four, he realizes something about his two
     closest friends (or perhaps rivals or perhaps colleagues). Then they
     seem to start flirting with him, but of course that's just reading
     too much into things.
     Takes place when Conan is 15-should-have-been-25. Not canon to Deal.
Notes
     AU omake thing. For fateofshadow, whose fault this is. Finally
     finished after several years in limbo.
It was no great revelation. Not like Kaitou Kid's undisguised and unfeigned
terror, the night Edogawa-kun had nearly drowned. Nor the hug Saguru had
interrupted in the restaurant's lavatory, after the Tribute to Love sake
caskets full of pickled runaway brides. Certainly nothing so horrifying as that
February night scarce months later, when the killer had aimed at Conan's heart
because he was the one person who couldn't be Kid.
The final clue was a years-old article, a photograph that for once had caught
its subject in deep thought rather than smirking in triumph, and the fleeting
notion that Kudou Shin'ichi had been rather a handsome young man.
Saguru paused, fingers stilling on the keys, and beckoned that thought back
into his mind.
He'd never noticed before, considering the usual fare provided by newspapers
and government identification, but Kudou Shin'ichi was quite appealing without
that cocky arrogance.
Edogawa Conan wasn't exactly humble, but he'd settled into his confidence in a
way that the true teenager hadn't had a chance to. The infuriating smirk rarely
made an appearance anymore, only a poltergeist -- a fierce little ghost -- of
itself flickering invitingly, come share the joke, come play with me, I see
you, when he was facing off against Kid.
Kid was never one to resist an invitation.
Kaitou Kid and Edogawa Conan were lovers.
And although Saguru should've been surprised -- horrified, perhaps even vaguely
sickened -- he just... wasn't.
 
-0-0-0-
 
The newest Task Force superstition was the fault of Takaru's daughter, who'd
sent a handmade Kid plushie to work with her father upon his promotion to the
Task Force. Said plushie was well and sturdily made, and after surviving a
great deal of good-natured punishment coinciding with one of the periodic
upticks in the Task Force's luck -- which Saguru mainly attributed to not
having a homicidal maniac on the streets making Kid paranoid on Conan's behalf
-- had become a sort of Happy Buddha rub-for-luck mascot.
Even if Happy Buddha was not really subject to noogies and strangulations
nearly as often as Plushie Kid.
After picking the handcuffs holding a flushed, rumpled, breathless, and notably
aroused Conan up against the air conditioner unit atop the rooftop where Kid
had escaped, Saguru carefully continued to block a good view of the youth as he
rubbed the circulation back into Conan's upper arms and tried not to think of
anything but damage control.
Delicately put damage control. Which was where Plushie Kid's relevance could
come into play.
"You, ah, may wish to adjust yourself," he murmured, sotto voce. "I doubt the
Force would appreciate the evidence of your improved luck, coming as it did
from the real thing."
Conan blinked up at Saguru, eyes huge behind flat lenses, then he flushed an
alarming shade of red and jerked to face the wall.
Saguru placed a hand on his shoulder, pretending not to notice the way the
muscles moved under his hand. "Don't worry, Edogawa-kun," he said, for the Task
Force's sake. "You'll get the bastard next time."
The backs of Conan's ears and neck went red. Mentally, Saguru kicked himself,
guessing all too easily what variety of 'next time' the youth's thoughts had
jumped to.
Curse his own equally visual imagination.
 
-0-0-0-
 
The glasses didn't exactly make Conan look older. Breadth in his torso to match
his long limbs, a hint of stubble-shadow darkening his upper lip and the fine
line of his jaw, those would help. But there was a maturity to his expressions,
a polished lack of plasticity to his movements-- Conan moved like someone used
to curling against another person, rather than sprawling thoughtlessly across
an entire sofa and whichever casual friends might be trying to eat pizza there.
The glasses had little to do with it.
They didn't make Conan look more vulnerable, either, exactly. That impression
of target, imprinted in the cultural consciousness, had never touched Conan;
the notable occasions when he'd been attacked had been for his youth, for the
intelligence in him cornering the rats of the world, and had nothing to do with
his glasses or lack thereof. Conan's entire bearing, from six-again on, had
negated whatever perception of vulnerability that the glasses could have
conferred. However, there was something more... guardedabout those oversized
lenses shielding his face. Something almost opposed to the usual impression;
somehow, the glasses made Conan look more defended, more like he could handle
whatever came his way, like the dark walls encircling a castle made it
obviously stronger than the open grandeur of a manor house.
And Kaitou Kid had always been untouchable.
So surely... since they were so very capable, so much moreso than the teenager
Shin'ichi had been, even more than the laughing teenager Kaito had been...
surely Saguru was allowed to be curious. Even if he never imposed that
curiosity upon them, which he most certainly wouldn't.
But. They would be so very... something, together. The untouchable, gymnastic
Kid, and the force of nature that was Edogawa Conan.
And now was really not the time to remember that Conan had some very nice
attributes from his predilection for soccer.
 
-0-0-0-
 
It was not the first time that Kaitou Kid had pinned Saguru to the overly plush
rug of a target's floor, nor would it be the last. It certainly wasn't the
first time that the powdery scent of makeup had given way to waxy lipstick on
Saguru's tongue, nor the first time that the chain dangling from the monocle
had yanked pinpricks of hair loose. It wasn't even the first time that warm,
suede-covered fingers had tugged at the buttons of Saguru's shirt, his slacks,
the buckle of his belt, and slid in to grip with a singularly perfect, cloth-
roughened glide.
It was, however, the first time that thin, bare fingers had flicked over a
nipple, Saguru's eyes flying open to the fading image of twoblue-eyed,
bespectacled faces looming over him.
That was nothow the fantasy was supposed to play out.
Crap.
 
-0-0-0-
 
It would, of course, be the fault of Kuroba's impeccably evil timing that had
the pair of them lounging against the vending machine where Saguru got his
morning coffee, the very first morning after his fantasies had begun starring
them both. Saguru sighed, as always, but stepped up and fed the machine yen,
making their selections -- a double black for Edogawa, milk for himself, and
(Saguru allowed himself a hint of amusement) a cheery pink-canned mocha for
Kuroba.
If it weren't for the fact that these days, their presence meant a heist note
in three days, Saguru would've walked right on past, and damn the conclusions
they might have inferred from that.
It didn't help his composure one whit when he passed the coffees out and met
near-identical flashes of amusement -- come share the joke, come play with us-
- which made his cheeks go warm.
"Hakuba-san?" Kuroba asked.
"Are you all right?" Edogawa finished, and good lord why had he never noticed
before how very easily they did that?
"Quite," Saguru answered on automatic.
"Uh huh." Kuroba snapped his fingers, tugging a yellow rose out of Saguru's
hair.
The bright blossom made his eyes flash in contrast, an instant's meeting before
Saguru hastily turned away. He covered up the move by opening and taking a sip
of his drink. Of course, that would hardly fool Kuroba, much less Edogawa.
Kuroba smirked behind the rose. "The suspect is exhibiting behaviors contrary
to his usual comportment," he said, a hint of Saguru's own accent in the words.
"Inability to meet one's eyes."
"No greeting," Edogawa added. "No comments about the next heist."
"Overly tight grip on the suitcase." Dammit, Saguru thought. Kuroba continued,
"Sweat on the forehead. Flushed face. Aaaaaand..." Kuroba poked at Saguru's
face again, this time pulling off a liquid crystal thermometer, making a show
of checking the color-changing squares. "No fever," he announced cheerfully.
"So," he bopped Saguru lightly on the nose with the flower, "'fess up."
Half-truths would have to suffice. "Do recall the last time Edogawa-kun and I
met."
Three, two, one... and there was Edogawa's unnervingly fetching blush.
Kuroba's smirk widened into a delighted grin. He promptly caught the smaller
detective in a half-hug that no one besides Kuroba -- and Kaitou Kid, had the
threat of capture not barred him from doing it -- would dare in public.
"Tantei-kun," he purred, as if he didn't know exactly what Saguru was talking
about, "I sense a story. You've not been sharing with the class!"
Edogawa sputtered. Saguru tipped his coffee in a farewell, murmured, "I'll see
you in three days," and took the opportunity to escape.
 
-0-0-0-
 
It was several weeks before he gave in and just started the fantasies with both
of them included.
 
-0-0-0-
 
Another month, another heist, and there were barely ten minutes between Kid
winking from Saguru's own face, and the selfsame man opening the closet door to
drop a bound and gagged and absolutely lividEdogawa Conan on Saguru's lap. He
even had the audacity to wave a cheerful farewell before closing and locking
the door once more.
Conan wriggled, hands slipping just across exactly the wrong spot, before he
managed to get himself sitting up and noticed that -- unlike most heists -
- this time Kid had stolen most of Saguru's actual clothes for his disguise,
leaving only socks and a pair of thankfully unembarrassing boxers to cover
Saguru's modesty. Conan's eyes flew wide, flickering downwards instinctively
before meeting Saguru's own furious stare. "Mmph?"
Saguru grunted something affirming and nearly sarcastic behind his own gag.
"Hnn," Edogawa agreed. Then, with considerable effort, he rolled off Saguru's
lap and onto his knees, bound hands beckoning Saguru to bend down. Saguru
frowned, eyeing the space. It wouldn't be entirely good for his hips, the way
Kid had left him seated in tailor-fashion, but he would be able to get his face
in range of Edogawa's fingers...
He'd just close his eyes and pretend he was absolutely nowhere near Edogawa's
posterior. Perhaps pretend that Kid had tied Edogawa's hands in front... no,
no, that would be impossible, since Edogawa would in that case have been able
to reach both their gags and his ankle bindings without any inappropriate
positioning. (After this was all over, perhaps Saguru should also delicately
inform the boy that he was getting too old to wear shorts anymore.)
So Saguru closed his eyes and bent, feeling Edogawa's fingers fumble against
the cloth, tugging painfully until the wet cotton jerked down over Saguru's
chin and free. A patted nudge indicated Saguru should sit up once more, so
Saguru did, spitting out the wad of muffling cloth.
"Thank you," he rasped.
In answer, Edogawa turned and plopped himself back into Saguru's lap. One soft,
cloth-covered cheek butted pointedly up against Saguru's mouth.
Of course. "Pardon me," Saguru murmured, pressing his mouth over the gag and
thinking only of the logistics of getting the cloth off without biting Edogawa
in the process. Tongue under, pull, lose the grip... nibble at one of the
wrinkles, tug gently, get a mouthful of threads... hm. Tongue under, press the
tip behind the teeth, bite very carefully, pull... slip a bit closer to
Edogawa's mouth, maneuver over the lower teeth, over the chin... there.
Saguru leaned politely away as Edogawa worked his jaw, trying to get moisture
back into his mouth. Then...
"He's recording this, you know."
It felt like an ice bomb went off in Saguru's stomach. "He... what?"
Edogawa gave him a fierce little smile. "Kid sets up his favorite detectives in
a funny situation like this, and you think he wouldn't make sure he got to see
how it plays out?"
Well. Put thatway... "I'm going to strangle him."
"Get in line," Edogawa replied dryly. "Any thoughts on untying either of us?"
"My mouth isn't that nimble," Saguru answered before he'd quite thought it
through. Then he felt himself go red again.
Edogawa burst out laughing.
And that was how the Task Force found them, five minutes later.
 
-0-0-0-
 
Saguru had almost managed to lock away the memory of Conan's cheek under his
tongue, the youth's open laughter and warm weight, by the next evening.
He yawned as he came in from the bath, a thin yukata belted loosely around his
waist. Pajamas from the drawer, robe on the hook to dry, put away the handcuffs
he'd left on the bed...
... Wait.
... He never left handcuffs on his bed. Much less laced white ribbons through
them with cards attached.
You photograph very well! Thank you! O_^
The room whited out for a moment, Saguru's palms flaring up with the need to
throttle the smirking bastard, then it all drained away in a single rushing
thought.
There was only one way to truly combat the thief.
Smirking, Saguru clipped the cuffs around his bedpost, then went to look for a
particular gag gift he'd recieved a few years back...
 
-0-0-0-
 
The look on Kuroba's face when Saguru showed up at the arcade, of all places,
would've been payback enough for the other night. However, the spit-take upon
reading the English on Saguru's T-shirt -- "Detectives Do It Meticulously" -
- was simply priceless.
Kuroba recovered almost immediately, laughing in pure delight. "Tan-- Hakuba-
san, you're advertising!"
There were several possible responses to that. Saguru settled on a dry, "You
would know better than I."
Kuroba paused, then stared at Saguru as if he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.
Which he had, if Saguru was correct about how good with wordplay Kuroba was;
Saguru certainly meant the triple entendre there. Kid's penchant for publicity,
his relationship with Edogawa, a flirting hint that he should know how Saguru
was in bed...
Oh yes. This was very much Kid's battlefield. And Saguru was one of the few
people who could operate there.
It promised to be an enjoyable afternoon.
 
-0-0-0
 
Just two days later, on the 18th, Saguru's cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He
picked it up, his "Moshi moshi?" echoing with that of the person on the other
end of the line. It was a bad habit, how he spoke first like that, and a habit
which constantly confused his Japanese callers, but he had yet to break it.
Though the owner of the voice on the line had spent enough time in America to
understand the custom. "Edogawa-kun?"
"Hakuba-san." The youth sounded remarkably cheerful for someone who'd been
videotaped in a compromising position with him just a few days before.
Especially considering -- Saguru felt his cheeks go warm -- that he and Kid had
probably watched the tape again. Together. "Are you busy this weekend?"
"Ah?" That sounded oddly like... no. Saguru's imagination was playing tricks on
him, associating the wrong train of thought with the question. "I am
considering attending the mystery convention in Niigata."
"Perfect. I got VIP passes from a relative," Edogawa explained, as if he'd
rehearsed the phrase until he didn't attempt to say 'father'. "Heiji's got a
kendo tournament and Kaito's on a business trip. Though you know he'd prank the
other guests anyway..." Edogawa trailed off, a moment long enough for Saguru to
easily envision the chaos that would ensue. "And there are only two passes, so
my friends would get jealous if I picked one of them."
"I don't know," Saguru demurred politely. "I couldn't possibly impose."
"They were free," Edogawa pointed out. "And I'd hate to let them go to waste."
"I really..."
"It would be terribly inconvenient to have to search you out to introduce you
to Kudou Yuusaku."
Saguru's heart skipped a beat. "Ku... Kudou Yuusaku."
"Mm-hm," Edogawa agreed. "He'll probably be sneaking into the suite to hide
from the crowds a few times. You can help me carry takeout for us."
"I see, I am to be a pack mule." And a peer for company. It made sense. "Well,
if you insist..."
"Great! Is it more convenient to leave tonight or tomorrow?"
Saguru blinked, then shuffled rapidly through his mental timetables. Ah. There
was an overnight rapid express from Tokyo to Niigata, and with the schools on
holiday, they could get a Seishun 18 ticket to share for a fifth the price of
the Shinkansen. "Tonight will be adequate. Shall I see you then?"
"I'll buy the ticket, and meet you at the platform?" Edogawa suggested.
"Quarter to eleven?"
"Until then, Edogawa-kun." And Saguru hung up. Only then did it hit him: he was
going to be sharing a room with Edogawa for the next several days. With the
memories of the last heist fresh in his mind.
Saguru thunked his head against the wall.
 
-0-0-0
 
10:42 pm, and Shinjuku Station was still swarming with passengers. Drunken
salarymen stumbled past clubgoers, leering at the girls' short skirts;
restaurants rang with indistinct conversation and the clattering of dishware.
Saguru located the entrance to the platforms and waited, out of the flow of
traffic.
Edogawa jogged up two minutes and thirty-six seconds later, a battered and age-
appropriate (age-inappropriate) rucksack slung over his right shoulder... was
that a deerstalker keychain hooked onto the zipper pull? Saguru would have to
find out where he'd bought it... "Hakuba-san!"
"Edogawa-kun." The youth looked up at him with a bright and disarmingly open
expression on his face. Who knew the telltale convention mood would affect him
as much as the more average fan?
After exchanging the usual pleasantries, they headed to the train, making their
way aboard with only a few minutes left til departure, and located their
section and paired seats in relatively short order. As Saguru lifted his
suitcase onto the rack above them, Edogawa slinging his rucksack under the
seats at the lower edge of his vision, he caught another flicker of movement
from the corner of his eye on the other side.
A trio of girls sat clustered some two rows further back on the far side of the
aisle, whispering behind their hands and pointing into a beribboned notebook
held between them. One was wearing a pink plaid deerstalker cap. Oh good lord.
Beside him, Edogawa straightened to sidle into his seat, and the girls
brightened further. Then the one in the pink hat noticed Saguru's eyes on them.
She bounced -- Saguru mentally winced, even as his eyes inadvertently followed
the topography of her lavender shirt -- and apparently took that as a greeting.
Beaming, the girl chirped, "All the world travels tonight!"
Edogawa's head snapped around, faint horror flashing through his eyes at the
quote.
"I do hope not," Saguru replied, as neutrally as he could. Please let there be
no sleeper car. The last thing they needed was a reenactment of the Orient
Express. Politely tipping his head, "Ladies," Saguru nudged Edogawa into the
window seat and took his own beside him.
"I think they're going to the convention," Edogawa eventually said, voice
carefully not spooked.
"I believe so as well," Saguru agreed. "I also believe they recognized us."
"Nng."
Saguru allowed himself a smirk of amusement. Then, as the whistle blew and the
train jolted into motion, he squirmed to a semi-comfortable position in the
cramped train seat, folded his arms across his chest, and settled in for a long
night.
 
-0-0-0
 
A low, warbling, muffled cry brought Saguru snapping awake, though he didn't
move. Not now, he thought, Agatha Christie's timeless ploys still near the
forefront of his mind. Please not now. There was a warm weight against his
shoulder, short hair against his cheek... a subtle tension in that frame that
belied Edogawa's apparent sleep. Saguru mentally cursed, but did what he
supposed Edogawa was doing: listening for a further clue, attempting to peer
through his lashes to locate those seats which had been emptied since they
slept.
Minutes passed, with only the soft susurration of their breathing, the clack of
the train wheels below.
Then the bathroom door some six rows down opened, and a middle-aged, somewhat
portly woman tumbled out, flush-faced and slightly rumpled. She glanced over
the car -- Saguru continued to fake sleep -- and headed down the aisle past
them.
A faint, unmistakable scent clung to her as she passed. Abruptly, Saguru felt
Edogawa go even more tense, holding his breath and trembling slightly against
him.
Honestly. Some people had no sense of decency. Though, admittedly, it was a
little funny...
The bathroom door opened once more, releasing a balding, pencil-necked little
man who looked rather like an accountant. Edogawa began shaking even harder.
... All right, it was downright hilarious. What was the locomotive equivalent
of the Mile-High Club, anyway?
Edogawa was still snickering when they pulled into Niigata.
 
-0-0-0
 
The Toki Messe convention center was a relatively sprawling complex in the
harbor mouth of the Shinano River, a towering office building anchoring it at
the seaward end. The upper floors of said building were a hotel, every room
with a stunning view of the Sea of Japan over a wedge of city, but Saguru had
fallen asleep in their suite before he could notice more than the dawn coloring
the western sky a familiar shade of blue -- now where had he seen that color
before...
When he woke again, fading memories of the sky in a hatband over a gleaming
full moon, it was dismayingly bright outside, easily noon. And he smelled
coffee.
Thank heavens. Though he could hear voices, plural, and they didn't have the
faint undertone of electronics and rehearsals... so they had a guest, which
meant Saguru couldn't go shuffling out in his sleepwear. Not that he would,
even had it just been Edogawa.
So he quickly, albeit blearily, located his suitcase and changed into slacks
and a buttondown shirt. No need for a belt this soon after sleeping, nor a
tie... oh, fine, may as well leave the top button undone, considering. He
really needed to hang up his clothing once he'd breakfasted -- or lunched, as
the case may be -- and woken up fully, his garments were already getting
rumpled.
One more yawn, a brush of fingers through his hair -- it wasn't as if the rest
of him looked properly groomed, and their visitor was just going to have to
accept that -- and Saguru stepped out into the suite's office area. The
conversation stilled, Edogawa and an older, moustached man turning identical,
amused looks on him.
Kudou Yuusaku. Suddenly, Saguru was painfully aware of his less than impeccable
appearance.
Edogawa's gaze flicked down to Saguru's collar and back, something bright
flashing through his eyes. But he merely stood, the famed author doing the
same, and made a polite little bow between them. "Dad, Hakuba Saguru-san."
Kudou's eyebrow shot upwards, even as Edogawa went on, "Hakuba-san, my father,
Kudou Yuusaku."
"Pleasure," Saguru said, accidentally in chorus with Kudou.
But Kudou didn't remark on it, simply gesturing for them all to sit once more.
"Hakuba-san? You follow the Kaitou Kid's career, do you not?"
Saguru sat, smirking ruefully as Edogawa handed him a takeaway cup of far
better quality coffee than the instant available in the hotel suite. "Inasmuch
as one can call it that, yes. Sometimes I wonder if I'm gaining more experience
with Nakamori-keibu's expansive vocabulary than anything else."
Kudou chuckled. "That's Kaitou Kid for you." He sipped at his own coffee, and,
with a piercing look, added, "Quite the surprise, that a fellowship on the Task
Force would result in gaining Conan's confidence enough for..."
The introduction as Edogawa's father, Saguru understood as clearly as if it had
been spoken. "Ah. Hardly the case, Kudou-san." At Kudou's expression, Saguru
added, "I deduced such matters myself some years ago, through means that I
later ensured others would be unable to replicate."
"I see." More coffee, as the man considered this. Then he beamed. "I'll have to
tell Yukiko she hasn't missed out on spoiling Conan's romantic weekend getaway
after all!"
Saguru very nearly choked. "I begyour pardon!"
"DAD!"
"She was terribly disappointed when it turned out she couldn't come," Yuusaku
mused aloud, still with that bright smile that Saguru suspected was kin to
Kaitou Kid's. "Tickets for two to a mystery convention on the sea... your
mother had such plans."
"Knew there was a catch," Edogawa muttered, face bright red and muffled in one
hand.
"But it's a moot point after all," Kudou finished cheerfully.
Moot point. Yes. Very moot. Completely not a point at all. ... plans?
"I'm going to regret asking," Edogawa said, the words torn out reluctantly one
by one. "But... plans?"
Kudou just grinned, shook his head, and handed over a folded printout.
"Dad! What. Plans... ooh." Edogawa unfolded the flyer, eyes shining behind his
glasses.
Saguru stared for a moment. He'd never heard of Edogawa being so easily
derailed, much less witnessed it for himself. So he leaned over to get a look
at the paper, which turned out to be the convention schedule.
Plans? What plans? Kudou Yukiko apparently wasn't here anyway to implement
whatever they were. Ooh, live theatre, that was unusual...
"Gotta go to There's Always A Holmes Panel," Edogawa murmured.
"I would like to see the new American Holmes movie," Saguru replied. "And
Finney's Murder on the Orient Express."
"Both plays, of course."
"Of course." Saguru shifted closer, lifting the edge of the paper to get a look
at the other side. Oh dear... Some little imp of a shoulder angel glided into
Saguru's mind with a tiny burst of confetti. He had to. Oh yes. "They're
showing Koumei-kun (From Second Grade Class A)on Sunday."
Edogawa gave him a withering look. "My boyfriend knows where you sleep."
Handcuffs and white ribbons certainly proved that. "And yet," Saguru affected a
sigh, "it would never hold up in court."
That got a half-stifled snort of amusement out of both Edogawa and Kudou, and
Edogawa turned back to the program as Kudou stood. "I'll leave you kids to it,
then," Kudou said. "I have to go make an appearance near my assigned room so
the stalkers --"
"Editors," Edogawa coughed.
"-- don't go finding this one." He inclined his head at Saguru -- Saguru did
the same, Kudou's formality clashing with Edogawa's casual refusal to budge,
stifling his usual manners -- and tossed his credit card on top of the room
service menu. "I'll return for lunch in, oh, say an hour?"
"I'll get you natto," Edogawa answered sarcastically.
"Behave." And then Kudou left.
Edogawa rolled his eyes, another soft sound of amusement in his throat. "He's
one to talk. So." Blue eyes slid Saguru's way. "We have an hour."
"And I believe that is my cue to make use of the shower and ironing board,"
Saguru answered smoothly, with the oddest sense that he was dodging a bullet.
Perhaps he was.
 
-0-0-0
 
"--so if you take into account that Mycroft-- Oh my god." Edogawa stopped short
in the middle of the crowded hallway, eyes huge and shocked.
Saguru followed his gaze. "What...?" Oh. Oh. There was absolutely no mistaking
the cosplayer of himself posing for a picture just across the corridor. "Just
keep walking."
Edogawa didn't move. "Oh my god Hakuba."
"I noticed." It was very difficult not to, considering she was wearing platform
shoes to put her a half-head above most of the crowd. And the tea-blonde hair
was bright as a beacon amongst all the deerstalkers and charcoal gray bowlers
and black top hats.
The thigh-high argyle stockings were, in light of everything else, just a
bonus.
Conan's head swiveled as if on a pivot, keeping the cosplayer in sight even as
Saguru tried to steer him away. "But she's..."
"It's hardly worse than what Kid does to me on a regular basis."
That seemed to spark a connection deep in Edogawa's hindbrain, one which made
him go utterly white. "Does he...?" And Edogawa made a motion in front of his
chest that was completely obvious given the context.
"I have yet to be submitted to that indignity," Saguru admitted. "I believe he
is still stymied by the problem of replacing my clothing with items tailored to
accomodate such feminine excess, without me actually noticing the difference."
Edogawa gave him a speculative look. "... Maybe he's saving it for a special
occasion."
"I have wondered that as well. You have no idea how relieved I was to spend my
entire Coming-of-Age Day in my own choice of clothing."
"Pff. Maybe that was your gift." Edogawa looked ahead once more. "Oh, hey, the
dealer's room is open."
"Holmes panel first," he reminded the youth.
"Ah. Right."
 
-0-0-0
 
So of course the proverbial other shoe dropped at the panel just fifteen
minutes later.
And by other shoe, Saguru meant a body.
 
-0-0-0
 
Saguru had rarely been so incensed in his life. He stormed through the
convention with Edogawa a pained shadow at his side, the two of them cutting
through the crowds far too easily as they fled the crime scene, the Niigata
officers they'd not had any intention of meeting, and the culprit for whom
Saguru didn't have the expletives to describe.
"Insurance fraud," Edogawa repeated, for the eighth time, hissing through his
teeth.
"On accident," Saguru growled back.
"And what sort of-- of--"
"Suicidal moron."
"--yes! Goes smuggling fugu poison in an epi-pen anyway?!"
"A creativeone." Lord, how Saguru could hate innovators. What was so difficult
about cyanide in a drink anymore? At least you couldn't accidentally overdose
someone on that.
Edogawa hissed again, then inhaled deeply, held it for a three-count, and let
go in a clear attempt to calm down. "I'm sorry this ruined the convention."
"Yes, well." Courtesy demanded he face the truth and attempt to respond in
kind. Breathe in, hold -- four, five, six-- and let go. "It is hardly ruined
yet." For themselves, at least. And they would go quite, quite mad if they
hadn't learned to let the cases go once solved. Or at least make some effort at
the semblence of doing so. "We do have the rest of the weekend to go, after
all."
"Oh no, don't jinx us," Edogawa responded wryly. "Next thing you know, we'll be
hip-deep in... uh..." He blinked, staring into the hallway ahead. "... er..."
Saguru followed his gaze. The corridor here opened up into a wider atrium, a
bay for escalators and a few support columns between the packed panel rooms and
the auditorium where the plays would be held in the evening. The crowds thinned
here, with more space and fewer destinations for traffic, enough so that a
young man in shorts and blazer could cruise casually along atop a skateboard.
Saguru blinked. Combed hair, glasses, bowtie, blazer, shorts -- shaved legs
showed the lean, defined muscles of a dancer or gymnast -- clunky sneakers,
skateboard. Back up the legs to hands tucked neatly into pockets, a flash of a
very familiar impishness in an otherwise Edogawa-perfect smirk, and yes that
wasKuroba Kaito cosplaying as his own boyfriend, circa ten years ago when those
shorts were actually age-appropriate.
Er indeed.
Kuroba kicked off the skateboard, catching it in one hand as he stepped up to
them. "Hey."
It was nowhere near as exuberant as Saguru expected of Kuroba.
"You heard," Edogawa deduced.
"Kinda," Kuroba admitted, shrugging. "I was gonna surprise you after the show,
but then I saw the police arriving, and... well." Edogawa's luck, his and
Saguru's complete inability to remain on the sidelines of any incident; it did
not take the proverbial rocket scientist to deduce from there.
Edogawa exhaled long and slow, all the energy draining in a rare moment of
vulnerability. "I'm so sick of it, Kaito," he admitted quietly. (Saguru tried
not to move, tried not to see -- tried not to remind Edogawa that he had more
eyes on him than just Kuroba's -- but it was like watching a castle crumple in
on itself. You couldn't not notice.) "Some days it's so close to just solving
a... a playor something..."
"Hey." Kuroba poked Edogawa in the forehead, stepped around to his side to help
block the view from the majority of the room. "Since when have you done things
the easy way? You're not going to start now." His eyes flicked up, capturing
Saguru's in an unreadable gaze.
Edogawa made a soft sound in his throat, leaning slightly towards Kuroba. "You
never know," he muttered. "Having some nice thoughts of dropping it all and
going to a beach somewhere. Guide dive tours and serve fruity drinks."
"You'd make a nice cabana boy," Kuroba said mildly. "You'd also be bored
senseless in three days flat. Wouldn't he?"
Saguru almost expected Edogawa to tense up, to have forgotten that Saguru was
there, but the teen just rolled his eyes when Saguru answered, "It depends. Is
this a beach with long-lost pirate treasures, or not?"
"Not," Edogawa said.
"I'd give it no more than forty-eight hours, then."
Kuroba snickered. "Depends on how much he's 'sleeping'."
"I cantake a vacation, you know," Edogawa grumbled, pretending not to notice
how Kuroba was running through a quick succession of highly suggestive
expressions. "I'm supposed to be on one right now, in fact. Without my
doppelganger," he added, giving Kuroba a fake-sour glance. "What are you doing
here?"
"I'm going to take that as a rhetorical question," Kuroba replied cheerfully.
Edogawa rolled his eyes, then looked wryly at Saguru. "Would you like to take
this one, or should I?"
Saguru let himself smile a bit. "And Then There Were None."
"Out here and out of costume this close to the performance, he's not in time-
consuming makeup," Edogawa chimed in.
"A young man." The play had few of those. "The first victim, Anthony Marsten."
"Bingo." Kuroba winked. "'A rich, spoiled, good-looking man with a well-
proportioned body, crisp hair, tanned face and blue eyes, known for his
reckless driving.' It's like it was written for me."
"Christie was precognitive," Saguru drawled. "Who knew."
"So, I've got an hour before I need to be backstage getting dressed, and you
two look like you could use some comfort food."
They wound up at a crowded little soba stand on the divider strip of the wide
road outside the convention center, cars passing by on one axis and people on
the crosswalk perpendicular to that. There were plenty of cosplayers more
ostentatious than Kaito-as-Conan -- a full Victorian-gowned Irene carrying a
doll of a placid-faced gentleman who was pointedly not Holmes held pride of
place in Saguru's estimation (finally, someone who recognized the character's
agency and remembered her beloved fiance existed!), but the cars were most
likely slowing and occasionally honking for a pair of teen girls managing a
credible Sexy Goth Holmes and Sexy Kaitou Kid, why god why.
Kaito, to his credit, barely glanced at his Sexy Doppelganger, not so much as a
snicker tugging mirth into the corners of his mouth or eyes as he crowded Conan
comfortingly up between himself and Saguru. "Food," he ordered. "Performance.
Then I'll go with you to Women of Mystery and keep my mouth shut about Lupin's
Blonde Lady."
"Add your voice to our protests about Irene Adler and you've got a deal."
"Done."
The Women of Mystery panel, as expected, had far too many people completely
unaware of the century of utter defamation that had been committed upon Irene's
character, but with Kaito playing out entire sections of three widely-known
modern depictions -- in pointedly stark contrast to Saguru and Conan quoting
passages from Doyle -- it went fairly well for everyone who wasn't a raving
misogynist or too bedazzled by various of Sherlock's actors for textual
analysis.
The latter, unfortunately, made up a significant section of the panel attendees
and it would've all ended in tears had Kaito not been savvy enough to turn it
into a case of "handsome bishounen detectives sticking up for the ladies"
somehow.
Saguru still did not know how the man did it.
But all in all, the evening turned out well enough, and late that night, with
Conan and Kaito curled up together in the next bed over -- Saguru tried not to
look, and in the dimness only got a vague double-curve of form under blankets
anyway -- Saguru took his nightclothes into the bathroom and shut the door on
the prickling sensation of eyes on him.
A piece of paper fell out of his jacket pocket when he went to hang it up.
What had Kid---?
It was a printout of a security camera still, black and white and somewhat
fuzzy, poorly angled, but yes that was a barely-dressed and captive Saguru, and
yes that was Edogawa perched on his lap with Saguru mouthing at his cheek-- at
the scarf gagging Edogawathat just happened to be very nearly the same color as
soft skin in the fuzzy image. Not at his cheek. Not like that.
The tilt of Conan's head, the curve of his spine and direction of motion, the
way his eyes were trustingly shut, gave the whole picture a very feline
impression of affection.
Saguru rubbed his eyes. He was seeing things. Kid was just messing with him.
Again. That was why he (it had to have been him) was watching when Saguru went
into the bathroom, he had to be hoping for some sort of amusingly peeved
reaction.
Sigh. Not tonight, Kid. I have a headache. Or, rather, without the distraction
of the convention's offerings, he was starting to crash from the day's...
evening's... murder case.
He quietly refolded the paper, replaced it firmly into the pocket as if it'd
never fallen out, and finished changing and went to bed.
 
-0-0-0
 
Saguru spent the second half of August in England, making the rounds of a
cluster of family events -- birthdays of his mother and two cousins, and his
grandparents' anniversary -- culminating in his own birthday on the 29th.
An extra card with international stamps in the post turned out to not be from
his father.
Birthday boy,
A mutual acquaintance informs me that I am Not Allowed to schedule a heist in
honor of your 25th, on penalty of couch. Scavenger hunts, however, are OK. To
that end, the year does not begin on Thursday:
116' 305 67 263 221 207 277 277 67 53 11 263 39 207 277 207 179 11.
Happy hunting!
144 116 46
I could get to hate Kid very much, Saguru thought, phone in hand and pulling up
the wiki page on the ISO calendar. That last trio of numbers was clearly Kid,
but the 144th day of the year was always in the 21st week, except when it was a
leap year beginning on Thursday, not... ah. If one wished to distinguish
between upper and lowercase letters, 52 weeks was ideal, and the days entailed
corresponded to a capitalized KID.
A little tedious plug-and-play later, Saguru had:
I've spotted a scotoma.
A blind spot in a retina, plus a scavenger hunt in London... Off to the ferris
wheel, the London Eye.
The attendant in the ticket booth had another encoded letter, which when
transcribed read:
There was only ever one woman, yet he fired this other's name into the wall.
Memory always omits her husband.
That sent Saguru to the Victoria and Albert Museum, and the clue gained there
to the Tower of London, then to the Golden Boy of Pye Corner, which Kid had no
doubt found too hilarious to pass up. Around and around central London in
circles, until Saguru was footsore, and would've been overheated except that it
seemed every time he was thirsty, a bottle of ice water came with the new note.
At the end of the day, sun lowering and sending long beams of coppery-gold
light down every east-west street, the note at King's Cross was folded around a
locker key and receipt.
The locker turned out to have a brand-new leather satchel in it, tags still
attached but the pricing ripped off, and inside was a card and a small velvet
jewelry box with a slightly smushed bow. The box held a pair of fine silver
cufflinks shaped like running horses; the card, a series of numbers that Saguru
didn't need his phone to translate.
Happy birthday.
 
-0-0-0
 
October 7th:
That quicksilver glint between sun and moon, fluid and white within the six
faces of his mother. He shall take the stairway of similar stone tomorrow.
- Kaitou Kid O_^
"Huh," Conan said, as Kid escaped with the cinnabar stone bindi -- bindu,
technically, for the male, and even more technically an artistic relic from
Indian origins rather than a bindu at all -- from the statue's forehead. "Don't
I feel cheated."
"Dare I ask?"
"It's just that, in the cartoons, when the two heroes are tied up back-to-back
and dangled like this, it's because the villain is lowering them slowly into a
vat of toxic sludge."
Accurate enough, if not quite apropos, since, "Somehow, I don't believe that
fits Kid's MO at all."
Conan fell silent for a long, thoughtful moment, the rope creaking as miniscule
movements against Saguru's back made the two of them sway just a little. "...
You know chocolate is toxic to dogs?"
Now that would fit Kid far too well, if not in public. "Conan-kun. Don't make
me pound my head repeatedly against this Buddha. I'm fairly sure it's
sacreligious."
 
-0-0-0-
 
Halloween brought with it a clip of Michael Jackson's Thriller, specifically
the iconic zombie dance, and a quick Google search netted them the time and
route of Tokyo's zombie walk through Harajuku. It was going to go right past
the Nezu Museum, where there just so happened to be a Chinese bronze mortar
said to have been used by Qin Shi Huang Di's physician to mix up elixirs of
immortality. Which just so happened to have not only failed (obviously) and
probably hastened the emperor's demise (mercury being far from the cure-all it
was believed to be at that period), but. Well.
(Much to Saguru's eternal regret, he hadseen all three of The Mummy movies,
including Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, who was rather obviously Qin Shi Huang Di
by a different name. And a mummy was basically a zombie wrapped up too well to
leave a mess, after all.)
Considering it was completely pointless to try to rip off the faces of people
already in costume, Kid arrived as an anonymous but very skillfully horrifying
member of the zombie walk.
"Check your eyeball!" one overly helpful-irritated Task Force officer yelled as
Kid snatched the mortar, said eyeball bouncing on an overly exaggerated veiny
optic nerve from under his monocle and sending a good (ten, eleven, twelve...)
fifteen percent of the usual dogpile running the other way with their faces
gone ashen green.
Kid paused mid-leap, more a shift of shoulders than anything else, and plucked
the eyeball free with a bewildered little 'now how did that get there' glance
when he held it up. Then, "Catch!" he chirped, and the remaining eighty-five
percent of the Task Force went running out of the line of fire.
Saguru's hand snapped up, and with a sickening squelching slap and a spray of
artificial blood, he slingshotted the damned thing right back at Kid's head.
"Meep!" And Kid ducked out of sight and vanished.
 
-0-0-0
 
November 23rd brought with it a mountain of catered hot lunches and a note:
In honor of Labor Appreciation Day and my hardworking Task Force, there will be
no heists until December. Bon appetit!
- Kaitou Kid O_^
The man had somehow, as Saguru found inside the takeout box with his name on
it, managed to find a source for piping hot Yorkshire pudding, ladled over with
a proper beef roast and veg almost the way Baaya made it.
Strike that. Exactly the way Baaya made it, swedes chopped and mixed in rather
than mashed and hidden under the beef gravy. He really should go call her on
the evidence, even if it let lunch get cold. There was a microwave in the break
room, it would be just fine reheated a little.
... Maybe after one more bite.
Saguru didn't manage to get himself to his phone until after he'd all but
licked the takeout box clean.
"Moshi moshi, Baaya. Are we colluding with thieves now?"
"Of course not," Baaya scoffed. "But he seems to be lowering himself to kitchen
raids now. Are you not keeping the boy busy enough over there?"
Saguru bit back a chuckle. Kitchen raids. As if Baaya ever failed to notice
when someone was in her kitchen, or bothered making fresh, piping hot roast in
the middle of a weekday. "I think you've mistaken the direction in which the
workload flows..."
 
-0-0-0

For its founders were blind to the west, and its king blind to the earth, and
wandered 4725 km into legend.
- Kaitou Kid O_^
 
It was only by virtue of it being nearly Christmas that anyone managed to make
sense of the damn note. Chalcedony was named after Chalcedon, a district of
Istanbul founded within sight of a far preferable harbor on the west bank of
the Bosporus. ("They must've been blind to settle there," has been recorded
repeatedly in antiquity.) There was an aggregate of chalcedony called jasper,
of very nearly the correct spelling and casually identical pronunciation for
Jaspar of the Three Biblical Magi-astrologers, et cetera et cetera to a
carnelian (another chalcedony variant) statuette of the Indo-Parthian king
Gudapharasa or Gondophares, attested in a rock inscription at Takht Bahi,
Pakistan, some 4725 kilometers from Istanbul so on and so forth.
The statuette was exquisite, a tiny and finely detailed carving -- perhaps a
votive offering -- only about the size of Saguru's middle finger, and miracle
of miracles the museum curator packed it away in a padded steel case like an
actual sensible person after showing it to the squad leaders of the Task Force.
Eyeing the assembled squad leaders -- and Saguru and Conan -- for a moment, the
curator bowed slightly and offered the small case to Doi-keibu. "If you would
be so kind as to hide this on your person," he said. "No disrespect to you," he
added to Nakamori-keibu, "but you would be the first target when Kaitou Kid
finds the display case empty."
Nakamori managed to look grumpily chuffed, and yanked at both Doi-keibu and the
curator's faces before letting the carrycase transfer hands.
Then the curator passed out several more identical carrycases. "I took the
liberty of preparing decoys as well," he explained, as Saguru checked that his
case actually was empty (it was), analyzed the dimensions, and tucked his
wallet into the compartment to add proper weight before tucking it away in the
inner jacket pocket where he usually kept said wallet.
Nakamori caught the move and followed suit, then Conan tried the same. His
school uniform, though, didn't have large enough pockets, and he wound up
stuffing it down the back of his shirt, where it settled at the small of his
back above his belt.
Kid really didn't need the invitation there, Saguru thought, as Conan caught
his eye with a tiny, nearly invisible smile. Come play with us.
... Right.
"Cup of coffee says we'll all end up shirtless and shivering by the end of the
night," Saguru murmured as Conan passed by him.
Conan paused. "Andshivering?"
"To a man," Saguru agreed, "As, if you're singled out again," for full-body
makeouts on rooftops or some such, as in the previous spring, "it might get
noticed."
"No Starbucks, no station sludge," Conan replied, and vanished before Saguru
could ask just what he meant by that. (He had the feeling he knew exactly what
it was.)
It turned out that, although he'd been near prescient in his deduction, Saguru
had still underestimated Kid. Upon finding the display case empty, Kid set off
the fire suppression system, then -- with all the carrycases clearly outlined
under wet cloth -- vanished all the officers' clothing from the waist up.
(The handful of female officers wound up with midriff-baring black gym shirts
and a distinct lack of bras, much to their high-pitched outrage.)
The cases landed in a clattering, unlatched pile on one side of the museum
floor; tac vests, uniform shirts, and winter jackets on the other; and Kid
vanished into the developing icy fog approximately thirty-four seconds before
someone stroked Saguru lightly upon his left gluteal fold.
Shirtless, shivering, soaking wet, and only 90 percent certain it was Kid who'd
goosed him, Saguru folded his arms and tried to angle away from the news
cameras as he dug through the piled coats. His own, naturally, just had to be
at the bottom.
"Get that camera OFF!" Nakamori yelled behind him. "And that had better not be
a live feed or I'll have warrants out before you see dawn! And someonefind
Edogawa a coat!"
Ah. Right. Still publicly fifteen. Saguru glanced over his shoulder to see
Conan (slim, lithe, almost snow-pale and pebbling... er, yes, obvious cold) and
tossed the nearest halfway-dry jacket over the youth's head. Whoever owned it
would not begrudge him the loan, or Saguru would know the reason why.
"... Thanks," Conan said belatedly, before wrapping himself warmly up in the
oversized uniform coat. It was warming him quickly despite the damp, if the
rising hint of color to his cheeks was any indication.
"I believe you owe me a decent coffee," Saguru said, for lack of anything else.
That got him a flicker of a smile. "I guess so."
What were they doing? "... Whenever you're ready," Saguru allowed. Ah, he'd
found his coat. The shirt, however, seemed to be a loss. As in missing entirely
-- there wasn't a scrap of pinstripe in the entire pile -- rather than damaged
beyond wear. He'd just have to make do until he reached a department store...
there should be one open even at this hour some two blocks away...
Oh bloody hell.
The bastard took his wallet.
 
-0-0-0
 
Between one thing and another, Saguru didn't get around to that coffee date -
- appointment, he meant -- with Conan before the next heist had a jade hairpin
disappear from the owner's hair and the post-heist headcount came out wrong.
Saguru double-checked, even as he started mentally cursing his karma. Seventy-
three, seventy-four, seventy-five, not a single extra officer marked on the
checklist, and not a single Edogawa Conan, either.
Fuck.
Could the overhormonal senseless idiots not wait to go and... and...
No. No, Kid might be brazen and reckless, and Conan more covertly so -- no one
who went racing about like he'd used to on that bedamned rocket-powered
skateboard of his could argue himself not utterly reckless, even if he put a
good show of being sensible somehow -- but they always had some calculated
assessment behind their stunts. Hormones did not factor into it.
What, then, had happened to Conan?
Saguru left Division One combing the scene for evidence -- hopefully something
would turn up that wasn't covered in confetti -- and returned to the office
with the Task Force to assess and put together a timeline of events.
... A timeline that wasn't going to be necessary, he found upon entering his
cubicle.
Speed dial six. Why he had Major Crimes on speed dial... sigh. This was his
life.
"Moshi moshi, Megure-keibu. I've found Edogawa-kun," Saguru said, one arm up
over his head to beckon Nakamori over. "Seems it's just another Kid prank."
Conan lay asleep and probably drugged on the carefully cleared desktop, a book
and folded-up shirt pillowing his head where the stolen jade hairpin had been
somehow wound into his telltale cowlick. "The matter also seems to have been
returned to our jurisdiction, as it would appear he's committed an additional
theft. Our apologies for calling you out so late."
As Megure made polite noises about it not actually being a problem and being
simply relieved that Edogawa was all right, Nakamori stopped short at Saguru's
shoulder and choked at his first sight of the youth.
"Yes, thank you. Good night, Megure-keibu." And Saguru hung up and turned to
Nakamori. "Has anyone reported an expensive kimono ensemble going missing?"
Along with the jade hairpin, Conan had been left in perfectly arranged teal
furisode, sleeves trailing over the sides of the desk and tabi-socked feet
tucked demurely together. The long cuffs of the sleeves were edged in violet
flowers (lucky bamboo and plum) and hexagons symbolizing turtles, and bright
white and gold cranes flew over the skirt and up on one shoulder. The obi was
done in more gold with cloudy silver-violet patches of shibori pockmarks.
The way the obi was tied on Conan's back wasn't really used for Coming-of-Age,
as best Saguru could tell. Nor were cranes or turtle motifs. It looked a lot
more... huh.
"Perhaps best inquire around the division for stolen bridalwear," Saguru added
neutrally. "Kid seems to have selected for cost rather than appropriate
subject."
He also seemed to have taken some classes on proper wearing of a kimono, though
it was assuredly easier to put one on someone else. Conan managed to look quite
nice in the thing, at least.
And he was going to forget he ever thought that.
Eventually.
 
-0-0-0
 
Saguru completely failed to be surprised come February, when Kid yet again went
for something Valentine-themed. Far too many rich chocolate-lovers seemed to
default to some variation of "Hershey Kiss" whenever they found a gemstone even
vaguely the right shape and of arguably chocolatey color.
This particular instance was a piece of clear yellow beryl, hinting more
towards green than brown, yet the owner had proclaimed it "green tea chocolate"
and put it in the alcove of his garden teahouse.
Kid's predictable escape came with a shower of tiny parachutes carrying bundles
of... what else... heart-shaped green tea chocolates.
Well, at least they tasted good.
 
-0-0-0
 
March's stone turned out to be a sister to February's, a maxixe aquamarine gone
white from improper lighting and due to be irradiated back to its original deep
blue.
Saguru was quite sure he'd seen a scrap of white silk and lace disappearing
into Conan's pocket during the chase.
 
-0-0-0
 
April brought with it a pink jasper called the Stone Hanami -- it had white
inclusions that somewhat resembled a tree in full bloom -- and a stakeout not
at all fitting the dictionary definition of the term.
Pinned down upon a fluffy picnic blanket in the park, croquet hoops (or
something very like) pounded into the earth at wrist and ankle, Saguru had an
excellent view of the blooming cherry trees overhead, the varicolored glow of
streetlights and paper lanterns outside his field of vision, and the full moon
behind it all.
And of Kuroba Kaito, sake bottle in one hand and picnic basket at his side,
playing guard while most of the Task Force chased 'Kid' on his glider and two
rookies had been sent searching for prybars to lever the croquet hoops out of
the ground without harming either Saguru or Conan.
"Dango?" Kaito asked, waving a little stick of the round treats near Saguru's
mouth. "I bet you guys missed dinner."
"I wonder whose fault that was," Saguru muttered, but opened his mouth rather
than let the sticky syrup of this variety get all over his face. Movement in
the corner of his eye turned out to be Kaito not-so-surreptitiously feeding
sakura mochi to Conan, thumb just brushing at Conan's lip where the only person
who could see it was Saguru.
Then Kaito's attention shifted, though he kept his eyes on Conan. "You know
he's been flirting with you, right?" Kaito asked, and Conan made a muffled
little sound of protest.
Saguru could only stare, aghast.
"I mean, not as long as Ihave," Kaito added, "but that's partly logistics and
stuff. So." He paused. "Just putting that out there." And he took a bite of
onigiri so that Saguru couldn't expect an answer if he asked him why--
Hm. Why would Kaito bother to mention it at all? Particularly that it was
mutually done? Flirting was harmless, nothing to worry either of them, not with
how invested they both were -- had to be -- in their relationship. So why...?
Saguru narrowed his eyes, mind ticking away as he accepted more of the
proffered dinner in bite-sized pieces.
There were two hypotheses that fit rather well. The more plausible, of course,
was a simple reassurance. I.e. "no, you aren't imagining things, we don't mean
any harm, you're just someone safe to practice on". Conan was getting old
enough to need the charisma and social networking skills of an adult, after
all, of which flirting and charm were of regrettable import. However, he wasn't
in the usual teen situation where awkward overtures could clash harmlessly or
rope him into going on a couple of dates before things died off.
The less plausible...
Saguru would need to consider thatone very, very carefully.
 
-0-0-0
 
May 4th dawned with a package resting on Saguru's dresser, a package that had
not been there when he went to bed.
Since Saguru was unharmed, and his sleep had gone undisturbed, the package
would most likely be safe and the suspect list was short to the point of
singular. After all, Baaya only provided gifts upon gift-giving occasions, of
which this was not one, and she preferred to deliver them after breakfast.
It wouldn't be a notice, though, not unless -- Saguru flicked through his
mental astronomical calendar -- not unless Kid had taken to working on the new
moon for once.
He padded over to the dresser and examined the gift.
The package was flat, perhaps three centimeters thick and fifteen square, and
sat politely tucked into a high-end plastic shopping bag. The bag was a rich
brown color with a gold logo, an outlined diamond with HS cast at a diagonal to
it. Saguru didn't recognize the shop, so knowledge of the location wasn't
important. (Kid would be careful to pick someplace Saguru did know if that was
a factor.) The way the bag's top had been folded under was unremarkable.
Saguru tipped the bag, and out slid a clear-topped box of chocolate truffles.
Sixteen of them, set individually in a gold plastic lining tray, dark chocolate
shells swirled with decorative white and milk in the encoded patterns most
consumers couldn't interpret. Saguru set that aside as a possible numerical
code, as sixteen was far too small a sample size to analyze an alphabet or
syllabary from.
(For the record, the swirls indicated there were likely two caramel, two
seafoam or brittle, one each of milk tea and coffee, one each of rum, amaretto,
champagne, and cognac -- albeit without indication as to whether they were
actually alcoholic, though Saguru suspected not -- a chestnut and a hazelnut,
and four of Saguru's favorite, praline.)
No note.
The barcode sticker on the underside of the box was not, in fact, a barcode at
all. It certainly resembled one at a glance, however there were fifteen
internal digits rather than twelve.
3 || 1989894 || 22181040 ||
The uneven nature of the bars above seemed to darken and lighten too evenly, as
well, subdiving the internal numbers further into a 4-3-3-5 digit scheme, ie
1989 894 221 81040.
Well. His first impulse for 221 would always be the icon himself, Sherlock
Holmes. Who would be an H.S. in proper Japanese order. And 1989 was far too
recent a year to not immediately stick in Saguru's mind as such, specifically
the year that began the current Heisei period. And who was lauded as the long-
missing Heisei Holmes? Saguru asked himself rhetorically.
894 (he-ku-shi, or be-ku-shi) sounded vaguely close enough to Beika-shi,
particularly considering Saguru still had hints of an accent noticeable in how
his -e sounded like -ei, but 81040... Saguru had no idea about that one. Still,
he had enough to deduce Edogawa Conan and the address he knew for the Kudou
residence. But what would Kid be doing pointing Saguru there today---?
A long-shredded and -burned file opened itself up in Saguru's memory, one line
of demographic information all but highlighted near the top.
May 4th.
Sixteen chocolates.
The law in Japan was thirteen, with varying prefectural ordinances requiring
parental approval up to twenty ("Tickets for two to a mystery convention on the
sea... your mother had such plans."), however in England and therefore by
Saguru's internalized morals... Edogawa Conan reached the age of consent today.
Physically, at least.
Saguru took a fortifying breath, and with hands that didn't shake, opened the
box and lifted out the lining, chocolates and all.
Three individual condoms -- golden orange, white, and blue, as if to hammer the
point home -- lay nestled together at the center of the box.
"All right," Saguru managed to murmur, and his voice held steady. "The less
plausible hypothesis it is." He really should be long inured to the fact that
with Kid, the most likely option... isn't.
 
-0-0-0
 
Kaito answered the door wearing nothing but a very familiar pinstriped shirt,
two sizes too big and buttoned only at the relevant point for Saguru to be 80%
certain he was not wearing underwear.
"... Well," Saguru managed after a moment. "I'd wondered where that went. A
belated Happy Christmas, I suppose."
"It was veryhappy," Kaito replied, grin quirking just a bit into a leer. Saguru
had certainly walked into that one, hadn't he. "Come on in."
The interior of the old Kudou mansion was dim and overheated, the latter in
clear deference to Kaito's lack of clothing and very likely his equal lack of
intention to dress properly later in the day, and Saguru gratefully allowed his
jackets -- both windbreaker and suit -- to be taken in a snap of fingers and
scented smoke. Inasmuch as 'allowed' ever was a factor in such, anyway.
Two sizes too big aside, Saguru's shirt was still just barely long enough to
cover Kaito's (very nicely toned) assets, and it was difficult to pull his eyes
up from Kaito's slender legs (carefully undertoned enough to disguise as a
young lady) as Kaito led him into a tatami room bright with diffuse sunlight
coming through closed shoji screens. The simplicity of the space didn't seem at
all the man's style, and at Saguru's quirked eyebrow, Kaito explained, "The
other rooms use curtains for privacy. I figured it's too nice out to sit around
in the dark like that."
"I see," Saguru murmured, and then tried notto see as Kaito left for the
kitchen, the tail of the stolen shirt flirting with showing too much as Saguru
settled himself down onto the pillow next to the low table.
Kaito was going to be the death of him, he just knew it. (The three condoms
suddenly felt very present in his pocket.) Saguru sighed, pinched the bridge of
his nose, and let his eyes rest blindly on the design of the waiting tea set.
It took a long moment for the crossed pastel lines to make sense.
"May the fourth, indeed." Saguru shook his head at the lightsaber-patterned
cups. "Where does he even find these things?"
Kaito returned with a pitcher of hot water, somehow managed to sit seiza
without any wardrobe malfunctions, and soon enough Saguru ended up with a cup
of a robust black tea that was almost, but not quite, his preferred English
afternoon blend (splash of cream, damn his brain, and no sugar).
"So."
"So," Kaito replied in the exact same voice, though he was slipping: his
mimicry of Saguru had a thread of restrained laughter noticeable in it.
Well. Might as well run with the irreverence. He put on his most supercilious
teenage mannerisms for a moment and said, "I have only one question."
Kaito actually blinked. "Seriously?" he asked. "That's what you're going with?"
"I'm not discarding the possibility of followup questions," Saguru admitted.
But if Kaito of all people wished for this to be taken seriously, "Would this
invitation be for a singular occurance?"
"... That's not exactly got a yes or no answer," Kaito hedged. Because of
course he would nitpick like that. Granted, Saguru did the same with a great
many other topics most people would reduce to a binary. Kaito continued, "It's
not that we don't like you, obviously, but we don't like you like that. But
that doesn't mean 'sometime again' isn't on the table." He paused, then with a
thoughtful little smirk, added, "'On the table's' probably an 'if this happens
again' anyway."
Oh good lord. "... Sometimes, I hate you very much," Saguru muttered, trying
not to picture it (and damn it all, this table even looked sturdy enough to
take someone's weight). "But I do understand what you mean." And thank
goodness. The attraction was undeniable, but also undeniably shallow and ill-
considered if frequent, given the nature of his career. "I am amenable. And
flattered."
"Flattery gets us everywhere." Kaito's grin slid back to gleeful. "You've got
the rest of the day free, I hope?"
"I do." Luck of the week being what it was. He might be strongly associated
with the police, but he was a private investigator and few people hired those
on holidays. "Let's discuss logistics."
"Okay, so Conan gets back from lunch with the kids around three..."
 
-0-0-0
 
It was, in fact, 4:20 and twelve seconds, and Saguru's hair (and the collar of
his borrowed yukata, royal blue and old enough to be as soft and clingy as
satin) had long since dried, when the front door clunked open. "Tadaima!" Conan
called. "Sorry I'm late, they let the newbie take statements."
Kaito met Saguru's eyes, bleak weariness -- only recognizable because it
matched Saguru's -- flashing for a moment before Kaito stood. "Okaeri!" he
called back. He leaned against the doorframe, letting the shirt slip free of
one shoulder in a move so artistic as to be calculated, and past him Saguru
could see movement in the hall. "How bad was it?"
"The ambulance got there in time," Conan replied, and a certain tension fled
Kaito's spine. "Disgruntled waiter trying to ruin the restaurant and get rid of
his ex's new boyfriend in one hit. Completely inept poisoner, lucky for the
boyfriend." Long fingers curled around the nape of Kaito's neck and into his
hair, and Conan pulled Kaito in for a long, sweetly-hummed kiss. "Hi."
"Hi," Kaito purred back. "Got you a birthday present."
Conan settled back, surprise flashing across his face. "... I completely forgot
about that while I was out," he said, before peering over Kaito's shoulder.
Another flash of surprise before he lit up. "Saguru-kun! Hello. I --" He
glanced quickly over the room, taking in the lack of anything other than Saguru
and the sparse furniture. "-- wasn't sure you'd come, actually."
"Mm. I value our friendship too much to not at least hear you out," Saguru
replied. "And, as I've found the suggestions Kaito put forth to be quite
acceptable..." He smiled almost shyly. "Happy birthday."
Kaito dropped a kiss against Conan's temple. "Go shower, we'll see you in the
bedroom."
Conan's gaze flickered subtly, unconciously, down Saguru's thinly-clad body,
and he pinked a little. "... Right." And with that, he vanished into the depths
of the house.
Saguru slowly set his cold tea aside and stood. Kaito's hand was warm when he
took Saguru's and tugged, leading Saguru in Conan's wake. Up the stairs, down
the hall, into a small bedroom that was mostly taken up by the bed.
The bed.
Half of Saguru would've -- if he'd thought about it more than to vaguely set
the scene -- expected something ridiculously hedonistic, rich duvets and silk
sheets and piles of pillows in a dozen different shapes, all in dramatic
colors. Maximum comfort for well-used muscles. The other half hovered at the
opposite end of the spectrum, suspecting crisp black and white, a long pillow
to share and a sheet so the oncoming summer heat wouldn't prevent sleeping in
each others' arms. But it was just an ordinary bed. A large one, granted, but
nothing Saguru wouldn't find in millions of middle-class homes across the
globe.
Though the mattress, when Saguru sat gingerly on the edge of it, was one of
those extremely comfortable memory foam ones. So he hadn't been entirely off-
base.
Kid bent slightly to meet his eyes, welcoming, and the shirt gaped all the way
down without any real shadows getting in the way. "You okay?"
"... Yes." Hot-faced and rapidly passing the same state Kid (Kaito, Kaito, what
was wrong with his brain?) was in, though. Ki-- Kaito had too much control,
because Saguru was quite sure he hadn't been anywhere near that long or thick
or... or blood-dark... when they were in the locker rooms in school (he hadn't
been lookingbut there were some things one couldn't help but see), but Kaito
wasn't fully hard yet.
Smirking, on the other hand... Saguru was fairly certain Kid's grin couldn't
get much bigger.
"Safeword's 'stop'," Kaito reminded him.
"We aren't planning anything that kinky." Kaito just raised an eyebrow at him.
... Point taken, three people was pushing comfort zones as it was, and
'safeword' was as good a term as any. "Safeword's 'stop'," Saguru repeated, not
quite sighing.
"Good boy." And Kaito pressed a kiss to his jaw. (Not the mouth, they'd agreed
that was a bit much, considering.) "Mm. Our soap smells good on you." Deft
fingers tugged at one curling tea-blond lock. "And I like the air-dried look.
Very bedhead."
"Much unprofessional. Such sheepdog. Wow," Saguru drawled, deadpan, and Kaito
nipped at a sensitive spot just under his ear.
"2014 called, they want their meme back."
"Suffer." Kaito nipped him again. "No marks." No visible ones, at least.
"... Right. Sorry." And Kaito pulled back a little, sinking, tugging open
Saguru's yukata as he went. He seemed content to leave it once it was
disheveled enough, though, gaping over Saguru's chest and barely bound by the
soft obi over his hips. Warm, rough hands slid into the gaps, thick fingers
stroking over Saguru's sensitive sides and thumbs flicking at the lower swell
of his pectorals-- not over the nipples, though, because of course Kaito could
never take the obvious bait. "Do I need to tempt you running a bit more often?"
he purred, squeezing lightly at Saguru's waist.
Saguru huffed. "I think not," he gritted out as Kaito's fingers wriggled,
searching for a reaction. Shivery electric sensation zinged up from under
Kaito's questing fingertips, just on the edge of unpleasant and almost
impossible for Saguru to stay still for. (He might like teeth there, a good
hard grip, something definite and not this fluttery infuriating barely-there so
much like Kaito always so much like the blasted man sensation--)
"Ticklish?" Kaito purred gleefully.
Yes. "Just sensitive," Saguru replied, but pinned Kaito's hands in place with
his elbows anyway. "There are surely more interesting things you can do with
your hands, aren't there?"
"Mm, massage, I suppose." Kaito's eyes flickered to the nightstand and back.
"You'd manage the well-oiled barbarian slave look pretty well, and if this
weren't our first time I'd try it and damn the sheets."
"Haven't we ruined enough sheets?" Conan asked from the doorway.
He was still damp from the shower, his glasses gone and wearing only a thick
white towel wrapped high on his waist. The towel was large enough to reach well
down his thighs anyway, nothing visible very nearly from navel to knee.
Saguru hadn't realized how broad the youth's shoulders had been getting these
past couple months. Not bulky -- he was built on long and lean lines, and
likely would never be described as sturdy -- but he'd filled out since
Christmas into very much a young man.
Kaito tapped Saguru's jaw closed with one gentle knuckle, turning welcomingly
to Conan. "Meitantei~"
"Whenever I hear you say that, I hear 'mischief'," Conan said, letting Kaito
pull him in close for a long, deep kiss. Saguru quickly busied himself with
untying and folding his obi, setting the neat bundle aside... hm, no, not on
the nightstand, it'd get in the way there, and nowhere on the bed of course...
He draped it over the headboard and hoped that wasn't going to look too
suggestive. Conan finally slipped free of the kiss, and breathily murmured,
"What haveyou got planned?"
"Presents!" Kaito pushed Conan at Saguru. The youth ended up catching himself
on Saguru's shoulders, legs spread to either side of Saguru's knees and very
nearly -- but not quite -- sitting on Saguru's lap.
It took a moment for Saguru to drag his eyes up from the tiny, glistening water
droplet clinging to one peaked, brown nipple, but only a moment. His cheeks
were slightly warm, one hand cupping Conan's bicep and the other... well, his
fist was only doing about as passable a job as Kaito's lone button at covering
his dignity, the thin cotton of his yukata just barely caught between his
fingers, and doing increasingly less well at coverage with every heartbeat. "I
believe this all may be mischief enough?" Saguru managed. "But I believe the
plan is to... ah..."
"Shove you down and let Saguru prove why any girlfriend who dumps him over his
job hasn't an ounce of sense," Kaito finished cheerfully. Then, "Orally," he
clarified, because Saguru apparently wasn't blushing brightly enough for his
tastes.
He certainly was now. "If that's what you would prefer."
The grin that lit up Conan's face could only be called predatory. A shift of
weight, and Saguru lost his grip on the towel as Conan settled on his lap,
barely catching himself on his elbows as their lips met. Conan tasted like mint
and smelled like apples and soap, and of something indefinably appealing. His
lithely muscled arms were warm and hard around Saguru's shoulders, twin pebbles
tracing tiny circles against Saguru's chest as Conan moved in minute
adjustments, adjustments that rubbed warm damp rough terrycloth against all of
Saguru's now-exposed sensitive places and made his head spin.
"Hey. Meitantei." Kaito tipped Conan's chin up with gentle fingers, tugging
them apart just enough for their lips to part with a nearly inaudible wet
sound. "It's your day off. Let us do the work, hm?"
Right. That was... that was the idea. Not to get overwhelmed by a skilled,
eager mouth and damp flesh and warmth perched heavily on... on... oh... that
tiny little hip movement was cheating again. Saguru tightened his abs, caught
Conan by the hips, and toppled them both over onto Conan's back.
Kaito pulled Conan out of Saguru's arms and further up the bed, arranging him
correctly against the pillows and dragging him out of the loosened towel.
Saguru swallowed at the revealed hardness waiting for him, thick and long and
slightly overproportionate, bobbing into an iliac furrow that would make quite
a few art historians and classical sculptors weep.
Or maybe that was just the blood rushing from Saguru's head. Made him fanciful.
Kaito cuddled up against Conan's side, legs off the bed, with the damned shirt
still barely on him and hiding absolutely nothing. The crisp white pinstripes
all seemed to point twinned arrows at the shaft and head peeking indiscretely
and glistening from above the single, straining button, in fact. "Off," Kaito
ordered, and Saguru's yukata fell free under his hands without him even needing
to think about it. "Very nice. Don't you think, Meitantei?"
Conan smacked Kaito's chest with the back of one hand. "Don't embarrass him,"
he said, but his voice had gone rough and deepened, and his legs spread
invitingly, shamelessly under Saguru's gaze. Long fingers stroked lightly over
his stomach. "Please? Don't make me beg on my birthday."
"Oh, do," Kaito countered.
"Not your birthday," Saguru told Kaito. It felt more like it was his own,
really, he thought, as he bent over Conan. Mm, where to start...? Hands.
Settling on Conan's knees, up above where his sparse leg hair petered out, and
rubbing slowly over the bare skin. The youth shivered, goosebumps rising in the
wake of Saguru's hands, and he made a small, pleasured sound that went muffled
in a second breath.
Saguru glanced up the expanse of Conan's body, only to find Kaito had captured
both wrists and had Conan pinned under a kiss, mouths open and the flickering
wet flash of tongue just visible. He glanced away again, returning to the
lovely body under his hands. Long, powerful runner's thighs, still smooth and
hairless along the softest, most sensitive inner sides... the hard jut of the
iliac crest under the sweep of Saguru's thumbs and the press of his palms...
Conan's torso was slender, and would probably remain so for another few years,
the muscles not prominent to the eye but firm to the touch, and his waist
nipped inwards just enough to delineate it, inviting large hands to settle
there... and Saguru's did, for only a moment, only long enough to telegraph
intent before he lowered his mouth to where his thumbs met at Conan's sternum.
"Mmf--" Conan arched up into Saguru's open kiss. Saguru dragged his hands back
down Conan's sides, eliciting another shiver, and circled his grip behind
Conan's thighs. Down, slowly down, and he pulled Conan's knees up over his
elbows. He let his tongue and lips wander over Conan's skin slowly, leisurely,
not quite at random as he bypassed the desperate dark peaks of hard nipples,
following the curve of pectorals underneath and to one side -- the side
opposite Kaito, he didn't need the temptation of cock right there, not when
this was about Conan.
Conan actually squeaked, muffled into Kaito's mouth still, when Saguru's tongue
traced over the curve of his lower ribs. Saguru licked again, more firmly
because this was so often a ticklish spot, then settled in with a careful nip
and began to backtrack lower, over Conan's stomach.
Conan's hips rose pleadingly, and Saguru couldn't help but smirk -- just a
little, just the tiniest bit -- as he nudged Conan's cock out of the way and
suckled the start of a good love bite into the very top of the adductors, his
cheek flush against Conan's perineum and Conan's balls against his ear.
"Please--"
Saguru ignored that and mouthed his way lower on Conan's inner thigh, pushing
Conan's knee higher as he went. He found the gluteal fold -- one of the most
sensitive spots on himself besides the genitals, so hopefully as much so on
Conan -- and Conan's voice went high and breathless.
"Are you rimming him?" Kaito asked, equally breathless.
"No," Saguru hummed right up against the perineum, making Conan writhe. "No
equipment." Then he transferred his attentions to the other side, though not in
the same pattern -- iliac furrow, gluteal fold, a long series of nibbles down
the inner thigh and back up, then a very gentle, puckered, sucking kiss to the
quivering skin just behind where Conan's balls began to fall loose.
Kaito pressed a slick plastic rod into Saguru's hand. "Here," he said. "Try
this."
The dildo -- there was no mistaking the thing -- was perhaps half the width of
a penis, long and curved, and tapered to a blunted, textured point.
It slid right into Conan without a single hitch in his breath, needy wordless
sounds tumbling from his lips and his hips lifting greedily into even the first
thrust. Saguru caught Kaito's gaze, hot and bright on the slim dildo, and
thrust it again. Conan wailed, tossing his head back and forth, messy locks
sticking to his forehead and his legs twining around Saguru, trying to pull him
up and in and onto him. His cock bobbed almost straight up, a droplet
glistening clear in the tiny divot of the hole, and even as Saguru rocked the
dildo in again and again it began to dribble a slick, thin stream of precome
down the vein.
He couldn't... he couldn't... he needed to taste it, needed to hold Conan down
and -- he barely managed to pin Conan's hips with his superior weight, barely
managed to make himself only press Conan's cock out of the way and get at the
soft, hairy mons pubis at the base of Conan's cock, sucking there a love bite
that Conan would be feeling for days--
"Please, please--" Conan bit out between desperate, needy wails, echoing over
Kaito's own eager, muffled noises. (He'd buried his face against Conan's
throat, his chest, white teeth flashing on a dark nipple--) "Suck -- please -
- need--"
"Please," Kaito finally echoed, almost broken. "Let me see it, do it, do it to
him please he needs it so much--"
Saguru took a deep breath, licked a long, salt-tinged stripe right up the
underside of Conan's cock, and swallowed the youth down.
Conan damn near screamed.
The head of his cock nudged the back of Saguru's throat, and Saguru gripped the
base of it firmly to keep any more from going in, then began to suck and tongue
what remained. The taste wasn't particularly pleasant -- Saguru had never been
one to lick his hand clean for exactly that reason, and usually ensured a
perfectly good washcloth or tissue was available, so he wasn't accustomed to it
at all -- but the warmth and heft of Conan's cock was exactly what he needed,
exactly what all those suckling kisses had been alluding to in some unremarked
part of his mind, and every sound he could wring out of the boy made his own
neglected dick throb.
It didn't take long at all before Conan's legs jackknifed on Saguru's shoulders
and he spilled himself into Saguru's mouth with a heartfelt groan.
He flopped back onto the mattress, panting and visibly dazed, cock wet with
saliva and the semen Saguru didn't swallow, looking utterly wrecked... and
that's when Kaito, eyes wild, dragged Saguru roughly up Conan's body and yanked
his shirt open, the lone button pinging off somewhere into the room. Saguru
swallowed Kaito down just as he did Conan, only with Kaito's fingers laced
tightly into his hair -- not forcing anything, just wound into the strands to
make Saguru feel the pull, electric all down his scalp and into his spine and
into the cock he was rutting against the hot jut of Conan's hip with.
Kaito's taste was stronger, a hint sweeter -- all that chocolate the man
preferred to coffee -- and he caught the fluid dribbling from Saguru's mouth in
his free hand before reaching under Saguru.
Couldn't use lube? flitted across Saguru's mind, only to vanish into the
blinding grip of Kaito's wet hand on Saguru's cock, and Saguru came messily all
over Conan.
He let himself fall to the side, the one Kaito wasn't on, and just breathed for
a while without thinking.
"Wow," Conan finally, eventually said.
"Worth it?" the same voice said, on Conan's other side, and somehow Saguru
couldn't find it at all off-putting that Kaito apparently sounded exactly the
same as Conan post-coital. Though whether that was from Kaito consciously
changing his own voice the rest of the time, or because Kaito was unconsciously
mimicking Conan now... well, who knew.
"Mm, yeah."
"... Meitantei. You're hard again."
Saguru's eyes popped open to find, yes, Conan was indeed almost ready to go
again.
... Right. Teenage stamina might be a misinterpretation, but teenage refractory
periods were a bit more supported by the scientific evidence.
Hm.
"If you'd like, I'm amenable to another round," Saguru informed Conan lazily.
It'd take a bit of work if Conan wanted to be penetrated, but other than
that... "Or I can take a nap or shower if you'd prefer privacy."
Conan considered that for a moment, then rolled over on top of Saguru. "How do
you feel about being topped?" he asked.
Saguru lifted his knees to cradle Conan's hips, and draped his arms over
Conan's shoulder. "I've never tried it. Show me how it works."
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