"NO!"

Kunzite started up from the sheets, his eyes flying wide and startled. Then reason returned to him and he groaned, dropping his face in his hands, his sweat-strung hair falling in a pale curtain.

"No...." This time he moaned the word, then choked on a bitter sob. How many times would he wake to that dream? How many times would he have to see his love dying before his eyes, cradled in his arms, and feel himself unable to do anything? He was used to being strong, being in control. But he hadn't had the strength to save Zoisite's life, hadn't had any control over its passing as it slipped away. How many times would he have to wake to the emptiness, to the knowing that he would never see that dear face, those emerald eyes bright with love and life, the golden sun-spun hair again? Never feel the slim arms wrapped about him, never hear the light laughter, the softly whispered, "I love you," late at night when Zoisite thought him safely asleep.

With a strangled utterance of pure pain, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, harsh sobs racking his entire body. There wasn't any end to the pain, and there never would be, until death came to claim him in his turn.

********************************************************************

Uruhara Motoki looked up from the magazine he was thumbing through, lolling his head against the sofa back. He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. It had been a long day, and he was wiped out. The elementary school had let out early, so he'd been kept hopping straight through from noon to closing time. Without even a fifteen minute break, much less a lunch, thanks to that slacker, Tetsuo, ditching the day and leaving him to handle everything on his own.

He'd hoped at least that Tsukino Usagi or her friend Aino Minako might come in after the junior high let out to brighten his day, but the only golden heads he'd seen had barely reached above his kneecaps. He was fed up with little kids. Normally the arcade got mostly junior high and high school students, but today he'd felt as though he was running a damned day-care center.

And the little brats had left the place in shambles. It'd taken Motoki almost an hour longer than usual to get it cleaned up after closing. He'd had to call and cancel his plans to have dinner with his sister and their uncle.

He could've really used the distraction too. He was worried over Chiba Mamoru's recent disappearance. No one had seen Motoki's friend in over a week now, and no one knew where he might be. Mamoru led a busy life, and Motoki knew he was often only on the fringes of that life, but he also knew that Mamoru wouldn't take off for this long without having let him know where he was going. Or at least that he was going.

Motoki sighed a second time. He'd finally made it home, substituted a cup of instant ramen for a real dinner, eaten standing at the kitchen counter, had looked with despairing eyes upon the chaotic hell his apartment had become, decided, once again, that he hadn't the energy to tackle it, and had collapsed on the sofa with a new magazine, half a six-pack, and his portable phone.

As had become his habit the past few nights, he dialed Mamoru's number and let the phone ring while he watched the evening news, muted. Of course there was no answer. As had also become his habit, he poured two of the beers down his throat too quickly. Finally he turned the phone off, threw it over the back of the sofa, flicked off the television, and drank the last beer more slowly while he tried to distract himself with the magazine. It didn't work. And the beers were making him even more tired.

He slumped, tossing back the last of the beer and dropping the magazine to fall on the floor. Or where the floor might be if it weren't ankle-deep in dirty clothes, discarded take-out boxes, crusted plates and cups, empty beer and soda cans, previous periodicals, a few bills, and other miscellaneous junk.

He made an attempt to land the newly emptied beer can on the coffee table, but it careened off the edge and ended up with its brethren on the floor. He didn't much care. Now he had to try to dredge up the energy to rise from the sofa and drag his sorry butt off to bed. And if he could manage, he ought to run himself through the shower on the way.

But first he had to get up.

*******************************************************************

Kunzite combed his fingers through his long silver hair, cursing at the many tangles they encountered, but doing nothing about the problem. He didn't care enough to bother.

He shrugged into his stiff uniform, clasped his cape to its shoulders, and prepared to leave his private quarters. Not too private now though. Prince Endymion seemed to think he could just waltz in and out as he liked. Kunzite snarled at the thought. Bad enough the boy criticized everything he did to anyone who would listen -- even the lowly youma -- but barging into his own private quarters to snipe at Kunzite was just a bit much. He was probably trying to catch his rival out in a moment of weakness. And there was nothing Kunzite could do to stop him. If he said anything, the insufferable brat would only laugh at him.

Kunzite leaned briefly against the doorway, fighting the pain in his heart. There was nothing so bad in his life now that someone -- usually Beryl or Endymion -- couldn't manage to make it worse. If only Sailor Moon would succumb and let him wipe her out....

But the little ditz seemed to have more than her share of luck. And Kunzite very strongly suspected that if he was ever really on the verge of killing her, that Prince Endymion would come to save her. Even when his mind was totally wiped blank of all former memories, even when he thought he was a warrior for the Dark Kingdom, Endymion always seemed to be able to think up some excuse for coming to his enemy's rescue.

In a way Kunzite envied him that, envied Sailor Moon. He'd once had a love that deep. He still felt the love in fact, but with the other half of his self gone, all this love did was turn in upon him, tearing him apart from the inside.

He stifled a groan and resisted the urge to turn and gaze upon the image of himself and Zoisite that had become so dear to him. He was already late.

Straightening, he drew his intangible cloak of disdain and indifference about him. He wouldn't give Queen Beryl the satisfaction of knowing how badly she had hurt him when she had killed Zoisite, and he didn't dare to show the slightest hint of weakness to the Prince.

He could hide his pain, but he could never get away from it.

********************************************************************

The water was hot and Motoki set the nozzle to its hardest blast, then maneuvered it to strike the base of his neck, where the tension was the worst. He felt his shoulders slowly relaxing, the headache he'd been fighting fading away.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool, water-beaded surface of the wall before him. Now the spray hit him in the center of the back, between his shoulderblades. That felt good too. He was tired. So very tired. He didn't want to move.

But he couldn't sleep standing in the shower, so he finally straightened with a low groan, soaped his sweaty hair, and lathered his gritty body. As he sluiced off, he concentrated on sending the bad memories of the past day down the drain with the dirt and soap scum. But he knew tomorrow would be a day just like today, just like yesterday, just like the day before, just like the next day after tomorrow would be.... It was too depressing to dwell on.

He was just so lonely. It hadn't been so bad when Unazaki-chan had still been staying with him, but she'd moved back in with their uncle over a month ago. Reika was in Africa, thank God. Mamoru was missing, unfortunately. And Motoki was spending every evening home alone. It got to be too much at times, and this was one of them.

********************************************************************

Kunzite threw himself down in his throne, his dark face twisted in a bitter expression. Yet another royal chewing out by Queen Beryl, while Endymion looked on, gleefully smirking. Kunzite had taken it stoically, not speaking in his own defense, and eventually Beryl had tired and ended her tirade with a snarled warning. Then she'd sent Kunzite to his quarters to attempt to formulate yet another doomed plan.

Kunzite lowered his head onto one hand, trying to ignore the throbbing of dull pain in his temples. Being the last of Beryl's kings still living and functioning was no fun. He had to do all the work, shoulder all the blame, and endure all the queen's wrath. There was little chance of respite, except through success, and even then Beryl still found fault.

Of course, Endymion had failed just as often as Kunzite, and, occasionally, far more spectacularly. But did the queen attack his performance record? No. That must mean his other performance record was doing better than his attempts to retrieve the ginzuishou. Kunzite sneered.

As though thinking of Endymion had somehow summoned him, the young prince stepped through the entrance to Kunzite's quarters. Kunzite restrained a groan. This was all he needed!

He glared at Endymion, straightening, but too weary to rise. "What?" he asked shortly, not inclined to even pretend politeness.

Endymion grinned and shook thick black bangs from his dark eyes. "So hospitable, Kunzite. Do you treat all your guests this way?"

"If they're uninvited and unwelcome, yes." Kunzite didn't bother to mention he never entertained guests. What, did the prince think he invited lowly youma into his private quarters? Most likely the boy was only making a snide point.

Endymion was laughing now, his low throaty chuckle infernally pleasant on the ears. Kunzite tried to ignore the small part of himself that yearned toward the sound.

"The question still stands," he gritted, standing and beginning to pace the large room. "What do you want here?"

Endymion moved to the throne, planting a booted foot on its seat and leaning his arm upon his upraised thigh.

"Just came to see what foolish, ineffectual plan you'd come up with this time."

Kunzite sneered. "Sorry to disappoint."

"In that case, how would you like to join forces with me?"

Kunzite turned toward the prince, surprise painted on his features. "What?"

"Don't misunderstand me." Endymion removed his foot, standing and slowly walking toward Kunzite. "If we do this, you'll be doing most of the work, and if it succeeds, I'll take most of the credit. But for your generous help, I'll keep your neck out of the noose Queen Beryl and your own ineptitude are closing about it, and we'll be rid of that brat, Sailor Moon."

Kunzite couldn't help himself. At the thought of Endymion doing anything that might result in Sailor Moon's destruction, he burst into loud, derisive laughter.

Endymion stared at him in shock, then his pale face closed in an angry scowl.

"What do you find so amusing?" he demanded harshly, moving to stand before Kunzite and glaring into his eyes.

Kunzite gazed back, shining silver to glowing dark blue. He shook his head. "I'm not that badly off yet, that I need to become your lackey," he declared, folding his arms.

"Don't take out any bets on that," Endymion hissed, his dark eyes narrowing. Kunzite marveled at how perfectly the expression of wicked ill-will could sit on the sharp young features, and yet at the same time look so utterly out of place. He experience a sudden pang. The prince should be light-hearted and cheerful, not given to dark glares and evil smirks. The straight black brows naturally drew down, but there shouldn't be that thin line etched so deeply in the flesh between them. The dark eyes were always hooded, would always be, but they should hold laughter and love, not malevolent hatred. His full lips should curve up in a sweet smile, not be pulled tight in anger.

A part of him cried out that it had been his fault, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. Yes, he had angered the prince, which resulted in his present expression, but in the beginning, and in the end, and at the very root of it, he knew it was truly Beryl's fault.

He blinked, trying to retain both his dignity and his disdain as he found his mind dwelling longingly over Endymion's sharp beauty, and the fullness of those lips. Lips which were even now sending more daggers in the form of words his way.

Endymion was bitching him out. Big surprise there. But Kunzite wasn't paying any attention to the tirade. He was too busy trying to regain control of himself, and not let any of his conflict show on his face or in his stiff posture. Much to his relief, Endymion moved away from him and began pacing the room, still ranting.

Kunzite finally thought he had himself back in hand, and with a sigh he turned himself to the situation at hand, prepared now to defend himself, and more than ready to return like for like to Prince Endymion. The boy was far too cocky, even if he was sharing Beryl's bed, and he needed a good setting down. Besides, sharp words exchanged would help Kunzite to keep him at a distance, and might kill some of these dangerous feelings he'd been having lately.

********************************************************************

Motoki ran a comb quickly through his damp hair. Hm. Getting a little long in the back, and his bangs were trailing in his eyes. Well, he'd have to try to remember to get in to the barber. But that really was low on his priority list.

He had somehow gotten a second wind during his long shower, and the thought of going to his lonely bed had become as repugnant as it had, a few minutes before, been all he was looking forward to. So after he had stepped from the shower and dried off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked to his room.

He turned from the mirror to his dresser and pulled open a drawer. Ouch! Getting a little low on clean clothes. He'd have to make a laundry-run soon.

He squirmed his way into a pair of dark jeans he very rarely wore. They were more than slightly snug, clinging to his slim hips and long, lean legs like a second skin. Normally he didn't much care for this feeling, but tonight he found he liked the idea of wearing them. The only shirt left that wasn't one of the button-ups he wore to work was an old white tee. It was a tad small, but as it had no sleeves, that wasn't a real problem. It was rather affectionate toward his firm chest and flat stomach, but, heck, that way it matched the jeans. He tucked it in quickly, tossed his tousled bangs back, and strode out to the hall.

He sat, pulling on his sneakers -- an old black pair, not the gaudy yellow ones -- then got his heavy leather jacket out of the closet. Unazaki-chan had been in the habit of wearing it when she had lived here, so he quickly checked the pockets. Full of crumpled receipts, a couple of yen bills, a tube of lip gloss, and... a pack of cigarettes! Complete with a lighter tucked into the battered box! He bit back an exclamation, then swore and frowned. He'd have to talk to their uncle about this! She was far too young to be smoking! He tossed everything but the money and the cigarettes in the pot by the door that would've held any umbrellas he owned, if he hadn't lost them all.

Exiting, he locked the door behind him, and set out. His earlier lethargy was entirely gone, and he whistled lightly under his breath as he walked down the deserted sidewalk. The night was cool, but not too cold, and the moon was round and silvery overhead.

********************************************************************

Kunzite had had enough. He finally got the prince out of his quarters, and even managed to do so without coming to blows, but once that was accomplished the place felt too empty, and his relief was replaced with horrible loneliness and a thick cloud of agony.

He had to get away. So he opened a random portal, not caring where he ended up. Nothing could be worse than the hell his life had become. And besides, there was very little he couldn't handle. He couldn't stop his true love from dying, he couldn't control his mind or body around Prince Endymion, but he could, and would, kill anything foolish enough to come after him.

However....

"Oh, shit."

Of all the places, he had to end up back on Earth! Just the way his luck had been going lately.

But it wasn't as bad as it might have been. He now stood in a quiet park, empty of human life due to the fact that it was nearing midnight. The moon was full in the dark sky, and rather than cursing her, as he usually did, Kunzite noticed and admired the way her pale light painted everything in shades of silver and black, making all sharp and chill. It was actually rather lovely, and soothing. Kunzite walked slowly along the path, feeling a little of his frustration ease, though he couldn't shake the pain.

He would have to make this count for as much as he could. His return to the Dark Kingdom wasn't going to be pleasant. Beryl was already furious, and would be more so. Endymion could at any time cease playing with him and strike in earnest, taking out the last rival for Queen Beryl's attention, and Queen Metallia's favors. The only reason the prince hadn't done so already was probably due to the fact that he figured it was safer -- for him -- to keep Kunzite around as a scapegoat. And he was no doubt correct in this assumption. Still, he wasn't going to make things bearable for Kunzite either, and how could the king fight back when he couldn't help but notice Endymion's sharp good looks, his firm young body, the intensity of those dark, hooded eyes every time they clashed? There was no way around it, he was attracted to the twisted prince, both physically, and with that deep, writhing part of himself that needed someone, needed love, comfort, companionship. Perhaps if things had gone differently....

He shook that thought away. How could he consider anything of that nature when Zoisite's loss was still an aching void in his soul? When Endymion would sooner kill him than give him a kind word?

Suddenly the night seemed a lot colder, the moonlight less lovely. Kunzite slumped on a convenient park bench and succumbed once more to bitter tears.

But he soon had to stifle these tears, as he heard footsteps moving toward him. With a thought he was clad in clothing more appropriate to this planet, but he didn't raise his head from his hands. He had no idea who could possibly be walking through the park this late at night, but hopefully they'd go on and leave him alone with his despair.

********************************************************************

Motoki found his feet carrying him to the local park, though he rarely visited it normally. It was a favorite spot for lovers to stroll, or for young girls like little Tsukino Usagi to moon over the romance of the idea of love.

He had to climb over the barrier at the gate, so he thought he was assured of having the place to himself. But he saw he was mistaken as he approached one of the benches surrounding the lake and saw the dark figure huddled on its seat.

His first instinct was to give this person wide berth, and he paused as his mind tried to tell his body to turn around, and his body refused. There was a momentary clash between the two, then he continued on. He wasn't sure why he was doing what he was doing, but he couldn't for the life of him control his actions.

What he was doing was disturbing someone who obviously wanted to be left alone. He saw as he came closer that it was a man, dressed in black, with a length of hair a startling shade of silvery-white that was shown to great effect by the pale light of the moon. The man was wearing a black suit jacket, a black shirt with what looked like thick lace at the sleeves, and a pair of tight black slacks, but that was all Motoki could tell, for he had his head bowed to rest in his hands, his silvery hair curtaining his face and hiding his chest.

Motoki could tell from the man's body language that he wished to be left in peace, but he couldn't help himself. Something about the man intrigued him, and he wanted to know what he was doing here in the closed park at midnight, in such obvious despair. And he also found himself wildly curious over what the man looked like.

So he came to a stop beside the bench and cleared his throat. His mind ran through a wide variety of phrases, but most of them sounded like cheap pick-up lines to be used in a bar. He tried to settle on one that was fairly innocuous.

***

"Is it all right if I sit?"

The intruder had a soft, mellow voice, which touched Kunzite's ears pleasantly. Kunzite couldn't believe this person was bothering him when he so obviously wished solitude, but at least they hadn't said, 'is this seat taken?'

He waved a hand in consent. As he felt the stranger sit, curiosity got the better of him, and he carefully wiped his cheeks free of the last of his weak tears, then raised his head.

It was a young man, who was in the process of lighting a cigarette, his attention focused on the silver lighter and paper stick. He had a well formed face, which was made a bit sharper than normal by the nearness of the lighter flame. His shag of shortish hair was highlighted in bright gold by this same light, the shadows darker blonde. His thick lashes were lowered as he gazed down, fringes of dark gold. His brows arched above, straight and untroubled. Then he flicked the lighter off, and sat back, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Want one?" he asked, turning and examining Kunzite as closely as the other man was examining him. His eyes were dark in the moon's pale light, hiding behind thick bangs.

Kunzite shook his head mutely. He had enough problems on hand, he didn't need an addiction to a damaging Earth weed to add to them. However, he couldn't but notice the way the young man's full lips closed around the inactive end of the cigarette, almost seeming to caress its thickness before he removed it and breathed out another swirl of light blue smoke.

"Good for you. I don't normally smoke, but my sister left these in my jacket. I'm going to have to turn her over my knee next time I get a chance."

Kunzite marveled at the easy way the youth was talking to a complete stranger. He watched as the boy sat back, laying his free arm along the top of the bench back and crossing his legs, planting one ankle atop the opposite knee. He noticed the way those awful things that humans called 'jeans' didn't look so awful on this boy. In fact, they looked quite nice, accentuating the length of his slender legs and the slimness of his hips. The tee shirt the boy was wearing was pulling up from under the waistband, revealing a bit of his firm, flat stomach. Anything else was hidden by the heavy leather jacket he wore over it all.

Kunzite was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling he'd only just been trying to escape, and he turned his head away, gazing blindly up at the moon's blank face.

He'd thought his reaction to Prince Endymion was due to the brat's attractions, which, as much as he despised him, where undeniable. But he now found himself stirred by this boy's fresh, youthful good looks. Was it possible that he was so desperate, so heart-wounded, so lonely, that his mind reached out for any mildly attractive individual? That just couldn't be. He couldn't be that untrue to Zoisite's memory. He had to try to get a handle on himself.

***

As the man looked away, Motoki took the opportunity to study him more closely. The jacket he wore was well tailored, fitting closely to his broad shoulders and chest, tapering down to a slimmer waist. The shirt beneath had an open collar, lace to match the sleeves framing a bit of his dark, smooth chest. The man's slacks were as black as the rest, but not of the same material as the jacket, being more soft and flexible, looking almost like crushed velvet sliding smoothly over the strong muscles of his thighs and calves, into the tops of the ankle-high boots he wore.

The man's hair was just about the most amazingly thing Motoki had ever seen, and he longed to touch it and see if it was really as soft and silken as it looked. His face was classically handsome. In fact, Motoki thought he was the most attractive man he'd ever seen, up to and including Mamoru. And his eyes were, if the moon's light could be trusted, a pale, glowing silver that almost matched his hair. These eyes had been glistening, though, with more than the night orb's illumination. He was evidently wrestling with some deep emotional problems, and Motoki wished he could do something to help him out.

"All you all right?" he asked softly, leaning forward and placing a hand on the man's thigh, as he flicked the cigarette away to burn on the cold sidewalk.

***

Kunzite stiffened as he felt the boy's warm hand come to rest upon his leg. He had mixed reactions to that, which froze him for a moment while his mind tried to sort them out and decide on one. The first reaction was the strongest, and it was purely hormonal. He tried to ignore that one, but it was a little difficult. A second reaction, nowhere near as strong, was utter disbelief and outrage that a human could be so bold as to lay hands on him, and if he hadn't been struggling so hard to deal with his body's uncontrollable response to the intimate touch and his earlier feelings, he would've blasted the boy then and there. But something was holding him back, something besides his raging hormones, and he felt a great rush of relief which wiped out the second response, as he realized that a powerful feeling of comfort and closeness was radiating from the youth. Perhaps he was not as indiscriminate as he had thought. Perhaps this boy was special, in a way he was only now coming to feel.

And speaking of feeling....

"No, not really," he said candidly, as he turned back to the boy. He was a bit startled by the intensity in those dark eyes, eyes which were gazing at him, wide and innocent of guile. The young man actually looked worried about him! Unbelievable!

"Is there anything I can do to help?" The boy's eagerness was apparent in his soft voice. Extraordinary that he would be so ready to throw in with a perfect stranger, but the way Kunzite's life had been going lately, he felt this was a surprise he could handle.

The boy's hand was still resting on his thigh. And it wasn't a light touch either. Kunzite could feel each individual finger, the whole of the boy's palm, burning through the thin material of his slacks and into his flesh. He wondered....

Tentatively, almost timidly, he lifted a hand and lightly touched the side of the boy's face. The dark eyes flew wide and startled, but the boy didn't pull away, and his hand remained where it was. Kunzite took this as a good sign, but he wasn't about to rush things. He didn't know how far he really wanted to go himself.

"I'm not sure," he breathed softly, in answer to the boy's question.

The boy's brows contracted, but it seemed to be in worry over Kunzite, not in response to the fingers brushing his jawline, or the heat roiling between the two of them. He bit his lip and a thoughtful look came over his young face. Kunzite drew his hand back, reluctantly. But he didn't want to push it too far.

"Are you lonely?" the boy suddenly asked, in a burst of cognizance.

Kunzite's silvery brows rose. He nodded without speaking. Had it been that obvious?

The boy finally removed his hand, much to Kunzite's disappointment, and fingered his chin thoughtfully.

"Would you... would you like to come over to my place?" he boy asked in a rush, a light flush staining his smooth cheeks.

Kunzite blinked. Then he considered.

"I don't-- I mean--" the boy was close to babbling, clearly embarrassed at his forwardness. "I don't know what kind of company I would be, but at worst, at least we could... we could be lonely together...."

He trailed off and blushed more deeply. Kunzite found this look quite charming on him, and a slow, soft smile curved his lips, until he was grinning broadly. "I think that sounds quite... pleasant," he said, rising.

The boy leapt to his feet as well. "Really? Well, all right. Um... let's go." He started away, glancing back anxiously to be sure Kunzite was following. Kunzite smiled quietly to himself as he admired the way the tight dark blue material of the boy's jeans welded to his firm buttocks. This might turn out to be quite interesting.

*******************************************************************

Kunzite stopped, frozen in disbelief. The boy had warned him that his place was something of a mess, but he had clearly understated the case. Kunzite hadn't seen anything this bad in all his experience in and out of the Dark Kingdom.

"Uh...." The boy was obviously very embarrassed. "If you want to try to find the sofa, I can go get us some coffee or something."

"That's quite all right." Kunzite wasn't feeling that daring. "If you don't mind, maybe I could join you in the kitchen?"

"Sure!" The boy was all youthful eagerness once more. The reason became evident as Kunzite followed him into this room. While still rather appalling, the kitchen wasn't in anywhere near the same state as the other room. Kunzite breathed a sigh of relief. While this wasn't exactly the environment he wished to be in, it was better than the wreckage that had evidently once been a living room.

As the boy puttered about with the coffee makings, Kunzite shrugged out of his jacket. He hadn't put much thought into his clothing when he'd changed from the uniform, but now he considered it, and was rather pleased with himself. Looking about, he decided to hang the jacket on the knob of the back door. There were pegs out in the hall, where the boy had left his own jacket, but that would mean going through the living room, and Kunzite wasn't quite feeling up to that adventure.

The boy had the coffee maker going now, and was opening a cupboard door. Apparently he didn't find what he was looking for, for he swore and shut it rather sharply. Kunzite couldn't help but notice the way his tee shirt had ridden up due to this movement. And now that the jacket was off, he also noticed the smooth, sculpted lines of the boy's arms. The electric lights in the apartment brought out the golden glow of the boy's skin, and he looked like a young god with his burnt honey hair and firm young body. If one disregarded his tight jeans and tee shirt, and the dreadful mess surrounding him. Then again, those mortal trappings perhaps added to the illusion, and the tight clothing was a definite plus as far as Kunzite was concerned.

Now he was rooting through the pile of dirty dishes which filled the sink. He unearthed one mug, and was about to go back for another, when Kunzite stopped him.

"Uh, don't bother for my sake, please. I don't drink much coffee."

The boy turned, and hung his head, flushing in shame. "I'm sorry everything looks so awful," he muttered, wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans. "It's just that I wasn't expecting to have anyone over, and ever since my little sister moved out it's harder and harder to remember to keep the place picked up, and I've just been so damn busy all the time, with college and work, and--"

Kunzite stepped forward and placed his fingertips over the young man's lips to still his babbling. "Don't worry about it," he said, smiling.

The boy flushed again as Kunzite lowered his hand. "So, if you don't want any coffee, you want a beer?"

Kunzite shook his head silently. He barely repressed a shudder, but the boy seemed to sense his attitude anyway, becoming more dejected.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Kunzite said, placing a hand on one slumped shoulder, trying to ignore the jump and flutter of his heart at the warmth of the smooth flesh beneath his palm. "Let's just go out to the living room."

The boy bit his lip and blinked back what looked suspiciously like tears. "You don't really want to go out there, do you?"

"Well, to be honest, no. But there's nowhere to sit in here."

The boy drew in a deep breath and straightened. Kunzite finally called up the presence of mind to remove his hand.

"We could..." the boy licked his lips nervously. "We could go to my bedroom, and sit on the bed. It's nowhere near as bad in there as it is in the living room, or in this kitchen."

Kunzite considered for a long moment, gazing deeply into the boy's dark eyes. The boy didn't drop his gaze, staring back candidly, even though his smooth golden cheeks were flushed a nice pink by now. But not all of that blush was due to discomfort, and Kunzite reached a decision.

"All right," he said softly.

The boy looked nervous, but also eager and willing. He led the way to the bedroom, his stocking feet padding on the wood floor. Kunzite cast a look at the living room as they passed briefly through, unable to help himself. Yes, it was even worse than he remembered. He shuddered, shaking his head.

***

Motoki drew in a deep breath as he flicked on the light in his room. He had no idea what he was doing. Oh, all right, he knew exactly what he was doing. He just didn't know why he was doing it. Oh, all right! He knew why he was doing it too. But he wasn't going to dwell on that.

His guest closed the door softly behind himself, and Motoki gulped. That created a very intimate, enclosed atmosphere, and while a part of him wanted that, wanted it more than anything, it also made him feel anxious, and slightly uncomfortable.

The man crossed to his bed, and sat on the edge, shaking pale hair over the shoulders of his black shirt. Motoki bit his lip and followed slowly. He meant to sit next to the man, not too close, yet not too far, but instead, he found himself kneeling before the other, gazing silently up at him. He placed his hands on the man's knees.

The man blinked, looking a little surprised. But not terribly surprised. He reached out a hand and ran it gently through Motoki's hair, then trailed down to caress the side of his face once more. Delicious shivers ran through Motoki's body, and sensations too long unfelt began to stir in him once again.

He raised his chin, half in entreaty, half in challenge. The man drew in a breath, his silver eyes widening, then he bent forward, his hand sliding to cup the side of Motoki's face as his lips closed lightly over Motoki's ready mouth. The kiss was tentative at first, for the man seemed uncertain, but Motoki took matters into his own hands, reaching up to clasp his hands behind the man's neck, pulling his head closer as he split his lips with an eager tongue.

As the kiss deepened and became more passionate, Motoki slid between the man's knees, so that their bodies were closer. The man's hand left his cheek, and along with the other slipped up underneath the tight tee shirt Motoki was wearing, sliding strong and warm over his flat stomach and chest. Motoki groaned into the kiss and squirmed closer.

***

Kunzite couldn't believe what was happening, but neither was he going to question it, or try to stop it from happening. As his tongue twined with the boy's and his hands eagerly roamed over his smooth torso, he felt something more than the heat of the moment. There was something deep inside himself that was reaching out for this boy, something in his soul that answered to something in this boy's soul.

Finally breaking the intense kiss, he pulled back and looked deeply into the boy's eyes. They were dark and hooded with passion, and Kunzite experienced a sudden pang. He ignored that part of himself, however, and watched as the boy stood and stripped the white tee shirt up over his head and off. The boy tossed his dark golden mane and gave Kunzite an artless smile that was so filled with innocent attraction that Kunzite thought his heart would stop. That was pure beauty, and he wasn't equipped to deal with it. But neither could he bear to look away.

The boy reached over and turned on the lamp beside the bed, then crossed to the switch next to the door and flicked it, killing the overhead light. Now the small lamp's illumination was all they had, and the dull golden glow caressed his sculpted young body lovingly as he returned to the bed.

This time the boy sat next to him. As Kunzite's fingers went to the buttons of his own shirt, the boy leaned toward him and placed a light, almost chaste kiss upon his lips, before plunging in for a repeat of their previous embrace. His hands ran through Kunzite's long hair, tilting his head back, as his lips moved to Kunzite's neck. Kunzite was having trouble making his fingers work, but he finally got the last button undone, and the boy helped him to strip off the shirt.

It fell to the floor, unheeded, as the boy's hot, impatient mouth moved over Kunzite's collarbones, then downward. He pressed Kunzite back down onto the mattress as his lips closed around one dark nipple. Kunzite moaned and combed his hands through the boy's soft hair, arching his head back against the pillow. The boy's kiss settled there for a moment, as he worked his hard tongue over the nub of flesh, but then he resumed movement, traveling over all of Kunzite's broad chest, then working his way down lower.

Kunzite gasped and grabbed him before he could go too far down. He wasn't ready for that much yet. Besides, it was time he returned a bit of like for like. He was itching to get more of his hands and mouth on the boy's firm young body, and he wasn't going to let the other do all the work.

***

The man pulled Motoki close, kissing him once more, slowly and lingeringly, as he rolled both of them over so that now he was the one above. Motoki decided he liked this, liked this a lot, as the man's lips took paths as roving as his own had been a moment ago, and his large warm hands began touching him in ways he couldn't have begun to imagine.

He ran his fingers through the man's long silver hair, noting with the portion of his mind still functioning rationally, that, yes, it was as soft as he had expected, and softer. He let his fingertips trail naturally from the man's fall of silken locks to the broad expanse of his back, tracing the smooth, warm flesh. He sighed softly in contentment, then let out a small cry and gripped the man's muscular arms as the other discovered a particularly sensitive spot.

***

Kunzite smiled to himself as he felt the boy arch beneath him, their chests pressed close together by this movement. He repeated his action, and the exchange swiftly became more heated, each becoming bolder and more aggressive.

Realizing something, Kunzite moved to speak into the boy's ear. "These things must be rather uncomfortable," he breathed, gripping a certain portion of the thick jean material which made it clearly evident the item of clothing was becoming quite restricting.

The boy nodded wordlessly, gasping for breath, and Kunzite levered up on his elbow to admire the warm flush that covered his young face, the heat behind the dark eyes, the tousled dark gold bangs. The boy reached up, softly touching the side of his face, and smiled sweetly. Kunzite felt his heart clench, but not with the pain he was so use to feeling lately. Then, still with the angelic smile curving his tender lips, the boy's other hand did something that drove all other thoughts out of Kunzite's mind. Groaning, Kunzite returned to his own tormenting of the boy's eager body. Both seemed to forget about the problem of the tight jeans, but after a few minutes, when Kunzite couldn't stand it any more, and he figured the boy was beyond objective thought, he used a single, not too focused thought to get the things off of him, and on the floor, beside the other discarded clothing, and his own slacks. He figured the rewards were well worth the risk.

And, indeed, the boy hardly seemed to notice, except to press closer to Kunzite, and then begin exploring the newly revealed flesh with hot, ready hands. If he'd thought there was anything... abrupt about the manner in which Kunzite had gotten his jeans off of him, he certainly wasn't showing it. Though he was beyond a doubt showing his gratitude.

Kunzite moaned deep in his throat as the boy wrapped his arms tightly about his neck, drawing him close for a long, deep kiss. There was such beauty in this action, there was such intense heat swirling about and through them, he couldn't hold out any longer.

Moving to make the two of them one, Kunzite felt the boy cry out in ecstasy, arching beneath him. Then instinct took over, and they ground together in the dance as old as time.

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Afterward.... There was always an afterward. But Kunzite discovered as he cradled the boy's sleeping body close, that he liked this afterward. He had been afraid, a little, at first, that he'd be racked with guilt over betraying Zoisite, or over seducing an innocent youth. But there was no guilt, and thinking back, he most certainly hadn't been the one doing the seducing.

He ran his fingers lingeringly through the boy's sweat dampened hair. The boy's head was resting on his shoulder, his hand curled on Kunzite's dark chest, one leg beneath the light sheets thrown over Kunzite's own legs. His presence and closeness was soft, warm, comforting. Kunzite never would have thought it possible, but there was no pain in him. A small residual ache still plucked at the deepest part of his mind, always would be there, but the awful, agonizing, soul-eating pain was gone.

He looked down, slowly coming to realize something he had almost noticed earlier that night, but which he had glossed over for the pleasure of the moment. He pulled away from the boy, who let out a small protesting sound, then returned to deep, exhausted slumber.

Kunzite sat, dragging a hand through his long hair as he looked down at his lover. There was no denying it. He hadn't imagined the strange bond, the understanding beyond words that there had been, still was between them, and yet....

That hair was a dark gold he'd seen many times before, only then it had been worn in a longer style, pulled back into a loose ponytail. It was the exact same shade. Yet this boy's cut was short, like another head, of black hair this time.

Those eyes which were now closed, were, he knew, an intriguing shade of blue-green. Calling to mind both slanted emerald eyes, and hooded dark blue, yet with their own bright beauty.

The body was young and firm, not as slim as the one, not as muscular as the other. The face was neither as lovely nor as sharp as either, but held its own soft promise.

Perhaps the Fates were not so cruel as he had thought. Here he had the perfect man, the perfect lover, the perfect compromise. Not that he did not see the boy for himself. That would be wronging the lovely youth, and damaging to his own soul. But as compromises went, this one wasn't so bad. He couldn't have his dead love back, he couldn't have the twisted prince, but here he had a touch of each, while at the same time, he had something unique and wonderful in its own right.

He sighed heavily, feeling a huge weight lifted from his heart. Easing back over, he drew the boy once more into his embrace. He pressed a light, gentle kiss to the smooth brow as the boy snuggled closer, then doused the lamp with a thought, plunging the small room into darkness. Here was comfort. Here was happiness. And here he would remain, if only for this one night. He'd found his compromise, and it was sweeter than he had ever dreamed.

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end

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