Disclaimer: I use them as I see fit, but lay no claim to them.

Comments: Well here you go.  A brand new, never before seen Unfortunate Event.  Rejoice and be happy.  Jump around and clap. Ring bells and sing the praises of my muse.  Or simply read and enjoy.  What more could I ask for?  I can't believe I put up the last chapter like the day that ff.net went offline.  Way to go, Marty, duh.  Anyway, so all you people who would have left reviews *nudge nudge wink wink* can do it this time instead.  Riiiigh?  Right.  Enjoy.


His brown eyes catch the flicker of the oil lamp's flame.  They shine and shimmer, the glow of the small fire adding to the natural, laughing light behind them.  I could sit here and watch him all night.  As he talks his mouth quirks into a smile now and again, making his boyish features just that much more charming.  His tanned skin fairly glows in the dim interior of the restaurant. 

It's times like this that I am glad I have never been a big talker.  It means I can sit here and simply watch him, take him in without seeming uninterested in what he's saying. 

He fiddles with his napkin, toying nervously with the edge as he goes on about whatever it is he's going on about.  I don't really know, and I don't really care.  Most of the time I make it a point to try and listen to what Ken says, although I have to admit that it can be fairly hard to keep up with my koi's verbal diarrhea upon occasion.  But tonight I am driven to distraction merely by the sight of him.  Mesmerized by every nuance of his body. 

It's been a long time since we've been out together, and oddly enough it's making him more nervous than it's making me.  It's probably because I'm making him pay for the –last- time we went out together.  Wasn't that delightful?  Nothing like watching your boyfriend get wasted and try to take down the bouncer at a club for no apparent reason.  Ken's a good fighter, but… not that good a fighter when inebriated.  No, this time I got to choose what we did out of the house, and he's squirming through every moment of it.

Somewhere in the background chamber music floats on the air. 

Ken goes on playing with the edge of his napkin. 

He hates sit down dinners.  And I am loving every second of this.  Pay back is a bitch, ne Kenken.  I chuckle under my breath.

Tonight it's five star cuisine and a string concert.  I even got to dress him up, and I have to say that Ken cleans up remarkably well.  Dark slacks, a cashmere sweater, a little hair gel, he's barely the same person.  Well I guess that's not exactly true.  Still the same alluring dark eyes, the same quick smile, the same touchable skin, but all wrapped up in a new package.  And he's trying to behave himself.  This whole setting, the extra forks, the different courses, the scrutinizing eyes of the haughty waiter, even the chamber music have put him on edge.  It's charming really, how demure he can be when he really tries.  I know he wants to weather this well, he wants to prove that he can do this.

Smiling wickedly I watch him as he continues to babble nervously, now picking at the smallest fork, and I know he's wondering what the hell it's used for.  No matter how much fun getting him dressed for tonight was, getting him undressed again is going to be ten times more fun.  By the time this night is over he's going to be so held down, so pent up from concentrating on being good that as soon as I get him alone he'll release like a tightly wound spring. 

All that pent up energy… all that good behavior giving way under my hands. 

I smile again and eye him smugly. 

He pauses suddenly and looks up, catching my eyes.  As I raise an eyebrow I watch a faint blush chase across his cheeks and I realize that my thoughts must be mirrored in my eyes. 

"Having fun, aité?" I ask teasingly.

His blush fades and he rolls his eyes.  "Tons.  When do we get to eat?  We've been here for almost an hour and I haven't seen hide nor hair of our food."

"Patience is a virtue," I reply dryly.

"I have other virtues that make up for my lack of patience," he grumbles.

I bite back a laugh and have to look down at my plate for a moment.  Ken really is so cute when he's petulant.  "The salad course will be served shortly.  We're supposed to be enjoying each other's conversation."

Ken eyes me levelly.  "So far there hasn't been a whole lot of conversation.  There's just been me talking while you stare at me.  It's kinda disconcerting.  Do I have something in my teeth or what?"


"Then why are you staring at me?"

"Because I like staring at you, Kenken.  And I won't get to see you like this again for god knows how long, so I'm getting what I can while I can."

"Yeah well, you're making me feel dirty so stop it." 

Make me, I mouth silently and then smile at him as charmingly as I can.  He starts to pout and goes back to fiddling with his napkin.  I love making him squirm. 

Finally the salads come and I can tell that it's all Ken can do to keep from ravenously biting off the waiter's hand as he sets the plate down.  But he does amazingly well, keeping himself in check.  He doesn't even grab manically at the first fork he can touch, he waits and watches me to see which fork I take and does the same.  He's so cute. 

He doesn't even scarf his food like he normally does; he takes his time, awkwardly maneuvering the little salad fork from his mouth to the plate and back.  Watching him I almost completely forget my own salad, and when he licks absently at a small blob of dressing at the corner of his mouth I don't even realize that my fork freezes in midair, hovering in the empty space between myself and the table until a rather large piece of lettuce manages to deposit itself in my lap.

Cursing softly I set my fork back in my salad and reach for the lettuce, glad at least that it hit the napkin and not my khakis.  Oil never comes out. 

"Can't take you anywhere," I hear Ken say, amusement lacing his voice.  Looking up hastily I see him staring at me, one eyebrow raised.  "Try not to embarrass me, ok?"

I drop the offending lettuce back into the salad and narrow my eyes.  "Very funny."

He chuckles and goes back to eating. 

Giving him one last, lingering look I start in on my salad in earnest. 

Main courses come.  I've ordered the smoked salmon penne pasta and Ken, true to his nature, has ordered a steak.  I'm about to dismiss the waiter when I notice that Ken keeps looking around the table like something's missing. 

"What is it?"

He shakes his head and then turns towards the waiter.  "Can I get a bottle of ketchup for my steak?"

The waiter looks scandalized and I don't blame him.  Ketchup?  C'mon, Ken, I know you have at least a tiny streak of good taste, now might be the time to dig it out. 

"Of course….. sir," the waiter sniffs and then turns away.

Ken looks over at me and shrugs.  I shake my head.  "What?" he asks.

"Nothing," I grumble. 

He shrugs and goes back to talking and picking at the edge of his plate, waiting patiently for his ketchup. 

"That looks good," Ken says, looking over at my pasta.  "You could eat that with chopsticks."

"I suppose so."

"You should ask for chopsticks."

"No, Ken."

"Why not?  Easier to eat than with all these forks.  I mean, how many forks does one person possibly need?" he says incredulously.  "I've got like four, and that's not including the fork they already took away." 

"Ken, shush."

"I'm just saying that I don't need this many forks and you could eat those noodles with chopsticks."

I give him a look, not a glare exactly, but a look.  "Shush." 

He rolls his eyes and looks away just as the waiter comes back with the ketchup.  It's just a regular old glass bottle of ketchup, how charming. 

"Thank you," Ken says shortly taking the bottle and giving me a little look. 

I wave the waiter away and go back to eating my pasta. 

Ken is oddly silent for a few moments and then, "God damn it."

Looking up once again I see him trying rather vigorously to dislodge some of the ketchup from the bottle onto his plate.  I don't think I have to tell you what I'm reminded of as I watch his smooth, tanned hands working back and forth vigorously over the bottle.  Shaking, up and down, the stern look of concentration….  A warm, fuzzy excitement spreads through my body, born from the junction between my legs.

No, no this isn't good.  How does Ken manage to get me hot and bothered no matter what we're doing or where we are?  It's not fair.  He thinks I'm too spontaneous, that I can't control myself.  He blames me for ruining his sleep patterns and driving him crazy, but it's not my fault.  Oh no.  It's his fault.  I mean just look at him.  He's the most gorgeous, unassuming being ever to grace the earth with its presence.  One look at him and all my self control goes out the window, I have to have him.  I can't explain it, no one can affect me like Ken, and he doesn't even try.  I mean just like right now, with the ketchup, all the little grunts and mutterings under his breath the tiny sounds of effort he makes as he shakes the bottle up and down in his strong hands.  Pumping… shaking… pumping.

Shit.  That's enough of that.

"Ken give me the god damned bottle," I grumble looking at him darkly. 

He looks up, slightly startled and then furrows his eyes brows.  "I got it, koi.  Just go back to eating your noodles."


"Whatever."  He goes on shaking and pumping slowly, increasing in pace as his frustration builds.  And as his pace quickens so does my pulse.  God he's incredible… how does he do this to me?!  My pants are beginning to feel conspicuously tighter.  A slow aching begins to build and my hand begins to move restlessly across my thigh.

"Ken, give me the bottle," I grate, trying to hide the hoarseness of my voice.

"Koi, I can handle it," he grumbles.

"Please, Ken, just give it to me," I say through clenched teeth.

He eyes me narrowly, but keeps on pumping.  "What's gotten into you?"

"Just give it!" I shout, reaching across the table, snatching the ketchup from his still moving hands. 

All of the tables near us fall silent as eyes turn towards us, and people begin to murmur behind their hands.  Ken stares at me in surprise and then starts to look around jerkily as he notices the hushed voices and the disapproving stares.  His eyes get wider and wider and then he looks back at me.  "Ran… what the hell is wrong with you?  People are staring."

I look down at my plate, trying to calm the blush I feel rising to my cheeks.  I truly am mortified. I can't believe I did that.  In the middle the restaurant.  Oh, aité, the things you do to me. 

The waiter suddenly appears at my elbow.  He smiles fakely and raises his eyebrows.  "Is everything alright, sir?"

I take a deep breath and then smile right back, scrunching up my eyes.  "Yes, everything is fine."

"Very well, sir.  Enjoy your meals."  He gives the ketchup bottle a look as if to say, see this is what ketchup does to people.             

When the waiter leaves Ken gives me a long, hard look.  "What was that about?"

I shake my head silently.  "You were shaking the ketchup wrong.  I'll do it."  I lean over the table and hold the bottle above Ken's steak, putting the heel of my hand against the bottom of the bottle.  "You have to hit it like this."

"You're going to make a mess," he says tightly.

I glare at him.  "I know what I'm doing."

I shake the bottle gently while whacking the bottom gently.  Ken watches disapprovingly.  Damn this ketchup is stuck.  Guess it hasn't been used in a while, small wonder.  I don't notice that the hand holding the bottle is sweating against the glass. I grit my teeth and try very hard to banish all thoughts of Ken and his naughty hands from my mind. 

That's it, I am whacking the shit out of this thing.  Drawing back I smack the bottom of the ketchup bottle as hard as I can.  It slips right out of my hand, a huge blob of ketchup and the bottle as well impacting Ken's plate, sending the entire mess flying off the table and into Ken's lap.

"Shit!" he cries, leaping to his feet, tipping his chair over backwards, holding his hands up and back.  The clatter and fuss is unbelievable.  Scandalized gasps and exclamations go up from the dining multitude.  Ken looks down at his pants with unbelieving eyes and then back up at me, his mouth agape.  There is ketchup, steak, and gravy all down his lap.  Slowly the wide-eyed disbelief fades and his muscles relax until he's no longer looking at me with surprise in his eyes, but endless irritation, and not a small amount of anger.  "You sure knew what you were doing, Aya."  

All I can do is stare at the place where Ken's plate used to be and the huge red stain on the white table cloth and the mess on Ken's pants.  Closing my eyes I put my head in my hand and massage the bridge of my nose.  "Jesus." 

Then the waiter is back.  "We seem to have had a little accident.  The bathroom is this way, sir." 

Kengives me another long look while the waiter gives the ketchup one last sneer and then allows himself to be dragged away by the elbow. 

What the hell just happened?  I have managed to make an ass of myself twice in one night.  I'm supposed to be cool and collected.  I'm supposed to be used to this, to know the ropes, and the ins and outs of politer society.  This is my thing.  And I have managed not only to attract the attention of the whole restaurant but spill my date's dinner all down his pants.  But this is really Ken's fault.  Ken's fault for being so damn alluring, for turning me on in such an inappropriate place.  How can he just sit there and drive me crazy?  It's his fault for asking for the ketchup anyway.  Why did he have to start shaking it like that?  This is Ken's fault, even if he doesn't know what he's doing, it's still his fault.  His damn fault for being so unaware and aloof and sexy.

I look up and notice that people are still staring.  I smile weakly at them and then stare at my pasta.  I'm not very hungry anymore. 

I should probably see if Ken needs any help.

Getting up I look around until I spot the restroom sign and then make my way across the dining room.  I open the door with my shoulder.  Ken is standing by the sink muttering to himself under his breath scrubbing at the front of his pants with a wet towel.  He looks up at the sound of the door and sees me in the mirror.  He cocks his head to one side and glowers at me. 

"Look at this!" he cries, indicating his crotch with his hands.  "I'm a mess.  What were you thinking?"

I shake my head, trying not to look at –that- too much.  Why does Ken always set my mind on a one way track? 

"I don't know," I grumble, coming up next to him. 

"We were supposed to have a nice dinner," he says, his voice low.

"I know.  I'm sorry, I don't know what happened.  Here let me help, give me a towel."  He hands me the wet towel he's been using and I put my hands on his hips, turning him around.  I kneel down on one knee and start to dab around the front of his pants as he leans back against the counter.  I try very hard not think dirty thoughts as I wipe around his crotch.

 "And I was afraid I was going to do something stupid and embarrassing.  I really can't take you anywhere," he grumbles after a moment, but I know now that he's smiling even without looking at him.  Deep down this mess appeals to Ken's twisted sense of humor.  "You're such an embarrassment," he chuckles running a hand through my hair.

The touch sends a shiver through my body.  I nearly convulse just thinking about it.  And I'm so close to… him.  He toys with my hair and then adds the other hand.  Shit, Ken, what are you trying to do to me?!

"Ken," I grate, my voice husky and strained, "stop that."

"What?  I thought you liked it when I played with your hair," he chuckles and runs his hand down the back of my head.  God no, anything but that!  "Whoa!  Heh, hey Aya, watch what you're touching there."  He thinks this is all in innocence 

I snap my head up and stare at him, knowing full well that my eyes reflect all the burning, unbridled passion that he has set to coursing through my veins.  He gets that 'oh shit' look in his eyes, and he knows that things are about to get out of hand. 

"Aya, don't you dare," he hisses.  "Not here.  You can't be serious, you can't!"

Leaning forward I nip him sharply though the fabric of his shirt and growl.  "Urusai."          

He whimpers and tries to push himself farther back against the counter, but he's not going anywhere.  And then I just let all common sense fade away.  The next thing I know I'm licking his skin, pushing his shirt up, letting my tongue flick over his navel as my hands start to wrestle with the clasp of his pants.

"Aya-kun, you can't," he breathes, tugging on my hair.  "We're in public, what is wrong with you?!"  But I can tell by the breathy little sighs he's making that he's only half serious.  I on the other hand am completely serious. 

I stand up abruptly and press him back even farther onto the counter.  "I thought I told you to be quiet.  This is all your fault anyway," I growl.

He glares at me, "What's that supposed to mean?!"


I take his lips with mine, covering his insignificant protest, turning it into a moan as I invite myself inside and start to play.  When I've got him so flushed and flustered that he can't even think straight anymore I leave off and start to suck on his neck.  How awkward would it be if someone were to come in here right now?  Hmmm… awkward for them maybe, but that's their problem.  Heh. 

"Oooh… Aya, shit someone's gonna see us," he hisses, but doesn't even make the tiniest attempt to stop me. 


I trail my hands down his body and fall back to one knee, resuming my attack on his pants fastening.

"Oh God, you're not going to do –that-, are you?" he breathes.  "Shouldn't we go into a… a stall or –something-?"  He's panting almost as heavily as I am.  Screw the stall, I don't have time for the stall.

Achieving my goal with the pants fastening I stand again and reach one hand down into the front of his shorts.  He moans loudly as my finger brush over his heated flesh and begin to find a solid grip. 

Just as I give him the first good squeeze, and he cries out again, his eyes hooded and glazed with pleasure and acceptance, the door bursts open.

The waiter is back.

"Is everything alright si-  Oh my."

Ken starts to make this funny little high pitched laughing sound and I… well I just slump in defeat, resting my head on Ken's shoulder.  Strike three…

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

"Hey, you guys are back early.  What happened?" Youji calls over the back of the couch as Ken kicks his shoes against the wall.

I grumble something inarticulate and then stalk across the living room. 

"Oi, Aya!" Youji calls.  "Humph.  Ken, what happened."

"It's a long story," I hear him grumble. 

"Give me the gist.  C'mon, Ken what did you do?"

"What did –I- do?  What did –I- do?!  I didn't do anything!  Aya got us kicked out of the restaurant," he shouts, and I hear him direct my name towards where I have disappeared into my room.

"You're shittin' me," Youji replies.  "For what?"

There is a long pause here and I can just picture Ken giving Youji a long, meaningful, suggestive look.  "What do you think?  And I'll give you a hint: it has to do with the bathroom and the phrase: no, Aya, not here, we can't."

Another silence and then Youji suddenly bursts into a fit of gut shaking laugher.  I cringe.  "Holy shit, you have got to be joking!  Oh my god!  Aya, you freak! Can't take you anywhere!"



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