Title: Guilty Pleasures

Author: Hawk Clowd

Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own them, I don't want them, and writing drabbles to Boondock Saints is pretty odd, let me tell you.

Blood Type: blackberry tea.

Warnings: drabble.

Author's Notes: Um. Yeah. I've got nothing. Here's hoping my inspiration does not run dry again any time soon!

Shuichi lay on sheets that looked like silk but probably weren't, dressed simply in blue jeans, half unzipped, and a t-shirt, which he had pushed halfway up his chest. The hand that had moved the shirt was still resting there, fingers tucked partially beneath the shirt. The other hand... The other hand was lower down on the singer's body, shamefully lower, teasing the top of his jeans as if taunting Eiri with the flesh he already knew was there.

Eiri stared a moment, then turned the page. Here, Shuichi had his arms draped over Hiro's shoulders, grinning deviously as one of his legs crept up and curled around the tops of the guitarist's legs. Suguru knelt at their feet, one hand creeping up Shuichi's calf. They wore identical outfits light-colored jeans and white blouses. Shuichi's was half-unbuttoned, and it revealed just enough skin to entice but not enough to show off the singer's nipple piercing. Eiri tugged at the collar of his shirt, then looked to the opposite page. Just an article. Feh. He flipped again.

This one was quite possibly the best of the lot. The designers had done Shuichi's hair extra-special for it, tipped the usual pink locks with purple that, closer to the ends, faded into a shade of blue. The singer seemed to be looking away or laughing at a joke told by a friend off-camera, and the tree under which he stood offered him protection against


Eiri quickly stuffed the magazine into his desk drawer. Looking at a teen magazine just because Shuichi's picture had been on the cover? Him? No, of course not.

"What?" he asked irritably. The corner of the magazine was sticking out of the drawer. Eiri tried to discreetly shove it in with the rest of the damned thing.

Shuichi poked his head into the room. "What do you want for dinner? It's getting late, and I'm hungry!"

Eiri blinked at Shuichi, who looked nothing like the sinful figment hidden in the pages and on the cover of the stupid magazine but more like the same old human being who occasionally shared Eiri's bed, and frowned.

"Order Chinese or something," he said, passing the question off. "I don't care."

Shuichi accepted that answer and bounded off. As soon as Eiri was sure he wasn't going to bound back into the room and catch him in the act, Eiri dove for the magazine once again to closely examine each and every line of the singer's body in each and every picture.

Oh, yes. Even Eiri had his guilty pleasures.