A/N: For milkyxduckie in LJ. Hope you like it. And thanks to my beta for beta-ing this even though I sent it just as she was able to get the song out of her head XDD

Disclaimer: PoT and its characters aren't mine. The song isn't mine either. It is sung by Damien Rice. I receive no profit from writing this.

9 Crimes

Leave me out with the waste

This is not what I do

It's the wrong kind of place

To be thinking of you

It's the wrong time

For somebody new

It's a small crime

And I've got no excuse

The night was barely silent. The boisterous laughter of the drunken salary men on the road below entered, only slightly filtered by the window, along with the dim streetlight outside. The room itself was unmade. Through the shadows, one could easily make out the messy table with books and crumpled papers strewn across it, the articles of clothing on the floor, and finally the unmade bed and the two naked bodies entangled beneath the thin stained white cover.

Fuji wished the shadow would blind him from the truth, from his crime, his sin. But as much as he wanted to be oblivious and numb, he couldn't. He hated the strange familiarity of the situation. His disgust grew but not to the other person for he was only a victim. He was disgusted with himself because he knew this was wrong, that he had sinned, that he had soiled himself. But he couldn't stop, couldn't escape. Fuji had trapped himself in here.

The body was too muscular, not lean enough. The fingers too rough, not gentle enough; the breath too harsh, not soft enough. This was the wrong person. This wasn't the one Fuji wanted. This wasn't him. But he would forever be beyond Fuji's reach. Always distant, no matter how far Fuji ran. Always be the one, the one he could not reach and the one he'd always yearn for.

How many times had he told himself this? How many times had he told himself to stop wishing, hoping? He would forever be out of his reach. He would never be his. This was all he had now and forever; a strange bedroom and a strange man surrounding him. Fuji moved on, ran and dragged everything around him in his haste. But in his attempt to run away, there was always him in the looming distance wherever Fuji set his eyes on. No matter how fast he tried to run, how tightly he closed his eyes, he'd always be there, an undeniable, irreplaceable and irremovable presence.

"Fuji?" The groggy man behind him called. "Are you all right?"

Fuji closed his eyes, hoping to fool his senses, convince them this was the right place, the right person, the right thing to do, but he couldn't. He never could.

Fuji turned around, a perpetual mask fixed on his face. He was not fooled but the stranger was. And that delusion, he wished he could share.

Is that all right (yeah)

Give my gun away when it's loaded

Is that all right (yeah)

If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it?

Is that all right (yeah)

Give my gun away when it's loaded

Is that all right

Is that all right with you?

No one questioned him when he arrived at school with Taka-san. No one questioned him when he tried to sneak a peek of the contents of Inui's confidential data book. Those in the know were familiar with his nature and those not in the know were too afraid to ask. Fuji realized this and ignored it, because the only thing that truly mattered would never be.

The courts became silent when their proud captain entered. Fuji was aware of this sign, he was expecting it in fact, but he kept talking with Inui. Yet no matter how hard he tried to resist, he couldn't ignore his captain's powerful presence for long. Despite the conversation he was having with Inui, Fuji was aware of Tezuka's every movement, the way he talked to Oishi, the way he greeted other members with a cool look, the way he ordered the freshmen to pick up balls, the way he didn't miss the way Fuji was watching him. So Fuji turned to regard him somberly, angry, relieved, and jubilant all at the same time. He wished his feelings were conveyed through the look they shared, but even if they had been, he would never know. Tezuka's eyes strayed soon; his attention never solely belonged to Fuji.

Fuji wanted to chase after him, scream at him, shake him, hit him, anything to get that attention back. But Tezuka was walking away, turning his back on him, getting more and more distant. Fuji wanted to reach out for him, hold him back, make him stay, make him understand. Because Fuji needed him to understand that he was in love and in pain and it was all because of him.

Instead, what came out was a low purr and a step towards doom. Inui was barely surprised, not anymore than anybody else. Fuji smiled, a pretty, seductive smile with sharpness around the edges, victorious in his defeat. He could feel the silent, collective shrug from those who knew, but not from the one who he needed to understand, the one whose eyes returned to him.

The seconds while it lasted were intense; they stole away Fuji's breath, pinned him down, mesmerized him, and broke him. That moment Fuji was ready to do anything, throw his past away, ignore his present, abandon his future, follow him, exist only for him, do anything he was asked, anything, anything, anything as long as he could have those eyes, that attention on him. But then the moment passed and Fuji was left behind again to run and chase the forever-elusive dream.

"Fuji?"

They didn't understand. Didn't even know. His lies were easy to buy. His truth was difficult to catch, like him whose back was once again turned to him, eyes away from him, not minding, uncaring.

Fuji wanted to scream but he smiled instead. His hopes were crushed, his heart shattered. Defeated, conquered, and he still wanted Tezuka to turn back.

Leave me out with the waste

This is not what I do

It's the wrong kind of place

To be cheating on you

It's the wrong time

She is pulling me through

It's a small crime

And I've got no excuse

Fuji didn't frequent this particular street very often. There was something about the atmosphere, the dim lights, the crowd, and the way people looked at him that made him feel out of place. Walking into this street, he felt like he had entered a different world, a world where he was both loved and despised.

But tonight the music lured him closer and he found himself mingling in the crowd of strangers, dancing to the beat. Fuji closed his eyes and let the music guide him, slide around his body, move him with invisible gentle force. In the darkness he could almost forget, could almost lose himself, could almost feel the lingering dark thoughts dissipating.

Fuji raised his arms up high, drawing attention to the slightly revealed creamy skin between his shirt and his trousers and his sensuously swaying hips. Desperately he clung to the oblivion and moved his body more vigorously as it slipped from his grasp. Everything became too clear; the way the young man in front of him shifted closer and the gazes on him. Fuji wanted to go, push him away, and run away. This was wrong, not right, a mistake, a grave mistake. But he smiled instead, felt the hollow in his heart grow, and let the hands touch where they shouldn't.

The oblivion returned, building slowly within him along with ecstasy. Fuji slung his arms around the stranger's neck, laughing softly at himself. The nagging guilt slowly disappeared along with the music, which was now only a faint echo in his ears. He forced his mind to focus on the pressure, maddening in its gentleness that built up his desire, his wall of defense against the painful truth.

Then a piercing gaze broke the frail illusion, the thin fog that clouded his senses. Fuji's eyes snapped open and he searched for the source of the intruding look. His heart sank, his body growing cold when he found Tezuka standing away from the dancing crowd, watching him quietly, sharply.

This was wrong. This was wrong! This wasn't how he wanted Tezuka to see him! Fuji wanted to move away but moved closer instead. A sharp smile curved his lips as he held Tezuka's gaze. Even as guilt tore him, he couldn't stop because Tezuka was looking at him, because he was paying attention to him, because he could finally see him. And that was all that mattered.

Lost as he was, Fuji nearly forgot his dance partner. He gasped in surprise when two hands began to knead his buttocks firmly, a finger slipping to caress the cleft hungrily. He didn't realize how aroused he was until he felt another arousal crushing on his. Briefly, he closed his eyes as bliss overwhelmed him, stars danced in his eyes wildly and he instinctively pressed back for more. But when he opened his eyes, Tezuka was gone.

Scared, angry, panicked, pleased, betrayed, Fuji made his way out of the crowd, ignoring the call behind him. He looked for Tezuka frantically, wanting and needing him to stay, be with him, see him, and look at him. He ran to the distancing tall figure, desperately hoping that this time he would be able to catch him.

Tezuka's eyes were cold when Fuji caught his arm and made him turn around. But Fuji was undeterred, even if he was scared. His need overcame his fear. He had those eyes on him and that was all that mattered.

"Leaving so soon? Didn't you enjoy the show?" Fuji asked with a smirk, not letting go of Tezuka's tense arm.

"I have seen enough."

The words crushed his heart painfully but Fuji didn't budge. He still had those eyes on him and that was all that mattered.

"You haven't seen anything." He taunted. He regretted and despised the words but he knew it was the truth. Tezuka never expected anything but the truth from him and Tezuka was the only one who deserved his true self. He stepped closer, lightly pressing against the tall, strong, desirable body he had been craving. "I could show you more."

Those eyes didn't leave him, and that was all he ever wanted.

Is that all right (yeah)

Give my gun away when it's loaded

Is that all right (yeah)

If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it?

Is that all right (yeah)

Give my gun away when it's loaded

Is that all right

Is that all right with you?

Tezuka's touches weren't as clumsy as Taka-san's, as calculated as Inui's, as playful as Eiji's, as gentle as Oishi's, as eager as Momo's, as inexperienced as Kaido's, or as determined as Ryoma's. It was practical, impersonal, Tezuka. It was everything Fuji wanted. He overlooked the frown on Tezuka's face when he pushed him down to sit on the cheap mattress, kneeled between his spread legs, and undid the zipper with his teeth. Fuji didn't care. He couldn't bring himself to care. Tezuka was here with him, looking at him, giving all his attention to him, and that was all that mattered.

Fuji smiled, feeling the pearly liquid leaking out of him, the way Tezuka still pushed into him languorously, and the way Tezuka's glazed eyes were still locked on his. He sighed, tired, relieved, happy, sad, angry, scared. But Tezuka was looking at him, holding him, inside him, all around him, and that was all that mattered.

Is that all right (yeah)

Give my gun away when it's loaded

Is that all right (yeah)

If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it?

Is that all right (yeah)

Give my gun away when it's loaded

Is that all right

Is that all right with you?

Fuji woke up to the unfiltered sunlight entering through the window. He sighed, savoring the soreness all over his body, knowing without looking that the dreamlike sequence had ended. But still he clung to it, running the scene of last night over and over again in his head. Tezuka had been looking at him, with him, watching him, holding him, paying attention to him. His heart contracted in his chest in a way he wished to never comprehend. He tried to ignore the cold, tried to sleep a little longer, tried to be oblivious, tried to think that memory alone was enough.

But he could only delude himself for so long. Fuji turned to his side, to the empty side where there wasn't a single trace of another's presence. It could've been a dream. It might as well be a dream, but it wasn't. It was real. It was true. Fuji knew it. He wished he didn't, but he did. It was true. It was real. It was reality. This was reality.

Fuji slung his arm over his eyes. Here he was, back to where he started, abandoned, empty, cold, alone. Exactly how he was supposed to be.

And it felt so wrong.

No.

O-WA-RI

A/N: And that's it folks. NO sequel. It hurts me to end it this way but my muse demands that this is how it's supposed to be. Anyone is welcome to make a sequel though! The link to the pron is in my profile, as usual. It's in my LJ page. And don't forget to comment ^__^