He starts to wonder if she knows.

But he knows he's gotten better at keeping his secrets. He's gotten extremely better.

So that's why he brings her gifts: To show her that she is extremely special to him.

She always smiles and takes them. He suspects she keeps every single one hidden somewhere. It's extremely heartbreaking.

"Thanks," she says in that soft beautiful voice he fell in love with. He feels extremely guilty after that. And he always feels extremely guilty when he is reminded that she is Kyoko's best friend. He has betrayed not only his own wife, but also his little sister.

"So I'm the other woman?" he asked once, a smile on his perfect pale face. It made him extremely in love. "Well isn't that funny."

"I don't think it's funny," he said, frowning. "It's extremely bad."

"For you, maybe," he said, his arms crossed under his yukata. Ryohei always thought it made Hibari look extremely Japanese, or extremely Yakuza. He liked it. "It doesn't matter to me what you do, as long as it doesn't disturb Namimori. However, I do wonder why you continue this charade."

"Because," he swallowed, "you turn me on to the extreme."

He smiled at that; that extremely deadly smile. His fluffy black hair curled brilliantly around his face, and his extremely narrow eyes twinkled in a terrible way.

"Oh? So your precious wife can't?"

Ryohei flinched. He had extremely tried with Hana, he really had. He had succeeded only a few times, but he assumed that was good enough for her.

"No," he answered with extreme honesty. Hibari's smile did not falter.

"Well then...That is rather sad."

Hibari stood up quickly from his seat on the tatami mats, and abruptly undid his obi. Another reason why Ryohei extremely liked his yukatas: they were easy to remove. It opened in the front, showing Hibari's extremely naked body from head to toe. He was pale as paper, barely underweight, and always ready; he was beautiful. Hibari scoffed playfully.

"So get what you've come for."

And Ryohei did.

He was on Hibari faster than the smaller Japanese man could comprehend, startled when Ryohei extremely tackled him to the floor. They rolled on the mats for a moment, kissing and touching and laughing and moaning. Ryohei pinned him to the ground, but not after rumpling his suit in the process.

"I am an extremely terrible person," he whispered against his lover's ear, hands tightening their grip on his arms. Hibari was near breathless, his body pumping blood in every direction too fast for him to keep up.

"Think what you like," he answered, blinking slowly, arching up, "but in the end, it doesn't really matter."

Ryohei frowned, but had to extremely agree. So he continued.

Ryohei knew how to move for his little lover. He had to learn quickly, or else he would be met with some extreme contempt. So he had to learn how Hibari wanted to be touched, how Hibari wanted to always have control.

"I'm no woman," he would remind him if he was preparing him too slowly. Ryohei always remembered to the extreme.

"I'm not your wife," he would hiss if Ryohei wanted to hold him and love him afterwards. That was what Ryohei remembered the best.

But at that moment, Ryohei didn't care.

Even when Hibari started hitting him over the head (It didn't hurt any less than a metal tonfa), he would not listen. He was extremely focused, and he was not going to be distracted by guilt.

"N-Ngha," Hibari moaned, squirming as Ryohei's hands traveled down his body, squeezing and caressing and memorizing. His fingers, calloused from 20+ years of fighting, scaled down his hips and in between his thin white thighs. Hibari cooed, if he dared to admit it. His large hands encircled his dripping erection and squeezed gently, all the while opening the zipper to his pants. Hibari dazedly watched him slide a finger inside, twisting and curling slowly.

"S-Sasagawa, if you don't go faster, I'm going to b-b-bite you to death, ahhn!"

And Ryohei did.

"F-Faaaahh! Ah!" Hibari cried, soon pressed face first into the tatami mats and his ass in the air. His yukata fell down to rest at his shoulders, almost completely exposed. Ryohei pressed his erection into the smaller Japanese man from behind, leaning over to breathe into his ear.

"I'm sorry that you're...You're not the one I married..."

Hibari would have basked in the absolute sweetness of the statement, or been disgusted by Ryohei's honesty, had it not been for the large erection breeching him at an agonizing tempo. Hibari loved the pain of the initial penetration, loved the feel of the first time stretch. His brain went haywire.

"G-Ghaaa, god," he moaned, pressing back against Ryohei, feeling the coarse silver hair around the boxer's dick and the zipper of his open fly tickle his sensitive skin. He sighed at the sensation of Ryohei's super-defined abs against his back (He could even feel it through his suit jacket), hard and warm and utterly wonderful. He hated the fuzzy feeling it created in his head, on his red cheeks and his overworked vocal chords. He didn't want to have emotions; he wanted a good hard fuck. Really, that was all it was.

"You are extremely beautiful…H-Hibari..." Ryohei whispered into the crook of his neck, placing bandage-bound hands on his small trembling hips. He squeezed and massaged the extremely pale skin under his fingers, waiting for Hibari to give him the green light. "S-So beautiful."

"...D-Don't...Say that..." he answered, pressing his forehead into the tatami mats that smelled of dirty bamboo and his own cologne, "...Just...J-Just do it!"

And Ryohei did.

Slamming in quicker than either could utter a word, Hibari was instantly reduced to animalistic vocals, moaning and gasping for air that had always been there for him to breathe. Ryohei leaned upright to thrust even faster, staring extremely at the way Hibari's back flexed and bounced against him in time. He could see the muscles in Hibari's shoulders tense, his hands scratching at the bamboo floor that gave him no grip or relief. But most of all, he watched the way his dick would disappear into his tiny lover before reappearing again, and he'd just keep repeating the movement for the sake of them both. It was extremely sexy.

"H-Hibariii," he muttered, hands tightening to leave extreme bruises on those hips, forcing them to crash back against his as fast as he could. Hibari cried out loudly, his knees irritated at the positioning and lack of circulation. But he felt so good.

Ryohei leaned over him again like a cloak, his pace that much quicker and deeper. He breathed into Hibari's midnight hair, pressed kisses along his shoulder blades, and whispered his name until Hibari could barely stand it. He sobbed out what was supposed to be Ryohei's name (it came out more of a jumbled groan), and crushed his cheek into the floor as he came hard, sticky white fluid coating the tatami under him. Ryohei felt his stomach coil at the new tightness of his lover and his sudden erotic outburst. He pumped just a few more times before he too came, grunting loudly and releasing deep inside the small Japanese man.

They took a moment to breathe, to regain consciousness, whatever it took to be presentable. Surprisingly, it was Ryohei to come to his senses first. He pulled out slowly and redid his pants, but returned to care upon Hibari's heaving back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, laying more kisses along his neck. Hibari glanced over his shoulder to the sun guardian and frowned, his red cheeks and fuzzy gaze making it look extremely not intimidating.

"Be quiet," he snapped, slumping against the floor tiredly. "I'm not your wife."

"I know. Hana will always be my wife to the extreme," Ryohei confirmed, a smile blooming on his face. Hibari pursed his lips and remained silent. Hibari hated that warm loving face he always made for him.

"...But you don't have to be my wife for me to extremely love you too," he said, gently tugging Hibari up by his shoulders and into his hard muscled chest. Hibari gave him a warning glare as he fixed his mussed yukata, crossing his arms when he leaned down for an afterglow kiss. He didn't want to be his wife anyway.

However, Hibari did not fight it when he was scooped up into strong arms and carried away like the bride he never was.

In all truth, he enjoyed it.