I apparently have gone crazy. MPreg was never my thing, not to mention a little to fangirlish for my tastes, so I go ahead and post an adoption fic. Wow. This is my brain gone haywire and I'm never going to post anything like this again. Ugh. Mostly because I just know Ryoma would hate kids and would hate being called a mother or daddy2.

REVISED for the lines! just blurred them...thank you Lady Androgene for pointing it out!

He has a very weird family.

He has two fathers. Well he used to have a mother and a father, since the father, the handsome man with light brown hair and clean, blue eyes had told him that the other man, the one with the sharp face and golden eyes, was his mother and had smirked at him. And he was fine with that. But his other father who used to be his mother was obviously not, and he dragged his father away for a few moments and they had a long talk. Or maybe it was talking. He really didn't know since his father later sprouted a blue eye that lasted for weeks. So after that he had two fathers. He really didn't know the difference.

"Yuuya, toast," his father with the gold eyes pushed a plate in front of him. His father didn't like him to call him "father who has gold eyes" and told him to just call him Ryoma. His father with the blue eyes had looked up from his computer at that and told him what fine examples you're teaching our kid, Ryoma and his father with the gold eyes, er, no, Ryoma, had glared at him and asked if Keigo would like to be the one called mommy, he could be perfectly fine with that.

Right, so they compromised to Ryoma-san. His family was made up of compromises.

He pouted. "Wanted a Japanese breakfast," he sulked, picking up is bread and making a face at it.

"Blame your father for that," Ryoma-san rolled his eyes and jerked a finger at his father, who was currently sipping coffee and typing out a new report for a lease. "He made the policy of no maids on Sundays and I can't cook for life."

"Better you then me, dear," his father drawled out, not at all fazed by the glare Ryoma-san sent him, even managing to dodge a knife hurled at him. Wow. He really must ask his father to teach him that sometime.

"Didn't they teach you the basics of cooking with all those posh French lessons?" Ryoma-san muttered before pouring his own cup of grape juice and handing milk to Yuuya. Yuuya stared incredulously at Ryoma-san.

"Ryoma-san! I want juice too!" Yuuya cried out, the sheer injustice of being given juice just because he was eight. Ryoma-san met his glare with an even stare.

"You're a growing boy," Ryoma-san deadpanned, "Drink before I add one more glass."

"You should know the pains of being short," his father smirked, his eyes never leaving the computer, "Be a good boy and drink the milk, Yuuya, so you can outgrow Ryoma."

Yuuya very much doubted that, since Ryoma-san came up to his father's throat, and his father was a good over 180 centimeters. Ryoma-san glared at him.

"Fine things you're telling Yuuya, Keigo," Ryoma-san muttered. "You could make your own burnt toast."

Yuuya winced. At least his toast was intact.

"Sound of Music," his father declared, waving the DVD case in front of him; Yuuya scowled and scooted away, "It should do you a bit of good. It's a classic."

"James Bond," Ryoma-san pointed out, "Is better than a bunch of actors sprouting some bullshit on stage."

"And gunfire isn't bullshit?"

"It's action. What more do you need?"

"Trust you to not know the finer details of classical films," his father scoffed, "Just like your taste in music."

"What's wrong about Gackt?" Ryoma-san snapped, trying to take away the DVD disk from his father and failing.

"He's gay. He implies sexual contexts onstage," his father pronounced each word clearly, "What more do you need proof of?"

"You're gay too, unless that slipped your mind. And you talk as if you're in your forties."

"Would you stop trying to overstate my age? I'm perfectly young, thank you."

"I'm sorry. Thirties, then?"

"Twenty-eight, thank you."

"So ancient, Keigo."

"Gackt is older than that!"

"He looks young. He sings well too."

"I like Gackt," Yuuya tried to meekly intervene.

"See, your son likes them too, sweetheart," Ryoma-san smirked, finally succeeding in tossing away the horrid Sound of Music flap, "Now we can settle in for some gunshots."

In the end they watched Harry Potter. Yuuya always did like magical creatures.

"Wait, Keigo—mmppphh."

Yuuya couldn't sleep. He was about to ask Ryoma-san to tuck him into his bed since Ryoma-san was surprisingly good at that, because he could stroke his hair very, very gently until he fell asleep. So he trotted to his parents' bedroom and crouched under the sofa, because he didn't think it was a very good idea to intervene. They were busy.

"Ah, wait, slowly, slow—hahhhhh…"


"Don't tell me to shut up—ah—you're the asshole who—mrrph."

"Yuuya is going to wake. And then what do we tell him, hmmm?"

Small laughter. A rustle of sheets. Yuuya covered his ears, wide-eyed.

"Are you going to tell him that—" "Hah, Keigo, shit, move—" "this is how—" "Keigo, damn you, harder, more—" "all babies are made—ow, Ryoma!"

"You are obviously asking for a SM next time aren't you."

"Ryoma, let go of my hair."

"No. You talk too much while we're doing this. Move."

"I can't move when you're holding my hair. Use your brains—don't clench, do you mind?!—Fuck."

More rustling of sheets. A louder moan. How much longer did he have to be there? Yuuya wondered what they were doing. Should he pretend he was playing pi-ka-boo?

"Keigo, fuck Keigo—"


Yuuya peeked out.

His father was pinning Ryoma-san on the bed and Ryoma-san had his eyes closed, his head thrown back and moaning. Both of them were naked and sweating and his father was moving his legs fast, but Yuuya really couldn't see. And Ryoma-san couldn't escape because his father was grabbing onto Ryoma-san's wrists and Ryoma-san couldn't move away and Ryoma-san really was in no state to because he was too busy being in pain—

Yuuya began to cry.

"Um. Right. So." His father never looked embarrassed. Only placid and composed, but right now he was looking anywhere but Yuuya. "About that."

"You tried to kill Ryoma-san!" Yuuya bawled, "I saw you!"

His father sighed. "Now really." He glared at Ryoma-san, who was too busy laughing in one corner to intervene. "Do you mind trying to set this straight?"

Ryoma-san choked back his laughter. "Yes," Ryoma-san finally managed out, "I told you we shouldn't do it and you still wanted to, remember? Your job to give the birds and the bees talk. Oh god." And Ryoma-san ended up laughing again.

"You mean the two bees," his father muttered, looking at Yuuya. Yuuya responded with another wail. "Don't kill me too!"

His father gave Ryoma-san a dark look. "Definitely SM next time."

"You call him your father, Yuuya."


"What would your father say? Father. Or perhaps Dad?"

"Ryoma-san is Ryoma-san," Yuuya insisted stubbornly.

Ms. Goldbery, his homeroom teacher, sighed and looked at Ryoma-san. Ryoma-san shrugged. "He's right. He calls me that at home."

His teacher frowned. "Mr. Echizen, that's very formal of a child living in a house with a proper family."

"He already has a father," Ryoma-san stated, looking at Ms. Goldbery evenly.

"I don't understand—"His teacher began, but she soon understood because her eyes soon hardened a little. "Oh. I see." Yuuya didn't see.

"Yes," Ryoma-san drawled, "Pleasant meeting. Come, Yuuya."

"Okay, Ryoma-san!" Yuuya waved good-bye to his teacher, who looked a bit paled-faced. "Why is Ms. Goldbery like that?" Yuuya wondered to Ryoma-san as they got in the car, "She got sick all of a sudden."

Ryoma-san shrugged. "She must have not liked your father," he said lightly, and refused to elaborate.

His parents never fought.

It was weird. Mike once cried to him about her mom being beaten up by her dad, and Jun had added in that his dad was beaten up by his mom, and then there were the really crazy ones, like there came along another mom and the old mom just left.

"What do your parents do when they fight, Yuuya-kun?" a girl whose name Yuuya forget asked him.

Yuuya bit his lips and chewed. Were throwing knives counted as a fight? But his father always caught them before he got bloody. His father didn't beat up Ryoma-san, although he occasionally killed him. But Ryoma-san was always alright the next day, so that was okay. Ryoma-san could rise from the dead like Jesus! They never screamed at each other. Maybe they did argue too much? But that happened every day. And they still gave Yuuya what he wanted. Hmm.

Well, he didn't have a mother even though he used to have one, but still, Ryoma-san was Ryoma-san.

And his father loved Ryoma-san too much to have another mom. Because one time when Ryoma-san was really, really sick, father had come home and carried Ryoma-san to the emergency room as soon as he saw Ryoma-san had a cold. ("Damn it Keigo! It's called a fucking cold, now put me down! DOWN! DON'T CALL 911 FOR FUCK'S—")

Did Ryoma-san love his father? He must, because Ryoma-san didn't try to aim for his father directly when he threw his knives. He remembered when Uncle Ryoga visited, those knifes were sharp and they were aimed so perfectly. His father was privileged with the butter knife.

"Um," Yuuya said.

"Why don't I have a mother?"Yuuya asked his parents one time, while they were having dinner. He cut his steak into neat pieces and waited for an answer.

His father stopped cutting his own steak and looked up. Ryoma-san raised an eyebrow, but he still continued to sip his wine.

The silence lasted a long time, until Yuuya was very uncomfortable with it and he regretted asking in the first place.

"Do you want one, Yuuya?" his father asked calmly. His eyes were very beautiful, like the beaches in Italy he used to go in the summer, when Ryoma-san wasn't too busy playing with rackets and balls and they all went down for a cruise.

Yuuya blinked. "No." He liked things the way they were, and a mom would ruin that. Maybe. He wouldn't know.

His father gave him a little smile. "Then you could ask that when you're older," he said airily, pointing to Yuuya's plate, "Eat your vegetables."

Yuuya scowled.

He also saw Ryoma-san's and his father's hands brushing against each other, but he didn't voice that aloud.

A/N: I had a craving for domestic Ryoma and Keigo and I couldn't fulfill my craving after I wrote this fic—IT JUST GOT BIGGER GOD HELP ME I WANT TO TURN THIS INTO A FULL STORY. This is wrong and I still like to imagine Ryoma throwing knives and still playing tennis and Keigo getting the raw side of the deal BLESS HIS HEART DEAR KEIGO. :D

Reviews and criticism are always welcome!