This was written two years ago, after the Yuuya fic and I'm not really happy with this, but who's happy with old writing? The days when my brain could write out meaningless fluff….Prequel to A Domestic Lifestyle, but mostly stand-alone.

Ryoma had known that he was risking some of his sanity by deciding to date Atobe Keigo back in high school. He had also forced himself to chant that every night in his head when he moved in with said bastard. And now he considered it would be a good time to bolt out that door and never come back.

"What," he said slowly, hoping that his hearing was deterred because it was morning.

"Kids," Keigo said, and sipped his coffee. "Don't you want to have kids?"

Ryoma gaped at him. For a good whole minute. Then he snapped out of it and blinked.



"You want….kids."

"Mmmm." More sips of coffee. That fucking liquid had to go.

"You're making it sound like furniture-shopping," Ryoma said, extra careful to squeeze sweetness into that tone, "And it's not working."

Keigo looked at him, amused. "No?"


"You don't like kids?"

Ryoma smiled. "I hate them." And if you mention this again, I will personally see to it that you are shoved in hell was unspoken.

Keigo was persistent when he wanted to be.

"Think how beautiful my children would be," he insisted, and then thought for a moment. "Our kids. They'll have the same gorgeous traits that I have, and all their looks from me and—" Keigo looked over at Ryoma , "—the rest of the qualities from you."

"So glad that you think highly of me," Ryoma deadpanned, knife in his hand. "The answer's still no."

"The donor would be beautiful," Keigo continued on, "And she'll be conveniently paid, highest services, nothing could go wrong—"

"I will not have more assholes running around," Ryoma said, "One is enough."

Keigo gave him a pointed look. "You have no ideals," he muttered.

"I'm sure you dream enough for the both of us," Ryoma said diplomatically.

His persistence was starting to irritate Ryoma.

"What are you—oh no. No." In the aftermath of passion and the sex that came along with it, Keigo was examining his hand critically, which had become all sticky and wet and the ingredient needed to produce the Thing He Had Desired For One Week.

"You will not," Ryoma said vehemently (or as vehement as he could get while naked and sleepy from the climax), "Not. Use that for your fucking project."

Keigo didn't answer him. He was still staring at his hand. Then he stood up and walked over to his drawers.

"Atobe Keigo," Ryoma said, quite dangerously, "Wash your fucking hands or I'm sleeping in the guest room."

Keigo's steps paused midway and smoothly changed his direction to his bathroom. "It's bacteria contaminated anyway," he said off-handedly, "Have a life, Ryoma."

"It's the fucking thought behind it," Ryoma snaps back.

"I was an only child," Keigo said, trying to put on a mourning face and failing, "You had your brother."

Ryoma snorted. "You loved the fact that you were an only child," he reminded him, "You know. Money, inheritance, the mansion?"

Keigo sighed and stirred his soup. "Which was almost all disinherited when my father found out I was dating you."

"And got it all back the next day," Ryoma drawled. "Are you playing the guilt card now?"

Keigo rolled his eyes, dropping his attitude of despair. It wasn't working anyway. "I'm running out of options."

"You know, you could really be stubborn when you want something," Ryoma said, "That's the perils of an only child."

"So we'll get two." Keigo looked smug.

Ryoma glared. "No."

"It says here," Keigo said, waving a magazine titled Home—(the rest covered by Keigo's fingers), "that a family is needed to ensure stability and comfort in a relationship."

Ryoma sighed and didn't look up from the TV. "Your point?"

"Children," Keigo pressed on, "Are needed in a family."

Ryoma switched the channel. "You want a family."

"Don't you?" Keigo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Ryoma snapped, flinging the remote control at Keigo. Keigo dodged neatly, and when Ryoma spun around to glare at him, he had a pensive look on his face.

"You don't want a family with me?" Keigo asked, a tinge of seriousness in his voice.

Ryoma blinked. This was not going to go in the direction he thought he was. "I wasn't saying that," Ryoma said defiantly, rolling his eyes and trying to squish the uncomfortable feeling inside, "Just that I don't want kids. Babies. With all their bibs and diapers."

Keigo smirked, the pensive look almost gone in an instant. "We could adopt," he announced benevolently.

Ryoma snarled and chased after him.

Ryoma sighed as kisses fluttered near his throat, and arched his back for more touches. A hand was working to get his pants off, and if Keigo would just hurry up—

"Ryoma," Keigo murmured; his voice made Ryoma's ear tingle pleasantly, and Keigo flicked out his tongue to lick his outer shell.


"Ryoma." A finger tapped his nose this time, and he muttered something irritably in response. "Ryoma, you're not listening."

"Urgh," Ryoma opened his eyes and hooked his legs around Keigo's waist. "We weren't exactly talking when you dragged me to the bedroom," he pointed out sourly, his hands going up to tug off Keigo's shirt. His pants still haven't been removed, and Keigo was far overdressed for this. Ryoma felt the curve of Keigo's lips as he felt his throat being nipped sharply. He hissed and wiggled out of his pants as soon as Keigo unbuckled the belt. He kicked them off and proceeded to take off Keigo's own pants.

"Ryoma," Keigo whispered, and another hand trailed down to stoke the side of his hips; Ryoma sucked in a breath, "Ryoma." Keigo lifted his face from Ryoma's throat and nuzzled his cheek. He planted little kisses on the strays of Ryoma's hair. He moved over to kiss Ryoma's scalp next, and breathed down on his hair. Ryoma was getting suspicious.

"Such a shame," Keigo murmured, in the same whisper he used when he wanted something very badly, and would stop at nothing to get it, "that only you have this hair shade in your family. Your brother's color isn't as rich as yours, hmm?"The hand from his hips removed itself and stroked his hair lightly, almost like petting a cat, "It's so beautiful—"

"Fuck," Ryoma snapped, and with his hooked legs, quickly rolled over to pin Keigo down on the mattress. Keigo's hand didn't let go of his hair. Keigo blinked innocently. Ryoma seethed.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" Ryoma said, worn out and defeated and very, very irritated.

Keigo dropped his innocent façade and smirked. He brought one of Ryoma's hands to his lips and kissed it. "No," Keigo said sweetly.

Ryoma sighed. The things he did for someone whom he wished to strangle on a daily basis. "Fine," Ryoma said, climbing off Keigo and grabbing his pants off the floor, "Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want." He didn't wait for Keigo's reply as he went out of the bedroom.

Keigo looked up from his newspaper when Ryoma entered the dining hall the next morning. "Good morning," Keigo said, folding up whatever he was reading and giving Ryoma his undivided attention. Ryoma grunted and slapped away the hand that was reaching for him. He accepted the coffee the maids had prepared for him and made sure to sit across from Keigo instead of next to him like he usually did.

Keigo looked warily at him. "Is there a reason for this cordial attitude you're giving me?" he asked.

"No," Ryoma said, stirring in some sugar into his coffee.

Keigo rolled his eyes. "Are you still angry about last night?"

"No," Ryoma snapped. He stuffed some bagel into his mouth and forced himself to swallow.

"Hmmm," Keigo said, the underlying tones saying that he knew better, "Why don't I make it up to yo—"

"No," Ryoma cut in, standing up and planning to have his coffee in the more Keigo-free study, "Not interested."

"You're always interested," Keigo said suggestively, and then amended his statement quickly when Ryoma's eyes flashed at him, "Well, most of the time."

"Not with a bastard who gets off by manipulating what he wants," Ryoma muttered, and shot Keigo a searching look. "When are we going to the hospital?"

Keigo looked as if he was about to deny such an appointment, but the look Ryoma gave him changed his mind. "Next week," he said, folding his hands.

"Hmph." Ryoma spun around and exited the room.

It was easy to avoid Keigo when he wanted to. He should note that for later, because he was sure this would not be the last time Keigo would have whacked ideas in his head and force Ryoma to follow along. He did this for three days until Keigo found him.

"We need to talk," Keigo said, crossing his arms and looking (Ryoma was glad to note) a little irritated.

"That's nice," Ryoma drawled, his eyes returning to his book, "About what?"

Keigo walked over to him and plucked the book out of his hands. "You've been sleeping in the guest bedrooms on the West Wing," Keigo pointed out, "that's certainly something to start with."

"Problem?" Ryoma inquired, leaning back into the armchair and reaching out for another book. Keigo swatted the hand away from touching any in the pile.

"Yes," Keigo said, a hint of exasperation seeping into his voice, "Why would you sleep there?"

"I don't know," Ryoma said disinterestedly, "Felt like it."

Keigo glared at him. Then sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Come on," Keigo said, holding out a hand.

"Not interested," Ryoma said, eyeing the hand suspiciously.

Keigo rolled his eyes and grabbed his wrist. He hauled Ryoma out of the armchair and proceeded to guide him out of the library. "No kid-talk, no sap, no talk at all," Keigo promised, and pushed Ryoma against the nearby wall to ravish him thoroughly.

Ryoma smirked and fisted Keigo's hair in response.

"Cancel the appointment," Ryoma said, afterwards, "And go call the adoption agency."

Keigo rolled over and eyed him. "Are you sure?" Keigo asked cautiously.

"Yeah." Ryoma shoved Keigo's arm away and snatched a straying pillow. "I'm not having another Atobe running around, I told you."

"It would also be an Echizen," Keigo said logically.

Ryoma snorted. "And it would also be an unknown woman," he said, "Your point?"

Keigo looked at him for a long time, but Ryoma wasn't backing out on this one. "Fine," Keigo sighed, "But pity about your hair."

"It could get your hair too, don't forget," Ryoma said nastily, and that was the end of discussion.

"Why don't you want kids?" Keigo asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Ryoma snorted. "So now you're asking me this?" he said sarcastically, looking out the window and definitely not sulking, "Aren't you fast."

"Just curious," Keigo confirmed, giving Ryoma a quick smirk, "Since you obviously have been very adamant in the objections."

"I just don't."

"There must be something other than that."



"Accept it face value. I have no reasons." Ryoma huffed and turned to look at him. "Besides, it doesn't matter now, does it? We're almost there."

"I'd like to think that out relationship was nothing if not democratic," Keigo offered.

Ryoma sneered. "Once you wake up at 3 in the morning with the baby crying, you'd wish you had a democracy to begin with."

"Yuuya," Ryoma read out, and looked up. "His name is Yuuya."

The lady smiled behind her desk. She was quite nice. She hadn't freaked when Ryoma had purposefully pointed out they were gay ("Gay with flying rainbow colors," he said, while Keigo stood far away across the room, pretending he was the next visitor) and she also had stood still when Ryoma suggested child abuse. Ryoma suspected Keigo of pulling in a few string before they arrived. One look and Keigo turning away, ah yes. Suspicion confirmed. Ryoma gave him a sweet smile that promised a bloody fight when they went back.

Now he was looking over this boy. Skinny. Lanky. Serious black eyes and thin lips. Big hands. No smiles.

He cocked his head to one side and complemented.

"Okay," he said, shrugging. The Yuuya kid blinked at him. Keigo looked at him.

"Are you sure?" he asked neutrally.

Translation: You haven't done his background checks, his blood test, and you say you're sure. What are you, crazy?

Ryoma looked at him and smiled. "I'm sure."

Translation: You were the one who read a crappy magazine and stuffed your head with fucked-up ideas. Deal with it.

Keigo didn't roll his eyes and opted to sign the papers handed to him.

Yuuya was silent the entire ride. Ryoma liked it that way.

Yuuya wanted to help with the cooking. Keigo was horrified.

"No," he said to the poor kid, quite coolly, "We have maids to do that."

Yuuya blinked at him. "Maids," he said, struggling to understand, or more likely, Holy fuck. I've been adopted by Victorians. Ryoma vouched for the latter.

"You could…." Keigo stopped, lost for words, and turned to him for help. "What could he do?"

Ryoma rolled his eyes and held out a hand. "Here," he said, and Yuuya grasped it without hesitation, "I'll show you around."

"The library's huge," Yuuya marveled, his first smile tentative.

"It is," Ryoma agreed, his hands pointing out the various sections, the armchairs, and the desk, "You like books?"

Yuuya beamed at him, and Ryoma mentally reminded himself to throw away the new racket and other sports equipment Keigo had bought just the day before. "I love them! Except, where I come from, they don't have much."

Ryoma paused to ruffle the kid's hair a bit. He was cute.

Yuuya hesitated for a bit and opened his mouth. Ryoma leaned over without meaning to.

"Is it true, what he said?" Yuuya began nervously. "About, about….maids?"

Ryoma couldn't help but quirk a smile. "He's a bit of a Malfoy," he said back, and noticed the way Yuuya tried to hide a grin.

"He likes you," Keigo pointed out, a little sourly.

"Of course he does," Ryoma countered back, letting a small smirk show, "I chose him, after all." He doesn't mention the small stab in the back. Keigo would deduce it in a minute.

Keigo rolled his eyes. "That's nice," he said sarcastically, "Choosing your kids like furniture shopping. I must be a bad influence on you."

"A good influence," Ryoma amended, hooking his arms around Keigo's neck. His smirk grew wider when Keigo pushed him against the desk and nipped his jaw. "He's good enough. Throw away those tennis rackets when you have the chance."

"Yes, your highness," Keigo mocked, carelessly pushing Ryoma on the surface of the desk and letting a few books clatter down to the floor, "Was this what you meant when you mentioned democratic?"

Ryoma snorted. "I said we didn't have a democracy to begin with," he said, "I never said that you were the king in this relationship."

"Huh…" Yuuya frowned in concentration. "So this fork is for fish, and that one is for…?"

"No, no," Keigo interrupted, pointing out to the smaller fork. "That's for the fish. This'll be for salad."

"Or you could just eat everything with the same fork," Ryoma muttered, "No one would care."

Keigo shot Ryoma a long suffering glare. "Please, I would at least like to think that we both had more class than that."

Ryoma kicked Keigo under the table and snatched out a medium-sized fork.

"That," Ryoma deadpanned, "is your fork. Now eat."

Keigo's secretary pursued his lips. He cocked his head. Ryoma ignored him.

"Here," Ryoma said, steering Yuuya into Keigo's office—it was the size of their living room, with spacious black leather sofas and an ivory oak desk facing the walled-window. "This is your dad's office," Ryoma pointed out, waving vaguely to a huge shelf covering up another half of the wall. "That's all finance secrets of this company's. Steal that, and you become filthy rich."

"Echizen-san," Lalfons coughed, his prim face hiding his irritation. He had stood up and was now standing in the doorway. "Atobe-san is in a meeting right now. Perhaps later….?"

"Keigo told me to take the boy on a tour," Ryoma said blandly, pushing past the rigid secretary and motioning Yuuya to follow, "Doesn't matter if he's not here."

Lalfons scowled. "Echizen-san—"he started, but Ryoma waved him off.

Yuuya followed quietly down the hallway before he broke out in a hesitant voice. "I don't think he likes you very much."

Ryoma smirked grimly, "With a name like his, I don't think he would like anyone," he said quietly, pressing the elevator button harder than necessary. Yuuya giggled.

"You shouldn't try to stage a coup in my own office," Keigo told Ryoma flatly, "And when the kid is barely eight."

"How old were you when you were told you were going to join in the ranks of the rich and filthy?" Ryoma asked, flipping a page of his tennis magazine.

"That's not the point," Keigo said, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to Ryoma on the sofa, "What were you doing in the office anyhow? I certainly didn't tell you to take the boy on a tour, as you so nicely put it. My office isn't some museum to be gawked at."

Ryoma smiled sweetly. "Just," he drawled, letting his feet stretch and rest on Keigo's knees, "No reason. Wasn't aware of needing one anyway."

"You were bored," Keigo deadpanned, but he still took Ryoma's right foot and rubbed his ankle gently. Ryoma made a pleased hum.

"I was bored," he agreed, shrugging, "Yuuya isn't going to school until next week, so I thought you two should have some bonding time."

"Bonding time," Keigo repeated, "We get along perfectly fine."

"Awkwardly fine," Ryoma corrected, "And to think that this whole child thing was your idea too."

Keigo sniffed, snatching away Ryoma's magazine and tossing it across the room. "I may have chosen the general picture, but you handpicked the specifics," he muttered.

"Oh? You don't like him?" Ryoma feigned shock, cocking his head to one side.

"He's just like you when you were this antisocial brat in middle school," Keigo said, exasperated.

"And now look at me, the social butterfly," Ryoma said.

Keigo gave him a withering glance.

"At least he smiles," Ryoma said, as a way of concession.

Keigo snorted. "Now you're confusing yourself with Tezuka," he said. "You smiled too—when you beat your opponents to a pulp."

"Nice to know you've been keeping track of that," Ryoma said.

He took pity on Keigo one afternoon and led him towards the study.

"I—what—" Keigo began, and gave Ryoma a suspicious look. "I have a meeting today."

"Cancel it," Ryoma said, unperturbed, "It's the weekend, you rule the world, so you can afford to cancel a meeting once in your workaholic lifetime."

"I hardly do not rule the—is that French?" Keigo stopped dragging his heels and looked over at the elementary textbook laid on the oak study desk. "It's my French textbook," he repeated, giving Ryoma a confused glare, "What is my French textbook doing here? Your sudden desire for France and romance?"

Ryoma rolled his eyes. "I do love it when you become amorous," he says flatly, "And no. Yuuya wants to become a gallant knight to woo some girls and you're going to help him."

"What?" Keigo said slowly, "Repeat."

"He wants to be a proper romantic and you're helping him do so," Ryoma said, gesturing to the doorway, "Yuuya. I know you're there."

Yuuya scuffled his way to the entrance with a petulant frown. "That's not the way how I said it," he said. It's the first time he looked irritated. That was a good sign. "I just—it's almost Valentine's day and there's this…girl." He played with his feet some more. "I thought it'd be better than chocolates."

He shot Ryoma a small glare. "It's only one girl," he muttered.

Ryoma hid a smirk. "See," he drawled, and gave Keigo a look that Keigo returned with equal horrification, "Stuff up your phobia about fangirls and help our kid. It's the girl." Ryoma could just see how Yuuya tried to suppress a gagging noise.

"You have no idea how bad this is going to turn into," Keigo said exasperated, "He's writing a Valentine in French and this is Japan. It's exotic."

Ryoma rolled his eyes. "So that's how you hypnotized an entire population of a school," he said, "Knew I'd find out someday." He gave Keigo a little kick. "Teach him." And have a nice little bonding time, he added with his eyes and bland smirk. Keigo raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," he said, in a far more dramatic manner and a huff than he normally displayed.

"I feel like I'm a teenage father," Keigo bemoaned one day, collapsing on the sofa and rubbing a hand over his eyes. Ryoma didn't even look up from his laptop.

"Second thoughts?" Ryoma muttered, immersed in reading an email.

"Of course not," Keigo said, though he sounded a bit hesitant, Ryoma could read that by now, "I just didn't think raising a kid would be different from hyper teammates."

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been raising him," Ryoma said absentmindedly.

"Brainwashing him," Keigo retorted back. Ryoma gave him a small smirk for that.

"I would say it's a middle-aged crisis, but you're twenty-seven," he remarked, and paused in his typing deliberately to look over at Keigo more seriously. "You are having second thoughts," he accused. Keigo grimaced.

"No," he said, fiercer than Ryoma would expect him to, "it was my idea and it's working brilliantly." He faltered and ran a hand through his hair. "Just…a bit getting used to," he said.

Ryoma gave him a small nudge. "Stability and comfort in a relationship, remember?" Ryoma reminded him, "Even though I think that would have come from the divorce column of the magazineand you just juked up your sources."

Keigo chuckled. "It was," he admitted, and gave a shove back. "I'm nothing if not manipulative."

"Bastard," Ryoma grinned and added, "you'll get used to it."

"I will," Keigo affirmed. A moment later there was a slight pause. "Wait," Keigo said slowly, "You just…comforted me." He said it as if Ryoma didn't do a single comforting (not outright, anyway) activity for his entire bratty life. Ryoma tried to look offended by that.

"I did," he said, "Problem?"

Keigo regarded him with a suspicious look. Ryoma matched his stare until Keigo raised an eyebrow at him. Ryoma sighed.

"Well, it was working," Ryoma muttered, showing him the laptop screen he was looking at a moment ago. "Email from his teacher, Yuuya got into a fist fight, etcetera, etcetera. They want us to come."

Keigo sighed. Ryoma gave him a sympathetic pat on the knee.

"Remember fisting Shishido-san when you were twelve and foreign and brattier than me?" he offered, "At least Yuuya did it out of love."

AN: completely unbeated, because it was an old fic….? That's not much of an excuse but yes. Time to go work on my angst fics now! Although it always is fun to write a domestic life with a kid to boot :D