So it seems like many of the best writers in this fandom do or have done lovely drabble series. I don't know that I'll be able to do anything particularly insightful compared to the lovely work they've already given us, but here's hoping.

I'm not totally sure what inspirations will strike as I move forward, but I'm planning to include all cannon pairings and maybe some non-cannon as well.

Disclaimer: The lovely Shingiku Nakamura owns the rights to the JR characters. The words and stories are mine. This is a non-commercial work written and shared for free. Please support the author by purchasing the cannon works if you are able.

"After" is set in the hours following Misaki and Akihiko's first tutoring session.


Akihiko was not surprised when he heard Takahiro's ring tone burbling up from his cell. Still, he couldn't stop the tremor in his hand as he hovered over the "answer" button. What cowardice was there in retreating until he was prepared to answer the forthcoming accusations? He let the call roll to voicemail and cursed himself.

What on earth had he been thinking? It was not at all like him to lose control, especially not around a stranger. That's exactly what had happened, though. Damned Misaki Takahashi had walked into his life at Takahiro's request and against Akihiko's better judgement. Everything he knew about this kid pointed to him being an idiot entirely unworthy of his efforts, and, he couldn't help thinking, at least partially unworthy of Takahiro's unswerving devotion. But Takahiro had practically begged, and pouted, sweetly oblivious to how beautiful he was, and Akihiko found he could deny his beloved nothing.

He'd cultivated his glamour for years, and he hadn't met anyone yet who could pierce it. He'd dropped it that once, when he'd given in to Hiroki's disastrous seduction. His closest friend, the one person who knew him best, fled in horror at the pathetic creature he really was. It wasn't until afterwards that he realized Hiroki had thought he loved him, that his come-on had been a desperate attempt to share those feelings. Hiroki had learned that it was not possible to be Akihiko's lover and have the kind of dignity that was so necessary to Hiroki's self-concept.

In the days since he'd met Misaki, the boy's wide eyed appraisal wouldn't get out of his head. He felt like he'd been stripped, examined and found wanting. It had bothered him. It still did. The kid couldn't be more unlike his book-smart, oblivious brother whose generous optimism had kept Akihiko rapt and frustrated for years. That expression, those eyes that saw him, pissed him off to no end. He was also more fascinated than he was willing to admit. That very first day, when Misaki had slipped passed him and slammed the door to his bedroom, he'd had to resist the urge to follow the boy. 'Look at me again.' He wanted to say. It felt so strange. Those pretty doe eyes gazed on every dark corner of his soul, wary, but innocent, not cunning, not judging.

It had gotten to the point that even when he was jerking off, he couldn't focus on any of his go-to fantasies. He just felt those eyes on him. He didn't want to. What was so erotic about being seen like that? He felt a hot surge in his groin just thinking about it. Now on top of that was the memory of Misaki's quiet moans, his dick rock hard almost as soon as Akihiko had touched him despite his protests, Misaki's stunned shuddering climax, and the primal, delicious taste of his come against bitter cigarette flavor of Akihiko's fingers; those flushed cheeks and the eyes, that, when they finally met his again, had only a tinge of hurt violation and were even more all seeing than before, demanding that Akihiko rip away everything he thought he was and throw himself at the mercy of this boy's strength.

'Stop!' He thought. This was the problem to begin with. He'd spent years guarding his precious friendship with Takahiro, holding everything in, and he'd snapped and molested that damned wise-eyed brat. What would Takahiro say when Misaki tearfully confessed that Akihiko had practically raped him? He wouldn't believe it. But he'd call to check it out. Which brought him back to the voicemail indicator on his phone, patiently waiting to condemn him and take away everything.

"After" is a short fic in two installments totaling about 800-2000 words, as many of my drabbles are likely to be.

Part two coming soon.