Yohji cracked his eyes open with a strangled groan, assessed the angle of light streaming in through the window, and pulled the coverlet over his face.  One hand groped for the shrieking alarm by the bedside and belted it a good one, managing to punch the snooze button somewhere in there.

Then he groaned again, bits and pieces of awareness coming to him unbidden.

His wrists were sore and chafed.  And his nether regions were sticking to the sheets with every minute shift of his body in a way that told him it could only be dried cum.  And he was...he felt...well, he must have been...

*What the hell did I DO last night?*

‘Let’s see...let’s see...’  Yohji pondered the previous evening from beneath the blanket - he was still unwilling to emerge and face the day.  It was Saturday.  He didn’t have to be into the shop until past noon, so he could afford to sleep in.

Yohji did, however, rotate his head to peek out from beneath the tent of blankets.  He winced as a spear of light bounced off the headboard and hit him squarely in the eyes.  Sure enough, there was a pair of handcuffs dangling there.

*Scratch that...who the hell DID me last night!?*

‘Went to the club...check.  Got molested on the dance floor by Schuldich...check.’  It was such a commonplace thing, he didn’t even regard it important in the scheme of things.  Besides, if Schuldich had been his attacker he would have woken up in an entirely different position, with a pair of amused green eyes on him, waiting for the moment to pounce and ravage once more.  ‘Came back home staggering drunk...check.  Smoked half a pack in a state of undress on the balcony...check.  Then somebody knocked on the door...*

Yohji rubbed at his pounding head.  He seriously needed to take a shower.  But first, who...?

About ten minutes later he started awake, threw off the blankets, and pounded the shrilling alarm into submission.

“Fine, I’m up, I’m up.”  Yohji tore a blanket off the bed - it was going to have to be washed anyhow - wrapped it around his nudity, and dragged himself over to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.  Very *strong* coffee was in order.

Objectively he knew he should be drinking water or even Gatorade.  He’d been drunk even before he stumbled home, and judging from the state of his sheets...well, he was seriously in need of some bodily fluid replenishment.

Today was laundry day for Kudou Yohji.  He stared at his closet in disgust.  His only options were wearing some ratty sweats into the shop and dragging his stuff to the coin-laundry later, or going out in public in ratty sweats now and stumbling over someone he knew.

Omi and Ken had the first shift today, so...

Yohji’s eyes snapped open as he poured coffee into his favorite, chipped mug, ‘Detectives do it best Under Covers.’  Omi.

Omi had pushed open his door last night, smiling sweetly, innocently.  *Yohji-kun, I need some help with my homework...*

“Omittchi, I don’t think I can help; I’m kinda dead-drunk right now.*

*Oh, I know.  I planned it that way.  That’s okay.  Anyhow, it’s Sex Ed!*

*WHAT!?*

“ITAI!”  Yohji threw the pot of coffee in the sink, set his favorite mug down hastily, and ran the cold water over his now-burned hand.  In the spasm of recollection, he had forgotten to stop pouring.

“Omi is not a sex fiend!” he said to himself, aloud.  He shuddered, both at the cold water on his painful red hand, and the image of Omi holding up a pair of gleaming handcuffs with a bright happy smile, kicking the door shut with his little house slippers.  “Uso da!”

More images dredged themselves up obligingly from his booze-sodden recollection.  Omi, cheeks a delicate shade of pink as he stripped in front of Yohji, shirt landing on a chair, little white briefs kicked up into his face...  Just about as innocent and unpracticed as the star college stripper of a sex joint!

The ‘click’ as the handcuffs snicked into place around his wrists...  And the oil, oh GOD, the stream of oil as Omi poured it out onto his chest, his baby blue eyes huge...

“That. Did. Not. Happen.”  Omi, a mastermind sex fiend?  Well, it just wasn’t possible.  Somebody else would have noticed.  Hell, he would be surprised to find out if Omi *masturbated,* let alone - err - went around orchestrating hot sex with his friends and teammates.

“Oh, God.”  Yohji gulped.  Now the image presented itself in his mind’s eye for his delectation, Omi panting prettily, narrow chest heaving as his hand rose and fell, curling in on himself as his sleek thighs pressed together and his cheeks flushed and his pouty little mouth fell open in a wail of...

“DAME!”  Yohji pressed hands to his face, wincing as it disturbed his reddened flesh.  He squared his shoulders.  “Shower first, then I figure out what’s going on.”

Suffice it to say, he did *not* turn the water on ‘cold.’  And it was a nice, extra-long one.

When he emerged, Yohji unearthed a pair of old black denims with a couple of rips in very...compromising...places.  To compensate, he slipped on a pair of black bicycle shorts underneath, then managed to find a crop top that wasn’t dirty.

He wrinkled his nose.  The place definitely smelled like sex.  If it weren’t for that, the handcuffs still locked to his headboard, and the fact that his sheets would have to be piled in with the rest of his laundry, Yohji could almost pretend the whole thing had never happened.

Well, that and the fact that his wrists were chafed and he was...  Yohji coughed.  No reason to dwell overlong on that.

Yohji paused in the hallway.  He thought about going to Omi’s apartment, and that instantly made him think of barricading himself in his room for the rest of the day.  ‘No, no, no...’ Yohji chanted silently to himself.  ‘Kudou, if he really IS a sex fiend, he’ll drag you in there for the rest of the day.’  Maybe Ken had noticed something odd about their youthful team member?

His hand hesitated over Ken’s door.  What was he going to say?  Just barge in there and start up with, ‘Hey, Kenken, how’s your morning; by the way, Omi fucked my brains out last night and have you noticed anything weird about him lately?’

Yohji shook his head.  He couldn’t do this.  No - no, he *had* to do this; he’d woken up in sticky sheets this morning, and he’d been lucky he wasn’t still cuffed to the headboard!  He lifted a hand to knock.

Ken’s door swung open from the inside.  A very wide-eyed, utterly speechless Yohji was treated to a view of Omi standing up on tip-toe, in the midst of putting on his outdoor shoes while he exchanged a deep, open-mouthed, full tongues and sexually soul-searching kiss with...

...with Ken.

*Well what was I expecting?  Ken to be kissing Aya?*  Iya!!  Yohji shook his head violently and waited for somebody to notice him.

About five minutes later Omi detached his lips from a rather shell-shocked looking Ken.  Truth, he looked about as stunned as Yohji had been this morning - and still was now.

“Ja, mata ne,” the teen said huskily, throwing his backpack over one shoulder, flipping a little wave to Yohji with a sparkle in his wide blue eyes, then squeezing past him.

Slowly Ken turned, one hand uplifted, brown eyes starting to blink as an expression of horror crossed his face.  “I just...I...Omi just...and he...and then I...”

“You too, huh?” Yohji said, starting to feel sympathetic.  Well, at least he knew he wasn’t the only one and he wasn’t going to be in the difficult position of explaining to Ken just exactly *why* he’d bumped uglies with their gorgeous little UNDERAGE team-mate.

Jaw slack, Ken nodded.

“I’d better come in,” Yohji told him, entering uninvited and pushing the door shut.

Dumbly, Ken nodded again.

Once inside, Yohji went through the motions of fixing them a pair of Cup o’ Noodles for breakfast.  It was his best dish and Ken had a plentiful supply.

“He ambushed me when I was drunk,” Yohji confided, “told me he wanted me to help him with his Sex Ed homework, then he handcuffed me to my headboard.”

“Wow.”  Ken sipped at his cream-laden, sugar-shocked, barely recognizable coffee.  “Well, at least you were drunk.  He pranced into my apartment wearing a mesh jersey with nothing under it and tiny...little...soccer shorts...”  Ken made a strangling noise and his hands described circles in the air, which could have meant he was grasping an invisible bosom, or a boy’s pert little-

“Yeah,” Yohji sighed.  The image struck into his brain like an ice pick.  “Wow.  He did?”

Ken nodded vigorously, eyes going soft and faraway as he started obviously reliving the experience.  “U-un...I mean!  Bad!  I’m a bad person!”  Ken choked.  “I should never be allowed to coach soccer again!”

“Ken, he seduced you,” Yohji comforted him.  “It’s not like it was the other way around, or like you’ll start casting a shotakon eye over the little boys on your team.”

“Y-yeah.”  Ken squirmed, looking uneasy.

“Have you noticed him behaving strangely any time before this?” Yohji asked.  “I mean, we have to get to the bottom of this.  First he comes to my room last night, and I wake up...uh...like I woke up, and then this morning he sails right into your place and-”

“Yeah,” Ken interrupted, face red.  “Well, I don’t know; he seemed perfectly normal yesterday, being all sweet with the customers, on time after school and everything...  Huh.  Come to think of it, though, he was giving discounts to practically everyone.”

Yohji blinked.  “That’s not such unusual behavior.”

Ken snorted.  “For Omi, it is.  Maybe Schwarz put something in the water?”

“Ken, it’s been over six months since we’ve seen anybody from Schwarz,” Yohji reminded him, blocking away that little portion of his brain that goaded him into bar-hopping with Schuldich now and again.

“Oh, yeah.”  Ken mulled things over for awhile.  “Well...maybe Aya’s noticed something?”

“Yeah!”  Yohji straightened.  Of anybody, Aya would be least likely to succumb to temptations of the flesh.  Omi would have to get up pretty early in the morning and have a *much* better plan worked out to get into the Ice-man’s pants.

They grabbed their shoes at the door and headed for Aya’s apartment next door.

Ken stopped in front of it.  “Hey, Yohji, you don’t suppose...”

Yohji looked over at him, at Ken’s apprehensive expression, and snorted.  “Please.  He may have taken me by surprise while I was dead drunk, and he may have hit you in your deepest, darkest weak point,” - Yohji ignored Ken’s outraged squawk - “but Aya doesn’t *have* that kind of weak point.  And the entire time we’ve known him, have you recalled him making any references, or showing any interest in sex whatsoever?”

Ken didn’t have to think long.  “Nope.”

“Exactly,” Yohji lifted his hand to knock on the door.  “If anybody has the cold detachment to look at this weird situation objectively, it’s Aya.”

Before he could knock, a thin wail emerged from the depths of the apartment.  “Dare ga!  Tasukete!!”

“Oh God, he’s killing him!” Ken’s face turned ashen.

Yohji grimaced.  “Giku.  Omi must have tried something.”

Ken backed up and prepared to rush the door, intent on breaking it down - or breaking his arm; whichever came first.

“Hold it!” Yohji held up a hand.  He turned the knob.

Amazingly enough, the apartment was unlocked.

“Help!  Help...” Omi’s voice sobbed as they rushed into Aya’s tiny apartment.

They plowed to a halt on the threshold of the miniscule living room.

Omi was draped on the couch, completely 100% nude.  His clothes were scattered this way and that, looking somewhat worse for the wear - as if they’d been ripped from his body.  And behind him was Aya, hip-deep, jeans undone just enough to free himself for the activity he was currently participating in.

“Oh stop!  No!  Don’t!” Omi panted, rocking his hips back with each exclamation.

Yohji and Ken stared at Aya with wild eyes.  They switched their stunned gaze to Omi, whose blue eyes were bright and shining with obvious enjoyment.

“Get the hell out,” Aya ordered them, purple eyes chips of ice that had nothing to do with springtime flowers.

“Omi-uh...we thought he was raping you...”

“Shh!!”  Omi flapped a frantic hand at them.  “He’s being an absolute beast!  Oh, save me!  Stop, Aya, stop!”  This moaned as he continued to push himself back.

“If you’re not going to save him, get out!” Aya added, hips continuing their pendulum-regular motions, even increasing a little.  “Or at least take your outdoor shoes off.”

Yohji and Ken began backing away, wide-eyed gazes turning on each other.  With a nod of mutual decisiveness, they bolted.

“So...uh...I guess Omi hit Aya in his weakness for rape,” Yohji said, leaning against the now-closed door.

Ken shut his eyes.  “I don’t want to think about it.”

“What the hell is going on here!?” Yohji stepped away from the door, arms pinwheeling.  “Has the world gone mad!?”

“I don’t know,” Ken shrugged, “but I have to open the shop in fifteen minutes, and it looks like I might be doing it without Omi.”

Yohji winced.  “Uh, yeah, it looked like you might.”  He looked at his watch.  “I’m going to go take a nap.”

“Lock your door,” Ken advised.  “And make sure you use the peephole.”

Yohji nodded frantically.

Yohji strolled into the Koneko no Sumu Ie just in time for his shift, flicking his cigarette to an early death on the pavement outside, avoiding Omi’s eyes all the way to the back room.  He emerged tying his apron strings, while Aya walked in a few minutes late.

The younger redhead still wore his cold, impassive expression but there was a strangely satisfied twist to it that Yohji’s sex antennae twitched at and noted as ‘got laid today.’  It was the first time he’d *ever* identified that particular expression on Aya’s face.

“Oh, great,” Yohji gulped, looking around the shop.  It was one o’clock.  The “Kitty” closed early today, around five or so, depending on how quickly Aya chased the girls out.  And the four of them would be closing here together in this tiny shop.  He felt stifled.

From the panicked expression on Ken’s face, his feelings were comparable.

Omi was his usual cheerful self.  How the demonic imp pulled it off, he might never know.

After a full afternoon of customers and girls just dropping in ‘to say hi,’ Momoe-san went home at last and there was a lull.

A long lull.

Nobody was talking to anybody else.  Omi was humming softly as he went around the shop, spraying delicate planters with a water bottle.

Finally Yohji couldn’t take it anymore.

“Omi, WHY!?” he burst out, slamming his hands down on the cash register counter.  It jingled.

Omi turned around, wide blue eyes blinking guilelessly.  “Why what?”

“You know what!” Ken exclaimed, eyes still somewhat wild from the events of the morning.  “You bounced from one apartment to another this morning, and...and we demand to know the reason!”

Omi blinked again.  “Well, it’s my birthday, and everybody forgot.  So I arranged a nice little birthday present for me.”

Yohji and Ken crashed to the floor.  Aya calmly kept sweeping the shop.

“That’s it?” Yohji demanded weakly from the floor.

“Hai~i!  It’s a pretty good present, don’t you think?” Omi beamed.

Yohji struggled to his feet just in time to see Omi flipping the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door.  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.  “It’s only four!”

“I know!” Omi said cheerfully.  “But it’s my birthday, and now we’re going to have an orgy in the back room.”

Yohji choked.  Ken, in the motions of levering himself up, slipped on the tile and fell prone again.  Aya kept sweeping.

“We. *Are.* NOT! Having an orgy!” Yohji informed Omi between clenched teeth.

Omi blinked.  “Yes we are,” he contradicted, all sweet stubbornness.  “Ken-kun?”  A feeble moan.  “Aya-kun?”

“Yohji doesn’t want to.”  A violet eye appraised him.  “I’m in.”

Yohji set his back to the wall.  “I’m not doing it!  I’ll run through the plate glass window, first!”

Blue eyes surveyed him mournfully.  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Omi bit at his lush lower lip.  Yohji tried not to think too hard about that.  “I didn’t want to have to do this, but...”  He sighed heavily, and produced a folder from his pocket previously concealed by his apron.

Yohji took it, suspicion mounting.  “What’s this?”

“Pictures!” Omi said brightly.

Yohji gaped in shock.  He flipped through the folder.  Sure enough, encased safely in plastic was a sheaf - a veritable album - of pictures, himself flat on his back with Omi riding his naked, sweaty body... Ken poised behind Omi with his little soccer uniform in disarray...  Aya pushing Omi face-down into the couch...

“Oh, GOD!!  How did you get pictures of this!?”

“I had some help,” Omi giggled, his innocent demeanor spoiled by the smugness in his tone.

“You leave me with no choice,” Yohji said brokenly.

“Yay!  Orgy!” Omi cheered.

Yohji slumped against the wall.

“Aya-kun, pick up Ken-kun and drag him into the back room...”  Omi pranced towards the aforementioned back room, hanging up his apron on the way.  “Yohji-kun, are you coming?”

He squared his shoulders.  There was no way out.  He put on his best playboy smile.

“Not yet, but I will be.”

Several hours, a box of condoms, and four naked bodies later, there was a knock on the door.  Ken’s head roused, barely.  Aya sprawled on the couch of the mission room, legs splayed indecently, looking indifferent.  Omi was sucking on Ken’s toes.  The knock repeated, then turned into very loud pounding.

Yohji dragged himself up and managed to throw an apron over his nakedness.

A delivery boy stood at the back door.  “Somebody order a cake?”

“Hai!” Omi cheered.

Yohji took a closer look at the delivery boy.  That wasn’t a real uniform.  He was wearing a school uniform and his blue eyes glinted up at Yohji with dark mischief.

“Nagi, hurry up!  ...And I hope you brought more lube!”

Yohji groaned and bolted the door after him.

At least that explained the pictures.