Never let it be said that the Kings of the East do not know how to party.

Rooted in morals and tradition they may be, certain grand occasions deserve proper celebration.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY OOTSUBO!" proclaims the gold and white banner that's displayed below the one declaring their win of the recently concluded guild battle.

Confetti pops at the Gran Crusader's arrival, showering the room and its occupants in orange, gold, and white. Festive balloons are rooted to each column, succulent dishes fill the long tables in the dining hall. There's a smiling face at every turn.

"Here you go, O' Great Leader!" Miyaji proclaims, coming up behind Ootsubo and dropping a handmade headdress on the man's head. "A crown fit for a king!"

"This is…" Ootsubo shakes his head, chuckling at the distinctive spotted pattern of the stiff material. He rights the lopsided crown, speaking in the jovial tone he reserves for such occasions. "Thank you," he addresses the room. "Thank you all for having such a grand celebration in my honor. But rather than exalt my person, I wish to take this opportunity to hail our noble warriors. Each and every one of you who stand before me deserve praise. We, the Kings of the East, would not have achieved Legendary status if not for your steadfast hearts and the indomitable skills you lend to our cause." Ootsubo raises his goblet. "We are the Kings!"

"Persistent and Tireless!" The responding cheer is deafening as another confetti cannon goes off.

"Let us feast!" Ootsubo declares and he allows himself to be pulled along by Kimura and Miyaji, his most trusted subordinates. They take him to his seat at the head of the middle table, the regal highback chair adorned with balloons and sprouting cheerful ribbons.

Food is overflowing and Takao fills his plate with a portion of everything.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Midorima says, eyeing Takao's smorgasbord dinner with distaste.

"And you're going to miss out on a lot," Takao replies at the sight of Midorima's modest serving. "Here, let me help you with that." He makes to add a scoop of potato salad to the High Wizard's plate but Midorima dodges him.

"No, thank you." Midorima sets his food down once Takao has sufficiently backed away.

"So mean, Shin-chan." Takao twirls his fork, frown morphing into a grin. "But that's okay, you can eat from my plate, anytime."

One brow rises in a perfect arch. "Doubtful, but thank you for the offer."

They eat their fill until the crescent moon has full reign of the night sky, stars twinkling like diamonds on such a peaceful night.

At the back of the dining hall, the town bard is playing mellow tunes on his lute, his music enlivened by the dancers' tambourines. A number of the guildsmen have retired for the night but the torches on the wall are burning brighter than ever. Lounging at his decorative seat for the night, Ootsubo is flanked by twins - the lead performers in their dinner's entertainment. Beside him Kimura is chugging down beer, face flushed red, amber liquid spilling over his clothes. Miyaji is nowhere in sight.

Takao finishes off his (fourth serving of) pudding, spoon sticking out of his mouth. He leans back, arms supporting his weight as his crossed legs dangle over the tabletop.

Muffled snickering brings Midorima's attention away from his reading, he gives Takao a questioning look. He'd long given up on dissuading the huntsman from sitting at the table because - as Takao had put it - it's a great vantage point for swiping uneaten dessert.

"Hoshiko is drunk," Takao whispers connivingly. "He's trying to get into Aruegi's pants - er, bloomers." He pauses, deliberating. "You know what, I'm not sure."

Midorima's frown deepens. "Aruegi's choice of clothing can hardly be blamed for Hoshiko's actions. If anything, it's the alcohol."

From the other side of the room, a pained yelp is followed by stumbling footsteps as the sniper makes a (zig-zagging) run for his life.

"And a lack of self-preservation skills," Midorima concludes dryly, once again burying his nose in his reading.

"What're you reading, Shin-chan?" Takao cocks his head to the right, trying to see the cover.

"A pamphlet for a Magic-Users Convention this weekend," Midorima supplies, holding the material out of Takao's reach when the huntsman makes to get a hold on it.

Takao flexes his fingers, upper body arched over Midorima whose long reach trumps Takao's poor attempt. Green eyes stare up at him, unblinking over rimmed glasses, and not for the first time, Takao feels exposed. His arm starts to grow tired, suspended in midair, but Takao wants to hold on to the moment a little longer - it's not everyday that he gets to tower over Midorima, even if it is just circumstantial. "You should find a spell to make you grow smaller," Takao blurts out. "It's refreshing to have to look down on you." They're so close he could almost...

Midorima startles when Takao pets the top of his head. The huntsman's shadow falls over him, restricting his view and shielding him from the rest of the party. Unbidden, his eyes drift down from Takao's awkward smile to the collar bones peeking beneath his hood. His vision sinks towards the toned midriff, and the sculpted legs flaunted by Takao's short skirt. Midorima knows he's been caught staring when Takao's next words come in a whisper.

"Hey, Shin-chan…" Takao releases, Midorima's head; hand falling to grip the table's edge, supporting his recline. "Would you defend my honor if some drunk tries to feel me up?"

Takao must be teasing him, acting playful like he often does, the spoon is hanging out the corner of his quirked mouth. Midorima has a flashing thought of how sweet they must taste, with all the chocolate pudding the man has consumed. He forcibly halts his thoughts right there. The night is deepening but that is no excuse to let loose his morals.

The huntsman's frame sags further, exposing a smooth neck, sunkissed skin rendered gold by torchlights. Takao uncrosses his legs then re-crosses them, this time with the previously raised leg under the other.

Midorima hasn't consumed any alcohol but Takao's heat and proximity is starting to scramble his senses. He needs to retreat. And maybe reevaluate his life choices.

"I'm going to bed," Midorima announces, gently pushing Takao away with a hand on his chest.

Blinking, Takao's jaw goes slack. "B-But you didn't answer my question!" He sways to follow the wizard who has risen to his feet. "Shin-!"

Taking the spoon threatening to fall out of Takao's mouth, Midorima taps it on the shorter man's forehead, hoping to knock some sense into him. "You are very much capable in guarding your own honor, Takao," he states, leaning into the huntsman keep him from falling off the table. "Do yourself a favor and act your age."

In the background, the bard and his dancers begin another song. The tambourine beat lures unsteady feet to the makeshift dance floor. Flushed faces and carefree laughter join together, synchronizing with the strings' jostling rhythm.

He hears his heart pounding, thundering louder than any music. Takao's body is burning up. Having Midorima's breath blooming so close to his face isn't helping. And those eyes, those lashes, ugh. "Shin-chan…" Why can't you just - Why can't I just - Takao closes his eyes, tucking his chin to his chest. His legs squeeze together tighter.

His first thought is that he has never seen this expression before. Not from Takao, and certainly not directed at him. Midorima absently sets the spoon on the table, his free hand now bracing his weight, cape fluttering to cover his folded posture. Something inexplicable roots him there, invading his partner's personal space. He breathes in, mentally listing all the ways this could go wrong. When he finds his voice, it's nothing but a whisper. "There is a time and place for everything, Takao."

"I know," Takao replies, subdued, surrendered. "I know."

Midorima wets his lips, resistance dwindling at the repressed longing he finds reflected in half-opened silver eyes. "Come with me."

He really needs to reevaluate his life choices.

The bed dips with their weight, shadows cast into the farthest corners by the lamplight. Pale mist flurries as the lock clicks, sealing the room with the usual enchantments, sealing their fate.

Takao places a hand on Midorima's chest, feeling the pitter-patter of an anxious heart. Taped fingers smooth over his cheek, brushing under his eye then curling over the longer strands of hair framing his face.

"For the record," Midorima says, hushed. "If anyone dares to lay a hand on you without your consent…It will be the last thing they ever do. I will make certain of it."

Breath stuttering, Takao resists the urge to retreat. He stamps down on that flight or fight instinct because this right here could actually finally mean something. "You know you have my consent, Shin-chan," he tries to keep light, but the weight of his statement nullifies that. "And I know there's a good reason why you brought me here."

"There is." Midorima supplicates his answer with a kiss, chaste and sure. With one hand, he unclasps his cape, with the other, he lifts Takao's face towards him. His senses hone in on the minute tremors of Takao's body and the chill of his own that's seeping out of every pore.

Is this no good? Is he doing it wrong?

The chaos in his mind is silenced when Takao responds, equal parts careful and daring. Skillful hands climb and loop around his neck, fingers threading into his hair.

The slow, even pace of their first kiss calms the blood that's roaring in his veins. Takao savors every press and pause, familiarizing himself with the brewing heat and feel and undeniability of this moment. There are noises - muffled and wanton - and then there are touches - gentle yet purposeful. He feels goosebumps rise under his touch. Sheepish, he rubs circles over the prickled skin.

Midorima's scalp is one of his more sensitive spots and, thanks to his build, it's one thing nobody would suspect - or attempt to take advantage of. But now he has Takao's fingers carding through his hair, coaxing him ever closer as those sweet lips open up to admit his tongue. The inside of Takao's mouth is just as hot, just as tense and sinful as his exterior, only wetter. Midorima wants to discover all its secrets, wants to learn the rest about the man he calls partner - or is it now lover?

It's almost automatic, the way his legs splay out when Midorima tips the both of them down to the mattress, accommodating as always. Takao's skirt rides up as he bends one leg, getting comfortable with the weight of Midorima pressing down on him.

The protective taping around his fingers are now a hindrance, Midorima discovers halfway through his journey up Takao's stocking-clad leg. He groans - half annoyed, half aroused - as Takao rakes a hand through his bangs, lightly tugging at green locks, caressing all the way down to his nape.

He couldn't help the chuckle that resounds when their lips break apart. Takao hasn't made out for that long since his eager teenage years. The dip between Midorima's brows are endearing to him now more than ever, he presses a quick kiss to it, adoring the responding blush. His heart is racing - and he can feel that Midorima's is, too - but he feels no rush, rather, he wants to make every moment, every second of this last. "Hey, Shin-chan," he says, surprising even himself with the tenderness in his tone. "Was this what you meant? All those late nights you snootily told me to get to bed?"

Midorima's nose twitched in annoyance. "No. How presumptuous of you."

"Oh, so this is a spur-of-the-moment thing?" Takao's eyelids lower half-way, lip curling deviously. He twirls a green lock of hair around his finger, playing coy until he catches the deepening blush on Midorima's cheeks, the faltering breaths. Oh, hey.

"I…" Midorima takes a second to compose himself. "I was waiting for the proper time to act upon my… predilections."

"Mm-hm, that's nice," Takao murmurs, fingers gliding down Midorima's jaw. "Though, you do realize we'll be having anniversary sex on the night of Ootsubo's birthday from now on."

The wizard's sudden pallor is striking. Takao's fit of giggles doesn't alleviate the situation.

"You should've seen your face, oh wow." Takao wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, arms dropping aimlessly on the mattress.

This is one of those times Midorima has to ask himself why he even bothers, why he feels so strongly for this impossible man before him, why can things never be easy. Then Takao smiles up at him, effortless and real, and Midorima finds his answer. He drops a kiss on those enticing lips, pulling back with a smile at Takao's stunned silence. "I think I've just found the most effective way to silence your insufferable babbling."

It's Takao's turn to blush. He blinks, lips tingling. He has never seen Midorima look so accomplished… except maybe that one time he made a one-hit kill with his new spell but that isn't the point. He cups Midorima's face just to make sure he isn't dreaming, pulling the wizard unto him for another kiss - his own prayers, answered. Midorima's breath is hot against his lips, and it's only when the body above him trembles with it does Takao realize it's a yawn. A responding one is already building up within himself. "Sleepy?" he asks by way of letting it out.

"Apologies," Midorima mutters, slowly inching himself off Takao. "I have a strict bedtime schedule."

"I know." Takao follows him up until they're both sitting, facing each other much like they did when they first entered the room. "Want me to tuck you in?"

Because rolling his eyes is far below him, Midorima settles with scoffing. "Please." He adjusts his glasses. "I would not, however, be adverse to you staying the night."

Takao's room is just down the hall. The huntsman smiles. "I'd love to."

Midorima wakes right at the break of dawn, blinking blearily at the first rays of sunlight that slip through the folds of his draperies. The rest of the fort is still asleep, save for the night guards who must retain their posts until a reliever comes. He reaches for his glasses at the bedside table, stopping when he finds another sleeper in his bed.

Takao is resting on his side, arms folded to his chest, fingers peeking out of the over-sized sleeves. His breathing is untroubled, strands of hair falling over his serene expression.

So that's where the pajama top went, is Midorima's first thought, braving the cool morning air assaulting his naked skin. He pinches the bridge of his nose, composing his sermon to Takao about using other people's clothes without their permission when it hits him. His heart skips a beat and heat swarms his body.

A sleepy grumble comes from the huntsman and Midorima's body goes on lockdown, not daring to move a single finger. While his exterior goes still, his heart starts racing a mile a minute, thoughts jumbling together in their haste to deliver and process information. His breath catches when Takao shifts, the back of one hand falling against his chest, right over his heart.

"Shin-chan..." Takao mumbles in a voice heavily laced with sleep. "I can hear you panicking." Wrinkles form at the corner of his eyes, unwilling to open them until his proper wake-up time. "Go back to sleep."

"I - I wasn't…" Midorima zips his mouth, coming to terms with the futility of his argument. He holds back a sigh. "I'm sorry for waking you, then."

"'s not you," Takao answers in between minute yawns. "Jus' a force of habit…" Having to camp in the wilderness hones a person's survival instincts - a skill that has saved his ass more than once. He proceeds to drape an arm across Midorima's bare torso, getting comfortable to resume his sleep.

"Takao, I have to get up."

"Shh."

"I have to insist-."

"Mm, no."

"Unhand me this instant!"

A silver eye opens. Takao's expression grows dark. "Don't test my love for you so early in the morning, Shin-chan. We are going to stay in bed and cuddle on our first morning together and you are going to like it."

Midorima blinks at him and then turns pensive. "I always assumed you'd be a morning person."

"Surprise," Takao mutters, closing his eye and snuggling closer to Midorima.

Finding no viable option that does not involve magicking the huntsman off him, Midorima settles back and lets Takao use his shoulder as a pillow. He brushes away the bangs that obstruct his view of Takao's contented smile, wondering why he feels so oddly happy being rendered powerless like this.

Seven in the morning is what Takao deems an acceptable time to wake. He stifles a yawn behind his hand, rubbing the crusts off his eyes and taking in his surroundings. Everything is the same as he remembers, including the wizard whose arm is curled over his back and waist. "G'morning, Shin-chan," he greets, docile with a hint of his usual exuberant self trimming the edges.

Midorima leans in to kiss Takao on the forehead. "Good morning, Takao."

END