I don't own D.N. Angel. This story is rated PG-13 for… oblivious shounen-ai, really bad names for art pieces, plot devices, and Satoshi's "I Have Handcuffs In My Pocket" look.

***

It could, thought Satoshi, have been worse.

For instance, instead of sitting in a lovely but booby-trapped garden waiting for Dark Mousy to sneak away here, he could have been running through the hallways trying to catch the winged thief on foot, which was admittedly really, really, stupid.

To be wholly honest, Satoshi wasn't quite sure why he was sitting here. It had something to do with a whining curator in lavender who'd insisted that Satoshi would wreck the museum; there had been a mess about Saehara Takeshi shadowing his father; Satoshi's foster father had a runny nose; some feminist movement had plans to tie Dark down and do unspeakable things to him in Las Vegas, which set off the human rights people; things were just plain messed up nowadays. Somehow this jumble had keeled over and died, leaving Satoshi with a strange plan to catch Dark that involved guiding the kaitou into this garden off-guard, where Satoshi would proceed to stick him in handcuffs. If all went well, Satoshi would be left stumped and trying to figure out how to not hurt Niwa-kun but still put Dark behind bars, which was one hell of a "best" case scenario.

The alarms went off across the city; a whole crop of red lights and sirens went off at once, signaling that the phantom thief had made off with tonight's prize, a little black pearl with intricate engravings lacing the surface, evidence that the Hikari clan had a little too much free time on their hands. Satoshi scanned the sky, half-listening to the reports that filed in one after the other: "Dark has tripped station two's locks…" "Nets released at block D…" "Look, doctor, there's an orange floating over squad alpha beta gamma phi pi theta eighty-seven and a half!" "Dark is approaching the target zone…" "Last directional missile lost! Holy—"

Satoshi watched like a man entranced as the kaitou zigzagged across the sky, zipping back and forth to avoid the nets. All, it seemed, was going according to plan — at least until the startled, "Harada-san!"

Not even Satoshi caught where Dark's voice faded into Niwa-kun's, but a moment later there was a bemused little redhead sitting on one of the old wooden benches, fiddling with an outrageous black outfit that only Dark could have pulled off. Satoshi wondered vaguely where the Niwa family's killer rabbit had gone, then, avoiding the manhole, the snake pit, and the Venus flytrap, stalked quietly up behind Niwa-kun.

You'd think that after being pinned against a wall a few times, one would get used to it.

Still, Niwa Daisuke squeaked like a frying squirrel when he realized that Satoshi had him up against a building wall, actually looking like a cop for once instead of a fourteen-year-old boy compensating for his lack of a social life by chasing purple-haired kleptos. "Hiwatari-kun!" Satoshi blinked once, very slowly, and gave Niwa a look. The redhead blushed furiously, looking demurely away and biting his lip. "I…"

Satoshi sighed heavily. "Turn around, Niwa-kun."

"Eh?"

"Turn around. If you run, you'll set off one of the traps."

Niwa gave him a startled glance, reappraising Satoshi as though not entirely sure that the blue-haired boy wasn't going crazy (or was it crazier?), but he did as he was told, an oblivious half-smile on his lips. "Erm, Hiwatari-kun… why?"

"I'll let you go," said Satoshi, "if I get the Angel's Tear." His hands ran quickly up and down Niwa's arms, looking for the tell-tale bulge of any pockets where the pearl might be hidden.

Even under the heavy fabric, Satoshi could still feel Niwa tensing under his fingers. "Hiwatari-kun… what… are you doing?"

"Standard police procedure," Satoshi told him, though he wasn't too sure how standard it was, or even if he was doing this right. His police training had involved sitting down with textbooks and overanalyzing architectural flaws. "Relax, Niwa-kun, it's just a strip search."

The redhead squeaked again and blushed some more. "But—"

"Don't even pretend," said Satoshi, brushing lightly over Niwa's hips and swinging low across his stomach. "Dark stole it, you have it…"

"But—" Niwa-kun protested, squirming so much as Satoshi felt along his leg that the taller boy had to wrap and arm tightly around the redhead's waist to hold him still. The wriggling only got worse as Satoshi's fingers moved up and down his inner thigh, and Satoshi stood up with a sigh.

 "Well," he said, "I can't feel it through the fabric."

Niwa was quivering slightly; Satoshi chalked it up to the breeze that was sneaking into the little park, or the cold of the brick wall. "I told you, that's because—"

"Because it's so small, I know. Take off your shirt."

"What?" Niwa squeaked. "You can't do that."

He gave the redhead another Evil Look™ from behind his glasses. "I'm a member of the Azumano police force," he said evenly, "and have full reason to suspect that you're carrying a piece of stolen artwork. Take it off, Niwa-kun."

Satoshi had never heard anyone wibble before, but "wibble" seemed like the best word to describe the sort of groan-sigh-mutter-meep that came out of Niwa's mouth, but the smaller boy complied, letting his shirt flutter to the ground. "Hi… Hiwatari-kun, are you sure about this?"

"Yes," said Satoshi, blinking. Of course he was sure about this. He was a police officer performing his civic duty; what did Niwa think he was doing? He glanced up and down Niwa's back, noting the small frame. And people called him undernourished. "Turn around." No pearl strapped to Niwa-kun's firm, pale stomach, no trace of the artpiece anywhere on the slender arms. "What did you do with it, Niwa-kun?"

"Nothing!"

Muttering something about "damn Niwa hiding places" under his breath, Satoshi knelt down, sliding his hand up Niwa's pants. The job was made slightly more manageable by the fact that these pants were meant for Dark and were loose enough for Satoshi's fingers to slide all the way up, but Niwa-kun wouldn't stop squirming. "Will you please stop doing that?" asked Satoshi irritably after the second or third time Niwa arched under his hands. "This is tricky enough without you wriggling."

"Sorry," Niwa gasped, but kept shifting and squirming as Satoshi progressed up his thigh.

Several minutes later, Satoshi was on his feet again, glaring at Niwa, who was breathing hard and flushing scarlet. "I can't feel it," he said, accusingly.

"Erm… I'm sorry," offered Niwa, "really. Would you like to keep trying?"

Satoshi glared at him. "It's fake skin, isn't it? I can't see it on top, I'd feel it in your pants… you must have the Angel's Tear embedded somewhere… up… here." He ran a finger down Niwa's spine, eliciting an unexpected gasp. Did it surprise Niwa-kun that Satoshi had discovered his secret? All this noise and writing had made the job harder, but that wouldn't set a Hikari back, no sir, not when there was an artpiece to be reclaimed. 

Carefully, he started down Niwa-kun's arms. The redhead had now progressed to shaking like a rabbit, and no number of Satoshi's looks could get him to stop. Niwa actually whimpered as Satoshi felt down his chest, but by the time Niwa started moaning, Satoshi had long since given up on getting the smaller boy to pipe down. He'd have to check in the police files for what was supposed to happen when you strip-searched a suspect. Yes, Satoshi was a cop, but he was more of a… theoretical cop. "Dammit, Niwa, what did you do with it?"

"Maybe it's in my mouth," panted Niwa, looking up at him. "Would you like to check there?"

It was a possibility, Satoshi had to admit. "Alright, Niwa-kun, open wide—"

"Not like that, Satoshi-kun," said Niwa. "Like this." And, with no further warning, Niwa Daisuke kissed him.

Satoshi blinked. Then he came to his senses kissed back, exploring Daisuke's mouth as methodically as only a police officer could, and when Daisuke broke away (there was only so long he could stand on his toes, after all) he was smirking slightly. "The Angel's Tear wasn't in there."

"No," said Daisuke blandly. "I dropped it. I tried to tell you, but you seemed a bit preoccupied."

He gaped at the redhead, who seemed totally unconcerned about losing the Gates Museum's most valuable piece of art. "Well, Daisuke-kun," he said, "I did tell you I'd let you go if I got the Angel's Tear back, but if you lost it…"

Daisuke smiled… and left his shirt on the ground.

***

The ending is up to your imagination, mostly because I needed to stop before the "masticating thespians" actually worked their way into the story.

A few notes and credits: the phrase "squeaked like a frying squirrel" is from Christopher Moore's Lamb: The Gospel According To Biff, which everyone should read. While I'm not too up on police procedure, I believe making someone take off their pants violates something about privacy, but shirts are fine for men. The name changes towards the end (Niwa to Daisuke, Hiwatari to Satoshi) are intentional (note what happens after Daisuke calls Satoshi by his given name the first time). I'm sorry Krad didn't show up, but where would the fun be in letting him blast Daisuke away? Store it away as "stupid quirk of the story" with "one of the Harada twins just happening to be in the area" and "that ridiculous way of getting Daisuke and Satoshi alone in the first place."

Please, drop a comment; criticism is always welcome, so long as it outlines what needs to be improved (or chews me out for blatant plot devices… that particular problem doesn't need to be elaborated). Remember: reviews are good for the soul, and tasty, too!