Warnings: Sexual interaction. Bondage. BDSM. Homosexuality.

Something Like Perfection

They breathe together in the night. It's a disjointed rhythm (heartbeat, stuttered gasps, and moans) that expands into the silence.

The magician-thief has clever hands and sharp focus. He wants (in this, in everything, always) to see the other, to be his safety and his undoing. He wants to steal the show, to be the only thing his lover can focus on. He knows what the other thinks he should want and knows too what he actually needs and desires. And they have spoken to each other clearly, no riddles or disguises between them, so there is a trembling joy in being able to provide it.

It wasn't always like this. He can remember terse arguments and too thoughtless, dangerous tactics. But even then there had been awareness and connection flickering between them. Even then there had been trust, knowledge of where their edges could meld together flawlessly. And now, now after everything, it is impossible to be anything other than together, deliberately pushing and playing with the energy that electrifies their every interaction.

The jute rope is rough in his hands, even after careful treatment. And that is perfect, neither of them wants soft, not tonight, not for this. Not after the manic, thrilling vitality of a heist. (Soft is for after long cases, for bringing his lover back into a world that is more than death and lies. Soft is for when one or both of them wake from nightmares full of fire, gunshots, and blood. And soft is for lazy, sleepy mornings full of things they never say at any other time.)

He is quick and deliberately harsh but not careless as he wrenches the rope around the other's chest. His fingers retrace the path, checking tension, fixing problematic kinks, but also teasing and feeling and keeping them both on edge.

The magician takes a moment to bite the back of his partner's neck, the detective jerks but muffles a groan. The thief smirks.

There are rules this time and his lover will meet them like he meets every other challenge; beautifully defiant and brilliantly capable.

It's a favourite game. His crafty, stunning detective can peel apart alibis and bring adults to their knees with his words. He can light up truth and unmask deception, all sharp words and sharper mind. And tonight, for this, for them, he will say nothing. (Except, possibly, the one word that would halt everything immediately.)

The magician's challenge is different. He wants the critic's mind to stop for a while, wants him to know nothing but the moment, to do nothing but feel.

He speeds up, looping rope, tying knots, and manipulating the other as he wants him. It will take more than the bondage to turn off his partner's calculating brain. And they are both eager.

With a snap he ties off the last rope and steps back (inordinately, wickedly pleased).

His detective is resplendent. Bound and wanting. And (most importantly) trusting, even in his vulnerability.

He tugs his lover's hair, pulling his head back.

"What shall I do with you, Meitantei-san?"

Shinichi glares. But his defiance is a show and the glare, with pupils already dilated, is a demand for more.

Kaito chuckles, a dark, deep thing belonging to his alter ego.

"Ah, well, if you insist…"

And together they are something like perfection.