PSOH Course Descriptions (of Life-Credit Classes Taken by Detective Leon Orcot and Count D)

CHEMISTRY

"You'll stay the night? Protect me, Detective?"

Clinging to broad shoulders, he looked up and disarmed the flustered detective with a flutter of eyelashes and a longing, amorous gaze.

"What?" Leon demanded."You think he's coming back or something?"

The tall blonde shied in his arms, scenting for danger–or at least, the threat. He didn't like other guys touching his stuff.

"Well…no," the Count brought those eyelashes down. "Not tonight. It's only…."

There was a nose in D's ear, breathing. A hot mouth nuzzling his neck. Hungry lips brushing his skin and sending little thrills down his spine.

"Only?"

"It's better with you, my dear detective."

BIOLOGY I

So, ok, he was gay now. Gay. Homo. Pansy. The guy with the titty posters plastered all over his walls.

Well, yeah, if wanting to suck someone's dick and shove his own right up their sweet ass meant gay, then he was flamer, no doubt about it. When it came to Count D, that is.

Hell, he'd even take it, on hands and knees and liking it, if that would make D happy.

Gay, huh? Who knew?

BIOLOGY II

"We really did that? Count?"

Leon gazed up at the fading image in the sky over a darkened LA and felt awe for the first time in a long while.

"Yes, my dear detective, we did."

"So, what's our next kid going to look like? How many heads?"

LANGUAGE ARTS

"That poor shit's apartment was all shiny and soulless. Not like this place, where everything's old and used….and warm." The last was tiny, embarrassed mutter, with Leon looking away.

D paused in the midst of pouring tea and smiled fondly. He had a way with words, this philistine detective.

"Is that so, Leon?"

"Yeah, well…It's better here."

"And…?" D coaxed yet more reluctant words from the fidgety man who sat in front of him, the curve of painted lips promising yet more warmth to come if Leon spilled them.

"I'd rather be here, alright?" Leon huffed. "Jeez, stop trying to make me say shit, D!"

PHYSICAL EDUCATION

Leon was doing pushups, Army-style, on the bedroom floor. He did this every morning, pretty much every morning of the year.

D surveyed the sweaty detective from his nest of covers in the rumpled bed. He knew the routine down pat: fifty sit-ups, one hundred-fifty pushups, one hundred jumping jacks and all manner of amusing stretches, both before and after. Muscles would flex and strain and skin would perspire. Then Leon would take a shower and start the rest of his day.

The pushups were D's favorite, by far, because sometimes Leon asked D to lie on his back while he did them, and then Leon's routine morning drills would be happily abandoned for an extended romp on the carpet. Then D could get his exercise in, too.

MATHEMATICS

"So, how old am I, really?" Leon adjusted his tie at the mirror, glancing at D's reflection.

"Do the math, Leon. How many years have we been in Tokyo?"

D peered at himself critically and then tucked his hair behind his ears. His was a bow tie, which he'd tied with deft fingers while Leon watched in honest amazement.

"Let's see…um, twenty-one, maybe," Leon cocked a brow and examined the ceiling, obviously counting backwards without using his fingers. "It was spring I found you, wasn't it? What, almost five years till we had Alex, and then Mei is sixteen now, so that makes it at least twenty-one."

"…" D smirked at the mirror's reflection, and let Leon find his way to the correct answer unimpeded by smart-ass comments.

"Shit, I'm fifty-one, D! Goddamn, already! Jeez!"

Leon, too, peered at his image critically, checking for laugh lines and grey hairs and wrinkles, but finding only the smooth face of a man still in his mid-twenties.

"Damn! Bet I'm the best looking old guy you ever saw!"

"Twenty-nine, Mr. Detective. Barely an 'old guy'."

D put a finger out and drew a tiny heart on Leon's freshly shaved face. His eyes glittered with unconcealed love in the mirror's reflection, but Leon was busy gazing at the real thing.

"My 'old guy'…" D whispered, and sketched another heart, connected to the first with an elegant arrow.

"Hey…"

Leon grabbed the busy finger and sucked on it suggestively and then leaned in for a real kiss. It was meant to be quick one; meant to be, but it heated up just a little too fast and they were both breathing quite hard when he pulled away.

"Hey," he murmured against D's lips, his question nearly inaudible. ""Do we still have time?"

"Oh, yes, Leon. Lots of time--hours…days...as much as you'll ever need."

"No, I mean before we have to leave—"

D laid his damp finger across Leon's open mouth and smiled flirtatiously.

"Twenty minutes, Leon. Just enough."

HOME ECONOMICS

D surveyed the pastries and cakes he'd spent hours purchasing this afternoon. He'd then carefully laid them all out in a delectable array on his favorite China floral painted five-tiered cake rack.

There were Baba au Rhum cakes, Chocolate Savoyard, Mint Delice in golden foil and Cream Horns sprinkled with curls of Belgian chocolate. The sweet bounty was plentiful: Napoleons (Leon's favorite), Choux Chantilly, Petite Kirsch Buchette for Pon-chan and Strawberry Tartes, all arranged delightfully on the top levels of the stacked porcelain platters.

He'd also bought an Opera Cake, an Ambassador Cake and a Lemon Roulade, sliced them all prettily into perfect triangles and laid them artistically end-to-end on the lower, larger tiers, interspersed with fresh raspberries and blackberries, mint leaves and sprigs of lavender. It was stunning, the display: a gourmand's dream, nestled amidst the pale pink cabbage roses and the ecru lace decorating his tea table.

The tea he'd chosen was Kuma Saza, for Leon's digestion, as the irresponsible lout had been out drinking till nearly dawn with Byakko, the Black Dragon and Sohki. There was a White Peony Fujian Green for the rest of them and a pot of Oolong, his own favorite jasmine-scented, especially for him.

The silver tea service was Victorian, Reed & Barton, 1876, courtesy of Grandfather. The cups, saucers and plates were Limoges Red Chintz, very lovely, very delicate and without a single crack or chip. He handled them carefully, gracefully, though he longed to slam them into the tea table and smash them to bits. Leon hadn't called, hadn't apologized, and hadn't uttered a single word, really. He'd simply fallen face first into their bed this morning and passed out snoring, dead to the world.

That crass, uncaring bastard. That heartless, cold, lazy son of a—son of a – son of a human! Rude! Thoughtless! Inconsiderate!

When D closed his eyes in disgust, he could see Leon before him as he'd been yesterday evening, still arguing even when he must have realized he was totally in the wrong.

D shook his head sharply, setting his hair in motion so that it caught the light and reflected blue.

The stupid man would pay for this somehow; D would make sure of it. He'd rip out that blind, foolish man's heart and nail it to the wall as a warning – no more sex, no more kisses, no more nothing till Leon crawled on bended knees and apologized!

Not even one little smile till Leon realized exactly what he'd done….

Chink!

First chip in a century-and-a half. For some reason the jagged little gap made D want to cry, and the vision of his picture-perfect Victorian High Tea became blurry before his watery eyes. His pale face crumpled into lines of pure misery and he clutched the damaged teacup to his aching chest and tried not to wail. Not that it would wake Leon; he was too far gone in sodden sleep to hear.

But D wished that it would wake his detective, so he could rant at him and call him every one of the vicious, belittling names he'd thought of, stranded alone in their big bed for the best part of last night.

He had been so very angry, so worried…so petrified with fear. What if Leon disappeared–stumbling drunk in front of a car, or missing the wending path back home? What if he were really so angry with D that he simply chose not to return? The words had been hard this time…maybe more than they could bear. This second chance–chance-in-a-million, really—was still too new, too fragile to test, although it bound him with spun steel bonds, as if he'd been the one to sign the Contract and gamble away his immortal soul. Thus, it took very little to destroy D's composure even after a year.

Very little, indeed. If Leon had turned back last night instead of going out to drown his anger in alcohol–but he had not. As of old, D had immediately grasped at things of beauty, objects of transient sweetness to soothe his jangled nerves. And to his Pets, who had mobbed him all morning with constant comforting contact, till he could bear no more and simply had to escape. The hand whose touch he wanted most was attached the thoughtless asshole unconscious in their bed.

D had shopped with a vengeance and bought miraculous confections of sugar and cream, flour and fruit and chocolate, butter and berries and citrus, more sweets than any of them could hope to consume. He'd gotten out the special service, polished all the silver and laid the tablecloth and not once did he go to the bedroom door or even consider it. Instead, he'd created a beautiful table, a most delectable tea.

If the asshole would simply come out and share all this incredible bounty with him, then D would forgive him. He would.

Just this once.

PHYSICS

The tub seemed to be a little larger in breadth and diameter than the last time they'd tried this. It was also softer somehow, which was something porcelain simply shouldn't do.

It helped, though. Leon was able to get purchase on the spigot-end wall and not bang his butt and balls painfully into the metal when he shoved his cock into D's twitching, rosy hole, at exactly the right angle for maximum effect. D wriggled his sweet, hot ass in the humid air and took it with whimpering, open-mouthed pleasure, swallowing Leon whole, and then visibly fretted when Leon pulled out his dick nearly all the way out, teasing the rim. Leon rammed home next instant, deeper, harder, and D's perfect ass sucked him in, long fingernails futilely scraping at the tile and perfect red mouth issuing babbling, begging pleas.

Leon briefly wished he could kiss D, shove his tongue down that throat, take him two ways till the cunning little bastard was limp and enervated in Leon's arms. He fucked him viciously, instead, and onslaught of hammering, battering thrusts and withdrawals, and D bowed his head and arched his back and screamed at the rough treatment. And fucking loved it, the bitch. Leon pumped and plunged and D matched him every time, sloppily shoving back to meet Leon's cock, spewing Chinese for "do me harder" and "I love you, Leon" in an unending hoarse whisper.

Leon found his right rhythm for warm water and soapsuds and porcelain enamel, and could have gone on all night in that claw-footed tub, but D was sucking air after mere minutes, his long, pale prick so hard and so tight his foreskin was near splitting, and when Leon ran a wet hand over D's cock lightly, the Count came, just like that.

D's cum clouded the cooling water and Leon grabbed him and hauled him up, still banging away, and turned his lover's shuddering body in a practiced motion, setting him gingerly on slippery knees. D arched his spine as far back as he could and Leon took his willing, panting mouth and kissed him as he, too, came, that last twisting, spiraling thrust sending him over the edge into total carnal fulfillment. D surged up a little, buoyed by the force of Leon's cum, by the bathwater, and then subsided limply into his lover's embracing arms. They trembled in the cooling water, making tiny roiling waves that lapped the edges, their small motions creating and destroying tiny iridescent bubbles. They held each other gently at first and then forcefully, damp skin over bones pressing, sliding-meshing-scraping over one another in the wordless effort to stay 'one, united.'

"Again, Detective," D remarked after a little while, when Leon was languidly washing his hair. He'd a different Sutra in mind.