He turns around, slowly, to look at the dancers pressing in on all sides. Most of them gyrate obscenely to the music, touching flesh with strangers and not caring, slick with sweat and beyond inhibition. Quite a few of them are staring at him.

Completely normal Tokyo dance floor. To Aya, it must be terrifying. He's watching everyone as though they might attack him any instant; actually, they might at that. Tensed and dangerous and very obviously out of character.

I step in front of him, wait for his eyes to catch mine. Touching him would be a very, very bad idea right now. Instead I hold up my hands - see, it's just me, stupid Youji, totally harmless - and pantomime "Copy me".

Probably he can't hear a thing between the music and the earplugs, but he nods. I start with a two-step, slow and simple. Move the feet, Aya, pick them up off the floor - that's it.

Two-step is not hard and Aya gets it almost at once. I give him a thumbs-up and he glares at me. When you can leap between moving cars it must be irritating to need beginner dance lessons. Faster, match the actual music - there. If he just keeps doing that and stops looking so damn assassiny, we'll blend in.

Now I get to enjoy myself. Pushing my sunglasses back and flinging my arms out, I give in to the driving beat of the song. Dancing is not as good as sex but it's a hot contender for second. Twirl and stamp and shimmy to the left, yeah, like this...

The Yamada-san costume is just too damn hot. I pull off the suit jacket and throw it over the crowd, in the general direction of Biji's table. Maybe it'll hit him. Nothing I can do about the pants, but I loosen the tie and unbutton the shirt, rolling up the cuffs.

And then I can finally _dance_.

Moving in a circle around Aya, keeping at least a small space clear for him. Smoke and heat and shouts and laughter and over everything the pulse of the music. My stupid salaryman-shoes not gripping the floor, giving me trouble till I get used to them. Hair falling in my eyes, drops of sweat. My hips moving in a lazy roll, my arms caressing myself in time with a slow song. People watching, clapping and whistling. Watching me, not the stiff awkward redhead.

Oh, wait. They are watching him.

Hey!

When did Aya lose himself in the music too? He's swaying in earnest now, still slow and deliberate but now in a sensuous way. Eyes closed, his head tipped back, he looks closer to relaxed than I've ever seen him. I recognize some of the things he's doing with his hands from kata. And that is _not_ the two-step anymore.

In fact, the man has had serious ballroom lessons. I mentally add this to my very small Fujimiya Personal Facts File.

Oh no, _that_ is not allowed. A small woman in a bronze sheath dress, her hair streaked to match, has her hand on Aya's shoulder in invitation. He freezes in shock, and then I knock her hand away. She gives me a death glare of her own before melting back into the crowd.

Why did I do that? Aya should dance with a girl, it would be good for him. He's staring at me. We've both stopped moving.

Oh, right, the mission. Aya with a girl would look completely wrong to Biji if I've supposedly bought his time. I shrug apologetically at him, promising myself to find him a girl later to make up for it. A nice girl, not an Aiko.

Aya stares at me a moment longer, then gives a tiny shrug of his own. Slowly, he resumes dancing, and I find myself matching his pace. We circle like languid panthers, stalking the beat and each other. He steps forward; I retreat.

Two years of practiced teamwork adapt well to the dance floor. We can mirror movements almost perfectly. But Aya's keeping me from the kind of unrestrained dancing I love best, and I keep trying to make him loosen up. I shake my shoulders, fling my head back; he stretches like a cat. I move my hips, and oh god he does the same, in those pants I will never ever wear again. Shaking, I push damp hair out of my eyes; Aya runs his fingers through his own hair slowly, tugging on one of his eartails.

The dance floor is more crowded now and our clear space is gone. We're almost touching.

And the music's over.

* * *

The air outside the club is cold and clear and all four of us breathe it in in great relieved gulps. Biji has an arm around Aiko and she's whispering something in his ear. I shake out what used to be a nice suit jacket before it got trampled, frowning at the stains.

Aya keeps standing close to me, and it's making me nervous. Time we got home. I smile at the manager and raise a hand. "Fun evening, Biji-san. We must do it again."

Our target is grinning. "Oh, yes. The two of you looked like you had fun on the dance floor. Quite...something."

"Oh yess," purrs Aiko. My reputation is shattered. No amount of money will convince her not to tell everyone that Kudou Youji keeps a male whore. Biji probably told her we screw in handcuffs, or something. He looks far too smug.

I don't trust myself to answer. Turning to my teammate, I start to suggest we leave now, but the words die in my throat. Aya is putting a hand on my shoulder. Leaning on me a little, even.

The number of times he has voluntarily touched me - well, if you don't count all the hitting - is maybe four. Ever. And they all had to do with dressing wounds. Aya just isn't _touchy_.

"How cute." Biji is behind me and can't see me frowning. "Yamada-san, in appreciation of your company this evening, do let us take care of tonight for you." I hear him moving closer behind me and turn around sharply. Aya sways a little, not letting go.

"What?"

I'm really beginning to hate that smile. Biji holds out a card-key. "Our business suite. At the Luxengen. We do allow valuable associates to use it, on occasion."

This is the I-will-be-deeply-insulted-if-you-refuse smile, isn't it? Suppressing a sigh, I reach out and take the damn key. "You are too good, Biji-san."

"Oh, no, not at all. I'm sure we will benefit each other so much in the future; this is just a little show of appreciation." He blathers. He smiles. He leaves at last with Aiko on his arm.

"Shit. Come on." I walk away from Aya, shaking him off. He follows without comment.

* * *

Traffic is light at this hour, and within ten minutes I'm pulling into the driveway of the hotel. A valet comes to take away Seven, and I let him. My attention is on Aya.

He seems really tired. Not looking at me, not touching me again. We walk through the lobby in silence, into a large glassed elevator with a girl in it I barely notice, along a hall. The number on the card-key is 717. I open the door and a light comes on automatically.

The suite inside is a salaryman's dream, three times larger than my apartment. Couch, kitchenette, bathtub big enough for three, bed big enough for four. I wonder where the bugs are.

There is no remote possibility that this room is _not_ bugged. We won't be able to talk or call the Koneko to report on today. There are probably cameras as well; Dekakeru has not remained intact this long by letting employees have any privacy. Besides, they're probably all sick little fucks like Biji.

Aya sinks down into the couch, behind me. I have no idea what to say to him. How about "Don't worry, Aya, I'm still not a pervert even though we're in a monitored room and people are expecting us to have sex?" For gods' sakes, I can't even use his _name_.

He was touching me.

Does he _want_ to? God.

Very nervously, I push the sunglasses back up on my hair and turn to look at him. He's lying slumped on the couch and looking at the ceiling. I take a step forward, hesitate, and lean over to see his face.

"So now wha - Ay- shit!"

His eyes are huge. Fully dilated, pulsing almost, shades of violet melting together. His breath is very faint, quick little gasps. As I stare, he tries to form words.

"...the drinks..."

* * *
On to Part Eight
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