That was easy.

Raidou glanced sideways, then up. There weren’t many men who could make him tilt his chin, but this one was worth the look. Rough-spiked dark hair shading even darker eyes, the kind of cheekbones that’d make an angel cry; no scars, but that nose had been broken at least once, and the wide, reckless mouth curving beneath it promised dangerous fun.

Hot interest kindled under Raidou’s ribcage.

“Shouchu,” he said. It’d been that kind of day. “And you’re—”

The civilian girl caught his eye, mostly by the way she was staring at the back of his new friend’s head.

“Popular,” Raidou finished.

“Missed her chance,” said the man dismissively, without looking. “I’ve been playing pool with Minami-sensei for twenty minutes.” He signalled the bartender, holding up two long scarred fingers—“Shouchu.”—then braced his elbow on the bar, leaning easily. “Tousaki Ryouma, by the way. Jounin.”

Jounin’s ego, too, Raidou thought, amused. He’d guessed Ryouma’s rank from the sleek chakra signature, but nice to have it confirmed.

“Raidou,” he said. “Special-jounin.”

Ryouma gave him a long once-over, dark gaze lingering on Raidou’s arms and shoulders. “Taijutsu?”

Raidou grinned. “It wasn’t going to be genjutsu.” He returned Ryouma’s attention, following the line of broad, rangy shoulders down to lean hips. There was muscle, definitely, but also speed in those long legs and clever-looking hands. Jounin were harder to pin down to a speciality, being the definition of a well-rounded ninja, but if Raidou had to guess... “Ninjutsu, right?”

Ryouma sighed. “Well, I told 'em in the Academy I wanted to specialize in gnawing off knee-caps, but they said I was already too tall for that. Had to make new plans.”

Raidou’s laugh was interrupted by the drinks arriving. Ryouma slid a handful of bills across the counter, with a generous tip tucked under his thumb; the bartender made it vanish with quick sleight of hand and moved onto his next customer.

Twin shot glasses sweated gentle beads of condensation onto the bar top. Raidou picked one up, turning the glass to the light.

“Your good health?” he suggested, wry.

“Until tomorrow, maybe,” Ryouma said easily. He tapped his glass to Raidou’s and threw back the shot, baring the long line of his throat.

Raidou drank his own just to cool the flames. The shuochu was good and rough, burning all the way down. He set the glass back down and rapped twice on the bar. “Mission tomorrow?”

The bartender swept by, racking up two refills. Raidou put the money down this time.

“Mangrove Country,” said Ryouma, picking up his second. “Swamp and swamp-lizards and mosquitos the size of young crows." He grinned wickedly, catching Raidou’s eyes dead-on. “One last night for no regrets.”

Very deliberately, the dark gaze slid down Raidou’s chest, coming to rest on his belt-buckle.

Subtle man, Tousaki Ryouma.

Raidou was no stranger to a back-alley hookup, or even a hasty bathroom grope — when the adrenaline was still scraping through your veins, any decision seemed like a good one. He didn’t regret them afterwards. But this guy—

This guy, Raidou wanted to pin down to a bed somewhere and take him apart piece by piece, until that cocky mask cracked.

He drank his second shot and grinned. “Want to go somewhere else?”