"You," Ryouma said, low and ragged, "are a bastard."

He rolled over onto his back again, crushing Kakashi's hand behind his head, glaring up wild-eyed and breathless. Kakashi jerked back, but didn't pull away; he was still close enough to kiss.

Ryouma had kissed him in Matsuda's bar, with the alcohol stinging on his tongue and Matsuda's hand slipping up his thigh. He'd kissed Misao on a windswept prairie, as she unzipped his chuunin vest and pulled him down. Then Kakashi had reached for a glass with a joke and a smile, and Misao had stared down at the bloody sword-tip between her breasts with a puzzled frown that never quite dawned into fear.

And Ryouma couldn't do anything but be too late.

He reached up, hooked his fingers into the edge of the mask, and ripped it down to bare the stubborn mouth and bandaged throat. "Sex doesn't kill people," he snarled. "Caring doesn't kill people. Being stupid about it does. If you knew the drinks were drugged, why'd you take mine?"