Author's note: This takes place when everyone is an adult, many years after the first six months of Match Point. Shishido, should he have existed in the past, never appears in this fic. ::waves to him:: Ohtori is a musician in an orchestra an Sengoku is a doctor.
A Whirlwind Romance
They had met again by accident. Sengoku had been avoiding the hospital director and Ohtori had been getting another drink. They had collided three feet from the bar and only luck had saved their drinks. Limbs briefly entangled and eyes had met in that single moment of polite embarrassment, trapped within one another for that eternal instant. Suddenly flushed, they had both looked away.
"Sengoku-san!/Ohtori! What are you doing here? I'm -- " They both started and stopped.
Sengoku laughed and clapped Ohtori on the shoulder. "It's nice to see you again. -- "
"Yes, it has been a -- " Ohtori started, but Sengoku continued before he could finish, turning wobbling green eyes on him, "But can you hide me? The director is after me!"
This time it was Ohtori's turn to laugh as he smiled a mischievous smile he had learned from Sengoku long ago, "Of course, Sengoku-san. Right this way ... "
The second time they spoke it was tentatively. Ohtori had called Sengoku at his apartment one night when the lights were dim and Sengoku sat poised on the rail of his balcony, drinking gin and marveling quietly at the burning sparks of light that indicated the life below.
"Am I calling too late, Sengoku-san?" Ohtori asked in barely a whisper. He sat in his own apartment, staring blindly out the window, draped in his bed covers as he wondered why he should call so suddenly in the silence of the midnight.
"You're never too late," Sengoku replied just as quietly, answering more than one question in the darkness that wrapped the both of them.
The third time they met it was by design. Sengoku had suggested a dinner to renew their acquaintance and Ohtori had agreed, saying he knew just the place. That was how they had found themselves at the Chateau de Faux, eating things that Sengoku had pretended dramatics over until Ohtori had finally smacked him with his napkin and pretended to scold him while trying not to laugh. They did not know who suggested the walk first, but they both had risen and left the restaurant, strolling side by side through the streets.
The first time they kissed it was sweet. They had paused beneath a tree to watch the moon rise and the moment grew longer as hands touched. Ohtori had turned to look down at his companion in time for Sengoku's lips to meet his own. Then they had been caught then in the sweet, fiery mesh of lips and tongue and the battle to taste the other to the fullest. They broke only to breathe, forehead against forehead as they stared hungrily into each other's hooded eyes.
"You still taste like spiced tea and gingerbread," Sengoku whispered and Ohtori couldn't help but smile.
The last time they met it was an all consuming passion that had burned everything else away. This time they could not escape each other and knew they didn't want to.
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