Peace & Quiet | SLBP
The first package had only taken a few hours to show up.
They hadn’t been fighting, exactly, but nonetheless, it had been blisteringly apparent to you that Saizo was at his limit for dealing with your…perhaps at times overly earnest fiancé. That he had deigned to openly show his annoyance had been the first indicator. That he had disappeared completely as soon as Yukimura turned away to answer a teammate’s question was the second.
That the delicate, luxuriously expensive contents of the delivered package fit perfectly was the third.
You turned in the mirror, watching silk cling and curve like a second skin.
It ought to bother you, you supposed, that he knew, but, well, it was Saizo. Of course he knew. Just as you knew that it had been him, despite the absence of a note, or a return address, or any other indicator the sender had been anyone but a shadow. No, aside from silk and delicate tissue paper, perfumed with the signature floral scent of the Uesugi Exclusive collection (Even their department store brand was an indulgence for you—mostly because if it did the job right, it usually didn’t survive for a second round and who had that kind of disposable income—but you could spend a month’s salary and still be unable to even find, let alone afford the luxurious, couture silk of their exclusive line) the only other item had been a schedule.
With two less-than-subtle workout time slots highlighted.
You considered the full-length mirror again, indulging in the impulse to slide your hands down your waist and hips in admiration. A simple movement, turned to sin in silk by the artful arrangement of assets in a flawlessly fitted ensemble.
On the one hand, helping your fiancé’s best friend manipulate him to get a break in which to take a nap or something seemed…well exactly like it sounded.
On the other hand…you turned again, unable to stop the sigh of satisfaction.
On the other hand…you couldn’t prove it had been Saizo that sent it. Not officially. And even if you called the Uesugi offices to ask, they respected their clientele too much to reveal those sorts of things.
And it wasn’t returnable, anyway. You’d sighed over glossy photoshoots enough to know that.
And Yukimura had been spending all that time working so hard…you missed him. And…he probably missed you too, surely, he just got so focused before a big match.
And you looked killer.
You bit your lip in thought—and found that even that, a simple expression of consternation, became a bed-ward beckoning if you tilted your chin, and let your hair fall over simple, barely-there straps…
Screw it. (Literally, you supposed, grabbing one of the orange, oversized shirts kept in your apartment, belting it as a dress and sliding your feet in shoes you could get off quickly).
You paused one last time to glance in the mirror, admiring
the now-invisible assist one last time with a smile as delightfully,
deliciously wicked as you felt.
Yukimura was going to get his workout.
(And Saizo was going to get his break).
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