There wasn't supposed to be anything there.

However Tenpou came to the quick realisation that part of his office no longer consisted of free floorspace (or 'ground-level book storage' as Kenren called it) when his knees and thighs came into solid - and somewhat painful - contact with an object. He looked up, and then down, from his book and saw...

"A couch?"

A large, heavy, black leather-covered couch. Currently sprawled over by a tall, slender, black leather-covered General.

"Isn't it great?" Kenren grinned up at him, "Of course the poor sods who had to lug it here all the way from the North Gate didn't think so, but I figure if you can't get the ranks to do manual labour, then what the hell use are they anyway?"

"Kenren... " Tenpou was a little unsure what to say.

"Don't worry, I signed it off with Requisitions on the Division's budget. Under 'office furniture'."

"Kenren... " Tenpou slowly walked around the couch until he was standing in front of it, eyeing it in all it's full... bulky... glory.

"Well, don't tell me you'd have prefered one of those damn futon couches? They might be OK for a traditionalist tightarse like Litoun but I'd've thoug... "

"Kenren." The General shut up at the polite but firm tone in his superior's voice. "I'm somewhat baffled as to what I actually need a couch for. It's a waste of space."

Kenren's eyebrows shot up.

"I've never seen anyone in greater need of a couch! How many times have I come in here and found you reading on the floor? Sometimes I think you've forgotten what chairs are for - and no, I'm not counting that uncomfortable pile of sticks you have behind your desk. It's amazing you don't get a flat arse from it," the latter sentence being accompanied by an appreciative, but wholly futile leer at said piece of anatomy, which was hidden by Tenpou's white labcoat.

"So you're saying I need a reading couch?" Tenpou enquired, humor lurking behind the reflection of his glasses like a carp at the bottom of a sunlit pool.

"Exactly!" Kenren studied him, expression dissolving into slyness, "C'mon, just feel this leather, it's buttersoft. And the smell... mmmm... "

He stretched languidly, palms sliding down the surface under him. Tenpou watched the slow writhe of black and white and crimson on black, Kenren arching like a cat amongst catnip. He sat down abruptly. Kenren smiled as Tenpou leant forward, hands smoothing up over leather that had nothing to do with the couch.

Needless to say, the next week when Kenren visited Tenpou's office there was no longer a couch - merely raised-level book storage.

saiyuki index

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