No one is meant to really understand this piece. Only one person would and I doubt he'd read it. Wow, what did I do to YuBo? Thank you for sharing the burden, OTP.

The title does make sense, to me, anyway.

[Edit] I only just rediscovered this story…I can't believe I did not post it. What's wrong with me? Delayed, but delivered. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Nothing.

-=The Rounds Go Around=-

This should have never happened and yet it did. How it did. The marvels. The relief. That kiss. Yuriy was breathless, but he did not relent. He was breathless now and his lips were sore. But it did not end. He feared it would. If he let up, and the passion slipped, they would be doomed to the awkward realization of reality. He was trying to escape that dawning and the morning sun, as well.

Tonight, they were alone. They spoke on the phone, decided on a movie, and no sooner did the door knock, was Yuriy smiling. Boris walked in, grinning as well.

''Smells good'' He said.

''Of course''

And dinner was served. They had a drink with dinner, just one, to lighten the mood. There was laughter in abundance. They always got along well. There was an unspoken bond between them – they were best friends now.

Boris set up the console after supper, and as they sat on the couch, in front of the large television screen, they started a new game. The ritual, the pattern, the same things always happened when they found themselves alone. Their lovers were gone and they were left bored.

''I beat you.'' Yuriy smirked and an elbow nudged him in return. ''I always do.''

The taunts and jeers continued. The rounds of war dissipated within the clicking sounds of their thumbs colliding with the controllers. Boris did win a round, then a few more, and as he leaned in, dauntingly, Yuriy scowled at his victorious face, so near his own and a rematch ensued.

Yuriy won, overall, champion, and smug victor – he patted the loser on his shoulder and the contact was warm. His cheeks were as well. Boris stared for a moment; he knew that look. It was not shameful, but tense.

''Yuriy…''

Blue eyes glanced up and refused to look away. An air of determination laced his features. He hesitated for a moment, poised, and waiting. There was no change, only silver eyes, watching him and waiting, as well.

Yuriy never regretted anything. The subject was there and it hurt. They spoke of it lightly, reminiscing of the past summer and what could have been, but that spark, back then, was not there. Yuriy was afraid, as he leaned in towards Boris and kissed him, that Boris might find that urge, like he had, so long ago.

He risked it, cards on the table, naked, exposed – he made Boris respond to the kiss they both wanted but never shared. He did not want to stop and he was almost tempted, in that moment, to trail his kisses elsewhere, but as they pressed against the corner of Boris' mouth, they parted and said, hauntingly quiet,

''I don't want to part from your lips because when I begin to kiss your neck and you roll your head back, I'm afraid you'll realize how wrong this is.''

''I already know, Yuriy…it's always there, even when we play rounds around it.''

There was no comfort, only a stolen moment that ended up in defeat.

-=EndE=-