Yohji woke up warm. It
was that kind of warmth that meant there was a second body in
the bed. However, that usual feeling of contentment that he got after a good
one night stand
wasn't in effect. In fact, his throat was dry and his vision blurry. Yohji groaned.
He probably
hadn't scored last night if he felt like this. Usually there was that residual
sense of satisfaction.
Yohji usually felt like he had accomplished something after having sex. It usually
meant that
another person had orgasmed screaming his name. You always felt good about that.
But, there
wasn't that sense of happiness. Just a dry mouth and nausea.
The memories came back from last night, getting smashed, though to a lesser
degree, with
Aya. The headache came roaring to life now that he was aware enough to start
to remember last
night. Yohji recognized the conditions of a hangover. He had been the victim
of them many, many
times in his life. This morning was no different then any other day.
Yohji decided that it just might be time to try and wake up. Nothing better
to do. Face the
day and try to work through some of what Aya told him last night. Try to become
accustomed to
it and get that churning sensation of his stomach to stop when he thought of
it. Yohji groaned and
started to concentrate very hard on waking up, no matter how warm and comfy
the bed was.
He opened his eyes and for a moment thought he was dying. All he could see was
red,
blood red. Fuck, it wasn't a hangover. That familiar warm feeling, that sense
of emptiness. He
was bleeding to death, which was why his vision was turning red. He couldn't
remember what had
happened. Had there been a fight? Maybe he had a head wound, so that was why
the blood was
running through his vision. Yohji shook his head a bit. He wasn't going to die
here, wherever it
was. Then, that red began to take a focus, the blurry streaks fading into thin,
petite hairs. A strand
of hair tickled the side of his nose and lips.
Yohji sneezed into Aya's hair, sending his face ricocheting off the top of Aya's
head.
Sometime in his sleep, he had curled up over Aya, that arm still across Aya's
waist. He had
burrowed his head into Aya's hair during his sleep. That vision of red had been
Aya's head, those
red strands blurring together in Yohji's hazy morning vision. Yohji yawned and
pulled away a bit,
rolling onto his back and withdrawing his arm from Aya's side. Yohji looked
down at his still
sleeping companion, Aya not stirring at Yohji's movements.
Aya looked dead. His face was still inflamed and reddened from crying last night,
a few
red tear streaks still visible on that pale skin. There was a red wrinkle on
the good side of Aya's
face, an imprint from the sheet fold. The big gauze bandage on his left cheek
had become untaped.
It was almost half off, a few strips of medical tape still clinging to Aya's
skin. The split cheek
looked raw and painful under the bandage, a few pussy scars drying after being
exposed to the air.
During the whole night, Aya hadn't moved from his original sprawl that he had
first fallen
asleep in. His left ankle was still elevated on the pillows, and one arm pulled
over the sheets with
the bloody IV needle still in his elbow. Yohji blinked at the line, following
it back to the empty
blood bag. Yohji stared at it, connecting the fact that it was the last bag
to the fact he could get
the needle out.
Yohji sat up slowly, his head rolling and spinning before finding a balance.
His hair fell
forward and the back of his head itched from being tied back all night long.
Irritated, Yohji pulled
out the mangled pony tail, his hair falling out in a large clumped knot. Yohji
raised his hand and
scratched at his head, feeling a bit of relief.
Yohji smacked his lips, weakly licking the edge of his mouth to try and get
some moisture
to them. God, his mouth couldn't taste worse if he ate something dead off the
side of the road.
His head had finally stopped rolling around and the world came into focus. There
was a bit of
sunlight coming in from the window. By the amount of brightness, it must be
early morning. Why
was he awake right now? Yohji rubbed vainly at his eyes.
Yohji reached down and lazily scratched his groin before blinking. He had to
piss. Ah,
now it made sense. Yohji was having a hard time understanding why he would be
awake so early
in the day. It was just his body needed to be taken care of before he could
get into a deeper sleep.
Yohji wondered if he could hold it, the bed so wonderfully warm and Aya was
just laying there
under his arm, not saying any of those bitchy comments. It was idealistically
perfect, like an
honest cuddle instead of those fondles Yohji gave to someone he had just had
sex with. Yohji felt
very comfortable over Aya. When Aya was asleep. If Aya opened his eyes now,
the whole
moment would be ruined the second that mouth started to move.
Yohji decided that he did need to pee. Groaning, he moved his feet first, letting
them fall
out onto the cold wood floor tentatively. Freezing cold. Yohji wanted to try
to hold it rather then
wander out of the bed. But, a man had to be a man, and he already decided to
go to the bathroom.
Yohji slithered the rest of his body down the side of the bed, getting his weight
under him.
Yohji staggered in his first step, then regained his balance. He took a moment
to become
adjusted to standing, just blinking blearily at the room. Dragging his feet
so that he wouldn't lose
touch with the ground, Yohji began to make a slow line for the door. The door
wasn't located
where it usually was, just a little more to the left then it should be. Yohji's
head hit the wall first,
allowing him to steady the rest of his body a moment. Yohji threw his hand up
limply and it hit the
doorknob. It took a moment to get a grip on it. Another to open the door.
Yohji let his hand slip from the knob and fall, dragging it along with the rest
of his body.
God, the world sucked today. He yawned again and picked a bit of that eye junk
out of the inside
of his eyelids with his fingernail. Yohji made it to the bathroom at the end
of the hall by miracle
alone.
Thankfully the door was open, allowing Yohji to trudge past it until his knees
hit the
toilet. Grunting and looking down, Yohji kind of fell forward until his head
hit the wall again. He
wasn't quite ready to open his eyes all the way yet. He waited for the room
to stop spinning,
patiently staring down into the water, looking at his shadowy reflection in
the bowl.
Yohji put one hand on the wall and used the other to steady himself as he began
to piss.
Yohji groaned in contentment, his bladder relaxing. He took the time to air
dry, just standing
there as he attempted several times before finally managing to flush the toilet.
He let his hips run into the counter painfully, using it to balance his body.
Yohji turned on
the water, not really sure if it was going to be hot or cold. He took the soap
and managed to make
a few suds before it flew out of his hands and slid to the center of the sink.
Shit. Yohji stared
down at the soap, wondering if it would be worth it to bend a little bit forward
and get the bar of
soap.
His head began to fall and Yohji let it, allowing the water to pour over his
hair. He didn't
think he could take the greasy feeling anymore, even if it was just a rinse
off. He could wash it
later, when he had time to scrub his whole body clean. He cried out, realizing
that the water was
ice cold. He was awake now, wether he wanted to be or not. Yohji tried to jerk
his head away
from the freezing pain and hit his head on the faucet.
"FUCK!" His roar made the soap dish rattle. "Ow. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Owwww,"
Yohji cursed, rubbing furiously at his head as if to rub away the pain. The
irritation of being a
fucking idiot drowned out the relief of the pain fading. He dunked his head
again, letting all the
strands get soaked. Finally, that greasy stickiness on his scalp got washed
away.
Being very careful, Yohji removed his head from under the faucet, turning the
water off.
His hair began to drip down his back and shoulders, causing Yohji to shudder
and goose bumps to
pop out. Yohji found a brush on the counter and ran it through his hair, sculpting
it into some
semblance of order. His whole body felt dirty and itchy. A shower could wait
until someone else
woke up so they could watch Aya.
Yohji got his toothbrush wet and squeezed out a healthy blob onto the bristles.
He stuck it
in his mouth and furiously ran it on the inside of his gums, feeling the plaque
begin to flake away
from his teeth. He scrubbed the back of his tongue and gargled with the toothpaste
bubbles until
the back of his throat burned with the peppermint. Spitting it out, Yohji cupped
some water and
sipped out of his hand, washing out his mouth.
Reaching out, Yohji got a hold of a hand towel. He ripped it off of the hook
and dried his
face before dropping it to the side of the sink. He knew Omi would give him
hell for not hanging
up a towel, but Yohji didn't feel like turning around right now. All that useless
effort just to keep
one kid happy? It was too much to ask in the morning.
As Yohji hauled himself back to his room, he remembered that last detail about
the night.
After Aya had passed out, Yohji had to listen to Omi and Ken go at it. All night
long. Fuck, they
were silent long enough between the sex that Yohji managed to finally get to
sleep before another
round would start up, those lusty moans penetrating his sleep better then any
alarm clock ever
could.
Yohji rubbed the remaining mucus out of his eyes as he walked back to his room.
He
wasn't nervous about Ken and Omi's new relationship. He honestly had expected
it a hell of a lot
sooner. Yohji always considered Ken to be honest with his emotions, but when
it came to
admitting to loving someone, Ken seemed to have a hard time expressing himself.
It was just . . .
weird.
Yohji never considered himself to be homophobic. In fact, he had wound up with
a man at
the end of night just as much as with a girl. It didn't really matter to him,
it was just the sex he
was looking for. But, Ken and Omi were really good friends. Yohji worried a
bit about how it
would affect them. Would it make them weird around each other or something?
His door came up on his side and Yohji had to stop fretting and concentrate
on making it
into the room. He looked down at the floor, the usual mess of dirty clothes
and trash suddenly
intimidating him. He wasn't so sure about his balance right now, and his bed
looking a hell of a
long way away.
Reaching down, Yohji drew a pair of jeans out from the mess. He knocked a beer
bottle
over in the process, pulling the pants out from under the glass and making it
roll across the floor.
At that noise, the lump in the bed moved under the comforter. It seemed that
Aya might be
rousing. Yohji pulled the loose pants up his hips, jumping to get his foot out
from the bottom of
the hem. He managed to get the legs of the pants over his feet and Yohji buttoned
up the top
before pulling the zipper. Aya probably would kill him if he knew Yohji had
slept next to his
honored person in only a pair of boxers.
Yohji leaned down again, getting a shirt off of the floor. He pulled it over
his head,
grunting when the collar got stuck around his crown. Yanking the shirt down
over his head, Yohji
wrestled his arms through the sleeves. His limbs were soon out of the shirt
through the correct
holes and Yohji smoothed the shirt down before his foot hit another bottle and
sent it against the
side of his dresser.
Aya whimpered. Honest to God whimpered. His brows drew together, his delicate
lashes
pulling together, trembling in the swelling bruises. He rolled his head on the
pillows, toward
Yohji's general direction, trying to find the source of the disturbance. Those
eyes didn't open,
Aya's mouth forming a tight line, the swelling in his bottom lip making it round
out a bit in the
middle.
Yohji made it over to the side of the bed and sat down somewhere between the
edge of
the bed and Aya's body. He remembered promising Aya to get the needle out when
the bag was
done. Yohji leaned over Aya, lifting up his arm by putting his hand underneath
Aya's elbow.
He used his thumb to pinch into the skin below the needle. Taking the tube in
his other
hand, Yohji pulled it out from the skin, blood spurting a bit despite Yohji
applying pressure. Aya
moaned, his eyes flickering open. Well, as open as they could with the swelling.
The bruising
around his eyes was turning a deep purple with green and yellow edging. It was
kind of amazing
to see human skin turn those colors.
Aya looked down his arm, to where his elbow was starting to swell in one spot,
like a
tennis ball. The vein was bulging from the struggles and the needle been driven
in twice. Aya
looked up at Yohji in a sort of relief, but anger that Yohji had done it without
asking. Yohji knew
that despite him promising to remove the IV once the bag was done, Aya would
still be pissy that
Yohji hadn't personally consulted him.
"Aya?" Yohji asked, clearing his throat after saying that out loud, his voice
still rough
from cigarettes and sleep. Aya looked at Yohji and if it was possible, Yohji
would say that he had
gone paler. Aya's face blanched and his cheeks hollowed out. Aya made this funny
swallowing
noise, lifting up his good hand weakly and motioning something to Yohji.
"What, Aya?" He asked again. Aya's shoulders bucked as he tried to struggle
up but
couldn't lift his body up. Yohji tried to put a hand on Aya's shoulders and
the man growled and
pushed at Yohji, trying to move away from him. God, couldn't Aya trust him for
just a second?
Aya grunted and his cheeks suddenly swelled comically, Aya lifting up a shaky
hand to cover his
mouth.
"Fuck, don't tell me you're . . ." Yohji never got to finish. Aya pushed away
from Yohji,
using the movement to throw his body to the side of the bed. He flopped a bit
on the bed, getting
his head over the edge, unable to use his muscles like he usually would. There
was a cry of pain
followed by Aya's shoulders slumping forward. Then Aya was violently ill, vomiting
right onto
Yohji's floor.
"Oh, fuck, no, hold it in, hold it in!" Yohji begged, leaping off the bed and
grabbing his
waste basket. Aya sobbed, his mouth open as he tried not to be sick again and
failing, spit
dripping out from his mouth in thick goblets. Aya vomited again and Yohji managed
to get the
trash can under Aya's mouth in midstream.
Immediately, it smelled rank and fetid. Aya's stomach acid and the booze filled
up the
room, stinging at Yohji's eyes. Yohji jerked his hand away from the edge of
the basket as soon as
it was positioned on the ground. He cursed, shaking his hands at the mess and
looking for
something to clean it up with. Aya's mouth gaped open and wordless squeaks came
out, Aya
struggling for breath.
"Omi!" Yohji roared out into the hallway. If that shit wasn't awake, he better
well start to
wake up. Aya managed to get out an enraged, painful bellow at Yohji, something
about being a
fucking idiot. Aya pressed his arms straight against his sides, writhing on
the bed in pain as his
elbows dug into his waist. Yohji gaped at Aya, wondering what was putting him
into this intense
pain, then remembered. The ribs. Fuck, the broken ribs.
"Omi, get the hell out here, now!" Yohji screamed. The neighbors should be coming
soon if
the boy didn't. Yohji had to stop Aya from moving, had to stop him from throwing
up so he
wouldn't aggravate the broken ribs. Aya could break them further or cause them
to puncture
organs if he didn't stop trying to hold them still as he struggled, vomiting
again as little pain tears
formed at the corner of his eyes.
Yohji pressed Aya into the bed by his shoulders, trying to still his body. Aya
went wild,
choking and spiting as he tried to jerk away. The pain held him back, making
Aya wince and stop
trying to fight. Yohji knew that broken ribs hurt like a real bitch. Aya had
better shut up or he was
going to risk further injury. The little prick. Yohji pushed more weight on
Aya, perfectly aware of
that tender shoulder that had pulled out of its socket. Aya screamed at the
pain, gagging and
slumping over the edge of the bed, finally going a little bit still.
"Yohji-kun, what's going on?!" Omi demanded, running in from the hall. He looked
a little
pale in the face, his hair mused and covering his eyes. His eyes had heavy blue
bruising under them
and looked tired in his wan face. Omi still looked a little wobbly, despite
the heavy grip he had on
the side of the doorway. Omi had obviously been disturbed from the sleep he
had really needed.
Omi was only wearing a pair of large, oversized exercise shorts. The drawstring's
bow was
ridiculously long, nearly all the cord pulled out of the waistband in order
to fit Omi's small waist.
Recognizing the green webbing, Yohji could have sworn those shorts were Ken's.
Oh, yeah . . . Omi and Ken were together now. Yohji hadn't expected them to
be wearing
each other's clothes quite so soon. Besides, Omi didn't really fit Ken's athletic
clothes. Aya was
still trying to struggle and nearly fell out of the bed and right into that
nasty puddle of vomit. Right
on his floor. Yohji shuddered, loathing the thought of cleaning it up. Especially
if Aya succeeded in
his stupid struggle and fell into it. Yohji shoved Aya back onto the bed fiercely,
making Aya stop
and cry out, clawing at the bad shoulder.
"Let. Go!" Aya grated, making a choking noise. Aya jerked his head up, glaring
at Yohji
even as his skin turned a light translucent blue, sweat gathering on his forward.
Aya's mouth
ballooned out and his mouth twisted as he tried to continue glaring at Yohji.
He failed and Aya's
head fell down and he sagged toward the basket, spiting out the last of it.
Aya was trying to hold his body still, giving up on trying to make Yohji leave
him alone and
concentrating on holding his ribs motionless. He made gasps of pain, unable
to stop the ribs from
pressing into his lungs and the heaving muscles of his stomach.
Yohji rolled Aya to the center of the bed, getting him on his back. Aya dry
heaved, choking
on his own breath. Omi scrambled up the side of the bed, taking Aya's head in
his hands and
cradling him, supporting Aya against his body. Aya flinched away from the naked
flesh, snarling at
Omi before Yohji shoved him back to the boy, in no mood to deal with Aya's tantrums.
"Hold him, okay? I'm getting towels and water, make sure he doesn't choke on
his own
spit," Yohji ordered. Omi nodded and adjusted Aya on his shoulder, so that Aya
would be upright
and his throat could swallow with gravity if nothing else. Aya panted helplessly,
biting his lower lip
in pain.
"I'm . . . not going to choke . . . you stupid prick," Aya wheezed out, gasping
and jerking
with the effort of talking. Omi shushed him gently, brushing hair away from
Aya's face just like a
mother would. Aya glared bullets at Omi, his anger shifted toward the boy and
away from Yohji
for just a moment. Yohji stared, absolutely astounded that Aya would overcome
such intense
physical pain just to insult him. Yohji wanted to hit Aya badly. Just beat some
fucking common
sense into that frozen piece of shit, beat him until he understood that people
cared about him.
Yohji restrained, slamming his fist into the banister of the stairway after
stomping down to
the end of the hall. Yohji hadn't even realized he had walked out of the bedroom.
He was just too
pissed off to notice. If he stayed in there any longer, the rational part of
him knew that he would
have likely killed Aya. So, somehow his body had managed to get itself out of
the room before he
unconsciously killed Aya.
Yohji stomped down the stairs, his knuckles smarting from hitting the banister.
That was a
fucking stupid thing to do. Yet it made Yohji a little bit happy. That little
flash of pain, stabbing up
through the nerves in his hands and fingers to his wrist. It made him concentrate
on that pain
instead of thinking about Aya. It kept him from rerunning it in his head. Aya
slumped outside the
door just a night ago, near death. It was Yohji's fault. There was no way to
deny it. He shouldn't
have yelled at Aya. He shouldn't have gotten Aya drunk. He shouldn't be a fucking
idiot, yet here
he was in the kitchen again, grabbing the phone from the set and stabbing in
the phone number.
The phone rang once, nobody answering it. Yohji snarled at the headset, wondering
why
there wouldn't be a receptionist right now. Not that she could answer his call
in one ring. That was
asking too much for any human being. However, Aya was dying in his bed. He didn't
want that to
happen. So, there had better be someone answering within three rings or he was
calling the
hospital, despite Aya's demands.
It rang again and Yohji walked to the sink, stretching the cord across the room,
right over
the kitchen table, dangerously close to the flower vase on the table. Yohji
stretched out his fingers,
not quite able to reach the drying rack from where he stood. The tip of his
pointer finger brushed
up against a large bowl and he knocked it over and several other plates in the
process. Yohji got a
grip around the rim of the bowl and yanked it out from the other dishes, causing
them to hit each
other and crash loudly.
"Hello. This is general hospital directory. How . . ." Came a friendly female
voice over the
phone. Yohji was filling up the bowl by the time she had answered, the water
rushing from the sink
nearly drowning out her welcoming speech.
"Doctor Nomura, now," Yohji cut her off, turning into the set and getting a
hand around
the phone so he could hold it to his face. He had no time to listen her babble
about what extension
number he could call. She could damn well patch him through herself.
"Sir, I don't know who you think you are . . ." the voice started, already hissing
and getting
defensive. Yohji vaguely recognized the voice, but couldn't put a face to it.
She seemed to think
she was very important, even if she was only answering the phone.
"Shut up. Doctor, now. Yohji Kudoh," he enunciated, just in case this receptionist
was
hard of hearing. The bowl was getting full, so yohji turned off the water and
dried his hands off by
rubbing them down the sides of the paper towel dispenser, letting the roll soak
up all the water.
Omi would kill him later for it.
"Oh, it's you again," the voice snapped, distaste oozing out of the ear set.
Yohji was
positive it was the same bitch from yesterday. Great. A hell bitch secretary.
Yohji just loved those
types. She seemed to remember him as well.
"What do you need? Don't ask for anything more until I see some results on your
mission,
you lazy . . ." she started. Yohji could hear the woman's nostrils flare over
the phone. He shifted
the weight on his feet, glaring into the headset. He wished for video phones
to become
commonplace so he could glare at this woman and she could perfectly see the
disgust in his face.
Voices couldn't really express how much you hated someone. Yohji wanted her
to get the full
visual.
"Aya's not stable. Hold up your side first," Yohji snapped, ready to reach through
the
phone to strangle her. She huffed, snorting into the phone, as if Yohji was
a stupid child.
"You idiot! Why didn't you say something earlier? . . . Doctor!" The woman screamed
to
someone far away from the phone in another room, right next to the mouthpiece.
Yohji clenched
his mouth so hard it hurt his neck muscles and the teeth scraped together. Either
she purposely
meant to shriek into Yohji's ear or she really was that stupid. Both seemed
like a plausible idea.
Yohji didn't bother to argue with her or take the time to tell her just what
an incredible
idiot she was. He just didn't have the time right now. Yohji hung up on her
as she yelled some
question at him. He didn't care. She could ask when she got here. God, he didn't
want the doctors.
He didn't want to deal with the mission still waiting for him on the coffee
table in the living room.
Yohji slammed the phone into the hook, watching as it fell off with the force
of impact. Irritated,
Yohji grabbed the phone and hung it up again, growling.
Yohji carried the bowl up the stairs, stopping at the top of them and turning
to the door at
the left. The linen closet was dark when Yohji opened the door, the shelves
pathetically empty.
Yohji grabbed the last few towels. They needed to laundry. They needed to clean
all of those
bloodstained towels thrown right in front of the washer, none of them really
wanting to have to
look at the towels again. Because they would be reminded about where most of
that blood came
from. Yohji clenched his hand into a fist, feeling nails dig into the skin.
Water sloshed over the
edge of the bowl, splattering next to Yohji's bare foot.
Ken turned the corner, running right into Yohji. Ken just bounced off and opened
one eye
at Yohji, yawning without covering his mouth. Right in front of Yohji's face.
His hair was just as
messed up as Omi's, in fact one would have to say even more so. Yohji cursed,
jostled, and barely
managed to catch the bowl as it started to fall out of his hands. He dropped
the towels and grabbed
the underside of the bowl, Ken scratching his shoulder as he watching in mild
interest.
"Yohji? What the hell are you screaming about this early in the morning?" Ken
yawned at
the end of the sentence, rubbing at his eyes. He was still not awake enough
to recognize Yohji's
haste. Bastard. How good could Omi be anyway? They were both acting like the
living dead. Yohji
wanted to kill them both for having sex while Aya was bedridden, near the edge
of death.
"Ken, you stupid fuck, get the towels. It's Aya," Yohji ordered, shoving past
Ken with his
one good hand. Ken sputtered and turned around, putting his hands on his hips.
Even though it
was the early morning, Ken still had a temper.
"What are you talking about? Don't just push people out of the way!" Ken yelled.
Yohji
ignored him, continuing down the hall. Ken snarled something about jackasses
and grabbed the
towels as violently as he could. Yohji felt Ken stomp behind him, the floorboards
shuddering under
each step. Yohji got closer to the door. He didn't hear those awful, painful
noises that Aya had
been making. In fact, it was rather quiet.
Fear surged up. Had Aya died? It was a possibility. In the time it had taken
him to go
downstairs, one of those ribs could have punctured a lung and Aya could have
died of suffocation.
Oh, God. Yohji didn't want Aya to die that way. His stomach dropped and his
blood went cold. If
he went in the bedroom, would Omi be cradling that lifeless body? He didn't
think he could be able
to stand it.
"What are you waiting for?" Ken snapped, irritated and tapping a foot behind
Yohji. Yohji
stared at him, tears stinging as Yohji choked them back. Ken huffed and stalked
past him, to the
bed where Aya and Omi were.
Omi was still holding Aya against him, though Aya wasn't moving as much as he
had. Omi
looked up and made a 'shh' noise at them, nodding his head at Aya. Aya was passed
out again. His
mouth was slack and his fingers weren't curled up into little weak fists. Instead,
his arms were limp
at his sides and Aya was leaning into Omi's neck in his unconsciousness. Envy
hit Yohji hard. The
fear of Aya being dead was immediately replaced by jealousy that Omi had managed
to touch Aya
without a fight. That Aya was accepting the fact that Omi was holding him, and
even getting
comfortable. Fuck.
"Yohji-kun, come on, I need the water," Omi demanded softly, putting one hand
on Aya's
hair. Yohji glared at that hand. How dare Omi just touch him when Yohji wasn't
even allowed to
breathe near Aya. Then, Yohji felt shame at this anger. God, he was acting like
a world-class prick.
Aya had passed out and all he could think about was how much Yohji wished it
had been on him.
Aya didn't have the capability to choose who he fainted on right now. It reminded
him what Aya
had been through. Fuck. Raped. Yohji didn't think he was going to be able to
accept it. It was this
weird fact of life, floating around in the back of his head, that Yohji wished
to ignore with all his
might.
"No way, no way, I'm not cleaning that," Ken declared, making gagging noises
at the
puddle on the floor. "Jesus, that reeks. It smells like . . ." Ken trailed off,
his eyes widening a bit.
Ken set the stack of towels down next to Omi and stood up, turning around slowly
and looking at
Yohji with death in his eyes.
"Yohji, Aya got wasted last night," Ken accused, looking back at Aya's pale
face. Yohji
knew Ken was pissed. Beyond pissed. But, Yohji was pissed too. More at himself
though. It was
his fault. Yohji had gotten Aya drunk within the first hour he had finally been
coherent. He
shouldn't have tried to make Aya take anything into his body beyond water. He
fucking stupid
could he be? Aya was having a relapse. It was his fault.
"You fucking asshole. Don't you think about anyone else?" Ken snarled. Yohji
stared at
him, a bit confused. He felt numb with everything. Yohji wondered how in the
hell this had
happened. Why it had happened. Why had Aya been raped? Why had he been a fucking
idiot and
gotten Aya plastered? God, no answers beyond the fact that Yohji was a stupid,
stupid fucking
idiot.
"Gimme that," Ken snapped, grabbing the bowl from Yohji's lax hand. Ken stood
there a
moment longer, glaring at Yohji. Yohji wondered if he was going to hit him.
It seemed like he just
might, Ken clenching his fist at his side and gritting his teeth. Yohji let
his hands become fists,
digging his nails into the flesh. He wanted Ken to hit him. He wanted Ken to
beat the fucking shit
out of him. It was what he deserved. Raped. Relapse. It was his fault
Amazingly, Ken restrained his temper. It was almost like Ken had sensed that
Yohji would
enjoy being hit at this point. God, Yohji wanted to kill someone. Kill whatever
bastard had asked
Aya all those months ago for that first bit of sex. Just kill them and rip their
insides out just to be
sure scum like that died. Ken grunted at Yohji's face and took the bowl to Omi,
the boy
murmuring a thanks.
Omi wetted the edge of a towel in the bowl and gently patted the edge of Aya's
face,
unable to wipe the skin dry because of the raw and tender cuts. Omi rotated
the towel a bit, using a
new area on the fabric as the edge became dirtied with spittle. Aya roused a
bit, shaking his head
away from the towel. Omi held back for a bit until Aya calmed down a bit, Ken
patting Aya's back
like most people did when someone was hung over.
Aya groaned and made a strange, swallowing noise. Ken already had the basket
up as Aya
hurled again, Omi supporting the back of his neck and Ken catching one of Aya's
shoulders. Yohji
felt useless and responsible for all of it, unable to move, unable to help them.
He couldn't do
anything right now. He felt a bit cold in the room. He wondered if Aya was cold?
Would Aya start
to freeze? God, Aya would probably catch a cold at this point. And it would
be his fault for not
turning up the heat in the room.
"Yohji-kun, you got Aya-kun drunk? Right now? Look at him!" Omi criticized Yohji
over
the sounds of Aya sobbing for breath between the heaving and the broken ribs.
Yohji didn't say
anything back. Of course he was looking at Aya. Of course he was hearing every
pain-filled grunt
that Aya made right now.
"God, Yohji, are you fucking stupid?" Ken snarled, not looking back at Yohji
as he patted
Aya's back. Aya shoved at Ken, falling back against Omi. Aya breathed harshly,
trying to wipe his
own mouth but unable to get his hand up. Omi made some soothing noises to Aya,
gently patting
at Aya's chin with the towel again.
"I'm sorry, I . . ." Yohji whispered slowly. What could he say? There wasn't
an excuse. He
couldn't say he didn't mean to give Aya that much. Yohji was perfectly aware
of how much
alcohol he had been giving Aya. He couldn't say he didn't know about it. He
had spent the whole
night in here with Aya. He knew he had gotten Aya hammered. Yohji knew that
this was his fault.
"I, what? What, Yohji?" Ken barked at him, angry and with full right. Ken grabbed
one of
the folded towels and threw it at Yohji. Yohji let it hit him in the chest and
it slid down to the
floor. Ken was suddenly standing very close to Yohji, breathing down at him.
Ken had the
complete right to be angry at him. It was his fault.
"I got him drunk. It's my fault. I'm sorry," Yohji shouted, right into Ken's
self-righteous
face. He fucking hating Ken for being right. Even more so because it was all
Yohji's fault. Fuck, he
hated it when he wrong and it was entirely his own stupid fault. Shit. Omi was
ignoring them,
gently brushing some of the hair out of Aya's eyes.
"Don't. Don't touch," Aya ordered, managing to lift one hand to bat at Omi's
hand. Omi
nodded and pulled his hand away from Aya. Yohji felt that same bitter jealousy
rise up when Aya
turned his head into the crook of Omi's neck and chest, relaxing against the
boy. Aya trusted Omi.
The only time Aya trusted Yohji was when he was so drunk he couldn't recognize
his right hand.
"It is your stupid fault, you asshole!" Ken snarled, shoving Yohji in the chest.
Ken didn't
really know how to deal with situations like this beyond violence. He let Ken
push him into his
dresser, the corner digging into his shoulder. Ken was in a light fighting stance,
clearly ready to kill
Yohji for getting Aya drunk. Yohji leaned down, bending at the waist, and picked
up the towel on
the floor.
He stood up, taking a step toward Ken. Ken already had a fist up, clearly expecting
a fight.
Yohji brushed past Ken, not saying anything. It wasn't like he could say anything
to make this
better. As they had covered before, this was his own fault. Yohji settled down
on his haunches next
to the bed, right over that fetid puddle of vomit. Omi looked down at him in
a bit of confusion and
still with a good amount of disappointment that he had been so irresponsible.
Yohji gingerly began to soak up the puke, feeling faintly ill himself. God,
it did reek of pure
alcohol. Yohji had gotten Aya messed up in the best of ways. Yohji kept on swiping
at the puddle,
Ken kicking at the wall before sitting at the window sill, looking down at the
ashtray in barely
disguised hatred. Aya opened up his eyes, looking like he was vaguely embarrassed
as Yohji
finished cleaning up his mess.
"I'm getting trash bags," Yohji informed them, stuffing the towel into his small,
ruined
wastebasket. Ken spat in his general direction and Omi hushed him as Yohji's
back turned. Yohji
deserved every bit of it. He kind of wanted Ken to come rushing after him to
kick his ass. He
would welcome that right now. Just that bit of punishment to make him feel human.
There was a heavy thumping noise that Yohji became aware of as he went downstairs.
There was a bit of yelling, followed by some more pounding. It might have been
a knock, had it
not been so violent and demanding. Someone must have been knocking for a long
time. Yohji
mused that they must have been waiting for more then ten seconds.
Yohji kind of got some pleasure out of the fact that the bitch and the team
of doctors who
didn't give a shit had been waiting. That way that bitch could just simmer on
the door she thought
should be opened for her immediately. She deserved to have to wait. Something
about that
secretary made Yohji want to throttle her mother for ever thinking of giving
birth.
"Are you here?!" She screamed. Yohji considered making her wait a little bit
longer as he
didn't answer. Yohji got out the trash bags, holding the box in his left hand.
Maybe he should have
a smoke while he was down here, and just wait until she was about ready to leave.
Yohji was
angry, angry that he had been a fucking idiot with Aya. It would sooth out his
nerves to piss
someone else off.
Then again, panic rose up. It was a possibility that maybe something could seriously
go
wrong with Aya while Yohji laughed on the other side of the door, not letting
them in. Because he
was trying to make himself feel better. Yohji walked over much faster then he
would have
imagined, throwing open the door to the group waiting impatiently on the back
stoop.
Still in the middle of knocking, Yohji had to catch the secretary's fist as
she continued to
pound the door that was no longer there. She almost hit him right in the face.
Yohji didn't think
that it was just a coincidence as she snarled and tried to continue to knock,
except no longer at the
door and more toward Yohji's face. Yohji held her back painfully by the wrist
and shoved the arm
back as violently as he could manage.
She stumbled back on the most ridiculous pair of high heels Yohji had ever seen.
The two
male nurses caught her easily, letting her regain her balance. The heels went
down to a pencil's
thinness as they held her body up past natural limitations. The woman's breasts
nearly fell out of
the tight red office jacket she was wearing as she struggled out of the nurses'
support. A red
leather miniskirt barely covered her, the stockings' hems and clips visible
Yohji worried that she
might snap off a heel on the stairs as she shoved at one of the nurses trying
to make sure she was
able to stand upright.
"What's wrong with him?" The secretary demanded, starting to shove past Yohji.
The male
nurses, nearly identical in the white hospital robe with their name tags on
the right chest, started to
gather up the large plastic first aid kits. Yohji sniffed at them. 'Sho' had
slightly darker brown hair
then his counterpart, 'Jun.' The doctor was standing slightly back, in the same
white gown, but
with a blue vest under it and a black tie. The team was at the ready, wanting
to get past Yohji so
they could paw at Aya again.
"Back off," Yohji warned, shooting out a hand across the doorway to block the
secretary's
path in. She gasped that Yohji would have the audacity to try and block her
way.
"Really, now. Back off, yourself. You're holding me back from treating your
friend," the
doctor snapped, suddenly moving in between Yohji and the secretary. Yohji's
hands twitched,
automatically going for the watch he didn't have. He'd find something to do
it with, or just use his
bare hands. He didn't care how it happened. If they even closed their mouth
wrong around Aya,
Yohji would kill them.
Stubbornly, Yohji moved back, letting his hand drop. The secretary smiled like
she had
been the one who had gotten Yohji to back down and stalked past him, sniffing
in a very important
manner. The nurses gathered up their plastic cases and walked past Yohji, following
the woman as
she moved through the kitchen like she owned the place. Yohji waited for the
doctor, who was still
standing on the first step.
"Thank you," the doctor said with a tinge of sarcasm when Yohji finally moved
out of his
way. Yohji followed them up the stairs as he pulled out a bag from the box,
unfolding and shaking
it out. The nurses looked back at him, startled at the noise. Yohji glared at
them and they kept
walking up the stairs to the hallway.
"This room?" The secretary asked, pointing to Yohji's opened bedroom door. The
whole
line of people held up, Yohji nodding to her. She moved into the room, snapping
her fingers at
Omi to move away from the bed, looking down at Ken as he stood up between her
and the bed.
Aya was laid out in the bed, passed out again, the covers pulled up around his
body.
"Excuse me?" Omi asked, looking at her in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"Obviously, we're here to treat your friend," she snapped, as if Omi was stupid.
Ken
growled and took a step forward before Yohji managed to catch his eye. Ken stopped
moving
toward her, but was obviously ready to fight her for talking to Omi in such
a manner.
"Yohji?" Omi asked, checking to make sure it was all right. Yohji nodded, grabbing
the
wastebasket and covering the rim of it with the trash bag. The doctor smiled
at Omi, looking very
fatherly and trustworthy. Omi nodded and moved away from the bed. Yohji turned
the wastebasket
upside down, hearing the trash making a liquidly 'splat' as it landed in the
trash bag. Thinking
again, Yohji decided to throw away the wastebasket with the rest of the trash.
He would much
rather buy a whole new trash can then clean this one out.
The secretary walked over to Aya's bedside as Yohji knotted the trash bag. Omi
moved out
of her way, smiling and opening his mouth to explain what had happened. She
didn't even give him
the chance to speak, instead grabbing the edge of the comforter and throwing
it off of Aya's body.
Ken and Omi both yelled at her as she yanked the sheets off of Aya's feet, exposing
Aya to the
cold of the room. Ken grabbed her arm in a manner one would never attempt with
a woman,
jerking her back away from the bed. She twisted out of his grip with a huff,
smoothing down the
ridiculously tight outfit.
"We need to examine him," she snapped. "What's that smell?" the woman questioned
as
she sniffed the air. The smell of vomit was still strong in the room, though
it was now slightly
suppressed by the trash bag.
"He's got a hangover?" the woman stated out loud, in obvious disbelief. Dr.
Nomura gaped
at her, looking to Ken and Omi, then at Yohji, his eyes narrowing. The doctor
had found the
culprit as he turned on Yohji, one hand on his hip.
"Are you serious? What idiot would get him drunk at a time like this?" the doctor
questioned in true confusion. Yohji had half a mind to raise his hand. Of course,
everyone in the
room knew it was him. He was the only idiot stupid enough to try it.
The doctor shook his head in disgust, but didn't ask any more questions. Instead,
he turned
back to Aya, holding out his hand to one of the nurses. The one labeled as Sho
took out a
stethoscope and placed it in the doctor's outstretched hand. Nomura leaned over
Aya, putting the
instrument into his ears before pulling back the collar of Aya's shirt. He listened
to the heartbeat
for a moment, then moved it, listening to the lungs as Aya breathed weakly.
The doctor shook his
head at something and removed his hand. The secretary sneered at Yohji, as if
she was enjoying
Aya's pain. The nurses caught the look she was flashing around the room and
shifted nervously,
familiar with her and obviously wary.
The doctor pushed Aya's shirt up a bit and began to listen to Aya's breathing
around his rib
cage, shaking his head even more and checking the bandages. He sighed heavily
and took the
stethoscope off his ears, letting it hang around his neck. Nomura turned to
Yohji, looking very
serious. The secretary stood up a bit, in rapt attention as her beloved doctor
began to speak.
"At this point, I would like to request you let him be institutionalized. He's
going to need
life support at this rate," the doctor sighed, looking to Omi and Ken. They
both looked worriedly
to each then to Yohji, knowing that he would make the decision.
"I'm not putting him in a hospital you people work in. You won't use him as
a hostage,"
Yohji held his stance, putting a hand languidly on his hip. Aya wasn't going
to go to some hospital
where they could keep him locked up so they could use him against them. Out
of the question. Aya
would probably kill himself if they did it. Yohji will kill them if they did
it.
"Then, you will need to be on constant watch. He's getting touchy. The ribs
have been
aggravated. There's danger of one puncturing the lung. At this point, he cannot
be moved unless it
is to a hospital," the doctor gave his medical opinion. It didn't have to do
with Kritiker, WeiB, or
anything. It had to do with the fact that Aya was a patient and this man was
a doctor who tried to
save lives.
"I'm going to give him painkiller shots. You might have to restrain him so that
he doesn't
move. These will keep him out long enough for use to reexamine everything and
keep him out for
the rest of the day. At five o'clock, give him another shot. He can't be moving
around right now,"
the doctor advised, gesturing to one of the nurses. Jun took out a hypodermic
needle and a glass
bottle of painkillers. He handed them to the doctor, and he plunged the needle
into the bottle,
filling it with the clear, transparent liquid.
Jun moved forward and held up the arm that hadn't already been bruised by the
IV. He
wrapped a rubber strap around the top of the elbow, cutting off the flow of
blood as the doctor
tapped a few bubbles out of the needle, squirting it once experimentally. Yohji
watched as Jun
flexed Aya's slack arm, making the veins pop out. Aya's bones were visible,
the cord of muscle
looking out of place on the skinny arm. The doctor finally seemed pleased with
the needle and
handed it to Jun. The nurse held it at the ready as he pinched at Aya's skin,
looking for a vein.
Yohji took a step forward. He was hurting Aya, pulling at the skin like that.
"Every eight hours, give him a shot. I don't like to keep him unconscious, but
it's the only
way to keep him immobile without a fight." Doctor Nomura explained, opening
up one of the
cases and pulling out another bottle along with some disposable needles. Omi
stepped forward,
taking the medical supplies. Yohji didn't catch the rest of the instructions
as Jun finally found a
vein and set the needle point against Aya's skin.
Jun plunged the needle in and Aya jerked awake with a start, scaring the nurse
opposite
him. Aya clawed at the man with a vigor Yohji hadn't seen since he had first
noticed Aya looking
unhealthy, roaring at him. Jun grabbed at Aya's wrist, trying to keep him from
knocking out the
half-emptied needle, still struggling to get the rest in. Aya screamed a war
cry into the nurse's
startled face, panicked, tearing at the man's head and neck to push him away.
The secretary cried
out in shock, hurriedly backing up into the corner between Yohji's dresser and
the door.
"Get it out. No drugs. Stop! You fucking pay me first, now. Shit, get it out,"
Aya
demanded, managing to get a fistful hair. Jun cried out, dropping the needle
out of Aya's skin. Aya
began to yank at Jun's hair, making his head jerk as Aya audibly ripped out
hair. Aya came back, a
few hairs drifting down to the bed, only to grab at his head again. Jun lifted
both hands up around
Aya's wrists, trying to pull him off and only making Aya pull harder at his
hair. Aya snarled and
dropped a hand around Jun's neck, trying to choke him.
Ken moved forward first, trying to pull the nurse out of Aya's stranglehold.
The other
nurse, Sho, lunged between them and shoved Ken away. Ken, of course, shoved
him right back.
Immediately, the nurse tried to punch out Ken. Ken caught the fist in one hand
and came back with
a blow of his own. Soon, Sho and Ken were outright brawling, grabbing and kicking
at each other.
"Stop it, Ken-kun!" Omi yelled out in the fray. The secretary cried out as Ken
was shoved
back onto the floor, hitting it hard. Ken was already back on his feet, rushing
past Doctor Nomura
who moved out of his way very quickly. Omi yelled again, trying to get Ken to
stop fighting. It
was useless as Ken landed a solid punch to the nurse's gut.
"Yohji-kun, do something!" Omi pleaded, turning around to him. Yohji hadn't
moved from
setting the trash bag down on the floor. Jun got a hand in Aya's face, pushing
him back as Aya
scratched at his eyes. Jun raised a fist against Aya, who had a thumb pressed
into the jugular with
all the strength he could summon. Yohji surged forward, right through the fighting
and screaming
and slugged the man as hard as he could.
The nurse crumpled to the ground. The sound of a body hitting the floor was
very loud as
Ken and Sho stopped fighting. Ken didn't waste any time as he lunged forward
and locked Sho's
arm around the man's back, holding him back by wrapping another arm around his
neck. Yohji
couldn't seem to get his breathing to calm down as he gulped at the air. Omi
was still frozen in the
center of the room, looking shocked and disgusted.
"Are you all quite happy?" Doctor Nomura snapped. Yohji had half a mind to say
'yes.' He
was very pleased with himself right now, his knuckles aching with the force
that he had punched
the nurse with. The doctor moved over to the corner where his secretary was
still frozen, assuring
the woman that everything was all right. Ken and the nurse broke apart, mumbling
apologies to
each other about the punches landed. The unconscious nurse said nothing as Yohji
kicked the body
away from the side of the bed in order to get closer to Aya.
Aya wasn't moving much now, the drug already taking effect. He was breathing
slowly
with his head down and wobbling on his neck. Yohji took Aya's shoulder in hand
and the head
lolled about, the eyes unevenly focusing. Aya's pupils were almost gone, the
iris expanded to its
fullest. Hung over and now seriously out of it. Aya looked at Yohji and squinted,
making a
shocked little noise when his head began to move again, his neck unable to hold
it up.
"Yohji . . . What're you doin' here?" Aya slurred, slumping back. Oh, whatever
they had
given him was already full in effect. Yohji let Aya drop slowly back down to
the bed again as he
passed out, his body slack. As Aya faded out of consciousness, Jun began to
rouse, moaning and
holding one hand up to his face.
". . . -o keep it refrigerated, all right?" The doctor requested. Nomura's voice
gently came
into focus, Yohji becoming aware that someone else was talking. He had been
tucking Aya back
into the bed, adjusting the pillows under Aya's body before straightening him
out like a piece of
meat. Omi was nodding at the doctor, looking down at the various medicines that
the doctor was
prescribing for Aya. There were several bottles, a few large needles that made
Yohji shiver, some
swabbing disinfectant and a few post-it notes as the doctor wrote down instructions
as well.
Yohji pulled the sheets back up around Aya, tugging down his shirt to cover
his body
better, lifting up the waistline of the pants back up over Aya's protruding
hips. Omi left the room,
juggling all of the goods Doctor Nomura had given him to put the glass bottles
in the refrigerator
and to fetch shirts for him and Ken, who were still in only pants. Yohji noticed
the pile of towels in
the corner by the bed, a few still stained bright red. Laundry needed to be
done, and soon. It
seemed like such a trivial matter to worry about right now, and yet it needed
to be done.
"Well," the secretary started, flipping her hair back over her shoulder and
pushing away
from the wall like she had never cowered there in the first place. "If his little
tantrum is done, we
still need to examine him. I'm glad we drugged him now, after seeing his blowup
just because you
touched him. Really, he is a grown man . . ."
She drawled on in the background, making Aya's struggle seem like a child's
fit. Yohji felt
his fists clenched. Ken glanced over at him in warning, recognizing that Yohji
was getting
provoked into a rage. The woman sniffed, flicking a hand dismissal when Jun
finally came to and
sat up, massaging his cheek.
"God, all the men in this room are so weak. It was just one little punch. Sho
here took a lot
more then that and he's still standing," she went on. She was talking very big,
ignoring the fact she
had been trembling against the wall no more then a minute ago. As if she hadn't
been scared
mindless at four grown men in a full fight, punching and grabbing at each other
like animals
fighting instinctively over their territory and alpha rights.
"Are you slow?" Yohji cried out incredulously. Her sense of superiority was
all based on
her fractured view of reality. Mainly filtering out anything that reflected
badly on herself. Yohji
couldn't believe that she was just going to ignore this and talk down to them
as if she was more
composed and mature.
"Yohji-kun, please!" Omi hissed from the doorway. He had already returned, dressed
in a
large black tank top that was most definitely not his as it sagged down Omi's
chest. He handed
Ken a white t-shirt with something in English across the chest. Yohji couldn't
read it so he didn't
really care to know what it meant. The shirt fitted Ken distinctly better, only
making it more
obvious that the tank top on Omi was Ken's size.
". . . Anyway," the woman rolled her eyes, making a clicking noise at Yohji's
comment. "If
you could leave now? Doctor Nomura will need concentration, not more distractions."
"No way. You're not going to be fucking alone with him, you . . ." Yohji started,
taking a
step forward and pointing at the bitch. Omi jumped in front of him, laughing
as he grabbed Yohji's
hand and finger and bent them back. Yohji started cursing, already admitting
to 'uncle.' Omi let
his digit go, still laughing and smiling as if he had just seen the sun for
the first time. Yohji shook
his hand at the pain, as if it would dislocate if he moved it enough.
"He meant someone familiar should be with Aya," Omi corrected with his eyes
closed
because of the big grin on his face. Ken shot a quick glare at the woman before
pulling the shirt
over his head and shaking out his hair before glaring at her again. Yohji started
to open his mouth
and Omi cut him off hastily.
"Ken-kun, why don't you stay with them?" Omi suggested, suddenly inspired to
have good
ideas. Yohji felt his mouth open slightly wider, trying to voice his opinion.
Omi shot a quick,
significant look to Ken.
"Sure, why not. Aya and I are familiar. Yeah, best of buddies, like near brothers,"
Ken
drawled significantly. Yeah, right. Ken and Aya were more often then not at
each other's throat,
their attitudes rubbing the other's exactly the wrong way. Despite that, Ken
and Aya were close,
their fights having a bit of a sibling feel to it. Yohji knew he was just babbling
to shut Yohji up
before he could even say a single syllable. Omi grabbed a pack of half-opened
cigarettes and a
lighter from the dresser.
"Yohji-kun, why don't you help me make breakfast?" Omi asked, shaking the nicotine
in a
distinctive tantalizing motion as he drew back in front of Yohji, using his
personality to push Yohji
back a step. Omi was trying to bribe Yohji like he would a dog. Fuck, if he
wanted to play that
way, that would be fine. Yohji grabbed the cigarettes and lit up right in the
boy's face.
"Yohji-kun, that's awful! I'm gonna die!" Omi wailed, coughing madly. "What
would you
like, Ken-kun?"
Yohji took a drag, blowing it at the top of Omi's head. The boy had it bad.
Yohji bitterly
mouthed Omi's last words, the memory making his teeth hurt with the sweetness.
God, they were
in love. Pure, unadulterated love sparked by having sex all night long. Yohji
glared at them, feeling
ill. The nausea was starting to get worse.
"Oh, if you could do an omelet, that would be fantastic," Ken smiled. 'Fantastic?!'
That
was three syllables long. It wasn't in Ken's vocabulary. Yohji stared in revulsion
at Ken. The love
vibes between the two could match a newly wed couple. That kind of relationship
grated at Yohji,
who shied away from such serious relationships. He just dug sex too much to
get stuck with one
partner. Yohji sucked down a good quarter of the cigarette in one sharp breath,
biting the filter.
This was sickening.
"All right, come along, Yohji-kun," Omi giggled, blushing in Ken's general direction.
Omi
grabbed Yohji's wrist and started to pull him out of the room and along the
hallway. Yohji
growled but allowed himself to be moved along, too tired and sick to argue.
He wanted to stay up
in the room just to bug those fucking doctors.
Omi finished dragging Yohji into the kitchen and let him sit at the table. Yohji
threw the
butt of the cigarette into a glass half-full of water. He wasn't up to smoking
this morning. It just
wasn't going to do anything for him. Yohji felt slightly sick and hungry, yet
food was making him
queasy. Omi began to throw dishes toward the sink, making them bang loudly.
"Oh, Omi, can't we be a little bit quieter this morning?" Yohji implored, using
one hand to
massage his head. Omi laughed and began to run the water. He walked over to
the table and made
a gagging noise, making an excessively sick face with his tongue sticking out
as he picked up the
watery ash tray.
"You take care of the dishes, all right?" Omi asked, handing Yohji the glass.
Yohji glared
at him, and that sick look faded away only to be replaced by this big stupid
grin plastered all over
his face. Omi soaked a sponge and began to wipe down the kitchen counters. This
was a pet peeve
of Omi. He couldn't cook unless the kitchen was clean. Yohji began to miserably
wet his hands
and started to scrub at the dishes and utensils in the sink.
"So, Omi, anything happen lately?" Yohji asked, for lack of conversation. Omi
looked up,
blowing at the bangs hanging in his face. Omi shrugged, suddenly trying to be
very nonchalant but
failing with that guilty but gratuitously contented smile. Yohji recognized
that look. It was the look
of experiencing for the first time really, really good sex.
"Wha . . . What do you mean, Yohji-kun?" Omi asked, his voice nervous, but unable
to
drop that big goofy smile. Omi returned to the sink and shook out the sponge.
Yohji splashed him
a bit, still angry that Omi had held up the cigarettes like a reward for a small
child. Yohji squeezed
out the sponge over Yohji's hands, making him feel distinctively sick.
"I heard you two," Yohji notified Omi with a perverted smile as he put a large
bowl on the
rack for drying. He opened up the dishwasher and began to throw the slightly
cleaned forks and
knives into the utensil slots. Omi laughed, obviously beginning to sweat as
he scrubbed at a now
extinct stain.
"'Heard you two?' What do you mean, Yohji-kun?" Omi echoed again, at a loss
for words
but still trying to instinctively deny everything. Omi moved away, getting the
last few crumbs on
the table top. He was still smiling like a fox, that little pervert! Yohji huffed
air out of his noise, to
the nth degree curious about Omi and Ken's sex life.
"There's no mistaking those noises. You two did it," Yohji accused, leaned toward
Omi as
the boy came back to throw the sponge into the sink. The blush was immediate,
and Omi looked
away, sighing happily. Didn't even say a word against it as he raised his hands
to his face, wiggling
his head in remembered pleasure. Oh, Lord. They were in love, awfully. Whatever
they had done
last night, it was making Omi melt to the floor.
"Was it good?" Yohji leered, chortling as Omi blinked out of his love daze then
flushed
completely red in anger and embarrassment. His cheeks puffed out a bit indignantly
and his brows
went down. Yohji smiled right in the boy's face, winking and grunting in approval.
"Yohji-kun!" Omi yelped, holding his fists down against his hips. "That's none
of your
business!" Omi exclaimed, hiding his eyes behind his bangs. Yohji turned back
to the sink
innocently, looking down as if he was thinking.
"So . . . it wasn't good?" Yohji asked, in mocking confusion. He put a few plates
into the
dishwasher's main rack. Omi opened his mouth to respond immediately, then hesitated,
thinking
for a moment. The boy shook his head fiercely at Yohji, starting to get more
angry then
embarrassed.
"No, it was amazing!" Omi defended. Then realized what he had said and bawled
out
something incomprehensible, suddenly throwing open the refrigerator and banging
the condiments
around noisily. Yohji couldn't stop laughing. He needed it, and for some reason
he couldn't hold
back the laughter, even more so when Omi cursed and stomped over to Yohji, punching
him hard
in the arm.
"Yohji-kun, please, please, please don't tease Ken-kun, okay?" Omi begged when
Yohji
had finally stopped laughing hard enough to be heard. Yohji wiped at the tears
in his eyes, still
giggling and trying to muffle it. He just couldn't stop laughing at Omi's pathetic,
miserable
expression.
"You're awful," Omi moaned when Yohji didn't make any promises.
"Oh, all right, fine, fine, I won't say a word, okay?" Yohji agreed. It just
felt good to tease
Omi. It felt good to be normal, laughing about the roommates finally getting
together.
"You better not," Omi threatened weakly, throwing the sponge into the sink.
Omi pulled
out a frying pan and an assortment of mixing tools. He took eggs out of the
refrigerator and pulled
out some cheese before setting them on the counter.
"What do you think he'd like in his omelet?" Omi asked in all honesty.
"Ken?" Yohji questioned. "You're seriously making it for him?" Yohji was dumbfounded.
Omi was nice, but that nice? Shit. It made no sense. Ken had fucked Omi's brains
out. That was
the only answer as Omi began to hum to himself with that big grin still on his
face. Omi was always
cheerful and bouncy, but this happiness was boarding on ridiculous. It made
Yohji feel old and
seasoned in the face of Omi's new discovery about sex.
Omi grabbed some vegetables and began to chop away at them, his hum turning
into a
more distinctive tune as he began to softly sing the words to the song, bobbing
a bit to the beat
only he was hearing. Yohji poured himself a glass of orange juice after making
an ice pack.
Returning to the kitchen table, he fell more then sat into a chair, the wood
creaking with his body.
Yohji smacked the ice pack to that aching place right between his eyes and sighed
with the freezing
pain it brought. Better.
"Yohji-kun, would you like some toast?" Omi asked, pulling out slices from a
bread bag.
He was on a roll today. Omi was doing more nice deeds within the hour of waking
then most
people did all day. Yohji shook his head behind the ice pack, not ready to face
the world. He took
a sip of the orange juice, the citrus washing away some of the alcohol and smoke
taste.
The sound of Omi beating eggs began to vibrate in Yohji's skull and he gave
up, taking out
another cigarette and smoking it. If Omi was going to allow it today, there
wasn't going to be an
argument with the boy. The pan sizzled when Omi threw the batter in, Omi crying
out a bit when
the grease sparks up and burned his hand. Yohji took a sip of the juice, feeling
the ice start to thaw
around his body heat.
One omelet was finished within several minutes and Omi started another one.
Yohji pulled
the ice pack away from his face to watch as Omi loaded up one plate with a piece
of toast and set
it in front of Yohji with a satisfied nod, despite the fact Yohji had requested
no food this early in
the morning. Looking at the cooked eggs, yellow with the chunks of vegetables
in them, Yohji felt
his stomach lurch. Yohji pushed the plate away from himself, holding the ice
pack over his eyes so
he wouldn't have to stare at his breakfast.
Omi carefully arranged the other omelet, putting the toast delicately on the
side before
pushing it a little more to the center of the plate with his thumb. Omi stared
at the plate for a
moment before grabbing an orange from their fruit bowl. He peeled it and pulled
apart the slices,
placing a few artistically on the plate.
"What do you think?" Omi asked, holding up the breakfast. It looked perfect,
like
expensive restaurants' menu picture. Yohji felt jealousy burn, at Omi's ability
to cook without
burning things, at Omi being such a nice person all the time, at Omi being so
giving and
trustworthy that Aya felt safe enough to faint on him.
"It's flawless," Yohji growled, pressing the ice back to his face. Omi looked
down at the
plate, chewing on his thumbnail.
"You think it's enough for Ken-kun?" Omi fretted, looking around the kitchen
as if more
food would appear.
"If you want enough for Ken, you better go kill a cow," Yohji muttered bitterly.
"What?" Omi asked, still absently worrying over the breakfast and not listening
to him.
"Nothing," Yohji sighed, not really desiring an argument this early in the morning.
That
reminded him. Yohji glanced to the clock. It was nine twenty two. What the hell
was he doing up
at this hour in the morning for, feeling guilty over Aya? Yohji finished off
the cigarette and the
orange juice between two fast gulps at both.
"Hey, is it done?" Ken asked from the stairway, leaning down the last step.
The doctors
were following behind, and the nurses were hauling those large containers down
after the bitch
secretary carefully took the last step. She probably had to concentrate or risk
breaking her neck
while walking in those heels.
"We've stabilized him again. I suggest you all avoid doing anything obviously
stupid again
to compromise him," she sniffed, tapping her foot as the doctor held open the
door for Sho and
Jun. Yohji glared at her, unable to even speak through his illness.
"Here's my home phone number. Please call if there are any problems," Doctor
Nomura
offered, tossing a business card with a number scribbled on the back onto the
kitchen table. Yohji
nodded to him grudgingly, still pissed off but thankful that the man was trying
to help. The
secretary sniffed and slammed the door behind the group.
"Gawd, she is grade A bitch meat," Ken sputtered, unable to come up with any
intelligent
words to cover how much he disliked that woman. Omi nodded, crossing his arms.
For Omi to
agree with someone calling another human being a derogatory word, it was definite
that the person
had as many redeeming factors as a serial killer.
"So, breakfast ready yet?" Ken asked, easily changing the subject as he put
his arms behind
his head and stretched. Omi gasped like he had forgotten that his mother had
been at the airport for
five days waiting for him. Omi suddenly lunged to the refrigerator and grabbed
the orange juice
that he had put back not more then five minutes ago. Ken yawned, lazily covering
his mouth as
Omi poured a glass of juice like someone was dying of thirst.
"Do you want to eat it at the table?" Omi asked, blushing a bit, holding the
orange juice
and plate in both hands, ready to follow Ken into hell just to set up the breakfast.
Yohji could have
gagged.
"Mm . . . sure," Ken said distractedly, looking around the kitchen. Ken scratched
at his
neck as Omi set everything down on the table, shoving Yohji's glass to the side.
"I'm going out for a second, okay?" Yohji said. He wasn't stupid. The morning
after
having sex was very important in determining how the relationship was going
to go. That was why
Yohji didn't usually show up in the morning. Unless there was some kind of free
meal involved.
And, it didn't seem like Omi was going to make him anything.
"Okay, bye-bye, Yohji-kun," Omi waved goodbye without even looking at him. Yohji
felt
faintly rejected. Usually Omi made a big deal about anyone leaving the house,
being sure to wish
them well. Omi was more then occupied at the moment with staring at Ken, his
eyes all watery and
shiny.
"Bye-bye, yourself," Yohji snapped, stalking out of the room. Ken didn't so
much as nod
him off. Just because they were in love didn't mean they could completely ignore
the world. Yohji
stomped into the living room, grabbing the mission folder. Might as well get
some morning reading
material. Fuck, maybe it was Ken that was good in bed, not Omi. The idea made
Yohji wonder a
little bit longer about Ken's sex life then he ever had before.
Yohji grabbed his keys off the of key rack, the various house keys he had been
given by
one night stands banging loudly together. He opened the door and slammed it,
hoping to jostle the
two love birds, before walking around the shop to the garage toward his car.
Looking down at his hands, Yohji realized he had grabbed the cigarette off the
table. Ah,
he loved his instincts. He had taken that lovely, beautiful pack of half-empty
cigarettes out of the
danger of Omi's kitchen and with him out on his morning drive without Yohji
even realizing it.
Lighting up, Yohji managed to forget about Omi and Ken and just appreciate nicotine.
"Is he gone?" Omi asked quietly, like Yohji might have snuck back into the house.
"What? Yeah, he's gone, I heard his car a few minutes ago," Ken said, his mouth
full of
eggs and toast. Omi sniffed at him, not exactly appreciating Ken's table manners.
Ken swallowed
some juice, washing back the food before taking another oversized bite.
"So . . . Aya's still unconscious, right?" Omi asked, tapping a finger on his
chin as he
thought.
"Um . . . Yeah, unless someone gives him a good dose of morphine or something,"
Ken
agreed suspiciously, finishing off his last bite. Ken was starting to understand
that Omi might be
hinting at something.
"So, nobody's going to hear anything, right?" Omi implied, leaning forward across
the
table so his face was right in front of Ken's.
"It's nine thirty in the morning, Omi," Ken said, not quite understanding the
fact that Omi
wanted to do it first thing waking up. Ken didn't really seem to be comfortable
with the thought of
sex being anywhere near Omi's name. He had probably thought of Omi like a little
brother, at least
until last night.
"So?" Omi shot back. Now that he had a taste of what Ken and he could do together,
he
was more then curious to explore the rest of it. Ken's hesitation made him worry
that Ken might
have not been such a willing partner but just . . . horny with Omi being the
first thing with two legs
in sight.
"It's early?" Ken questioned, looking out of the corner of his eye to the stairs.
"Don't you want to?" Omi asked, starting to wonder if he had pushed it. Maybe
last night
had just been a fluke. Oh, God, Ken-kun hadn't really wanted to continue. It
had just been a one-
time thing. Ken had just been interested in a good round of sex, not a relationship.
Right? Omi
began to slide back into his chair. He was so stupid. God, he was such a woman,
getting all
attached. Tears were forming. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just
accept it? It
wasn't Ken's fault. It was his own stupid, stupid fault for believing that Ken
wanted to get
attached as well.
A hand clamped down over Omi's forearm, pinning it to the table. Omi looked
up, a bit
shocked. Was Ken-kun mad? He was probably mad at Omi for thinking that they
were going to be
special. Omi closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold in his tears.
"I didn't say that," Ken murmured, dragging Omi across the table by the arm.
Omi put a
hand down, pushing back against the table before Ken could drag him into the
half-empty plate.
"You didn't," Omi agreed, hesitating. He wasn't sure if this was going to go
in the direction he
wanted. Omi shook his arm, trying to get Ken to let go. He didn't. If anything,
he held him tighter.
"You wanna do it right here?" Ken asked excitedly in a mere whisper. Omi stared
at him.
"It's your kitchen, so if you don't wanna get it messed up, just tell me," Ken
offered the
chance for Omi to say no. Omi was still staring at Ken, dumbfounded. There wasn't
a bed in the
kitchen. Ken stood up, letting go of Omi's arm. Omi fell onto his elbow, his
hips digging into the
edge of the table.
"Ken-kun, how? I mean, right here?" Omi questioned, more then a bit confused
and more
then a little bit uncertain. Ken walked around the table, the breakfast forgotten
as he moved in
close to Omi.
"Yeah, right here!" Ken was definitely turned on by the prospect as he kissed
Omi hard,
already past being gentle and inviting. Omi kissed him right back, no longer
so nervous and shy
about lovemaking as Ken moved around the table, crouching down next to Omi as
he sat in the
chair. Ken circled his arms under Omi's waist and pulled him up to his feet
easily. Omi almost was
tempted to gain weight just so Ken wouldn't be able to move him about like a
doll. A hand dug
into Omi's hip and hauled him up, the fingers stabbing into the muscles as he
was forced to stand
up.
"Ow, ow, Ken-kun," Omi cried out, pulling his lips away. That had started to
hurt, Ken's
hand grasping his skin painfully. Ken gasped, not realizing his own strength,
and let go of Omi's
hip as if burned. In order to make up with the loss of contact, Ken only kissed
him harder, making
Omi stumble back. Ken took several large, aggressive steps to follow Omi, only
making him go
back faster.
Omi finally was squashed in between the corner of the counter, the tile pressing
hard
against the sides of his back, but the tight corner of the kitchen was leaving
this opening between
meeting Omi's slightly wider body and the sides of the cabinets. Ken was very,
very close to him,
his breath making Omi's bangs flutter. Omi almost regretted starting this whole
fling, Ken already
breathing faster, leaning in close and pressing his lips up against the side
of Omi's neck.
It tickled, almost unbearably so, but Ken's mouth was warm and moist on his
neck and
kind of felt nice. Omi opened his eyes, looking out the wide kitchen windows
and into their small
backyard, no more then five feet wide, but as long as the shop was before another
building formed
a wall that went up for several stories. It was like their own personal alleyway,
covered with potted
plants and ivy climbing up the side of the wall, glistening slightly in the
morning day. The darkened
second-story window that looked into their yard suddenly caught Omi's attention,
making him
wonder if someone were to wake up and look down at this instant.
Somehow, while Omi had been trying to spy out the window to see if they were
being
watched, Ken untied the drawstring to his shorts. Omi made a futile grab far
too late as they
dropped to the floor, bunching around his ankles. Ken grabbed Omi by the lower
knees, lifting him
up. Omi slammed his hands onto the counter top as Ken forced him to sit naked
on the counter,
pushing his own clothed body between his knees to keep his legs open. Omi pulled
down Ken's
overlarge tank top to cover himself, trying to lift his butt up from the tile
but his skin sticking
uncomfortably to the surface.
"Ken-kun, someone may be watching!" Omi hissed, as if he had spotted a burglar
in the
yard already. Omi tossed his head back, trying to survey the whole surrounding
area of the
window. He couldn't deny the fact that it could be a hell of a lot of fun to
have sex in the kitchen.
For the past few hours, all he could think of in the kitchen was that young
woman with the doctors
who had walked in on them in the middle of what could have been a great kiss.
Omi would like to
be able to forget that embarrassing thing and be able to remember having made
love with Ken on
an eating surface. Omi suddenly thanked any heavenly being he could think of
for cleaning the
kitchen early that morning.
"So? They can beat off looking at us," Ken suggested flippantly, kissing the
top of Omi's
chest. Omi glared at Ken before he covered his mouth over Omi's left nipple.
Omi gasped, jerking
back, making his head and shoulders bang into the covered shelves, the corner
digging into the top
of his back. Ken just kept on going, putting a hand on the top of Omi's hip,
his thumb brushing
dangerously close to the top of Omi's balls.
"Ken-kun, I'm . . . serious," Omi started, before Ken covered the skin below
his belly
button with his hand, making his groin suddenly fill with heat. Omi didn't really
care anymore
about the neighbors watching. In fact, Ken's little comment almost made him
want people to walk
past their windows, so that they could get away with having sex and those people
would never
know. They'd gone on with their lives while Ken and Omi did whatever they pleased
right under
their noses.
Ken wasn't saying anything at all anymore, straightening up to kiss Omi all
over his face,
stopping on Omi's mouth and urging him to open up his lips with his tongue.
Omi did, excited and
starting to get aroused, Ken's fingers starting to wander down slowly. Omi knew
very well that
Ken was a bad flirt, the soccer player preferring to rush ahead and get the
goal instead of playing
the game the full way through. Omi clamped a hand down over Ken's wrist, pushing
his hand
down so that he grabbed Omi's shaft more out of surprise then anything else.
Omi wasn't exactly
the most patient person, despite his cheerful demeanor.
Ken chuckled while he started to stroke Omi, still kissing him. Omi picked up
that Ken was
trying to tell him he approved of his move without wasting the precious seconds
of lost contact to
actually say it out loud. Omi kissed back, no longer quite so shy about using
his tongue, but no
where near an expert yet. Omi didn't think that Ken was an expert in the area
of finesse as well,
but instead considered him to have really good instincts. Ken didn't seem to
make any kind of art
form out of their love making, but just went about it so that it would feel
good, searching out the
best way and focusing on it.
Omi tightened his thighs around Ken's waist when Ken's hand hardened its grip
around
Omi, starting to pull at him with more strength, yet not roughly. Omi's feet
dangled in the air
behind Ken's back as Omi felt his erection harden into Ken's hand. He almost
felt mortified that he
was so strongly aroused, like Ken might look down on his endurance. Omi tried
to distract Ken,
kissing him roughly around the neck so that his head would hide his groin.
Ken let go of Omi for a moment, caressing the inside of Omi's thighs. Omi thought
he was
going to die of embarrassment when the head of his erection bobbed against Ken's
lower chest,
bouncing against the shirt. He had never thought of having contact with Ken
like that. Omi sucked
hard at the skin on Ken's neck, trying to tunnel his senses so that he could
block out the feeling of
the tip of his penis pushing up Ken's shirt.
"Here we go," Ken warned, letting his hands move up to the underside of Omi's
balls. The
tile was cold and Omi felt his butt begin to slip on the top of the surface.
He was starting to slide
down, trying to hold his body up by his hands flat on the counter. Ken stood
up a bit, shoving his
body back and up against his own, keeping Omi from sliding all the way off the
edge. Omi's hands
flew up, grabbing Ken's arms when he began to finally finish off the job, urging
Omi into an
orgasm. Omi cried out into the crook of Ken's neck, biting down hard to try
and stifle the scream.
Ken cursed loudly as Omi's teeth dug into shirt and skin, making a large, painful
and bleeding
circle in the flesh, the fabric soaking up blood.
Ken backed up a bit, pulling the stained shirt away from his body. Omi panted,
no longer
worried about the tank top covering him or not. He just sagged, his head still
resting on the
cabinets, his legs dangling over the edge of the counter. Omi, now limp and
sated, just slouched on
top of the tile, not really ready to summon the strength to close his legs.
Ken stripped off the shirt, unable to wear it now, and bundled it into a small,
lumpy ball.
Omi felt that big smile creep onto his face again as the after-sex numbness
washed over him, Omi
completely contented and exhausted. Ken brushed Omi down before throwing the
shirt into the
corner of the kitchen floor.
"Ken-kun . . . don't throw your clothes around," Omi mumbled, a little bit of
irritation
coming in on the edge of his awareness. Omi liked the house to be clean, and
it was so much easier
to do if someone would just cooperate every now and then. Then again, Omi was
still sitting naked
on top of the kitchen counters. He would be scrubbing this area down later.
Omi was already
blushing with the thought of it. The kitchen would never be looked at the same,
that was for sure.
Ken grunted, not really paying attention as he dropped his pants, stepping out
of them and
then back to Omi, trying to tug the boy off the counter and more over his groin.
Omi pushed at
Ken's chest, kicking his legs a bit.
"No way! You don't have any condoms right now!" Omi refused. Ken froze up, looking
very confused and thoughtful for a moment, watching Omi's eyes. Then he realized
it meant Omi
wasn't willing to have sex right this second.
"What?" Ken snapped, as if offended. "I don't have any STDs!"
"I don't know that! So, use a condom if you're going to do it, Ken!" Omi ordered,
refusing. No matter how much it was killing him that they were both naked in
the kitchen together,
and he had just been jerked off by Ken, he wasn't about to risk disease. Ken
kind of growled, really
angry, but not really able to argue with Omi's point.
Ken backed up a bit, then opened the drawer closest to the back door, digging
around in
the mixed kitchen supplies of saran wrap and tinfoil. After a moment, Ken pulled
out a strip of
several condoms like a perverted magic trick.
"Why are those there?" Omi questioned, suddenly feeling a bit more energized.
He had no
idea that those had been in his kitchen. He used that drawer nearly ever day.
How couldn't he
notice?
"Did you notice that we live with Yohji? There's a hidden stash of condoms in
every
room," Ken explained, ripping one package away from the others.
"What? Where?" Omi demanded, wanting to know exactly where these items were
in his
house. Ken shrugged as he stuffed the condoms back into the drawer, walking
back to Omi as he
put the condom on, semi-hard.
"They're around. You didn't know? Man, I found half a dozen stashes just looking
for my
keys," Ken explained, pulling Omi toward him, making only the end of his leg
bones touch the
corners. Omi tried to hold himself up on his arms, reflexively using his knees
to try and pull Ken
closer so he could support himself.
Ken moved in, not really rushed but by no means calm, getting himself under
Omi's
opening. Ken gently prodded at the small, red hole, still a bit sore from last
night. Ken was trying
hard not to rush, but Omi could tell by the way Ken's shoulder shook and the
fact that he didn't
even bothering to try and stretch Omi that he was already at the limit of control.
Omi cried out when Ken finally got a bit of the ways in, pulling Omi further
down, making
Omi's palms stretch on the tile. Ken was holding Omi up a bit in the air, Omi's
legs wrapped
around his sides as Ken began to slowly, agonizingly slowly lowered Omi, at
a pace to which he
wasn't even barely moving.
It only made Omi more intensely of the space to be filled, this empty little
hollow spot that
was so warm right now, as if his whole body was moving around it. And Ken was
going to take his
own sweet time because he thought it was a pace Omi wanted. Omi cried out wordlessly,
feeling
irritation that Ken thought Omi needed a slow, gentle pace and such arousal
that the corners of his
eyes had white blind sparks forming in them.
Omi let his muscles in his arms go slack a bit, letting his whole weight drop
onto Ken
unexpectedly, making Ken nearly drop Omi, struggling to get a good grip around
Omi's flanks.
Ken slid in with a very dry, burning and painful sensation, the sensitive inside
skin not prepared for
a plastic covered organ to suddenly shove its way in. Omi think he screamed
Ken's name. He
wasn't so sure what it was anymore, his toes suddenly spreading out in midair,
his hands curling
around the end of the counter. He was barely on it anymore, only the top of
his buttocks touching
the edge of it.
Omi kissed Ken, unable to do anything else as Ken held onto him and pumped up,
making
Omi's whole body rock to his rhythm. His penis was held between them, making
a strange motion
like a drummer's stick against the left of Ken's belly button. One of his hands
slipped off of the
counter, making him grab around Ken's neck, pulling his body up. Ken fell forward
a bit, making
Omi rest a bit more on the counter so he could gain a bit of leverage to drive
into Omi.
Ken yelled out, like he had scored a goal, shuddering inside of Omi and just
panting against
him, spent. Omi sagged forward into Ken's chest, just cuddling into that warmth
and soft body, the
muscles flexing as Ken held him close, engaging in a strong hug, nearly squeezing
the air out of
Omi.
"Oh, Ken-kun, I . . . There's a stash in every room?" Omi questioned, the possibilities
daunting him. Ken laughed, hugging Omi tightly, then cursed and pulled back.
Omi's hands
dropped to his sides deadly, his whole heart and stomach tightening up painfully
as Ken rubbed at
his bare shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Omi asked, his voice shaking.
"You bit me! Crist, you bit me!" Ken cried out, lifting up his hand to show
an impressive,
swelling set of teeth still bleeding on the rise of his shoulder. Omi just started
laughing like he
never had before in his entire life, laughing as hard as he could as Ken cursed
about Omi marking
territory.
Yohji was sitting outside in the midmorning light, wearing his favorite pair
of shades as his
hair dried in the gentle city breeze. He was at an outside caf‚, his coffee
steaming hot and his
cigarette smoke mixing. The ashtray was already filled and a crumpled back was
on the farthest
edge of the circular table. Yohji had his last cigarette in hand, the stick
still shaking between his
fingers as Yohji stared at the file in front of him.
Yohji had gotten coffee at his favorite little morning after lounge bar and
had gone into the
outside setting, choosing the table furthest from people and closest to the
high wall of the other
buildings. Everything was still hazy and cars flashed by, the sun reflecting
off the windows as they
darted past the entrance to the caf‚, people walking stiffly by, some glancing
in occasionally.
Yohji was sprawled in his seat, shell-shocked into just sagging back in his
chair with his
legs spread out under the table. His hands still weren't steady. Fuck. Yohji
took the last drag,
rubbing out the cigarette in the tray as he blew out the smoke nervously. He
glanced down at the
picture again, still hoping it would change.
The file was opened, the nicely-stabled overview of the rich bastard he was
supposed to kill
open on the table, pictures spread out. It was typical scum, nothing new about
this guy, nothing
that made him a real threat. Some businessman had turned into illegal pimping
on the side,
kidnaping people and forcing them to work for one year due to legal contract
that would hold up
in the bribed court. The prostitutes were allowed to leave once the contract
expired if they lived
through one last night without a hospital. Apparently no one had yet. There
were pictures of the
victims, men and women, covered in blood, just beaten to death. Their faces
and bodies were
swelling and bloody messes, barely even recognizable as people. They had been
solidly hit until the
body had finally given out, their features a mess, some still having . . . devices
sticking out of their
bodies from between the legs.
Yohji didn't really care to look at the horrid, angled shots of bodies on the
floor. Yohji had
turned the worst of them over, so that the white label back of the picture faced
up. The picture
Yohji was staring at was of his target, this aspiring businessman, soon to be
politician. The man
was huge, just in a muscle, large man way, the nice sharkskin suit only making
him look more
suspicious and dangerous. The black hair was combed and slicked back, making
a bouncy wave as
it was styled back perfectly. The man was laughing in the picture, his arm easily
around his date's
shoulders as a man half cutoff by the camera talked to the target.
At first, Yohji had understood why the man was laughing. The woman next to him
was a
fucking knock out. She had unbelievably straight, perfect black hair, stylized
sharply around her
white shoulders. Her skin was so white next to the black of the hair and the
black of the dress that
it had a hazy glow in the picture. Her lips were blood red, almost like an open
wound in the middle
of her face, with a shock of red around her heavy black lashes. The dress had
a high, stiff black
collar that had a huge circular zipper hanging from the throat. It was this
black, plastic material
that stretched painfully over her body, a cord of red as the trim. She had small,
light breasts that
looked like they were being pressed agonizingly closed together in that small
dress. Her eyes were
half-lidded, this look of not wanting to be noticed written all across her body,
the way her hand
rested lightly on the table, the red nails matching the lipstick.
But, for all the world, Yohji recognized those eyes. Violet, incredible bright
eyes, even
though they looked glazed over and distant. In the left corner of the picture,
Aya was being pulled
close to the target, obviously very comfortable with him. Yohji had been staring
at it for well over
half an hour, pulling it in close to his face, looking for the little details
that would tell him that it
wasn't Aya.
There were none. Upon looking closer, Yohji could tell that the black hair was
a wig, the
bangs sculpted carefully as to hide the natural red. The dress that was ridiculously
tight hollowed
out just a bit, almost invisibly unless Yohji was looking at it right above
the breast bone, showing
that the breasts were fakes, the chest not filling out like a woman's. The target's
arm hanging over
Aya's shoulders had hidden their width from view, though Aya was skinny enough
that it probably
didn't matter if his shoulders were showing. He had lost the upper body muscle
that would tell him
apart from a woman.
Yohji threw the picture away from him, back between the folder so Aya's bored
expression
would stop staring at him. It scared him. Kritiker had known. All this time,
they had known.
Yohji's hands tightened, his fingers wrapping around each other as he fisted
them together on top
of the table.
Someone was going to die.
TBC