Hold On (Possession IV) by paxnirvana
Rating: NC-17 Fandom: Weiß Kreuz Characters: Yohji x Aya, Ken, Omi Date Completed: 9/3/02 Archive: Please ask first.
Author's Note: Pretty boys. Pretty boy florists. Pretty boy florist assassins. Pretty boy florist assassins with lots of angst… Me bad.
Hmmm… everyone wants to know how Yohji survived… so… Immediately follows 'Silence – Possession II': Warning!! Warning!! Severe angst alert. *snerk*
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to the incredibly sexy Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiß... but I can wish and buy lots of licensed products... *sigh*
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So now you're sleeping peaceful I lie awake and pray That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll see another day And we will praise it and love the light that brings a smile across your face... Hold on... Hold on to yourself for this is gonna hurt like hell Hold On - Sarah McLachlan
* * * * *
Lean, lithe and quick, Aya twisted under him pulling them apart. Groaning in dismay, Yohji barely managed to keep his hand on Aya's upper arm as he was shoved back hard against the rear window of the car.
"Damn it!" Aya snarled, looking down at the definite dip in the formerly pristine surface of his Porsche's trunk. All the soft relaxation and near sleepiness of moments ago was gone.
Naked and still damp with the sweat of their activity, Aya was gorgeous in his fury. Violet eyes flashing dangerously, red hair hanging down raggedly over his face, lean chest and belly splattered with the result of his own release; Aya glared at Yohji savagely.
"Kudoh…" His name was a low growl issuing from between those lovely reddened lips. Yohji wanted to lean over and kiss the other man but guessed he'd probably get bitten for his presumption.
"You promised, Aya," Yohji said again, keeping his face as neutral as possible. Even though he wanted very badly to smile in triumph. He'd just thoroughly fucked Aya Fujimiya after all. Made the man all but scream in ecstasy. Who wouldn't be smug after that? Aya wrenched his arm out of Yohji's grasp. Even with him being all pissy now?
"You dented my car!"
"I did? I seem to remember some very willing participation on your part, Fujimiya," Yohji said as Aya rolled away and slid off the side of the car. He landed on the floor, staggering, his knees buckling under him. Yohji grabbed for him, catching his upper arm again and holding him up. Aya's eyes went wide briefly in astonishment at his body's apparent betrayal as he hung against the side of the car, Yohji's grasp the only thing keeping him from slumping to the ground. What did the man expect? He'd just been fucked for the first time in his life. And on the back of a car, for Chrissake.
"Easy there, baby. Give yourself a chance," Yohji murmured gently. He still had his feet on the floor and he drew Aya up, holding that pale body against his. He still had his pants and shirt on, for that matter. Unlike Aya who was completely, gloriously naked. Yohji snaked his other arm around Aya, his hand brushing down the lean back and cupping one tight, rounded buttock. Beautiful. An instant of stillness, of mutual absorption, then, snarling, Aya shoved away from him again to stand firmly on his own two feet. Equilibrium restored, apparently.
"Don't call me that." Aya glared at him from under tumbled bangs. Yohji didn't bother to hide his smirk then. God, Aya was incredibly sexy when he was mad. Which was most of the time. How had he missed this for so long? Well, he hadn't, actually – but touching was so much better than simply looking. "You're paying for the repairs."
"Half." Yohji laughed, caught up in watching the flash of Aya's eyes.
"All of it," Aya snarled back. Then he leaned down and snatched his slacks off the garage floor, stepping into them and doing them shut with quick, angry motions. Yohji reached for him again with a smile, shaking his head in wry amusement.
"Be reasonable, Aya…" The red-head jerked out of his reach, the glare joined by a curled lip and a rudely turned shoulder.
"You're paying, Kudoh." Aya's stubborn insistence was beginning to irritate him. Yohji narrowed his eyes in return, his smile fading away.
"Shit. So much for the afterglow," he muttered, stepping away from the car and stumbling over his discarded belt in the process. Aya threw him another savage glare as he gathered up the rest of his scattered clothes. Yohji picked the long belt off the floor by the end, letting it dangle from his hand and making no move at all to do up his own pants as he watched Aya.
Angry violet eyes raked him with a contemptuous look, but Aya was flushed and his gaze lingered a little bit too long at his crotch.
"You look like a whore," the red-head spat suddenly.
Yohji fought back a hot flash of anger, staring back at Aya with a smile that he knew wasn't kind on his lips. Ah. Aya on the attack was an Aya whose mind had started to wallow in guilt again. Sin and unworthiness. Things that Yohji carried more than his share of… but not about this. Yet he had to keep his wits now or someone was going to get hurt. And he didn't want it to be him… or Aya. It was a fine, fine line to walk.
"Got too close, did I?" Yohji said softly, watching Aya's face carefully. The violet eyes disappeared suddenly behind red bangs, only a near-feral shine visible. Hiding. "I'll say I did… You let me climb right inside you, Aya – you liked it and you want me to do it again – but now that you've stopped feeling and started thinking it's scaring you shitless, ne?"
The flush abruptly vanished from Aya's face, along with all expression. His hands fisted at his sides and Yohji could see a faint trembling sweep over his body. Fury. Any second now Aya was going to start screaming. Or try to kill him. It was a good thing the swordsman's katana was safely upstairs, because he was already betting on the second choice.
True to prediction, Aya flung his bundled clothes down on the floor with a snarl and lunged for Yohji, hands coming for his throat. Yohji dodged, the belt in his hands already lashing out. In his anger, Aya hadn't been paying proper attention. Yohji with anything long and thin in his hands was as good as armed to kill.
The buckle end of the belt wound securely around Aya's right arm and Yohji yanked on it, drawing the arm across his body and half spinning Aya around. But Aya had speed and skill of his own and he moved with the turn, a bare foot already coming for Yohji's face as he pivoted on his captured arm.
Fully expecting the counter-attack, Yohji dropped low, pulling hard on the belt and spoiling Aya's balance – and his aim. The swordsman tumbled forward, hitting the concrete floor and rolling on his shoulder even as Yohji sprang back up. With the advantage of height, Yohji hauled up hard on the captured arm and wrapped the rest of the belt around Aya's other arm as it came flying toward his face. He jerked his head away, but took a glancing blow to the collar bone for it, hissing at the sting of knuckles on bone. He had Aya partially trapped now, both wrists bound by supple leather, body half-lying on the floor. He kept one hand firm on the leather between Aya's hands, holding the makeshift manacles in place.
But he wouldn't make the mistake of assuming Aya was done and the swordsman immediately proved him right by getting his lower leg under him with shocking speed and bringing the other up straight toward Yohji's groin in a blatant attempt to emasculate him. This was getting dangerous fast. But then, Aya was always dangerous in a fight. Because he seldom knew when to quit.
Gritting his teeth, Yohji twisted away from the blow, letting Aya's foot hit him in the hip instead. The force of the kick sent Aya's leg up under his left arm, making him grunt at the impact, but he clamped his arm down hard, winding it around Aya's shin and trapping the offending leg against him. Aya gave a snarl of outrage. Dropping down to one knee, Yohji rolled Aya onto his back on the floor using the leverage of his bound hands and captured leg, pressing his arms against Aya's chest and pinning him in place.
Leaning most of his weight on the smaller man and staring down into narrowed eyes he snapped, "Stop it, damn you. We aren't doing this!"
Aya glared up at him, teeth clenched. "Let me go." He ground out the words, low and venomous.
"So you can kill me? Fuck no," Yohji answered grimly. "I didn't start this fight, Aya…"
"Let me go!" Louder, something at the edge of it; eyes darkening. A hard jerk at captured arms.
"No. Not until I'm ready… and you calm the fuck down!"
Aya bucked under him, trying to throw him off and Yohji let him try, holding on grimly. He had one leg trapped, Aya's bound hands held against his chest and nearly his full weight on him. Aya was completely pinned, body bent awkwardly. His eyes were wild and his teeth bared; Yohji could feel his frantic pulse, hear his gasping breaths as he struggled to breathe under Yohji's weight.
"Or is this what you want, Aya? Do you want me to hurt you now? Force you? Make it rape? Do you really think that'll make the guilt go away?" He practically shouted the words at the red-head, glaring down at him.
"Get off!" Aya's eyes were rolling now, whites showing. He was sweating, breath hissing wildly through his teeth, body jerking with frantic, uncoordinated effort beneath him. Rage to panic in an instant. Yohji stared down at him in wide-eyed concern.
"Aya! Hey! Calm down… damn it… Aya!"
There was no comprehension in the other man's eyes, in his face, just blank horror. Yohji rolled quickly away from him, waiting to release his hands until the last second, wary of retaliation. But as soon as his weight was gone, Aya rolled the opposite direction, tearing at the belt around his wrists, panting wildly. He stumbled awkwardly to his feet, plunging toward the door. Yohji had rolled automatically to a crouch, ready to defend himself, aware that Aya wasn't quite in his right mind and startled by that fact. This wasn’t the usual berserker rage at all. This was something else… something perilous… Yohji stayed frozen in place, shocked, alarmed and confused.
Aya vanished out the door, careening wildly off the doorframe as he did so, making Yohji wince for the bruises he'd probably have the next day.
"Fuck!" he spat when the other man was gone, half panicked himself now. Aya was most likely going for his katana. For whatever reason, he'd turned their brief struggle into something serious. Life and death. In mere minutes he'd probably be back here to separate Yohji from his life – or something equally important. Rising to his feet, he hurriedly tucked himself into his pants, doing up the buttons with shaking hands. At least he'd die fully clothed – and make it tougher for Aya to aim properly. He had his watch but the idea of using the wire on an unprotected Aya was abhorrent. Yohji ran suddenly shaking hands through his hair, stripping it away from his face as he frowned deeply at the half-open door. What the hell had sent Aya over the edge? He'd had him pinned before…
He cocked his head, listening intently. There were no sounds coming from the inner hall. He hadn't heard Aya go up the stairs to the apartments above.
Walking swiftly across the garage, Yohji pulled the door all the way open and looked into the short hallway beyond warily.
He had left the main light on in the kitchen at the far end of the hall and now it sent a garish glow spilling over the frozen form at the base of the stairs. Aya. Standing with hands braced on either side of the stairwell that led up to the apartments, his head hanging down toward his chest. Trembling. Badly enough that it was visible even from a few feet away.
Yohji stepped through the door, closing it behind him. He moved just far enough into the hall to give himself room to maneuver, if necessary, but not close enough to make Aya uneasy… he hoped. The silence stretched for uncounted minutes. As he watched, Aya's trembling gradually eased until he was simply standing, head bowed.
"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Yohji finally asked, his voice soft. He asked though he had his suspicions.
Aya's head turned slightly, not all the way, but definitely toward him rather than away.
"No." Low, almost inaudible.
"I'm coming over, Aya," he said, pausing a moment before suiting actions to words to give Aya a chance to react or protest. Rigid silence was his reply. He walked slowly toward the other man and wasn't too surprised when Aya dropped his hands away from the walls, turning his body to face him and retreating by a few slow, shuffling steps until his back was against the far wall. He kept his face averted, bangs completely concealing his eyes.
Yohji stopped in front of Aya, looking down at him somberly. He lifted a hand toward him cautiously, making certain to make no quick motions at all. Not wanting to alarm or startle him. Gentle fingers brushed crimson bangs back only to find that Aya's eyes were closed, lashes lying like bloody shadows on pale cheeks. His hand lingered, holding the hair back. It was soft and thick. Faintly cool to the touch.
After several breathless moments, Aya tilted his face up, moving slowly until his head rested back against the wall, the motion making Yohji's fingers trail down the side of his face to his cheek. Lips parted slightly. Eyelids fluttered but didn't open.
"Aya," Yohji said, entranced. He was beautiful. Like a marble sculpture. Pale and tragic. Strangely fragile seeming, though he had seen demonstrated over and over again on missions just how tough the other man truly was. Physically.
"You don't have to hurt me." The voice was steady, calm. As rational as Aya ever sounded.
"No," Yohji breathed. "I don't."
Violet eyes opened. Filled with seething emotion, they stared into Yohji's. There were no more words then. Yohji bent and covered Aya's mouth with his, hand frozen on his jaw. His eyes slid closed again. Lips parted under his as Aya's mouth opened and let him in. He kissed him for an eternity, gently, tenderly. Then he drew away, letting his hand trail slowly down, fingertip brushing across the bottom lip of the mouth he'd just kissed before it fell away completely. He watched the faint flickers of reaction cross that still face; longing, acceptance, desire.
He reached out with both hands, cupping Aya's neck and bracing his thumbs against the underside of his jaw. Holding his head in place. Dark red lashes lifted slightly and Yohji knew he was watching him, but he stayed still, no more than a brief tremor running through his body in response to the touch, the vulnerability of the pose. Surrender. Total and complete. And Yohji felt a surge of triumph wash through him. It was exhilarating, intoxicating. Better than booze any day. A higher rush even than the guilty instant of a kill.
Aya was his. Utterly. It was as if the anger, the struggle, the panicked flight had been a last protest. A last vestige of stubborn pride warring against overwhelming need. But he'd stopped here. Waited for Yohji to come to him.
"But you know I could, don't you?" He couldn't resist the dangerous words. They were more of a tease than a true threat. He didn't want to hurt Aya. But he knew they could both hurt each other badly now… in so many ways.
Aya shuddered again. The violet eyes gleamed under hooded lids but didn't waver. Yohji's thumbs began a gentle stroking, smoothing the skin of Aya's neck over the hard ridge of his windpipe and his wildly throbbing pulse.
"And you'll still let me touch you, won't you?"
"Yes." The single low word hit him like the impact of a blow. Daunting in the recoil. Igniting lust in a hot surge that made his cock harden instantly in his pants. Aching as if he hadn't just finished with Aya only minutes ago. The heat of the moment surpassed only when Aya opened his eyes fully, meeting his gaze, an answering desire blazing there.
Yohji groaned and bent down again, mouth closing hard over Aya's. Tongue surging into his mouth, stroking, pressing deep, chasing Aya's own tongue around his mouth. Catching it and sucking on it. Aya groaned and Yohji swallowed the sound eagerly.
He pulled back, hands sliding down to Aya's shoulders and squeezing briefly before releasing him completely and stepping away. Slightly calmer violet eyes watched him from under tumbled bangs.
"Upstairs. I want you in your own bed."
Aya hesitated a moment, then turned and took two steps up the stairs. Stopped halfway up a third when he realized Yohji wasn't following and looked down over his shoulder at him, a wary question in his eyes. The pale, muscular body was limned with light in sharp contrast to the dark slacks. Improbable yet incredible hair reflecting redly. His stance elegant and poised. He was a thing of true beauty, Aya. Yohji had to swallow hard to find his voice, fighting something he didn't want to acknowledge.
"Go on. I'll be up right after you."
Aya turned half toward him, gaze fixed on him. Violet eyes burned him like fire, smoldering with the heat of desire, lingering danger, an unnamed fear.
"I'm going to clean up the mess," Yohji managed hoarsely, fighting to keep from lunging up and bowling Aya over on the stairs and kissing him senseless. Kissing him until he realized there was no use fighting this thing between them… none at all. He cleared his throat instead. "Unless you want Ken and Omi to wonder what the hell happened to you in the garage…"
"I'll help you."
"Stubborn. Go up." Aya just shook his head and came back down toward him, shuttered gaze still fixed on him. He'd seen the remnants of panic there, and a need that still burned hot. Yohji sighed and waited, snaking an arm across the other man's chest when he dropped level with him and stopping him. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, he leaned to the side and brushed his lips against the side of Aya's head. Said with careful amusement, "Gonna be that way, are you?"
Aya looked sidelong at him, violet eyes narrowed. There was pride there now too. A subtle warning that there was still choice involved, that he was still Aya Fujimiya, still Weiß's leader. Yohji smiled back at him, but concealed most of his delight. Because broken toys didn't please him at all. Prickly, difficult, sexy ones did.
"The sooner we finish…"
"Okay, okay…"
* * * * *
Aya was moving in a haze, drained after the storm of emotion that had raged through him, a bitter battle waged with instinct that had left behind self-loathing, terror, panic.
Lying under Yohji, enraged but helpless with hands bound, body pinned he had wanted only to destroy the other man for showing him his own vulnerability. His own weakness to human need. Had wanted to kill him and erase it from existence. But he knew it could never be gone. Because he had already surrendered. Already given in to the need to be wanted and cherished and pleasured…
Even as he had imagined the feel of Yohji's blood pouring hot and final over him he had been horrified and repulsed by the killing urge. And he had to escape him… had to go away from him before it consumed him, tore his mind and heart apart in a last sin-filled rage.
He had stopped himself on the stairs. Knowing he was going for his katana – going for the instrument of Yohji's death. Longing for it and despising it. Struggling with the two sides of himself, the fear and the desire, lost for what had seemed an endless, tortured eternity in the internal conflict.
It was he who had wanted Yohji. He who had lusted after him in secret for all the months since he had first awakened in his bed, confused and damaged and irrevocably committed to his life of sin in Weiß after abandoning Crashers to more completely pursue his revenge. He who had stolen from the other man caresses in the dark rather than admit to need. Until finally, in his carelessness – or was it hope? – Yohji had discovered his secret. And answered him with a passion that had shocked him. Intrigued him. Terrified him. Because to accept the passion would be to make himself vulnerable to loss again. Yet caught up in lust, in physical need, he had accepted it… surrendered to it… to Yohji.
Images of Aya-chan, silent and pale in her hospital bed had filled his mind. Overlaid with images of Yohji, lean body bloody and forever stilled, the teasing eyes dulled in death. Aya-chan, innocence felled by the incomprehensible machinations of greedy men. Yohji, a hunter of darkness and a willing target for harm. And he hadn't been certain which image, which risk tormented him more…
It was already too late to fight… Far too late…
Then Yohji had come to him again, silent, waiting, aware. Yohji, embodiment of his human need who understood the deadly urges that existed inside him and dared come to him anyway. Who reached out to him by his very presence and forced him to choose once more. Passion and need and the surrender they demanded had won over the assassin's bloody instincts. But Aya had not dared be parted from Yohji for fear the killing instinct might rise again.
They had both gone back to the garage, gathered up all evidence of their recklessness and were now returning to the stairs, Yohji following him. A presence he was aware of like the beat of his own heart despite the haze in his mind.
"Your room," Yohji prompted him when he paused on the first floor. And he was too fresh from the struggle to want to go to his own room. Where his sword waited.
He looked back at Yohji, hesitating despite the vaguely foolish feeling that came with standing on the landing less than half-dressed with his shoes tucked under his arm. Green eyes glittered at him knowingly, the handsome face calm. Expectant.
"In your bed, Aya."
"Yohji…"
"It'll be okay, Aya."
He went then, accepting the punishment but dreading the temptation, the reminder of sin that would come at first sight of the sheathed blade.
Reaching his room, he unlocked the door. Stepped inside without turning on the light and went automatically to deposit his shed clothing in the laundry basket, to set his shoes neatly down in the closet beside the others. He heard Yohji enter behind him and close the door. Locking it.
Footsteps crossed the room. The small lamp beside the bed clicked on, throwing a subdued wash of light around him and Yohji's shadow across the wall beside him. Aya stood frozen in front of the closet door, back to the room. Not wanting to turn.
"You might as well take off the rest." The words were low, amused. He heard the bed frame creak as Yohji sat on it. "Damn, Aya, has this been soaked in water or something? This futon's hard as a rock!"
He became aware of the little things, then. The dresser with the katana on its lacquer stand was behind him, next to the door. Easily seen from the bed. The skin of his stomach itched faintly from dried, flaking semen. His hands throbbed from being clenched into fists. He could smell the musk of Yohji's cologne clinging to him. His lower body ached in a vague way that made him conscious of the muscles of his anus and buttocks as never before in his life.
After taking a deep, unsteady breath Aya turned enough to face the narrow bed, careful to go just far enough so as not to catch a glimpse of the plain black sheath or the sharkskin hilt wrapped in stained cord. Yohji was watching him, elbows propped on his knees. He held the tube of lubricant in his long, clever hands, turning it idly.
"Your bed sucks, Aya."
"Then we should use yours," he said with studied calm, grasping at the opportunity to leave his room. Yohji just laughed softly, green eyes dark in the warm light with wicked knowledge.
"Oh, no, you're not getting out of it that easily." Yohji gave the tube a little flip, catching it neatly and placing it on Aya's bedside table. Then he stood up, hands going to the buttons of his shirt. He removed it quickly, nothing deliberately sexy about his motions at all, but Aya's gaze was still riveted on him. Devoured golden skin as it was revealed. Watched the easy ripple of lean muscle. Skimmed over the black tattoo that marked the shoulder nearest him. The largest English word in the center screamed out at him. Sin.
He carefully blanked it from his thoughts, focusing on watching Yohji instead. The shirt was dropped on the chair beside the bed. Yohji pried off his boots, one after the other, managing to balance gracefully as he did so. Then nimble hands went to the low slung mahogany-colored pants and stripped them away just as efficiently. Aya heard his own breath hiss in. Yohji was hard again, his large cock jutting out from its nest of soft golden brown curls proudly.
"Are you sore, Aya?" Yohji asked, dirty-blond hair falling around his face as he tilted his head slightly to the side, a faint smile tugging at the corner his mouth as he unselfconsciously rested his hands on his hips.
"No."
"Liar," Yohji said with a soft laugh, reaching up to brush his own hair back. Lean and confident. Glowing golden in the gentle light. "But you want me to fuck you again anyway, don't you?"
"Yes." And he did. Because then, lost in Yohji, lost in the blinding pleasure he brought him he could forget about the sword and everything it meant.
Lips pursed, a frown crossed the handsome face but he could see a mischievous gleam in those eye. "So says the recent virgin. Oh, I shouldn't…"
"I'm not afraid of pain."
Yohji's expression dropped into careful neutrality. Calm, still, eyes flat and piercing. With a faint tremor, Aya recognized his working face. His assassin's face.
The cool gaze raked Aya. "There's some pain in what we do, but I won't hurt you needlessly. I won't have suffering in our bed, Aya. We have enough of that elsewhere." He frowned thoughtfully then, his gaze flickering to the side. "But I think there's something else you're afraid of…"
Yohji walked past him, padding silently across the bare floor. Moving to the dresser.
"Don't…" Aya breathed, not turning. Knowing without looking what Yohji was doing.
He heard the soft click of the scabbard as it was lifted out of the frame. His heart began to pound in his chest and he fought the urge to spin and snatch it out of Yohji's hands. Such a bloody thing should not be in Yohji's hands… should not contaminate him… it was Aya's to bear…
"Don't… please…"
"Aya, it's just a sword."
"Put it back."
Yohji walked closer to him, moved up behind him. At first he though it was the sheathed katana brushing against him and cringed before he could stop himself – but the long black shape of it appeared at the edge of his vision and he realized it was Yohji's cock that was pressing hard against the lowest part of his back.
"Shh, easy," Yohji said, wrapping one arm securely around him from behind, spreading his palm over Aya's stomach and pressing him back into him. Bringing warmth and heat to his chill. Aya's gaze was locked on the sword, watching it as if it were something that might attack him on its own.
Yohji leaned over him, his lips brushing against Aya's ear. "It isn't the sword you're afraid of, Aya," he said quietly. "It's yourself…" Yohji moved then, dipping against him and rising slowly up. The motion rolled his whole body against Aya, hard and warm and sleek. Aya groaned in response, shivering as he felt his own cock begin to stir. The only impediment to full pleasure being the barrier of his slacks and the sight of the sheathed katana held in Yohji's other hand.
Warm lips nipped the tender skin behind his ear. Breath fluttered his hair. A tongue laved the outside edge of his ear, occasionally slipping further in and teasing him. His head rolled toward Yohji, even as his eyes strained to keep the sheathed sword in sight.
"Oh, yes, baby, you'd rather think about me and what I'm doing, wouldn't you?" The hand on his stomach slid down, across the ridges of his tense belly to the tab of his slacks. Yohji deftly slipped them open one-handed even as Aya's hands rose to help. Yohji let him slide them off over his hips himself, but only because his seeking hand had found something else more interesting; Aya's rapidly stiffening cock.
He groaned at the first firm stroke, feeling blood rush into his cock almost painfully, swelling it in Yohji's hand to the accompaniment of quiet words of praise. The liquid sounds murmured in his ear almost made him forget about the length of black still hovering at the edge of his vision.
Deft strokes on his hard shaft soon had him moaning low in his throat in time with the continuing surge of Yohji's body against his own. It seemed almost perilously wrong to be doing this standing up, but with Yohji braced behind him he felt no serious loss of balance. Just smooth motion and growing heat in the surprisingly erotic feel of Yohji's cock sliding against the upper part of his butt now, into the narrow gap between his cheeks, motion eased by sweat and Yohji's own fluids. Mimicking and reminding him of when Yohji had been inside him. He longed for that feeling again. Of the testing pressure, the impaling drive, the final strike on that mysterious spot that made pleasure a thing of fire and wonder, blanking the mind and filling the heart.
A hard thumb ran across the head of his cock, spreading the slick fluid there and making him gasp.
"Put your hands on it, Aya," Yohji murmured. And the sheathed katana was there in front of him, held at chest height. He froze, shocked that it had faded enough from his thoughts for him to almost forget about it. "Both hands. Hold it up flat in the air in front of you."
"No…" he groaned, a thread of fear tainting the pleasure now. He didn't want that instrument of death in his hands when he surrendered to Yohji…
"Do it, baby." Yohji's lips moved against his neck, hot breath searing him. His cock was stroked slowly, surely, his own pre-come making each motion a slick, heated wonder. His hips surged into each stroke, thrusting blindly as he felt the first tingling surge of orgasm begin. Then Yohji's hand was gone and he cried out in shock, arching up, bereft. The hand pressed hard against his lower belly, forcing him firmly back against the length of Yohji's own cock again.
"Take it, Aya." The words were firm, knowing, insistent.
"Yohji… bastard… don't stop!" He tossed his head against Yohji's supporting shoulder, desperate for his hand on him again. Gasping, he clamped his own hands around Yohji's arm, trying to coax him to move his hand down again – force it if necessary – but he wouldn't budge. Aya moaned, biting hard at his lower lip in his extremity. He was so close…
"C'mon, baby, just trust me… take it and hold it out in front of you."
"God, you bastard…" he hissed in frustration, as fear was swamped by raging need. Aya raised trembling hands and grabbed the black sheath tightly. Avoiding the hilt, he shuddered in mingled lust and revulsion, breath hitching short.
"Yeah, just hold it there," Yohji said, a trace of triumph in his tone. He released it only after making certain Aya was actually going to comply.
Aya wanted to curse him, but didn't have the breath. He held it up, feeling the subtle strain begin in his arms, feeling the added tension the pose put into a body already aching for release. He bit back a fresh moan, then a cry as both of Yohji's hands dropped down to Aya's thighs, running slowly in and down the hard muscle toward the tender skin of the inside of his legs. Each strong hand cupped his inner thighs, hovering just under his groin.
Aya cried out hoarsely at the teasing brush of forearms against his aching flesh. Not enough. He wanted more. Needed more. His hips pulsed and the katana wavered in front of him.
"Easy, baby, keep it up," Yohji murmured, lips on the join of Aya's neck, his own cock pushing hard against the crack of Aya's ass.
"What is this shit…? God, Yohji, just touch me!" Aya hissed in pure desperation. He didn't want to split his attention at all, particularly not to the blade. He wanted Yohji to quit teasing and finish him so he could put the damn thing back where it belonged. His breath was coming in quick, short pants.
"I think I owe you a mark… how about here?" Yohji's mouth settled on the straining tendon at the side of his neck. Right under his ear – prominent and impossible to cover later. Teeth nipped dangerously at his skin as Aya moaned a wordless protest, trying to twist his head away. "No? I'll find somewhere else then." Lips moved lower on his neck, back to the tender join again. He felt a firm sucking begin just as one hand slipped under his balls, the fingers feathering intimately against the tender skin there, the other finally reaching up to grasp his aching erection once more.
"Yohji!" The name was cried out desperately as he was squeezed against the other man, Yohji's hand shifting to the bone under his balls and now half lifting him up and back. Aya felt a shocking burst of pleasure, pressure on that special place coming from an unexpected quarter, even as Yohji surged against his ass and his cock was stroked hard. His arms dipped.
"Hold it up, Aya!" He struggled to comply, caught between the distraction of the scabbard in his hands that only fed his tension and the hard feel of Yohji surging against him while his body was held taut and arching and helpless. Then everything was heightened to almost screaming pitch by several quick, hard strokes of his cock.
He came suddenly in a spiraling, shivering, lightning-like burst; head arched back, body straining up, Yohji's hand milking him skillfully as near overwhelming relief mingled with the throbbing spurt of completion. He cried out, low and long, the sound a shivering groan of sated desire as his own seed splattered against his belly again, spilling over Yohji's fingers.
"Oh, god, Aya… yes…" Yohji released his cock only to wrap his arms around Aya's hips and chest, drawing him up even as he slumped, spent, in Yohji's hold. The sheathed katana fell hard across his thighs, his hands clenched too tightly on the scabbard to release it yet, his brain once more occupied with remembering how to continue critical bodily functions first – like breathing. Yohji somehow managed to brace him up, enveloping him in his arms as he sank into a half crouch behind Aya, thrusting over and over against the sweat-slick crack of his ass. Legs trembling, breath coming in sharp grunts; until Yohji gave one last hard thrust before arching and shivering against him with a low cry of his own as wet heat pulsed between them.
Yohji staggered back, dragging Aya with him. Finding the edge of the bed by running into it, he collapsed across it with a grunt, Aya still firmly cradled in his arms.
"Fuck! It's a rock!" Yohji cried in breathless outrage.
"Hn," Aya managed, lying face up and limp across Yohji's body, feeling the rapid draw of his breath under him, the solid beat of his heart. He was covered in cooling sweat and semen, but his body felt pleasantly warm and comfortable, cradled by Yohji's arms. He rolled his head until his cheek rested against Yohji's, replete.
"God, I want a cigarette," Yohji sighed after a long moment of silence.
The sword was still clutched in his hands. Aya came aware of it with a flinching jerk, making Yohji groan as an elbow caught him in the ribs.
"Oof! Hey!"
He lifted the scabbard up above them in one hand, bending his arm as if to throw it away, but Yohji caught his wrist. His other arm stayed wrapped around Aya, holding him close as he started to struggle. Wanting the sword gone.
"What is it with you and throwing this thing, huh?" Yohji grunted, holding on to him grimly.
"Get it away… I might… No…" he panted in a kind of panicked daze, afraid to think, afraid to feel in case the blood-urge came over him again. Yohji's grip on his arm was implacable, his arm around his chest holding him down like an iron band… or was he not struggling hard enough? Was his traitorous body already relaxing into Yohji's hold? Yohji shifted and rolled them awkwardly on their sides on the narrow bed, facing him now, a concerned frown on his face.
"Easy, Aya, you're not going to kill me."
Aya froze in shock, staring into green eyes in astonished horror. How had Yohji known? Yohji smiled gently at him, drawing the arm that held the scabbard down until the cool length rested against them both. Aya shivered.
"You know, sometimes, you're not all that hard to read, Aya…" Yohji said softly. Aya stared into his eyes, looking for hatred or fear or disgust. Found only a kind of weary understanding.
"I thought about it… downstairs…" he admitted, the words torn from him as a kind of penance. He didn't deserve Yohji's understanding.
"So? I think about killing our darling Kenken all the time… and oh look, he's still alive." Green eyes rolled faintly. "But I swear if he leaves a soccer ball on the stairs one more time…"
"It's not a joke, Yohji."
Yohji sighed. "I know, I know. Sorry. But you won't do it, Aya. Not now, not ever. You've passed the crisis point. First I fucked you and then I challenged you – pissed you way the hell off – and you couldn't do it. You waited for me on the stairs instead."
"And you came after me…" Aya frowned, alarmed by the recklessness of that for the first time. What would have happened if…?
Yohji gave him a gentle shake. "I'm not afraid of you, Aya."
"You should be."
"Bullshit. I respect you, but that's different."
Aya fell silent, searching the steady green gaze. There was no fear there, there was also no true arrogance – or not too much. Just a quiet understanding and respect. "Is that why you made me hold my sword while you did… that?"
"No, that was because you're one hot piece of ass and I wanted to get us both off again..." Yohji leered at him, a smug smile curling his mouth.
Aya snorted in impatience. Yohji was not being serious at all now and Aya was curious. Worse, he thought he needed to understand why. But before he could form a question that might actually get a serious reply, Yohji released his wrist and threaded his fingers in the hair behind his ear, cupping his head as he stared into his eyes.
"Trust goes both ways, Aya."
He closed his eyes at the simple truth, breath sighing out of him. Lips closed over his in a gentle caress as Yohji's arms tugged him back up onto his chest, holding him close. Aya held the sheathed blade between them, lying at an angle across their hearts. And it was just a sword and not a siren call to mindless death, his fear defused.
"I should use this on your Seven," he said quietly, letting his eyes drift open, and had the amused satisfaction of seeing green eyes widen in horror, of feeling the body under his tense in wary surprise.
"You wouldn't."
"Oh?"
"Aya… I'll pay three-quarters?"
"Hm…"
"Aya!"
- - fin - -