Circle II (Possession VI)

by paxnirvana

Rating: Adult

Fandom: Weiß Kreuz

Characters: Yohji x Aya, Ken, Omi

Date Completed: 11/2/02

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. Angst, angst, angst…

Hm. Let's take Mission 17 - Kritiker (Critic) now and give it a REAL

hard twist… Oh, this is even more fun! *chuckles evilly* Botan?

C'h! Who needs him? And I had to scrap the first draft of this part

because the boys just weren't behaving quite the way I wanted them

to. *grrr * So, here we go now... Ready? We're off to Alternate

Universe land… because face it, it's already pretty AU if Yohji and

Aya are going at it…

Dedicated to: Briar Rose. Thank you for all the amazing reviews and

notes. It's a pity I'm a half-assed correspondent. But I'm truly

glad you're enjoying my stories that much. Thanks. And that's

really all I can say. Oh, and BTW, big smiley-thanks for steering me

to Aoe's Harmonics Arc. What a thumping great read! *grin *

Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to the incredibly sexy Takehito

Koyasu and Project Weiß and some other very large and insensitive

corporations who are all bad boys and don't pay their character

designer… I would have!

* * * * *

What kind of love is this that keeps me hanging on despite everything

it's doing to me

What is this love that keeps me coming back for more when it will

only end in misery…

Circle – Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

Yohji Kudoh sat slumped in a straight-backed kitchen chair facing the

back door, half-burned cigarette dangling between two long fingers,

lean legs propped crossed over each other on the chair beside him.

His head lay rolled against the back of the chair, eyes closed behind

obscuring sunglasses. There was a half-empty bottle of chilled vodka

on the table in front of him, the glass still weeping slightly with

condensation. A shot glass with a tiny layer of clear fluid on the

bottom sat near a saucer filled with several cigarette butts.

The kitchen was gloomy and shadowed in the latest hours of the

night. Illumination came only from the floodlight in the alley out

back, spilling watery and dim through the small window over the

sink. Outside the rain could still be heard falling. Heavy and

steady.

Waiting up for someone else. It wasn't something he was accustomed

to doing.

Cursing under his breath, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. Took

a deep drag. Staring at the gleaming rivulets of water tracking down

the window, he remembered his first promise of the night. He'd have

to make doubly sure they stocked catnip again. Damn it. The old

woman had been right. They were all back.

Smoke trailed from his lips in a steady stream. It drifted up to

hang with the low cloud that had already collected by the ceiling,

stagnant and trapped in the humid room. Trapped. As he was in this

life once more. Florist by day, assassin by night. Sucked back in

by sin and consequence and his distinct weakness for a certain single-

minded red-head.

It was strange how his skills hadn't faded at all after three months

of disuse. All on his own, he had managed to hunt down, trap and

kill one of their targets earlier that evening. With thoughts of the

six helpless young girls tied to poles with kerosene-soaked kindling

piled beneath them ready to be lit filling his mind, it had been

alarmingly easy. Any final hesitation had fallen away at the arc of

a lighter tossed deliberately down by a callous creature who hid

behind a mask, the action accompanied by a triumphant, mocking

laugh. Doubt vanished in the flash of cardboard and broken wood as

the tinder ignited. He had heard Omi's sharp gasp of dismay before

the boy called out his schoolmate's name and raced to her rescue.

Seen the frozen rage on Aya's face as he too raced for the shadowy

stage in that dilapidated old theater, desperate to see if his sister

was among the captured girls.

She hadn't been. So where had the stubborn bastard gone?

These targets had been easy to eliminate. There was no question of

guilt. These dark beasts had been caught in the act of violence and

Weiß had ensured they would never do such hideous things again. He

was well aware of the hypocrisy of his thoughts. To the public's

eye, he would be seen as little different than the ones he had

hunted, even though he knew he only killed those who killed.

Yet as long as he could make the crucial differentiation in his mind –

that tiny salve to what remained of his youthful morality and

idealism – it was bearable. He only killed because they killed. He

killed the guilty. The criminals. Those who had taken innocent

life, or aided those who had. It was a fine line he walked even in

his own mind, because it meant he had to trust the ones who supplied

them with information and directed them in their hunts. Persia,

once. But now Kritiker.

And that trust… it was gone.

Omi still believed Kritiker because the organization had supported

Persia. Manx and Persia had been all Omi knew, had been his world.

But Persia was dead, lost to his vendetta against the corrupt empire

his brother had tried to create. And Manx… Well, with time and

distance Yohji had finally deciphered the odd look he had

occasionally caught glimpses of in Manx's eyes. Manx too had served

for Persia's sake, out of love. And a love for Omi who was now all

she had left. She had been terrified for the boy, knowing it was

only a matter of time before Persia's end became his own. So she had

hidden them from Kritiker, he had realized once he was on his own and

the long weeks slipped by without contact. She had let them all go –

not just Aya – on that fateful day three months ago.

But now they were back. Returned on their own to this life of

darkness and killing. Fear made a powerful motivator. The situation

had gone far beyond irony. They were killers who were afraid to

die. Releasing a short, sharp laugh, he picked up the bottle, tipped

it over the glass again, filling it half way. He carried the glass

to his lips with a steady hand and shot back the harsh liquor without

even a wince, feeling the familiar burn of it down his throat.

Or was it simply that they were afraid to die alone? Un-mourned?

Unloved? Wasn't that every man's fear?

He debated pouring another shot. Not that liquor really helped.

There was only one thing now that made any part of this life

bearable. A determined touch, a pair of intent eyes, a mouth that

scarcely ever smiled; all pieces of the dangerous whole that had

drawn him back here, fool that he was. Yohji held the empty shot

glass up toward the window in front of him, examining dim, shattered

rays of light through the base. His sunglasses tinted each star-like

burst green and rendered the room even darker.

Where the hell was Aya? Something stirred uneasily in his gut. A

foreboding.

After the mission, they had split up, as per standard operating

procedure for missions inside the city. Each of them to return to

base after a reasonable amount of time spent ensuring there were no

witnesses to their departure from the site or anyone following them.

Omi had arrived at the Koneko first and gone immediately downstairs

to his computer. The kid was probably still checking it out with

loving thoroughness before filing the final mission report. Yohji

had left him alone to his techno-babble hours ago.

Everyone's favorite Yohji Kudoh had been the second one to return.

The two new Kritiker agents had shown up soon after his own arrival,

even before Ken or Aya had made their way back to the flower shop.

Botan and Birman had warned Omi that they would return with a new

mission the next day and had taken a verbal de-briefing from the two

Weiß present less than an hour after their first mission was

completed. The benefit was that someone from Kritiker would soon tip

the police to the kidnapped girls' location – after making certain no

evidence of Weiß remained. Keeping everything neat and tidy.

But another mission? With the blood from the last barely dry, their

masters were already eager to use them again. Sick distress filled

him. More sin and death. Once more they were tools to be used for

whatever purpose their masters chose. At risk of death every time.

Omi and Ken. Himself. Aya. But what could he do? They'd all come

back of their own free will, right? He stubbed his cigarette out in

the saucer with a vicious twist, then started, head whipping around

at the sound of the back door opening. He turned so quickly his

glasses slid down his nose. He didn't bother to push them up as he

surged to his feet, glaring over them.

"It's about fucking time," he hissed at the dripping shape as it

paused in the doorway. Aya. At last. "Ken made it back hours ago.

You coulda called at least. I know you remember the damn number."

The trench-coat covered form stepped into the room, closing the door

carefully behind it. A water-darkened head lifted. Eyes gleamed

faintly from beneath ragged trails of hair plastered over a washed-

out face. Yohji took one long step closer then froze as the chin

lifted and the lips tightened warningly.

"I can't do this," Aya said quietly, his voice low and steady.

"Can't do what?" Yohji said, fighting the burning in his gut. The

foreboding was back, redoubled and mixed now with tendrils of

outright fear. To combat it, he drew his sunglasses off, folding the

arms closed carefully before laying them on the table beside him as

he waited for Aya to break the silence again.

Then bloodless lips formed words he dreaded. "My focus… She has to

come first. I'm leaving Weiß."

He was across the room and had slammed the slender shape against the

door before the words had even finished registering. Leaving… Yohji

loomed over Aya, using his greater height and weight to keep him

trapped. He had one gloved hand pinned between their bodies in the

corner, the other held in a steely grasp. The sword hand; he could

feel the slender wrist bones shift in a way that must be painful

under his grip, yet Aya gave no sign of it. Breath came fast and

hard, whistling between clenched teeth as he glared down into the

pinched, angry face next to his.

"Coward," he hissed. Aya bucked and twisted beneath him, almost

succeeding in throwing him off. But he jammed him back against the

corner, shoulder pressed into Aya's collarbone hard enough to make

his own bones ache before Aya stilled again, expression smoothing

from fury to blank calm in an instant. Apparently conceding – but he

wasn't fooled. Yohji knew he was just waiting for his chance.

Biding his time. The stubborn bastard.

He could feel the dampness of Aya's coat seeping into his shirt; he

shivered at the definite chill on his flesh where it was exposed by

the tight shirt that barely touched the top of hip-hugging pants.

The leather coat was sodden with water, thoroughly soaked. Had Aya

been standing out in the rain all this time?

"Get off," Aya ordered him, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. The

pale flesh beneath looked almost bruised with exhaustion, even darker

than before. Concern surged in him despite his annoyance. Why?

Yohji moaned to himself in furious dismay. Why did he want this man

so? He was a high-maintenance pain in the ass. Prickly with pride;

cold and deadly and infuriating. But so alluring… both mentally and

physically. The fleeting moments when the hidden inner man was

revealed made all the effort worthwhile. Not to mention the

positively volcanic sex. Fresh memory from the mission room earlier

that night raced through him, reminding him of his fears.

"Like hell."

Yohji bent down and sealed his mouth over the other man's. Cold.

Aya's lips were cold, his skin wet from the rain. The swordsman

resisted him for long minutes, stubbornly keeping his mouth closed

against the skillful assault. Anger flared briefly at the lack of

response, but Yohji simply persisted, running his tongue along the

seam of Aya's mouth, nipping at the curve of his lower lip with

careful teeth. He worked one hand up – not stupid enough to release

Aya's sword arm – and cupped the narrow chin, lifting Aya's head the

better to angle his mouth over the other man's. Caressing, teasing,

tasting. Cold lips warmed quickly, swollen and heated by his

onslaught. Until he could feel a slow response building in the body

pinned beneath his own. A reluctant softening. Aya's mouth trembled

briefly. Tightened, then relaxed, until finally, with a short groan,

Aya parted his lips. Surrendering.

Yohji pulled instantly away, breathing harsh and heavy as he glared

down into hooded eyes. He held Aya's face immobile in his hand, his

fingers almost dark against the deathly pale flesh.

"You started this. But I mean to finish it. And it won't be with

you walking away from me again." He looked steadily into violet

eyes, feeling the hitched breathing of the other man. "You did that

once – never again, Ran."

Aya started violently at the use of his real name, almost as if he

had forgotten the truth had been shared. A faint flush touched the

too-pale cheeks. Not anger. Something that was almost revealed by

the flickering of his gaze. Fear?

"Don't use that name."

Yohji leaned close again, letting his breath fan deliberately over

damp cheeks. Aya shivered involuntarily. "Oh, you're right. The

only name I'm supposed to know you by is 'Aya'. But that's your

sister's name, isn't it?"

Aya went suddenly still against him, breath held for an instant.

"Be very careful, Kudoh." The upturned face stiffened into an icy

mask. A clear warning. But he wasn't one to heed warnings for long –

if at all.

"Why?" he said, the word carried out on a dry chuckle. Lids lifted

sharply and he was fixed with a narrow, nearly shi-ne glare, the

effect somewhat spoiled by the still swollen and softly parted lips

below. "You're pissed already… and why don't you want to talk about

her? She's why you came back, isn't she? Because you need

Kritiker's resources to find her… Isn't that the only reason you came

back, Aya?"

"My sister…"

He gave the chin in his hand a tight shake, cutting off whatever Aya

was going to say. He wasn't quite finished yet. He snorted in

exasperation at the stubborn, angry expression shadowing the other

man's face.

"Would it kill you to ask for my help?"

Aya's eyes closed and he went utterly and completely still. Yohji

could feel the brittle tension grow in his body. An air of dangerous

wariness. He sighed, then loosened his grip on Aya's chin enough to

stroke his thumb gently across Aya's lower lip. It was still soft

and damp and warm despite the forbidding stillness of the face around

it.

Yohji lowered his voice to a husky murmur, entranced by that

contrast. "Well, you said it yourself – only actions have meaning.

So why don't you tell me what it means that you practically demanded

I fuck you earlier, Aya?"

Silence met this pause too. The closed eyelids flickered, lashes

dancing on shadowed skin. The flesh under his hand had warmed to his

touch, but the rest of Aya was encased in a barrier of cold and

chill. Like his heart. Was he just waiting to be warmed? Stripped

and tended to, like at the safehouse? The idea stirred things in him

he'd thought long crippled, softened his voice more than he wanted.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Aya," he whispered, a tremor

passing through him. "You already let me inside your body, now let

me…"

"Stop it!" The wrist twisted violently against his grasp even as the

form under him arched away from the wall, writhing, trying to escape

once more. But from the words or from himself? Yohji leaned into

Aya, taking full, ruthless advantage of his superior height again. He

snarled and slammed the fist trapped with his own against the door

behind them, making glass and wood rattle violently. Yohji squeezed

the jaw in his hand brutally hard once more, forcing Aya's head up

and back against the corner, making him choke and gasp a bit at the

sharpness of the move.

"God, you're stubborn!"

"Back off!"

"Stubborn… and predictable. Like hell I will," Yohji muttered as he

mastered the surge of frustrated rage Aya's brief fight provoked.

Jaw working under the implacable grip, Aya glared death at him, eyes

gleaming like dark amethyst in the scant light. He was panting from

the brief struggle, lips parted, face finally touched with color.

Feral and beautiful. Yohji let a knowing grin tease at his mouth and

slowly lowered his own lids over his eyes as he watched the other

man, noting the sudden clench of teeth and desperate flare of

nostrils as Aya registered his amusement.

"Do you know how goddamn sexy you look right now? How good you feel

against me?" Yohji said, voice lowered to a low purr as he stared

intently at Aya's mouth. Reddened and faintly puffy from his earlier

attentions, it encouraged him to lean closer, to add

dangerously, "Are you too sore, baby?"

Surprised shock raced across Aya's face, followed quickly by outrage.

"Oversexed bastard. Are you trying to wear me out?" Aya hissed

furiously, chin jerking against his fingers. This time he relaxed

his grasp, letting Aya break that hold, in favor of cupping his hand

around the flushed cheek instead. Yohji laughed softly, delighted by

Aya's unconscious slip. Laughed longer at the puzzled, annoyed

confusion that swept into the amethyst eyes, softening them to violet

again, the hard sheen of distance broken. He hadn't realized what

his words implied yet. But he would.

"You're soaked, you know. The coat's like ice." Taking a half-step

back, Yohji let his hand trail down Aya's face to the high buckled

collar of his trench coat. Aya watched him warily, still struggling

to regain his cool reserve.

"It's not happening again."

He pursed his lips and tilted his head considering. "You don't think

so?"

"Yohji… I'm tired…"

He laughed again, more of a knowing chuckle this time. "Oh, now that

was just lame, Aya," he said with a wave of his free hand. "You'll

have to do much better than that to convince me you don't want me.

Actions, you know."

A quick hand came up. Shoved him back hard. But he had kept his

firm hold on the other wrist and the reaction just sent both of them

stumbling away from the wall further into the kitchen, toward the

hall beyond. A furious scowl bloomed on Aya's face as he tried to

twist his wrist free and failed, Yohji anticipating and moving with

him.

"Upstairs?" Yohji grinned wolfishly at the fuming red-head as he

quickly regained his balance. "You know, that's a good idea. I made

my bed earlier and turned on the heat… It should be nice and warm up

there."

Aya averted his face. "I'm going to my room. Alone."

Yohji simply shook his head in patient amusement and gave a yank on

the imprisoned wrist. Aya stumbled awkwardly against him and he

unerringly captured the shorter man's mouth for a brief, teasing

kiss. Then he stepped away, freeing him completely and raising both

hands palms out in front of his chest to show it. Aya's hand hung in

the air between them for a few seconds too long before he yanked it

back, glaring.

Yohji grinned at him knowingly, pleased. "After you."

Aya spun abruptly and stalked for the hallway, his coat swaying in

that distinctive way that said the sheathed katana was concealed in

the long tails. After a moment's mental debate, Yohji followed.

Armed, definitely. But he hadn't reached for the weapon at all yet.

Yohji allowed himself a small smile of triumph.

By the time he reached the stairs, Aya was halfway up. He lengthened

his own stride, but even taking them two at a time he couldn't catch

up before Aya vanished around the corner at the top. But once he

reached the first floor himself, he came to an abrupt halt. Aya was

frozen at the base of the next flight, boot on a step, hand on the

railing, looking over his shoulder. Damp hair still stuck to pale

skin, his expression weary and haunted.

"The door's open," Yohji said, his own expression carefully neutral

as he nodded toward his apartment.

Aya stiffened, eyes closing. Yohji walked past him without making

any attempt to touch him. Went to his door and opened it wide.

Stood aside. Waited, grimly aware that he was holding his breath.

After a long, torturous silence, Aya finally drew his foot away from

the step. Pivoted slowly and came back. Walked past him into the

dimly lit apartment. Not daring to smile now, though relief and

elation filled him, Yohji followed him inside and closed the door

behind them both.

Light fell in a soft ring around the bedside lamp. It was warm in

his room. Doubly glad that he'd thought that far ahead when he

returned earlier, he moved forward, slowly circling Aya until he

stopped in front of him. Devouring him with his eyes.

Aya stood wearily, the faintest slump rounding his shoulders. As if

it had taken the last dregs of his energy simply to walk inside

Yohji's room – to give in to what they both knew he wanted, but that

his pride wouldn't let him admit to without struggle. His eyes were

closed, his face tilted down and away. Silently, Yohji raised his

hands to the buckles of the burgundy leather coat and tugged them

open one after the other.

"It's okay, baby," he whispered when the job was half done, torn by

the aching silence, by Aya's passive compliance.

"No." Aya's low voice was hollow and resigned.

"No, it isn't," he agreed with a sigh as he struggled against the

last few stubborn, water-logged straps to draw the coat open. "But

with you in my bed it's close enough. Damn, this thing is completely

soaked, Aya. Did you have to stand out there all night? Leather's

never the same after it gets wet like this, you know."

Fussing over the coat distracted him from the tightness at the back

of his throat.

The rain-darkened red head lifted, and he could see the glitter of

Aya's gaze on him as he worked, could see the curve of his lip, the

suspiciously fast pulse-beat in the hollow of his neck illuminated by

the faint light. Yohji felt the weight of something he had named to

himself once earlier and didn't dare name again drag at him. He had

no luck with that emotion. To linger on it would only invite

disaster.

"I missed you," Aya breathed.

His hands froze in the act of drawing the sodden coat off lean

shoulders. Yohji stared down into Aya's somber eyes in shock. The

water-heavy leather suddenly slipped down Aya's arms to land on the

floor behind them with a dull thump, but neither of them moved. He

wasn't sure he remembered how to breathe anymore, gaze lost in violet

depths. A hollow ringing had started in his ears in time with the

pounding of his blood.

Lids flickered down over slowly darkening eyes, hiding the raw

exposure in them from him and breaking the brief trance. But before

Yohji could do more than draw an unsteady breath, floundering in an

effort to find something to say that wouldn't make him sound the

complete fool or shatter the fragile moment beyond repair, damp

gloves skimmed over the strip of bare skin at his waist, making him

shudder once as unpracticed arms slowly encircled him. Taking a half

step forward, Aya bent his head under Yohji's chin and awkwardly

pressed himself close. Snapping further out of his daze, Yohji

carefully folded Aya in his arms in return, hands fisting briefly

against the narrow back as he resisted the urge to crush him close,

flatting his hands out to hold him gently instead. They fit together

perfectly. His throat ached with everything he didn't dare say as he

rested his cheek against damp red hair.

"Aya…"

"I'm tired, Yohji."

"Come to bed, baby," he whispered thickly. "Come to bed with me."

He felt a deep trembling begin in the lean body in his arms, chilled

by the damp clothes now that the close weight of the coat had been

removed despite the warmth of the room. After a few more heartbeats

he drew back, leaving Aya to the privacy of his downcast face for the

moment, his hands brisk and efficient as he stripped off the other

man's clothes. Sweatshirt, boots, pants were soon tossed aside until

Aya stood in his underwear alone, shivering; sleek and ivory-pale and

incredibly beautiful in the soft amber light. Yohji felt his blood

throb in his veins, slow and urgent, as he let himself devour the

sight. After an awed moment of perusal, he tugged Aya over to the

bed, urging him down and under the blankets for warmth. Aya went,

passive and compliant just as he had been on that night three months

ago in the safehouse, his eyes following Yohji's every move.

Yohji undressed himself with similar efficiency, wasting no time in

removing everything. Boots clattered on the floor. His heavy belt

buckle landed with a harsh ringing sound when it struck against the

hilt of Aya's katana where it protruded from the bunched and sodden

coat. He kicked at the pile half-heartedly to get it out of the way

as he stripped his tight pants off. Finally, his erection bounced

free of his underwear, already weeping at the tip. With a deliberate

look at the silently watching Aya, he reached over to the nightstand

and opened the drawer. Took out a tube of lubricant and placed it on

the bed within easy reach. Leaning over, he folded the blankets

back, exposing Aya once more. Pale and perfect against the wine-dark

sheets. He raked his gaze over him, letting his desire show at

last. Slow, hot, hungry.

"Lose the underwear."

Pale hands complied with his order, sliding the scant fabric down and

away from a matching erection. Yohji knelt on the bed beside Aya,

taking over to draw the underwear down over strong legs, lifting each

foot with gentle care to free it before tossing the cloth aside. He

trailed a hand up one calf, gaze rising to catch Aya's once more.

Aya licked his lips, chest rising and falling deeply.

"Spread your legs."

The red head tipped back further against the pillow, eyelids drooping

to veil glittering eyes, lips parting to allow soft panting breaths

to escape as Aya slowly spread his legs, drawing his knees up to

flatten them further. Exposing himself completely. Yohji stared

down at pale skin dusted faintly with red-brown hair, at a cock that

flexed under his gaze, already dripping a silvery thread of pre-come

from the end. His breath caught, then sped up.

"Tell me you want this."

"I want it." He shuddered at the words uttered without hesitation in

Aya's low, rich voice, eyes closing tight for an instant. Opening

them again he climbed all the way onto the bed, easing himself

between the spread legs. He knelt there feeling the other man's skin

warm against his own, aware of the deep tremors shaking the muscles

that framed him. He picked up the tube of lubricant, leaning forward

to reach it.

Aya ran his hands down his own narrow hips and along bunching thighs

until they brushed against Yohji's hips, stopping there to clutch at

him. Holding him, not letting him shift away, watching him intently

from slitted eyes.

Stifling a groan, Yohji flipped the cap on the tube. Squeezed out a

generous blob onto his fingers before tossing the tube on the floor.

Then he reached down, shifting Aya's erection and drawn-up scrotum

aside enough to brush slick gel over the sleek skin and hole

beneath. Aya's breath sucked in and his hips rolled back, giving him

easier access. He gently circled the puckered flesh of Aya's ass,

pushing in on it with slick fingers just enough to coat the innermost

edge. Teasing and testing, he paused, holding his hand still against

the spot, feeling the pulse of slowly relaxing flesh. Suddenly

impatient, Aya gave a choked moan and lean hips thrust up against his

fingers, forcing them in. He let him, pulse throbbing as Aya slowly

impaled himself on his fingers, urging them further and further

inside his own body with each careful undulation until they were both

in past the second knuckle. Swallowing hard, Yohji turned his hand

slowly, watching as Aya arched up, crying out as he pressed down on

Yohji's fingers, legs trembling.

"Oh, god, baby," Yohji groaned, biting at his lower lip to try to

contain himself as his own hips surged in response, cock jerking and

leaking glistening trails of pre-come over them both. If he didn't

keep control of himself this would be over before it started and that

definitely wasn't in his plans. He slowly pulled his fingers away to

the heady sound of Aya's soft moans of disappointment. Reached back

and briskly stroked the remaining gel over his own erection.

Aya's hands slid up his sides to his back, drawing him down with

determined strength. Leaning forward, one hand braced beside Aya's

chest, Yohji carefully guided himself into willing flesh, pressing

past the first ring of natural resistance slowly. Amid urgent pants

and moans, the pale body lifted to meet him, hips rolling even

further back when lifted by strong legs. Yohji slid deep inside Aya

in one long stroke, eyes closed, teeth clenched at the glorious heat

and incredible tightness. Held himself still once he was fully

seated, to keep from coming, yet was almost disastrously distracted

by the mewling sounds of need Aya made as he shifted beneath him. He

lowered his full weight onto the other man in an effort to control

his reactions, bracing himself on his elbows. Aya just groaned

deeper, wrapping arms and legs around him tightly, hands tangling in

his hair, ankles crossing over Yohji's lean butt. They lay suspended

like that for a long moment, both of them breathing harshly, each

feeling the other's pulse pound like thunder.

A fraction of control restored, Yohji looked down at the man below

him; at the opened mouth, the bruised-looking eyelids, the soft flush

on neck and chest. Aching inside, he skimmed his fingertips over the

faint bruises he could already see rising on the fair skin of Aya's

chin. Found himself torn between the equally strong urge to either

soothe them or to put more on that pale flesh… just to prove that he

could. That he could make a lasting impact on the other man. His

own thoughts disturbed him. He didn't truly want to hurt Aya. He

just wanted him… body and soul.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Give me

everything."

The red head tossed against the dark pillowcase, eyes still

closed. "Yohji…"

He could feel the denial coming in the sudden tension of Aya's body.

He rocked his hips quickly back then pressed deep inside Aya again,

seeking and striking the place that made reason flee. Aya cried out,

shivering and panting. Even white teeth clamped on a lip, abruptly

cutting off the cry. So he did it again. Over and over. Thrusting

deep and steady and slow, breaking down resistance until the man

beneath him was writhing and twisting in abandon, groaning helplessly

with each thrust, eyes squeezed tightly closed, his cock a twitching

length trapped between their bellies.

"Faster!"

"No."

Aya groaned and his head thrashed wildly as if he were in torment.

Strong hands clenched like vises on Yohji's shoulders. Fingernails

dug painfully into his skin in time with his thrusts. Yohji didn't

care. He only cared that Aya was breaking in his arms. Surrendering

to pleasure.

"Faster… move faster…"

The other man's voice now little more than a broken gasp. He groaned

and plunged deep again, still moving slow. Savoring every inch.

Aya's body was hot and slick and pulsing around him, straining his

control, his focus, but not severing it.

"All of you, Aya… I want everything."

On his next thrust in, strong legs tightened around Yohji's hips,

driving him deep and holding him there. Aya arched up, arms

trembling as he pressed his chest against him, and buried his face

against Yohji's throat.

"This is just… flesh… a body…" He could feel hot breath on his skin,

the scrape of teeth and the wet warmth of a tongue under his ear.

His heart quailed and argued with his body over Aya's harsh words,

appalled. But the dispute was settled in an instant as desire deemed

a demand enough for now.

"Is it mine?"

"Yes. Fuck me… god… harder…"

Enflamed by these words, he reared back, bracing himself awkwardly on

one hand, reaching between them to grasp Aya's erection even as he

rolled his hips forward, driving in hard. Aya let himself fall back,

arms clinging to Yohji's shoulders, chin raised and pale throat

exposed, as his face went face slack with ecstasy.

He stroked Aya in time with his own thrusts, felt the surging pulse

of him, felt and heard the sudden hitching gasp of breath that

preceded the deep wordless cry as Aya spurted over his hand and both

their bodies in a hot stream. Yohji let himself go then. Slamming

in over and over again until finally freezing with his body pressed

as tightly to Aya's as he could go. Then coming hard in a flash of

fire and relief that nearly blacked out his mind.

Yohji rolled to the side, collapsing across the bed, dragging Aya

with him in an awkward tangle of limbs as he panted desperately for

breath. Aya lay limp against him, body loose and relaxed in

completion, but he could still feel his heart pounding wildly in the

chest pressed to his own. Sticky heat welded their bellies

together. With a smug smile that he couldn't suppress and would be

just as glad if Aya didn't catch sight of, he wound one hand in silky-

damp hair and tucked Aya's head under his chin. The other man

settled there with only a quiet murmur.

They lay entwined in silence for a while as bodies cooled and pulses

slowed. Finally a faint shiver from the man in his arms made him

shift them to the side with a reluctant groan, before tugging the

blankets back over them both. That much movement pulled his cock out

of Aya's body to the accompaniment of a soft hiss of dismay from them

both.

Unlike earlier, there was no inopportune teammate's arrival to

interrupt the afterglow. Aya was making no attempt to move away from

him at all, limp and relaxed. Yohji's fingers stroked through Aya's

hair, lightly tracing the shape of his skull beneath. He felt Aya's

breathing slow gradually to normal in time with his own, felt the

occasional flex of a hand against his skin, the slow slide of a lean

leg shifting position between his own for comfort. Aya lay sprawled

across him, sweaty-warm now and far heavier than the blankets, all

the hard masculine angles of his body poking at him awkwardly. Yet

this moment was as close to perfect bliss as he'd ever felt in his

life.

"…should clean up," he murmured, his voice a groggy blur. Aya just

grunted, not caring about the drying mess that practically glued them

together, already more than half asleep.

It had been a long night of stress, activity and anguish, but now he

had Aya in his arms again. Little else mattered. And with that

thought, Yohji slid into slumber, stubbornly burying the nagging

knowledge the next day would not be nearly so kind.

* * * * *

Aya Fujimiya stood before a tall, smooth marble pillar inscribed with

his family name, hands thrust deep into the pockets of the long

duster he wore. Violet eyes stared blankly at the sticks of incense

he had lit and placed in the niches carved in the stone for just such

a purpose. The sea glittered far below the high hill on which the

cemetery stood. Morning sun shown bright and warm on his bent head.

The sky above was crystal-clear and brilliant blue in the just-washed

way that came in spring after a hard rain. Sakura bloomed behind

him, pink and fragrant and delicate, a few petals flying free from

the branches to flutter on the wandering sea breeze that circled

lazily around him. A breeze that tugged the scent of cherry blossoms

and incense away from him, finally carrying it inland toward the city.

After an endless, silent while, he closed his eyes. Not in prayer.

He'd long ago given up on the gods and beliefs of his childhood. But

simply to block out the sight of those cold characters carved into

unforgiving stone. Three names. His mother's. His father's. His

own. Cold characters that summarized everything he had lost and

reminded him painfully of just how much he still had left to lose.

His sister was still missing. Kidnapped for reasons not completely

clear. Revenge had seemed the obvious motive, but now he wasn't so

certain. Schreient should have sent him some message beyond the

simple slashing of her bed. If their only goal was to make him

suffer for the death of Masafume Takatori, then taunts would be the

way to ensure this. And while he had assumed it was Schreient who

had taken her, there were other shadowy enemies out there that still

bore him malice. Schwartz, for one, who boasted both a telepath and

a man who could read flashes of the future in their ranks. Schwartz

who had turned against Reiji Takatori at the end, leaving him to die

on Aya's sword. They were dangerous and deadly in battle, yet

capricious and mysterious in their purposes.

It was his fault she was in danger, had been taken away. For seeking

revenge. For killing in her name… He was just a murderer. Foul and

damned, his soul steeped in blood. He didn't deserve tenderness or

mercy… didn't deserve the short peace he'd found last night… didn't

even deserve to live… yet she needed him to live on despite the pain

of it… to save her… no one else… She had no one and he deserved no

one… but this life of pain was so wearying, except when he was with…

The wind changed direction again, fluttering green silk against his

legs, tossing the longer strands of hair into his face and sending

more sakura petals swirling over his shoulder. It also brought with

it the sharp scent of cigarette smoke.

He stiffened slightly and frowned. Then lifted his head enough to

glance back from the corner of his eye, becoming aware of a silent

presence waiting behind him. Ah. He had even more to lose now. The

one that he recognized by the sudden ache in his heart who had become

nearly as precious to him as his sister's life.

But while his sister was innocent and helpless and in need of his

protection, this other was not. And that left him confused and

uncertain how to proceed, both states of mind that he was

unaccustomed to enduring for long periods of time.

He turned from the family marker to face the small rise behind him.

Lifted his face to where the tall man lounged against the trunk of

one of the many cherry trees planted around the cemetery, dusty-blond

hair gone almost honey-colored in the dappled sunlight that came

through the branches, cigarette dangling carelessly from his hand.

"So that's where it went," Yohji said gruffly, narrowed gaze fixed on

him over the tops of sunglasses that had already slipped down his

nose, a faintly annoyed look on the angular face as he raked his gaze

over the green duster that Aya wore.

"How did you find this place?"

"C'h," the other man said, straightening away from the tree with

languid grace, a small smile on his lips. "I was a detective,

remember?" He came down the hill toward him slowly, lifting the

cigarette to his mouth once more to draw deeply on it before sending

a long stream of smoke out to vanish into the wind. He gave a

slightly broader smile, accompanied by a seemingly careless toss of

his head to shake the wind-tugged bangs out of his face. "Actually,

I just followed the secure data link in your car. You're in range

again."

"Hn." He turned back to face the graves, listening to the other

man's unhurried approach across the hard-packed grass and stone path.

"'Ran Fujimiya, Beloved Brother'," Yohji read from behind his left

shoulder, then gave a humorless laugh. "Must be strange to stand in

front of your own grave like this, ne? I haven't been to visit mine…

though Manx told me it's respectable. Doesn't seem fitting, does

it? You know, someday I think I'd like to have a party on top of

mine; fine wine, a cigar, a little sex…"

The idea chilled him. His voice was sharp as a result as he cut the

drawling voice off. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

"Why?"

Silence stretched for a long moment, broken only by the distant sound

of surf from far below and the occasional cry of a bird. Petals

fluttered around them, falling down in the suddenly still air.

"There's a mission."

Lost as he was in the lingering grasp of his own dark thoughts and

fears he almost missed the curiously flat tone of the other man's

voice. Would have missed it if he wasn't so sensitized to the sound

of Yohji's voice now after months of absence. He turned his head

alone, not shifting his body, and looked straight into hooded green

eyes.

"I told you, I'm leaving Weiß."

The green eyes narrowed further. The dusty-blond head shook ever so

faintly, then canted back toward a small grove of pine trees behind

them as he dropped his cigarette to the ground, casually crushing it

out under his foot. Not turning, he narrowed his gaze on Yohji in

sudden comprehension. They were being observed. His hands fisted at

his sides.

"Hey, Aya, I thought we worked that out last night, didn't we? You

need the organization to help you find her." There was a kind of

irritated warning in the other man's tone. A caution. "I overslept,

so you left the shop this morning before I could tell you Birman

would be by today. Guess Omi missed you too." Green eyes flashed at

him now with definite annoyance. He had woken early and deliberately

slipped out of Yohji's room without waking him, having been reminded

with painfully intensity the night before that his will around the

other man was dangerously weak. He had needed time alone to gather

his thoughts. Because he needed all his will focused on finding his

sister.

Yohji spoke normally, his voice loud enough that someone close by

could hear it. If they were trying. "You should stop by and see the

tape. Omi has it."

Aya frowned, still facing him, and mouthed a single word. "Who?"

Yohji frowned back at him briefly and answered the same way, the

warning sharper in his eye. "Botan." Then added, louder. "We should

talk."

Aya turned away from his family marker amid a swirl of green silk

coat. Walked quickly to the far side of the cemetery where there

were no trees or heavy plantings nearby on the edge of the cliff that

looked out over the sea far below. Aware with every step of Yohji's

presence behind him, like a tingling along his nerves. An ornate

fence kept the unwary from danger. He stopped half a pace away from

it and gazed out toward the sea, oblivious to the beauty of the view.

"What is it?" he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

Yohji sighed, stepping up and leaning both arms on the silvered,

weathered wood of the fence in front of them, eyes narrowed and

trained on the distant horizon as well. Useless sunglasses were

perched low on his nose. From this angle, Aya didn't even have to

turn to see the sharply handsome face and he found himself staring at

thoughtfully pursed lips – remembering suddenly just exactly what

delight they could impart when pressed to his flesh – rather than at

the sea.

"They won't let you go again, Aya," Yohji said. And he started at

the stark resignation in the other man's tone. Who wouldn't let him

go?, his subversive heart wanted to know, aching. He tore his gaze

away from Yohji's mouth to stare at the sea beyond, retreating into

cool remoteness.

"Hn. They have nothing to hold over me this time."

"Get real. I know you aren't that blind, Aya. You're just not

thinking clearly because you scared the shit out of yourself again

last night."

He stiffened, voice chilling as he glared venom at the other

man. "You're mistaken."

"Oh, I don't think so, baby." The low, knowing words sent a flash of

heat through him, eyes widening briefly in shock before he mastered

his body's reaction by drawing hard on the protective ice that had

served him well for so long. Strangely it seemed more brittle than

before. Fragile, as if something had been wearing it away.

The blond head turned slightly toward him and a wry smile flashed,

tinged with amused patience. Aya yanked his gaze away from Yohji

once more and stared out to sea again. His response apparently

warranted a soft laugh that ran over his nerves like the scrape of

nails, stinging slightly. He lifted his chin, mouth pressed in a

thin line of disapproval and warning.

Yohji laughed softly again, voice lowering to a husky murmur. "Oh, I

don't think you realize just how much I want to kiss you senseless

whenever you get like this…"

He stiffened, painfully aware of the hidden watcher and the public

location.

"Don't worry. I'm not stupid enough to hand them ammunition like

that. We have a major problem, Aya. Actually, you have two of them,

but your problems are mine now too, seems like," Yohji said, still

watching him. He could feel the weight of that green gaze on his

skin, almost like a brushing of fingers, possessive and arousing. A

kind of desperation flared in his thoughts behind the definite

stirrings of desire, followed by anger. He didn't want to feel this

way. Couldn't afford to feel this way.

"Get to the point."

"Kritiker isn't Persia, Aya. You saw how Manx deferred to them. I

think the days when we could turn down missions we didn't like are

over. These people are professional and organized and serious.

Somehow they lost track of us after Takatori went down but we walked

right back into their control yesterday." Yohji's voice was grim

now, all traces of humor gone. "They'll use us until we're dead.

They won't let you leave again, Aya."

Icy rage made him silent. Rage because he could sense Yohji was

right and in his blind need, he'd bound himself again to the very

thing he'd hated the most – the endless killing. And ice because for

his sister, he knew, he'd kill again. To find her. To get her

back. To keep her safe.

After a long moment of mutual silence he finally spoke. "Why do you

think that?"

With a sigh, Yohji reached into his coat and took out his pack of

cigarettes. Shook one out and lit it with brisk efficiency behind a

cupped hand. Acrid smoke trailed back into Aya's face, making his

eyes sting briefly. He shook his head tightly in annoyance, glaring

at the other man.

"Botan and Birman were practically waiting for us to return last

night," Yohji finally said, waving the freshly lit cigarette for

emphasis. "And they have another mission lined out for us already.

That was quick work on their part, don't you think? Like they've

just been waiting for us to resurface…"

"You don't believe this Estet threat is real."

There was a snort from the other man as he took a deep drag on the

cigarette before speaking again. "Oh, I believe it – Takatori had to

have someone international backing him. I'm just not convinced

Kritiker's telling us everything. But the truth is, Aya, we're just

tools, and tools don't need to know everything." He turned to pierce

Aya with a narrow, concerned stare. "Dead men like us have no rights,

and besides, we're assassins. There's damn few places we can turn to

get away from them. And they know it."

"They don't want to make me their enemy," Aya said, his voice frozen

and deadly. Yohji met his narrow glare steadily. And that was

something he'd always privately admired about Yohji. No matter how

thick the ice or how lethal the rage that gripped him, the other man

had never backed down from him. Treated him with wary respect or

infuriatingly flippant anger, but he'd never backed down. It was

why, against all reason, he felt he could trust him. Why he could

surrender to him. Why he…

"No, they don't," Yohji said quietly, a matching hardness entering

his gaze. "That's why they'll keep dangling rumors about your sister

in front of you to keep you doing what they want."

Aya had to fight to keep from snarling at the idea, eyes narrowed to

slits of rage, hands fisted tightly at his sides. He remembered the

careful way Manx had skirted his questions when delivering the

mission briefing last night. How she skillfully let him reach his

own conclusions about the kidnappings as they related to his sister.

Then remembered how their formerly arrogant handler had deferred

almost blatantly to the other two agents.

"The really suck part about it is that they're probably our best hope

for finding her."

"What are you saying?" he snapped, even though the truth was plain to

him now too. And he was bitterly furious at the manipulation, at

Kritiker's presumption. This wasn't quite the same organization he'd

always known, been trained by, worked with. He knew none of these

new agents, save Manx, who was now clearly almost powerless. Persia

had been more influential than he'd realized. The man's ideals had

colored everything Kritiker did in Japan. Then it struck

him. 'Our'? Yohji's word choice made something inside him weaken

with unaccustomed warmth.

"I'm saying that we don't have much of a choice. Kritiker's the kind

of organization that can actually dig up the information we need.

They have sources of data and contacts we can only dream about. And

they'll only share that if we keep working for them."

Yohji leaned forward, bracing his arms on the fence again as he

stared out to sea, smoking in silence for a moment, a grim tightness

appearing around his mouth. While Aya's mind whirled, lost in

implication, in longing.

"Of course, that also means they can't find out about us…"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he spat. A spurt of raw

fear raced through him, setting his body to trembling faintly,

blanking his mind with the sudden, unwelcome emotion. Was this a

brush off? And why did it matter now when he'd been prepared to do

the exact same thing himself last night? But he hadn't been able

to. Had instead surrendered again… to Yohji…

"Hey, calm down a second and just think about it, Aya." A green gaze

burned into his own, anxiety and entreaty buried under the

intensity. Yohji lifted the hand with the cigarette in it and took a

deep, deliberately casual drag. Still playing to their hidden

audience. If there really was one… but no, he'd sensed the other

presence. "All they'd have to do is put one of us in a cage…"

The chilling realization that someone could take Yohji away from him

just to manipulate him – and that it would succeed – shocked through

Aya and he nearly choked on bitter rage. Could barely endure it…

here was another thing precious to him threatened by his sin-filled

life, his selfish actions, his failings. It ate at him. Because the

one thing that had given him any peace at all now made him

vulnerable. Both of them. Ignoring it or denying it wouldn't make

the risk go away.

"Ken and Omi know," he finally managed to say, voice strained.

Acknowledgement and an attempt to deal all wrapped into the fewest

words possible. Any more and his control would break.

Yohji sighed, hung his head slightly as he flicked ash off the end of

his cigarette. "So we have a spat. Break up. It was just a fling,

ne? Then you can go back to being anti-social… and me… I can go back

to being a playboy. Ken'll be relieved; Omi can stop pretending he

hasn't noticed."

Aya glared at him savagely as a sick, twisting feeling that he didn't

want to examine rose in his gut. Yohji had apparently considered

this for a while. Thought the risks out. Confused and raw inside,

it seemed to him that Yohji was entirely too calm about this answer.

Too controlled. Pretense? Or truth?

"Then why?"

"Why what?"

"Why take me to your bed last night?"

Silence. Thick and tense and sharp. It felt as if they teetered on

some kind of edge. A precipice almost as daunting as the cliff just

beyond.

"You're willing to kill for her again, right?" Aya stiffened, still

glaring at him. Yohji looked over his shoulder at him, met his gaze

steadily as something dark and deep and wild was revealed briefly in

his eyes. "Well, I'm willing to kill for you, Aya."

Heat flared; his pulse leaped even as his breath caught in his

throat, and he knew Yohji could see the answering pledge in his

eyes. He'd kill for him too. Without thought or hesitation. And he

longed, desperately, to step forward and press himself to that lean

body. To wrap his arms around the other man as he had done last

night and feel his heartbeat steady against his own. To taste him

again, ashy, bitter and foul. Yohji. His.

"No matter how long it takes, Aya," Yohji continued, green eyes

bright with determination and lust but the look on his face unusually

solemn and stern. "Once we find your sister, we're going to find a

way to get free… to be together…"

He stared at the other man, heart pounding with urgent heat and an

answering determination. Yohji straightened up from the fence, eyes

lowered to hide the desire there from their observer, yet Aya could

feel it snapping in the air between them. Longing. Lust. Need.

Yohji took a last shaky drag on his cigarette before pitching it over

the edge of the cliff. "Shit, Aya, don't look at me like that," he

groaned. "I've gotta leave now, baby, or we'll blow this right here.

I've already agreed to the next mission so I think Botan'll hang

around for you."

"I'm not making it easy for them," he snarled, defiant in his own

way. Furious at the necessity that was forcing him to give up what

he wanted. What he needed… Green silk – Yohji's duster, now his –

fluttered around him in the rising breeze.

Yohji smiled tightly back at him, amused, his eyes shadowed with

yearning sadness as he turned to go, lanky frame hunching slightly as

he thrust his hands in his pockets and drew his own coat about

himself. They would have to be apart for now. But someday… someday…

"Give 'em hell, baby."

- - fin - -