28-Sept-2002
Series: Weiss Kreuz
Title: Schade
Author: bonnejeanne (bonnejeanne@yahoo.com) and Cassiopeia (cassiopeia@gundamwing.net)
Category: Angst, PWP
Pairings: Aya x Omi
Warnings: Lemon
Rating: NC-17
Schade
Moving silently, Aya made the rounds of the darkened shop, checking doors and windows and any other method of ingress for security. Ken was gone on some kind of overnight trip with the kids soccer team he coached. Youji had gone out for a date and nonchalantly told the others he'd be in by noon. Omi... Aya could hear his fingers on the keys of the computer. Schoolwork? Or more research for the mission... or perhaps more probably, something to take his mind off the mission. The following day the youngest member of Weiss would be going undercover.
Still moving as noiselessly as a cat, Aya entered the basement and moved up behind the boy, dropping a hand on his shoulder as he glanced at the screen.
Well-aware of the other's presence, Omi continued his typing and clicking, working in half a dozen windows at once, from screen to screen in a smooth, steady flow.
"I haven't been able to find out much more than what we already know. Only," and here, he lowered his voice, "They are into some... strange things." He looked down for a second, thinking, then raised his eyes back to the screen, skimming through another account of the club he'd agreed to infiltrate.
"You should have refused this one," Aya's tone was flat. "You still can."
Through a few rapid clicks, as he brought up another piece of information, Omi shook his head, though his voice belied an edge of doubt. "No, I'm the only one that can do it." It had never occurred to him at all to refuse, but this one was definitely weirder than most.
He let himself wonder for a minute why Aya was so concerned (in his own way), and turned a little so he could see the redhead's face.
The expression wasn't much help. It was simply the same forbidding, cool mask the older boy habitually showed, particularly when talking about "business". The one that left people with the urge to label him arrogant. The one that made Omi, and to be honest, all of them, feel as if they weren't quite good enough sometimes.
"Do you have any idea what you are getting yourself into?" the question was almost clinical. "You'll have to stay under until we confirm the manager's identity. And locate the procurer." His hand continued to rest on Omi's shoulder, feeling oddly heavy there.
Turning his outward attention back to the computer, Omi made sure he sounded absolutely certain as he answered. "I can... do it," he said, and felt a hotness creeping across his cheeks. He leaned a little further into the desk, trying to keep his face from Aya's notice. "You'd have refused? If they'd wanted you to do it?" The words weren't necessarily meant for Aya. He could easily have been talking to himself.
"*I* would have had a better idea of what was involved than you do," the answer was almost cutting. The hand on Omi's shoulder pulled the chair back on its casters and turned Omi irresistibly. Aya's other hand tilted the boy's face up. His lips tightened as he saw the slight flush.
Omi's large eyes got larger and he gasped, frozen by the look on Aya's face. It seemed angry... but so many of the other boy's looks seemed that way that Omi thought they couldn't *all* possibly be. Either that, or Aya was pissed off 90% of the time.
He looked down after a minute, off to the side, and when he realized that he could not avoid the other's scrutiny in his current position, the flush deepened. "Aya-kun," he said slowly, without direction, then stopped. "I have to." Omi didn't explain any further than that. If Aya understood anything, then surely he understood that.
The redhead's expression didn't change. His hand did not leave Omi's shoulder and his other hand did not move away from the boy's face. Slowly and deliberately, he rubbed his thumb over Omi's lower lip, watching him.
The boy's eyes flew up to Aya's, questioning. His mouth fell open a little in surprise, and he tried to back the chair up. To move away from the touch and the pair of eyes that could see right through him. That had no other way but to bore a hole right through to all of the things that Omi did not want him to see.
The grip on his shoulder, however, did not yield to the push. And the touch did not retreat. Taking advantage of Omi's mouth dropping open, Aya slid his thumb between the boy's lips, collecting moisture and then sliding back to run that wetness along the boy's lower lip. It was intrusive, as intimate as if he'd touched him somewhere under his clothes.
"This is what you are getting into," Aya said, his voice soft and cool. "The patrons of that place aren't going to simply coo at you and give you candy. They're going to touch you."
Shock kept Omi from reacting immediately, but after three beats of silence, he shoved the other boy as hard as he could and tried to stand up. "Aya-kun! What are you doing?" The pitch to his voice was high.
Letting Omi make his escape, Aya watched him with continued non-expression. "If you react like that, you'll blow it."
Omi didn't answer at first, but the comment made him stop, call off the retreat. He looked at Aya for a long time. If the redhead was trying to help him, then he had a funny way of going about it. "That's different! Entirely different. I know what they're going to want to do."
One arched eyebrow lifted. "Yeah? What?" Casually, the swordsman turned and sat on the couch, draping one arm along the back.
The boy looked away quickly, unhappy not only with what they were talking about, but that he'd let the statement be turned around on him. "If you're that interested," he said, swallowing, "then read for yourself. I've pulled up... all kinds of information." At the last, he indicated the computer somewhere behind him and even took hold of the discarded chair, moving it back around in front of the desk. He did not, however, sit down.
Out of the corner of his eye, Omi watched Aya, with his arm across the back of the sofa, and he took in a small breath, realizing that they were in the shop alone. It was a rare enough occurrence that he didn't normally have to deal with it and he found now that he did not like it. Youji and Ken made everything easier, balanced. The number of one-on-one conversations he'd had with Aya was extremely scarce.
Aya's eyes didn't even flicker towards the computer. "Reading it isn't the same as having it done to you," he said. "If you can't handle it, you'll blow the mission."
"I know," Omi answered quickly, "And I can. Handle it. I won't blow the mission." The last he said with a plead to his voice, as if he desperately wanted Aya to believe that he was capable, but more than that, to drop the subject. "Besides, what else can I do?" Omi sighed and continued to hold onto the chair.
"Then you won't object to a little dress rehearsal," Aya said flatly, crushing that hope.
Omi's eyes widened as Aya's meaning sunk in. It made too much sense, in an alien way, and he'd almost considered (not quite) that the redhead might make such a suggestion. It was the last thing he wanted to agree to. The men at the club he'd be going to, he thought he could handle. Maybe. But they weren't tall and red-haired and smooth-skinned...
It was not fair in the least. Finally, when he could think of nothing else to do, he looked back at the other. "Aya-kun..." His voice, which had started so surely, only died away.
Unaware of certain aspects of Omi's reluctance, Aya assumed it to be mainly based in inexperience and embarrassment. He was angry... he was cold angry clear through at Youji, Ken, and Manx for allowing this stupid idea. And why not? Someone had taught the boy to kill. Why not expect him to whore himself as well? The real problem was, his innocence *wouldn't* blow his cover. But it *would* attract a certain kind of customer, the kind Aya did not want him to have anything to do with.
None of his thoughts showing, he simply met Omi's glance and refused to allow him to escape. "You can do this, or quit the mission. If you refuse, I will pull out and you won't have enough support to make it worth the effort."
Something inside Omi cracked, and he knew there was no way out. No way to refuse. A familiar acceptance of the unfortunate things that continued to happen in his life came to the fore, and his head fell a little, so he could look at the floor. He only found enough of a voice to whisper, "All right... Aya-kun," before moving away from the desk chair and towards the other assassin.
The ache in his stomach and chest grew into an all-out pain the closer he came to Aya. All of the things he'd thought about Aya in the past, of how attractive and formidable the redhead was, of how very much he would have liked to have been given the chance to understand the boy's life, to understand the things that had happened with him and his sister... all of these things took on a darker tint, and began to seem dirty and cheap. He began to feel dirty and cheap, and knew that this was what Aya wanted him to understand, was trying to show him.
But the pain was still there. How very fortunate that he could smile, even now. "All right," he repeated, and it sounded brighter than before. "Show me what you think I need to know."
Unwillingly, Aya felt a slight tightening in his chest as he registered Omi's expression. He was smiling, yes, but his wide blue eyes hid very little. He was being brave. It was such a sick, damn shame.
"You're a 'kawaii tanpatsu no chibi'. The men who like your type will want you to sit on their laps, probably," he said, keeping his face blank. Lifting the hand not on the back of the sofa, he beckoned.
Omi swallowed and came closer, the smile fading from his lips as he looked briefly at Aya's lap. Then he sat, softly, without much of his weight. "Is that all?" he breathed, unable to say it any louder.
"Do you think they'll just let you sit demurely like a secretary at her desk? Probably not," Aya said, his tone low. "They'll want to take advantage of the position." Aya dropped his hand down and slid his palm under the curve of the boy's rear, squeezing with long fingers that had the strength of flexible steel.
Omi tried not to make a sound, though he wanted to scream. But he could not prevent the instinctual jerk of his body, away from the touch, nor could he its slow descent back into Aya's hands. He tilted his head back, to lean a little against Aya's neck, hoping it would somehow help him to catch his breath. It didn't work.
"What should I do?" he said, and for a moment, his voice sounded caged, as if holding something back. Then it was just quiet as he finished, "What should I do? When they..."
Aya's lips thinned but the boy was not looking at his face so it was ok. "That depends on what you want *them* to do," he said, his voice a low growl. "What do you want them to do, Omi-kun?"
Omi closed his eyes. "As little as possible." When he opened them again, it was difficult to see. "But that's not the right answer, is it?"
"It could be," the shrug was in Aya's voice. "Some boys prefer not to give away more free samples than necessary." His hand rubbed slowly along the curve. "The thing not to do is jump... or seem shocked..." That wouldn't put the lechers off, it would only incite them to see how frightened they could make the boy. "But don't flirt either... too much. Unless you are looking for a bigger tip..."
Easily taking in all of the information Aya provided, Omi concentrated. On the muscled chest behind his back, the strong hands that could touch him anywhere... The heat he could feel all around him, inside him. He knew he should try to memorize what everything felt like, so it wouldn't surprise him next time. Next time, when he'd have to let someone he didn't even know do this.
It would be easier, he decided, with a stranger. With anyone that wasn't Aya, wasn't as coldly, remotely beautiful, like something you could not touch, never touch, even if you tried for forever, for all the years you had in your life.
His eyes fell shut again, and he was seized with a strange feeling. The amount of information Aya seemed to have gathered... now that he thought about it, very specific information... was impressive. And then Omi's mind caught on something, and he turned in Aya's lap, wide-eyed. "Reading about it's not the same as having it done to you," he quoted, then added, "Or doing it." He met Aya's gaze, then wished he hadn't, and as he swallowed, Omi imagined he was gulping the words he had just spoken back down his throat.
Lavender eyes chilled a few degrees further. Deliberately, he slid his hand around Omi's hip and across his lap. If Omi thought he was a patron of such places, he didn't care. He didn't care what any of them thought of him. As long as it got Bombay through the mission without getting killed or... worse. Aya's fingers found the outline beneath Omi's baggy shorts and traced it, staring back into wide blue eyes.
Nothing could have prevented the sound that pulled itself from Omi's throat, and the boy looked away, his breaths racing out of control. This was so different from anything he could have done by himself: he was in full control of that. And so much further than he'd ever gotten with anyone else. All of that had been very brief.
And Aya... he was in Aya's lap and Aya was touching him. Not tenderly, but cruelly, with eyes every bit as cold, perhaps even colder, as they normally were. If only he had not turned around, Omi could have told himself that Aya had more than one reason for doing this, that maybe there was something more than just the mission. But he had, and now he knew. The small, "extra" things he'd began to feel for the redhead were truly one-sided.
The soft gasp that came out of Omi's throat caused a muscle to twitch in Aya's jaw. It was too easy to picture the blond sitting in the lap of some wealthy old man with a taste for boys. And Aya knew what kind of reaction such a pure sound would have on the animals who paid to have such liberties. It was having an effect on him, but while he might be a murderer, he was not that kind of animal, yet.
"You should move my hand away. But casually. Like it really doesn't matter, but you're keeping something for later."
Omi nodded his head and did his best to 'casually move' Aya's hand away, though when he actually touched the other's arm, the instinct to pull it harder against his body instead was strong. He finally turned to look at Aya's face again, and when he did, he almost said, 'stop.' He almost said, 'no', almost said, 'no more.' But that wasn't what came out of his mouth.
"Wouldn't they have... tried to kiss me by now?" The boy blushed at what he said, at what he was doing, knew it wasn't right, knew it was twisted/demented, but did not let the knowledge stop him.
He didn't see Aya's hand move off the back of the couch, but he felt it close on his chin, turning his face, as Aya's mouth descended on his, covering it. Pressure from those lips, warmer than he would have imagined, and from the steel grip still holding his chin, forced his mouth open and a warm tongue invaded, thrusting inside repeatedly, until the rhythm's meaning was very clear.
For a moment, Omi wasn't sure how he should react, and then, with Aya's tongue in his mouth, that didn't seem to matter as much. He wanted to throw his arms around Aya, just to see what it would feel like. He wanted to be crushed in the other's embrace. He wanted Aya to give him something, anything, of affection.
But the kiss was close enough... close enough that he could let it fool him. Long enough. He did not know how the pained sounds that escaped his throat had been formed, because he could hardly breathe as it was, but they hovered between them. Omi could not stop making them.
Aya didn't know what happened, but he realized through a warm fog that something had gone awry. His careful decisions about what he was doing seemed to have slipped off the track. He was losing himself in a very warm kiss, a very willing mouth, a body warm and alive against his, that felt so good... good enough that it took far too long to remember what he was doing and why.
It came back to him suddenly and he released the blond abruptly, unable to stop himself from gasping slightly. His eyes snapped open, his expression for once unfocused as he scrambled to get some control back over his body, so unused to losing it that he was having trouble remembering how to get it back.
Omi blinked, confused. "What... did I do wrong?" He had been warm, and the cold that rushed in to fill the void left by Aya's departing mouth was intense.
Aya's eyes closed, the wave of self-disgust that swept into a newly created breach in his emotional armor filling him quickly. But it didn't matter. This wasn't about him. It was about survival. Omi's survival.
"Have you ever done that before?"
"Kissed someone? Yeah..." But he didn't add what seemed obvious to him. 'But not like that.' Omi wondered... if maybe Aya... but the thought passed. "I'm not very good at it. I'm sorry." He looked down a little bit, then back up. "Was it that awful? I could try again."
Aya's eyes closed again briefly. Then he looked up and an odd, perhaps slightly twisted smile curved the corner of his mouth. "If I were a customer," he said deliberately, "I'd say yes, it was awful, and you'd better try it again." Aya realized both of his arms had wound themselves around the blond and had not disengaged. "It wasn't awful. It was... a little too good. I knew you were the wrong one to do this."
Omi's head went to the side a bit, contemplating. He did not understand what Aya meant by 'too good'. He didn't understand a lot of this, in fact. But his disappointment over the fact that he still wasn't doing it right paled in comparison to the enjoyment he got from Aya's smile. It didn't look odd to him at all. And Aya's arms around him... it didn't seem to matter if he did it right or not, as long as Aya's arms stayed around him.
Softly, he asked, "Who's the right one, then?"
Aya wasn't so shaken that he would answer that question. "You don't seem to have a problem with kissing a man, Omi-kun. Wouldn't you rather be kissing one of those girls?"
Blue eyes got a little wider, but Aya barely had time to notice, as they passed out of his range of vision in a blur, looking far away from him. The question had been cruel. At least, it seemed that way to Omi... like Aya was not content to let Omi feel safe or comfortable in his embrace for very long. But why should he be? Tomorrow... tomorrow he would not feel safe or comfortable, that was certain.
There wasn't much of an answer he could give to Aya's... near accusation. He could be completely honest and say he'd *rather* be kissing Aya, that thinking of anyone else now was difficult. That before, he'd thought of others, most of them girls, but a few... not.
"They're all very pretty, and..." Omi stopped. "You don't..." and here he met Aya's gaze again, "Either." He smiled a little. "You don't either."
"Very observant," Aya said dryly. "Stop trying to 'pass the test'. So you're at least bi. That helps. So tell me what you are going to do when someone pays for the privilege of spending a private hour with you? Drug them?"
Omi shook his head in all seriousness. "No, that won't work. I don't know what I'll do. I thought... I thought you were going to show me what I'd do."
Aya closed his eyes again, and his head tilted forward slowly until his forehead touched Omi's.
After a moment he leaned back. Looking at the blond, he scowled. Then his expression smoothed. "I can't. I can't. All I can do is show you what might happen if you don't say no."
"I'm not going to say no," Omi began, as his hand came up a little to rest on Aya's shoulder. He really wanted to touch that red hair, but could only bring himself to get as close as Aya's shoulder. "If I do, then someone else will have to do it. Or no one will do it, and the club won't get shut down. We won't get rid of the bad people. And we have to get rid of the bad people."
Aya made a soft sound that might have been anything, humor, disgust. He lifted his hand and tilted Omi's face more directly towards him but somehow the touch didn't seem as implacable as it had before. "Tell me the truth. Have you ever had sex?"
Omi didn't try to look away, but closed his eyes as his stomach jumped. "No," he answered, knowing that it might have been better to lie to Aya, except, there was no way he could have pulled it off, not where the other boy was concerned. "It shouldn't matter," he added, the words sounding pathetic and untrue even to his own ears.
Aya simply looked back for a long moment. Then he disengaged his arms from around the blond, one hand running down his back and then giving him a pat on the rear, quite different than the imitation lecherous squeeze of earlier. "Get up. If we're going to do this, upstairs would be better." Someone he cares about would be better but not one of those perverts... not for the first...
Omi's mouth dropped open a little bit, surprised that Aya had not told him to leave, had not ended the encounter, but he nodded in answer to Aya's statement. Down here, was Work. It would have been like doing it in the kitchen.
As he stood up, Omi managed to brush a hand along a stretch of Aya's lustrous red hair, trying to make it seem unintentional.
A brief lavender look was undecipherable. Aya rose from the couch and headed for the stairs, going up quickly without looking to see if he were being followed. As he moved down the hall, he considered his choices. 'My room. If it turns out badly, he'll still have his own room to take refuge in.'
Pausing only for a moment, he went into his room, leaving the door open behind him with every expectation of hearing it close with the blond teen on the inside.
Omi followed after a moment of regarding the other's ascent, taking the stairs purposefully himself, trying to give his mind a little time to untangle all of what had happened, of what was happening. It would not quite unwind, no matter how hard he pulled: a spring stubbornly set in its design. Perpetual.
In the next moment, he was running up the steps, running after Aya, and it didn't even occur to him to question which room the other had chosen. As Omi entered, he closed the door with a hand that wanted to shake, if he let it. He stood extremely still and his voice was a question. "Aya-kun..."
The young man stood looking out the small window, getting his thoughts together and trying to prepare his body for what he was going to ask of it. "Yes?"
Omi looked down, even though the other boy couldn't see his face. "Nothing," he said after a pause, and walked over to Aya's bed and sat down. He tried to think what he should do next, the choices churning through his head, but he only sat, waiting. "Okay," he lied softly, "I'm ready." Then he swallowed, remembering why he was doing this, any of this, and when he spoke again, he made it the truth. "Okay."
Aya's head tilted, and he turned around, his face shadowed but his expression showing a hint of skepticism. He doubted even Omi, as amazing and intelligent as he was, could possibly be ready for this but that was the whole point. Omi had blood on his hands as surely as any of them. Someone had seen fit to deny him that much of his boyhood. Now he was going to lose another piece, for no better reason than to "stop the bad people". It was rank.
"When one of the customers decides they want to pay for your services, they'll let one of the handlers know. That's to keep you from striking private deals on your own and cutting the establishment out of their portion, which is bigger than yours. Boys caught cheating are beaten or sometimes maimed as an example to others." Aya's voice was low, cool and clinical.
"This club provides rooms where you will go. It's riskier for them but they have several politicians in their pockets so they consider themselves impervious," that was just a repeat of the mission briefing. "Once inside the room, you're expected to do what you are told."
"Stand up, turn around, and take off your clothes."
The boy nodded as he stood, Aya's words replaying over and over in his mind. He knew, he knew all of the information, he'd read the stories, the accounts by the one or two who had somehow managed to escape. Omi knew it all, but then, why was the feeling in his stomach both hot and cold, both expectant and dreadful? Why did the things Aya said take him aback one minute, and the next...
Omi turned around and slipped his shirt off over his head. That wasn't so bad, and he let it hang in one of his hands before releasing it to the floor, as he imagined he was supposed to do. Further than that was hard, but he'd told Aya he was ready, and wouldn't go back on it, not even by way of hesitation.
He slid both hands down his abdomen, not stopping to think how good it felt to have them there, and his eyes fell heavily shut, thumbs going beneath not only the waistband of his shorts but underwear as well. With one pull he had them past his hips and falling to the floor. He did not step out of them, let the discarded clothing stay at his ankles, and looked down and away, the bright color straining across his cheeks making his face so hot as to be painful.
Although he had not heard Aya come closer, slender, strong fingers slid around his chin and cheek, turning his face back, the skin cool against his flush. "What was that?" Aya growled softly. "The dangling shirt... was that supposed to be enticing?"
Every part of Omi jumped at the touch, as if his body was trying to get outside of itself, and he shook his head, feeling like he was eight years old again, and he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Aya always made him feel incredibly young, and it wasn't always a bad thing, but at the moment, it seemed so. "I don't know," he answered, keeping his tone above a whisper by sheer will alone. He paused and almost didn't say the next, but something made him. "Was it?"
Aya's expression darkened instantly and a muscle twitched in his jaw. His fingers still held Omi's face in a grip that tightened slightly at the boy's answer.
"So you want to entice the men who are going to use your body? You don't need to do anything at all. They will use you anyway, do you understand that?" Somehow the redhead was wrapped around him, behind now, without loosening his hold, adding a second arm around Omi's waist that was like a steel band that would not move. His head was beside Omi's, his breath could be felt against the blond's bare shoulder, his face only glimpsed because he was pulling Omi's face to the side inflexibly. "Don't entice. You'll get far more than you can handle. And don't show fear. Never. Show. Fear."
Omi didn't understand. If he wasn't supposed to be afraid and wasn't supposed to be agreeable, then what was he supposed to be? Like a robot or a doll? "Just follow orders, then?" And Aya didn't understand, either. Omi did not want to entice the men that would use him at all.
He was given a little shake. "You aren't stupid, Bombay," Aya said coldly. "Stop acting like it. You've been hunting predators as long as any of us. You know by now that predators *enjoy* fear." The fear of someone who would have to do as they say. Of someone as pretty, as pure-looking as Omi undeniably was and perhaps always would be.
Omi didn't reply and got very quiet, his body still. It was hard for him to just do as Aya or anyone said, without analyzing everything, coming up with questions. But he could follow a plan and this was now part of the plan. At least, he tried very hard to think of it that way.
"I'm sorry," he said after the silence, and let himself relax a little in the other's embrace. He just had to do what Aya said. Easy. He didn't even have to think.
It was a little too easy to read the boy this close, held against his body. A second muscle in Aya's jaw twitched. He didn't want Omi to show fear, but... but he did want him to be afraid. Fear was dangerous if other people could see it, but it was also a survival tool. It made a person sharp, cautious, alert. This wasn't working, the messages weren't getting across. It wasn't Aya's game, he knew that, but who else would even have tried?
Abruptly he released Omi and stepped back, his eyes wandering over the boy's slender form without asking him first. Trying to think of what to do was made more difficult by his own body's reaction. He shook his head sharply, glad Omi was facing the other way. But it left him with a backside view that was too easy to fix on. Get on with it, Ran, he thought savagely.
With a few graceful steps, he circled Omi, noting that the imprint of his fingers wasn't quite faded from the blond's jawline. Reaching out, he brushed his fingertips almost idly along the slowly disappearing marks. Then he traced Omi's mouth, calculating what it would look like when the boy's already full lips were a little bruised. Yeah. He'd be lucky if he made it an hour before someone wanted to use that mouth.
The cool on the outside was being made the mask of a hypocrite by a slow heat that was building under the surface, drawn towards and settling in below Aya's waist where it argued with the fit of his already snug jeans. However he wasn't the king of control for nothing. After tracing Omi's lips, he let his fingertips trail down along the boy's neck, spidering over his chest, brushing a nipple with one careless thumb and moving slowly lower.
Everywhere Aya touched him, every place the redhead's hands went, hurt. It was too hot, too much like what Omi wanted, too similar to what he really wanted. For Aya to be doing this because of desire, not because he thought he had to. He didn't move, lowered his eyes, and refused to let the fear that tried to work its way out from his stomach to the rest of his body show. He only stood there and heard small noises come from his throat, sounds that he tried to muffle, but that only seemed to make them worse.
This time Aya felt something twist inside, felt something resist and then abruptly give, and knew that one of the last few pieces of his soul that he'd managed to keep straight had just bent.
Slowly, he smiled.
His hand trailed lower, almost idly, until it brushed the silky soft nest of blond hair that framed Omi's penis and balls. He watched the response in that most reactive of male places, head tilting a little to one side. Omi was such a well-made boy.
Omi choked and let something loud rip out of his mouth. His entire body had began to throb, but now it all found a center, and it rose, without any intention of stopping. His softly lowered eyelids fell into a tight closure, and he took in as much air as his lungs could hold, because he wanted to scream. If Aya touched him again like that, he would.
"Aya-kun," he gasped out, between attempts at getting enough oxygen, not even sure why the other's name wanted to come out of his mouth.
Inexorably, slender, cool fingers curled around his rising erection. The grip was snug, but not tight. With uncanny precision, the touch slid down and then back up, stroking the boy with about the same pressure as Momoe petting her cat.
Omi's teeth came out and bit at his lower lip, but it didn't do any good, and the voice that waited to crash from behind his tongue fell into the room, burning his ears. His legs were being forgotten, left behind in the rush, and Omi didn't know how he was still standing, or even if he was. Aya's hands on him felt strange, neither tender nor rough, but *there*, and he fought the urge to push them away, yet not make the feeling stop. He wanted it to go on drowning him, keeping him under, not letting him see.
Aya drank the boy's expression, a cool part of him acknowledging that it wasn't going to be possible to 'train' Omi to act in a blasé manner in such a situation. This was acknowledged and put aside to be dealt with later. Meanwhile he continued to pet the boy's erection, watching his actions for a few moments, detecting the sudden appearance of something glistening at the tip of the blond's well-formed organ. A tear for his innocence, perhaps?
Watching it quiver there, Aya reached up and got a grip on Omi's shoulder. Then he began pushing him back, the few steps towards his bed. He let Omi feel it against the back of his legs and then pushed him so he tumbled across the neatly made mattress, never quite losing his hold on the boy's cock.
Seeing the blond sprawled below him, he realized that he was no longer aping the predators. He'd become one. His nostrils flared and he sat on the edge of the bed and bent over Omi's lap, opening his mouth for the first taste of the blond assassin's taut, pulsing flesh.
Omi's surprise at being tumbled across the mattress was complete, even though he knew that was the next step, even though it was the next thing he could check off the list, and he gazed up at Aya, watching, questioning, though he had nothing to ask. His eyes caught something on the redhead's face, unplaceable, and as they followed Aya's movement downwards, closed quickly. He didn't want to see that, neither of them, Aya nor himself, and he shut it out.
Omi thought of moving, but couldn't. Thought of putting his hands on Aya's shoulders, stopping him, but couldn't. He only kept his eyes shut, and waited for a touch he had anticipated for a long time.
He felt warm breath before anything else, fingers circling him in a snug grip, and then a delicate, almost inquiring touch of warm wetness, the texture of something that could only be a tongue, smearing some kind of fluid that had come from him, circling the tip of his cock slowly. It lapped at him, a little like a cat tasting some delicacy. Then the heat increased as he felt himself being enclosed by soft lips, that teasing tongue squirming along the underside of him, wrapping around him like a moist serpent as the wet heat descended around him, as he could feel the pull of a strange suction, feel soft tissues working around him, the occasional brief graze of something that felt like smooth ivory...
The boy's mouth and eyes were open before he knew what had happened, and his back pulling away from the mattress, like someone tightening a string, before he could think to stop it. And then he was falling forward, bending back the other way before he snapped, his hands wanting to dig into the flesh of Aya's shoulders. Instead, they fisted into the bedcovers, pulled through them, unsettling the linens into a wrinkled nest.
From his upright position, Omi still did not look down at Aya, and focused on one of his own hands instead, every surge of pleasure, every feeling of near-death Aya gave him, reflected in fingers that grasped and stretched, searching. His voice, too, was searching. "Aya-kun," he let escape on a heavy breath, quickly indrawing the next before it could get away from him.
The thrashing of Omi's body, the gasped call of a name - Ran, it should be Ran - failed to distract the redhead from slowly devouring Omi's cock. He didn't think about how long it had been since he had done such a thing. The time before... before everything, that time was locked away like a reel of movie film or a digital tape. But even without thinking of it, how quickly it all came back. How easily his mouth and hands remembered. How familiar the taste and scent, familiar and yet enhanced with a tang of *new*. Eyes half closed and unfocused, he moved down and up and back down, head tilting slightly, the angle expressing itself in a shift in the friction around the thing in his mouth. His circling fingers gripped a little tighter as he worked more quickly, sheering the pace up notches in mere moments.
Something was being drawn out of him, reluctance, fear, regret, all three, and Omi fell backwards on the bed again, pulling the covers with him as he went. The feeling, deep and round, moved its fingers over his body, and he knew he would come soon. And Aya would... he didn't know. What would Aya do? And after that?
His voice caught in his throat as he tried to say Aya's name again, and this time, when his back was drawn into a deep arch, he thought he might really break in half. Omi couldn't take in a breath, couldn't close his eyes, couldn't even turn his head away. The feeling that crashed into him, through him, had total control.
Omi finally found his voice, crying out so loud the vibration hurt his own ears, and the deep arch of his back somehow twisted. His body was caught in a spasm, rising, falling, rising again, and from within this, he found the strength to lay his hands on Aya's shoulders, even gently at first. But then they began to dig into the flesh, through the cloth and into Aya's skin, ten times over.
The pain of the boy's strong fingers digging into his shoulders almost made Aya smile. The thing inside him that had twisted and bent was purring with satisfaction. He swallowed the boy's come almost before he could help himself. Lifting his head, he reached up and circled his fingers around Omi's wrists, forcing his hands away from their grip and not without a slight struggle. Straightening, he looked down and surveyed the damage. The blond looked devastated. He should have felt guilty about that. Instead he felt pleased.
Still holding Omi's wrists, he transferred them both to his right hand and pinned them over the boy's head, leaning over him. After a moment he leaned down and kissed the boy, letting him taste his own fluids. He'd be tasting something very similar, soon enough. After a little while, he sat back, watching Omi's face.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you liked that," he said, his voice a low, cool purr.
Omi tried to answer through his haze, but nothing wanted to come out of his mouth. He wasn't entirely sure anything could, not with his mind spinning and jumping.
But the spinning and jumping slowed down, began to ease away, and his eyes sank a little as he tried to think. What to say? 'Gee Aya, I've had a crush - yeah, that's what it was - on you for a while now, so of course I liked it!' No, he couldn't say that. The way Aya felt about him didn't even approach that, was probably the antithesis to that. And he'd sound like a dumb kid. Exactly like Aya made him feel.
Omi let out a small breath and wet his lips. "Was I not supposed to?" His voice sounded so even, it surprised the boy as it left his throat.
Lavender eyes regarded him coolly - at least he thought it was. The truth was that the redhead was far from cool at the moment. What had he expected Omi to say? 'My god Aya - (it should be Ran) - that was the most incredible thing I ever felt in my life! Please tell me if I'm good you'll do it again some day...'??
He probably wanted to say, "Aya, you bastard, you are a sick fuck and you make me feel dirty and slimy all over...'
Instead of answering, Aya shrugged. He reached up with his free hand and delicately wiped the corner of his mouth. "I did," he mentioned almost off-handedly. His lips curved again in that sick little smile from earlier as he looked slowly over Omi's body, from his wrists pinned above his head, to his pale skin and nicely firm body.
Aya's words sent a hot flush all over Omi, like someone had poured a pan full of almost boiling water down his head. 'I did'... I did, I did, I did - it skipped through his mind like a favored song: rewind, playback, rewind, playback.
Omi's eyes widened and he tried to sit up a little, but the leverage was all wrong, and he couldn't use his hands. It was so easy to extrapolate from what Aya had said, so easy to fill in, but he stopped himself before his mind could jump too far ahead, before he could say something that he'd regret on hindsight. Aya was only showing him what it would be like, what the men at the club would be like.
The flush began to turn cold, a dreading ice beneath his skin, and he felt very naive. "I did," he repeated Aya, looking up very suddenly into lavender eyes. Expectantly. In spite of the cold feeling swirling inside of him, locking gazes with Aya still caused a blush to creep across his cheeks, though it may have had more to do with how exposed he felt, stretched out as the redhead had him.
"You don't have to say that," the redhead murmured, the little smile not going away. Then he leaned closer and licked Omi's nipple slowly. Consideringly. Then the other. Then back. And again. The charade of this being for the sake of the mission was mostly abandoned at this point in Aya's mind, kept around only in case it might be useful. If Omi was naive enough to continue to buy it... and he probably was... well, it was too bad but...
Omi did not look away. It took a great deal of force to quell the instinct, and the strain of it could be clearly seen in the fine bones showing just below the surface of his pale throat and chest. Aya's mouth on him seemed like more than he could stand, especially since he'd just... But Aya wasn't going to stop, that was clear.
The boy squirmed his hands a little, trying to free his wrists - or maybe he wasn't really trying - yet at the same time, his legs began to do something entirely of their own accord. Omi was horrified when he realized what it was: they were drifting apart.
"Aya-kun?" he asked, the lilt to his voice giving it an edge of desperation. Things had gotten out of hand, and he wanted to know what it was that was happening.
The red-haired assassin lifted his head almost reluctantly. "Hmm?" Then a twinge of conscience managed to slide between the cracks of his preoccupation like the stabbing of a long, sharp pin. "You want to stop, Omi-kun?"
Omi shook his head a lot more forcefully than was necessary, then tried to find something to hold on to. "Do you?"
Aya shook his head slowly. "No," he said. Then he bent and licked Omi's flesh again, his lips settling around the nipple to suck.
The feeling sent Omi's head back into the mattress, and it seemed like he was falling, he *was* falling, nowhere and everywhere at once. Like a snow, like a rain, like something that was completely out of his hands.
After a little while, Aya left the now pink and slightly swollen bud of flesh, moving to the other side. The tension in Omi's body as he squirmed, perhaps unconsciously, under the touch was sending stabs of anticipation so acute they were painful through Aya's groin. He remembered squirming like that. Remembered not wanting to break a restraining grip, not really, because then it would stop and he never wanted it to stop. There were things his parents, his sister, had not known about the teen. Secrets he kept deep and dark. Secrets that had somehow twisted into an unbearable guilt when they had been killed, she had been hurt. As if the things he kept from them had somehow brought a kind of retribution on the house, exacting payment from everyone except the guilty. He'd vowed to revenge them, vowed never to slip back into that all too exciting and forbidden world. And neither vow had been kept, though he hadn't given up on the revenge, and had silently punished himself every time he slipped.
As he was slipping now. But it was too easy to see himself, his own younger self, in Omi's wide blue eyes. Too easy to see and desire.
Leaning back, he used his hold on Omi's wrists to pull the boy across his lap. The friction of that curved rear across the straining seams of his pants was torture. The position's significance was unmistakable now, miles away from the charade downstairs.
Supporting Omi in a sitting position with his free arm, he studied the blond's face. "Will you do what I tell you?"
Omi wanted to say yes, 100 times, immediately, loudly, with Aya holding him, kissing him, his answer telling Aya the things Omi couldn't, or wouldn't, say. But he had no breath, even after taking in a large gasp of air when Aya pulled him into his lap.
He needed to say it, and it clawed at him, pressed him down, tried to make him frantic with its insistence. Omi started to nod his head, but that wouldn't be enough. The word had to come out of his mouth.
The blonde closed his eyes and concentrated on his heartbeat, concentrated on making it slow down. He wasn't able to do much, but just enough. Just enough that he didn't feel like a caught bird, hung in a net.
"A-Aya-kun," Omi managed. "Yes."
As soon as it was out of his mouth, the clawing, the pressing, settled, and he was surrounded in a warm sea, that held him, cradled him. Omi knew what came next, though his knowledge was vague, something he knew of rather than knew, and it made him nervous, made him the bird in the net.
But Omi knew he was the furthest thing from a helpless bird that there was. That if he was one, he'd be one with a sharp beak, deadly talons, and quick eyes. Hunter's eyes. He wasn't sure how that made him feel.
"Yes, Aya-kun," he repeated, this time with a little more volume and ground his hips downwards, just a bit, into Aya's erection. He knew the redhead would probably yell at him, like he had before with the shirt, but he didn't care. It felt too good.
Aya's eyes closed - it was as painful as it was pleasurable and his hand, still circling the boy's wrists, all but crushed them for a few seconds before he came back enough to consciously loosen the hold. But Aya did not yell. Aya smiled. His fair skin darkened across his nose and cheeks. It wasn't a blush exactly. It had the semblance of a flush of intoxication. After a moment of looking so directly into Omi's eyes he might have been looking through him, he reached up with the arm around Omi's back and took a generous handful of the boy's thick blond hair. Pulling his head back, Aya fastened his mouth on Omi's neck, licking, nibbling, sucking for a few minutes. Then his hand released its grip, the other one as well, freeing the boy.
"Get up," Aya said, his already deep voice husky. "There's a small footlocker under the bed. Pull it out."
Omi wondered how he was going to do that exactly, move, but he did, on his knees next to the bed. As he reached to pull out the footlocker with a single hand, he watched the marks Aya had left on his wrist. Bringing his other hand into play as well, he exposed the locker and waited, unable to take his eyes off of his wrists.
Aya fished a chain from under his shirt, around his neck, and dropped it onto the top of the locker. It had a key as a pendant. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he waited for Omi to use the key.
The key was warm in his hands as he picked it up, and Omi looked at it closely, feeling like it held something more than it appeared. Like whatever it would unlock would be something he could not have anticipated.
The boy looked up at Aya as he fitted the key into the lock, doing it by feel as soon as he was sure of the spot, and slowly twisted his wrist. The resulting click was loud in his ears, but he did not move to open the locker, only watched lavender eyes and the unbuttoning shirt.
Aya waited for a moment, expecting Omi to open the locker, then bent down and pulled the lid up and back. Half of the top was covered by a tray that could be lifted out. There were a few items tossed randomly in the tray, including a tube of lubricant, half empty. A dozen or so foil-wrapped condoms. A small jar of Vaseline. A small cloth that looked like a silk scarf or handkerchief, with some dark stains on it.
Through the uncovered side Omi could see other items below, not all apparent. Material - some pieces of clothing? - strips of leather, some threaded through circular metal rings, and some other objects whose shape was so odd he couldn't at first even guess. They seemed to be made of some synthetic, but not plastic substance. Silicon perhaps. But the shape was like a smooth, rounded, almost diamond, elongated and with the widest point nearer to one end. At that end, the "point" of the diamond flared into a small flat disk. There were several of these items, in varying sizes.
An aroma drifted up from the locker. Musk, a sort of spicy scent, and unmistakably, old body fluids. Sex.
Omi tried not to visibly show surprise at any of the contents, while at the same time sifting through his mind, looking for the meaning of the items. What were they for... well, he knew what they were for, but *specifically*? He could only guess, really, but he began to form several suspicions.
Omi held himself back from doing anything, as curious as he was, and waited for Aya to tell him what to do.
Aya watched Omi for a moment, then reached down and picked up the tube of lubricant. The odd, slightly twisted smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, coming and going. He placed the tube on the bed next to him, then beckoned.
The boy was reluctant to leave the footlocker, still trying to figure out exactly what everything was for, but he followed the summons and put himself back up on the mattress. He wasn't quite sure where Aya wanted him - he'd been in his lap a minute ago - and lingered at the edge of the bed. Then he found himself moving closer, completely unsure, but seeking something, his uncertainty driving him forward rather than holding him back. He stopped just short of crawling back into Aya's lap.
"On the floor... on your knees. Bend over my lap. Like you were a child about to get spanked," Aya said, his inflection somehow as cool as it usually was. The coming and going of that odd smile seemed unconscious and oddly random.
Omi swallowed and reversed directions, back to the floor. Before moving into the position, he looked up at Aya, and for a single blink of his eyes, wondered what he was doing, what they were doing. But the feeling didn't seem to be the kind that wanted to stick, and he bent over the redhead's lap, just like Aya had told him to. It felt very strange, but made him throb. Pulse. Desire. Need.
While waiting for Omi to move, Aya had opened the top of his pants, the metal button, and perhaps an inch or so of zipper, getting the bare minimum of relief from the confinement of his body's reaction. As Omi bent across his knees, he stroked the boy's blond hair, then smoothed his hand along Omi's back and along the curve of his backside. Dropping his hand back beside him, he retrieved the tube and opened it. Resting one hand on the small of Omi's back, he stroked along the crevice of the boy's ass with the fingers of the other - fingers that were now slick and coated. Without lingering, he found the tightly puckered entrance and began to probe it with one slender fingertip, the substance on it defeating Omi's body's natural reaction enough to slip inside to the first joint, then slowly, rotating his hand a little as he went, pushing deeper and deeper.
Omi tried to be still, tried not to move and possibly upset Aya's hands, but by the first penetrating touch, he was lost, and his body acted on its own, without any consent from the rest of him.
At first, the nearness of Aya's erection, the slightly loosened pants, had consumed him, but now... all he could feel or see or hear was inside him. He had thought it might hurt, had thought it might not be something he would completely like.
But he had been wrong.
Omi's back arched, his head and rear rising together, even as his mouth fell open. Aya's thighs dug a little further into his stomach as his body tried to stop holding him up, and Omi struggled to keep his balance. But nothing, nothing could make him move away from Aya's hand.
A little shiver ran down Aya's spine as he watched Omi react to the probing. No... there was no way to teach Omi how to act the part, how to be casual and bored enough to protect him. He was too much like... much like...
Eyes half lidding, Aya explored the tight confines enclosing his index finger. Rotating, feeling with the fingertip's sensitive pad for that slight internal curve, that slightly spongy give in the anal wall that was not entirely muscle, but the presence of a small organ very close. Finding it after a little experimenting, he rubbed his finger along it, pressing inward just slightly, once, then again, then a third time.
From his already open mouth, Omi heard sounds, sounds that he didn't think himself capable of making. Things that made his skin feel hot. He did not know what Aya was doing or how he was doing it, and for a few seconds, let himself glide, drift, did not question. Then he remembered, from the things he had read, and Omi knew. It did not seem possible, the way Aya was making him feel, like something was trying to bloom in his stomach.
Omi wanted Aya's hands on him, touching him everywhere, touching him deeper, more. He wanted more.
"Aya-kun," he said, and his tone added the 'please', added the desperate request.
Another cool shiver ran down Aya's back at the sound of Omi's voice. He slid his finger out and then pressed again, working a second one in. As tight as the boy was, he was going to be careful. No tearing, no blood. Carefully he stretched the tissue and coaxed the muscles to relax. When they began to, he tried thrusting rhythmically, making sure to strike the right place inside.
Omi was being driven, was letting himself be driven, was jumping outside the feeling and running alongside it, pushing it to make it go faster. His body wound tighter and tighter, wound around the things Aya was doing to him, around the way Aya stretched him, the way the man's movements eventually resolved into an order, a pattern.
But he still did not have Aya's hands on him like he wanted, and as the excitement in his stomach grew, he began to wonder if it would make him snap, send him insane, if he didn't get the redhead's touch. Aya's hands and tongue and everything were so... skilled.
The boy thought he said something, thought he pleaded the other's name again, though he could not even be sure his mouth had really moved. All he was sure of was that he wanted Aya to do what he wanted to do.
Aya stroked the small of Omi's back soothingly, even as he worked a third finger into the boy's opening. He was a little surprised that there had been no protest, no indication of discomfort, just those sounds... and the tension vibrating Omi's body like a tightly pulled wire. Bending over, he brushed a few kisses along the boy's spine, traveling up to the back of his neck. He was aware of a fever that seemed to have moved through his body from the heat centered at his groin. The part of his mind that wasn't detached, carefully working with Omi's body, was starting to blur into the sensation of tight muscles squeezing against his lubricated fingers. Blurring into anticipation of how that would feel...
Kissing just under Omi's ear, he slowly pulled his fingers all the way out, the air feeling cool after the concentrated heat they'd been surrounded with.
Omi knew then that Aya was trying to kill him... there was no other excuse for stopping. It would have been easier to deal with had Aya been attacking him, had he been trying to fend off blows. This was just something altogether different.
The kisses up his back to his neck had been wonderful, the kiss under his ear was wonderful, but Aya taking his hand away was unbearable.
"Aya-kun!" His voice was as loud as he could make it and he began to struggle up from across the other's lap. To do what, he wasn't sure, but he could no longer lie there, waiting.
A hand on his shoulder held him, sitting on his heels. Then the tube was placed firmly in one of Omi's hands. Aya stood up, pulling the zipper of his jeans the rest of the way down, and then pushed them down off his hips and kicked them away. His voice was low, the tone somehow warm and cool at the same time. "Get me ready."
Omi didn't know what he meant for a minute, then looked down, the tube in his hand. A hot flush swept over his body, down his chest and across his shoulders, the thought of getting to touch Aya an intoxicant, a wine, a desire given form, a way to fulfill itself.
The boy didn't move off of the bed, clutching the object in his hand as he knelt at the edge. He didn't look up at Aya's face, either, as he squeezed some of the gel onto his palms. "How... much?" he asked, even as he moved toward Aya's erection.
The first touch was electric, like something alive, and he didn't wait for the redhead's answer before beginning to stroke Aya, coating him slowly, softly, the boy's hands more a whisper than anything else.
Aya's eyes closed, as his head tilted a little. The touch of Omi's hands on his erection, only just freed and throbbing with pressure and heat, pulled a sound from his throat and it took all his control to make it a low growl instead of a scream. Part of him concentrated on breathing, like he'd done when first learning kendo. It didn't calm or slow his pulse, but it did put power behind the racing.
It was sweet torture to stay still while the boy touched him with such a featherlight stroke. He didn't answer the question - he'd already forgotten it had been asked.
Omi stopped for a moment at the sound from Aya's throat, at the redhead's closed eyes and tilted head. He wanted to just sit and watch the other's reactions, to give them his full concentration, to see what Aya would look like when he forgot himself, lost control.
No one could have as tight a reign on themselves as Aya seemed to, Omi had always thought. There had to be something, something...
The boy's hands began to move again, just as softly as before, and he stood up on his knees a little higher, so he could watch Aya more closely, so he could see if the reins ever fell away.
A slender but steel-fingered hand closed around one of Omi's hands. Aya tilted his head forward slowly and opened his eyes. It seemed to take them a few seconds to focus on Omi's face. "That's enough," he said, his voice sounding raspy to his own ears. Still holding Omi's hand as if he'd forgotten it, his lips curved on one side as the odd smile flickered back into existence. "Not yet..." he said and his deep voice had somehow become softer. "Turn around..."
Omi's hands fell away, and he focused on Aya's mouth, thinking for the first time that his smile was anything more than what it appeared. Then his pure blue eyes met lavender, and he repeated, "Not yet..."
Omi turned around very slowly, in a drift, and looked down at the surface of the bed in front of him.
Omi felt the surface of the bed shift as someone knelt behind him. Hands settled on his rear, running over the contours. A body, Aya's, bent over him, and he could feel the brush of something heavy and heated, that seemed to be nudging between his legs almost eagerly. For a few seconds Aya held still, but all the reasons he should not do this, as powerful as they were, had become very far away. He kissed the skin between Omi's shoulder blades and then reached down between them to guide himself. The other hand fastened on Omi's hip. Finding the warm, tight place he sought, he began working himself inside.
Aya behind him brought Omi's spine back into the comfortable position of before, arched, and he felt the excitement rise within him again. Not the kind caused by having his hands on Aya, but Aya's hands on him.
Lips on his back sent a shiver through the boy, uncontrolled, and something like a whimper worked its way through his restraining teeth.
What he felt pushing between his legs forced his mouth open, forced his hands into fists, forced his eyes to roll up into his head and close. It was both better and worse than Aya's fingers, didn't feel at first like it could work. His body tensed before he could stop it, and the breaths that continued to pull through him were ragged, labored.
But something in it felt so good, filled him to overflowing, kept him wanting it, kept him ready, that he was able to slip his hands back on the wheel, take control of himself enough to let Aya inside.
Omi's head sagged low, his hair brushing the bed below him, and when it came back up, he let his voice come into the room as loudly as it wanted to.
He was answered by a muffled, almost strangled soft sound that it took a moment to recognize as a breathless laugh, that ended in a murmur, almost a croon. "Omi-kunnn..." As Aya no longer needed his hand to guide his now firmly-seated cock, it slid around Omi's waist, holding him, bracing him, supporting. He slid deeper and then they could feel each other, thighs to thighs, backside to groin. With another low sound, this one formless, Aya's hips shifted back, sliding out, but not leaving, held by the tight ring of muscle. And then he began to thrust.
The way Aya said his name sent a warm hand down Omi's back, and he felt himself open even further. He brought one of his own hands up to his waist, where Aya held him, and clutched the other's arm, digging in, the thrust of hips attached to long legs making him throb, making him forget everything else. Nothing had ever felt this good, and he had not even known it was a possibility.
He wanted to answer Aya, but it was all he could do to breathe himself, to stay alive himself, to keep his balance on one hand.
Feeling a press against his arm, barely somehow through the other sensations that were beautifully tearing him apart, a little tension somewhere eased and Aya let his head droop down to rest on Omi's shoulder. He couldn't stop his breathing from being harsh as his body took over, moving faster, thrusting more deeply, but he could and did lick the skin of the blond's neck and shoulder soothingly, a mute apology and caress at the same time. He couldn't remember it ever feeling this good, not doing it this way, not being the one to take rather than receive. It woke something that seized him deep inside his chest and refused to let go until he'd given them both all they could take. It felt good. It wasn't rational. It felt so good not to think, only feel, only bury himself in the warm tightness of the boy he knew as well, no, no, better, any more, than his sister or anyone he'd ever loved... He felt the tension in both of them wind tight until it suddenly broke like a damn, but couldn't tell which of them tumbled over the edge first.
Omi let go of Aya's arm and buried both of his hands in the bedcovers. It had felt wonderful before, in Aya's mouth, but this... this was like a million of that feeling, spread all over his body, connecting everything, every breath, every pleasure, every merciless ecstasy.
The boy felt himself tense in a final, warm throb, and then release with a cry that caught in his throat.
Things seemed to get very quiet for a while. Aya let his eyes drift open and realized he'd left the curtains drawn. The moon was a waning quarter, sending only a little silvery light into the room. He realized he was lying on his side on the bed with his arms loosely around the youngest Weiss. They were both very relaxed and still. Not much sound in the room except for breathing.
Looking up at the sliver of moon, Aya contemplated his sins. Then after a while he thought about his options.
Finally he gathered himself and sat up slowly, his hands trailing lightly along Omi's skin. If the blond was asleep, stayed asleep, that might be for the best.
Omi knew the moment Aya moved, scattering the flock of dark thoughts that had descended, even through the protection of the older boy's arms. He did not stir, did not give any indication that he was awake.
The blonde began to feel like he was playing dead as Aya's hands crossed him, and he opened his eyes to look up at the redhead. Omi's mouth parted and he wanted to ask something. Where are you going... no, he had no reason to question Aya. What did we do... no, he knew what they'd done, even knew that it had had nothing to do with tomorrow's mission. Not so much because he thought Aya might feel something for him like he felt for Aya, but because something seemed incredibly off about the redhead. Something he could not name, a vague feeling, but persistent.
Omi still had not moved more than his head and he finally settled on a question, really only a way to keep Aya there, just a little longer. But maybe he wanted an answer, too. "Why? Why did you do this with me?"
Aya's head turned sharply at the sound, stilling into immobility for a moment. He looked down and saw Omi's eyes open and gazing at him. The question echoed in his mind, as answerless as all the whys that had preceded it.
Instead of replying, he looked back at Omi, then bent and kissed the boy softly on the lips. There was enough tenderness in the gesture to break a much harder heart than Omi's.
Then Aya rose from the bed and moved around the dark room, pulling on clothes. All black. Once his feet were covered in black boots, he shoved the footlocker back under the bed with one. "Ask me... something else. Anything else." Even as the words left his lips he was pulling on his gloves and then lifting the katana from its stand.
Omi touched a finger to his mouth, where Aya had kissed him, as he watched the redhead finish dressing. His eyes kept threatening to give way, to betray him, but his heart already had, crumbling like sand in Aya's grip.
"I don't know what I should ask you," Omi said quietly. If he could just figure out how to get out of Aya what it meant, what they'd done, if it even meant anything, then getting up out of the man's bed would be easier. But it didn't seem likely, and he sat up, moving slowly, deliberately, like a clock that didn't want to turn. "You're going out?" he asked, watching the dark shape of Aya's hands on the katana.
Aya glanced over and saw Omi sitting, and frowned. He walked over to the bed, his footfalls graceful and silent. Reaching down to a blanket folded at the foot of the bed, he gave Omi a little push to make him lay down again. Then he threw the cover awkwardly over him.
"Stay here. Just... stay here. Yes, I'm going out. I'll be back before dawn."
The boy didn't move after being laid down. Looking up, he said slowly, "Aya-kun... where..." but stopped himself again from asking the question. Aya would be back. That would do for now.
Aya watched the blond for a moment until he saw the acquiescence in his eyes. He nodded, as if to himself, and then left, closing the door silently behind him.
He didn't quite beat dawn. It was more like a tie. The sky was only beginning to lighten in the east and his room's single window faced west so it was still mostly dark. He came in, set the katana on its stand and began peeling his clothes off, kicking them into a pile in the bottom of the otherwise neat closet. No matter how quickly he took them off, there was no disguising the smell of blood. Then he slipped into the bathroom and took a very fast shower. Coming back into the room, a dark blue robe thrown on in the bathroom, he paused for the first time, next to the bed, and looked down at the occupant.
Omi did not pretend to be asleep this time. Oh, he had been asleep, wrapped so tightly in the blanket that Aya had thrown over him as to almost make up for the absence of a pair of strong arms. But it had not been sound, had not been without interruption, to check the window, to see how close the light was.
It was the smell of blood that awoke him. Still fresh, before it had had time to ripen into death. An aroma he had never forgotten, since the first time. He kept his eyes closed, waiting, and when Aya looked down at him, Omi smiled a little bit. "You almost made it," he said, and the smile faded.
Aya was still for a moment, and then he walked around to the other side of the bed and got in, lifting the edge of the blanket that was wrapped around the blond to pull it over his shoulder. One arm slid under it to settle around Omi's waist.
"I don't know what you mean," he said, and yawned. "I've been here with you all night."
Omi nodded his head slightly, shifting until he was pressed as tightly against Aya as he could get. "Yes, you have." He paused for a long moment, but in the end, could not leave it at that. "Will you tell me where you went?" The thought occurred to him that it could possibly be better if he didn't know, but the odds that Aya would actually tell him were only 50/50 at best, anyway.
"You'll figure it out," Aya murmured, his body slowly relaxing against the warm body next to him. "When Manx cancels the mission."
"When Manx..." Omi stiffened as he understood Aya's comments, his body pulling slightly away from the other's, then slowly, slowly easing back. He sighed, unable to think of the most probable reasons for Aya's behavior. That Aya thought that Omi could not pull off the mission, that Aya thought that he was the only one amongst them who was competent... perhaps he was correct. But Omi could not think these things.
He could only find it an act of kindness, Aya trying to keep him from something awful, Aya trying to protect him.
Someone had finally paid the ransom money.
"Thank you," he said softly, rolling over, putting his arms around Aya, pulling him closer, trying to climb restlessly inside the other's body. It was too much, all of it, but his heart was still a crumbled pile of sand in Aya's hand, and Omi couldn't stop.
Slender arms that could be as tensile as steel slid around Omi naturally. A hand that had meted death less than an hour before petted his hair gently for a few strokes. Aya swallowed something that was trying to catch in his throat.
"Don't say that," he managed, his voice low and a little rough. "I should have done it to begin with. Then you wouldn't have had to do... this. Gomen nasai. Omi....kun."
The boy's arms only tightened around him, and a blonde head shook back and forth on his chest. "Then tell me what to say. What I can say to make you..." Omi stopped, his voice creaking at the end. "I wanted to do this. I wanted to do this before. I don't know why you didn't figure it out. I..." He had to stop again. "I don't know why."
Aya's hand stilled. Everything about him stilled. After a moment, his fingers slid under Omi's chin, tilting his face up. He looked into the boy's eyes, feeling a combination of dark and light emotions tear along the edges of his soul. "Oh Omi..." His eyes closed, trying to seal in his pain and guilt before it could leak out onto the blond. The hand under Omi's chin migrated almost uncertainly to cover Aya's eyes. He concentrated on taking deep breaths. Until he could figure out what to do next.
After a moment, he decided to try answering questions. He thought of one Omi had asked earlier, much earlier that night. "Me. I would have been the right one. Three years ago, more or less." Then he thought of another, more recent but still hours ago. "I didn't want your first time to be with a stranger. Like mine was."
Part of Omi felt awful, like he'd taken a beating and there were more coming. He should have kept his mouth shut, his feelings to himself... feelings had the power to hurt people, no matter how much you tried to make it otherwise, no matter how precious they were to you. It was no reason to stop, just reason to keep them private.
Another part of him felt radiant. Aya was sharing something with him, Aya was talking to him. Aya was giving him something he'd never given him before. But that radiance was overshadowed by a third part, the part of Omi that processed what the other boy had actually said.
"Three years ago? Yours?" As he spoke, Omi slowly moved the hand away from Aya's eyes, as if he fully expected to be resisted, and yet refused to yield. There was no way to go back.
There was no resistance, well, only a very brief tremor and then nothing. Aya's eyes opened. It was as if the layer of ice people saw in them was in fact just a creation of the watchers' minds. As if somehow Omi's mind had suddenly seen through the self-induced illusion. What was revealed in its place was a near bottomless depth, a person so permeated with emotion that letting out even in the smallest way was too dangerously difficult to control. A barely perceptible wave of tension moved through Aya's body like a small shudder as he let go of something. The odd smile from before flickered back into existence.
"I used to do something like what they were going to have you do," Aya said, his tone almost negligent. "I had everything you didn't, back then. But I wanted to walk in darker places. So I did." The boy would probably be disgusted. It would hurt but it might be better for his sake, for the long run.
Omi kept watching Aya, watching the other's face and eyes. After a long time, he looked down at his own chest. "Did it make you happy? Was it what you wanted?"
"Sometimes. I thought so." The dismissive tone changed with the next few words. "It's not for you, Omi-kun."
The boy laughed lightly and looked back up. "Oh no, I wasn't..." Then he smiled. "Yes, Aya-kun. I know." Omi moved his arms from around Aya and buried his hands in red hair, absorbed in how easy it was, compared to earlier, when even brushing a few strands was out of his reach. "I'm glad you were happy. Even sometimes." Without stopping to think about it too much, Omi brought his lips into contact with Aya's and waited to see what would happen.
The stillness lasted only for a moment, then the mouth against Omi's softened, and Aya's lips parted. His tongue sought entry to Omi's mouth.
The boy smiled into the kiss, the acceptance in Aya's gesture, the simple way it made him feel, pulling at his chest. Omi's mouth slid open, drawing Aya's tongue inside, and his hands moved downward out of red hair to wrap around the other's back. It was warm. Warm and safe. For the first time in his remembered life, Omi felt these things.
It had been a long long time since Aya remembered relaxing this way. So very long. He was able to do so because he had put to rest the mental images that had been haunting him of the youngest Weiss in a setting where he both did and didn't belong. The way that he did... to accept that fit would have only resulted in more damage, more twisting of a young soul that somehow kept trying to be whole in some odd way. The first thought of it had angered him, torn at him, tormented him, another wrongness added to the list that was already too long to bear. But the images were fading. He'd washed them away in blood and felt better for it. How or why he could lie here with his arms around the golden boy was a mystery he wasn't ready to acknowledge. Just that it felt... good... more than that would raise the danger that he'd have to pay for it. Or worse, and more likely, Omi would.
He left it and concentrated on the kiss, and the warm feeling of a well-made, attractive body in his arms, and the familiarity of one of three people he secretly admitted to trust. No, no it was more than that, something else... but it was too dangerous to think about what.
In return for the warmth, he gave the young blond the best that he had to give in the kiss, as his hands stroked slowly up and down the boy's back, complimenting him silently.
Omi let the feeling wash over him. It was too big to stay just in his chest. It was something that had to go everywhere, fill every part of him. Before it could carry him away entirely, before he could become completely lost, Omi pulled back a little from Aya's mouth, blinking slowly, like a child awakening from sleep. Something... something was coming. A realization, a delusion, a dream... he didn't know which.
"Aya," he said, "Aya-kun..." Omi wouldn't say anymore than that, and he buried his face in Aya's neck, his eyes falling shut only after he felt the skin of the redhead's throat.
Aya shivered a little at the name, and a little more at the feeling against his skin. One hand continued to stroke slowly down Omi's back.
Unwillingly, he whispered, "Ran..."
Omi repeated the name into Aya's neck, softly, not quite understanding what it was, and then he said it again, this time with a hint of understanding. "Ran." And again, like it was the most valuable thing he'd ever had. "Ran-kun."
He kissed Aya's neck, he kissed Ran's neck, he felt the last grain of sand that had been his heart fall along with something not nearly as dry from one of his eyes, and it trailed down the other's throat.
"Omi..." the low murmur came as a thumb brushed across the boy's cheek, encountering the wet trail. He could feel Aya swallow. "What... is it?"
The boy's immediate reaction was to shake his head, deny that anything was wrong. And nothing was wrong. But after that, he knew he had to say something. "Nothing. I've just never... felt these things... before."
He didn't know what Aya would make of that. But as long as he didn't have to see the other's face, to see the reaction in lavender eyes, then Omi would remain whole. To see hurt or horror or worse there would cause a piece of him to break off from the rest. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?
Aya licked Omi's cheek, taking away the trace of salty moisture. After a little while, he said softly, "Everything's all fucked up..." There was a hint of apology in his voice. Then he bent and found Omi's mouth. This kiss had a taste of desperate passion in it. "Just have to do the best we can..."
Omi didn't know how he felt now. Aya didn't give him a chance to contemplate it any further, and he let it go into the background. Later.
"Ran-kun," he said, remembering, and kissed Aya back, pushing the robe off of the redhead's shoulders. He wanted Aya to touch him again, the ways he had before. "Ran-kun," Omi repeated, kissing the skin of the shoulder he'd managed to expose.
Aya leaned over on his side, looking down at Omi as he let the robe fall away. He trailed his fingertips along the boy's shoulder, then across his chest, circling one nipple with his thumb.
'Too young,' a cynical voice in his head reminded/accused him. But he calculated that if Omi Tsukiyono was old enough to kill in cold blood, he was old enough to do this.
Omi's eyes fell closed and his head fell back, relishing the feeling. He was sure that Aya was the only one that could make him feel like this, that the redhead had sole ownership of the ability to make his body come alive as it was.
Omi was already erect, already imagining Aya inside him again, already aching for that deep touch that Aya could give him. He yielded to the other's hand, leaned into it, giving himself to the man.
The redhead's mouth followed his touch. As his lips and tongue moved over Omi's chest, his hand trailed further down, brushing over the boy's erection lightly, then returning to explore more fully. As he felt the response to his attention, he leaned back a little, then used both hands to turn Omi onto his side, with his back to Aya's chest. He stroked his hand along the back of Omi's thighs and urged him to bend his knees up towards his chest. Then his fingers delved back into the cleft between the rounded curves of his rear, and went seeking a more penetrating caress.
It felt even better than the first time, and Omi let Aya know about it, his voice a series of cries that he did not try to control. Would it be better every time? Would Aya decide one day that they couldn't do this anymore? If that happened, what would Omi do?
The questions flew through the boy's mind even as he was nearly overcome with pleasure, and his back eased into a limber arch. Reaching forward into the bedding with one hand and behind him with the other, Omi sought to remove Aya's fingers before he'd gone too far. He wanted the other.
Omi could feel the disturbance of warm breath on his neck as his action provoked a low, almost inaudible chuckle from the redhead. Obligingly, he let Omi pull his hand away, then slid out of the boy's grasp for a few moments. He was lucky to find the tube of lubricant on the bed after a quick blind search. When his hand returned to Omi's hip, it was still a little slippery, which he put to use enclosing the boy's cock with his fingers, even as he nudged against Omi's opening from behind.
Finding the right place and angle, he flexed his hips, twisting them slightly, making it past the tight ring of muscle to slowly impale the boy.
Omi fought his body's urge to clamp down on Aya's cock, fought the urge to thrust into the redhead's enclosing fingers. He still wasn't sure what he should do, but he couldn't have been doing it too incorrectly, or else Aya wouldn't be doing it with him again... would he?
Did Aya enjoy this as much as he did? Omi wondered what it felt like for the redhead and tried to imagine... The thoughts sent a hot flush across his chest, down his legs, and the boy raised his arms in the air, over his head and back, wrapping them around Aya's neck from behind.
He felt a warm mouth nuzzling his neck in turn as Aya slid deeper until they were fully joined together. Aya's hand around his hip held them together, as his fingers enclosed Omi's erection. He felt the redhead draw a deep breath and then he began to move, holding Omi steady, sending waves of pleasure through both of them with each stroke.
As much as Omi liked the way Aya's thrusts stretched his already stretched out body, he eventually had to let go of the other's neck, and he wished he had Aya in front of him. The boy fisted one hand in the sheets and used the other to grab Aya's wrist, the one at his cock. He just needed something to hold onto. Omi wouldn't last long like this, every sensation a fire, and he could feel something start to take off all over his body.
Aya wasn't thinking of how long he could last, he wasn't thinking at all, in fact. His body was following the pleasure and friction of velvet heat around him and a warm, strong body in his arms into its own increasing rhythm. Each sensation was distinct and sharp but somehow it all blended into something that wrapped around him, as he was wrapped around Omi. They were killers... Omi with as much blood on his hands as any of them... but somehow he still made Aya feel clean, and the redhead plunged into that feeling faster and deeper until he could feel salvation coming like a crash of waves on a stormy shore.
The hand on Aya's wrist tightened, and Omi was overcome with pleasure again. In its grasp, in Aya's grasp, with no way to get out. When he came, he came hard, but there was a leisurely quality to it as well, like something he knew he'd do again.
After a moment, that moment in which everything inside of him clenched, Omi relaxed, letting his hand fall from Aya's wrist and down into the sheets below. Then, slowly, it moved to rest on the redhead's hip. If I turn over now, Omi thought, if he lets me turn over now, I can see him.
It was a silly thing to think, Omi thought, right after having sex. You were probably supposed to have all kinds of deep, profound thoughts, or maybe none at all, he had no idea. But really, at that moment, all he wanted was to see Aya's face.
The arms around him moved, slowly, lazily, and he was turned to face Aya's chest and settled against it. He could feel the silent release of breath as the redhead relaxed completely.
A hand idly drifted up to thread through Omi's hair.
The blonde liked that, and he smiled. Then, presented with Aya's face, he studied it, trying to satisfy himself. He didn't know what he was looking for and puzzled over the lines and contours until it hit him.
The difference. Omi was looking for the difference in Aya's face. For what made this Aya, the one who held him, different from the other one, the one he'd known before. But there wasn't any.
They were the same.
Omi frowned, still looking over Aya's face. "Aya... Ran-kun..." After those two words had left his mouth, he didn't want to say anything more and lowered his head, letting it rest against the redhead's chest. There was no point in dragging Aya any further into his own confusion than he already had. It felt good just to lie there, like they were.
The fingers in his hair moved softly, then quieted. "Omi." Aya's voice sounded blurred, exhaustion, relaxation, some lingering, unplaceable emotion still audible. "Don't know what it means, don't know what any of it means." He sounded as if he were starting to fall asleep. His body shifted and then stilled like his fingers and soft breathing eased into a regular, slow rhythm.
Omi felt Aya slip into unconsciousness, and he leaned further into the other's sleeping body. Omi had already slept so much, he wasn't quite tired anymore.
I'll follow you to sleep in a minute, the boy thought. For now, he wanted to think. Before his mind could take off, though, before he tried to figure out what it *did* mean, what all of it meant, he answered Aya's statement. Softly, to the quiet room.
"It's okay," he said. And it was.
~Owari~