Irresistible

by Rina76

Yazoo is used to being irresistible. Finding somebody else impossible to resist, like a strange tattooed musician in a noisy bar, is quite unusual for him. Especially when he first thinks the pretty guy is a girl. Yazoo/Miyavi

Title: Irresistible

Author: Rina76

Email:

Pairing: Yazoo/Miyavi

Rating: NC-17, M/M sex

Status: Complete

Summary: Yazoo is used to being irresistible. Finding somebody else impossible to resist, especially a strange tattooed musician in a noisy bar ...now that's unusual for him. Yaoi, Yazoo/Miyavi.

If you don't know who Miyavi is, Google him! He's a very pretty Japanese musician and quite a good one too. Aside from Yazoo, Miyavi is one of the prettiest guys I've seen in a long time and thought it'd be cool to pair them together. So much beauty in one fic! Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII Advent Children or any of the characters in it. I do not know Miyavi. And I am not making any money from the writing of this fictional story.

…

Part one.

Yet another night. Yet another bar. Yet another round of endless stares and unwanted invitations.

Yet another reminder of why Yazoo hates being around humans. Everyone gets urges from time to time – himself included - but unlike everyone else, he can usually dismiss them, particularly if they are not necessary for survival. The only basic urges he normally pays attention to in this world are the ones that remind him to eat, to drink, to sleep and to protect his own life. Most humans have those urges too but they also have other ones. Pointless ones. Senseless ones. Humans are weak and disgusting and can't help but act upon those urges, no matter what they are – booze, drugs, gambling.

Sex.

It's this last one that bugs Yazoo the most because when people want sex, it's naturally him that they try to get it from. Damn Allure. It's not a gift – it's a curse. Yazoo never asked for it. He didn't want it. Yet, he's the one that got lumped with it and as such, has to deal with all the staring and the leering and the endless requests for blow jobs, hand jobs and other kinds of sleazy 'jobs' he has no desire to participate in. That's not to say he is unfamiliar with the concept of desire or sexual attraction but when he feels the need to get naked with someone, /he/ is the one who chooses his lover. He is the one who approaches them, who seduces them. Not the other way around. He's never accepted an offer from anyone who's made an uninvited pass at him. And it will be the same here tonight. If anyone gets any brilliant ideas of coming up and talking to him, Yazoo will swiftly shoot them down - not with Velvet Nightmare but with an icy green glare, stopping them in their tracks and letting them know in no uncertain terms that attempting any form of conversation with him is something they should rapidly rethink. Being treated like a prostitute for sale… not only is it highly insulting to Yazoo but it's tiresome and tedious and he's so not in the mood to deal with it tonight.

Really, the only reason he comes to these raucous, reeking, smoke-filled pits of sweaty, horny humanity is because his brothers want to be here. Where they go, so does he. That's the way it is and always will be. Loz and Kadaj seem to enjoy the whole bar scene and as long as it makes them happy Yazoo will keep quiet and tolerate it. Since he doesn't drink alcohol (one of those pathetic worldly urges he loathes so much) it's become his responsibility to watch over his siblings and make sure they don't get too drunk or cause too much trouble - especially Loz who tends to start fights wherever he goes, Yazoo generally having to drag his brawling older brother away before he gets tasered, arrested and locked in jail for the night. While Kadaj relishes the chance to whip out Shadow Blade and show off his advanced swordsmanship skills, it's not violence he actively seeks on evenings such as these, but mindless pleasure; usually winding up in the toilets screwing someone or snorting narcotics with them. Sometimes both. When his youngest brother disappears and it is time to leave, the public restrooms are the first place Yazoo looks for Kadaj and frequently finds him in. While he's zipping up Kadaj's half-undone jumpsuit and wiping the white powder off his nose, Yazoo feels more like a male nanny or an unpaid minder than the middle brother of the household. Then again, taking care of other siblings is typically the middle brother's duty and it's one that he performs without complaining simply because Kadaj and Loz are all that he cares about on this doomed planet, apart from Mother, of course. But even they can't search for her all the time. Besides, it does Loz and Kadaj the world of good to blow off some steam every now and again. If they didn't, those two would probably end up murdering each other and Yazoo cannot allow that.

So here they all are.

This particular establishment is one they haven't visited before but for Yazoo, one bar is much the same as the other. Dim lighting. Clouds of cigarette smoke that seep into his hair. The unsavoury stink of beer. Tacky floors that the soles of his boots stick to. Jostling crowds. Shouting. Shattering glass. Loud jarring music. Sounds that will leave his ears ringing by the end of the night.

While Loz is leaning his bulky frame over the counter, ordering drinks for himself and an impatient Kadaj, Yazoo glances at the stage set in one side of the large, rectangular room, where most of the noise seems to be coming from. There's some kind of pop/shock-rock group up there, judging by their Goth-punk style clothing, heavy makeup and spiked hairstyles. He turns to get a better view, ivory gunblade slung comfortably across his back like a sleeping child, silky strands of light-grey sliding over his armoured shoulder as he angles his head inquisitively. From all corners of the tavern he can feel people staring at him, admiring his shimmering hair and lusting over his body, but Yazoo ignores them, focusing instead on the band currently performing. He doesn't care much for the music, which is quite simply strange and terrible in his opinion, but the lead singer, however, instantly catches his attention. It's a slim, stunningly pretty young woman in a tight black tank top cropped above the navel, knee high boots and red vinyl pants…

Wait - make that a slim, stunningly pretty young /man/, Yazoo corrects himself, taking a second, more scrutinising look at the lack of curves between hip and waist and the complete absence of any breast tissue on the flat chest beneath the tank top. It's easy to mistake this boy for a girl, though. Aside from the slimness and ambiguous clothing, he is wearing shadow and liner painted around his dark exotic eyes and has long black hair pulled up into a high ponytail, similar to a samurai, only with a lengthy fringe falling over one half of his delicately-featured face.

As the young man is singing impassionedly along to the energetic music, the husky timbre of his words enthrals Yazoo, sounding raw and raspy, almost like he's about to lose his voice, like the tone of someone hoarsely crying out during hard, rough sex. Imagining that very scenario causes a tingle of anticipation to begin in Yazoo's stomach. Hm. Curious. He's never responded this way to the mere sound of another's voice before.

Becoming more and more interested by the moment, Yazoo's green gaze trails over the musician's other features, trying to take them all in, not sure what to look at first. His figure is very slender, even more so than Yazoo's, the other male lacking the upper-body strength that Yazoo has; strength gained from practicing and firing Velvet Nightmare as well as the intensive combat training he does with his brothers. This boy's arms are thin, like a female's, and covered in tattoos - mainly numerals and word symbols, some running down in a line from shoulder to elbow. There are more ebony letters curving across his collarbones and around his wrists, as well as numbers permanently inked on a few of his fingers. His nails are short and painted with black polish.

The androgynous singer's brunette hair has coloured streaks in it – blue, red, pink, purple. A brow ring sits haughtily above one eye with another circular piece of jewellery embedded through his nose and a third pierced through the right side of his bottom lip. He also has earrings and plugs in both ears and is wearing necklaces, rings on his fingers and bracelets around his wrists. Yazoo can't remember the last time he saw someone so…decorated; all these little ornamental details both fascinating and difficult to absorb all at once purely because there's so many of them. And those are only the tattoos and piercings he can /see/. The Gods only know what others lay underneath the clothing. That's something Yazoo will have to discover for himself; the tall, silver-haired remnant already having chosen this boy as his lover for the night, whether the boy realises it yet or not.

Yazoo supposes not. Unlike a lot of others here tonight, this kid hasn't even noticed his presence, the tattooed youth too busy owning the spotlight and basking in it, his every move watched by a sea of spellbound ladies – and more than a couple of guys. It seems that those in the tavern who are not looking at Yazoo are looking at this boy. Understandably, too. Apart from being a breathtaking beauty, he's an extremely eye-catching, colourful and engrossing entertainer, with tons of bouncy liveliness - racing across the stage as he sings, jumping up and down and stomping his boots, showing off funky, loose-limbed dance moves. He does not stand still for one moment, his behaviour bordering on hyperactive, even crazy, clumsy and geeky at times, but this does not diminish his appeal in the slightest. He plays up to the adoring audience and gives them waves, smiles and mischievous winks, even grazing their outstretched hands with his. He fools around with the other members of the band too; laughing and dancing with the guitarist or the bassist as they're playing, slinging his arm around their shoulders for a duet, gazing flirtatiously into their eyes, even daring to steal a quick kiss from their cheek before impishly grinning and running away, all the to the delighted screams and squeals of the girls watching.

This must be what they call fanservice, Yazoo muses interestedly, having heard of such things: semi-homoerotic acts performed between fellow musicians during live shows purely to please and excite the fans, some of whom believe certain band members to be involved in a gay relationship, or like to /think/ of them as being involved in one, regardless of whether it's true or not. Examples of those acts could be dirty-dancing, touching, kissing or even simulated sex – not that this slimly-built boy is going that far. What he's doing with his friends seems quite tame and innocent, more affectionate and playful than anything explicitly smutty. Fanservice notwithstanding, it's clear that the lead singer of this group enjoys what he does and gets energised by all the attention, possibly even a bit turned on by it. Aside from having a lot of fun onstage, he's also a very sensually expressive performer; lifting his top and touching his bare belly as he's singing, then sliding his hand down into the front of his pants, giving a suggestive little wriggle of his hips.

He's this extraordinary mix of goofball and sex-god and Yazoo, like everyone else facing this direction, cannot look away from him. He's utterly mesmerising. Yazoo barely even blinks; too absorbed in what he's seeing and too afraid he might miss something. The hyper punk-rocker finally spots Yazoo observing him in the crowd, responding with a knowing smirk, his dark gaze quickly flicking up and down Yazoo's own leather-coated elegant figure. Without taking his eyes off Yazoo, the boy turns his head to deliberately lick at his own bare shoulder with a pointed pink tongue, the erotic move giving the gun-slinging remnant an immediate jolt to the groin, something he hasn't felt for weeks now, at least not with this sort of intensity. Yazoo vaguely realises that he's somehow moved forward and merged with the audience, nearer to the stage to see better, but he doesn't even remember walking over here. If anyone tried to talk to him as he went past, he didn't even hear them. He can't even really hear the atrocious music. All he's fixated on is the samurai-kid's sexy, husky singing and the way he moves his gorgeous body, Yazoo feeling as though he's stuck in some kind of trance – a pleasant dream-like state that he'd rather not come out of, actually.

Mid-song, the boy saunters up to one of his band-mates - a blond guitarist - leaning in close to him as if he's about to whisper a secret or share a private joke. Suddenly, the boy grabs the other male and kisses him full on the mouth, resulting in much gasping and squealing from girls in the audience.

Yazoo's convinced that the kid is using tongue; those pouty, pierced lips opening easily against the other's, his long mascara-coated lashes lowered as he abandons himself to the moment. Even if it is just an act, Yazoo can't help becoming incredibly aroused by the sight of this beautiful boy kissing another man. Thank the Gods he wears a long flowing coat and not tight leather pants like Loz or everyone in this stinking bar would see him growing uncomfortably harder by the second. Another curious thing - him getting hard without being touched by someone else. Or his own hand, not that he indulges in such time-wasting pursuits often. He has better things to do than masturbate in bed like a randy teenager. Unlike weaker, more easily excitable humans, his superior bodily system doesn't normally react this way on its own just with visual stimuli alone. The powerful effect this cross-dressing youth has on him is quite remarkable and one that Yazoo would very much like to explore further.

The young man finally breaks the hypnotizing kiss, though it was only a relatively short one in reality. He grins and cheekily sticks his tongue out at his friend, then spits onto the floor and continues to sing, wandering over the stage again. The blond guitarist is also grinning as he resumes playing, not minding the surprise attack at all, as if this is something they do often during shows.

From seemingly out of nowhere, Loz appears beside Yazoo with a glass of amber liquid in his gloved hand. He could have been standing there for a while but Yazoo just didn't notice until now, too immersed in the spectacular show he's watching. Kadaj has also joined them, stopping on the other side of Yazoo, sipping some type of sweet-smelling liquor from a bottle. Yazoo knows both of his brothers are there not by looking at them but more by feel, his cells recognising their familiar presences in much the same way as a wolf can recognise its pack-mates by scent alone.

"Dude. That chick's hot!" Loz comments enthusiastically in his trademark deep, booming tone. "I hope she's not a dyke."

Rolling his head to slant Loz an amused look, Yazoo replies, "That's a /boy/, Loz."

"No way!" Squinting at the pony-tailed performer in the knee-high boots, Loz asks dubiously, "Are you sure?"

Turning back to the singer on the stage, Yazoo murmurs, "I'm sure. No hips. No breasts. No girl."

"Oh." Looking distinctly uncomfortable as he comprehends what that means, the bigger brother blurts out, "Anyone want some ice? I want some ice. I'm gonna go over here now and uh, get some. Okay, bye." With that hastily stammered excuse Loz barrels through the crowd and vanishes, not keen on having Yazoo tease him for finding a guy attractive. Yazoo chuckles after Loz as he goes, his older brother's naiveté rather entertaining at times.

Kadaj is being very quiet – suspiciously quiet - and so Yazoo finally glances at him, discovering his smaller sibling also staring fixatedly at the beguiling young man with the microphone, a gleam in his green eyes that could possibly develop into full-blown obsession if not halted immediately.

"Don't even think about it," Yazoo warns him coldly. "I saw him first. He's mine."

Swinging his head around, Kadaj returns with a sharp glare, irritated at his brother's arrogant tone but when he sees the determined set of Yazoo's face, he sighs in resigned disappointment. Kadaj knows that his quiet brother doesn't desire much in this world but when he does, Yaz will do whatever is required to obtain it.

And Gods help anyone who gets in his way.

"Fine. You can have him," Kadaj grudgingly answers Yazoo, knowing that it's not worth getting into a duel with his deadly gun-slinging sibling over a piece of ass, no matter how hot it is. "I'll go find someone else."

"You do that," Yazoo advises loftily.

Just as loftily, Kadaj replies, "I will."

"Good."

"Great."

There are a few moments of tense silence between them and then, sounding bored, Yazoo drones, "Are you /still/ here?"

Giving an infuriated 'humph', Kadaj turns and leaves, conceding defeat to his elder. Yazoo smirks to himself, knowing that Kadaj won't be mad at him for long and will soon find another pretty face to obsess over which means his biggest competition in the room for the femme-boy's affections has now been neutralised. Kadaj also possesses a portion of Allure, though not nearly as much as Yazoo does, his younger brother relying more on conscious, overt sexuality to entice his victims.

Watching someone else with an abundance of sexuality keeps Yazoo fully engrossed for the next half an hour, the long-haired remnant not budging from his perfect position in front of the band, Loz and Kadaj considerately staying away and neglecting to bother him again. He's not sure what questionable antics his two brothers are up to but doesn't really care. All he's occupied with is this wild he-vixen shamelessly strutting all over the stage, the red vinyl pants he's wearing showing off his small shapely backside beautifully, Yazoo dreamily wondering what it would feel like to hold in his hands. At one point the boy gets out an acoustic guitar and performs unaccompanied, singing while sitting on a stool (and being unusually still except for the nodding of his head and rhythmic stamping of his foot), the sound and tempo of the songs a complete and total contrast to the appallingly trashy noise that's been polluting the air thus far. Yazoo has very particular musical tastes and what he's heard coming out of the speakers tonight does not make the grade in his book, not by a long shot.

On the other hand…Just the brunette boy, the huskiness of his voice and his unplugged guitar are much more agreeable to the ears, Yazoo notes with appreciation, the style of the tracks leaning towards bluesy-rock, the lyrics possessing substance and depth rather than consisting of throwaway pop nonsense. The dark-eyed musician is amazingly good with his instrument, his skilful painted fingertips skimming up and down the fretboard and strings, plucking them with easy expertise, the boy clicking his fingers and slapping and tapping the hollow face of the guitar to provide a unique percussive accompaniment to his acoustic tunes. It's very different to the way Yazoo's seen anyone else play a guitar but very cool and catchy nonetheless. Yes, Yazoo decides. He likes this unusual sound. If the kid produced a solo album of songs like these he would definitely consider buying it.

During the remainder of the performance, Yazoo is afforded a few glances from the boy perched on the low seat who's still noticing his attendance in the crowd, and his continued interest. This pleases Yazoo. Every time those heavily made-up, almost-black eyes connect with his glittering green ones it's like getting a little electric shock and one that runs right down to the tips of his toes, leaving him tingling and somehow more aware and /alive/ than he's been in a long time. After the show eventually comes to a close, the boy thanks everyone for coming and supporting him and the band, his speaking voice low and quiet, nearly shy; the audience rewarding him with a deafening combination of clapping, whistles, screams and cheers. He laps it up with a huge, cute grin, modestly saying, "Thank you," one last time before setting his guitar aside, wiping his sweaty brow with a thin arm and gratefully receiving a well-earned drink from one of his band-mates.

Staying back and observing, Yazoo watches the young man welcoming and chatting to his fans, signing a few autographs on CD covers or photos of his own face, even allowing a couple of pictures to be taken with some hysterical, nearly-hyperventilating girls, just about causing Yazoo to roll his eyes and snort in derision. Sure, the tattooed boy is a superstar and he understands the infatuation but Gods, that kind of fangirlish display really isn't necessary. He freely admits that he's just as taken with the pretty musician as those other fanatical females are but he prides himself on having more restraint and class than them so it is with a great deal of patience that Yazoo waits in the background of the tavern, seeking the appropriate moment to make his approach.

When that moment comes, and the last fangirl retreats clutching her precious signed photo, Yazoo doesn't hesitate, striding up to the smaller male, long silver tresses swaying softly about his face as he walks.

Standing by the edge of the stage, the slender singer in the cropped tank top turns and meets Yazoo's gaze, tilting his chin up at the taller remnant, one pierced eyebrow rising expectantly. The boy is even more striking up close, his skin like creamy butter and his black hair burnished with glossy highlights.

"Hello," Yazoo greets him in a smooth, rich tone, a flirty smile dancing on his pale lips. "I enjoyed your show. It looked like you were having fun."

The boy stares at him, not saying anything in return. Yazoo knows his own beauty can overwhelm people when they are face to face with it and as a result, is used to this stunned reaction and indeed, anticipates it. Something he doesn't anticipate is when the young man abruptly whirls around and bolts, slipping through the crowd to get away from him, just about running in haste, leaving Yazoo surprised, to say the least; his green eyes widened and his mouth slightly opened in disbelief.

Well. That was unexpected.

He didn't say anything to offend or alarm the boy. In fact, he was going out of his way to appear friendly and non-threatening. Why would the kid just up and leave like that? Hm, perhaps he's just playing hard to get, Yazoo ponders, angling his head and furrowing his brow in thought. Perhaps he wants Yazoo to go after him. Or perhaps he's just incredibly bashful, in spite of his on-stage shock-antics. Whatever the reason, the very fact that he ran makes Yazoo want him even more.

And what Yazoo wants, Yazoo always gets.

Always.

Smiling seductively, he begins heading in the same direction as the fleeing boy, commencing the chase.

Part two.

The tavern is quite crowded by this stage of the night and Yazoo has to sidestep and weave through the unhelpful civilians in his way, trying to keep his line of vision above them all and not lose sight of the shorter, smaller performer who's attempting to elude him for some peculiar reason, the nimble boy lapping around various billiard tables, lounge chairs and high, circular bar tables, hoping that enough evasive manoeuvres will make Yazoo lose interest and call it quits. Unlikely. Yazoo isn't the type to abandon a chase, especially not if there's a delightful prize wrapped in red vinyl waiting for him at the end of it. Every now and again the kid glances behind himself to check if Yazoo is still coming after him. Which of course, Yazoo is. He's not letting this vivacious little vixen get away from him, the taller male keeping pace in swift strides, his divided leather overcoat slapping against the sides of his boots as he's in pursuit.

Predictably, some horny, half-drunk idiot in the beer-drinking crowd spots Yazoo going past, incorrectly assuming by the calf-length coat and long hair that he's a hot chick. The guy starts to ask lecherously, "Heey, baby. Do you wanna-" but Yazoo interrupts with a flat, "Not even in your dreams," and keeps on walking without even sparing the guy a glance. The second man that propositions him, Yazoo outright ignores.

And the third. And the fourth.

The fifth actually dares to stand right in front of him, preventing his passage through the tavern and restricting his view of the boy. He's a heavy-set, thick-browed fellow who looks like he just crawled out of a cave, lost his tail and learned how to walk upright. By this time, Yazoo has had enough, the normally calm brother's mood swiftly shifting into dangerous irritation. In a sharp, aggravated motion, he whips Velvet Nightmare out of its sheath, swinging the ivory weapon over his shoulder and aiming it right between the man's alarmed bloodshot eyes.

"Whoa, take it easy, honey! Don't get your knickers in a knot," the guy stupidly says, evidently not realising that Yazoo is a man who, incidentally, could bust his hairy ass up in ten different and highly efficient ways without even breaking a sweat.

"I'm NOT your honey," Yazoo growls lowly. "Now, get the fuck out of my way or I will shoot you in the face."

Gulping, the guy backs off, colour leeching from his cheeks. "Shit! My bad, dude," he stammers. "Sorry!"

"You should be," Yazoo returns icily, staring at the fellow for a few more menacing moments before sheathing his weapon. He's not being generous – it's just that this repulsive sack of scrotal skin isn't worth wasting even one round of ammunition on. He narrows his eyes at the other men standing around observing the scene with their jaws hanging open.

"If any of you other rock-apes want to speak to me…Don't," he advises in a threatening tone. "However, if you feel like having your skull shattered and your brain matter slopped on the floor like fresh, steaming dog-vomit, go right ahead."

After that gruesome description, a wide circle magically appears around Yazoo and with a dismissive, "Hmph," of disgust he leaves, able to cut through the crowd much more easily now, his eyes darting around the smoke-saturated room, searching for a glimpse of a dark ponytail with coloured highlights in it, the pale-skinned gunman starting to feel a little anxious that he might have lost the boy in the preceding distraction. Anxiety is not something he's used to feeling and it doesn't sit well with him. Beginning to get almost angry, he's about to turn around and go back to savagely kill the fucker that delayed him when he spies a flash of pink and purple disappearing behind the back of the stage. His murderous rage instantly dissipating, something very much akin to joy fills Yazoo's chest and with a restored sense of purpose, he heads over to the raised platform where the energetic musical artist had been performing earlier. There are two layers of red curtains draping the rear of the stage and a smallish boy-shaped bulge is passing quickly behind them; the young vocalist skilled at playing his guitar but clearly not at hide and seek.

Almost leisurely, like he knows this is a game he cannot lose, Yazoo parts and pushes through the curtaining; his nostrils assailed with an old mildewed, musty smell; the velvet material most likely not having been cleaned in years. There's a narrow space between it and the wall and that's what's the boy is squeezing through, going towards the opposite side of the stage, probably to where the fire exit is located. Yazoo follows, not afraid of small spaces, his keen eyes cutting through the darkness and dusty haze. The curtained material ripples at the other end of as the boy zips out of it, sneezing with all the dust he'd breathed in. Thinking he's safe, the kid pauses to wipe at his nose and catch his breath but then, spotting Yazoo emerging from the faded red drapes like a theatre ghost, he stiffens. Shooting Yazoo an exasperated 'don't-you-ever-give-up?' kind of look, the brunette boy jogs off, shoving through the crowd once more and ducking into the men's restrooms to hide.

As if he can really hide from someone like Yazoo, the patient remnant still smiling as crosses to the amenities a few moments later and enters the tiled room, knowing that this doorway is the only way in or out of the place. The kid can't escape without running head-first into Yazoo and then this game will all be over. Then Yazoo will get what he wants. Some of the toilet cubicles are vacant with the doors ajar while a few are shut. Yazoo starts pushing them open, one by one. The first two are empty, the doors having fallen closed on their own. The third one is locked and Yazoo bends down to peer underneath, discovering a pair of black leather boots remarkably similar to the ones the runaway musician is wearing. The boots face away from him, as if their owner has his back to the door, perhaps with the intention of keeping it shut. Confident that he has his boy, Yazoo stands back up, turns to the side and lifts his foot, sharply kicking the door open and busting the lock with a splintering sound. The white laminate smacks into the rear of the occupant – resulting in a surprised yelp - bounces back against the doorframe and then slowly swings open again.

Kadaj's jade eyes stare at him in shock.

His younger brother is sitting on the closed toilet-lid, legs wrapped around the thighs of another man, one with long blond hair. They're not naked but they're evidently getting there, Kadaj's top zipped open to the belly button and the other man's shirt undone. Judging by the swollen, reddened state of Kadaj's lips they've been making out fairly intensely.

"Yaz, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he exclaims in infuriated outrage.

Glancing at the second, unidentified male's knee-high footwear, Yazoo blinks blankly. If he'd seen Kadaj's boots under the door he'd have recognised the distinctive yellow stitching around the soles straight away but these ones look almost exactly like the pair his future lover has on.

"I apologise," he murmurs, meeting his brother's furious green glower. "I was looking for someone else."

"Apologise to him," Kadaj commands, pointing to his companion. "You hit him in the back with the door."

"I'm sorry," Yazoo mechanically replies. "That was most rude of…"

He stops, frowning at the other man who looks awfully familiar somehow, though Yazoo is sure they have never met. Or fucked. He's handsome in a flashy kind of way with leather pants, a studded belt and a leopard-print shirt. In fact, he almost looks like a musician of some sort…

With a sudden click, it all becomes crystal-clear to Yazoo.

It's the boy's band-mate. The blond guitarist. The one the boy kissed on-stage.

Realising what this means, Yazoo's lips begin to curl into a smirk and soon he's chuckling, folding his arms over his chest and gazing at his younger brother in entertained enjoyment.

"What?" Kadaj demands impatiently.

"You couldn't have what you wanted so you went after the next best thing instead." Yazoo shakes his head mockingly. "Why, brother. That's just sad."

Knowing exactly what Yazoo is talking about, Kadaj flushes. "Fuck off, Yazoo," he snaps. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Yazoo's smirk broadens as he intentionally glances at the erect bulge in the front of Kadaj's pants-suit. "Oh, I see that. Having fun, are we?"

The blond guitarist stands there awkwardly holding Kadaj's legs, not knowing what is going on here or who this beautiful but sarcastic silver-haired woman is that kicked the door open and whacked him in the back with it. Must be Kadaj's sister. Though she sure has a low voice…

Growing ever more pissed by the second, Kadaj is about to repeat his impolite request for Yazoo to leave in a louder volume, when he recalls the words his older sibling had just spoken. "Wait, you're looking for someone? Who?"

He squints questioningly at Yazoo through the white-grey strands of his chin-length fringe and then, figuring it out all by himself, a cruel grin of comprehension spreads across his misleadingly cherubic face.

"Oh my Gods. It's HIM, isn't it? You lost him!" Rather unsympathetically, Kadaj throws his head back and starts to laugh. "Oh, man! You let one get away. Wait til I tell Loz about this!"

"I didn't /lose/ him," Yazoo declares stiffly. "He's in here somewhere, and now if you don't mind I'm going to…"

There's the slamming noise of a door being hastily thrown open and a blur of red and black whizzes past, the very boy Yazoo has been tracking making a rushed departure from the cubicle he was cowering in, exiting the restrooms like an alarm to evacuate the building has been sounded or a bomb threat has just been called in.

Yazoo sighs. "Terrific."

Kadaj just laughs even harder. "Dude, what did you DO to him?"

"Nothing. That's the problem," Yazoo mutters, turning away and striding through the still-swinging bathroom door, leaving his laughing little brother alone to play.

Back in the bar Yazoo scans the room again, shortly locating the speedy singer trying to evade him, catching his thinner frame slipping out the fire exit, just as Yazoo predicted he'd end up doing sooner or later. Rather than dodge through all these obstructive, oafish tavern-dwellers again, he simply bends his knees and then springs up into a flying forward jump, clearing over everybody in a soaring dive, platinum hair fluttering behind him. He does it so swiftly and smoothly that hardly anybody even notices him sailing over their heads like a superhero and those that do think they've drunk too much and are imagining things. Crouching into a tuck and then landing lightly on his feet, Yazoo arrives right in front of the exit in a much shorter amount of time than he would have if he'd walked that distance – mere seconds in actuality. Fortunately, the old inn has a very high cathedral ceiling or he wouldn't have even attempted such a move for fear of cracking his forehead open on the thick wooden beams. He presumes that it would be a rather difficult task to charm someone with blood dripping into his eyes, especially an unpredictable and fickle young man like the one he's chasing. He has to look his best and without even checking in a mirror, he already knows he does.

Pushing the door open, he steps outside into the back alley paved with cobblestones, the air much cooler and fresher out here. Two squat dumpsters full of empty bottles and cans for recycling are sitting against one wall along with a few drained ale barrels, the smell of stale alcohol no worse than the smell inside the tavern itself. A small rusty lamp hangs over the door, providing enough illumination to see partially up and down the narrow lane, both far ends disappearing into shadows. It leads in two directions; to the left is the main street that the bar is situated on and to the right is a dead end with a towering chain-link fence. Yazoo could easily leap straight over it but a mere human wouldn't have a chance. In his haste to get away the boy turned right and has only just realised his error, backtracking and turning around. He stops still when he sees that Yazoo has found him, freezing like a nocturnal animal with a bright torch suddenly shone on it, eyes big and black, his metallic jewellery glinting in the dark. Feeling victorious in his capture, Yazoo shuts the door behind him, the noise of the tavern's occupants muting to a dull roar. Picking up a stray bread knife that has found its way from the kitchen onto the ground, he wedges it between the door and the wooden jamb, stopping anyone from opening it from the inside and interrupting the fun he is about to have.

Standing at the open end of the alley to block it, Yazoo smiles at the frozen boy. It's not an evil, malicious smile, just a pleasant, faintly amused one. In a light, teasing tone he says, "I have you cornered. Now, stop this silly nonsense and come here to me."

He holds out his hand invitingly, expecting the boy to slowly walk over and take it.

Instead, the boy gives a short, defiant shake of his head. "No."

Just like before when the kid first bolted, Yazoo is puzzled again. Nobody says no to him! Allure never fails. Lowering his hand, he takes a step forward. The boy steps back, even though he's got nowhere to go. He's not playing hard to get. He doesn't seem bashful either. It's as though he truly doesn't want to be anywhere near Yazoo.

Hearing the perplexity in his own voice, Yazoo enquires in confusion, "Why are you running from me?"

"Why are you following me? You a stalker?" The young man asks warily, as though he's had some of them before.

Yazoo tilts his head, growing more and more bewildered with each passing moment. "Do you believe I want to hurt you? Is that what you think?"

"I don't know. Do you?" The other male lifts his chin challengingly, keeping a cagey, narrowed gaze on Yazoo's more intimidating figure. "I saw you looking at me in the crowd, dude. Staring at me. Just like you're doing now. Don't you ever fucking blink?"

Frowning slightly, Yazoo suddenly realises that the boy really doesn't understand what's going on here. He can't feel it. He can't feel the magnetism, the pull, the lure. Yazoo is sending it out in waves but it's as though the intended recipient is immune to it. Yazoo has never met anybody with immunity before. The only way this pony-tailed performer could possibly be resistant to the spellbinding siren-song of Allure is if….

"You have it yourself," he says in an astonished murmur, his green eyes widening a fraction. Well, now. How extraordinarily intriguing. This tattooed wild-child possesses the very same power of desirability that Yazoo does. It explains why Yazoo was so taken with him upon first sight, why he was so captivated with the kid and why he could not tear his gaze away. This explains why Yazoo wants him so much, above everyone else in the bar he could have and it also provides a rational explanation as to why he pursued the boy through the tavern in such a preoccupied, determinedly purposeful manner, like a man obsessed; like a hunter with one single goal – not to slay or slaughter but to touch, to kiss, to taste and to take.

Yazoo is now the one lured, instead of the other way around.

The black-haired boy may be impervious to Allure's potent influence but for some unknown reason Yazoo isn't. He's caught and trapped by it, like a deadly bird of prey entangled in the web of a much smaller and much more harmless orb-spider. The peculiar irony of the situation causes a quiet chuckle to escape from the remnant's throat, his lips curving in amazement.

The boy looks annoyed. "What's so funny?"

Yazoo makes a graceful dismissive motion, still smiling. "Never mind. Rest assured - I do not intend to harm even a single hair on your rather pretty head."

Glancing distrustfully at the sheath slung behind Yazoo's back and the large gun-butt protruding out of it, the guitarist rebounds, "Oh, yeah? What's that for, then?"

"This is purely for my own protection," Yazoo explains, sparing Velvet Nightmare a glance over his own shoulder, his gaze almost loving, as if it's his pet that he carries around everywhere. "Like you, I tend to get stalked. I do understand why you're wary of me. But I have no desire to use my gunblade on you."

Yazoo smiles again, this time more with calculated seductiveness. "Besides, I have another… weapon…in mind for that."

He lets his sultry gaze wander down the boy's willowy body and then back up again, deliberately and measuredly, focusing on the youth's thighs, trim waist and the tiny little nipple-nubs showing through his tank top, Yazoo playing with a lock of his own hair as he does so, coyly twisting it around his gloved finger like a schoolgirl flirting with her crush. He ends this visual undressing by boldly meeting the boy's eyes, Yazoo batting his lashes and licking his upper lip for emphasis. It's a crudely obvious ploy but it seems he needs to be obvious or the flighty musician will have no idea what Yazoo wants from him. It's been a while since Yazoo's had to seduce someone the old fashioned way. Allure usually does all the work for him, unconsciously and automatically, much the same way that his heart beats on its own without him having to think about it. Normally, all he has to do is smile or wink and he can make a room full of grown men trample over each other to get to him first but now he has to actually make a real effort, just to win the amorous attention of one scrawny kid. It seems to be working, though, as the boy starts to look less suspicious and more shrewd.

"You want sex."

A silvery brow rises upwards. "Blunt. I like that."

Since the other young man is being so straightforward, Yazoo decides to return the favour and save them some precious time.

"Yes, I want sex," he states, gazing evenly at the brown-eyed male. "Am I someone you might consider doing that with?"

Yazoo feels odd asking this, as such doubts are almost unheard of for him, but it's the only way to find out if he's attractive to this boy without his regular powers of seduction. Hell, the kid could even be straight, for all Yazoo knows, despite him kissing his own band-mates. Yazoo has bedded straight men before – and quite easily too - but with no Allure…he might not be so successful. Not knowing how someone feels about him is a novel experience for Yazoo and finds it bizarrely exciting, making him uncharacteristically eager to learn the answer.

Mulling over the question posed to him, the gifted guitarist distractedly fidgets with the ring in his lower lip, using the tip of his tongue to toy with the coil of metal and wiggle it about. It's not a proper ring; more of a spiral that doesn't join, the two ends finishing with little black points of plastic. He does this in an absent fashion while he checks out Yazoo in much the same way as Yazoo was doing to him earlier – the boy's dark almond-shaped eyes dropping down to the remnant's boots and then gradually travelling upwards again, taking in the long pair of leather-encased legs, the curve of a slender waist beneath a form-fitting trench coat, the flat stomach leading up to a strong upper body and arms, the luxurious sweep of silver hair over broad, armoured shoulders, the brunette's appraising gaze finally lingering over Yazoo's prettily feminine face with its long-lashed emerald eyes and plush, pinkish-blue lips. Apparently finding Yazoo's looks pleasing and acceptable, the boy nods to himself, having made his decision.

"Take that off," he orders, indicating to Yazoo's gun. "Then maybe we talk."

His confidence renewed, Yazoo smiles to himself, knowing that talking is not all they're going to do, but he does as asked, slipping the holster over his head and laying it on the ground, the second male closely watching his every move just in case Yazoo does turn out to be a crazy stalker with plans to assassinate him. On any normal night, Yazoo would not remove his weapon and put it aside so casually, especially in the presence of a stranger, but he wants the boy to trust him and the only way to achieve that is to go along with his requests.

"There." Yazoo straightens and moves forward, away from Velvet Nightmare, hands held palm-up and open to show that he means no harm. "Is that better?"

The punk-rocker lifts his chin again, in what Yazoo is beginning to recognise as a signal of stubbornness and defiance. "You should take your coat off too. Just so I know you don't have anything dangerous hidden under there."

Inwardly smirking at all the sexually suggestive responses he could reply with, Yazoo tactfully keeps his comments to himself, instead answering with a compliant, "As you wish."

While he's unsnapping his chest-straps and reaching for the neck-zipper of his trench coat, Yazoo is mildly shocked to realise that he's doing whatever this boy asks him to. Willingly. This must be how it feels to be a victim of Yazoo's own allure. It's unusual for the remnant to be on the other side. Unusual and exhilarating.

Unzipping to the navel, Yazoo slips the scuffed black leather from his shoulders, letting it slither down his bare biceps and forearms, over his hips and down his legs, pooling at his feet like a 3D shadow. He elegantly steps out of the puddled item, standing there in just his tall boots and low-waisted, figure-hugging pants. The night air is a few degrees chillier out here than inside the tavern and the warmth of his flesh reacts, the skin across his chest tightening, and his pale nipples along with it. Lifting his still-gloved hands in a cooperative gesture, he turns in a small circle, allowing the cautious kid to check him out from all angles and ascertain that he is indeed not carrying any more weapons on his person.

"Satisfied?"

Rather than react to the somewhat taunting question, the brunette gazes at Yazoo's unclothed chest and arms, appearing surprised and impressed by how muscular and well-developed Yazoo actually is.

"I really thought you were a woman," the boy admits in wonder. "Until you opened your mouth and spoke. That's why I ran."

He gives a self-conscious laugh, scratching awkwardly at his shoulder.

"Your deep voice freaked me out, man."

"I get that a lot," Yazoo replies with a tolerant twitch of his lips. "If it's any consolation to you, I thought you were a girl at first too. You're particularly pretty. But then you already know that, don't you?"

Peeling both of his gloves off and letting them fall onto the ground next to his coat, Yazoo shifts forward and lifts seeking white fingers to the boy's smooth cheek, drawn to feel that light-golden loveliness for himself. The smaller male flinches and pulls back, as though he thinks Yazoo is going to hit him.

"Could you stand still for five minutes and let me touch you?" Yazoo reprimands in mild humour. "If I was going to hurt you, child, I would have done so by now. However, I don't want to do that – I only want to give you pleasure."

His voice drops a few octaves, lowering to a resonant purr.

"Trust me. I'm an expert in pleasure. Giving. Receiving. But mainly giving…"

The purring seems to have worked because when Yazoo reaches out again, this time the kid doesn't cringe, standing his ground and squaring his chin daringly, dark eyes glittering and fearless.

"I'm not a child," he states in insulted insolence.

"Oh, I'm aware of that," Yazoo replies abstractedly. "Just humour me."

The other young man seems a little mystified by this but, tempted by the prospect of being pleasured, he allows Yazoo to move closer.

Part three.

Since the boy isn't trying to climb the chain-link fence in fear and has given him a silent sort of permission to invade his personal space, Yazoo steps right into it. Instead of going for the boy's face again, Yazoo begins lower, extending his hand towards one long, slender arm, moving slowly and cautiously, mindful of not startling the skittish creature it's attached to. Watching him performing up on the stage, Yazoo thought the singer was small and short but now, standing right in front of him, he realises that the second male is remarkably tall. Around six foot, actually. Of course, Yazoo is taller but only by a couple of inches and the boy can look him square in the eye, no problem. What makes this musician appear tiny in comparison to Yazoo is the much leaner build of his body, which is thin and delicate in design and makes him seem almost fragile. Ordinarily, Yazoo does not care about being tender or gentle with his lovers but he feels compelled to be careful with this one in case he breaks him so when Yazoo touches his slimmer partner, it is very lightly, fingertips skimming over silken, warm flesh. The young man's complexion is a few shades creamier and more sun-kissed than Yazoo's much paler, moonlight-white one, and is clear and unblemished, apart from the numerous tattoos. Yazoo is pleased to see goose-bumps rise on the other's arm as he slides his palm along it, past an elbow, over the number '4' etched on a small bicep, past twin rings of inked words on the upper part of the arm, and finally, arriving at a narrow shoulder. There's a large tattoo on that too, another word symbol. The fascinated remnant moves inward and brushes his thumb over one embellished collarbone, thick letters of black pigment staining the skin over it, and then brings his fingers up to the side of the finest-looking throat he's ever seen. There's no tattooing work done here and the unmarked arch is long and elegantly curved, holding Yazoo's interest much longer than a neck normally would have, his bewitched eyes playing over the statuesque flawlessness of the creamy column. He can't stop staring at it. Then Yazoo realises why it's so strangely captivating.

There's no Adam's apple.

None. Not a lump or bump to be seen. For an alarming moment, Yazoo believes he was mistaken in assuming the musician's gender and that he's actually touching a feisty young lady and not a boy. A quick glance downwards at a very flat chest does nothing to assist Yazoo because if this /is/ a woman, she could just be one of those naturally skinny ones who didn't grow breasts or hips. Lack of cleavage doesn't prove anything.

But neither does the absence of a prominent larynx.

Still confusingly undecided, Yazoo carefully tips the brunette's head back a bit, arching that swan-like neck even further, until suddenly, there it is. A tell-tale bulge emerges under the skin, sitting unusually high in the throat and hiding there until exposed, small but indisputably present, proving once and for all that this stunning waif is not female but masculine, just as much as Yazoo is.

Reassured that he hasn't turned hetero after all, Yazoo tilts the boy's head back down, moving aside his long dark fringe so he can gaze upon that strikingly feminine face, the slim singer observing Yazoo's reactions from behind half-lowered lashes, as if curious about what the other man is thinking. Keeping his thoughts to himself for the moment, Yazoo's fingers trail up the side of the second male's throat and skim under a cute ringed ear, moving to the back of his neck. Beneath his ponytail the rocker has an undercut – where the underneath and sides of his hair have been shaved or clipped extra short – and it is beginning to grow back. The new hair has the fine softness of ebony rabbit-fur, particularly on his nape and he visibly shivers when Yazoo stokes over it, as if that part of his neck is especially sensitive.

Yazoo's exploring touch shifts across to an angled jaw line, fingertips gliding along it to reach a small chin and a delectable pout, the remains of glittery iced-pink lip gloss still sparkling on the musician's mouth. He rubs the pad of his thumb over that mouth, making it part a fraction, Yazoo touching the silver spiral implanted through the full lower lip, seeing it move within the soft flesh. The Sephiroth remnant continues gazing at his charming captive's features, drinking them in and imprinting each on his memory to dream about later.

Eyes tilted up mysteriously at the edges, exotically-coloured irises like burnt chocolate or black coffee, highly-arched brows in light brown, cheekbones perfectly shaped and sculpted, perfect little nose, perfect pouting lips. Some people would think it a crime to pierce holes through such exquisite perfection but not Yazoo. The metal facial jewellery draws the focus to those areas and only enhances the boy's beauty, certainly doing nothing to diminish it.

The fidgety guitarist can't keep quiet any longer, finally enquiring, "What exactly are you looking at?"

"You. Gods, you're so beautiful," Yazoo answers, his voice awed and reverent. "In truth, I think you're the most beautiful boy I've ever seen."

After saying that Yazoo experiences a weird sense of déjà vu, realising that's exactly what people say to /him/ when they're trying to get in his pants. He never thought he'd meet anyone prettier and more seductive than himself but it's finally happened.

And here he was thinking it was going to be a dull, boring night.

"Oh, the wicked things I'm going to do to you, my little one," Yazoo murmurs promisingly and sexily, rubbing his thumb over the urban urchin's full, ripe lips again. "I'm so glad we met."

Sounding slightly nervous, the boy swallows and confesses, "I have a girlfriend, you know."

Pausing, Yazoo raises a brow at his colourful companion. "Are you telling me that you're straight?"

The brunette shrugs abashedly. "Usually."

Smiling in complete understanding, Yazoo offers, "It's okay. A lot of people are straight until they meet me."

Yazoo might not have Allure at his command right now but apparently it's not required. The kid seems to find him just as attractive without it. At least, attractive enough to want to cheat on his girlfriend, even though he feels guilty about it. This knowledge appeals to the vainer side of Yazoo's nature.

"You don't have to worry about anyone finding out what we're doing," he assures the uneasy performer, squeezing him comfortingly on the shoulder. "What happens in this alley, stays in this alley. All right?"

The boy nods, looking thankful and relieved. Yazoo thinks it's adorable how the kid actually has a conscience.

Putting both hands on his partner's upper arms, the silver-head begins to lean down, intent on sampling that lush, sparkly mouth for himself. Unexpectedly, or perhaps not so unexpectedly, the indecisive singer pulls back, preventing Yazoo from doing so.

"Now what?" Yazoo sighs in extreme patience, noting that the wary expression has returned to the other's eyes. "I already swore that I wouldn't hurt you. Why are you still flinching from me?"

"Because."

At the frustratingly undescriptive answer, Yazoo presses, "What? Am I not good enough for you? Don't you find me pretty?"

"Sure." The kid shrugs. "Pretty enough for me to think you were a chick."

"Then what's the problem? Why won't you kiss me?"

"I don't /know/ you."

"I see." Thinking of the performer's blatant tongue-tangling session on stage, Yazoo remarks with the mildest hint of jealousy, "That man in your band - the blond one. You kissed him. Why?"

The other male shrugs again. "Oh, that. It's just something we do." Smirking, he says, "The audience goes crazy for it."

Recalling all the squeals and screams earlier, Yazoo gives a dry 'Hmph'.

"It looked like you were rather enjoying it to me."

"He's not my boyfriend or anything, if that's what you're getting at," the brunette insists. "I'm not attracted to him like that."

Cocking his smoky-grey head in a challenging manner, Yazoo proposes, "Well, if you can kiss someone you have no intention of sleeping with, then surely you can kiss me. Or despite your swaggering attitude, are you too scared to?"

Reacting to Yazoo's purposeful provoking, the vexing vocalist angrily lifts his chin and dares, "You wanna make out? Fine, then. Let's do it."

Each of them tries to be the dominant, assertive one and initiate the act but they both collide at exactly the same time, Yazoo yanking the kid towards him while the kid lunges forward, their mouths crashing together in the middle, the sharp plastic points of the musician's metal piercing digging into Yazoo's lower lip and chin, the two males growling a little in their throats at the savagery of their first kiss. Every single one of Yazoo's cells electrifies as he finally gets to sample those sinful lips for himself, feeling how cushiony and supple they are, how easily they meld to his. Rushing with sexually-charged adrenaline, Yazoo sucks and bites at those lips, licking at them and probing at the seam between them, insisting entrance to the wet cavern inside. Not allowing Yazoo to be in charge yet, the slender singer roughly pushes his tongue into the remnant's hot, demanding mouth, showing that he can give as good as he gets. It starts off as a rough duelling battle to begin with, Yazoo wanting to erase the blond guitarist's taste from the boy's mouth and replace it with his own while the boy attempts to prove that he's not afraid of this, or of Yazoo, boldly pressing up against the remnant's leanly-muscled shirtless body while their tongues twine and twist together, heatedly and hungrily, the small spiked hoop at the corner of the singer's mouth a sharp but titillating object between them.

Gradually, the two men soften their contact, not so much battling for dominance any longer, as they are both equally determined and neither is going to win here, but rather slowing down and experiencing the moment, getting to know each other's flavour and individual kissing style. Taking time to enjoy the event of seducing a new lover, Yazoo prefers to kiss deeply and unhurriedly, his tongue-stokes penetrating and intimate, much like having sex is. The hyper rock-singer is more impatient and excitable, his tongue quick and eager, darting more than stroking, but with quiet murmurs and gently chastising nips on his bottom lip, Yazoo coaxes him into settling down and matching his slower, more measured pace. When they are completely and thoroughly acquainted with each other's mouths, Yazoo ends the kiss, placing one last peck on the edge of the youth's puffy lips, right where the ring is.

Gazing at the boy with heavily-lidded eyes of desire, Yazoo caresses his tattooed upper arm, murmuring, "Mmm. I must say, you taste even better than you look."

Drawling, the kid replies, "You haven't seen /all/ of me yet."

A smirk starts to curve across Yazoo's now-flushed lips. "Is that an invitation?"

"What do you think?"

"I think yes. Now, stand still while I get you undressed." In a warning tone, Yazoo adds, "And if you try to run I WILL stop you. By any means necessary."

Surprisingly, the punk does as he's told, remaining motionless and cooperative as Yazoo takes hold of the bottom hem of his black crop-top, rumpling it upwards.

"Be a good boy and raise your arms for me."

As the brunette complies and lifts his hands above his head, Yazoo notices that his armpits are smooth-shaven and can't help but ponder if anything else down further is too. Well, we'll find out soon enough, Yazoo idly thinks, pulling the musician's shirt off and lapping up the much-anticipated sight of his now topless torso. Despite his above average height, the second young man really is a wispy, willowy thing, so lightly and slenderly formed with hardly any muscles to speak of but it doesn't matter because he's oh so sexy and svelte to look at. His little nipples are flat and caramel-coloured. They are unpierced and untouched but there are more tattoos on the centre of his chest, on his ribs and beneath his belly button. Each must have its own meaning and Yazoo is interested to know what they all are but now is not the time for asking. Questions can wait until later. He needs to claim his conquest first.

Allowing the sleeveless shirt to drift to the cobblestones on top of his own discarded coat, Yazoo grips the boy by the shoulders, firmly holding him in place so Yazoo can walk around behind him to see what other bodily decorations there are to behold. The remnant's cat-like eyes widen at what he discovers under the lamplight and he releases a slow breath of awe. The guitarist's whole back is covered in lines and lines of words, like the page of a book, the tonal contrast between the clear-cut black symbols engraved upon soft creamy-gold skin both stark and artistically arresting. Trailing a fingertip down one row of letters, Yazoo can't help being tremendously impressed by the boy's pain-tolerance levels because getting needled in so many places must have hurt like hell, especially right over the bony areas, like the shoulder blades and spine. This kid is like a walking piece of artwork and one that Yazoo would gladly own and keep around the lair, if Kadaj would allow it. Which he wouldn't, of course. Nobody is allowed back to their secret hideout. It's best if Yazoo doesn't bring the boy back there anyway because Kadaj would only end up getting envious and trying to steal him away.

And Yazoo will not have that. This irresistible little fairy-prince belongs to him. Or he will…very, very shortly.

Walking back around to face the first male, Yazoo lets his fingers sweep across from shoulder to collarbone, the taller man continuing down the middle of the boy's flat chest, reaching one nipple and grazing over it, watching it pebble before his eyes. Stooping his tall form, Yazoo cradles the young man by the waist and lowers his head down to lick at the miniature nub of flesh, feeling it pucker under his tongue, the slight involuntary movement making his groin tingle. Softly moaning at how erotic this is, Yazoo shifts to the other nub, enclosing it with his mouth and coating it in his saliva, awarding it a gentle bite before drawing back to lightly blow air onto the area.

"Uh, hey," the boy interrupts reluctantly, tugging on Yazoo's hair. "Sorry to stop you there but…um… You're kinda wasting your time."

Halting, Yazoo lifts his head and stares at him from beneath his fringe, ashy brows beginning to pinch together. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't feel a thing when you do that."

"Really? Nothing?" Yazoo must confess to being bewildered. His own nipples are very receptive to touching and stimulating. He just assumed this femme-boy's would be too.

Glancing at the kid's erect peaks, he points out, "But they're hard."

"It's cool out here. That's all." The singer gives a casual shrug. "That's why I don't have them pierced. It wouldn't do anything for me."

"Well, what /does/ do it for you, then?" Yazoo inquires, needing to know how to please this unique elfin creature in his arms. "What parts do you like touched? Or kissed? Apart from the obvious."

"Oh, you know. Bits," the other vaguely replies, gesturing to the front and sides of his neck. "Like around there."

"Your throat?"

The gender-bending guitar player affords a nod and then turns his forearm over, displaying slightly paler skin beneath and the subtle network of blue veins running under it.

"Or here," he continues, almost shyly sweeping two fingertips down from the underside of his wrist to his inner elbow.

Pulse points, Yazoo notes interestedly, already keen to nibble on them.

"Even here is good," the boy carries on, describing an oval around his flat belly with one black-painted nail. He quirks one groomed brow at Yazoo. "That give you enough options?"

"Plenty," Yazoo purrs, pulling him close, intending to put what he's learned into practice, beginning with lifting the first male's arm to his lips and pushing down the many bracelets, kissing the tender inside part of his wrist. The boy's fingers curl automatically, polished ebony nails coming to rest on his palm. His breathing hitches a little as Yazoo's mouth commences following the largest vein in his forearm, stopping every few millimetres to place a soft, sucking kiss along the path, long silvery hair brushing across the singer's skin, heightening the sensitivity there. Sensing the kid's slight shiver, Yazoo introduces his tongue and slowly licks the rest of the way up, finishing in the crook of the boy's elbow. The pony-tailed performer arches his sylphlike body, a short whimpering noise escaping him seemingly without his will. Now, that's more the response Yazoo was looking for. Briefly smiling, the green-eyed man lavishes another lick over that responsive elbow-crease, getting exactly the same reaction as before.

"You like that a lot, don't you?" he comments murmuringly, carrying on further, up over the boy's bicep to his shoulder, nibbling as he goes. He doesn't expect the boy to answer and it's really not necessary because it's quite evident by the way he sighs and shifts nearer that he likes what Yazoo is doing.

"What about you?" The songwriter ventures, tentatively resting his palms either side of Yazoo's ribs. "What do you like, man?"

"Don't worry about me. I like everything," Yazoo mutters distractedly between kisses. "Especially you, my beautiful brown-eyed bishie."

The other male grins at that lavish flattery but Yazoo is too busy devouring his shoulder and collarbone to notice. The convincing cross-dresser moves his long-fingered hands up Yazoo's sides to his naked chest and arms, mapping the firm contours there, as if enjoying the feel of all that muscle – something the thinly-built boy does not posses himself. Yazoo's body is much bigger, harder and stronger than his. Sometimes, when he's standing next to Loz, Yazoo feels small and effeminate in comparison to his older brother's impressively large frame but next to this skinny kid, Yazoo is like a god. He feels powerful and manly. After being mistaken for a woman most of his life, Yazoo likes that feeling. Very much. Reasserting his manliness, he slides one arm around the boy's lower back and yanks him closer, tipping his smaller partner's head back and starting to nuzzle and kiss at that lovely curved throat. The brunette allows him to, closing his eyes and sighing in rapture, reaching up and sinking his delicate hands into Yazoo's contrasting pearl-grey locks, finding them silken and fine as spider-threads. When Yazoo brings out his tongue, sliding it up and across that salty skin, tracking the pulsing arteries just beneath, the guitarist gives a husky groan, holding Yazoo's head right there, never wanting the sensual attention to end.

Gaining an equal amount of pleasure simply from doing this, Yazoo continues licking his pretty partner's throat, every now and then sucking gently at it, the vocalist's head falling backwards in bliss, his long multi-coloured mane almost reaching the base of his spine, the warm weight of it draped across Yazoo's bare arm. Keeping one hand around the nape of the boy's neck, Yazoo uses his other to stroke along lean girlish hips and an incredibly tiny waist, rubbing over a slightly soft little tummy and tracing around an adorable, half-popped out navel, Yazoo feeling the boy's body tense and respond positively to his touches. Yazoo's own body is responding rather positively too, his dick having been hard in his pants for quite a while now.

Dragging his mouth away from that delicious vanilla-latte skin with much difficulty, Yazoo queries in curiosity, "What's your name?"

Showing that defiant streak again, the performer stares at him and rebounds, "Why do you need to know?"

"I don't /need/ to," Yazoo admits. "But I'd like to know it."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you."

"What if I say please? Will that change your mind?"

Seeing Yazoo's polite but persistently questioning expression, the exotic artist sighs grudgingly. "Oh, all right. If you have to call me something, just call me M."

Grateful for receiving an answer, even if it is only one measly initial, the tall remnant reveals, "I'm Yazoo."

"I didn't ask," the youth known as M returns in a distracted mutter, grabbing Yazoo's hand and moving it down lower, onto his vinyl-covered crotch. "Touch me here now."

"Not just blunt – bold too," Yazoo remarks in a mix of amusement and approval. "I suppose I'd better do what I'm told, hm?"

Part four.

If Yazoo had any lingering doubts about M's gender, the undeniable hardness in the front of the musician's crimson-coloured trousers dispels them, Yazoo moulding his palm around the cylindrical swelling, gauging the shape and length of it beneath the shiny red fabric.

Purring, Yazoo comments, "You're all boy, aren't you, my pretty?"

M doesn't confirm or deny that, just rolls his hips into the caress, making a low sound of stimulation. Yazoo pulls him close, so that the shorter male can feel Yazoo's erectness against his upper thigh.

"See what you do to me," Yazoo says in a whisper, pressing harder into his leg. "I want you so very much. I want to make you feel good, make you moan. Make you mine."

The singer just makes that sexy murmuring sound again, his already half-mast eyelashes lowering even further in enjoyment.

"Do you want that, hm?" Yazoo gives the boy's bulge a gentle squeeze. "Do you want me too?"

This time the brunette groans out loud, eyes shut, pushing into Yazoo's hand in affirmation.

"Look at me," Yazoo urges quietly, needing to see it for himself in those deep, coffee-coloured pools. "Look at me, M."

With a reluctant effort, the guitarist lifts his heavy, mascara-coated lashes and glances upwards to meet Yazoo's gaze, velvet brown into brilliant green. Yazoo stares at him searchingly, a little jolt of surprise running through the remnant at what he finds in the other male's expression. All of the men he's been with in the past had the same look in their eyes when he was seducing them. Hazy. Glassy. Cloudy. A drunken, dazed kind of look, as though they were under a spell or perhaps slipped a drug. Every single one of them had it. This one, though… When Yazoo gazes into his eyes they are clear and focused. Aware and alert. Unlike those other men caught like flies in Yazoo's tempting trap of seduction, M knows what's happening here. He knows exactly what Yazoo is doing and he welcomes it.

Wants it.

M is looking at him not as some enchanted embodiment of perfect beauty, or a divine creature of dreams and fantasy, but simply as another man, a sexual partner – someone like-minded to have some adult fun with - and knowing that he's wanted without his mystical allure is the most thrilling thing Yazoo has ever experienced in all his existence.

Looking this closely at Yazoo, M also sees something in the other's gaze that surprises him, the singer remarking with a small frown, "Your pupils are strange. They aren't…normal. They're longer. Thinner."

Unconsciously pulling back, Yazoo enquires, "Does this disturb you?"

"Not really," M muses with a slight sideways tilt of his head. "I think it's kinda cool, actually. It's like you got cat-eyes. How'd they end up like that?"

In a mock-mysterious tone, the paler male divulges, "It's a highly classified secret."

Still gazing at Yazoo in open curiosity, M queries, "Will you tell me?"

"I /could/. But I'm not going to. At least, not until I feel like it," Yazoo declares, getting some payback for the boy's stubbornness in revealing his name.

Deciding that his lips seem dry after all that kissing, M pulls out a tube of glitter-gloss, slicking the frosty-pink shine around his mouth while regarding the other man thoughtfully. Re-pocketing the item of makeup and smacking his wetly sparkling lips together, he finally states, "You have a lot of secrets, don't you?"

"Yes. I do." The remnant arches a questioning brow. "Does that make me interesting to you?"

Fidgeting with his own earrings, M is contemplative for a moment and then he confesses, "Maybe."

Smirking a little, Yazoo finds that this answer pleases him. The boy is interested. That's good. Now, let's see /exactly/ how far M's interest spans…

Showing just as much brazen boldness as the guitarist did earlier, Yazoo levels his gaze and announces, "Enough talking. I'd much rather like to see your mouth used for something else now."

The black-haired vocalist stares back at him, long-fingered hand dropping from his ringed earlobe down to his side, resting there slackly. "What, you mean like…a blow job?"

"That's precisely what I mean." Injecting some droll humour into his tone, Yazoo remarks, "With lips like that, I can't be the only man who's asked you for one."

"Well, no. Actually you aren't," M answers in an irritated voice. "But that doesn't mean I'll drop to my knees and do it."

The slimmer male lifts his chin proudly, dark eyes flashing. "I might wear makeup and girls' clothing sometimes but I'm not a bitch and I'm certainly NOT a whore. And if you think I am, then screw you, asshole," he ends with a growl.

"I do not think that at all," Yazoo replies calmingly, sensing the kid's righteous anger rising to a dangerous level. "I can see for myself you are neither of those things and I can tell that you take your choice of lovers very seriously. You are clearly a smart, selective young man who knows what he wants, or doesn't want, and that's one of the reasons why I like you so much. You don't fuck around. And neither do I."

The accurate description of M's personality and the smoothly inserted compliments effectively starts to soothe the singer's quick temper, extinguishing the flames of fury flickering in his eyes and replacing them with a reluctant respect, M beginning to admire Yazoo's forthrightness and frankness.

"Besides, look at me." Yazoo jadedly gestures to his own femininely-featured face and his flowing, shimmering hair. "Believe me, M, I get more than my fair share of derogatory, offensive comments too. Guys like us are always mistaken and judged unfairly. I know exactly how you feel and would never judge you that way."

Glancing down at Yazoo's soft, sensual lips - which are a neutral, un-glossed light rose colour - M ventures, "You get asked for blow jobs too?"

"All the damn time," Yazoo empathises. "Sucks to be pretty, doesn't it?"

At the pun, the guitarist's mouth twitches. "Yeah. Sure does."

With a new awareness, M gazes at the elegant silver-head in front of him, finally realising that he's looking at a kindred soul here, someone who also knows the blessing and the burden of being gifted with girlish looks and an abundance of sexual energy. Here's someone who understands what M goes through every day and deals with the same shit he has to deal with. This makes him like the unusual gun-slinging stranger even more.

"Speaking of sucking…" Yazoo hints with a gleam in his eye. "Will you do it for me? If I ask very, very nicely?"

"I don't know," M drawls back. "How nice can you ask?"

Hm. A dare.

Yazoo likes those. They add a touch of spice to an otherwise bland and tasteless existence. When so challenged, he's never backed out of one before and he's certainly not going to now, the tall remnant smiling seducingly and half-hooding his eyelids, making his turquoise gaze go all smoky and sultry. Even though it most likely won't have any effect, he automatically sends out every ounce of Allure in his blood, casting it towards the other boy like some exotic fragrance floating heavily on the evening air.

"Please," he requests in the softest, sincerest tone he can summon, so it doesn't sound like an order, his low, velveteen voice carrying through the alley and wrapping around M like a warm scarf of black silk. He steps up to the musician and strokes M's smooth cheek with the back of his fingers, the inviting caress as light and subtle as the brush of a dove's feather.

"Pleasure me, my sweet, and I will pleasure you in return."

At the huskily-spoken offer M falters, looking as though he's seriously considering it. He's not outright objecting, anyway.

"Please," Yazoo asks again, slightly startled to hear the underlying begging quality in the quiet plea, making him realise how much he truly desires this. M must have also heard it because Yazoo can see the moment he makes his decision and gives in, the boy's face softening, his body language becoming more open and receptive and his posture relaxing.

"Okay," he sighs, "but if you get rough with me, or try to shove down my throat, I won't hesitate to bite you where it hurts."

"Ouch. I certainly don't want that," is Yazoo's amused reply to the half-hearted threat. "Don't worry. I won't move. I'll just stand here and let you do all the work."

"Oh, is that so? What if I don't want to?" M retorts, pushing Yazoo's hand away huffily. Despite his defiant attitude, M seems quite willing to oblige and grant Yazoo's request, even appearing as though he's looking forward to it somewhat, going by the way he keeps sneaking glances at Yazoo's groin area.

"You just going to think about it all night?" Yazoo taunts. "You know, you might technically be a boy but I'm starting to wonder if you have any balls at all."

"Fuck you," M snaps, taking the bait, just like Yazoo knew he would. "I'll prove who's got the balls around here!"

Still in his black platform boots and skin-tight vinyl pants, the visual kei artist sinks to his knees on the cobble-stoned ground, a resolute look of determination on his pretty face. Kneeling right in front of Yazoo's crotch, he brusquely pops the press-stud fastening on the waist of Yazoo's biker trousers – the loud snap echoing down the alleyway - the remnant's heart skipping a beat in excitement of what's shortly going to happen to him. Deliberately roughly, M yanks down the zipper and then shoves apart the leather with both hands, revealing thin black fabric stretched over a fleshy bulge. With his breath catching in his throat, Yazoo watches as the gutsy performer takes hold of the top of his trunks, snatching the material down and allowing Yazoo's impatient erection to be set free, the stiff bouncing organ obviously in dire need of some attention. M makes a pleased face at what he sees; a long, hotly flushed staff of skin stretched over swollen tissue and veins, framed by a small carpet of short steel-grey ringlets low on Yazoo's abdomen, complimented by a heavy sac beneath and a single crystalline droplet gleaming on the round violet-coloured end. It's a prime example of virile manhood and M can't help being impressed. Inquisitively wrapping his fingers around the base, M gauges how hard and thick it is, the contact causing Yazoo to hiss softly.

Still staring at the perfectly-shaped dick in his hand, M bites his full lower lip and lets it slide from between his teeth, subsequently toying at his piercing with the tip of his tongue, as if thinking about what to do next. It's like he's playing with Yazoo, making him wait. Teasing him. Looking up at the silver-head with mischief-filled, dark-cocoa eyes, M makes an elaborate show of licking his own lips, top then bottom, slowly and sexily, leaving them glinting with saliva in a most erotically appealing manner. He has quite a long tongue and it's the loveliest strawberry-pink colour. Unable to stop himself, Yazoo lets out a noise of frustration, wanting that strawberry tongue and those moist, pouty, glittery lips on him right now. Knowing precisely how he's affecting his taller partner, M grins up at him with rows of impish white teeth, like a gremlin. Or an evil kitten – cute but oh-so-wicked.

"Stop that, you little tease," Yazoo scolds but his tone is resonant with affection and desire. He grasps M by the chin, moving his face back to Yazoo's opened zipper and the enlarged male sex poking out from it. "Now, show me what you can do with that luscious mouth of yours."

M just cocks his head, glancing up in stubborn expectation, as if waiting for something. Demanding it, even.

"Oh, all right. Pretty please," Yazoo adds sweetly, indulging the boy whilst fighting his own smile of ironic amusement, never thinking he'd see the day when HE had to beg for sexual favours.

Giving a brief smirk of satisfaction, M turns his attention to what's in his hand. Leaning forward on his knees, he sweeps his dark layered fringe out of the way and experimentally licks the shiny purpled end of Yazoo's dick, cleaning up that drop of pre-come, making Yazoo hiss a second time. Yazoo must taste nice to M because he kisses the tip appreciatively before licking it again, circumnavigating the smooth rounded flesh with his tongue, getting it wet, and then rubbing it around his lips, getting them slicked with saliva too. The wetter everything is, the easier this will be for him. And the more pleasing it will be for Yazoo, too. Yazoo had expected him to be a lot more uncertain and tentative but M gets right into it without hesitating, his pierced lips parting, the gifted guitar-player taking the head of Yazoo's cock willingly into his warm mouth. He lightly sucks it for a few moments to draw out another drop or two of Yazoo's salty-sweet secretions and then shuffles forward on the ground, swallowing more of that heated flesh, Yazoo offering a soft hum of enticement.

"That's the way, my pet. Take me as deep as you can."

Holding Yazoo's hard-on straight and steady with one hand, M leans in further in his kneeling position, his glossed lips effortlessly gliding halfway down the remnant's thickened shaft and back up again, leaving behind a smear of twinkling glitter. He does this again, and a third time, taking more of Yazoo's length each time, just about bumping into silvery curls with the tip of his be-ringed nose. He hollows his cheeks, creating suction and maintaining it while his head moves back and forward, the ends of his black ponytail brushing over his own tattooed shoulders and the top of his spine. His is such a sumptuously plump, desirable mouth and judging by how often he stuck out his tongue on stage and blew kisses at the audience, he totally knows it, too. This is surely a mouth made for sucking cock and that's exactly what he's doing. Light-headed with all the blissful sensations rushing through his groin and gut, Yazoo gazes down at this exceedingly erotic scene, watching himself be orally worshipped by such a ravishing, raven-haired creature.

"Yes," Yazoo coaches in a turned-on whisper, his fingers sliding around to cup the side of M's delicately structured face and jaw, the touch supportive and encouraging rather than controlling. "Oh, merciful Mother, yes…So good…"

Hearing the praise, the androgynous Asian sucks harder, lifting his free hand to cover Yazoo's where it is resting on his cheek, M briefly caressing the other's pale fingers as he works, angling his head to gain more depth, his eyes closed in concentration. Hopefully he's getting some enjoyment out of doing this because Yazoo sure is. Sparkles of euphoric pleasure are shooting through his tensed stomach and into his veins at the feel of M's magical mouth surrounding him, so wet and hot, sliding slowly up and down his engorged pole and leaving it glistening and glimmering in the semi-darkness. Yazoo can feel the metal lip-ring skimming along the left side of his shaft, the interesting friction adding a new dimension to the experience and intensifying it greatly, taking an ordinary act and making it extraordinary and excitingly different. He's never been sucked by someone with a piercing before.

When one of the musician's skilled hands slips underneath Yazoo to carefully cradle and knead his tightened testes while the other starts to jack him in measured pumps, Yazoo has to fight the urge to buck his hips and blow in the boy's gorgeous mouth, his fists momentarily clenching in M's hair as he battles for command of his over-sensitised body. As great as that would feel, he doesn't want to come yet. He wants this encounter to last for as long as it possibly can because it's turning out to be the best one of his whole life so far.

His hands relax when his body does, excitement levels safely back under control, and he strokes the kid's head, lovingly and rewardingly, like he's petting a well-behaved puppy.

"I must say," Yazoo comments in admiration, "you're doing exceptionally well for someone who's never been with a man before."

Stopping for a moment, M glances up. "I said I was /usually/ straight. I didn't say 'always'."

"That you didn't," Yazoo belatedly agrees. "I should have listened more closely, hm?"

"Yeah. You should have," M says with a cheeky smirk, turning back to the task at hand, engulfing Yazoo's erection again and circling his talented tongue around it. No wonder he's so good at this. He's done it before. Though Yazoo is marginally disappointed that he isn't the kid's first, he is nevertheless pleased to be the one who's receiving all of M's attention now. As he watches his reddened rod being systematically swallowed and released with slippery, sucking sounds, Yazoo continues stroking over M's dark head, dearly wanting to undo the samurai style holding up the boy's brunette mane just to see how long it really is and run his fingers all the way through it; however, he's not sure if M would appreciate having his hair messed up. Probably not. But still, the desire to touch it unbound wins over so Yazoo chooses to risk the fiery performer's annoyance and deftly pulls away the elastic band holding his ponytail together, freeing the mass of burnished black and rainbow-dye, letting it all tumble down over the youth's naked shoulders, the tips reaching mid-to-lower back, even longer than Yazoo's. The feisty rebel immediately halts what he's doing, glaring irritably up at Yazoo for his nerve, his eyebrow ring catching the nearby door-light and seeming to glint angrily.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're-" he starts to object but Yazoo silences him by grabbing the kid's head and pushing his dick back into M's mouth, not too far though, just enough to keep him quiet.

"Shut up and suck," Yazoo instructs, gathering up and burying his hands in the second male's midnight tresses, which are still luxuriously soft even with all the strips of harsh colour streaked through them. When Yazoo starts combing through the satiny strands, his fingertips skimming over the singer's scalp and stroking down the responsive cropped nape of his neck, M closes his eyes and shivers, emitting a tiny whimpering noise and forgetting all about being annoyed, becoming even more aroused instead.

Peering down sideways, Yazoo can see that the red bulge in the crutch of the boy's pants hasn't disappeared or gone away. Oh, yes. M's definitely getting some enjoyment out of this. Yazoo wouldn't force him to carry on if he wasn't.

Drowning in the heady, invigorating feel of the kid's magnificent mouth and the way he's now needily clutching at Yazoo's thighs with those black-varnished fingernails - pulling him closer and deeper - the platinum-haired remnant lets a velvety moan roll out of his parted lips into the dim, empty laneway, Yazoo unwittingly beginning to rock his hips into that divine sucking warmth, even though he promised he wouldn't move. M doesn't seem to mind; the kneeling musician growing still and accepting the slow thrusts with a moan of his own, the muted sound resonating at the back of his throat which Yazoo is precariously close to hitting but careful not to. Open-minded M may have tasted cock before but Yazoo gets the notion that he's not an expert in deep-throating, at least not yet, and he doesn't want to push the formerly heterosexual kid beyond his relatively untrained capabilities. Hell, Yazoo doesn't even care how far M can take him. He's just thrilled that the boy will even suck him at all.

From this standing view above him, Yazoo notes hazily how the young man's high cheekbones are even more pronounced and angled, how much shorter and broader his nose is than Yazoo's and how the outer corners of his chocolate eyes slant upwards; emphasising his mixed-race heritage. Yazoo may speak the same language as M and breathe the same air but they come from different worlds entirely. Unlike M who has real parents to thank for his good looks, Yazoo got his from a tube of alien blood. That's what makes him so strong and fast and deadly. But he's not turned off by the fact that M is so human, and therefore so frail and delicate and breakable. It makes the boy seem even more precious to him and for the first time ever Yazoo is compelled to care for someone who's not one of his own brothers.

"Come back up here, my beauty," he softly orders, gently pulling the smaller male away, urging him to stand up again. "Let me taste that sweet mouth of yours."

M clumsily gets to his feet, brushing off his knees and licking his lips which have gone noticeably puffier than before. Now they are nude and natural-coloured, the sparkly frosted-pink lip gloss he had been wearing currently decorating the outside of Yazoo's dick, causing it to glitter in the dark. The boy's ebony hair falls freely over his creamy shoulders and down his back in long colour-streaked layers, making him look even more like a girl, especially in conjunction with the eye-makeup and jewellery he's got on. Half-boy, half-girl…feminine yet masculine… with the piercings and tattoos he looks like some kind of punk angel. Taking the rock-musician by the face, Yazoo draws him in and covers that puffy pout with his own, the kiss much softer and sweeter than earlier, the Jenova descendant tasting himself on the kid's mouth. And liking it.

"Thank you, M," he murmurs against the boy's lips. "That was without comparison the most incredible blow job I've ever received."

Looking confused, M points out, "But you didn't…actually…blow."

"No." Yazoo smiles in anticipation. "I'm saving that for the big finish."

An uneasy expression crosses M's fine features as he thinks of the usual endings to porn films. "Um…You're not gonna like, do it on my face, are you?"

Reassuringly, Yazoo kisses the tip of that cute ringed nose. "Never fear. I may have messed up your hair but I don't plan on messing up your beautiful face."

"Great," M replies, sounding relieved. "Because I fuckin' hate that. It's humiliating and it makes my eyelashes stick together. Do you know how hard it is to get dried jizz out of your eyelashes?"

With a chuckle, Yazoo answers, "I certainly do. I'm pretty too, remember? And I hate it just as much as you do. The last guy that did that to me ended up with all his front teeth smashed out."

"You punched him?" M exclaims.

"Kicked him, actually. Right through his bedroom wall. Oh, I could have done a lot worse, believe me," Yazoo drawls at the boy's look of shocked awe. "That's me letting him off easy."

M stares at Yazoo for a short while in disbelief and then he starts chuckling too. "Dude, you're one weird motherfucker but for some reason I am really starting to dig you."

Yazoo conceals a smirk of smugness.

Excellent. His plan of seduction is working…

Part five.

Standing there in just his boots and pants, M glances down one more time at Yazoo's prettily sparkling erection and asks casually, "Well, I sucked you. What do you want me to do now?"

"Nothing at all," Yazoo graciously answers. "It's my turn to please you. I promised I would, didn't I?"

M likes the idea of doing nothing so he stands there and watches with interest to see what's going to be done to him. With fast, efficient motions Yazoo deftly unbuttons and delves into the smaller one's scarlet pants, discovering a blood-flushed organ that fits neatly into his encircled fingers, M groaning throatily at the intimately personal touch. All that sucking on Yazoo's big handsome cock has left the musician's own male parts aching and aroused; the gunman's white hand cool and soothing on his swollen flesh.

Gazing down, Yazoo admires the brunette's revealed masculinity, seeing all the details of it with his super-enhanced night vision. It's not quite as wide or long as Yazoo's own but it's sizable enough and it's very, very hard. Due to M's penchant for body modification, Yazoo thought there may have been a ring or a barbell stuck through the head of his penis too but upon inspection it's unpierced and unadorned. It's perfect and pretty, just like the rest of M. The remnant sensually strokes along the boy's stiffened shaft, his fingers much paler than the naturally-tanned flesh he's holding. His knuckles brush against a neat patch of clipped pubes, establishing that the boy doesn't shave here, like he did his underarms, but simply trims. Yazoo prefers a bit of fuzz in this area anyway, just so he doesn't feel as though he's molesting an underage teen. Knowing that M is a fully-legal young man, Yazoo drops to a swift crouch, wanting to taste this delicious sex-symbol for himself. The brunette stares down in disbelief as Yazoo flicks his hair over his shoulder, opens up his soft-pink lips and hungrily envelops M's cock, taking the whole lot in one go, right up to the hilt, the other man evidently quite proficient in the skill of relaxing his oesophagus muscles.

"Gnnngh!" is all M can utter, his face showing a great deal of astonishment; the sudden move and depth of the swallowing surprising and thrilling him enormously. So enormously, in fact, M's almost at the point of spilling his seed right down that deep, velvet-lined throat. Completely aware of this, Yazoo only gives him a couple of sliding sucks before pulling away, his goal to sample the kid's beautiful dick having been accomplished, finding it the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. In another swiftly performed springing movement, Yazoo is on his feet again, delicately swiping a fingertip across his upper lip.

"Mm. Yummy."

"Wh-what the fuck was that, man?" M sputters in horny outrage, his balls /really/ aching now. He crossly shoves Yazoo in the chest. "Why'd you fucking stop?"

Though the push didn't even budge him, Yazoo snatches both of the boy's wrists, capturing and holding them securely in one slim but incredibly strong hand.

"Shove me again and I'll knock you flying over that fence," he declares sternly to M. "I stopped because I want you to wait until the big finish as well. You're going to come when I tell you to. And not before. Got it?"

Yazoo's deadly slitted-pupil stare of challenge suitably intimidates M, at least enough to calm him into mumbling, "Whatever. Sorry."

"You should be. Now, come here, you little pest," Yazoo orders, yanking him forward like a cop with a handcuffed prisoner. "I'm nowhere near finished with you yet."

M simply gulps, his eyes going wide.

Just because Yazoo is under the intoxicating influence of M's Allure (and is therefore just about in love with the infuriatingly attractive brat) that doesn't mean he's going to be submissive. Everyone expects Yazoo to be – presumably because of his slenderness and outward femininity – and admittedly on the odd occasion it's nice to lay back and let someone else do all the work but it can get repetitive and tiresome always being the one spreading your legs. Sometimes, when the opportunity presents itself, Yazoo likes to take charge and prove that he really is a man and can be dominant. M is one such opportunity. Though the pierced punk-rocker has a lot of dominating qualities himself, Yazoo also senses that he'd make quite a splendid sub.

It is for this reason Yazoo lets go of M's wrists, not needing to forcibly restrain him. M's here with Yazoo because he wants to be and he's far too excited to even try and go anywhere. Cupping one firm buttock in his hand, Yazoo pulls M nearer and presses his thigh against the kabuki-kid's groin.

"Still hard, hmm?" Yazoo teases while pressing his own naked erection onto the side of M's flat exposed belly, letting the singer feel it and feel how turned-on Yazoo also is. The boy's stomach is already warm but Yazoo's cock scalds him, the solid flesh enflamed and burning with heated desire.

"Wow, you're so hot," M comments in amazement

Smirking, Yazoo answers, "Why, thanks very much. I try."

"I didn't mean it like that," the guitar-player protests, but when Yazoo's lean, muscled leather-covered thigh rocks tantalisingly into him, he moans. "Okay, maybe I meant it that way too…"

As he's rocking and pressing into M's hardened maleness – and rubbing his dick on M's ink-stained belly at the same time - Yazoo begins kissing and nipping at the cross-dresser's graceful throat, remembering how much M likes that. When he feels Yazoo's silken lips on his skin again – tongue sweeping like a trail of liquid fire along his pulsing artery – M moans again, allowing his lashes to flicker shut. While he's mouthing up and down M's tasty neck, Yazoo lets one hand rest on half of the singer's small, taut bottom while the other creeps down the back of those shiny red pants. Jolted by the startling intrusion of Yazoo's finger slipping into his crack, the boy's eyes fly open and he swallows nervously.

"Uh, dude…I gotta ask. Are you going to…to fuck me?"

"That depends." Yazoo smiles at him playfully, grazing over the young man's private pucker. "Are you going to let me?"

Sucking in a shaky breath, M debates this. "What if I say no?"

"Then I won't. But you will be missing out on the most spectacular sex you'll ever have."

"Spectacular, huh?"

"Yes. Spectacular. Want to see my references? There's about three of them back inside that bar, bitterly disappointed that I'm out here with you. Any one of them will vouch for how good I am." Yazoo removes his hand, licks the underneath of his finger and then slips it back down. "But if you don't believe me, feel free to leave now. I can easily find somebody else to do this with."

Hissing a little as Yazoo moistens and traces enticingly around his suddenly sensitive entrance, M realises he doesn't want to leave and he certainly doesn't want Yazoo touching anyone else in this way. Yazoo went to all the trouble of chasing him down through the tavern and out into the alley, proving how badly he wanted M, so the least M could do is be a bit lenient towards the other guy.

"Suppose I should say yes, then."

Circling a wet fingertip over and around the hidden place he dearly longs to claim, Yazoo rubs his prick on M's belly again and drags his tongue up the boy's neck, coercing lowly, "So say it."

Moaning with his head tipped back, M feels Yazoo's pre-ejaculate fluids leaking onto his stomach, the solid male flesh sliding slickly across his skin, the temptation of having that superb cock inside of him proving too strong to deny.

"Yes," he breathes on impulse. "Yes, I'll let you."

"Excellent choice," Yazoo praises, beginning to pry the boy apart with more seriousness, pushing against that tiny, unwilling opening, trying to coax it into giving way and letting him in. Suddenly, it does and the entire length of his index finger disappears in to the main knuckle, the movement eliciting a gasp from both of them – M's one of erotic shock while Yazoo's is of excited delight.

"Ahh, so tight, little one…"

M just bites his ringed lip, squeezing his eyes shut as Yazoo unhurriedly draws out, spiralling as he does to widen M up further. Eventually pulling free, Yazoo licks a second finger and pushes it in, along with the first again. Gasping louder, the guitarist's polished nails dig into Yazoo's arms, his spine stiffening. It doesn't hurt – Yazoo is making certain to be careful – but it sure is damn intrusive and personal, having someone probing right up there, stretching him open, almost against his body's will. He has to admit it does feel good, though, especially when Yazoo slides his long pale fingers out, M's inner nerves tingling with the friction, the tingles spreading up his vertebrae and down along his thighs, the dark-haired musician feeling the skin on his naked back ripple with waves of chill-bumps. He can feel his own slickness oozing out of the tip of his dick and smearing across the thigh of Yazoo's leather pants as the taller male keeps rocking against him in a skilful sensual rhythm, the silver-head moving his lithe body like a professional dancer.

The remnant continues preparing his almond-eyed captive for fucking, intermittently removing his hand and wetting his fingers with a swipe of saliva to keep them slippery, tasting M's muskiness as he does so and thirstily breathing in the boy's addictive sex-scent, before sliding back into his snug internal warmth. Yazoo does this a few times, getting M wetter and looser, even placing his fingers into M's mouth and making the other young man taste himself. Yazoo is pleased that the kid doesn't resist, cooperatively sucking at the proffered digits without grimacing.

"Good boy," Yazoo awards in a whisper as he pushes back into M's elastic entrance, feeling first-hand how easily the kid has accepted three of his fingers. "Very, very good boy."

"Not a boy," M mutters, attempting to sound grouchy and only semi-succeeding.

Yazoo just smiles, ignoring the reproach. "I told you my name earlier," he reminds, lips grazing the musician's temple, beside the brow ring. "Do you remember what it is, mysterious M?"

M nods dreamily, only half-listening, too lost in a heightened state of ecstatic arousal, Yazoo's pressing thigh covered in M's sticky, seeping juices by now.

"Say it for me."

"Why?" M counters, showing his stubbornness once again.

"Because if you don't I'll stop doing this," Yazoo threatens mildly, twisting his fingers in deeper.

"Fuck! Ya-Yazoo," the second male exclaims in a hitched voice of tormented pleasure. "Your name's Yazoo!"

"Oh, so you /were/ paying attention," Yazoo jokes, withdrawing ever so teasingly and slow.

"Don't," M groans pleadingly as mischievous fingertips circle his stimulated hole, mocking him by refusing to re-enter. "C'mon. Oh, God. Don't stop now..."

Yazoo gives a low, throaty purr. He loves the sound of begging, particularly when it's coming from a luscious, long-haired creature like this.

Murmuring against the performer's pierced lips, Yazoo asks, "Would you like me inside you now?"

In an urgent whisper, M replies, "Yeah."

"Say please."

M groans, frustrated and horny and just wanting to get on with it.

"Be fair, little bishie. I played your game. Now you play mine."

"Fine. Please," M grinds out sulkily.

"Like you mean it."

Cursing to himself, M relents, leaning into Yazoo's ear and asking in a rather desperate tone now, "Please? Yazoo, I need you. Want you. Bad."

"That's much better," Yazoo says in satisfaction, steering the brunette backwards, giving him room to move. "Take your pants off."

M bends down and starts to unzip his boots.

"No," Yazoo huskily interrupts. "Leave those on. I want to fuck you in them."

Eyebrow rising at Yazoo's kinkiness, M nevertheless does what he's asked to and draws the calf-zip back up, peeling his tight vinyl trousers down his thighs and rolling them over his chunky platform boots, not without a great amount of difficulty and lots of tugging and hopping on one foot. He's not wearing any underwear and finally, with a muttered curse and one last almighty tug, the red pants are off and the Asian musician is utterly naked except for the knee-high Goth-boots. And the jewellery. He stands there uncertainly in the dim alley, shivering a little and waiting for further instructions, while Yazoo languidly gazes at the vision of alternative attractiveness before him. The kid's symbolic chest, belly and arm tattoos match very nicely with the black boots and everywhere in between consists of flawless skin the shade of buttery cream, the silky texture making Yazoo want to touch it all, to have it skimming smoothly under his palms and responding to his caress.

M's waist-long streaked hair stirs in the slight breeze, both brunette and coloured strands wisping across his doll-like face, getting pushed back by fine be-ringed fingers with nail polish on them, bracelets falling down a thin arm. The guitarist's nude body is remarkably soft-looking, despite the way his ribs and hipbones jut out, and the little patch of ebony fur above his privates is trimmed much like the triangle above a girl's pussy. If he tucked his dick in between his slender thighs and covered his flat nipples with his hands it would complete the female illusion and one would never know they were looking at a boy.

"Stunning," Yazoo remarks in a reverently soft breath before moving in to encircle that tiny middle, lifting the smaller male up off the ground and onto the closed lid of the hip-height steel dumpster behind them. M immediately yelps and leaps back onto Yazoo, clinging to him with all arms and legs like some kind of tattooed baby monkey.

"Gah! Cold!"

"Forgive my thoughtlessness," Yazoo apologises politely, using the toe of his left boot to flick his own coat up off the ground, catching it with a deft hand. He lays the leather article over the metal lid, arranging it neatly while holding M's entire weight up with one single arm.

"You know, you're a lot stronger than you look," M comments, feeling the controlled power in Yazoo's deceptively trim build and in the arm around him.

"I'm aware of that," Yazoo replies with a slight smile. Stepping forward again, he sits the boy back down on top of his coat, M's cute bottom now insulated from the icy steel of the trash container by a protective layer of animal hide.

"How's that? More comfortable?"

M nods appreciatively. "You're nice."

"Only to people I like." His own pants still undone, Yazoo stands between the guitarist's lanky legs, the remnant sighing as he slides his palms up along M's thighs, hips and waist, luxuriating in that warm, gold skin and the way M quivers in response to his touch.

"What about people you don't like?" The rock-singer questions, slinging his arms about Yazoo's neck, under the satin drape of his light-metallic hair, M gazing at the other man curiously. "What do you do to them?"

"Trust me – you don't want to know," Yazoo returns absently, shifting M closer and parting the boy's thighs wider. M automatically hooks his legs around Yazoo's waist, crossing his platform boots at the ankles. His boot-buckles are digging into Yazoo's lower back but the second man doesn't complain. Just to make things as easy for both of them as possible, Yazoo discreetly spits on his fingers and smears his saliva around and over his own dick, the remainder going between his new lover's legs. Then, before any of the makeshift lube dries in the evening air, Yazoo lines up his tip with the musician's pre-prepared opening and starts to nudge against it.

Even though M said he had been with men before, he didn't mention how many or how far he went with any of them and so, unsure of the kid's capabilities, Yazoo pushes gently and cautiously. As his tip slips in and pops past the clenched ring of muscle, M moans and tenses his fragile frame, his permanently-inked arms tightening around Yazoo's neck.

Not wanting to accidentally injure his petite partner, Yazoo stops and offers, "We can go as slow as you like, okay?"

When the brunette gives an unexpected jerk of his pelvis, taking all of Yazoo's length in one quick hit, Yazoo gasps. "Or as fast!"

Trying to control their breathing, the two of them stay motionless for few seconds, each getting used to the feel of the other; M having Yazoo buried all the way in him and Yazoo being the one buried within this gorgeously lusty love-object. The internal heat and grip of M's body is dizzying and Yazoo actually finds his head swimming with the overpowering sensation; feeling the boy's life-force throbbing from the inside, the speed of his pulse revealing the high level of M's excitement. Normally when Yazoo feels a heartbeat this rapid it means the person is utterly terrified of what he's about to do to them but M isn't scared in the slightest, at least not now that Yazoo's put his gunblade down. What's also unusual about this situation is that Yazoo's heart happens to be pounding just as rapidly. He's almost afraid to move in case he loses control and comes already, just like an inexperienced teenage virgin, none of which he actually is.

If anyone's a virgin here, it's M. He's frozen in a half-sitting position with a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face, as if realising that such sudden penetration wasn't a terribly great idea.

"You're in pain," Yazoo murmurs in consideration, a frown marring his smooth brow.

"No, I'm not," M denies, his wince betraying the blatant fib he's just told.

"Yes, you are. Have you not done this before?"

For a moment M looks like he's going to lie again and cover up his inexperience but, knowing how perceptive Yazoo is, the boy just lowers his shamed gaze and mumbles, "No."

"I thought as much." Yazoo leans down to press a gentle, understanding kiss against M's forehead, whispering, "You're doing very well, my sweet. Very well. We won't go any further until you're ready, all right?"

M gives a brief nod, the singer appearing close to tears but he bravely holds them in, hiding his face in Yazoo's shoulder. Yazoo stays still and silent, giving the innocent young man all the time he needs to cope, stroking M's back in a comforting and reassuring manner.

"I always wanted to do this, you know," M bashfully confesses while his body is adjusting to Yazoo's width and length, the painful stretched sensation gradually lessening as he relaxes under his partner's skilled caresses. "I've sucked guys in the past and let them touch me – including my close friend Gackt - but I never let him put his dick in me, no matter how much he begged. I never let anyone do that before."

M shyly glances up to meet Yazoo's accepting green gaze. "Until now."

"I feel extremely privileged," Yazoo answers softly and sincerely, kissing M's forehead again. "Thank you."

M just nods again. It's him who takes the initiative and moves first, his lower body beginning to roll against Yazoo slowly, tentatively, the taller male supporting him with both hands and murmuring encouragement. Yazoo needn't have worried about his own self-control as it's still perfectly intact. He won't come until M does, and he prides himself on never having left a lover unsatisfied. When M feels comfortable and confident in what he's doing, the part-time bi-boy starts thrusting his hips in short shallow motions while hanging onto Yazoo's neck for leverage, giving a string of small moans as he does so, his sexual appetite apparently firing back into life again.

"Eager child, aren't you?" Yazoo comments with a chuckle.

"For the third time, stop calling me that," M snarls and bucks harder, making Yazoo suck in an abrupt lungful of air. "I'm NOT a little boy!"

"No," the remnant manages to answer, his voice sounding strained and breathless as M shamelessly fucks himself on Yazoo's stiff, hard cock. "Gods no, you certainly are not…"

M may look young but he's probably about the same age as Yazoo, perhaps even older by a couple of years. He's built like a girl but he's not frail or weak, proven by the countless tattoos needled into his skin and the various holes pierced through it. He's a tough little bundle of spunk, sass and sex which is precisely why Yazoo wants him so fiercely. Certainly, M's own Allure is part of that attraction but if the boy were a scared, timid, snivelling puppy with no fire in his belly and no challenge in his eyes Yazoo would quickly lose interest, turn around and leave him in the alley in disgusted boredom. He could even hit or kick the kid in the face first just for the hell of it, just to break those pretty bones and see him bleed. But nothing like that is going to happen here tonight. M is neither scared, timid nor snivelling. He's bold and open and burning with passion. He's strong-willed, opinionated and unapologetically non-conformist. He is who he is and doesn't give a shit what people think of him for being so flamboyantly and uniquely individual. Yazoo actually /likes/ this strange, stubborn human and damaging him is the furthest thing on the green-eyed gunman's mind. What he wants to do to M is exactly what he's doing right now.

When Yazoo starts to thrust back, pulling the androgynous artist nearer and angling his pelvis to get further in, M's rebellious attitude fades, his eyes falling closed to reveal the sharkskin-grey shadow painted on his upper lids and brow-bone, long mascara-black lashes tickling his upper cheeks. He chews his bejewelled bottom lip and whimpers, surrendering himself to the giddy, arousing notion of being taken by someone stronger and bigger than him, of being tamed and owned, if only for a few minutes.

"That's it," Yazoo breathes jubilantly, feeling M softening and turning submissive in his arms. "Give in to me. Let me have you, my lovely blackbird."

Proving that he already has, M just whimpers again, drawing closer to Yazoo and beginning to nuzzle into his white chest, grazing his open lips over Yazoo's pectoral muscle and instinctively licking at one pale pink nipple. Though the motion is light and tentative it's like an arc of electricity to Yazoo, one that zings down into his crotch and along his dick.

"Yes. Lick me there," he coaches in a dark, lust-tinged voice. "Flick it with your tongue. I like that."

Obeying the order, M dips his head and focuses on Yazoo's pebbled bud, taking it into his mouth and lapping at it, wanting to please his more commanding partner. M rubs his parted lips over the remnant's chest, making clever use of his oral piercing and scratching the sharp plastic points of it across Yazoo's erect male nub, then soothingly rolling his hot tongue around it, following that action with a couple of quick flicks. The more M plays with it and licks it, the more excited Yazoo gets; the muscular man becoming rougher and more forceful with his delicate partner, beginning to fuck him harder, his hips starting to snap instead of rock. M doesn't object, though, the rough treatment exciting him too, the guitarist making noises of enthusiasm around Yazoo's nipple. He eventually has to tear his lips away, the brunette's head dropping back and mouth opening to give a series of hoarse, gasping cries, urging Yazoo on as he's being fucked. Anyone listening in would think by the tone of his voice that Yazoo's hurting him but it's just the way M's voice is. Raw. Raspy. Passionate. The sound of it turns Yazoo on in a way he's never been turned on before and he growls at the back of his throat, stabbing into the boy's beautiful body, over and over, unable to get enough of that smooth, gripping heat. He stares down at the musician's face, triumphing at the look of near-pain twisting across it, the familiar expression of sexual pleasure that so closely resembles suffering, but isn't at all.

While he relishes M's hungry enjoyment, Yazoo's long hair swings and sways in time with his thrusts, turning stringy from the perspiration that's now rolling down his forehead, temples and neck, soaking into his iron-grey locks and tangling them up. Some of the sweat-drops fall, landing on M's bare chest, mixing with the boy's own sweat. The brunette's back is slick and his dark mane sticks to it, the strands clumping together wetly. With an impatient hand, M shoves his untidy fringe out of his eyes, his brow shiny with moisture and his heavy makeup beginning to smudge and run, his bodily temperature every bit as raised as Yazoo's is by what they are doing together, Yazoo's thick cock repeatedly plunging in and out of M's tight ass with the sound of moist, connecting flesh.

"Love…fucking…you," Yazoo grits out, not the most eloquent or articulate statement he's ever uttered but the liberating thing about being with this adventurous guitarist is that he doesn't have to be sophisticated or retain his neat and stylish appearance. M doesn't care that he's sweaty and panting or has messy hair because M's in the exact same state as Yazoo. They're both guys and they can perspire and pant and get messed-up together.

"Fucking…love you…too," M gasps back, not realising what he's just said, too caught up in the hotness and exhilaration of an unplanned alley-screw with this seductive silver-haired stranger.

Sensing that M won't be able to last much longer, Yazoo unwinds one of the boy's arms from around his neck, guiding M's hand down to his own neglected hardness, encouraging him to stroke it as Yazoo is screwing him.

"Touch yourself," Yazoo advises urgently. "It will make it better for you."

When his fingers wrap around and slide up his own sensitised, weeping erection, M shudders almost violently, swearing from between gritted teeth. He sounds like he's two seconds away from coming. Truth be told, Yazoo is just as eager as M for the culmination of their erotic encounter and he pounds the kid with more force, driving deeper and quicker into that heated tightness, strong fingers clutching the kid's narrow waist, Yazoo jolting the other's slimmer figure with increasingly powerful, possessive thrusts, the dumpster beneath them shifting and scraping across the ground, the metal container repeatedly banging into the brick wall behind it, empty glass bottles rattling inside.

"Yeah…yeah…Do it hard!" M's voice is so coarse in his desperation, it's almost breaking. "Fuck me… Ohmigod, fuckmefuckme…"

"Come on," Yazoo pants persuasively and breathlessly, sensing his partner's approaching climax and holding back just for him, but only barely. "Come for me, baby. Come for me right now…"

M calls out hoarsely as he starts to, a taut tenseness crossing his exotic face and drawing his fine brows together. Slender fingers clenched around his straining shaft, he throws his head back as Yazoo frenziedly rams into him, the whites of the boy's eyes showing when his swelling pleasure finally bursts and overwhelms him, his thighs suddenly tightening and clamping around Yazoo's waist, M's cries trailing off into a sobbing wail. Seeing creamy fluid squirting onto that tanned, tattoo-covered belly is the trigger for Yazoo's own orgasm and he slams home one final time, his mouth against the singer's vulnerably exposed throat, muffled moaning escaping the remnant as his male seed erupts forth, deep inside M's deliciously hot, shuddering body, Yazoo's tall figure jerking with convulsive spasms of almost unbearable ecstasy as he finally claims the wilful, wayward child-man as his and his alone, the victory sweeter and more rewarding than any he's savoured before.

When their sobs and moans die down, the two new lovers cling together in the alley in a sweat-soaked embrace of slippery skin and long, damp hair of contrasting colours – black and silver - both of them gasping for breath and shaking with the aftershock of their explosive passion, Yazoo amazedly wondering if it's possible to actually get drunk on someone because that's how he feels right now and he hasn't had a single drink all night.

"My beautiful boy," he whispers, raining kiss after smitten kiss onto M's flushed neck, jaw and cheek. "My beautiful, sweet, sexy, gorgeous boy…"

This time M doesn't protest at what he's being called; he simply closes his eyes, turns his head and just as drunkenly and infatuatedly kisses Yazoo back.

Part six.

"You okay?" Yazoo queries in concern as he's beginning to pull carefully out of M's body. M just gives a lethargic nod, allowing his tired legs to fall from around Yazoo's waist. He's completely relaxed now and Yazoo can slide out easily, the remnant tucking himself back into his leather pants and zipping them up. There's dried pre-come on the leg of his biker trousers from where he was rocking into M, looking much like a snail has crawled over his thigh, but Yazoo can clean that up later and anyway, nobody will see it beneath the length of his coat, when he pulls it out from under the boy and puts it back on. Remaining bare-chested for the moment, Yazoo admires how sensual and sated M looks leaning back naked on his elbows, his thighs apart and boots dangling over the front edge of the dumpster; hair mussed up and eyes still shut in post-orgasmic paradise. He looks utterly ravished and utterly beautiful. There's creamy jizz all over his belly, splashed across his tattoos and dripping into his navel. The scene fills Yazoo with gratification, knowing that he alone made M climax and gave him such rapturous enjoyment. Drawn to the sexy sight Yazoo leans forward, cradling M's waist in both hands, and extends his tongue, touching it to the opaque white fluid. With slow, thorough swipes, Yazoo licks the boy's soft stomach clean; not something he normally does for anybody else but he wants to do it for this yummy young man, to savour every part of him - inside and out - the personal act a pleasure to perform, especially since M's semen is still fresh on his skin. Yazoo finds it distasteful when it goes cold but this is still warm and velvety, like the layer of creme skimmed off the top of a cappuccino, and the silver-haired male cleans up every drop.

Finishing with a tender kiss above M's belly-button, Yazoo can't resist rubbing his cheek over that luxuriously soft space of skin between the little whorl of the musician's navel and the top of his trimmed fur.

"Damn, Yazoo…" M sighs in utter contentment from above, languorously stroking over Yazoo's hair. "You're the best stalker I've ever had."

The emerald-eyed man chuckles quietly, moving up and kissing M on the collarbone, right on top of a large inked letter 'n'.

"I'm not a stalker."

M cracks an eyelid open, his gaze sliding sideways. "You wanna be?"

Yazoo draws back to look at him, feigning mild surprise. "Why, M. Are you admitting you'd actually /like/ to see me again?"

"Maybe," the brunette replies coyly. "I'll be here same time next week."

Slipping away from Yazoo and hopping off the dumpster to collect his strewn clothing, he advises, "Leave the gun at home, though. Makes you look like some kind of psycho sniper."

Retrieving his still-warm coat and shrugging it on, Yazoo throws back, "Maybe I AM one. Maybe I kill people for a living. Or because I enjoy it. What do you think about that?"

M laughs, pulling his black cropped tank top over his head. "Yeah. Whatever you say, man."

"You don't believe me."

"Why should I? We don't really know each other."

Watching in amusement as M struggles to get those close-fitting crimson pants back on over his boots, Yazoo drawls, "Oh, I think we know each other quite well by now, actually."

M huffs, wriggling as he works his tight trousers back up his thighs and over his skinny hips. "Yeah? What's my name, then?"

"The only reason I don't know that is because you won't tell me. You're very stubborn, you know."

"And you're very bossy."

"Look who's talking. You're lucky you're so cute or I probably would have smacked you in the mouth by now. Repeatedly."

M glances up as he zips his pants, uncertain if Yazoo's kidding or not. By the faint smirk on the silver-head's lips, it's hard to tell. But, M reasons to himself, if Yazoo was going to hit him he would have done so by now and he hasn't, not even when M disrespectfully pushed him in the chest. Although Yazoo could beat him to a twitching mass of bloody flesh if he wanted to, M feels strangely safe in the stronger man's presence, especially since Yazoo has taken great care not to hurt him in any way, even during their fairly rough sex.

Which was totally, awesomely hot and blistering. Gackt will be heartbroken that he didn't get to take M's sought-after virginity but he'll never know about this night, and even if he does somehow find out, the dude will just have to get over it. He'll just have to accept that Yazoo's hotter than him.

Now fully dressed, M locates the elastic band Yazoo removed earlier, gathering all his hair together with both hands and tying it back up into the high ponytail he had it in before. It's not quite as tidy as it was previously but at least it doesn't look like he's been thoroughly shafted anymore. Yazoo also smooths his hair down; combing the tangles out with his fingers, the soft metallic strands settling easily back into place.

"Well, I better go back." The guitarist indicates to the tavern entrance. "People will be wondering where I am."

With a tiny smile, M farewells, "See you around, Silver Stalker."

Yazoo blinks. Did the kid just give him a nickname? This both startles and thrills the taller male. Apart from 'Yaz' – courtesy of his brothers - or 'remnant', 'freak' & 'clone' from everyone else, nobody has ever bothered to bestow him with a nickname, and though it implies he's obsessive and dangerous (admittedly both true), this one is still oddly complimentary somehow. Fond, even. He'd like to wallow in the pleasantness of this never-before given gift but the dark-haired musician is turning around, preparing to return inside the bar.

"Stop right there." Yazoo's voice rings lowly and compellingly down the alleyway, halting the second male in his tracks. "You are not allowed to leave yet."

M stares over his tattooed shoulder, black-coffee eyes full of instant rebellion. Normally, he'd say something snarky like, "Screw you!" or "You don't own me, asshole," but remembering Yazoo's threat of knocking him flying over the fence he thinks twice about it, instead asking carefully, "And why's that?"

"Because I said so." Yazoo's tone is firm. "That's why."

"But I really should get-" M starts to protest but Yazoo is not going to let his insolent little lover escape so easily, the remnant swiftly springing up into the air. He flips over M's head, twists his body mid-flight – long hair spinning around like a silver fan - and then lands on his feet in front of the guitarist, facing him, Yazoo blocking the door and cutting off his exit route like some kind of ninja assassin.

Glancing back to where Yazoo was only a second ago and where he's standing now, M sputters, "You…Holy shit! How did you…?"

Yazoo smiles enigmatically. "If I tell you how I can do such things, I'll have to snap your lovely neck."

While M is still looking dumbfounded, Yazoo gathers the smaller man into his arms, murmuring, "And I'd really rather not do that. I like your neck."

Tilting the boy's head back, Yazoo licks up his throat again, tasting salt and perspiration, before covering that sumptuous mouth and kissing it deeply, possessively, until he feels M weakening against him like before, Yazoo making certain the slim singer will remember his name, even if M won't give away his. But he will. Yazoo will get it out of him – perhaps not tonight, or even the next time they do this, but sooner or later Yazoo will find out what M's real name is. He could stoop to asking one of those squealing fangirls inside – who no doubt know /everything/ there is to know about M including his shoe size and favourite noodle flavour – but that would only be as a last resort because Yazoo would prefer to hear the information come from M's own lips.

The very ones he's possessing right now – so soft and sweet and sinful, like the lips of a devil-child.

Secure that everything will work out the way he plans, the Sephiroth replica draws back and appraises his still-stunned prisoner.

"Now, was that a better kiss than the one your blond guitarist friend gave you?"

"Oh, hell yeah," is M's somewhat out of breath reply. "Give me another one."

"There you go being bossy once more."

"What – you want me to say please?" M despairs. "Again?"

"Not necessary," Yazoo relents, cupping the smaller male's face in his hands and sampling those luscious lips once more, delving into M's warm, welcoming mouth, slowly swirling around and caressing the boy's tongue with his own. Yazoo's gotten used to the sensation of that pointy spiral-thing embedded in M's bottom lip, and indeed likes the feel of it poking into his flesh. Tilting his head sideways, M responds to Yazoo's coaxing kiss, sensually arching that girlish body against his taller partner's; Yazoo knowing that the sexy singer isn't performing for an audience this time. He's kissing Yazoo without anyone else watching, simply because he enjoys it. Yazoo makes sure of that, his tongue-strokes slow and searching, even managing to get a muted moan out of the vocalist's raw throat, Yazoo finding it remarkable how much M's attitude has changed since earlier. He's become meeker, more demure and docile, much easier to handle. And all it took was a good, hard fuck. Handy to know for next time.

When the silver-haired man finally pulls away and lifts his lashes, he notes with a rather large amount of satisfaction that M's eyes have gone all hazy and half-lidded, the expression on the kid's face beginning to look very much like the ones on the faces of Yazoo's previous conquests. Dreamy. Drugged. Dazed.

So, a little of his Allure may be getting through after all. Perhaps the boy's not completely immune. Perhaps it just took a while to work.

Or perhaps this is just the after-affect of his kiss. Besides shooting and killing, kissing is another of Yazoo's natural talents.

"Just as good the second time, hm?" he questions, smirking at the other young man.

"Better," is M's impressed answer, his dark gaze widening in awe. "You're a fucking amazing kisser, man. In fact, you're just plain amazing altogether."

Yazoo simply raises a thin brow. "Really? I got the feeling you weren't that intrigued by me at first."

"No, I was," the musician quickly assures. "I was intrigued from the moment I saw you in the crowd. Even after I found out you were a guy, I was still into you. I just didn't show it because I was…y'know…" The boy shrugs in embarrassment.

"Shy."

Here Yazoo gives a laugh. "You? Shy? I find that extremely hard to believe. Especially as I have sparkling pink lip gloss on me in a place it was never intended to go."

M peeks down at Yazoo's crotch, now hidden by his lengthy coat. A slow grin makes its way across the boy's face until he too is laughing and it's a delightful sound. "Okay. Maybe I'm not /that/ shy," he concedes, still grinning cutely.

"You have a beautiful smile, M," Yazoo comments, his own lips curving up in admiration. He strokes one thumb gently over the performer's plush mouth, Yazoo's voice becoming softer, almost sad and wistful, his words tinged with a secret loneliness and longing that he does not normally allow himself to feel, let alone express.

"I have a cold heart that is not easily touched but seeing your smile warms me, like the first rays of the spring sun melting frozen foliage after a long, harsh winter."

At the unexpected poetic praise, M looks all bashful again, glancing down, almost like he's about to blush. But inwardly he's incredibly thrilled and touched that someone would say such wonderful things to him, and mean it. For that, Yazoo's definitely getting a song written about him…

In an attempt to conceal his sudden and rather uncharacteristic spurt of romantic foolishness, Yazoo drops his hand and emits a derisive, 'Hmph'.

"But I suppose a pretty boy like you would have heard all that nonsense before a million times over."

"I haven't, actually," M mumbles, more to himself than anyone else, sounding a trifle disappointed that Yazoo stopped. He was rather starting to like all this sweet-talk and gentleness, especially coming from someone who looks like an icy, dangerous, unfeeling mercenary. But isn't. Unfeeling, anyway. Yazoo's definitely not that. He feels. Rather intensely, it seems. The dangerous mercenary part, however, M isn't so sure about. Especially after seeing the guy's strong, slim frame soar and twist over head like some kind of genetically-altered gymnast. Like those slitted pupils, that's just not normal. And then there's the frighteningly large gun which Yazoo is currently scooping up from the cobblestones, slipping the holster back over his shoulder and lifting his shimmering hair out of the way so it doesn't get caught under the strap. He has such grace in his movements; he's so polished and refined, so…perfect.

Almost…too perfect. Like some kind of android created by a mad scientist, a robotic doll that has suddenly developed a personality and a will of its own. Okay, he may not be a robot or a life-size computer-chip but Yazoo's certainly not an ordinary human. M knows that much. What Yazoo is exactly remains a mystery but it's a mystery the curious guitarist would very much like to discover.

"So..." M looks at the platinum-haired beauty expectantly, even hopefully. "You gonna come next week?"

Back to his wicked, suggestive self, Yazoo pulls on his gloves and purrs, "Oh, I certainly plan to. Whether it's with you or not is something I haven't decided yet. By the way, there's a bit of…evidence…you should probably remove before you go back inside."

He blithely indicates to a white blob on the front of M's red vinyl trousers, though Gods knows how it got there or who it belongs to. Then he turns, removing the bread knife jammed in the alleyway door to release it and swinging it open. Just before he's about to step into the entrance, the second young man's husky, hesitant voice stops him.

"Yazoo, wait."

Hand on the edge of the door, the remnant pauses, not turning around.

"My name…it's Miyavi."

In a cool, disinterested tone, Yazoo returns, "I didn't ask."

And then – secretly smiling in triumph – he disappears through the fire exit back into the tavern in a rustle of leather and long steely-grey locks, leaving the brunette alone in the darkened lane to wipe the sperm off his clothing and wonder if the green-eyed gunman will show up again for a repeat performance.

Which Yazoo will, of course. The guitarist's alluring appeal has him hooked in a way Yazoo's never been hooked before. He might possibly even be falling for the brat. Quite seriously, actually. Not that M – Miyavi – needs to be informed of that. Yazoo knows better than anyone that to leave someone hanging almost certainly guarantees their continued interest. And Yazoo wants the pretty punk to be interested in him.

Only him.

Well, that was a most enjoyable diversion from an otherwise boring evening of babysitting, Yazoo muses to himself as he makes his way back to Loz and Kadaj, who are sprawled across a bench seat with empty alcohol bottles on the table in front of them, the pair of them almost certainly knowing what he's been up to for the last half hour.

Indeed, Kadaj swings to face him as he approaches, commenting snidely, "You finally catch your little runaway, brother?"

"Why, yes I did. And he was thoroughly delicious," Yazoo rubs in with much relish, smugly sliding in sideways next to Loz and tucking his coat underneath his thighs. "Thank you for asking."

"Bitch," Kadaj mutters, sullenly flicking a bottle-cap across the table at Yazoo, still sore that Yazoo got to the boy first.

Deflecting the small metal missile with a quick flourish of his hand, Yazoo cocks his head at his younger sibling, recalling the long-haired blond man in the bathroom and both his and Kadaj's dishevelled, half-undressed state when he kicked the door in.

"I thought you found someone else to play with, Kadaj."

"I did. But he couldn't keep up with me." Slumping back in the seat, Kadaj sighs. "Now I need another toy."

Locking glances across the tavern with the drummer of the group – a cross-dressing cutie with blue eyes, orange pigtails and a schoolgirl skirt - he brightens considerably.

"Well, hello. I think I just found one."

In a dry, faintly humoured tone, Yazoo remarks, "Going to work your way through the whole band, little brother?"

Grinning wickedly, Kadaj replies, "Why not? The night's still young. And so am I."

Miyavi chooses that moment to re-enter the room, having fixed his clothes, hair and lip-gloss, the boy casually strolling up to his band mates and acting like he hadn't just gotten the screwing of a lifetime outside in the alley. However, Yazoo can detect the slight wince in his walk, something the much slenderer male will probably be feeling for a couple of days at least. After all that passionate pounding, some minor bruising and soreness is inevitable. But by the time Yazoo is here next week, adorable little Miyavi-san will have recovered so that they can do it all over again. And again. And again. Whether M realises it or not, he belongs to Yazoo now, girlfriend or no girlfriend. In fact, Yazoo bets that in a couple of weeks there won't even BE a girl in the picture anymore because Miyavi will have become hopelessly obsessed by Yazoo and will have broken up with her.

Either that or she'll have been introduced to Velvet Nightmare. Discreetly, it goes without saying; her body disposed of in some place no-one will ever find it, making it appear as though she simply disappeared off the face of the planet. Experiencing a rare and deadly flash of jealous possessiveness, Yazoo decides that he doesn't like the idea of sharing his tattooed lover with anybody else and he'll do whatever it takes to ensure that doesn't happen.

As Kadaj is about to get up and cross the room to where the band is milling, Yazoo speedily grabs at his sleeve, halting his impatient younger brother with a firm and menacing grip.

"Kadaj?" He begins warningly.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." The smaller remnant yanks his arm out of Yazoo's grasp and rolls his eyes. "Stay away from the singer. He's yours. I got it already."

"You better. I don't want to have to kill you." Yazoo narrows his pupils. "But touch him and I will."

With another eye-roll at Yazoo's unnecessarily dramatic threat, Kadaj stands up and pushes away from the table, heading towards the group of musicians with his trademark slinky, sexy walk, intent on seducing his second victim for the night. Everyone in the band stares at him as he advances, Kadaj's sensuality and seductiveness too strong to ignore, but he smiles and focuses on his skirt-wearing target, disregarding everyone else as if they aren't even there. The charming young man with the ginger pigtails gazes up at Kadaj with absolute awed wonder in his big blue eyes, as though seeing some kind of silvery angelic vision, though he has no idea that Kadaj is anything /but/ an angel. Standing nearby with a fresh drink in his nail-polished fingers, Miyavi also appraises Kadaj, looking his trim, fit figure up and down from collar to boots, but then the black-haired vocalist glances over to Yazoo, his dark gaze lingering and lustful, wordlessly establishing who the more attractive brother is in his opinion.

Which, of course, Yazoo already knows. His siblings are by no means ugly or unappealing but he's the prettiest out of the three of them, by far. He's not being conceited or vain. It's a simple fact. He makes a small teasing kissing gesture at Miyavi and M flushes, hastily glancing away before his naughty secret is revealed to the rest of his musician friends.

With Kadaj gone, Loz turns to Yazoo, a reluctantly intrigued expression on the older one's handsome, whiskered face.

"So, Yaz…" Loz begins hesitantly, rolling a toothpick between his fingertips. "Is he definitely a boy? The singer?"

With a smirk, Yazoo answers, "Definitely."

"No girl bits?"

"None whatsoever."

Looking let down, Loz mutters, "Pity." He sighs enviously.

"You're lucky, Yaz. I wish I could pick up chicks as easily as you do boys."

"How are you supposed to pick up chicks, Loz? You never talk to any," Yazoo bluntly points out.

"Well, how am I supposed to talk to any when they keep runnin' away?" Loz tosses back. "You don't scare people like I do. At this rate I'm never gonna find a girlfriend."

In a gentler tone, Yazoo replies, "Don't worry, brother. One day it will be your turn. Right when you least expect it, a cute girl in a short skirt and knee-high boots will come right up and introduce herself to you."

Loz snorts. "Yeah. Sure. Next you're gonna say that she'll bang me in the bathroom too."

"It will happen, Loz," Yazoo predicts wisely. "One day you'll meet the right girl for you. I promise."

Not so sure about that, Loz just snorts again and lifts the brown bottle up to his sneering mouth, draining the rest of his beer in large swallows.

"In the meantime…you could always turn bi," Yazoo helpfully suggests. "You double your chances of scoring, then."

Turning, Loz gives him a sceptical look. "Doubt it. With you and Kadaj swapping teams all the time, /someone/ has to stay the straight one in the family."

"Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know." A seductively soft smile appearing on his lips, Yazoo shifts nearer, his thigh touching Loz's, gloved fingers trailing up Loz's muscled arm. "I could teach you some things you don't know about boys…"

"Yaz, don't," Loz mumbles uncomfortably, pushing Yazoo's hand away, the bigger brother blushing and avoiding eye contact with his all-too-tempting sibling.

Giving Loz back his personal space, Yazoo moves aside and chuckles. "Sorry, Loz. I'm just messing with you."

Loz scowls into his empty booze bottle. "Well, stop it. You know I hate it when you do that shit."

Chuckling again, Yazoo reaches into his coat and then stuffs some apology money into the front of Loz's opened jacket, against his broad chest. "There. Go buy another drink. Or four."

Cheering up immediately, Loz plucks out the Gil, delighted by the substantial amount. "Hey, thanks! You want something too?"

"Just water, please. And you're quite welcome," Yazoo answers, the long-haired remnant smiling as Loz happily wanders off to get more beer, the older one instantly forgetting Yazoo's inappropriate behaviour. Yazoo wasn't really hitting on him; he was just making sure his powers hadn't disappeared entirely. He doesn't have to worry. Allure is still there, strong enough to work on his own family, as usual. Loz is suckered in by it easily, every time without fail. Kadaj is more resistant to the effects but even he can't ignore it when Yazoo turns his charm on full-blast, Yazoo getting a kick out of making his little brother all flustered and bothered. The only person Allure doesn't seem to work on is Miyavi. Not that Yazoo particularly needed it. He managed to seduce the kid all on his own. Yazoo got him to whimper and moan and beg, even orgasm on command. All without the use of any special powers. If his magical sex-appeal vanished tomorrow, Yazoo wouldn't miss it. It'd be great, actually, just being seen as a regular guy, the way M saw him. Perhaps being a regular guy wouldn't be so bad. That pony-tailed performer was a good example. As far as guys go, he's definitely one of the better ones Yazoo has come across.

Or come IN.

Smirking to himself, Yazoo glances across the room, seeking the group of pop-rock band members and their irresistible lead vocalist. Working efficiently, Kadaj has already vanished into the bathrooms with the innocent blue-eyed drummer to play some more. Miyavi has his back to Yazoo, chatting animatedly with the bass player, giving Yazoo ample opportunity to rake his lazy, appreciative eye up the kid's long legs and over his vinyl-encased ass, which is every bit as tight and hot as it looks beneath the shiny, skin-hugging scarlet pants. This time next week, that same gorgeous ass is going to be his. All his. Yazoo is going to be slamming in and out of it, fucking it, owning it, pushing in deep and hard, losing himself in slick, sweet heat and the boy's breathless, broken cries of pleasure…

Hm, Yazoo ponders idly, feeling that pleasant tingle start up in his belly once again, just like it did the very first time he saw the singer on stage.

Maybe /some/ human urges aren't a complete waste of time after all…

END