"Did you know," Yohji gasped, voice husky, soft, each word broken into stuttering syllables, "did you know I fucked around before this, before Weiss."

"Shut up, Yohji."

Aya fucked him harder, clenched his jaw, pounded the older man into to futon. The angle wasn't quite right to cover Yohji's mouth with his hand, so he glared at him, pretty eyes glittering with warning.

But this wasn't a mission, and rules didn't apply, and Yohji's returned gaze took on a harder, daring edge.

"I liked it face down," he continued, still gasping, chest working like he'd been running for an hour, "shoved down so I couldn't see."

"I don't want to hear about this."

Aya's voice held a strange calm, even as he took a particularly vicious thrust, his features tightening. He was close, very close. Damn that idiot for distracting him.

The end was always the best part.

And Yohji was fucking it up.

"I liked—ah!—ahh…fuck…liked, liked to be pushed so hard I couldn't breathe."

Aya's eyes closed tight, and he finished with a swordsman's precision, in, out, shut up Yohji, in, deeper, out, shut up, shut up.

"I'd let an…anyone do it…anyone who wanted, and—"

Crack.

The slap was so hard that Yohji just choked, words cut off like Aya stole his voice. And then the room held a familiar sound, their harsh breathing, Aya still buried deep, breathing maybe a little harder than usual as he still took a few slow, wet strokes in and out of Yohji's twitching hole.

"Is that what you wanted?" He growled softly.

And when Yohji replied, he didn't look up, dark, soft curls still covering his face, fingers twisted tight in the sheets.

"No."

He sounded surprised.

"Is that what you want from me?"

"No," and maybe just a little, he sounded relieved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why did you do that?"

Even in the quiet, dark, sterile hallway, it was obvious what Aya was bringing up out of nowhere.

"Fuck, Aya. Not on a mission."

"Why not?"

Yohji glanced aside at him, daring to look away from the door to the boardroom.

"Keep your eyes on the target," Aya murmured smoothly, not needing to look away from his own target to know Yohji's eyes were on him.

They stood nearly back-to-back.

Yohji scowled and looked back to the broad double doors. "It's not appropriate." His voice held the barest mocking tone as he mimicked Aya's vocabulary.

"It didn't seem appropriate at the time either. Why did you bait me?"

"I don't know."

The hall was quiet again, and after a full minute, Yohji inched his body back until they were touching.

"Why do you fuck me?"

Aya didn't answer.

The doors opened, then, with a burst of deep, casual laughter, light spilling from the meeting room into the black hallway. A questioning stir, was the power out? Then gargled screams, overweight businessmen tripping over one another, trying to grasp their way back into the light, to the perceived safety of the brightly-lit room with it's silver decanters and black leather chairs.

"The targets are dead." Aya broke the resulting silence in that eerily calm voice, tinny in Yohji's headset, but thick and rich in the quiet hallway.

"Yeah, all fucking fourteen of them," Yohji muttered, without switching his tiny microphone on. He stood straddling the shoulders of the last man to fall, and he watched the blood start to thicken in a pool behind the man's head. Black like pudding.

His gaze dulled a little, and he lost track of time until Aya's hand clapped onto his shoulder, polished leather slapping softly against the suppler, worn leather of his coat.

Yohji jumped a little, surprised to feel Aya's breath against the shell of his ear.

The hallway smelled like warm blood.

"I don't do it for you," Aya said simply, softly, before he released Yohji's shoulder, and walked briskly toward the stairwell, away from the pile of dead men and one speechless assassin.

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