What would convince Yohji to give up what he considers pleasure and distraction?
What happens when Aya takes ill to a prank?
And what happens if he and Yohji try a role swap?
Disclaimer: This story is not for profit, all rights with their current owners.
Warnings: Spoilers throughout. The boys are foulmouthed. The chibis are no cuties.
Rating: M for male/male affection and references to sex. Don't look for graphic instructions though - you will be disappointed.
Pairs Aya/Yohji, Omi/Ken (rather streetwise, so don't look for cutie chibis), Crawford/Schuldig.
Disclaimer, warnings and rating valid for all chapters of this story.
A fanboy's dreams... Let me know what you think, folks.
Cheers.
LoveyouHateyou
xxx
Prank
The smell of freshly steamed rice lay heavily in the kitchen of the Koneko, mingling with the thick pong of exhaust fumes and smog of a winter morning in the city. It was cool and dank, and Omi wrapped his arms about himself as he shivered in his white vest and white-and-blue striped pyjama bottoms. He sat at the table, a cup of tea in front of him and a glossy teen magazine at which he peered intently.
Ken slouched comfortably by his side. He was tousled from sleep and snugly wrapped into a zipped blue workout jacket and pants, one tennis-socked foot scratching forlornly at the ankle of the other, sneaker-clad one. He sipped at his coffee and took bites from a chocolate filled breadroll as he craned his neck to see what Omi was reading. Now and then, he and Omi stuck their heads together, whispering and snickering, and Omi was aglow at least once at the things Ken blew into his reddening ear.
Yohji, in nothing but reading glasses and rather scant black underpants, had one leg tucked under his bottom as he leaned easily in his chair. Swathed in a blue cloud of cigarette smoke, he was lazily nursing a mug of coffee, wriggling his toes now and then. He had his 'morning fag', having so far racked up a count of three crunched-up cigarette butts, smoked down to the singed filter, with only one cancer stick remaining in the packet that lay before him on the scratchy table. Sunning himself in the swath of pale light that streamed through the grimy window, he was reading a morning broadsheet.
Omi stole more than one appraising, glittering glance at the blond – welltoned muscles, sleek limbs, fluid and forceful when in motion, but relaxed and rather... inviting now that Yohji was at ease, those long, murderous hands innocently playing with a lighter.
Ken watched Omi and scowled slightly, but a quick wink from Yohji from behind the paper reassured him that things were just fine. Yohji had no intention of bonking the chibi, as he had put it rather bluntly. Besides, he had his hands full with Aya, and things would get worse today; they all knew that for sure.
Aya did not take well to pranks.
And this time...
This time they had overdone it. Really. They still jumped when they heard the door to Aya's room slam, and then he was down the stairs in a rush and burst into the kitchen – the katana blank in his hands, murder in his eyes.
"Who did it?" he roared into the guilty silence.
They had expected a lot, but this... Ken blanched, Omi chewed his lip, a thoughtful expression on his young face, and Yohji just gaped, eyes wide, mouth slack. He looked baffled and did not even try to hide it
For Aya wore...
None of his usual attire. No frayed sneakers, or comfy jeans and baggy sweater. No yukata or fancy mission gear either.
Aya wore a pair of black leather pants that outlined him like a second skin. Even though they were a bit long and crinkled around his ankles and bare feet. His upper body was covered by nothing but a flimsy, translucent black vest that was too small because it belonged to Omi. He might as well have been naked, Yohji thought and licked away a small trail of drool that threatened to dribble from the corner of his mouth.
As no answer was forthcoming, Aya swung the katana and hacked a chip from the doorframe. "Who the fuck did this?" The light was slipping over the gleaming blade as Aya pointed it at Yohji with a flourish. "Where are my clothes?"
His face was flooded a shade of crimson to rival his unusually messy hair, and his eyes blazed the brightest purple Yohji had ever seen. Yohji dropped the lighter and lifted his hands, palms out. Cigarette wedged firmly between his lips, he tried a quick smile. "Hey, Ayan," he breathed around a mouthful of smoke, and wanted to slap himself because Aya exploded into motion at the hated nickname. Yohji had barely enough time to dive behind his chair before the sword came down on it with a sharp clang and cracking of wood as the backrest split in half.
Omi turned ashen. Ken opened his mouth; Omi swiftly closed it by slapping his thin hand across Ken's lips.
"Aya!" Yohji yelled. "You idiot! That was MY place!"
"And you stole MY clothes, asshole!" Aya shouted back at him, with another brutally precise swipe that this time punished Yohji's mug and the edge of the table, shards and splinters flying everywhere. Yohji dodged the blow and ducked, lifting one arm protectively, but Aya had him cornered in a flash, slamming the table forward, effectively trapping Yohji against the wall.
"Ouch!" The cigarette dropped as Yohji shook and doubled forward, hands snapping protectively over his groin as the edge of the table hit him just above his knees. He tried to push the table back; Aya held fast, the edge pressing against his thighs. Yohji shoved a bit more, to no avail. "You agreed to it," he breathlessly hurled at Aya, nailing him with a flickering glare that included the katana in Aya's fist.
"I WHAT? You must think I'm as daft as you look!"
"Perhaps not but you were pissed, love!" Even now, there was an unmistakeable edge of rebellious goading in Yohji's tone, and Ken shook his head while Omi still kept his hand over Ken's mouth.
"Shut – the – hell – UP!" Aya fumed. The sword described a shiny arch, Yohji squeezed his eyes shut and sucked his breath in for a split second as the steel whizzed past his fringe, stirring a few locks, and coldly touched his sternum.
"What, can't handle it?" he yapped defiantly. "You're a fucking lightweight, Fuji."
The sword whisked up to point straight at his throat. "A light..." Aya gasped, choking on his fury.
"...weight," Yohji finished through clenched jaws.
Ken groaned, and Omi pressed a bit harder and gave a small hiss. "Shut it!"
A long, tense pause, the sudden stillness in the room dotted by the dripping of the tap, and the ever-present hum of traffic outside on the street. The steel glinted faintly, light quivering from the hilt up to the tip that ever so slightly pressed a dimple into Yohji's skin without drawing as much as a droplet of blood.
And then something odd was happening: Aya froze, shuddered, then glared. He bit his lip. "How much?" he spat.
"You're a cheap drunk," Yohji said, rather unkind, with another rough shove against the table. His motion very much looked like something else – trying to hold his upper body steady, he thrust his hips forward, and this time, the table scraped back a little as Aya swayed the tiniest bit. "Half a bottle of good sake," Yohji pushed again, his eyes hard and narrow, "and you're a goner. And that's when you agreed."
Ken wanted to throw something at Yohji's blond head to shut him up; Omi clutched at Ken's wrist to stop him even as he nudged him towards the door.
On Aya's face, barely contained fury began to mingle with trepidation. "You held me to an agreement that I made when I was... I mean... not in possession of my faculties?"
"You mean, shitfaced?" Yohji gloated softly, a nasty little grin curling his lips.
Shove, scrape. Aya kicked the table leg, the table whacked back against Yohji's thighs; he gave a choked cry and winced, trying to keep still lest the blade should skewer his neck. Aya glared a bit more, the silence stony.
But they all knew it would not last. Aya was easy to throw, if one knew how. Telling him he had lost control did the trick nicely... he would either be anxious to know, or decide murder was the better option to clean up his act.
"Take that knife outta my face, and I'll consider telling you more," Yohji pressed his advantage, before Aya could contemplate the latter as the most viable.
Reluctantly, Aya lowered the katana until the tip touched the tiled floor. "Where are my clothes?" he asked, his tone still aloof.
So it would not be not murder this time. Aya was trying to assess the amount of damage to his reputation, and then work out how to cope with the embarassment of it all. Usually, Yohji would volunteer as his punchbag... Ken breathed out, and Omi carefully removed his hand from Ken's mouth, giving him a stern look. Ken nodded and brushed Omi's lips with his finger. Omi smiled and turned his attention back to watching the other two. Ken moulded against his back and looked over his shoulder.
"Well?" Impatience tainted Aya's voice as anger gave way to irritation.
"Ah, your rags." Yohji tried not to sigh his relief. "Be nice, and I might tell you that too," he said as smoothly as he could manage. He kept an eye on the blade even as he let this grin fade into a cautious smile. "You agreed to play Go," he said kindly, edging his way from behind the table to pick up his cigarettes from the floor where they had fallen.
Aya studied his backside with a disapproving scowl: those briefs were riding rather low. Yohji took his time, bending and straightening with the fluid langour of a cat, his amber body showing off a play of muscles Aya felt vaguely... no, wildly jealous of. Taut and powerful as a bowstring beneath all that silk and velvet, Aya could tell. Aya knew. Because Aya had felt it for himself.
"Go?" he asked hesitantly.
"Aa, Go," Yohji said, with a slightly calculating glance over the rim of his glasses.
Aya was good at Go.
Yohji played with the packet, then smoothed one hand up his side thoughtfully. Mesmerised, Aya watched this hand, those strong, nimble fingers sliding over tawny skin, brushing a caramel coloured nipple as Yohji slowly scratched at his chest.
"You played with me first," Yohji went on, deadpan.
Ah. Yohji always lost because he never went to the trouble to actually learn the game properly... And what did he mean by playing with him? Aya's gaze flickered, and he reddened more.
"Then with Ken."
Who had no patience for Go. A nervous smirk settled in the corners of Aya's mouth.
"Then with Schuldig."
Aya jolted. "What?"
Yohji, glad that he was no longer pinned beneath the blade, shook the almost empty packet. He eyed the last cigarette with an expression of disappointment, before gleaming at Aya from beneath shaggy blond bangs. "He called at the bar where you insisted on getting drunk while draping yourself over my shoulder and playing Go with us."
The colour began to drain from Aya's face. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and began to worry the soft flesh, his eyes darkly on Yohji. Who perched on the chipped edge of the table and shifted the packet and lighter from one hand to the other.
The kitchen door thudded shut discreetly. Omi and Ken would eavesdrop just outside, but Aya did not quite care right now. "He called..."
"Yes, Schuldig called, lost a round to you and got a bit spiteful."
Aya shuddered. "What does this mean?"
"He insisted that Crawford was better at Go than you. Omi told him that was no big deal 'cos Crawford is an Oracle, and anyway, you'd quite likely let him win out of politeness 'cos he's a foreigner and all. Schuldig called us rather rude names – you know how he is with insults, always over-the-top – so Omi said HE could beat you without needing foresight."
Aya hugged the sword to his chest. "And... then?"
Yohji's hands stilled, his gaze softened. "You were very drunk, Ayan."
A gush of red poured over Aya's cheeks, before he turned almost white again. "Yohji..."
"Fine, fine, just don't threaten me, right?" Yohji paused, smiling without malice. "You were dumb enough to fall for it."
Warily, Aya leaned against the wall for balance. "For what?" he murmured, looking as though he was expecting a death sentence.
Yohji lit his cigarette and wrapped himself into a breathful of smoke. "You just had to argue with Mastermind, didn't you? It smacked pretty much of some jealous lovers' spat, but of course I must be mistaken with that. After all, you're not one to argue over my much-used ass, now are you?"
"Yohji..." Aya sounded pained.
"Okay, okay, is alright, I'll tell you." Yohji began to roll and twist the packet into a rock-hard twirl of cardboard. "You said you'd beat anyone, anytime. So you accepted the bet he suggested: you lose, and all your clothes... now how should I put it... you then would have to wear for a day and a night what he picked."
"And you... I mean, you let him do this?" Aya whispered hoarsely, eyes wide and accusing.
Yohji shrugged. "You did it all by yourself, Ayan. I tried to talk you out of it, but no..." He paused. They both knew that Omi never, just NEVER, lost a game or a bet. The chibi was eerie like that, as if hardwired to his computers. And just like Yohji, he tended to smell a good opportunity. This had been a nice, sweetly underhanded way of picking a bone with Aya, and Omi had been true to himself. Yohji coughed discreetly and cleared his throat. "He... well, Schuldig wanted to see you in leather and sheers. So... I mean, that's the tamest we could come up with, even though I think he had something rather different in mind 'cos he was pissed off. The pants are mine, gone a bit small for me. And the top... Omi had a spare one. Ken went to fetch the stuff, and here you are."
Aya groaned softly, his eyes drifting shut in agony.
"Actually," Yohji added, watching him with a hint of compassion, "it was you who insisted on dragging this stuff over your butt. We would have sent Schuldig off well enough, but you were babbling about honour and shit and you'd have stripped naked there and then if we hadn't gotten you to wear... well, something. Hey, he even thought about clearing out your wardrobe for good, but then he said he'd not wear that sorta kinky stuff, ever, and went off in a huff. We'll need to watch out a bit more for a while."
Aya covered his face with one hand.
A long, thick silence spread between them.
Then Aya's voice, small and unhappy like that of a sad child, "I look like a whore."
Yohji, mindful of the blade, stepped close enough for his warmth to waft over Aya. "A whore?" He reached out to pull Aya's head close, brow to brow. "Man, Ayan, you really have no clue, do you?"
"About what, Yohji?" Aya replied, deflated.
"The way you DO look?"
Aya dropped his hand and shook his head. "Like... some oversexed boy toy?"
"Silly." Yohji slipped his free arm around Aya's waist and began to knead the muscles of his lower back.
"I feel naked."
Yes, Yohji thought Aya naked was a great idea. He bit his tongue before the words could slip. "You look beautiful," he muttered, pulling Aya a little closer, the blade still between them. "Stunning. You must know; you can't be this oblivious, can you? C'mon, Ayan..."
Aya said nothing.
"Ayan?" Yohji smoothed back some red bangs. Aya's glance was downcast, his face pale, cheeks red-flecked with shame. Yohji blew a mouthful of smoke into mussed crimson. "But the stuff you wear... the way you turn yourself out, just look at you in the mirror when you're in mission gear... you really don't know, do you?" Yohji drew an incredulous, shivering breath. "Man, Ayan... your coat, purple of all colours, and it's tailored onto your ass... your earring, your hair... even your name... and I HAVE seen you slicking on eyeliner."
"Only for missions," Aya mumbled lamely, "as a disguise."
"O yeah, baby, and I'm a virgin," Yohji said with an odd softness to his tone. "If you really think I'm buying this... you're one walking rainbow, your whole look screams fuck me or get done."
Aya tensed, Yohji held on – for dear life so that Aya was now unable to use the sword. "So what?" Yohji went on quietly. "It's no one's business what we do in our bedroom, now is it?"
The kitchendoor opened by a tiny crack. "Has he killed him yet?" Ken whispered anxiously behind Omi, who elbowed him back and shook his head. "Tellin' you they either kill each other or they'll end up fucking," Ken gasped.
"Shhhh," Omi hissed, and Ken buried his nose in Omi's back, his arms coming around the younger man's hips, hands clasping over Omi's groin. Omi smiled, settled his hand over Ken's, and watched.
"I can't..." Aya's voice trailed off.
Yohji kept rubbing soothing circles on his back. "Can't what, Ayan? Can't bear the thought you'd lose it? When you scream my name?"
Aya began to fidget as if a jolt of electricity had run through him head to toe.
"Or," Yohji breathed into his hair, using his height to its full advantage as he pressed down on the crown of Aya's head with his chin, "that you're under me when we do it, hm?" A small pause, Yohji's thigh nudging open Aya's knees, then, "Wanna top me?"
Aya stilled with a gasp.
Yohji whistled softly. "So that's it, huh?" Another of those small silences that always punctuated everything they did. Yohji's hands cupped Aya's temples, then wandered over his neck to his shoulders, smoothing out the pair of long crimson strands of hair. Yohji pressed his lips into Aya's mane, then he ducked his head so he could look straight into Aya's purple glare while his hand trailed back to Aya's cheek, down again over his shoulder and arm, touching the pulse at his wrist, and finally entwining long wire-scoured fingers with short sword-calloused ones. "You can have me, Ayan. Like you'd have a woman. I don't care who's on top, as long as it's good. If it makes you happy. I want you to be happy, is all. Get that? Just... just try not to hurt me. I'm not into pain for fun."
Aya stared and swallowed hard. "I... but I did hurt you..."1
A flash of something in green eyes, a bitter edge to a cool smile, before it all vanished, skilfully wiped off Yohji's sharp features. "Try again then."
Omi forced back a soft gasp, his eyes sliding half-shut as he sank back against Ken's broad body. Ken lightly bit his ear. "Bed?"
"Aa," Omi breathed.
If they went to Ken's room, and Yohji and Aya ended up in Aya's room, they stood a chance of hearing everything that was going on...
xxx
Next chapter: Say It
Notes:
1 See 'Winding Down – Trapped'