Cigarette Juice Box
Chapter 5: Heart's Content
Disclaimer: The song Yohji is listening to is "Suicide Note" by Johnette Napolitano
WARNING! This chapter contains a lot of lemon. Oh yeah. Also angst.
Omi collided with the bed cushioning with a heavy squeak, the force of him being thrown causing his head to jolt just enough to make his head spin. Quickly he pulled himself to his knees to stare into Schuldich's flickering jade eyes. Omi grit his teeth together trying not to give into the urge of screaming the line of profanities running through his head. How dare he pick the boy up and carry him around like a rag doll, throwing and cajoling at whim. Omi fell quite short of the treatment, finding himself hardly fit to be an item any longer than he already had been. He could feel those probes at his mind again, but he didn't give the slightest ease off of the anger pouring from his mind, instead he projected it.
His jackets had been taken away, leaving him without weapon and without way to resist. At any rate Weiß had been long gone and Omi was alone now; alone with the enemy who had befriended his repulsive excuse for a family. They had befriended and followed the orders of the uncaring Uncle who had refused to care for Omi only because of his accidental birth. Omi was cynically glad to be the white sheep among the flock of black. Schuldich pulled in with a grin, the cuts on his face hardly marring his appearance. The red bangs fell haphazardly into his eyes as though he hadn't bothered to comb the mane in a few days, allowing it to become the tangled mess best suited for a demon he'd proven himself to be. "So I'm a demon, am I Kitten? I'm the one who gave out orders to do these things, aren't I? Well then hate me all you want, Kitten, but Gott in heaven knows that you're not going to get out of here whether you hate me or not."
Omi very nearly spat in his face. The temptation was most definitely there, but Omi held verbally silent. I'll never forgive you... The force behind it was easily fueled with the most ferocity that Omi had ever given anyone in his entire life. Schuldich had never seen the agony that he'd caused those near to him. Nagi, being the only exception, would never allow Schuldich to see past his mental walls.
The young Asian boy stood nervously at the edge of the doorway, Schuldich linking him to all ports of communication. Nagi could almost sink into himself. The last thing he should have done was bring his prize back to the men he hated most. No. Omi wasn't a prize. Though he'd thought of him such only days past, Nagi now knew him as someone willing to keep his word and fight for those he cares for, despite the doubt plaguing him. Nagi respected him for that and perhaps loved him even more for it. Sure Nagi hadn't really loved the boy to begin with. He had merely saw him as someone like himself, someone to teach him how to be happy without reservation. Though he noticed now that there was reservation in the seemingly flawless smile of this angel, since Schuldich was most certainly not receiving it. Anyone who took away his loved ones was sure to catch the wrath of his hatred. Nagi, more than anything, hoped that he would not receive such chastisement now.
A strong fist slammed into the bed, furious jade eyes searing past the depths of the cerulean oceans without limit. There was no grin now, crossing those lips. Instead there was chiseled a deep scowl, almost enough to rival Aya's own. "It's fitting that I return the favor..." There was something more than hatred and fury beyond the green ice caps. Jealousy almost, but Omi couldn't quite put his finger on it. He had hardly ever expected Schuldich to be territorial, his laid back composure giving the impression that nothing was close to him. Each breath either of them took sent a wave of heightening loathing until Schuldich finally pulled away. "I wouldn't want the rest of Schwarz to know our thoughts, now would I? Wouldn't want them to know about how you hate yourself enough to try to take your own life? Wouldn't want them to know the longing you have to find someone without a name, without a face just to carry you away?" He sneered. "Daddy's not alive to save you anymore, is he?"
Omi remained completely still, revealing that, in anger, he remained too cold to comprehend, the ice arrows darted from his deep blue glare. "Whose fault is that?" The boy whispered deep in his throat. He'd never abhorred so strongly in his entire life and it felt horribly good.
"Perhaps it's yours, little Takatori." The jade gaze had almost fogged over. "Maybe you could have done something to stop it, maybe you could have kept him from being killed. If only you had been a little faster hacking the security system or mapping out the grounds maybe then you could have kept Suichi from being killed. But no. He's dead." Schuldich spat, almost completely incapable of maintaining hold on his temper. "I certainly had nothing to do with his death. In fact, Schwarz had been locked up for aiding your uncle. Your family has no gratitude!" The German raised his hand, about to beat down on the blonde boy, but Omi didn't flinch. The hand stopped in midair, unable to rain terror upon Omi's face. He pulled at it, but still it didn't move. With a final growl Schuldich pulled away and stormed out of the room, probes following him to retreat back into their own brain.
Omi grit his teeth together and rolled back onto the bed. It was comfortable, he had to admit, but everything was cold. Sterile and cold. The white sheets of the bed held no warmth, nor did the cement walls absorbing the chill from winter waves. No windows, obviously and no food or drink. Omi licked his lips, noting the dryness of his mouth. He pushed the thought away, instead busying himself in thinking over the conversation. Of course Schuldich had been right. He was always right. The ability to tap into the brains of others could provide such vast amounts of information Omi couldn't even imagine. But Omi could have prevented his father's death. If he had opened the security locks faster, if he had made the layout better he may have been able to save his father, Persia. But now Weiß had to stumble blindly through the most tolling mission of their lives without word of the mission beginning.
In a few days Weiß would get word of a kidnapping and the activities of Schwarz, but Omi would be long dead. He would be on those pictures handed to them for the mission briefing. The boy fought back the few tears working into his eyes. He didn't want to die. Much less by the hands of these crude bastards. Schuldich had been part of the operation to kill Omi as well as his father and even pulled the trigger for his own sister's death. He hated him from the rank abyss of his soul, but there was nothing he could do to keep from realizing that he would die by the German's hand just as Ouka had.
"No different," a timid voice muttered from the doorway as though to himself. "I've seen all of this before." Cerulean eyes shot up, turning over Omi's shoulder to meet with the helpless form of Nagi standing against the wall. His shoulders hunched and his hair fell in his face, blocking his eyes. "I don't want it to happen again. Don't make it happen again." Omi couldn't hold everything in any longer.
The older boy moved forward, pulling at the lapels of Nagi's jacket. "You fucking traitor!" Omi sobbed, tears rolling freely down his face and distorting the speech. "You promised me, I helped you and I listened to you and you drop me! You fucking traitor!" He shook Nagi fervently, pushing him into the cement wall, but the younger made no move to stop him. Omi felt his own grip ease and he slumped forward against the younger boy's shoulder. "You lied to me," he sobbed almost incoherently, "you said that you weren't a pet anymore. You said you wouldn't let me face what you did and you-- you said--" He fell to the ground, unable to continue, now sobbing without words into his own hands.
I don't want to die... I don't want to be killed like this. It was never supposed to happen to me, not to me.... Nagi had fallen to the ground, a mirror of Omi. He sobbed into his hands, hardly making a sound above the sniffle though his shoulders shook violently. Not because of you. I won't die because of you. I'll be saved. Yohji will save me-- A thought occurred to him. What if Yohji had only wanted him for a bed partner? What if Nagi had been telling the truth? No. No he was lying the entire time! Yohji loves me and he's going to rescue me. The thought didn't stick no matter how he repeated it, and he found himself clinging to Nagi as the last form of comfort.
The usual four hours had passed since Yohji's concussion. In fact it had been closer to six hours, but he remained staring into the fireplace without bothering to look away. His breath was barely detectable other than by the slight rise and fall of his chest. At the beginning, Ken had worried. It was only natural, he told himself, to be in shock when your lover's been taken away, but... He sighed and paused in cleaning his wounds. Aya shouldn't have been so harsh with him. Yohji was only trying to save Omi's life. The question was how to explain that to Aya. He didn't know that Yohji and Omi were together and Ken wasn't about to volunteer the information. If he wanted to know, he could go to Yohji since Omi was...
Ken decided not to think about it. Although Aya had long been his love interest, Ken prided himself with knowing almost everything about Omi. It used to be that if Omi wasn't on the computer, he was in Ken's room talking or watching the soccer games from the stands, ready to toss a Power Aid over the side for Ken or for one of his students depending on who was playing. Then Ken and Aya started spending more time together and Omi had been left alone to the apartment or to tending Yohji's hangover. He didn't seem to mind, but Omi had always put on fronts to make everything seem as though it was okay. Ken knew for a fact that things weren't even close.
He peeled the cotton of his shirt away from the wound, picking at the dried blood and the fabric that had made its way in. It was always a dirty business to clean up after a battle, so Ken had put it off until the last minute as he usually did. Only problem was that it just made things messier. He sat on the bed, wounds facing away from the door so that anyone who entered wouldn't be able to see, and pulled out a cloth from a bowl of water. The heat stung when it hit but Ken grit his teeth to distract himself. He was sure Yohji wouldn't ask questions if Ken cried out in reaction, but Aya had already returned from dropping off his sister and now occupied himself by making a make-shift dinner. Ken's guess was take-out.
Either way Ken continued to dab the cloth to his bare side, lifting his shirt the rest of the way off with the other hand. He flung it to the ground just as the knob on the door turned and was pushed open. Brown eyes drifted casually to the door where the crimson-haired man stood with a mug of what seemed to be coffee in either hand. The younger man smiled and accepted the cup, careful to keep his wounds away from Aya's gaze. "Thanks," he muttered. Ken sipped at it, making sure of its heat before gulping it down. It had been a hard night and Ken would welcome the company of the red-haired man who now seemed to be blindly fumbling with his words. Ken almost laughed, but abstained just long enough for Aya to find what he'd been looking for.
"Ken," he began a bit hesitantly, "back there I--" He stopped and turned warm lavender eyes to the younger man. "Thank you."
Ken's voice caught in his throat. Aya hardly ever thanked anyone, even Ken. A bit nervously the man shook his head, lowering his gaze to shade the confusion in his eyes. "I was worried..." He replied and lavender orbs shot up to look at the younger. "No one knew what had happened to you. I didn't know if they-- if you---" Fears rose to the surface of Ken's mind, floating into his eyes as they turned to Aya. Each image burned into his retinas. He fought to push the horrors away from him, but even still a few tears rose to the surface of his chocolate gaze. He quickly wiped them away. "I was afraid they'd gotten you, too. Like they did Omi." Ken attempted to inhale slowly and steadily, but it was a difficult procedure. He twisted the wet cloth in his hand to cover the small splotched of crimson blood.
Cool, violet eyes softened and Aya turned the younger to face him. Ken stammered for an explanation. "I know it wouldn't have made much sense-- with the ritual to be completed-- I just-- I couldn't stop thinking that--" A long finger stopped the motions of Ken's lips.
Amazing. Aya had never though that those lips could be so soft beneath the sensitive pad of his forefinger. He couldn't keep himself from wondering what they would be like against his own, although he fought to keep the musing away. It had just been an impulse nothing more. "Ken," his voice was hardly a whisper within the dark of the room, "I'm okay. Schwarz didn't need me for that. I was bait, Ken. I was supposed to lure Omi to them and it worked. They had the chance to kill me, skin me alive, even rape me, but if they had, it would have been my fault." He stared insistently, trying to convince the younger with only his gaze that he was right. Finally he let out a sigh. "I never should have left the shop."
Ken became suddenly stern. "No, you're wrong!" This was the difference between Omi and Ken: Omi would never bother to stand up to Aya when it was obvious that his leader was wrong. Ken had much more courage when it came to such things. "It wouldn't have been your fault at all. Just because you left doesn't mean that you deserve to be hurt. We all do stupid things and just one doesn't mean that the person deserves anything of what they got. Murder, rape, mutilation... all of them are caused by the abuser, not the victim!" The younger man caught himself, noting the guilt panging at his heart. He had no right to chastise his leader when he very nearly came face to face with a fate Ken couldn't bring himself to imagine. Ken shook his head and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Aya. He could hear that heartbeat, feel the breath from his lips and feel the heat from the lingering embrace and Ken knew that this was no dream.
The crimson-haired man felt his pulse quicken with Ken resting securely in his arms. He'd never thought that he'd find himself reacting to such a simple thing. Although, wasn't that what made him accept and even care for Ken? His simplicity? No, it couldn't be that. There was much more to Ken than met the eye and Aya felt now as though he had to protect every part of it, as though if only he held on tight enough he could make up for his anger, for his bitterness, for the ice still lining his heart. He buried his face in shampoo-scented hair and tightened his hold, only to feel the younger recoil. Something caught his eye as Ken moved away. There were gashes on his left side, leaking blood from the tight embrace. Aya almost cursed, he'd never mean to cause the younger harm. He reached forward, running a hand along the swollen flesh along the outside. "Ken, what happened?"
Ken inwardly cursed. How can I tell him that I fell on my own weapon The man questioned. However, no excuse could cover for his own foolishness. He opened his mouth to explain, but was abruptly cut off by a stinging where Aya had applied the rag from Ken's hands. He sucked in a breath, more of a gasp than anything. He saw the older man flinch.
Ran hadn't expected for his companion to give such a reaction. Pale fingers pulled the cloth away. Perhaps something softer would limit the pain. Surely not Aya's hands. They would be much more callused from work than the rough cloth. He pondered a moment. Ken had chosen the softest of the rags and even still it was too stiff to be comfortable. Aya ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. That might help... He moved Ken into a laying position and placed his mug on the side table. He bent just enough for his face to hover above the abrasions. The man closed his eyes. His tongue ran along the edges of the wound, lapping up the crimson liquid. The copper flavor lingered on his taste buds, but Aya never flinched. Ken had begun to shiver. It was no wonder; it must have been cold in the midst of winter with only his bare skin. The older man held out his hand to Ken, who gripped at it for comfort.
If only Aya had known that the shivers weren't remotely from the cold... Distantly Ken wished that the caress had been for a different reason, but even so he fought to control himself. It stung just enough for Ken to be fully aware of the very thing Aya was doing. It could almost be like bloodletting... Ken mused with another shiver, however the wounds had not been intentional. His fingers tightened with the thought onto those long, pale fingers. The sole of the older man's hand was callused along with his fingers, but it was far from the uncomfortable touch given by some. Ken gasped.
Apparently he'd missed one while inspecting his wounds. He wouldn't have thought that there would be a gash just below the pant line of his jeans. Now Aya had pulled down the denim with his free hand and traced his tongue down to clean that one as well as the others. Ken grit his teeth in the agonizing glory of disbelief. Here was the man he'd fallen for more than a year ago caring for him in a way he'd only dreamt about. Ken had become painfully aware of how close Aya was to the hardening appendage beneath the cover of his jeans. He was just about to give himself away with a moan when the older man pulled away.
Ken's lids were half-closed, lashes shading the dark depths. He had been breathing raggedly for a while now, the shivers growing more severe. His chocolate brown hair seemed black in the shadows and fell in disarray on his brow. At once he seemed exhausted and beautiful. Aya had never considered it before. However now, as the night sky shone blue against Ken's bare tan skin he was more gorgeous than anyone he'd seen in his life. Ran felt a certain longing that he'd never expected, but he dared not voice it as the younger stirred and licked his chapped lips. "Why did you do that?" Ken asked breathily.
Honestly, Aya had no answer. At least not one he could remember. Even if he'd had one earlier, it didn't matter much. All that mattered now was the war waging between his mind and the quickening pulse of his heart. He shook his head. "I don't know." Those seemed to be the wrong words. Ken closed his eyes and rolled onto his right side, hiding his face from Ran's lavender gaze. The older man sighed and sat up, unsure of how to rephrase his words. Why was it that this mattered to him so much? Just the simple motion given by Ken made his heart throb with guilt and something Ran guessed to be love? Lust?
There came a slight muttering from the pillow where the younger had buried his face. "Didn't mean for you to find out like this." Something curious had glimmered in Ken's leader's eyes, an acknowledgment of something beneath the surface of his gaze. Perhaps he knew now about Ken's harbored love. His heart beat wildly beneath his chest and the younger man prayed that Aya wouldn't hear it. This was the time to find out if all of his dreams were for naught. "I had hoped it would be in a peaceful time where we'd be able to work all of this out." He chuckled nervously. "In fact, I hadn't meant to tell you at all. You're a full grown man and you should be allowed to make your own choices..."
Ran's gaze had returned to the wounded man lying crumpled on the blankets of his bed. He looked more like a lost child than ever before, but a bit of determination hung in the nearly invisible depths of his brown eyes, fading into the shadows below them. "You shouldn't have to hear that one of the people closest to you aren't who you think," Ken continued, "And you especially shouldn't have to hear that friend ask you to come with him... because... He--" Aya stunned the younger to silence by lightly gripping his jaw and turning him to look into shadowed lavender depths. That gaze was searching for something, serious but gentle at the same time. For a moment all Ken could think of was how that smooth, marble skin would appear beneath the light of flickering candles. Would the light spread across that high cheekbone and shade the line of that chiseled nose, leaving those Asian bud-like lips to fade into the darkness just as subtlety as it would upon fabric? It seemed now that Ken had forgotten how to breathe. Those shadowed lavender eyes seemed so intense in the darkness, becoming the epitome of all his dreams rolled into one. Ken pulled up his tanned hand and ran it tenderly across a warm cheek and found the marble was not marble in the least, but felt soft to the touch. His thumb moved lightly against the silken skin beneath his eye. Carefully Ken traced a line from the edge of his jawbone to the corner of his mouth, lingering there for a moment before finding the bud-like lips press against the pad of his finger.
"Because he loves you..." Ran finished, lips brushing up against the finger lightly. His own thumb traced the younger man's lips, noting them for their masculinity. They were as soft as he'd felt before, but now he also felt the firmness of them, knew full well to whom they belonged and even more wished to kiss them long and full. Ran had never had time to have any sort of relationship. He'd always been too absorbed in Weiß or school or even his sister to notice anyone much less whom he preferred. Ran moved his hand up into the mess of chocolate locks and leaned forward, hovering just above Ken's lips. He could feel the moisture from his shallow breaths and understood fully how the younger felt. Ken's hand slid up to the back of Ran's neck, fingers entwining in the short crimson hairs there and pulled him down.
So long he'd waited for this moment, hoping and wishing that he wouldn't be rejected again. The first time had been with Kase and Ken thought himself to be as in love as possible. He'd slept with the man and soon after had been betrayed by him. More than anything Ken wanted to be loved, not used by the one he loved. Aya had filled in that pain with such ferocity that Ken had almost forgotten. That is until the threat of rejection came again. Only now, Ken would fight for his love. The heat of Aya's lips burned through him, making him stronger with each new kiss. Soon he found his tongue tracing the lines of Aya's lips. The older man didn't hesitate to allow entry, seeming almost thankful to not have to take the lead. Ken pushed up against the crimson-haired man, trading places with him on the bed. The smaller man worked his way above Aya and straddled him, only to bend down once more and retrieve the deepest most passionate kiss they had shared thus far.
Ken pulled away almost gasping for breath. His side ached, but he paid it no mind. He refused to allow such a menial thing to get in the way. His hands guided themselves to the edge of the white turtleneck, from which Aya hadn't had the chance to change from since the day of his kidnapping. Ken slid them beneath the fabric, lifting it enough to reveal the majority of the gorgeously pale stomach. He moved his head down, tracing his tongue along the lines of the muscle. Aya's chest had begun to rise and fall rapidly, almost urgent. Even still the younger teased, lifting the fabric over the man's chest and resting his mouth above the nipple. He merely breathed on it for many moments, allowing it to harden before he traced it just as he'd done before only now he contented himself by nipping at it and drawing moans from the crimson-haired man. Strangely enough Ken had never imagined doming the usually strong-willed man below him. He wondered now if he were the experienced one among the two, but pushed the thought away so as not to distract himself from the glorious feeling pushing against his lower abdomen begging for him to move further. Taunting himself, as well as the writhing Aya beneath him, Ken rocked forward, rubbing just once before continuing with the previous torture.
Now he ran his hands down the expanse of that firm stomach and plucked playfully at the button there, thus eliciting a moan from Ran. Ken paused, lips brushing up against the bare skin of Ran's chest as he spoke. "Are you sure you want to keep going?"
Ran inhaled and pulled one hand from the headboard where he'd been gripping and, grabbing Ken's hand from above the button and slid it down to be placed on the erection pressing dangerously hard against the denim. "What have I said about asking stupid questions?" Aya remarked as closely to his leader tone as he could get, but quickly gasped as Ken stroked the bulge, his eyes sliding half shut. Ken gave a satisfied nod at the reaction and unbuttoned the jeans, slipping them off with only a bit of difficulty, followed by the boxers. Meanwhile Ran worked to pull off what remained on his body of the turtleneck before leaning forward to help the younger man to peel the pants away from the single gash beneath them. Soon after, both sat bare on top of the rumpled white covers.
A slight smile crossed Ken's lips and he pulled his hand lightly across the smooth skin lining the older man's hip and upper thigh. He couldn't help but feel the warmth of his heart beating in love and joy. He slid forward, resting Aya's legs in the crook of his hip. Ken gave a small squeeze of comfort to the older man's thigh and bent forward, knowing that the years of soccer and deep stretching paid off. He moved first to the inner thigh, nipping lightly at the tender skin there. Already Ran's hands and been placed on the back of his head, urging him to move faster and relieve the intolerable high. He smiled and ran a finger beneath the length, drawing a moan. Somehow he'd known that it would drive the older man higher and so he did it again before replacing his finger with his tongue.
Aya had become a bit cold in the room once his clothes had been properly disposed of, but now the intense warmth of Ken's mouth made him break out into sweat nearly immediately. The combination of that lithe tongue running beneath him and the constricting of Ken's throat around him had already persuaded Ran to give in. If this was domination, he didn't mind. He hardly paid any thought to the single hand working its way towards his bottom. Perhaps Ken was trying to get a better grip? Aya raised himself just a bit to speed up the process and pushed himself further into Ken's mouth, pulling another groan from his lips. Even still those fingers ventured further, pressing into Aya and stretching his limits. He'd not expected this, but bit down on his lip to stay silent. He'd never expected to react like this, but he doubted anyone would have been able to help it under the tender command of Ken. Another finger was added, but now the stretching came as pleasure rather than the initial pain. The rhythm of Ken's mouth grew quick, drawing Aya into high rapture. His breath let out along with a deep-throated cry. He pushed against the younger man's head, urging him to go harder, faster. Teeth scraped lightly against the tender skin in time with the massaging tongue and constricting throat muscles around his length. Ken's brows furrowed and he nursed more fervently than before. Aya could feel his own heat rise up and he arched his back with a gasp. He was teetering on the precipice of euphoria and he longed savagely to fall from it. He rocked his hips forward and Ken, only having one hand to push against muscled thighs, couldn't hold him down. So close, so very close to falling--
Ken pulled away with an evil smirk. What would have been a whimper for anyone but Aya escaped his throat, but the younger man's smile broadened. "Turn over... Don't worry, okay?" The fingers were pulled away and rubbed rapidly on the sheets. As Ran shifted to roll, Ken sifted through his drawers to pull out a tube of what seemed to be a sort of lotion and he rubbed it along his own throbbing length. Half-masted lavender eyes stared out from beneath dark lashes and Ran rose to meet level with Ken's hips. The younger placed tan callused hands on soft, pale skin and gently pushed forward.
Ran gave what almost could have been a growl. His back arched just so, hands wrapped firmly around the poles on the headboard. The shadows rippled along his muscles in an enticing way, almost making Ken shiver. Ran was tight, almost unbearably so. The warm womb of his insides wrapped around him snugly, but each pulse of blood beat softly against him, enticing him higher. He pulled out just enough to push back in. He did this slowly so as not to overload the older man who was now biting his lip in an undeniable blur of pleasure-pain. Ken pulled away again, but this time Aya pushed back to meet him, moving up as far as he could until his eyes shot open and a pain-filled smile crossed his lips. A tan hand traced along Aya's back, palm laying flat against the spine. Again he pulled back and again Aya pushed to meet him, this time with a choked cry.
The initial pain had long passed and Ran lay in complete elation. The feel of that callused hand along his back merely reminded him of his bareness and he became, if possible, harder than he'd been moments before. The air was cold against his length, but it did nothing more than heighten the eroticism of the entire situation. He could feel Ken pull away and, in a panic, pushed back up against him. Something hit inside him, the concentrated epitome of pleasure. This was so much more than Aya could have ever possibly imagined. He bit his lip and pressed back against Ken's hips again, the intensity of the pleasure-pain intensifying and making his insides flop and writhe against the butterflies within them. This time he allowed the slightest bit of a moan escape his lips in a plea for more. Now Ken needed no more urging and Aya's mind reeled at the tightening of the grip on his thighs, pulling him back forcefully to hit that same beautiful spot again. "Ken..." The older man moaned, his deep voice echoing just slightly against the bare walls of the room.
This almost forced Ken into a frenzy. To hear that voice call out his name in such longing and so full of need was so much more than any of his dreams could have made them out to be. This is no dream. Ken reminded himself driving in a bit faster now and only slightly harder. This is reality... He pushed in again, drawing a cry from Aya and he felt his brows furrow. The friction between Aya and himself was perfect, they fit flawlessly now that Aya had relaxed. His breath came harder, faster with the beat he and Aya had created between them. It was a rhythmic, erotic dance shared between only them. It continued, pulling cries from them both as Ken rose higher and higher into the darkness that he knew would give way to the beautiful, white fall from Heaven. Aya's knuckles had faded ivory with the clenching of his fists and Ken's only reasonable thought pitched in. One hand slithered down, stroking the fleshy length hidden between Aya's legs, then moved up and without warning gripped the base. Aya gave a remorseful cry, showing that Ken had caught him just in time. Even still he continued pumping in that eternal pulse. He could feel the heat from his skin and the approaching height, pulling higher and higher, almost reaching climax. Sweat dripped from his chin, landing on the base of Aya's back and ran down his spine where it remained in the valley of his arched back. Ken could no longer hear either Aya's heavy breathing or his own choked-off moans. All he knew was the encroaching darkness. Then he was enveloped in the black cloak of it and felt his seed shoot out. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Ran..." It was the first time Ken had used his leader's true name, the syllable rolling off his tongue without a thought.
Ken was warm, almost unnaturally so. He could feel cloth as well as skin and everything had been balanced on his left side. Foggy brown eyes opened only to see warm, a concerned violet gaze gleaming beneath furrowed brows. Aya's lips moved, but Ken at first didn't understand what it was he was saying. It all seemed to be a blur. "Nn...?" He questioned, shifting just a bit on the bed to nestle himself in the crook of Aya's arm.
"Are you okay?" Came the deep-throated reply. Ken nodded, his mind finally returning to him. Surely Ran hadn't climaxed yet. Ken hadn't allowed him to... What with the intensity of it all, Ken doubted that he'd let his grip loosen. He moved his fingers just slightly and found them still wrapped firmly around the shaft. It was indeed as hard, if not harder, than it had been before hand. With his thumb the traced what he could of the length and Aya tensed.
"Ayan..." Ken murmured against that beautiful, pale skin. "We need to take care of you, too." He heard Aya's breath catch in his throat, but with his free hand he reached for the lotion and smeared it along the stiff length. "To tell you the truth... I'm not a very good at being on top..." He conversed quietly, moving Aya's unsure fingers behind him. "So... I was hoping that I could teach you to do it since you are the more aggressive of us." His distant eyes twitched just slightly as the probing fingers entered. "It just... works out better that way. Besides... I know more than anyone how much you like control, so I'm pretty sure that once you get the hang of it you'll enjoy it much more than what I could ever do for you." He nipped playfully at the bared nipple of his older companion and traced the fingers of his free hand up Aya's spine, passing through the droplets of sweat found there. He could feel Aya shiver against him and he knew that the older couldn't hold out much longer at this rate. Ken pulled away from Aya's fingers and pushed the crimson-haired man to sit upright. He lay down on his back, slowly releasing his grip on Aya.
Fogged violet eyes widened as Ken pulled his own bare legs over Aya's shoulders and settled himself on the older man's lap. The need pulled at Ran harder than he'd believed possible. For so long nothing had ever mattered but protecting his family. Of course, he'd always been told that he'd find love in the least likely places. Ran pushed himself into Ken, feeling the ring tighten around him. At first it seemed painful, trying to fit himself into what seemed to be a small area, however it expanded to accomidate. Ken gave a purr of approval that made Aya's stomach flip. He couldn't ignore the violent need any longer and so he tightened his grip on Ken's thighs and pushed in.
There was no doubt in Yohji's mind what was happening in the opposite room. Everything was right for it. They knew he wouldn't move to disturb them and, with no Aya-chan there to interrupt, either, the chances of any trouble was slim to none. Even so, each dim moan or cry for the other's name struck home in the playboy's heart. He should have been happy for Ken, having to wait so long to even get their leader to notice him as anything more than a companion. However it hurt him to know that they could hold each other safely in their arms and never let go to face the horrible reality that was the world.
Yohji had never thought that he'd have to face such a cold, unfeeling truth as the one Aya had pounded into him on this night. He'd always thought he could hold on tight to Omi and nothing would happen. He thought that if he locked him up he could keep him away from the dangers that would cause his death. If only he could have known... if only he could have answered correctly. If only... If only Nagi hadn't taken him away from his hiding place safe in the confines of the apartment. No placing the blame now. This was Yohji's fault, no one else's. He could have refused to answer, declined the game and moved into a fight. Maybe then they would have had some sort of a chance.
No. Yohji was the fool and he had to choose all of the bad decisions. Every word that came out of his mouth had been a mistake. First with Asuka, then with Omi. So many times it had happened to Omi. Now Yohji's foolishness had caused the inevitable death of the one person he cared about. The fire had flickered to hardly an ember. Yohji guessed that it was roughly three or four in the morning and finally the lustful moans had subsided to leave Yohji in his silent misery. He blinked dark lashes over cold, green eyes. He had no choice but to move on. So he pulled himself from the couch and gathered a coat into his arms and strode out the door, not caring to change out of his crop top and fighting pants.
It was indeed cold. Perhaps more so than Yohji would have believed. Had I not been sitting by the fire while Omi was-- No. He caught himself. I can't think about him. I can't; he's as good as dead and I can't let it drag me down. There was something pulling at his heart that he'd never really found. It was the lingering guilt of Asuka's death and the self-blame that came along with it and now, Yohji found, he was responsible for another loss. He shivered and slung the coat over his shoulder, heading for his car. If Omi had to withstand so much now that Yohji had failed, the older man would surely take his share of discomfort for his memory.
He opened the door to his car and climbed in, strapping himself with the seatbelts before turning the key in the ignition. The one way to get his mind off of things was to do something he'd not considered in almost a year. Even so, Yohji remembered the directions downtown as easily as if he'd been just yesterday. Of course, he hadn't. He'd been meeting with that boy. Nagi, Yohji mentally hissed. He'd never known hatred could be so strong. No, it had passed hatred and Yohji now abhorred the young Asian boy. He'd taken Yohji's most precious possession and delivered him right into the hands of those he'd been trying to hide the boy from. The blonde man knew that he should be blaming this on the eldest of them, that American man. He'd probably Seen Omi lying helpless and alone and sent Nagi to fetch him. However, this didn't offer any comfort in the matter so he turned up the radio.
It had been programmed to pick up stations all around the world and now there was a song playing, one Yohji knew almost by heart. The American lyrics poured from the radio to match Yohji's moving lips, shadowed occasionally by a road light or the moon (when it came from behind the clouds to peek onto the sleeping world below.) The dim piano echoed from the speakers, just loud enough for the stoic driver to hear over the wind whipping at his hair. Every night, you wrote another line with a bloody, broken bottle. And every day you'd wish it away. Why don't you pull the pin on that grenade you coddle? Every night Omi could be found sitting up at night, typing on the computer on what seemed to be a journal. A few times a person could glimpse words strung together, trying to say a message that he wished no one to understand. Suicide: if a person looked hard enough they could find the boy wishing, praying for it all to end, for the world to just fade away.
I wanted to believe, bodies swinging from trees, struggling to stand. Were these the visions the young man saw while drifting to sleep? Each person he'd killed, tortured as he'd been and left in agony. What if they had never died at all? What if they had lived? With your head in your hands... A stoic last stand of a dying man. Even now Yohji could see the blonde boy sitting on the edge of a precipice, covering his face to ward away the death just on the other side.
I wanted to believe as I watched your world crumble in your hands. I wanted to believe as you raised a glass to your last stand... The visions enveloped his thought, showing the pictures of the blonde-haired cherubim as he'd been in the past few days. He seemed no different than ever, but something shone beneath that smile. It seemed to be a constant struggle, but he'd convinced everyone that he'd won, that he'd conquered his anger, fear, his emotions all-together.
Tears had begin to well up in Yohji's eyes but were promptly blown dry by the wind. And I wanted to believe you would win the war in your head that I did not understand. The guilt built once more in Yohji's chest. He never should have confessed his love to that cherub. He'd been wounded, had his wings broken and his innocence buried and even still Yohji had forced his love on one who was still coming to terms with his life. Yohji still hadn't understood. It had been so long since that night in the alleyway with Asuka. He'd forgotten how hard the battle was. Every night the questions poured out of your wounded eyes, damned dark things. And every day you used to pray, listened to the black raven sing. He'd seen those questions the first night and paid no attention. He'd seen the pain and the agony and the racing questions of himself and Yohji had ignored them all. Each day Omi would stare out the window blankly as though listening to the distant ringing of death bells but no one paid any attention. Perhaps he'd heard the call of the red-haired man and stood waiting for his day to come. So many things just pouring out of the dark cerulean depths to stare into the unexpecting eyes of those who watched, but they never saw. They refused to see until it was too late.
You wanted to believe as you were falling to your knees, struggling to stand with your life in your hand; the sad last stand of a broken man. All of it had been against his will, and he'd surely fought it tooth and claw against the controlling haze of the youngest of them. He must have tried to get away, tried to run from the pain and the guilt if only to save his own life. Yohji's own words echoed back to him in a haze, blocking out what he knew to be the chorus. 'You could have been killed Omi. You're lucky that Farfarello didn't tear you apart.' But he'd wanted to believe that he'd won... even though he'd lost everything. He'd lost everything except his life and Yohji supposed that made him a winner. The man reached to the radio and stoicaly changed stations.
The background music held voices screaming, yelling about pushing someone down and holding them, holding them down on the ground. Images flew into Yohji's mind; pictures of Omi thrown nude into the snow, blood trailing from his back to drip onto discolored, swollen hands. A hard shock was sent directly to his chest and Yohji wished to change the station. The slow song had made far too much connection, but was now replaced by the screaming of men. "I'll cut you down, they will never find out!" The pictures remained, the bloodied form of a boy being approached by a dim shadow. He reached over to the radio and hurriedly shut it off to drive in silence along the road.
Yohji wiped the tears from his eyes, placing on the mask he'd worn so often. He stepped out of the car and strode down the street, head held high. Women in tattered clothes crowded the street corners where light remained, fighting to stay out of the shadows. The man didn't blame them. Dangerous things lurked in the night. Even so, separate from the women was a young man standing against the wall, hands in the pockets of familiar black shorts. The bill of a cap covered his face, but a few blonde locks fell from the cover of the cap. With a quick breath the man hurried over, sure not to break his masquerade. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Hey," came the warning voice. "Didn't you know not to touch the merchandise?" It most certainly wasn't Omi, but as the young man looked up, Yohji saw the same round face that must have once seemed innocent. Even so, dark, Asian eyes stared up from beneath the cap. They were eyes of someone who had seen far too much.
"How much?" Yohji questioned, the smile on his face fading.
Nagi could feel the cold wall through the cloth of his shirt. He gazed up just past Schuldich's eyes. He allowed the probes to search as deeply as they pleased. The game had been up with Schuldich when he'd brought Omi in unbound. Now he was pinned against the wall, jade chips unfocused in anger and concentration. A sneer grew on the German's face. Nagi could tell the man was just about ready to hit something. Nagi had never felt jealousy on the other side of the probes, but now it rang loud and clear. Jade orbs refocused and Schuldich stifled a growl. "He's going to die, you know." Yes, Nagi knew. He knew full well of the fate he'd brought on the innocent boy. "We're going to kill him. We'll get our immortality whether you like it or not, because you're the last point of the star." It had been understood for a long time, that even if Nagi refused to take up immortality that he'd be forced to accept. "Then you'll have to learn to like us, not just obey us." There was something else, almost read from the other side of the probes, as 'I'll teach you to love me.'
"You have to finish your mission, Prodigy. You may not think that I'm your master, but if you betray me, the others will hear of it. Have no doubt that where I have patience for your infatuation, Farfarello surely wouldn't." Schuldich leaned down, face mere inches from the much younger boy's. "As of now, you're lucky Crawford hasn't had any Visions." He pulled away and pointed to the door where the sacrifice had been placed. "Now get in there and do what needs to be done!" This last was a snarl, but Nagi refused to flinch. Instead he calmly strode to the door and placed his hand on the knob.
I'll do it, master, but only if you leave. Nagi turned, eyes on the ground, but obviously firm. As in keep your probes to yourself. This last was with such force that Schuldich recoiled and Nagi hurried inside. The German pulled himself to his feet. "It seems as though that Kitten gave you an attitude when he stole your heart." Brows furrowed deeply over icy jade chips he turned. "The Takatoris really are ungrateful. They always want more than what they have... but this Kitten won't get to keep it."
Orchid fingers passed fondly over the figurine resting against them. The jade figure smiled warmly upward, round, smooth stomach symbolizing either great wealth or great poverty. The figurine was flipped and turned over in those delicate hands as the owner searched for some impurity upon the polished surface. It seemed to hold none save the small carving in the bottom of the sculptor's name. This Buddha was almost the exact make as his own, however the small chip that had been knocked out of the foot was still intact. Omi sighed, warmly smiling at the gift resting securely in his hands. It had only been a few hours since he and Nagi had lay on the floor, bawling into each other's arms. Then something remarkable had happened: they had found comfort in each other. Pain filled eyes gazed at each other with such familiarity that one would think that they had been mirror images of each other. The Asian boy had then pulled out this beautiful sculpture, the same make as Omi's favorite, and handed it to him saying. "This will give you some comfort. When you think too hard about my mistake, hold onto it and he'll help you."
It had most certainly been Nagi's mistake that drove him here, but even more so was it Omi's fault. He could have just as easily declined the offer as to accept. Even now Omi couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the better choice. Sure he'd escaped from his 'team mates' into the hands of the enemy, but surely death would be better than being used by those he'd learned to trust. Nagi really had been his only way out of that situation and he should be thankful for that. So now Omi flipped the figurine in his hands only to hear the silent click of the door.
His eyes shot up, almost automatically in a rage. However the deep, sad blue eyes reflecting his expression softened his glare and he felt rather guilty. Without much more to do Omi retuned to flipping the Buddha between his fingers and surveying the folds in different lights. It hardly helped to distract him from the twisting of his stomach beneath the smooth skin of his belly or even the butterflies trying to force themselves out. Something about Nagi made him anxious, neither in a good or a bad way. However when the younger voice spoke it became obvious to what he'd been sent to do and Omi understood he'd be helpless to resist. "I'm sorry."
Omi stopped moving the idol, staring at it without seeing the smooth, round belly. "They sent you to finish what you started, didn't they?" No reply, but the silence was enough to convince Omi that he'd hit right on the button. "I see."
"I promise you that if I had another choice I would take it." Nagi approached, kneeling at the edge of the bed. "You see, if I don't do this... If I don't do this Schwarz will find out and both of us will be killed without regard. As it is, I think I may be able to get you out before the sacrificial date." It looked to be tearing the younger man apart just thinking about it, but he strained to make it seem like a casual conversation. "A slim chance is better than none."
"Nagi?" Omi was sure to address him by using his name since none of the Schwarz members did so often. "Why are you trying to help me?" There was a shocked expression in those deep, universal eyes. The boy worked his mouth silently but could come up with no safe reason to give. "Because I'm like you, right?" Silence and again "I see." He placed the Buddha on the table next to the bed and offered a hand up to Nagi, who took it and climbed onto the cushions. "You can't disobey orders and there's no use in my fighting anymore." He crouched down, sliding a cool hand beneath the fabric of Nagi's shirt. His stomach almost shrank away from the touch, but relaxed into it. He's the only one I can trust anymore. He's the only person who's honest to me and at least I know what's coming to me.
Rosebud lips brushed across the soft surface of Nagi's stomach. Omi's own jerked and jolted with anxiety. He didn't know what he had to be afraid of. Surely the younger boy wouldn't hurt him for anything he did wrong like the others had. Now he felt the younger ease back against the headboard and knew that his mind must be reeling as well. If he was anything like Omi had suspected, then the boy wasn't used to being coddled like this. Too bad he didn't know that the Weiß man was merely biding his time until his stomach calmed down and adjusted to this new idea.
Of course, as he unbuttoned the younger man's shirt he received a pang in his heart. Those dark eyes seemed confused, almost afraid. He felt sorry for Nagi. Everything he'd been forced to deal with seemed to be adding up here and Omi wanted more than anything to prove that it didn't have to be a bad experience. He straddled Nagi's hips, timidly planting a kiss on his lips before moving down to rest his head against his chest, listening to the heavy heartbeat. "You really don't want to do this, do you?" Nagi shook his head. "It doesn't have to be bad, you know." What did Omi know? His only experience with such things had been under the heavy, commanding hands of Schwarz. "I have no more shame, Nagi. I'll do whatever you ask me to and if I don't, I give you permission to make me." He was going to die soon anyway; he may as well sell his soul.
The soothing tone of Omi's voice rang gorgeous in the nearly empty room. He looked even more now like the angel from whom he'd received his name. Nagi could have confessed his love right then and there. The mere infatuation had grown enormously in the past day and, as Nagi laid here beneath the calm gaze, he admitted to himself that he'd do anything for him. He shook his head and leaned forward, pushing Omi down to lay flat on the bed. "Stop it." He ordered, gaze hard. "This is the last way I want to see you. I don't want to cage you; I don't want you to submit to being a pet. What I want is you. I want to know who you are, not who I am." He allowed this to settle in, waiting as Omi's eyes softened and took on the look they gave his closest companions. Nagi knelt down, pulling at the hem of the tightly knit black shirt with his teeth. At least this he had experience in.
Upon reaching Omi's ribcage, Nagi placed his hands beneath the fabric and pulled it off the rest of the way, revealing tanned and toned flesh. He'd already changed into the mindset so as not to think about what he was doing. Habit and experience now took control, hands slipping beneath the waistband of the dark jeans. Pearlescent teeth clicked against the metal of the button, causing vague metallic taste to spread throughout the boy's mouth, nearly reminiscent of blood. The button slipped from the hole and Nagi took the tab of the zipper in his teeth, sliding it down with ease before planting a few kisses along the barely covered erection beneath the thin veil of Omi's boxers.
"Nagi--" The older man choked out, propping himself up with his elbows, back arched. He'd never expected that it could possibly be enjoyable. Surely he could have convinced himself had he thought about it, but the sheer memories of his last experience with it made him horribly uncomfortable, especially since he'd never expected to react to a male. Now a slight moan escaped his throat against the pressure on him. Omi could feel himself harden beneath the heavy scrutiny of Nagi's lips. His head had become fogged and his vision burred, only able to focus on the deep, lustful eyes gleaming up at him.
Fingers traced the shape delicately from outside the fabric. Nagi pulled his head up to watch the older man fight for breath. He could feel a laugh tug at his lips, but years of experience told him that it would be a bad time to allow that to slide. Crawling on top, Nagi straddled the boy's hips and crouched down to plant small kisses along his collarbone until he met the junction of it with Omi's lithe shoulder. There he nibbled the skin and rubbed gently against the growing erection beneath him. The rocking forced Omi to become completely aware of what Nagi was half clad in. The school outfit hung loose around his shoulders and the pants clung dangerously tight around the thighs and waist. He spasmed just slightly, hips grinding together with delicious friction.
Nagi's lips trailed down to a hard nipple, flipping the piercing with his tongue ever so lightly before taking it between his teeth and tugging just hard enough to sharpen the senses. Omi choked out another cry thus driving Nagi further into his reverie. His thin hands slid beneath the waistline of the boxers, plucking at the elastic before completely removing both boxers and pants with one mental pull. The telekinetic hovered just inches above Omi, refusing to drop his hips back down to meet with the bare ones. Instead he allowed a small smile to escape his lips and they lifted from the bed into the air.
The air against bare skin had become incomprehensible to Omi's light-headed thoughts. Omi had been completely revealed and now hovered inches away from euphoria or death. Such a thing only made Omi more willing to accept whichever came. Nagi pulled him into his arms and cradled him at a slight angle. The older man's legs entwined themselves against Nagi's but the younger had a better plan. He pulled away just slightly, hands resting firm on Omi's hips. The contact sent cold shocks through Omi's body and he tensed at the warm breath inside his thighs. Pleasepleasepleaseplease... This word repeated itself inside Omi's mind and the need was so strong that the boy could hardly contain it.
Then the world flipped upside-down. Omi hovered near the ceiling, looking down on the bed and floor and, most noticeable of all, Nagi's eyes. They surrounded him, becoming the walls and the floor and the ceiling and everything else. His voice caught in his throat, but then the warmth returned to his thighs.
Nagi smiled, pleased by the reaction of allowing Omi to see what he saw, but there was no time to revel in it. He placed his lips around the tip of the hard member and ran his tongue along the full length of the underside where it was sure to be the most sensitive. It left a cold, wet trail along the skin, but the air would do a bit of his job for him. He sent out small tendrils of his mind to caress every trigger point possible. Behind the ear, nibbling at the collarbone, tugging and twisting lightly against the hard pink nubs of nipples then the light tracing of the cleft between Omi's buttocks; each gesture deserved special attention that Nagi wouldn't be able to give otherwise. He twirled his tongue around the tip in his mouth, exhaling as he did so. He could feel the older boy shiver when the breath ran up the length of his member. "Nn--" came the vague reaction, unable to comprehend everything happening at once. Omi placed tender hands on the back of Nagi's head. This was all the urging he needed to completely swallow Omi's length. His teeth grazed just slightly on the lower half, pulling a heavy gasp from the older boy.
Cerulean eyes went out of focus completely, believing the walls to be nonexistent (perhaps they were lost in the endless spectrum of the universe) but he rocked forward as best he could, held down by Nagi's amazingly strong hands. The dark head bobbed just slightly, tongue and throat massaging his member. It was wonderful, intoxicating. In a way he didn't want anymore, he wanted the release, he wanted to feel himself fall. However the torture of it begged for more, aching to feel it just a bit harder, just a bit faster and more intense. He moaned and pressed down on Nagi's head, begging for more. He continued at the same pace as before, openly refusing to do anything beyond what he was. Each individual sensation added up, the tickling at his back and the rough twisting on his nipples flipped his stomach harder until it sank out of existence, but still he wanted even more. He felt as though he were climbing a ladder, each prong just appearing before he couldn't stand still any longer. It climbed higher and higher, refusing to allow him down until he reached the absolute top. He could see the top now and he climbed higher to reach it, but the final prong never came, something held him away from it with cool, nagging fingers. "A--"
Nagi pulled away with a scolding chuckle. His pants fell away and the school uniform shirt fell open around his elbows. With those dark eyes turned down, gazing through black lashes Omi understood now how he'd known to do so many things a mere week ago. Nagi must have had years of practice beneath Schwarz and who knew where else he'd learned these things. He was the epitome of everything Omi could have imagined to be erotic.
Now came the part Nagi was uneasy with. He'd been a pet for so long that thinking on his own was hardly acceptable in any situation. He refused to allow that to show on his face and instead concentrated on switching their positioning. He watched Omi's half-masted eyes as he moved. They seemed fogged, lustful and on the verge of collapse. He reminded himself that it would be over soon enough and they could be free to think about escaping. These thoughts nearly pulled him out of the mind frame and Nagi immediately shook himself. He slid two nimble digits past the constricting circle of muscle despite the shocked gasp from his partner. He pulled the older man to rest against him, wiping the sweat from his brow as he scissored and slipped in another nimble finger. He shushed Omi slightly, planting a kiss on the top of his head. "It's okay. I promise I won't hurt you." Omi moaned and pressed against the fingers.
Of course Nagi, with a shifting glance conjured up a thin tube and it applied its own contents along Nagi's length. With a nod of approval it replaced itself. Nagi pulled his fingers away from Omi who gave a mournful cry. "Sh-- it's alright, angel." He positioned himself slightly beneath Omi and eased the boy onto his lap, pressing gently into his entrance. The older man almost seemed to melt into Nagi's grip, whimpering slightly. Omi grit his teeth, nearly smiling. He felt almost comfortable with this, the extra appendage seemingly natural inside of him. The initial pain had passed, a bit more striking than he'd imagined having not completely healed.
"Nn..." He leaned his head back to rest against Nagi's shoulder. Half-masted lids shifted closed and Omi bit his lip. This caused Nagi's almost flawless self-control to fade. He pulled out just a bit before forcing his way back in, thus eliciting a moan from his older companion. Nagi shushed him, not because he didn't enjoy the sound but because he didn't want to be pulled into a greater frenzy than Omi could handle. He planted a kiss on Omi's healing back and repeated the slight pumping motion. This time there only came an exhale and a tightened grip on Nagi's thighs. The younger man swallowed, pushing in deeper from reflex. For a moment he thought he'd made a great mistake, but the next time around the blonde boy pushed down as far as he could go, thus allowing release to all his breath and causing a near purring sound to escape his throat. It seemed this Angel had grown used to pain.
"Nagi--" The older man muttered as his fingers tightened around slim, pale thighs, "I'm not going to break." His eyelashes shaded those sapphire orbs just enough to create the perfect view of lust shining in his eyes. Without regards now Nagi pushed in harder and faster than before, making sure to hit the ultimate pleasure point deep within. Sweat began to bead on his face and shoulders as he continued this procedure. His hands gripped Omi's hips firmly to pull him down into the thrusts. Any extra mental power went to holding back the incredible surge of climax threatening to break through. "A--!"
Omi teetered on the precipice, unable to fall no matter how hard he wished it. This feeling teased him, pleaded with him to let it go, but Omi had no control over it. He stared down the rungs of the ladder, ready to jump but he couldn't move further, couldn't step down in the least. "N-Nagi!" He cried out, pleading for more, to speed up the unbearable pace. The butterflies filled his stomach and trailed further down his abdomen, spreading through the base of his immensely hard member, but continuing no further. It felt like there was a wall blocking him from continuing, keeping him in the same place until the right moment. A hand slid over the top of his thighs, making his stomach flop along with the rest of the butterfly-infested region, and gripped the length resting between his legs, stroking and moving up and down the shaft in time with the increasing speed of their rhythm. Omi hurt. The need beat so strong into him that it struck him into frenzied pleasure.
He screamed, pleading with the younger just to let him fall, to let him go and then the most remarkable thing happened. Omi was filled with gorgeous warmth and the wall that had been holding him still fell. The blonde boy tipped off the precipice and fell into a chaotic swarm of colors, each surrounding him and bursting before fading away to leave him in complete darkness. His throat clenched off last time and he fell forward, eyelids slamming shut and leaving him unseeing.
Nagi had lost his concentration with his own climax, hardly noticing that he'd given into those beautiful pleas. Of course Nagi knew better than anyone that it had been Omi's voice that sent him over the edge. So many years with Schuldich and the rest of Schwarz had not left him unscathed to a few of the same enjoyments as they. With Omi's collapse Nagi pulled away, slowly lowering them onto the bed with weak, yet steady arms. The blonde cherub lay peaceful against the white sheets of the bed, seeming more the angel now than he'd ever been. Though he knew that he should be proud for finding that he could give this angel such pleasure, Nagi was disgusted. He felt more disgusted with himself than he'd even imagined he could feel. He'd fowled the innocent angel, making it so he couldn't help but enjoy Nagi's company. Each mental trigger and brush of the hand echoed in his mind and it left a sour taste in Nagi's mouth.
A pale hand pulled open a drawer and revealed washrags and a bottle of water. He dampened the rags and wiped away the cum from the resting angel's tan skin then did the same with his own. There was nothing left to do but report. He didn't want to be there when Omi woke to find what he'd done. Even the mental image of the ashamed, guilty face nearly made Nagi wretch. To keep his mind off of it, he pulled on his pants and buttoned his shirt, slowly stepping out the door so as not to wake the sleeping man.
Chuckling sounded as a greeting to the dark-haired boy as he exited the room. Nagi's eyes turned to the ground, waiting for the owner of that assaulting voice to show himself. "It's done." The young man said to the figure lurking in the shadows.
"I know," came the deep reply. A white suit revealed itself first from the darkness followed by a slightly smiling face and know-all brown eyes. "It seems as though even a child can make that angel scream. Perhaps he's weaker than I thought." Hands in his pockets, the American circled Nagi with a scrutinizing gaze. "You know it undermines our work when you can make him scream louder than we could. Surely you used a mental trick."
Nagi brushed the hair out of his face and looked up to meet Brad's gaze. "Of course not. You know I can't concentrate in that kind of situation. I'm just better in bed than all of you." That almost made him laugh, but Nagi refused to show even a bit of humor to this disgraceful human. "Sometimes it's best to bide your time and not go bounding off like any boorish, lustful animal."
The smile faded and Brad's arms crossed. "That's not how you got him to do it and you know it. You love him, don't you Prodigy?" Nagi gave no reply. Surely Schuldich had given him in. If Brad hadn't gotten any visions thus far he certainly wouldn't now... would he? "I see. Falling for the enemy is treason, Prodigy. We could kill you for it. Certainly no one would mind placing you under the whip and chains." Silence again. Nagi had learned that in times like this it was best not to interrupt. He stood mute, staring straight forward into the abyss that mirrored his eyes. "Sadly we need you to finish this ceremony. After that you can receive whatever torture Farfarello can muster up. At least then we don't have to worry about your funeral. I hear sodomy hurts Kami-sama." He smiled and turned. "I've had a Vision. The sacrifice will not be taken away, Prodigy. You will be with Schuldich or myself for the rest of the evening. As for now, load him up. We're heading for the ritual grounds."