Steps

Aya + Aki

By: L 0 K I

Surrender

Deciding something, and actually doing it, are two completely different things, as any good procrastinator will tell you.

He knew this. As he also knew that no one could be on-guard every waking moment of their life.

He swore to himself that he wouldn't try, but he kept seeing paths. Actions he could take. Words he could say. Steps he could take to bring himself closer to what he wanted.

Which was simultaneously closer to Aya---He wasn't dancing around that subject anymore. And in a way, things were better, because lying to the self never worked.

And in some way he was worse, because temptation was a persistent shadow, always one step before or behind him. And always connected at his heels.

Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, he could see one of those paths, could clearly see the steps that he could take.

His hands clenched on the door-frame, nails biting into the cheap wood, and he took one step back, slowly letting go. And then he took another step. He closed the door, but he didn't stop backing away, not until he had to. Not until there was nowhere left to go.

The shower curtain rustled against his back, pulling cloth tighter and rubbing against the ink-filled pinpricks in his flesh. He flinched as the wounds protested in a dull ache, but it was only a shot of cold---it did nothing to snap him out of his despair.

Or his desire.

He slowly sat down on the floor again, feeling very strange. Feeling oddly hollow and light, but also like he was moving. That his every breath was filling him up, and emptying him out.

His hand rested in seeming innocence on his throat, then slid slowly down, running hesitant fingertips over an already erect nipple. He closed his eyes on a breath, and the image in his head became brighter, clearer.

She crawled over him, her gold hair spilling around her eyes, and tickling against his cheek as he lifted his face to her. Offering, begging, he wasn't sure which, and he didn't care. She smiled at him, breathed into him, the soft weight of her breasts settling on his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He stared at the edge of the counter across from him as his hand slid farther down, undoing his jeans with practiced ease and shaking fingers. With aching slowness his hand pushed hesitantly down. He tilted his head back to the wall and took a hard breath.

He brought his knees up slightly, imagining her weight sitting on his thighs, her skirt falling all around them as she leaned into him and arched her back.

Blue eyes burned through gold lashes, touch me, she said, and he did. His thumbs traced over her collarbones, down. Her lips parted on a soft moan as she pushed closer to his hands, and he followed blindly, kissing her cheek, her throat. He breathed on the plunging line of her bra, then edged slowly down, nuzzling his face against soft, firm flesh. He licked one quick line across the white cotton, then closed his lips around the faint outline of the tip and sucked, rubbing his tongue and teeth gently against her. He pulled back and blew a slow breath on her, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as the nipple stiffened through the wet cloth, and she shuddered.

Here, there was no guilt. No blame and fear. There was only pleasure. Heat and love, and her ready willingness to express to him all three.

Aki, she whispered in that tone, and he surged forward, bucking his hips up as he pressed his back into the wall.

She followed the move in his mind, even as his hand followed it in reality. She placed her hands on his shoulders and bowed back, sweeping her hair across her throat and pressing her hips closer. His hands found her waist, her breasts; they slid up into her hair, around her head. He pulled her mouth down to his, deepened the kiss before it even had a chance to dream about being chaste.

The taste of her...

The taste of Aya...

He flung his head back as he climaxed, throwing tears everywhere. He hadn't even realized he had cried.

But once he realized, before the wave of pleasure could even crest, and his eyes could once again focus on the empty edge of counter, he began to cry harder. He brought his wet hands up to his wet face and wept brokenly.

( ) *

Later, he managed to physically pull himself together. He told himself, that as long as he didn't think about it, he could deal with it.

Which, of course, was a direct contradiction of the truth. But at that moment he was ready to do whatever it took to get him from one moment to the next.

The next moment, though, found him standing next to the shadowed bed, staring blankly down at her face. She was peaceful as she slept. Her lips relaxed, her eyebrows smoothed, and her very aura displacing a halo of serenity. It tried to reach out to him, to encompass him, but he couldn't relax.

He wouldn't allow himself to relax.

Relaxation implied acceptance, and look where acceptance had gotten him. His mind instantly flinched back from his recent actions, holding desperately to that comfortable numbness that had settled over him after his crying fit.

If he didn't think, he would be fine.

He slowly lowered himself to the floor, his eyes now level with her, though hers remained closed.

He blinked one long, tired sweep of lashes, then folded his hands on the edge of the bed. He pressed his forehead to the backs of his hands and stared at the shadows that patch-worked the floor.

If he took deep breaths, and thought of nothing else...he would be okay.

He would be okay...

TBC...