Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Ace of Hearts ❯ Kicker ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Kicker: A unmatched card kept with a pair in a an attempt to match up with a drawn card.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 03.03.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 325 | Status: Work In Progress
Kicker: A unmatched card kept with a pair in a an attempt to match up with a drawn card.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 03.03.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 325 | Status: Work In Progress
Ace of Hearts
Author’s Notes: Many thanks to Cody Thomas, tae_wing, and Joybug for the reviews! I really appreciate the time you took to comment on this; it motivated me to keep it going and strive to meet your expectations for naked pretty boys.
Chapter Three: Kicker
Omi didn’t go after him. He watched Aya retreat with the bottle, thinking of how he might go and offer comfort. That hadn’t worked so well, just then, what with the redhead snapping his head off and all. But maybe once Aya had a couple drinks in him…
Omi rested his hand on the abandoned book and considered the scenario, trying his best to compose a realistic plan rather than idealistic daydreams that wouldn’t be of any assistance if he genuinely intended to go after the man.
He would be sitting on the bed, Omi was sure, vodka resting on the nightstand and shot glass in his hand. He wouldn’t drink too much, not like Yohji, just enough…
Aya’s head was down, staring sadly at the small circle of clear liquor at the top of the glass. Omi entered quietly, closing the door silently behind him and tarrying there, just a moment, as he surveyed the situation. The room was dark, illuminated only by the dim, gray-white moonlight filtering through the window.
“Aya-kun? Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer, didn’t move. Cautiously, half sure the other had fallen asleep over his drink, Omi approached, at the ready to retreat if the proximity turned against him. When he was beside the bed, he knew Aya wasn’t asleep; he was clutching the shot glass too hard, cupping it like a lifeline between his hands.
“Aya?”
Nothing.
“Look at me,” he requested. Omi felt his frustration grow; here he was, trying to be nice, trying to smooth over Yohji’s mistake. He was not going to be ignored. He demanded, “Look at me.”
Hesitantly, amethyst eyes met his own as Aya brought up his head. Quickly, he slammed back the shot, plinking the glass on the nightstand and glaring at Omi. The threat was clear, but severely mitigated by the flush spread across Aya’s face, all too obvious against his pallid skin.
He reached for the bottle; Omi’s hand landed on top of his, and he paused.
“Stop it,” Omi ordered, “Stop hurting yourself because of him.”
A glare.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to forget…”
“Forget the drink, Aya. Leave it,” he drew away the hand, bringing it to his own chest as he sat down on the edge of the bed, still facing the other.
“Omi?” He stared at his captured hand, unsure of the gentle gesture, not entirely liking it.
“I’ll help you. I’ll help–I’ll make you forget.”
Their eyes met, and Omi watched in amazement as defiance softened into acceptance. He didn’t know how he had gotten so close, but he went with it, crushing his lips against Aya’s. The kiss was warm and dry, and Omi clutched Aya’s hand as he pressed his tongue against the tense line of the other’s mouth. Aya made him work for it, finally relenting, tilting his head into the kiss as Omi’s tongue plunged into his mouth, running over his own, tasting the sharp bite of the vodka.
Omi released Aya’s hand to run his own fingers down the pale man’s sides, feeling the thin waist, the slight trembling of muscles. He didn’t linger long, knowing he couldn’t. His searching fingers brushed the denim of Aya’s jeans, sinking into his thighs as Omi scooted closer, kneeling on the bed in between Aya’s spread knees, still kissing him as his hands massaged the swordsman’s inner thighs.
Aya shifted, but not away. He moved into Omi, breaking their kiss to ghost his lips down Omi’s neck, light touches, tentative in contrast to the uncontrolled thrust of his hips that fought to meet the blonde’s touches that continued to inch closer to his zipper–
Ken was staring at him.
Well, so much for his realistic scenario. Omi wondered how in the world he ever made it through a mission plan.
“Okay?” Ken asked, tossing his paper plate in the garbage.
“Yeah.” Omi took a breath and shook his head, knowing very well he couldn’t get up from the table without embarrassing himself. “Just thinking about the mission.”
“No luck on the lab stuff?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, don’t stay up too late on it.”
“I won’t.”
Ken nodded, giving him one more evaluating look before heading up the stairs and to his own bed.
Omi waited for almost an hour, but Yohji never went after Aya. No one did.
~* ~
Yohji felt like shit on an emotional level, but Aya had the corner on really feeling it.
Yohji had slept on the couch, knowing that going upstairs was only going to get his ass kicked. He knew the redhead would be in his, Yohji’s, bed; it hadn’t been bad enough to run him back to his own room, and Yohji didn’t like to sleep in there. But just because their mutual sleeping spot started out as Yohji’s bed did not mean Aya had any qualms over kicking the blonde out of it when it suited him, and it would certainly have suited him last night.
Really, he didn’t feel too guilty over the movie. Aya’s little comment about crawling under him had got him started. Just hearing the words, feeling the warm whisper against his ear, the brush of Aya’s hair on his cheek as the man quietly suggested possible positions (and in public, no less) brought his dick to attention. And after it was awake, well, it wasn’t exactly discriminating.
He had responded, inadvertently, to the actress’s lusty moans, half watching the screen and half thinking about the man in his lap.
Of course, Aya didn’t know that and Yohji came off looking like an ass. That didn’t mean he was going to trot upstairs after Aya trying to make some lame apology; he had a little pride. He also, despite his boyfriend’s observations to the contrary, had some sense, and that told him that going after Aya would only result in a fight.
Yohji didn’t want to fight.
He hadn’t realized that Aya had taken a little company upstairs. While Yohji’s bottle of vodka was probably preferable to any of the warm bodies the redhead could have gone out to find, it wasn’t ideal. If he had known, Yohji would have followed, maybe not to take it away, but at least to drink half the bottle.
But he hadn’t known.
So there he was, at a little after six on a Wednesday morning, feeling the cold tile on his bare feet and holding back Aya’s hair as he vomited.
He was taking a few ragged breaths now, pale hands holding tightly to the toilet’s sides as he rested his forehead against its cool rim.
“You’re beautiful when you drink,” Yohji commented, summoning as much sarcasm as he could at such an early hour. The middle finger raised in his direction trembled a little. Yohji smirked, but it fell away quickly as Aya tensed again and grabbed for the porcelain bowl.
That seemed to be the last of it. As the swordsman reached shakily for the lever, Yohji let go of his sweat-damp hair to wet a clean washcloth at the sink. Aya dropped backwards, getting his back against the tub and drawing his knees up to provide a rest for his head.
“Hate you,” he mumbled as Yohji reached to wipe his mouth. Folding the cloth in half, he gently washed Aya’s face.
“You owe me two thousand yen for the booze. I can’t believe you drank the whole damn thing.”
“Wasn’t full.”
Yohji snorted as he crouched beside the other, “Pretty damn close.”
“I was mad.”
“Yeah,” he reached out to brush Aya’s bangs back, seeing his eyes pinched shut against the light. Plucking the sunglasses from his own head, he pressed them into Aya’s hand. “Here.”
A tiny turn of Aya’s lips indicated he heard, and when he slipped the dark glasses on his face, Yohji knew he had been forgiven. Even if Aya did refuse to kiss him until after he got to brush his teeth.
~*~
Omi rolled over and shoved the pillow over his head. Hearing Aya throw up did not play well into his fantasies. More importantly, it made him feel horrible. He should have followed him, intervened between him and his passive-aggressive tendencies, at least listened to him complain about how awful it was with Yohji. Now that, Omi decided, did work well with his fantasies. But just before he sink into pleasing thoughts of comforting the object of his unrequited affections, he heard Aya being sick again; it was thoroughly real and thoroughly uncomfortable.
~tbc~
Author’s Note: Every time I try to figure out the plot of this fic, the Evil Hentai Slug leans over and whispers “threesome” in my ear. I’ve only written one of those, so I’m still not sure, but perhaps at least some action with three participants. Hopefully Omi’s fantasies will hold you all over until I can work my way up to the good stuff! Thanks for reading, and please review so the Evil Hentai Slug will have something else to do besides give me ideas.
Author’s Notes: Many thanks to Cody Thomas, tae_wing, and Joybug for the reviews! I really appreciate the time you took to comment on this; it motivated me to keep it going and strive to meet your expectations for naked pretty boys.
Chapter Three: Kicker
Omi didn’t go after him. He watched Aya retreat with the bottle, thinking of how he might go and offer comfort. That hadn’t worked so well, just then, what with the redhead snapping his head off and all. But maybe once Aya had a couple drinks in him…
Omi rested his hand on the abandoned book and considered the scenario, trying his best to compose a realistic plan rather than idealistic daydreams that wouldn’t be of any assistance if he genuinely intended to go after the man.
He would be sitting on the bed, Omi was sure, vodka resting on the nightstand and shot glass in his hand. He wouldn’t drink too much, not like Yohji, just enough…
Aya’s head was down, staring sadly at the small circle of clear liquor at the top of the glass. Omi entered quietly, closing the door silently behind him and tarrying there, just a moment, as he surveyed the situation. The room was dark, illuminated only by the dim, gray-white moonlight filtering through the window.
“Aya-kun? Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer, didn’t move. Cautiously, half sure the other had fallen asleep over his drink, Omi approached, at the ready to retreat if the proximity turned against him. When he was beside the bed, he knew Aya wasn’t asleep; he was clutching the shot glass too hard, cupping it like a lifeline between his hands.
“Aya?”
Nothing.
“Look at me,” he requested. Omi felt his frustration grow; here he was, trying to be nice, trying to smooth over Yohji’s mistake. He was not going to be ignored. He demanded, “Look at me.”
Hesitantly, amethyst eyes met his own as Aya brought up his head. Quickly, he slammed back the shot, plinking the glass on the nightstand and glaring at Omi. The threat was clear, but severely mitigated by the flush spread across Aya’s face, all too obvious against his pallid skin.
He reached for the bottle; Omi’s hand landed on top of his, and he paused.
“Stop it,” Omi ordered, “Stop hurting yourself because of him.”
A glare.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to forget…”
“Forget the drink, Aya. Leave it,” he drew away the hand, bringing it to his own chest as he sat down on the edge of the bed, still facing the other.
“Omi?” He stared at his captured hand, unsure of the gentle gesture, not entirely liking it.
“I’ll help you. I’ll help–I’ll make you forget.”
Their eyes met, and Omi watched in amazement as defiance softened into acceptance. He didn’t know how he had gotten so close, but he went with it, crushing his lips against Aya’s. The kiss was warm and dry, and Omi clutched Aya’s hand as he pressed his tongue against the tense line of the other’s mouth. Aya made him work for it, finally relenting, tilting his head into the kiss as Omi’s tongue plunged into his mouth, running over his own, tasting the sharp bite of the vodka.
Omi released Aya’s hand to run his own fingers down the pale man’s sides, feeling the thin waist, the slight trembling of muscles. He didn’t linger long, knowing he couldn’t. His searching fingers brushed the denim of Aya’s jeans, sinking into his thighs as Omi scooted closer, kneeling on the bed in between Aya’s spread knees, still kissing him as his hands massaged the swordsman’s inner thighs.
Aya shifted, but not away. He moved into Omi, breaking their kiss to ghost his lips down Omi’s neck, light touches, tentative in contrast to the uncontrolled thrust of his hips that fought to meet the blonde’s touches that continued to inch closer to his zipper–
Ken was staring at him.
Well, so much for his realistic scenario. Omi wondered how in the world he ever made it through a mission plan.
“Okay?” Ken asked, tossing his paper plate in the garbage.
“Yeah.” Omi took a breath and shook his head, knowing very well he couldn’t get up from the table without embarrassing himself. “Just thinking about the mission.”
“No luck on the lab stuff?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, don’t stay up too late on it.”
“I won’t.”
Ken nodded, giving him one more evaluating look before heading up the stairs and to his own bed.
Omi waited for almost an hour, but Yohji never went after Aya. No one did.
~* ~
Yohji felt like shit on an emotional level, but Aya had the corner on really feeling it.
Yohji had slept on the couch, knowing that going upstairs was only going to get his ass kicked. He knew the redhead would be in his, Yohji’s, bed; it hadn’t been bad enough to run him back to his own room, and Yohji didn’t like to sleep in there. But just because their mutual sleeping spot started out as Yohji’s bed did not mean Aya had any qualms over kicking the blonde out of it when it suited him, and it would certainly have suited him last night.
Really, he didn’t feel too guilty over the movie. Aya’s little comment about crawling under him had got him started. Just hearing the words, feeling the warm whisper against his ear, the brush of Aya’s hair on his cheek as the man quietly suggested possible positions (and in public, no less) brought his dick to attention. And after it was awake, well, it wasn’t exactly discriminating.
He had responded, inadvertently, to the actress’s lusty moans, half watching the screen and half thinking about the man in his lap.
Of course, Aya didn’t know that and Yohji came off looking like an ass. That didn’t mean he was going to trot upstairs after Aya trying to make some lame apology; he had a little pride. He also, despite his boyfriend’s observations to the contrary, had some sense, and that told him that going after Aya would only result in a fight.
Yohji didn’t want to fight.
He hadn’t realized that Aya had taken a little company upstairs. While Yohji’s bottle of vodka was probably preferable to any of the warm bodies the redhead could have gone out to find, it wasn’t ideal. If he had known, Yohji would have followed, maybe not to take it away, but at least to drink half the bottle.
But he hadn’t known.
So there he was, at a little after six on a Wednesday morning, feeling the cold tile on his bare feet and holding back Aya’s hair as he vomited.
He was taking a few ragged breaths now, pale hands holding tightly to the toilet’s sides as he rested his forehead against its cool rim.
“You’re beautiful when you drink,” Yohji commented, summoning as much sarcasm as he could at such an early hour. The middle finger raised in his direction trembled a little. Yohji smirked, but it fell away quickly as Aya tensed again and grabbed for the porcelain bowl.
That seemed to be the last of it. As the swordsman reached shakily for the lever, Yohji let go of his sweat-damp hair to wet a clean washcloth at the sink. Aya dropped backwards, getting his back against the tub and drawing his knees up to provide a rest for his head.
“Hate you,” he mumbled as Yohji reached to wipe his mouth. Folding the cloth in half, he gently washed Aya’s face.
“You owe me two thousand yen for the booze. I can’t believe you drank the whole damn thing.”
“Wasn’t full.”
Yohji snorted as he crouched beside the other, “Pretty damn close.”
“I was mad.”
“Yeah,” he reached out to brush Aya’s bangs back, seeing his eyes pinched shut against the light. Plucking the sunglasses from his own head, he pressed them into Aya’s hand. “Here.”
A tiny turn of Aya’s lips indicated he heard, and when he slipped the dark glasses on his face, Yohji knew he had been forgiven. Even if Aya did refuse to kiss him until after he got to brush his teeth.
~*~
Omi rolled over and shoved the pillow over his head. Hearing Aya throw up did not play well into his fantasies. More importantly, it made him feel horrible. He should have followed him, intervened between him and his passive-aggressive tendencies, at least listened to him complain about how awful it was with Yohji. Now that, Omi decided, did work well with his fantasies. But just before he sink into pleasing thoughts of comforting the object of his unrequited affections, he heard Aya being sick again; it was thoroughly real and thoroughly uncomfortable.
~tbc~
Author’s Note: Every time I try to figure out the plot of this fic, the Evil Hentai Slug leans over and whispers “threesome” in my ear. I’ve only written one of those, so I’m still not sure, but perhaps at least some action with three participants. Hopefully Omi’s fantasies will hold you all over until I can work my way up to the good stuff! Thanks for reading, and please review so the Evil Hentai Slug will have something else to do besides give me ideas.