Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Dirty ❯ Falling ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Dirty

Disclaimers: No, no and no, I do not own, I just like to play with the boys. Don't sue, you'll get a couple of Monopoly paper dollars.

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Yohji and Aya come to terms with their unstable relationship with the unintentional help of an unwelcome rival.

AN: Enjoy the sequel to Dark Release. R&R, don't be too harsh on me. ^_^

Chapter 1: Falling.

Aya Fujimiya glared at the flat wooden surface, willing it to disappear with his mind. He stood with his hand raised, poised to knock; his fist shook slightly, taking a deep breath he forced himself into a nearly unbearable state of calmness.

Beauty wasn't something he longed to possess, he considered himself to be fairly average, though not easy to blend into a colorless multitude due to his stark coloring. But yet he had the unfortunate knack of meeting people that were far too beautiful for their own good. Most of the time, no superfluous amount of loveliness had been able to catch his attention and steer him from the never ending self-destructive goal that he aimed for in his life as an assassin. Yet, he'd had the bad luck of being attracted to a man that was beauty in its human making and danger in the human vocabulary and he had been stupid enough to sleep with him, many times. He was an idiot for telling his fellow teammate and lover Yohji Kudoh that he loved him three months ago, because everything had gone downhill since then.

It wasn't that he didn't try, in fact he did every thing to please Yohji, he did all he could to convince himself that someday no matter how far away that was, he would truly fall in love with his boyfriend. It was just that that day never came and their relationship had gone from bad to worse. Yohji was hurt when Aya forgot to reply "I love you too" after the man had said the toe curling words. Yohji got pissed when Aya locked himself in his room if something was bothering him, but the blonde didn't understand that he needed his space and that Yohji wasn't the center of Aya's universe. Maybe he was exaggerating but he felt as if he was being stifled in a meaningless bond that would do nothing more than hurt both of them.

The final straw had occurred the past month, Yohji had dragged him to a club with the idea of getting a few drinks in his system and then going home when things got too heated between the two of them. Well things had gotten out of hand, Yohji had tried to coerce him into going onto the dance floor and he had vehemently refused. With a few choice words the lanky blonde had stalked off and got himself dead drunk and in bed with a voluptuous brunette after stranding Aya.

Aya still didn't understand what Yohji found in the monotonous one night stands he had resumed to, he had no knowledge or experience with that subject. Yohji had happily returned to his nightly life after bringing an end to the rocky relationship; saying that if Aya wasn't willing to handle the pressure, then he rejected the idea of carrying the foundation of their affair on his own. It was fine by Aya; he had never had more freedom or more quiet, that was until he started to miss Yohji's tenderness and the heat of his body in the middle of the night. He started to notice that the other man really wasn't having fun and that he was only burying his grief in alcohol, sex, and Aya suspected, drugs. They were slowly destroying each other and didn't understand it. It was mainly Aya's fault because no matter how hard he tried he could never have a decent conversation with his lover without closing off and mounting his protective walls, not to mention sleeping in his own bedroom for nearly a week. So they had tried to return to their old lifestyle and break it all off, settling into their previous routine. At first it had gone very well, but Aya even confused himself, he didn't care much for being near Yohji but he couldn't be without the older man. It puzzled and aggravated him to no ends, his obvious indecisiveness, which was funny because he didn't have to think twice to kill a man in cold blood.

It all seemed to be back to normal now, Omi and Ken had just pretended that the two oldest members of Weiss hadn't been lovers all along and everything was fine. Aya fitted easily into the position as resident grouch and Yohji as resident slut. But at times he grew angry at the blonde and even at himself, for letting Yohji slip past his defenses so easily, for allowing him the fantasy of what they could've been and what they'd both lost. He hated it because with that dream came regrets and more pain than he was willing to acknowledge, Aya had grown weak and he blamed Yohji for it. Why had the man chosen him to yell at, to fuss at, to love and then leave? He despised it because he wanted what they had again and he didn't know how to get it. A little voice in his head told him that that he did.

Yohji always came home in the early hours of the morning, his hair tousled clothes in disarray and his body limp and sated, with a dreamy expression on his face that Aya knew too well because he had seen it many times after their love making. Yohji wore his sexual encounters on his sleeve and rubbed them into Aya's face, it was as if he was silently gloating "I've been fucking and I don't care who knows it." By now Aya had grown outwardly indifferent to Yohji's verbal assaults. The older man had taken to telling them over breakfast about his wild erotic escapades. His explicit explanations and detailed storytelling brought Omi nearly to tears before fleeing the dining room and it caused Ken to let out a string of curses and turn interesting shades from pink to bright red while trying to prove that he was man enough to sit through it all. Aya just sipped his tea and ignored whatever his former lover was blabbing about. That infuriated Yohji, the redhead knew it and relished it.

The same thing had been going on for two weeks and Aya was sick of it, he was going to put and end to this stupidity even if it killed him. He took a deep breath, recalling all the reasons why he was standing in front of Yohji's door and why he shouldn't turn back. With a deep breath he turned the knob and stepped into the darkened room, not surprised that it was unlocked. Yohji was always in a hurry to take his dick out and put it to good use. Harsh breathing and throaty moans filled his ears; he didn't even try to block them out. Yohji was there, the large bed was rumpled but empty, the scent in the room was heady, a musky aroma he didn't need to identify. He heard the muffled sound of a body being repeatedly thumped against the wall.

Then he saw Yohji.

Human perfection couldn't be attained but he was the closest thing Aya had come across in his lifetime. He was slowly pounding into her, fucking her fragile body into the wall as she wrapped her limbs around him, his muscled buttocks contracting with his forceful movements. He thrust three more times and they both shuddered and moaned out loud. They fell to the floor, a boneless heap of limbs rendered limp with the intensity of release, their breathing labored but slowly gaining back its normal rhythm. The woman reached up to kiss him, a simple gesture of affection in the aftermath of sex. He turned his face away abruptly then stood up and sat on the messy bed. A twinge of anger crossed her attractive features and she walked over to the nightstand and knelt to pick up her discarded garments, she grabbed them violently and with a last venomous glower she rushed out the door, not even noticing their reluctant spectator.

Lazy green eyes flickered to the corner where he was, "I know you're there," he whispered softly, a feral gleam in those eyes flashed briefly in the faint light.

Aya smiled gently, "Hn, I know. Was the show for me?"

A bare display of white teeth curved lush lips into a cruel snarl. "Why the hell are you here?"

The spiteful question went unheeded and with a careless shrug, Aya just asked a question of his own, "Tell me, was she a mindless fuck?"

Yohji's head twisted away from Aya's weak view, his long blonde hair covering half of his face, hiding a vulnerable expression.

"What do you care?"

"I don't." A brief snort.

"Then fuck off." A pause.

"I can't."

Yohji shook his head gently, "You're hopeless, ne?"

Aya walked over to the only window in the room and pulled back the heavy drapes, the pale glare of moonlight filtered the room, making Yohji's naked form seem paler, shadows twisted over his body. "Yes, we're hopeless."

The older man chuckled softly and laid back on the bed in an effortless sprawl, making no move to cover his state of undress, he reached under the flat pillows and produced his gold cased lighter and a cheap pack of cigarettes, crushed beyond redemption. There was the telltale click of the lighter and a small ring of fire appeared at the end of the cancer stick, Yohji's face was illuminated for a short-lived second, his eyes were intense and full of questions, questions Aya wasn't ready to answer. His lips tightened as they clamped on the cigarette and he inhaled contentedly. Aya stalked towards the bed and he stood there for a minute, looking down at Yohji as the man looked back at him with guarded look in his eyes, he made the decision and joined him. Laying down right beside Yohji's tense form, close but not touching. A wispy cloud of smoke came from the small gap of pink lips, and then tiny smoke rings danced towards the dark ceiling. Aya looked at Yohji's slack face and lean body. The taller man blew smoke his way, deliberately, verdant eyes were mocking, knowing he despised cigarettes. Smoke danced around them, swirling soothingly and almost playfully and Aya realized that he had never felt more at home. The familiar surroundings and Yohji's presence made it even more poignant. Yohji shifted uncomfortably under his sharp gaze. Hands moved tentatively and their fingers entwined, Yohji made small circles on the palm of his hand, rubbing it gently, something he always did when he tried to apologize.

"I hate this," he murmured into the darkness, maybe at him or at no one in particular.

"Me too," Aya answered.

"Is it okay like this?"

"Aa." Fingers trembled and flexed.

A soft sigh. "I'm sorry."

Aya smiled, "It happens Yotan."

Yohji's hold on his hand tightened, almost painfully, "You always have to put up with my shit."

Aya was silent for a moment, then he grabbed Yohji's chin, "Look at me."

Yohji looked, his eyes clouded and his lips quivered. Aya's mouth curled into a genuine smile, "God, I missed you."

A soft whimper escaped him and his arms were full of Yohji; strong hands encased his waist, fingers embedding viciously into the skin. He was hard, the flesh straining almost painfully in its confinement of coarse fabric. Yohji needed to see him suffer because he suffered every minute without him. Aya covered his hands with his own, forcing the digits to pierce deeper. Yohji gasped, releasing him angrily. He watched the stoic redhead, anger and lust a bizarre combination in his eyes. It had once been a game, their territory and oblivion. It was their right to maneuver each other's emotions to cause pain and an insatiable thirst for revenge. It was another of those acts to let Yohji know that although Aya didn't control his body, he still unquestionably controlled his heart.

"Aya," the name was uttered as if it were a curse.

The blonde loomed over him; grabbing his hands, swinging his left wrist over his right wrist and entrapping them above his head with one hand. His eyes now were pools of emptiness, Aya now realized that Yohji had gotten what he wanted from the girl but not what he needed, and only he could give Yohji what he needed. His lover had found no absolution in senseless sex, and the search for eternal nothingness was stripped from him the moment he took Aya to his bed, and maybe, Yohji hated him for it. Sometimes he forgot how truly beautiful Yohji was, he remembered how long slim fingers used to comb through the tousled curls of hair, parting the thick golden mane with practiced ease. The smooth exquisiteness of his tanned face and the sculpted lushness of full lips. Yohji's eyes were dreamy, yet aglow with a frigidity that Aya knew he was responsible for. He wanted to touch Yohji with his wandering hands, testing the underlying strength of carved muscle. This wasn't love, it was just an obsession admixed with admiration and shameless desire. He was dazed by Yohji, wanting to have him with such fierce possessiveness that it shocked and terrorized him. Yet he couldn't stay away. He was pulled up on the bed, the smell of cheap perfume and sex invaded his senses, his arms went around the older man, taking in everything, the musk of sweat, smoke, women and under it the smell that was solely Yohji.

Yohji regarded him for a moment, then, fingers lifted his chin and soft lips came down on his, he tasted cigarettes and whiskey, he tasted Yohji. Their tongues tangled and slid against each other slowly, savoring a simple action that was long forgotten in their confusing worlds. Yohji lips traced a path to his sensitive ear, and he dipped his tongue into the delicate shell and Aya gasped out his name. Yohji pulled back, Aya's hands twisted in his grip, as he moved against his lover's body sensuously; his legs went limp, parting wider to accommodate the blonde's pelvis as Yohji lowered his head to kiss him once more. Holding his lower lip between his teeth he whispered into the redhead's mouth, "Stay with me."

Aya crumbled; his head tilted back, sleek limbs pulsating rhythmically beneath Yohji. The blonde made quick work of Aya's clothes and soon had him naked and panting under him. Yohji bent his head, the thick mass of flaxen locks brushed against his face; he was kissed again, lips desperate and ravenous, their erections unrestricted and aching, and the primitive friction utterly delicious. Lips sucked at his throat tenderly, nipping playfully and his tongue moved in tiny languid circles over the expanse of white skin, Aya rubbed against him pleadingly, his breathing heavy. The rough stroke of a slick tongue touched him, lapped and slid over his neck, the pleasure sending shock after shock through him. Yohji reached for a condom on the nightstand.

"I'm going fuck you Aya."

"Hn."

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right, Yohji thought. That was his last coherent thought and he was swallowed by waves of pleasure.

~*~*~*~

He shut his eyes tightly, and turned to face the wall, hoping that he looked relaxed enough to seem asleep. He heard the gentle rustle of the sheets and felt a slight movement that let him know he was the sole occupant of the soft bed. He only had to wait a few more minutes to hear the unsure footsteps become more distant. Yohji must have gone out for a smoke, he mused. It was only until he heard the closing of the door that he opened his eyes, a sigh of relief escaping his swollen lips. Yohji had surely made up for all the weeks they'd been away from each other. He got out of bed hastily, not even bothering to pull on a robe and scraping his own skin in the process. He headed for the bathroom.

Water rushed down his back like a sweltering river, drenching his body in heat and steam, he lifted his head towards the merciless spray, pushing the wet strands of hair out of his eyes. He was satisfied and sore, yet something troubled him. He let his skin redden and burn, he desperately wanted to wash the scent of Yohji away……… because he was falling in love and could do nothing to stop it.

To be continued………………

Notes: I hope you liked this, please review. I will post the next chapter this weekend and this short fic should be done within next week. More to come, stay tuned!

Ciao.