Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Just Gonna ❯ All Night Long ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own the pretty boys from Weiss, and I do not make any money from them, except when I can sell one of them a bit of Lemon-Lift upholstery cleaner for those little, uh, pleasurable accidents that seem so common when sofas get involved.

Author’s Note: The first line of this fic popped into my head last night, and, well, the Evil Hentai Slug like it VERY much, and here we are! It’s been a while since I wrote a lemon, so I hope this is okay. I really must practice writing erotica more often . . .

Warnings: yaoi, language, sexual situations that are damn hot

Aya/Yohji




Just Gonna



“That’s it. You’re just going to have to fuck me.”

Aya stared at him, not even able to muster a glare in the face of such a comment.

Yohji dropped the pillow he had just been beating the other assassin with. Still somewhat stunned, Aya also laid aside his plush weapon, not that he was ready to sign Yohji’s surprise peace treaty any time soon. Yohji, however, was completely ready to put the plan into action.

“So, you wanna be top or bottom? I don’t usually go in for being on the bottom, but, I mean, if it’s a dealbreaker–“

“Yohji,” shock was giving way to rage very quickly, “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What? If we sleep together, then sleeping together on the couch won’t be a big deal.”

Aya couldn’t believe he really needed to explain his objection, even to the dumb blonde before him. Yohji’s logic was, well, not there. Then he hit upon what was actually going on. Yohji was goading him, trying to embarrass him so Aya would go away and the older man could have the couch every night of the week. No. Aya’s back already hurt from sleeping on the trailer floor three nights a week, and he would rather deal with Yohji than spend any more nights sleeping on the damn thing.

“Well, Aya?”

They had been in the trailer for almost two months. To give up the couch right now could mean two more sleeping on the floor. Aya decided he could play Yohji’s game; he would make the other regret making such a dangerous gamble.

“Okay.”

“Huh?” Green eyes stared from beneath ruffled hair.

“You’re right. Let’s fuck.”

He watched Yohji’s mouth gape for a moment.

“Are you okay, Yohji? You don’t look well. Perhaps you’re not up to this.” Concern and insult, check. But the blonde recovered just as smug satisfaction laid hold of Aya’s mind. Yohji laughed a little.

“I’m ready and willing. Just hearing you say that gets me all . . . hot.”

“If that gets you going, this ought to be over in no time.”

It sounded stilted; Yohji had pulled it off with ease Aya envied. Of course, he rationalized, the playboy had much more experience convincing people he wanted to sleep with them. Not that Aya intended to give up. Though wary of the consequences, he allowed, just a little, of his desire slip to the surface.

“Of course,” he took a breath and undid the top button on his simple white dress shirt, “we have all night.”

He saw the surprise in those eyes again and wondered how the slight change had registered on his own face. He suspected, correctly, that it had softened his perpetual glare, perhaps even leant him a more seductive quality. Yohji would back off now. Aya paused, taking quick stock, making sure he was at the ready to stow away that little bit of emotion the moment it ceased to be helpful.

Yohji smiled, eyes glued to the triangle of pale skin Aya had revealed. He stepped forward, moving from punching distance to touching. His left hand lifted, paused, fell, and then came up to rest resolutely on Aya hip. The redhead steeled himself, not letting his body jump at the contact.

Smile, he demanded of his body. It didn’t seem to remember exactly how, but he felt the corner of his lips turn up fractionally and hoped it didn’t look too sarcastic. Yohji’s own smile was almost predatory. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against Aya’s; it was dry and brief and awkward, with Aya’s arms hanging limply between their bodies, and Yohji’s free hand not sure where to settle. He pulled back, and waited.

Aya would not give.

He hated the floor. He hated the trailer. He hated the fact that Yohji was hesitating to touch him.

A low growl escaped his careful watch of his vocalization, and Aya reached out to grab Yohji soundly by the back of the head, fist twisting in the blonde’s hair to crush their mouths together. It was hard and it hurt, but then Yohji opened his mouth, maybe for air or an exclamation, or maybe just so Aya could shove his tongue in there. His hold on the taller man’s hair only tightened as their tongues jabbed around each other. Yohji tasted like cigarettes, and for some reason Aya found his cock reacting to that.

Because that’s how he’d always imagine it.

Quickly he shoved the thought, all thought, down. He tried to breathe through his nose and Yohji didn’t pull away from this kiss. Not to be outdone, Yohji grabbed Aya’s ass with both hands, massaging those firm cheeks in time with the thrusting of his tongue into Aya’s mouth. Even as he broke the kiss, hearing the swordsman’s intake of air, he pulled their bodies together, grinding his pelvis against Aya’s in a rough, seductive motion.

Aya told himself not to do it. He demanded it. And it was only the thought of Yohji laughing at him later that kept his member from getting hard as the blonde scooted up against him, keeping their hips glued together as his hands slipped under Aya’s butt cheeks to caress the sensitive area where his thighs started, long fingers slipping, just barely, between his legs, so near his balls that suddenly ached for the attention.

Their eyes were locked.

Aya needed Yohji naked.

Part of his mind insisted that it would make the blonde uncomfortable, that it would lead him to the goal of the couch. Another portion reminded him that Yohji walked around naked all the time. His dick didn’t give a damn one way or the other.

Aya’s fingers slipped under the edge of the tight shirt, his palms running up Yohji’s sides, feeling the blonde’s ribs as he lifted the shirt from him. When it was bunched under the man’s armpits and Aya was attacking his nipple with his tongue, Yohji yanked it free and tossed the garment behind him. Aya’s still-climbing hands kept his arms above his head for a just a moment by resting on his biceps as Aya leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“I’m going to suck your dick.”

He felt the tremor run through the tall body before him as he released Yohji’s arms to slip downward to the cheap shag carpet, settling to his knees with balance and grace that few women possessed. He stared up, eyes dark against his pale face, all framed by that brilliant hair; Yohji looked as if he had seen something otherworldly in the dim afternoon light of the trailer. Slowly, Yohji lowered his arms, hands falling to his sides as if he couldn’t figure out where to put them, wondering if he could touch the hair, the face, the crisp white shirt. Aya’s hands were on the waistband of his low-cut jeans, fingertips slipping past his angled hipbones to sink under, brushing the line where his public hair started in a way that shouldn’t have been so enticing.

Then Aya undid the button with an efficient flick of his wrist, sliding the zipper down at an agonizingly slow pace compared to the heated exchange of tongues they had just shared. But before Yohji could protest, Aya had pulled the jeans outward, just enough to slip them painlessly past his hardon and jerk them down around Yohji’s thighs. His orange thong hung loosely in the nest created between his thighs by the crumpled denim as Aya’s hand darted in above it, reaching unhesitantly to stroke his balls before taking his cock, already half hard, confidently in hand.

Aya looked up, reading the surprise written all over Yohji’s face. Clearly he did not expect Aya to be skilled at anything of a sexual nature, probably wondering where the ‘ice princess’ had managed to acquire that bit of knowledge. Aya licked his lips, slowly, as he stroked Yohji, and then he went down on him.

Yohji moaned, hips thrusting involuntarily forward, trying to bury himself in the warm, wet pleasure of Aya’s mouth. Only Aya’s firm hand at the base of his cock kept him from choking the man. The closeup view of bronze skin and brown-blonde curls faded to black as Aya closed his eyes and focused on the act. He wanted it to be good.

His lips ran up and down, locked around the soft flesh of Yohji, feeling the organ fill out, becoming more and more in his mouth with each repetition of slow, steady in and out. He felt rather than heard the gasp when he released it suddenly to lick, with a slow sweep of his tongue, the underside of the tensing length, catching the sensitive nerve underneath before tonguing the slit.

“Fuck,” Yohji moaned the word, eyes wide and staring. He didn’t miss the quick, desperate squeeze Aya gave to his own restricted cock, pressing himself through his jeans, not sure if he was trying to coax it down or just relieve the growing tension.

Yohji tugged him upward barely getting Aya to his feet before letting himself fall back to sit on the couch, expertly taking the redhead with him; Aya landed, not quite sure how, straddling Yohji’s hips, his crotch bare inches from Yohji’s pulsing length.

But Yohji’s jeans were still clinging to his thighs, too tight to slide down on their own. Aya reached under himself to press at them with one hand, subtly at first then more adamantly. Yohji tried to help by reaching around him.

“Damn it,” he finally snapped, rolling off the blonde’s lap to sit beside him, jerking shoes, socks, jeans, and thong roughly from Yohji’s body. Half embarrassed at his own frustration, he turned back to the blonde to see Yohji relaxed against the cushions, long, lean. bare body stretched out for Aya’s viewing.

Starting at Yohji’s knee, Aya’s hand ran up that body, pausing to fumble his sweaty balls and cock, but moving upward, too quick for satisfaction. When his hand reached Yohji’s throat, he used it to tip back the blonde’s chin, halfway kneeling on the couch to lean over him and kiss his neck, the delicate spot under his ear that made him moan. Aya sucked at it hard, quickly nipping the flesh he brought up between his lips, then back to kissing it lightly.

There was motion under him Aya had his hands on either side of Yohji’s shoulders, braced on the back of the couch, and his knees on the cushion to the left of Yohji, slightly spread to give him enough balance to keep himself from falling forward onto the other. Looking down between his own white sleeves, he watched Yohji watching him as the naked man stroked his own leaking cock.

Aya couldn’t stop the sound he made, a kind of trembling release of breath as he saw what his mind rarely dared to summon. That tanned hand moved smoothly, rhythmically as Yohji jacked himself, pausing to squeeze tighter as he stared at Aya’s face while the first bead of precum left a small, slick trail as it seeped from the head of his erection.

Aya’s arms trembled. His breath was heavy, and it hitched when Yohji’s other hand grabbed him soundly between the legs, cupping his now obvious bulge. Yohji rubbed him through the rough fabric of his jeans, moving in time with his own masturbation. Aya tried to gather his wits, afraid for a second that he was going to come in his pants. Yohji seemed to be encouraging the idea.

“So hard,” Yohji panted. “God, Aya. Wanna make you come.”

“Yohji...I…”

He didn’t know how Yohji opened his fly with one hand, or how the blonde’s cock jumped as Aya made the soft, keening sound when Yohji’s warm hand pressed against his erection through just the thin fabric of his white cotton briefs.

“So…fucking hot . . . Aya…”

Aya rocked against his hand, cock trapped between cloth, his own tense stomach, and the ecstatic press of Yohji hand that kept delivering that rough friction. He wanted release, his own hand there, or to press against the couch, but nothing could tempt him to leave Yohji’s hand as he watched its twin work the blonde’s own dick. Yohji was thrusting into his own hand with every stroke, his bottom lifting off the couch but other hand never leaving Aya.


“Look at me,” Yohji breathed. Aya drug his eyes from Yohji’s crotch to his eyes, finding the green deepened with gold. “I want you.”

It wasn’t a plea for sex; they were too far for that now, Yohji’s hand working too fast and Aya’s tension too great. He needed Aya to know that they weren’t fighting anymore.

“Yes,” Aya hissed, pressing his eyes shut against those open, honest windows of green.

“For me . . . Aya. Uhn . . . Come in your fucking pants for me.” His breath was heavy, struggling to hold back so he could see.

His arms ached with the weight of his upper body, bent over Yohji, so close, but the hand on his cock the only point of sparking contact, shielded only by that thin piece of white cloth that seemed to hold back a dangerous flood.
And then it was gone, Yohji’s fingers slipping expertly beneath the waistband, not removing, but pushing inside to grip Aya.

It was too warm, too hot, too fucking much. He thrust against Yohji’s palm, crying out as his stomach and balls tightened, white spurts of warm jism pulsing out over Yohji’s fingers.

“Yes,” it was a somewhere between a moan and a cry, an exclamation of Aya’s pleasure and his own.

His sticky hand clenched around Aya as he arched towards the redhead with the force of his own orgasm, his come landing in long strands across his flat stomach as he pressed his face into Aya’s trembling shoulder.

The trailer was still around them.

Arms giving away as Yohji’s hand shakily withdrew, Aya sank down, half on the other’s lap; they rested together and tried to remember how to breathe. Yohji turned his head, just a little, to land a soft kiss on Aya’s temple.

They might have stayed that way, but Yohji’s hands were still in his lap, preventing them from resting comfortably. So they roused, Aya sitting back across Yohji’s thigh, as they both looked down at the mess they had managed. Aya’s underwear was cooling, molding to his body uncomfortably, even though the majority of the evidence was, quite literally, in Yohji’s hands.

The blonde laughed a little, thoughts obviously running along the same lines as he surveyed himself, not the least bothered, it seemed, to be sitting naked with another man on his lap and both hands sticky with come. Aya shook his head, pressing himself to his feet, though not too quick to move until he assured that some of the blood had returned to his head. He zipped his pants and walked to the kitchen. Grabbing a plaid dish towel from the counter, he wet it at the sink and returned to the couch. He handed over the towel and took a tentative seat in the middle of the sofa, a little away from Yohji, pointedly not watching him try to clean up.

When the wiping was done, Yohji dropped the towel to the floor and turned to Aya who seemed to be intent on having a staring contest with the hideous carpet.

There was a creak of movement; Aya jumped. Suddenly, he found himself laying flat of his back on the sofa beneath the naked man. Yohji’s legs tangled with his own, and he had to rest his arms on the other’s bare shoulders if he didn’t want to end up on the floor.

“What?” Aya hissed, preparing to shove him away but disarmed by the wide smile on Yohji’s face that was terribly close to his own.

“Just making sure we both fit.”

~end~



I know it can be a pain to review, but it gives us authors the Warm-and-Fuzzies. And, in case you don’t know, the Evil Hentai Slug fancies Warm-and-Fuzzies as midnight snacks, and when he comes to visit, there’s yaoi goodness for all!