Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Let's get it on ❯ I Do Not Like Green Eggs and Ham ( Chapter 4 )

Yoji stormed into the kitchen.

 

“Ken, is it too much to ask for you to make a full pot of coffee in the morning instead of just two cups?”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Yoji. Make your own damned coffee.”

 

“Big words from a man wearing a plaid flannel dress.”

 

“It's a nightshirt,” Ken said, mustering up admirable dignity under the circumstances. “It's a *man's* nightshirt.”

 

“Oh, of course. It's a very *manly* dress.”

 

Aya, who had just appeared from out of nowhere -- as he tended to do -- cleared his throat. “I've always thought Black Watch was the toughest tartan, Ken.”

 

Ken opened his mouth, then closed it, staring at Aya. The room was silent. Was that a joke? Was he serious? No way to know. Aya had been making occasional efforts to interact recently, but it wasn't like anybody could necessarily tell what he meant by them.

 

Aya nodded. “Black Watch is the black leather jacket of plaid. It's much cooler than, say, Dress Campbell, or even Royal Stewart.”

 

And with that, he went upstairs.

 

Ken and Yoji looked at each other. “Yoji, do you think his fever's back?”

 

“Hell, I don't know.” Yoji shook his head. “But I guess if Aya thinks your dress is tough, Ken... Well, he should know, right?” And Yoji followed Aya out of the kitchen.

 

He'd spent the last two days trying to figure out what to do about Aya. Yoji wasn't stupid -- it was fairly clear what he *should* do. He should run. He should quit smoking so he could run faster. Aya could not possibly be worth the trouble, no matter how good he looked, no matter how good he might be in bed -- and while his proficiency in that regard was an educated guess, Yoji had to keep reminding himself it really was just a hypothesis -- no matter how cute it was when he rambled like a bag lady... no matter how good it felt to get a glimpse of what was going on in his head, or how those rare little smiles made the chocolate of Yoji's savoir faire melt and expose the gooey caramel center that was his heart...

 

Yoji stopped in the hallway and actually banged his head against the wall. The mild pain cleared his head slightly, and he proceeded up the stairs. He hesitated outside Aya's door, decided that knocking would only add another layer of frustration, and walked right in. Aya was sitting on his bed.

 

Yoji decided the best defense was a good offense. “What the hell is your problem, anyway?”

 

Aya just looked at him blankly, with a mildly quizzical set to his eyes, as if he were thinking, `Did that horse just speak? How curious.'”

 

“Could you at least pretend to be a human being for a few minutes?”

 

Aya's eyes narrowed, the look shifting more to “that horse has annoyed me; perhaps I will kill it.”

 

Yoji closed his eyes and counted backward from 10.

 

They'd been avoiding each other since the last bout of emotional whiplash. It wasn't difficult; Aya was spending most of his time in his room, so Yoji had just stopped making up excuses to go in there. Yoji'd hoped that, given a little time and distance, he'd finally be able to talk himself out of this terribly misguided crush. Failing that, he'd hoped he'd at least cool down enough to avoid a potentially dangerous outburst.

 

Two strikes; one more and he was out.

 

He sat on the edge of the bed and decided to try again from another angle.

 

“Here's how bad I have it for you. Yesterday I started humming `Hello' when I walked past your doorway. You know, that Lionel Ritchie song? `I can see it in your eyes, I can see it in your smile, You're all I've ever wanted and my arms are open wide... Tell me how to win your heart, for I haven't got a clue...'”

 

Aya looked absolutely dumbstruck.

 

Yoji began to wonder if “Hello” might have been a tactical error.

 

“Aya, I'm beginning to feel pretty exposed here. Could you try to say *something*?”

 

After several more long, unnerving moments of utter disbelief, Aya finally threw back his head and laughed.

 

Yoji sighed in relief.

 

Wiping his eyes, Aya tried to stifle the last of his giggling. “You are such a goofball.”

 

Goofball... not as good as sex god, but better than dead man. “Aya, listen. I know what you were doing the other day. I'm not actually even taking it personally. But I'm fundamentally a pretty lazy person, and I don't have the emotional energy to deal with you clouding up and raining all over me every time we try to have a conversation. So let's just be honest with each other, OK?”

 

Aya's smile faded. “And what do you think I was doing the other day?”

 

Eye on the prize, Kudoh, eye on the prize. “I think you were enjoying being with me, and then you got freaked out about it and decided to scare me off.”

 

After a long, ominous pause, Aya sighed. “Close enough.”

 

Yoji remembered having read somewhere that the most important thing in training an animal is immediate positive reinforcement. This was definitely a Milkbone moment.

 

“As a reward for your honesty, I'd like to give you a backrub.” At Aya's dubious expression, Yoji said, “Oh, stop it. I've made it clear that I want to get my hands on you. You've made it -- well, not clear, obviously, but close enough -- that you're at least willing to entertain the idea of having my hands on you. It's just a backrub. Lie down.”

 

Aya stared at Yoji for several seconds, squinting in concentration. Then he lay down on his stomach, moving carefully, obviously having trouble with his shoulder and not bothering to hide it. A new level of intimacy?

 

Well, smack my face and call me Irving, Yoji thought to himself. He climbed atop his unexpectedly tractable teammate and got started without further ado -- when you've got your enemy in your sights, you pull the trigger. Or throw your wire or reach out with your knife-festooned baseball mitt or generally cause death with whatever improbable and archaic weapon you have at your disposal, if you happen to be part of Weiß. Whatever... Yoji believed in seizing the day.

 

And he knew for a fact that he was good at this massage thing. Giving a backrub, in his experience, was kind of like giving head -- everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die. Yoji excelled in both areas because he was not only willing to do what needed to be done, he really enjoyed the ride.

 

Yoji slid his hands under Aya's loose white t-shirt, bunching it up over his upper back and running his hands up and down the skin he'd exposed. He had to pause and take a deep, shaky breath, then another when Aya shifted beneath him, flexing his hips ever so slightly against Yoji's cock. It had to be on purpose -- unless it wasn't. Keep your wits about you, Yoji, he chided himself.

 

Yoji kneaded and prodded and pulled, trying to loosen the muscles knotted up from Aya's wound. And from Aya's being Aya. Occasionally he'd allow himself a few moments of simply stroking Aya's satiny skin. Yoji loved giving a massage, feeling his partner's skin, the muscles beneath, all resistance finally giving way beneath his questing fingers.

 

However, Aya wasn't making the appreciative little sighs and moans Yoji was used to under these circumstances, nor was he reduced to a pile of pliant, turned-on manflesh beneath Yoji's knowing hands.

 

“Aya, what's going on with you right now?”

 

“You're, you know... I'm not used to full scrotal contact with my coworkers. It's kind of freaking me out."

 

“I'm getting the feeling you aren't fully committed to relaxation,” Yoji said.

 

Aya shot him a look over his shoulder.

 

“Come on, Aya. Relationships are built on trust.”

 

Aya shot him another look. Pause. “I like to maintain a certain level of surface tension. I'm not sure what would happen if I fully relaxed.”

 

“Work with me here, Aya.” Yoji shifted further down and, pulling down the waistband of Aya's loose flannel pants, started rubbing low on his back. Eliciting a definite flinch of pain.

 

“Am I to assume you have some soreness in the upper butt region?”

 

“Don't assume anything about my butt, Kudoh,” Aya said dangerously.

 

Yoji sighed. He looked down at the back beneath him and thought that it was indeed beautiful, and that he'd love nothing more than to make it arch in passion, or perhaps drag his lips and tongue slowly down Aya's spine, all the way down... Well, now he was full-on hard. And Aya had to be able to tell. But he wasn't complaining, and where there weren't tears and recriminations, there was hope.

 

Yoji kept at it until his arms were sore and his own back and shoulders ached. But the man beneath him resisted every effort.

 

“Aya, are you OK? I mean, I know you're the angstiest person in the world, but surely you could have loosened up at least a little bit. I'm rubbing your back, not taking out your appendix.”

 

Another long pause, then a soft, gusty sigh into the pillow. “My head is throbbing, my shoulder aches, my stomach hurts, I think I've developed carpal tunnel from repetitive killing, I'm hungry, and I'm generally dissatisfied with how the American president is handling the situation in the Middle East.”

 

“Otherwise, though, you're fine.”

 

“The list was in no way meant to be comprehensive. Now get the hell off me before I throw you off and tear my stitches.”

 

So much for the inevitability of the sexy backrub trick. Yoji really was beginning to feel less confident about his standing as the reigning pompatus of love, and it annoyed him. He took off his shirt lay down beside Aya, saying, “OK, now you've made me tense.”

 

Yoji caught a glimpse of Aya's face -- confused. Well, that was satisfying, at least.

 

“It's your turn to rub my back. It's a `you break it, you bought it' kind of thing.”

 

He lay there for several minutes. He was beginning to feel like an idiot. When, unbelievably, Aya got up and kneeled over Yoji's lower back. Damn, Yoji thought, I should have started giving him direct orders long ago.

 

Aya's hands rested on Yoji's shoulders, his touch somewhere between tentative and tender. His fingertips gently stroked the nape of Yoji's neck, over and over until Yoji felt himself getting hard again. The fingers moved to the sensitive skin just behind Yoji's ears, moving in longer strokes, but just as delicate, before sliding up to trace soft circles over his temples. Aya was now laying over him, his breathing soft and warm against Yoji's back. There was a brief touch of lips that Yoji found unbelievably hot.

 

Aya caressed Yoji's face as he moved his hands down to the blond's shoulders, sitting up again in one smooth movement and applying increasing pressure, still using just his fingers. It felt surprisingly sensual, although the technique was probably born of necessity, since Aya wasn't supposed to use his left shoulder.

 

Yoji shivered with a sudden ripple of pleasure, thinking of how strong Aya was. And heavy. Despite the loss of contact, it had been something of a relief when Aya had sat up again. All that muscle... It was exciting to be pinned beneath that strength. Was that something Aya had intended him to be thinking about? Yoji moaned softly and was rewarded with a hitch in Aya's breathing. Maybe he needed to be on top? That would figure, actually. Well, that wasn't how Yoji had envisioned things, but he could roll with the punches.

 

Yoji had briefly entertained the idea of holding out on Aya, but in reality, that had never been an option. As Aya's fingers slowly worked all the muscles in Yoji's neck, shoulders, and upper back, Yoji had become utterly relaxed and thoroughly aroused. Which was a hell of a lot better than trying to teach Aya a lesson, anyway. If such a thing were even possible.

 

Aya scooted backward, slowly and deliberately rubbing his erection over Yoji's body as he resettled on the blond's upper thighs. His hands progressed, maddeningly slowly, over Yoji's lower back and, finally, to his ass, which he played with for long enough to turn Yoji's brain to complete mush. Aya's fingers alternated between deep, strong strokes and gentle, sensual caresses. Yoji cursed his lack of foresight in not changing out of his jeans and into something more accessible.

 

And then Aya just stopped. He got off Yoji and sat back against his pillows.

 

Yoji groaned. “Aya, are you trying to prove a point here?”

 

“No. I was just... done.”

 

“You're just *done*?” Yoji rolled over on his side to stare at the redhead, feeling aggrieved and petulant. “That is *so* unfair. You totally upped the ante, and now you're not going to follow through?”

 

Aya looked tired. “I know. I'm sorry.” He looked pointedly down at his lap, drawing Yoji's attention to the fact that he was no longer remotely hard. “I've, um... never done it with anyone I actually... like. Or know, really.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “I try to keep my distance.”

 

Yoji realized it might be appropriate to offer some kind words of understanding, but Aya didn't really seem particularly distressed about it, and, well, Yoji's language centers were working with a skeleton crew because all his blood had rushed to his cock.

 

“Would you mind if I masturbated?” Yoji asked.

 

Aya stared at him. “We've definitely crossed a line, haven't we?”

 

“Uh... yeah. Kind of.”

 

Aya sighed again, then nodded. “I just wanted to, you know, understand the mission parameters.”

 

He appeared to be thinking about something. Something else. Something far away. Eventually, his gaze shifted and he was watching Yoji, his head cocked slightly to the side.

 

Yoji tried again.

 

“Aya, you make me so hard.” He stroked himself, slowly, and looked up to see Aya avidly watching the movement of his hand. “I need to come, Aya. OK?”

 

Aya seemed a little out of it, and his breathing sounded harsh in the quiet of the room. He nodded, still staring at Yoji's crotch.

 

Yoji unzipped his pants and pushed them down a bit on his hips, allowing his erection to spring free. He gave it a couple of good tugs, watching Aya the entire time. The redhead's eyes were glazed.

 

He rubbed the head of his cock with his thumb, spreading around the bead of moisture leaking out. Aya distractedly brought his hand up to his face and bit gently on his knuckle.

 

Oh, this was working.

 

Yoji stroked his sac, gently rolling his balls between his thumb and fingers. Aya watched his every motion as if trying to memorize them.

 

“I do this all the time in my room, thinking about you.” Yoji's voice was deep and rough. Aya's eyes widened. His face looked flushed.

 

“I wonder how you would do it. I see how you hold your sword, and I wonder if that's how you'd hold my dick. You have such a good, firm grip...” Yoji started stroking himself. “Your hands are so strong...” He shivered, then reached a rhythm he knew would bring him off soon. The idea of coming in front of Aya was...

 

“Shut up and come,” Aya said.

 

Yoji closed his eyes and spurted all over his stomach. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. He opened his eyes to find Aya still watching avidly. Looking like he'd regained his interest.

 

Aya perfunctorily handed him a box of tissue. Yoji mopped himself up quickly, then checked to make sure the capricious redhead was still with him.

 

He gently cupped Aya's erection, stroking through the thin, loose fabric of Aya's pants, looking up to see if Aya's face was as happy with this development as his cock seemed to be.

 

He was disappointed to see the eyes closed, having hoped Aya might be the kind to watch everything unabashedly. This was good too, though: eyes closed in rapt concentration, head thrown back, mouth open, tongue unconsciously tracing his teeth...

 

Yoji leaned down and put his mouth over Aya's cock, running his lips up the length and sucking the head through the cloth. Aya gasped and tangled his fingers in Yoji's hair, which Yoji also took for a good sign.

 

Until Aya pulled the hair viciously and pushed him off the bed.

 

“What the hell?” Yoji asked from the floor.

 

Aya's breathing was fast and harsh. “I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I didn't ask you to come after me, though. And it isn't like you didn't already know I'm defective.”

 

Yoji opened his mouth to counter, but Aya cut him off.

 

“I hate you for caring about me. It's... repulsive. I couldn't be with anybody who didn't know what I am, but I find the idea of anybody knowing what I am and liking me anyway horrifying.”

 

By the end of his little speech he had his breathing back under control, along, apparently, with the rest of his body.

 

Why the hell, if there was anybody else left on Earth, had he chosen this completely irrational freak to fall for? Yoji adjusted himself into a comfortable cross-legged position and looked up at the source of all his troubles.

 

“Aya, you just have to let yourself go a little bit.”

 

“Believe me, Yoji, *nobody* wants that to happen. It will anyway, someday, but nobody will be happy about it.”

 

“I'm beginning to think you have a lot invested in being the most fucked up person in the world.”

 

“Everybody needs structure.”

 

“Looks to me like you're afraid. Do you think I'll, you know, love you and leave you?”

 

Aya snorted, then shook his head. “You may have begun believing your own press, Yoji, but I don't. If anything, it's more the opposite, you gluey tart.”

 

Well, that was offensive. Wasn't it?

 

“Wait a minute. You were jealous.”

 

“When?”

 

“Before. You weren't just jealous -- you were jealous of Mrs. Thoma. A grating 60-year-old woman with three chins and more moles than you can shake a bake at.”

 

“I thought she was a `sweet old lady.'”

 

“See, you *do* remember!”

 

Aya frowned.

 

“So, you hate me, you're jealous, or you're afraid I won't give you enough space? Which one?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Yoji cocked his head, started to ask the question, then stopped himself.

 

“Right. Let's start with jealous. *Why*? Why are you jealous??

 

Aya hesitated, then answered with great reluctance. “You flirt with everyone. Fucking *everyone*. Mrs. Thoma. Multitudes of mindless, giggling school girls. Ken. Omi, for Christ's sake. Everyone.” He paused, then added, very quietly, “Everyone but me.”

 

Oh, baby... Now that was heartbreaking. Or it would be, if it weren't a well-executed but still obvious diversionary tactic.

 

Aya saw the awareness in Yoji's eyes and lifted his head, jaw set defiantly.

 

“Yet at the same time you hate me and think I'm... gluey.”

 

Now Aya smiled, just one corner of his mouth quirking up. He nodded. “What can I say? I worry about many things. I like to feel like I have all the bases covered.”

 

Yoji shook his head. You just had to admire it, really, the depth and breadth of the craziness.

 

Then he grinned. “You like me, though. You said so.”

 

Aya looked startled. “When?”

 

“A little while back. You cited it as the cause of your erectile dysfunction. It stuck with me.”

 

Aya was beginning to look a little hunted.

 

“I'm going to get up now and sit back on the bed. If you attack me again I will fight back.” He plopped down next to Aya, who skittered a few inches away, avoiding contact.

 

Yoji looked at him, then smiled. Fucking hell. He was *perfect*.

 

“Aya, you're stubborn and exasperating and dangerous and almost certainly clinically insane.” Aya was starting to frown. “What can I say? I like that in a crush object.”

 

Aya shifted to the end of the bed.

 

“Look, I'm not that bad. Really. Give me a chance. Seriously, what's the problem?”

 

“Yoji, I don't *know* what I want, all right?”

 

“Free your ass and your mind will follow.”

 

Again with the staring.

 

“Give it up -- if you weren't into me you'd have disposed of my lifeless corpse by now. Let's just fuck already.”

 

Yoji couldn't control his sense of triumph. This was it -- he'd done it. He'd gotten through to Aya. This was going to be so...

 

He saw the fist coming but didn't have time to react before it struck his chin from the side with the force of a speeding locomotive. Part of his brain managed to notice that he really was seeing stars, but then everything just turned black.