Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Sous-Chef ❯ Chapter 17

A/N: Wow, this one came out fast. It would be nice if updates came this fast from here on out, but I sincerely doubt it. Anyhoo, I know a lot of you have just given me some lovely feedback on Ch 16, but I'd really, really like some for this chapter. I'm terribly interested to know how it is received.

 

 

Chapter 17

 

It was 1:00 on Thursday morning, still really the night before his second mission for Farfarello. The last of the dishwashers had left an hour before. Shelly was just leaving, looking completely bushed. She'd been working nonstop since 6:00 the previous morning, getting enormous, amazingly intricate cakes prepared for a special wedding brunch the owner was throwing the following morning—eight hours away. Which he hadn't bothered to inform the kitchen staff that they were catering until Tuesday night, prompting a shouting match between Carollo and Farfarello that had left the albino in the foulest temper Aya had ever

witnessed from him. Even Octavio had been walking on eggshells around him.

 

Aya sighed. He'd had never heard of fondant or pastillage before, but along with his other duties he'd spent over half the day helping Shelly make batches of the smooth sugar-dough, dyeing it, rolling it out, covering cakes with it, cutting out shapes, forming it like clay, painting it with icing, texturing it…he was sick of the stuff, quite frankly. It looked like plastic to him, and it didn't taste like much. It seemed like a waste of time. But, the cakes had come out undeniably pretty, and amazingly detailed. Even the parts he had done, under Shelly's direction.

 

“Thanks for all your help today,” Shelly said as he walked her to her car.

 

“Of course,” he said, and yawned.

 

“Oh, don't do that, Ran. That's contagious.” She yawned herself as they reached her car, and she put an arm on the roof and leaned her head onto it. “I think I could sleep right here, just like this.”

 

“Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the office? I'm sure John and I will be up all night.”

 

“No, I need to get home. My boyfriend needs feeding.”

 

Aya snickered. By now he knew her `boyfriend' was her cat, Mewles. After Jason Mewles of Jay and Silent Bob. Which was apparently a movie or something, Aya wasn't quite clear on the specifics.

 

“Don't laugh at the cat lady, bitch.”

 

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he replied.

 

She stood up and bumped him lightly with her hip. “Liar. I know your game.” She yawned again and unlocked her car door. “If you or John need anything, give me a call. But you better not need anything until after the brunch tomorrow, or I'll shove pokers up both your asses.”

 

“Hey. Be nice to me or get lost.”

 

“Ha! What kind of choice is that supposed to be?” She opened the door and leaned over to give Aya a peck on the cheek. “Don't forget to save me some champagne. John said he would, but he's a cheap bastard so I want you to do it too just in case.”

 

“You just want more champagne. Lush.”

 

“What! I don't have to take this abuse.” Shelly flopped into her car seat, slamming the door. She started the car, and Aya knocked on the window. She rolled it down. “What?”

 

“Seat belt,” Aya reminded her.

 

“Shit, you're fussy. I wasn't even driving yet,” she griped, but dragged the belt across her chest and fastened it. “Anything else, Aunt Naggy?”

 

“Drive carefully.”

 

Shelly snorted and flipped him off, peeling out of the parking lot. Aya knew it was just for show. He'd ridden in her car before; she was a good driver. For a New Orleanian. He liked her, though her caustic sense of humor got on his nerves from time to time. She was a good-natured, talented woman. Nevertheless, he was glad she was gone. She and Farfarello had been sniping at each other almost constantly for the past few hours, so much that Aya had been tempted to shove them both in the walk-in and lock them in there until morning, even if it meant doing all the rest of the preparations by himself. There wasn't that much more to do, anyway.

 

Aya's steps as he walked to the back door were slow. He hadn't been alone with Farfarello since the night of the first mission, when Farfarello had kissed him so briefly. Farf had already been gone when Aya woke up, though he'd left a spectacular mushroom/gruyere omelette for Aya on the dining room table—Aya could hardly believe the dogs hadn't eaten it, no matter how well-behaved they were—along with a note thanking him for the job the previous evening and complimenting him on his technique, and an envelope full of cash. They'd worked together every day since then, but the schedules had been erratic and busy enough that they hadn't been alone together in the restaurant.

 

Now that everyone else but Farf had finally left, he was apprehensive. The man was constantly on his mind; his words, his voice, his eyes, his body…terrible, beautiful things. But Farf had been in a very bad mood for most of the week, as huge problems cropped up one after another. A refrigeration problem had led to the loss of more than a thousand dollars' worth of meat, and a drainage problem caused by flash flooding resulted in sewage backing up all the way into the dining rooms. Not to mention this last-minute fancy brunch. Farfarello handled the problems with impressive speed and competence—he seemed to have his own maintenance crew on call, and they worked fast. However, Farf had also had to run the kitchen, deal with delivery problems—mix-ups, inferior produce, a large fishery attempting to overcharge him—settle a nasty dispute between Cort, Ban and several of the waitrons…in short, one thing after another. Aya helped out as much as he could, but he wasn't as familiar with the politics of things as Farfarello was. For example, they couldn't use certain purveyors because their services were used by other Families, so it limited their options if they wanted to change suppliers. Then there were specific threats that were effective with some purveyors, but with others would just result in trouble for the restaurant. Farfarello grasped it all, and Aya was quickly learning, but he was just too new.

 

So Farfarello had dealt with the lion's share of shit over the past several days, and Aya didn't want to be another source of stress for him. Besides, Aya thought ruefully, Farf hadn't shown any interest in him at all beyond the usual kitchen camaraderie since that night.

 

Sighing, he opened the back door and headed toward the kitchen, but paused when he heard voices. There shouldn't have been anyone else there besides himself and Farf.

 

He neared the kitchen door, and Farf's voice rose in irritation. “Sally, I don't have time for this right now.”

 

“But John—“

 

“But nothing! I don't have time! If you need it that bad, you'll have to give your pony rides to someone else. I can give ye Cort's number, he'd be happy to—“

 

Crack. The sound of a palm hitting flesh.

 

Silence. Aya wondered if he should make his presence known.

 

“Oh…John…I'm sorry…” Sally Carollo's voice was full of tears.

 

“No, no. I deserved that. That was very insulting and disrespectful of me, and it was uncalled for. I apologize. It's been a shit week.”

 

“I don't know when I'll be back,” she cried. “I need you, John. I need to be with you! I love you.”

 

More silence. Aya felt nauseous.

 

A deep, world-weary sigh from Farfarello. “Sally, do ye remember what I told ye when ye first came to me?”

 

The woman began sobbing quietly. “Yes,” she managed. “You s-said th-that…”

 

“I said it was just for fun. If it's not fun, I'm not going to do it anymore. Ye agreed.”

 

“I didn't expect to fall in love with you!”

 

“I'm sorry ye did. I didn't fall in love with you,” Farfarello stated flatly.

 

Just hearing him say the words, even though they weren't meant for him, felt like a punch in the gut to Aya. His heart went out to poor Sally.

 

Several seconds of silence, and Aya heard footsteps running away through the dining room. He hesitated, unsure if he should go in or give Farf some more time.

 

“Ye can come in, Aya,” Farf called, startling him. Damn Farf and his enhanced senses.

 

He entered the room a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I overheard.”

 

“Well, she just showed up out of the blue, and it's not like this is a private room,” Farf said. He sagged suddenly, throwing his head back and growling.

 

“Farfarello?” Aya took a couple of steps forward, concerned.

 

Farf's head dropped, and he gazed at Aya. He shook his head, sighing. “It never rains but it fucking pours, huh, Ron?”

 

Aya gave him a half-smile. “No doubt, John-boy.”

 

“You'd better get started on the sweet-potato vichysoisse while I finish up this goddamned sugar piece.”

 

“Hai, sensei.”

 

“Ch'.”

 

Aya baked, peeled and mashed sweet potatoes as he watched Farfarello work on the incredible masterpiece that had so far taken him over seven hours to create. It was something like a tower of interlocking nautilus shells, of amazingly subtle and naturalistic coloration, with all manner of flowers, birds and fish sprouting from them. It appeared to be made of blown glass, but was actually made entirely of sugar. All day Farfarello had been melting sugar, pouring it into molds, coloring it, pulling it like taffy until it was shiny and iridescent, texturing it, shaping it, heating it with what looked like hairdryers, pumping air into it with a small pressurized hand-pump, and most of all, cursing up a storm of invective directed at the man who'd given him the specific design instructions and less than a day to pull it off.

 

The work was incredibly delicate and time/temperature sensitive. “Which is a real bitch for me,” Farf had explained earlier, “because if the sugar's too hot it won't shape right, and if it's too cool it breaks. I've told you I can't feel subtle shifts in temperature, right?”

 

“So why is Carollo having you do this?” Aya had wondered.

 

Farf had sighed deeply. “It pissed me off that I had so much trouble with sugar-work in school, so I practiced until I could do it better than anyone else. I mentioned this skill to Carollo once, in passing, because I'm a fucking moron, and now he seems to think I can just whip one of these out at a moment's notice.” Farf had then gone off on another tirade, cursing his boss in every language he knew, including Japanese and Gaelic, which had amused the crew to no end.

 

As Aya added a half-cup of Pernod and several dozen shallots and leeks to the chicken stock and white wine soup base and set it to simmer, Farfarello groaned behind him. Aya turned around, wiping his hands on a clean towel.

 

“That's it,” Farf declared. “I'm so fucking done with this piece of shit.”

 

“It looks like it belongs in a museum,” Aya commented. In fact, he'd seen glass pieces in museums that weren't half as clean-lined, intricate and beautiful.

 

“Heh. Yeah, I'm the goddamn Chihuly of sugarwork. Guess what ye get to do now, Aya!” Farf grinned.

 

Aya felt dread pool in his stomach. “Do I have to?”

 

Farfarello raised a brow. “Ye want me to try carrying this overblown nightmare out there by myself?”

 

“Of course not,” Aya said, resigning himself to his fate. He stepped nervously over to the table. His hands were steady as always as he reached for the wooden base, but his trepidation must have shown on his face, because Farfarello chuckled and stepped forward to take hold of his wrists.

 

“Aya. If this thing breaks, it breaks. It happens all the time.”

 

“Won't Carollo be upset, then? And he probably won't pay you for it—“

 

“Of course he won't. It doesn't matter.”

 

“Isn't he paying you something like five grand for this?”

 

“I don't need the money.”

 

“But—“

 

“Aya.” Farf gave his wrists a light squeeze. “It doesn't matter. Okay?”

 

Aya took a deep breath. “Fine, let's just get this over with,” he grumbled.

 

Farfarello grinned, and let him go. “On three. One—two—three!”

 

They both lifted, and Aya was surprised at how solidly built the piece was. It looked so light and delicate. Some of the details jiggled a little, but for the most part the piece was rock steady. He carried his side out to the table in the center of the dining room with relative confidence.

 

Once they'd set it down, Farfarello looked somewhat disappointed.

 

“What, you were hoping it would fall?” Aya asked, half-joking.

 

“Yeah. I'm tempted to grab a mallet and smash it up myself,” Farfarello said.

 

“No!” Aya yelled, panicking.

 

Farf looked at him like he was several potatoes short of a stew. “Ye really like this thing?”

 

“Well, you worked so hard on it. And…” He grew flustered under Farf's gaze. “Yes, I like it, okay? I think it's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it. Does that bother you or something?”

 

Farf's scarred lips stretched into a gentle smile. “I dedicate it to ye, then.”

 

Aya's heart cantered. “Huh?”

 

“If I made this thing for that bastard Carollo, that makes me want to knock it over. If I made this for you, though, because ye think it's beautiful, then I don't mind it,” Farf explained.

 

Aya stared at him, trying to breathe normally. He was unable to speak.

 

Farfarello continued looking at him for a few seconds, then turned around and walked to the lightswitch plate on the wall. He flicked off the main lights and flipped on the bar lights, which lit everything in blue and soft white. “Let's have a drink, Aya,” he said, walking behind the bar.

 

“Sure,” Aya said, sitting down gratefully on a barstool.

 

Farf fired up the sound system with what sounded like one of his Cort-dubbed “leftist-punk bullshit” cds, which Aya had found he rather liked, turning it down to background noise level. He fished out three bottles of Cristal champagne and put them on the bar, along with two flute glasses.

 

“Um…you're not planning on us drinking all of those, are you?” Aya asked.

 

“Not unless ye want to. Jarrod and Shelly asked me to save them a bottle.”

 

“Yeah, Shelly asked me to save her a bottle as well.”

 

“Ha, ha. No. She gets one. She wants another, she can come and get it her damn self.” Farf sat next to Aya, picked up a bottle and popped the cork in such a way that it didn't fly off, for which Aya was glad. It would probably have hit the sugar piece, just because.

 

“She did work awfully hard today,” Aya admonished his boss slightly, looking around the room at all the cakes and the trays of pastries covered in waxed paper.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Farf agreed, handing Aya a glass of champagne, and pouring one for himself. “I'm sorry we were being such bitches earlier. I could tell ye were about ready knock us both unconscious.” He knocked his glass against Aya's, with a light `tink.' “Cheers.”

 

“Kanpai,” Aya toasted, and drained his glass.

 

“What do ye think of this stuff?” Farf asked, refilling Aya's flute.

 

Aya shrugged. “It's fizzy. I'm not so big on champagne.” He took another sip and rolled it on his tongue a bit. “It's pretty good. Not too dry.”

 

“Heh, I can think of plenty of things I'd rather drink that don't cost $250 a bottle.”

 

Aya's eyes widened. “Are you going to get in trouble for this?”

 

“No. I ordered this shit; I did the books on it. If I take want to take ten fucking cases of this horse-piss home with me, no one can say a goddamn thing about it. Not that I would, because on the whole I'd rather have a pint of stout.”

 

“Mm. Horse-piss,” Aya said, making a face and setting down his glass.

 

“More?”

 

“Hn.”

 

Farf turned on his stool to fill Aya's glass, his knee brushing against Aya's. Aya's hand jerked slightly, knocking his glass aside, and a few drops splashed on Aya's thumb and first finger. “Ach,” Farf said, setting down the bottle and picking up the hand before Aya could wipe it off. “Can't let this stuff go to waste.”

 

Aya's breath stuttered as Farf brought the hand to his mouth and slowly licked the back of it, from the base of his thumb to the tip of his index finger. Aya moaned involuntarily as Farf moved his lips to Aya's wet thumb, sliding it deep into his mouth, scraping his teeth across it, working his tongue along it, sucking on it hard. He pulled away, let Aya's hand go and nonchalantly finished refilling the glass.

 

Aya stared at him, suddenly pissed off. “Are you through teasing me?” he growled through clenched teeth, his hands fisting. His whole body was igniting, he was trembling with the force of his desire, and Farfarello looked almost bored. “Are you done playing games?” His voice was loud and harsh.

 

Farfarello had frozen at the first desperate syllable, fixing Aya with an unreadable stare.

 

Aya felt his nostrils flare as he got even more upset, glaring daggers at the Irishman. The continued inaction drove the tension level beyond what Aya could bear, and with an inarticulate curse, he reached forward and ripped the eyepatch off Farfarello's head and threw it on the bar.

 

Farfarello's jaw dropped.

 

Shit, he's going to kill me, Aya thought.

 

The madman made a keening sound like a battle cry, leaped up and hauled Aya off his stool with one fluid movement, crushing Aya's body tight against him, kissing Aya so hard he tasted blood. He felt Farfarello shaking, shaking, hands scrabbling at his shoulderblades, tearing at his braid, unraveling it, fisting the loosened hair in his hands as he sucked hard on Aya's bloodied lip. Aya reached behind Farfarello's head and yanked his hair out of its bun, feeling it spill over his hands, coarser than his own but still soft, still perfect.

 

Farfarello pulled back quickly, and Aya saw a flash of silver from his hand to his mouth, and then Farf was kissing him again and Aya opened his mouth wide and the tongue that invaded was slick with blood, and god fucking help him but the taste was so erotic and turned him on so much he could barely breathe. He moaned over and over into Farfarello's mouth, helplessly, and his knees buckled but Farf had a leg between his and supported him with his thigh and his beautiful strong arms, wrapped tight around him, and Farfarello was a fantastic kisser even though he was still shaking.

 

Aya squeezed his hands between their chests, trying to undo the buttons of Farfarello's whites with fingers that didn't seem to work right anymore. Farf pulled away from him minutely, kissing him over and over again as he ripped off his vest, careless of buttons dropping everywhere, thrusting it off his arms as Aya pushed up the tank he wore under it to get at his skin, groaning loudly at the feel of those amazing muscles on his belly. Farf stopped kissing him to impatiently yank the top off and fling it away, and when he brought his arms down it was to tear open Aya's jacket.

 

“That's the only one of these I have, you know,” Aya gasped as Farf yanked it off his arms.

 

“I'll get ye as many as ye fucking want,” Farfarello growled, planting desperate, wet kisses along his jawline and sucking hard on Aya's neck just above his collarbone, drawing a loud, high-pitched cry from him as Farf tore his undershirt to shreds. Farfarello's teeth sank into his bare shoulder and he screamed and clawed at Farf's chest, grinding his hard-on into Farfarello's thigh and this boner was nothing like a Botan hard-on, nothing like a Yohji hard-on or a threesome hard-on, it was a fucking lunatic hard-on and it felt like it was going to split him apart, and he loved it and he wanted his lunatic to fill him with blood and come and fuck him to pieces.

 

His thumbs brushed Farfarello's nipples, and he grabbed them and pinched hard, feeling delicious vibration as Farf gasped and groaned against his skin and leaned forward to lower Aya to the freshly steam-cleaned, scratchy carpet. It wasn't very soft but Aya couldn't have cared less, he wanted to feel more skin and he wanted to be naked.

 

Farfarello wanted Aya to be naked too; at least, that's what Aya inferred from the frantic way Farf's usually nimble fingers tore at his checks, and the way he yanked the pants down to his ankles. He growled in frustration at Aya's boots, but managed to unbuckle them and yank them off very quickly, tearing off Aya's socks and pants and underwear and batting them all away, crawling back up Aya's body while planting hard, biting, sucking kisses from Aya's left ankle to the top of his left hip, his hair dragging up Aya's right leg and draping over his dripping cock, and Aya made strange yelping sounds and fisted his cock with the hair still draped over it. Farfarello was biting hard on his hipbone and kicking off his own boots and pants and underwear while balancing on his forearms on either side of Aya. Farf slid up Aya's body, naked, and Aya wanted to look at him but he didn't want to lose the contact, and his fingers and palms traced the scar-patterns on Farfarello's back. Farf's hot cock slid wetly against his own and he screamed with the sensation, and Farf ground against him and nibbled and bit and kissed and licked and Aya's teeth were chattering. He spread his legs and tangled them around Farfarello's and his legs were shaking. Farfarello's hands were everywhere they could reach, and then they were cupping Aya's face as Farfarello kissed him, filling his mouth again with the taste of blood and wine and lust and FARFARELLO, and after an eternity of frantic hard sucking and pressing of tongues and lips Farf pulled back to let him breathe and he heard himself gasping, “Please, please, please, please…”

 

Farfarello was tearing open a condom packet with his teeth and cursing as he fished the slick latex out and shoved it on his cock with hands that were still shaking, and he lifted Aya into his lap but wouldn't let Aya sink down onto him, and Aya groaned and pushed down, and Farf said, “Tell me if I hurt ye, I don't want to hurt ye,” and Aya finally took Farfarello inside his body, as deep as he could, and Farfarello screamed like an eagle and Aya panted into his neck and ground down hard, fingernails raking the Braille butterfly wings and he bit Farfarello's earlobe, and then raised himself up and slammed back down.

 

Farf cried out like a bird again and forced Aya's back to the floor, fucking hard and fast and Aya felt like a lightning bolt striking the ground again and again, his shaking legs tight around Farfarello's waist and Farfarello's cock pounding into him. Aya heard words screaming from his throat, “Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes!” and he didn't know where the words were coming from because they weren't forming in his mind before spilling out of his mouth.

 

Farfarello's face was above his, the eagle eye and the demon eye, and he was so beautiful it hurt to look at him but Aya couldn't look away, and his nails on Farfarello's shoulders were drawing blood and Aya was screaming and Farfarello was screaming and they exploded into each other in a blaze of white fire, shattering bones and teeth and body and soul and self.

 

Aya didn't know how long they had been lying there when he opened his eyes, Farfarello taking deep, shuddering breaths against his neck, Farfarello's arms tight around him and his arms and legs tight around Farfarello. He relaxed his hold by degrees, and Farfarello did the same, until finally he slid carefully out of Aya and rolled onto his back next to him. Aya heard him fussing with the condom, and then Farf relaxed again and laid a hand over one of Aya's. They lay peacefully beside each other for a while.

 

Aya didn't want to ask the question, but he needed to know. “Is this just for fun?”

 

Farfarello looked at him curiously.

 

“Is this a one night stand? I just want to know.” Aya's voice was even and soft.

 

Farfarello closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he said, “I definitely don't like the thought of never doing this with ye again.”

 

“So is it to go on until it's no fun anymore?”

 

Farfarello looked incredulous. “Aya, are ye asking me if you're a replacement for Sally Carollo?”

 

That thought hadn't even occurred to Aya. “I don't think so. I'm not sure what I'm asking. I just don't want to alienate you.”

 

“Not much chance of that happening.” Farfarello lay back to stare at the ceiling, and Aya didn't know if that was the end of the conversation or not. He was about to ask when Farf said, “It's not just for fun, and it's not a one-night-stand, but I don't know what it is. Whatever it is,” he continued, rolling on his side and stroking a hand up Aya's thigh, “I want more. I want a lot more.” He paused, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Aya's earlobe. “I already want ye again,” he whispered, guiding Aya's hand to his burgeoning erection.

 

“Mmm,” Aya sighed, stroking the cock in his hand very slowly, rolling on his side to brush his lips lightly against Farf's. “I want to take you.”

 

The cock in Aya's hand jumped. “Nnng,” Farf groaned, the eagle eye rolling almost to the back of his head. “Aya. Fuck. I want ye to. I don't have another condom, though.”

 

“And what was the point of that when you were already bleeding in my mouth?” Aya asked.

 

Farfarello froze. “Shit,” he murmured. “I didn't even think of that. I haven't ever done that with anyone else.” He looked more distressed than Aya had ever seen him. “I'm usually so careful with my partners. I get tested every month, but I'm still a high risk.”

 

“You're really…absurdly sweet and considerate in a lot of ways,” Aya observed, shaking his head. “It keeps blowing my mind.”

 

“I don't know what planet you're from. I'm a total asshole.”

 

Aya took Farfarello's face between his hands, stroking the cheekbones with his thumbs. “Let me take you.”

 

Farf looked pained. “God, you're beautiful,” he said. “Please don't make me refuse ye, it makes me ache.”

 

Aya raised an eyebrow. “I thought you couldn't feel pain.”

 

“Not pain that involves nerve endings, no.”

 

The corners of Aya's mouth twitched up. “So don't refuse me.”

 

“Aya, please—“

 

“Fifty-pound sacks of flour,” Aya said, smirking.

 

Farf's eyes and mouth opened comically wide, and he smacked his forehead with his hand. “Fuck, I'm stupid tonight,” he growled, getting to his feet and pulling Aya up into a devouring kiss. “Put your boots on and come on.”

 

In the dry-goods storeroom, there were enormous sacks of flour piled up in one corner at all times. Traditionally in any given restaurant, Aya learned from the crew, such a place was sometimes used as a couch for breaks or catnaps, but even more often as a relatively comfortable place to bend a cute waitron or willing customer over for a quick shag. Thus, in anticipation of such times—which, even new as he was, Aya had walked in on more than once—there was always a box of condoms on the back of a shelf, which was dutifully replaced each month whether there were still any left or not.

 

Aya was extremely glad to be able to take advantage of those preparations, reclined on the sacks under the light of the bare bulbs, gasping and crying out as Farfarello sucked his cock savagely to full hardness. Farf tore open a condom but Aya stopped him from pulling it out. “Not yet,” he panted.

 

“Why not?” Farf growled.

 

“I haven't prepared you,” Aya explained.

 

“I won't let ye tear me,” the Irishman assured, straddling him.

 

Aya grabbed Farf's thighs and slid out from under him, rising up quickly behind him, grabbing Farfarello by the back of the neck and shoving him face-down into the sacks. The stack was tall enough that Farf could hold himself up on his elbows, bent over at the waist. Farf thrashed against the hand on his neck, tossing his hair behind him and baring his teeth, snarling. Not fighting seriously, but warning, expressing irritation. Aya spanked his ass as hard as he could, twice in quick succession. Farf stopped struggling instantly, gaping as Aya bent over to look at him, caressing the asscheek he'd just smacked. “I haven't prepared you,” he repeated.

 

“No one's ever done that to me before,” Farfarello said, his voice full of wonder, like he'd just set foot on the moon.

 

“How did it feel?” Aya bent over further, his hair sweeping along Farfarello's decorated back, his cock brushing Farf's ass. “Do you like it?”

 

“I…” Farf took a deep, hitching breath. “Ye can do it again sometime. Not now. It makes me want—aaahh!” he cried as Aya rocked his cock into Farf's cleft. “I already want ye enough,” he growled. “I'll lose control if ye keep doing it.”

 

“I see,” Aya murmured, kneeling down and spreading Farf open with his thumbs, and licking him from his perineum straight up to the top of his cleft. He smiled as that drew another eagle scream from Farf's throat. He forced his tongue inside Farfarello's body, breathing hard through his nose as the tight muscles fought him. He forced as much saliva out of his mouth as he could, tonguing, teasing, coaxing it around and inside until Farf was dripping with it. He worked his tongue, squirming it, wriggling it, until instead of repelling him Farf's body was clutching him, gripping his tongue and pulling it deep as if trying to devour it. Satisfied, Aya became aware that Farfarello was shuddering violently, gasping his name over and over, as if he couldn't remember how to say anything else.

 

Aya wasn't fit, himself, to do anything other than blindly shove the condom on his slippery cock and push himself hard inside Farf's spit-slick ass.

 

Farfarello arched backwards, forcing Aya balls-deep inside. Aya's vision blacked out and all sound vanished for several seconds, the feeling was so intense. Sound returned as a ringing in his ears, and he realized that his teeth were clenched so hard the muscles in his neck felt like they were about to tear. His hands on Farfarello's hips were gripping hard and his legs were vibrating like plucked harp-strings.

 

Farfarello's head was thrown back and he was gasping out short whimpering cries.

 

Aya began rocking in and out slowly, in short strokes, brushed Farf's hair off his back and leaned forward to trace the patterns on Farf's shoulders with his tongue, staring rapturously at the amazing play of muscles under the decorated skin. As he moved faster, harder, he tangled a fist in the hair at the back of Farf's head and pulled him into a desperate kiss that was more a gasping of each other's breath than a meeting of mouths.

 

Somehow Aya ended up on his knees on the lowest sack, with Farfarello on his knees also, straddling him backwards, riding hard, as Aya clutched him with an iron grip across the chest with one arm, kissing and biting all the skin he could reach, his other hand a blur on Farf's cock.

 

Farf came forcefully enough that Aya hardly got any come on his hand, most of it striping the sacks in front of them. Aya's ears roared and rang and his vision starred over again as Farf clamped down on him, and he came so hard he thought his eyeballs were going to fall out of his head.

 

It took a lot longer for Aya to come around this time, and when he did he found himself sprawled heavily on Farfarello's back. Farf was flat on his stomach, stretching out his legs behind him in a position that couldn't have been very comfortable for him, but Aya couldn't make his limbs do more than twitch a little, so he couldn't move. Farf's hands were clasped behind Aya's back in a kind of reverse-hug.

 

“Far,” Aya croaked.

 

“Mm.”

 

“Alive?”

 

“Dun think so,” the Irishman slurred.

 

“Hn.”

 

Aya still couldn't make his arms or legs work, so he lay there in a euphoric daze, drifting in and out of sleep, for a while. Eventually Farfarello starting shifting under him restlessly and Aya found the wherewithal to roll off of him, groaning. The two of them shifted so they were lying on their back next to each other. Aya groaned again and stretched.

 

Farf looked over at him, looked down at Aya's body and raised an eyebrow. “Shit,” he said, “I hadn't realized I'd been so hard on ye. Ye probably have rug-burns from the carpet, too.”

 

Aya looked down at the morass of hickeys, bite-marks and hand-shaped bruises standing out on his pale skin. He looked over at Farfarello, secretly pleased to see the Irishman had the same livid marks on his own skin. “We both look mauled. Hey,” he said, frowning as a twist of guilt troubled his stomach, “what will Desiree say about those? You could hardly pass all that off as innocent.”

 

Farfarello chuckled. “Shadow will say, `Was it the pretty redhead with the deadly eyes? Good for you.' She wants of piece of ye, if you're interested.”

 

Aya squinted in confusion. “She's your girlfriend, though, isn't she?”

 

“I said `as much as I could be said to have one.' Which means I don't have a girlfriend in the traditional sense.” He rolled on to his side to gaze down at Aya. “Would ye feel better if she'd be hurt?”

 

“Of course not!” Aya said, his frown deepening. “I'm glad…I felt kind of bad because I didn't think about her at all or consider her when…”

 

Farfarello leaned down and kissed his ear. “Neither did I,” he whispered, making Aya smile in spite of himself. Farf straightened up on his elbow again, saying, “Shadow and I are kindred spirits, I guess ye could say. Predators. A tiger and a panther who occasionally rest on the same rock. We respect each other. Our lives aren't really intertwined.”

 

“Are she and Sally your only lovers?”

 

Farf tilted his head back. “Right now, I suppose I have four lovers, since I'm not counting Sally after tonight. Five, if ye want to be in that number. Not counting one-time trysts.”

 

“Hn.” Aya wasn't sure what he ought to think of that.

 

“What? You want to be my only lover?” Farf smirked. “I wouldn't mind, but I really don't think ye want that.”

 

Aya raised an eyebrow. “Why's that?”

 

“Between me and two ye have at home, you'd never sleep again.”

 

Aya blanched slightly, thinking of Schuldig and Yohji. “Fuck,” he mumbled, “Yohji's not going to be happy about this.”

 

“Nope. But Schuldig will help ye deal with him.” Farf yawned slightly and rubbed his good eye. Aya noticed that the red eye was half-lidded, and didn't seem to blink.

 

“Schu won't mind, will he?” Aya asked, reaching up and ghosting his fingers over the red eye, carefully brushing the lid closed.

 

“Hn. That eye gets tired if it's open a while. No, of course Schuldig won't mind.” Aya's hand was lingering on his cheek, and he took it and nibbled gently on the side of the palm.

 

Aya sighed. “I can live with being number five, I think. And I definitely wouldn't ask you to have me as your only lover if I wasn't going to have you as mine.”

 

Farf grabbed Aya's hip and pulled Aya to face him. “Number five? What, ye think you're not special? Ye want a deep and meaningful relationship?” His grin was teasing. “Let's ditch all these assholes and run off to Vegas. Ye can dress up like a chick—“

 

“Like hell!”

 

“—and we'll get hitched, all legal-like.” He laughed as Aya slapped at his shoulder and tried to pull away. “We'll move back to the old country, adopt some Cambodian babies and open a barbecued sheep stand—“

 

“Barbecued sheep?” Aya snorted, as they tussled playfully.

 

“—and we'll live through our sunset years in lower lower-middle-class splendor,” Farfarello finished, pinning Aya on his back. “Sound good?”

 

“I'm completely underwhelmed.”

 

“Snob.” Farf stuck his tongue out at Aya, and Aya darted his head up to suck it into his mouth. “Mmmm,” Farf hummed, flattening himself on top of Aya as the kiss intensified.

 

Aya was thinking that having Farfarello fuck him long and slow would be delicious, when he remembered something, gasped and pushed Farf away. “Shit!”

 

“What?”

 

“Ah…” Aya ran his hands through his hair. “I guess it's not that big a deal. I just forgot about the soup.”

 

“Oh. Ye hadn't put the potatoes in yet, right?”

 

“No.”

 

“Just add some more stock to the base and strain it. It'll be fine.” Farf stood up and stretched, scratching his hip. “But we'd better clean up and finish the rest of the prep, because as much as I'd like to fuck ye again I don't think I'd be up for anything but sleeping after. I don't particularly want to hear what Carollo would say if he woke us up in here and the set-up wasn't finished.”

 

“Ugh.” Aya allowed Farf to give him a hand up, and was mildly startled when he was pulled into a tight hug. “Hm?”

 

Farf pulled back a little to look Aya in the eyes. The demon eye was open again, adding a strange level of intensity to Farf's gaze. “We're going to do this again, yeah? I want to do this again. Often.”

 

The way Farfarello was looking at him, the serious, earnest tone he was using, made Aya feel like whatever was happening between them was definitely not as casual a thing to Farf as he was making it seem. Aya's heart raced; he felt dizzy. “Yes, I do too,” he whispered. “I want you too.”

 

Farf's hands came up to cup his face, hard, for a few seconds as the eagle eye penetrated him. Aya felt like he was melting and drowning, and he really wanted Farf to fuck him again.

 

Farf reluctantly pulled his hands from Aya's face and stepped away from him. “Come on,” he sighed, as he started out of the storeroom. “Let's get all this shit finished. I'm gonna need a nap before all the mafia fuckers get here and want me to make gnocchi and fucking calamari on demand all day.”

 

“Sure,” Aya said, following him, feeling suddenly absurd walking through the restaurant wearing nothing but his boots. “Farf?”

 

“Hm?” Farf paused, half-turning.

 

“About our other lovers…we're not changing anything for now, right?”

 

Farf turned to face him, his unabashed nudity tempting Aya maddeningly with its strength and promise. Especially now that he knew what it was like to be wrapped around that body. “No. That okay?”

 

“Yes,” Aya said automatically, although he had to admit to himself that he really wasn't sure what was going on, so he didn't know whether he was telling the truth or not.

 

Farf grunted assent, and continued on to the dining room. Aya followed him, wondering if there were any spare whites on hand that he could borrow, since he couldn't wear his anymore. He hoped Farf could get him one before he had to come up with an explanation for why he needed a new one.

 

Reader Responses:

 

Lilymoonsalias: Chapter up quick enough for you? Heh, this was the fastest update yet. Hope you solidified enough to read this.

 

Glinwulf: well, I can't promise the chapters after this will be up quickly, but this one just busted out…I'm sure you understand why. *squees over FxAxF*

 

Omni-sama: More??? You want some MORE??? Okay. Here it is. HA! A convert! Er…hopefully you'll remain converted after this chapter, since I know you were all squicked at the thought of it before…

 

Nitelyfe: Heh, I get that a lot, about people telling me they passed over this because of the name. *sigh* they'll just never experience the joys of Aya slaving over a hot stove all day…anyway I'm glad the story was worth giving it a shot!

 

mm-chan: Uh-oh, I made you experience Ken-sympathy. *hands you a butterscotch* Heheheh, if you actually made it through THIS chapter, I'll be very surprised. :D