Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ This is Not My Life ❯ All I was looking for was you ( Chapter 25 )

A/N: All sorts of bad manners are represented in this chapter. I do not actually endorse emulating any of the onsen behavior described within (staring, splashing, wearing headphones, you get the drift.)  

 

“The lies I told you kept them through 
Nobody knows me like you do 
All I was looking for was you”

 

-Yohji-

 

I'm used to hangovers. Although I have to say for all my experience with them, I'm also pretty good at avoiding them. I know all the tricks.

I guess I didn't use them this time.

My attempt at sitting up as I wake rewards me with a cleaving jolt of pain through my forehead. It's so sharp that for a moment my vision swims a little, as if I were still drunk.

I lie back down again. The less I have to move the happier I know I'll be. It might just be necessary to never move again. I don't know, the jury's still out on that one.

For some reason it feels like I haven't had a hangover in a while, though. Which just makes the pain feel all the more excruciating. It can be pretty nasty when you haven't built up a tolerance.

Why is that?

Ah, right. I haven't had a hangover in a while because I haven't been going out. I've toned down the drinking because I've been with Aya.

Aya.

The name instantly causes a jolt of tension to sear through me. There is some sort of problem with Aya. I get the nagging sensation that he's very intimately connected to the source of my hangover.

…Which is completely absent from my memory.

Along with about 85% of whatever else happened in the past 24 hours. Shit. How much did I drink?

I sit up again, more abruptly this time, indifferent to the pain now. My head screams at me as I swing it around, searching for some sort of clue to whatever might be wrong.

The anxiousness comes without a need for memories to fuel it. I seem to just innately suspect him to be gone.

If I'm honest, I've expected him to disappear nearly every time he's left my sight. It really is pretty unfathomable he's stuck around as long as he has so far.

Has that finally been rectified?

My question is answered by the cold sweat of a water glass shoved into my hand.

“From what I can recall, you're going to want to drink several of those,” Aya dryly comments. 

When I look up to meet his face, it's closed of any telling emotion. But he has a bottle of painkillers in his other hand and is watching me very intently. As if I was the mysterious unreadable one and not him.

I take the bottle and shake out a few tablets without even checking to see what kind they are.  Draining the whole glass of water makes little impact on the uncomfortable flannelly feel of my mouth and throat. I thrust it back at him, hoping he'll oblige to refill it for me, which he graciously does.

Ugh, I feel awful.

And yet…better.

I draw myself up and take closer stock of my situation. I'm still in the clothes that (I think) I was wearing yesterday. I obviously got myself blitzed and have no memory at all of coming back to the room. The last thing I can remember is some lady I tried without success to cultivate an interest in. Did she help me back here?

When I shoot Aya an inquisitive glance he suddenly seems very interested in refolding our clothes into the duffle bag.

“You think you'll feel well enough to get back on the road?” He asks gruffly, scrutinizing a shirt.

The throbbing in my head suddenly seems to pick up its pace. Is he suggesting a need to accelerate our trek home?

I nod tentatively, and quickly regret the superfluous motion.

“Good,” he says, still paying more attention to just about every object in the room than to me, “we have a lot of driving to do.”

“Oh?” I say, trying not to give away how damn curious he's made me. Up until this point, Aya's been largely acting like a hostage. He's made a big show of trying to make the most out of the places I've dragged him, but he certainly hasn't taken any initiative to actually plan ahead. All of the sudden he has an agenda?

“Yes,” he replies unhelpfully.

“Where're we going?” I concede to asking.

“Kyushu.”

Kyushu, huh? That's pretty vague. I stare at him expectantly hoping he'll elaborate without forcing me to beg for details.

Aya makes the mistake of glancing at me and our eyes briefly connect. He looks uncomfortable.

It finally occurs to me to worry about what I might have said (or done,) in the hours missing from my memory of last night.

Knowing myself, it was probably bad.

…Couldn't have been too awful though, or I'd currently be missing body parts….

My disquiet is interrupted by a dramatic sigh. “You wanted to go there, right?” He asks, “You said you did.”

I nod. Very, very carefully.

It still feels like my brain has been liquefied and is sloshing around with the movement.

“Onsens, right?” he persists. “I thought you wanted to go there for the hot springs.”

Maybe I'm still drunk, because I think I'm audibly hallucinating.

…Cause it sounded to me like Aya just suggested we go somewhere with hot springs. Together. As in, quality time. Sans clothing.

Not fucking likely!

I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

“You've changed your mind?” Exasperation is written all over his face.

“No,” I say, cautiously waiting for him to reveal the catch. “It's just…that doesn't sound like something you'd want to do.” I tactfully leave off the `with me' part.

He just shrugs and goes back to obsessively packing. “They're supposed to be good for your health, aren't they?” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “I've been told mine could use improving.”

* * * * * * *

The drive is very long and on top of that, once there it takes us significantly longer to settle on a place to stay than I'd anticipated. Like so many other aspects of this trip, my idea to go to an Onsen wasn't extensively thought out. My foresight for problems got stuck on the idea that there was simply no way in hell Aya would be up for spending what I've started thinking of as `quality naked time' with anyone, let alone me.  It therefore never occurred to me that there might be other complications.

My past comes back to haunt me with the entirely unanticipated dilemma that my tattoo apparently gets me banned from most respectable hot spring establishments. Any place that might cultivate a `family atmosphere' has a big sign at the front desk, warning me that I'm not welcome. That someone who looks like me might get mistaken for Yakuza seems almost laughable.

Or maybe it's just the fact that I'm probably more dangerous than your average Yakuza. That in my case the discrimination's almost legit. Irony. Or…something.

I have to say, I'm pretty used to feeling like an infiltrator who doesn't belong. Trying to maintain a double life does that, not even getting into the whole mess of just what I do in the less conventional half of my existence. But I'm not used to the perceived alienation actually being a reality. It's a bit of a shock, and definitely puts a downer on the happiness I was feeling over Aya's capitulation.

When we finally lower our standards and stop trying to pick a resort out of the guidebook, we finally settle on a ryokan a little off the beaten path. It's a bit seedier than the other places we've been staying, but on the upside a lot quieter too. Definitely no screaming kids here.

It's already late by the time we settle in. I immediately roll out my futon thinking we might want to call it an early night. Aya drove all day (if there was ever any doubt in the sincerity of my proclaimed affection for Aya, one need only observe the fact that I let him drive my car,)  and although I'm feeling marginally better, my hangover still has a few tendrils embedded into my skull. Another night's sleep ought to fix that. I sit down on the thin bedding and scope out our room. It's…well, I guess `quaint' might be an appropriate word choice.

Aya ignores his futon in favor of taking advantage of the complimentary tea that's been left out. He sits on the floor and quietly stares at his cup for a while before taking a tentative sip.

“It's still daylight,” he observes, sparing the futon a glance, but not looking at me.

“It was a long drive,” I shrug.

“Hm,” he non-answers.

I watch him, as there's really nothing else in the room worth looking at. Well, that's a good excuse anyway. I'd be watching him regardless.

He becomes very focused on his tea and empties the cup at a record pace. When his hands no longer have anything to occupy themselves with he gets back on his feet and retrieves a yukata from the closet. He stands, it draped over one arm, and finally returns my eye contact.

I stare back, more obviously than before.

“Do you mind?” he asks, shifting slightly.

Do I mind what? That you're holding a yukata?

His stare turns peeved.

Oh. He wants to change.

Without me watching.

Figures.

I drop backwards onto the futon and dramatically drape an arm over my eyes. “Your dignity remains unsullied,” I announce with deliberate drama. 

The room is silent for a long spell. I suspect he's checking to make sure I really can't see him.

Sheesh, it's not like I haven't seen him before. We've lived in close quarters for a very long time now. I've cut his clothes off to dig bullets out of him. What's the big freaking deal?

The deal is that you said things that fucked everything up. You're lucky he's even willing to be alone in a room with you.

I can feel my lips shift against my skin as I frown into the crook of my arm. The sound of shifting cloth indicates that Aya's gotten over his fear of changing.

“But for the record, I'd like to watch,” I add.

What the hell, I've already breached the danger threshold, might as well be honest.

The rustling clothes noises suddenly pick up a more hurried pace. There's then another stretch of silence and Aya coughs, which I take to imply that he's done and I can abandon my ridiculous stance for preserving his modesty. I open my eyes and partially sit up.

Aya's standing near the door, attired in the hotel issued blue and white yukata. His chest shielded by defensively crossed arms.

He looks…awesome.

Okay, it's already clear that my opinion is biased. I think that Aya looks awesome about 80% of the time. If I didn't, I wouldn't be plagued by this whole inconvenient staring problem.  And for the record, that 20% where I don't think he looks awesome, it's only because his features are usually unflatteringly marred by some expression stating that he wants to kick my ass. Which might still be awesome, were my interpretation to take a kinkier slant, but, alas, I know Aya too well to make such liberal assumptions.

Anyway, as I was saying though, standing there (grumpily) yukata-clad, Aya seems to look extra awesome. Maybe the indigo just compliments his coloring.

…Or maybe it's the underlying knowledge that yukatas are easy access, and if he's bound for the onsen then it's a good guess that he isn't wearing anything underneath it….

…Jesus Christ, I'll be lucky to last an hour here before he kills me.

“I'm going to see the onsen,” he declares predictably.

…Or maybe not so predictably, as it's an obvious assumption that that's where he would be going. That he bothered to voice his destination might almost be interpreted as an invitation to join him.

Phsaw, yeah right.

I nod to acknowledge that I heard him, but remain in place. Truth be told, the second it became clear that Aya intended to leave the room I abandoned my tentative plan for an early turn-in. I don't want to give that away though. I'll give him a ten- to- fifteen minute start to try and minimize coming off like some kind of stalker.

As if he can't see through me….

He hovers for a moment, watching me with a completely unreadable expression on his face before giving me a hurried nod and silently slipping out of the room.

Huh. This is all…very weird. I'm surprised that Aya was apparently paying close enough attention to even remember that I wanted to come here. In all fairness that particular bit of information was disclosed immediately after I first hijacked him. It was buried in quite a bit of nervous rambling and he had every right to have been too alarmed-and-or-mad to have actually been listening to me. But I guess he was anyway.

What's more surprising is that, possessing the knowledge that I wanted to come here, Aya actually took the initiative to come here. Honestly, if you'd have asked me to guess, I would have predicted that he would have avoided Kyushu at all costs, and found some place that he knew I would have hated, and dragged me there just for the hell of it. I don't think that would have surprised anybody.

That he apparently trusts me enough to hang around an onsen together is almost too unfathomable to even contemplate.  I've given him every reason to want to avoid a situation like this. I can't think of any rationale at all for him being okay with this…other than that he's probably testing me.

In which case I'm probably going to fail.

On an epically tragic, fiery crash kind of level.

Might as well get it over with. I push myself up with a sigh and retrieve a matching yukata from the closet.

 
* * * * * * *

It's not difficult at all to find Aya.

For one, there's only one other person in the ryokan's main onsen. The first person I see is a surly looking blond man sipping sake from a rather liberal sized bottle resting on an overturned bucket. He's sprawled out, taking up at least two people's worth of space, and doesn't look pleased at all to be having his solitude further invaded.

Aya is on the dead opposite end of the pool from the man, compactly wedged into a little inlet. He's reclining against a rock, eyes closed, head partially shielded by a small towel he's draped over it; the quintessential portrait of relaxation. And therefore probably the most un-Aya-like I've ever seen him looking. Which is a stupid thing to say, since Aya is who he is. I'm not really sure how it's possible for him to be un-Aya-like, or just who he would look like when he's not looking like himself.

I note with a guilty shred of disappointment that the mineral content of the water is too high for me to get a view of anything below the surface.

That's probably in my health's best interest.

I just stand there for a while, taking in the opportunity to watch him without being noticed.

Well, without being noticed by Aya. Sake-boy does seem to notice and gives me a particularly disapproving scowl before refilling his cup for the third time in so many minutes. I take that as my cue to get in.

Aya lazily opens his eyes as the water is disturbed and watches me with an unconcerned expression as I sit down several meters away from him. I hope he appreciates how much space I'm giving him. I've only just gotten here and I can already feel the strain on my willpower.

He's right there. Naked. From what I can tell pretty damn unguarded. Practically flaunting his faith that I'm not going to do anything inappropriate.

Is he stupid? I don't even trust myself not to do something inappropriate.

I eye the blond man's bottle of sake. I could probably use some of that right now.

No. Baaaaad idea.

I catch Aya following the line of my vision to the sake and quickly turn away.

“The water's nice,” I announce, for lack of anything more inspired to discuss. Aya nods in agreement, but doesn't answer.

I look around in an attempt to avoid staring at Aya. For all that I was unimpressed by our room, the onsen's not half bad. The water is a nice chalky turquoise and isn't uncomfortably hot.  In fact it makes the air, which I had found oppressively humid before getting into the pool, almost feel pleasantly cool in comparison. We're surrounded by stone, and green, and the cicadas are almost deafening. It's all very picturesque and resort-like. I'd be digging it in a big way if my nerves weren't strung tighter than piano wire by Aya's proximity.

I watch a dragonfly dip into the water and then fly past Aya's head.

I don't mean to look at Aya.

Aya, who I'd assumed in the return to silence would have gone back to snoozing or meditating or doing whatever it was he'd been doing when I intruded.

Aya's eyes have not slipped closed again like I'd expected.

No.

They are in fact trained on me.

What…. 

His face isn't giving anything away. He's just blankly watching me.

And now that I've caught on, he doesn't stop.

So I stare back.

The water temperature suddenly feels a little warmer than it did a moment ago.

“I haven't been to one of these things in a long time,” I catch myself saying, as per usual, trying to counter awkwardness with utterly meaningless talk. “We could do this any time, you know. Back in Tokyo. We should take Ken and Omi.”

Aya nods. Shrugs. Stares.

My eyes nervously dart back to the coveted sake bottle. Its owner is staring at us almost as much as we're staring at each other. His gaze narrows as he catches my glance in his direction. Apparently out of nowhere he produces a set of headphones and a financial magazine and makes a show of blocking out our existence.

“The ones near Tokyo will be more crowded,” Aya finally comments.

Blondie has cranked his music up so loud it's spilling out of his earphones. It sounds like…Italian…rap?

Huh. That's a new one for me.

“And yet, probably quieter,” I say, rolling my eyes at our anti-social companion.

Aya cracks a smile and then abruptly looks away for a moment. When he looks back his expression has returned to enigmatic.

He's not just staring at my face now though. His eyes are wandering….

That cannot possibly mean what I want to interpret that meaning.

…Can it?

Nah.

I shift somewhat uncomfortably. I'm no stranger to being watched. It's a frequent game I play with random people at the bars I go to. But Aya is not someone random, and his stare is about three hundred times more intense than your average barfly's. What's more, past experience reminds me that Aya usually reserves such acute attention for people he wants to kill. Fortunately I can say with (more or less) confidence that's not on his current itinerary. But it does lend a creepy vibe to the whole scenario.

I splash him, because so long as he's looking at me weird like that I might as well give him a reason to.

He looks surprised for a moment, and then turns slowly to gauge the reaction of the man sitting across the spring.

Watery blue eyes are angrily peering over the edge of a now water-stained magazine. He mouths something at us but I can't make out what he's saying. I'm not sure it was in Japanese.

Aya discretely closes a little of the gap I'd left between us. “You're disturbing the other patron,” he states flatly.

I almost fail to answer him I'm so taken aback by the encroachment. Does he realize just what an effort I made to give him space there? Does he have any clue at all how much he's affecting me?

I give him a careful scrutinizing glance.

He can't not know. He's not stupid. Or oblivious.

…He did that on purpose.

Well, damn.

“That's certainly…an injustice…I'll lose sleep over….” The sarcasm of my reply loses all of its bite as I'm far too distracted by Aya now to spare our voyeur a second thought.

“I don't believe you're in the habit of losing sleep over anything,” Aya challenges smugly.

In another place and time, that sentence might have cut deep.

In this circumstance…

…I think that was Aya's version of…flirting.

Oh.

My.

God.

I lean back a little, as if in the added distance I might gain some new perspective I was failing to see of him. Aya's gaze follows the arc of my movement.

“Oh,” I grin lazily at him, “there are lots of things that outrank sleep in my book.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't take the bait.

I pretend not to care and indifferently glance up at the sky. It's rapidly darkening. When I look down again Aya is trailing his fingers in the water. The action might appear casual to an onlooker, but I know for Aya, it's downright fidgety.

“I…think I might enjoy this more if we came back later,” he finally declares quietly, for once not looking at me.

“Yeah?” I say, feeling my hopes rising dangerously. That could mean lots of things, I remind myself. He really might be tired. Maybe the other guy here actually bothers him….maybe I bother him. Maybe it finally dawned on him that lounging around in front of me in his birthday suit was only asking for trouble of the very most painfully awkward kind. “It was your idea to come here right away, you know.”

He waits for our eyes to meet again before replying. “I changed my mind.”

Maybe I'm just reading too much into things, but I get the impression that he's not talking about the onsen.

“Oh?” I say, giving him what I hope he can interpret as a meaningful look.

He nods and I can't really tell what he's agreeing with.

`Tired?” I ask, trying to think of what other motivations he might have for wanting to leave, which don't cater to the self-indulgent fantasy scenario that I'm trying really hard to ignore.

“Not at all,” he says tonelessly. “Are you?”

I shake my head. “Feeling better.”

“Good.” He says.

I'm still searching for another question to ask him when my train of thought is brought to a screeching derailment by the sensation of something touching my leg. For a moment there I catch myself wondering if one of the lizards I'd seen basking around the edge of the pool fell in. Or maybe someone dropped a really big fish into the onsen as a joke. Stupid thoughts, I know, but it's somewhat startling to find unseen things brushing against your thigh in what ought to be a (not quite) classy spa. I am still caught up in hoping that I'm not sitting in a surprise cesspool of eels when common sense kicks in and I realize that what I'm feeling isn't a slimy underwater creature. No, not at all. What I'm feeling is a hand on my leg.

I do a double take to make sure that blondie is still sitting out of touching range. He is not only far away but both of his hands are quite visibly clenching his ruined magazine. I'm pretty sure that isn't my hand, which only leaves…holy shit.

My mouth may or may not have just dropped open in shock right there. I'd like to think I kept myself a little more composed than that, but it'd be a generous assumption.

I turn to look at Aya and he is unsurprisingly staring right back. I remain still for a few moments before slowly placing my hand over the one touching me, which I can only conclude belongs to him. It doesn't draw away.

The water now seems uncomfortably hot. It's making me a little dizzy as I silently return Aya's gaze. Don't these places make people faint sometimes? Aya was smart to put the towel on his head. It's supposed to help.

But then, Aya is smart. Aya's really smart, definitely smarter than me. What does he think he's doing?!

“You don't by any chance have an identical twin do you?” I only half joke. “With a completely different personality? Who you might have switched places with when you disappeared yesterday?”

Aya winces.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that that was completely and utterly the wrong thing to say.

The pressure on my leg suddenly turns mildly sharp. It only lasts a second though.

“No,” he says through clenched teeth. “No…identical…siblings.”

That answer was loaded. I blink as my mind processes the implications. I look at him blankly, hoping he'll elaborate but not expecting it in the least. I sure don't deserve elaboration after a tact faux pas like that one.

Something cracks in the newly hardened edge of his expression. He suddenly looks worn down, like he was the one recovering from a hangover, not me.

“Just a sister,” he mumbles under his breath. “Who you're not allowed to date. Ever.”

For maybe a full minute I'm at a loss for words. I just said something totally insensitive and idiotic to him. And he rewarded me by tossing me another scrap of his past. Only replace `scrap' with `big essential keystone,” because I get the feeling that he just dropped some major insight.

…He still hasn't taken his hand away. I slide my fingers between his so that they're intertwined. And he lets me. Holy shit. Did I say that already? We're steadily careening farther away from anything you could brush off as `amiable coworker fraternization.'

“I'm sure she's lovely,” I say seriously, “but she's not the Fujimiya I'm interested in,”

“I know,” he says, staring at the water.

“…And?” I press.

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out and he shuts it again. I feel him fidget as his eyes land on me, dart to the voyeur, stare off at nothing in particular, fall on me again. He sighs heavily. “The other Fujimiya might be a little more flexible,” he all but mumbles.

I can feel a grin breaking out across my face like a cloud sliding off the sun.

“Flexibility is a quality I have a high appreciation for,” I declare with a nudge.

Aya scowls. His eyes resettle on the sake connoisseur. I suddenly notice that the intrusive music has lost its volume. The magazine is being held in an unconvincingly shield-like stance.

“Did you want to go and…um, talk? Back in the room?” My voice is unnaturally loud. I'm a little too aware of the way the blood seems to be hammering through my veins. I have to talk over the internal noise.

Aya nods again, squeezes my fingers before slipping his hand away, and is out of the water even quicker than I am. I can't be bothered to find my towel, let alone dry off. The thin fabric of the yukata plasters against my skin as I throw it on still sopping wet. Aya does the same.

I have to say, I'm rather impressed with how calmly I manage to walk back to our room. We don't even look at each other. We might be mistaken for totally normal people if we weren't so sketchily drenched. The door even manages to get shut and locked before I find myself being ground against it.

Well, that's interesting. I had rather been counting on me being the one grinding him into the door.

I am so not complaining.

And…shit, we might as well already be naked again for all the good wet cotton does for modesty. I can feel. Every. Inch. Of. Him.

And…shit, I'll probably sound like a complete tool for saying something so cliché, but he feels fucking perfect.

I think I have a right to say that though. I've felt more people than I can admit in good conscience. And all any of them ever feel like is not Asuka.

For some reason it never occurs to me to compare him to Asuka. Aya feels like Aya. I already knew what he felt like. We've touched plenty of times without even thinking about it. He's familiar. But this is the first time the contact has been deliberate and desired and goddamn does it make a difference. My hands can't move fast enough and I can't seem to touch enough of him.

Aya seems in agreement on that, the way he has one hand tangled (almost painfully) in my hair while the other one awkwardly struggles in an attempt to unknot the sash of my yukata. He's not making very efficient progress on that task, as he's simultaneously rubbing against me and doing an impressive job at ramming his tongue down my throat (something which I can't help bemusedly remembering he found very objectionable when I did it to him but a few days ago….)

The doorknob starts trying to re-align my spine and I decide that nice as this is, it would be a whole lot   better on the futon. I shove him partially off of me, just enough to steer him backwards. He complies fluidly, but our attention is too divided by each other to properly watch where we're going and I manage to trip over the table, sending it quietly skidding atop the tatami. Instead of trying to regain my balance I just yank Aya down with me.

Should have lost the yukata first. Now my bed is wet too….

I really can't seem to manage to care.

Nonetheless I pry myself off of Aya and rapidly strip to minimize the damage. Aya remain s frozen a moment, taking in my actions. And then continues to just lie there, taking in me.

It's kind of a weird feeling.

“You're getting my bed wet,” I say, hoping he'll take the hint.

“The room came with two.” Aya smiles subtly and continues to refrain from moving.

“I don't care about the bed,” I bluntly clarify, “I care about you, still being dressed. We need to fix that.”

“Oh? Do we?” Aya glances down at himself, and manages to pull an excellent imitation of unconcerned composure. “I seem to recall you being tired. Maybe we should go to bed early after all….”

He picked a hell of a time to reveal he actually has a sense of humor.

I answer him by removing his yukata for him.

“You,” I announce between soggy yanks, “are..a real…pain.” I somehow manage to retain the presence of mind to toss the unwanted garment so that it lands on the table and won't soak the floor mats. “Ya know that?”

“Hn,” he snorts, pulling me down so that we're thoroughly entangled again. He experimentally tilts his hips up, causing both of our breaths to catch a little as our skin makes contact. “Takes one to know one.”

“No kidding,” I agree, grinning again. “Guess we're a good match then.”

The reaction is instantaneous. Aya freezes, stiffens, almost starts to pull away.

I silently curse myself. How could I be so stupid? Aya's guard being down isn't something I can ever take for granted, no matter how at ease he seems, how much it looks like we're on the same page. It's a fragile balance that can be upset by a hair trigger. And I'm chronically self-sabotaging. Apparently.

I close my hand around his wrist with almost bruising force and lean forward to kiss him hungrily. My eyes end up shutting without my intention--I have to admit I'm afraid to witness the expression on his face if he shoves me off again.

He doesn't. Although he doesn't react at first either. For a few moments it's like kissing a catatonic person (not that I'm speaking from actual experience, thanks for the vote of confidence there.)  Just as I'm starting to get worried and consider breaking off, I feel the tension slowly begin to ebb out of him. He tentatively brushes his tongue along the inside of my bottom lip and I drop my hold on his wrist. He grabs me back again and guides my hand so that it's resting on his side.

I open my eyes to take in Aya. He's back to that intense stare of his, although I can pick up an underlying current of nervousness which hadn't been as visible before I went and opened my idiotic mouth. I pull away, and he tenses again, probably assuming that I've changed my mind or something equally unlikely and pessimistic.

I have absolutely no such intentions. I have in fact a pretty decent idea of how I can start erasing his doubts about whether or not this was a good idea.

I sit up and shift backwards so that I'm straddling his legs. Aya starts to push himself up on an elbow and I stop him with a hand placed on his chest. He stills but doesn't drop all of the way back again. He's apparently interested in watching what I'm about to do.

I hesitate uncharacteristically. What I'm `about to do' isn't something I've actually done before. At least, it isn't something I'm aware of having done before. As I so classily demonstrated last night, I've probably done lots of things I don't actually remember doing. The knowledge that Aya hasn't done any of this, and I can't even give him a simple yes or no in response for my own repertoire makes me feel mildly guilty. Well, not too guilty. Just a twinge. He already knew I was like that, he knew what he was getting into….

…Probably why he keeps balking.

I shove those mood-killing thoughts aside and refocus my attention on what's in front of me. Which happens to be a goddamn daydream come true. Aya. Is under me. Naked and pliant.

I can't help occasionally fighting the worrisome ideas that maybe I'm actually dead or having my head screwed by Schwarz. Doesn't seem likely but…. This hadn't seemed all that likely either.

I trail my hand lightly down the plane of his abdomen. Aya shifts into my touch and it's all I can do to stop myself from jumping back on top of him. My hand closes around his length and I give it a slow stroke. There's an audible hitch in Aya's breathing but aside from that he remains silent.

…For about five seconds. He jumps slightly and lets out a muffled cry of surprise as I duck down with no warning and take him into my mouth. I'm afraid if I go slowly I'll over think what I'm doing and screw up.

Which apparently hasn't been an issue yet because Aya's breathing has turned noticeably heavier and he hasn't wasted any time at all in fisting his hands back in my hair. I have to brace myself to keep from getting choked by an urgent thrust of Aya's hips. 

It takes me a few moments to settle into a decent pace, but once I've adjusted the actions come pretty easily. I have plenty of experience to know what feels good, and Aya is being (surprisingly?) responsive. I don't really know what I was expecting—I hadn't actually let myself expect anything, honestly, it seemed like a formula to set myself up for disappointment. But if I hadn't been too cynical to let myself theorize over how Aya might respond in bed, I probably would have guessed a bit more of his stoicism to carry over.

Well. He is in fact trying to be stoic. It's just not working out so well for him.

(What can I say; I have a natural finesse for this sort of thing.)

I let my hand wander along the inside of Aya's thigh while I slowly work my tongue up the underside of his cock, briefly teasing his balls before moving on to touch more of his leg. I'm rewarded with an undeniable moan.

I'd be grinning if my mouth wasn't thoroughly occupied.

He doesn't stop me either when I experimentally run my finger along the crack of his ass. I don't try to go inside; I'm just testing his boundaries a little. I'm not even going to take for granted that this is going to get any further than where we are right now. Although the chances it will are looking promising, as Aya moves his legs to give me more access. Wow. I can't say I expected him to be okay with that.

The thought alone of Aya not just being okay with but actually wanting me in that way makes me so hard I can barely restrain myself from reaching down to touch myself in tandem with the attention I'm lavishing on him. I doubt I'd last two minutes if I did. I start moving faster and take him deeper into my throat, sliding my tongue across his slit as I pull away. The grip in my hair tightens painfully and the sporadic thrusting of his hips picks up urgency. His breathing has gone all ragged and I glance up, expecting to catch him with his head tilted back or his eyes shut.

No. I guess I shouldn't be surprised when I catch his gaze still very intensely focused on me, taking in every single thing I'm doing to him. His face is flushed and his eyes are dilated but his attention is focused. It throws me a bit, and I pause without meaning to, caught again in our futilely repetitive staring match.

“Augh—Yohji—”

Aya's voice is desperate and accompanied with a rather hard shove to my head.

Yeah, he just called out my name. Desperately. I can literally die a happy man now.

A maddeningly unsatisfied man, but happy.

I snap myself back into focus and return to avidly sucking on Aya's cock. Aya responds with several badly stifled indeterminate noises and a death grip on my head. It doesn't last long however, as before I'm really expecting it I find myself struggling not to gag as I'm nearly choked by a sudden flood of bitterly warm liquid. I stifle a cough; try to force myself to swallow but my instincts are against me. It takes a moment for me to succeed, and there's pretty much nothing smooth about it whatsoever.

Not one of my most shining moments in the bedroom, there. I guess `natural talent' only carries you so far. Here's hoping that Aya gives me the chance to refine some practice on that.

I awkwardly wipe my arm against my mouth as my eyes cautiously travel up his body which is now limply sprawled back against the futon. I linger for a moment, watching the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing. I'm mildly worried that when I meet his eyes he's going to tell me I sucked. In the bad way. I'm really not used to feeling like a novice in this sort of situation.

I slowly pull myself up, allowing my body to drag against his. He shifts back and there's suddenly a hand digging into my shoulder and I don't even get a chance to read his expression because his face is right up in mine.  The hand not on my shoulder is apparently busy too, as I feel it slide between us and latch onto somewhere pretty sensitive. I try to say “woah” but it doesn't come out right because my lip is currently caught between Aya's teeth. 

It takes a lot of willpower to still Aya's hand, and I'm only rewarded with a frustrated grunt.

“Hang on,” I pant.

Aya smirks and it's not necessary at all for him to voice his thoughts. Although unsaid, the sarcastic retort hangs almost tangibly between us.

I extract myself from his grip and clumsily scramble back to our luggage, rummaging around in my bathroom kit for a rather essential item or two. When I locate what I'm looking for I go back to Aya and press them into his hand. It seems like a rather good idea to leave the ball in his court right here. If I want even a shred of a chance at doing this again, anyway.

Aya looks down at the condom and lube with a slightly baffled expression. I don't think he's questioning my intentions; more the fact that they've been deflected to him. But then, I'm really not sure.

He shoves them back at me.

“No?” I ask, feeling my confidence slip a little.

“No.” He says.

Damn.

His brow furrows and he shakes his head slightly. “No,” he corrects. “I mean I meant no to the `no'.”

He backs up a little and looks at me impatiently. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“Um,” I say. Again, about as smooth as a hedgehog in a gravel pit. “You sure? We can do it however you want. I'm okay with anything. I just want—”

“Yohji.” He cuts me off. “I spent all day yesterday making decisions. I don't want to have to make any more right now. Just do it.” He grabs the condom back from me and tears off the wrapper.  He pauses to look at it before carefully rolling it onto my cock. Goddamn that's hot.

“Okay,” I say with what I'm pretty sure must be a really goofy looking grin plastered across my face. And yet I still find myself pausing.

“You're really sure?” I repeat.

I'm not sure why my brain is having such a hard time processing this. Probably the fact that I honestly thought I'd see Hell freeze over before I could even pretend that Aya would give me a shot with him.

He passes his hand across his eyes and sighs wearily. “If you've changed your mind, fine.” He says, voice laced with a hint of irritation. “We can forget it. But if you keep trying to change my mind, I swear to god I'll hit you.” He looks at me earnestly, adding, “In the face. Ken-style.”

“That won't be necessary.”

“Good,” he says with an unconvincing scowl. “Because you're not getting an engraved invitation. They're too expensive.”

I lean forward to kiss him again before stopping to unscrew the lube and squeeze a generous amount of it onto my fingers. “Takes too long, too,” I add with a wink. He starts to roll his eyes at me but they suddenly scrunch shut as one of my fingers starts to slide inside of him. 

I'm tempted to ask him if he's okay, but catch myself, realizing that the excessive concern is more likely to irritate him than anything else. I'm pretty sure he'll let me know quite vocally if he actually wants me to stop.  I can't help it though. I want to get the chance to do this again. And hopefully several more agains. If I fuck it up this'll probably be a one-time deal.

I really really really don't want this to be a one-time deal.

I'm out of practice, caring what the other person thinks. It's kind of brutal on the nerves.

I haven't got any memorable experience to go by, but I can only guess that what I'm doing probably doesn't feel exceptionally good just yet. I hope to temper any discomfort I'm causing with lots of simultaneous touching. My fingers graze just about every inch of him within reach. I can feel him getting hard again as I stroke.

His eyes are still shut in a fairly concentrated stance. One finally cracks open and looks at me calculatingly. I take it as permission to step things up.

I hesitate for a moment, not automatically sure how to proceed. Should I make him turn over? Would it be too awkward if he stayed on his back? Damned if I know. I'd like to be able to keep watching his face, but I suspect that it would be easier on him the other way round. I default to what I think will work better for him and guide him onto his knees.

Well then, I guess this really is it.

I rub against him without penetrating, and Aya pushes back, my cock slipping maddeningly against his skin.  I just lean forward for a moment, pressing my forehead to his shoulder blade, and wrap my arms around him. Ever since that night when he drunkenly fell asleep in my bed I've had an aching desire to do this. I think I might have always wanted to, I just didn't notice until then. Nonetheless, that was certainly the turning point upon which my very happiness became hinged on this moment.

Goddamn, I'm a lucky bastard.

Aya goes very still. He's also very warm, which should be rather obvious, but for some reason he's never looked to me like he should be. I guess it's the pallor. It's not that I saw him as cold (contrary to what he might think.) Aya's always seemed to have a sort of luminescence. But it always struck me as heatless. Like a lightening bug, maybe.

Okay, my mind is going some weird places now. Probably the lack of blood circulating up there due to it being allocated elsewhere. Sure sign I should get things moving.

I slowly pull back and position myself. I run my hand across the small of his back before bracing myself against him and pushing forward. His body immediately locks with tension.  I stop instinctively, worried that I've hurt him. My caution is rewarded with fingers digging sharply into my thigh and Aya forcing me to move via slamming his body back against mine.

Holy mother fucking hell.

Any shred of discipline I'd held onto for pacing is shattered in an instant. I'd been operating on a rather impressive dose of self-control up until this point. The knowledge that my bed-partner has the potential to be both flighty and lethal probably went a long way towards keeping my libido in check.  But I was already close to my limit and this is beyond a stimulus overload.

I forgot what it felt like to actually feel something for the person I was sleeping with. I thought I knew, but the real experience apparently hazed over in memory. It was more of a nice idea than something I could still emotionally connect with.

Right now I feel connected on a level that honestly scares me a little. My fingers are suddenly digging into him nearly as hard as he'd been gripping me a second ago. My eyes slide shut, but only for a moment. My hips are moving whether I want them to or not. My brain isn't really managing to function beyond registering just how fucking amazing this feels and desperately urging for more contact.

Aya's head is bent down and his knuckles are white, his hands clamped onto the mattress. That's unfortunately the only telling thing I can see of him. I reach around and stroke him as I move.

“Oh my god,” I find myself babbling. “Aya, I—”

—Don't even know what I was about to say there. As I've already stated, my mind isn't really firing with all cylinders just now.

It's over way too fast. I'm hit with a moment of mind-numbing intensity before all but collapsing on top of him. His hand closes around the one I'm gripping him with and Aya jerks into it a few times before following me over the edge.

I pull out and he turns onto his back. I can't help noticing that his face has more color in it than I've probably ever seen before. I also notice (with relief) that he isn't shoving me off of him. My dominantly cynical side rather expected that he would.

I try to think of something meaningful, or if not that, at least witty to say.

My mind is drawing an unprecedented blank of staggering proportions.

“Okay?” I can't help asking.

He shrugs.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I look him over, trying to get a read, any sort of reaction to how he took what we did. He seems less tense than he had maybe an hour ago, he's not holding his shoulders quite so stiffly, but that's about the most obvious difference. I think something might have changed slightly in his face as well, but I can't quite pin down what it might be. I can't tell if the change is a good one. His bangs are sweatily stuck to his forehead and I reach to brush them aside where they're obscuring his eyes. A few days ago he wouldn't have tolerated that.

“We should probably do that again,” he answers, a complete deadpan. “When I have a point of comparison, I'll answer your question.”

“Oh fuck, yes.”

I think I must still be grinning like an idiot when I finally manage to fall asleep, a whole hour later.