Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Walking on Hell ❯ Interlude - Meditation 2 ( Chapter 5 )

Walking on Hell
Scribblemoose

Never forget:
We walk on hell
Gazing at flowers

Issa

Interlude: Meditation 2

He should have stayed. He should never have left Yohji there in the middle of the ruined Koneko, with the small bag that contained what few possessions he had bothered to salvage. Hurt, and angry.

There was supposed to be a happy ever after. He knew Yohji had expected it. He'd almost dared anticipate it himself, in the heady rush of their attack on Takatori.

Takatori Reijii was dead. He'd killed him. He'd thrust his sword in the man's evil, indulged body and twisted his organs to pulp.

Weiß was gone.

And nothing had changed.

He still visited Aya-chan every day, he still worked for her everyday, he still prayed to the gods who hated him that one day she would wake up.

He should have been free. It should have ended.

It would never end.

He should have stayed.

Aya cast a look of revulsion at the slim body stretched out next to him, asleep.

The boy didn't deserve revulsion. He was gorgeous: long-limbed, narrow-waisted, lightly-muscled. Longish dusky blonde hair fell across his face, green eyes hooded in sleep.

So obvious. So sad. So stupid.

Aya stared at the ceiling, and hated himself.

The body next to him stirred; a sleepy murmur came from the soft lips that had wrapped around Aya's cock the night before, and given him a release he'd thought never to feel again.

Aya was about to tell him to go. He wanted to do it nicely. It wasn't the boy's fault, after all, and he'd been kind when Aya didn't deserve kindness. But Aya wasn't good at nicely. He knew it would come out wrong, as an insult, that he'd turn the warm comfort of the previous night into something cheap and sordid.

"Hey."

The soft voice, nothing like Yohji's, broke into his thoughts and startled him.

"Hn."

"What did you say your name was?"

A warm finger traced circles around the scar on Aya's breastbone. The one that hadn't been anything to do with killing or death, the one that came from driving his father's car too fast and hitting a tree.

"Aya," he said, and it felt like a betrayal, giving Yohji's gift of name to a stranger.

If the boy was surprised that he had a girl's name, he didn't show it. "I'm Kazuki."

"Oh."

"This is always the hard part, eh? The waking up and wondering who you were fucking last night?"

He said it lightly, as if it were just for conversation, but Aya picked up an undercurrent of sadness and worry, maybe embarrassment.

"I don't know," he said. "I haven't done this before."

"You mean-" Kazuki's eyes were wide with surprise. "You're not a virgin?"

Aya felt a flush spread up his cheeks. "No, of course not. I just don't usually get picked up in bars."

In fact it had been the other way around. He hadn't been the passive victim of Kazuki's desire. He'd seen the man sitting at a table by himself, felt a shock of recognition, and even once he'd convinced himself it wasn't Yohji, that he was much younger than Yohji, and not quite as skinny, that his nose was a little snubber and his hair straighter, even then, he had been overwhelmed by a need to be close to the mock-familiarity of this boy who was nearly Yohji.

Aya had done the picking up.

But Kazuki didn't correct him. He just smiled, a dazzling, genuine version of Yohji's mocking grin, and rested his palm on Aya's stomach. The muscles there were tight and well developed now from working on the construction site; well-defined ridges of flesh that Aya knew Yohji would love. Kazuki had certainly seemed to appreciate them last night, tracing each perfect line with his pointy little tongue.

The memory twitched Aya's cock awake, undeterred by such details as morality and fairness. Kazuki was beautiful, partly because he looked a little like Yohji, and Yohji was beautiful, but also in his own right. His eyes looked older than the rest of him, deep and knowing, but without the cast of wretchedness that Aya was so used to seeing in anyone he knew well enough to look that hard at.

"So, do you want me to leave?" Kazuki teased him with those old, deep-seeing eyes, moving his hand lower, under the crisp cotton sheet that covered them both from hipbone to knee, or thereabouts.

Aya hissed at the gentle touch of fingers, the teasing grasp around his sudden erection.

Yes. Yes, I want you to leave. If you don't leave I will use you, and hurt you, and in the end I will leave you, because you're not someone else. You deserve better.

"Hmmm?" Kazuki pressed for an answer, squeezing Aya's cock with perfect grip.

It felt so good. The contact, the comfort, the fact that this boy knew nothing. Nothing.

"How old are you?" he gasped out.

"Eighteen," said Kazuki, his hand frozen for an instant. "Next month."

Aya squeezed his eyes shut. "Then stay."

Kazuki all but purred, and shimmied down the bed to take Aya in his mouth again.

Aya lay there for a moment, waiting for the moment that he was engulfed in sensation so intense that he could forget where it came from. His head was a jumbled noise of thought and guilt, and he wanted nothing more than to escape from the din and feel nothing, to not care any more.

And yet, he did care. He cared what Yohji might be doing, who Yohji might be doing, he cared that Omi had cried when he left, he cared whether Ken was looking after the chibi properly. He even cared that Kazuki had done nothing but give him pleasure from the moment Aya brought him back to his tiny apartment the night before, and had never once asked for anything in return. And Aya hadn't offered it.

It wasn't fair. The boy had done nothing to deserve Aya's coldness. He wasn't Yohji, after all, with his women and his drinking, and his refusal to face up to the death of his old lover. Kazuki was kind, and generous, and deserved better.

Aya sat up, and pulled Kazuki up with him, threaded his fingers through the strands of burnt-yellow silk. With the tiniest of smiles he leaned forwards and kissed him for the first time.

He tasted sweet, no cigarette smoke, no acrid morning-after alcohol. He kissed Aya back gently, savouring the gentle rub of lips to lips, the careful invasion of tongue to mouth. Aya kept kissing, and lowered Kazuki back onto the bed, resting his head on the soft pillow, spreading his hair out across starched, white linen. He kissed down the graceful arch of neck, tongued the notch of collarbone, zigzagged to lick nipples and snuffle armpits, savouring the musky scent of sweat and man. He slid one hand between Kazuki's knees and parted his thighs, shifted so he knelt between them.

There was more kissing, tender and lingering, as if they were really lovers.

Aya circled his fingers around both their erections, Kazuki's smaller than his own, but just as eager. He slid his hand lazily up and down, caressing silky flesh with silky flesh and careful palm, pausing every now and then to spread precome around, mixing their juices, wondering what it would feel like if Kazuki came like this, whether his come would spurt or dribble, whether it was thick, or thin, if it tasted sweet or bitter, or, like Yohji's usually did, somewhere between.

"You said something about condoms?" he said. "Last night?"

Kazuki reached under the pillow and produced two foil wrappers: condom and lube. Aya took them, pulling Kazuki's hand to his mouth to wetly kiss each finger tip.

He watched Kazuki's face as he reached down between his spread thighs and touched him. He watched the flush rise to the boy's cheekbones as he was penetrated by a single finger, arching into Aya's invasion. He watched the shoulders shake with sudden pleasure when Aya found his prostate and started to rub. He watched the tip of tongue flick over dry lips as Aya added another finger and stretched.

"Ready? Tell me if it hurts."

It mustn't hurt. However else I hurt you, I won't hurt you like this.

Kazuki nodded and opened his eyes, to show that it didn't hurt.

Aya sank his sheathed, slick cock inside of him, inch by inch, and Kazuki didn't so much as flinch. Instead, a bright smile spread across his lips; he wrapped his long legs around Aya's upper back, and when Aya was all the way inside, encased in bliss, he thanked him for it.

"Kazuki..."

"Take me."

Tears started to prick at the back of Aya's eyes, but he didn't care. It felt good. It felt good to hold this boy in his arms and to bury himself inside of him.

It felt good to think of someone different.

This was nothing to do with Yohji, Aya thought as he started to thrust, taking a moment to nip and suck at Kazuki's neck, to nibble up to his ear and tease the tiny hairs that grew there. This was different, and it was the difference that thrilled him, not the sameness.

Kazuki didn't bear the scars of tragedy, or the guilt of killing. He didn't cling to Aya through fear and need. His affection was simple and genuine, uncomplicated. His body was given freely, willingly, completely.

Aya delighted in giving him pleasure, this first time and many others in the months that were to come. Aya loved the smile that lit Kazuki's face at his touch, whether it be a simple kiss, a brush of the hand or a deep thrust of cock into his body, it all made him glow with happiness. And Aya had brought so little happiness into the world, that he relished it, and couldn't stop.

But that came later. The first time Aya took Kazuki, he still couldn't believe he was capable of making anyone happy. He was willing to settle for making the boy feel good.

Aya looked deep into Kazuki's forest green eyes and made love to him with long, measured thrusts, pausing at the end of each one, filling him. He took Kazuki's slender sex in his hand and worked it steadily, sliding firmly up and down, twisting the foreskin up and palming the head at the end of every stroke. Kazuki's pretty face twisted with pleasure; he wiggled his hips up to get every inch of Aya's cock inside him, his shaft throbbed in Aya's hand. It was heaven, simple bliss, to feel that hot young body responding to him, clenching and writhing around him, until Kazuki stared at him, looking almost alarmed for a moment as his orgasm shook him. Then the smile returned, and he relaxed as the first stream of white flew from his body to stripe his chest, and another, and another, until he seemed drenched in the stuff. Aya let himself come then, imagined himself spurting deep inside Kazuki, as if there were no barrier to stop his semen splattering the hot tunnel that was squeezing every last drop out of him.

He opened his eyes, still panting, and trailed shaking fingers through the cooling puddle of come on Kazuki's chest, raised them to his lips, and tasted him for the first time.

He could see Kazuki's generous heart melt at the gesture, could see the heat of lust already returning to his eyes. In a moment of euphoria Aya decided to take the day off work and keep doing this, keep fucking and fucking this beautiful man until it didn't hurt anymore. Until nothing hurt anymore.

Kazuki tasted sweet and clean, like milk.

Nothing like Yohji at all.