[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Walking on Hell
Scribblemoose

Never forget:
We walk on hell
Gazing at flowers

Issa

Chapter 6 - Control

Aya paced through the flames to deliver justice.

Scarcely feeling the heat licking at his skin, all his attention focused on the car, side-on to him as he approached, and the targets it contained. Essett. Four evil souls to take.

The car door opened, and his sister stumbled out.

Not his sister.

Sakura. Sakura?

"Aya... please don't do this anymore."

Aya's heart thudded in his chest. It wasn't her. It was Sakura.

She raised shaking arms and pointed a gun at him. Her eyes were odd: blank, unseeing, tearless, as she clicked the safety off.

He could die here.

No.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Aya-san. But if I don't do this-"

Aya's sharp eyes caught movement from the far side of the car, a flash of orange hair.

Schuldig.

Sakura staggered towards him on leaden limbs. "Hand me the sword, Aya. Please."

As if she had the strength to so much as lift it.

He drew his katana as if to strike: a direct challenge to Schuldig, rather than Sakura. Testing him. The twisted fuck didn't think Aya would kill his puppet.

Would he?

He heard Omi hiss in a breath.

"Aya-san." Sakura pleaded.

Aya stared into Sakura's blank, purple eyes, and waited. He was aware of others: the rest of Weiss and Schwartz watching the little drama play out in front of them like a game.

She didn't so much as flinch.

He threw the sword at her feet.

"Thank God." Her whole body drooped; lax arms lowered the gun, but before Aya had a chance to react she was jerked suddenly upright again. She trembled with the effort of fighting Schuldig's control, but it was pointless.

"Your sister's being held at..."

Aya held himself perfectly still, not breathing, just waiting, hardly able to believe what was happening. Willing her to fight, to speak.

"She's at..."

The gun shook in her fingers.

"What about Aya?" he gasped, unable to control himself.

"Shoot him!" Schuldig's command rang out a second before the gunshot; Sakura screamed, and Aya felt a searing pain in his right arm. He clamped his gloved hand over it, clenched his teeth to keep from yelling out. He'd been shot before, though, and he knew it wasn't bad. It hurt too much for that.

"Go on, take better aim!" Schuldig was urging her on. "You can't be a good assassin if you fuck it up like that."

Aya gasped for breath, hating Schuldig more than ever for the obscenity of his plan, for trying to turn an innocent girl into a killer.

He braced himself for the next shot, looked deep into her blank eyes, willing her to resist. Not daring to make a move for fear of what Schuldig would do to her in retaliation.

Her finger shook on the trigger, about to fire, but Yohji's wire sang silver through the air and snatched it from her trembling fingers. Sakura yelled, sank to her knees, the spell broken. She looked up at Aya with terror and grief in her eyes.

Too many things happened at once: he reached for his sword, about to grab Sakura, but she was already gone. Sirens were blaring. He saw Yohji reluctantly pulling Ken back from a fight; Farfarello and the others bundling into a car.

She was in the car. Sakura was in the car.

Too late.

She was gone, and any hope he had of finding Aya-chan gone with her.

"Aya...." he murmured, not really able to believe that his chance had been snatched away so suddenly.

"Aya-kun." Omi's soft, sad voice.

"Not only did we fuck up the mission," said Yohji, his voice coming from a long, long way away, "but Sakura's been kidnapped. Talk about a screw-up."

"Yeah."

Gone. He'd had a chance, a single, precious chance, and it had gone, whisked away from under him, leaving him cold and empty.

He drew his sword, and held it to the sky, consumed with a desperation to soak the blade in blood and vengeance. Hating himself for the futile, dramatic gesture, but needing it nonetheless.

~I promise, Aya. I won't fail you. I will find you.~

* * * * * * *

Aya lay awake for a long time that night, watching shadows playing on the ceiling of his room, visual echoes of passing cars and streetlights. He could hear the others downstairs, watching an old movie, by the sounds of it. Ken and Yohji were arguing about some actor; Omi's voice cut through their banter from time to time, placating them both. There was even laughter.

It seemed obscene.

Eventually, Aya slept.

He woke suddenly, as if startled by a loud noise, or a threat.

It was quiet; the patterns on the ceiling were static. It was late.

He couldn't breathe.

He scrambled to sitting, gathered his thoughts and methodically forced air in and out of his lungs, wrestled his body back under control, slowed his heartbeat.

But he couldn't stop shaking. He was shaking.

He got out of bed, and managed to pull his robe on. He suddenly didn't want to be alone. He didn't know why. He wasn't him. But he needed. Someone, anyone, a living, breathing person, to remind him of who he was. What he was.

He looked down at his trembling hands as he fumbled to tie his robe. Aware that his breathing was short and shallow, his throat tight.

He stumbled across the room, not even pausing to put on the light, and opened the door to find the landing empty, grey and yellow in the gloomy overhead light. Ken's door was wide open, his bed still made. Of course, Ken hardly ever slept there any more; only when Omi was up late doing homework or mission reports.

Aya let the familiar names and thoughts play in his mind, soothing. For a moment, he started to feel better.

But only for a moment. Omi and Yohji's doors were firmly closed, and there was no sound from either of them. Everyone was asleep and...

... and he was knocking on Yohji's door.

He couldn't help himself.

It took Yohji a while to answer, of course. He must have been asleep. If Aya could have moved, he would have given up, gone back to his room, cursed himself for being such an idiot. But he was frozen to the spot, and even when the door opened he couldn't do anything but stand there, and blink, and breathe.

Yohji looked pissed off at first, but only for a moment. The sleep and anger swiftly faded from his face, to be replaced by alarm. Concern.

"Fuck, Aya, you look like death. Are you okay?"

"I don't think so," Aya heard himself say. "Can I come in?"

"Of course. Shit, of course." Yohji shoved the door open wide, and guided Aya into the room with a strong arm around his shoulders.

* * * * * * *

Aya perched on the edge of Yohji's bed, a blanket draped over his shoulders, a tumbler of whiskey cradled in his hands.

"You haven't got a temperature," said Yohji, quietly. "I thought maybe you were burning up from the wound, but..."

"I had a dream," said Aya.

He took a gulp of the whiskey; it burned his gullet all the way down, liquid fire. He locked stillness into his muscles, hoping Yohji wouldn't see how much he was shaking.

Yohji picked up his cigarettes from the nightstand, and sat in the window. Aya watched as he shook one out, lit it, and took the first long, blissful drag of the nicotine addict. A familiar, comforting ritual.

"Aya-chan?" said Yohji.

Aya nodded. "I dreamed she was trying to kill me." His voice was subdued, very quiet. "We found her, and she hadn't been kidnapped at all. She had joined Schwartz to kill me, because she found out what I'd done."

"That's not surprising, after tonight," said Yohji. "Sakura..."

"I've dreamed it before," Aya confessed. "It was just... worse."

"Oh." Yohji didn't probe any further. He understood the power of dreams.

"Do you still dream? About..."

"Asuka? Oh yes. It's different now, though. I relive it, you know? Sometimes when I wake up I can still feel her, writhing on my back, hear the wire..." Yohji shuddered, leaning hard against the wall behind him, as if to reassure himself that there was only cold brick there. "We're such fuck-ups."

Aya drained his glass, and held it out to be refilled. Yohji complied, topping up his own at the same time.

"It'll be different for you, though," said Yohji. "You'll get Aya-chan back. Your nightmare hasn't come true yet."

Aya-chan seemed almost unreal to Aya at that moment. He tried to make sense of it, to feel it. He had a sister. He had a sister, who was in danger. He had to save her.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"Aya?"

He heard Yohji's voice, he was about to look up when something splashed into his drink, distracted him.

Tears.

He was crying.

"Fuck, Aya..." Yohji was next to him, all of a sudden, sliding an arm around him, trying to comfort his stiff, bony body. "Aya... is there something I can do? Anything? Aya?"

He couldn't answer, couldn't say anything. A sob somehow escaped; he clenched his teeth and pulled the blanket tight around him, as if it were the cold that was making him shiver.

"It's okay," said Yohji. "I'm here. It's okay."

It was the pain and worry in Yohji's eyes that sent him over the edge, in the end. It must be real, then, if Yohji was so concerned. Yes. This wasn't right. Not at all. This was...

Feelings he couldn't name bunched in his chest, tight and hurting. He couldn't fight it any more. Couldn't keep it all inside. It was too much.

Aya let out a low, gut-wrenching scream. A horrific, painful noise. He couldn't stop. He howled, and sobbed, and tried to curl his body up into a ball; his fingers clawed at his hair, and he gasped for breath. His chest hurt, his soul hurt, he wanted to kick and scream and die. Just... die. He wanted to crawl out of his body, out of this bottomless, endless pain, and die.

He heard Yohji's voice, but he wasn't reaching him, no-one could reach him. No-one could understand. He was alone, with a pain so awful, so huge, he couldn't contain it any more. It would consume him, torture him, and then he would die.

"Aya, stop it! For fuck's sake, stop it. Look at me."

Not a sympathetic voice, not the soothing concern he'd shown before. Angry and brutal, like a slap.

He snatched a breath, and blinked up at Yohji though stinging tears.

"That's better. I need you to listen very carefully, Aya." Yohji gripped Aya's jaw in his hand, locked eyes with him. "You're going to be alright. And I will not let you give up on your sister."

Aya looked at him in hurt confusion; his lips moved, but he couldn't speak. He snapped his head away.

"That's what you'll be doing, if you give in to this now. They will have won. We need you sharp, and thinking, and clever. We won't be able to do this without you. She needs you. We need you."

Aya's shattered emotions started to harden into something more familiar, cold and brittle. He scrubbed the tears and snot from his face with the edge of the blanket, and glared at Yohji. "You bastard."

"If I have to be. Don't make me, Aya. Come on. You can do this."

Aya gave a harsh, involuntary sob, the shudder of his shoulders pulling at his wound and making him yelp. Yohji was touching him again, smoothing his hair back from his tearstained face.

"Aya?"

He didn't answer. Couldn't. Instead he rested his forehead on Yohji's shoulder, slipped his arms around Yohji's waist, and let Yohji comfort him. He slowly closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and pulled big, deep breaths of air into his lungs.

"That's better. Let me take care of you."

Such a seductive thought; he could slip away, let go completely, and let Yohji do everything. Make all his decisions, tell him what to do, who to kill, who to save, when to die. So simple.

"Let's get under the covers. You're still shivering."

Yohji was right, he was, but now it really was at least partly from the cold. Aya stood while Yohji pulled back the comforter and crisp, clean linen, and didn't flinch when Yohji tugged at his robe. He loosened off the tie and let the silk fall from his shoulders, landing in a puddle by his feet. Yohji picked it up and tossed it on a nearby chair, and pushed Aya back towards the bed.

He slipped gratefully between the cool cotton sheets, so sleepy now that he couldn't keep his eyes open. He heard Yohji moving about the room, familiar reassuring noises of clinking glasses and cupboard doors opening and closing. Yohji told him he was going to the bathroom, and Aya nodded, nose scrubbing against the pillow, too tired to speak. He'd stopped shaking, at last, apart from the odd shudder, and by the time Yohji came back, he was almost asleep. Yohji climbed into bed and lowered the lights.

The dream came back, vivid and painful as ever, but at least he recognised it this time. He woke himself with a start.

He was lying on his side, Yohji's body warm and reassuring against his back, one arm draped over Aya's waist. Aya curled his own arm around it, hugged it closer.

His head was thick with exhaustion, but he didn't dare go back to sleep. Not yet.

"You okay?"

Yohji's voice was slow and sleepy, his lips brushing against Aya's shoulder.

"Fine. Sorry I woke you."

"'S okay. Wasn't asleep." He cuddled Aya closer, and Aya felt something hard poke at his buttocks.

"Yohji-"

"Sorry. Can't help it. It likes you." Yohji yawned; either he was lying about not having been asleep, or he'd been pretty damned close.

Aya reached down to re-arrange his own stretching cock; the feeling was obviously mutual. It astounded him how ruthless his own body could be. He was drained, exhausted and a blink of an eye from breaking down all over again, and yet all it took was one touch, one idea...

Yohji hadn't moved away.

Aya considered a possibility he'd denied himself for weeks. He was too tired to get up, he couldn't sleep, his life was a wreck. What did it matter that he had sworn, after Neu, that he'd never have sex with Yohji again? What did it matter that it always ended badly? What did it matter that he knew Yohji would be off after some woman as soon as the crisis was over? Even if, for once, it wasn't Yohji's crisis.

Aya ran his tongue over dry lips. It didn't matter at all. None of it mattered. Nothing.

He pressed his ass back into Yohji's groin, his lips curving to a knowing smile at Yohji's responding groan.

"God, Aya..."

Aya let desire wash over him, yet another anaesthetic against the burning anguish inside of him. He felt Yohji's hand sweeping across his stomach, lingering over his hip before reaching around and cupping his hardening sex.

"Oh, God, Aya... please..."

Aya pushed his ass back harder in reply, letting out a gasp as Yohji's stiff cock slipped between his buttocks. They started to rock together, Yohji slowly fucking the valley of his ass while Aya fucked Yohji's hand.

Aya sighed, losing himself in pleasure, surrendering the last shreds of his anxiety, for the moment, at least. He shifted forwards to make it easier, and as he did so Yohji's rhythm faltered, the head of his cock brushing accidentally over Aya's asshole.

Aya hissed at the sharp, unexpected jolt of pleasure, and froze. It took a few heartbeats before he registered that Yohji had stopped too, his cock teasing Aya's entrance, and then it was moving, not trying to penetrate, just flirting, brushing in seductive little circles.

"Feels good," Yohji murmured, wistfully.

Yohji didn't ask. It mattered that he didn't ask.

"If you like," said Aya, almost under his breath.

"Sorry?" Only the surging hope in Yohji's voice giving away that he'd heard him at all.

"You can put it in. If you like."

They were perfectly still, for a moment, and he could feel Yohji's heart thudding against his back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But-" Yohji pulled back slightly, hesitating. "I haven't-"

"If you don't want to-"

"No! Yes, oh, God, yes, I want to..." Yohji scattered kisses over Aya's shoulder, in his hair. "I'm just... I haven't..."

"Neither have I," Aya reminded him.

Yohji gave him a hug, as if he were thanking him, trailed kisses down his spine, and stroked the soft curves of his ass. Lingered there. Dipped his head and touched his tongue to the hollow of Aya's back and then shifted away, pulling Aya over onto his back as he reached for the nightstand drawer. He turned the lights up a little, and shoved foil packets and a fresh tube of lubricant under the pillow. Strawberry flavoured, Aya noticed.

Then he turned and looked at Aya for a moment, beautiful green eyes burning with lust and something that looked deceptively like tenderness. Aya surged up to kiss him, tongues slithering and dancing around each other. He knew he was admitting something to himself, something fierce and dangerous, something he would do better to keep buried deep, deep inside. But he couldn't help it. Not any more.

They kissed for a long time. It hadn't been much of a feature of their previous encounters, even back in the early, comfortable days before Takatori and Neu. But Yohji seemed to be determined to make up for lost time, exploring Aya's lips and teeth and every corner of his mouth, flicking his tongue against the end of Aya's; and all the while his hands moved slowly over Aya's body, until Aya's limbs felt warm and heavy, and his body started to ache.

Yohji slid slowly down his body, leaving a trail of damp kisses down his chest and belly, pausing to nuzzle Aya's cock and balls before gently parting his thighs, and kneeling between them. Aya shivered; it was suddenly chilly without the warmth of Yohji's body covering his, and he felt a little exposed, vulnerable even.

Yohji was looking at him, watching his own fingers as he stroked Aya's cock, and then moved down to tickle his balls. Aya threw his head back and closed his eyes, waiting with tense anticipation for the touch against his ass. But it didn't happen.

Yohji licked him, instead. Folded his legs back carefully to gain better access, and licked him again. Aya's fist flew to his mouth and he squirmed helplessly as Yohji's slick tongue slithered its way right into him.

He'd never felt anything like it.

"Oh, God..."

Yohji paused and raised his head, a smile in his voice. "You like that?"

"Oh, God..."

"Pass me the lube, Aya."

It took a moment for Aya to drag his mind back from the haze of pleasure Yohji had sent him to, and remember where he was. He groped for the tube under the pillow, and passed it to Yohji. Yohji took it from him and caught his wrist, pausing to suck on his fingers, catching his attention.

He flipped the cap on the lube, and stuck out his tongue, squirted a generous amount on the tip, and ducked between Aya's thighs again.

Aya's eyes flew wide as Yohji's tongue pushed inside him again, spreading the cool gel against his sensitive skin, gently stretching and wetting him. He cried out, the idea of what Yohji was doing turning him on even more than how it felt; he could sense Yohji practically purring with amusement and satisfaction at the effect he was having on him.

Finally, Yohji replaced his tongue with a finger, twisting and flicking, deeper than his tongue could hope to reach, and then two fingers. He wasn't taking any chances on Aya not being ready for this, obviously. Three fingers. It felt good, unbelievably good.

It wasn't enough.

"Yohji... now?"

"Shh. I won't hurt you."

"I'm fine. Yohji. Do it."

Yohji slowly drew his fingers out of Aya's body. There was a flush across his cheekbones, and he was breathing hard. His cock looked stiff and eager, and suddenly very big. Yohji reached for a condom, pulled the packet to his teeth to rip it open.

Aya reached out a hand to stop him. Yohji raised an eyebrow.

"Are you safe?" Aya asked.

They looked at each other for a long, steady moment.

"Yes," said Yohji, softly.

Aya took the half-opened condom from his hand, and tossed it away. Pulled Yohji down to kiss him, plunging his tongue into Yohji's mouth without hesitation. He tasted of synthetic strawberry flavouring and the tang of lube that could never quite be covered up, but Aya didn't care. It felt good, it stole his breath and stopped him thinking.

"Promise you'll stop me the second it hurts," said Yohji.

Aya felt like a virgin. Ridiculous, but then the whole night had been unreal.

"Just do it, Kudoh."

Yohji grinned at him, and hitched his legs up over his shoulders.

It wasn't as if Aya didn't know what to expect. It wasn't the act itself that made him chew his lower lip, hold his breath, and squeeze his eyes tight shut.

It was just that there was no going back. It meant far, far too much.

"Aya, look at me."

Reluctantly, Aya opened his eyes, and found Yohji leaning over him, concerned, his hair tickling Aya's face.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Yohji said.

Aya blinked at him. That was so unexpected that he relaxed, despite himself, and in that instant the head of Yohji's cock slipped inside him. Just a little way. Until it felt resistance. Yohji paused, keeping up a constant, aching pressure, not-quite pain; then Aya's body gave way and Yohji slid in to the hilt.

"Shit, that's... big," said Aya.

Yohji smirked at him.

"I didn't mean-" Aya started, but Yohji silenced him with a kiss, deep and hard and triumphant. Kept kissing him until he'd got used to the stiff heat inside of him, and was itching for it to move, his cock hard and leaking between their bellies.

"Ready, lover?" Yohji whispered.

Aya nodded.

Yohji fucked him in slow, careful strokes, his gaze fixed on Aya's face all the while. Aya watched the pleasure and heat and passion build in his eyes, mixed with tenderness and other things Aya was careful not to name.

The pleasure built quickly, the dual stimulation of Yohji's hand stroking his erection and Yohji's cock rubbing against the sweet spot inside him more intense than anything he'd felt before. He didn't fight it; he could tell that Yohji was close too. His pace quickened, hips flexing, his hand tightening around Aya's sex.

Just before he came, Aya realised that Yohji was waiting for him. Biting his lower lip, stopping when the rhythm became too tempting, his shoulders shaking with the effort of controlling his own body for Aya's pleasure. It was that thought that sent Aya over the edge, that and the incredible sensation of being full and lost and out of control... hips surging up, over and over, his cock swelling and spurting over Yohji's hand. Yohji yelled as Aya's ass clenched around him, and thrust deep, pulsing warm, slick life into him.

"Oh fuck, Aya, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

Yohji was trembling in the aftermath, his body still jerking, hips twitching, his eyes open, gazing at Aya as if he were something incredible and unique and wonderful.

Aya dispelled that thought as ridiculous, and tangled his fingers in Yohji's hair, rocking his body to take the last few thrusts.

They panted together for a few moments, before Aya started to become aware of an ache in his thighs, and Yohji's arms finally gave way. He'd meant to say things, afterwards, to make it clear that his was a crazy night, a one off, that it didn't... mean...

Aya was asleep before he could say a word.

* * * * * * *

He awoke to find Yohji watching him. Propped up on one elbow, smoking.

It startled him and irritated him all at once; he coughed.

"Sorry," said Yohji, but he made no move to put out the cigarette.

Aya shifted slowly to sitting, wincing a little as his body protested the movement.

"Stings a bit, eh?" said Yohji.

"No," said Aya, although it did, a little. "I got shot, remember?"

"Hm," said Yohji, a smug grin flashing across his face for an instant. "You okay? Really?"

The world settled into place around Aya in all its morbid familiarity; the knot of anxiety in his belly, the desperation. The cold fear that Aya-chan might be dead.

And with it, the absolute determination that Schwartz were not going to win. He'd find her, save her, and kill them all.

"I'm fine," he said.

* * * * * * *

Aya hovered outside the door to the shop, searching for his work apron. It was dark already, the day had gone by quickly. Well, he'd slept through most of it; it had been nearly midday by the time they'd woken, and Yohji had kept him in bed for a while after that.

He swallowed down a surge of guilt at the memory of that stolen pleasure, and concentrated on hunting for his apron.

"There's probably no point in opening the store at the moment," Omi was saying.

"The girls aren't coming around," came Yohji's voice, mournfully.

Aya stiffened, forced himself not to think. He found his apron at last, and busied himself pulling it on.

"Why?" said Ken, teasing. "Are you lonely, Yohji?"

"Baka!" Yohji snapped, and might have said more, if they hadn't been distracted by a sudden screech of tyres outside the shop.

Aya followed them outside just in time to see Birman collapse on the pavement. Ken and Omi were at her side, Yohji on his way.

"You're hurt!" Omi ran expert eyes over her wounds. "We have to get you treated."

Birman flinched, and tried to get up. "Don't worry, I'm okay."

"But-"

She ignored him, looking for Aya instead. "Listen, Aya. We found your sister."

He stared back at her, unable for a moment to believe his ears. Not daring to believe his ears.

Yohji was already running for the Seven.

* * * * * * *

Aya sat by his bed, stroking Aya-chan's hair back from her face.

He felt numb, still unable to take it in. To touch her again, to see her, to feel her pulse strong under his fingers...

"I don't get it," said Ken. "Why did they leave her behind?"

It had puzzled all of them. Finding Aya bundled in a cupboard, of all places, as if she'd been hidden... for a moment Aya had thought she was dead, or not Aya-chan at all, but Sakura...

Sakura.

"Oh no," he murmured.

It wasn't over, yet.

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