Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ What you want ❯ Chapter 1

This club -- it just wasn't doing it for him. Yoji stood at the bar, dragging on another cigarette and sipping distractedly at only his second drink of the night. He stared out at the dance floor, but no longer with intent, having decided he wasn't going to find anything he wanted here. It was a disturbing thing to have to admit to himself. He slammed back the rest of his whiskey, nodded grimly to the bartender, and strode toward the door.

 

It wasn't quite 1:00 yet; Aya might still be up.

 

Just thinking of the man's name set Yoji's emotions swirling, although he refused, as always, to think about it. Aya was his friend, and he wanted to talk to him -- it wasn't the whole truth and he knew it, but it was true enough.

 

Traffic hadn't thinned out yet, so Yoji had plenty of time to continue skirting the issue as he drove home. Aya definitely might still be up reading. He sometimes read quite late into the night, and he wasn't working in the morning. And if he were already in bed, Yoji decided, he would wake him up anyway. Yoji didn't like to push that particular angle because Aya could have a wicked temper, but he'd gotten away with it in the past, and he really was feeling a little desperate.

 

But when he finally got home -- no Aya. Not reading downstairs, not sleeping in his dark and empty room. Aya rarely went out, and Yoji, already feeling volatile, was thrown into a bit of a tizzy. He decided to wait in the kitchen; otherwise, Aya might sneak past him.

 

What to do with his nervous, rattled, dissatisfied self? He wanted to look casual, so he wouldn't appear to be waiting. Yoji got out a bottle of Jim Beam and a glass and started drinking. It would look like he'd just gotten in and was having a nightcap. No matter if he got drunk, either -- Aya wouldn't think anything of that. And why would Aya think anything about it, anyway? Why on earth would Yoji be waiting up for him?

 

Why, indeed. He gently poked at the edges of this question for some time -- hours, as it turned out. And he eventually found himself nose to nose with something he'd been avoiding for a long time. He was crazy about Aya.

 

The man was honorable, intelligent, caring, loyal, and, oh God, so painfully, unbelievably hot. Yoji was proud to be Aya's teammate and considered himself lucky to be his friend. But he wanted more and more with each passing day, and keeping it a secret only got harder. And he'd been trying to keep the secret for a variety of reasons. Good reasons, too, they really were. It wouldn't do to risk the dynamics of the team. Wouldn't do to risk the friendship if they broke up. And that was the easy stuff. The ultimate anxiety was, of course, the sharp-edged question of whether Aya would even be interested in anything physical with Yoji in the first place.

 

That was in fact a pretty big if, Yoji figured. Aya was gay, which helped. Aya thought Yoji was straight, but it would be easy enough to clear up that small deception -- Yoji was, say, 96% straight. Surely a man could be forgiven for keeping a measly 4% to himself.

 

But surely Aya had some sense that Yoji was interested. It showed in a million ways, Yoji knew, and Aya noticed things. Yoji frequently took small liberties with Aya that he'd never consider -- or want to consider -- taking with, say, Ken or Omi. Yeesh, especially Omi. Yoji shook his head to clear it of that uncomfortable image.

 

It was easy enough to move his thoughts back to Aya -- given an opportunity, that's pretty much just where they went.

 

He liked cataloguing the small intimacies he'd achieved. He would touch Aya's arm when they were talking, or give him an impromptu backrub, or rest his leg against Aya's under the table. Aya never made any acknowledgment but never moved away, either, and these weren't things he'd permit anyone else to do. Yoji allowed himself to think, to the extent he allowed himself to think about it at all, that this meant Aya liked Yoji's touch. He was sure of that, actually, or he wouldn't keep doing it. But that didn't mean Aya *liked* it -- not in that light-headed, groin-tingling way in which Yoji liked it. Maybe Aya just appreciated a little closeness once in a while.

 

It was 3:30 now, and despite being appreciably more drunk, Yoji was as jittery as he'd been when he sat down. More jittery. Where the hell was Aya? At 1:00, he could have still been out at a bar or club. Aya had goth leanings and occasionally went out to dance to grinding industrial music; Yoji usually avoided that because it kind of made him want to kill something, and, well, he got enough at work.

 

Anyway, it was going on 4 now, which suggested that Aya's activities had progressed beyond dancing. Yoji fumed as he sipped his whiskey, imagining Aya with another man. They might be fucking right now. He pictured the bastard's hands on Aya's silky skin, feeling his taught, hard muscles, his sharp, prominent hip bones, his...

 

Oh, God. This had to stop. Yoji closed his eyes, tried to refocus.

 

Was Aya top or bottom? Yoji had often wondered, but that wasn't really a question you threw out casually. Right now, the need to know burned in his belly like acid, left a sour taste in his mouth, forced him to get up and pace the room. His hands were shaking as he raked his fingers through his hair, pulling it painfully, desperate for control.

 

He turned around and found himself looking directly into Aya's curious eyes. Fuck, fantasize about the devil and in he walks, Yoji thought, angry with himself for missing the sound of the door opening -- some lame-ass excuse for an assassin he was.

 

Aya's expression shaded to worried as he approached Yoji, put his hand on Yoji's shoulder. “What's wrong?” he asked quietly. Tenderly, even.

 

“Oh, you know,” Yoji said, shrugging, straightening himself up and striving for a bit of devil-may-care. It came out strained at best, but that was a good bit better than screaming, or crying, or any combination thereof.

 

Watching Yoji carefully, still looking sympathetic, Aya nodded. “You want to talk?”

 

No. Not anymore.

 

Yoji swallowed hard. Aya needed to step away from him before he turned ugly. He wanted to kick Aya's ass for being with another man. He wanted to grab Aya and roll around on the floor with him. He wanted... No, that wasn't a good place to go.

 

Pulling away from Aya abruptly, Yoji went over to the kitchen table, putting his hand on the bottle, his only real friend at the moment. Clearing his throat, he looked up. “Want a drink?”

 

Aya cocked his head. “If you want. But maybe we should go upstairs instead? And talk?”

 

Aya was wearing a tight, tissue-thin white t-shirt. Its opalescent sheen accented the play of his muscles as he shifted. Also a pair of tight, low-slung black suede pants -- suede, for fuck's sake, soft and supple and clinging to his hips and his thighs and... and they *laced up.*

 

Patient, Aya said, “Yoji, it looks like you really need to talk.”

 

What I really need to do, Yoji thought, is fall on my knees in front of you and unlace those pants with my teeth. “OK,” he said aloud.

 

Yoji started up the steps, leaving Aya to follow -- because he certainly wasn't going to follow Aya. The sight of that ass in those pants, right in front of him -- well, shit, how much was a man supposed to be able to stand?

 

Yoji walked straight into his room and flopped onto the bed, not bothering to turn on the lamp. It didn't do any good -- the moonlight coming in through the window was plenty to set off Aya's pale, pale skin, so visible through that iniquitous shirt...

 

Aya closed the door and walked across the dark room to sit beside Yoji. “Can you tell me about it?” he asked gently.

 

Oh, Aya, please don't touch me, please don't...

 

Aya put his hand on Yoji's shoulder, and Yoji felt something break inside his head.

 

“Where were you?” he growled.

 

Aya stared at him for a moment, then chose to just answer the question. “At a club.”

 

“Not this late.” Yoji's voice sounded hurt and menacing, and he wanted to stop, but he couldn't. “You picked somebody up, didn't you. Or was it the other way around?”

 

There was a pause while Aya stared into Yoji's eyes, searching. “I let him pick me up,” Aya finally answered.

 

“And then you went -- where? Back to his place?”

 

“Yes.”

 

It was all Yoji could do to keep from throwing Aya against the wall. Or perhaps die trying.

 

“What did he look like?”

 

Aya continued to watch him. Yoji knew this was a bizarre situation. Aya never volunteered details of his assignations, and Yoji had never asked; now he was acting like a jealous lover.

 

Finally, Aya nodded. “He was tall. Thin. Long, black hair; nice hair. Good features. Big, expressive eyes.” He paused to think, focus wandering away from Yoji as he remembered. “Sad eyes. Gray and blue and green, like a stormy sea.” Another pause. “Sad, pretty eyes...”

 

“Did he fuck you or did you fuck him?” It came out even harsher than Yoji had intended.

 

Aya stared at him for a good 30 seconds. “He fucked me.”

 

Aya moved sideways, against Yoji's chest, and tilted his face up, lips to Yoji's ear. “Is that what you want to do?” he whispered. “Fuck me?”

 

Suddenly, Aya was straddling Yoji's lap, still whispering in his ear. “Do I make you hard, Yoji?” He sat back slightly, rubbing against Yoji's erection.

 

“You know you do,” Yoji snarled.

 

“Is that what you're so pissed off about? You're angry because you want me?” Cutting through the pounding of his own blood, Yoji heard the dangerous edge to Aya's voice.

 

“No. I'm angry because I can't have you.”

 

Aya stared into his eyes. There was a lot going on with that expression, but Yoji couldn't decode any of it.

 

“Yoji,” Aya said. His voice was low and husky, still dangerous, but now, perhaps, in a different way. “Why can't you have me?” He leaned forward and sucked briefly on Yoji's throat.

 

“You don't want...”

 

“No. Don't even try that. I'm in your God-damned *lap*, Yoji.” He pulled back and gave Yoji a challenging look, a look that probably should have been quelling, except that Yoji had been flirting with death for so long, at this point he thought nothing of kissing him. It also didn't help that Aya continued to grind against Yoji's crotch, or that he was now unbuttoning Yoji's shirt.

 

“I didn't want to risk our friendship...” He broke off to moan softly as Aya slipped the shirt over his shoulders and ran his hands over his chest. “... or the team...”

 

Still looking into Yoji's eyes, Aya shook his head, just once. “Try again.”

 

“I...”

 

Aya leaned forward to kiss him again, unerringly going for the spot just behind Yoji's ear that made his brain shut down. Just as deadly in bed as anywhere else...

 

“Tell me the truth,” Aya murmured, sucking Yoji's earlobe.

 

“I'm...”

 

Aya bit down painfully, though not yet bad painfully.

 

“I'm afraid.”

 

Aya slid his mouth along Yoji's jawline and then up to his lips, drawing out his tongue, then letting it go. “I know,” Aya whispered into his mouth. He reached between them and squeezed Yoji's erection, rocking his own cock against the back of his hand. “Does this help?”

 

Yoji couldn't think. And that was usually just fine -- better, even, because in these situations, what came to him naturally (well, naturally and through years of rigorous training) was very good indeed. But not now. Now he couldn't think *or* move. He wasn't that drunk, either. Must be Aya.

 

Who was looking down at him intently. Aya's eyes were slitted and glazed over with lust, his lips parted, his breathing heavy. His skin was slightly flushed. He looked like he wanted to be fucked.

 

Oh, God, Yoji wanted to fuck him.

 

But still he sat there, caught in the headlights and suddenly certain he was about to be run down by something fast and deadly.

 

Aya smiled, a tender, sexy, wicked smile.

 

“Or maybe you want something else, hmmm?” he purred, grinding again into Yoji's hips. “Maybe what you really want is for me to fuck you...”

 

Aya barely shifted, but suddenly everything changed. His hands on Yoji's shoulders were now commanding, pushing Yoji back against the pillows. His weight pressed forward insistently, and he leaned down for another kiss that he controlled this time, thrusting his tongue into Yoji's mouth, smoothly switching to the role of the aggressor. And Yoji's cock twitched, his body shuddering.

 

Aya whispered in Yoji's ear again, punctuating his words with a gentle prodding of his tongue or a prolonged lick.

 

“Either way -- doesn't matter to me, Yoji. I can give you anything you need.” He bit down painfully on Yoji's throat. “Have you dreamed about it? Do you stroke your cock and pretend it's my hand instead of yours?” He reached between them and grabbed Yoji's erection again, kneading it almost hard enough to hurt. Almost. “Do you imagine touching me like this? Do you want to touch me?” he asked, thrusting.

 

Yoji nodded numbly.

 

“Do it,” Aya hissed, pulling away enough to provide access. “Take my dick out of my pants, Yoji.” His breath caught. “Make me come,” he whispered, his voice deep and ragged. There was no mistaking his command for a request.

 

Yoji had never hesitated in obeying any of Aya's orders, and he wasn't going to start now. His hand shook, but he was able to pop the botton and lower the zipper. He couldn't breathe, though, as he stuck his hand into Aya's pants. Aya gasped, his cock jerking in Yoji's hand, and Yoji bit his own tongue until it bled. No underwear, he dimly registered. That wouldn't have been his first guess.

 

Most of Yoji's mind was occupied with two important deliberations: a) Jesus *Christ*, I have my hand down Aya's pants; and b) Jesus *fucking* Christ, he has a big dick.

 

“Make me come, Yoji.”

 

The repetition finally cleared Yoji's head. He flipped Aya over on his back, head at the foot of the bed, with Yoji crouching over him. He violently jerked Aya's pants down over his hips and started pumping his cock.

 

Aya sighed. “That's...” He closed his eyes and bit his lip. Yoji picked up his pace. Beautiful -- Aya was so damned beautiful. God, he wanted to fuck him. God, he wanted to see him come. He wanted more than he'd ever wanted in his life, more than he could admit to himself or understand. Didn't matter right now, though. This was good.

 

Aya's breath was coming in erratic pants. His back was arched off the bed, his hands digging at the blanket bunched underneath his hips. Yoji shifted so he could use his other hand to play with Aya's balls; he held him in both hands as he came.

 

Yoji glanced back and forth between Aya's spurting cock and his face, wanting to see both. Aya's eyes were open but obviously seeing nothing. He gasped but made no other sound. His sleek, smoothly muscled chest was flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat, one drop rolling down, trailing over his perfectly sculpted abdomen to rest in his crimson shock of pubic hair. He actually looked better than Yoji's fantasies.

 

He watched as Aya lay there, eyes closed as he gasped for breath. He caught Aya's small smile, saw the smile deepen when he opened his eyes and saw Yoji's face; Aya had never looked more dangerous.

 

“So,” Aya purred, looking pointedly at Yoji's crotch. “Are you ready to fuck me yet?”

 

Yoji actually growled as he shucked off his pants and fell forward onto Aya, a layer of semen sliding between them. At some point Aya had managed to get his pants the rest of the way off without Yoji noticing, and now he slid his bare legs up and around Yoji's back, his knees pressed into Yoji's ribs like a jockey riding a horse. Aya nuzzled his neck and jaw, chanting “Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme...”

 

Yoji started to pull away to find the lube, but Aya held him tight. “Don't need it,” he murmured. “I'm fine. Just *do* it, Yoji.”

 

Half a moment's confusion, then Yoji remembered why he been so enraged just minutes ago -- Aya'd already been fucked tonight, and not so long ago. The thought goaded Yoji forward like a whip. He still spared a fraction of a second to wonder if he shouldn't get a condom, but at the moment, Yoji didn't actually give a God-damn if he caught anything anyway. Whatever Aya's deal was, he didn't care about that, either.

 

Aya had been right; there was just enough lube left to ease him in, no resistance at all. Then he was aware of nothing but Aya's heat and muscle, and the crazed thudding of his own heart.

 

Vaguely realizing he hadn't given Aya much time to adjust, he broke his rhythm for a few moments, choked out, “Are you...”

 

“I'm... Yoji... anything you want,” Aya said, his voice mysterious, deeper than usual, broken and gravelly. “You can do anything...”

 

Oh, *God*.

 

Yoji knew it was all over. He redoubled his efforts, trying to get in a few more thrusts before...

 

He came so hard his vision whited out. It tore a scream from his throat, and his heart pounded as if it might explode. He felt like he could die content; at the same time, he wanted to fuck Aya again as soon as he could catch his breath.

 

It wasn't Yoji's best performance by any means. He hadn't lasted five minutes, and he hadn't even noticed when Aya had come again, much less taken steps. Yoji wasn't much bothered -- he felt fantastic. He'd make it up to him next time. And at least he'd managed to fall over to Aya's side instead of just collapsing on top of him in a big smothering heap.

 

Yoji dragged himself up on one elbow and looked at Aya, who was still flat on his back, panting, watching Yoji with another one of those unfathomable expressions on his face. Usually effortlessly glib with his lovers, Yoji had no idea what to say.

 

When this became manifestly obvious, Aya took over. As he was wont to do.

 

“What the hell, Yoji?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

Aya sighed. “Yes, you do.”

 

“Um -- I... well... I wanted you.” Yoji tried to shrug casually but wasn't really positioned for it.

 

“I got that part.”

 

“Well, what, then?”

 

Aya rolled his eyes. “I wouldn't have thought I'd have to play retarded reindeer games with you over something like this. Be a man, for fuck's sake.”

 

Yoji had known sex with Aya would be different, but this wasn't the sort of thing he'd had in mind.

 

Making an irritated “tsk”ing noise, Aya started the interrogation. “Why were you waiting up for me?”

 

Now, how the hell had he realized that? “I wasn't...”

 

Aya's eyes flashed dangerously.

 

“I... wanted to talk to you.”

 

“About what?”

 

“I... I don't know. Not talk to you, I guess. I wanted to see you. I wanted to... be with you.”

 

“Why?”

 

Wow -- leave it to Aya to shovel through all the bullshit in three questions. “I... like you.”

 

“You *like* me? What are we, in middle school? You're hot for me? You just suddenly felt like fucking me tonight because Mercury's in retrograde? What are you doing, Yoji?”

 

“I'm engaging in the worst pillow talk ever. Are you mad at me? You're the one who climbed into my God-damned lap and begged me to fuck you.”

 

Whoops.

 

Amazing the way Aya could broadcast anger without changing his expression in any noticeable way. He took a deep breath. “Yoji, I'm going to give you one more chance to answer me without pissing me off, and if you fuck it up, I'm going to get up and go into my room and you will never, ever be naked with me again.”

 

Yoji blinked -- once. Twice. Three times. He wanted to get to be angry, too, but Aya's threat held a terrible allure, meaning as it did that Aya wanted to have sex with him again -- assuming that Yoji managed to figure out the right answer.

 

Looked like he really was stuck with the truth. It had been a long time since he'd resorted to that sort of thing with a lover.

 

“Aya, I... don't quite understand what's going on with me. You're my best friend. I respect you and I care about you and I like you and I think you're -- God, I don't have words for how beautiful you are. And I want you so much it's all I can think about sometimes. But you've never seemed interested -- I mean, not before tonight -- and I don't want to fuck things up with you.”

 

Aya continued staring at him levelly, waiting for the rest. Demanding it. Pulling it out of him with a tractor beam.

 

“And the very idea of a relationship scares the shit out of me -- assuming you might, you know, potentially be interested in something like that -- and I really have no more idea how to have an actual relationship than how to grow a set of fucking wings. But I'd... God damn son of a whoring bitch, how do you do this to me? I'd try. For you, I'd try.”

 

For the longest several seconds of Yoji's life, Aya chose not to react. He just kept staring at him with those curious purple eyes. Then he nodded, a small, satisfied smile on his face. “OK.”

 

 

 

***********

Oh, here's the disclaimer: The Weiss Kreuz characters are owned by Koyasu Takehito and probably other legal entities of which I am not aware and in which I have no interest. If any of them should choose to take legal action against me for writing this little fluffy piece of smut this disclaimer would mean diddly-boo, but Media Miner asked nicely, so here it is.