III

So, he should've been relieved, right? That's what he'd expected. Relieved that the confrontation was over and he had survived it without a scratch. It hadn't been too painful, not too embarrassing. And he'd made it clear to Yohji he wasn't available for his games. Instead he felt empty...

He sat on his bed, playing with the katana. Waiting for the peace to settle, engulf him, spread. The tension, the wait, was over now -- So where was his longed for peace of mind? Yohji was home, they'd met, they'd talked, and even if he'd been a bit - rougher- than intended, what could Yohji expect? As he had feared he'd obviously thought he had access to Aya's body whenever he wanted, and that was *not* something Aya wanted, because...God, he had smelled his scent again. That rich, spicy scent of Yohji Kudou. Felt his touch, heard the deep humming voice close to his ear. The soft brush of silken hair on his skin. Yohji had touched him, spoken softly to him, held him like a lover... Aya hadn't expected *that*... The row of smiling females passed through his mind again. Yohji's arm so casually around their waists, proof enough Yohji's touch meant nothing, he reminded himself. And even if it did...then what?

Aya let himself fall back on the bed, katana pointing up in the ceiling. He had seemed so hurt, that's what bothered him and either his archive of thoughts to contemplate later was full or they were simply starting to come seeping back because he couldn't get Yohji's hurt out of his mind.

He got up and undressed slowly. Left his clothes in a pile on the naked floor of his room. He hadn't expected that from Yohji...so what *had* he expected from him? Coldness? embarrassment? Not to be touched and called 'baby'. Aya's lips twitched slightly. Not to be asked...what he wanted.

He crawled in under the covers. The house seemed somewhat different tonight. The knowledge he was there, sleeping under the same roof...That was probably it, Aya figured. He wondered if he was awake, if he thought about the...incident, and dismissed the thoughts when he became aware of them.

What had he expected? He thought again seconds later. That Aya would be more than willing to just...drop his pants? Things had been different that time in the basement. Different because...he was dying. This wasn't something Aya just *did*. And he sure as hell didn't want it to happen again. It had been a mistake, a one time event... He had thought Yohji would agree on that. In fact he had feared that Yohji would be nervous that he, Aya, would expect more... he'd been the virgin after all. Virgin, yes -- but not stupid! How could he dare think Aya young and stupid enough to be swayed into one of his little games? How could he have so little respect for him as to think he would fall for some flattering and a gentle touch? He'd even been prepared to explain, cold and calmly, that he was indeed mature enough to see it for what it was, and Yohji didn't have to worry about it! He did just fine, thank you! So why was he left feeling like the bastard in this, when Yohji was the womanizer, the canonical slut of Weiss...?

Of course he'd thought that he might find Aya convenient as well, living in the same house, worth keeping just for that, but he hadn't had to show him all that warmth...wrap his arm around him, say that he'd missed him..- but he supposed that was a part of the Kudou-show. A part of the package, what you got when you let him - in between your thighs.

Aya sighed deeply and rolled over, another sleepless night it seemed. Everything had worked out so well, still it felt so wrong... For the thousand time he cursed that night in the mission room, realized it had thrown him off his careful balance. He didn't need this shit! He really, *really* did not!

He dozed off and fell into a uneasy slumber, disturbed by vivid dreams of himself making love to Yohji's corpse. The dead man looked at him with accusing eyes:

"You love me when I'm dead, don't you Aya?"

He woke up in his usual fashion; drenched with cold sweat, shivering breath...Had to remind himself that Yohji was indeed alive. A breathing, living man, sleeping behind the door down the hall. A pang of longing that he quickly killed. The memory of the feel. What it had felt like after they'd made love, when they were resting together. In that moment it had felt so right, in the afterglow there had been a closeness...or the illusion of it. Probably nothing to dwell upon, he reminded himself again, it was the sex that had done it. Yohji wouldn't think twice about it...

Still he got up, with a considerable bulge in his loose pants, staggered out of the door and down the hall, ended up in the bathroom. With expert movements he pulled down his pants, positioned himself over the toilet and started to stroke himself. He'd done this more times that he could count. It was a necessary evil, nothing more. He'd trained himself to do it without thinking. Take care of it, like he took care of everything else bodily, things that were necessary to survive...eating...sleeping...jerking off.

He hadn't felt real lust since his family was killed. Never basking in fantasies, had never ...wanted someone...since then. There hadn't been room for it. Without thinking it a loss he had sacrificed it along with the rest of who he'd been when he joined Kritiker. Burning hatred had consumed it all and he'd never regretted it. Just mechanically emptied himself when he had to. He never thought when he did it, he just, did - still, wasn't there a pattern that his mind had refused to see? he asked himself, leaning his elbow against the wall, the other hand busy doing the deed. Wasn't it always when Yohji was around, or he'd been close to him, that this urge became almost unbearably strong. Hadn't he even opened his shampoo bottle on several occasions, to let the scent fill the air and make him come faster. And didn't he always have to do it before going to bed when he'd been on missions with Yohji and they'd ended up in the same hide out, or close together in the car. Hadn't it always made him nervous...to be that close. Hadn't the scent of his cologne made him edgy and uneasy? Disturbed him...He'd even said it once or twice hadn't he?

"Yohji, that perfume you're wearing...the target will smell we're here..."

And Yohji pressed against him in small closets and behind tiny corners, waiting for the target to appear. Lean body pressed against him, the feel of that blue coat, his warmth through the leather...

Aya came with a deep sigh, threw his head back and closed his eyes while spilling himself in the white bowl.

I must be crazy, he told himself. "No, just in love," a voice answered. It sounded a bit like Aya-chan. Cheerfully happy and teasing. If so, he thought while tucking his spent member back in...he most definitely had lost his mind.

And if he really was, how dead had he become not to see it?

He went back to his room, that Omi referred to as his cell, with a hard, strange knot in the pit of his stomach. He crawled back in under the covers with a rare urge to scream, or cry, or both...Instead he settled for sleep. Blissful oblivion, even if it had been unusually crowded with horror visions lately.

This particular sleep was no exception: Yohji stood on a stairway, a blue-faced corpse dangled from the railing, still attached to Yohji's wrist, the fine thread caught in the light from the window above him. Shone evil in the darkness.

Yohji leaned casually against the metal of the stairs: "Is it close enough, Aya?" he teased. "Is death close enough for your liking?" But what he really asked was; "Can we fuck?" and Aya knew that in the dream. But instead of running away however he moved closer. Climbed the stairs with katana in hand. Found it somewhat extremely erotic that he was to fuck a man with a corpse attached to him. Twisted and dark.- yes, but exciting never the less.

He woke up sick. Sick to the core --

"My God," he mumbled and got up. Crossed the floor in two steps and hurried down the hall. Back to the bathroom. Cold sweat poured out on his skin, he felt dizzy and sickness flooded his body, but even when he tried he couldn't throw up. He just stood there, shivering and panting, pale face covered in a layer of cold sweat.

Eventually it passed. He slowly drank a glass of water and steadied himself on the wall while aiming for the door. Not sick anymore, just dizzy...

He collided with Yohji in the hall, his hand raised to grab the door knob, dressed in delicious black silk; pants and a short robe. A red dragon graced the robe's shoulder and curled it's claws down his chest.

"Aya?!" The man looked sleepy.

Aya just looked at him, frightened, no doubt.

"Is something wrong?" Concern shone in green eyes hooded by thick black lashes.

"No..." he barked out and staggered passed him. Moved down the hall as fast as he could.

"Aya?!" Yohji's voice behind him...He reached his room and locked the door.

Breathing heavily he sat down on his bed. His single, wooden bed. Looked at the naked, white walls, the white curtains. His little bed stand with a stack of magazines. A small bookshelf and a closet, that was all. And the little wooden bench under the window. One white candle, one for Aya. There had been four of them, the candles. One for each of his parents, one for himself; the one that died. He had never lit a new one for any of them when the first one was gone, just for Aya, - the real one, not the one that had borrowed her name... He was supposed to die that night, he had always known that. The doctors had called it trauma, Aya had called it death...His living, beating heart was an insult to the world. To the order of things. He wasn't supposed to be there at all. Neither was Aya, but she would survive, because *he* wanted it so. He would drench the earth in her enemy's blood and animate her back to life with his offer. Then he could die, for real. That was the purpose, that was the oath. The boy Ran could go to rest... To the death he had claimed years ago but had been prevented from having. He hadn't been supposed to notice the bomb, recognize it for what it was. not been supposed to save Aya...but he had. No matter what came of it she still clung to life, and he, her brother would see her open her eyes, either in this world or from another.

Yohji from his dreams was right...Aya loved death. Merciful veil of no-pain, blissful nothingness. Everything he desperately had wanted, those first weeks and months after the murder of his parents. The things he had somehow gotten by killing himself. Killing Ran to keep Aya alive...He had gotten it by borrowing her name, act in the world as her, in a way...keep the space open for her, make sure the universe didn't close and Aya Fujimiya be forgotten. As long as he carried her name, her precious earring - what connected them...there would be an open spot for her when she came back. And he, he would fade to oblivion. So yes, he adored death. He loved death with a passion. He'd made the taking of lives into an art form. Dead men don't have morals...dead men have no regrets...

Dead men didn't love. Didn't feel a stir in their flesh by the thought of skin tight jeans, the memory of a glittering gaze looking at him over a pair of sunglasses. Didn't swoon by the scent of a spicy cologne or coconut shampoo...

Aya scrambled to his knees in front of the candle, reached under the bench for the matches. Lit the candle with a shivering hand. He stared at the flame for a moment. Red and strong. Then he lifted the katana from the floor, unsheathed it. With quick movements and no signs of pain he cut his index lightly, let the steel have a taste of his own, living flesh. The red blood dribbled down the finger and he let it fall down on the candle.

"This is for you, Aya!" he swore in a low whisper. Renewed the oath in blood and words. "All that I am, all I do, is for you!"

There was no room for romance in this. No room for emotions and want. In a sudden flash of clarity he briefly examined the possibility that Yohji had been completely honest...that he *did* feel something. That he wanted him, even loved him. And the apparent conclusion that even if so, it was all in vain. He couldn't love a dead man, and death was all that Aya was.

*

Sleeping, dreaming. Floating in a void before awakening. Fingers touching. The patterns Yohji's hands had left, he trailed them over his body. Paused where there had been marks. Thought he could hear Yohji's voice in his ear. Remembered the feel of having him inside, the blissful ecstasy - the peace afterwards when they rested in each other's arms. But most of all the pleasure. The feeling of rightness about it. There hadn't been any shame, then...no self-loathing. His hands continued to move, to touch - until he turned over with a muffled scream, hid his face in the pillow while semen poured out of him and down in the mattress.

His eyes filled with water. Bitter black tears of salt and shame.

He looked over at the candle on the bench.

"I'm sorry, Aya..." he whispered. But somehow the boy that had made the pledge, seemed suddenly awfully young and afraid.

*

The only reasonable thing to do was to avoid him. Make sure they didn't have shifts together, try not to eat at the same time. Loner as he was, Aya had no problems with that, still it hurt to turn his back to the green gaze, walk away from the handsome man. Yohji didn't make it hard for him though, except for yes and no he hadn't said a word to Aya since that night. Aya couldn't blame him, must've been hard to face the rejection for a man with a ego Yohji's size, he told himself on bad days. On good days he just felt bad. And the mysterious feelings of longing and regret wouldn't go away...

He wondered if Omi and Ken had noticed this new, awkward tension in the house and felt sure they had. Maybe they even knew what was going on...? He wasn't really sure if he cared. In some ways it would make this easier...On black nights he contemplated leaving them, leave Weiss behind, but he couldn't find the courage, working alone was so much harder. Kritiker provided the perfect cover, the perfect opportunities, care for Aya. And it was stupid, was it not, to give it all up over a crush?

A crush that he could admit to, and didn't seem to fade.

Some days, when he saw Yohji outside of the shop, sweeping the sidewalk or carrying buckets of flowers, when the sun caught in his hair and made it shine in a golden hue, he felt so grateful the man was alive he found himself on the brink of crying. Then Yohji would meet his gaze and the light in his emerald eyes would fade. Become shadowed and serious. Vulnerable...

It was good, Aya told himself. They should continue like this; detach. Even if it meant Yohji was hurt, his ego bruised, it was all for the best. Aya couldn't afford a lover, least not one he had this weakness for...Least not one that could hurt.

He sighed deeply now, standing by the counter, making notes for next days deliveries. Wished they'd get a mission soon. He felt somewhat caged, too much energy bottled up inside...

"Aya, we need to talk!" The pink roses landed next to him with a loud sound, splashed water on the floor, loose petals went flying.

"Oh?" Aya didn't look up. His heart raced as it always did when Yohji came so near him. He felt stiff and uncomfortable, unsure where to look. This time he settled for the counter. "I didn't think this was your shift..." he added nervously, dared a glance up at the list on the wall and right enough; it said Ken, in big, round letters.

"I switched, I wanted to talk to you," Yohji paused before continuing. His voice became harder, harsher as he spoke: "And since you're avoiding me like some kind of plague it wasn't very likely I'd just bump into you, right?!"

"What do you want?" The coldness in his own voice. So familiar it felt, so necessary.

"I want you to get over...whatever it is that bothers you and let what happened go so we can continue as before, " --

Aya shot him a glance. " I thought it *was*...behind us," he said calmly.

"Apparently not," Yohji replied just as calm. "Why else would you get jumpy every time you see me?"

"I'm not..." Aya protested.

"Yes you are!" Yohji interrupted. "I'm an assassin remember? I do know jumpy when I see it...even in you, Fujimiya."

Aya moved uneasily behind the counter, shifted his weight slightly.

"So...maybe I'm not as used at...dealing with these things as you are Yohji," he started. " I've never had to smooth things over with a lover before," he regretted the use of the word instantly, but then it was too late. Although Yohji didn't seem to have noticed...

"No...you hadn't planned on dealing at all, had you Aya? That's why it happened in the first place...felt safe didn't it?" Yohji voice was cold. Colder than he could remember ever hearing it before. It oozed of distaste, disgust...

Against his will his eyes opened wide in shock, searched for the other's green gaze - but couldn't capture it. And before he'd had a chance to speak Yohji continued:

"I'm truly sorry I didn't die, I felt fairly sure that I would, you know. And I'm sorry that the fact that I didn't has caused problems for you, Aya. Faced you with some consequences -- I'm sorry that I didn't..." he trailed off, voice suddenly lost and broken.

Aya stood frozen to the spot. Cold chill run through his body. Said like that it sounded so wrong...

"No.." he muttered but it was just a whisper.

"No?" Yohji arched his eye-brow at him: "I'll tell you what really makes me sorry, Aya. What makes me truly sorry is the fact that I somehow believed in you...that I thought I...we - you could feel something too... I should have known better shouldn't I?...Fucking freak that you are, you can't feel anything... important. Although," he added in a low, hoarse voice, "your passion surprised me. For a moment there you felt so close... You really needed it, Aya. That's why I wont regret what happened between us..."

Aya opened his mouth, closed it again. Felt Yohji stare at him. Slowly he rose his gaze from the counter. He was a lot of things, but not a coward, and even if his heart pounded painfully hard and fast in his chest and his body and mind felt utterly numb, he met the other's stern eyes. Saw the rage in them fade and mellow to a dull resignation in front of him.

"I'm sorry , Aya," Yohji said in a tired voice. "I have no right to...talk to you like this. I guess I shouldn't expect to be taken seriously after all I've done...It was foolish of me." The lines in his face were stern, his skin had turned pale. "I shouldn't have brought it up, I'm sorry..."

Aya swallowed hard, tried to come up with something to say. Yohji beat him to it though;

"I'll tell Ken he'll have to take his own shift," he said and moved swiftly from the counter. Then suddenly some of the anger flared back to life wile he looked back at him, his eyes glittered cold and hard; "But I wouldn't talk too loud about convenient fucks if I were you, Aya...because you sure know how to get them! No embarrassing mornings, huh?"

The blond man turned his head and left. Roses and apron forgotten.

Aya felt dumbstruck, lost. Completely and utterly shocked. Hurt. God, it hurt...having Yohji talk to him like that. With disgust, loathing...like he was worth...less than shit. And now he was lost...dammit! He'd lost him! Fair enough he didn't want him, right? But still, to have him walk away like that...it left him in such a void. in such a cold emptiness. He wanted Yohji's warmth back! He remembered the night he came back from the hospital. The arm around his waist, the soft voice, the offer... And now he felt so alone!

"Oh God!" he muttered. heard the despair in his own voice. Fought for breath. Fought for understanding. leaned over the counter with his gaze glued to the petal scattered floor. Yohji thought he'd let him fuck him because he was going to die. He didn't know that Aya's own body had betrayed him, caught him off his guard. How Yohji's scent and warmth had unleashed something inside. How much he admired him, how beautiful he thought he was...

"Jesus...!" Aya wiped salty liquid from his cheeks. Sucked it from the back of his hand and into his mouth. It tasted bitterly of regret. Now he was gone, lost...there was no way he'd get him back...he'd hurt him, hadn't he? But that was good, he reminded himself. It was good, made things easier. He wouldn't have to fight so hard. It was over now, the doors were closed, and he was left behind alone... Just as he'd wanted! That was the *plan*. Revenge, Takatori, Aya - his life. *Her* life...it wasn't his. Loving was living and Aya, *this* Aya wasn't alive anymore, so...It was all right, he tried to convince himself. The fact that Yohji hated him...it was all good. All - perfect, and...right!

"God!" He exclaimed again and noticed that he shook. He shouldn't care, but he did. The words had stung more than he could've imagined. When did this man's opinion of him become so important...? It isn't that, a small voice said; you just don't like to see him hurt...

It was then he fell apart. He left the shop in a fury, almost collided with Ken on the stairs, reached his room and closed the door. Leaned against it and tried to breathe. Heart pounding, sweat streaming, thoughts mingling and building, falling apart, recreated themselves. He felt like screaming and maybe he did. He lifted the katana, measured it questioningly. Maybe it was time, he figured...maybe it was time... But Aya-chan, his promise. Yohji...he would cry. Maybe he'd feel guilt, he couldn't...Still there was a safety in that option. The fact that he could, easy as that! That last thought made him calm a bit...Made him relax enough to sit down.

Yohji hated him, all right... Yohji still wanted to smooth things over. Aya could give him that, couldn't he? Give him the normality he yearned for and keep his own grieving to himself. He could do that, he thought. Could live with the hatred. As long as he didn't hurt Yohji more! Blind! Blind! He cursed himself. How could he not have seen it? What a heartless slut he must've seemed. What a heartless slut he'd become! He'd blamed Yohji for being...what he was, but he wasn't much better himself, was he? Too absorbed with his own misery to realize that he cared. Ignoring the other man's feelings as he did, although he hadn't given him any reason to doubt. Not even Yohji Kudou was stupid enough to bring his trouble to work. He wouldn't play games with a team-mate, his life could depend on the trust. Aya should've known that, he *knew* that. But the man Yohji cared for was dead. He had no purpose but death and revenge. There couldn't be love...but he could...try to make things better, he swore. He'd created the mess, he'd try and fix it the best that he could...

A sudden gratefulness that Yohji had cared. That he'd seen beauty where there were none. That he had looked at him with love. His angled face, his too pale body. Yohji had liked it - once. Despite it all, there had been love in the midst of the red drenched madness that was his cold and empty un-life.

*

Theory versus practice...one thing was to swear. Something entirely different to act upon it. He didn't avoid Yohji anymore, even if it hurt on some level, to see him. The suspicious look in his eyes, the insecurity that showed so clearly, he didn't trust or quite figure Aya's intentions. Yohji did also, on the other hand, seem to avoid *him*. Which caused somewhat problems for his new determination to make the man happier. And Yohji was determined as well, in quite a hurry it seemed, to put the whole affair with Aya and the bomb behind him. He embraced the night with renewed force, went out smashingly beautiful and oozing of pent up energy early each night. Returned on time unknown, but usually before Aya woke up in the morning to find his glittery outfits scattered on the bathroom floor. Shameful he sometimes lifted them to his face, inhaled the scent, smeared it on his skin before blushingly jerking off in the toilet. Then he would fold them and put them outside his door in a nice pile of yesterday's fun. Mid-riff tops and jeans that he knew was tight enough there was no way he could use underwear with them...

Aya loved him, bitter but true. That's why it became quite a shock. Kind of a violent awakening, when Yohji started dating again. Aya felt if possible even more miserable than before, he should have known it would happen though. Should have known...life would move on. And love or no love, in Yohji Kudou's annals he was probably nothing but a long forgotten paragraph by now. It was just him, Aya, that was stuck with this longing.

They started calling the shop, high-pitched, nervous females, asking if Yohji was at work.

"No!" Aya would growl at them, not offering to give them his private number. To protect him, he told himself. If Yohji had wanted them to know, they'd know.

He caught a glimpse of one of them one day, dropping Yohji off outside the shop after he'd been gone the whole afternoon. She came out of the car as well, embraced him swiftly, a short kiss before letting him go. Blond, dyed hair, looked dry and unruly. Too much make-up he figured swiftly before the sight finally reached the vital parts of his brain and he felt himself pale, turn sick. A burning rage in his gut. He wasn't stupid, he knew what it was...

He hid in the backroom when Yohji passed through the shop. Pressed his knuckles to his gut just to calm. Was this what is was going to be like? He wondered. Was this the new version of his personal hell?

His nights were once again filled with nightmares, this time he didn't have to sleep to get them. Just remember a voice, a special twinkle in Yohji's eyes after he'd been out. His imagination would do the rest. Conjure up long-legged females, pouty, raspberry colored lips, long strands of chemically treated hair...

Just a couple of days after the incident by the car one of them came in to the shop on his shift. A tall, red-head; long carrot colored hair and deep tanned skin. Aya hated her at once. She looked smart; wore a deep blue suit and her sunglasses looked expensive.

"Is Yohji here?" she asked without politeness.

" No..." Aya glared at her. Hostile, he knew, but he just wished she'd go away.

"Can you call him for me? He lives upstairs, right?" The lady did obviously not intend to leave. And if she knew, if she knew...maybe it was serious. Aya felt nervous, and somewhat taken aback. Without thinking he gave her a long stare before picking up the phone, dialing Yohji's number. Don't pick up, he begged inwardly. Please, Yohji...don't pick up! He picked up...

"One of your so-called women is here to see you!" He hung up without waiting for an answer. Slammed the phone back down on the hook.

"He'll be with you..." he assured the lady and turned her back at her. Noticed how she'd paled under the rich tan...Then he realized what he'd said... Blushing with shame and rage he fled to the backroom, slammed his fist in the wall and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink. Deep red and troubled. Eyes shiny with rage and confusion.

"Forgive me, Aya..." he mumbled to himself. Caught hold of the sink and bent over, lowered his head, not willing to face the creature looking back at him.

Yohji's hand closed around his neck, pulled him back, spun him around:

"How the fuck dare you?!" he hissed at him. Angry red spots colored his cheeks. The rest of his face was pale. Pale and furious.

"You stay the hell away from my dates, do you understand..? No! Make that stay away from *me*, you little shit!" He pushed Aya against the wall, he hit it with his shoulder, hard. With a low hiss he muttered, close to Aya's face, "It could have been you, and you know it! So stop treating them like crap, ok?! And stop folding my clothes!"

On his way out he turned and shot him a final icy stare. "You behave like a jealous bitch, do you know that? Hadn't I known better I..." he trailed off without finishing just shook his head, turned away again and walked out of the small room.

Aya was numb. Lifeless.

*

It was familiarity in this - void.

The katana cut through the air.

Clean, cool - one swift stroke.

Peace of mind.

The candle was lit on the bench.

Aya - this Aya, was dead.

*

A note on the floor:

"I'm sorry" in Yohji's even handwriting. Pushed under his door before he left. He'd heard him on the street. The car-engine, her laughter. Yohji's teasing voice.

Aya watched the ceiling. The clouds drifting by the window, veils shrouding the moon.

He could learn it, he told himself, to glaze back over. Erase the breech. Undo this mistake of living.

He could remove Yohji Kudou from his being if he had to, restore the balance. Reduce him to a minimum. To someone that meant nothing. But a drift in the wind, dust and smoke. He could burn this silly love to just that...

Then it would be him, and the sleeping Aya. Dreams of blood and revenge. He would go back to being dead. A creature of no mercy driven by only one purpose, one reason alone - it was enough.

He lifted the katana from the floor again, pictured his dead mother, Reigi Takatori as he did.

*

He was still on the floor with katana in hand when the couple returned. Passed his door, she giggled, he had smile in his voice.

The door to his room opened, closed.

One hour nearly, he was still on the floor, practicing the art of not thinking, watching the clock absentmindedly, watching the silvery blade as it fell. Ripped through the air with deadly force.

Someone walked past in the hall. Stiletto heels scrambled down the stairs, Yohji's steps right behind her. He heard them through the open window:

"I'm sorry..." Yohji's apologizing voice. "I completely forgot about doctor's order..."

"That's ok," the woman purred. " I didn't even know you'd had surgery..." Wet, sloppy sounds, lips that met, followed by a soft, female laughter.

"Call me when you get better, tiger!" She spoke in the back of her throat.

"Will do," Yohji smiled. Another wet sound and he heard her car. He didn't breathe, he didn't think, hardly registered at all. The katana cut through the air. He was absorbed by the deadly steel.

He did hear Yohji when he came back up. Speaking lowly to his closed door:

"Damn you, Aya!" A tired, sad voice. His fist landed softly on the wood.

He went back to his room, didn't close the door. Passed Aya's room again moments later. He heard the sound of teeth hitting glass, liquid splashing in a bottle.

The same soft thud when his knuckles connected with the wood.

"Damn you!" A muttering voice.

- It was time to ask for forgiveness.

He counted the minutes. Five full turns before sheathing the katana, leaving it on his bed. Then he went searching for Yohji.

It didn't take long, he knew where to find him, on the bench behind the shop. He sat there with the bottle in his hand. Didn't look happy. Older, more sad.

Aya embraced his own shoulders, wore only a t-shirt with a pair of soft pants and the air outside was chilly. Yohji didn't seem to mind though. He wore black pants and a deep blue top set with glittering silver stars. Aya knew the feel of it, had picked it up from the bathroom floor more than once. His hair was tied back. He didn't look completely sober.

Aya approached him on silent feet. Pretended not to notice the surprised, then annoyed, stare, from the other.

"Aya..." A confirmation. That was all. No feelings at all in that statement.

Aya knelt by him and put his head in his lap. It just seemed right...no reason.

"Are you a puppy now?" His voice was slightly amused, but his hand came, slowly, to rest on top of his head. It shivered slightly, Aya noticed, but at last settled, paused for a while, then Yohji started to pet his hair. Stroke it slowly, run his fingers through the crimson strands.

They were quiet for a long while. The silence filled with all that should've been said, still there was peace in that moment. A fragile, laden peace.

"Aya...why are you doing this?" his voice was soft, deliberately neutral.

Don't ask Aya begged silently. He didn't have a clue what to say.

"Am I that sad a sight?" A harder edge to his words now. "Do you pity me enough you can touch me tonight?" Definitely bitterness. Raw and harsh. The hand stopped moving, just lay there. He was expecting an answer.

"I'm a jealous bitch." Aya told his partly exposed stomach.

A startled silence, then Yohji gave a low, soft chuckle;

"That you are!" He grinned. The fingers started moving again, twining in his hair.

"But I'm dead, " he told Yohji's navel.

The hand settled on his head again and Yohji sighed.

"We all are... That's why we're here...I was shot, remember?"

Aya contemplated that for a moment.

" But I feel dead as well," he argued lowly.

" And...?" Yohji urged him on.

"Dead men, can't love, can they?"

The fingers in his hair froze, Yohji didn't say anything for a second, then he asked in a low, insistent voice, trembling with the importance of the answer.

"Do you *love* me, Aya?"

Aya didn't know, exactly, what to answer. Instead he lifted his arms and embraced Yohji's waist, locked his arms around it, savored the feel of the naked, cool skin. He pressed his head close to Yohji's body and ended up with his face in Yohji's crotch. The healthy smell of musk from the area made his head spin though, so he quickly withdrew, blushing slightly.

"You *want* me, that's for sure!" Yohji laughed gently and set the bottle down on the bench. The free hand came to rest on Aya's shoulder. Aya was embarrassed, but smiled.

"Do you still love your parents, Aya? Even if they're dead?" Yohji asked after a while.

"Yes," Aya mumbled against his thigh.

"Then why do you think love and death are enemies?"

Aya didn't answer that, he had never thought of it before.

"I will never stop thirsting for revenge..." he exclaimed instead, with some of his old, cold passion.

"I know," Yohji replied calmly. "We all need some kind of purpose," he continued. " You more than anyone I know...You're so passionate, Aya! So exquisite!" he added with feeling, a deep intake of breath and a slight shiver.

Aya shivered himself, by the stir of emotion Yohji's outburst had caused, then he turned his head and finally met Yohji's gaze, looked up at him from his lap.

"And, you...what is your purpose?"

"Being Yohji Kudou, isn't that enough? " He flashed the red-head a charming smile, then he turned serious: " An maybe, in time...I'll have you..." The last part was said so low it was almost a whisper.

They rose then. Aya from his kneeling position, Yohji from the bench. Yohji embraced him first. Then Aya's arms came to rest around his waist again.

"I'm sorry!" Aya whispered against his throat.

" ...For what?" The deep hum vibrated against Aya's lips.

"Everything..."

"Yeah...me too..."

Aya tilted his head and kissed him, fell into his body as if unable to support himself. With his eyes closed the sought and found the other's lips, claimed them with his own. Yohji curled his palm around Aya's neck, pulled him closer, deepened the kiss with a probing tongue. Aya let him in without reservations. Their tongues twined and renewed their knowledge about each other. Slid softly and smooth over and around, curled, bit and teased each other's mouths. Lips caressing, fingers moving. Suddenly Yohji hand had slipped under Aya's shirt, circling his back, pulled him even closer with the hand on his neck. Aya's hand drifted to Yohji's hip, caressed it through the slick fabric.

"Oh God," Aya broke of the kiss.

"What?" Yohji's eyes were blurred and unfocused.

"Not here," Aya begged him.

"Where?" Yohji panted slightly.

Aya shook his head.

"My room?"

"Yes," Aya nodded, met his gaze. Felt dizzy from the kiss. Dizzy and aroused. Held on to Yohji's shoulders out of need for support as well as contact.

Suddenly Yohji's eyes narrowed. Turned focused and clear in the blink of an eye;

"If you come to my bed, Aya... I wont let you go, do you understand that?" His eyes searched Aya's, locked him in his gaze. "If you come with me tonight, that's where you'll stay -- with me!"

Aya paused for a second, then he gave a short nod. Confirmed the deal and felt no doubt as he did it.

Yohji held his hand when they entered the house. Pulled him with him up the stairs. When they were half-way up he paused and pulled Aya in for another kiss. Wet and messy in the middle of the stairway. Aya with his body trapped between Yohji and the wall.
Suddenly he caught sight of a wide eyed Ken from the crook of his eye; he stood on top of the stairs, looking at them with a peculiar expression before turning around, continuing down the hall.

"First they love, then they fight, driving us all crazy...now they love again?!" he muttered out loud enough that he was sure they'd hear him. Aya felt Yohji smile into the kiss and felt a pang of sudden joy himself. Saw the humor in the situation. Found that he was comfortable with it.

He didn't long for the solitude when they passed the door to his room, felt only thrilled when he was embraced by the half-darkness of Yohji's. A little lamp was lit above the bed. A king-size monster filled with pillows and blankets in green. blue and gold.

"That bed is really worthy of a king," he told Yohji amused.

"And a prince," Yohji replied quickly with a smirk and pushed him backwards. Aya let himself fall, landing in the middle of a soft heap of blankets.

"You look lovely down there," Yohji winked before diving down after him, settling on top, straddling his thighs and bending over to claim yet another kiss.

Aya sighed deeply, moaned into the kiss. Felt Yohji's arousal brush his own through the thick layers of fabric.

"Let's get rid of this," Yohji murmured and helped Aya wriggle out of the t-shirt. Pulled it over his head. He peeled his own tight top over his head as well, loosened his hair, let it fall freely down his back.

"Beautiful, " Aya said and swore he heard a purring sound in his own voice.

"Not like you," Yohji smiled and bent down to let their naked skin touch. They kissed each other. Time ceased to exist. They rolled over on the bed until Aya straddled Yohji's hips, the blond cupped his ass.

"We're doing this again, aren't we?" he panted.

"Yes," Aya angled his hips and grind his erection against Yohji's. Heard the other man gasp and felt his hips jerk upwards, hungry for the feel. Yohji rolled them over again, ending up between Aya's legs, ravishing his throat with his mouth. Aya's body twitched and ached under Yohji's ministrations. Felt painfully aroused again. lips pounding, skin tingling and sensitive to every brush of Yohji's skin.

"God," Aya murmured and heard Yohji smile, his thumbs rubbed his nipples roughly but not too hard. Aya struggled to free his hips, wanted more of the contact. His fingers had tangled in Yohji's hair, now he wet his lips nervously while excitement rolled through his body and he reached down to touch the blond through the slick fabric of his pants.

"Oh, Aya!" Yohji exclaimed and rubbed himself against the palm. "You must've missed me." Aya just smiled and continued his efforts. Grunted loudly when Yohji returned the favor.

"Yes, you have..." Yohji teased when he felt the state of Aya's arousal. "Lose those pants," he whispered hotly and helped him get the message by burying his hands in them, caressing Aya's hips and thighs under the soft fabric. Tracing teasing patterns around the aching center.

"Please," Aya begged and lifted his hips off the mattress, pulled the pants half-way down his legs and got help from Yohji with the rest. He fell back on the bed, dragging them with him and off as he did, then he grabbed hold of Aya's hands, pulled him down on top of him to straddle his hips. The slick fabric felt strangely cool and utterly erotic against Aya's naked skin.

Yohji watched him with glittering eyes. Played with his erection, watched, as Aya's expressions formed and changed when he moved his hand. Listened to the sounds of pleasure that escaped him. Aya's hands were on Yohji's chest, steadied him as he rode the pleasure, his thumbs brushed Yohji's nipples lightly. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted...The golden ear ring dangled and shivered in time with his trembling breath.

"You're so beautiful like that," Yohji whispered and opened his pants. let his own weeping member come out to play. Rub against Aya's, guided by his hands. Caused Aya to impatiently try to peel Yohji's pants off his hips.

" You have to get off me first," Yohji smiled happily, marveled at the slightly confused state of the other. "You'll feel better once you've come," he assured the red-head who replied with an almost annoyed, not quite comprehending stare. Yohji let his cock slip out of his hand and grabbed hold of his hips, motioned for him to get off. Turn over. While he moved Yohji caught one of his ear-tails and wrapped it one time around his wrist, he pulled him in for a kiss and a confession. Felt his own state of arousal become almost unbearable when he saw the heavy rise and fall of Aya's chest.

"I'll fuck you," he whispered in Aya's ear. "Just you wait," he promised and felt the younger man tremble against his body when the words sunk in.

Yohji quickly pulled off his pants, kneeling on the bed one knee at a time and struggled to get them off. Saw Aya obediently roll over on his stomach, presenting him with a cream colored, firm pair of buttocks. Narrow hips and a muscular back. His shoulders were broad and muscular as well, one of the ear-tails lay as a crimson veil over his shoulder and down his shoulder blade.

"Aya..." he sighed deeply and bent over to kiss the other shoulder, let his hands trace his form, the skin down his sides. He randomly picked a shimmering gold pillow and motioned for Aya to lift his hips.

"I promise to make it good, " Yohji whispered while placing the pillow under him. Lifting and spreading his buttocks, caught sight of the hidden gem between them. He moved over Aya's back. Kissing and licking, eager to reach his goal. Once there he lapped gently at the tiny entrance, felt Aya jerk and twitch, heard him cry out. He probed gently with his tongue and stroke the back of his sensitive sack with his fingers. Felt Aya squirm and move beneath him. Gasp for air. Heavy moans ripped from his chest.

After a full five minutes of torment he let Aya rest. Fumbling around in his bed stand drawer he finally found what he was looking for.

"Hope you like tropical," he smiled in Aya's ear while smearing himself with lube. The scent of coconut, peaches and pineapple filled the air around them, Yohji's fingers greased with the slippery cream disappeared inside Aya's body. Aya's fingers curled around the sheets when he eagerly tried to rise his hips further. Meet the desired intrusion with his body.

"Hush," Yohji soothed him, and then he could take it no more.

In a sudden, almost violent wave of passion he aimed himself above the other, sank slowly inside, buried himself in the pulsing warmth. Moved carefully back out, then inside again. Ragged moans ripped from his throat as he built a rhythm. Resting his weight on his arms placed on each side of Aya's trembling form he rocked himself fast in and out of the surging heat of the red-head's body.

"Aya I can't wait for you," he murmured when he realized he was climbing the peak. With a sudden cry he buckled and fell on top of him while shooting spurts of white liquid into his body. He heard Aya moan slightly and wasted no time. Still while riding the bliss of the aftershocks he rolled off him and turned him over to his side. Aya's purple gaze was glazed. his lips full and moist. His erection still rock hard, leaking drops of pearly moisture. Yohji pushed him over to his back, heard him whimper when his backside hit mattress, then he arched himself down Aya's body and caught his erection with his mouth. Ate it greedily, swallowed it down his throat while lapping hungry at the smooth shaft. Aya's hips rocked a couple of times, met his movements half-heartedly, almost dazed before the orgasm hit him and Yohji's mouth filled with creamy white. He held Yohji's head then, while rocking slightly, emptying himself in the warm, slick cave of his mouth. The scent of tropical fruits was strong down there, mingled with semen and musk. Yohji let him ride it off. Suckled and sucked, licked off traces. Didn't let go before he was sure he was done. Then he let go of the spent member, rolled over on his back and breathed...

Aya stared up in the ceiling. Eyes focused now, just slightly dilated. His chest slowly regained a steady rhythm. Slower, calmer...His fingers uncurled from the sheets.

"Happy?" Yohji asked him while rolling himself to the edge of the bed. He sat himself up on the mattress and picked up a robe from the floor. It was the one with the dragon, Aya noticed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, suddenly a bit anxious.

"To brush my teeth," Yohji smiled and stroke his ankle absentmindedly, "I can't kiss you before I've brushed my teeth...and to get you a nice, soft cloth," he added. "I made quite a mess down there.

Aya grinned at the ceiling. "This isn't bad, " he said, almost surprised.

"No..." Yohji paused in the door, looked back at his lover with sparkling green eyes. " Even for dead men life can be quite good, sometimes..."


The End





Back


E-mail