Gravitation Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Yearning in Darkness ❯ Pride and Prejudice ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: wolfraven 
Yohji screws up and in typical Yohji fashion decides denial is the best way of solving his problems.
Anime/Manga: Gravitation Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Romance | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 06.03.2006 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.4K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Completed
Yohji screws up and in typical Yohji fashion decides denial is the best way of solving his problems.
Anime/Manga: Gravitation Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Romance | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 06.03.2006 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.4K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Completed
Yearning in Darkness
Cheyenne Dancer
Stains like bloody tears dotted the indeterminate wood grain of the bar. How appropriate. Yohji propped his head on one fist. Scowling darkly, he traced the path of the various disfigurations with a callused fingertip. He wasn't quite sure why he had chosen this particular club. Furious with Aya, confused by his own feelings for the redhead and stunned by what he considered a betrayal of trust by Omi and Ken, it had seemed like a very good idea at the time.
Of course, so had going to the kitchen in search of an ill-fated drink earlier this evening. Yohji glared at the hapless wood. With a certain sadistic glee his mind began replaying the current fuck-up that masqueraded as his life.
Restlessness drove him from his room, the restlessness that hovered in the aftermath of a mission that had cut close -- too close. Aya had been so preoccupied chasing down his target, he hadn't seen or heard the hired muscle behind him -- hadn't seen the gun drawn -- hadn't turned to see Yohji wrap his wire around the gunman's wrist barely in the nick of time. Blood had filled Yohji's vision and the bitter taste of fear. Pleas had fallen on deaf ears, violence thrummed through him at the idea that this two-bit thug would dare to even contemplate hurting Aya.
All too soon the wire had gone slack, the man dead and Aya gone, none the wiser. Random tremors still rocked Yohji as he faced the idea of loss -- again. The again had shocked him. He wasn't ready to acknowledge anything deeper for Aya.
The unobtainable had always been one of his weaknesses. It often drove him crazy with want and need, fortifying the determination to possess. There had been Asuka. Now there was Aya.
The moment he'd seen him unconscious in his bed, he'd recognized the danger on some instinctual level. When the slim man had opened those arresting eyes at last -- hazy and unfocused, shadowed with unbearable pain -- Yohji had felt something deep inside tighten. Aya was beyond beautiful -- all pale skin, scarlet hair and flashing violet eyes -- deceptively fragile in appearance, shored up with a core of iron willpower and hidden strength that was seductive on the most visceral of levels. The force of Aya's will practically radiated from him as his personal barriers had slammed up. Gods and ancestors, he'd known then that he was fucked.
His psyche had done a really good job this time. Falling for Aya. He was a fucking man for chrissakes!
That his feelings were confused didn't leave him feeling any better. Bitter anger had overwhelmed him. He knew he was in no fit mood for companionship, paid or not. Brutal savagery simmered beneath the surface, crashing like offshore waves, threatening to take him in the undertow of emotion. Finally, he decided it was best if he stayed home, maybe worked off the anger in the dojo upstairs or killed a bottle or two of scotch. He had wandered down to the kitchen, chased by the dark shadows of his past. Tiredly tugging a hand through unruly hair, a small sound had made him hesitate just outside the door.
He shouldn't have opened it, but worried that Omi had been hurt worse than he'd admitted, another soft moan drifting from the kitchen had decided him. Stunned didn't quite cover the sudden turmoil of thoughts and feelings that had boiled up. Frozen, he'd stood slack jawed in the doorway. Omi and Ken were in a clench. In the middle of the kitchen table. They ate on that table. For a span of life-altering moments that's all that Yohji could think of with any clarity. Breakfast tomorrow. He choked, whether on laughter or hysteria or outrage, he wasn't sure.
From this angle, Yohji could see Omi's tongue slipping around the edge of Ken's cock, pushing down the foreskin, licking at the purpling crown before taking the full hard length deep into his throat. Omi's other hand was burrowed between Ken's thighs. Slim, dexterous fingers going in - Yohji blanked. Ken shouldn't take advantage of the chibi that way. It had to be Ken's fault somehow, somewhere. Omi would never have - he did a long, slow double take.
Omi. And Ken. Fuck. He ignored the little voice giggling insanely in the back of his mind, pointing out that not quite yet, but probably very soon now, if Omi had his way.
The bile of bitter anger soured the back of this throat.
That Ken had had the courage to...to...and Yohji still dithered over Aya. That Ken and Omi had lied...hidden they were gay...hurt. Hurt surfaced in barely controlled fury and he'd spoken sharply. He shouldn't have. It wasn't any of his business. Even then he'd realized he was being a dick. But his anger had just escalated out of control until Omi was in tears and Ken and he were shouting at each other, saying things that would've been best left unsaid.
Things that made Yohji cringe on his barstool, even now, as he remembered the hurt look of disbelief flashing on Omi's young face. Worse still, Aya had heard the noise -- who in the fucking neighborhood hadn't, Yohji wondered bitterly -- and had come down to investigate.
Yohji gulped down the amber liquid in his shot glass, wishing desperately that he could rid himself of the images as easily, but he knew from long experience the harder he fought it, the longer the memories would haunt him. He yielded to the pain and let Aya's surprised disgust roll over him once again, as the two faced off.
Aya placed himself between the younger boys and Yohji, as if he thought Yohji would hurt them. He wouldn't have.
"What is your problem?" Aya's voice echoed in his mind.
"They're gay!" Yohji had shouted angrily, as if that would explain everything: his hurt, his betrayal, his rage, and the sudden all-consuming urge to fuck Aya through the floor. Even as the words left his mouth, he cringed inwardly. He'd never thought himself particularly stupid before. It was amazing that Aya hadn't rolled his eyes.
Instead, their leader went still, eyes deadly flat. "It doesn't concern you," he said coldly.
"Of course it does! You're all fucking gay and we've been together in...in close quarters and sharing showers and...." Yohji had stuttered to a halt. Aya hadn't denied it. He stared, eyes gone large.
"Oh, give it a rest, Kudou!" Ken had snapped. "As if any of us were gonna jump your heterosexual ass. You're not even our type."
Growling angrily, Yohji had snapped without thinking, "I'm everybody's type!"
Aya had pushed Yohji out of the room. "You can't have it both ways, Kudou. You're pissed off now because no one has made a pass at you?" The small curl of his lips that could have been the precursor to a smile only irritated Yohji more. What Aya might have said or done remained a blank.
"Fuck off." Shoving the man hard against the hallway wall, Yohji had stormed out. He'd heard the shattering of a picture as it fell.
Why he felt so hurt and betrayed, he wasn't certain. Maybe because Ken and Omi hadn't been afraid of happiness, however fleeting, when Yohji still didn't know what he wanted.
That was a lie. He knew what he wanted. He was just too embarrassed, too frightened to try. He wanted Aya.
He'd wanted him for months now. Had sublimated it in a whirlwind rush of dating and fucking. Yohji Kudou, playboy extraordinaire. There was no way in fucking god's green earth that he could want a man, but there'd been no escaping it. The longer he fought it, the harder it had been to ignore. Watching Aya, working beside him, seeing him nearly die and knowing, knowing with the surety of the capriciousness of Fate that their days were numbered.
He wanted Aya with a savage desperation that made him weak. He hadn't tried to tell him. He couldn't. It would ruin what little there was between them if he'd made a move and then found out he couldn't go through with it. He wasn't sure he was capable of taking the next step. Oh, fucking Aya wasn't the problem. The very thought sent his blood racing and his groin tightening. Many a fantasy featured images of smooth, pale flesh and Aya's face contorted in passion.
He knew, though, that it couldn't be one way. Aya would never play anyone's uke. Meaning, if Yohji started things, he'd have to be on the receiving end, too. Aya would settle for nothing less. That thought was enough to send his stomach on a one-way journey to the pits of hell and make his palms sweat like a kid discovered jerking off by his 'tousan.
Finding Omi and Ken clutching at the happiness he'd been too arrogant to reach for had seemed like the ultimate betrayal.
Omi in tears, a friendship with Ken that had taken years to build, shredded in one thoughtless moment and -- Aya! Fuck, he'd be lucky if Aya didn't kill him on sight. Any chance he might conceivably have had with him, completely eradicated by his own stupidity. Smooth moves, Yohji, he congratulated himself morosely.
Foot-in-mouth was more than just a compulsion; it was a disease. Embarrassment so sharp he could taste it still lingered on his tongue. He moaned and put his head in his hands, elbows propped on the bar. He was so fucked.
"Here ya go, honey. You look like you could use it." The bartender's light tenor rolled over him. Yohji lifted his head with a grimace, stared at him blankly for a minute.
Slight and small as Omi, the bartender's long golden hair was ridiculously spiked and streaked wildly with shades of carmine, blue and black above large, friendly-looking gold eyes. An inviting smile curved his lips, his fingers lingering against Yohji's knuckles.
"Arigatou." Yohji curled his fist around the glass with a tight smile. The guy had been hitting on him for the greater part of the night. He'd actually considered it. He was cute, but he reminded him too much of Omi.
Just looking into those flirtatious eyes made him feel like a dirty old man. He was hard put not to deck him, followed swiftly by an urge to shove the kid up against some dark and dirty wall and fuck him silly. Fuck him until he screamed and he had exorcised his desire for Aya completely.
He should get up, dance, take up some of the offers that had come his way. Still, he hesitated. With his feelings so confused, why had he come to a gay bar?
Slamming back his drink, he nearly snorted the whiskey through his nose. Oh, yeah. He'd thought it would help work through some of his issues. Had thought that maybe it would help him decide who he was, what he wanted, and make sure his teammates couldn't locate him before he was ready to face the music -- if they bothered to hunt for him after the great fucking ass he'd made of himself.
If he found some lovely uke who reminded him of Aya, someone who'd let him use his body and reassert his masculinity, all the better. Yohji knew the depths to which he could stoop only too well. No emotional entanglements. Karma, he was sure, had to be a woman. And this was her revenge. She had to be ensconced somewhere in the seven heavens laughing hysterically as she orchestrated his dilemma.
He really hated introspection.
Motioning to the bartender, Yohji tossed a pile of bills next to his shot glass. He pushed his sunglasses firmly up his nose, hiding the telltale glimmer of his eyes and spun around on his seat, checking out his surroundings.
The club, while not decrepit, hadn't stood out from any that he'd frequented in his time in Weiss. Inside, it was mind numbingly similar. Why had he thought it would be different? Wry amusement tugged the corner of one lip upward. Very "PC" there, Kudou.
People chattered loudly to be heard above the driving technobeat of the music. Smoke hung heavy -- streamers of pungent fog drifting through the room, glittering here and there as colored strobe lights punched through like airport beacons. Cologne mixed with the sweat and blatant arousal of desperate people frenetically seeking a moment of happiness in the writhing, faceless mass around them, while music blared and lights flashed in matching desperation.
A disquieting laugh burbled in his belly. There was one major difference between this club and the ones he normally frequented -- it was overflowing with men. Men of all ages and sizes were dancing or strolling around the bar looking for tonight's easy lay.
Several had already marked him as prey. Yohji snorted derisively. It had been simple enough to dissuade them, letting the sunglasses slide just enough that a jewel-glittered scowl peering above their dark rims revealed the danger that lay coiled behind the green of his eyes. It had been disappointingly easy.
Hidden in corners and in shadows against the walls couples were paired off, as they would be in any club where such things could and often did occur. Exhibitionism wasn't the sole purview of the straight and narrow. His lips curled wryly, glad his sunglasses hid his blatant stare.
Some of the men aggressively shadowed slighter companions, pinning their partner against the wall, groins suspiciously close. Kisses were exchanged and no one seemed to care. Yohji pictured himself pushing Aya against one of the walls and holding him there, lips touching. Casually, he eased a hand over his slow growing arousal, alleviating the discomfort of too tight leather over tender flesh.
Men and boys in various stages of undress were gyrating wildly on the dance floor, some few in moves so blatantly suggestive that Yohji could feel his eyebrows crawl up his forehead. It was different watching men with men. It was the difference between a welcoming hearth fire on a winter's day and a flash-fire gone out of control. It was hot. It was sweltering. He felt uncomfortably edgy.
Stray thoughts scattered his fraying control. Maybe it was tattered remnants of his earlier anger, maybe it was guilt and regret; more than likely it was the drink combined with his yearning for the unattainable. His mind was a treacherous beast and he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to submit, to give in to someone who was as strong as he or even stronger.
Breathing was an art form over which he was swiftly losing control, as images of Aya pushing him against a wall in a dimly lit alley surfaced. Aya pinning him, making him squirm and beg. Not in this fucking lifetime! He shifted on his seat again, certain parts of his anatomy disagreeing vehemently. He swallowed with difficulty.
He was straight, dammit! None of this should affect him. Not this bar scene, not Ken and Omi. And most certainly not Aya!
Scowling, Yohji chased another potential suitor off with an unfriendly look. If he decided to go after a man, and that was a big fucking if, then Kudou Yohji would do the chasing. Alcohol-induced decision reinforced, he relaxed infinitesimally, the buzz twisting the edges of reality into a more pleasing landscape.
Even though the night was a bust and he was more than half convinced to slink home and hide until he could figure a way to be forgiven, it was beyond him not to check out the potential of the people parading by. Habit, Yohji conceded, as he lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lower lip, was a demanding bitch.
Resting his elbows behind him on the bar, he hooked one heavily booted foot through the rungs of the stool, planting the other firmly on the floor. His open-legged stance unconsciously inviting approving glances as the leather stretched tightly over his generous endowment.
It was somehow gratifying, after Aya's curt cut-down, to have so many men checking him out with such obvious appreciation -- not that he was going to do anything about it, but it was nice to know.
Perusing the room lazily, he smirked. None of the men interested him. He found that reassuring. He could tell himself that his bizarre attraction to Aya had more to do with adrenaline and close proximity than true desire. His anger at Omi and Ken could be apologized away. He would eat crow for a month or two, but he was sure he could wrap them back around his little finger.
The opening and closing of the club's door drew his attention. Briefly, a golden-haired man stood silhouetted against a backdrop of stars. Brilliant blue eyes knifed through the crowd, skewering Yohji where he sat. His breath stuttered to a stop, even as his pulse picked up.
A slow fire kindled in those bright eyes. A look of heated interest traveled suggestively over Yohji's lithe body, lingering pointedly at his crotch. A wicked smile curved invitingly full lips.
Scowling, Yohji resisted the impulse to close his legs. Not a fucking chance in hell was he going to come across submissive. With forced casualness, he gave a brief shake of his head, but the man had already disappeared. He released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Something suspiciously like disappointment huddled like a cold lump in the pit of his stomach.
His shot glass sloshed as he snatched it from the bar. At least the kid kept them coming, he thought, as he swallowed the thick golden liquid. Scorching fire of nearly pure alcohol rolled down his throat and curled contentedly in his belly. So much for company.
He could just get quietly, disgustingly drunk and forget everything. At least until he woke up. Sounded like a plan to him.
"I wouldn't if I were you. Not unless you don't plan on keeping the wolves at bay." A mellow voice, reminiscent of sunlight and easy laughter, coiled around him like bonds of silk, the strangely accented Japanese words both enticing and seductive.
Yohji blinked dumbly as long fingers encircled his wrist, arresting the flight of his glass. Fuck. He'd been so caught up in ogling his surroundings he hadn't noticed someone getting close enough to kill him. Aya, if he ever found out, would strip off an inch of flesh at a time with the edge of his tongue. Of course, Yohji had no plans to enlighten his fearless leader about this carelessness or what had driven him from the Koneko.
With a glare that matched Aya's for shi-ne intensity, Yohji looked from the fingers holding his wrist captive and followed the arm up...and...up. Oh. My. He felt his jaw drop, leaving him gaping like a schoolgirl at her first crush.
It was the man from the doorway. He hadn't taken the hint. Yohji ignored the relief that washed through him. He must've had more to drink than he remembered.
The gaijin was dressed casually in a pair of cream-colored slacks that encased long legs and caressed slim hips with the understated elegance of Armani. A shirt so dark a blue it looked purple, shimmered in the flashing lights like water. The material stretched tight across the broad shoulders and was slashed open to the waist, giving a tantalizing view of tanned flesh. A flash of gold drew Yohji's mesmerized gaze to the strong column of his throat. He let his eyes follow the lean lines of the neck up to a firm jaw and full lips that were quirked in a knowing smile. Long, sun-touched hair, pulled up into a ponytail at the top of his head, swirled around his trim waist like the latest bishounen fantasy.
Blue eyes, the deep shade of a hot summer's day, sparkled with humor that, although mocking, seemed kindly meant. Standing with one hand on his hip and the other about Yohji's wrist, he exuded a lazy, dangerous confidence -- the air of the hunter who never failed.
Yohji's heart sped up, his pulse racing. A flash of white in the deeply tanned face as the stranger smiled at him, easily plucking the shot glass from his lax grip, that smooth voice pouring over him, speaking in what he recognized was most likely English with a strange accent -- American?
At Yohji's blank-eyed gaze, the stranger translated into Japanese, "Hello, sweet baby -- let's dance."
"I didn't come here to dance," Yohji bit out sharply.
Letting his eyes roam suggestively over Yohji's slender form, the man took in the tight leather pants, the heavy boots with their chains and the tight black crop top and its shimmering net covering. With a disbelieving look, the American cocked his head. Amusement in his eyes deepened. Flicking a lock of caramel colored hair out of furious green eyes, he grinned. "That would be a pity. You like to tease the wolves, pretty boy?" Tightening his grasp around Yohji's wrist, he tugged the protesting Weiss assassin to his feet.
Angrily, Yohji jerked against the grip only to have the gaijin sidestep him and use his momentum against him. He overbalanced, practically falling against the man. Anticipation began to spark along the base of his spine, curling like warm whiskey in his stomach. Fuck, being manhandled was turning him on. The key word here being manhandled.
Wrapping an arm about Yohji's waist, the American smiled complacently down at him. "You can call me K." The warm voice spoke against his ear and Yohji found himself responding. A hot flush touched his cheeks as he glared back.
"I'll call you dead fucking meat if you don't let go of me."
Ignoring the protests, K spun them both, easily snaking his way through the press of bodies to a small opening on the dance floor. Eyes flashing in outrage, Yohji dug his heels in, growing angrier as the man simply hauled him along like a reluctant child.
K turned Yohji into his arms as the music changed into a slow rhythm spilling across their bodies. He didn't release his grip on Yohji's wrist, but rather used it to pull him closer, languorous heat swimming in the dark blue eyes.
Yohji's lips thinned in discomfort as K locked his wrist against the small of his back in a hold just short of painful. Looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, K lowered his head, speaking directly into his ear to be heard over the incessant beat of the music. "You're making such a scene, bouya. And all the little wolves are wondering when I will drop you and let them have their chance."
"I don't need your fucking protection."
"No?" With a toss of his head, causing the long gold silk of his hair to dance around them, K agreed, "No, I don't suppose you do." Something dark fluttered at the edge of those summertime eyes before laughter and innocence chased it away. Something Yohji recognized. He'd seen the same darkness in the eyes looking back at him from the bathroom mirror.
It would have been so easy to mistake K for some rich man's spoiled heir -- the designer clothing, Gucci shoes, Rolex wrapped elegantly around a slim wrist. Large square hands with tapered fingers and manicured nails, that incredibly long sun-kissed hair framing such an innocent looking heart-shaped face. But something was off. The way K moved with carefully measured precision, the hard glitter beneath the easy laughter, the calluses across his palms where his hands should have been soft, as soft as the rest of his image made him look. He acted like a man who knew not only that he could have what he wanted, but was willing to take it if the answer were no.
Danger lay in wait here. A warning tingle vibrated along his spine. Yohji had to swallow to breathe. Desire swept through him, hot and hard. He was learning more about himself tonight than he had in the twenty years previous; that thought was humbling in the extreme.
A soft warning growl left Yohji's throat as K lowered his other hand to splay against the exposed skin of his back. He was sensitive to the lightest of touches there; it was one of the reasons for his crop top fetish. Pleasure scurried from the warmth of the hand caressing his flesh, dancing erratically along his spine. The fact that it was a man's hand -- large, rough, callused -- only seemed to intensify the sensation.
"Shit." Electrified, Yohji arched away from the casual brush of fingers. Unfortunately, squirming away from that brief, invasive touch pushed him flush against the length of the taller man. Ocean colored eyes filled with a teasing light. Something dark and dangerous sparked like wildfire between them and threatened to drag him down to unknown depths. Yohji's eyes widened, and he inadvertently licked dry lips.
K's eyes fastened on the movement of Yohji's tongue with the intensity of a waiting feline. He pressed his hand more firmly against the Yohji's back, his fingers creeping below the waist of the tight leather pants eliciting another muffled gasp from the lanky assassin.
Yohji leaned away, an incoherent snarl twisting his lips. K's undoubted interest could be felt as a hard pulsing against his belly. Even worse, he could feel the eager response of the flesh between his own legs at the tacit promise in the man's possessive hold. A wash of heat colored his cheeks. K'so! He glared up at K, blowing a tangle of the man's golden mane of hair out of his face in exasperation.
Apparently his body didn't care who did the touching, as long as he was touched, and it responded with all the eagerness of an abandoned kitten. Fuck. Not in this lifetime. He was not going to be picked up in some disreputable gay bar and fucked through the floor - wall - whatever by some fucking stranger.
Raising his hands to push against the solid chest, Yoji froze as the man's thumb rubbed a tiny encouraging circle against the base of his spine. He bit back a surprised gasp as wire-bright tension arced from that one small point of contact, tightening his nipples into hard, begging peaks of flesh pushing against the tight material of his top.
He swallowed as K followed up his advantage, inserting a hard-muscled thigh between Yohji's legs, brushing against his swollen crotch.
He let out a startled yelp and blushed brightly. "Temee!" Furious that this...this fucking gaijin, probably the same breed as his father, ignored both his protests and struggles as if they were of little consequence, he began to give serious consideration to violence.
Dipping his head so that warm breath teased through the soft silk of hair hanging loose about Yohji's ears, K's voice reverberated darkly, "I wouldn't if I were you. Too many civilians, don't you think?"
The assassin stiffened in the man's hold, fists clenching. What did he know? How could he know? Yohji shot him a look beneath his lashes, something warning him that this man knew and was amused by his dilemma. "What the fuck do you know about anything?"
Amused brows quirked down at him. With a smile too sinful to be innocent, K purred, "Relax, baby. It's just a dance. It could be fun."
Whether K was referring to dancing or something else, he couldn't decide. Jaw clenching, Yohji looked away from those laughing eyes, staring blindly around the dance floor. "Fine," he bit out grudgingly.
K pulled back, and smiled down into Yohji's upturned face, a challenge sparkling sharply in those brilliantly colored eyes. "I've been watching you for quite a while, bouya." He grinned as Yohji scowled at the slight. "I couldn't help but wonder why someone so determinedly heterosexual decided on this particular club."
He seemed determined to irritate him. Yohji kept his arms stiff between them, equally determined to maintain the greatest distance possible. His captor didn't seem to mind. "If you could tell this wasn't my scene, then what the hell are you doing with me?" What should have come out as an angry snarl came out on a moan, as the other man slid his hands down to cup his ass and pull their bodies so close their groins slid against each other.
Chuckling softly, K turned him easily, swiveling their hips in such a way that pleasure coursed through Yohji. He let his head fall back, hair cascading behind him in a fall of damp waves exposing the graceful column of his neck. Soft, warm lips whispered against his damp skin. He squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief as a jolt of lust sheered through him at being controlled in such a way.
"I couldn't let such a lovely flower be so cruelly plucked by those who would have no consideration," K taunted softly.
Making a strangled sound of protest, Yohji felt his thoughts slowly unraveling beneath the knowing touch. So this is what it felt like...to be held...to be controlled...to give in. Choking on what could have been laughter, but came out a breathy moan, Yohji denied, "That wouldn't have happened."
K's soft laughter tickled his throat.
"The others know what the fuck no means." He spoke with surety, though his voice quavered on the point of breathlessness. "It's discourteous to be so persistent." He was sulking and knew it. Somehow K made him feel and act childish. Of course, his teammates would say that it wasn't far from his normal behavior.
"But I'm American. I'm supposed to be rude."
Yohji blinked. The man was laughing at him, and K's good humor was infectious. With a sigh, he shook his head, a reluctant smile teasing his lips. What a bastard. American, indeed. "Well, that explains that," he muttered, surprising a sharp bark of delighted laughter from K.
As if sensing that one obstacle had been successfully hurdled, K spun them around, released his wrist and slid his hands around the jut of Yohji's hips. Heat punctuated his awareness of K's hands and flowed outward. It was impossible to forget that he was with a man. He seemed to constantly delight in proving his masculinity, drawing their two bodies together so tightly that they seemed to move as one, making sure that Yohji could feel the hard edge of his arousal as they danced.
The night seemed to flow by them, song after song playing. K teased and cajoled him until he rocked with laughter, then took his breath away with some unexpected action -- a touch against his back, a long slow slide grinding against his groin, a wicked whisper against his ear.
Mockingly, K reached up and plucked Yohji's sunglasses from his face. "I don't want you to hide from me, bouya." He flicked the glasses closed with a practiced flip of his wrist, slipping them into the front pocket of his slacks. Humor glittered a bright challenge for Yohji to chase after them.
It was a challenge Yohji wasn't ready to face.
The man was a fucking octopus. Soft, sly touches feathered against his back, a hand brushing ever so lightly over his throbbing arousal before settling once again on his ass or hip, a gentle sucking kiss to his throat. K's hand was hot and unrelenting on the small of his back, guiding him closer as if he would swallow him whole, before he grabbed Yohji's hips again in a teasing grind that could only be labeled obscene.
It was frightening, maddening, and sexy as hell. He strangled an impulse to rub harder against K's thigh, whining like a dog in heat. He was seriously considering fucking him out on the dance floor.
The music changed, picking up in tempo, matching the race of Yohji's pulse. His cock gave the whole proceedings an enthusiastic throb. He steadfastly focused his gaze anywhere but on the knowing smirk of the man dancing with him.
Yohji was never sure how he ended up across the room pressed into the shadowed recess of a small alcove. The first inkling he had that K was no longer tormenting him in the middle of the dance floor was when a solid cool surface stopped his backward momentum.
A brief warning sparked to life in Yohji's lust-hazed brain. Before he could formulate a protest, K's mouth fastened to his. Yohji gripped the man's shoulders, planning to shove him away. Somehow, things didn't work out that way. K ran his fingers through Yohji's hair, his large hand coming to rest at the base of his skull. Yohji all but purred as the long fingers flexed, massaging firmly. He nipped at Yohji's kiss-swollen flesh until he whined, thick dark lashes fluttering over hazy green eyes; only then did he lick delicately, soothing the hurt. Yohji moaned and K took advantage of his parted lips, tongue plundering the assassin's unprotected mouth.
Flash bright darts of pleasure skimmed along Yohji's flesh, already sensitized nipples aching with the slide of silk across hard peaks, cock pulsing in a wild staccato against the hot confinement of leather. "K'so -- " The word was a hoarse plea breathed against the lips claiming his so diligently.
Effortlessly, K used his grip on Yohji's hair to pull the lithe body further backward. Yohji arched, hips tight against hips, his throat presented in demanded submission. Oh, God! Dazed green eyes stared upward helplessly. Electricity like ball lightning rolled through his body, pouring like molten gold into his belly and curling in his groin. A pained gasp choked from behind his clenched teeth as ecstasy threatened. Waves of pleasure poured through him like a never-ending high tide slamming against the beach. "God -- fuck -- K --"
K chuckled, his breath ghosting along Yohji's sweat dampened throat, wrapping him in a web of sensual delight. Yohji melted against him, long deadly fingers pawing at K's chest like a needful kitten.
"K!" He shoved at the man, desperation surging through him. It was like trying to move a wall and about as successful. Yohji twisted, a loose wire in an electrical storm. Passion raged through him and he fought a losing battle for control. Jerking against K's determined assault, the tug on his hair a sharp bright edge of pleasure-tinged pain, Yohji bit back another small sound somewhere between pleasure and distress. "God's -- K -- if you don't stop...."
He almost cried out when K's hips left his. He couldn't help the small abortive movement as he attempted to follow. Even as he sought to protest, to pull words from the fevered flames of sensation devouring him, it was too late. K's hand, rough and callused, brushed against the exposed flesh of his abdomen and slid lower. Yohji did cry out then, a hoarse mewling cry swallowed by K's eager lips, as the American's hand, large and knowledgeable, cupped Yohji's leather covered crotch and palmed his arousal.
"Oh, fuck!" Coils of pleasure, like a wire snapping under too much tension, arced through him. His cock spasmed, warmth flooding his pants in successive explosions that rocked his world and sent streaks of heat lightning dancing beneath tight-closed lids as he panted for breath through the kiss. Tremors rocked him and he clung to K like a rock in the floodwaters, his only hope for survival.
K leaned him against the wall. Yohji could feel the man's hot gaze hard upon him and he shivered uncontrollably as the aftershocks of his orgasm licked through him. K's hand was on his face, tilting his chin up. Heat tinged his cheeks. He hadn't come in his pants since he'd learned what his cock was for. If he kept his eyes closed long enough, maybe K would wander away and leave him alone to wallow in his ignominy.
In spite of his silent prayer, when K's thumb stroked tenderly along his jaw, Yohji turned dazed green eyes up at the other man. Where he expected to see scorn was lust, softened by an affectionate gleam. Indigo pools of desire shaded by lush lashes stared at him ravenously.
He was used to looks of horror, distaste, disappointment -- looks of anger and contempt. He hadn't realized how starved for affection he was. He shivered, willing to believe in this fantasy, willing it to be real if only for this one moment.
The DJ's voice echoed hollowly around the room announcing that this was the last dance. Yohji started in surprise to realize so much time had passed. He found himself a little sad that the night was coming to an end and wondered if he could arrange to meet K again. His thoughts startled him so much it took him a couple of minutes before he realized the music had stopped.
K tangled a hand in Yohji's hair, tipping his face up further. Yohji couldn't help that his lips parted, asking to be kissed. His other hand planted by Yohji's face, K had him effectively pinned. Escape could only be had at a price. Yohji waited.
K trailed a series of kisses along his jaw, whispering against his lips, "You hungry, pretty baby?" K's voice came out gruff with barely restrained passion.
"..."
The look K gave him suggested more than just physical hunger. Yohji shook his head dazedly. What K wanted was dangerous. Even through the afterglow-induced haze of an incredible fucking orgasm, every alarm was screaming at him to make a run for it. He'd been around enough to know that if he left with K he was actually agreeing to much more than what was being asked. K's hot look scoured his flesh. Curiosity warred with common sense. He wasn't sure he was entirely ready to walk down this path. It had been one of the main reasons for his inaction with Aya.
He began disengaging himself from K's hold. "I didn't come here for...for this." It would have been nice if his voice had come out firmer, stronger, and determined, instead of the husky waver that tumbled reluctantly from his kiss-bruised lips.
Snorting, K tangled his arms around Yohji's waist and jerked him back into his arms. Brushing down his back, he palmed Yohji's ass possessively, hand sliding slickly against dark leather. "That's not what I asked, pretty baby."
Yohji gasped, clinging to K's shoulders for a minute. He had a feeling that if he understood English, he'd probably hate whatever K had just called him. But with the taller man's large hand resting possessively against the curve of his ass, gluing them together, he could care less about the American's random bursts of English. All he could think was how exotic it sounded in that thick, honeyed voice.
K was pressed against him again, pinning him in a way that made it clear he had no intentions of allowing Yohji to escape so easily. A sound rumbled deep and low in K's chest as he nibbled at Yohji's earlobe, laving the tiny painful sting with his tongue and coaxing another shiver from the lanky assassin.
Heat burned through Yohji, spreading outwards like liquid fire until he could have sworn they were going to spontaneously combust. There was something dangerously intriguing about K's strength, his determination, and that bright unrelenting lust focused on him full force, spilling over him like warm sake.
Blushing brightly, Yohji spoke a little breathlessly. "Th-there's nothing open." Hell. Now he was stuttering like a thirteen-year-old.
"Mmm," K purred, undulating lazily against him.
Yohji felt the throbbing press of the other man's erection, re-awakening his own desires. He sagged against the American, his knees going weak.
Smiling triumphantly, K murmured against his ear, "I know a place that's open all night."
Yohji's hands clenched in the sweat slick blue silk of K's shirt. The whisper teased through his damp hair, tickled against his sensitive ear and made him want to press harder against K. All reason seemed to be flooding southward. The man encouraged him to push his boundaries and he found himself wanting to surrender. There had to be worse ways to explore one's sexuality than in the arms of someone as powerfully erotic as he found K. "Mmm." Yohji's head fell to the side, his thoughts scattered.
Sharp teeth bit at his neck, causing him to arch and moan. He forgot why going out to eat would be such a bad thing. Arousal and post-coital lethargy had never been the best for Yohji's mental acuity. He could blame that and the alcohol later. Somehow, he found himself enticed outside by K, agreeing to go with him.
The night air slammed into him with all the power of a deep-sea dive, cold and stinging. The breeze nipped and tore at his exposed flesh with the first sharp teeth of autumn, drying the sweat to his body and making him uncomfortably aware of the clammy leather clinging to his groin. It erased the all-pervasive odors of the sultry nightclub, reviving him from his sexually induced haze and caused him to question his sanity. Realization of just where this night was careening held him in a crushing grip, a warning fluttering low in his belly.
What in hell was he doing? A quick hand job in a dark bar and a long, slow mind fuck and he was ready to trust a total stranger -- one who had already proven himself somewhat ruthless in his single-minded pursuit of his own agenda. He'd be lucky if he didn't find himself blindfolded, bound to a bed and sold into slavery.
His heart did a strange thundering roll, a long, slow tendril of heat licking along his backbone. Warmth infused his cheeks and he could feel an answering pulse from his cock. Shit. He couldn't do this.
K's fingers flexed on his hip, sending a jolt of electricity surging from that single point of contact, focusing all of Yohji's awareness on him; the warmth of his hand, his broad-shoulders and teasing smile, the way his long flaxen hair washed out to silver beneath the pale fluorescent lights of the parking lot.
Digging in his heels, instead of stopping completely, Yohji was turned into a warm embrace. He stared up into the American's shadowed face, K's eyes little more than a starlit gleam. Flicking a wet tongue nervously over dry lips, Yohji sought desperately for words that would rescue him from what promised to be a delicate situation.
K's hands slid slowly up Yohji's hips, the intense eyes flaring with a passion the night could not hold as he watched him hungrily. Carefully, as if dealing with a wild animal, K raised his hand, lightly touching his face. A gentle brush of fingers down his exposed back had Yohji trembling anew. Instincts blared shrilly. He knew he had to stop this before things got too far out of hand. Decision hovering on the tip of his tongue, he turned quickly to confront K, startled by the American's proximity and the piercing heat of shrewd blue eyes leveled on him with wicked intent. There was a soft click and Yohji tumbled backward into the car in an inelegant tangle of long limbs.
"FUCK!" Panic darted through him. How had K done that? The car rocked as K slid into the driver's seat. Yohji struggled upright. He spied the Seven just across the lot promising safety and escape. "K, I.... "
A hand twisted suddenly in his hair and Yohji yelped. "Temee! That's not a goddamned handle!" Any further protest was cut off as he struggled ineffectually against K's determined grip and equally determined claiming of his lips.
K couldn't keep doing this, Yohji thought weakly, even as the wildfire of passion flared between them. Breathing was no longer high on his list of priorities.
When K broke the kiss this time, Yohji collapsed back against the pale leather seat, dragging air into his lungs. K leaned over until their noses were almost touching.
"You're such a bastard," Yohji panted.
Quirking an amused brow, K reached across him. "It's part of my charm."
Yohji gave a small huff of laughter. "Is that what Americans call it?"
Canting his head, K watched him with that deep unrelenting gaze that made Yohji feel like he was being consumed by fire from the inside. He found he was unable to look away.
"Last chance to run bouya, though I won't promise not to chase you down."
Yohji squirmed beneath the intense heat of K's gaze, lush lashes providing little protection against the blue fire steadily pouring over his flesh.
What had begun in disaster promised sudden sweetness rising from the ashes of the friendships he had sundered with careless anger. Suddenly, Yohji understood that he really didn't want to escape from the dark, sweet promises of this man. Those thoughts frightened him almost as much as K's proximity tantalized. "I-I have to work the early shift tomorrow." Great. Now he was stuttering like Omi.
K traced Yohji's jaw with his fingers and he leaned unconsciously into the gentle touch. Gentleness had been so very rare in Yohji's life that he sought it out with the fervor of an addict too long without a fix. The need for soft words and kindness rooted so inextricably deep in his psyche that he was willing to sublimate it in sex, even if the words leaving delicate lips were lies.
"Afraid, pretty boy?"
Damn straight. Flushing, Yohji glared, snapping his head away. "I didn't say that!"
"Good." K smirked, reaching across him and snapping a seatbelt in place.
"Hey--!" Yohji grappled for the buckle; K gripped his wrist tightly. Pinned by the intensity of the gaze, Yohji stilled.
"I won't hurt you." K spoke quietly, mischief and humor gone.
Soft, drunken giggles and the sound of glass shattering broke their paralysis, as someone dropped a bottle. It prodded Yohji into saying, "Yohji."
Sitting back, a puzzled frown marred K's brow. Answering the silent question, Yohji gave a small sheepish smile as he wiped damp hands against his thighs, the leather squeaking. "My name. Kudou Yohji."
"Hai." A wolfish grin sharpened K's features. He gave Yohji a proprietary look that flared hotly between them. "Kudou Yohji." He rolled the name in his deep voice as if tasting it. "Nice."
The pleasure canted in the look K shot him poured through Yohji like fire. He had thought that his tacit surrender would make everything easier, had thought that relaxation would spill through him like a drug in the wake of his surrender. It didn't. It left him uneasy and restless, filled with the sharp crackling electricity of the adrenaline rush that swept through him prior to a mission. In spite of the amount of alcohol consumed, trained reflexes honed over years of survival kicked in, everything coming together in painful sharp clarity.
K handled the car like he had handled Yohji -- with ruthless sensuality. Strong hands caressed the steering wheel and long slim fingers curled around the knob, fondling the gearshift, gently coaxing the car to exorbitant speeds. K cornered beautifully, shifting gears with the long practiced ease of a professional driver.
The ride was both too long and nowhere near long enough. K teased Yohji unmercifully, hand wandering freely about his body. By the time the car had ceased moving, Yohji was filled with an aching, throbbing, burning need that stole his breath and made both movement and thought nearly impossible. As K smoothly brought his car to a harrowing stop at the curb, Yohji's pulse stuttered to a stop before resuming at breakneck speed.
Apparently, they had arrived at their destination.
Cheyenne Dancer
Stains like bloody tears dotted the indeterminate wood grain of the bar. How appropriate. Yohji propped his head on one fist. Scowling darkly, he traced the path of the various disfigurations with a callused fingertip. He wasn't quite sure why he had chosen this particular club. Furious with Aya, confused by his own feelings for the redhead and stunned by what he considered a betrayal of trust by Omi and Ken, it had seemed like a very good idea at the time.
Of course, so had going to the kitchen in search of an ill-fated drink earlier this evening. Yohji glared at the hapless wood. With a certain sadistic glee his mind began replaying the current fuck-up that masqueraded as his life.
Restlessness drove him from his room, the restlessness that hovered in the aftermath of a mission that had cut close -- too close. Aya had been so preoccupied chasing down his target, he hadn't seen or heard the hired muscle behind him -- hadn't seen the gun drawn -- hadn't turned to see Yohji wrap his wire around the gunman's wrist barely in the nick of time. Blood had filled Yohji's vision and the bitter taste of fear. Pleas had fallen on deaf ears, violence thrummed through him at the idea that this two-bit thug would dare to even contemplate hurting Aya.
All too soon the wire had gone slack, the man dead and Aya gone, none the wiser. Random tremors still rocked Yohji as he faced the idea of loss -- again. The again had shocked him. He wasn't ready to acknowledge anything deeper for Aya.
The unobtainable had always been one of his weaknesses. It often drove him crazy with want and need, fortifying the determination to possess. There had been Asuka. Now there was Aya.
The moment he'd seen him unconscious in his bed, he'd recognized the danger on some instinctual level. When the slim man had opened those arresting eyes at last -- hazy and unfocused, shadowed with unbearable pain -- Yohji had felt something deep inside tighten. Aya was beyond beautiful -- all pale skin, scarlet hair and flashing violet eyes -- deceptively fragile in appearance, shored up with a core of iron willpower and hidden strength that was seductive on the most visceral of levels. The force of Aya's will practically radiated from him as his personal barriers had slammed up. Gods and ancestors, he'd known then that he was fucked.
His psyche had done a really good job this time. Falling for Aya. He was a fucking man for chrissakes!
That his feelings were confused didn't leave him feeling any better. Bitter anger had overwhelmed him. He knew he was in no fit mood for companionship, paid or not. Brutal savagery simmered beneath the surface, crashing like offshore waves, threatening to take him in the undertow of emotion. Finally, he decided it was best if he stayed home, maybe worked off the anger in the dojo upstairs or killed a bottle or two of scotch. He had wandered down to the kitchen, chased by the dark shadows of his past. Tiredly tugging a hand through unruly hair, a small sound had made him hesitate just outside the door.
He shouldn't have opened it, but worried that Omi had been hurt worse than he'd admitted, another soft moan drifting from the kitchen had decided him. Stunned didn't quite cover the sudden turmoil of thoughts and feelings that had boiled up. Frozen, he'd stood slack jawed in the doorway. Omi and Ken were in a clench. In the middle of the kitchen table. They ate on that table. For a span of life-altering moments that's all that Yohji could think of with any clarity. Breakfast tomorrow. He choked, whether on laughter or hysteria or outrage, he wasn't sure.
From this angle, Yohji could see Omi's tongue slipping around the edge of Ken's cock, pushing down the foreskin, licking at the purpling crown before taking the full hard length deep into his throat. Omi's other hand was burrowed between Ken's thighs. Slim, dexterous fingers going in - Yohji blanked. Ken shouldn't take advantage of the chibi that way. It had to be Ken's fault somehow, somewhere. Omi would never have - he did a long, slow double take.
Omi. And Ken. Fuck. He ignored the little voice giggling insanely in the back of his mind, pointing out that not quite yet, but probably very soon now, if Omi had his way.
The bile of bitter anger soured the back of this throat.
That Ken had had the courage to...to...and Yohji still dithered over Aya. That Ken and Omi had lied...hidden they were gay...hurt. Hurt surfaced in barely controlled fury and he'd spoken sharply. He shouldn't have. It wasn't any of his business. Even then he'd realized he was being a dick. But his anger had just escalated out of control until Omi was in tears and Ken and he were shouting at each other, saying things that would've been best left unsaid.
Things that made Yohji cringe on his barstool, even now, as he remembered the hurt look of disbelief flashing on Omi's young face. Worse still, Aya had heard the noise -- who in the fucking neighborhood hadn't, Yohji wondered bitterly -- and had come down to investigate.
Yohji gulped down the amber liquid in his shot glass, wishing desperately that he could rid himself of the images as easily, but he knew from long experience the harder he fought it, the longer the memories would haunt him. He yielded to the pain and let Aya's surprised disgust roll over him once again, as the two faced off.
Aya placed himself between the younger boys and Yohji, as if he thought Yohji would hurt them. He wouldn't have.
"What is your problem?" Aya's voice echoed in his mind.
"They're gay!" Yohji had shouted angrily, as if that would explain everything: his hurt, his betrayal, his rage, and the sudden all-consuming urge to fuck Aya through the floor. Even as the words left his mouth, he cringed inwardly. He'd never thought himself particularly stupid before. It was amazing that Aya hadn't rolled his eyes.
Instead, their leader went still, eyes deadly flat. "It doesn't concern you," he said coldly.
"Of course it does! You're all fucking gay and we've been together in...in close quarters and sharing showers and...." Yohji had stuttered to a halt. Aya hadn't denied it. He stared, eyes gone large.
"Oh, give it a rest, Kudou!" Ken had snapped. "As if any of us were gonna jump your heterosexual ass. You're not even our type."
Growling angrily, Yohji had snapped without thinking, "I'm everybody's type!"
Aya had pushed Yohji out of the room. "You can't have it both ways, Kudou. You're pissed off now because no one has made a pass at you?" The small curl of his lips that could have been the precursor to a smile only irritated Yohji more. What Aya might have said or done remained a blank.
"Fuck off." Shoving the man hard against the hallway wall, Yohji had stormed out. He'd heard the shattering of a picture as it fell.
Why he felt so hurt and betrayed, he wasn't certain. Maybe because Ken and Omi hadn't been afraid of happiness, however fleeting, when Yohji still didn't know what he wanted.
That was a lie. He knew what he wanted. He was just too embarrassed, too frightened to try. He wanted Aya.
He'd wanted him for months now. Had sublimated it in a whirlwind rush of dating and fucking. Yohji Kudou, playboy extraordinaire. There was no way in fucking god's green earth that he could want a man, but there'd been no escaping it. The longer he fought it, the harder it had been to ignore. Watching Aya, working beside him, seeing him nearly die and knowing, knowing with the surety of the capriciousness of Fate that their days were numbered.
He wanted Aya with a savage desperation that made him weak. He hadn't tried to tell him. He couldn't. It would ruin what little there was between them if he'd made a move and then found out he couldn't go through with it. He wasn't sure he was capable of taking the next step. Oh, fucking Aya wasn't the problem. The very thought sent his blood racing and his groin tightening. Many a fantasy featured images of smooth, pale flesh and Aya's face contorted in passion.
He knew, though, that it couldn't be one way. Aya would never play anyone's uke. Meaning, if Yohji started things, he'd have to be on the receiving end, too. Aya would settle for nothing less. That thought was enough to send his stomach on a one-way journey to the pits of hell and make his palms sweat like a kid discovered jerking off by his 'tousan.
Finding Omi and Ken clutching at the happiness he'd been too arrogant to reach for had seemed like the ultimate betrayal.
Omi in tears, a friendship with Ken that had taken years to build, shredded in one thoughtless moment and -- Aya! Fuck, he'd be lucky if Aya didn't kill him on sight. Any chance he might conceivably have had with him, completely eradicated by his own stupidity. Smooth moves, Yohji, he congratulated himself morosely.
Foot-in-mouth was more than just a compulsion; it was a disease. Embarrassment so sharp he could taste it still lingered on his tongue. He moaned and put his head in his hands, elbows propped on the bar. He was so fucked.
"Here ya go, honey. You look like you could use it." The bartender's light tenor rolled over him. Yohji lifted his head with a grimace, stared at him blankly for a minute.
Slight and small as Omi, the bartender's long golden hair was ridiculously spiked and streaked wildly with shades of carmine, blue and black above large, friendly-looking gold eyes. An inviting smile curved his lips, his fingers lingering against Yohji's knuckles.
"Arigatou." Yohji curled his fist around the glass with a tight smile. The guy had been hitting on him for the greater part of the night. He'd actually considered it. He was cute, but he reminded him too much of Omi.
Just looking into those flirtatious eyes made him feel like a dirty old man. He was hard put not to deck him, followed swiftly by an urge to shove the kid up against some dark and dirty wall and fuck him silly. Fuck him until he screamed and he had exorcised his desire for Aya completely.
He should get up, dance, take up some of the offers that had come his way. Still, he hesitated. With his feelings so confused, why had he come to a gay bar?
Slamming back his drink, he nearly snorted the whiskey through his nose. Oh, yeah. He'd thought it would help work through some of his issues. Had thought that maybe it would help him decide who he was, what he wanted, and make sure his teammates couldn't locate him before he was ready to face the music -- if they bothered to hunt for him after the great fucking ass he'd made of himself.
If he found some lovely uke who reminded him of Aya, someone who'd let him use his body and reassert his masculinity, all the better. Yohji knew the depths to which he could stoop only too well. No emotional entanglements. Karma, he was sure, had to be a woman. And this was her revenge. She had to be ensconced somewhere in the seven heavens laughing hysterically as she orchestrated his dilemma.
He really hated introspection.
Motioning to the bartender, Yohji tossed a pile of bills next to his shot glass. He pushed his sunglasses firmly up his nose, hiding the telltale glimmer of his eyes and spun around on his seat, checking out his surroundings.
The club, while not decrepit, hadn't stood out from any that he'd frequented in his time in Weiss. Inside, it was mind numbingly similar. Why had he thought it would be different? Wry amusement tugged the corner of one lip upward. Very "PC" there, Kudou.
People chattered loudly to be heard above the driving technobeat of the music. Smoke hung heavy -- streamers of pungent fog drifting through the room, glittering here and there as colored strobe lights punched through like airport beacons. Cologne mixed with the sweat and blatant arousal of desperate people frenetically seeking a moment of happiness in the writhing, faceless mass around them, while music blared and lights flashed in matching desperation.
A disquieting laugh burbled in his belly. There was one major difference between this club and the ones he normally frequented -- it was overflowing with men. Men of all ages and sizes were dancing or strolling around the bar looking for tonight's easy lay.
Several had already marked him as prey. Yohji snorted derisively. It had been simple enough to dissuade them, letting the sunglasses slide just enough that a jewel-glittered scowl peering above their dark rims revealed the danger that lay coiled behind the green of his eyes. It had been disappointingly easy.
Hidden in corners and in shadows against the walls couples were paired off, as they would be in any club where such things could and often did occur. Exhibitionism wasn't the sole purview of the straight and narrow. His lips curled wryly, glad his sunglasses hid his blatant stare.
Some of the men aggressively shadowed slighter companions, pinning their partner against the wall, groins suspiciously close. Kisses were exchanged and no one seemed to care. Yohji pictured himself pushing Aya against one of the walls and holding him there, lips touching. Casually, he eased a hand over his slow growing arousal, alleviating the discomfort of too tight leather over tender flesh.
Men and boys in various stages of undress were gyrating wildly on the dance floor, some few in moves so blatantly suggestive that Yohji could feel his eyebrows crawl up his forehead. It was different watching men with men. It was the difference between a welcoming hearth fire on a winter's day and a flash-fire gone out of control. It was hot. It was sweltering. He felt uncomfortably edgy.
Stray thoughts scattered his fraying control. Maybe it was tattered remnants of his earlier anger, maybe it was guilt and regret; more than likely it was the drink combined with his yearning for the unattainable. His mind was a treacherous beast and he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to submit, to give in to someone who was as strong as he or even stronger.
Breathing was an art form over which he was swiftly losing control, as images of Aya pushing him against a wall in a dimly lit alley surfaced. Aya pinning him, making him squirm and beg. Not in this fucking lifetime! He shifted on his seat again, certain parts of his anatomy disagreeing vehemently. He swallowed with difficulty.
He was straight, dammit! None of this should affect him. Not this bar scene, not Ken and Omi. And most certainly not Aya!
Scowling, Yohji chased another potential suitor off with an unfriendly look. If he decided to go after a man, and that was a big fucking if, then Kudou Yohji would do the chasing. Alcohol-induced decision reinforced, he relaxed infinitesimally, the buzz twisting the edges of reality into a more pleasing landscape.
Even though the night was a bust and he was more than half convinced to slink home and hide until he could figure a way to be forgiven, it was beyond him not to check out the potential of the people parading by. Habit, Yohji conceded, as he lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lower lip, was a demanding bitch.
Resting his elbows behind him on the bar, he hooked one heavily booted foot through the rungs of the stool, planting the other firmly on the floor. His open-legged stance unconsciously inviting approving glances as the leather stretched tightly over his generous endowment.
It was somehow gratifying, after Aya's curt cut-down, to have so many men checking him out with such obvious appreciation -- not that he was going to do anything about it, but it was nice to know.
Perusing the room lazily, he smirked. None of the men interested him. He found that reassuring. He could tell himself that his bizarre attraction to Aya had more to do with adrenaline and close proximity than true desire. His anger at Omi and Ken could be apologized away. He would eat crow for a month or two, but he was sure he could wrap them back around his little finger.
The opening and closing of the club's door drew his attention. Briefly, a golden-haired man stood silhouetted against a backdrop of stars. Brilliant blue eyes knifed through the crowd, skewering Yohji where he sat. His breath stuttered to a stop, even as his pulse picked up.
A slow fire kindled in those bright eyes. A look of heated interest traveled suggestively over Yohji's lithe body, lingering pointedly at his crotch. A wicked smile curved invitingly full lips.
Scowling, Yohji resisted the impulse to close his legs. Not a fucking chance in hell was he going to come across submissive. With forced casualness, he gave a brief shake of his head, but the man had already disappeared. He released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Something suspiciously like disappointment huddled like a cold lump in the pit of his stomach.
His shot glass sloshed as he snatched it from the bar. At least the kid kept them coming, he thought, as he swallowed the thick golden liquid. Scorching fire of nearly pure alcohol rolled down his throat and curled contentedly in his belly. So much for company.
He could just get quietly, disgustingly drunk and forget everything. At least until he woke up. Sounded like a plan to him.
"I wouldn't if I were you. Not unless you don't plan on keeping the wolves at bay." A mellow voice, reminiscent of sunlight and easy laughter, coiled around him like bonds of silk, the strangely accented Japanese words both enticing and seductive.
Yohji blinked dumbly as long fingers encircled his wrist, arresting the flight of his glass. Fuck. He'd been so caught up in ogling his surroundings he hadn't noticed someone getting close enough to kill him. Aya, if he ever found out, would strip off an inch of flesh at a time with the edge of his tongue. Of course, Yohji had no plans to enlighten his fearless leader about this carelessness or what had driven him from the Koneko.
With a glare that matched Aya's for shi-ne intensity, Yohji looked from the fingers holding his wrist captive and followed the arm up...and...up. Oh. My. He felt his jaw drop, leaving him gaping like a schoolgirl at her first crush.
It was the man from the doorway. He hadn't taken the hint. Yohji ignored the relief that washed through him. He must've had more to drink than he remembered.
The gaijin was dressed casually in a pair of cream-colored slacks that encased long legs and caressed slim hips with the understated elegance of Armani. A shirt so dark a blue it looked purple, shimmered in the flashing lights like water. The material stretched tight across the broad shoulders and was slashed open to the waist, giving a tantalizing view of tanned flesh. A flash of gold drew Yohji's mesmerized gaze to the strong column of his throat. He let his eyes follow the lean lines of the neck up to a firm jaw and full lips that were quirked in a knowing smile. Long, sun-touched hair, pulled up into a ponytail at the top of his head, swirled around his trim waist like the latest bishounen fantasy.
Blue eyes, the deep shade of a hot summer's day, sparkled with humor that, although mocking, seemed kindly meant. Standing with one hand on his hip and the other about Yohji's wrist, he exuded a lazy, dangerous confidence -- the air of the hunter who never failed.
Yohji's heart sped up, his pulse racing. A flash of white in the deeply tanned face as the stranger smiled at him, easily plucking the shot glass from his lax grip, that smooth voice pouring over him, speaking in what he recognized was most likely English with a strange accent -- American?
At Yohji's blank-eyed gaze, the stranger translated into Japanese, "Hello, sweet baby -- let's dance."
"I didn't come here to dance," Yohji bit out sharply.
Letting his eyes roam suggestively over Yohji's slender form, the man took in the tight leather pants, the heavy boots with their chains and the tight black crop top and its shimmering net covering. With a disbelieving look, the American cocked his head. Amusement in his eyes deepened. Flicking a lock of caramel colored hair out of furious green eyes, he grinned. "That would be a pity. You like to tease the wolves, pretty boy?" Tightening his grasp around Yohji's wrist, he tugged the protesting Weiss assassin to his feet.
Angrily, Yohji jerked against the grip only to have the gaijin sidestep him and use his momentum against him. He overbalanced, practically falling against the man. Anticipation began to spark along the base of his spine, curling like warm whiskey in his stomach. Fuck, being manhandled was turning him on. The key word here being manhandled.
Wrapping an arm about Yohji's waist, the American smiled complacently down at him. "You can call me K." The warm voice spoke against his ear and Yohji found himself responding. A hot flush touched his cheeks as he glared back.
"I'll call you dead fucking meat if you don't let go of me."
Ignoring the protests, K spun them both, easily snaking his way through the press of bodies to a small opening on the dance floor. Eyes flashing in outrage, Yohji dug his heels in, growing angrier as the man simply hauled him along like a reluctant child.
K turned Yohji into his arms as the music changed into a slow rhythm spilling across their bodies. He didn't release his grip on Yohji's wrist, but rather used it to pull him closer, languorous heat swimming in the dark blue eyes.
Yohji's lips thinned in discomfort as K locked his wrist against the small of his back in a hold just short of painful. Looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, K lowered his head, speaking directly into his ear to be heard over the incessant beat of the music. "You're making such a scene, bouya. And all the little wolves are wondering when I will drop you and let them have their chance."
"I don't need your fucking protection."
"No?" With a toss of his head, causing the long gold silk of his hair to dance around them, K agreed, "No, I don't suppose you do." Something dark fluttered at the edge of those summertime eyes before laughter and innocence chased it away. Something Yohji recognized. He'd seen the same darkness in the eyes looking back at him from the bathroom mirror.
It would have been so easy to mistake K for some rich man's spoiled heir -- the designer clothing, Gucci shoes, Rolex wrapped elegantly around a slim wrist. Large square hands with tapered fingers and manicured nails, that incredibly long sun-kissed hair framing such an innocent looking heart-shaped face. But something was off. The way K moved with carefully measured precision, the hard glitter beneath the easy laughter, the calluses across his palms where his hands should have been soft, as soft as the rest of his image made him look. He acted like a man who knew not only that he could have what he wanted, but was willing to take it if the answer were no.
Danger lay in wait here. A warning tingle vibrated along his spine. Yohji had to swallow to breathe. Desire swept through him, hot and hard. He was learning more about himself tonight than he had in the twenty years previous; that thought was humbling in the extreme.
A soft warning growl left Yohji's throat as K lowered his other hand to splay against the exposed skin of his back. He was sensitive to the lightest of touches there; it was one of the reasons for his crop top fetish. Pleasure scurried from the warmth of the hand caressing his flesh, dancing erratically along his spine. The fact that it was a man's hand -- large, rough, callused -- only seemed to intensify the sensation.
"Shit." Electrified, Yohji arched away from the casual brush of fingers. Unfortunately, squirming away from that brief, invasive touch pushed him flush against the length of the taller man. Ocean colored eyes filled with a teasing light. Something dark and dangerous sparked like wildfire between them and threatened to drag him down to unknown depths. Yohji's eyes widened, and he inadvertently licked dry lips.
K's eyes fastened on the movement of Yohji's tongue with the intensity of a waiting feline. He pressed his hand more firmly against the Yohji's back, his fingers creeping below the waist of the tight leather pants eliciting another muffled gasp from the lanky assassin.
Yohji leaned away, an incoherent snarl twisting his lips. K's undoubted interest could be felt as a hard pulsing against his belly. Even worse, he could feel the eager response of the flesh between his own legs at the tacit promise in the man's possessive hold. A wash of heat colored his cheeks. K'so! He glared up at K, blowing a tangle of the man's golden mane of hair out of his face in exasperation.
Apparently his body didn't care who did the touching, as long as he was touched, and it responded with all the eagerness of an abandoned kitten. Fuck. Not in this lifetime. He was not going to be picked up in some disreputable gay bar and fucked through the floor - wall - whatever by some fucking stranger.
Raising his hands to push against the solid chest, Yoji froze as the man's thumb rubbed a tiny encouraging circle against the base of his spine. He bit back a surprised gasp as wire-bright tension arced from that one small point of contact, tightening his nipples into hard, begging peaks of flesh pushing against the tight material of his top.
He swallowed as K followed up his advantage, inserting a hard-muscled thigh between Yohji's legs, brushing against his swollen crotch.
He let out a startled yelp and blushed brightly. "Temee!" Furious that this...this fucking gaijin, probably the same breed as his father, ignored both his protests and struggles as if they were of little consequence, he began to give serious consideration to violence.
Dipping his head so that warm breath teased through the soft silk of hair hanging loose about Yohji's ears, K's voice reverberated darkly, "I wouldn't if I were you. Too many civilians, don't you think?"
The assassin stiffened in the man's hold, fists clenching. What did he know? How could he know? Yohji shot him a look beneath his lashes, something warning him that this man knew and was amused by his dilemma. "What the fuck do you know about anything?"
Amused brows quirked down at him. With a smile too sinful to be innocent, K purred, "Relax, baby. It's just a dance. It could be fun."
Whether K was referring to dancing or something else, he couldn't decide. Jaw clenching, Yohji looked away from those laughing eyes, staring blindly around the dance floor. "Fine," he bit out grudgingly.
K pulled back, and smiled down into Yohji's upturned face, a challenge sparkling sharply in those brilliantly colored eyes. "I've been watching you for quite a while, bouya." He grinned as Yohji scowled at the slight. "I couldn't help but wonder why someone so determinedly heterosexual decided on this particular club."
He seemed determined to irritate him. Yohji kept his arms stiff between them, equally determined to maintain the greatest distance possible. His captor didn't seem to mind. "If you could tell this wasn't my scene, then what the hell are you doing with me?" What should have come out as an angry snarl came out on a moan, as the other man slid his hands down to cup his ass and pull their bodies so close their groins slid against each other.
Chuckling softly, K turned him easily, swiveling their hips in such a way that pleasure coursed through Yohji. He let his head fall back, hair cascading behind him in a fall of damp waves exposing the graceful column of his neck. Soft, warm lips whispered against his damp skin. He squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief as a jolt of lust sheered through him at being controlled in such a way.
"I couldn't let such a lovely flower be so cruelly plucked by those who would have no consideration," K taunted softly.
Making a strangled sound of protest, Yohji felt his thoughts slowly unraveling beneath the knowing touch. So this is what it felt like...to be held...to be controlled...to give in. Choking on what could have been laughter, but came out a breathy moan, Yohji denied, "That wouldn't have happened."
K's soft laughter tickled his throat.
"The others know what the fuck no means." He spoke with surety, though his voice quavered on the point of breathlessness. "It's discourteous to be so persistent." He was sulking and knew it. Somehow K made him feel and act childish. Of course, his teammates would say that it wasn't far from his normal behavior.
"But I'm American. I'm supposed to be rude."
Yohji blinked. The man was laughing at him, and K's good humor was infectious. With a sigh, he shook his head, a reluctant smile teasing his lips. What a bastard. American, indeed. "Well, that explains that," he muttered, surprising a sharp bark of delighted laughter from K.
As if sensing that one obstacle had been successfully hurdled, K spun them around, released his wrist and slid his hands around the jut of Yohji's hips. Heat punctuated his awareness of K's hands and flowed outward. It was impossible to forget that he was with a man. He seemed to constantly delight in proving his masculinity, drawing their two bodies together so tightly that they seemed to move as one, making sure that Yohji could feel the hard edge of his arousal as they danced.
The night seemed to flow by them, song after song playing. K teased and cajoled him until he rocked with laughter, then took his breath away with some unexpected action -- a touch against his back, a long slow slide grinding against his groin, a wicked whisper against his ear.
Mockingly, K reached up and plucked Yohji's sunglasses from his face. "I don't want you to hide from me, bouya." He flicked the glasses closed with a practiced flip of his wrist, slipping them into the front pocket of his slacks. Humor glittered a bright challenge for Yohji to chase after them.
It was a challenge Yohji wasn't ready to face.
The man was a fucking octopus. Soft, sly touches feathered against his back, a hand brushing ever so lightly over his throbbing arousal before settling once again on his ass or hip, a gentle sucking kiss to his throat. K's hand was hot and unrelenting on the small of his back, guiding him closer as if he would swallow him whole, before he grabbed Yohji's hips again in a teasing grind that could only be labeled obscene.
It was frightening, maddening, and sexy as hell. He strangled an impulse to rub harder against K's thigh, whining like a dog in heat. He was seriously considering fucking him out on the dance floor.
The music changed, picking up in tempo, matching the race of Yohji's pulse. His cock gave the whole proceedings an enthusiastic throb. He steadfastly focused his gaze anywhere but on the knowing smirk of the man dancing with him.
Yohji was never sure how he ended up across the room pressed into the shadowed recess of a small alcove. The first inkling he had that K was no longer tormenting him in the middle of the dance floor was when a solid cool surface stopped his backward momentum.
A brief warning sparked to life in Yohji's lust-hazed brain. Before he could formulate a protest, K's mouth fastened to his. Yohji gripped the man's shoulders, planning to shove him away. Somehow, things didn't work out that way. K ran his fingers through Yohji's hair, his large hand coming to rest at the base of his skull. Yohji all but purred as the long fingers flexed, massaging firmly. He nipped at Yohji's kiss-swollen flesh until he whined, thick dark lashes fluttering over hazy green eyes; only then did he lick delicately, soothing the hurt. Yohji moaned and K took advantage of his parted lips, tongue plundering the assassin's unprotected mouth.
Flash bright darts of pleasure skimmed along Yohji's flesh, already sensitized nipples aching with the slide of silk across hard peaks, cock pulsing in a wild staccato against the hot confinement of leather. "K'so -- " The word was a hoarse plea breathed against the lips claiming his so diligently.
Effortlessly, K used his grip on Yohji's hair to pull the lithe body further backward. Yohji arched, hips tight against hips, his throat presented in demanded submission. Oh, God! Dazed green eyes stared upward helplessly. Electricity like ball lightning rolled through his body, pouring like molten gold into his belly and curling in his groin. A pained gasp choked from behind his clenched teeth as ecstasy threatened. Waves of pleasure poured through him like a never-ending high tide slamming against the beach. "God -- fuck -- K --"
K chuckled, his breath ghosting along Yohji's sweat dampened throat, wrapping him in a web of sensual delight. Yohji melted against him, long deadly fingers pawing at K's chest like a needful kitten.
"K!" He shoved at the man, desperation surging through him. It was like trying to move a wall and about as successful. Yohji twisted, a loose wire in an electrical storm. Passion raged through him and he fought a losing battle for control. Jerking against K's determined assault, the tug on his hair a sharp bright edge of pleasure-tinged pain, Yohji bit back another small sound somewhere between pleasure and distress. "God's -- K -- if you don't stop...."
He almost cried out when K's hips left his. He couldn't help the small abortive movement as he attempted to follow. Even as he sought to protest, to pull words from the fevered flames of sensation devouring him, it was too late. K's hand, rough and callused, brushed against the exposed flesh of his abdomen and slid lower. Yohji did cry out then, a hoarse mewling cry swallowed by K's eager lips, as the American's hand, large and knowledgeable, cupped Yohji's leather covered crotch and palmed his arousal.
"Oh, fuck!" Coils of pleasure, like a wire snapping under too much tension, arced through him. His cock spasmed, warmth flooding his pants in successive explosions that rocked his world and sent streaks of heat lightning dancing beneath tight-closed lids as he panted for breath through the kiss. Tremors rocked him and he clung to K like a rock in the floodwaters, his only hope for survival.
K leaned him against the wall. Yohji could feel the man's hot gaze hard upon him and he shivered uncontrollably as the aftershocks of his orgasm licked through him. K's hand was on his face, tilting his chin up. Heat tinged his cheeks. He hadn't come in his pants since he'd learned what his cock was for. If he kept his eyes closed long enough, maybe K would wander away and leave him alone to wallow in his ignominy.
In spite of his silent prayer, when K's thumb stroked tenderly along his jaw, Yohji turned dazed green eyes up at the other man. Where he expected to see scorn was lust, softened by an affectionate gleam. Indigo pools of desire shaded by lush lashes stared at him ravenously.
He was used to looks of horror, distaste, disappointment -- looks of anger and contempt. He hadn't realized how starved for affection he was. He shivered, willing to believe in this fantasy, willing it to be real if only for this one moment.
The DJ's voice echoed hollowly around the room announcing that this was the last dance. Yohji started in surprise to realize so much time had passed. He found himself a little sad that the night was coming to an end and wondered if he could arrange to meet K again. His thoughts startled him so much it took him a couple of minutes before he realized the music had stopped.
K tangled a hand in Yohji's hair, tipping his face up further. Yohji couldn't help that his lips parted, asking to be kissed. His other hand planted by Yohji's face, K had him effectively pinned. Escape could only be had at a price. Yohji waited.
K trailed a series of kisses along his jaw, whispering against his lips, "You hungry, pretty baby?" K's voice came out gruff with barely restrained passion.
"..."
The look K gave him suggested more than just physical hunger. Yohji shook his head dazedly. What K wanted was dangerous. Even through the afterglow-induced haze of an incredible fucking orgasm, every alarm was screaming at him to make a run for it. He'd been around enough to know that if he left with K he was actually agreeing to much more than what was being asked. K's hot look scoured his flesh. Curiosity warred with common sense. He wasn't sure he was entirely ready to walk down this path. It had been one of the main reasons for his inaction with Aya.
He began disengaging himself from K's hold. "I didn't come here for...for this." It would have been nice if his voice had come out firmer, stronger, and determined, instead of the husky waver that tumbled reluctantly from his kiss-bruised lips.
Snorting, K tangled his arms around Yohji's waist and jerked him back into his arms. Brushing down his back, he palmed Yohji's ass possessively, hand sliding slickly against dark leather. "That's not what I asked, pretty baby."
Yohji gasped, clinging to K's shoulders for a minute. He had a feeling that if he understood English, he'd probably hate whatever K had just called him. But with the taller man's large hand resting possessively against the curve of his ass, gluing them together, he could care less about the American's random bursts of English. All he could think was how exotic it sounded in that thick, honeyed voice.
K was pressed against him again, pinning him in a way that made it clear he had no intentions of allowing Yohji to escape so easily. A sound rumbled deep and low in K's chest as he nibbled at Yohji's earlobe, laving the tiny painful sting with his tongue and coaxing another shiver from the lanky assassin.
Heat burned through Yohji, spreading outwards like liquid fire until he could have sworn they were going to spontaneously combust. There was something dangerously intriguing about K's strength, his determination, and that bright unrelenting lust focused on him full force, spilling over him like warm sake.
Blushing brightly, Yohji spoke a little breathlessly. "Th-there's nothing open." Hell. Now he was stuttering like a thirteen-year-old.
"Mmm," K purred, undulating lazily against him.
Yohji felt the throbbing press of the other man's erection, re-awakening his own desires. He sagged against the American, his knees going weak.
Smiling triumphantly, K murmured against his ear, "I know a place that's open all night."
Yohji's hands clenched in the sweat slick blue silk of K's shirt. The whisper teased through his damp hair, tickled against his sensitive ear and made him want to press harder against K. All reason seemed to be flooding southward. The man encouraged him to push his boundaries and he found himself wanting to surrender. There had to be worse ways to explore one's sexuality than in the arms of someone as powerfully erotic as he found K. "Mmm." Yohji's head fell to the side, his thoughts scattered.
Sharp teeth bit at his neck, causing him to arch and moan. He forgot why going out to eat would be such a bad thing. Arousal and post-coital lethargy had never been the best for Yohji's mental acuity. He could blame that and the alcohol later. Somehow, he found himself enticed outside by K, agreeing to go with him.
The night air slammed into him with all the power of a deep-sea dive, cold and stinging. The breeze nipped and tore at his exposed flesh with the first sharp teeth of autumn, drying the sweat to his body and making him uncomfortably aware of the clammy leather clinging to his groin. It erased the all-pervasive odors of the sultry nightclub, reviving him from his sexually induced haze and caused him to question his sanity. Realization of just where this night was careening held him in a crushing grip, a warning fluttering low in his belly.
What in hell was he doing? A quick hand job in a dark bar and a long, slow mind fuck and he was ready to trust a total stranger -- one who had already proven himself somewhat ruthless in his single-minded pursuit of his own agenda. He'd be lucky if he didn't find himself blindfolded, bound to a bed and sold into slavery.
His heart did a strange thundering roll, a long, slow tendril of heat licking along his backbone. Warmth infused his cheeks and he could feel an answering pulse from his cock. Shit. He couldn't do this.
K's fingers flexed on his hip, sending a jolt of electricity surging from that single point of contact, focusing all of Yohji's awareness on him; the warmth of his hand, his broad-shoulders and teasing smile, the way his long flaxen hair washed out to silver beneath the pale fluorescent lights of the parking lot.
Digging in his heels, instead of stopping completely, Yohji was turned into a warm embrace. He stared up into the American's shadowed face, K's eyes little more than a starlit gleam. Flicking a wet tongue nervously over dry lips, Yohji sought desperately for words that would rescue him from what promised to be a delicate situation.
K's hands slid slowly up Yohji's hips, the intense eyes flaring with a passion the night could not hold as he watched him hungrily. Carefully, as if dealing with a wild animal, K raised his hand, lightly touching his face. A gentle brush of fingers down his exposed back had Yohji trembling anew. Instincts blared shrilly. He knew he had to stop this before things got too far out of hand. Decision hovering on the tip of his tongue, he turned quickly to confront K, startled by the American's proximity and the piercing heat of shrewd blue eyes leveled on him with wicked intent. There was a soft click and Yohji tumbled backward into the car in an inelegant tangle of long limbs.
"FUCK!" Panic darted through him. How had K done that? The car rocked as K slid into the driver's seat. Yohji struggled upright. He spied the Seven just across the lot promising safety and escape. "K, I.... "
A hand twisted suddenly in his hair and Yohji yelped. "Temee! That's not a goddamned handle!" Any further protest was cut off as he struggled ineffectually against K's determined grip and equally determined claiming of his lips.
K couldn't keep doing this, Yohji thought weakly, even as the wildfire of passion flared between them. Breathing was no longer high on his list of priorities.
When K broke the kiss this time, Yohji collapsed back against the pale leather seat, dragging air into his lungs. K leaned over until their noses were almost touching.
"You're such a bastard," Yohji panted.
Quirking an amused brow, K reached across him. "It's part of my charm."
Yohji gave a small huff of laughter. "Is that what Americans call it?"
Canting his head, K watched him with that deep unrelenting gaze that made Yohji feel like he was being consumed by fire from the inside. He found he was unable to look away.
"Last chance to run bouya, though I won't promise not to chase you down."
Yohji squirmed beneath the intense heat of K's gaze, lush lashes providing little protection against the blue fire steadily pouring over his flesh.
What had begun in disaster promised sudden sweetness rising from the ashes of the friendships he had sundered with careless anger. Suddenly, Yohji understood that he really didn't want to escape from the dark, sweet promises of this man. Those thoughts frightened him almost as much as K's proximity tantalized. "I-I have to work the early shift tomorrow." Great. Now he was stuttering like Omi.
K traced Yohji's jaw with his fingers and he leaned unconsciously into the gentle touch. Gentleness had been so very rare in Yohji's life that he sought it out with the fervor of an addict too long without a fix. The need for soft words and kindness rooted so inextricably deep in his psyche that he was willing to sublimate it in sex, even if the words leaving delicate lips were lies.
"Afraid, pretty boy?"
Damn straight. Flushing, Yohji glared, snapping his head away. "I didn't say that!"
"Good." K smirked, reaching across him and snapping a seatbelt in place.
"Hey--!" Yohji grappled for the buckle; K gripped his wrist tightly. Pinned by the intensity of the gaze, Yohji stilled.
"I won't hurt you." K spoke quietly, mischief and humor gone.
Soft, drunken giggles and the sound of glass shattering broke their paralysis, as someone dropped a bottle. It prodded Yohji into saying, "Yohji."
Sitting back, a puzzled frown marred K's brow. Answering the silent question, Yohji gave a small sheepish smile as he wiped damp hands against his thighs, the leather squeaking. "My name. Kudou Yohji."
"Hai." A wolfish grin sharpened K's features. He gave Yohji a proprietary look that flared hotly between them. "Kudou Yohji." He rolled the name in his deep voice as if tasting it. "Nice."
The pleasure canted in the look K shot him poured through Yohji like fire. He had thought that his tacit surrender would make everything easier, had thought that relaxation would spill through him like a drug in the wake of his surrender. It didn't. It left him uneasy and restless, filled with the sharp crackling electricity of the adrenaline rush that swept through him prior to a mission. In spite of the amount of alcohol consumed, trained reflexes honed over years of survival kicked in, everything coming together in painful sharp clarity.
K handled the car like he had handled Yohji -- with ruthless sensuality. Strong hands caressed the steering wheel and long slim fingers curled around the knob, fondling the gearshift, gently coaxing the car to exorbitant speeds. K cornered beautifully, shifting gears with the long practiced ease of a professional driver.
The ride was both too long and nowhere near long enough. K teased Yohji unmercifully, hand wandering freely about his body. By the time the car had ceased moving, Yohji was filled with an aching, throbbing, burning need that stole his breath and made both movement and thought nearly impossible. As K smoothly brought his car to a harrowing stop at the curb, Yohji's pulse stuttered to a stop before resuming at breakneck speed.
Apparently, they had arrived at their destination.