This story is all the fault of Smo, who said, and I quote, "[Yohji]'d wear a French maid's outfit if he thought it'd get him laid." Hence, fic. The pun is my fault, and I fully accept that I must die for it. The characters aren't mine, and neither is the dress.Thanks once again to Jenny Penny, my lovely and charming beta. She did her job; any remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Maid in Heaven
by Maya Tawipart one
2004
"Where are you going?"Yohji spun around, clutching his coat around him, and floundered for a moment before his dignity managed to reassert itself. Aya was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest. Yohji raised his chin and declared, "I have a date."
"Something new and different," Ken said, and only then did Yohji see him, sitting at the table and grinning. Yohji must have been more rattled than he'd thought if he hadn't noticed the peanut gallery. He looked around for Omi, but to his relief, the kid was nowhere to be seen. Omi was always the hardest to bluff, not because he was suspicious, but because it felt like kicking a puppy.
Aya was not mollified. "Why are you creeping around like that?"
Yohji rolled his eyes. "So I could avoid this fun little conversation. My sex life is none of your business."
Aya made a sour face. Ken said, "He's got you there."
"Why are you wearing your mission coat?" Aya demanded, ignoring Ken.
"It's cold out," Yohji said defensively, pulling the coat more tightly around him. "Look, I promise not to kill anyone without you, okay? Is that it? Are you done? 'Cause I'm gonna be late."
"Why--" Aya began.
"Great. See ya!" Yohji turned and dashed out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him.
Once he was safely in the car, he laid his head on the steering wheel and took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. Shit. What was it with Aya? The guy was gonna give him a fucking heart attack. Somehow he always knew when Yohji was trying to hide something, which was, of course, his cue to start prying, because God forbid anyone but Abyssinian have any secrets.
And this particular secret…. Yohji resisted the urge to pull his coat open and look down at himself. He knew what he was wearing, and he knew why-- and, as always, it all came down to sex. But if the others got an eyeful, he'd never hear the end of it. They knew how far he'd go to get laid; they didn't need to see the proof.
He arrived at the love hotel only five minutes late and ran his sweaty hands over his coat before walking in, to make sure everything was properly concealed. Never knew when he'd run into an old girlfriend, after all.
"I'm here for Seiyukai Emiko," he told the clerk, and his pulse sped up as the guy dropped a key into his hand.
It was the risk of discovery that was getting to him, the thrill of misbehaving in public where no one else could see. He'd been hard the whole drive over, and now, so close to his goal, it was all he could do not to spring for the elevator. Luckily his coat covered a multitude of sins.
The room was on the top floor, at the far end of the hall from the elevator. Yohji forced himself to keep his stride steady and took a few more deep breaths before he opened the door. Wouldn't do to seem too excited. This was Emiko's fantasy, after all, not his.
"Emiko?" he called softly, closing the door and locking it behind him. The room was dark, and as his eyes adjusted he could see her silhouetted dimly in front of the window, long hair spilling over her shoulders.
"Take your coat off," she whispered.
Her voice sounded different, lower somehow, but Yohji just put it down to the same excitement that was rippling through his own body. He gave her a sly grin and slowly unbuttoned his coat, pulling it open to reveal the French maid's outfit beneath.
He knew he looked ridiculous-- he certainly didn't have the body to pull off the puffed sleeves and the ruffled apron, and his erection was pulling up the short skirt to an obscene degree, revealing his lack of underwear. But Emiko had asked him to wear it, had sent it to a mailbox he'd rented in town, and judging from her sharp intake of breath she was pleased with the result. Yohji couldn't help preening a little. He did have nice legs.
Emiko's whisper became a purr. "Throw it to me."
It took Yohji a minute to remember what she was referring to. Oh yeah-- the coat. He lobbed it gently at her, and she caught it, then knelt to stow it somewhere out of sight.
"Get on the bed. Face down."
Yohji complied, but slowly, apprehension pricking in his stomach as a delicious counterpart to the arousal. He didn't know what Emiko intended to do, but he had a few ideas, and the mental images were both exhilarating and terrifying. But this was her show; he'd promised to play along.
Of course, the fact that she would do the same for him the following weekend had certainly made him amenable to the agreement.
He waited for what seemed like an eternity, his anticipation building to a fever pitch, and then he felt the bed dipping under her weight. But something was wrong. The weight felt strangely heavy, somehow not distributed the way he'd expected. Yohji started to turn, and that weight settled onto his back as long, slender hands closed over his wrists. The body on top of him was tall, hard, angular, and definitely not Emiko's.
"What," he began, trying to pull away, and then soft orange hair spilled over his shoulder as a man's voice whispered in his ear.
"I win."
Yohji froze, the first bloom of panic unfolding in his stomach. He definitely wasn't hard anymore; in fact, his dick felt like it was trying to crawl back up into his body. Then he threw his head back, but instead of Schuldig's nose his skull met only air.
"Get off me!" he yelled, and started to struggle in earnest.
"Mmm. How 'bout no?"
Yohji writhed, and Schuldig added, sounding breathless, "You do realize you're just getting me more excited here, right? I mean, I'm okay with it if you are."
He wasn't lying; the incontrovertible truth was digging into Yohji's bare ass. Yohji subsided, shaking, and asked in a low voice, "What do you want?"
"Well, I already got what I want," Schuldig said, sounding insufferably smug. His mouth moved closer; Yohji felt hot breath on his ear. "I had a bet with Farfie over how far you'd go to get laid. You just won me ten thousand yen. I salute you, Balinese; he didn't think you'd do it."
"You--" Yohji choked. "Farfarello?" Then a truly horrifying thought struck him. "He's not-- he's not here, is he?"
"Only in spirit." He could feel the grin against his neck.
"What--"
"Think of it like a mental webcast, only better. The full sensory array."
"Oh God," Yohji groaned.
"Farfie concurs."
"Get off me," Yohji hissed, and to his surprise, Schuldig did.
Yohji didn't stop to ponder his good fortune; he shot off the bed and pressed his back against the door. Schuldig was standing at the opposite side of the bed, smirking, his arms raised in an exaggerated gesture of hands-off. Without breaking his gaze, Yohji reached behind himself and tried the doorknob. It turned with no resistance.
Not quite believing his reprieve, he asked, "You're just gonna let me walk out of here?" It came out sounding a lot more plaintive than he'd intended, and he winced.
"Sure," Schuldig said, and grinned. "If you think you'll get very far dressed like that."
Yohji glanced down and bit back another groan. He felt his face flush beet red.
"Give me my coat," he demanded, without much hope.
"Try again."
For a moment Yohji contemplated just walking out, short skirt and ruffles and all. The clerk had undoubtedly seen worse, and his Seven wasn't parked too far from the door... but his keys were in his coat pocket. Never mind, he'd hotwire it. Did he have a change of clothes in the car? He couldn't remember... and the thought of walking into the trailer to face Ken's amusement and Aya's undisguised scorn was enough to give him pause.
"What did you do to Emiko?" He'd meant to stall for time, but as soon as he said it he started to worry. His imagination supplied images of her lying in an alley somewhere with her throat slit.
Schuldig waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't worry your pretty little head. She's at home asleep right now, blissfully unaware of this entire sordid affair."
"Wha-- you mean you set this whole thing up?"
"Of course," Schuldig said, rolling his eyes. "Kinda slow, aren't you? I told you, it was a bet. One you seemed only too eager to comply with, I might add."
If Yohji's face got any hotter it would start to glow. Schuldig must have gotten the address of his rented mailbox somehow....
Yeah. Somehow. Telepathy, maybe. And if that were the case--
Schuldig rolled his eyes again. "Yes, Kudou, I do know where you're hiding out. Trust me, if you were a threat to us, you'd be dead already."
Yohji elected not to pursue the subject. "What do you want?"
Schuldig's ever-present smirk became a leer. "Well, I told you this whole thing was a wager. But I wasn't lying when I said it was a fantasy of mine."
Emiko's note flashed into Yohji's mind. The thought of you wearing this gets me so hot....
"No," he croaked.
"I'm afraid yes."
Yohji narrowed his eyes. Schuldig licked his lips.
Without warning, Yohji dove across the bed, where he had seen Schuldig hide his coat. Schuldig took a step back, seemingly startled.
It wasn't there. He even looked under the bed. Nothing.
"Where is it?" he yelled, leaping to his feet.
Schuldig giggled.
It was a nasal, high-pitched sound, startling in its genuine amusement. Yohji stepped forward, bristling, and Schuldig doubled over and howled with laughter.
"Fuck you!" Yohji stormed away and started throwing open doors, finding a closet, a bathroom, and nary a scrap of cloth in either one. Turning back to the bed, he realized for the first time that even the sheets were gone.
By this time Schuldig had calmed down enough to gasp out, "You won't find it." He was still grinning like an idiot, but seemed less likely to laugh himself to death. Pity.
Yohji crossed his arms and glared.
Schuldig snickered. "Oh, God, don't start that again."
"Give me my coat, you fucker!"
Without warning, he was suddenly hit by a clear mental image of himself-- ruffles askew, short skirt rucked up above absurdly long legs, his long hair framing his flushed face and his glittering green eyes. He made either a ridiculous-looking man or a surprisingly pretty girl. And was that a pout on his face? Yohji pulled his lower lip in and bared his teeth.
Wait a minute. Surprisingly pretty?
Yohji paled and backed up against the wall again.
"Oh, come on," Schuldig said, moving closer. The smirk was back, if it ever even went away. "Like you weren't fantasizing about the lovely Emiko doing the same thing. I don't even need a strap-on."
"Shit," Yohji said with feeling. "Oh no. Oh, shit."
"What's the matter, Kudou? I thought you wanted to get laid."
"Not by you!"
"Like you're in any position to be picky."
"Fuck you!"
"Close."
Yohji seethed. Schuldig said, "What's wrong, not in the mood? I can fix that."
The sudden wave of lust was overwhelming. He should have been expecting it, but he wasn't, which only made it worse. It took him a moment to realize he'd fallen to his knees.
"Come here," he heard Schuldig say, sounding very distant, and before he knew what he was doing Yohji found himself crawling towards the source of the voice, the source of the mind-bending lust. Another wave hit, this one accompanied by a picture of himself on his hands and knees. Schuldig was watching him crawl.
Yohji shuddered, but the lust only grew stronger, if anything. He was hard again, and his mind was already rationalizing his body's actions. It was the only way to get out of here with his dignity, after all. If Schuldig wouldn't give him back his coat, he'd have to play along.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a cynical voice jeered, Yeah, 'cause this is such a great way to keep your dignity.
Yohji stopped, panting, and shook his head to try and clear it. What the hell was he doing? He wasn't into men. He certainly wasn't into Schuldig. And he definitely wasn't a whore.
Aya would disagree, that little voice said.
Well, fuck Aya.
You wish.
"I do not!"
"As fun as this schizophrenic little conversation is," Schuldig's voice said in his ear, "it's time to make a decision, Kudou."
"No fair," Yohji gasped, his voice rising sharply on the second word as Schuldig's hand crept under his skirt and between his legs.
"Whoever said I play fair?"
"I can't go out like this!"
"Then get on the bed."
Yohji sat back on his haunches, trembling. He couldn't move. Schuldig grasped his arms and hauled him to his feet. "Up you get," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Just like you were. That's right."
Yohji crawled up the bed on unsteady limbs. Schuldig's hands seemed to be everywhere: dipping into the small of his back, circling his waist, smoothing the soft fabric over the bones of his hips. One slid up under his skirt, firm and proprietary against his ass, and to his dismay he heard himself whimper.
Then those hands were pushing him, rolling him over onto his back. Yohji's stomach lurched. He didn't want to actually see Schuldig doing... whatever he was planning to do, but apparently the redhead had other plans.
"I changed my mind," Yohji croaked.
"So get up and walk out the door."
He didn't move.
Schuldig stared down at him with an evil grin. His eyes raked over Yohji's body, making Yohji feel more exposed than if he'd actually been naked. The dress itched. The ruffles were ridiculous. He was wearing a fucking skirt. Worse, Schuldig hadn't been kidding about the whole thing turning him on.
Somehow Yohji managed to dredge up a spark of defiance. "If I'd known it was you," he spat, "I would've worn a dirndl."
"You say the sweetest things."
Schuldig leaned in, and Yohji looked away, closing his eyes. He refused to kiss the bastard. But Schuldig reached over his head, hands closing over his wrists and pulling them over his head. Yohji jerked in surprise and craned his head up, trying to see what was happening.
When he saw the handcuffs attached to the headboard, he started to struggle anew. "Oh no. No fucking way."
He could hear Schuldig's smirk. "Just so you don't change your mind halfway through."
"What's there to change?"
"Sorry. Non-negotiable. And there's a joke there, but I think you just made it for me."
Yohji's laugh was tinged with hysteria. "You're setting conditions for me?"
Another forced jolt of lust, and he slumped back to the mattress, groaning. Before he could re-gather his scattered wits, Schuldig had snapped the cuffs shut around his wrists.
Yohji buried his face miserably in his arm. For once, Schuldig just didn't get it-- Yohji couldn't leave. Couldn't face leaving the room. Even if he somehow managed to avoid an indecency charge on the way home, Aya....
He couldn't.
"Now that's what I like to hear," Schuldig said, his face suddenly coming into view again. "Self-justification dressed up as defeatism. Much like you're dressed up as a French maid. You know, it was surprisingly easy to find that outfit here. Then again, I should probably stop being surprised at the Japanese propensity for kink."
Yohji gave him a cold look. "Are you done?"
"Just getting started, darlin'." Schuldig settled himself on Yohji's thighs, running lascivious blue eyes up and down his body. Yohji squirmed under the weight, then forced himself to lie still as he realized he was starting to enjoy it.
Schuldig pushed Yohji's skirt up, and his ever-present smirk widened. Yohji flushed scarlet and tried to think of unsexy things. Takatori. Farfarello. Aya with his Ice Queen glare... no, that was definitely not working.
"Look, Kudou," Schuldig purred. "I think it likes me."
Yohji stared fixedly at the ceiling. "Dream on."
"You gave in awfully quickly, don't you think?"
His jaw dropped. He snapped it shut. "I didn't have a choice! You pushed me into it!"
"Mmm." Schuldig rocked back and forth, and Yohji stifled a groan. "It's nice to think that, isn't it? Forget that you could've walked out the door at any time, with no more injury except to your pride. Makes me wonder why you chose to stay."
"You know why!"
"You know what?" Schuldig said, and grinned. "I think I do."
Then he leaned down and ran his tongue over the length of Yohji's half-hard dick.
Yohji dug his teeth into his lower lip and held back a moan. Schuldig had a talented tongue, Schuldig knew what he was doing, and it wasn't long before Yohji was thrashing under his mouth. He clutched at the bars of the headboard, hard enough to turn his knuckles white, gazed down at the orange head bobbing beneath his skirt and ruffled apron, and wondered just what the hell was going on.
Apparently irritated by his silence, Schuldig did something with his tongue that made Yohji see stars. He yelped, forgetting himself, and felt the unmistakable scrape of teeth over his balls. His legs kicked. This wasn't so bad....
As if on cue-- and it probably was, the fucker-- Schuldig promptly gripped Yohji's thighs and pushed his legs back, opening them as wide as possible. Before Yohji could process this shift in position, Schuldig's tongue was, oh God, probing at his asshole, slipping past the muscle as he choked at the bizarre new sensations.
It felt hot and firm and slippery, like a living creature was trying to crawl up his ass. Yohji twisted, uncertain whether he was trying to pull away or encouraging the tongue to go deeper. He felt Schuldig's lips curve against his ass.
"Screw you," he gasped.
Close, Schuldig's voice said in his head, startling him. And then a finger joined the tongue.
"Gah!" Yohji kicked at Schuldig with the leg that had been released, and somehow Schuldig trapped it effortlessly beneath his knee. Yohji struggled, trying to force the finger out of him, to no avail.
"I changed my mind!" he yelled desperately, and was rewarded with a second finger.
Yohji's mind whirled. He couldn't go through with this. Couldn't let Schuldig do... what it seemed he was planning to do. Shit, he'd walk through downtown Tokyo naked before he'd let Schuldig fuck him, and the hell with Aya and with Ken too, Yohji didn't take it up the ass for any man, and it wasn't like Aya could think any less of him anyway--
Schuldig stopped abruptly and sat up, his head cocked to the side. A truly frightening grin spread across his face.
"Oh, that's just too perfect," he declared.
Yohji blinked, feeling slow and stupid. Schuldig wasn't talking to him anymore. The two fingers were still in his ass. He gritted his teeth.
"We'll finish this later," Schuldig said, and leaned in to give Yohji a sloppy, bruising kiss. Yohji gagged-- he knew where that mouth had been-- and then, suddenly, the fingers withdrew. When he looked again, Schuldig was gone.
"Wha-- the fuck? Hey! Get back here! Uncuff me, dammit!" Yohji yelled, yanking at the handcuffs. His ass ached. It felt far too open. He looked around wildly, but the room was empty. How the fuck did Schuldig do that? "Fuck you! Let me go, damn you! What the hell--"
The door burst open, ripping the lock out of the wall and crashing into the opposite wall with enough force to shatter the cheap wood. Splinters and plaster rained to the floor. A tall figure stepped through the plaster cloud like an avenging angel.
Yohji closed his eyes and prayed very, very hard.
It didn't work. When he opened his eyes, Fujimiya Aya was still standing in the open doorway, gaping at him.
Yohji closed his eyes again, let his head fall back against the mattress, and said wearily, "The door was unlocked, you know."
Yohji was acting strange. Aya said as much.
"How can you tell?" Ken asked with a wry grin, as Aya opened the trailer door.
Well, stranger than usual, anyway. Aya stared at the car that sat, still dark, in front of the trailer. "Something's not right."
"He's got a date," Ken said. "What's so strange about that?"
"He was wearing his mission coat."
"It's cold out."
"I know what he said, Ken." Aya leaned into the bedroom and grabbed his own white coat and his katana. That was the one good thing about the trailer's small size; he didn't have to travel very far to fetch anything. Outside, he heard the Seven's engine turn over. "I think he's hiding something."
He watched as Yohji peeled away, then strode across the grass to his own car. Ken followed him to the Porsche, still arguing. "So what? The man's entitled to a few secrets."
"Not if they endanger the team."
"You're following him," Ken said.
It wasn't a question. Aya answered anyway. "Yes."
Ken threw his hands up in the air. "Great. As if things weren't tense enough between you two already."
Aya paused, half in the driver's seat, and gave Ken a hard stare. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.
Ken rolled his eyes. "Oh, nothing. Go on, follow Yohji on his date. Great plan."
Aya hesitated. Yohji's taillights were quickly disappearing in the distance. If he was going to follow him, he had to leave now.
He was being silly. For a moment, he contemplated just getting out of the car and walking back inside. Yohji would come home late, as always; reeking of booze and sex, as always; and Aya would feel nothing but irritation that his worry had gone to waste.
Then he remembered Yohji's uneasy gaze and his glib nervousness, and turned the key in the ignition.
He glanced in the rearview mirror once, just before the trailer vanished from sight. Ken was still standing in the grass, watching him, his arms folded across his chest. Aya was too far away to see his expression.
Aya set his jaw and focused on the Seven's taillights in front of him.
Approximately fifteen minutes later, he sat in front of a run-down love hotel, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Yohji had acted suspiciously on his way in-- looking over his shoulder, wiping his hands on his coat-- but other than that, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.
This was ridiculous. He was sitting in the parking lot while Yohji was fifty meters away, having sex with his girlfriend of the week. He could probably be more pathetic if he tried.
Aya scowled at the dashboard clock. Eight minutes spent contemplating Yohji's sex life. Definitely time to leave.
He reached for the keys, then paused. This behavior was pathetic, yes; ridiculous, certainly. If Yohji found him out here, the man would be insufferable. Aya would never hear the end of it. Best to just leave now and swear Ken to secrecy. And yet.
And yet something didn't feel right, and the one thing Aya valued more than his pride was his instinct for trouble. Something was happening.
He winced. Something other than the obvious something.
"Fuck," he muttered, getting out and slamming the door behind him.
He'd just talk to the desk clerk, that was all. If something seemed out of the ordinary, he would investigate. Otherwise, he'd go.
Of course, if nothing were wrong, he'd have to swear the clerk to secrecy as well. Physical threats worked wonders in that regard.
Aya stalked into the hotel, planted his hands on the front desk, and pinned the startled clerk with a laser stare. "A man came in here a few minutes ago. Tall, blond, wearing sunglasses and a long black coat. What room is he in?"
"I'm not supposed--" the clerk began, and without changing his expression Aya unsheathed his katana and pointed it at the man's throat.
"What room is he in?" he repeated.
The clerk's Adam's apple bobbed. "Top floor," he croaked. "Last door on the left."
"What name is the room under?"
The clerk gave the sword a pointed look, and Aya slowly sheathed it, keeping his hand on the hilt. The man gave him a tight smile and fumbled with his books. "Um, a-- a woman's name. Seiyukai Emiko."
Aya sighed, disgusted with himself, and turned to go. Emiko was Yohji's current favored girlfriend, he knew that much. He'd wasted his time.
"Funny thing, though," the clerk said. "The person who booked the room wasn't a woman at all. He was a foreigner, in fact, though his hair was long enough to be a girl's. Strange color, too. Almost orange."
Aya froze.
Then he spun around and ran for the elevator.
He jabbed the button repeatedly, but the elevator appeared to be stalled on one of the floors. Aya growled, slammed a fist into the closed doors, and started up the stairs, two at a time.
He wasn't quite out of breath by the time he reached the top floor, but his heart was racing-- whether from exertion, anger, or fear, he couldn't say. Last on the left, he thought, and gave the door a quick once-over. Flimsy plywood. Easy to break.
Just then Yohji's voice floated through the wall, panicked and furious, making his heart leap into his throat. "Let me go, damn you!"
Aya backed up, took a deep breath, and then smashed the door in with a flying side kick.
He wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected to find. Schuldig torturing Yohji, maybe, or Farfarello cutting him; where one member of Schwarz went, the others were rarely far behind.
In his most frantic imaginings, he'd never, ever expected to find his teammate handcuffed to a bed, wearing a-- was that a dress?-- with the skirt pushed up around his stomach and his legs sprawled wide apart, exposing.... Aya snapped his eyes up and away, looking around desperately, and finally, with few other options, settled them on Yohji's face.
Yohji seemed similarly stunned. His eyes were huge, his face pale and slack. As Aya stared, he closed his eyes and seemed to be concentrating very hard.
Then he opened his eyes again, gawping at Aya with a comical look of dismay.
Aya tried to say something. His mouth didn't seem to be working.
Yohji let his head fall back. When he spoke, his voice sounded resigned. "The door was unlocked, you know."
Aya managed to open his mouth. After a moment, he shut it again.
Yohji glanced down at himself and flushed, as though suddenly realizing his state of disarray. He closed his legs hurriedly and squirmed-- attempting to shift the skirt into some semblance of decency, the rational part of Aya's brain observed. That rational part was rather small, and currently drowned out by the rest of Aya's brain, which was marveling at how utterly obscene Yohji's wrigglings were.
Eventually Yohji subsided and shot Aya a venomous glare. His face was really a lovely shade of red. "Well?" he demanded. "Are you gonna uncuff me, or are you too busy enjoying the show?"
"I'm too busy enjoying the show," Aya heard himself say, and he bit his lip to keep from grinning. The hilarity of the situation was just starting to hit him, but he didn't want to show it. Clearly, Yohji had suffered enough trauma for one day; the shock of seeing Aya doubled over in hysterical laughter might just kill him.
"So glad I amuse you," Yohji growled, as Aya walked slowly into the room. He couldn't take his eyes off the bed, and Yohji shifted uneasily under his regard. "What?"
Aya cleared his throat. "So, uh, how'd your date go?"
Yohji gave him a frosty look. Aya, the master of the frosty look, was impervious. "Just great, Fujimiya, this is how all my successful dates end."
"Oddly enough, I would have no trouble believing that."
"This is not the time to develop a sense of humor."
"Under the circumstances, I think it's unavoidable."
"Okay, fine," Yohji said, sounding exasperated. "Ha ha. Laugh at me all you want. Only, do it later, because Schuldig's still lurking God knows where, so could we please get out of here before he decides to perform an encore?"
The mention of Schuldig's name immediately put Aya on guard, and he cursed himself for forgetting the telepath's presence. Though that did beg the question.... "How the hell did he get you like that?"
"Overpowered me," Yohji said, a little too quickly.
"Really."
"He's stronger than he looks."
"And he dressed you in a--"
"Can we discuss this later? Like, never?"
A sobering thought occurred to Aya, and he wet his lips. "Did he... I mean, are you...."
Yohji's eyes narrowed. "Am I what? Come on, Aya, say it. You weren't so shy a minute ago."
Aya's mouth twitched. "Is your virtue still intact?"
After a moment, Yohji said, "I cannot believe those words just came out of your mouth."
"I'm rather taken aback myself," Aya admitted.
Yohji rolled his eyes. "No, Aya, my virtue, such as it is, has not been sullied any further. Though not for lack of trying. Are you satisfied? Can you get these off me now?"
"The handcuffs or the dress?" Aya's mouth asked, before his brain realized what he was saying. He felt himself flush, and took comfort in the fact that Yohji's face had to be at least three shades redder.
There was an ominous silence, as Aya stared fixedly at the wall over the bed. Then Yohji said, sounding matter-of-fact, "I am going to kill you."
"Acknowledged," Aya muttered, reaching into his coat for his lockpicks. Shit. Where the hell had that come from? At least Yohji had dismissed it as just another joke, but Aya wasn't so sure about that. He couldn't possibly....
As he fumbled with Yohji's handcuffs, studiously ignoring the body spread beneath him, Ken's words echoed in his mind. As if things weren't tense enough between you two already. Could the explanation really be so base, so... so clichéd? As simple as--
It was like a revelation, an epiphany, the voice of a God he no longer believed in. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, inside him and around him at the same time, as if his most private, subconscious yearning had been forcibly yanked from the depths of his mind and shoved in his face.
I want him.
Aya's fingers shook. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He knew that if he looked again, Yohji wouldn't look ridiculous anymore. He would look... wanton. Inviting.
This was a problem. He had to get Yohji out of those restraints, now, or they'd both be in serious trouble.
Aya opened his eyes again, and made the mistake of glancing down at Yohji's face. Yohji's green eyes were wide and confused, but there was a heat lurking in their depths, a heat that seemed to scorch Aya from the inside out.
And then, suddenly, he knew exactly what Yohji was thinking, almost as though he were hearing it for himself.
touchmekissmefuckmeohshitnothisisAyayesIknowit'sAyatouchmedammit
Slowly, Aya moved his hand away from the handcuffs, tucking the lockpicks into the sleeve of his coat. He trailed shaking fingers down the soft, vulnerable skin of Yohji's inner forearms.
"Aya?" Yohji's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"
Aya kept his gaze fixed on Yohji's arms. "What you want me to do."
Part One | Part Two E-mail: mayatawi@populli.net