Maid in Heaven
by Maya Tawipart two
Yohji was, to put it mildly, not having a very good day.His hot date with Emiko had turned out to be less of a date than a trap, and distinctly Emiko-free to boot. He had put himself in possibly the most humiliating outfit he'd ever worn, and that included some seriously dubious costumes mandated by past Weiß missions. He'd wandered blindly into Schuldig's clutches, with clutches being the operative word; he'd been pawed by Schuldig and, worse, turned on by said pawing; he'd somehow gotten handcuffed to the bed; and then, just to top everything off, Aya of all people had come crashing through the door to the rescue.
Then it turned out that Aya had a sense of humor.
And then Aya started touching him.
Yohji bit his lip as the tentative touches sent waves of heat surging through him. This was wrong. This was so wrong. It was Aya, for fuck's sake, his surly teammate, his surly male teammate, who was currently staring at Yohji's arms with the most adorable expression of intense concentration, concentration and a little awe, and what the hell was that anyway? His arms. Why the fuck was Yohji getting so turned on from someone touching his arms?
He glared at his rapidly hardening dick, willing it to behave. It refused to cooperate.
Wait. Had he just thought of Aya as adorable?
Why wasn't he resisting? Why wasn't he protesting? Why was he closing his eyes and writhing against the mattress and--
No. This is wrong. I gotta stop this. It's Aya--
Yes, I'm well aware of that, that's the whole point--
He's a guy! I don't--
You are.
Well, he's just touching me. It's not like I'm asking for it. And it does feel really good....
That's right, Kudou, just rationalize your little heart out.
Yohji scowled. His mental voice was starting to sound like Schuldig.
Schuldig....
His eyes snapped open, and panic seized him. Schuldig was doing... something... to Aya, making him do this. And when it was over, Aya would kill Yohji. And Schuldig was somewhere nearby and they had to get out of there and--
Yohji opened his mouth, then shut it again as Aya's fingers traced over the curves from his upraised arms to his torso. Suddenly he couldn't remember what he'd been about to say.
He stared at Aya with no small amount of wonder, and saw Aya's eyelashes flicker. Damn it, he had to stop this, before things got out of hand. Out of Aya's hands....
All he had to do was say something, and Aya would stop. Aya wasn't Schuldig (again that niggling feeling of panic, quickly wiped away); he wouldn't do anything against Yohji's will. They had to live together, for one thing.
All he had to do was say something.
He kept his mouth shut, and Aya's hand ghosted over his lacy bodice, resting briefly at the hollow of his throat before tracing a line over his Adam's apple. Yohji swallowed hard and felt it bob against Aya's fingers.
The fingers continued their journey, stroking along the line of his jaw and across his cheekbone, tangling in his hair. He closed his eyes and found himself falling into the sensations, simply enjoying being stroked like this, like he really was the kitten Kritiker had named him. Aya's other hand was moving over his collarbone again, following the path of his sternum to the laced-up bodice. A quick tug, and the laces fell open, baring an expanse of nearly-hairless chest. The hand slipped into the warm space between fabric and skin.
Yohji bit his lip again, harder this time, trying to keep from moaning. In fact, he realized, he hadn't made a sound since Aya had started touching him. Neither of them had. Whatever this was between them seemed fragile, as though the slightest noise might break the spell, leaving them both awkward and unsatisfied.
Satisfied.... What did that imply, exactly? How far did Aya intend for this to go?
As if on cue, Aya's hands dipped lower, smoothing the skirt over Yohji's thighs before pushing it up once more above his waist, leaving his erect cock and heavy balls uncovered. Yohji felt himself tense as a new wave of apprehension swept him. This wasn't just petting and stroking; this was real. This was his teammate, Aya the Ice Queen, taking a good, long look at his up-close-and-personal. For a brief, hysterical moment, he wondered if Aya were making a mental comparison, and how he measured up.
He cracked his eyes open and looked at Aya down the length of his body, using his eyelashes as a shield. All he could see was the top of Aya's head, dark crimson in the low light. The eartails swept low on either side; as Yohji watched, Aya's head dipped closer, and soft hair trailed over his thighs.
Yohji's legs twitched. He held his breath. Aya wasn't going to....
No, he wasn't, and Yohji wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. The hands returned to his thighs and moved down, bypassing his dick entirely. He choked back a frustrated groan.
The groan became a whimper as Aya's hands caressed the tender skin of his inner thighs. Yohji couldn't hold back the sound, and he waited with trepidation for Aya to jerk away from him, but Aya merely moved to outline the swells of his calves.
The questing fingers hit leather. Yohji still had his boots on. He saw Aya reach for the laces.
"There's," he tried to say, but his voice was hoarse and rusty from disuse. Aya looked up at him, his expression indecipherable.
God. He shouldn't have said anything. Now Aya was going to stop, and things would be awkward, and Aya probably wouldn't speak to him for weeks... and Aya wasn't stopping. Aya was waiting for him to speak.
Yohji cleared his throat and said softly, "There's a zipper on the side."
This was it. He'd given consent; more than that, he'd given explicit instructions. Whatever was going to happen next, they both had a hand in it.
Aya hesitated for only a moment. The sound of the zipper was far too loud in the quiet room.
First Yohji's left boot, then his right; Aya set them both carefully beside the bed. Watching him, Yohji felt his mouth twitch. Only Aya would be anal-retentive about footwear at a time like this.
Aya shed his long white coat, too, draping it over the rickety wooden chair in the corner. Then he moved to the foot of the bed and started to climb onto it. The mattress dipped under his weight. Yohji automatically spread his legs wider to allow him space, then felt his face warm as Aya's gaze once more settled between them.
"Like what you see?" he asked. He couldn't resist.
In response, Aya rose to his knees, leaned backwards slightly, and started to stroke himself through his jeans.
Yohji nearly swallowed his tongue.
Aya-- Aya-- was kneeling between his spread legs, gazing at his purple, erect cock with half-lidded eyes, and rubbing at the crotch of his jeans. He looked delightfully obscene. He looked like a living wet dream.
Yohji tried not to think about what he looked like.
Though whatever that was, it seemed to be working for Aya. God, oh God, he should not be getting this turned on. Not by this. Not by watching Aya touch himself through denim, not while handcuffed to the bed and wearing this ridiculous fucking dress-- none of this should be happening. None of it could be happening. He'd hit his head while struggling with Schuldig and now he was hallucinating. It was the only explanation.
Then Aya reached for him, and the warm, sword-callused hand on his dick felt all too real.
Aya looked down at the body spread beneath him with something approaching awe. To be honest, he'd never expected to get this far. Not really. He wasn't sure what impulse had made him start touching Yohji, but in retrospect it seemed reckless and utterly irresponsible. This wasn't the sort of thing they could simply shrug off, if Yohji stopped him halfway through.
He had fully expected to have to try.
He watched his hand as it reached for Yohji's... penis. What an odd thing to think, never mind do. He was touching Yohji, and Yohji was writhing and moaning in his grip, their tacit code of silence having been broken. Yohji was flushed and sweaty, his eyes bright and his lips swollen from biting, and the sight was making Aya harder inside his jeans.
What was he supposed to do about that? What would Yohji let him do?
"Aya," Yohji gasped, as Aya started to fondle Yohji's balls with his other hand, marveling at how much they felt like his own. "Oh fuck-- Aya, I'm gonna--"
Instinctively he understood, and Aya ducked out of the way as Yohji came, splattering his bared belly and the rumpled fabric of his dress. Aya bit his lip to hold back a thoroughly inappropriate giggle. The dress would have to be washed before it could be worn again....
Yohji's loud panting echoed in the tiny room. After a few moments, he looked down at himself with a rueful smile, still breathing hard. "Well," he said, "another perfectly good dress ruined."
"Too bad," Aya said, poker-faced. "It would have made a nice mission outfit for you."
"Don't make jokes, Aya. It's disconcerting."
"My apologies."
"Besides, you're not very funny."
Aya eased himself off the bed and stood, wincing as he adjusted himself. "I'm very funny. I simply prefer to hide that fact from others." He caught Yohji staring at him and scowled. "What?"
"You're still...." Yohji jerked his chin in the general direction of Aya's crotch.
Aya's scowl deepened, and he reached for his coat and the lockpicks. "Forget it."
"I just-- I don't want to leave you like that."
Aya dropped his coat back on the chair and turned to face Yohji. "Oh really. And what exactly were you planning to do about it?"
He saw Yohji swallow. Apparently, Yohji hadn't thought that far ahead.
"Nothing?" Aya purred into the growing silence. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, familiar and completely alien at the same time. The sudden sense of power was making him lightheaded. "I suppose it's up to me, then."
Yohji recovered some semblance of composure and said, "If you uncuff me, I can help you out with that--"
"I was going to. You distracted me. Now we're doing this my way."
"Your way?" Yohji sounded incredulous. "You have a way? Damn, Aya, what do you do in your free time?"
Aya ignored him. There was a small night table by the bed, with a single drawer in it. He opened the drawer, and his questing fingers found two small objects, right where he knew they'd be.
Yohji tensed as soon as he saw them. "Where did you-- how did you know those were there?" he demanded.
"I know you," Aya said, placing the condom and the tube of lubricant on top of the night table.
"I didn't even know they were there! Look, something's going on here. Schuldig--"
Yohji broke off, and he and Aya shared a long look. Aya suspected that Yohji's look of blank incomprehension mirrored his own.
"What were we," Yohji began, and then his voice cracked as Aya pulled his black T-shirt over his head.
Aya dropped the T-shirt to the floor, feeling suddenly, unbearably self-conscious. He didn't like being undressed in front of others. Even as a child, as soon as he could dress himself he'd always run away from his mother when she tried to help him. The compulsion to be naked now, in front of Yohji-- to show off, even-- was a new, somewhat disconcerting one.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and slowly slid the buttons open, one by one, his gaze never leaving Yohji's face. Yohji's eyes were huge and dark.
"Aya," Yohji said softly, and swallowed again. Aya stepped out of his jeans. His briefs followed suit.
Yohji's eyes were immediately riveted on his erection. Aya felt neither embarrassment nor pride. All other emotions were subsumed by the burning desire to feel the heat of skin on skin. He grabbed the condom and the lube from the night table and lowered himself to the bed, allowing a predatory smile to curve his lips. As Yohji absorbed the implications of this, his eyes went even wider; they looked like something out of a manga.
Then, as Aya rolled the condom onto his cock, the motions somehow instinctive to him despite a lack of practice, those green eyes narrowed and Yohji used his legs to push himself away, up towards the headboard. "Oh no you don't," he said, though his voice wavered in a way that wasn't entirely convincing.
Aya gave him a piercing look and started to uncap the small tube.
Yohji's voice rose. "I'm nobody's bitch, Fujimiya!"
"No," Aya agreed, his voice low. "But I am going to fuck you."
Yohji made a strangled sound, and Aya was seized by a sudden pang of doubt. What was he doing? If Yohji didn't want this--
Oh, he wants it. Look at him. He's aching for it.
And indeed, Yohji was already half-hard again, and breathing heavily. His body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Aya laid a hand on his thigh, and Yohji strained in his bonds-- toward the touch, not away from it.
When Yohji spoke, his voice was inscrutable. His face provided no clues either. "What if I say no?"
Aya hesitated. He'd been so sure he knew what Yohji wanted-- where had that certainty come from, anyway? So sure he knew what Yohji was thinking.... A distant warning bell was ringing in his head, but as hard as he tried, he just couldn't focus on it.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked instead.
"This is so fucked up," Yohji said after a moment, and Aya noted with a vague relief that he hadn't said Yes. "Aya, we can't do this. This is just gonna get weird, and--"
"Forget about after."
"How?" Yohji demanded. His eyes were wild. "We're not all automatons, you know. This means something--"
"It means nothing," Aya growled.
"You're fucked up."
Aya silenced him with a kiss. When he pulled back, Yohji looked dazed. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"Stop thinking," Aya said, and kissed him again.
Any apprehension he had felt melted away at the feel of Yohji's lips on his. This he knew. This was instinctive. Yohji moved beneath him, his body and mouth skilled despite his current lack of mobility, and Aya closed his eyes as relief and gratitude swept him. No more protests and no more thinking. His objections having been registered, Yohji was now giving it his all.
He really was as good as he claimed. Not that Aya would ever tell him.
Aya moved slowly down his body, licking and sucking as he went. Yohji's whimpers became one ceaseless moan. Aya paused at his groin and, without thinking, traced a long, slow line along the underside of Yohji's penis before swirling his tongue over the head. The resulting sound was immensely gratifying, and reminded him of a dog's low whine.
His ultimate objective, however, lay further down. Aya pulled back, to Yohji's wordless protests, and squeezed a good amount of lubricant on his fingers. Yohji's body seemed almost to welcome him, pulling his fingers in one by one. Aya glanced up. Yohji was breathing heavily, his eyes shut tight and his mouth forming a small "o" of surprise.
"Relax," Aya murmured.
"You relax," Yohji panted, but he took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly let it out.
"Almost there...." Aya slid a third finger in, and pushed deeper, feeling for the spot that instinct told him should be there. When Yohji's entire body jerked and his eyes flew open, Aya knew he'd found it.
His own cock was throbbing in time to Yohji's writhing. It was time.
Aya slipped his fingers out, and Yohji gave a small cry. Then he raised Yohji's legs up and slung them over his own shoulders, settling into a position that felt somehow more familiar than it should. Instinct again....
He pushed in slowly, giving Yohji time to adjust; Yohji was making the "o" face again, but his eyes were open this time, and rolled up in his head. Aya stared down, fascinated by the expressions flickering across his face. Pain, arousal, discomfort, disbelief....
Aya's hand slid down and grasped Yohji's erection, and Yohji bucked against him.
They settled into a rhythm, then, Aya thrusting and pumping as Yohji pushed back to meet him as much as he could. He wasn't sure how long they continued like that, but eventually Aya felt his balls tighten and his hips speed up; one hand clutched Yohji's ass hard enough to leave bruises, and he buried himself one last time. His other hand kept stroking mindlessly, and Yohji soon followed suit.
Aya slumped forward, breathing heavily. When his vision cleared, he found himself staring into Yohji's face. Yohji looked similarly discombobulated. However, there was panic lurking in the green depths of his eyes, and Aya knew that it wasn't just heterosexual panic. Their orgasms had brought another form of release. Aya didn't need help from a telepath to know what Yohji was thinking; he was thinking the same thing.
Schuldig.
"We have to leave," Aya said, pulling out unsteadily and standing as quickly as he could. "Now."
Yohji was silent as Aya first disposed of the condom, then picked the lock on the handcuffs. Once they were off, he sat up, rubbing his wrists, and said, "Give me your coat."
"Why?"
He rolled his eyes. "I can't go out like this, can I? That's the whole point. The bastard stole my coat before he left. Probably dropped it out the window or something--"
He broke off as Aya knelt on the floor, fished around under the bed, and produced Yohji's mission coat.
Yohji flopped back on the bed with a groan. "You're fucking kidding me. I am gonna kill him till he's dead."
"Hurry up," Aya said shortly. He wouldn't ask. He probably didn't want to know.
Yohji sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, but made no move to stand. "I don't think he's coming back. He's had his fun."
Aya pulled on his underwear and his jeans, saying nothing. Sounding desperate, Yohji continued, "That's the only explanation, right? He made us do it. Made us want to."
Aya kept his back to the bed as he buttoned up his jeans. In a low, controlled voice, he said, "So you didn't want it."
"Look, I'm not blaming you. I mean, he must've gotten to you too--"
"That's not what I asked." Aya turned around, still shirtless. "Did you want this?"
Yohji wouldn't look him in the eye. "Schuldig--"
"Is a convenient excuse. I'm asking about you."
"Look, Aya, I'm not into guys. You know that."
"Again, not my question." Aya folded his arms across his chest. Yohji appeared to be examining the carpet. "Did you want it? Yes or no."
"How am I supposed to know?" Yohji burst out, looking up. His eyes were wild. "I mean, how do I know what was real and what-- he made up?"
Aya suddenly felt very tired. "Forget it." He bent to pick up his shirt, and heard Yohji swallow.
Softly, Yohji said, "You... don't disgust me."
"Thanks."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then tell me what you mean, Yohji. I'm not the telepath."
He saw Yohji's mouth twist. "You're not, are you?"
Aya pulled the T-shirt over his head, turning that comment over in his mind. Yohji had sounded wistful, not bitter.
"I've... thought about it," Yohji said finally. "Before. Once or twice."
Aya risked a glance at him. He was staring at his hands.
"Thank you," Aya said.
"But we can't-- I mean, I can't. Do this. Again, I mean."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
Yohji looked up through his eyelashes. "You-- what?"
"I don't want a relationship, Yohji," Aya said wearily. "I'm hardly equipped to handle one. Especially with you."
"What's that supposed to--" Yohji stopped, rubbing his face with his hands. "Scratch that. Why did you ask, then?"
Because I didn't want to be the only one.
"Because I didn't want you blaming this on Schuldig," he said instead. "We had a moment. That's all."
"Hey! More than a moment, pal."
He wouldn't smile, he wouldn't smile... oh, why not?
Aya smiled.
"Let's get out of here," he said.
Somehow Yohji made it out of the room, into the elevator, and out of the hotel without breaking down. He even managed to banter a bit. The desk clerk stopped them in the lobby-- apparently Schuldig hadn't paid for the room-- and for a minute he thought he was going to lose it, but Aya had given him a quick look, then paid the bill with surprisingly little fuss.
He clutched his coat tightly around him as they stepped out into the warm night. There was his Seven, parked right where he'd left it, and Aya's Porsche not too far away.
"We never say a word about this," he said suddenly, still staring at his car. "To anyone."
"Never."
"Good."
Aya lingered for a moment by the door, obviously wanting to say something else, but then he set his mouth in a thin line and walked away.
Not much with the talking, Aya. Which made their conversation in the room all the more surprising.
Hell, who was he kidding? Everything that had happened in that room had left him more or less shell-shocked.
Yohji quickly unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat, then slammed the door shut and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
What the fuck was he going to do?
He could almost hear Aya's voice in his head, a welcome change from Schuldig's. Drive home. Go to bed. Wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened. This doesn't mean anything.
Fine for Aya to say. Aya wasn't the one who'd just had his sexual identity turned on its ass, pun most vehemently not intended. In fact, Aya had shown suspicious skill up in that room, not all of which, he suspected, was Schuldig's influence.
They really knew nothing about each other. It bothered him more than he'd like to admit.
He heard a car honk behind him. Aya was waiting for him, waiting to follow him back to the trailer. Aya, in his own taciturn way, was showing concern.
Yohji sighed, turned the key in the ignition, and drove.
The French maid's outfit went directly into the trash once Yohji arrived home. True to his word, in the following days Aya made no mention of the incident in the love hotel, and he treated Yohji no differently than he had before. If Yohji started watching him a little more closely-- the way he moved on missions, the long line of his neck as he drank a glass of water-- he kept it to himself.
He also didn't mention the dreams, which were haunted by Schuldig's smirking face and his long, slender body, and in which he caught occasional glimpses of Farfarello lurking in the distance. His flesh crawled when he thought of the albino Irishman, and how Schuldig had said he was there "in spirit". The full sensory array.
Still, the dreams persisted, and several nights later, Yohji couldn't sleep. He lay awake for a few hours, listening to the soft snores around him and willing his eyes to shut; around five in the morning, he gave up trying and stood with a sigh. Aya, Ken, and Omi were still asleep, though Aya, at least, would be waking up soon.
Yohji grabbed his cigarettes and his lighter and stepped outside the trailer. A small package was lying on the grass.
He turned it over in his hands, instantly suspicious. Brown paper wrapping. No return address. No mailing address, either, except for his name, written in English letters on the front-- Western-style, with the given name first. The package felt light, with some give to it. Not unlike the package he'd found in his mailbox the previous week.
He ripped it open, then shook out the bundle of fabric with disbelief. A scrap of paper fluttered to the ground.
The bundle of fabric was a dirndl. The note said, Until next time.
Funny how he was the first one up, for once. Especially since any of the others might wonder how a package had been delivered to the trailer, when it didn't even have a permanent address.
"Fuck you," Yohji said softly. There was no answer.
He threw the dirndl away.
For reasons he couldn't explain, or even begin to comprehend, he kept the note.
Part One | Part Two E-mail: mayatawi@populli.net