He forces a knee between my legs, smiling. I lost the real fight earlier and we both know it; this is a slow taking of territory I can no longer defend, with my hands bound in his wire and blood and bruises everywhere. Embarrassing, that. I thought I was stronger.
There's not a lot I can do about it as he unfastens my pants and pulls them down. His mouth quirks in amusement when he sees my cock already hard, and he kisses the tip of it in mocking salute. "You wanted this."
I don't answer. The second half of our battle has begun.
Slowly he cuts my clothes away, then my defenses, in a siege of humiliating pleasure. By comparison I would have been cruel and quick in victory; he's a veteran, though, and knows how to use his weapons. With inexorable tenderness he puts his hands and mouth and sex there and there and there, making me taste and feel and smell him. I hear his drawling, husky voice in my ear. "Say it, Aya."
He takes me roughly and finally I whisper it into his mouth as I come. "Youji."
And I wake.
* * *
Oh, I hate dreams like that. They leave my body buzzing and the sheets in need of washing and it's no use trying to seek out sleep again. I look over at the clock. 5:03, an hour before I would have risen.
Sighing, I kick the bedclothes away and stand up. Damn Kudou Youji, uncooperative biology,Takatoris past and present, mornings, Schwarz, Estet, and flower shop patrons to the nethermost regions of the Christian Hell. As I pad into the shower I remember to add Ken to the list, because he hasn't fixed the washing machine.
Hot water is something of a comfort to both body and mind. It can't solve the underlying problem, however. Most of my life slipped easily away on the day my family died; why couldn't this last need go with it? Why does my body still crave something it's never had? Frowning, I comb shampoo through my hair. When will I be strong enough to want nothing? If I am will it be enough to save Aya-chan?
Youji wanted everything, and it destroyed him. He's a wreck now.
No, that's not precisely true. He wanted only one thing. He just settled for everything. And I suppose it didn't matter.
As usual my orange sweater is the last refuge before making pilgrimage to the laundromat. On most days it can lift my mood a bit, no matter how bleak. I've found many people are actively uncomfortable around such bad color sense, as though I were breaking some important law; just watching them makes me want to smirk. Youji in particular, because he twitches.
There had been a time I was certain things between us would come to real blood. But to my considerable surprise he never challenged me, never once referred to that night. This did nothing to make his behavior more comprehensible; he began living half the time at the Koneko and trying clumsily to befriend the others. I watched him try to "help" Omi with homework to the boy's great amusement, drag Ken about the city, demand soccer and cooking lessons, and generally make a pest of himself. And always, he watched me.
He still does, when he's sober enough to focus. I still don't know why. Does he think I'll suddenly turn into Ken and punch him in the shoulder and tell some jokes? Is he missing the _attention_ of our old fights?
Of course I never knew that Youji had loved his dead partner. It wasn't relevant until he suddenly insisted one of our enemies was her, alive but with her memory gone, and carried her back to the shop like a trophy. I nearly killed him before Omi could explain the situation.
A trap, naturally. She might have been his Asuka once, but brainwashing left nothing inside but loyalty to her new master. Youji followed her like a puppy. And his eyes were very like one as she started to mock him and the guns came out around us. Eventually he strangled her, with the words of hate still on her lips.
Since then Youji has not once been to work or taken a mission. And I have nothing to say to him, because if Aya-chan appeared on the enemy side tomorrow I would do exactly the same thing, save for killing myself afterwards. It's not entirely clear to me why Youji is still alive, but it seems impolite to ask.
The two problems, lust and Balinese, chase each other around the back of my head as I slip down the stairs in the dark. Either he has to pull himself together or he has to leave. And either I have to suppress these feelings or...not.
There _are_ alternatives. God knows Shion wasn't celibate. Or Persia. Or Knight. I could act on the dreams and take one of Weiss as my property. Smother Omi's cries with my hand, strip his sweet soft body bare and simply fuck him over the counter. Or pin Ken against the wall in the plant room, and kiss the tears from his chocolate eyes as I rock up into him. And they'd never quite trust me again, and the team would falter. I saw it happen at Sendai and again in Crashers. No.
Besides, Omi looks at Ken with his heart in his eyes.
The coffeemaker gurgles its slow song to the sleeping kitchen. Thoughtfully I weigh the taste of morning miso against the current mood, and decide it's nicer here with the lights off, in the grey dawn stillness. In a moment I'll watch the sunrise from the front steps and think of Aya-chan, for she loves to watch the colors paint over the grey. Where is she? Have they placed her so the sun falls on her face in the morning? If I think about it for too long I will put a fist through the wall again; instead I breathe slowly and deeply and tell myself again that won't help. Live to find her. Work with the others and not alone. Fix your problems.
Balinese is not like the other two. He understands the difference between personal desire and missions, and that may be why the dreams are so often of him now. Nevertheless it's impossible to contemplate. Even before his collapse, I couldn't see myself walking into his room and saying, "I'm going to fuck you now." Fujimiya Aya does not admit to personal desires.
Ran did, I remember as I move through the front of the shop. Ran was just getting up the nerve to tell his sister that he wasn't interested in girls. Ran was thinking maybe next week he'd walk up to that cute guy at work and take his hand and see what happened. But I'm not Ran anymore.
And I open the front door and there he is.
Youji is a sodden mess. Coughing, I turn away from the smell rising up off the doorstep; not just alcohol this time but gutter as well. If he had a jacket, or more to that outfit than the torn thin shirt and pants, it's gone now. I'm not surprised to see he's shivering, curled up in a tight ball with his head tucked under one arm.
I sigh exasperatedly. Why is he here instead of hung over at his apartment? Clearly the gift of sunrise will not be mine to appreciate today. Bending down, I take him under the shoulders and lift. His head lolls and his eyes flutter open. "...Aya?"
I shake him. "Wake up."
"Ugh."
"Don't throw up." I shake him again, lightly, and glare into the muzzy green eyes. "Stop doing this."
He stares back confusedly and I sigh again. Hauling him through the shop and up the stairs is not pleasant work, with him taller than me and nearly dead weight, and by the time we reach the bathroom I'm wondering why I didn't leave him on the stoop.
Fortunately the others are still asleep. "In. Strip."
He fumbles slowly with his pants. "Aya?" Still confused.
I close the door.
This is not about sex. If I thought it were his breath would dissuade me. Getting his shirt off is easy; the pants and briefs take longer and he holds onto me for balance, but then I can push him into the shower and hiss directions. Why anyone would reduce themselves to this state is beyond me.
Watching him soap his body is a little difficult. After a minute I realize there's no reason to and slide the shower door shut, then gingerly collect the dreadful clothes and drop them in his room. Hopefully he won't remember this later.
"Are you capable of drying yourself?" I hiss through the bathroom door.
"Yes!" The lurching thump that follows tells me otherwise. When I open the door he's in a heap under the shower spray. Pathetic.
Methodically I rinse him, turn off the water, wrap his body in a towel. I don't touch him too gently or for too long or look at his groin, but he still blushes like a girl. Finally we reach his bed and I pull back the covers to let him fall in.
"Aya?" He looks up at me as I turn to leave. "Thank you."
I shrug.
* * *
Part Three
| Part One
Tell Marith that boy needs a therapist