The shower is full of voices.
Whispers, laughter, taunts and gibes, they patter down around me like the spray of the water. I'm not listening, I tell myself. I'm just washing off quickly here and not remembering anything.
What are you reading, son? That's _girls'_ manga! Give me that, we'll find you something else to read. You don't want to grow up funny, do you?
Hey, Yoj! Let's have some fun with Mihan, the little fag. You come up from behind as he gets on the train and shove him, and I'll grab his bookbag. We can throw it out the door at some stop so he has to chase after it. It'll be great.
Dude, don't cross your legs when you sit. It looks totally gay.
Oh my god, those two guys are holding _hands_! Where? Over there, see? That's so disgusting!
Mmm-hmm. And what do you do for a living? No way! You're really a florist? Wow, you must be really confident in your masculinity. Most guys would be afraid of what people would think. Oh, is that so? Maybe you should show me... mm, like that...
You make me sick. Every time you call me Asuka, Asuka, I want to puke. Trash who doesn't know himself. You're a weak and womanly man, nothing like my Masafumi.
"That's enough!" My fist slams into the tiles. "I do not give a rat's ass what anybody else thinks." Yeah, and I'm talking to myself in the shower, too.
This is just - a thing. One time, to help out a friend.
Nobody will ever know.
And if they did, so what? We're hunters in the dark who do the horrible things that need to be done. Everyone _should_ despise us.
Mechanically I shut off the water and reach for a towel. Standing here arguing with myself doesn't get this any closer to being over with.
And in the end, none of it really matters. Even if every person I've ever met lined up to point and laugh, I still couldn't leave Aya alone with Schuldich. One loss is enough.
It's a good thing Ken's and Omi's doors stay closed. I have no desire to explain why I'm tiptoeing down the hall with clothes clutched in front of me instead of out on the town, and tomorrow is soon enough to give them the bad news on Schwarz.
Which gives me a thought. Stuffing the evening's outfit into the hamper in a way that's going to make me cringe tomorrow, I hastily dress and scribble a note for Omi's door. "New news on Schwarz - Aya and me up late with research - you and Ken take morning shift please." Perfect excuse for not getting up until noon. I am so clever.
In the last few years my room has seen a lot of guests; by now setting the stage is routine, like stocking the drawer by the bed. When Aya slips in and shuts the door I'm lighting the last of the candles. He raises a sardonic eyebrow at me.
"Hey, it works on the women," I shrug. The truth is the soft lights and music, like the faint scent spiraling up from the incense burner, are more to calm my own nerves than anything else. Aya certainly doesn't strike me as the type to appreciate them.
Like me, he's chosen to meet the situation in loose black pajama pants, and his hair is damp like mine from the shower. One of those long dark red tendrils clings to his neck and shoulder; I watch with an odd kind of detached fascination as a drop of water beads at the tip and breaks free, sliding down pale muscles. Aya's always been more built than me, though we train the same hours. I never could put on any mass.
"Youji?"
"Yeah."
It's just awkward, this time. Standing too close together with his hands on my shoulders and mine at his waist, both of us stiff and tense as boards, we exchange dutiful little kisses that don't go anywhere. After a minute or two I pull away and shake my head.
"This is silly. Just lie down on the bed."
Aya's eyes widen for an instant before he puts on his usual stony expression. "For a backrub," I assure him quickly, and he moves to comply.
Who would have believed I learned one of my best seduction techniques from Ken, or that he had to talk me into it? He insisted from the day he joined up that we should trade massages before or after missions; apparently it's quite the acceptable male bonding thing for soccer players. And after a session under his strong hands, Omi and I were sold on the idea. The only problem is when the other person is so relaxed they fall asleep and you never get _your_ backrub.
Naturally our leader would never give it a try. His shoulders are solid clusters of knots that make me wince in sympathy. "Hey, stop hunching them up like that. Relax." I wonder, suddenly, how much of his aloofness comes from dealing with Schuldich. Aya would be glaring at me if he weren't lying face down, I can tell. Slowly he straightens his arms against the bed, uncurls his fists. I dig my thumbs into a knot at the join of neck and shoulder and bear down hard for several seconds; finally I hear a small sigh. Smirking, I lessen the pressure a few notches and begin to knead.
Fifteen minutes later he's limp as a rag underneath me, fair skin reddened, and my hands are getting tired. Bit by bit the strokes lengthen into firm caresses all the way down his back, then to soft scratching; Aya barely objects when I slide his pants down and off.
Both of us tense up again when my hands glide over his hips. Instead of lingering there as I would with a girl, I pass on quickly to work the muscles of his thighs and legs. Evidently Aya isn't ticklish; he lets me knead the bottoms of his feet and in between his toes with a sigh of contentment.
Personally my limit is a backrub, but I've watched Ken do this to Omi a time or two. The trick, he'd explained, is to touch as much of the other person's skin as possible and never take your hands off them. Make them aware of each part of their body and how it connects to the rest.
It works on women like you wouldn't believe.
"Aya, turn over."
He mumbles something and resists for a moment before letting me roll him on his back. With careful thoroughness I run hands over his shins and the front of his legs, delaying the next step. When it's time to move further up I find myself blushing. Staring at Aya's groin is _not_ something I ever planned on.
Stop being a chicken, Kudou. I force myself to take a good long look: soft pale penis curled in on itself against dark red hair, testicles nestled beneath. Like me he's circumcised, unusual in a Japanese; but then his mother, like mine, must have been Western. There's nothing grotesque about the sight of him. Pretty, even, if you like that sort of thing.
Guiltily I look up to see how Aya's doing. His eyes are shut and there's a faint flush of color high on his cheeks; the muscles under my hands are tense with awareness. I move my hands up his sides, not too lightly, and across the safer territory of chest and stomach until he relaxes again.
Arms and hands, following the routine, tracing lightly around his bandaged wound. Ken said to always save the face for last. Aya's hair is as silken as it looks; surprisingly he seems to like having it played with, tilting his head into my hand like a cat. He shivers when I trace the shell of one ear and then the other, and again as my thumb brushes his lips.
And now I can't really put it off any longer.
First I trail fingers over his chest again, in elaborate overlapping curlicues that wander dangerously close to being ticklish. Sometimes they just happen to spiral in around a nipple, then dart away; this gets more frequent as I continue. Then one skates directly over soft pinkness. No reaction from Aya, so I do it again, gradually leading up to just stroking there.
He's looking at me dubiously. "Youji...I'm not a woman."
For an instant I pretend shock. "So?"
"So why are you doing that?"
I blink. "You really don't feel anything from this?" By now I'm rolling the little nub between thumb and forefinger. Briefly I apply more pressure.
"No." But he seems almost amused, lying back against the pillows to watch through half-closed eyes.
"Hmm." As if considering the problem, I frown disapprovingly at his unresponsive nipple. Aya's chest shakes a little; hah, he's trying not to snicker. "Well, then I'll just have to convince you." And before I can think about it too much, I lower my head to kiss it.
Such a tiny bit of flesh, smaller than even a young girl's, tasting of salt and sweat. When a lover suckles gently it drives me to distraction, but I know already that won't work with Aya. So instead I dig in hard and punish with tongue and lips and teeth, breaking off at intervals to blow cool air across him.
A catch in Aya's breathing signals that we're getting somewhere. I take my cue from his responses, concentrating on what seems to work best, until his hands are on my head pushing me gently away.
I grin at him. "Convinced?" He just nods, eyes closed, trying to get his breathing under control. Fair's fair - Aya with his hair tousled and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and desire is a damned aesthetic sight. Objectively, he's far more beautiful than most of my dates.
Before he can recover I attack the other nipple with quick hard strokes. There's a little pleading gasp and his hands are in my hair again, this time to hold my mouth against him.
When Aya lets me up again, soft pink flesh has turned to dark red pebbles against his pale chest. I kiss each of them lightly and then his lips; to my surprise he takes control of the kiss, making it long and thorough and putting his arms around me. What can I do but respond?
It's easier than it should be to melt against him, press our bodies together and ignore the little voice of conscience nagging that this is _Aya_ exploring my mouth, that the lips and hands on me are decidedly male. Only when I feel his erection rub against my stomach and the little jerk of his hips do I pull away.
Aya looks even more startled than me. He bites his lip and glances down, not meeting my eyes; scared? Guilty? Would he have preferred it if we'd just - if I hadn't tried to make this enjoyable?
Filthy, he'd said Schuldich called him - and he believed it. If the bastard was, ugh, pawing him and then saying those kind of things, it's no surprise he feels bad for reacting to me. Never mind that ordinarily I'd deck a guy for this and we both know it.
Gently I tilt his face up towards me. "Aya. It's all ri- Look at me."
Aya's doing a good impression of calm indifference; only the eyes give him away. I have to squash the urge to hug him like a child and promise to make it all better.
"You're beautiful, Aya. Honestly. Maybe the loveliest person I've ever been in bed with, and that's saying something, ne?" Damnit, I'm usually better at sweet talk than this. "There is nothing wrong with you. Whatever that slimy sonofabitch says to you is lies. Just lies, Aya. Messing with your head."
Was that enough? Does he believe a word of it? I take a deep breath. "Beautiful-" I kiss him - "desireable-" again - "and if you want to keep going, we will."
Aya just looks at me for the longest time. Finally he gives a tiny nod.
Okay. You can do this, Kudou. It's like a mission, like that time you had to pretend to be interested in buying slaves. The goal here is to make Aya feel better for once in his godforsaken angsty life; that's worth some pretending, isn't it?
From the hollow of his throat, I draw feather-light lines down to just above the heart of the matter, stopping when my fingers meet soft red curls. Aya's penis juts stiffly out and up now; compared to before it looks almost menacing, a blind worm with a tiny wet mouth looking for a hole to burrow into. The mere thought of someone putting that inside me makes my guts clench up in panic. If Aya can enjoy what we're doing despite knowing _that_ will happen he really is queer.
Gingerly I reach out to pet it. The warm flesh twitches at my touch; nice worm, I think, and have to stifle a fit of the giggles. Up till now I've been on autopilot, doing what I would to a normal lover. Experience is suddenly no longer useful.
Or is it? Jacking off ought to be more or less the same...
Aya almost convulses when I take hold of him, grabbing at my hands. I let go at once and gather him into a hug as he sits up. Trembling and sweating, all the tension back in his frame - it's a flashback.
The first time I saw one was when Omi sat bolt upright in the middle of watching television and started screaming for his father to save him. Scared the living daylights out of us. Since then we've all had at least a couple. It's part of life now; when your friend starts acting weird you make excuses for him, get somewhere quiet, and hold him till the shaking stops.
Unless it's Aya who hates to be touched. But now he's clinging to me, his head buried in my shoulder. I stroke his back soothingly and murmur, "It's just me. He's not here. He's not here," over and over.
"I know," he whispers eventually, and I fall silent. Aya raises his head to look at me and grips my shoulders tight. "Go on."
"Um. Are you sure?" But he has that I'm-an-invincible-bastard set to his jaw and I know how pointless arguing with that is. Sighing, I reach down again.
It's funny. I've literally held Aya's life in my hands more than once: carrying him toward the emergency room at a dead run, stanching a deep wound as the blood covered my hands, digging a bullet out of his skin. None of those felt anywhere near as vital as what I'm doing now. Staring into his eyes and stroking his cock, I feel like I'm holding the very core of Aya, his beating heart. The look on his face tells me he knows it too.
And he actually likes it. Never mind the clenched jaw and stubborn silence; I see every wave of pleasure reflected in those violet eyes. To prove it I begin to run my thumb around and over the mushroomlike head at the top of each stroke. Aya's breathing grows fast and ragged, hissing through his teeth.
He's close, and I pick up the pace, watching him intently and wondering what orgasm will look like. Will he cry out? Will he say my name? Instead Aya pulls my hand away. "Not yet," he gasps.
Right. I'd been trying not to think about where all this is supposed to lead. Or whether I'm even capable. As Aya gradually calms his breathing again, I tug at one of his long eartails and confess, "Now I'm clueless. What happens next?"
Undoubtedly something to do with Aya's ass. Getting him ready, I suppose.
Kudou...it's just biology. You see blood and guts on a regular basis. Aya just took a shower, it's not like he'll be dirty.
I swallow a lump of nervousness anyway as he turns over. Rather than lying down as I expected, Aya kneels on the bed and buries his face in the pillow, hugging it. His bottom - when did I ever think of Aya _having_ a bottom? - is thrust high in the air, presented for inspection.
The sight takes my breath away. Icy cold leader Fujimiya, who barely takes orders even from Kritiker, who had his first fistfight with Ken thirty seconds after they met, in the most submissive and wanton pose I've ever seen. A girl with her legs open is invitingly shameless, but this...
Smooth white hips, more muscular than a girl's, a little apart to show the valley between. I can see the pucker of his anus, slightly pinker than the skin around it. What should I do? Stroke him there? Spank him? The thought sends a disturbing jolt of lust through me. To banish it I put my hands against the curved flesh.
With the contact comes a flash of light behind my eyelids. Suddenly I'm seeing something else altogether. Aya kneeling, just the same, but instead of my hands Schuldich is there. And he shows no hesitation whatever. Spreading Aya wide, the telepath lowers his head, licks up and down the crevice, and then - oh god - thrusts his tongue into Aya's anus. He shudders and moans, clutching the sheets, but doesn't pull away. Not resisting at all. And his expression is one of mindless pleasure.
I react without thinking as the vision fades, pushing him away. "God, Aya, that's _obscene_. Don't - get away from me. How could you _do_ that?"
The silence in the room is deafening.
Tell Marith how you liked it