Joystick

Fanfic (meaning Koyasu Takehito owns the characters, not me, and so I do not get paid) and yaoi. Remember what that means? (hint: boy + boy= HOT)

That there above is a warning. Do not read if you are under the age of consent where you live, and do not whine to me if you ignore the warning and get your brain contaminated. If you can find the link, you can read the warning.

Joystick

“Aya, look what I got!” Yohji waved the bag from the electronics store in his friend’s face, so close he couldn’t have seen what was in it even if he hadn’t been trying to read. Aya sighed and put his bookmark in place. So much for a quiet afternoon.

“What did you get, Yohji?”

“This!” The blonde pulled a square box from the bag. On the side was a picture of a video-game controller. A joystick. A very suggestive-looking joystick, curved with a knob at the top, and two lobes at the bottom. Aya raised one eyebrow. Yohji pulled the insert from the box. “A famous Joystick legacy continues,” he read, “with the ‘Turbo’ – the next stunning installment of Kaotek’s renowned Instinct development, offering improved adjustability, refined control interfaces and new hard hitting styling Adjustable Palm Rest and central level throttle for left- or right-handed gaming.”

Uh huh.

“So you want to play?”

“Did you get two?”

“Oh.” Yohji deflated. “Guess you wouldn’t want to play with the old one.” He swallowed, then offered the box. “You can try it first.”

“That’s okay,” Aya said with a smile. Yohji blinked, he still didn’t do that often. “I’m used to the old one.”

“I’ll get some snacks!” Yohji darted out of the room, Aya followed more slowly. After checking his pockets for vital supplies, since on Yohji’s return the plan had been re-instated.

He’d decided last week after a stunning male tourist asked Yohji out in the shop, and the blonde turned him down with genuine regret. He was only in town for that night and Weiss had a mission. Before that Aya hadn’t dreamed he had a chance with the playboy of Weiss.

What if he didn’t have a chance, only thought he did? Yohji was his best friend, the only friend who came close to understanding him. Even more important, the only one besides his imouto who cared to try. Aya could ruin all that today. But if he never tried…Yohji was settling down. He went out less, and he’d had three steady girlfriends in the past month. One had lasted a week. For Yohji that was a record, at least since Asuka. If Aya didn’t try now, he’d lose any chance he ever had, just because he was a coward.

If it didn’t work out—it would be awkward for a while, but Yohji would forgive him. Yohji always forgave, even when he shouldn’t. Sure. Everything would be fine. Honest. Aya took a deep breath and centered himself before going downstairs.

Yohji shot him a grin as he came down the spiral stairs into the mission room. Persia had given up on convincing them the widescreen TV was only for missions, after they’d killed the projection one playing Gran Turismo in their own cars, courtesy of Omi. Now they had a TV that could handle all their requirements.

The blonde had worked fast. Onigiri, yakitori, pocky, beer, soda, green tea… Since all three of their housemates were gone for the weekend, it looked like he was planning a long afternoon in Aya’s company. That was just fine with Aya. Though he hoped they wouldn’t get to the food. Well, maybe the—

“What do you want to play first?” Yohji asked. Aya smiled at him again, enjoying the surprise. And appreciation? Hopefully.

“Every time I beat you at Rogue Squadron you blame the controller, so I think we should try your Turbo Stick—” he liked that name, “—on that.”

“Two player?” Yohji asked, grabbing the case, “or take turns?”

The man was so generous. If Aya had something new that excited him as much as the joystick had Yohji, he wouldn’t be sharing for at least a month.

Hello, Yohji was waiting for an answer— “Two player,” he answered, since he really didn’t care if he got his hands on the new joystick. The old one, on the other hand…

Do not think about that yet. The last thing he wanted was Yohji seeing how he felt, without a chance to explain, or try for a hint of the blonde’s feelings first. Aya really wished he knew what it meant that Yohji didn’t flirt with him anymore. He used to, used to say all kinds of things Aya could have responded to if he’d been at a point where he could think such things, look at possibilities…

Yohji went on setting up the game. Aya looked away from the ass in tight jeans, the toned back revealed by a dark-green crop top that set off his skin and brought out his eyes when viewed from the front—

Doing a fine job of staying calm, wasn’t he? Aya plunked to the floor and lifted the plate of onigiri, held it in his lap while he surveyed it.

“Shrimp ones in the middle,” Yohji said, setting a beer and one of the old joysticks by his knee. “Ready?”

“To kick your ass yet again?” Aya took the stick, leaned forward before setting the plate aside, and let an evil smile answer the glint of challenge in his friend’s eyes. “Of course.”

The Turbo Stick was adjustable, Yohji whined later. He had to adjust it to himself, then he’d win, no problem. Aya ate a shrimp onigiri and smirked at him as he played a few solo missions, ostentatiously adjusting the stick each time. Aya set the plate in his lap again, watching those strong clever fingers on that highly suggestive joystick, his mind painting images of Yohji naked, head thrown back, his hands on a far more wonderful stick, pleasuring himself while Aya—

Stop that.

Or do something about it. He shifted onto his hip, setting the plate aside and leaning closer to Yohji.

“Use the thrust,” he murmured in the blonde’s ear, “less time in the killzone.”

Yohji twitched in surprise, but he didn’t seem to mind. On the screen his X-wing accelerated.

“Fast and low,” Aya pointed out, aiming his words at Yohji’s neck, “the gun turrets can’t get you.”

The gun turrets got Yohji, as he crashed into one. The blonde chuckled breathlessly.

“No fair! Like to see you get through that mission with a hot redhead breathing down your neck!”

That sounded like progress! Aya took up his joystick.

“Reset it,” he ordered, “and see if I can maintain with a hot blonde doing it.”

He almost didn’t make it. Not because he couldn’t, but because he’d much rather have grabbed the hot blonde and made him gasp and moan and—Yohji groaned as he blew up the Imperial base.

“I admit it,” he said. “I suck at Rogue Squadron.”

“You never think tactically,” Aya said, staying hunched over. If he’d been blowing on Yohji’s neck that long, he’d have lost control and started touching. Yohji hadn’t. That—didn’t mean anything. Yohji valued their friendship as much as he did, Yohji rightly feared his temper—damn it, his time alone with the man was ticking away!

“I can win at Smackdown,” Yohji said, reaching for the console. “I’ll have you on the floor and begging for mercy in no time!”

Please? He’d beg now, if—

Think tactically, as he’d just told Yohji. “No, stay with Rogue Squadron.” He gave the blonde a wink and a leer, and hoped that was only shock, and not disgust too, on the blonde’s face. “You just don’t know how to use your Turbo Stick, Kudou.”

“Whatever!” The blonde held it out. “So show me what I’m doing wrong, oh Jedi Master.”

Aya took his time getting used to the stick, fingering it delicately, stroking it, running his thumb over the knob. He thought Yohji’s breath caught, couldn’t be sure—damn it, how to get where he wanted from here, without blowing it from sheer stupid clumsiness? Yohji was the one who was good at this, if he could just get Yohji to make a move Aya would know how to respond…

It was not that hard! They’d spent years learning each other’s signals, stood together against real-life nightmares, communicated with hand signals and glances and sometimes telepathy he’d swear, they were so good together—Aya took a deep breath and met Yohji’s eyes. Saw them widen. Then those brilliant eyes hooded, the playboy persona came out.

“You going to play?” Yohji asked in a husky voice, “Or just sit there wishing?”

Aya held out the stick. “You play.”

The blonde blinked surprise, but took the controller and turned to the set. Aya scooted behind him, his legs outside Yohji’s, his groin to Yohji’s ass, and grinned as Yohji wiggled against him.

“Pay attention,” he murmured in the blonde’s ear. “You crash, the game is over.”

“Hidoi,” the blonde complained, but he started the game on the lowest level. Aya slid his arms around the man he loved and put his hands over Yohji’s on the Turbo Stick. The electronic one. For now.

“Use your radar,” he said to the blonde’s neck, “it’s there for a reason.”

“mmm?” Yohji asked, missing a clean shot at a probe droid.

“Shoot the droids, Yotan.”

“Fuck the droids,” Yohji growled, tilting his head in invitation. Aya fired at a droid, timed his first taste of Yohji to the explosion. Sweet and salty and—Aya groaned against golden skin, the blonde shivered in his arms. Aya sent the X-wing after another droid, Yohji took the hint and went after it with determination. Another explosion, another taste, and the blonde flew through the mission faster than he ever had and Aya wondered how the hell he’d resist throwing the man down and—

“Mos Eisley is under attack!” the game announced.

“Shoot the bombers,” Aya murmured. “Watch the pattern, don’t crash them into buildings.”

“What do I get for bombers?” Yohji breathed. Aya chuckled against his neck.

“You’ll see.” He slid his hands off Yohji’s, down the blonde’s legs as far as he could reach and back up, let them rest on the insides of his thighs. The blonde groaned and fired at a bomber. And groaned again. Aya burst out laughing.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“Wedge!” someone’s voice shouted. “You shot down Wedge!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Aya buried his face in the blonde’s hair, still laughing. He couldn’t stop. A hundred times he’d tried to shoot down Wedge Antilles, one of the best pilots in the game, just to add some challenge to the level, and Yohji just—nailed him. In one shot, even.

“So happy to have amused you,” Yohji grumbled, slapping the reset and skipping off after the probe droids.

“Don’t miss the sandtroopers,” Aya warned. “Gold medal, Yotan.”

“What sandtroopers?” Yohji demanded. He’d never gotten a gold medal on this mission, and he knew Aya knew it.

This time Aya directed him to the extra enemies he’d always missed, but didn’t reward him for the kills. It was too much like their regular line of work. Robots, though—he could and did reward the blonde for blowing up droids.

“Ayan,” the blonde murmured after the third one, “not interested in droids anymore…”

“Gold medal, Yotan.”

Yohji blew up every last droid in less than a minute. Aya moved his hands to the living joystick as his beloved went after the bombers. Yohji groaned.

“If I crash—“

“If you crash,” Aya reminded, his hands mimicking what Yohji should be—and wasn’t—doing with the joystick, “the game is over. You told me to play, Yotan.”

The blonde bit his beautiful lip and went after the bombers. At the first explosion, Aya unbuttoned a jeans button, stroked the skin uncovered. Yohji gasped and played on. Another button, more stroking. One more and he’d actually touch—another. Yohji quivered, bit his lip harder and blew up another bomber. Aya wrapped his hands around the joystick he’d wanted to touch for years. Gods, hot hard satin in his hands—Yohji groaned, and got the last one.

“Gold medal!” he gasped, throwing his head back on Aya’s shoulder. “Now gimme, gods damn it.” He wrapped a hand in Aya’s hair, yanked him down for a kiss and Aya was drowning, gods, his mouth full of Yohji, his hands full, it was everything he’d ever dreamed and more, vibrant and warm, hot and trembling all at the same time and he could never, never, get enough, gods if Yohji thought—

Later! Now Aya tasted those lips, explored that delicious mouth, sucked that fantasy-inducing tongue, felt the jolt run through Yohji as he stroked the silky wet joystick in his hands, wandered down that neck, lowered the blonde to the floor and followed—

“Gods, Aya,” Yohji groaned, tugging at Aya’s pants. “Want you…”

Aya fought an answering wave of lust. Want was not enough. Now came the real challenge. He lifted himself to see Yohji’s face though the blonde had closed his eyes. With a supreme act of will, Aya took his hands off him. Those verdant eyes flew open.

“Ayan…”

“Yohji.” Aya waited for his serious tone to sink through the lust. This was important. “Yohji, I—I—“

“Love you,” Yohji said with a smirk. Aya stared, stunned.

“…Yohji?”

“I love you, Ayan, and I got a damned gold medal and I really, really, really want to fuck now.”

“Is this real?” Aya breathed, and groaned at how stupid that sounded.

“Yes,” Yohji answered, wrapping a fist in his hair. He yanked Aya down and bit his neck. “See?”

Aya shivered, gods, to have that mouth on him—

“Naked,” Yohji growled, tugging at his shirt, “want to see you naked…”

His wish…Aya bounced to his feet, peeled off his shirt slowly, enjoyed Yohji’s surprise and delight. He felt…giddy. Silly. Joyful. Yohji loved him. Yohji loved him. He threw the shirt, his hands moved to his pants. Yohji cheered. Aya shook a finger.

“Take something off, Yotan.”

The bastard removed and tossed one of his house slippers. Aya had kicked his off when he sat on the floor. All he had left were his pants and his boxers. And suddenly he wanted to hold onto both. Coward, don’t—

“Let me help,” Yohji offered, and suddenly his breath was on Aya’s navel and headed down. He groaned, buried his hands in blonde hair as Yohji held his hips, unbuttoned his jeans with his teeth. Tugged at the zipper, each yank and breath shooting up his spine, gods, what had he gotten into, this was so—

Yohji mouthed him through his boxers and Aya’s knees went weak. Strong hands guided him down on a couch, stripping what was left of his clothes as they did. Aya forced his eyes open when the hands didn’t come back. His love stood over him, just looking. And the heat and warmth in his eyes—yes, they were two different things!—

“Aya,” Yohji groaned. “So beautiful…”

He couldn’t do this, couldn’t stop and think, this was not the time for thinking… “Yohji,” he breathed, “clothes…”

In a heartbeat—a surging, triphammer heartbeat—the blonde was naked and on the couch with him. Aya groaned relief and touched, when he was touching Yohji he couldn’t think, and gods he loved the way his hand on Yohji’s—joystick—sent a jolt through the blonde’s body, how the touch of his lips on Yohji’s neck set the blonde’s heartbeat galloping as fast as his, how their frantic breaths tangled and limbs twined, sweat-damp skin sliding together and—

“Gods, Yohji!”

“Together,” the blonde panted, squeezing both erections. “Can’t wait, come on, baby…”

Aya put his hand over Yohji’s, moved with him, let his head fall back and panted at the glory of it, gods, gods, so good—Yohji kissed him, breathing his gasps, tasting his need, tongues and breath and erections and souls touching, twining, more, needed more, needed, more…

“Gonna…” Yohji gasped, and came with a groan he buried in Aya’s neck. Aya wrapped his arms around his love and held him there, threw his own head back with a shout.

“Baby,” Yohji gasped, “that was…”

“Don’t call me that,” Aya tried to growl. It sounded affectionate, though. He tried and failed to feel grumpy. “Yotan,” he whispered, holding his lover against him, “I love you.”

“Love you, Ayan.” He could feel the smirk on his neck. “Baby.”

******

Aya’s hints to Yohji are taken from the Rogue Squadron official site, or from this handy walkthrough. I’ve never played the game, so there are probably lots of mistakes—sorry, I don’t much care. I could have spent forever searching for a suitable game or making up my own, but I decided to just get to the darn story.

Here’s the joystick that spawned the plot bunny. (okay, it’s not there anymore.  But trust me–it was very phallic.)

Comments, especially gushing ones 😉 make me very happy.