Out To Sea

Note to self, Yohji thought, watching Aya carefully sort his rice, or do something else that involved a lot of moving the food around and not a lot of eating. Note to self, dates are not fun when the datee is guilted into attending.

Kami-sama, was Aya aligning the grains of rice? Yohji sighed. Aya looked up, then down. And did he–blush? Just a little?

This was not going to be easy.

He hadn’t really thought it would be. Aya-chan may have been wrong about her big brother’s sexual experience, but Yohji had a feeling she’d been dead on about his dating. Which was odd, as he really couldn’t see Aya doing a one-night stand, let alone imagine him visiting a prostitute. He must have slept with a teammate, then–depressing thought.

So this was Aya’s second date in his whole life, and the first had been–what, exactly? How did Aya see that night? A joyous mistake? A horrible one? Humiliating? Exhilarating, as the first time in who knew how long he’d really cut loose?

Terrifying, for exactly that reason?

Whatever, Yohji didn’t want to resort to scotch to make tonight go better. That’s why he’d planned the movie first, in the hopes of loosening Aya up for the rest of the evening. He’d chosen a comedy, and bought popcorn, candy, soda, everything…or tried. First they’d had the argument over who was paying for the tickets. Even dragged out against his will by blunt force and Aya-chan’s “Onegai, Oniisan?” puppy-eyes look, Aya thought he should be paying. So to avoid an all-out fight–assassins brawling was never pretty, in public would be even worse–Yohji let Aya buy the tickets. Then cheap-as-hell, “I have to send Aya-chan to the best, most expensive college on the planet” Aya thought he should pay for everything else. But Kami-sama, did the popcorn come in gold-lined buckets, was that why it cost so much? And how much soda did Yohji really want? He’d have to leave the theater before the movie was over. And that candy would rot their teeth, and…

“I’m sorry,” Aya said softly.

“What?” That, of course, earned a glare. Aya had apologized, Yohji should accept it graciously. But damned if he would. Aya apologized too much. “For what?”

“I’m not…very good company.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one deciding that?” Yohji wished he dared take Aya’s hand, but from the way he’d reacted in the theater, like they’d just met and Yohji was moving way too fast, rather than like they’d been fucking each other’s brains out for more than a month…

Another glare, daring him to say he was enjoying himself. Yohji sighed.

“Look, it’s not that big a deal. So you’re not feeling talkative. I’m used to it.”

“Used to it?” Aya demanded. “What does that mean?”

“That I’m used to it.” Puppy-eyed smile, Aya couldn’t stay mad at that smile, “I still want to be right here.”

Wow. Yohji wondered if he’d ever get used to that look in Aya’s gorgeous eyes. He wondered if that look would ever stay more than half a second, so he could get used to it. He needed to figure out exactly what he’d done to earn it in the first place. And how to stop the next look from always being the smothered-panic look. Aya went back to aligning his rice in neat rows in the bowl. Yohji forced down another sigh.

Maybe they were just pushing too fast. Aya had spent years–the years most people were learning how to be people–closed off, controlled, repressing everything but Aya-chan and revenge, learning to kill and perfecting his craft. Maybe a month was just too soon to start trying to show him how much more there was to life.

Well, hell, he’d managed to have sex in those years! Yohji fought down a wash of jealousy. That was different. If anyone knew the power of simple human need, it was Kudou Yohji. Even Aya couldn’t control it all the time. Though he’d done a damn good job of it all the time he’d been in Weiss…

Yohji wondered if he ought to be offended by that. Aya had slept with someone else–someones? grrr–but resisted him, Yohji, for years. The great Kudou Yohji, playboy of the Eastern world, Yotan, sex on legs–

The great Kudou Yohji’s date was currently rearranging rice. He truly didn’t mind if Aya didn’t want to talk. But the redhead obviously felt he should be talking. Any minute he’d go Abyssinian just because he was nervous. And that would ruin the whole night. Yohji plastered on a smile.

“Did you like the movie?” Dumb, Kudou, he was just going to say–

“Hn.”

“I thought the main character was mis-cast. If they’d switched him and the actor playing his friend, it would have been better.”

“Hn.”

“The girl was pretty. That dress she wore most of the time, though–“ Aya’s gaze flicked up, Yohji forgot what he was saying, staring into his lover’s beautiful glare.

Once Aya felt he’d made whatever point he was glaring about, he went back to rice-arranging. Yohji sipped his wine. Damn it, what had they been talking about?

Nothing. Right. Umm… “I’m glad this restaurant isn’t busy tonight. It can get pretty full, since the food is so good.” Not that Aya would know.

“Hn.”

Well, hell! If the redhead thought he should be talking, why didn’t he flipping talk? Yohji forced his smile wider. “Come on, Ayan! This isn’t a tea ceremony, you don’t have to arrange everything perfectly.”

That earned an F3. Damn, shut up Kudou, he’d be making fun of ikebana next…

Ikebana. Yohji reached to touch the small arrangement in the middle of the table. “It’s not bad. I wonder who does it for them?”

The left side of Aya’s mouth twitched down, that was a sneer. Yohji thought. “What?”

“It mumbles.”

“Excuse me?” Was his redhead claiming the flowers were talking? Ooh, his redhead. Don’t say that out loud, Kudou–

“It’s too understated. It’s not simple, it’s simply mumbling.”

Two sentences! Keep going, Kudou. “What would you have done differently?”

Aya reached and rearranged the flowers instead of answering. Yohji admired the results–it was definitely better–while he cursed the quick end to that topic.

Never let it be said that Kudou Yohji gave up on a gorgeous redhead in distress. Though who was in more trouble was debatable. “I’ll be glad when it cools off. The heat’s been really bad this last week, don’t you think?”

Damn, not even a ‘hn.’ Try again. “I read…” whoops, what had he read? The directions on his lunchtime cup-of-noodles? The movie listings? Talk, Kudou! “Uh…I read that the cabinet meeting didn’t go well.” Or he’d heard it from a salaryman in the shop, anyway, though he didn’t know why the man felt that way. Shit, what if Aya actually went for that topic?

He didn’t, though, one fine red eyebrow was all the comment it received. Yohji made a mental note to go find a book someday soon, reading was one of the many things he’d let go on his slide into hell. Ooh, maybe he could borrow a book from Aya and then they could talk about–

Better idea, buy his own damn copy of something Aya owned. That would spare the hassles of buying a new copy for Aya after he did whatever he did wrong to the borrowed one.

Now, though, he tried music. And regretted not looking into Phillip Glass, because Aya wasn’t talking about the blues or J-pop or even how he hated American Country. He almost tried cars, but he and Aya had argued the merits of the Seven against the Porsche enough. Neither would ever be convinced.

Family? Oh, yeah, that would be a great date conversation. The only one they could talk happily about was Aya-chan, and damned if Yohji was spending the whole night talking about Aya’s sister. He wanted to get to know Aya, damn it. He wanted to get to know Ran.

Last ditch, desperation effort, he tried talking shop. The Koneko, he wasn’t insane enough to address their other line of work here. Aya simply stared at his attempts to say something intelligent about the flower business, and Yohji gave up. He was relieved when Aya refused dessert, and he did the same, though he’d been looking forward to the tiramisu. Schu said it was to die for. With a maybe-sincere half-smirk.

Well, there it was, anyway, proof Kudou Yohji was born to suffer. Why else would he have fallen in love with the Ice Princess, and wandered into being friends with the sadistic, sarcastic Mastermind?

At least it was better than the other way around. Yohji had no doubt Schu was a great lay. He also had no doubt what would happen to him if he ever chose to prove that theory. From the sneaky, smirking orange-haired bastard, and then from the icy sneaking redheaded bastard. And then more from the icy sneaking redheaded bastard, because of the sneaky smirking orange-haired bastard stirring things up, and probably the icy sneaking brown-haired bastard for touching “his” sneaky, smirking orange-haired bastard–

Oh hell. Just leave it at ‘the suffering would never end.’ There were demons in hell who would be waiting a turn at Kudou Yohji, probably, for distracting their comrades.

Speaking of the suffering ending–why had Yohji let Aya drive? Not that he was a bad driver, it was exactly the opposite. In the years Yohji had known him, Aya had never so much as crinkled a fender, which was more than Yohji could say. No, it wasn’t that he was careless or incompetent. Yohji hated riding with Aya because Aya drove like he did everything except fuck–efficiently. No wasted movements like using a turn signal, no meaningless considerations like a meter of safety room between his bumper and whoever else might be on the road, and certainly no arbitrary matters like speed limits or unattended red lights were going to keep Fujimiya Aya from efficiently getting to his destination.

Yohji loved Aya, he was pretty damn sure of it. He thought anything up to an F3 was cute (beyond that was ‘beautiful but scary’), he must be in love. And he trusted Aya. Trusted him to watch his back on missions, to not leave him handcuffed to the bed, trusted him (mostly) to not die and leave Yohji to live out hell here before he went on to the next one. But Yohji still had to pry his fingers loose from the arm rest when Aya parked the Porsche and turned off the engine.

Only then did he notice they weren’t where they were supposed to be. “Ano, Aya–“

”No arguments,” Aya snapped, and stalked to the ticket booth. Yohji let his redhead get out of hearing so he could vent a little. Not that he’d been set on the gardens, and not that he minded a nice romantic boat ride instead, but why did Aya have to treat him like they were trying to escape after he, Yohji, bumbled a mission? In a big fucking hurry, and don’t talk, and don’t damn well put in his opinions–

“Kudou!”

Yohji scrambled after his lover. Darkness, city lights, lapping water, privacy and Aya. No matter how it came about, this had to be fun. Didn’t it?

Only the railing wasn’t that private, and Aya was pissed about something anyway, and Yohji couldn’t even get his arm around the sullen redhead. The third time he tried he got an F4 glare from way too close, and stood there stunned, without even the brain power to wonder why this was happening.

Someone laughed and made a comment about ‘damned faggots.’ Aya shot the idiot an F5. He made a sound like he’d been hit with something solid–Yohji could sympathize, to the unitiated an F5 was only slightly less devastating than a shotgun blast–his girlfriend eeped! and pulled him away. Yohji eeped silently and hoped she didn’t remember him. First time he’d ever hoped a girl forgot–

Aya turned back to the rail and yanked Yohji close. Yohji wrapped his arms around that incredible body and tried to remember the girl’s name, so he could send a thank you bouquet to the boyfriend. And maybe a get-well card, he mused as he nuzzled a beautiful ear. An F5, wow. Usually Aya reserved the higher numbers for those he personally hated. And for Yohji, of course, though he thought maybe they were getting rarer. The higher numbers, not the glares. Aya glared even more often the last two weeks than he had in the years before they got together.

Yohji set the wondering aside and let his lips wander down that beautiful neck. Aya grumbled, not too emphatically. Yet. Yohji smiled against pale skin. So adorable, his bitchy redhead. Kami-sama help him if he ever said anything remotely close to that out loud, of course. Even worse if he used the other nickname, the one he tried not to even think, but that popped into his head every time Aya stalked him with that “you’re about to get fucked” look.

Oh God he loved that look.

Some girl was making her way down the railing, selling flowers and–chocolate? Maybe cigarettes? He’d dropped his pack somewhere, maybe in the run to get to the boat that hadn’t even been leaving yet. Yohji debated for a moment–if he let go, he might not get as good a hold again, the way things were going–but the urge for nicotine won and he waved her over. Only to have Aya spin and direct an F5 right into his face. What–?

Aya glared a moment longer, then jerked away and walked. Yohji shook the surprise from his head and went after him. Damn but the redhead was the definition of high-maintenance! What the hell had he done wrong now?

“No Passengers Beyond This Point” slowed Aya as much as traffic signs did. Yohji ducked under the chain too, and darted down the ladder-like stairs. God damn it, he hated when Aya ran from him. He was always fucking sure this time the redhead would succeed in convincing himself it was all a mistake, and the next time he saw Aya after he found his own way home or got himself calmed down enough he could come out in public or whatever, Aya would be all icy again and–

Fuck! He’d lost him! Yohji skidded out of a passageway and looked both ways. In front of him was another railing, the boat was a double-decker, the lower deck not needed tonight. He could hear the passengers above, oohing over the city view. Which way–

Instinct spun him around, Yohji grabbed his watch before he saw Aya glaring from the shadows. “Aya–“

”Do I look like a woman to you, Kudou?”

“What?”

The redhead stalked forward and spun Yohji around, then yanked the blonde back against him. One hand went up his shirt, the other went down his pants, Yohji stiffened in shock. God, they were maybe five meters away from the other–

Aya thrust his hips forward, Yohji gasped at the hardness poking him. Oh, God, yes, he loved this unpredictable–

“Does that feel like a woman, Yohji?”

“What the–ungh, Aya!–what the fuck are you talking about?” He had to stop letting Aya distract him from every goddamn problem with–oohh!–problem with–next time! Next time he wouldn’t be distracted–

“Do not buy me flowers,” Aya growled, stroking Yohji more roughly than usual, but oh god it still felt good, fantastic in fact– “Do not buy me chocolates.” His other hand was attacking Yohji’s nipple, he knew what– “Do not talk to me about actress’ dresses, and do not talk to me about the weather.” He jolted into Yohji again, damn he was hard! “I am not one of your meaningless fucks, I will not be charmed and dazzled by the great Kudou Yohji.”

Oh damn, if this was what he got for pissing Aya off, he was going to do it more often! Yohji let his head fall back, surrendering to those wonderful hands, that beautiful heat thrusting against his ass…Aya nipped his neck. Yohji gasped and moaned, Aya did it again, then sucked. Yohji barely had enough mind left to wonder again if Aya’s thing with hickeys meant what he hoped it did. Then the redhead’s other hand dove into his pants, and Yohji’s brain jumped overboard.

“You’re beautiful,” Aya growled in his ear. “You. You should be charmed–“

”ohhh…”

“–and dazzled–“

”Aya, Aya, oh fuck, Aya…”

“–adored–“

”Please, Aya–“

”–worshiped–“

“And fucked! Oh please, Aya–“

The hands came out of his pants, to wrap Yohji’s around the railing. “Hang on tight,” Aya said, the mischievous sneak evident in his voice. Yohji braced himself as Aya undid his pants, god his arms were quivering, how the hell did Aya make him so fucking hot and horny and crazy so damn fast–he squeaked as a cold, wet finger entered him. And just when did Aya start carrying, hmmm?

Aya chuckled, leaning to nibble the back of his neck. “That squeak,” he murmured. “I just love that squeak.” He flicked his finger, Yohji shuddered. Aya chuckled again. “And I love making you do that.” More, he wanted, and Aya gave, but it wasn’t–

“Please…” Yohji gasped out. He just knew Aya loved making him do that, too…oh God, so good, so hot, so hard–he groaned and shoved back when Aya stopped, trying to let him adjust. Never thought he’d love being uke, never thought Aya would fuck him, oh God it was good, oh damn, oh shit– “Move, Aya!”

“So eager,” Aya murmured, and swung his hips. Yohji grunted and shoved back for more. Aya’s hand wrapped around his cock again, god those calluses–

His bitchy redhead rocked him and stroked him, Yohji held onto the railing and panted and shoved back and bit his lip to keep from yelling, ‘cause while he didn’t give a damn who knew he was getting yet another of the best fucks of his life, he didn’t want interrupted because goddamnit he needed to get off…the city danced in front of him, his hair was coming loose and waving in his eyes, sticking to his forehead oh god, Aya, he wanted Aya to do this forever and oh god, oh shit, oh damn–

Yohji threw his head back and came, groaning Aya’s name. His redhead growled his, slamming into him a few more times then stiffened against him and breathed “Yohji.” They stood there for a long moment, lacking the strength to move. Then as always, Aya moved away. Yohji wondered how he planned to clean him up this time, there wasn’t a warm towel handy–

Somehow, of course, Aya found something. Warm careful hands cleaned Yohji off, and pulled up his pants. Aya after sex was as gentle and considerate as he was a complete and utter bastard so much of the rest of the time. Yohji pried his hands off the railing and pulled the redhead into his arms, kissed the sweat-soaked forehead.

“You’re a great fuck, you know that, Fujimiya?” That compliment, at least, was safe.

“Hn.” Aya tugged him back to the wall and sat, letting Yohji cuddle up to him. Not very comfortable, but Yohji took what he could get in the cuddle department. He patted his chest pocket from habit, and sighed.

“Smoke, already,” Aya growled.

“I dropped them or something.”

“Kudou,” Aya growled, leaving off the “you idiot” part, and pulled his cigarettes from his vest pocket. Yohji yelped delight and planted a sloppy kiss on Aya’s cheek. The redhead scowled and wiped it off while he lit up.

Note to self, Yohji thought, leaning into that hard but comfortable body with a sigh. Piss Aya off more often. Though he still wasn’t quite clear on how he’d done it. He hadn’t been trying to charm Aya. He did that to get into someone’s pants, and lucky, lucky him, he was already there. He’d just been trying to talk to the man, and then the damn misunderstanding on what he’d meant to buy from the girl upstairs–wait a minute.

Aya said he wasn’t a “meaningless fuck.” Every time Yohji tried to make sense of their relationship, Aya said there wasn’t one, they only had sex. Nothing else.

But he wasn’t a “meaningless fuck.”

Yohji grinned and puffed his cigarette and for once kept his damn mouth shut.