Should have known, Yohji cursed silently. Because he didn’t have any frigging breath to say it out loud! Should have known no matter how much she deserved it, Aya wasn’t going to let anyone say anything to his damn precious sister–
In front of him, Aya fell to the floor. He hadn’t fainted, and he hadn’t sat, he just–folded. Sakura gasped and knelt in front of him, bowed her head. “Aya-kun, I’m sorry! She tricked me, and then I thought I could explain–“
The girl went on, and on, and Aya didn’t respond. If she was waiting for forgiveness, she was going to wait a damned long time.
Damn it, was the man even breathing? Yohji wasn’t sure he could stand yet, so he pushed out of the couch to sit behind Aya. Ready to block–touching Aya was often a dangerous endeavor–Yohji laid his hand on his lover’s back.
Nothing. The redhead didn’t even twitch. Omi shook off his shock and came to pull the girl away.
“Sakura-san, I think–you probably should go.” Before he comes to his senses and kills you, the boy kindly didn’t add. Yohji slid his hand up to that beautiful neck. Damn! Aya’s skin was freezing, and he still wasn’t reacting to being touched. Aya always reacted, Yohji had learned. That was why only a select few were allowed to touch him, and only at certain times–because he reacted so intensely. And the man wondered where “kitten” had come from.
Well, that and the way he stalked, all back-alley cat looking for a fuck or a fight, didn’t matter which. And Yohji loved the way the man pounced…
Later, Kudou, you idiot. He slipped his arm around his lover and leaned to peer into that pale face. “Aya? She’s upset, Aya, when she has time to think–“
Oh shit. Nobody home. Aya had run away, where he couldn’t follow this time.
“Aya-kun?” Omi had a try, waving his hand in front of Aya’s face. Nothing, he didn’t even blink. Those gorgeous eyes were still set on the foot of the stairs, three meters on the far side of Omi.
“Damn,” Ken breathed. “He is out.”
“Thanks for the observation, Kenken,” Yohji snapped. He fought down an urge to strangle the athlete, it wasn’t really Ken he was angry with. It was Aya-chan, and Sakura, and life for never giving Aya a fucking break, and Aya for being so damned wrapped up in his sister–
And most especially himself, for not being enough to keep Aya standing when that brat turned on him.
She was a brat. She’d probably been spoiled before the death of her family, and if Aya had told her no and made it stick once since she woke up, Yohji hadn’t seen it. Sheltered and spoiled, she had no conception of what money was worth. How the hell did she think her brother had paid all her medical bills, and kept her in the best of everything since she woke up? By selling flowers? Even she couldn’t be that naive.
That was the problem. She was that naive. Protected and pampered, Aya-chan didn’t know a damn thing about the real world. Everything she knew of evil, even the murder of her parents and getting run down by Takatori, was far away, stories people told her. No more real than the fairy tales Aya said he used to read to her. And if all she knew of Aya’s life since that day was what Sakura had to tell, she didn’t know a damn thing about that, either.
Maybe someone ought to let her know just what sort of hell Aya had been through–and who he had walked there for. The man would come back to that little brat apologizing, guaranteed.
Aya would kill him, though, if he introduced baby sister to Reality. Literally. Dead.
Yohji pulled Aya’s favorite reading blanket from the back of the couch, wrapped it around his lover’s shoulders. Then he stood.
“Yohji-kun?” Omi asked. “You’re–leaving him?”
“I’m going to talk to Aya-chan.”
“Are you sure that’s–“
”I’ll go with you,” Sakura said softly. Ken growled at her before Yohji could.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
“Ken-kun, that’s not fair, she only–“
Yohji left them to their arguing and walked up the stairs. First stop, his room, then down the hall…think, Kudou, how to talk Aya-chan around. As much as he wanted to turn her over his knee, at the first squeal Aya would be up those stairs and running him through, and that wouldn’t do anyone any favors, not until she realized she was wrong.
Damn. While Yohji had often thought he wouldn’t mind dying with Aya, that damn sword wasn’t what he wanted stuck in him when it happened.
That reminded him of his morning, and instead of thinking of Aya-chan, he spent the walk to her door thinking of how sadly downhill the day had gone. Right when he thought he was going to get laid again, too. With last night’s after-poker fun, and this morning, and tonight’s potential, that would have put him and Aya within reach of their twenty-four hour record.
God, he loved being right. There was a flipping volcano under that ice, and he loved the fact that–not counting about-to-be-dead targets–he was the only one who saw it.
Well, Yohji smirked. Ten more minutes, and Omi and Ken might have seen some lava.
Half an hour, with Aya’s control. The man was incredible.
And right now he was catatonic. Yohji yanked his mind back to what he was supposed to be doing, and knocked on Aya-chan’s door. He’d break it down if he had to, but he’d start with knocking.
“Go away!” Aya-chan shouted. Yohji tried the knob. Locked. He picked it with his handy dandy all-assassins-should-have-one, keep-it-between-the-cell-phone-and-breath-spray lock-pick, and walked in. He closed the door behind him, in hopes of getting the yelling done before Aya killed him.
That silly little twit was packing her suitcase.
“Get out, Kudou!”
“No.” Yohji grabbed the luggage, shook it empty, and tossed it out the window. “Starters, Princess, you are not abandoning him. If I have to tie you to a bedpost, you will not leave him alone.” Automatically he checked his watch, just to be ready.
“He won’t be alone, he’s got you!” she flared. “You and your team of murderers!” She gasped on a sob. “You–what did you do to him? Ran wouldn’t–he never–“
”Ran doesn’t,” Yohji snapped. “That’s why Aya exists.”
“That’s even worse! He made up an alias–took my name–so he could kill and not feel bad about it!”
God, he would not hit her…he couldn’t say he’d never hit a woman anymore, but at least he’d never hit one that wasn’t trying to kill him. “Aya does suffer for what he’s done.”
“I’m sure that’s a great comfort to his victims!”
“Victims? Victims?” God, he’d forgotten how little Sakura did know. “Did Sakura tell you we killed the doctor who stole her kidney? Has she even guessed? Did she tell you there were others, that some girls’ hearts were removed?” Yohji poked her chest. He had strong fingers, he backed her to the wall with that finger. “Girls your age and younger. Snatched off the street and taken apart, their organs sold for medical experimentation.”
“So he kills killers and that makes it all right?”
“All right? Does he look like he’s all right? Even on a good day?”
“He–“
Yohji covered her mouth, listening. Someone was in Aya’s room next door. That wasn’t right, if Aya was back, he should be in here killing Yohji–Aya-chan struggled, Yohji released her to run for the door. Something was wrong, very, very–
“Kudou! Don’t you–“
He was fast enough to catch a glimpse of red hair flying into the kitchen, heard the back door. Omi and Ken walked into the living room from the front door, still arguing over Sakura’s feelings. Aya-chan came to the railing, finally getting a clue something was happening, tears still streaming down her face.
“Anou, Yohji-kun,” Omi said slowly, “where did Aya-kun go?”
Yohji turned to look into Aya’s room. The door was open, the space as bare as his room at the Koneko. What little he had was in the closet, just enough to get by if he needed to punish Yohji by sleeping in his own room. Only the daisho* and its rack for “decoration…”
One of the swords was missing. Not the katana that Aya usually used. The other one, the wakizashi, that he only used for katas, with the katana, practicing two-sword forms. Just because he didn’t use the two-sword style, Aya felt, was no reason for him to get out of practice with it.
There was only one task Yohji could think of, that the wakizashi was the tool of choice.
Aya-chan screamed as Yohji leaped the railing.
“Yohji, what–“ Ken yanked him out of the remains of the couch, Yohji shoved away and ran.
“Seppuku!” he snapped over his shoulder. “He’s going to perform seppuku*!”
Behind him, Ken and Aya-chan started swearing.
****
Should’ve quit…smoking, Yohji whined, even his internal voice out of breath. Should’ve quit…ages ago, should’ve taken up…cross-country running, should’ve fricking known…Aya saw seppuku as a perfectly viable option…goddamnit, how many times had he thought…what a perfect samurai…the man would have made?
Goddamnit, quit thinking, it made it harder to run.
His cell phone rang. Not Aya, that wasn’t his ring, but–
“Kudou,” he gasped into it.
“Yohji-kun, stop and think,” Omi’s voice said. “Where do we look? Give me three options, you know him best.”
Damn, shit, the chibi was right. Where–he’d want somewhere beautiful, at least he’d think he deserved that. Kami-sama, please let Aya not already have his poem written, though it was just like the bastard to have planned that far ahead…
“Think!” Omi’s voice snapped. “Balinese, use your brain!”
“Did you try his cell phone?”
“He’s not answering.”
Surprise. “Don’t anyone yell. He won’t answer, he’ll just do it faster.”
“I’ll tell them. Give us places to look.”
“The meadow,” Yohji answered. “The temple. The hot springs.”
“And you?”
“The waterfall.” Now that he was thinking and not just running madly through the goddamn trees.
“Keep in contact.”
“Acknowledged.” Yohji took his bearings and ran.
And wished he’d quit smoking. Like right after he started.
The spot he’d been sure of, the top of the waterfall where they had made love and that Yohji had been sure was the place, was empty. But before he could kick anything or shriek with rage or run madly off again, he spotted a bit of red down in the ravine where none should be. He opened his cell phone.
“Bombay.”
“Found him,” Yohji said and closed the phone. Omi knew if Aya were dead or dying, Yohji would have said so. He started down the path as quickly as possible. The roar of the falls would cover his noise, but he had to be in range before the redhead spotted him. Abyssinian knew how easily Balinese could immobilize him. As soon as he realized Yohji was there, he would–
Damn it, stop thinking, it interfered with breathing.
If he could stop thinking without sex or booze, Yohji realized, he wouldn’t be a slut and a drunk. So he tried to think of something else, while he watched his step on rock wet with spray, and watched the redheaded bastard preparing to cut his guts and Yohji’s heart out. He was writing a poem, he wasn’t prepared, even morbid damned Fujimiya Aya hadn’t believed he’d be dying quite yet. Keep writing, Fujimiya, waka is traditional, not haiku…
Fuck tradition for once, make it a goddamn epic. The bottom was still a long damn ways away.
Think of something else! Like how he should have seen this coming. Yohji had known Aya-chan was the center of Aya’s universe, why hadn’t he realized how much he depended on her? Center, hell, the girl was Aya’s universe, the only damn reason he was still alive, probably. Yohji would bet anything that if Aya-chan had died that night, Ran would have too. Probably the same way he meant to die now.
Now. Oh God.
Breathe. He was still writing, still thinking. Make it perfect, Fujimiya, if ever you had to be a goddamned perfectionist–Yohji stepped on a loose rock, caught himself on wet stone, and cursed. Think of something else, damn it!
Seppuku. That was as far as Yohji could drag his brain, from the immediate to the objective. Seppuku. Ritual suicide. He hadn’t thought of it for Aya, because Yohji had been raised with the Western attitude towards that, too. Suicide was for the weak, for crazies and cowards. Aya wasn’t crazy. He had every right to be as fucked up as Farfarello, but he wasn’t. And strength was as synonymous with Aya as cowardice wasn’t, so it had never occurred to Yohji that the redhead might be suicidal.
But tip the view a little bit, and change it from a Westerner’s quick and/or easy way out to one of the most painful ways to die…damn it. Disembowelment wouldn’t scare Aya, he’d think the pain was fitting. And not only would he put an end to the train-wreck that was his life, but seppuku would restore what honor the fool thought he’d lost, would erase his shame and let his sister live untainted by what he had become–
Goddamnit, he was starting to think like the romantic bastard.
Heh. Romantic. Fujimiya Aya. Who’d have thought it?
Kudou Yohji should have thought it. Omi was right, he knew Aya best. Aya-chan sure as hell didn’t, she still thought Aya was just a mask Ran wore. And Aya didn’t want her knowing that if anything, it was the other way around.
Fuck it was a hell of a mess.
Aya was taking off his sweater. He was almost ready, and Yohji wasn’t nearly close enough.
Fuck it. Yohji ran. If he broke his neck, he’d be in hell to meet Aya, and kick the bastard’s ass for trying to leave him behind. And if he didn’t die–he’d land on the little beach two meters from the bastard. No way the redhead would hear him, and if he was meditating with his eyes closed–maybe he could snatch the blade away, might not have to use his wire. Aya’s torso was bare, he’d bleed if Yohji had to wrap him up. But he’d do it if he had to.
Three meters from the bottom, Yohji’s left foot shot from under him and he fell. He went with it, protecting his head, and landed on his ass on the beach as Aya lifted the sword. Instinct got his feet under him, he launched.
And was reminded that Aya had those scary assassin instincts too. He twisted with the tackle, avoiding and guiding, and in an instant Yohji was lying in the sand, Aya pinning him and the sword at his throat.
Better there than elsewhere. Yohji forced a smile.
“Hey, kitten.”
“Kudou.” Not angry, or even disgusted. Just tired. Not good.
“You, uh, you going to let me up?”
“No.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Of course not. “She didn’t mean it, Aya. By now she’s at the temple, in case that was where you went.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Shit. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? She’s just upset, Aya, she didn’t really want to hurt you.”
“This is not because of what she said. This is how it must be, how it should have been.” Aya released him, sat back on his heels. Still in proper position, damn it. “Until Aya could live, Ran could not die. Now it is time.” He sighed. “Beyond time.”
He’d really thought this out. Well, of course he had, he was Aya. What scared Yohji, was he meant every word. Aya thought he should be dead. Yohji fought down the urge to just jump on the redheaded bastard and hogtie him. He’d have to convince Aya. It wasn’t like they could just lock up everything sharp until he was feeling better. And Kritiker–God, mention this and they’d come up with just the perfect mission, even better than seppuku…
Kami-sama, he was beautiful, perfect chest and pale skin, shimmering in sunlight and mist, his hair getting darker as it dampened, yet sparkling too, and his eyes…
Like a samurai in a movie. The kind of movie that made seppuku seem romantic, the kind that never showed the blood. Yohji, however, knew what the inside of a man’s abdomen looked like, and it was all he could do not to throw up. Especially since Aya knew even better than he, and that hadn’t stopped the noble-hearted bastard.
“Take care of her.” Aya picked up the notebook next to him, flipped the page before Yohji could read the poem, to a letter. To Yohji. “Get her out of the country, get her away from Kritiker forever. There’s enough to take care of you both.”
There had not been one blot on the poem, he had had it ready, and memorized too. The letter was what had delayed him. Even now Aya-chan worked her magic. Yohji took the notebook, keeping a wary eye on his lover and the sword. His eyebrows shot up at the first thing that caught his other eye.
“Che! Living like a monk pays!”
“Kudou…” Now he was exasperated. “Will you do this?” –for me? he didn’t quite say, but Yohji heard it anyway. Damn. Oh damn. He wanted to shout “Hell no! Do it yourself, you heartless bastard!” But that Aya had even asked him–that Aya would trust him with Aya-chan–and now the way he was looking at him, his face calm but his eyes–
Aya was offering him the greatest trust he was capable of. If Yohji agreed, he sanctioned what Aya meant to do. If he refused he would lose Aya forever.
Damn, che, and kuso, Yohji hated his life.
“Kiss me,” he said in a bid for time. One red eyebrow rose, but Aya leaned to kiss him with a tenderness he’d never given Yohji before. Instead of thinking like he’d meant to, Yohji simply surrendered to the sweetness with a whimper. He tried to return it, did his best to express how he cherished this sexy bastard of a bitchy man.
God. He couldn’t give this up. Couldn’t live the rest of his life without this, without Aya under his fingers, next to him, behind him, bitching at him and guiding him and giving him a fucking reason to not die every damn mission. There wasn’t enough vodka in Russia to get him through.
Duh, Kudou.
Aya kissed them both breathless, and his cheeks were wet with more than mist when he pulled back. Yohji held onto his face. So beautiful, so very, very beautiful…
“I would do anything for you,” he said. “But I can’t take care of Aya-chan. Kitten, you know damn well I can’t even take care of myself.”
“Yohji–“
”Listen to me! If this is really what you want, I’ll–I’ll try to accept it, I’ll help you make it right. But this isn’t. I can’t take care of Aya-chan, and that information isn’t enough anyway. Your aunt is still on all the paperwork, right? What if she doesn’t want me to take Aya-chan away? I mean, come on, a shadowy government agency running an assassin team out of a flower shop? She’ll never buy it. She’ll think I’m some gigolo after Aya-chan’s money.” After all, he was definitely gigolo material.
“Yohji–“
”And even if I did manage it, what am I going to do? The second the danger’s over, you know I’m going to crawl into a fricking bottle and never come out. I can’t do it, Aya. I can’t lose you and survive.”
Singleminded as all hell, Aya skipped right over Yohji practically declaring his eternal love, to focus on the subject at hand.
“You’ll…help me? You’d do that?”
“I would do anything for you,” Yohji repeated. And added on a sudden inspiration, “But you have to take me with you.”
“Nani?”
“Take me with you. I can’t do that.” He waved at the wakizashi, still clenched in his lover’s hand. “You’ll have to help me.”
“Yohji–“
”If you don’t have anything to live for, Aya, I sure as hell don’t. Drinking myself to death didn’t work, so I’ll try your way. But you’ll have to help me.”
Finally, finally, the grip on the sword was loosening. Aya could face sticking it in his gut and slowly bleeding to death in agony, but thinking of killing Yohji with it was cooling his fires. “When you said you would help, I…had hoped you’d be my kaishakunin.*”
Yohji laughed. “God, you do want to suffer, don’t you? I’m no swordsman, Aya. And you’re not leaving without me. Find someone else.” Damned perfectionist, he’d stay alive just because he couldn’t get his suicide properly arranged. Yohji hoped. Tradition was, if he asked twice, Yohji had to accept. And fucking tradition meant a lot to this heartless bastard–
“I understand.”
Round one to Kudou Yohji, not always an idiot. How damn many rounds he could maintain, though–Aya looked at him with that shy, hopeful trust first spotted in the club, that had confused Yohji into thinking there was more than one person in there. Ran was Aya, and this was Aya. Just so unusually open for Aya, that he looked like someone else. Not to mention any form of hope looked completely foreign on that cold, controlled, resigned face–
“You would–would you really do anything for me?”
“Well, you know,” Yohji looked away as he lit a cigarette, “not laundry. Or get up early every day. Seriously, Aya, that’d kill me.”
The redhead growled and pounced, Yohji grinned at being flat on his back under his kitten. Aya glared down at him.
“What else doesn’t ‘anything’ include?” he demanded. Yohji shrugged.
“I dunno. Nothing I can think of right now, but I’ll let you know if you hit something out of bounds.”
“Will you quit being a pain in the ass for me?”
“Not sure I can without a brain transplant, but I’ll try.”
“Will you quit drinking?”
“Umm…did that. Remember?” Mostly, and Aya hadn’t complained about the occasional beer. Or the night they sat up doing shots of Jameson and making up stories.
“Quit smoking?”
“Sweetums,” ooh, nice glare, there were actual sparks in the purple depths, “trust me, you don’t want to be around me if I’m not smoking.”
Aya smiled at that. Uh oh. Yohji wriggled, trying to distract him. Enough talk, Aya, their record was in reach–Aya’s face went serious.
“Will you…stay?”
“Stay?” Stay where? Under Aya? Hell yeah, it was his favorite place on the planet. But he didn’t think that was what Aya had meant.
“Stay,” Aya repeated. “With me.”
Yohji stared into those gorgeous eyes and wondered how he could make it any more plain. “Yes,” he answered.
There was that look again, that melted the ice in Aya’s face and melted absolutely everything inside of Yohji. That soft stunned look in stunning eyes, chased by smothered panic every time.
“I’m yours,” Yohji said, just to see that first look again. Did it maybe last a little longer this time? Yohji wondered if he dared try for it just once more, but Aya distracted him by easing that gorgeous body down on top of him, tangling his hands in Yohji’s hair, and kissing him, all slow and soft and–well, gooey. Mmm…Yohji purred and wrapped around his beautiful bitchy bastard. He’d always wanted one of his very own.
Please let that be what they’d just said. If he was Aya’s, Aya was his, right?
Right?
He might have screwed things up by asking, but Aya was still kissing, and there wasn’t much under the sun that could get him to interrupt that. Yohji spread his fingers over as much of that sexy back as he could touch and reveled in the sweetness, the unexpected tenderness of the kiss. This was more than the usual hot sex, though God yes it was hot–this was Aya trying to say something without stupid words that never meant what he wanted them to anyway.
Communication was a good thing, Yohji decided. Right before Aya rocked against him and his brain leaked out his ears onto the sand. He moaned against Aya’s tongue, and felt the answering grin. Aya loved making him crazy, and he did it so damn well.
Just before Yohji passed out from bliss and lack of air, Aya slid off his mouth to ghost soft lips across his cheek. “Beautiful,” the redhead breathed, and kissed an eyelid, his hair sliding across Yohji’s face, one hand opening Yohji’s shirt. “Perfect,” tracing an eyebrow with his lips. “Sunshine and Moet*,” he murmured, tasting Yohji’s forehead. Yohji breathed as deeply as he could, and tugged an eartail impatiently. Aya chuckled and trailed to Yohji’s ear, his hand sliding up Yohji’s chest.
“You,” Aya breathed, “smell better than lavender and roses.” He inhaled, and breathed warm puffs on Yohji’s neck. “More intoxicating than Jameson,” he tilted Yohji’s head, callused fingers caressing his jaw while Aya’s tongue toyed with his earring. “Your skin…” he murmured down Yohji’s neck, across his collarbone,
“Shaming poor cold silk,
Summer captured, held, transformed.
Need grows with touches.”
“Aya…” Yohji groaned. This could not be real. Kudou Yohji had never, would never, could never, deserve Fujimiya Aya reciting poetry and making tender love to him. Even if that was the swordsman’s hand sliding into his pants.
“Unnghh! Aya!”
His bitchy bastard lifted his head to grin, that naughty grin that took Yohji’s breath away. Not that he’d had much to start with. Aya watched as he squeezed Yohji again, strong perfect grip and calluses and Yohji writhed and moaned.
If this was a dream, it was about to become a wet one.
“Oh, baby, please…”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Fuck me, Aya!”
His redhead grinned wider, then licked those perfect lips with that cute little pink tongue. Then he opened his mouth and–
“A-YA!” Kami-sama, even if he were dreaming he was the luckiest man ever born…
Yohji’s dreams were never this good. Aya was humming. One hand was on Yohji’s stomach, he grabbed for something to hold onto, oh God it felt so…Aya’s fingers twined through his, Yohji moaned and tossed his head.
“Aya! Baby, I’m going to–I’m–A-YAA!”
His kitten lapped at him like milk, until Yohji was clean and he came up with a very cat-with-canary smug grin on his face. But–
“A-yan,” Yohji whined, “I want to fuck.”
“Sand, Kudou.” Aya chuckled. “You’d be sorry.”
“Don’t care…” Yohji pouted. Aya pulled him to his feet.
“You would. For days.”
Yohji started to whine again, but changed his mind and yanked Aya against him.
Oh yeah. That was a party in the man’s pocket if he’d ever felt one. “Back to the cabin,” he breathed. “Hot water. Soap. Fucking. Now.”
“Kudou, you are such a slut.”
“Wrong, Fujimiya. Sluts sleep around. I’m a nympho now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Sure you can handle me?”
Aya grabbed him again, he hadn’t buttoned his pants yet. “Yeah,” his bitchy bastard said with that naughty grin. “I know where the control stick is.”
Oh yeah. The old record was gonna be ancient history by midnight.
********
seppuku–ritual suicide, performed by a samurai to absolve disgrace, among other reasons.
daisho–this is the name for the set, the paired samurai swords, katana and wakizashi.
waka–style of Japanese poem, five units long which are usually composed of five, seven, five, seven, and seven syllables. Haiku is three lines of five syllables, seven, and five.
kaishakunin–second. The person who chops off the samurai’s head (mostly, would you believe it’s bad form to take it completely off?), when he has completed his part of the ritual, or if he seems to be faltering. Had Aya done it alone, it might well have taken him an hour to die. Or so says my research.
Moet–a champagne. One of the real ones, from France and everything.
******
A/N:That’s my haiku Aya gave to Yohji, and I’m rather proud of it. So keep your hands off unless you put my name on it. *growls menacingly*
Whew. That one hurt to write. I was going to leave the lemon off, but after all that, I think I needed it. Guessing you all feel the same.