Temptation

The damn man was doing it again. Aya snapped the Sunday paper up, blocking his view of his new neighbor bringing out the tools to wash his showy little convertible yet again. He tilted the paper a little to see his own driveway, where his Porsche gleamed in the morning sun. Now that was a car. Not like Kudou’s puny chick-magnet. Sure, the thing had speed–but anyone getting it near the top of the speedometer would find himself in the ditch if not worse.

Aya knew. He read Popular Mechanics.

Kudou read American Cowboy, Cosmopolitan, and something that came in a plain brown wrapper. He got letters from Kentucky and Hong Kong, and he banked at First National. Aya knew because though their houses backed each other–so their addresses were on completely different streets–somehow Kudou’s mail kept ending up in Aya’s box. At least twice a week he was trudging across their adjoining back lawns to give the blonde his mail.

Once it had been Atlantic Monthly. Aya figured that one had been a mistake.

The Culture section of the paper was barren this week. Aya folded it to reach for the next. He had a system. Once he’d pulled out the ads, he went first for the world news. After that he read the comics, as a remedy for the constant misery of the globe. Somewhat restored, he went from there to the local section, then used Culture to recover from the idiocies of his neighbors. Next was the Business section, and then Calendar.

Water clattered across the windows. Aya looked up to see Kudou waving in apology. Once again he’d let the hose get away from him. Only Aya knew it wasn’t accident. The blonde never hit the open windows, never sprayed water into Aya’s sunporch. He wanted attention, not Aya out there kicking his ass.

He was dressed for attention, that was for sure. Against his will, Aya’s gaze lingered on the magnificently short cut-off jeans framing rather than covering the delicious curve of Kudou’s ass as he bent over the bucket.

God, that perfect, perfect ass…

Aya’s eyes went higher as Kudou straightened. He certainly was the whole stunning package, wasn’t he? A narrow strip of honeyed skin, below the too-small white–ooh, there it went. Overheated by the hard work of washing a clean car, Kudou squeezed a sponge over his head. Rivulets ran through his hair, darkening sections, leaving the ponytail untouched. Wisps clung to his face as if he’d been sweating. The water ran on, wetting the too-small white tee shirt. Plastering it to that lithe, golden body.

Kudou laughed, shaking his head. Sparkling drops flew, but those ridiculous sunglasses stayed on.

Hell. He was staring. Quite possibly drooling. Aya snapped the paper up.

But he couldn’t make his eyes read the words in front of him. Somehow the Business section just couldn’t push that gorgeous body out of his mind.

It didn’t help that Aya knew every step of the ritual. Now that Kudou, Kudou’s car, and the outside of Aya’s sunporch were wet, the blonde would start scrubbing. With a small sponge, leaning across the car and bent to wash closely, thoroughly. As a man would bathe his lover.

Oh hells. Aya lowered the paper, peered over the top of it. Exactly as predicted, Kudou all but lay across the car, one leg in the air, scrubbing at a spot he could have reached easily by walking around the car.

He was going to dent the damn thing. Aya put the paper back up and snorted disdain. Because, after all, it wasn’t built like his Porsche, not–he groaned as his imagination presented Kudou draped over his own car, one leg in the air and his hair clinging to his sweaty face as Aya–

Damn it. The man was ruining Aya’s Sunday morning ritual too. He’d screwed up Tuesday afternoon by lying out in a lounge chair, wearing only a Speedo and a crumpled cowboy hat shoved down over his eyes. Thursday morning Aya had spent almost an hour trying not to watch the man hang out his laundry. At this rate he was never going to get his book written, and then where would he be?

He’d even dreamed about the bastard last night. Right here on this very porch. He hadn’t had the remains of a spinach omelette on the coffee table, though. No, it had been strawberries and champagne, and he’d tasted the strawberries on Yohji Kudou’s tongue, pushed that golden body into the deep white cushions of the lounge and licked salty champagne from Kudou’s chest as he slid inside that willing, wanton–

To hell with this. Aya threw down the paper. He’d go inside and–

Water clattered again. Not on his porch. On his Porsche.

Aya froze. No katana. He must not get his sword. Justifiable or not, it was still homicide. A murder investigation would destroy his plans for at least the next three months, he must not–

Kudou was in his yard. The blonde stood on the edge of his driveway, bent cigarette drooping from his mouth as he aimed the hose up, let the water rain down on Aya’s car. Katana still safely in the salle, Aya stormed off his porch to confront the bastard.

“Kudou! What–“

The blonde jerked around to face him. He brought the hose. Aya closed his eyes against another surge of homicidal impulses as cold water rained down on his head.

“Aw, shit!” Kudou yelped and the rain stopped. “I’m sorry, Aya!”

…thirteen, don’t kill, fourteen, don’t kill, fifteen…

Hands started brushing him off. Aya’s eyes snapped open, he caught Kudou’s hands.

“Che,” the man murmured, bemused. “You are a flat-out stunner.”

Aya blinked. Shoved the hands away and didn’t shove Kudou down and start kicking him.

“Kudou, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The amused smirk came back to the blonde’s lips. “Washing your car. What’s it look like?”

“Stay the hell away from my car! And my yard! And my d–” Aya stopped dreams just in time. Kudou didn’t notice, he was busy staring. Belatedly Aya realized he was wearing wet white too, a linen shirt he’d thrown on and only buttoned the bottom of. And cut-offs. Not as short as Kudou’s, but old and worn and in places he showed through. The blonde recovered himself, turned his eyes to the car.

“Come on,” he said. “It could use some TLC. Look.” And he lounged across it, just like Aya’s aborted fantasy. “Right here–“

Aya’s control snapped. He couldn’t stab the man, he couldn’t punch him as he lay over the car–so he slapped him. Right on that bare ass that was sticking out of his shorts. He spanked the blonde.

Kudou yelped and scrambled, now he was on hands and knees in the middle of Aya’s hood, staring at him in surprise.

“Get off,” Aya ground out, “the car.”

He ignored the water dripping from his hair into his eyes.

“Okay. Sorry.” Kudou carefully slid off the Porsche. Towards Aya. “I’m sorry. I’ll just…dry it, okay? Don’t want to leave watermarks.” And he smirked again. Bent over his tools to pick out a dry cloth.

Aya stared at his own red hand print on that perfect, perfect ass.

Hell. Ignoring the man was not possible.

Maybe…getting him out of his system was?

Kudou began to straighten. Gasped as Aya caught him by the ponytail. He followed the tug around.

“Ow, ow, Aya, don’t–“

Aya used his handle to guide Yohji Kudou’s lips to his. Gods, soft and so–he stepped forward, shoving with his hips. Kudou stumbled against the car and opened his mouth to Aya’s demands.

Strawberries! The blonde tasted of cigarettes and strawberries and Aya groaned into his mouth. That hot body was pinned against the Porsche, Aya didn’t need the handle anymore. He tugged the band off the ponytail and let his fingers sort that sunshine hair. His other hand was on that ass, feeling the warmth of the mark he’d left, lifting that leg to wrap around him.

Kudou’s hands recovered from their surprise, slid down to cup Aya’s ass. Encouraged, he shifted his hips, grinding against the blonde.

Both of them moaned.

Not here, some small, still-sensible part of Aya’s mind was shouting. Don’t fuck him in the damned driveway!

The porch–

No time. Aya stepped back, pulling Yohji with him. Into the garage. As he passed it, he slapped the door-control.

“God, Aya, please…” the blonde gasped as Aya looked around. There was nowhere, nothing–

The workbench. Aya shoved the blonde against the counter and dove into his mouth again.

Strawberries and smoke and that body under his hands, hot and taut and willing–

Why the hell had he fought this?

He bent to taste the sweaty curve of Yohji’s neck.

“Please,” the blonde gasped, his hands tugging at Aya’s waist. “Naked, want you…”

Aya tugged at the blonde’s too-tight wet tee shirt. Lifted it up over glorious golden skin. The blonde cooperated, lifting his arms. Aya knotted the shirt deftly around strong wrists and hooked it on an empty tool hook.

“You first,” he said as Kudou gasped. The blonde looked worried, but he tested the bonds, realized he could escape, and relaxed. Licked his lips as Aya stared at Adonis tied to his workbench.

“Now you got me–” he began. Aya dropped to his knees. Yohji gasped.

Aya unbuttoned the cut-offs. Kissed and sucked on the skin revealed.

“Oh god, oh god…”

Slowly Aya stripped off the tiny bit of denim. Underneath was just Yohji. He kissed and licked and tongued everything he revealed.

“Oh god, please, yes, yes..”

Yohji was just as beautiful under the clothes. Aya shoved the blonde’s hips against the workbench and opened his mouth and sucked.

“Holy god!”

Aya smirked despite his mouthful. He cupped that perfect ass and felt the blonde writhe in pleasure as he bobbed his head. Heard the gasps, the moans, the pleas for more. Squeezed and fondled and sucked and reveled in making Yohji Kudou beg.

“…gonna…” the blonde warned, and Aya jerked back. No. He was fucking the man.

Yohji whimpered as Aya’s mouth moved away. Aya clutched at a drawer. Hope he’d put it away, please, let it be–

There. Vegetable oil. He liked it better than motor oil for some–

“Ay-aaaa...” the blonde whined. Aya whipped the shorts completely off, stuffed them behind Yohji’s ass.

To cushion it. Because it was about to take a pounding.

He ran his tongue up the glorious cock before him, but when Yohji thrust blindly, Aya slammed him back. Lifted a leg onto his shoulder, and kissed the sweet curve of that perfect ass.

Yohji moaned and writhed. Aya laved his hand-print with his tongue, then lifted the other leg.

The blonde shouted as his tongue penetrated.

“Oh, GOD, you’re so–please! More, please, please, more, PLEASE!”

More was an oil-coated finger. Aya stilled, felt the blonde wriggle on his finger, trying to ride him. He carefully added another.

“…yes, please, come on…”

Aya slurped the hard shaft bouncing before him as he worked that gorgeous ass. Yohji groaned and whimpered. Aya licked again, and flicked his finger.

“FUCK!” the blonde screamed, almost jolting off his hand.

Marvelous idea. Aya stood. Those long, long legs stayed on his shoulders. He took himself in hand, swiped the head of his cock across the blonde’s ass. Yohji gasped and trembled. Quivered there on his workbench, eyes tightly closed.

“Look at me,” Aya commanded.

Yohji bit his lip and opened his eyes.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Aya said. The blonde shivered. “I’m going to fuck you hard,” Aya ground out, before he lost all control. “Then I’m going to take you into my house and put you in my bed and fuck you some more.”

The blonde’s eyes closed, he tilted his head back. Willing. Open. Wanton.

Aya caught his hair, yanked him forward for a kiss as he plunged inside.

Stopped when the blonde’s body tightened. Held still, though god it was killing him; he kept kissing, plundering that sexy mouth while he waited and Yohji relaxed and he slipped deeper and both sighed pleasure.

Aya grasped narrow hips and drew back. Tried to start gently.

Failed. He’d wanted too much, teased too long, Aya couldn’t hold back, he slammed and slammed into that perfect ass and Yohji gasped and moaned and begged for more, harder, faster, as the workbench rocked and all his tools rattled and chimed together and he fucked and fucked and fucked and grabbed Yohji’s cock and squeezed and stroked and fucked and the blonde writhed and screamed and shot all over his hand and Aya was coming too, oh holy shit…

He thrust, gently, once or twice more. Then he untied the blonde’s hands and wrapped his arms around him, kissed sweat-damp hair.

“Did…did you mean it?” Yohji asked after a long moment.

Aya’s shorts had fallen around his ankles. He kicked them off and lifted his lover and carried him into the house.

******

Thanks to the gang at Ass Anon for never giving up on me, and to Her Blyness for beta assistance.