Ain't No Lady
Title: Ain't No Lady.
Recipient: lady_ganesh
Author: genkischuldich
Rating: NC-17
Summary: YoujixOmi. Crossdressing lemon. Some attempts at comedy.
Notes: Omi is eighteen in this.
The four members of Weiss sat in the darkened basement, illuminated only by the light from the television.
"Our target, Bisawa Shouyu. This man is an a successful overseas insurance agency, based in Japan. He subsequently embezzled billions of dollars, leaving thousands of foreign workers jobless and unpaid and many more policy holders without their life savings. However, because of international law, the Japanese prosecution service can't touch him. We need Weiss to infiltrate his new corporate headquarters, which he has set up, unopposed, in the ashes of his previous company."
Manx stepped forward, her usually startling red hair drained of color in the gloom, and paused the tape. "Is everyone in?"
Everyone nodded and she unpaused it.
"We have discovered that he has a weakness for young women and frequently takes them to his executive office suite in the Tsukuda riverside area. We recommend that one of you dresses as a suitable victim in the hope of gaining access to his office. White hunters, destroy this dark beast's future!"
"You paused it in the wrong place!" Youji cried immediately. He cradled his head in his hands. "Argh... You're all going to choose me, aren't you? Why do I have to be the most beautiful? It's so unfair!"
"Honestly, Kudou." Manx looked around the room. "Birman and I already decided that Aya would be a much better choice."
Aya scowled. "Fine. I'll do it. But there had better be some kind of bonus involved."
"Oh, I'm sure there will be." Youji leered at him.
Omi gave him a light slap to the face. "I'll do it."
"You sure, kiddo?" Ken looked a little concerned.
"Yep, no problem."
"We've already got a profile of the kind of woman Bisawa likes and we thought it matched Birman's wardrobe rather well." Manx pointed to a small wheeled suitcase. "She's donated a few bits and pieces to the cause. You're welcome to keep everything as it's all last season, but she'd like the Louis Vuitton handbag back."
"Will Bisawa still be interested in me if I'm a few seasons behind?" Omi fretted. It was difficult to tell how serious he was.
"Not if you're pretty enough." Manx winked and removed the video tape. And with that, she was gone.
***
There was a knock at the door. Youji looked up from where he was sprawled on his bed and turned off the tv he hadn’t really been watching.
He opened the door and saw Omi standing there in his white briefs, dragging Manx’s suitcase with one hand and with several dresses hanging over his other arm.
“Manx didn’t include lingerie,” Omi told him before Youji could say anything else. “So I had to go out and buy some myself.”
Youji smacked his forehead. Partly in disbelief, partly to wake himself up. “Omi… Bisawa really isn’t getting that far with you.”
“Yeah, but someone else might.” Omi grinned and pushed his way into Youji’s bedroom. “I think Aya-kun’s a virgin,” he announced, with all the petulance of high school.
“Yeah?” Youji had to agree with that, but he didn’t know why Omi would bring it up. Okay, he had an inkling, but it was almost as if his own mind wasn’t prepared to go through with it. “I reckon I’m the only one that isn’t.”
“What do you think about me?”
“Virgin,” said Youji without a moment’s hesitation. “Definitely.”
“Sure?”
“Yup.”
“Final answer?”
“Yup.”
“Wrong!” said Omi, leaping onto the bed.
“I… Omi, what the hell?”
“So it’s okay,” Omi told him, his expression becoming more serious. “It’s okay if you want to have me.”
Youji stuttered a little, then thought about. There was no Kritiker protocol written on the subject as it simply wasn’t expected. Then there was Omi sitting next to him, half-naked and tugging at his underwear. “Okay then.”
“This is what I bought today.” Omi handed him three pairs of panties.
The pale blue pair stood out to Youji immediately - they suited Omi’s eyes. He held them out expectantly.
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” demanded Omi as he stood up. “Put them on.”
Youji started undoing his belt.
“No. No, put them on me.”
Youji reached forward, surprised to see his hands shaking. He rolled down Omi’s briefs, tugging them over his swollen cock.
“No way,” breathed Youji. “Already?”
“For a long time. You really weren’t looking?”
Youji smiled up at the boy and leaned over to take him in his mouth, but Omi jerked away.
“Not yet. What do you have in your hand?”
“Panties,” replied Youji, a little confused.
“Whose panties?”
“Your panties.” He was finally getting it.
Youji pulled them past the curve of his ass until they lay in a curled-up mess around his ankles. He kicked them aside.
Not taking his eyes off Youji, Omi lay on the bed and parted his legs. Youji moved in and eased them on, the lace striking white against his pale legs.
Right. Omi -- this innocent boy spread out in front of him -- mostly wore shorts at night. To kill people.
Despite himself, Youji smiled at the way they didn’t quite fit. The lace cut deep around his hips as the material stretched elsewhere. They just weren’t made for that kind of shape. He kissed Omi’s clothed erection.
“Make me feel special,” Omi pleaded, a desperate lilt to his voice.
“I will. Promise.”
Youji sunk to his knees. He ran his hands along Omi’s inner thighs, eliciting more whimpers. He kissed his stomach and the place where his hips jutted out, not sure if he was allowed more yet. Not sure if he really should.
Stomach muscles straining, Omi sat up and pushed the bundle of dresses to Youji. “Choose one.”
“Were these all Birman’s?”
“One was,” admitted Omi. “It’s pot luck, I suppose.”
If Youji had ever imagined being asked to pick a dress for Omi previously out of the three in front of him--which he never had--he would’ve chosen the baby blue slip with cream ruffles. It was the kind of color scheme he’d been thinking of when he selected the panties. Omi’s colors. Except they weren’t. He picked the pitch black one that was too short. Omi couldn’t wear it without showing Youji everything.
Yes. God, yes.
He grabbed it and pulled Omi upright. Omi shivered slightly, but looked him straight in the eyes, his own blue eyes shimmering with something Youji didn’t really understand. It was almost as if he was looking beyond him. Then, wordlessly, he lifted his arms so that Youji could put on the dress.
As promised, the dress stretched poorly over Omi’s too-wide shoulders, fell strangely around his too-narrow hips and bulged around his crotch. As if it was designed to point out every place Omi was a man.
Omi tugged it down a little further, but it was no use. It really did show everything he had to offer. Youji couldn’t hold back any longer. He wrapped his arms around Omi and kissed him as hard as he could. All the lust, all the fear and confusion, but mainly the desperate need he felt for the other man surged into their kiss.
Omi was smaller. Omi was wearing the dress. But, damnit, Omi completely owned him.
They separated, and Omi crawled onto the bed, ass in the air, and the hem of the dress too high to hide a thing.
“Everything else is in the handbag.”
Youji grabbed it and pulled out the lube and a condom. Omi was always well-prepared--thank God he was fucking the mission planner. He tossed the bag aside, feeling only a little guilt as it hit the bedroom wall with a hollow thud.
He rolled the condom on himself. Oh, he knew it was sexier if he let his partner do it and all that stuff they wrote in magazines (not that he read them). He didn’t care. Omi’s ass. Now.
Youji squeezed out what he needed from the middle of the lubricant tube and rubbed his hands together, feeling it warm up. One hand for himself, one for Omi.
Omi clutched at the headboard and spread his legs a little, allowing Youji a little more access and giving even more stretch to the pale blue material and lace. Youji plunged his hands inside, fingers feeling for Omi’s entrance, fingers feeling for his balls. He still shook with need, wanting this as soon possible. He’d already be stroking himself if he didn’t think Omi would command him not to.
Omi felt warm and wet with lube. He peeled the panties down a little further and pushed in a finger, then a second. Omi sighed.
“Did that hurt?”
“Not even slightly.” Omi’s voice was low and as shaky as Youji felt. “I just feel… nice and full. No pain.”
Youji moved forwards and guided his own erect cock into Omi. He eased in and, as he did so, wrapped his arms around Omi’s waist.
He felt his whole body tense and Omi encircled him and surrounded him. Could he break the spell? Would Omi allow it? He thrust forwards, deciding the answer. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Youji’s hand twisted and moved underneath the dress. He ripped the material aside and jerked him in rhythm to his own thrusts, kissing his neck and holding on tight. Omi’s own moans were background noise to his own now. He screamed for more, screamed for mercy and then felt his leg collapse beneath him.
Omi came in three or four jerks, spilling out onto Youji’s hand. As a couple, they uncoiled and fell into each other.
“Youji…? It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Youji was still shaking, even though his immediate need for the other man had vanished. Then he realized his eyes were damp. Had he been crying?
“I’m fine,” he told him. “Everything’s fine now.”
Even so, Omi held him until the shaking stopped.
Recipient: lady_ganesh
Author: genkischuldich
Rating: NC-17
Summary: YoujixOmi. Crossdressing lemon. Some attempts at comedy.
Notes: Omi is eighteen in this.
The four members of Weiss sat in the darkened basement, illuminated only by the light from the television.
"Our target, Bisawa Shouyu. This man is an a successful overseas insurance agency, based in Japan. He subsequently embezzled billions of dollars, leaving thousands of foreign workers jobless and unpaid and many more policy holders without their life savings. However, because of international law, the Japanese prosecution service can't touch him. We need Weiss to infiltrate his new corporate headquarters, which he has set up, unopposed, in the ashes of his previous company."
Manx stepped forward, her usually startling red hair drained of color in the gloom, and paused the tape. "Is everyone in?"
Everyone nodded and she unpaused it.
"We have discovered that he has a weakness for young women and frequently takes them to his executive office suite in the Tsukuda riverside area. We recommend that one of you dresses as a suitable victim in the hope of gaining access to his office. White hunters, destroy this dark beast's future!"
"You paused it in the wrong place!" Youji cried immediately. He cradled his head in his hands. "Argh... You're all going to choose me, aren't you? Why do I have to be the most beautiful? It's so unfair!"
"Honestly, Kudou." Manx looked around the room. "Birman and I already decided that Aya would be a much better choice."
Aya scowled. "Fine. I'll do it. But there had better be some kind of bonus involved."
"Oh, I'm sure there will be." Youji leered at him.
Omi gave him a light slap to the face. "I'll do it."
"You sure, kiddo?" Ken looked a little concerned.
"Yep, no problem."
"We've already got a profile of the kind of woman Bisawa likes and we thought it matched Birman's wardrobe rather well." Manx pointed to a small wheeled suitcase. "She's donated a few bits and pieces to the cause. You're welcome to keep everything as it's all last season, but she'd like the Louis Vuitton handbag back."
"Will Bisawa still be interested in me if I'm a few seasons behind?" Omi fretted. It was difficult to tell how serious he was.
"Not if you're pretty enough." Manx winked and removed the video tape. And with that, she was gone.
***
There was a knock at the door. Youji looked up from where he was sprawled on his bed and turned off the tv he hadn’t really been watching.
He opened the door and saw Omi standing there in his white briefs, dragging Manx’s suitcase with one hand and with several dresses hanging over his other arm.
“Manx didn’t include lingerie,” Omi told him before Youji could say anything else. “So I had to go out and buy some myself.”
Youji smacked his forehead. Partly in disbelief, partly to wake himself up. “Omi… Bisawa really isn’t getting that far with you.”
“Yeah, but someone else might.” Omi grinned and pushed his way into Youji’s bedroom. “I think Aya-kun’s a virgin,” he announced, with all the petulance of high school.
“Yeah?” Youji had to agree with that, but he didn’t know why Omi would bring it up. Okay, he had an inkling, but it was almost as if his own mind wasn’t prepared to go through with it. “I reckon I’m the only one that isn’t.”
“What do you think about me?”
“Virgin,” said Youji without a moment’s hesitation. “Definitely.”
“Sure?”
“Yup.”
“Final answer?”
“Yup.”
“Wrong!” said Omi, leaping onto the bed.
“I… Omi, what the hell?”
“So it’s okay,” Omi told him, his expression becoming more serious. “It’s okay if you want to have me.”
Youji stuttered a little, then thought about. There was no Kritiker protocol written on the subject as it simply wasn’t expected. Then there was Omi sitting next to him, half-naked and tugging at his underwear. “Okay then.”
“This is what I bought today.” Omi handed him three pairs of panties.
The pale blue pair stood out to Youji immediately - they suited Omi’s eyes. He held them out expectantly.
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” demanded Omi as he stood up. “Put them on.”
Youji started undoing his belt.
“No. No, put them on me.”
Youji reached forward, surprised to see his hands shaking. He rolled down Omi’s briefs, tugging them over his swollen cock.
“No way,” breathed Youji. “Already?”
“For a long time. You really weren’t looking?”
Youji smiled up at the boy and leaned over to take him in his mouth, but Omi jerked away.
“Not yet. What do you have in your hand?”
“Panties,” replied Youji, a little confused.
“Whose panties?”
“Your panties.” He was finally getting it.
Youji pulled them past the curve of his ass until they lay in a curled-up mess around his ankles. He kicked them aside.
Not taking his eyes off Youji, Omi lay on the bed and parted his legs. Youji moved in and eased them on, the lace striking white against his pale legs.
Right. Omi -- this innocent boy spread out in front of him -- mostly wore shorts at night. To kill people.
Despite himself, Youji smiled at the way they didn’t quite fit. The lace cut deep around his hips as the material stretched elsewhere. They just weren’t made for that kind of shape. He kissed Omi’s clothed erection.
“Make me feel special,” Omi pleaded, a desperate lilt to his voice.
“I will. Promise.”
Youji sunk to his knees. He ran his hands along Omi’s inner thighs, eliciting more whimpers. He kissed his stomach and the place where his hips jutted out, not sure if he was allowed more yet. Not sure if he really should.
Stomach muscles straining, Omi sat up and pushed the bundle of dresses to Youji. “Choose one.”
“Were these all Birman’s?”
“One was,” admitted Omi. “It’s pot luck, I suppose.”
If Youji had ever imagined being asked to pick a dress for Omi previously out of the three in front of him--which he never had--he would’ve chosen the baby blue slip with cream ruffles. It was the kind of color scheme he’d been thinking of when he selected the panties. Omi’s colors. Except they weren’t. He picked the pitch black one that was too short. Omi couldn’t wear it without showing Youji everything.
Yes. God, yes.
He grabbed it and pulled Omi upright. Omi shivered slightly, but looked him straight in the eyes, his own blue eyes shimmering with something Youji didn’t really understand. It was almost as if he was looking beyond him. Then, wordlessly, he lifted his arms so that Youji could put on the dress.
As promised, the dress stretched poorly over Omi’s too-wide shoulders, fell strangely around his too-narrow hips and bulged around his crotch. As if it was designed to point out every place Omi was a man.
Omi tugged it down a little further, but it was no use. It really did show everything he had to offer. Youji couldn’t hold back any longer. He wrapped his arms around Omi and kissed him as hard as he could. All the lust, all the fear and confusion, but mainly the desperate need he felt for the other man surged into their kiss.
Omi was smaller. Omi was wearing the dress. But, damnit, Omi completely owned him.
They separated, and Omi crawled onto the bed, ass in the air, and the hem of the dress too high to hide a thing.
“Everything else is in the handbag.”
Youji grabbed it and pulled out the lube and a condom. Omi was always well-prepared--thank God he was fucking the mission planner. He tossed the bag aside, feeling only a little guilt as it hit the bedroom wall with a hollow thud.
He rolled the condom on himself. Oh, he knew it was sexier if he let his partner do it and all that stuff they wrote in magazines (not that he read them). He didn’t care. Omi’s ass. Now.
Youji squeezed out what he needed from the middle of the lubricant tube and rubbed his hands together, feeling it warm up. One hand for himself, one for Omi.
Omi clutched at the headboard and spread his legs a little, allowing Youji a little more access and giving even more stretch to the pale blue material and lace. Youji plunged his hands inside, fingers feeling for Omi’s entrance, fingers feeling for his balls. He still shook with need, wanting this as soon possible. He’d already be stroking himself if he didn’t think Omi would command him not to.
Omi felt warm and wet with lube. He peeled the panties down a little further and pushed in a finger, then a second. Omi sighed.
“Did that hurt?”
“Not even slightly.” Omi’s voice was low and as shaky as Youji felt. “I just feel… nice and full. No pain.”
Youji moved forwards and guided his own erect cock into Omi. He eased in and, as he did so, wrapped his arms around Omi’s waist.
He felt his whole body tense and Omi encircled him and surrounded him. Could he break the spell? Would Omi allow it? He thrust forwards, deciding the answer. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Youji’s hand twisted and moved underneath the dress. He ripped the material aside and jerked him in rhythm to his own thrusts, kissing his neck and holding on tight. Omi’s own moans were background noise to his own now. He screamed for more, screamed for mercy and then felt his leg collapse beneath him.
Omi came in three or four jerks, spilling out onto Youji’s hand. As a couple, they uncoiled and fell into each other.
“Youji…? It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Youji was still shaking, even though his immediate need for the other man had vanished. Then he realized his eyes were damp. Had he been crying?
“I’m fine,” he told him. “Everything’s fine now.”
Even so, Omi held him until the shaking stopped.