Black and White submission 1 - Black and White and Red All Over
Title: Black and White and Red All Over
Author: kinukitty
Beta: Noah
Pairing(s)/Characters: Yohji/Aya
Rating: NC17
Summary: Denial can only be stretched so far.
Warnings: None, really. Just sex.
Author’s Notes: Y/A PWP, and that's all.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is owned by Project Weiss.
Yohji is still awake when the door to his bedroom swings silently open, then closes just as quietly. It shouldn't be quiet; the hinge is squeaky on purpose, just in case. So he would have known it was Aya from that alone. He has other clues to work with, though - Ken and Omi never show up at 2 a.m. and climb into his bed.
Yohji doesn't say anything. He and Aya seem to have reached some kind of agreement that involves strict denial. Which is OK. Yohji doesn't want to think about it either, doesn't want to know what's going on any more than Aya does. And he doesn't exactly have to ask to grok how much Aya doesn't want to know.
So Yohji lies there, trying to do a reasonable impersonation of being asleep, making sure he doesn't hold his breath as he waits for Aya's weight on the mattress, for Aya to carefully stretch out beside him, then edge closer, until they're almost touching. Almost, but never quite. Not yet, anyway. In the morning, they'll wake up in each other's arms, a small moment of almost painful intimacy. Then Aya will pull away and go back to his room.
But right now, Yohji's attention is evenly divided between Aya - the very fact of him, the calm, solid presence of him in the darkness - and the slow burn he's feeling between his legs. The heat spreads from his groin, into his stomach and down his thighs, nearly unbearable. He moans softly into his fist, allows himself to thrust, once, into the blanket, which has gotten wadded up between them. Aya lies there, so close Yohji can smell the scent of shampoo from his hair, still damp from the shower. Yohji scoots a bit nearer, still not touching, but close enough, now, to feel the warmth that pours off Aya's body. Yohji's hips spasm against the blanket again, this time pushing, barely, against Aya's hip. Yohji holds still, waiting to see if he's gone too far.
He knows he hasn't woken Aya up because there's no way Aya would be asleep yet. They'd finished a mission not two hours ago, and it doesn't matter how tired you are, that kind of adrenaline takes some time to burn off. But Aya pretends to be asleep because otherwise he'd have to acknowledge that he'd waited until everyone else was in bed to take his shower and then go silently to Yohji's room, not his own, and lie down in Yohji's bed. He does it after most missions, and sometimes on nights when there are no missions, too. Aya can be aloof - maddeningly so - but he still needs comfort from somewhere.
Yohji lets out his pent-up breath; Aya isn't going to protest, not even by shifting away. What that means, Yohji has no idea. He's grateful, though, because he wants Aya close and because it means tonight isn't the night he'll have to think about what he's doing, or what Aya's doing. Yohji is pretty sure Aya is also hard and aching, also unwilling - no, unable - to do anything about it. Yohji carefully rests his hand on Aya's shoulder, bites his lip at the feel of hot, bare skin. Aya turns his head almost imperceptibly to rub his jaw against Yohji's fingertips. Yohji finally falls asleep, throbbing, longing, desperately wanting. Not allowing himself to think what.
****
In the bright morning light, they lie naked on warm, rumpled sheets, alone for once, no missions or flowers or teammates to distract them from each other, and Yohji holds Aya, whispers in his ear, kisses him, finally, and Aya kisses back, forceful and demanding. Yohji realizes it's a dream because he can finally run his fingers through Aya's hair, but it isn't red. Yohji dreams in black and white. He knows Aya dreams in color because Aya had told him, once, how everything in his dreams always ends up covered in dark red blood.
Yohji fights to keep hold of Aya, even if his hair is wrong, but that bit of lucidity deepens into the beginnings of consciousness, and the dream slips away. The scene gets more real, though, not less, as Aya's lips flutter against his throat, and Aya's weight still presses down on him. This isn't a dream; as daylight sears through his eyelids, Yohji squints into waves of crimson, and Aya is lying mostly on top of him, whispering silently against his neck, hands clutching at Yohji's shoulders, his dick pressing hard and leaking against Yohji's hip, Yohji's erection cradled against Aya's solid, chisled abs. And in that unguarded moment, Yohji feels a surge of love that hurts.
Instinctively, Yohji moves his hands on Aya, grabbing at his ass, stroking his lower back. Aya moans and pushes back urgently. Yohji moves him a little so he can slide his leg between Aya's thighs, spreading his legs. Aya groans and thrusts against Yohji, building a rhythm. He has to be awake now, although Yohji can't tell how much. It matters, but it doesn't - every shade of it turns Yohji on, each nuance pleasing him in a slightly different way, and he shuffles through the possibilities automatically, in the background, not disturbing himself from the feeling of Aya, completely on top of him now, heavy, hot, all hard muscle and sharp angles. The faint smell of Aya's sweat whispers to him as Aya breathes heavily against Yohji's throat, lips still moving, maybe telling him something, maybe only reacting to the stimulus, or maybe even still dreaming.
Yohji tilts his head so he can whisper in Aya's ear - come for me, baby, God, yes, come for me - clichéd, yes, or maybe just classic, because it always works. Strong fingers dig into Yohji's arms as Aya comes, hard and long, almost silent, holding his breath as he lets go, then panting, gasping against Yohji's chest. It feels like nothing else ever has, just this, just Aya's erection rubbing him, and Aya's whole body tensing, then that still moment before he surrenders, his sharp intake of breath loud in Yohji's ear. A wave of wet heat spurts against Yohji's cock, all over his stomach, and then another, and another before Aya relaxes completely, sinking into him. Yohji comes, feeling like he might die, clutching at Aya like he's going to disappear.
They lie there for ages, coming down, and Aya hasn't tensed up again, still hadn't moved - miraculous. Absolutely a fucking miracle. Eventually, Aya whispers, "God."
Yohji nods reverently. Yeah. Closest he's ever going to get, anyway.
There's a moment when Aya moves, the moment he should get up and wipe himself off and leave so he can pretend this never happened. It'll be tougher than usual, but Aya will manage. The moment passes, though, and all he does is shift some of his weight off of Yohji, then close his eyes. His breathing is deep and even now, just moments later, and Aya is asleep, covered in come and sweat and tangled up with the sheets and Yohji, peaceful like Yohji has never seen. And Yohji can't imagine ever getting more than this, or needing more.
Author: kinukitty
Beta: Noah
Pairing(s)/Characters: Yohji/Aya
Rating: NC17
Summary: Denial can only be stretched so far.
Warnings: None, really. Just sex.
Author’s Notes: Y/A PWP, and that's all.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is owned by Project Weiss.
Yohji is still awake when the door to his bedroom swings silently open, then closes just as quietly. It shouldn't be quiet; the hinge is squeaky on purpose, just in case. So he would have known it was Aya from that alone. He has other clues to work with, though - Ken and Omi never show up at 2 a.m. and climb into his bed.
Yohji doesn't say anything. He and Aya seem to have reached some kind of agreement that involves strict denial. Which is OK. Yohji doesn't want to think about it either, doesn't want to know what's going on any more than Aya does. And he doesn't exactly have to ask to grok how much Aya doesn't want to know.
So Yohji lies there, trying to do a reasonable impersonation of being asleep, making sure he doesn't hold his breath as he waits for Aya's weight on the mattress, for Aya to carefully stretch out beside him, then edge closer, until they're almost touching. Almost, but never quite. Not yet, anyway. In the morning, they'll wake up in each other's arms, a small moment of almost painful intimacy. Then Aya will pull away and go back to his room.
But right now, Yohji's attention is evenly divided between Aya - the very fact of him, the calm, solid presence of him in the darkness - and the slow burn he's feeling between his legs. The heat spreads from his groin, into his stomach and down his thighs, nearly unbearable. He moans softly into his fist, allows himself to thrust, once, into the blanket, which has gotten wadded up between them. Aya lies there, so close Yohji can smell the scent of shampoo from his hair, still damp from the shower. Yohji scoots a bit nearer, still not touching, but close enough, now, to feel the warmth that pours off Aya's body. Yohji's hips spasm against the blanket again, this time pushing, barely, against Aya's hip. Yohji holds still, waiting to see if he's gone too far.
He knows he hasn't woken Aya up because there's no way Aya would be asleep yet. They'd finished a mission not two hours ago, and it doesn't matter how tired you are, that kind of adrenaline takes some time to burn off. But Aya pretends to be asleep because otherwise he'd have to acknowledge that he'd waited until everyone else was in bed to take his shower and then go silently to Yohji's room, not his own, and lie down in Yohji's bed. He does it after most missions, and sometimes on nights when there are no missions, too. Aya can be aloof - maddeningly so - but he still needs comfort from somewhere.
Yohji lets out his pent-up breath; Aya isn't going to protest, not even by shifting away. What that means, Yohji has no idea. He's grateful, though, because he wants Aya close and because it means tonight isn't the night he'll have to think about what he's doing, or what Aya's doing. Yohji is pretty sure Aya is also hard and aching, also unwilling - no, unable - to do anything about it. Yohji carefully rests his hand on Aya's shoulder, bites his lip at the feel of hot, bare skin. Aya turns his head almost imperceptibly to rub his jaw against Yohji's fingertips. Yohji finally falls asleep, throbbing, longing, desperately wanting. Not allowing himself to think what.
****
In the bright morning light, they lie naked on warm, rumpled sheets, alone for once, no missions or flowers or teammates to distract them from each other, and Yohji holds Aya, whispers in his ear, kisses him, finally, and Aya kisses back, forceful and demanding. Yohji realizes it's a dream because he can finally run his fingers through Aya's hair, but it isn't red. Yohji dreams in black and white. He knows Aya dreams in color because Aya had told him, once, how everything in his dreams always ends up covered in dark red blood.
Yohji fights to keep hold of Aya, even if his hair is wrong, but that bit of lucidity deepens into the beginnings of consciousness, and the dream slips away. The scene gets more real, though, not less, as Aya's lips flutter against his throat, and Aya's weight still presses down on him. This isn't a dream; as daylight sears through his eyelids, Yohji squints into waves of crimson, and Aya is lying mostly on top of him, whispering silently against his neck, hands clutching at Yohji's shoulders, his dick pressing hard and leaking against Yohji's hip, Yohji's erection cradled against Aya's solid, chisled abs. And in that unguarded moment, Yohji feels a surge of love that hurts.
Instinctively, Yohji moves his hands on Aya, grabbing at his ass, stroking his lower back. Aya moans and pushes back urgently. Yohji moves him a little so he can slide his leg between Aya's thighs, spreading his legs. Aya groans and thrusts against Yohji, building a rhythm. He has to be awake now, although Yohji can't tell how much. It matters, but it doesn't - every shade of it turns Yohji on, each nuance pleasing him in a slightly different way, and he shuffles through the possibilities automatically, in the background, not disturbing himself from the feeling of Aya, completely on top of him now, heavy, hot, all hard muscle and sharp angles. The faint smell of Aya's sweat whispers to him as Aya breathes heavily against Yohji's throat, lips still moving, maybe telling him something, maybe only reacting to the stimulus, or maybe even still dreaming.
Yohji tilts his head so he can whisper in Aya's ear - come for me, baby, God, yes, come for me - clichéd, yes, or maybe just classic, because it always works. Strong fingers dig into Yohji's arms as Aya comes, hard and long, almost silent, holding his breath as he lets go, then panting, gasping against Yohji's chest. It feels like nothing else ever has, just this, just Aya's erection rubbing him, and Aya's whole body tensing, then that still moment before he surrenders, his sharp intake of breath loud in Yohji's ear. A wave of wet heat spurts against Yohji's cock, all over his stomach, and then another, and another before Aya relaxes completely, sinking into him. Yohji comes, feeling like he might die, clutching at Aya like he's going to disappear.
They lie there for ages, coming down, and Aya hasn't tensed up again, still hadn't moved - miraculous. Absolutely a fucking miracle. Eventually, Aya whispers, "God."
Yohji nods reverently. Yeah. Closest he's ever going to get, anyway.
There's a moment when Aya moves, the moment he should get up and wipe himself off and leave so he can pretend this never happened. It'll be tougher than usual, but Aya will manage. The moment passes, though, and all he does is shift some of his weight off of Yohji, then close his eyes. His breathing is deep and even now, just moments later, and Aya is asleep, covered in come and sweat and tangled up with the sheets and Yohji, peaceful like Yohji has never seen. And Yohji can't imagine ever getting more than this, or needing more.