Afternoon

By Murasakisuishou


All was still at the Koneko no Sunu ie that afternoon. The day was too fine, too bright, 
after the night they'd just spent roaming the dark, secret corridors of Tokyo, and no one 
had wanted to work--not even Aya, for once. Youji had been surprised when Aya 
relented to Omi's suggestion, and turned the two younger Weiss from the shop--but no 
more so than in what had happened afterward. 

No breeze stirred the blinds that hung over the window in Youji's room. Outside, just 
barely registering over the distant hum of traffic, cicadas buzzed their familiar, croaking 
song. Inside, the soft smacking of lips meeting flesh tickled the air. The floor was littered 
with clothing, a haphazard trail to his bed. Two figures lay atop the white spread, tangled 
in an embrace. 

"Close the window."

"Afraid someone will hear me, Aya?" Youji breathed, flexing his fingers against Aya's 
scalp. "I doubt they could. I doubt they'd care if they did." 

Aya's teeth grazed Youji's lower belly. "Someone might." 

Lifting his arms over his head, Youji stretched beneath him, chancing a stroke of Aya's 
thigh with the side of his foot. "Let them, then." 

He caught a flash of chill violet, and then all he saw was red; the crimson of Aya's locks 
as he sank lower between Youji's legs. Eventually, even that was lost to him, all except 
the feel of it tickling the folds of his skin. He felt Aya's breath on him, cool against his 
heated flesh. His fingertips traced patterns down his sides, over his chest. 

It was the caress of Aya's mouth that really got Youji, though, the way his tongue swirled 
down him. Youji's hands found the thin brass spindles at his headboard, and Aya's name 
fell from his lips in a moan.

"Quiet," he murmured. 

"I...never thought you'd do it again." 

Aya shifted onto one hip, rolling one tawny nipple between forefinger and thumb. 
Beneath him, the mattress quivered, and then, to Youji's regret, he was suddenly bereft of 
Aya's warmth. He caught a flash of something blue fall over the side of his bed, pattering 
onto the floor, before he was once more ensnared by the icy, amethystine depths of his 
lover's eyes. They were chest-to-chest now, and Aya had joined his fingers with Youji's.

"You assume too often." 

He dabbed his tongue in the corner of Youji's mouth, and he responded by threading his 
free digits through Aya's mussed hair, and drawing him down to take him even deeper, 
tasting of himself. That kiss muffled his cry when Aya at last did take him. They clung to 
each other then, hips meeting thighs in a slow, staggering waltz. The bed frame squeaked, 
and Aya's snuffling, wet sighs graced his ear; long red hair spilled over his chest. 

It ended in a burst of sensation that left Youji stunned speechless, unwilling to even 
move. He wanted only to hold Aya there atop his damp sheets until night stained the 
panes, but...Aya was never one to stay in one place for long. The younger boy pulled 
away from him before he'd even fully caught his breath. Youji didn't try to fight him, 
merely rolled onto his side to watch him pick his clothing out of the design they'd made. 

"Going back downstairs?" 

"Yeah," said Aya absently. "Just because we aren't open doesn't mean there's no work to 
do." 

Youji was quiet for a moment. "You don't have to go, you know, don't you?" he inquired 
softly. "Ken and Omi won't care one way or the other," he added, reaching for the pack 
and lighter on the nightstand. "And anyway, you know...I l--"

At once, Aya silenced him with the tap of two fingers on his mouth. "Don't say it." 

Beneath Aya's restraining touch, a smile hesitantly edged. He studied Youji for a 
moment, then, seemingly satisfied by whatever he'd detected in his eyes, turned away and 
left. Youji watched him until the swinging door broke his line of vision. He sank back 
onto the bed then, and slid a cigarette he'd only just lit between his lips. 

"Whatever you want, Aya," he said, his words trailing into nothing on a wisp of smoke.