Story: Control Freak, part 1 of 2
Rating: X, NC17, mature, and so on
Word count: 4,300-ish
BTW: Weiss Kreuz is owned by Project Weiss.
Summary: Aya's injured during a mission, and Yoji, channeling an REO Speedwagon song, can't fight this feeling any more. (You say cliche, I say classic.)
Warnings: Language, violence, sex. Nothing I think of as kink, though, for better or worse.
Yoji plastered himself to the wall and willed his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. He was well behind Ken and Omi. They'd been much closer when Aya had called for help – in fact, Yoji shouldn't even be here. He was supposed to stay by the exit and kill anyone who made it that far. But fuck that. If Aya called for help, he really needed it.
The hall was quiet, but Yoji could hear whispered violence at the end of it. Deciding he was alone, he stopped his maddeningly slow skulking and full-out ran through the blackness. He slowed down and took care with opening the door, though. A distraction could make all the difference. A person could lose a fight in a few seconds. A person could die. Aya could die.
It didn't matter, as it turned out. Looked like the "unexpected security" Aya had reported translated into a small army, but the thugs couldn't spare anybody to watch the door. Yoji plucked off three of them before anyone knew what was happening. He spotted Omi, throwing darts from a perch halfway across the room. Ken would be in the center of the melee, with Aya.
Aya was still fighting – Yoji knew because an arm went sailing over the crowd. It skidded across the floor, and Yoji had to correct his course to avoid tripping over it. Bodies were piling up, and the room reeked of blood and piss and shit. Yoji knew from experience that he could locate Aya in the crowd by looking for the spray of blood left behind by his sword.
He didn't need to locate Aya yet, though. Ken had Aya's back, and the best thing Yoji could do was hang back and help Omi thin the ranks.
The strategy was working, and Yoji had almost decided everything would be all right when he heard Ken's voice over his com. Just two words – "Abyssinian's down." Yoji tore through the last of the scum to see a huge thug with Yakuza tattoos stomp on Aya's hand with his steel-toed boots, grinding his heel on the fingers. Aya screamed and finally dropped the sword, but the cry was silenced when the thug kicked viciously at Aya's face. Yoji threw his wire and jerked it so hard he pulled the mother fucker's head right off his shoulders. At the same time, Ken got rid of the last of their assailants.
It had been a massacre. Aya was covered in blood, lay unmoving in a literal pool of it. Yoji slid in it as he reached Aya and kneeled next to him. Yoji had never seen Aya go down, and there was sheer panic, somewhere in the back of his mind. But he was calm as he felt for Aya's pulse; Yoji wasn't going to lose it so long as there was a chance he could help. "Come on, baby. You'd fucking better be OK."
"Not your God-damned baby," Aya muttered.
Yoji sank onto his ass into the blood and gore and almost wept with relief. "He's all right," Yoji said into the com.
"Oh, thank God," he heard Omi murmur. Ken and Omi were securing the area, a task made doubly necessary because Yoji had abandoned his post. He was grateful for their professionalism, but he didn't regret his decision. "You fucking scared me, Aya." Yoji's voice was shaking. "How bad?"
"Help me up," Aya said. Gruff, as usual. "Careful with my hands and ribs."
Whatever had made Aya fall had to be serious. "Are you bleeding?"
"Yeah. Help me up."
Yoji ignored him, carefully opening Aya's coat instead. It was hard to do; his fingers kept slipping in gore. He couldn't get a grip to pull up Aya's tight, wet shirt, either, so he slipped a knife from his boot and cut the blood-soaked fabric down the center. No missing the wound now. It surprised Yoji that someone had been able to slide a blade in between two of Aya's ribs. Aya seemed to think he as immortal and infallible, and it was easy enough to believe him. Especially if you wanted to.
Yoji tore the shirt off the nearest corpse and pressed it as hard as he could into the wound. Aya flinched and gasped quietly, but that was still a pretty impressively hard-assed display, considering how much it must hurt. Yoji kept the rag pressed tight and watched how quickly it turned dark with blood. Pretty quickly, but not bad enough to freak out over. Yoji tore up another shirt and packed it on top of the first. That was better – the flow of blood was slowing down. It would be a different story when Aya started moving, but it would do for now.
"Nice one," Yoji finally commented.
Aya's face was strained and grey, and it looked like he might be about to pass out. That would possibly be for the best, since there wasn't much Yoji could do for him. But on the other hand, if Aya wasn't awake, he couldn't tell anyone if things got worse. Not that he necessarily would, anyway.
Aya grunted. "Tactical decision."
If it had been Ken, Yoji would have rolled his eyes and commented on the likelihood of anybody making a tactical decision to let someone stab him in the ribs. Aya, though, was just stating facts.
"The alternatives must have really sucked."
Aya nodded once. His lip was split wide open and bleeding freely, and he was going to have the mother of all black eyes. Yoji replayed his mental footage of the big, black boot connecting with Aya's face. "Should I be looking for teeth?"
Aya's brow furrowed, and Yoji saw him checking with his tongue. "No, they're all there," he finally said. "Help me sit up. I don't want to be on my back when Ken and Omi get here."
Yoji rolled his eyes. Only Aya. Yoji pulled him into his lap and shifted his bloody burden so he was basically sitting, but only because Yoji had both arms around him, holding him up. Aya's head was resting on Yoji's shoulder, and Yoji could feel Aya's ragged breathing against his neck. "Are you doing OK?"
Aya ignored the question, which meant he didn't want to answer it. Which meant the answer was no. And Yoji knew that anyway.
Ken's voice sounded over the com. "Area clear. Come on out, Abyssinian and Balinese."
Aya tired to get up. Yoji stopped him – all it took was holding him a little tighter. Which was so wrong. "Negative, Siberian. Abyssinian requires assistance."
"Got it, Balinese. We're headed back."
"I could make it," Aya said. He sounded less pissed off than utterly exhausted, like the effort of sitting up and speaking the words was too much to sustain.
"Maybe. If I threw you over my shoulder and carried you. I can't, though. You're too fucking heavy. I need Ken." When Aya didn't respond, Yoji shifted him a bit. "Stay with me, OK?"
"You having trouble breathing?" Yoji's voice was sharp.
"It doesn't matter, Yoji. You'll get me out when you can get me out."
"I want to know what to tell them in the emergency room when they're trying to revive you."
Aya made a painful-sounding noise that Yoji interpreted as a laugh. It made Yoji's chest hurt.
Ken and Omi came jogging in. "What, you're conscious? What the hell do you need us for?" Ken called out cheerfully. "Slacker."
He shut up when he saw the expression on Yoji's face. Because it would be just like Aya to force himself to get up and try to walk out of there, and even if he could manage it, that would obviously be a bad idea. And sure enough, he could feel Aya tense in his arms. "Sit. Stay."
Aya tensed more, but slowly relaxed.
"OK, man. What do we need?" Ken had gotten a good look and Aya, and all the teasing had drained off, thank God. The look he gave Yoji was frankly worried.
"Stab wound," Yoji said, looking down at where his hand still applied pressure to the makeshift bandage. He didn't bother to say it was serious; Ken wasn't stupid. "Find something we can tie around this, would you? When we get it bound up, we'll need to carry him out on a board or something."
Aya started to protest.
"Shut up. If you move your arms enough to hold onto our shoulders, it'll make you bleed more."
Amazingly, Aya did shut up. He lay quietly against Yoji and did as he was told. That meant Aya had decided Yoji was right, possibly because he just couldn't keep going. Whatever. Yoji was surprised at how good it felt.
Ken and Omi helped with the bandage, and they brought back a door they'd pulled off the hinges. Aya let them lay him down on it without comment.
Yoji smiled gently. "I know you don't like being on your back."
The corner of Aya's mouth turned up slightly. "Not this way, no."
Yoji laughed, especially when he saw Ken staring. "He only has a sense of humor when he's half dead."
Yoji knew he was being weird, even for him. But he couldn't quite make himself stop. Well, maybe he could, if he wanted to. He didn't, though. It was about twelve hours since they'd gotten Aya back from the hospital, and he was still asleep. Yoji had been sitting in a chair by the bed, staring into the darkness, for a lot of that time. He was losing his shit. He'd done it before – he knew the signs.
This was bad. Yoji only lost his shit when he really cared, and he hadn't cared since – in a long time. He'd decided he'd never do it again, in fact. And, Jesus fucking Christ – Aya. Of all the people he could pick to care about, he'd chosen someone who dove into sprays of bullets, carrying a sword. Someone who made a tactical decision to take a knife in the ribs. And there were other problems with Aya, obviously, but Yoji felt he'd created a pretty good list to start out with.
Yoji stared at Aya's profile – so pretty. Beautiful, really; handsome didn't quite cover it. How could someone with perfect, delicate bone structure and luminous, velvety skin do the things Aya did? Who the hell was Aya, anyway?
Despite having worked with the man for a while now, Yoji didn't know. Aya seemed almost inhuman – cold and distant and terrifying. Absurdly capable. Brutally violent. But what else? Yoji couldn't come up with anything. He'd drawn one or two good cards, at the most, and he could blow his bankroll chasing a flush, or he could show some sense and fold. Especially since anybody playing against Aya was probably drawing dead anyway. Even if he got his cards, Aya already had a full house.
Aya shifted a little, allowing Yoji to see his face from a slightly different angle. Yoji had been meditating on Aya's nose – it was kind of long and pointy, but the slope and angle and shape were exactly right, a miracle of genetics, Yoji had decided. The way Aya had turned his head highlighted his cheekbones, high and sharp, like a model. Yoji sighed quietly to himself, wondering what it would be like, to be that perfect. Yoji was a well-put together package, a handsome man, but Aya – Aya was special. Yoji wondered what Aya thought about it, if he looked at himself at all. You always got the idea that Aya had too much on his mind to be worried about the stuff normal people thought about.
Yoji shifted his focus to Aya's bruised and battered hands. What did Aya do with those hands, besides cut flowers and kill? Who did Aya touch? Nobody, maybe. But – well, himself, surely? And then, who did he think about? Girls? Boys? On top or underneath? Yoji had no idea, not even a default assumption; there was something about Aya that forbade even that. Maybe he didn't play either side. Maybe he wasn't interested. Still, Yoji was surprised to realize he didn't even have a working theory.
Looking back at Aya's face, he noticed the tight way he held his mouth, the lines around his eyes that betrayed pain. A little tear welled in the corner of his eye. Yoji wiped it away.
Aya's eyelids fluttered, then opened. He had to work a bit to focus.
"You need a pain pill?" Yoji asked.
The internal struggle was evident, but Aya finally nodded. Yoji fought with the stupid, tricky lid and finally poured out one of the capsules. He put it into Aya's mouth, and Aya took it delicately from his fingers. The feel of his tongue and lips made Yoji's dick stir.
Aya closed his eyes again.
"You know it's better if you take it when you're supposed to. You shouldn't wait until you can't stand it any more."
"I was sleeping." Aya's voice was deep and rough, and his words blurred a bit around the edges.
"We'll come in and wake you up." Yoji read the bottle. "Every four hours."
"Yeah," Aya said. "We'll see how long that lasts."
Yoji sat quietly, watching. Waiting. Wondering if the drugs had kicked in. It should take, what, fifteen minutes, maybe? Aya's face was getting slacker, so they must be working. Maybe they'd pull his guard down a little, too. "Aya, will you answer a personal question?"
"Are you straight?"
After a prolonged silence, Aya finally said, "That is a personal question." He didn't sound angry. He didn't show any emotion at all.
"It's funny," Yoji mused. "Most people would just say yes. Even if they weren't sure, or didn't mean it. With most people, if they didn't say, I'd know that meant no. Not you, though. You don't react the way most people do." Which Yoji found fascinating.
Eventually, Aya's eyes opened and his gaze met Yoji's. He looked cloudy, but Aya was like a dragon or something. It didn't matter that he was injured; his presence alone was overwhelming. "No," he said, still watching.
"The answer to your personal question. That means I get one too, doesn't it?"
"You want to ask me one? Yeah, I guess that's only fair."
"Why do you ask?"
Ouch. Well played, Fujimiya. "I held you, while you were bleeding on the floor, and in the car, on the way back from the mission. I've been sitting in the dark with you for hours. I wonder who you are."
"Wouldn't most people start with something else? Like if I'm into sports, maybe, or what's my favorite color?"
"Maybe." Yoji shrugged. "I'd like to know that, too."
After another pause, shorter this time, Aya said, "Yes. And blue. Well, I used to like soccer. Ken's kind of soured me on it." He licked his lips. "What were you wondering about, exactly? My straightness, I mean. Or not."
Yoji cleared his throat. "Can I sit on the bed?"
Aya's hand stirred but the movement was aborted quickly. He didn't give any other indication that it had hurt. "Yeah."
God, that voice, so quiet and deep it seemed to melt into the darkness. Yoji thought he could almost taste it in the air. He sat with his back against the wall, as close to Aya as he dared. "Why did I think you might not be?"
Aya didn't answer, but that had to be what he wanted to know. "This sounds lame, but just a hunch, really. There's never been anything –" And that was the truth. Yoji'd never seen anybody who let so little of their sexuality show. But Aya didn't give anything away. Yoji decided to take a chance. The drugs had to be working as well as they were going to. "Maybe it was wishful thinking as much as anything else."
Aya didn't address that, and his eyes had closed again. He was awake, though.
"What shade of blue?" Yoji asked.
"Yeah. That suits you. Me, I like sky blue." Yoji laughed quietly. "It's nice with my hair, you know?"
Aya smiled a little, which pulled at his stitches. He didn't flinch or anything. Of course, Yoji would have been surprised if Aya had shown any sign. Yoji wondered how a person got to be so controlled. Aya had trained himself mercilessly, but some of it had to be his natural inclination. Because some things were beyond a man's control – even a man like Aya.
Yoji closed his eyes for a moment against the images his mind had offered up when he'd put the words "control" and "Aya" together. Because – God. Yoji wanted to explore Aya's control issues until they were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep for a week.
You'd think that Aya would want the reigns; that seemed like a no brainer. Aya had to go over every detail of a mission, had to check over the orders and the books and the schedules at the flower shop. He saw levels of detail the rest of them didn't, and he didn't trust anybody else to take care of those details. You'd just assume he'd be that way in bed. And that would be – good. Yoji shivered. It would be good.
But Yoji was starting to suspect something else. Something he liked even better.
Watching Aya's perfect profile from the other side of the bed, Yoji was hardening up at the thought that Aya might be the sort of man who needed to be pushed. Yoji had come to think that Aya probably couldn't let go on his own. Somebody would have to make him. Force him. Yoji mouthed the words, letting them melt over his tongue. It would be tricky, like breaking a wild horse. Aya would fight it, and Aya could be fucking dangerous. Yoji chuckled to himself. Fucking dangerous. Heh.
Aya wouldn't let just anyone take him. Take care of him. Oh, but when he accepted someone – when he submitted…
Yoji adjusted his dick and gave it a quick, surreptitious rub. Aya didn't seem to be paying attention, but you never knew. It was best to assume he noticed everything. And Yoji wouldn't want Aya to notice that he was staring at him and stroking himself.
What would Aya do? Maybe – especially now… On the one hand, it might be disrespectful, and Yoji didn't want that. On the other hand, you couldn't win if you didn't play.
As he considered this conundrum, Yoji ran his fingertips over Aya's bruised fingers, splinted and peeking out of a heavy cast. Cold. His skin was cold to the touch. Yoji hopped up and fetched a blanket, tucked it carefully around Aya, and got back onto the bed. He stared at Aya's hand for a while. Christ. The other hand had taken a beating too, but it was just skinned and bruised.
"Don't you ever need some help?" The words were out before Yoji thought them through. "Don't you ever wish someone could – I don't know, comfort you? Make you feel better?"
Aya's lip twitched, and his eyes opened. He looked at Yoji for a long time, and finally said, "Are you just asking, Yoji? Or are you making some kind of offer?"
Yoji'd never met anyone who got to the point faster than Aya. Unbelievable.
But Yoji had put it out there. "Yeah." Keep it simple and let the other person fill in their own interpretation – that usually worked. With normal people.
Aya was quiet forever. That didn't mean anything either – that was just Aya's way. He didn't seem bothered, at least.
"You think you can make me feel better?" Aya's voice startled him, quiet, intimate in the darkness.
Another long pause, and Yoji was starting to think Aya might have just been wondering.
"Of course I wish somebody could make me feel better."
That wasn't necessarily a green light, but it was at least a yellow. When you get a yellow light, you gun your engine – everyone knew that. Yoji picked up Aya's hand, the one that wasn't in a cast, and he brushed his lips across Aya's knuckles. When Aya didn't react, Yoji turned the hand over and nuzzled Aya's palm.
Aya had been quiet for too long – if he were going to say no, he'd have done it. Yoji's heart beat faster. He lay down next to Aya, so careful not to hurt him, and leaned on one elbow over him. He cupped Aya's jaw, on the side that wasn't bruised to hell, and kissed that corner of his mouth, avoiding the stitches.
"Why are you doing this, Yoji?" Aya whispered the question against Yoji's lips.
Yoji pulled back, just enough the look at Aya, who still hadn't opened his eyes. He stroked Aya's face. "Is it OK?"
"Depends on why you're doing it."
Shit. No way to guess what Aya wanted to hear. "I don't know. I care about you. I think you're beautiful." Yoji waited. "That all right?"
Aya nodded, just the slightest movement. "Make me feel better, Yoji."
Another man might have been felt some qualms about this. Aya was injured, and drugged, and just because he was able to make it look like he was still in control didn't mean he actually was. Yoji didn't hesitate, though. He didn't even feel sketchy about it, because offering Aya some comfort felt right. Just because Yoji might need it more than Aya did, that didn't make it wrong, either.
"Let me know if I'm hurting you, all right?"
Aya didn't actually roll his eyes, but he didn't need to; Yoji got the clear impression anyway.
"Look, I know you're Superman and you don't worry about trivialities like pain, but that's not what I'm here for. I speak of the pompatus of love." Yoji said it lightly, teasingly, hoping Aya would catch the reference. He sang it all the time while he was working.
Aya just looked at him. "I hate that song. And I always preferred Spider-Man."
"Sure. Spider-Man. Whatever. What kind of music do you like?"
Aya looked interested. Like Yoji was intriguing him. It was fucking hot.
"I like Motorhead."
Yoji laughed softly. "Oh, yeah. You're so bad, baby, you don't care."
Aya smiled. Blood oozed out of his lower lip, the one that didn't have stitches. He licked it off.
Yoji watched that as closely as he'd ever watched anything. "Do you have an iPod? Do you listen to it in your room or something? I never see you doing anything besides work."
"I listen when I'm running." Aya swallowed hard and Yoji realized he was still having a little trouble talking. Breathing. "Not when I'm reading. I don't like doing two things at once."
"So if you're in your room, you're reading?"
"Usually. Or, you know. Something else I want privacy for. Jerking off."
"What do you think about?"
Yoji laughed. Did Aya really have to be horribly injured to have a pleasant conversation, or had Yoji just never tried it? "I figured. I meant, what do you fantasize about? What makes you blow your load?"
Aya wrinkled his nose slightly. "I have pretty simple tastes, Yoji. You'd probably be disappointed. It's over fast. I just want to come."
"I'd love to see you come," Yoji murmured.
"Well, you're welcome to try. I'm kind of fucked up, but you got me hard, so it should work."
Yoji grinned. "Don't worry, baby. I can make a dead man come."
This time Aya did roll his eyes. "What's with you and the cheesy classic rock lyrics? Just jerk me off. Or blow me. Or whatever you're going to do. I can't stay awake forever."
Oh, yeah. Well, Yoji worked well under pressure, he really did.
He pulled down the blankets and fretted for a second about Aya being cold, but then he figured he'd fix that soon enough. And if he was going to jerk Aya off, or blow him, or whatever – he hadn't decided yet – he was damned well going to be able to see what he was doing. As it were.
Yoji looked down the line of Aya's long, lean body. His bandages were still clean, and Yoji took a moment to be relieved about that. The bruises along his ribs and down across his hip were almost a turn-off – dark brown and black, like rotten fruit, too many and too big. But Aya was hard, as promised, his erection straining against his grey knit track pants. Yoji tugged them down to mid-thigh and just gave himself some time to stare at Aya's dick. Because – yeah.
He'd never seen it hard, and of course that made all the difference. "It's big," Yoji murmured appreciatively.
"A hand job is fine," Aya said, sighing.
"Are you insinuating that your cock is too big for me to take?"
"Jesus fucking Christ," Aya muttered.
"Are you? Because I give good head, Aya. I can handle this."
"That's what I'm waiting for." Aya sounded frustrated. "Just – touch me, Yoji. Please."
Yoji squeezed his eyes shut. Hearing Aya say please made him painfully hard. He ran his hand over Aya's hip, carefully avoiding the bruises, feeling the texture of Aya's skin with his fingertips, feeling the contours of sinew and muscle and bone. He kept the teasing to a minimum – he wasn't completely lacking in pity – but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to savor Aya's body a bit.
When he finally closed his hand on Aya's cock, it was hard, so damned hard. Yoji squeezed, pulling a choked moan out of Aya. He ran his thumb over the head, spreading the precome that leaked out, and looked to see the expression on Aya's face. It looked like pain; Yoji had to search for the difference. It was there, though, and God, Yoji was transfixed. He looked down again and noticed Aya's good hand scrabbling at the sheets.
"Just go ahead, baby. Come on." Yoji suspected that Aya had excellent stamina, when he was on his game. He didn't like the way Aya was gasping for breath, though. Better not to drag this out.
Aya was still fighting it. "You're holding out on me," Yoji purred. Or growled. Aya might have called it either way. "Stop it."
Aya squeezed his eyes shut and came with a shuddering moan.
Yoji bit his lip. He couldn't wait to jerk off to the memory of that. He stroked himself idly through his jeans as he watched Aya come down. Yoji finally remembered what he should be doing and reached over to the nightstand for some tissue, which he used to wipe off Aya's stomach. Aya shivered, and his dick twitched. "God damn," Yoji muttered, pulling the covers back up over Aya and tossing the tissue in the trash can.
Aya murmured something. He was more than half asleep and largely incoherent, but it sounded like thank you.
"Any time, baby. Any time at all."