Youji's Omelette
A Weiss Kreuz fanficBy Natalie Baan
It was just after one o'clock on a brilliantly sunny, late spring afternoon, and Youji was making an omelette.
Well, he supposed that technically it wasn't /really/ an omelette. If he'd been making it to impress a woman, he would've done it up right, carefully lifting the edges to let the liquid egg in the center run underneath and cook properly, and then sliding the whole thing out of the pan and onto the plate in one deft motion, a flawlessly round and perfect yellow disk. For himself, eating alone, it was just too damn much trouble. The result was more like scrambled eggs with stuff in them: chopped scallions, a few shiitake mushrooms, bits of shrimp scavenged from somebody else's left-over Chinese dinner. Ashes from his cigarette--no, that would be a bad idea. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he tapped its trailing end off into the ashtray. The butt still between his fingers, he lifted the pan a little and tilted it, pushing the eggs around with a spatula.
Down the hall, the door to the stairwell banged, and a moment or two later Ken strode into the kitchen. Youji took in the blue soccer jersey, white shorts, and high socks, the pleased grin and the definite spring in the younger man's step. "Game today?" he hazarded.
"Yeah! The kids kicked ass again." Heading for the fridge, Ken opened it and took out a plastic bottle of water. Youji resisted a smirk. He wondered if all children's coaches actually went out and dressed like their teams, or if it was just Ken's enthusiasm. Taking a swig from the bottle, Ken glanced at the stove top curiously. "Huh. What'cha cooking?"
"It's an omelette." Ignoring Ken's mildly dubious look, Youji went on swirling the hardening eggs around in the pan, breaking them up into pieces. They were almost done. The silence that followed his words hung on comfortably, as though it was waiting for something or maybe just had nothing better to do. He sensed rather than saw Ken leaning up against the fridge, watching him with idle interest. A small, sun-warmed breeze, wandering in through the open window, stirred the curtain and threw its moving shadow onto the floor. Youji tasted the eggs and was trying to decide if they were missing anything when there was more deliberate movement at the edge of sight--and then Ken had eased in behind him, wrapping both arms around his stomach and crushing him back against that compact, athletic body.
"Hey, I'm cookin' here," Youji complained. "Can't you wait until Omi gets home?"
"Mnnngh," Ken mumbled in what was more than half a moan, face pressed to Youji's back, between his shoulder blades. One hand slid under Youji's open red shirt; the other worked fingers down into the waistband of his pants. Youji drew in a breath, then let it out slow as his priorities were rerouted in spite of himself. With a wry twitch of his lips, he surrendered to the other hunger those hands had started waking in him. He clicked the range off and shifted the skillet onto the counter, then swung around careless and smooth--and was shoved back into the cabinets as Ken thrust up against him, Ken's mouth closing on his.
"Mmph!"
After a second, he'd caught his balance, getting past that flicker of shock and instinctual alarm, and was kissing back aggressively, answering Ken's frank amorousness with his own, a still-surprising desire taking over the job of making his heartbeat speed. He wasn't quite easy with this yet--he'd spent so long locked to the idea that women were all that interested him and that the attentions of men were distasteful--but even so he kept on finding it impossible to resist Ken's mix of hot-blooded ardor and genuine affection. Ken stretched full-length in an effort to capture his mouth more completely, that lunge rubbing Ken's jersey-covered chest against his bare front. Ken's hips ground into his while their breaths grew more rapid and their tongues darted and wove together--and a dim corner of Youji's brain registered a heat that was growing painful. His cigarette was dangerously close to burning his fingers. Distracted, he fumbled across the counter's top, groping after the-- "/Ah! Shit!/"
"What happened?" Ken stared at him as he jerked aside, and he grimaced with pain and embarrassment.
"Put my hand on the skillet."
"Lemme see it."
"It's nothing," he protested, already feeling enough like an idiot. He tried to wave away Ken's grab at his arm, but Ken caught his wrist and turned his hand upward, the other's dark head bending intently over the angry mark seared along the outside edge of his palm.
"Not too bad," Ken agreed at last. "Burns hurt a lot, though. Come over here." Pulling Youji to the sink, he turned the cold water on and put Youji's hand under the faucet. "Keep that on it until I get back," he instructed. "I'll go get some gauze." As Ken left the kitchen, Youji leaned one hip against the sink's edge and stared into the clear stream rippling over his fingers and palm. After a moment, he ducked his head and chuckled faintly.
"Real smooth, Kudou...."
By the time Ken loped into the room again, carrying their smallest first-aid kit, Youji had pulled the skillet over and was making left-handed stabs at the eggs with a pair of chopsticks. His other arm was still in the sink, twisted awkwardly to keep water flowing across the burn. Ken grabbed one of the cheap, armless chairs from the kitchen table, swung it around, and planted it in the middle of the floor. "Siddown." With a put-upon sigh, Youji abandoned his omelette and sprawled into the chair instead, holding up his hand for Ken's ministrations. Turning it face-up again, Ken began winding a light layer of gauze around it, those square, strong fingers careful and sure. Youji let out a little breath at the bandage's first contact, then sat silently, gazing past Ken's left side at the sunlight falling onto the linoleum. He glanced up when Ken's hand stopped its motions, watched Ken reach for the roll of medical tape on the table. Ken tore off a piece with his teeth, then fastened down the end of the gauze. "How's that? Not too tight?"
Youji flexed his hand. "Nope. Pretty loose. It's not going to fall off or anything? Maybe it just needs a band-aid instead...."
"We don't have a band-aid that's long enough to cover it. Besides, you're supposed to let burns breathe." Ken's hand still cradled Youji's wrist, thumb sliding absently along the bandage's edge--and what some part of Youji had been trying to push out to the fringes of his mind snapped back into acute focus, front and center: the awareness of Ken so close the other's knee would only have to bend to bump his leg, so close that the scarcely visible tremor of the cotton jersey as Ken breathed took on an all-consuming importance. He jerked his gaze up from the middle of Ken's chest, and as it found Ken's face instead a small frisson licked through him. Ken was looking back at him, smiling slightly; their eyes met, rekindling that electric, improbable interest. For a beat Youji hesitated, suspended between uncertainty and anticipation, impulse and action. Then his other hand crept upward, knotting in the front of Ken's shirt. Ken leaned closer, and he pulled the ex-soccer player down the rest of the way, their lips meeting once again, more gently this time.
As their mouths wandered over and against each other, tasting, feeling their way, Ken ran his hand along Youji's arm. He eased inside its arc, then drew it back around himself, at the same time swinging one leg over to straddle Youji's lap. With a humming growl of pleasure that vibrated against Youji's lips, Ken settled onto him with a slow wriggle, rock-hard thighs tightening around his legs. Ken's hips pushed at Youji's, sending the throb of his pulse leaping into his crotch; he tilted his head back with a sharp intake of breath as Ken released his mouth to bite at his throat. Ken's hands crawled into his shirt again, one on either side of his collar, fingers curling to dig into his shoulders, kneading at the muscles there. Without warning, Ken broke off his nipping assault on Youji's neck to draw himself up as tall as possible and dive back onto Youji's mouth from above. Pinned to the chair, Youji nonetheless fought to answer that fierce kiss--he writhed, hands clenching into the back of Ken's jersey, rucking up the fabric, before sliding down to clutch at Ken's tensed ass. Ken moaned into his mouth, and he thrust upward with his tongue, gasping, feeling the white-hot rush of adrenaline and riding its crazy heat, somewhere tumultuous, between struggle and surrender. Ken's fingers wound themselves into the loose hair next to his face; he leaned back into their pressure as they cupped his head, holding him in place for the hunger of Ken's lips. Stretching, Ken strained against him, legs clasping his more firmly, and Youji arched, shoving at the floor with his feet. His grip on Ken's seat helped to lift the other higher, pulling Ken into him even harder as he bent further back--and he felt the chair's legs skitter, a heart-stopping glitch of balance, and then a flash of blank mid-air panic that ended in a numbing crash.
"Shit--/Youji!/" Ken unwound himself from Youji and sat up, blue eyes a little wild, the sunlit window a frame behind him. "Are you all right? Didja hit your head?"
"No. I don't think so." His burned hand was stinging him, and he released his death grip on Ken's shorts. Disoriented, he tried to put together just what had happened and realized that Ken in falling must have somehow managed to cross both arms behind his head, saving his skull from the floor. Ken's shoulders slumped as the younger man sighed, and then looked up again, meeting Youji's eyes with a rueful smile.
"Y'know, maybe the universe is tryin' to tell us something. Think we should give it up?"
Youji thought the matter over for about two seconds, then listened to the unsatisfied ache in his groin and shrugged. "Screw it. I'm already on the floor--what else could happen?" He squirmed, trying to get the chair out from underneath himself and failing, with Ken's weight holding him down. "Ken--the chair--"
Ken was snickering. "Shit, man, don't ever say things like that! You'll bring the wrath of the gods down or something." He swung off Youji, and as Youji moved aside he pulled the chair away and stood it up, shoving it in the direction of the table. Youji rolled back, and Ken dropped onto hands and knees above him--paused there, gaze traveling over him, coming to rest at last on his face. Youji returned Ken's stare, uneasy excitement twisting in him again, wound tighter by something in the way Ken was hanging over him, the two of them not quite touching except for the slightest brushing of their arms and legs. Then Ken smiled, a crack in that subtle tension, his expression unfolding gradually into something more sly. Lifting his hand, he poked two fingers at the center of Youji's chest.
"Problem is, you're just too damn tall," he teased. "If you weren't so tall, you wouldn't tip over."
"Hmph." Youji glanced away as those fingers pressed more firmly, then began outlining the definition of his chest in long, exploratory strokes. They were replaced by Ken's mouth, Ken's head lowering to nuzzle at him, breath puffing in shivery bursts against his skin. Ken's hips sank to meet his and moved, a slow, rocking rhythm that recalled Youji to his body's own need. Giving in to its mounting insistence, he pushed upward instinctively, answering that steady, urging cadence. Ken's hand ran down his side, flaring his shirt open wider--Ken's head popped up again, and the young man grinned.
"Just thought of something. Be right back."
"Hah?" Almost disbelievingly, Youji stared after Ken as the other bounded to his feet and crossed the room. His eyes widened as Ken grabbed the bottle of cooking oil from the counter and came back over to him. "Ken!" Ken knelt on the floor beside him and tilted the bottle, unceremoniously sending a stream of the golden liquid onto his stomach. "/My shirt!/"
"The hell with your shirt." Ken smirked. "You can always buy another." Setting aside the bottle, he slid both hands into the small pool around Youji's navel and began spreading the oil all over Youji's front. "That's what you spend all your money on anyhow," he added. "Clothes 'n' women 'n' that car...."
"/Unn./" Ken's slicked hands were moving in circles all over his chest, rubbing with exquisite slipperiness across his nipples, compelling them erect, then shifting back down, thumbs massaging deeply into his stomach. Youji shuddered with reluctant pleasure at that touch. He could feel tiny rivulets trickling down his sides, ticklish, almost maddening, at the same time strangely erotic. He shifted, trying to divide himself between that rich confusion of sensations and his unwillingness to let Ken have the last word. "So...what d'you spend all /your/ money on?"
"Been saving most of it so far." Ken's voice was a husky, distracted murmur. "Don't really know what for." Youji glanced up and saw the other's eyes had gone darker than usual, a shadow of some kind passing through them as they gazed down onto his chest. Those hands went still, lying warm and motionless upon his belly. "/Ch./" Ken shrugged then, lifted his head, and with another grin hitched over to kneel astride Youji once more. Straightening, he grabbed the bottom of his jersey and hauled it up over his head. All the muscles of his arms, chest, and stomach tightened and stood out as he flexed, his wrists still imprisoned in the shirt. Youji couldn't help smiling. Ken was the one out of the four of them who took the most deliberate care of his body; the guy got a kick out of showing it off. "Yeah, yeah," Youji said, amused. "Get on with it...."
Ken stripped the shirt the rest of the way off and flung it aside, then glanced back down at Youji. His lips curved into a more wicked smile, the glimmer of desire lighting his eyes and the bulge of an incipient hard-on thrusting out the front of his white shorts. Youji's gut knotted with expectation. Bending forward, Ken settled deliberately onto him, that firming erection prodding at him, thighs rubbing his--and then it was skin on skin, their torsos slithering into contact, slipping over each other, satiny and luxurious. That layer of oil took on the warmth and friction of their moving bodies to kindle growing heat between them. Ken was braced on one arm; the other was in constant movement, Ken's hand stroking up and down Youji's side. It dove beneath the small of his back to lift him from the floor, arching him up into Ken, then let him sink back as it traveled around to his front, gliding over the jut of one hip bone. Those fingers fumbled at the fastening of Youji's pants, opened it at last and crawled inside them--"Heh. Don't you ever wear any underwear?" Ken muttered breathlessly, and any reply Youji might have made was silenced before it could be even be formed. The pure shock and elation of Ken's hand closing onto his hot flesh burst through him like a back draft of fire, while at the same instant Ken lunged to recapture his mouth, smothering it beneath an almost bruising kiss.
The ache between his legs flared into a full-fledged pounding throb, his cock swelling and hardening between Ken's fingers. They drew him out and into their tight clasp, pumping at him eagerly, the oil that coated them seeping into every crevice as they slid from head to root and then back. Youji panted against Ken's mouth as the younger man writhed on him in a burst of energy, crotch grinding against his thigh, chest skittering over his--he choked and turned his head aside, escaping from Ken's tongue, his shoulders jerking with a mute twitch of laughter.
"Wha's so funny?" Youji shook his head, unable to explain his sudden vision of how ridiculous the whole thing was: himself flat on his back in the middle of the kitchen floor, and Ken, having gotten creative with the cooking oil, trying to body surf on top of him. Closing his eyes, he convulsed again at the thought. He felt Ken's weight lift; regaining control of himself, he grinned and turned back, ready to apologize for breaking the mood. His eyes opened, and he stopped--Ken had shifted to crouch between his legs and was working shorts and underwear determinedly down past bent knees. Pushing the clothes as far as his ankles, Ken rocked forward again, one knee landing on either side of Youji. Closing his hand around Youji's hard-on, Ken angled it slightly as he lowered himself onto it, wearing an intensely inward look of concentration--ah, God, yes, /that,/ and Youji groaned, helpless and ecstatic, as raw bliss mixed with the remaining lift from that brief flicker of amusement and with freedom, finally, from the last, lingering twinges of unease. It was the thing that always gave him pause, going guy with guy: the need to figure out who was going to do what to whom--and the chance he'd wind up on the receiving end, a prospect he still found disquieting. He drew breath, relishing each increment of penetration as Ken's willing body took him in. In a far corner of his mind, he was dimly ashamed of his relief, but all such things were receding--there was just the clench of muscles that surrounded him, a heat that felt like it was searing him, waves of pleasure already ripping through his body, throwing their white spume into his brain. Grabbing at Ken's thighs, he felt them tense as Ken pushed up from him, riding the length of his shaft, almost to its end. He bucked upward as Ken came down on him again, pulling the other even closer, screwing Ken as deeply as he could, over and over, their breaths and grunts a counterpoint to their movements. He was only vaguely aware of Ken having seized his own crotch, shuddering, Ken's hand folding around the excited organ and jerking at it urgently until--"/Ah! Yeah!/" Ken's gasp was followed by sudden liquid heat that spurted across his stomach, a spasm of Ken's ass that clamped rough silk and steel around him, an impossible tightness that he drove up into once, violently, and then again--
Heaven unfurled all its wings for Youji, a white rush that lifted him high, that took him right out of the mortal world and threw him among the stars. He shook with that fierce release as he came, its light blazing along his nerves and erupting straight into his brain, sweet and sharp as ever. He let it take him as far as it could, then fell back from that sky into a body that was slackening, trembling a little, weak from the explosive force of orgasm. Ken was collapsing onto him, sliding off his shaft, and for a while the two of them just laid there and breathed like that, Youji stretching one arm out along the linoleum floor, absorbing its coolness. His other hand had fallen onto Ken's shoulder; the burn ached a little, but it seemed like too much effort to move. With a sigh, he stared into space, looking at nothing in particular while his heartbeat gradually slowed toward normal and the faint sheen of sweat dried on both their skins.
Before long, Ken stirred, then pushed himself up on both arms. "I'm starving!" he announced cheerfully. "C'n I have some of your lunch?"
"It's breakfast." Youji blinked. "Sure, whatever. Though it's probably cold by now."
"I'll take care of it." Jumping to his feet, Ken yanked up his shorts and strolled over to the counter. As he picked up the pan and turned toward the range, he glanced back, read Youji's expression, and chuckled. "Hey, I may not be much of a cook, but at least I can heat something up...."
"Aa." Youji settled onto the floor again, leaving the matter to Ken. The absence of the other's weight made him feel both cooler and not quite grounded, a comfortable, vaguely detached feeling--and oh yeah, a little bit exposed. Tucking himself back into his pants, he noticed the smear across his stomach where Ken's shot had splattered and been spread around by Ken sprawling on top of him. He swiped at it, looked at the thick fluid coating his fingers, then shrugged and wiped them off on his already much-abused shirt. Curious, he ran that hand along his chest--it was still oily, but most of the excess seemed to have run off or been absorbed into their skins. Then he sighed again and stretched long, clasping both hands behind his head. It was funny how different the room looked, he reflected, seen from the vantage of the floor. Not that he hadn't been on a floor before, of course, but most of those times he hadn't been sober. Amused, he let his gaze wander over things: the undersides of the table and chairs as they towered above him, the walls extending way up to meet the ceiling, the sunlight seeming to float down through the air. It was almost surreal.
Ken was humming as he stirred the eggs around in the pan. Youji glanced over and smiled a little. Before the fact, there was always that tension, an ingrained reluctance, while afterward Ken's easy-going attitude made it seem like not such a big deal after all. And maybe it wasn't--hell, he had no qualms whatsoever about sex as long as women were involved--but he still hadn't gotten used to regular intimacy with men. He hadn't decided if he wanted to get used to it, although the pleasure itself was undeniable. Certainly he wouldn't have considered it even for a moment if not for the extraordinary bonds that had grown between the four of them: profound trust proved again and again in the face of death as they guarded each other's backs on missions, the boundless love that had sprung up between Ken and Omi and improbably had extended itself to include them all.
And it amazed him how Ken, who he'd have thought would be awkward, had flowered almost riotously. Ken seemed equally at ease with any one or all of them, giving or taking with the same, somehow thoroughly masculine energy and apparently with the same enjoyment. The inside of Youji's chest tightened; feeling himself skirting another edge, one he could fall over if he wasn't careful enough but didn't want to look at even so, he warily studied Ken instead. Slim, hard back tapering from shoulders to narrow waist, the shallow curve of Ken's ass, not quite hidden by the shorts, all of it very familiar, very male...his eye caught, half-unwilling, half-fascinated, at the bottom of those shorts, where his angle let him see up inside the thin, white fabric, catching an unexpected glimpse of Ken's thigh. Smooth and muscular, it went up into gradually deepening shadow before disappearing from view, just shy of--
"Hm--I think that's warm enough!"
Startled, his eyes jerked up to Ken's face as the younger man tested the eggs and nodded, then darted aside, flickering around the room. "Um, there's nothing in the sink, so there must be clean plates somewhere."
"Don't need any plates." He glanced back and saw Ken turn off the stove top, then bring pan and chopsticks over to him. Ken dropped to his knees next to Youji--he upended the pan, letting the omelette slither out onto Youji's chest.
"/Hey!/"
"Stay down," Ken's arm blocked him as he started upright, "or it'll end up on the floor." Youji glared and sank back as Ken, with an insufferably self-pleased expression, used the chopsticks to scrape the last shreds out of the skillet, then got up to return it to the counter. The omelette made a soft, damp, somewhat unsettling weight on Youji's chest, warmer than his skin but nowhere near burning. Ken came back and folded himself to the floor, fitting his hip against Youji's waist. Reaching over Youji, he put one hand on the linoleum, propping himself on it easily. He studied the heap on Youji's chest with speculative interest, then selected a piece with the sticks and held it out. "Here."
Youji gave Ken and the proffered bite a long, half-lidded look of suspicion. In the end, though, he yielded and reluctantly opened his mouth. He /was/ hungry, and Ken had him pretty well trapped unless he wanted to give up on his breakfast entirely and try to struggle his way free. Ken let him take the food without any games; grateful but still resentful, he turned his head to one side as he chewed and swallowed. He could feel Ken pick out a piece for himself--the ends of the chopsticks brushing his skin, the diminishment and changed shape of that pile on his chest--then make a small "hmm" of satisfaction.
It wasn't just the quiet ones you had to watch out for, Youji decided; it was also the supposedly nice ones.
Having finished his mouthful, he darted a sidelong glance at Ken. The other noticed the look and smiled at him. "Aa." Choosing another piece, one with a good-sized sliver of mushroom, Ken offered it to Youji. He lifted his head a little to take it, marginally relieved by the so-far considerate attention. He was starting to think this wasn't going to be so bad.
"So how d'you like my cooking?" Ken asked lightly. He popped another bite into his own mouth.
Youji gave the question careful thought as he chewed. "A little greasier than I usually go for, but not too bad," he allowed at last. Ken laughed, a silent shake, the back of one hand pressed to his lips to keep himself from losing his mouthful. He swallowed, coughed and cleared his throat, then looked at Youji, deep blue eyes still glinting with amusement.
"So a little less oil next time. I'll keep it in mind." Fishing up another morsel of omelette, Ken presented it to Youji.
"Hn." Youji focused on the actions of chewing, the consistency and savor of the egg, covering a little jitter inside him. He didn't know what it came from: the idea of "next time," maybe, or the way Ken's laugh had vibrated through both their bodies, or just the tension between the impulse to relax into the situation and the mistrust of that urge that kept him from doing so. Ken's chopsticks picked among the remaining pieces on his chest, then tweaked at flesh that tautened between them, shooting an unexpected jolt straight into Youji's groin. He glowered at Ken. "That's /not/ coming off." Ken snickered and filched a largish chunk of omelette. "And don't eat all the shrimp!"
"'m not!" Ken protested indistinctly. "Here." He turned over the pile, found another piece with shrimp in it, and held it out between the sticks. Youji took it as assertively as a man lying on his back and being hand-fed could manage; he bit into the contrast of textures, let the clean taste of the seafood flower against his tongue. He ate it slowly, and by the time he was done the clench in his gut had eased somewhat. He looked up at Ken, who was observing him almost reflectively. "More?" Ken asked.
"Yeah." Leaning forward, Ken bowed his head as he studied the choices before him. Youji watched the other's gaze shift minutely. As he selected the next bite and raised his eyes, they caught on Youji's. Neither started, but Youji felt a tiny shock go through him. Ken brought the food to his mouth, and he accepted it, more gently this time; he closed his own eyes, struggling against an intensifying awareness: a coiling of premonition, dread, and longing, a confused ache. Something brushed at his mouth, and his eyes fluttered open. The chopsticks's ends were resting against his bottom lip. Ken's gaze was still on his face, quiet but intent, a direct, oddly searching look, somehow entreating in its attention. Youji swallowed awkwardly and saw Ken's eyes register the motion. Again Ken asked him softly, "More?"
He nodded, feeling strangely shaky. As Ken gave him the next bit and he took it from the chopsticks, they stayed at his mouth, tracing the curve of his lip. Their touch trailed along his jaw, then down his neck--he arched beneath it, making quick work of that mouthful so he could draw in another breath, the last pieces of omelette shifting a fraction as his chest rose abruptly and fell. The chopsticks had run down through them and paused just below his breastbone; he glanced up, seeking Ken's face, wanting and then finding that look of concentrated, somehow luminous interest. He stared back, unable to form words for the feelings tangled up in him, not even within his own mind--only held Ken's gaze, as though that could say the things he didn't really know, couldn't manage to make himself articulate.
Whatever Ken read from Youji, he inhaled, almost imperceptibly, then nodded very slightly in turn. He bent again, hesitated, licked his lip uncertainly, before putting his head all the way down, next to Youji's chest. Youji felt a puff of breath, a fleeting graze of contact. Raising his head, Ken leaned forward, putting his other hand on the floor to steady himself, and Youji froze for one racing heartbeat. Then Ken's mouth was over his, and he was taking the piece of omelette from between Ken's offering lips.
Part of him was aware of every careful movement as Ken shifted back and over to settle astride him once more. The rest was overwhelmed by realization, contradictory reactions: /not again, no, yes...please./ He finished that bite and breathed fast, feeling Ken's mouth questing close to his skin, Ken's bangs sweeping his chest, a hot surge growing in the middle of his body. Ken sat up and hitched forward; more ready than he'd been the first time, Youji received that second scrap of egg and mushroom with a pliancy that nonetheless shocked him--how the /hell/ could he be doing this? Ken's mouth remained on his, trembling with subdued intensity, closed lips pressed to closed lips, fingers lying with incredible lightness against his throat, as if to share in all the motions of his eating. Youji fled into the void behind shut eyelids, but it only sharpened that nearness, made his consciousness of his own slow chewing and swallowing almost painfully vivid.
Ken pulled away at last as he got that mouthful down, and he gasped through his teeth once, twice, heat burning in his face, starting to pound harder and more distinctly in his crotch, his heart hammering as though he might be going to die. He didn't know why he was getting so turned on by Ken's attentions, but like strong drink or insanity it was eroding his reservations, stealing whatever better judgment he might have had. When he felt Ken rock forward once more, he lifted his face to the other's, mouth already parting a little. Ken's lips joined his, and he had an instant to register that there was nothing but soft skin there before they pressed harder and opened, urging his to open wider as well. Warm and slick from the inside of Ken's mouth, another piece of omelette slipped into his, propelled by a gently guiding sweep of Ken's tongue--gross and yet so intimate that he found himself more aroused than ever, stunned and falling hard into abandon at being fed like that, so tenderly, so thoroughly....
Ken's tongue touched his, caressing in a brief slither of saliva and egg, then withdrew before it could cross the rest of the way from bizarrely, overpoweringly sensual to unendurable. Youji swallowed fast, shivering with near-panic and that strange yearning. Ken's fingers crept into his hair, drew his head back and to one side; damp and silky, Ken's mouth brushed his cheek before drifting down onto his throat. Ken kissed along his neck, unhurriedly, light pressure lingering a long moment over the pulse point--descended further, and Youji felt Ken's tongue and faint, cool rushes of inhalation as the younger man cleaned the last scraps of omelette from his chest. He stretched beneath those licks, then arched, breathing harder, as they began to play around one nipple, driving needles of sensation through him. Ken's mouth closed onto his chest, suckling at him, Ken's tongue continuing to explore all the while, probing each small ridge that stiffened beneath it. Transferring to the other nipple eventually, Ken gave it the same painstaking care; his thumb moved to circle the first one, and Youji hissed weakly as that double thrill of excitement hit him. Then, slowly, so very slowly, Ken was moving down again, over the swell of his chest, into the long, trim hollow of his stomach. His belly tightened underneath the strokes of Ken's tongue, a more expansive pleasure billowing through him--he loved to be touched there, and Ken obliged him to perfection, swirling a lick down into the well of his navel, nuzzling at the taut, lean flesh. Rapt, Youji tilted his head back as Ken undid his pants once more, his breath quickening as Ken kissed down further, further, and when Ken's lips pressed the heat between his legs he flung his head back all the way, his mouth opening in a voiceless, panting shout.
Tugging the pants down lower, Ken drew them off Youji's hips, Youji lifting himself from the floor to help, grateful he'd worn something loose that day. With tongue, breath, and lips, Ken tried out every aching inch of him, until his almost silent breaths were starting to become quiet moans. And then, oh then, Ken's mouth was enfolding him in eager wetness, sliding down on him in a tight sheath, and Youji thought he was finally going to go out of his mind. Somehow he managed to keep from writhing in a frenzy, vaguely recalling the need to stay still and not choke the person bringing him this rapture. He lost track of the rising and falling of Ken's mouth on him, the shifts and variations in stroke: there was only violent pleasure pulsing harder and faster, shaking him until he felt he would shake apart--and then the bright, white, splintering eruption that shattered everything else around him instead, the whole world wavering out of existence, falling away into a instant's darkness.
He came back, lost and dimly astonished to find sunlight still spilling in through the kitchen window, the floor still solid beneath him, and Ken's mouth completing a sweep up his collapsing cock, cleaning a trickle of dampness from it. Drained and already over-stimulated, he made a thin sound, almost a whimper, ready by then to be released. Yet as Ken let go of him, laying a last affectionate kiss on his thigh, he was struck by a sudden, contradictory stab of loss--somehow still unfulfilled, all he could think of was Ken's weight over him, Ken's mouth passionate on his, that fleeting taste of total, heedless possession. He felt Ken start to shift back, almost imperceptibly, and a faint groan of protest escaped him. Hesitating, Ken lifted his head. "Hn?"
"Don't--don't stop." The words fell out of him, a low, rapid murmur. "Do it to me. Do /that./ I want you to."
There was a pause, that urgency hanging in the air between them. "You sure?" Ken asked, very quietly. Gathering himself, Youji turned his head to glance at Ken, and he saw in the other's eyes the genuine concern he'd hoped for but hadn't quite trusted would be there. He nodded once--laughed, more like a gasp but close enough, and swept his hair back out of his face, trying to recover a bit of the usual savoir faire.
"Yeah," he said with a grin, "but I...I...I think I changed my mind about the grease."
Ken's mouth quirked, a lopsided smile. "Sure. I got it." He reached for the oil, which miraculously hadn't been kicked away, and poured some into his hand. He was generous with it--Youji could feel the liquid running into the crack of his ass before Ken's fingers worked inside him, alarming despite their care, a distension that made his whole lower half seem to turn to water. Caught by that longing and a pride that wouldn't let him back out now, he concentrated on the sensations being roused in him: discomfort fading gradually into the body's reluctant acceptance, and then, as Ken's fingertips touched something inside him, a searing jolt that took his breath away.
He was still shaking with that reaction as Ken's fingers slipped out of him, then drew his pants down even further. Ken reached for the bottle again, and he had just enough presence of mind to hold out his own hand, cupped palm upward, wanting, no, needing to be totally into it, to throw himself into the act. Ken filled his hand with the oil, then pulled the shorts down again; extending his arm, Youji closed his fingers around Ken's stiffening shaft. Its heat and hardness were familiar yet somehow astonishing, like a live thing lying quiet but vibrant in his grasp. As Youji stroked its length, Ken straightened and tilted his head back, eyes half-shut, his lips barely parted in a smile or grimace of almost feline enjoyment. At last, with a small sigh, he bent forward once more, his hand easing in to displace Youji's as he settled between Youji's legs. He began guiding himself into Youji, an intense, stretching penetration--not the first time, curiosity or a perversely self-destructive streak had seen to that, but the first time Youji'd ever hungered for it: Ken's cock pushing into him and his body yielding incredibly, making space as it was entered and filled.
He stared up into Ken's unfocused gaze, those blue eyes--or were they actually green instead? A shade that was closer to teal? Ken shifted back, then rocked his hips in again, angling himself upward, and another shock of white fire burst through Youji. All his thoughts broke into glimmering fragments. Ken was leaning closer, one hand curving over Youji's crotch--he didn't have it in him, not so soon, but he arched into Ken's hand anyway, that sheltering, almost protective caress. Wrapping both arms around Ken, Youji pulled him even nearer, felt the roll of Ken's shoulders and the tensing of muscles in his back as Ken began a slow, deep thrusting. Youji's own body moved to that impetus--was wracked by more of those spasms, storm swells of mind-blowing pleasure that didn't crest but surged through him again and again. His breathing and Ken's became ragged, arrhythmic, the two of them joined in flesh and the shared urge that was sweeping them under, submerging them into one mindless, fearless pulse of perfect animal movement.
It didn't last long--Ken gave a stuttering gasp, drove into Youji, and froze, a warm, startling wetness spitting into him, then buckled and collapsed onto him once more, utterly limp, Ken's head dropping heavily onto his chest. Youji let out a gusty sigh and closed his eyes. Exhausted but content, he savored a last shiver of ecstasy, the throbbing, tingling sensations already fading but not the deliciousness of that surrender. He smiled then, figuring that they'd both gotten what they'd wanted, knowing it or not. For Ken, he thought it might just be contact, purely physical expression of the tremendous love and need Ken felt for all of them, the meaning that kept Ken lifted up above of the hell of their work in Weiss. For himself, it was that same old impulse to fall toward any oblivion, shadow and counterpart to the other force that drove him: the need to hold onto some things through death and beyond. To fall--but with trust that, this time at least, he'd be caught, held safe in those strong arms that were inching around him, that wouldn't let any harm come, no matter what. Raising one hand, he touched Ken's head, ran fingers through the seal-sleek strands of hair. Ken murmured wordlessly, then sighed against him. For a while they lay entwined there, somewhere outside all those divisions that made up their lives, before Ken's arms tightened about him, a gentle, deliberate squeeze. Youji pried one eye open and saw Ken watching him, chin on his chest, half-lidded gaze lazily contented and amused. "Omi'll be home any minute," Ken said.
"Uh, yeah. I hear you." Not that Omi didn't know or would mind what the two of them got up to sometimes when he was out, but being found in a mostly naked heap in the middle of the kitchen was a little much. Ken crawled off Youji, and as he started to lever himself upright he discovered what getting screwed on the floor had done to his back. He groaned and decided he wasn't above taking Ken's offered hand. "I've gotta take a shower," he muttered as the two of them hauled themselves to their feet; he wobbled, trying to pull his pants up at the same time, and had to lean on Ken. A shower of tiny egg crumbs fell out of his shirt and scattered across the linoleum. "Damn."
"I'll get it." Youji glanced at Ken, who grinned back at him. "I'll clean up here. You go on and take your shower."
Youji hesitated, then surrendered, not ungratefully. "Aa...thanks."
"And let me know if that bandage gets too wet," Ken added. "I'll redo it for you."
Youji flexed his hand--he'd almost forgotten about the burn. Still, he'd been pretty distracted. "Yeah." As Ken headed for the cabinets, Youji picked a careful path out of the mess, making a detour for his cigarettes on the way to the door. Glancing back, he saw Ken down on one knee, hunting in the cupboard for the cleaning supplies, and he paused, letting his eyes rove once more over the other's body: Ken still bare-chested, bending and twisting to reach in through the cabinet door, heedlessly and purely himself, nothing more or less.
Youji smiled, a small and private smile, and turned away.
Author's note: Many thanks go to K-chan (Look! I posted it!) and Jess for C&Cs. My flirtation with the Youji-Ken pairing in this story was probably inspired by reading Kat-chan's "Oyasumi, Yotan; it's available on her site in Aestheticism's Virtual City, for those of you who have passwords.(No, sorry, I won't send a copy to you, so please don't ask.) However, all the hentai details are my own responsibility. (I *knew* I shouldn't have let Ken take over the brain cell....) Comments are certainly welcome, but please be gentle with me. After the struggle of writing "Catch Me" and then this one arriving totally out of the blue, I'm already somewhat traumatized.