Sharing

from the Bonding Series
scribblemoose

"Just one drawer would do, maybe a bit of space on the bookshelf. There's no need to make such a fuss, Yohji."

Yohji shrugged, critically examining a well-worn cropped t-shirt, holding it up to the light. "It's no problem. I need a clear-out," he said.

Yohji's room was littered with piles of clothes, books and papers, arranged in what appeared to Aya to be a completely arbitrary fashion. It was a complete mess, and Aya despaired of ever seeing the floor again. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

He scooped a small puddle of sweaters off the end of the bed and into his arms, and sat down, absently cuddling the soft wool to himself. Truth be told, he was terrified.

But this had to be done; it was the sensible thing, and it was all settled. It shoudn't be such a big deal, to share a room with Yohji, especially after being cramped together in the mobile shop the past few months. Aya-chan needed a room to herself. And Yohji didn't seem to mind at all.

"You can pick anything you like out of that pile," said Yohji. "To keep. If you want."

Aya looked in surprise at the collection of sweaters: most of them cashmere, expensive and beautiful, even to someone who wasn't much interested in clothes. "You're not keeping them?"

"Oh yes," said Yohji. "I just thought you'd look good in one. Try the purple."

"What, now?"

"You're not going to tell me you're shy of trying on a sweater."

"No, but... I couldn't keep it. It's yours, you don't have to..."

"Aya, just put it on. You'll see."

Aya glared at him, and reluctantly pulled on the jumper. He knew Yohji wouldn't give up until he did.

He had to confess it felt good against his bare arms. Warm and silky-soft. Yohji nodded pointedly towards the full length mirror by the wardrobe, and he reluctantly picked his way across the mess on the floor to stand in front of it.

The colour suited him, bringing out the deeper crimson of his hair, and, of course, the pale violet of his eyes. It was a little on the big side, but not so much that he could say it was the wrong size. He watched Yohji come up behind him, the expression on his face making it perfectly clear that the sweater was now his.

"See, I was right," Yohji breathed, sliding his arms around Aya's waist, chin on his shoulder. He nuzzled into Aya's neck, breath warm on his ear. Aya leaned into the caress.

"It's too generous," he said, even though he knew Yohji wouldn't let him refuse the gift.

"It's only an old sweater," said Yohji. "Besides, it always makes me look kind of washed out, and we can't have that. Keep it. Please."

Aya smiled at him in the mirror, folding his arms over Yohji's around his middle. "Alright," he said. "Thank you."

"Good," said Yohji. And he looked happy, Aya noticed. Pleased. Which was good.

"Do you want any help?"

"Yeah, if you like. There's a pile of CDs over there need putting on that new rack Ken got us."

Aya tensed a little, a shock running through him at the word 'us'. Unsettling, if not actually unpleasant, these new, domestic details to their relationship.

"Okay," he said, and firmly pulled Yohji's arms away. If the room was going to be anywhere near habitable by the time they needed to sleep, there was no time to waste.

Yohji sighed with regret at having to let go of his lover, and returned to the junk by the bed. Aya knelt on the floor by the CD rack, and started to alphabetize. He knew it would drive Yohji nuts, but then, truth be told, that was part of the fun.

After a while he heard Yohji chuckling to himself. He looked over his shoulder; Yohji was sitting cross-legged on the floor, going through the contents of a battered cardboard box.

"Found something interesting?"

"Just an old toy box. Come have a look," said Yohji. "You might find something you like."

Aya's curiosity got the better of him, and he went to see. The contents of the box weren't a surpsise, as such. He'd always guessed that Yohji would have a porn collection stashed away somewhere. He hadn't, however, expected it to be quite so extensive.

"Yohji, you really are a pervert."

Yohji rifled happily through the box. "Hey, I'd wondered where these had gone." He dragged a pair of handcuffs from the mess of magazines, videos and assorted plastic and leather items. "They're the real thing, you know. Police issue. With key."

"And dare I ask how... Yohji, did you screw a policewoman?"

"No. Of course not," said Yohji, with his best hurt expression.

"Oh. Sorry."

"There were two of them."

Aya's eyes went wide before he could put on his unimpressed mask.

"You realise how dangerous that is? Considering who you are and what you do?"

"Oh yes," said Yohji, grinning broadly. "Exactly."

"You're impossible."

"Just young and foolish. Well, I was then, anyway." Yohji swung the handcuffs from one finger. "What d'you say, Aya? Fancy giving them a go?"

Aya gave him a withering look, which, predictably, he ignored. Aya turned to the box, looking for some kind of revenge, and tugged on a polished wooden handle.

"Did you sleep with the whole of the national table tennis team as well?" he asked, waggling the bat under Yohji's nose.

"Oh no," Yohji purred. "That's the spanky stick."

"The-" Aya stared at the innocent-looking paddle in his hand, and was dimly aware that he should be making a dismissive remark before Yohji got the idea he was in any way surprised. Which, of course, he shouldn't be. This was Kudoh -I'll try anything once-Yohji, after all. They'd exchanged the odd smack here and there during their rougher sessions, especially after missions, when risk levels were high and inhibitions low. But somehow...

The spanky stick?

"What d'you say, Aya?" Yohji leaned in close, a devilish smirk on his face. "Who's been a naughty boy?"

The bat twitched in Aya's hand; he found his fingers curling around the handle in a familiar grip.

"Don't be ridiculous, Kudoh." His voice sounded unconvincing, even to him. One look at Yohji's infuriatingly smug expression was enough to tempt him. "Besides. The room's a mess, and-"

"And who's fault is that?"

"What?"

"Come on, Aya, work with me here. I said-"

"No," said Aya. "Don't be-"

"Oh, come on."

Aya glared at him.

Yohji sighed. "Oh, alright. Deny your sense of fun. See if I care. I suppose you want me to throw all this stuff away?"

Much later, Aya would tell himself that a sudden madness had come over him. He'd blame it on the stress of giving up his independence. Possibly on more than a year's worth of Yohji-induced exasperation.

Under no circumstances, ever, would he admit that a rush of pure, wonderful, irresistible lust surged through his veins and took him over completely. Never.

"Take your pants off, Kudoh."

Yohji looked up at him, his face a picture of innocence but for a glint of suprise and excitement in his eyes. "Why, Fujimiya-san? Have I done something wrong?"

"You're a pervert, Kudoh. A dirty, nasty little pervert."

Yohji was fighting to keep the smile from his face.

"Am I, Fujimiya-san?"

"You know you are. Now take your pants off, and give me those handcuffs."

"Oh," said Yohji, eyes as round and innocent as Omi's. "Please don't hurt me, Fujimiya-san. I'm sorry I'm a pervert."

"You can tell me how sorry you are when you're cuffed to the bed with your pants off. Move, Kudoh. Now."

Yohji scrambled to his feet, tugging his t-shirt over his head in one go, quickly wrenching open his jeans. Aya snatched the handcuffs from him, slipped the key in his pocket and looped them around the slats in the footboard of the bed. He grabbed one of Yohji's wrists and pulled him, naked now, onto the mattress. In seconds Aya had him handcuffed, on his hands and knees, cock swinging, half-hard between his legs. Finally, Aya ripped Yohji's hair tie off, dark-gold strands falling over trembling shoulders.

He grabbed Yohji's hips roughly, pulled him around so he could easily reach his pale backside.

He rubbed his palm over one soft buttock, bringing the nerve endings to life.

"Please, Fujimiya-san," said Yohji. "Please don't hurt me."

"Why shouldn't I, pervert? Don't you think you've been bad?"

"Have I? Am I naughty, Fujimiya-san? Please tell me."

"You're a slut." Aya replaced his hand with the rubbery bumps of the bat, rubbing in slow circles. "You fuck anything that moves."

"Not now I've got you," said Yohji. "I promise, I'll never fuck anyone else ever again. Not now I've got you."

"You put yourself and your team in danger to satisfy your own dirty little fetish."

"I'm sorry," whined Yohji. "Please forgive me."

"I have to make sure you'll never forget what happens to perverts like you who put their teams in danger."

He drew his hand back, and darted his eyes quickly to Yohji's face. His eyes were closed; his tongue licked slowly at dry lips; he was breathing quickly. Waiting. Wanting.

He smacked Yohji's ass smartly with the bat, once. Not too hard.

Yohji jumped, grunted. Wiggled his ass for more.

Next time Aya smacked him hard enough to make him squeak.

"Oh yes," gasped Yohji. "You're right. I need to be punished for being such a slut."

Thwap.

"Tell me," growled Aya. "Tell me what you did."

"I was bad," Yohji confessed, flinching as the bat came down again on his sensitive backside. "I lusted after women. I wear those black sueude pants just because I know they turn you on. And once, a long, long time before we got together, I whacked off in the shower thinking of Schuldig."

"Schuldig?!"

THWAP

"Ow!! Fuck, Aya!"

"You thought of Schuldig? Like that?"

Yohji smirked over his shoulder. "Didn't you?"

"No! The man's a total bastard!"

"Of course, but hot as hell."

THWAP

Yohji yelped and fell forwards with the force of the blow; for a moment Aya was worried he'd really hurt him.

Then Yohji moaned, but not in pain.

"That's right," he muttered, crawling back up onto his knees. "I'm such a bad man. Show me how bad I am, Aya."

Aya brought the paddle down again with a smack. Kept smacking until Yohji's buttocks were red and flinching, and Yohji had stopped talking, burying his head in the soft heap of clothes on the bed, panting. His cock hard and dripping. Vulnerable. Wanton. Exposed. Tempting.

Aya was breathing hard, heart pounding.

He dropped the bat, and smoothed Yohji's mistreated skin with gentle palms.

"Will you be good now?" he asked, his voice deep and rough.

"Oh yes," said Yohji. "I promise I'll be good. The best ever. I promise."

Aya pulled a bottle of lubricant out of the cardboard box; banana flavoured, if the label was anything to go by, but he guessed he could live with that. He spread the cool fluid over each cheek, calming the red, angry-looking flesh, then squirted a thick line of lube down the crack between, as Yohji moaned and writhed under his touch. He tore open his jeans and freed his own, aching cock, slicked it thoroughly, and touched the head to Yohji's butt, spreading the lube around. He curled his body over Yohji's, licking up his spine, lapping up the beads of sweat that lay there. He whispered in Yohji's ear, his breath disturbing the long blond strands that straggled over his face.

"You're mine, Kudoh, you hear? No-one else's."

"Yes, Aya."

"Say it."

He positioned his cock at Yohji's entrance, slipped the end just a tiny bit inside.

"I'm yours," Yohji gasped. "All yours. I promise."

"What d'you want, Kudoh?"

"Fuck me. I want you to fuck me, Aya. Please, fuck me-" Yohji's pleading faded to a low grunt as Aya pushed further inside him.

"Is that what you want, Kudoh?"

"Yes. Oh, fuck, yes..."

Aya straightened up to watch as he slid the rest of the way in, his cock stretching faintly clenching muscle, Yohji's body swallowing him hungrily, squeezing and caressing, hot and tight and slick. He reached around to take Yohji's cock in his hand, and started to fuck, hips flexing helplessly, not able to wait to be sure Yohji was ready. Yohji didn't seem to care, though, shoving back onto Aya's cock, impaling himself willingly, lustily, over and over. Yohji raised himself up a little, shifting around to give Aya a better angle, hands gripping the bed, arms straining against their bonds. Aya stared at the glinting, polished metal of the cuffs, Yohji's long limbs stretched out, sinew and tendon shifting and working as he braced himself, wire-clever fingers gripping smooth wood.

Willing captive.

He started to move his hand over Yohji's cock, firm pressure, that little twisting motion at the end that he liked so much, thumb brushing over the dripping slit.

"Oh, shit, Aya, I'll... I can't.. oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Aya stroked his other hand up Yohji's spine, squeezed his shoulder. His fingers trembled along Yohji's jaw and chin, brushed his lips and were eagerly sucked into the warm, wet cavern of Yohji's mouth.

He felt Yohji's cock swell in his hand, knew he was about to come. The thought alone was enough to make his own balls crawl up tight, his cock suddenly aware of every tiny part of the slick flesh it was rubbing against.

For an instant, that's all there was. The thrusting and fucking, the heat and clench of Yohji's ass, the warm pulse of Yohji's cock as he shot semen over Aya's hand and the bed and his own chest; and the fucking and the fucking, and burying himself inside Yohji to come. Spurting. Filling him. Claiming him. The roar of blood in his ears, his own breath scorching his throat as he let out a long, incoherent cry.

It was all he could do to brace himself on shaking arms as he fell forward over Yohji's back, his head drooping, momentarily hypnotised by the gentle swing of his eartails over Yohji's knife-sharp shoulderblades.

They panted together for a moment, their breath settling slowly into the same, controlled rhythm.

"Key," muttered Yohji.

"What?" Aya raised his head, tried to focus on the world outside his own heartbeat.

"Uncuff me? I've lost feeling, here, Aya."

"Sorry. Oh, damn. Sorry." Aya straightened and left Yohji's body as carefully as he could; fished the key out of his pocket and released his lover. Fumbling a little with still-shaking fingers. Shocked, now, at what they'd done. At what he'd done.

He crawled onto the bed and took Yohji's hands in his, rubbed the life back into them with his own, never mind that they were sticky with come and spit and lube.

"That sweater really suits you," said Yohji, with a smile.

Aya felt his eyes drawn to Yohji's, found reassurance there. Warmth. Love.

"Yohji, I-"

"Kiss me."

That was easier. Always easier, to show feelings with the brush of lips and tongues, with looks and touches, than with words.

He tugged Yohji close, a pleased sigh escaping from him when Yohji slid his arms around him in return.

"I meant it," Yohji said. "I am yours. I wouldn't do this if I wasn't."

For a moment, Aya thought he was talking about the sex. Then he registered their surroundings again; the muddle of Yohji's old life strewn about, waiting to be sorted, thrown out and put away.

"I know," he said, softly. "I'm glad. I want it this way."

"Good," said Yohji. And then, after a little pause, already pulling away: "I suppose I'd better get on with clearing up. After all," he threw Aya a wink. "I wouldn't want you to have to get out the spanky stick again, would I?"

"Don't push it, Kudoh," Aya growled.

Yohji just grinned at him.

But while Yohji was occupied at the little sink in the corner of the room, singing quietly as he washed, Aya surreptitiously dropped the cuffs and bat back in the box, and kicked it neatly under the bed.

Just in case.

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