Fate

by scribblemoose

Yohji woke in blind panic, sweating, panting, shaking.

Aya was lost. Dead. Lying in a pool of blood on the floor of that church, and...

No.

The part of Yohji's mind that kept him calm enough to do the killing made him aware of the warm, breathing, sleeping body next to his. Touching him from shoulder to hip, elbow prodding into his ribs, enough to hurt if it hadn't been for the padding of mission clothing; thick coats, like armour...

Yohji pulled himself firmly awake. If he slept any more tonight the dream would come back, and he couldn't take it again.

It had happened a lot, since they split up. Stopped fucking. Whatever it was Aya called it.

Yohji flung an arm across his eyes and sighed. It was getting light, and Omi would be there soon with a change of clothes and transportation, and they could go home. Which would be a relief, because sleeping on the hard floor of a cave in the mountains wasn't Yohji's idea of a good time. Sitting there last night talking to Aya over the bottle of wine they'd found stashed away here in the bad guys' hideout had been good, though. Painfully, stupidly good.

Friends. They could be friends. They'd been friends last night. See? Easy.

Except for the dreams, and the gnawing, empty place deep inside that wouldn't go away, no matter how many women he fucked, or how many times he reminded himself of what an asshole Aya could be. Cold. Shut down. Merciless. Humourless.

Only, that was the problem. Yohji had seen a different side of Aya, and he wasn't like that. He wasn't like that at all. The ruthless killer in Aya wasn't borne of cruelty or malice. It was rooted in integrity, in honour and a love for those close to him than ran deeper than than the ocean.

The love that Yohji had tasted, just for a little while, a few short days, and now he found he couldn't live without it.

Aya shifted, a frown furrowing his brow. Almost child-like in sleep; what would have been glaring menace in his waking self looked more like a petulant pout. Yohji smiled, despite himself. Aya would hate the idea that he looked cute when he was asleep. He made a mental note to point it out to him as soon as possible. If there was no pleasure to be had from fucking the man, he could at least get a kick out of goading him.

His fingers twitched to touch scarlet hair, to brush it back from his cheeks and kiss where it had been. Stupid. Pointless. He had to let it go. Had to. The pain would fade, the dreams would lessen, and things would get back to how they had been. Except without the simmering sexual tension, the flirting, the elaborate courtship.

He'd got what he wanted, after all. A little more than a month ago, in Osaka on a fact finding mission, the glances turned to looks, the inuendo turned to outright invitation and he'd found out who Aya really was. Wallowed in passion and lust and didn't get out of bed for two days. And it wasn't just the sex, mind blowing though that had been. It was laughing, and watching porn on cable, (about which Aya had been so coy and shocked) and talking about their childhoods.

It had frightened Aya rigid, Yohji realised later. Because to Aya loving someone wasn't a warm fuzzy feeling, or at least not for long. It meant he had another soul to protect, another risk of grief, another reason to kill. It ran too deep.

"Yohji..."

Yohji felt a thrill at the notion that Aya was awake. He yearned for his company, to hear his voice, to look too deeply into calm violet eyes. But he was still asleep, the frown tighter, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Yohji," he said again, and this time there was a tone of desperation that tugged at Yohji's gut.

"Aya, I'm here," he said, softly. "It's okay, I'm..."

"Yohji!" Horror, blind and simple.

"Aya, wake up. I'm here! It's okay, it's-"

Aya's eyes snapped open, and Yohji realised he'd been shaking him. His throat was tight, mouth dry, and relief washed over them both as Aya came awake.

"Yohji?" Gentle fingertips drifted across Yohji's cheekbone, slid into his hair. "Yohji, I-"

Aya's eyes were searching his face, drinking in the sight of him. A look too painfully familiar for Yohji not to know what had happened.

"You were dreaming," he said.

"I know, I-"

For an instant they looked at each other, eye to eye, soul to soul, deep and real and no going back. Then Aya surged up and kissed him, swallowing Yohji's startled squeak, kissed him hard and wet and long, slid arms around him, tugged him close, and Yohji drowned. His mind shut down, not daring to think about what was happening, just focusing on the pleasure of Aya in his arms; not noticing the chill of the air as they cast off clothing, pressing shivering bodies together for warmth. So hard and so deep and so right, every bit of Aya's skin calling out to be touched and kissed, every inch of his cock begging to be sucked and licked. Easier, this, to be consumed by desire and heat and physical need and not care about the afterwards.

He rolled onto his back, pulling Aya with him. Arched and bit his lip to taste blood, copper-bright, as Aya engulfed him, took him, rode him. Aya's insides slick and hot and tight and so perfect it made Yohji ache all over, letting out a sob as he thrust deep and deep and deeper.

Afterwards, when the blood cooled and the flesh softened and the tears dried, and reason flooded back.

Yohji lay in the new morning light with Aya in his arms, and dared not to hope.

"I can't, Yohji." Inevitable as the dawn, rejection.

"I know. It's okay."

"It is?"

"Mmm." Nothing left to form words, wondering how long before Aya pulled away, their fate sealed, love ended.

"I thought you might... I thought, after what I said, I didn't know how to... I didn't... I thought you might not be interested, or-"

Yohji frowned in confusion, his heart racing. "Interested?"

"In me. In us. In... whatever this is going to be."

Yohji slowly turned his head to look at Aya, not daring to even think.

"What? Are you... what?"

"I don't think we can fight it," Aya said. "Do you?"

Yohji let that sink into his being, slowly, slowly, flooding every bit of him.

"No," he said. "We can't."

And Aya smiled at him, and he smiled back.

As deep as the ocean.