Ribbon

scribblemoose

Yohji wound a stray scrap of ribbon smoothly around his fingers, watching Aya out of the corner of his eye. Maybe today. Maybe this was the day Aya would finally forgive him.

It had started two weeks ago, on an afternoon just like this one. Aya was working at arrangements, like he was now, while Yohji watched him from his stool by the cash register...

Aya was pissed about something, that was for sure. And for once, Yohji had no idea whatsoever what, or who it was who had got him in such a mood. Whatever it had been, it was annoying, to say the least, because it looked sure to put an end to the fun he'd hoped to have that afternoon. They hadn't had a mission-free afternoon off together for weeks, and he'd hoped to spend every minute of in bed with his boyfriend.

That notion was fast becoming a dream.

"What?" growled Aya. "You keep staring at me."

"Of course I do," said Yohji, smoothly. "You're beautiful."

Aya grunted and turned away, but Yohji thought he caught the faint tint of a blush over his pale cheekbones before he did.

One of Yohji's many favourite things about Aya, was that he looked nearly as good from the back as from the front. His hair clustered around the nape of his neck, bringing out the soft tones of his skin, gleaming scarlet on ivory. Thankfully he wasn't wearing the orange sweater today; he'd borrowed one of Yohji's instead, soft cashmere in a pale green, slightly too big for him, revealing a hint of collarbone and well-muscled shoulder. The sweater fell to his hips, nipped in at his waist by the string of his apron, and brushed the top of his low-slung jeans when he leaned over, his butt tight and round and just begging to be palmed and squeezed.

Yohji surreptitiously adjusted his clothing under the counter, and smirked.

"It's one o'clock," he purred. "You want to come upstairs with me, kitten?"

Aya turned with a growl. "Ken's not back yet. And you can wipe that stupid expression off your face. You'll frighten the customers."

"Kenken's only in the greenhouse with Omi. I'll go fetch him, our shift's done, after all and..."

"Good. Fine." Aya stripped off his apron. "You do that. Don't bother saving me lunch, I'll eat out." He folded his apron neatly and stashed it away in the worktable drawer.

"Hey! Hang on, where're you going?" Yohji protested. "I thought we could do something together, maybe just you and me and-"

"You never think of anything else, do you?" snapped Aya. "It's always about sex. Fuck, Kudoh, there's life outside of the bedroom, you know. It would do you good to see it from time to time."

"And you could do to loosen up, you know that? I let you drag me to that interminable opera last week, didn't I?"

Aya said nothing. He calmly collected together the tools he'd been using, scissors and wire, ribbon and oasis. He wouldn't even look at Yohji.

"A-y-aa, please..."

Aya just carried on putting his things away. Yohji saw the vision of an afternoon of bliss with his lover fade before his very eyes, and he didn't like it at all.

"Fuck, but you can be a frigid kitty sometimes. If you let yourself go a bit more often, maybe you wouldn't get in such a mood."

The air went still.

Aya slid the drawer shut, painfully slowly, before he finally turned his eyes on Yohji.

"What did you say?"

Yohji met his gaze defiantly. "Well," he said. "You are. You fight me every inch of the way, every time, and I'm getting sick of it. It's not as if you don't like it. You moaned like a whore last night, once finally persuaded you to come to bed. So when are you going to stop kidding yourself and admit you like it?" Yohji realised his temper was flaring out of control; he'd been looking forward to the afternoon so much, and Aya hadn't even had the courtesy to tell him he'd made other plans. "You're one fucking high maintenance bastard, Fujimiya! You know what? I don't care what you're doing today that's so damn important it's worth standing me up for. You go and do whatever you fucking like."

He noticed a flash of hurt, too late. Damn.

"Aya... Aya, wait."

He was already at the door, one hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry, Aya, it was just..."

"Shut up, Kudoh." Aya's shoulders were trembling with rage, his voice low and dangerously calm.

"But I..."

"Don't tell me you're sorry. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear you at all. You're a self-centred, egotistical, sex-obsessed bastard, Kudoh Yohji, and I wouldn't sleep with you again if you were wrapped up in ribbon and given to me as a present."

Yohji stared in startled misery as Aya opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

"Yohji-kun," came a sad voice from behind him.

"You stupid ass," came another, not so sad.

"What?" he said, feebly. "What?"

He turned around; Omi was shaking his head sadly, Ken was looking more incredulous than anything else.

"You have no idea what day it is, have you?" said Ken.

Yohji looked helplessly at the door, the little bell above it still swinging from Aya's exit.

"Yohji-kun," said Omi.

"It's not his birthday," Yohji thought out loud. "That was last month." He remembered it well, particularly how much Aya had enjoyed the hot springs and the massage Yohji had treated him to. And the even hotter massage Yohji had applied himself when they'd got home. "It's not Aya-chan's birthday. So what? What did I miss?"

"It's the anniversary, baka," said Ken.

"Of the day his parents died," added Omi.

"The... what?" Yohji stared at Omi as if he were speaking a foreign language.

"When Takatori killed his parents, and blew up his house, and when Aya-chan was hurt..."

Ken's words faded from Yohji's ears as he finally realised why Aya had been in such a bad mood, and just how much his words must have hurt him.

"Oh fuck," he whispered.

* * * * * * *

He waited up til gone midnight to make Aya a hot drink and try to apologise. It was three in the morning when his boyfriend finally returned, soaked to the skin from the rain and looking like death. Yohji didn't even try to put his apology into words. He wouldn't have known where to start. Instead he offered him soup, found towels and dry sweatpants and even the dreaded orange sweater, ran Aya a hot bath and left him to take it unmolested.

Aya accepted Yohji's care without a word, not looking him in the eye, haunted by a deep sadness that it hurt Yohji to look at.

He woke in the early morning sun to find that he'd fallen asleep still waiting for Aya to come out of the bath. But Aya's book and hairbrush had gone from the bedside table; he must have gone back to his old room to sleep, Yohji realised, with a sinking heart. He slowly got undressed, and briefly considered going to check, to makes sure Aya was alright, maybe to slip into bed next to him and offer the comfort of his arms.

He couldn't. Aya would just think he was coming on to him, more than likely, and he'd make things even worse.

Yohji slid into his cold, half-empty bed, and tried to go back to sleep.

* * * * * * *

After three days of following Aya around and catering to his every need, even to the point where he was probably driving the man to distraction with his over-attentiveness, Yohji finally managed to put his regret into words. He found Aya in the greenhouse, tending his seedlings, pressing earth gently around fragile roots, carefully pinching out sprouting leaves here and there, treating the little plants to his rare, tiny smiles.

For the first time since their row, he looked Yohji in the eye.

Yohji told him he was sorry, and kept telling him, until eventually the hostility faded from Aya's eyes, to be replaced by a sad, helpless look that was twice as painful, even if it meant he wasn't mad at Yohji any more.

He didn't say it, but Yohji knew. It was always the same. Whenever Aya needed Yohji for something other than a tryst beneath the sheets, he wasn't there for him, for some reason or another. It wasn't good. It wasn't good at all.

Which made it all the more surprising, that when Aya finally consented to speak to him, and he asked him what he wanted, what would make it better, Aya whispered:

"You. Just you, Yohji. Just as you are."

For once, there was no wise crack, no innuendo on the tip of Yohji's tongue. He took Aya in his arms, taking care not to rub his erection over his lover's hip, or to gasp with pleasure at the feel of Aya's fingers stroking through his hair. He was absolutely determined that he wouldn't initiate anything more than a hug, until Aya was good and ready for it. In fact, he promised himself, even if he could see the heated desire in the violet eyes he loved so dearly, he wouldn't make a move. It would be Aya's choice, completely.

He held Aya tight, and planted a single kiss in scarlet strands to seal his vow.

* * * * * * *

Which was all very well, thought Yohji. But that was two whole weeks ago. He still hadn't made a move, hadn't pawed at Aya, or kissed him, or anything.

Thing was, Aya hadn't made a move, either.

He had been perfectly friendly, and once or twice, Yohji had caught him looking at him with something that seemed like longing, but apart from an occasional hug or a swift peck on the cheek, nothing. He'd gone back to sitting on the floor when they watched television, rather than curling up in Yohji's lap. He'd lean his back against the armchair where Yohji sat, not quite never touching him, because there was the odd accidental brush of an arm against his leg as he settled, or turned to pick up his mug. He slept in his own bed, although he said goodnight to Yohji every night with a touch to his shoulder and a warm smile that made Yohji's body ache with longing. Leaving Yohji with no choice but to wank himself to sleep, his own hand never enough to satisfy him, only barely easing his physical need, never mind his emotional longing to have Aya back where he belonged, strong and beautiful and quivering under his touch.

Yohji sighed, smoothing out the length of florists ribbon on his apron-covered lap, and wished the scarlet stripe was one of Aya's eartails, lying smooth and stark on his skin as he slowly licked his way up the length of Yohji's...

"Yohji?"

Yohji started guiltily, and looked up to find Aya handing him a potted begonia.

"Ribbon, Yohji?"

Yohji made a strangled noise and took the pot from Aya with shaking hands, looked at him with the most adorable, needy, pleading eyes in the world. But Aya just smiled a tiny smile and turned back to his worktable.

Yohji looked down at the ribbon on the counter, spilling in red coils onto the polished wood.

"I wouldn't sleep with you again if you were wrapped up in ribbon and given to me as a present."

His balls ached, and beyond that, his whole being ached, to hold Aya in his arms, to kiss him until they both trembled, to taste his skin and sink inside him. To feel whole again.

What the fuck, thought Yohji. It's worth a try.

Anything would be better than this.

* * * * * * *
Aya closed his book, and set it neatly on the little table by the side of the window seat. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them, gazing wistfully out over the fading of another evening, the sky settling from cream and pink to indigo, Tokyo's neon dressings springing into focus.

He wondered why Yohji didn't want him any more.

It had been two whole weeks, and still his boyfriend was treading on eggshells around him. He'd tried to let Yohji know he was forgiven, endlessly brushing up against him or giving him the smiles that just a couple of weeks ago would have guaranteed he would get pounced within seconds. But nothing.

All afternoon he'd been watching Yohji, his clever fingers tying ribbon around the arrangements and plantings Aya had created, those long, agile fingers, that felt so good stroking his skin, easing inside him, making him ache with pleasure.

He ached now, and it was an altogether different experience. He didn't like it. He didn't like that Yohji could make him feel like this, so desperate for the other man that every time he looked in those big, repentant eyes it was all he could do to stop himself ripping his clothes off and bending him over the counter right there and then...

"Aya-kun? Yohji-kun says could you go see him? He's in his room? He says he's got something for you."

"What?"

"Yohji-kun wants you. In his room. Ken and I are off to the movies now. See you later! Have a nice evening, Aya-kun!"

"You too, Omi." Aya slipped from the window seat with a sigh. He should ask Yohji what was wrong, he knew he should. He should just come right out and ask what was going on.

Aya slipped a sweater over his head, soft cashmere, the one he'd borrowed from Yohji the day they'd had the row, and despair settled on him. He couldn't ask Yohji about their relationship, any more than he could explain how he'd felt when he'd picked this jumper out of Yohji's drawer that morning, wanting something that was warm and comforting and smelt of Yohji to get him through the day.

Aya shut the door of his room behind him, and paused outside Yohji's, just a step away.

It had to be some kind of punishment that Yohji was putting him through. Because he'd shut Yohji out, hadn't told him why he was so upset that day. Because, however understanding Yohji had been when he'd let him, he was always on about opening up more and talking, and he must have resented that Aya couldn't share the memory of the worst day of his life with him. He'd told him, over and over, "the bad and the good, Aya, I want it all, I want to know what makes you tick, what hurts you, what makes you happy. All of it."

Aya tried. He really did. But Yohji had no idea how hard it was to open up, to accept what Yohji offered so freely. What he'd used to offer so freely.

He knocked once on Yohji's door, pushed it open when Yohji's deep voice bid him to.

And got the shock of his life.

Laid out on the bed like a vision from a painting was Yohji, swathed in yards and yards of blood-red ribbon, endless strands of crimson striping his golden skin. He lay on his side facing the door, hips twisted and one leg thrown forward, an arm tossed back over his head. The room was lit with candles and one soft lamp, the flames casting a glow over Yohji's naked body, his hair spilling like sunshine over the pillow.

"Yotan," he gasped, unable to take his eyes off the vision laid out before him, his mind reeling from the shock.

"I'll understand if you don't want me," Yohji said. "But I can't wait any more. It's driving me nuts. If you're done with me, just walk out of the door and..."

"Don't want you?" Aya gasped, struggling to understand what on earth Yohji was talking about. "What d'you mean, don't want you?"

"You haven't touched me, since... I thought, I..." Yohji tailed off, his perceptive eyes taking in the expression on Aya's face. He rolled over a little, the ribbons shifting around him with a hiss.

"It's you," said Aya. "You haven't touched me, and I..." His mind raced back over the past two weeks, looking again at all the glances and the touches, his hesitant, tiny advances.

Yohji hadn't realised. He'd been so shy, so damn subtle, that Yohji had thought...

Aya looked at him, sprawled out there on the bed, literally offering himself to Aya like a gift, and wanted to cry. Or kill something. Or...

He reached out and picked up a stray end of ribbon, winding it around his finger.

"All this time," he murmured. "You wanted me?"

"Of course I did," said Yohji. "I always want you. All the time. All the fucking time, Aya."

"Then..."

"I wanted to prove to you that I could leave you alone, if you wanted me to, that I didn't have to... I wanted you to make the first move."

"I did."

"What?"

"I did make a move... lots of times." Aya was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on the conversation; his eyes kept being drawn to Yohji's body, muscles shifting slightly as he breathed and moved under the caress of the rough florists' ribbon.

"I thought that was just you being friendly," said Yohji.

"Friendly?"

"Um.. yes. Friendly. Shit, Aya, if that's you making a move remind me to send you for pouncing lessons."

Something inside Aya snapped. The shock of finding Yohji like this, perfect temptation; the relief at knowing it wasn't over after all, that Yohji still wanted him with every gorgeous, perverted bone in his body; the embarrassment and annoyance he felt at himself for not making his feelings clearer - Yohji's gentle taunt took the confusion of his feelings and twisted them together, until all he felt was anger and lust. Mostly, it had to be said, lust.

"Shut up," he said, his eyes glittering down at Yohji though crimson bangs. "And don't move. I'll show you fucking pouncing, Kudoh."

From anyone else, that would have been funny. But Yohji sank back into the mattress, and daren't even smile. He waited.

Aya crossed his arms in front of him, grasped the hem of his sweater and pulled it slowly over his head. Yohji watched, flicking his tongue over dry lips, as Aya's belly, chest and shoulders were revealed to him, pale skin flecked with shimmering shadows from the candle light. He shook his hair free of the jumper and dropped it on the floor behind him, ran his long fingers down his own body, smoothing around his hips to the fly of his jeans, toying with the button. He was wearing the emerald stud in his belly piercing, the one Yohji had given him for his birthday just a few weeks ago; it glinted at him, teasing him, begging to be snagged and tweaked.

His hand sneaked out to touch it, but Aya slapped it back.

His stomach flipped; his cock twitched and leaked against the bed as Aya glowered at him.

"Not 'til I say," Aya growled.

Yohji groaned.

Aya unzipped his jeans, peeling them back to reveal the firm ridge of his cock, bound firmly in cotton underwear. Yohji could only gape as Aya stroked himself firmly through the soft fabric, a couple of settling hugs of his palm. Then he slid his jeans down his thighs and stepped gracefully out of them, toeing off his socks and kicking them under the bed.

He turned his back, hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his briefs and very, very slowly peeled them down his legs, bending over to pull them off his feet. Yohji just stared, his hands twitching to reach out and touch the perfect globes of Aya's ass.

"Aya, please... oh baby...please, Kitten, please..."

"Hn." Aya turned back to the bed, his cock bouncing long and rock-hard against his belly.

"I want you so bad," begged Yohji. "Don't be mean."

"On your knees."

Yohji obediently shifted onto his hands and knees, the ribbons loosening as he did so, some of them falling from his body. He dared to wiggle his perfectly rounded butt a little, hiding a smile as he spotted the flicker of response in Aya's eyes.

"Go on, Aya. You know you want to."

He gave Aya another tempting little wiggle, tossing his hair down his back for good measure.

To his astonishment he felt a sharp smack across his right buttock.

"Aya!"

"Stop that," growled Aya.

A beat.

"Unless you want another smack."

Yohji smiled into the pillow, and wiggled.

He gasped as Aya's hand cracked across his backside again, harder this time; Yohji wiggled again, earning another smack, and then another. Then Aya stopped waiting for Yohji's teasing wriggles and just spanked him.

Aya spanked, like he did everything, perfectly. Not too hard, not too soft, crisp, clean strokes that smarted and brought tears to Yohji's eyes for the barest second before his skin began to tingle and glow. Yohji made sure he flinched, just a little more than the blows warranted, and he could feel Aya's satisfaction at his response.

Then Aya stopped, leaving Yohji's backside prickly hot and exposed in the cool air. Yohji rested his forehead on the pillow, resisting the urge to reach down and take his aching cock in his hand.

"On your back."

He obediently rolled over in a rustle of tangled ribbon, pleased to note that Aya's face was flushed and his cock hard as ever, dribbling a thin line of precome over Yohji's thigh as he moved over him.

Aya had managed to disentangle a length of ribbon, he realised, and he had hold of both Yohji's wrists.

"What-"

"Shut up, Kudoh."

Yohji bit his lip and waited patiently while Aya wound the ribbon around his wrists, tying them crossed together above his head, looping the ribbon around the slats in the headboard, tugging the knots tight.

He looked down at Yohji's face, and grinned.

"Kitten..."

Aya shimmied back down the bed, and knelt astride Yohji's knees. He glanced from Yohji's straining, dripping cock back to his face, and licked his lips.

Very, very slowly.

"Oh God," Yohji breathed.

Aya put one finger in his mouth and sucked slowly, his eyes fluttering shut, head tilted back so that his crimson hair fell back from his face. He parted his lips and flicked his tongue around his fingertip before engulfing it again.

He started, very slightly, to rock his hips.

"Oh shit," said Yohji.

Aya dragged his wet finger down over his lower lip and across his chest, to tease one pink nipple, circling the delicate flesh, leaving it moist and glistening, stiff with arousal. Then he wet his finger again and did the same with the other nipple.

He moved both hands down his body, and inch at a time, until he reached his own cock.

"Oh fuck," Yohji moaned.

Aya caressed the sides of his sex with loose knuckles, dragging the skin gently up and down, skimming the pink head with his thumbs at the top of each stroke. He opened his eyes, and looked at Yohji's erection, throbbing and leaking again into the gathering puddle of fluid on his belly.

Aya smiled, blinked lazily, and extended his finger to almost, almost touch the tip of Yohji's cock. Then, at the last minute, he snatched it back, and sucked it between his lips again.

Yohji just groaned.

"Tell me what you want," Aya breathed.

"If I tell you," Yohji gasped, "will you give it to me?"

"Maybe," said Aya. "If I feel like it."

Yohji had absolutely no doubt in his mind that Aya spoke the truth. He was capable of keeping this torment up for hours, Yohji realised, and without a single qualm. The man was pure ice and self-control, the perfect tease.

He loved him more than ever.

"Kiss me," said Yohji, and then when Aya tilted his head in a gesture of curiosity, surprised, he added with a wicked grin, "and then let me fuck you. Let me make you feel good. So good you'll know I'm sorry I was such a wanker as to forget something so important to you."

Aya's eyes widened; for a moment the mask slipped, and Yohji saw a glimpse of the real Aya behind all that iron-willed discipline and control: concerned, surprised, hurt, pleased. Warm. Loving.

Then his lips were on Yohji's, soft and slow, a tender, soothing kiss. Yohji twitched his hands in frustration, longing to comb them through Aya's hair and wind them in his eartails, but he couldn't. All he could do was lay there, as Aya took his kiss away from Yohji's mouth and down his arching throat, down his breastbone, between his ribs, and then his lips were hovering over the head of Yohji's cock, and Yohji's poor, frustrated body couldn't take any more and he felt as though his balls would explode if Aya touched him...

"Aya, please..."

Something in Yohji's ragged voice reached him, and Aya sat back on his heels, grasping Yohji's cock firmly between his finger and thumb, just below the head, taking the ache away, just a little. Barely. It was a thin line between coming and stopping at Aya's touch, but with force of will and a lot of deep breathing, Yohji managed to keep control of himself.

"Hn." Aya looked distinctly smug, as if he'd won some kind of a bet.

"Please," he begged.

Aya shuffled off the bed, and reached to the drawer by the bed to retrieve a tube of lubricant before kneeling back on the mattress.

"You sure?" he teased, gracefully swinging one leg over Yohji's thighs.

"Aya, if I don't... if I can't have you soon, I swear, I'll..."

"You'll what, Kudoh?" Aya paused, fingers dripping lube.

"I'll fucking die, Aya. I can't take any more, I want you so, so bad. Please, kitten. Please?"

He watched as Aya rocked back on his hips, legs spread wide so Yohji could see as he slathered lubricant around his puckered entrance. He slid first one and then two fingers inside himself, slicking his hole, making it good and ready for Yohji, stretching himself....

Aya's eyes fluttered shut as he slowly finger-fucked himself, and Yohji could only squirm, almost in tears now from the raw need that throbbed through every inch of his body.

"Aya, oh God, please, I'll do anything, love, please..."

"Shhhh," soothed Aya, and clasped Yohji's anxious, dripping cock by the root.

He lowered himself down, inch by glorious inch, making a low humming sound deep in his chest, as if he were savouring a particularly delicious treat.

Yohji flung his head back, fists clenched around the ribbons that bound him to the headboard, sinking sharp teeth into his lower lip to try and keep from coming. Aya's ass was so tight, so hot and slick, clenching wickedly around him. He dare not buck his hips, however much he wanted to, all he could do was lie there, squirming and wriggling under Aya's body as he started to move.

He watched Aya's eartails bounce on his shoulders, trying not to think too hard about how fucking good it felt, how much he'd missed this, missed Aya, missed the closeness and the intimacy and oh god, it was no good, he was going to come, couldn't help it, had to thrust, wanted more than anything to gush inside the slick heat of Aya's ass, now, he was so full, couldn't wait, had to be now, now, now...

Every muscle in his body snapped tight, his body arching, arms straining, the few remaining ribbons tight bands across his chest and belly as he fought his own need for one, futile second. Then a scream ripped from his lungs and the world went white; he was aware of nothing for a moment, nothing at all but his balls and his cock and the thick, hot come that spurted endlessly from his ache into Aya's body.

He flopped back onto the bed, boneless and gasping, and opened his eyes just in time to see Aya's final, frenzied stroking of his own cock, to catch the first squirt of hot fluid squarely between his eyes.

He laughed, and got the second in his mouth.

He rolled the taste of Aya around on his tongue, and it was the best flavour he'd ever tasted, like fucking nectar, sweet and warm with a kick to it like strong whiskey.

He was dimly aware of Aya untying the ribbons, releasing his arms, rubbing his wrists to bring the life back into them.

He pulled Aya into his arms with a soft cry, and held him for the longest time.

* * * * * * *

Later, when they'd come back from the shower, and sat on the bed draped in big white towels, Aya curled up on Yohji's lap, one arm draped around his neck, fingers threading through his damp hair, stealing kisses from time to time; then, at last, Yohji could tell him how sorry he was. How he understood. How he felt the same on the anniversary of Asuka's death. How next time, next year, they'd do something special together, to remember. A shrine, or a trip to where the house used to be, or they could go piss on Takatori's grave, or something. Whatever Aya wanted.

"I sometimes wish I could kill him again," Aya said. "It didn't seem right I only got to do it once."

Yohji felt a chill run down his spine.

"Then other times," Aya continued, "other times, I go for days without ever thinking about him at all. Is that wrong? It feels wrong. It's like I'm forgetting, like I'm betraying my family, everything I lost..."

Yohji pulled Aya a little closer, brushed his lips against the crimson silk of Aya's hair.

"You never forget them, Aya," he whispered. "That's what matters. Takatori's dead, now, done, he doesn't deserve your memory. You'll never forget them."

Aya didn't say anything. That was enough, Yohji reasoned, as he felt the warm puff of Aya's silent breath on his neck. He understood how hard it had been for Aya to say even that little, to let anyone that close to his personal grief.

It was a start.

Illustration by PL Nunn

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