Lust
By Tien Riu
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Disclaimer:
Weiss Kreuz and all characters do not belong to me. Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.
C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.
"Lust" is the first of three Weiss Kreuz stories that are determinedly yaoi (that means homosexual relationships for the initiated) and (unfortunately, since I was aiming for a PWP at the start and failed miserable) plot-driven. For those who are interested, "Do you believe in sin?" is a short background story to this series - however, you don't need to read it to understand anything that happens.
Extra Note: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! In partial thanks for the wonderful reviews and responses I've received this year from all of you in the Weiss fandom (and also because Briar Rose and I wanted all of your opinions) I give you 'Reflected' and 'Skewed'.
The reason for this? Well - Briar Rose pointed some pertinent facts out to me as I struggled through this chapter - and the end result was that by the time I finished, there were two versions ('Reflected', the actual chapter, and 'Skewed' the alternate version).
In the end, we decided 'Reflected' was the way to go - but we want to know which chapter you prefer. The differences start about halfway through 'Skewed' (but I've attached the full chapter anyway - just to give it the right 'feel').
With thanks to the reviewers: kyou, ramenmaiden, nekojita, yochan, antigone, cabbit, Opus, Laura B, Race Ulfson, elf-bi-dragon, toni, nya and nynki
And with eternal gratitude, praise and much worship to Briar Rose who once more did the impossible in getting this chapter (my first ever PWP) polished to a high sparkle that not only saw Youji and Aya in compromising positions but managed to ensure it remained in-character and plot-orientated. ^_^
Author's Note after chapter. Enjoy!
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Reflected
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Here, there is no form.
Here, there is no sound.
Here, even sight is superfluous; there is nothing here, for here is nothing.
And 'nothing' is white; from horizon to horizon, there is an endless white.
I recognise it; created it during my childhood to stop the nightmares (or hide from them, there is no true difference).
My dreams of Asuka inevitably end up here - in the white that holds no shadows and no memories.
This time, it is different.
He is standing there, clothed in white. In the light, his hair is a startling blood red that scatters across the paleness of his skin.
His eyes are violet.
The whiteness - the nothing - had never contained anybody but me before. But Aya is there, staring down at me.
As he is in real life, so is he in my dreams. Incomprehensible. Enigma.
Aya.
"Youji." His voice, lower than mine (and why now, in my dream, did that finally strike me as strange that Aya - the sexless swordsman, the violent florist - should have a voice made for husky seduction) disturbs the silence.
He circles me; I look down and realise that where there had been nothing before now contains a bed.
I am on a bed. Sprawled on the covers. White covers.
I am dreaming; Aya is in my dream.
Aya is in my dream – which is impossible because nobody can
share dreams. So I am dreaming of Aya.
In my dream.
Aya.
Aya in my dream.
Life is good. I didn't stop myself from grinning. I love lucid dreaming.
The real Aya might remain an inscrutable stranger with as much interest in my body as Mr Yokino from down the street (straighter than Ken-Ken; complete with fanaticism of a sport that involves a lot of running in hot weather – cricket in his case) - but in my dreams at least, he will be whatever I want him to be. Hello little demon Aya.
Well – one hopes not too little.
And that thought at least deserves a snicker; I snicker.
He frowns – and that is not part of the script. I rise from the bed, elbows sliding against sheets with the sensation of velvet but the smoothness of silk (it's a dream – why sweat the impossibilities?). Funny how little details like that can catch the attention at inopportune moments.
"I look better close up." It comes out exactly the way I want it to – a purr that reminds me of sleazy pick up lines and sex on wheels.
Which might not be particularly smooth (or frankly of credible use to anybody older than eighteen) but this is my dream and if I want it to be smutty and without redeeming qualities, then it shall be.
Aya is watching me, eyes narrowed. That is not part of the script either.
Well okay so it is exactly what Aya would do if I had spouted a clichéd line while sprawled on a bed (before or after he reaches for his katana makes no difference). But this is my dream damn it!
I frown; "We should be naked."
He arches an eyebrow, "Why?"
"Because sex is better when people are naked." (Actually that isn't strictly true – but before I advance to the double-fudge and nuts, I'd like to see what vanilla sex with Aya is like)
"Are we going to have sex?" he's amused – that is part of the script (or at least so out of character for Aya that it must be something my sub-conscious created).
"Yes."
"You sound certain."
"It's my dream." (Why did I suddenly sound petulant?)
"And that makes you certain?"
"Of course!" I was being petulant – nothing like having your dirty dream stop before mutual nudity is achieved for a debate, "This is my dream – and we should be naked and having sex." I pause – Aya is still staring at me, "Now would be a good time to start." He is still staring at me – and this is getting ridiculous, "You can get naked now."
The endless expanse of white is gone.
I am naked – I can feel the smooth sensation of unreal sheets, cold beneath my back.
Aya is kneeling over me – knees on either side of my arms (and so close that if I shifted my hand up, I would brush against his inner thigh – and that is closer to Aya than I ever thought I'd get). I love lucid dreaming.
"You think you're in control."
"I am in control." I retort, "Although by the way – I am definitely the dominant in this relationship so you should be on the bottom."
"You're not in control."
Funny how the situation should have been erotic (or at least vaguely sexual) but all I felt was a obscure sense of irritation that my dream-Aya wasn't doing what I wanted him to do (which was strip and stay still while I experimented on exactly how far I had to go to make Snippy the Snow-Man melt).
"It's my dream. If I'm not in control then who is?" I snap.
"I am." The whisper shivers up and down my spine and sparks in my brain and between my legs.
And its suddenly very erotic that he's kneeling over me fully dressed while I am naked.
He looks down at my sudden erection, "And I will remain in control – You~ji." He whispers, "Won't I?" He shifts slightly, lifting one hand (No – oh god – he isn't – he will – I love lucid dreams -!) and gently taps my cock, "Won't I?"
The words slip out – straight from my brain and id to my mouth: "Yes."
And one sentence repeats in my head: Please don't let me wake up.
Aya smirks, and grasps my erection in a not-so-gentle fist. I nudge my hips, trying to move into the motion – or perhaps out of it. Or perhaps in and out of it – this dirty dream wasn't moving as fast as I wanted it to. He is holding me flat against the bed with one hand - calluses chaff gently against my stomach.
He stares; begins tracing my cock with light fingers – as if attempting to memorise it by sensation. I can't complain; my body arches upwards despite the hand holding me in place.
"Don't move." He had leaned forward, hair tickling my face (Please don't let me wake up.), "Don't make a sound." Eyes unreadable, "Or I will stop you."
I can't stop the snort: "Yeah – this is my dream. You can't stop me –"
One blink – and another – and I find my legs spread, tethered to the sides of a bed I barely knew I was on. I shift – and realise my arms are stretched over my head, pulling my body taunt. He is still kneeling over me.
"I can." Aya whispered, and I can feel long, slender fingers playing with my (decidedly neglected) erection before abandoning it (damn!) and squeezing my balls gently, "I can." The last a breath of sound.
I blink. Aya's leaned back, head tilted to one side. My erection waves, unnoticed by him, as he stares thoughtfully over my head to something else.
I try to arch slightly – bring back to his attention the important things in this dream – and find that I can't.
"You spoke." Aya said suddenly, "You shouldn't."
That gives me pause, I smirk up at him, "Come now Aya - after all this time working together you should know that saying what I want is what Youji Kudou is all about." I quip.
"Is it?" the words are whispered, I hear them and narrow my eyes.
"You can't stop me."
He is leaning on me - pressed against me, hip to chest.
I squirm - material slides against my skin, catching on my nipples before moving on. The moan I hear is my own - and when I open eyes I never realised I had closed, I find myself staring into his eyes.
And the world suddenly narrows to violet. Violet.
And roses. . .
"Be quiet." Aya whispers, lips so close to mine that I can feel the puff of warmth as he speaks.
"Why should I?" I breath out - more because answering seemed expected than because I wanted to speak. Or think. (Think? With all the blood rushing southward?)
He kisses me. Teeth scraping against my lower lip, breath shared - saliva swapped (okay maybe not the last but I have hopes). It's a kiss. From Aya. One that I didn't have to initiate. In a sexual setting. Please don't let me wake up.
He leans back - half kneeling, half sitting on my stomach (Just a little lower. . .) and stares down. He isn't smiling - but the satisfaction rolls off him.
I cough.
Aya frowns.
"Oh come on Aya." I smirk, "Kissing me to make me stay quiet? What have you been doing? Reading romance novels in the supermarket check out line?" He arches an eyebrow and I find myself adding defensively: "Not that I do that. Read romances in the -" I glare, "Can we get to the sex now?"
I wriggle slightly - and find that I can barely move with his weight on me.
And now, Aya is smirking. Or at least his eyes have moved up a notch from glare-of-death to vague amusement (or less than homicidal-wrath-approaches, which is the usual default).
"So kissing won't keep you quiet?" he shifts slightly to his knees, cloth of pants brushing against the tip of my erection - my breath catches, I arch and catch nothing but air as he shifts downwards till he is slightly above my chest, still watching me.
Please don't let me wake up.
Aya is still watching me, eyes unreadable (at least to me - I've never been good at understanding significant glares) before he lowers his head and gently presses his lips against the skin in the shadow of my neck. I feel warmth - a puff of air. A slide of wet - scrape of teeth. He sucks, I arch - catch air and moan.
"Be quiet."
He moves, tongue tracing a path - around my nipples (Damn it!), over stomach muscles that clench and unclench as he pauses briefly to suck (Oh - oh - oh -) and continues down. He - oh god - he is -
Please - please - please - don't let me wake up. I promise I'll be good for the rest of my life if I just don't wake up -
Down to my hips, and pauses. (Argh!)
"Kissing won't keep you quiet."
"I'll keep my mouth shut." I swear immediately, body tensed and arched upwards in supplication, "Please Aya -"
He leans back, "Better." A pause, "Much better. I like you this way, You~ji." A hand traces my cheek (why in hell did I imagine up a cock-tease Aya?!), sliding down my neck and chest. It pauses (Argh!), pinching slightly at the nipples before moving down to stop at my stomach, "Stretched out. Silent. Unable to move." The words tinged with pleasure as he paused, "Helpless."
"I'm only keeping quiet if you do something." I warn, nudging my hips, "Come on A~ya -!"
My erection rasps against the cloth of his pants as I arch; the moan escapes without conscious thought. And while there is a certain lack of sophistication involved in coming by humping your partner's leg - at this stage, I'll try anything.
"Please -"
And finally - Finally! - he shifts again, moving back down and gently presses his mouth against the very tip of my (extremely ignored) cock. I moan and arch - and he -
"Wake up."
Followed by three thumps.
And I am awake, staring wide eyed with shock at Aya - standing far above me - then at the three books lying beside my head.
I'm awake.
With a hard on that would be making a tent in my blankets were they not twisted around my body (thankfully shielding my obvious state from the sword-wielding team-mate).
"Ah -" my not-very-articulate response I can blame completely on the non-existent changeover between dreaming and waking.
And the erection. Oh God -
Aya turns and stalks out of the room.
I roll over and stare at the books - Textbooks. The titles are vaguely familiar - from the time I accidentally spilled coffee and vodka (don't ask) over Omi's school bag and had to replace his school books. Philosophy. Psychology and the Physiology of the Brain. Anatomy of the Human Body.
My current assumption is that Aya wants me to read the textbooks. Why and for what reason is - as usual - beyond the comprehension of any person not named 'Aya Fujimiya'.
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.
There are no thoughts to be had when the focus of your wet dream wakes you up just before he's about to give you a blow job. There are however a few words.
They are: Fuck. Shit. And - I need to kill somebody.
But first: I'm going to go take care of some things in the bathroom. I hate Aya. I really do. I mean - yes, being Weiss has interfered with my sex life on occasion, but honestly, when a man can't have a dirty dream without interruption at inappropriate moments there's something extremely wrong with the world.
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And now - the alternate version of 'Reflected' - 'Skewed'. If you don't understand what 'Skewed' is about, go back and read the 'Extra Note' at the top of this chapter.
TR
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Skewed
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Here, there is no form.
Here, there is no sound.
Here, even sight is superfluous; there is nothing here, for here is nothing.
And 'nothing' is white; from horizon to horizon, there is an endless white.
I recognise it; created it during my childhood to stop the nightmares (or hide from them, there is no true difference).
My dreams of Asuka inevitably end up here - in the white that holds no shadows and no memories.
This time, it is different.
He is standing there, clothed in white. In the light, his hair is a startling blood red that scatters across the paleness of his skin.
His eyes are violet.
The whiteness - the nothing - had never contained anybody but me before. But Aya is there, staring down at me.
As he is in real life, so is he in my dreams. Incomprehensible. Enigma.
Aya.
"Youji." His voice, lower than mine (and why now, in my dream, did that finally strike me as strange that Aya - the sexless swordsman, the violent florist - should have a voice made for husky seduction) disturbs the silence.
He circles me; I look down and realise that where there had been nothing before now contains a bed.
I am on a bed. Sprawled on the covers. White covers.
I am dreaming; Aya is in my dream.
Aya is in my dream – which is impossible because nobody can
share dreams. So I am dreaming of Aya.
In my dream.
Aya.
Aya in my dream.
Life is good. I didn't stop myself from grinning. I love lucid dreaming.
The real Aya might remain an inscrutable stranger with as much interest in my body as Mr Yokino from down the street (straighter than Ken-Ken; complete with fanaticism of a sport that involves a lot of running in hot weather – cricket in his case) - but in my dreams at least, he will be whatever I want him to be. Hello little demon Aya.
Well – one hopes not too little.
And that thought at least deserves a snicker; I snicker.
He frowns – and that is not part of the script. I rise from the bed, elbows sliding against sheets with the sensation of velvet but the smoothness of silk (it's a dream – why sweat the impossibilities?). Funny how little details like that can catch the attention at inopptunate moments.
"I look better close up." It comes out exactly the way I want it to – a purr that reminds me of sleazy pick up lines and sex on wheels.
Which might not be particularly smooth (or frankly of credible use to anybody older than eighteen) but this is my dream and if I want it to be smutty and without redeeming qualities, then it shall be.
Aya is watching me, eyes narrowed. That is not part of the script either.
Well okay so it is exactly what Aya would do if I had spouted a clichéd line while sprawled on a bed (before or after he reaches for his katana makes no difference). But this is my dream damn it!
I frown; "We should be naked."
He arches an eyebrow, "Why?"
"Because sex is better when people are naked." (Actually that isn't strictly true – but before I advance to the double-fudge and nuts, I'd like to see what vanilla sex with Aya is like)
"Are we going to have sex?" he's amused – that is part of the script (or at least so out of character for Aya that it must be something my sub-conscious created).
"Yes."
"You sound certain."
"It's my dream." (Why did I suddenly sound petulant?)
"And that makes you certain?"
"Of course!" I was being petulant – nothing like having your dirty dream stop before mutual nudity is achieved for a debate, "This is my dream – and we should be naked and having sex." I pause – Aya is still staring at me, "Now would be a good time to start." He is still staring at me – and this is getting ridiculous, "You can get naked now."
The endless expanse of white is gone.
I am naked – I can feel the smooth sensation of unreal sheets, cold beneath my back.
Aya is kneeling over me – knees on either side of my arms (and so close that if I shifted my hand up, I would brush against his inner thigh – and that is closer to Aya than I ever thought I'd get). I love lucid dreaming.
"You think you're in control."
"I am in control." I retort, "Although by the way – I am definitely the dominant in this relationship so you should be on the bottom."
"You're not in control."
Funny how the situation should have been erotic (or at least vaguely sexual) but all I felt was a obscure sense of irritation that my dream-Aya wasn't doing what I wanted him to do (which was strip and stay still while I experimented on exactly how far I had to go to make Snippy the Snow-Man melt).
"It's my dream. If I'm not in control then who is?" I snap.
"I am." The whisper shivers up and down my spine and sparks in my brain and between my legs.
And its suddenly very erotic that he's kneeling over me fully dressed while I am naked.
He looks down at my sudden erection, "And I will remain in control – You~ji." He whispers, "Won't I?" He shifts slightly, lifting one hand (No – oh god – he isn't – he will – I love lucid dreams -!) and grasping my cock, "Won't I?"
The words slip out – straight from my brain and id to my mouth: "Yes."
And one sentence repeats in my head: Please don't let me wake up.
Aya smirks, tightening and relaxing his hold on my erection. I nudge my hips, trying to move into the motion – or perhaps out of it. Or perhaps in and out of it – this dirty dream wasn't moving as fast as I wanted it to. He is holding me flat against the bed with one hand; his calluses chaff my skin - it feels. . . Good.
He stares and I find myself unable to look away from his eyes. Violet.
Unseen, his hand moves against my cock - gentle tracing motions as if he is attempting to memorise it by sensation alone. I can't complain; my body arches upwards despite the hand holding me in place.
"Don't move." He had leaned forward, hair tickling my face (Please don't let me wake up.), "Don't make a sound." Eyes unreadable, "Or I will stop you."
I can't stop the snort: "Yeah – this is my dream. You can't stop me –"
One blink – and another – and I find my legs spread, tethered to the sides of a bed I barely knew I was on. I shift – and realise my arms are stretched over my head, pulling my body taunt. He is still kneeling over me.
"I can." Aya whispered, and I can feel long, slender fingers playing with my (decidedly neglected) erection before abandoning it (damn!) and squeezing my balls gently, "I can." The last a breath of sound.
I blink. Aya's leaned back, head tilted to one side. My erection waves, unnoticed by him, as he stares thoughtfully over my head to something else.
I try to arch slightly – bring back to his attention the important things in this dream – and find that I can't.
"You spoke." Aya said suddenly, "You shouldn't."
That gives me pause, I smirk up at him, "Come now Aya - after all this time working together you should know that saying what I want is what Youji Kudou is all about." I quip.
"Is it?" the words are whispered, I hear them and narrow my eyes.
"You can't stop me."
He is leaning on me - pressed against me, hip to chest.
I squirm - material slides against my skin, catching on my nipples before moving on. The moan I hear is my own - and when I open eyes I never realised I had closed, I find myself staring into his eyes.
And the world suddenly narrows to violet. Violet.
And roses. . .
"Be quiet." Aya whispers, lips so close to mine that I can feel the puff of warmth as he speaks.
"Why should I?" I breath out - more because answering seemed expected than because I wanted to speak. Or think. (Think? With all the blood rushing southward?)
The gag is tight, holding my mouth open - it's cloth. Of some sort. Too slick against teeth to be cotton - silk perhaps.
He leans down, kisses me. Teeth scrapes against my lower lip, my chin, the hollow of my neck. I gasp for breath - swallow convulsively - and try to moan. What escapes is strangled, sound caught by the gag.
It's a kiss. From Aya. One that I didn't have to initiate. In a sexual setting. Please don't let me wake up.
I feel his pleased smile against the skin of my neck. Bastard.
Sexy, erotic, control-freak of a bastard.
He leans back - half kneeling, half sitting on my stomach (Just a little lower. . .) and stares down. He isn't smiling - but the satisfaction rolls off him.
"Mine." Aya whispers - the words seem to send a jolt down my spine and straight to my frustrated erection, "Do you understand?"
I shake my head, try to speak - and can't. I glare instead.
Aya tilts his head to the side, considering - unfazed by my glare (obviously I have had less practise at this particular form of speechless communication).
Aya shifts slightly to his knees, cloth of pants brushing against the tip of my erection - my breath catches, I arch and catch nothing but air as he shifts downwards till he is slightly above my chest, still watching me.
Please don't let me wake up.
His eyes unreadable (at least to me - I've never been good at understanding significant glares), he lowers his head and gently presses his lips against the skin in the shadow of my neck. I feel warmth - a puff of air. A slide of wet - scrape of teeth. He sucks, I arch - catch air and, unable to moan, pant through the gag instead.
"Be quiet."
He moves, tongue tracing a path - around my nipples (Damn it!), over stomach muscles that clench and unclench as he pauses briefly to suck (Oh - oh - oh -) and continues down. He - oh god - he is -
Please - please - please - don't let me wake up. I promise I'll be good for the rest of my life if I just don't wake up -
Down to my hips, and pauses. (Argh!)
And suddenly, the gag vanishes.
"Well?" the words are low - soft and whispered.
"I'll keep my mouth shut." I swear immediately, body tensed and arched upwards in supplication, "Please Aya -"
He leans back, "Better." A pause, "Much better. I like you this way, You~ji." A hand traces my cheek (why in hell did I imagine up a cock-tease Aya?!), sliding down my neck and chest. It pauses (Argh!), pinching slightly at the nipples before moving down to stop at my stomach, "Stretched out. Silent. Unable to move." The words tinged with pleasure as he paused, "Helpless."
"I'm only keeping quiet if you do something." I warn, nudging my hips, "Come on A~ya -!"
My erection rasps against the cloth of his pants as I arch; the moan escapes without conscious thought. And while there is a certain lack of sophistication involved in coming by humping your partner's leg - at this stage, I'll try anything.
"Please -"
And finally - Finally! - he shifts again, moving back down and gently presses his mouth against the very tip of my (extremely ignored) cock. I moan and arch - and he -
"Wake up."
Followed by three thumps.
And I am awake, staring wide eyed with shock at Aya - standing far above me - then at the three books lying beside my head.
I'm awake.
With a hard on that would be making a tent in my blankets were they not twisted around my body (thankfully shielding my obvious state from the sword-wielding team-mate).
"Ah -" my not-very-articulate response I can blame completely on the non-existent changeover between dreaming and waking.
And the erection. Oh God -
Aya turns and stalks out of the room.
I roll over and stare at the books - Textbooks. The titles are vaguely familiar - from the time I accidentally spilled coffee and vodka (don't ask) over Omi's school bag and had to replace his school books. Philosophy. Psychology and the Physiology of the Brain. Anatomy of the Human Body.
My current assumption is that Aya wants me to read the textbooks. Why and for what reason is - as usual - beyond the comprehension of any person not named 'Aya Fujimiya'.
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.
There are no thoughts to be had when the focus of your wet dream wakes you up just before he's about to give you a blow job. There are however a few words.
They are: Fuck. Shit. And - I need to kill somebody.
But first: I'm going to go take care of some things in the bathroom. I hate Aya. I really do. I mean - yes, being Weiss has interfered with my sex life on occasion, but honestly, when a man can't have a dirty dream without interruption at inappropriate moments there's something extremely wrong with the world.
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Author's Note: Two PWPs for the price of one chapter. ^_^
Now tell me and Briar Rose whether you prefered 'Skewed' or 'Reflected' - and more importantly, why ^_^ (edited 4/Jan/2003) And also - Briar Rose and I would also like to know which character you most strongly identify with. ~grins~
TR