This beautiful work by
Madame Blue. Click for the full image.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The authors claim no ownership of the characters within, nor received any compensation for this work.
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The last of the sunlight was trickling from the horizon as Aya strode out of the house, letting the door slam shut behind him. He had been playing this game long enough, while struggling to get his bearings in a situation which made no logical sense. It was now apparent that he was not going to find those bearings any time soon. No matter how comfortable Cye was in this impossible situation, Aya was not. The entire day had been wasted letting the Brit try to make sense of where they were, just because he seemed so much more comfortable here.
Aya glared at the darkening sky as he strode away from the house, toward the west and parallel with the coastline. Keeping the sea at his right hand would keep him on course, rather than risk wandering through the grasslands in the dark. If there was one house by the sea, there may be more. At the very least, he would have to come to a port of some kind. Someone could be sent back to pick up Cye -- if the boy would even want to leave the little homestead he seemed so comfortable with.
Cye could keep it, Aya decided. He cursed himself internally. What had he been doing all this time, following the child in the odd blue armor, letting him distract Aya from the more important purpose of getting back to the city? He ought to have struck out on his own from the very beginning. He ought to have kept walking after learning that the house had no telephone, vehicle or occupant to assist them. He ought to have done something aside from letting Cye feed him supper and chat at him about his life and his friends until it got dark.
But he hadn't. He hadn't done any of those things. He had let himself be bustled into following Cye, waiting for him, and staying with him. Now it was dark (though no colder than it had been during the afternoon), Aya was getting tired, and he was no closer to getting back to his teammates than he had been when he'd woken up in the field.
Aya hadn't even been comfortable in the house. At least, not when Cye wasn't there to make it feel... what? Liveable? Pleasant? Like a home? Is that how he'd felt when Cye had teased him with the candy, or fixed him dinner, or smiled at him over the table? The feeling wasn't something that Aya could easily define. Cye's natural warmth and acceptance had felt... welcoming, in a frustratingly inistent kind of way. No matter how cold Aya had been to him, the younger boy had just smiled and flirted with him, steamrolling right over Aya's distant chill.
Aya was used to people like Yohji ribbing him for his reserve, or people like Ken getting downright angry at him for it. Most simply ignored him when he failed to contribute to their lives. Very few, however, simply treated him like any other person. Cye had done that. Cye treated Aya like someone worthy of his time and his smiles. Only Omi and young Sakura had done that for him since... since his sister had stopped smiling for him, two years ago. Certainly neither of them had warmed up to Aya with the flirty insistence that Cye had displayed.
Still, it was no excuse for lingering. He'd lost a great deal of time, and his teammates might still be in trouble. If they had all been scattered, there was no telling where the others might be, or what might have happened to them. There was no telling how deep this strange plot might go.
He was striding faster now, an internal monologue running constantly to berate himself for being unprofessional and inefficient. Letting himself be gently bullied into a feeling of security had been a grave mistake, and he may be paying for it with the safety and well-being of himself and the other Weiss. If they had been harmed, or if the mission had failed, he would be to blame.
Keeping up his inner scolding was the only thing keeping Aya from going stark raving mad at the moment. The ocean off to his right continued to lap and wave, but the night was deadly silent. No sound met his ears except the fall of his steps and the beat of his katana against his thigh. The grassy flatland hadn't changed in the minutes he'd been walking and hating himself.
Aya looked over his shoulder, to gauge the distance he'd come so far.
The house stood not five yards behind him.
It was not possible! Aya knew for certain that he'd been walking for at least fifteen minutes. His muscles were warmed from the movement and he was sweating very lightly under his clothes. He *had* been moving, he was certain! But the house he'd left stood just a few steps behind him; he hadn't even completely left the front yard.
Snarling to himself, Aya grasped the hilt of his katana and swung back around to face west. He took off in a determined run. This time he counted his thundering steps, concentrating on covering ground rather than scolding himself. Twenty, thirty, forty... when his count reached fifty, Aya spared a glance over his shoulder again.
The house was no further behind him than when he'd began to run. Sweat was damping his hair now, and he was breathing quickly from the exertion. He had moved! He *had* run as fast as he could, and he had counted his steps!
Unable to explain the impossible phenomenon, Aya yanked the katana out of its sheath with a deep-throated cry. The accursed house had rejected him and now he could not leave it behind! The thing was following him! In a blind, panicky rage, he lashed out at the structure itself, even though the logical part of his mind knew that it would do no good. The katana's blade rang off the brick, jarring his arms with the force of his furious blow. He stumbled back, his body still fueled with anger and confusion, the fire of passion singing through his veins.
Emotion overwhelmed logic, and Aya yanked his katana up over his head. Screaming out another wordless shout, he hurled the blade into the darkness of the garden at the side of the house. It impacted with a soft sound somewhere in the dim, and Aya's knees buckled.
Clutching his hair, the usually reserved swordsman knelt in the grass and growled. The sound was that of a trapped animal, unable to comprehend the reality of his cage. He could not even consider escape without understanding the trap. Caught! Trapped! That's what he was, ensnared in an inescapable trap. At that moment he wanted nothing more than an explanation, someone to tell him where he was and why he was there. The guessing and the strangeness was driving him insane.
He pulled at his hair, distantly thankful for the slight pain. At least the pain was real. His body was real and could still be energized, tired, and hurt. It was perhaps the only real thing he knew at the moment.
Blindly, Aya stumbled to his feet, tripping over himself as he followed the arc of his thrown katana into the garden. He trampled plants and flowers in his wake, but they fell behind him, ignored. His blade was glimmering in the moonlight just yards away, having landed amidst a patch of rosebushes next to the house.
Falling to his knees again, Aya reached out to clutch the hilt to his chest. This, too, was real. This was the familiar tempered weight of his weapon, the textured handle that fit into his hand perfectly. The blade was real, and Aya was real. He plunged his hand into the rosebush, closing his fingers around a thorny stem just to feel the pain.
He bled. The small wet pinpricks blossomed up on his palm and ran in sickening rivulets to his wrist, but they were real. Aya was real. Perhaps not sane, but solid. Aya, the katana, the rosebush. They were the only things he could be absolutely certain of and he clung to them for the sake of his sanity.
~*~*~*~
Cursing, Cye sprinted towards the house and the scream. He should have never left Aya alone. In his blithe acceptance of their situation, he'd completely ignored just how bizarre it be for Aya. He'd spent the day as though nothing was wrong, secure in the knowledge that if he couldn't find a way home, his friends would find him. He reached the house and bolted for the garden gate, which now hung drunkenly open. A moment's search found Aya, kneeling at the base of a rose arbor, clutching his katana like a life line and staring, enraptured, at one bloody palm.
Cye knelt on the grass next to him, being careful not to touch him. "Aya," he said softly, "We'll find a way out of here, I promise. If I can't find one, I know my friends will. We'll get home."
Nothing. Aya knelt there, perfectly still, his body bent over his katana as though praying to it. He didn't acknowledge Cye's presence in the least, but Cye could see the clenching of his jaw under that smooth, pale skin. Aya could hear him at least; the young man hadn't gone into shock or anything more dangerous. No, he was withdrawn, confused and hurting and it was Cye's fault.
"I'm sorry," Cye continued hastily, trying to get some reaction from him. "I didn't think how strange this would be for you. I didn't even think to tell you that I can't drown, when I went scouting." He kept on babbling, apologizing, anything to get something out of the other boy.
Burning violet eyes finally raised and met blue-green. The deep voice like a lion's purr broke Cye's constant stream of words. "Would you be silent," Aya hissed. "You've not ceased chattering since you arrived."
With a flick of the wrist, his katana was flipped around and grasped by the hilt. The swordsman's eyes never left Cye's, boring into him with furious intensity. "I will not lie down and accept this situation! I will not allow you to direct me any longer. I *will* find a way to leave here."
Aya yanked his arm up and the blade was now held between them, gleaming harshly in the faint moonlight. The weapon's bearer kept it up like a barrier, silently warning Cye not to cross the flat divide between them. Painted a silvery blue, like the delicately fair skin of Aya's face, the metal shone too beautifully to appear dangerous. Just like the swordsman himself. Aya was panting deep breaths, his heated eyes glittering with that angry passion. Cye could just detect the lightest flush to his cheeks, painting alabaster skin with a watercolor wash of pink.
Cye gulped back a startled groan. Now was not the time to be having those kinds of thoughts. It took no effort to imagine the pale man's skin flushed from a passion other than anger, to hear that panting turn to gasps, the gasps to deep throaty moans. No effort at all to image that slender body writhing underneath him...
With a silent curse and a mental wrench, Cye yanked himself away from the intoxicating mental image. Throwing himself on the redhead and pinning him to the ground would most definitely not help right now. He forced himself instead to concentrate on the rigid posture Ð the manÕs every line was radiating tension -- and the words -- his tone was deep-buried panic. He had to admire Aya for that at least. Even now the emotion was buried so deep that only a trace showed on the surface. And that, Cye realized in a blinding flash, was the root of the problem.
"It's killing you," Torrent said in wonder, meeting those furious, jeweled eyes. "It's killing you that you aren't in control and have to trust me. All you are is about control and it doesn't matter that we're in this place. It could be anywhere. Anywhere you couldn't get out of would drive you mad, wouldn't it?" He took a step forward, ignoring the weapon. He could feel the truth of the words as clearly as he'd felt that strange flare between them at the club. "Why?" he asked softly. "Why is it so important for you to leave here?"
He took another step forward, feeling his conviction that the boy was *hurting* strengthen. He was so caught up in the feeling that he almost missed the point of Aya's blade digging into his sternum.
Cye looked down at the katana poking his chest. He raised his head again and looked at Aya with a quirked brow. "Not impressed, my friend. I've fought off worse. I'm not going to let you kill me and I'm not going to leave you alone." He burst out, almost pleading, "God, Aya, I can feel the pain bleeding off of you! What's wrong? Please, tell me! It's got to be more than just being here."
Aya's only response was an icy stare.
Cye continued on, oblivious to any danger the other man presented. "I want to help you but you have to let me."
"You have done nothing but delay us," Aya hissed sharply. Both his hands were tightly clenched, one around the sword's hilt, and the other into a bloody fist. The rose thorns had dug deeply into his skin. "You have proven you can do nothing. If you are so comfortable with this... this possessed place," he spit out, "then you are welcome to it."
"Aya, there's nothing here that wants to harm us," Cye stated with absolute certainty. "Everything here is to make us feel comfortable and at home."
A sudden snarl surprised him with its ferocity. "There is nothing here that feels of home to me!"
For a moment, Cye paused, then lowered his voice. "Not even the marzipan? You seemed rather attached to it."
With that, Aya shifted his grip on the sword, lunging at Cye with a slashing attack. Pure fury sang through his posture, his movements, the curl of his lips that flashed his teeth. Every part of him like an animal of rage, Cye thought in a flash as the blade was singing at him and he was dodging out of the way. As if...
As if the comment about the candy had been an insult to some precious thing that the swordsman held dear? Something he would sacrifice his very humanity to this animalistic rage in order to protect?
Oh God, he thought, dodging another maddened slash. There was nothing in the house for Aya, Cye realized. There were no pictures that Cye didn't recognize, no little knickknacks, none of the clutter that was there for him and spoke of home. There was only that little yellow tin. Did that mean he had no home, no family? If so, what was causing the anguished rage from being trapped here, in place that seemed designed for comfort and peace? Was it worry for his comrades, a job left undone, what?
Cye's own not inconsiderable amount of frustration, the empathic felt pain and the shattering loneliness of his missing brothers finally snapped. He *would* get through to the stubborn bastard if it killed them both.
"All right," Cye said firmly. "That is more than enough." He batted the sword away with his forearm, carefully catching it on the flat and spun, sweeping Aya's feet. The swordsman went down hard, gasping as his breath huffed out. Cye was on top of him in a heartbeat, pinning Aya's arms to his sides and scissoring his legs. He leaned closer, ignoring the struggles and curses, until his lips were a breath away from the redhead's ear.
He exhaled softly and purred, "I want to help you Aya. You've so much pain I want to take away, but you have to trust me." He pressed his hips down, rocking against the redhead, letting him feel the heat. "Let me take it away," he murmured. "I'm here, I'm real... just let me prove it, just for tonight." He nuzzled through crimson hair, tracing the shell of his ear with a lingering kiss. "Please," he breathed. "Just once..." He tongued the soft skin at the lobe, reveling in the startled gasp. Nipping and tasting, he slowly worked down the long pale column of Aya's neck. The soft skin was dizzyingly sweet and he was dying for more.
~*~*~*~
Pain? Pain?! PAIN?!
There was no pain in him. He knew anger, fury, frustration, vengeance, hatred. Pain was a thing forgotten long ago, a thing which always blossomed into something else as soon as it struck. Pain was for physical wounds acquired on missions. Pain became anger became hatred became revenge. Pain died a quick death at the hands of more permanent emotions.
Who was this boy to talk to him about pain?!
When Aya lost his footing he felt the fury sink back for a moment. When Cye pinned him to the ground he had a moment free from blinding anger to see clearly. Cye spoke of pain, but pain was for those who would linger over tragedy. Pain was not for men like Aya, who formed it into something stronger, forged in heat and time and steel and blood.
But passionÉ yes. Passion was something Aya knew.
The tide of furious frustration that had been roaring thought his blood changed flavor when CyeÕs mouth found his throat. His fair skin was thin and terribly sensitive, soaking up the warmth of CyeÕs lips and the hot sweetness of his whispered words. Passionate. Passion was born of the union of need and denial, creating a driving desire to have at all costs the needful thing being denied.
At the moment, Aya was CyeÕs needful thing.
At the moment, solid reality was AyaÕs.
He felt the tang in his mouth shift subtly, from the bitter bite of anger to the spicier tinge of desire. He gasped, and in a moment he had released his sword and grasped the back of CyeÕs shirt in clutching handfuls. Cye was so hot and firm and real above him, covering his body, pinning him between the young man and the ground. Pressed between solid cool reassurance and solid driving heat, Aya arched up into the reality that better matched his own fiery, anger-fueled passion.
Before this, he had been drifting, losing ground in the ethereal nature of his surroundings in which he could neither predict nor expect anything. The cause of his rage had been out of reach, unable to be grasped, some illogical mental construct which he could not raise his sword against. But now... now there was a body to press against and an adversary to fight.
From assault with his blade to assault with his hands was a simple shift. He clutched and clawed at the strong young man above him, distantly surprised at the wiry, dangerous muscle hidden beneath that cheerful sweetness. All of that formidable, dexterous muscle was pressing down on him, absolutely real and burning hot. From his chest to his knees, Aya was covered in warm boy, and the temptation to drop himself into the reassuring there-ness of Cye was overwhelming him.
A slight turn of his head was enough to dislodge Cye from mouthing his neck, and Aya claimed that mouth for his own. Tangled up and twisted, they clung to each other in blissful moments of passionate frenzy. CyeÕs mouth was hot, breathing into his own, devouring AyaÕs lips completely and then retreating to let him dive inside. His tongue dipped in and out of AyaÕs mouth, never long enough to taste. Aya didnÕt want to taste. He didnÕt want to linger. He wanted to consume, swallow, steal a part of CyeÕs reality and make it his own. Passion was real and it was burning in Cye and burning in him, as hot and bright as the flash of his sword the second before a kill.
They ground together, hands pressing and grabbing and bruising. Cye tried to pull back, tried to speak, but Aya didnÕt want his words. He wanted the boy to shut the fuck up and give him more. Grasping a handful of soft auburn hair, he pushed the boyÕs mouth back onto his. The groan it prompted satisfied him. Cye knew now that Aya didnÕt want to be soothed, coddled, or talked down into calm. He wanted that flame to burn them both and sear away all the words and the uncertainties, leaving only that which was real.
Aya. Cye. The dried blood on his hand. The copper taste on his tongue as they bit and scraped each other's lips. Aya. Cye. Real. Real.
~*~*~*~
Burning. Burning, flaring, screaming desire that sent Cye soaring. He ground his hips down on the taller boy and could feel him hot and hard beneath. He ate at the redhead's mouth in a frenzy, biting at lips and tongue. His heart was hammering as he returned the boy's savage embrace. He'd *planned* seduction, with what little of him that could think. That plan had fled as soon as Aya had fastened his mouth to Cye's. He'd given him another chance to refuse and was lost when Aya forced the kiss's return. His hands were everywhere, smoothing over the familiar contour of sleek swordsman muscle. The frame was more slender, but it was close enough to make him burn. He drove his leg between Aya's and rocked his erection against the boy again. He was so hard it hurt.
He tore away from the boy's mouth and fastened onto his neck. He sucked hard, almost biting, seized with an insane desire to leave his brand. He would have him, have his beautiful voice, beautiful body crying out for him, moaning as Cye claimed that hot, tight velvet. He moaned against Aya's neck, the thought almost sending him over the edge. Cye reached down, shoving the black shirt higher, raking his hands over the smooth skin. The tiny rose pink nipples were next, as he bit and sucked savagely.
He reared back and looked down with smoldering eyes. Aya was a vision, panting beneath him. His lips were red and kiss bruised, eyes half lidded and burning. He was one of the most beautiful sights Cye had ever seen. He fell on Aya again and snapped the top button of his jeans loose. He gnawed frantically at the redhead's neck as he stroked the solid flesh behind the zipper. Another quick movement saw that hand inside his jeans, closing around the rigid heat, fingers gliding over every ridge and curve of the silky skin.
"Yesss..." Cye purred in the redhead's ear, stroking firmly. "I'm going to make you feel so good..." He turned and caught his lips in another heated kiss.
The hungry, desperate creature beneath him turned back into the raging animal without warning. A growl rose in Aya's throat, and for a moment, the sound bled into Cye's mouth as well. They shared the snarl for that wild, untamed instant before Aya's hot mouth tore from his. The passion that had converted from fury changed again, this time into a desperation bordering on panicky fear.
Aya's cry was nothing like human when he threw Cye off. A roll of his body and a shove of his arms had the lighter boy tumbling off onto the ground, shocked by the force of Aya's denial. In seconds, the taller man was on his feet, sword in hand again.
Panting, mussed, pale lips flushed and swollen from the intensity of their kiss. His black tank top pushed up and wrinkled, exposing a hand's breadth of pale white stomach; his jeans pulled halfway open to allow a peek at the skin beneath. Breathless and breathtaking. Aya barely spared Cye a glance before he turned and fled into the house.
Cye sat where he was shoved, thunderstruck. What the hell had just happened? One minute Aya was everywhere, gone totally wild. The next...
The color drained from Cye's face as he identified that last expression on the man's face. Aya had been afraid of him. Afraid because he'd almost... Swearing, Torrent got to his feet. He'd only wanted to help him and instead had completely lost control. This was not one of his friends that he could grab and ravage at whim. Aya was confused, upset and totally alone and Cye's only thought had been drowning his own loneliness in the beautiful man's body.
He made his way slowly back the house, eaten with guilt. He knew nothing about Aya. Didn't know if there was a relationship or a family waiting for him. Hell, he didn't even know if the redhead was really interested in men. That he'd responded under stress meant nothing. He'd shattered what little trust he'd managed to build with the surly boy and that, more than anything, tore at him.
Cye opened the front door and was oddly relieved to see the muddy tracks staining the kitchen floor and vanishing up the stairs. He kicked his shoes off and followed the trail.
At the landing he paused in front of Aya's door and knocked softly. "Aya," he called. "You don't have to talk to me... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I never meant to force that on you. I... I'll see you in the morning." And with that he turned, slipping into the dark of his own room, more alone than he'd been in a very long time.
[ on to chapter 4 ]