Scarlet Threads

Chapter Five

by Wiggle and Jada

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The authors claim no ownership of the characters within, nor received any compensation for this work.

[I will open the door and it will be Yoji's room. There will be beer cans all over his coffee table and posters of swimsuit models on the wall. He will be passed out again and has forgotten to set his alarm clock. I will wake him up and scold him until I know he is all right. He will snarl at me and throw me out of his room and be grateful. Just like every other morning. I will open the door and it will be Yoji's room. There will be beer cans...]

Aya was on his fourth repeat of the mantra, and he still hadn't opened the door. He stared at the knob in his hand, trying to will it into something he recognized. The handful of metal shone cheerfully back up at him, blissfully unaware of its unfamiliarity in his hand. [He will be passed out again...] This had to be Yoji's room. Even though the hall wasn't his hall, nor was the carpet his carpet, nor was the god damned bloody door handle his door handle, behind this door laid Yoji's room. It had to be there. This nightmare had to be over by now.

He turned the handle, slowly and cautiously so it made almost no sound. [I will wake him up and scold him until I know...] Aya bent his shoulder to the door and eased it open, inch by inch, until there was enough room to peek inside.

He immediately shut his eyes before he managed to see anything. The moment he looked, he would know the truth. As long as he didn't look, he could convince himself that the room beyond the door was, in fact, Yoji's room. [ He will snarl at me and throw me out... ]

His self-imposed illusion was quickly torn to pieces, just because the scent was different. Not stale cigarettes and the hint of cologne, as he'd hoped for. Instead it was fresh, crisp laundry and the scent of the sea, and there was the oddest bubbling sound gurgling quite merrily at the far end of the room.

Dreading the sight, Aya opened his eyes a crack. No use denying it any more. This was not Yoji's room. A large aquarium stood where Yoji's collection of exotic sake bottles should be. Instead of a busty American woman in a bathing suit on the wall, there was a panoramic photograph of an island surrounded by endless sea. Rather than a snoring blond man on the bed, a muscular auburn-haired youth dozed.

Cye was asleep still, on his stomach, his arms wrapped around his pillow. He, at least, seemed content. Peaceful, even. Only the deliriously unselfconscious slept naked like that.

The sheets had been wound around the boy's form tight enough to define his rounded bottom and thighs. There was very definitely nothing between sheet and skin. Aya stared for a moment or two. Very quickly upon the heels of his surprise came the realization that it really wasn't such a great shock. Cye had proved himself a hedonist, indulgent, someone who sucked the pleasures of life down in greedy mouthfuls and came back to demand more. Sleeping nude probably seemed as natural to him as breathing.

Dejected now, knowing he would not wake from this bad dream for another day, Aya began to close the door again. The bedclothes rustled then, and he froze instantly. Darting his attention back to Cye, he saw that the boy had rolled over and stretched out on his back. Aya didn't dare breathe, waiting stock-still so as not to be discovered.

Cye was not quite awake yet, however. The sheets had unwound when he turned and ridden up a little further over his stomach. Soft sea-blue waves of linen draped lazily over his lower body. Aya found himself wishing, distantly, for just one moment of the thoughtless luxury that Cye's pose intimated.

The boy sighed in his sleep, shifting minutely. One hand had landed on his chest, and the fingers twitched slightly in a dream-memory of some movement. By accident, or by dream design, the tip of his thumb brushed his nipple, making him sigh again.

Something... moved.

In Aya's somewhat limited experience, the male sex came packaged erect. Any previous or post states remained safely hidden away. That is, aside from himself, he had never witnessed the slow stages of erection.

Now, the loose folds of sheet that hid Cye's lower body were stirred as if of their own accord. The linen shivered, trembled, like a secret whisper breathed in the dark. A soft lump of a shape was beginning to form, as Cye was murmuring wordless little moans under his breath.

Aya stepped back, pulling the door closed before him until only a hand's breadth of space remained. He put one eye quickly to that slice and continued looking, feeling strangely safer with the door concealing most of him. A darted glance assured him that the boy's eyes were still closed, that he was still mostly immobile in the dream-state, and that he was definitely still asleep. Once more, Aya turned his full attention to the artfully draped smooth cloth lying over Cye's middle.

A definite shadow had appeared, slowly lengthening as the darkness does at sunset. The soft linen was rising bit by bit, defined into a growing rod. Tiny wrinkles and folds were smoothing out as the flesh beneath the linen pushed and stretched. "Ahh..." A low, throaty moan spilled from Cye's throat, and Aya was almost annoyed when he had to glance again at Cye's face. Still asleep, but now his lips were parted and he was breathing more quickly. Satisfied, Aya shifted his gaze back to the now tented material.

Even from this distance Aya could see that Cye was particularly blessed. The cloth had been lifted and angled up several inches, falling to the sides in an elegant drape to define the breadth of the flesh beneath. "Mmm..." Cye shifted again and he was flat on his back, sheet pulled taut. His erection battled the constricting linen and won, jutting up hard enough that Aya was sure he could see every ridge and vein along the hidden length. Heat from his entire body was gathering down between his legs, rolling and pooling in a sympathetic tightening of flesh.

The boy on the bed lifted his hips just slightly, groaning again under his breath. The dream had him in its throes entirely now. Those sheets pulled tight against his risen arousal were giving him smooth, delicate friction, though he was unaware of it in his dream-state. Aya's quiet ache grew deeper the longer he watched. For just a moment of that thoughtlessness, that mindless blank of heat and passion... just a moment of it might make this surreal nightmare bearable.

"Aya..."

He froze. Stopped breathing, stopped aching for an instant. Cye had gasped his name, but Cye was dreaming. Cye was moaning his name, and Cye was hard beneath the sheet. Cye was...

Cye was dreaming about him!

"Oh, Aya..."

Suddenly he had control of his body again, and his feet obeyed the screaming mental command he'd been trying to force on them for the last fifteen seconds. Aya ran on barefoot toes for the stairs, down the hall, outside into the garden.

Once out among the roses, he dropped to the ground in a controlled fall, folding his legs beneath him. Why had he run? He knew Cye wanted him. The boy had made that alarmingly clear. The sound of his name had been a surprise, but not a complete shock. So why had he fled?

Because the real Aya could control what happened between him and Cye. The real Aya had only Aya's desires. The real Aya could carefully dole out passion and kisses, ensuring that Cye would only ever have as much of him as Aya himself meted out.

But the dream Aya, created out of Cye's desires and wants, might do anything. The dream Aya might have been doing unthinkable, unspeakable things in the name of passion. The dream Aya was a completely constructed fabrication.

Only Aya created Aya. He had built himself out of the shattered pieces of his former life. He had created everything that he was with his own hands. No one else was allowed to do that. No one was allowed to imagine him, or think of him in any way other than how he was. Only Aya was allowed to create himself. Cye must not be allowed to create a dream Aya, because...

Because he might try to form the real Aya into the dream one, and Aya didn't want to be anyone's dream.

He sat silently in the garden for a hundred heartbeats at least, regaining his composure. The arousal he'd developed while watching Cye had fled as quickly as he had fled the scene in the bedroom. Soon, his breathing returned to normal and his vision cleared.

Not too far away, among the rosebushes, Aya noticed something odd. A small basket had been mostly hidden by the bushes -- he'd been too wrapped up in thought to notice it before. It was simple and utilitarian, and just out of his reach. Slowly, Aya reached forward and grasped the handle, dragging the basket toward him. Inside were folded a pair of gardener's gloves, accompanied by two different sizes of gardening shears and a small hoe for aerating soil.

The promise of comforting routine hung tantalizingly in front of him, shining cheerfully in the simple tools that appeared brand new. If he had been at the Koneko today, he would have spent the morning pruning in the greenhouse. At this moment, he might have been among the roses, clipping back the undeveloped stems, snipping away the straggly branches. He might have been alone in the greenhouse, just himself and the flowers. He might have been quietly earning his keep, earning the money he needed more than anything.

Though the flower shop had begun like any of his other part-time jobs before Kritiker, he had come to commune with the flowers and reach an understanding with them. They were like him. Silent, withholding their secrets behind a delicate facade for those who had the patience to learn them. They had so much in common.

Without really thinking, Aya pulled on the thin gloves and picked up a pair of shears. He fell easily into his routine, clipping and pruning where needed to encourage fuller growth. The deafening sound of his heartbeats in the silence of the world began to fade, replaced by the slice and snip of the shears. Browning leaves fell away to reveal new leafbuds beneath. Drying stems were snipped back to allow new growth to take place. Sheltered, choked blossoms were cleared to have room to grow and bloom.

"Aya!"

The shout from the house startled him when he was on his fifth rosebush. Cye couldn't still be at it, could he? Still dreaming of him, still calling his name after all this time? No, the cry was one of alarm rather than desire.

~*~*~*~

Cye had woken slowly with a marvelous, bone-cracking stretch. He lazed about for a bit, luxuriating in the lack of a need to get up. Between keeping house for Mia and the guys (which for some reason he actually enjoyed) and school, he couldn't remember the last time he'd really slept in. He stretched again, basking in the summer sun like a cat.

And grimaced as he rubbed against the damp spot on his sheets. Sighing, he threw the covers back and rolled to his feet. It really had been a lovely dream, he reflected, stripping the bed and remaking it with brisk efficiency. The details were a little fuzzy but he did have one stunning mental image of a lapful of blood crimson hair.

Smiling softly, he wrapped a towel around his waist and left his room, heading for the larger bathroom. Once there he indulged in a long, slow, hot shower, reveling in the luxury of not having to hurry for the sake of the others. After drying, he padded back down the hall, stopping in front of the door across from his. He reached for the knob, intending to make sure Aya was awake then stopped. He blinked at the door, puzzled. When he'd wished Aya a good night he knew for sure the door led to the swordsman's room. Now he was positive it was Sage's.

He tested the door anyway. Locked. He turned back to his own room, at a loss. This really was the strangest place...

A few minutes later saw him dressed and downstairs. A quick look showed that Aya wasn't in den, living room or dining room. [Don't panic,] Cye thought, [he's just in the kitchen, he hasn't lost it again.]

Torrent swore softly as he entered the empty kitchen and saw the door swinging open in the morning breeze. "Not again," he groaned. Cye left the house quickly, looking around.

"Aya?" He called, trying to figure out where the boy had gone. A light scrape caught his ear and he turned towards the garden gate.

The cheerily white gate bounced softly against its stone frame, almost as though inviting him in. He walked through cautiously, latching it behind him and stared in wonder.

The garden was much larger than one would have thought looking at it outside the gate, large enough that there were a few trees scattered throughout. He walked forward slowly, taking in the riot of color with delight. Here an enormous purple lilac graced one of the walls while morning glories twined on trellises nearby. Beds of a dozen different kinds of flowers lined the walkways, making lovely patterns of color. The scent of apple blossoms and roses mixed with the lilac, somehow neither cloying nor clashing. In the center of the garden was an enormous rose arbor, where he had found Aya that first night.

A massive round trellis pierced by arches surrounded a pair of stone benches. It was covered by a mass of blooms in every color imaginable. Cye was so lost in the beauty before him that it took a few moments to hear the irregular snipping sound from the other side. He rounded the structure curiously. At least there had been no screaming this time.

When he reached the other side he stood rooted in place, blinking in surprise. A pile of cut stems, leaves and dead buds lay neatly on the grass, placed there presumably by the redhead holding the clippers. Cye watched in astonishment as Aya carefully tied back another section of rose cane. The stern swordsman wore an almost bemused, abstracted expression as he carefully tended the plants.

Cye blinked, watching Aya. Of all the things he'd expected to find, this wasn't even on the list. He flushed as the redhead finally noticed him and quirked an eyebrow at his obvious staring. "You... umm, garden?" Cye asked, wincing at how absurd that sounded.

"Obviously," Aya said, snipping another withered stem free.

"Why?" Cye asked. "I mean... It just seems a little strange, all things considered."

Aya's hand clenched around the shears briefly, fists concealed beneath simple, thin gloves. For the first time, he looked up from his work on the roses, and met Cye's eyes evenly. "All things considered..." he began, so quietly it was almost impossible to hear the words.

It came again, a tickle of that pain and hurt and sadness that twinged at Cye's heart every time Aya came unguarded. All things considered, indeed. Now he had Aya thinking about just why it was so incongruous that someone like him should enjoy plants and flowers. Apparently, foot-in-mouth syndrome had struck again.

Turning away from him again, Aya shook his head, long forelocks falling over his shoulders. "All things considered, it must seem strange to you." His voice froze over once again, shutting out Cye completely. "But the rest of the world knows me as just a simple flower man."

"I'm sorry, Aya. I didn't..." The words stilled as he saw the icy shrug. "Umm..." Cye said, absently fingering one rose that was the same shade of flaming red as Aya's hair. "Well... As long as you're okay I'm going to head out. I didn't get a good look around when I went scouting the other day so I'm going to see what I can find. I'll put something out for lunch before I go, I'll be gone a couple of hours."

"Hours?" Aya asked. "Where do you think you can go alone?"

"Diving," Cye said, "As far out as I can. The chance isn't good that there's any sort of gateway out there but I have to look. And I don't want to take you with me until I've got a good idea of what's out there." He broke the stem of the red rose carefully and started stripping the thorns off.

"If it turns out there is something down there I'll be right back for you. I can extend the armor power out to keep you safe underwater but I'd rather not have any distractions while I'm doing it.

"Don't worry," Cye said lightly. He brushed the now thornless rose lightly across Aya's forehead. "I'd never leave you behind. I'm Trust, remember?" He tucked the flower behind Aya's ear, ignoring the swordsman's scowl, and turned on his heel. "Make sure you eat something," he called back over his shoulder.

Torrent headed down to the beach after stopping quickly back at the house to change. He looked out at the odd expanse of water and sighed. He stripped his shirt off, dropping it next to the towel and waded out into the surf. After reaching waist deep he dove under, feeling the water caress his skin like a welcome friend. He cut through the water, heading farther out and deeper. What would it be like, he mused, to bring Aya with him sometime? The redhead would like the quiet, he thought, and the stillness in the deeps. If, of course, Cye could ever persuade him.

~*~*~*~

Cye toweled his hair roughly as he walked up the path from the beach. Half a day of looking had given him zero results. In fact, the only thing he'd gotten out of the day was the knowledge that he was on a longer leash than Aya. [Probably because I won't leave,] he mused, draping the towel over his neck and finger combing his hair back.

He ducked into the kitchen and frowned. Nothing he'd set out had been touched. He dropped the towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and headed back out. Not surprisingly, Aya was still in the garden, this time diligently weeding a patch of something bright blue.

"Aya?" he called out, "I'm back. Have you been out here all day?"

Perhaps he had heard Cye come out, or perhaps he just wasn't easily surprised, but Aya didn't pause for a moment in his careful work. Only when he was satisfied with the clearing of the soil did he sit back on his haunches and look up at Cye. He brought one arm up to wipe at his damp forehead with his sleeve, but the moment he caught sight of Cye, that motion was halted.

Aya appeared as frozen as his most deadly tone of voice. He just sat there, staring, for a few precious instants, with the most priceless expression of stunned admiration on his face. All too quickly he remembered himself and jerked his chin away, sitting heavily on the grass. The turn of his face kept his gaze very deliberately off of Cye and his seawater-soaked cutoffs. His painted-on, soaked denim shorts and bare chest...

Cye throttled the grin that was threatening to break loose. This was the sort of reaction he was looking to provoke! Cye could barely contain his jubilation, even if Aya wasn't looking at him right now. He'd looked for a moment, stared in fact, and Cye knew without a doubt that the man had been interested. Even if only for a moment, he'd looked and liked what he'd seen. Aside from the marzipan candy that first day, Aya hadn't expressed a particular liking for anything, directly, retreating into an icy shell instead.

But Aya had definitely liked Cye.

"What did you see?" The gruff voice didn't fool him for an instant. The vision of him in clinging, wet denim was still running through Aya's mind, he was certain. The trick was, what to do now?

"I didn't find anything," Cye said with a small frown. "I think I ended up about a mile out and a half-mile deep. It's the cleanest water I've been in, no pollution at all. There's also hardly any marine life. There's plants and a few fish but not nearly what there should be."

He broke another rose off, this time a creamy white that blushed pink around the edges. Cye sat on the thick grass, tucking his feet underneath him. He began stripping the thorns off the new flower, tossing them carefully into the pile of clippings.

"Why do you keep doing that?" His companion sounded terribly annoyed, and when Cye looked up, Aya was definitely scowling at him. A slender finger indicated the de-thorning of the rose, being the thing that Aya was apparently in a huff about.

Cye looked up at him, a little puzzled, "Because they're sharp and I don't want them in my fingers." What was upsetting him? It was only a flower after all.

Abruptly, the other man reached out and tried to detangle the rose from his fingers. "Roses have thorns," Aya snapped, shooting a glare at him. Cye fought back an exasperated sigh this time. He knew very well that roses had thorns, so just what was Aya's problem?

Yet Aya had such a strange way of communicating that he had to be alert for opportunities like this. While direct questioning led to anger and accusations, simply allowing Aya to say his piece had already given him a wealth of information about the man. Already, Cye knew that he disliked referring to himself too specifically. The rose, though... Cye could see how he might identify with the rose. It could be that he could use it to glean another precious bit of information about the other man.

"No thing can be beautiful if its essential nature is changed," Aya went on once he'd saved the rose from Cye's plucking fingers. "The flower knows what it best needs. It is not for you to alter that because you think you know better than it."

With a gentleness that hadn't been seen before, Aya touched the silky petals, coaxing them just a little further open. It was as if the blossom, even after being snapped from its stem, was responding of its own volition to Aya's touch. "Plucking the thorns destroys the beauty of the rose," he finished in a softer voice. "Stripping it of its natural defense only serves to sterilize it, taking away everything but its silent, helpless beauty."

Cye caught himself staring at the graceful hands as he shifted a little closer. He reached out one fingertip to brush the cream colored petals. "Its thorns protect without regard for what is happening, they attack regardless of the other's intentions. But if they're removed correctly it allows a greater appreciation of the bloom's beauty. And for all the attention the one rose receives, it is only a small part of the plant. The rose bush itself is still strong and protected."

He reached out and brushed his thumb over Aya's lower lip. Torrent still had no real understanding of what it was that was drawing him so strongly but at this moment he didn't care. He'd seen, if just for an instant that Aya wanted him and the Ronin was more than willing to use a little more direct persuasion. He extended the caress to Aya's cheek, dimly surprised at the amazing softness under his fingers. "The rose also has little say about who admires it. Perhaps there is an appeal to being lost in another's... appreciation, even if it's only for a little while."

Aya jerked his chin up, surely to retort something contrary, but Cye didn't give him a chance to speak. He snaked his other arm around the other boy's waist and pulled him forward sharply. He kissed the redhead firmly, not with the raging madness of before but with an achingly strong passion, one that claimed with force but not violation. He teased the other boy's lips with his tongue, opening them as Aya had done with the rose and dipped in to taste the sweetness inside. He held the taller boy fast, hard enough to render him immobile, yielding just enough that Aya could break free if he really wanted to, ravaging his mouth softly as though to learn every curve.

Their fingers tangled around the rose's stem. Cye gripped both hand and flower tightly, twining Aya's slender fingers with his own. For the moment, neither beauty was going anywhere.

~*~*~*~

Nothing had ever been so soft, so sweet, and so invincible at once. Attacks, whether verbal or physical, Aya could battle against. Roughness, he could combat. He knew how to fight. This was something altogether different.

Now Aya was the rose rather than the gardener. He was being delicately coaxed and tended to by Cye's soft, attentive tongue. The taste slipping into his mouth encouraged him only to open further and be given even more. Was this what the roses felt when he labored over them, working tirelessly to bring out their greatest beauty?

The rose has no say in who admires it. Aya had no say in Cye's attraction to him. His approval was not necessary... the thought was strangely exciting and flooded through his veins, leaving his body a little weak.

As Cye tongued his mouth and caressed his lips with his own, Aya's head leant back further and further. Cye was leaning over him soon, the hand on the small of his back bringing him inevitably closer. His entire body was responding, slowly rousing under the guidance of Cye's hands and mouth.

This was nothing like the sudden rush of passionate fire that had consumed him two nights ago. This was a progression of prickles all over his skin, tickling every part of him into wakefulness after a long period of sleep. Cye was doing this, kissing this life into him. It was disturbing in its own way, if only for the fact that now he knew he had been sleeping for far too long.

When Cye's mouth left his finally, he was breathing quickly and severely weakened. His head was tipped back, lips lifted as if begging again for another kiss. Opening his eyes, he saw Cye smiling down at him with a somewhat narrowed, passion-flushed gaze. The boy released his hand and the rose he still held, and reached up to drag the backs of his fingers along Aya's cheek.

"Did you like that?" Cye's voice was soft and husky, lower than his usual spritely tone. His index finger found one of Aya's long forelocks and began to twirl the lock of hair.

Aya narrowed his eyes at the boy who held him, pressing his lips firmly shut again. Cye jerked him roughly close to his chest, hard and strong enough to force Aya's next breath from him in a startled gasp. Two more fingers twined up in that lock of hair, and he pushed Aya's head back further. "How long do you think you can give me the silent treatment, Aya?"

Their mouths met again, and Aya growled deep in the back of his throat, ready to do battle. But despite Cye's dominant attitude, this second kiss was just as slow and deep as the first. Cye caressed his tongue this time, winding around in a slow dance with his own. He drew Aya's response from him as skillfully and easily as the gardener coaxes the tightly closed bud to blossom, with great care and attention.

Releasing his hair, Cye's hand slid down his shirt. Those fingers seemed to have no care for anything between his neck and his groin, never lingering on their direct course for his pants. Aya squirmed his wordless protest, jerking his hips out of the way. Not, however, before Cye's hand brushed over the warm hardness concealed by heavy denim.

The skillful mouth slowly claiming his withdrew by only a whisper, enough to breathe out a few soft words. "You're even harder than you were the other night."

Aya had never heard anything so intimately familiar, and the words spiked passion through him as surely as a weapon drawn against him would. Cye's weapons were words and touches, and Aya's essential nature as a fighter responded in kind. Passion was fighting and struggle. Nothing felt more natural than combating this pleasure while wanting more every moment.

He tried to pull free from the insistently languid kisses, but Cye caught his mouth again every time. His struggles were pulling them further and further down toward the ground to the inevitable recline. Cye abandoned trying to fondle him in favor of clasping his wrist and pinning his hand to the ground. In one smooth movement, the boy had a knee between his legs and was pushing him back onto the warm grass.

Aya planted a foot on the ground and bucked up, as if to throw Cye off. Even though he knew perfectly well how strong the boy was when determined... even though the thrust of his hips rubbed his strengthening arousal against the hard thigh between his legs. Cye pushed his thigh down, parting Aya's legs completely and firmly stroking against him.

Cye left his mouth again, leaving soft stinging bites over his chin and jaw. He nipped his way across to Aya's ear, sucking the lobe softly. All of Aya's writhing, his jerked attempts to pull away, were ignored. "I don't care what you think you want," the warrior of Torrent breathed in his ear. "I'm going to give you what you need. All I want to hear out of that lovely mouth is moaning. I'm not interested in protests." He flicked his tongue across the shell of the boy's ear and tightened the arm around him.

"You will not conquer me," Aya hissed sharply, grasping Cye's shoulder with his one free hand. His fingers dug into the boy's bare skin, feeling nothing but hard muscle beneath. Cye could lift Aya as easily as he was pinning him down now, judging from those strong, broad shoulders.

For his protest, Aya earned only a hard bite to his neck. The force of it left him arched and breathless, shoving himself up against Cye's leg. Every caress to his neck felt as if it flooded his entire body, shooting down to his toes and centering between his legs. Cye took full advantage of the weakness like a true warrior, latching onto his neck for long, languid, wet kisses.

Aya was still held firmly in one arm, but now the hand restraining his wrist let go. That hand stole downward again, cupping him lightly. Traced the hardening line of him through the jeans, still kissing. Traced a hand over pale stomach and snapped his jeans open. Reached underneath and stroked him.

"Your body knows what it needs," Cye purred again. "Just here, just now, away from anything or anyone else. Only here when no one else can see us... I won't hurt you..."

Open-mouthed, panting, hard, Aya dug both hands into Cye's back with bruising force. The more he struggled and fought, the hotter his blood boiled and the hotter his body became. He was blazing now, with Cye's hand encasing him, and Cye's hard body pressed against him. Growling, Aya tosses his hips, thrusting his hard length into the tight channel of Cye's fist.

Pleasure like a knife cut through him, and his body wanted only one thing. More.

The first true moan escaped him entirely without his permission. That long, low, deep sound only fueled his captor's desire, and now Aya could feel Cye's own firmness working against his thigh, beneath those wet, constricting shorts.

They were rocking together, against each other, sinuously liquid and perfectly in sync. Aya's erection slid in and out of Cye's hand, now coated with the faint dampness of his own desire. That slight slickening brought an entirely new blaze of sensations, seizing his hips with its cool pleasure. He had to rock faster, harder, more, the low moans spilling from his lips in a counterpoint to the hot whispered words against his neck.

"Yes, Aya, you want it so badly, don't you?" Cye purred, dragging his teeth down the pale column of Aya's throat. "There's so much inside you need to let loose... so much boiling up inside you." His tongue slid a long wet trail up Aya's neck, laving a path of cool fire to burn the skin.

Aya's shirt had ridden up so far with the force of their grinding against each other, that his bared chest and stomach pressed against Cye's every time he arched his back. Skin against skin, so primal. Nipples roughened with dry friction, so exquisitely sensitive and painful. Exactly what he wanted.

"You'll give it to me, won't you." Every time Cye spoke, Aya groaned his wordless responses, which only spurred him to do it more. Cye's tongue lapped his ear as he whispered, "You'll give it all to me because otherwise you'd be left aching. You're aching for it right now, aren't you. Aching for me. Can you feel it in your body? The ache in your balls, begging to be released?"

Suddenly Cye's mouth found his again, as hot as the rest of his body rocking against Aya. "Give it to me," he demanded, biting Aya's bottom lip to prompt a snarling cry. "Do it for me. Come for me, Aya, now."

Aya couldn't disobey if he'd wanted to. The boil had reached critical and the heat inside was so great that he could no longer contain it. He thrust up into Cye's tight, slick hand, and his entire body convulsed around the very center of him. Clawing at Cye's back, being plunged into a deep kiss, he forced that heat out in debilitating waves. Again and again his body shuddered, accompanied by soft groans in his throat and in Cye's. Hot wetness coated his stomach, burning drops on his skin. He came harder than he could remember coming, every muscle in his body clenching and releasing in perfect rhythm with the spasms between his legs.

With the fiery passion shot out of him, Aya's body collapsed back onto the grass. He could not will a limb to move or skin to respond. His hands fell away from Cye's back, and his mouth dropped away from Cye's rough kiss. He knew the boy was touching the wetness on his stomach, but he couldn't force his mouth to work up a protest. His eyes agreed to open just enough to focus on Cye.

Watching him with those knowing aquamarine eyes, Cye was very slowly cleaning him up. Tanned fingers gathered up the white drops, lifting them to coral lips to be lazily licked and sucked away. Unable to move his sated, heavy limbs, Aya watched the process in mindless fascination.

He'd finally achieved it. Total, seared-away thoughtlessness. Blankness. Satiated perfection. Even the young man licking him clean didn't fully register. He was adrift on a calm ocean of nothingness. No worries. No anger. No fear. No anxiety. Just the warmth of after-pleasure settling comfortably over his body. Yes, it was as good as he'd been longing for.

For long moments, Aya lay like that, his limbs flung out and his clothing in disarray. He felt Cye's hands arranging and smoothing him, putting him back in order, but the sensations came as if from a great distance. Closing his eyes, Aya let the boy do what he would. He would let nothing interrupt the momentary peace he'd found.

When he next opened his eyes, it was to see Cye stretched out on his side next to him, facing him with a small smile. Too gentle to be classified a smirk, that smile. It wasn't enough to rattle Aya's blank calm. Cye wasn't close enough to be cuddling, precisely, so his nearness wasn't enough to upset him either. The quiet in his heart remained. Aya closed his eyes, and let it pull him down into a peaceful, black slumber, with the afternoon sun shining on his cheek.

[ on to chapter 6 ]