The Art of Overcoming Obstacles: 1

“Not tonight.” Aya avoided Yoji’s outstretched fingers, but only marginally, the ghost of the touch making his skin pimple a little. But perhaps that was from the cool air of the bedroom and just having come from the warmth of an overlong shower.

“Come on.” Yoji lay back, face dissolving into the lines of his most wanton expression, body loose and svelte in the gray light of post dawn.

“I’m tired, Yoji.” Aya murmured. Only honest truth no matter how tempting Yoji looked, sprawled and naked and dark against crisp white sheets. His recent tan made his hair seem all the brighter now that it was back to its natural shade. All Aya had to show for days in the summer sun was a spattering of freckles across his shoulders and a mild sunburn on nose and cheeks. He never tanned and a day at the beach as a child inevitably meant two or three days after fighting the effects of sun poisoning. Sunblock was a must.

“I’m tired, too.” Yoji said reasonably. “Doesn’t mean we can’t relieve a little tension before we go to sleep.” Long fingers drifted down to stroke Yoji’s flaccid cock and almost instantly it twitched, sensitive to the merest hint of satisfaction.

Yoji’s thumb circled the tip, pressing just hard enough to shift soft, loose skin. He moved his hand back down, circling the thickening shaft, then slowly slid it back towards the glans, drawing in a hissing breath at his own ministrations. Aya couldn’t pull his eyes away and tired or not, he felt a stirring in his own shorts.

“I’m sore.” Another truth that came out sounding more gripish than he would have liked. The little ‘quick’ job that Korat had given Ken and himself had not been so easy as she’d promised. Oh, they’d carried out the job well enough, but the unexpected appearance of private security – – private security that Korat had underestimated the numbers of, had made easy withdrawal a problem. Aya had the bruises and sore muscles to show for it. A long, hot shower had only partially alleviated the stiffness.

“Mnnnn. And getting stiff.” Yoji’s sympathy was sorely lacking and his humor distinctly juvenile, once Aya got the gist of it. He narrowed his eyes to show his lack of appreciation, but the glare only lasted so long, once Yoji grasped the waste band of his briefs and pulled him forward, so that he straddled him, with one knee between Yoji’s lean thighs and his hands on the mattress at Yoji’s shoulders. Yoji’s hand drifted between Aya’s legs, molding the outline of his semi-rigid cock under the cotton of his briefs. He drew in a shuddering, reflexive breath, dropping his head , on all fours over Yoji’s sprawled body, Yoji’s oh so talented fingers making short work of Aya’s flacidity. Drew in another as Yoji cupped his balls, shifting and kneading through the layer of cotton, palm pressing Aya’s erection flat against his stomach.

God. Thoughts began to scatter, disjointed and mercurial.

Yoji slipped a finger under the leg of the briefs, touching skin to skin and Aya’s focus began to zero in on the single burning need for Yoji to slip his whole hand under cotton. To feel the heat of Yoji’s skin and the strength of his long fingers as they compressed the flesh and muscle and blood of that most central part of Aya’s being. He moaned and started to sag down, head towards Yoji’s chest, but Yoji stopped him, his other hand on Aya’s shoulder, making him keep his distance, staring up with fever bright green eyes as Aya blinked down in question.

“You do me.” Yoji murmured, hand gone still between Aya’s legs, but it was still a warm, firm presence, a living extension of Yoji’s intent and Yoji’s want. Aya blinked again. It was not the usual hierarchy of things between them. In everything but this – – this one private, personal, precious part of his life – – Aya demanded control. Needed control and order and consistency. But during sex – – to allow himself even the chance to enjoy it, control and order and consistency needed to be flung far away. He needed Yoji to take the reigns. He needed Yoji to press the issue, no matter how much he might want it himself. He needed to be the one to – – open his legs and submit because anything else made him start and flutter and doubt. It was fear of a sort. Fear of self. Fear of intimacy. Fear of – – well, God knew what else, lurking deep down in his subconscious. Yoji theorized on it, probably a lot more than Aya had the patience to listen to and blamed it all on Schuldig and the rape . . . rapes . . . torture . . . mind-games and subsequent stalking. Aya didn’t like to dwell on that, but in the moments of introspection he allowed himself, thought that Yoji was probably right for the most part, but he doubted that was the whole of it. Doubted very much that even if Schuldig and Farfarello hadn’t gotten their hands on him he would have allowed himself the comfort and physical gratification of another human being if someone hadn’t forced the issue. He hadn’t dated in school, because he really hadn’t been attracted to the girls that chased after him and after his parent’s murder and Aya-chan’s injury and his own indoctrination into the murky waters of espionage and assassination – – what was the point? He was tainted. A scar on society. A killer. A jinx to those that loved him.

A dark, dark spiral of self-doubt and recrimination that he’d managed to meld into a encroachable wall around his heart. Yoji had gotten though it, somehow. A tribute to Yoji’s persistence most certainly, but even still, all the things that had built it were still there, still yammering at Aya from the inside. Still preventing him from the normalcy of accepting sex and love on an equal basis. Sometimes Yoji didn’t push it, gently obliging Aya’s needs. Sometimes Yoji catered to Aya’s darker whims with wicked imagination that left Aya aching and sore. Sometimes he balked like a mule with a mean streak and refused anything but the sweetest of touches, the softest kisses, the most thoughtful orchestration of their bodies until Aya hadn’t any choice but to give in and dance the dance Yoji guided him towards.

But very, very seldom did Yoji – – well, ‘bottom out’ as Yoji might indelicately put it. Yoji claimed to have been only with one other man, and had been on the receiving end of that short relationship. He hadn’t liked it very much, but he’d been very young, and most likely, Aya thought, advantages had been taken that shouldn’t have been, between a boy and a man. Yoji never demanded control, but he did like to guide and was openly free in giving of himself. Not the most self-serving of attitudes, certainly not the safest on a purely emotional level and Yoji had been burned more than once because of it. Back when . . . well, before he and Yoji had been together, he had thought Yoji a fool for it. Had held a great deal of disdain for anyone so willing to open themselves up for hurt and loss. He didn’t know that he’d necessarily changed that opinion, save that disdain was no longer numbered among the things Yoji invoked in him.

Yoji craned his neck, lips finding the frantic pulse at Aya’s throat. Warm tongue licking at it, teeth nipping hard enough to hurt. Aya groaned, shifting his hands to push Yoji back against the pillows, pressing his mouth urgently over Yoji’s open, willing one, tangling fingers in Yoji’s thick, honey brown hair. Yoji’s hands slid down his sides, back up again with a gentle rake of nails and Aya shuddered, stomach clenching and cock spasming between his legs. He settled between Yoji’s spread thighs and even between a layer of cotton he could feel the burning heat of Yoji’s rigid length against his own.

“That’s good . . . good . . .” Yoji breathed past Aya’s mouth, rotating his hips upward, rhythmic and practiced. His fingers caught in the waist band of Aya’s shorts, drawing them down and Aya shifted to help. And then it was simply skin against skin, no ghost of fabric to diminish the throb of Yoji’s pulse pooling between his legs. Doubts melted away, mentality swallowed by the beast of libido.

“Lube . . . lube.” Yoji gasped, straining upwards, fumbling blindly for the tube of the stuff on his bedside table. Aya was not as practiced at this as Yoji was. It was easier to be on the receiving end by far. You didn’t have to worry about hurting your partner with the wrong move there or too much force applied here. It took work being on top. It required a great amount of agility to slide a finger inside Yoji and still manage to lean in to meet his demanding mouth. He hooked an arm under Yoji’s knee, lifting his hips up to better position himself at his opening. Slid himself between the crack of Yoji’s ass and the heat of that crevice was enough to make his heart flutter and his vision tunnel a little. Yoji pushed his hips up, encouraging, hands pressing down on the bed at his sides, mouth forming whispered words of encouragement.

Aya leaned forward, using his weight to press in. The tip of his throbbing cock unerringly found the route of least resistance, battering at the tiny, puckered entrance to Yoji’s body. Slipped in a fraction and Yoji gasped, fingers curling in the rumpled bedsheets.

“Hurts?” Aya found the voice to ask, peering past the tangled fall of his own hair at Yoji’s tense face.

“No.” Yoji lied. Of course it hurt. It always hurt the first time or two after a period of abstinence. But though that was part of the draw for Aya, he didn’t think Yoji got off on the pain as much. Yoji at heart was a creature that appreciated his comforts and pleasures.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Aya murmured.

“I’ll be sorry if you pull out.” Yoji said, wrapping his long legs around Aya’s hips and drawing him forward. Drawing him into the burning tightness of his body.

Blinding, overwhelming sensation. Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain as his cock was encased by impossibly tight, pulsing flesh and muscle. His focus narrowed, deaf and dumb to all the world except the burning urgency in his loins and the lean package of flesh and bone beneath him that was satisfying that need.

Yoji’s shoulders hit the mattress, his back arched, his hips a foot off the bed and held in place by the grip of Aya’s fingers, rocked back and forth by Aya’s quick, frantic thrusts. His grunts and moans interspersed Aya’s harsh breathing.

It came to a culmination in less time that it would have taken Yoji to perform the same task, Yoji having had more practice in prolonging the act, Yoji very likely having more patience than Aya was capable of in most things, in all honesty.

Aya came, every muscle in his body tense and straining, blood pounding, nerve endings crying out in spasmic delight at the release. Orgasm as always was draining, and depleted he collapsed, rolling off Yoji in a moment of limp limbed lethargy. It occurred to him a moment later that Yoji hadn’t found his own release and the heat of embarrassment rose.

“God – – Yoji, I’m sorry – – -”

“S’okay.” Yoji had the problem well in hand, fingers curled around his rigid cock, working in that rapid rhythmic way that said that release was very close at hand. He spurted in little pulsing squirts of thick, ropy fluid. It glistened on his tan belly, mingling with sweat. He sighed, relaxing into the soft bed like a puppet with its strings cut, limbs gone watery and loose. There was a languid little grin on his lips that hinted clearly enough that he was more than satisfied with the course of events, regardless of Aya’s lack of stamina.

“You did good, Baby. That was great.”

Yoji was far too generous with his regard sometimes. Aya shifted, pressing his forehead against Yoji’s shoulder in a moment of overwhelming affection. Sometimes the little things caught him off his guard.

“I just took a shower.” He murmured, sweaty again, but not the one covered with the sticky residue of sex this time.

“I know. We can take another one. A quick one, then come back to bed.”


“Still sore?”

“um hum.” And drowsy.

“C’mon.” Yoji dragged him up, far too energetic for Aya’s tastes, all things considered. “Shower now, sleep after, cause you’re gonna bitch and moan later if we don’t clean up now.”

Aya grunted, not deluded enough to realize that he didn’t occasionally bitch, but he hardly ever moaned . . . well, at least not outside of certain intimate activities.

The shower of this house they were renting was very nice, smooth stone tiles lining walls, slightly rougher ones of the same shade on the floor. Yoji pulled him into the stall before he even turned on the water, pressing him into one of the corners under the shower nozzle, covering his mouth with lingering, lazy kisses as he fumbled blindly for the faucet.

“You said quick.” Aya gasped once Yoji had to come up for air and Yoji grinned at him, backing up to step into the shower of water. He’d managed somehow without looking to adjust the temperature to a pleasant warmth. He beckoned, skin sheened and wet, hair plastered to his head and neck, long strands of it snaking down his cheeks in interesting patterns. The scowl Aya so very dearly wanted to wear, wavered, turning into a sigh of resignation. He moved forward, into the spray of warm water and shut his eyes as it enveloped him, gentle impact of water easing tired muscles.

He cracked an eye as Yoji’s hands touched him, palms slippery with shower gel sliding up his torso from groin to shoulders.

“Let me help.” Yoji murmured, voice low and husky and not at all conducive to a ‘quick’ anything. Aya shut his eyes against the streaming water, quivering as Yoji’s soapy hands drifted down to his groin.

“I can do . . . it.” His hands slipped down to join Yoji’s fingers, sliding across the slippery skin of Yoji’s knuckles.

“I know.” Yoji grabbed his hand and squirted a dollop of shower gel in his palm. “Do me.”

It was too tempting an offer to complain about, the prospect of Yoji’s lean, slick body under his hands. Yoji grunted, arching like a cat under the hand of its favorite human as Aya lathered the skin of back, hands slipping over the firm mounds of his buttocks. Down his long thighs, one of which still bore the healing scar of a recent bullet wound.

Of course Yoji couldn’t stand there passively and turned under Aya’s efforts, to get his slick hands back on Aya’s body, pressing soap covered chest to soap covered chest as he covered Aya’s lips with his own. The water streamed down their faces, getting in their mouths, making it hard to breath with mouths otherwise occupied. Aya pulled back, snorting water out of his nose, scowling a little at the industrious shower head. Yoji grinned, blinking water from his lashes. He began a leisurely slide down Aya’s torso, slick skin against slick skin, mouth suckling here and there along the way, not caring in the least that he was probably getting a taste of soap. Yoji squeezed a dollop of soap into his palm and let the bottle fall to the stall floor, as he took Aya in hand, gently lathering cock and ball, teasingly abandoning them to slide his hands down Aya’s thighs, down his calves and back up again. He shifted Aya’s bobbing cock out of the way, kneading his balls, running soap slippery fingers behind them to the crack in Aya’s ass.

Aya shuddered, knees going watery, putting a hand out to wall to shore up his balance. Yoji sucked the skin of Aya’s scrotum, pulling a ball into his mouth even as his slick finger eased it way inside the tight ring of Aya’s hole. He took his time about it, working Aya’s scrotum with mouth and tongue, working his way up the underside of Aya’s straining cock with lips and tongue and the hint of teeth, all the while caressing the sweet spot inside with his oh so clever fingers. If it hadn’t been for the wall and Yoji’s other arm around his thighs, Aya might very well have sprawled into a sodden, crumpled mess on the floor.

“Oh . . . God . . . Yoji . . . God . . .” he lost all sense of equilibrium when Yoji swallowed him down to the root, then slowly pulled back, tongue tight against the underside of his cock, lips a firm circle around the girth. His balls tightened and he spasmed, jerking forward reflexively to regain the warmth of Yoji’s mouth. For the second time in less than a half hour he found himself spurting into Yoji’s body. He was helpless in the release body instinctually pumping into Yoji’s willing mouth, Yoji’s fingers gripping his ass as if he were afraid Aya might slip away during a crucial moment.

As if.

He slumped forward after the last vital spurt, spent, hands braced on Yoji’s wet shoulders, Yoji’s clever mouth still toying with Aya’s rapidly softening cock.

“I think,” Yoji said, releasing Aya’s flesh, hands sliding up Aya’s buttocks to his lower back. “you’re clean now, baby.”

He rose, using Aya’s hips to help pull himself up, the rock hard evidence of his own erection sliding against Aya’s torso on the way. “My turn.” He pushed Aya against the back wall of the stall, the stream of warm water showering his back a moment before Yoji pressed up against him, firm and hard and finished with his foreplay. A few swipes down his cock with liquid soap and Yoji slid between Aya’s buttocks, grinding between his cheeks a few times before adjusting his angle and unerringly finding the entrance to Aya’s body. Already relaxed and loosened from Yoji’s earlier ministrations, Aya’s body surrendered easily enough at the insistence of Yoji’s soap slick cock. Yoji slid in slow and languidly, hands gripping Aya’s hips, thumbs biting into the softer flesh of his ass. Aya groaned, clenching his teeth against the sheer sensation of being stretched, filled, consumed . . . even though his own cock was still limp and spent dangling between his legs, pleasure still spiraled though his body at Yoji’s penetration. He pressed his cheek against the warm stone tile of the wall, gasping with each deep stroke, flattened between Yoji and the stone, slick and wet and spiraling out of control.

Yoji’s teeth bit into his shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood, but certainly with enough force to leave a mark. Yoji’s hands forced their way between Aya’s body and the wall, sliding up his chest, down his belly, fondling the flesh between his legs.

“I like it sometimes, when I’m fucking you and you’re soft and loose down here.” Yoji growled into his ear, even as he shifted Aya’s placid cock and balls in his hand, rolling flesh and cartilage around under slack skin, then squeezing hard enough to make Aya wince. He thrust up, a decisive strike that forced Aya onto his toes, and Aya shuddered, clamping his teeth sharply together, as some of that softness between his legs began dissipate. There was nothing that spurred his libido so much as when Yoji chose to play rough, and after a session of having the reins in his own hands, having Yoji take them back again was almost as much of a release as the physical one Yoji had prompted a little while ago. Yoji was so much better at this, so much more practiced, though Aya hardly cared to dwell on the whys and wherefores of his education. He’d seen enough evidence of that back when Weiss had been fresh and new enough as a team to surprise each other. And frowned upon it even then, when he shouldn’t have cared in the least who Yoji chose to sleep with or how often.

Regardless, he loved letting Yoji lead the more intimate dances. Melted at the rhythms Yoji seemed to so casually orchestrate. Slow, slow, fast, faster – – – hard . . . feather soft and sensual and back again. His fingers gripped at the shower tile, finding no purchase. The tile remained cool beneath his cheek, against his chest. Yoji was burning heat behind him.

The water began to turn luke warm, unfortunate evidence of a hot water heater that needed replacing. It would turn uncomfortably cold in short order. Yoji made a sound of disappointment, in no wise a fan of cold showers, and changed his rhythm to one that meant business. He finished up eloquently enough, pulling out to spurt over Aya’s buttocks and lower back rather than inside. He sighed afterwards, head resting on Aya’s wet shoulders, mouthing silk slippery strands of Aya’s hair, then shifted aside and let cooling water wash away the evidence of his completion, helping with fingers and palms, then quickly shut off the water as the last of the warmth seeped out of it.

“Ken must have taken a goddamned long shower.” He muttered.

Aya shrugged, snagging an oversized towel from the towel bar next to the shower. “Me. Ken. You and me. We were pushing our luck.”

Yoji sniffed, stepping out onto the floor dripping wet, and wrapping his long arms around Aya as Aya was trying to towel dry his hair. “I wish she wouldn’t send you out without me.”

Aya canted his head, trapped somewhat awkwardly in Yoji’s embrace.

“It was a small thing.”

“You have bruises from it.” Yoji’s fingers skimmed down Aya’s torso, nothing sexual, just a reminder of the bluish, palm sized bruise above his hip where he’d landed badly after an uncontrolled fall over an unexpected chainlink fence. It had not been his most graceful moment and he could only thank god that Ken had not been close enough on his tail at the time, to see it.

“Better than bullet holes.” He said, twisting out of Yoji’s embrace, miffed just a little that Yoji could complain after his own most recent solo stunt.

Yoji held up his hands, palms outward in a sign of pacifism, a learned scholar when it came to reading the shifts in Aya’s moods. “Point taken. You rule. I suck. Lets go to bed.”

Aya grunted, patting down his body and giving his hair one more run through with the damp towel before folding it and putting it in the hamper. Yoji, as usual, wadded his in a ball and tossed it towards the hamper where it landed half on, half off the top of the thing. Aya made himself ignore it, heading naked for the shadowed coolness of the bedroom and the welcoming softness of Yoji’s bed. The wet spot was minimal, most of the evidence of their sex having ended up on Yoji. Still Aya couldn’t quite make himself lay down in it, and to Yoji’s disgust, yanked back the top sheet and comforter to get to the fitted sheet.

“Geeze, I’ll lay in it.” Yoji complained.

“Shut up. It will only take a second . . .”

Yoji snatched the dirty sheet before Aya could fold it and put it in the hamper and tossed it in the corner next to what Aya assumed to be Yoji’s discarded clothing. Yoji helped him put the sheet on, which meant it went on wrinkly and loose and that the top sheet wasn’t properly tucked under the foot of the bed and that the comforter went on unevenly. But it was Yoji’s room after all and Yoji’s bed, even though Aya slept there almost every night, so he could only fight the sloppiness so much.

And soon enough they were settled into bed, the comforter pulled up, bodies relaxed into soft goosedown mattress top, Yoji lax and warm against his side, which was the position he’d hoped to find himself in in the first place . . . and he couldn’t find sleep. Could not for the life of him shut his eyes and drift off to much needed recuperation. Yoji found it easily enough, damp, soft hair against Aya’s shoulder, fingers lightly grazing Aya’s chest under the sheets, but it eluded Aya like some ghostly figure seen only out of the corner of the eye.

He sighed and cut on the bedside lamp, reaching for the book he’d been trying to read for the last week and failing, due to Yoji’s ample interruptions. Sharing a bedroom for all intents and purposes with Yoji was fine and good, better than fine and good, really, but they were going to have to have a serious talk about personal space and personal time rather soon or someone was going to get hurt.

He opened the book . . . page six after a week, which was lamentable since it was written by one of his favorite authors . . . and began to read. For once, with Yoji snoring ever so softly beside him and his own aches and pains reminding him that he really did need to find recuperative sleep himself, he was able to immerse himself in someone else’s world and someone else’s drama and momentarily forget the trials and tribulations of his own.