Here's the deal... this is a single scene, not an entire fic. It grew out of a sick and twisted idea of mine, born on the way to class one morning (why? Saa...). Its background is a part of the (yes, still untitled) sequel to Mada Mada, but that's not terribly important (and it definitely won't figure into the final version of that!). What you need to know is, Youji was shot in the abdomen before, and severely hurt subsequently. It's been a while, he's recovered somewhat, but overall his health has been lousy, he's been unable to go on missions and has had a fever that comes and goes constantly. Aya's been taking care of him. And then, Aya goes out on a routine mission, and doesn't come back.
Say Something
by Utopian Trunks
Youji had finally fallen asleep an hour before, and Ken, slumped in the chair by the door was just starting to nod off when the phone rang. They woke before it had finished its first trill. Green and brown eyes converged on the cordless.
There was a heartbeat pause.
Youji threw himself across the room, snatching the receiver from the cradle before a second ring could even begin. "Hello?"
"Youji."
Ken started up from his chair as he saw the older man's face change.
"Get Omi. Get a trace. Now," Youji ordered, pointing to the door. When Ken hesitated, "Go!"
"G-got it." Ken stumbled slightly as he rushed out, the door slamming and his footsteps echoing on the concrete walkway outside.
"Where are you?" Youji gritted.
"I'm not sure," was the answer. The deep, rich tones of that voice wrapped around him.
Both Youji's hands held the phone to his cheek as though afraid it would escape. "What do you mean? Aya, what happened? Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Aya, we've been sweeping for you for days, and nothing. What--" Vertigo swirled through his head and snatched away his sense of balance. He staggered back to his bed and sat down heavily. "--happened?" he finished weakly. His fingers trailed experimentally over his forehead. He snatched them back, scalded. Damn, not now... "Aya?"
"Nothing, just a small inconvenience," Youji slid onto his stomach on the bed, still cradling the phone.
"Then when will you be back?" A plea.
There was a sharp breath on the other side. "Soon."
"Aya--?"
"Soon," the deep voice repeated. It was so steady and reassuring he wanted to curl into it and never emerge again. Everything seemed suddenly fuzzy around the edges--fever-blurred and dull.
"Hontou da yo na?" Youji whispered. "Na?"
"Hontou da. Youji--"
"I was... I thought you were..." Youji's vision swam, making him close his eyes. "I want you here, Aya. I need you here, I--"
"I kept you up these nights, didn't I?"
"No--Aya, are you really safe?"
"Your fever?"
"It's gone," Youji lied.
"Usotsuki." He thought he heard Aya's breath quicken slightly.
"Aa," Youji admitted. "It's hard to sleep without you, Aya..." He was dizzy. He was tired--the nervous energy sustaining him for the past few days had evaporated at the first sound of that voice.
"How can I help you sleep?"
"Just keep talking, Aya..."
"All right." The redhead's voice was like a caress. "Lie down, Youji."
"I am," Youji pulled himself up the bed and let his head fall heavily onto his pillow, balancing the phone over his upturned ear.
"How?"
"On my stomach?"
"... What are you wearing?"
Youji's brows drew over closed eyes. "Huh? Why?"
"Just tell me." His voice was still low and steady, hadn't risen at all.
The detective had to run his hand down over himself to check. "My black jeans. The green silk shirt with the braid ties down the front--Aya--?"
Aya breathed--a little heavy. "I like that one," he said, softly.
Youji shivered, unsure why. It was the fever, he was off-balance...
"It suits you," Aya continued. "The way it hangs over your shoulders you look even more slender than usual. Like I could hold you with one hand."
Youji frowned, opening his eyes. They stung awfully, though, so he shut them again. "Aya... what the hell are you talking about?" It didn't sound like him, it was almost frightening. The hairs all along his arms were standing on end. "Aya?"
"It's so thin, I can tell when you're aroused," Aya's voice dropped a notch lower. "It shows."
Aya never spoke this much, it was weird. And it had to be just the influence of the fever that something so abstract as a voice was beginning to tug at him below the belt. Not that the rich tone of that voice hadn't always affected him--but in person, not over the phone...
"Aya, is something wrong?"
There was another deep breath. "You need to sleep, don't you?"
"Yeah, but..."
"You need me to sleep?"
"Here, Aya." Youji's voice rose a little. When had three days become too long away from his lover? When had a single night alone become unbearable? "I need you beside me, I need your hands on me, Aya. When are you coming back?"
"Soon," was the answer. The next was almost inaudible. "But I need you now, Youji."
"What--?"
"I want to touch you."
"Aya, I'm--"
"Feel me, Youji. You're cold, aren't you?"
"E-ee."
"That warmth starting over your shoulder--feel it?"
"Aya--"
"Do you?"
"--A... aa."
A soft exhalation. "Down along your side, slowly. I can feel your skin through the silk, it's barely there..."
"Where are you, Aya?"
"Behind you, kneeling over you. Close your eyes, Youji."
"They're closed."
"I'll slip under that shirt, slide my fingers over your waist..."
Youji's own hand followed the spoken course. "Yeah...?"
"Dip my fingers into your scar..."
Youji ran the tip of his index along the smooth scar tissue the way Aya always did. He shuddered. "Why do you do that?"
"That wound almost took you from me. I like to feel it closed."
Youji breathed, clutching the phone a bit tighter. "Can you?"
"Aa. It's more tender than the rest of you. Smooth, hot like I'm reaching inside you from there. As if you're open, vulnerable right there, and no one should ever know--but I do."
"I'm dizzy..."
"It's all right." He could feel the words in a gust of breath against his ear, the slight brush of lips that followed.
"I'm cold, Aya."
"I'm covering you."
"... You're heavy."
"You're warmer, though."
"Aa..."
"Your skin..." He could feel Aya's hand on him, straying upwards from his scar, stroking a path to his chest, taking a nipple between his fingers...
"Aya, don't stop that..."
"I won't. Youji--" And he recognized the tone of voice that meant lips were gliding down his throat. "You taste..." Teeth set lightly at the base of his neck, tongue laving the sensitive juncture. The fingers on his nipple pinched harder.
"Aya--" Youji groaned. His head swirled. His eyelids were burning.
"Keep your eyes closed..." Youji squeezed them more tightly shut. If his eyelids hadn't been on fire, if the room hadn't already been spinning wildly around him in the dark, he could have opened them and seen Aya, he was sure. "Turn, Youji." Voice and movement blurred together. He felt himself rolled onto his back, weight and heat over his hips.
"Aya..." He bit his lip as two hands slipped under his shirt, caressing, then teasing. He arched. "Aya, I wanted you so bad while you were gone..."
"Ore mo, Youji." Lips caught his, tongue catching at his own. He kissed back desperately.
"Aya, I don't know how to--"
"I can hear you so clearly I can taste you, Youji. Just feel me."
"Nn." Youji writhed. He knew one of his hands was by his face, holding the phone in a white-knuckled grip. He couldn't find his other, somehow, and there were at least two playing over his body, heating the skin that had been so unbearably cold in contrast to his face. "Aya..." The name had been almost absent from his mouth these few days; it was as if repeating it now, like an incantation, would invoke its bearer. "Aya... You're warm."
"Aa--" he distinctly heard the redhead's breath catch this time. "Then you don't need this shirt, na?" the loose bow over his collarbone was slowly pulled open, then the silk was being carefully drawn apart, warm fingers trailing across his skin. Youji leaned up to let the shirt fall off. He reached for Aya's face in the dark and was seized again with vertigo. He let himself be pushed back. He shivered slightly before warm palms smoothed over his chest, strong fingers tweaking at his nipples, drawing that beautiful heat to the surface of his skin.
"Or these." Lips brushed over his again, then he felt a hand at his belt, deftly undoing it and pulling it from around his waist. Youji lifted his hips as his jeans were slid down, then kicked them off. "You're not wearing anything underneath."
"I was hoping you'd be back today..."
"Youji..." And that was the tone of voice that meant...
A slick finger slid inside him.
"A~hn!"
"Shh..." A soothing hand caressed one thigh, drawing it up beside him. His muscles clenched around the invading digit, almost painful tension gathering in his groin.
"Motto, Aya..."
A second finger joined the first, sinking deeper. Youji's hand hurt from holding the phone so tightly. Aya's voice poured hot over his ear, then his neck, he tilted his head back to offer his throat to the tongue that followed.
"You're so hot, Youji, so tight. Are you trying to pull me inside you?" Youji groaned as the fingers in him twisted, then were joined by a third, stretching him painfully, but oh, so sweetly.
"God, Aya..." He shifted his hips down against the invasion, needing more, wanting to be split open as he was taken.
"Tell me when I--" Aya's voice hitched briefly. "--hit it."
"Aya--?" Youji's voice quavered uncertainly. Then-- "There!" His back arched with that shout of agonized delight as the long fingers within him unerringly stabbed the point on his inner wall that sent molten shocks of pleasure racing through his body. They hit it again. "Ohhh... Aya..."
"You like it, don't you? Youji? Having me inside you?"
Youji moaned unabashedly loud as the gathered fingers hit again, then stroked over that spot. His bent leg drew up further towards his chest, his other splaying wide. "Yes, Aya--but Aya, I want--" he gasped.
Voice like liquid silk. "What do you want, Youji?"
"You, Aya. All of you. Inside me now, please, Aya."
He heard the sharp intake of Aya's breath, then felt a hand caress his cheek. "Are you ready?"
Youji gave a strangled groan of assent, turning to kiss that hand but finding it gone already. He whimpered as the fingers slithered out of him, then cried out as they were replaced by something thicker, hotter, longer, infinitely more satisfying.
Aya's breath came loud now, rough and low. "Tell me Youji, how do I feel?"
Youji's chest heaved, pushing up with his shoulders against the mattress. "So... good, Aya," he gasped. "Having you inside me, filling me... so hot and so close, Aya..."
An arm looped under his upraised knee, pushing it up to his shoulder as he was covered with that hard, sculpted body, penetrated fully once, and then again. Just hard enough to hurt in that way he'd become addicted to. The sweet, too sweet pain of being split open and thoroughly claimed by Aya; covered by him, filled by him, controlled by him, Youji surrendered himself completely, teeth denting his lower lip to keep himself from flying apart under the pressure of such intense ecstasy. This... he couldn't do without this anymore.
Now and only now did he hear how ragged the breathing above him had become. Each of Aya's thrusts was puncutated with a short gasp, a small, very-muffled cry. Youji wanted to wrap his arms around his neck, kiss him, but again couldn't find his hands.
"Aya..." Youji sobbed out, lifting his hips into his partner's assault, tossing his head back and forth on the pillow to try and contain himself. He couldn't stop the stream of inarticulate praise and supplication that flowed from his lips. "Aya... Aya say something, please..."
He felt hot, moist breath against his ear, the brush of lips. A hand slipped caressingly over his chest, his abdomen, to finally wrap around his quivering arousal with gentle, but firm pressure, drawing a throttled cry from Youji.
"I can't," Aya rasped hoarsely. "Think of anything."
Youji's moans steadily increased in volume as Aya's hand in addition to his driving penetration brought the tension wired through him to a frenzied pitch. "Aya--!" Youji's voice broke, tears sliding over his cheeks. So good... too good... "Tell me... tell me you won't leave me again, Aya."
"Youji--" the breathy whisper against his ear, deep, satin voice. Fingers tightened around his sex, and the world began to burn away at the edges.
"Aya! Aya, please, say--"
"Youji, I--"
He heard Aya's muted cry as he voiced his own release to the room so loud he heard it resonate. Everything went up in flame, his body and Aya's on top of him a thousand times as fever-hot as his head had been before. Every muscle in him seemed to stretch outwards to the snapping point, drawn out for one long instant of exquisitely excruciating pain--Then everything went lax, calm washed through him, blanketing his mind in white.
Muffled laughter sounded from the corner of the room, an answering, throaty chuckle rippling above him.
"That was so fucking sweet, I think I'm gonna cry," the first voice laughed.
"I've never come so hard," the second answered.
Aya's head and arms sagged over the edge of the table he lay on, belly down. Glazed violet eyes stared unseeing at the tiny cellphone loosely held in one hand.
The laughter of that condescending, nasal voice continued. "I bow to you, Farfarello, you are one sick bastard. Even I wouldn't have thought up something this cruel and perverted."
"Hunh." It stung as the man above him withdrew, but Aya felt it only detachedly. "You can talk--You were in his head the whole time; you came just watching, didn't you, Schuldich?"
"Heh, touché." The broad shoulders shrugged. "I just can't resist a good scene, I guess. You should have seen how fucking delicious Kudou was in there." Aya didn't flinch when a finger tapped his head, and then a hand stroked his hair in mock-gentleness. "This boy has quite the vivid imagination."
The pale, naked body on the table shivered convulsively, then lavender eyes slid shut.
"Ah--that's the end of him. He lasted pretty well, though, didn't he?"
"All sorts of stamina," Farfarello's voice was rough with black humour and sated sex as he slid off the table and pulled his jeans up and shut.
Elbow locked, Aya's arm still held the phone out in front of him in a lax-fingered accident of balance.
A thin sound issued from it.
"Aréré~?" Schuldich's green eyes turned to the device with interest.
"Aya...?"
"Ho~" Farfarello's one visible snowy brow raised. "He's still awake, the other kitten."
"Aya--?!"
Schuldich clapped a hand over his mouth, his other arm circling his stomach as silent laughter shook his broad frame. "Too cute!" he gasped between his fingers.
Aya's fingers twitched and the phone fell, landing with a sharp crack on one corner and snapping shut. A long streamer of blood dripped from between his open lips to pool over it like a crimson tear.
--Utopian Trunks, April 30, 2001
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