Weiss Kreuz, Yoji/Aya, breathplay
It's Aya's idea, Aya's solution, and he looks just as cold and expressionless dicussing it as he does anything that doesn't involve his sister or the name Takatori. Never mind that Yohji might kill him, never mind that his plan involves having sex with Yohji – something Yohji could only have ever dreamed of before developing his little 'problem', and he's not quite sure this he believes this could really happen even now – to Aya's twisty and convoluted mind it is a perfectly reasonable solution that doesn't put innocents at risk.
(Yohji would wonder if Aya was trying to get killed, only he seems so much more well-balanced and almost sane now that his sister's awake. Usually. Current conversation aside.)
“Why?” Yohji finally asks, bewildered.
“We're on the same team,” Aya replies. “And I don't believe you'll kill one of your own teammates.”
Once upon a time, Yohji would have been sure he couldn't kill a lover, but things have changed. He's changed, and he's not so sure he can be fixed.
When the hell did Aya become the optimistic one?
“Yohji.”
Th word has the lash of ice that he associates with dangerous Aya, and it jerks him out of his thoughts.
“You're not going to kill me.”
Arguing with Aya in that kind of mood is hazardous to his health, and – oh, fuck, Aya's taking his clothes off, and his brain has just short-circuited in ways that mean mustering a coherent argument is completely out of the question anyway.
He reaches out and discovers that however cold Aya looks, his skin is warm to the touch, almost hot, and who knew Aya could kiss like that?
All of his reservations disappear under the urgings of his body, which is screaming at him how much it wants to fuck Aya, now. The bed creaks in protest at the sudden weight of two grown men. Yohji's clothes are tugged off impatiently. Aya hands him a tube and he fumbles it open, squeezing cold liquid onto his fingers. He does his best to make sure Aya's ready – so hot, so tight that it's hard to resist plunging in immediately - then slicks some on his cock and pushes inside.
Yohji's eyes close and a groan of pure bliss escapes him. The feeling is so close to perfect he must be dreaming; when he opens his eyes to see the flush of colour on Aya's usually pale cheeks, lips swollen, violet eyes dazed with passion, he knows he is.
Then those eyes narrow warningly, and Aya hisses, “Move, dammit.”