Living In A Moment

2004-09-28T04:05:06Z

Title : "Living In A Moment"
Author : caffeinekitty
Pairing : Ken X Aya/Ran
Rating : NC-17
Series : Gluhen (somewhere between Ep.12 and Ep.13.)
Summary : On the night before leaving for New York, Aya receives a last visit from an old friend.
Warnings : Minor spoilers possibly. PWP smut.

It wasn’t the usual sort of mission.

He wasn’t even sure there would ever be another mission, not the way it used to be.

Ken leant against his bike, watching the building across the street. Every now and then a silhouette played on the thin curtains of the second floor window.

Careless...but then I guess you don’t care anymore, do you?

The target had been tracked down to a nondescript little hotel, a few blocks from the airport. For a couple of days he’d just been waiting. For two nights he’d watched that window, watched that shadow, hovered on the other side of the street until the light flicked off. He had no idea what he was waiting for. He was only biding time he didn’t have.

And now, time was up.

Collar up, he levered himself away from the bike, leaving the safety of the shadows as he crossed the street and into the dimly lit building.

A single light cast a weak parody of illumination along the second floor landing. He lingered along the corridor, trying to come up with a plan. It had been easier while he’d been keeping his distance. Easier to tell himself he’d know what he intended when he was actually doing it. But two feet from the door he still had no idea what he was going to do or say. He wasn’t the one with the plans. Ken usually asked his questions after the fact.

He had no weapons, no back-up. Those things would do him no good this time.

The knock on the door, predictably, yielded no response. He leant against the door frame, arms folded across his chest, head down. The epitome of easy-going calm, as long as no-one looked too carefully. Tension threaded a shiver through his shoulders, wove the faintest hitch into his voice.

"You might as well open the door. I know you’re in there."

The silence dragged on. Even the soft shuffling on the other side of the paper thin walls stopped. The entire building felt still. He waited it out with an unbefitting patience. A moth buzzed ineffectually around the bare lightbulb, tattered little wings batting against the dusty glass. He listened to the drone of a plane as it came in to land at the nearby airport, barely aware of the frustration leaking out, making his fists and jaw clench.

Snorting an angry, humourless little laugh, he banged on the door again, harder and louder.

"I’m not going anywhere."

When the door latches scraped in place, the sound was loud as a baretta shattering the silence. It had the same effect, at least, if the intent had been to make him jump ten feet. He thought he might have heard a quietly exasperated sigh as the door swung open, but it was probably just another creaked protest from the poorly oiled hinges. It was probably just his imagination.

He turned in time to see the back of a white shirt, collar obscured by messily shorn red hair, disappearing back into the room.

He figured that was as close to an invitation as he was going to get.

The room was even more nondescript than the rest of the place suggested. Bland. Basic. Beige. It wasn’t the sort of place he’d have expected Aya to choose, when the other man could have stayed anywhere. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he didn’t know as much as he thought. His gaze scanned the room again, out of habit, out of the need to look at anything but the real reason he was here. Everything was neat, sparse and transient. As though no-one had ever really lived there. It was the room of a man who had no intention to stay.

His fists clenched again. It was irrational, part of him could still recognise that, but it felt as that out of all the things Aya was leaving, he was leaving Ken the most.

The redhead stopped in the middle of the room, half-turning and watching him, amethyst gaze emotionless and empty.

It was just one look, but it made his heart crash to its knees. Aya didn’t look at him any differently to the way he looked at everyone else. The same calm indifference that had been the last beautiful sight to countless targets was aimed his way now.

He was nothing to the redhead anymore. Judging by that hollow stare, Ken didn’t know if he’d ever been anything.

If he was waiting for Aya to ask him what he was doing there, he’d have been waiting forever. He’d made the first move by coming here, committed himself to the first set-piece, and Aya would expect him to see that play through. The only thing that stood between him and his goal was the most intensely formidable defence he’d ever gone up against.

"You weren’t even going to say goodbye, were you?"

Aya looked at him, calm violet gaze peering out from beneath messy red bangs, like Ken had just begun speaking a perfectly incomprehensible language. After a while, he turned back to the few belongings set out neatly on the bed, head down, eyes obscured by a fall of dark red silk. Ken had to force his hands to stay at his sides, willing himself not to reach out and brush that lock of hair back.

"What’s left to say?"

Everything. Tell me what’s happening to me, tell me what’s happening to us. Tell me why we’re doing this, tell me why we’re walking away when it’s all we know. Tell me it all still matters somehow.

Tell me everything we’ve done hasn’t been for nothing.

"So that’s it?" He scowled angrily at that calm, perfect profile. "Just because you decide it’s gotta be this way, just because you decided there’s nothing left to say, everyone else’s gotta go along with it too?"

There was something unfamiliar in the shake of the head that sent red bangs shushing a whispered caress along fine cheekbones. Resignation. Sadness.

If Aya didn’t believe in this anymore, then where the hell did that leave him?

"I’m making my decision for me. You can do whatever the hell you want…" The tone of voice changed, becoming the same clipped cool monotone that sent a sliver of wistfulness clear down to Ken’s bones. The aim was as cold and as sure as any blade. "I don’t care what you do. It’s over."

Ken stared at him, snorted an abrupt and faintly manic laugh. "Which part?"

Aya ignored him. "Every part. It’s over. There’s no such thing as Weiss for us anymore."

"So what the fuck are we supposed to do, huh? Who the fuck else are we meant to be?"

"You." Aya corrected him. "Not `we`."

"Bullshit." Ken growled. "You came back, remember? You had nothing to fight for anymore but you still came back. You couldn’t break away then and you can’t do it now."

You can’t, dammit, you just…can’t.

"We are Weiss. We gave up being anything else a long time ago."

"So find something else to be." Aya barely glanced at him. "It was never going to be forever."

"It’s that simple for you…?"

The redhead stopped what he was doing at that question, just staring down at his belongings. It wasn’t a lot to show for everything they’d done, Ken mused dimly. It wasn’t a lot to show for all they’d given up.

So don’t give everything up. Don’t leave me now. Not when nothing else makes sense anymore. Not when you’re the only thing I have left that I understand.

Wait for me…

He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands as they rested limply in his lap. Harmlessly. And still not shaking. From peripheral vision he watched as Aya folded and refolded a shirt, never quite getting around to putting it in his bag. Ken’s hands curled into fists again, flesh and skin and bone flexing into the only position in which they felt comfortable. In his mind, claws extended from the back of a second skin, clean at first then smeared with blood, then soaked in it, like the metal itself was cut and bleeding.

So much blood on his hands. He was worse than those they hunted. At least they had their reasons. His only reason was the kill itself, and he was no-one to pass judgement. None of them were. Nothing gave them that right.

He didn’t understand how Aya could walk away as unaffected as he was. Again. When it was all that Ken could do to keep a lid on all the things screaming through his veins for some kind of release. When it was all he could do to keep a hold on himself from one moment to the next, one hour to the next, here was Aya telling him it was over, telling him it was as easy and as clear cut as just letting go and moving on.

Move on? That’s fucking rich, coming from you…

When he had a mission, a purpose, it was different. He could tune things out, focus on the job. And when they’d returned from Europe, the satisfaction of fighting alongside Aya again had been enough to give Ken a new purpose. If Aya believed so deeply in what they were doing, Ken was happy to leech his own validity from that faith.

He’d gone back to it because this was the only life he knew. He’d gone back to it because he needed to be a part of the only thing he understood. There was nowhere else for him to be.

No-one else for him to be with.

He’d always known it hadn’t been the same for the redhead. Sometimes he wondered if, just as he used the missions and the blood to forget, Aya had used him for the same ends. But if he’d blanked out the hurt, or the loss, or the emptiness - or whatever unfathomable things occurred behind that frosty exterior - even for a moment, then it was worth it.

They’d both been using the other. All in all it had been a pretty even game…

He glanced up to find that guarded violet stare trained on him.

"What do you want from me…?" The question was soft, more confused than angry. Appropriate, really, since Ken was more angry than confused.

Reasons. Answers. Purpose.

Hope.

His hands were shaking a little as he extended one across the distance between them, letting it rest atop the hands that had stilled in the task of folding that shirt to within an inch of its natural life. Neither of them looked up, no more acknowledgement to the touch than the redhead’s fingers flexing slightly beneath his, letting their fingers entwine loosely. Barely that. Just the way Ken’s fingers slid between Aya’s. It just looked like more than it was…

The redhead breathed his name. It almost sounded like a warning, if Ken was of a mind to heed anything of the sort. In the heavy pause that followed, he imagined a million things to fill the silence. Out of them all, `don’t` was the tangibly accurate choice, so real he could almost hear it out loud.

No...no `don’ts`...

His fingers, hands that had taken enough lives for him to lose count, tightened slightly over the other man’s, stroking along the soft skin between cool fingers.

If this is all I can have of us, if this is all there ever was…I’ll take what I can get.

His fingers clenched into a fist again, grasping that slender, disarmingly vulnerable hand tighter. Aya gasped softly under his breath, eyes wide when Ken glanced up, but the violet stare still wouldn’t quite meet his.

The enchantment was broken by the redhead speaking his name again, more vehemently this time. The same no-nonsense, no-argument tone he’d heard on countless missions, as though Ken’s attention was just another obstacle to deal with.

"If you didn’t want anything else, then I suggest you leave." Aya turned back to the forgotten suitcase.

With a punch that would have laid out an opponent in a vicious fight, Ken pushed the suitcase out of Aya’s reach. It fell off the end of the bed with a hollow clatter.

Aya looked at him with the irritated impatience of a harried parent trying to cope with a three year old’s temper tantrum. The lifted brow asked `what?`.

"Leave?" Ken shook his head, humourless grin more of a snarl, showing teeth. "I have nowhere to go."

Aya regarded him coolly, before turning to retrieve the suitcase. "I’m sure Persia could arrange something for you."

Before the redhead moved out of reach, Ken extended a hand, fingers wrapping around Aya’s wrist. It was an odd thought to have, and an even stranger time to be having it, but he had no idea how Aya could wield a katana with such efficiency with such slender wrists. They felt so delicate beneath his fingers, pulse fluttering as softly as a butterfly. One well placed grasp or twist, and the fragile framework of bones would crack beneath that perfect skin.

He’d never really given thought to it ending. He tried not to give thought to where they’d be after the next mission. In their line of business it didn’t pay to plan too far ahead. But he never thought it’d be like this.

He barely realised how tightly he was holding onto Aya. The other man might as well have been the last piece of flotsam in a storm-shattered wreck. Past thinking, he reached out, the other hand curling into the material of Aya’s shirt.

Aya sighed, and to his credit the sound was only slightly put-upon, as Ken attempted to pull him closer, bury his face against the redhead’s shirt lest Aya berate him again for having the same kind of grasp on his emotions as a sieve had on water.

The arms that rested around his shoulders were a little stiff and awkward, but Ken didn’t care. They were there, that was enough. Pulling back slightly, Ken nuzzled his cheek against Aya’s abdomen, glancing up at the other man as he drew the redhead to stand between his slightly parted legs.

There was always a hesitation, that fleeting manifestation of the internal battle that raged silently behind violet eyes. One of those little idiosyncrasies that reminded Ken that Aya was as human as the rest of them. Just like the quiet intake of breath when Ken let one hand slide beneath the edge of Aya’s shirt, fingertips stroking warm skin as he dragged the material up.

Pressing kisses to the shivering muscles of Aya’s toned stomach, Ken ran his hands up the other man’s chest. Deadly hands infinitely gentle, his fingers parted around the redhead’s nipples, scissoring the peaked nubs between his fingers. Aya gasped quietly, the sound felt rather than heard as Ken leant up, licking the hollow of the redhead’s throat. Aya’s hands slid from his shoulder to anchor in his hair, as Ken’s lips crossed the bunched-up fabric of Aya’s shirt, licking a wet trail down the redhead’s chest. Nipping lightly at the pale skin earnt him a sharp gasp, so Ken did it again, a little harder, marking the flawless skin until Aya growled his name.

He liked those growls.

Hands at the belt of Aya’s pants, his teeth nipped at the redhead’s navel, alternating between sweeping licks and teasing bites. Aya’s hips jerked involuntarily when Ken tugged at the half open pants. They were prim tailored slacks; had he worn then to carry out his deception as a teacher? Something about that thought made Ken grin ferally, strong hands grasping the waist and tugging the pants down roughly over narrow hips. Black silk boxers quickly followed, and Aya breathed a curse under his breath as the fabric shushed down to pool at his ankles. Lips still feathering kisses against Aya’s stomach, Ken’s hands followed the path of the silk, touch sliding reverently down long legs the colour and texture of the richest cream.

Aya’s hips jerked again, quietly commanding body language trying to direct Ken’s attention to where the redhead wanted it most. But at least for one night, Ken wanted to pretend that this was his game. And they were barely into the first half.

Still, he couldn’t help smiling as he glanced up at Aya. The look in eyes darkened purple by lust, was a poorly concealed, very expectant `well…?`. Anyone who managed to get Aya Fujimiya into this state had damn well better see it through.

Ah…live dangerously...

The lick that brushed the tip of the redhead’s erection was a barely ghosted touch, just enough for Aya to feel the suggestion of wet heat, before Ken pulled back. It felt a little like teasing a pissed off panther, and the annoyed growl that rumbled in the redhead’s throat was testament to that. Lowering his head again, he blew a little at the saliva-slick skin, until Aya shivered, and the hands in Ken’s hair tightened almost painfully.

A thread of worry wove its way into the haze of want. If this was all he’d ever get from Aya, then he wasn’t going to risk it by pushing the teasing too far. Cool and practical as Aya might have been, Ken had never known him to shy away from instant gratification. And this close to the heat he wanted, Ken wasn’t looking for a cold shoulder.

Lips pressing a soft kiss to the hot velvet skin, he swept the touch slowly along the redhead’s shaft, the tip of his tongue tracing the network of ridges, licking slowly down to the base and back up again. Nuzzling the tip of Aya’s arousal, he parted his lips around the head of the other man’s cock, tongue swirling wetly over the hardness, suckling the flared crown for a lingering moment. Taking more of the flesh between his lips, the speed and pressure of his movements were dimly gauged by the noises Aya was making, by the way his hips shuddered erratically the more deliberate Ken’s ministrations became.

He slowed the suckling when the shudders became thrusts, reining his need in to keep Aya’s own in check. For now, at least. When he pulled back for a second time, even Aya seemed aware of his purposefulness, and the protests were kept to the minimum of a half-hearted glare. Ken just met the look with a chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand while the other reached up, fingers winding in that soft, ragged hair, and drawing Aya down into a kiss.

The first touch of his lips against Aya’s sent an electric jolt racing down Ken’s spine. That mouth, softer than any flower petal Ken had ever touched, hesitated for a moment before yielding to the nudging licks of his tongue, parting with a sigh. Or what would have been a sigh, had the man he was kissing been interested in such displays of vulnerability.

Either way, the fantasy of even a marginally vulnerable Aya spurred Ken on.

Ripping Aya’s shirt from strong shoulders, his fingers clutched at the material as though the absent claws were an inherent part of him. Aya growled lowly against his ear, the noise sending a warm brush of breath against his skin. Even that close, he had to strain to catch the sound. He’d make Aya scream before the game was through, he swore that to himself. Teeth gritted in a determined, possessive snarl, he impatiently unfastened his own jeans, and drew the other man onto his lap.

The sharp cry that escaped Aya’s lips as their erections met almost made good on that quest even before they’d begun. Almost, if Ken hadn’t been too lost in the fever-hot skin rubbing against his own arousal to notice anything else. Lost in the sensation, lost in Aya.

Ever efficient, Aya slid a hand between their bodies, a methodical brusqueness seeping into even the softest touch of his fingers. Ken shook his head slightly, brushing Aya’s hand away before it could reach its intended target. The redhead’s disgruntled sigh faded into a near purr as Ken wrapped his fingers firmly around their arousals, keeping the slick heat pressed tightly together. Aya squirmed against him, arms winding around his shoulders, but for a moment Ken remained still. This was the moment he wanted to imprint on his memory. Aya needing him, if only for this.

But then the moment was broken, Aya’s movements becoming silent pleas, quiet sounds against Ken’s shoulder, hips rocking as much as the brunette’s hands allowed. If he’d been waiting for more verbal a command than that, Ken decided wryly, they’d have been here a while. And while he had no argument with that, his body demanded otherwise. Surrendering to its – and the redhead’s – orders, he slowly stroked their arousals, root to tip, coaxing a moan and a shudder from Aya.

A second stroke made Aya’s fingers dig harder into his shoulder. A third made the redhead’s hips snap against his own, making them both gasp. A fourth saw the pace becoming quicker and a little erratic, the other man’s cries muffled against the crook of Ken’s neck. His fingers set up a steady rhythm, friction made faster by saliva and pre-come, and Aya rocked against him, body arching and wrapping itself sinuously around Ken’s.

His free hand slid down the other man’s back, and as though reading his mind, Aya leant up a little more against him, allowing Ken’s fingers access as they traced the valley of the redhead’s ass. Teasing at first, the touches became more inquisitive, seeking out the tight ring of muscle, and, after a moment’s hesitation, pressing in carefully.

When Aya’s head fell back, Ken licked at the column of the redhead’s neck, feeling the muscles move beneath his lips as the other man swallowed convulsively, breathing as though air were a limited commodity. Thrusting faster against him, Aya lowered his head, forehead leaning on Ken’s shoulder, wrapping himself so closely that Ken could feel the furrows of the redhead’s brow as Aya fought to cling to self-control.

It made him wish for a moment that he hadn’t hesitated so long, hadn’t waited until Aya `cut` his hair. To feel that cool red silk spilling like a curtain over his shoulder would have been enough to drive him crazy.

Or, crazier…

But it wasn’t enough. The redhead might have carried more muscle than the deceptively slim frame suggested, but his weight was still too slight to cater to the kind of hunger Ken was trying to assuage.

Sliding his hands over Aya’s hips, under his thighs, he pulled those long sleek legs out from underneath the redhead, leaning more of his weight onto the other man. Aya fell back against the bed with an indignant growl, and Ken’s arousal pounded in response. Kissing him to halt any further muffled protests, Ken half hoped Aya would still try to vie for control. Half hoped Aya knew him well enough by now to know the safe kind of fight Ken was looking for.

But all Aya did was arch up against him, long pale legs wrapping around Ken’s hips, and too far gone in want for the man beneath him, Ken couldn’t bring himself to care.

Could barely bring himself to think at all, past the blazing heat coursing through his veins as he slid his body against Aya’s. For a second, he paused, head of his arousal nudging the tight opening, just revelling in the aching pleasure of anticipation. Aya must have taken it for hesitation; turning his head, he nipped sharply at Ken’s earlobe, voice rough like fine whisky.

"Do it."

Ken didn’t need telling twice. With most other things, yes, but not with this. Gritting his teeth, he thrust slowly, inching past the resisting muscle. Finally sinking into the silky tightness felt a little like tearing past the last scrap of wrapping paper on a longed-for Christmas present. Both arms winding around Aya and pulling him close, he whispered the redhead’s name softly, he continued to press forward, until he was encased in perfect heat, his hips settling against the other man’s.

He wasn’t going to any kind of heaven, Ken knew that. But here in this moment with Aya, wrapped up in the other man’s body, his taste and scent swimming through Ken’s mind, was as fleetingly close as he was ever going to get.

Then Aya began moving beneath him, minute jerks of the hips accompanied by short hissed breaths. Leaning down, Ken kissed him breathlessly, crushing those soft lips beneath his own as he began thrusting, hard and deep, each stroke making the cheap motel bed creak and clatter against the wall. One hand clamped tightly to Ken’s shoulder, the redhead slid the other down between their bodies, nails raking bluntly over Ken’s chest, before wrapping around his own erection. Stroking fast and firm in time with Ken’s thrusts, Aya moaned against the kiss, lips and tongue demanding and aggressive. Growling softly, Ken’s hands slid to the back of Aya’s thighs, fingers stroking satin skin, pushing those long legs up and further apart. The new angle made them both gasp, breaking the kiss, made him sink even deeper into that exquisite tightness than Ken dreamed possible.

Without thinking, he reached out, one of his hands finding one of Aya’s, and grasping desperately. But the delicate fingers didn’t crush beneath the hold, as he’d been expecting. Instead they intertwined with his own, holding on just as tightly.

The redhead came first, earlier teasing giving him a slight lead in the game. And much as Ken tried holding back, tried making the moment last – forever – that body clamping down around him didn’t give him a lot of choice in the matter.

He cried out Aya’s name as the pleasure crested over him, those two syllables carrying everything else he couldn’t put into words without fucking it all up and destroying whatever tenuous connection they had.

It occurred to him as he sank into the hazy afterglow, tension seeping out of his body as he fell limply against the other man, that he never did make Aya scream after all.

The room sank back into silence. Somewhere else in the building, footsteps echoed emptily before ending with the slamming of a door. Aya’s heartbeat was a steady rhythm against Ken’s cheek, and for those precious few seconds, in the infinite space between one breath and the next, everything was perfect. Weiss, life outside the motel door, it all existed somewhere else, somewhere that didn’t touch them.

He let the moment drag on. Breath after breath till Aya drifted off to sleep, till minutes became hours and night became morning, and somehow it didn’t matter that Aya was still leaving, because he’d had this. This glimpse at a something beyond anger and killing and fear.

He tagged along to the airport, like a baffled puppy, unsure still why its master wasn’t taking it along, but helpless to do anything but follow. And in the moment it took him to figure out what to say, Aya was gone. Disappeared into the crowd leaving Ken reaching out for nothing, just a second too late to say `stay`.

But staring into the anonymous faces standing between him and what he needed most, he couldn’t help the ghost of a grin.

Aya wasn’t leaving. Aya had just gotten a good head start.