FicWad

Title- After Hours
Yohji/Aya
Disclaimer- dont own the boys. just borrowing. no profit made



It had been some sort of divine revelation, a vision of paradise not meant for mortal eyes. Suddenly, Aya understood why it was Yohji went out, and for one instant, didn't regret following.

Leaving the house, Yohji had looked, in Aya's opinion, like a cheap whore, glittery with makeup and jewelry, every shift of fluid muscles exposed by unbelievably tight, indecently thin pants and a shirt that was more of a tease than something that could be considered actual clothing. Yohji had flirted his way out of the house, knowing it embarrassed Omi, annoyed Ken, and angered Aya, and blatantly not caring. Not at all uncomfortable beneath the stares he attracted as he walked down the street, Yohji had made his way to a gaudy club, seduced the doorman into letting him and entered like he owned the place.

For all intents and purposes he did.

Aya had just barely refrained from killing the aforementioned doorman, who had done a good job of embarrassing the short tempered assassin with sly innuendo, before shoving money at the man and pushing past, not wanting to lose track of his garishly adorned compatriot.

And had frozen in place as soon as he entered.

The crowd was in the process of drawing back, the already adrenaline-laced atmosphere taunt with anticipation. Yohji stood on the dance floor, an easy smile on his face. For a moment, Aya was jealous, as his brazen housemate rarely seemed so relaxed at home...and never seemed so happy. Then the lighting shifted a bit, and what had seemed unholy out of place previously, all the glitter and gauze, seemed perfect, and Yohji began to move.

Lips twisted in a crooked smile that was half amusement, half shameless seduction, Yohji began to dance, the music seeming solely for his benefit. A body that Aya had usually seen move with such perfection only in cases of taunt violence writhed with a different, but no less primal, intensity on the dance floor.

And Aya felt his gut twist in response.

He remembered the play of those muscles under his hands, the feel of those strong arms around him, pulling him down, close...he had been the sole target of the sultry scrutiny in green eyes now casting their way around the entire room, tempting, teasing, daring...

And from the crowd came an answer. A lithe young woman twisted her way out of the onlookers and joined Yohji on the dance floor, a smug smile on her face. Shameless, secure, Yohji involved her in his dancing, in the definitely erotic swaying and twining...

"First time seeing him, eh?"

"Pardon?" Aya turned, more than a little befuddled, his attention intent on darting back to Yohji even as he tried to locate the speaker.

"It's always like this, when he decides to show up." A smirking young man sighed a mix of jealousy and admiration in his eyes that did nothing to help Aya's mood.

"He does this often?"

"We wish. Every now and then really. He walks in, stands on the floor, and kinda waits til people clear some space. Damn tease though. The bastard always heads out alone later."

Yohji twisted away from the first girl, twirled his way around another, eyes glittering like some manic siren, fully aware of the hormonal havoc he was wrecking, and reveling in it.

"You dance?"

"Hn?"

"Asked if you dance, man. Pretty guy like you seems to be his type. Why don't you get that skinny butt of yours out there."

"Fuck off." Aya snapped, uncomfortable.

"Hell, man. Just saying..."

there was no way in hell Aya was going out there...not when he was used to a far more intimate dance with the older man. Not when he had cut those ties, those opportunities.

Why had following Yohji seemed like such a grand idea half an hour ago? What had possessed him to shadow the man to this den of debauchery and impossibly vivid fantasy? He didn't want to see his former lover twine and writhe amidst other bodies, didn't want to see such blatant sensuality on display...not when he had once been its soul target...

...Didn't want those green eyes to notice him, to acknowledge his presence with a slight stiffening as Yohji unconsciously prepared himself for the rejection and disgust experience warned him was sure to follow. Aya didn't want to be the reason the magic seeped out of the air, the catalyst that instigated Yohji's casual retreat from the spotlight.

The man belonged there, making love to the fantasies and eager admiration of the crowd around him. It suited those playful eyes, that easy smile. This wasn't a place for him to be, a specter of reality. Aya turned and fled, not even bothering to pretend he was doing otherwise.

He made it a block before a hand caught his elbow, easily dodged the reflexive blow that was Aya's response to unwanted physical contact.

"Where you going, beautiful?" Yohji dropped the flippant inquiry with all the ease his playboy persona allowed, quiet smile on his face, cigarette drooping almost lazily off of his lower lip.

"Home." Aya snapped, uncomfortable.

"What? Without a dance?"

"Let me go, Kudou."

"Hey, you're the one that followed me." Yohji drew Aya close, far too accustomed to Aya's snarled death threats to be put off, and began to dance.

"Kudou! Let me go! This is ridiculous! We are in the middle..."

"Of a perfectly good sidewalk. Perfect for a waltz or two."

"You ass!"

"hush, your rhythm sucks. Pay more attention to where you are putting your feet."

"I swear I will..."

"Kill me. yeah, I know. Don't really care, ya know."

Aya shuddered as Yohji's chin settled onto the top of his head, as Yohji's body swayed gently against his. He was dancing in public with a man dressed like some sort of flashy whore...was surrounded by the spicy musk that had lulled him to sleep for so many nights, pressed against the chest that had pillowed him after so many tense missions...

Hell, he would kill Yohji later...in a few minutes...lull him into complacency before striking...

Yohji felt Aya relax against his chest and allowed himself a tiny smile. Sometimes, the small victories were the best, were all he needed. Hell, it was even worth skipping out of the club early. Without even one drink. The fight later would be spectacular, but then again, they always were.

They always were...and that made it all the more fun.