~...~ = telepathy/thought.
A mouth on his mouth, a mouth on his neck. One hand in his hair, two more under his shirt, making his skin burn. The warm wet lips on his pulled away, slid down his jaw, locked with the ones sucking at his throat, and he felt the bodies on either side of him- one in front, one behind- shuddering together. He tipped his head back, onto the shoulder of the one behind, and was immediately enveloped by a cloud of fiery orange hair. Too many people called it red, but it wasn’t red: his was red; this sweet-smelling mass was definitely orange.
He turned his gaze sideways and leaned forward just a little to kiss the ear next to his mouth, bite at the lobe, and press his lips to the spot just under it, the spot barely above the point of the jaw that always brought forth a shiver when he did this. There was the shiver, and it travelled into the cozy form against his chest, and the blonde head lifted; a wet, laughing mouth caught his, and he was paralysed again.
Who would willingly move away from this? he wondered. He might have, once. In fact, yes, he would have, and not that long ago. He couldn’t say he’d really changed since then. No, he just loved these two now. He would do anything to keep the three of them together. That was change enough.
“Pretty Aya,” a voice murmured to him, muffled in his hair. “We’ll never leave you.” It’s just us. The others... can’t know.
“Can’t know,” the blonde whispered to his collarbone. He’d caught the thought.
~Mastermind is powerful.~
It hurt to see him in action, to see flung against him Aya’s own team mates. To stand by in terror, praying, ‘Don’t let this blade connect, don’t let this shot hit,’ and then to leave, battered and bloodied because he couldn’t bring himself to hit back, and to sit down and wonder, ‘Is this the day they find out? Did they finally read it in my eyes this time?’
And then Yohji would come to sit beside him; happy, beautiful Yohji, and he’d curl up into Aya, kiss him gently, and whisper, “Don’t worry, love. Not today.”