"I'm just using you"

III.

He had given Schuldig a blow job. Well, and three dead scumbags as well, but somehow that didn’t matter at all. He, Kudoh Yohji, had knowingly and willingly blown Schuldig, and the bastard had known it. It sounded unbelievable, shocking, and if he hadn’t lived it himself, he would have doubted it. He imagined telling his teammates—and the scenarios his mind came up with were just ridiculous, unbelievable, bad jokes. But he had blown Schuldig. And he’d fucking loved doing it as much as that sexy bastard had loved getting it. Yeah, the German had loved it; it had fucking drove him wild. His first times giving head, and he was god-damn amazing at it!

Well, he had had a tutor—it was easy to know what your partner wanted when you read their mind, no, read was too tame a word. Fuck! When Schuldig linked to him so deep, it was like they were one body, one being. He had all Schuldig’s experience right there, knew just how he liked that giant fuckstick of his worked and could feel when he was doing it right. That flood of desire from the orange-haired assassin and the vision of how turned on Yohji’s body and mind made him, in turn, caused his own arousal to spike, making Schul’s go up another notch, and then it was a self-running dynamo driving them to just suck and fuck and . . . yeah, he’d blown Schul twice, really, and gotten fucked three times. The man had come five times, and as for Yohji, well, god, he’d come so hard that first time, he’d passed out.

That had been truly strange—he’d figured out that Schul had somehow let down his mental shields all the way, and they had both been flooded by the minds out there in the world, dreams and reality mixing, so many voices it was enough to drive you insane. And then Schuldig had pulled Yohji’s mind home, or well, back into that hot, wild strangeness that was the German’s mind, that otherness that became sameness, an experience that was almost orgasmic in itself. Or maybe it was just because that mind that he’d always though was psychopathic, cold, vicious had a tender, bruised, abused inside. There had been things there, horrible things done to Schuldig, brutal evil things that had been buried there. He hadn’t chased after them or touched the memories of them, but he knew they were there staining the pureness in the heart of Schuldig.

Schuldig pure—the notion seemed insane until you lived in his mind. No, he didn’t need to walk two moons in the man’s moccasins to know him as the Native Americans said. A night in his mind had been enough. They’d kept it about passion, about sex, but you didn’t get that into someone’s mind and not sense the forces that made the man. The child is the father of the man, that poet William Wordsworth had written, and he’d sensed the child that Schuldig had been. He still had a child’s raging hunger for love too long denied, and that seemed what was behind his need to drink in minds. He was, on a deep level, seeking approval and hurting where he was met once again with rejection. Ah, for who wanted their mind invaded? He’d come to love hurting, taking pleasure in inflicting pain, as well as pleasure in vicariously experiencing that same pain too. This was something that Yohji knew—and he understood. For who could live without pleasure? Ah, there was so much pain in being telepathic—only someone strong could endure it.

It was one thing to suspect all the white lies, all the little mental rejections and betrayals that even the most loving humans reflect on inside their private minds. Ah, but to know them, to feel them—god, and to feel them from those without love—for who had loved or cared for Schuldig? Unlike the German, Yohji had at least loved and lost, and indeed, as Wordsworth said, that was better than not having loved at all. Ah, he was getting poetic! All because of Schuldig and his mental invasions. He’d hated it at first, just like everyone. But now, now it was anything but hate that he felt for what Schuldig did to their minds. Youji’s lack of fear, his admiration for Schuldig’s killing and cunning, his body, his fucking, his gorgeous eyes, his incredible hair, his amazing leaps, his sexy dancing . . . ah, the pleasure all this brought Schul bathed Yohji in blissful feelings, in acceptance, and in white hot arousal. There was also something more, something addictive, something he craved. God, how was he supposed to settle for regular sex now? Fuck, he was ruined for women and for ordinary men.

He was, officially, bisexual now. Maybe he could tell his team that, or, better yet, just let them find out. That wasn’t so bad. No, but he thanked the gods that his teammates were not supernaturally gifted. To have a precognitive like Crawford, a man with visions of the future, on his team able to see the future of his relationships would be awful. To have someone like Schuldig on his team, able to know what he was thinking, would be unbearable—the telepath would know how he had—wait, god, Schuldig on his team . . . oh, god, what a colleague he would be! They could live together, fuck every night, fuck mornings, and that cock, god, that cock he wanted to suck on again, wanted inside him, would be there so close, there at work . . . oh god, they could talk in their minds at work . . . oh, no, no, Schuldig would torture him, would send him images, emotions, that would reduce him to begging, to coming in his pants . . . he would have to wear a cock ring to not shoot off a load in his pants at work . . .

“Yohji!”

Yohji broke the pencil in his hand in two, looking up at Aya and Ken who were glaring at him.

“What?”

“She must have been good,” sneered Ken. “You usually snap out of it after we call your name once or twice.”

Yohji could feel himself blushing, which was not his normal response. He should say something about Ken being jealous—and he clearly was—but somehow, he couldn’t do anything but stare at the two them and turn red.

Aya’s look—that one that seemed to mix scorn, disgust, pity, and exasperation—normally made him annoyed or want to tease the redhead. But today, it made him feel guilty but also a little sad. Would Aya ever have a relationship that made him zone out, blush, willing to lie and hide and—no, no, he didn’t want to explore this train of thought anymore. He didn’t have a relationship. He’d been used and used someone; that was it. Yeah, that was it, but he knew that saying what happened between Schuldig and himself was just two people using each other, well, that was like saying chocolate was just a food. Technically it was true, but there was more to it.

“Yohji!” screamed Aya.

Yohji blushed even redder as Ken cursed and Omi giggled. They were at Aya and Omi’s house. It acted as their headquarters since the flower shop had been exposed as their cover. Their new cover was a business that provided online reports on various professionals, mostly lawyers and physicians. They did background checks for some companies as well. Ken and Yohji, who kept separate apartments for the obvious reason that they frequent brought women home, came over everyday, ostensibly to work but really for meetings and to simple spend time together. Assassins don’t have a lot of friends, and good teammates had the chemistry that comes from knowing your teammates thoroughly. Occasionally, Ken or Youji spent the night there in the guest room. Today, however, they were gathered to set up the schedule for Ken and Yohji’s daily visits for the next few weeks. Yohji forced himself to focus, uncomfortably aware that he had now drawn attention to himself and his personal life, exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

A week later on a Saturday night, Aya was polishing his katana, Omi was fiddling with his laptop, and Ken was leafing through a motorcycle magazine as the Sound of Music was playing on the TV. Omi grinned to himself as he idly surfed the web during a series of commercials. Usually on the nights Ken was sleeping over and three of them were in the living room, the remote was tossed back and forth unless they had were gathered to watch a particular dvd. He had a feeling that neither of his two teammates would want to admit they were enjoying the drama of a nun falling in love with her employer and his children.

At 12, the film ended, with Aya still occasionally wiping over his blade that obviously needed no further attention while Ken hadn’t turned a page in at least twenty minutes. Omi was thinking of a way to tease his teammates about their being gripped by the old musical when the sound of someone at the door startled them—someone with a key.

A few seconds later, a stunned Yohji blinked at an equally stunned Aya with his katana out, standing next to Omi holding a few darts in his hand. Ken peaked out and then said, “Yohji,” in a shocked voice.

“What’s up, guys?” asked Yohji, “Expecting trouble? You should have called me if there was a problem.”

The tip of Aya’s katana was suddenly very near his throat. “You are falling in love again,” accused Aya. “Who is she?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Aya?” demanded Yohji. “I’m not even seeing anyone! I haven’t even been out this week except for tonight. God, I thought I’d drop in and see you since the lights were on, and you almost jump me. Fuck this, I’m out of here!” Disgusted he turned to leave, and suddenly his teammate’s blade was at his throat. He stood very still.

“Just remember,” said Aya, and then he sheathed the blade. Yohji didn’t move, trying to calm himself. He was furious at the redhead because he was right about everything—except the sex and the reason why he shouldn’t get close to any lover. Schuldig was not some woman who would easily be taken out or might find out their secret lives and expose them.

“Too bad you didn’t come sooner,” said Omi. “We were watching The Sound of Music. Aya and Ken were gripped by it.”

“I was not!” said Ken defensively, making Yohji chuckle and turn around. Aya’s sniff and stiff back as he stalked back into the living room was his defense.

“Oh, too bad!” said Yohji, winking at Omi. “But maybe we could all watch Grease together. Don’t you have that one on dvd, Omi?”

The teasing was fun, and somehow a half an hour later as they all argued over what show to watch, Yohji felt better. This is my family, my home, he told himself. But when he left an hour later, he still felt—empty. As much as he liked dancing, it had just been horrible tonight, the reason he’d left the club he’d gone to after only a few hours. There had been women willing to go home with him, but he wasn’t interested.

A week later at 2 a.m., Aya and Omi were in the living room again, this time watching a documentary on the Hubble telescope. Omi’s cell phone rang with the beep coded for Yohji. Startled, he answered the phone. “Yo,” said Yohji, “Can I come in and visit without being skewered?”

It was a little over an hour before Yohji said quietly over the documentary on the search for the yeti, “Two weeks ago I sleep with someone amazing.” His teammates stilled, listening intently. “It’s not someone I should have a relationship with, but I want to. Not love, nothing like that. But regular sex, someone who knows me, a fuck buddy. Damn good fucking, too. But it doesn’t matter what I want because he just used me. He doesn’t do relationships, not even fuck buddies.” It was true, Yohji knew. He’d seen it there in Schul’s mind, seen how while he might fuck someone for a few times, he didn’t go back more until months, sometimes a year later. And the second time he went back was always shorter than the first. That wasn’t—oh, wait. Shit. He’d just outed himself. He looked up to see how Aya and Omi were handling it.

“He?” asked Aya carefully.

“Yeah,” said Yohji.

“This is someone you met on that mission at Boyland, isn’t it?” asked Omi.

“Yeah,” said Yohji.

“Is it painful?” asked Omi, making Yohji laugh. Partly he laughed in relief at how accepting they were being and partly because Omi’s reaction was so like his—only three weeks ago. The change in him was truly amazing.

“Chibi, any sex by someone incompetent or cruel can be painful. I know what you are think about anal sex, though, because I thought what you are thinking, but no, it isn’t,” Yohji said, pulling out his pack of cigarettes, smiling. “You should try it, Om; it’s very, very good when done right.”

A katana was suddenly there pushing his arm lower. Oh, yeah, no smoking in Aya’s home--another reason he didn’t live here.

“Can you find someone else at Boyland that might help you forget?” asked Omi.

“I don’t know,” said Yohji slowly. “I haven’t been to a club like that since then, and tonight I went home with a woman. It didn’t work out.”

“You couldn’t get it up?” asked Omi horrified.

“Don’t punch him, Yohji,” warned Aya. “He left after one time, baka.”

“Don’t call me an idiot, Aya,” whined Omi. “It was a logical possibility.”

“I’m bisexual, Omi, not gay,” said Yohji. “I’ve done things with only four guys and probably over four hundred women. I’m mostly heterosexual, and one hundred percent virile. Make another assumption like that, and you won’t get it up for a week, Chibi.”

“Four!”

“Four?”

“Shit, I’m out of here,” said Yohji standing up. “Why I’m looking for advice from two guys that haven’t had sex in ages makes no sense.”

“Sleep with more men,” suggested Aya gravely.

Yohji blinked and started laughing. Omi laughed along with them, and Aya’s mouth twitched a little, and he looked amused. But for all he laughed, Yohji decided, he would—next weekend. Next weekend, he would go back to Boyland. And suddenly things seemed a whole lot better.

Schuldig was unbearably horny. He hadn’t had sex in three weeks! Ok, he had had sex—he’d fucked a few guys and gotten blown, but they didn’t count. They were all one-shot things in bathrooms or parking lots. Having sex meant a bed and coming more than once. But none of them had been interesting enough to take somewhere for more. Fuck! He wanted Kudoh Yohji!

But the Weiss kitten hadn’t shown up at Boyland, and Schuldig wouldn’t let himself chase someone who—who—who he was just using for sex. Fucking amazing sex, but just sex. Shit! Maybe he could find a pair of twins or something. Yeah, a threesome, that would be nice rather than a certain honey blonde. But then, there was just the faintest sense across his mind, a faint sense growing stronger. Schuldig focused—ah! Balinese was coming to Boyland. He could sense his desire, his angst, and his unhappiness. Ah, Kudoh was adorable—suffering over him, over wanting men! Such delicious suffering had to be prolonged. Part of him wanted to just pour into that mind of Yohji’s, but instead he kept his touch light.

He moved on the dance floor, grinning, enjoying himself, just surfing his kitten’s mind lightly. Ah, he’d confessed he was gay to the other Weiss kitties—well not to the sporty one. But the fact that Kuhoh had told any of his teammates was surprising and gratifying. He’d turned another straight man gay! Well, yes, of course, thought Schuldig smugly. He was the best, the sexiest thing around. Witness all the men trying to pick him up tonight—more than usual, and he was even in this rather boring outfit. And, no, it wasn’t because a certain person didn’t like his color sense—it was just what had been there in the front of his closet and clean. That was the reason he was in tight white leather pants and a see-through white Versace shirt with his soft yellow headband around his head.

He couldn’t wait until Kudoh spotted him. He plucked another memory from Yohji’s head deftly and laughed again. Fujimiya had told him to sleep with more men? My word, he had once more underestimated the men of Weiss—but no wonder since it was clear Yohji was a little surprised at how easily Aya and Omi had accepted his story. But then his little Balinese kitten started thinking of him, and he was completely distracted.

He didn’t know at what point Yohji sensed him, but suddenly as he danced, he realized they were replaying those memories of three weeks ago together. The smugness Yohji radiated at surprising him, made him send an image of him spanking Kudoh. But then he felt that rich, sweet rush that was his kitten’s mental laughter. He dove in deeper and let down a few more shields—ah, god, god, such need, such desire, my god!

He let Yohji see him looking in the mirror before leaving, and the intensity of his kitten’s reaction made Schuldig’s cock twitch. He could see Yohji’s last minute check of his outfit—a tight cropped top in black over red leather pants—god in heaven, that was hot. They thought about their cocks wanting each other, feeling each other’s hard-ons, their dick’s twitches and growing wetness. Schuldig danced more wildly as Yohji’s speed rose.

When at last Yohji left his car with the valet, Schuldig was already in the bathroom closest to the door, using his powers to send anyone wanting to use that one to one of the other restrooms in the club. Then they were seeing in reality what they had seen in their minds, each marveling how amazingly good the other looked. Two pairs of leather pants were peeled down. They stood, pants around their knees only a foot apart, watching their cocks lift and strive for the other’s. They moved closer and thought together, “They’re kissing each other hello,” looking at those two penises rubbing together. And then in unison, one hand from each curled around those cocks, stroking them together as they kissed.

They came together, then sucked and licked each other’s hands clean. Then without words spoken aloud or in the mind, they both knew what they wanted. Yohji set his hands on one sink, bent over, and Schuldig lubed up his hand and fingered his ass before sliding in. His cock had recovered faster than the blonde’s, but by the time that Schuldig had worked himself in and began to stroke into Yohji’s tight ass, the Weiss assassin was aroused again too.

“Look at yourself, kitten, getting fucked,” said Schuldig. “Look how beautiful you are with my cock in your ass. Look at that blush, how sweet, how adorable, is my little Balinese pussy.”

“It’s sex flush,” insisted Yohji knowing he couldn’t lie to Schuldig, but trying, sending an image of his body flushed with sex like this as he fucked a woman.

Schuldig scowled, replacing the image with Yohji bound on that hotel bed with that toy in his ass begging to be fucked. He stopped moving, pulling out so only his cockhead was inside. When Yohji pushed back, he moved back enough, so his penis went no deeper.

“Beg for it, Balinese,” he demanded.

“No!”

But Schuldig pushed into Yohji’s mind all the lust he could. But the Weiss kitty resisted, focusing on tax forms, on killing, on washing dishes, on how it had felt when he’d been shot, and finally on the death of the women he’d loved.

Enraged, Schuldig slammed up a mental wall between them. “Beg,” he ordered.

Shocked Yohji tried to reach Schuldig or sense him—but nothing, and the face in the mirror was angry. Without thinking about it, Yohji said, “Ah, Schul, don’t take it that way, please! Come back inside me, baby! Slide into my mind and ass together, please.”

There was a little opening in his mind, and Yohji knew what Schuldig wanted. He smiled at him in the mirror and said in his sexiest voice, “Please put your big cock deep inside my ass. Please fuck me with that big, sweet-tasting dick I love to suck.”

And Schuldig did—hard, brutal thrusts, and his mind flooded into Yohji’s just as aggressively, filling it up, claiming him. But then they were one again, fucking and being fucked simultaneously, desire and pleasure swirling between them, through them, multiplying geometrically. So lost in each other were they, that two men came in to use the urinals and gaped at them until vicious mental spikes sent them to the floor, almost unconscious. They crawled out quickly, moaning. To the two of them, it was like swatting down a fly—and the shield around their two minds tightened and inside they laughed together.

Yohji’s hands pushed his cropped top up over his nipples, pinching them and flicking them, so Schuldig could see in the mirror and feel it in his mind. His cock thrust in, hit Yohji’s prostate, slide by it, and went deep—and Yohji convulsed around him. But they’d both come recently, so they could last, and the fucking went on, with Schuldig slamming in until his balls hit Yohji’s thighs. He pulled out and spanked Yohji’s asscheeks making them both cry out as their pleasure intensified. They could feel Yohji’s nipples, sore, pinched, tugged, his ass stretched so wide, so filled, so spread, his asscheeks burning. And they could look together down at those asscheeks, see a red handprint form and fade, feel the tight heat as they thrust in, look in the mirror and watch Yohji’s face distorted with desire, see those tormented little tits of his being squeezed as tight as his practically virgin ass was contracting almost painfully around Schuldig’s dick.

And then Schuldig sent Yojhi a memory of thrusting into an ass stinging from having ginger root inside and the feeling of that ginger burning your ass, making you need cock driving in you to ease that maddening burn that hurt so good. They cried out together, and Schuldig thrust even harder. One of Yohji’s hands braced himself, and the other went to his own cock, wildly fisting it. He came with a cry, his cum shooting out and hitting the mirror above the sink, covering it, covering their reflections. His ass clamped down even tighter as Schuldig began to blast out cum into that hole, filling it full, making the cum push back along his cock and start to run down Yohji’s skin.

Schuldig fell over Yohji’s back, his hand sliding up to pinch Yohji’s reddened tits, squeezing hard, plucking, flicking, enjoying the way the sensations felt. More cum leaked out of Yohji’s asshole around the bass of Schuldig’s cock, a little bit starting to run down the back of a thigh. And as much as Schuldig enjoyed that, he didn’t want to ruin those sexy red leather pants any more than Youji did. He pulled out, and they both groaned. Schuldig picked up Yohji and set him over the sink. Most of the cum came out with mortifying squelching noises, and Yohji struggled, suddenly feeling the need to shit.

As much as Schuldig delighted in the pain that Yohji felt at holding it in, he too wasn’t interested in scatological games. He carried his kitten to a stall, shutting the door on him just as Yohji could hear voices.

He could hear Schuldig pissing and the men’s comments on finding cum on the mirror and in the sink. Schuldig left, but Yohji waited for the first group of men to go before coming out of his stall and washing his hands. “Scaredy cat,” teased the German telepath in his mind. “Hurry up and come out. I have your drink ready.”

And then they enjoyed another moment of pleasure as Yohji’s delight delighted Schuldig. And it was from that point on almost like riding high on some amazing drug, thought Yohji. They moved on the dance floor like gods, feeling the admiration, desire, jealousy, and lust for them. And as for their own feelings, they were almost too intense to focus on—they danced erotically, their fitness and stamina and beauty enhanced by their perfect coordination and sexy clothing. Schuldig took pleasure in having men buy them their favorite drinks and bring them to them, so they didn’t have to move far from the dance floor even when they wanted something to quench their thirst.

In the upstairs bathroom, Schuldig blew Yohji. Afterward they drank and looked over the balcony before dancing again. Later Yohji blew Schul in the bathroom by the bar. Then they danced for another long time. But it wasn’t enough, and they drove to Yohji’s apartment teasing each other with sexual images on the way. By the time they were inside, getting to the bed would take too long. Schuldig took Yohji against the door, making it thud rhythmically. They made their way through the apartment, sixty-nining on the floor of the living room, Schul rimming Yohji on the kitchen table, joking about having his tossed salad for a little late night snack. In the shower they frotted, and in the bed they fucked again. They fell asleep, Schuldig’s cock inside Yohji, his hand curled around the blond, gripping the his cock.

They shared their dreams, waking up to fuck, and falling back asleep again spooning, still with Schuldig inside Yohji and gripping his spent penis lightly. They woke up with Schuldig hard in Yohji’s ass, and Yohji’s dick hard in the German’s fist. The sex was slow, sleepy, and the awareness that neither had a mission pleased them both. Afterwards, Schuldig teased Yohji about having only one sausage in the house, and how as a German he needed sausage for breakfast. But he didn’t mind having salad and cream too. And then he took his time rimming Yohji, then licking over his body, massaging it, leaving a few hickeys, and then finally doing what he called “eating his Frühstückswurst and cream.” The blow job so soon after coming from their slow sex before left Yohji completely sated and sleepy.

He feel back asleep thinking at Schul, “Pop in anytime you want to eat my breakfast sausage,” making the telepath laugh. The German kept his mind lightly in Yohji’s, monitoring his sleeping as he showered and dressed in the clothing from his little overnight bag he always packed and left in his car when he went clubbing. He drove to the closest grocery store, nudging Yohji awake enough to find out what he wanted for breakfast besides the juice, rolls, cheese, fruit, and sausage that Schuldig had already put in his cart. Grinning at Yohji’s image of waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, he sent back images of other delightful things they could do with whipped cream and fresh fruit. He bought some ginger root, chocolate sauce, and ice cream as well.

He cooked breakfast, teasing Yohji about needing more sleep than he did when he had done most of the work. Somehow that lead to a promise that Yohji would ride him later than morning. Breakfast degenerated into sex games, and then Yohji did make good on his promise. After a shower, they changed the bedding, and then Schuldig taught Yohji about figging first hand. It took a lot of fucking for the burning to subside. Exhausted they napped before heading out for a late lunch when some people were already eating dinner. Then Schuldig took Yohji to a sex shop where they bought an inordinate number of things before heading back to the apartment to exhaust themselves playing with them.

That night they ended up sleeping in the same position as the night before, and once more in the morning, they had a languorous fuck. Schuldig had to go, but after a shower, they shared some coffee, and Yohji fed Schul “his Frühstückswurst and cream.” Then at the apartment door, they kissed, and what spilled into their minds from Yohji’s was a feeling of rightness, a desire for this every morning. And then there it was in their minds—a vision of them shopping for food together, cleaning together, training, jogging, even killing together, then dancing, fucking, kissing, and sleeping in Yohji’s bed with Schuldig inside Yohji and gripping his cock day after day, year after year. And abruptly Yohji was alone in his mind with his thoughts, so completely, so suddenly, he had to open his eyes to confirm that he was still held in Schuldig’s arms at his door. But then he was pushed away, and Schuldig snarled at him, “I’m just using you,” before vanishing out the door.

Although he couldn’t be sure that Schuldig would pick it up, Yohji thought in his mind as fiercely as he could about a giant Marmalade tomcat with teal green eyes fleeing in fright from a tiny adorable Balinese kitten. As much as he didn’t want to hear Yohji’s thoughts, that image screamed at Schuldig as he strode to the parking lot with his overnight bag in his hand. His hand twitched, wanting his favorite gun, and in his mind he shot the Balinese kitten. He felt a wave of nausea and cursed Kudoh for his foul coffee and for turning into some clinging bitch the minute he got a cock up his ass.

Back in his apartment kitchen, Yohji struggled to adjust to the closed up feeling of being alone in his mind. But the coffee was excellent, and after a few cups and cigarettes, he got in the shower. Every room in his small apartment now reminded him of Schuldig and sex. He walked in the bedroom, and the bedding was dirty from their sex, and various toys were scattered around the room. The bundle of dirty sheets from the night before was taking up most of his hamper. Damn it! He called up Aya and Omi, making up a lie about some sewage problems in his apartment. Then packing for a few days, he just left, leaving everything as it was. He’d deal with that later. Right now he was starving, and there was no way he was going to eat anything that—that—USER—had bought for him. He hadn’t really lied—his apartment was unbearably full of unpleasant shit. He slammed the door and locked it, driving away as quickly as Schuldig had.

But locking away memories of that weekend wouldn’t prove so easy for either of them.