Black Leather Roses

BY : MikoNoHoshi
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1436
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss, nor do I make any money from writing about these characters. I also do not own any brands mentioned herein.

Chapter warnings: toys, blatant suggestion of fetish, teeny-tiny squick possibility, imagined yaoi situations, real live oral sex

Black Leather Roses
Chapter Three: Faberge Grass

It was sparkly and pink, and Yohji wanted it. Intricate scenarios of secretly tormenting Aya in the most public of places were weaving themselves through his brain, twisting and curling around one another, creating webs where his hentai thought-spiders could rest between their bouts of creative exertions. Fun little beasts, but distracting, and demanding. They clamored for the sparkly thing.

With a furtive glance at his lover, Yohji picked up the wireless vibrator and added it to his growing stash.

He then attempted to coax Aya into showing appreciation for a pair of edible underwear.

“They’re strawberry.”

“They’re unsanitary . . . and sticky.”

The younger man sounded vaguely grossed out by the latter idea, though he would probably express the sentiment more elegantly. Yohji didn’t share this revulsion, but if Aya thought something was disgusting, then it was a something the blonde didn’t want it anywhere near his cock. No, thank you. He would stick with whipped cream, a proven crowd pleaser.

Trying to shove away the image of Aya licking whip cream off of his chest while he sat naked on the kitchen table, Yohji indicated a set of satin scarves. The younger man shook his head no, and offered no comment when Yohji pointed to a soft blindfold. According to Yohji theory, though, the slight color in his cheeks hinted they were once again creeping towards something personal. Not daunted, the blonde pressed on, watching Aya’s reactions carefully; it was when he lifted a thin, leather crop that the gentle nods of rejection became a familiar application of teeth to bottom lip. Yohji was unable to resist taking a practice swat at a convenient mirrored column; the crop snapped loudly against the glass surface, and he couldn’t miss the slight jerk of Aya’s body.

“We’ll get this,” he decided, dragging his long fingers down its braided edge.

Aya swallowed hard, then nodded: yes. Yohji resisted a victory whack, but he was sorely tempted to tap the leather tool against Aya’s bottom. Still caught up in the speculation of what kinds of sounds Aya would make when caressed with the crop, Yohji found himself almost embarrassed by the soft, choked sound that rose from his own throat when he looked up to see the man holding a paddle experimentally. He covered with a cough.

A violet gaze caught his own, curiosity melting into heat, then back to hidden cool as he sat down the small, round paddle and motioned Yohji over. He might have wondered over the sudden revitalization of the commanding presence; he might have, if Aya hadn’t just been holding that and looking like a fucking wet dream.

“You pick,” Aya directed, tipping his head to indicate the small selection of said items.

It was easy. He’d spent more than enough time fantasizing about that one; it had to be the Singapore Stinger, fourteen inches of slick, light wood. It wasn’t as heavy as he expected, but with the force of a muscled arm behind it, it had potential to leave some formidable marks. He could see them, red striped against Aya’s pallid bottom, his lover crying out each time Yohji brought the Stinger down, his dick so hard it dripped on the floor as he begged Yohji not to stop. Then the image turned; he felt the burn of the paddle on his thighs, the warmth of Aya’s knees beneath his trembling body, the heat of his lover’s eyes and hard cock— it set fire to his own organ, a kind of trembling anxiety that bordered on fantastic desperation. He needed Aya. Right now.

“Anything else?” he managed, voice too tight for his liking, but it was taking every ounce of reserve he possessed to keep from knocking Aya down and humping him right there on the tiled floor. God, that would be good, Aya’s warm body sprawled beneath him as he rocked against that—

Okay, he had to stop that. Immediately.

A guilty glance downward revealed a more that suspicious bulge in his tight jeans; it looked like he was trying to smuggle out a dildo.

Now if Aya would pat him down and conduct a cavity—

No! No bodies, no cavities, no naked Aya doing gloriously inappropriate things with a pair of handcuffs—

“Anything else?”


The savvy salesgirl had his secret purchases rung up and bagged before they made it to the register. The rest were handed over and, after a few protests from Aya, paid for by Yohji. He handed the two bags to the redhead as he shuffled his wallet back into his pocket before opening the door and allowing the other to pass through first.

It shut behind them, and Aya made it almost three steps down the dim corridor before Yohji pounced. Planting his hands solidly against Aya’s back, he shoved, hard. Only his quick grab to the other’s shoulder let Aya’s back hit the wall rather than his face as he was set off balance unexpectedly.

“I need to fuck you,” he whispered in Aya’s ear, pressing him back against the cool wall and grinding their hips together. With a bag in each hand, Aya had little chance at defense, not that he could possibly be debating defense as Yohji’s hardness rubbed against his hip.

“I’m so damn hard, Aya,” he pressed in harder, fingers threading through Aya’s hair, holding his head in place as he brought their lips together roughly. His tongue thrust into Aya’s mouth as he sucked the air out of him, tugging at his hair and grinding against him until their mouths came apart with the smack of a broken seal, a sound directly followed by Aya’s quiet gasp when Yohji’s teeth closed over his already sensitive bottom lip. Yohji’s hands held him in place still as he drew back slowly, teeth raking over the swollen lip as he pulled it gently outward before leaning back in to replace teeth with gentle lapping.

Aya tasted the slight tinge of blood, a token for him, he knew. Then Yohji was holding him in a tight kind of hug, thrusting desperately against his hip while he whispered broken promises of reciprocation if he could just, just for now, please.

Aya shoved with his shoulder, knocking the blonde back a few inches; Yohji looked confused, and absolutely beautiful. Usually more than content to have the older man top him, Aya had a sudden urge to push him to the ground and fuck him. It was implausible, and he dismissed it quickly before he forgot that.

Instead, he smirked at Yohji’s perplexed expression and dropped easily to his knees, weighted bags settling silently on the walkway and his hands never straying from the plastic handles. He nudged Yohji’s crotch with his nose, inhaling deeply rather than instantly ending the contact that, if he could judge by Yohji’s caught breath, threatened to end his lover then and there.

“Oh, fuck,” Yohji managed. With his left palm pressed flat against the wall, his right went to the task of undoing the button-fly of his jeans, pressing down the flimsy excuse for underwear, already damp with precome, and freeing his dripping cock to brush it against Aya’s soft cheek. One disheveled eartail whisped over the sensitive flesh, then Aya turned to lick the flushed head, guiding it into his mouth with the help of Yohji’s trembling hand.

He spent only a moment swirling his tongue over the tip, tasting the clear fluid, slightly more dense than his own saliva and flavored of Yohji’s body. He wanted to linger over the tender slit, but a rush of cool air stirred his hair as a subtle reminder of where they were. So he leaned forward in invitation.

Never slow on the uptake, Yohji mumbled some low combination of profanity and planted both hands on the wall before he began to thrust into Aya’s mouth. The first two or three times were restrained, and though he was sure it was a hesitation born of kindness, it frustrated Aya. If he was going to suck Yohji off in an ally, logic, and his cock, said it ought to be a hard and fast fucking of his mouth, not some bedroom play of loving attention.

With his mouth full, these suggestions were offered only through his silent motions. He turned his eyes up to meet Yohji’s, visible over the edge of his sunglasses as they dropped to the end of his nose, framed by his loose hair as he looked down to watch. Aya relaxed his throat and plunged forward, taking Yohji nearly to the hilt, the end of his own nose just brushing the hot skin of the blonde’s abdomen.

“Fuck!” Yohji gasped, and any moderation collapsed around them. He pulled back only to thrust immediately back into the wet suction of Aya’s mouth. The redhead took it, closing his eyes to concentrate on the pulsing length hitting the back of his throat. He could smell Yohji, cigarettes and soap and expensive cologne mixed with sweat and sex. He wanted to move with him, to hum or twist in some display of skill, but there wasn’t time.

Yohji drove forward again and again as Aya tired to keep up with a rhythm that was not quite steady. He lost only once, throat closing of its own accord as he fought back a gag, careful to keep his mouth open and teeth away. He silently prayed Yohji didn’t notice, surging forward to swallow his lover’s dick again before the other could even think to pause.

He found his back against the wall, off balance as his knees rose a few inches off the ground to adjust to the position as Yohji stepped in close so that his forearms rested on the concrete, giving him better leverage if less room to move. The thrusts came faster, Yohji rocking onto his toes with each one.

“Gonna come,” he gasped, a bare second before he did. Aya’s head was against the wall, and it gave him no room to retract as the first wave shot down his throat. He jerked away in surprise; Yohji’s dick popped free from his mouth as he turned instinctually to the side. The warm strands of white spurted over his left cheek as he coughed, Yohji’s impressive load clinging to his chin and eartail and the last slick drops falling to his jeans as the other pulled back to stare.

A chatting couple passed the end of the walkway, and Yohji quickly shoved the softening organ back into his pants.

“Shit, Aya, I’m sorry.”

He knelt, summoning a cloth handkerchief as if by magic. He wiped down Aya’s hair first, leaving it vaguely slick, then his cheek, folding the cloth in half to collect a stray bit over one eyebrow. Aya kept his head to the side, silently letting his lover clean him as he swallowed hard, once, and got air back into his lungs. Then fingers were on his chin, urging his eyes back to Yohji’s; there he found a curious mix of guilt, concern, and accomplishment.


All he got in return was a brief kiss and a hand extended in a silent request to be helped up.


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