Spiking
Please Note- This fic has been rated Mature for a reason! It contains graphic sexual references/conversations, homosexual sex, violence and loads of swearing and generally grown up situations. Please adhere to the age of consent for your country. I take no responsibility for those who don't.
I do not own the copyright on these characters. I get no money for writing about them. It's purely an act of worship (and lust) so please don't sue me. I don't have any money anyway.
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I was sulking like a Bronte hero.
I knew this because recently I had had flu and Omi had lent me Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights to read until I could breathe through my nose again. After some surprise at Omi’s previously unsuspected interest in gothic romantic fiction, I actually did read them (taking the total of books read in my lifetime up to at least twenty or so). And it turned out to be absolutely impossible not to picture Aya as Rochester, brooding in his haunted manor, refusing to take the love that was right in front of him; or as Heathcliff, sullen, vengeful and with a tight, brooding sexuality that rippled over the blasted moors, making me shiver.
Some very strange, feverish dreams ensued.
So that’s how I knew that I was sulking. Sulking unrepentantly, with my lip thrust out so far that I could see it when I looked down.
It was all Aya’s fault of course. If he hadn’t behaved like such an ass I wouldn’t have been forced to go clubbing on my own. Which I was enjoying by the way, oh yes, just having a whale of a time. I did not, repeat, not need Aya to have a good time these days. I certainly wasn’t sat here now, staring resentfully at my drink, wishing I was with him. I most definitely wouldn’t prefer to be watching him sleep, his pale naked body sprawled across the sheets like spilled ice cream...
Oh crap! Now all I wanted to do was lick him!
How did he do this to me from halfway across the city? I shouldn’t be wanting him at all. I should have a bit more bloody dignity! I reckon that I am pretty thick skinned (after all sensitive assassins are, on the whole, rapidly dead assassins) but some of the things Aya had said (OK, screamed) earlier had bit in and were now creeping their way into that secret warm place inside me, where they curled up like poisonous kittens. Worst of all the secret warm place had only appeared there since I met Aya.
And now he had ruined it.
I had been expecting a row for some time. For weeks Aya had been getting progressively more jealous and suspicious of me. At first I had been flattered. I hoped that it meant that he cared for me beyond just sex. I hoped that it proved that he was still capable of caring for anyone but Aya-Chan. But before long I couldn’t even flirt harmlessly with the schoolgirls in the shop without Aya being unspeakably rude to them, which wasn’t great for business. Many a girl quailed under the flashing of contemptuous violet eyes, scurrying out of the shop, causing Omi or Ken to stare at Aya with bemused concern. Aya had always been jealous but this was ridiculous.
Before long we even stopped having sex. I wasn’t sure how he had managed it but somehow we had stopped without ever seeming to so that before I realised what was happening it was already done. Confused, I waited awhile for him to get over his funk (not very long I admit) but tonight when it occurred to me that I was both single and unable to sleep with anyone else, I had finally lost it. I had stormed up to his room and slammed the door shut behind me. Any normal person (ha!) would have started at the noise but Aya merely looked up at me with that cold expression that I had learned to dread.
“What the flying fuck is going on?” I demanded, standing tall with my legs firmly planted and my arms crossed.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Aya leaned back on the bed resting an arm casually behind his head. I bit my lip. He often lay in bed like that after we made love (if that was what it was, I was never sure) and the image burned on the back of my retinas for a moment.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
“You’ve been behaving like Garbo with a head cold!” I managed at last, “You jealous, miserable git.”
His eyes glittered dangerously.
“I am not jealous without reason,” he said and then he added, with emphatic conviction, “It’s your fault Yohji. You just can’t help being a whore.”
I started as though I had been slapped. Aya had often called me a whore but he had never really meant it before. It had almost been an endearment. The way he said it now, the total contempt in his tone, was lacerating as though I had my own wire wrapped around my throat. I was speechless for a moment and when I did speak it came out more whiney than I wanted.
“I’ve been faithful to you.” I told him, quietly.
“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” Aya replied with a deadly calm that chilled my blood. His eyes were downcast. He couldn’t bring himself to look at me. Did I disgust him that much? A heavy shuddering hurt, like I had always imagined an asthma attack to feel like, was spreading in my chest. A hot, shameful tear fell off my chin.
“Fuck. You.” I grated, trying not to snivel like a girl.
Aya’s head snapped up, “Great comeback,” he sneered.
Anger finally made its way to my brain past the hurt and so we had our first real screaming match. I’m surprised that the walls of the building didn’t blow outwards from the force of it. We had squabbled before but usually only with nasty little comments, sarcasm and, well, actual physical violence, but violence was something that we both understood and it was over quickly.
This was different. Words mean more. For once Aya, not usually an articulate man, expressed himself very clearly. He told me exactly what he thought of me. His angrily spat words eventually stunned me into silence.
And that, via kicking the shit out of my bedroom and half of a bottle of cognac, was how I had ended up here in an unfamiliar straight nightclub. It appeared to be having a Goth night. Beautiful girls sashayed past wreathed in silk and satin, lace and velvet. Wide eyes lined with kohl watched me in the dark. Once I would have loved that. I would have responded eagerly to their fluttered lash come-ons. Once. Before that Grand Supreme Bastard of Bastards, Aya.
Someone sat down beside me. I turned to tell them to fuck off but it was Omi, with a rather adorable, knowing expression in his eyes.
“He’s drinking himself stupid in a bar.” Omi said.
We both knew who ‘he’ was. I shrugged and drank some more. I had been horrified when I first got here and saw the drinks but by now I was just grateful for alcohol. Omi stared at my glass.
“Nice umbrellas.” He said eventually.
“Hn.”
“Do you get to keep the little plastic monkey?”
“Why are you here, Omi? Are you keen to see a man drink himself to death on, oh god, Coconut Madness?”
“You should make up with Aya.” Omi declared.
“’Make up?’ Omi, we aren’t nine. And why should I? He obviously wants it over. You must have heard it.”
“Most of the street heard it. The rats in the sewers heard it.”
“Well then.” I took another sickly, coconutty sip, “I expect I will get over it quickly because apparently I’m such a whore.” I spat the last word bitterly. Part of me was regretting every single sexual encounter I had ever had if they had made Aya think this way about me. It’s true, there had been a lot of them but I had never consciously used anyone and I had never cheated. Admittedly I had never had a relationship serious enough to qualify for cheating but still... The point was that I hadn’t even looked at anyone else since Aya. Well, I had looked but I hadn’t touched!
Omi sighed, “Maybe I’ll have better luck if I try Aya again, now he has had a few drinks.” He pushed himself off his bar stool and wandered off.
I glared at my drink for the next hour, willing myself to be good old Yohji, confident Yohji, randy Yohji, but all I felt like was a slut.
When Aya staggered into the nightclub I had my back to him but I felt it. I felt him standing there on the other side of the dance floor. Despite everything I knew that I was about to forgive him, that I couldn’t help it. The poisonous kitties were worried. I was melting already and I hadn’t even looked at him. I imagined him standing there, contrite, wounded by his wounding of me.
I smiled to myself a little and turned around slowly only to see him...kissing a girl. She seemed as surprised as I did. He looked like he was attempting a new and strange puzzle that he wasn’t enjoying much. Soon he let her go and then he jumped onto the dance floor with all the Goths and threw himself about like an embarrassing dad at a wedding.
Even as I rushed over (to find out if he had cracked up spectacularly and for no apparent reason) I was shaking with laughter. Chilly, humourless Aya, clearly off his head on something, dancing like a twat watched by terrified Goths...
I caught his arm and he stopped dancing. His pupils were tiny and he had the craziest expression. His face was wreathed with the biggest smile I have ever seen on him.
“Yohji!” He cried, flinging his arms around me so that I nearly fell over. I could smell his hair against my face. Aya’s body was vibrating from head to foot. It was like someone had plugged him into the mains. Usually it was only me that could make him feel like that. He released me from his arms but kept hold of my hand.
“This is Yohji,” he announced, to no one in particular, “He’s my boyfriend.”
I was thoroughly ashamed of how those words made my pulse race.
Aya leaned in and told me in an earnest tone that he was sorry about kissing the girl, “I was curious because you like it but I didn’t like it. Why do you like it?” He swayed a little and started giggling. Helplessly I started giggling too. Aya was trying desperately not to fall over.
“Aya,” I asked, “Did you, by any chance, have a strange tasting drink in a bar this evening?”
“Lots,” he confirmed, cheerfully and then, “Ooooh, Sisters of Mercy! I love this!”
“Oh God, please Aya, no more dancing. I beg of you. Now, listen. Someone must have spiked your drink tonight. Don’t you feel weird?”
“I feel great! Although, there was that one man, bought me a drink and said I was pretty. I think I broke his nose. But then I started to feel really...nice. So I came here to find Yohji.” Aya sighed and stroked my hair, his thumb just grazing the side of my face. I closed my eyes briefly. “My Yohji,” he said.
My heart ached even if he was only saying this because he was tripping.
“Come on home,” I said, putting my arm around his shaking waist.”
“But I want to dance.”
I shrugged helplessly. Aya leaned forward and brushed his hot lips softly over mine. I caught my breath. I didn’t care that this was a straight club and people were staring. [censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
I helped him out of the club, which took awhile because he kept getting distracted. Everything was beautiful to him, the Goth girls in their purple bodices, the coloured lights stroking the dance floor. And me, he seemed to find me more beautiful than anything else. And he couldn’t seem to stop talking. I liked to think that the drug, whatever it was, was making him totally honest. Especially when he said things like,
“God, I love you Yohji. I love how your eyes go all dark when I kiss you. I love how narrow your hips are. I love it when you bite my lower lip. Oh, Yohji, I didn’t mean it earlier. I am just so sure that you will hurt me. Eventually. One way or another. I was trying to protect myself.”
I piled him into the taxi and got in, afraid to miss anymore of this wonderful monologue, and alert to the possibility that Aya would start jabbering about Weiss to the bewildered taxi driver. But fortunately Aya seemed focussed entirely on me.
“I know it’s difficult for you,” he sighed, as the taxi gained speed. He ran a shivering hand up my thigh, tracing a path of desire. “It’s hard for you to be faithful. It’s not how you are made. I understand. It’s just lately I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. And the more I couldn’t stand about it, the more I imagined it, the more hurt I felt until everything was spinning and then it all seemed real.”
I breathed out painfully. Who would have thought it? Please God, let him remember all this in the morning...
“I haven’t cheated on you.” I whispered. We were getting funny looks from the driver. “I wanted to but I haven’t. And I won’t. You’re enough for me, really.”
Aya put his head on one side quizzically. He looked like he was desperately trying to think through the drug. He wanted to know whether to believe me. I tried to put everything I felt for him, the hot, crushing, unbearable love, into my eyes. I had to make him see, and make him remember.
“Yohji,” he whispered, “I...”
“Yes?” I prompted, gripping his hand tightly.
“Yohji, I...I...I’m going to be sick.”
Fortunately we were pulling up outside the shop and I got him to the bathroom in time. I stroked his back until it was over and he slumped back against the wall. I was going to find the bastard that did this to my Aya and kick the crap out of him. Aya’s eyes were slowly clearing. I was almost disappointed. I had to admit that I quite liked Aya off his face. He was so happy. Now I was dreading him telling me that it was just the drug talking, that none of it had been true, that it was still all over between us. To delay him having a chance to say any of this I helped up so that he could drink some water and use the mouthwash.
He smelt all minty as he leaned on me and we staggered to his bedroom. I couldn’t tell if he was leaning on me because he wanted to or needed to or both. His bedroom looked like a bomb had gone off in it, an Aya bomb. It looked like he had been pretty upset after our row. He lay back on his bed with a sigh and closed his eyes. I was about to leave him to sleep it off when he murmured,
“Yohji, come to bed.”
His eyes opened and I felt his gaze all over me.
“Is that...is that the drug talking?” I asked, my heart pounding with hope.
“No. I want you.”
I stared at him, suddenly and impossibly happy. Aya smiled at me slowly. He looked a little ashamed of himself. I laughed.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it] When I woke I panicked briefly. He was going to tell me to leave. It had all been the drug. I should have had the strength and the decency to stop it when I had doubts about his mind. I was scum.
But he only turned to me and smiled sleepily. Then he kissed me.
“My turn”, he said.
Later I pulled some clothes on, rather gingerly I confess, and ventured to the kitchen. Aya wanted tea.
I was walking on air.
I found Omi making himself lunch and smirking.
“Yes, alright Omi, try and contain yourself. And though I am grateful for the effects in this case you should know that there is some creep out there who is drugging peoples’ drink. We should go after him.”
Omi suddenly looked very worried indeed. He moved nervously from one foot to another.
“Just bear in mind how happy you are this morning and don’t get too mad,” he said “Um,”
“You are kidding me.” I said, as realisation hit.
“I was only trying to help!” Omi wailed.
I contemplated Omi for awhile. It obviously didn’t pay to underestimate him. Upstairs Aya’s natural grumpiness was reasserting itself.
“Where the bloody hell is my tea?” he yelled.
I looked at Omi, “Is there any left?”
I do not own the copyright on these characters. I get no money for writing about them. It's purely an act of worship (and lust) so please don't sue me. I don't have any money anyway.
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I was sulking like a Bronte hero.
I knew this because recently I had had flu and Omi had lent me Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights to read until I could breathe through my nose again. After some surprise at Omi’s previously unsuspected interest in gothic romantic fiction, I actually did read them (taking the total of books read in my lifetime up to at least twenty or so). And it turned out to be absolutely impossible not to picture Aya as Rochester, brooding in his haunted manor, refusing to take the love that was right in front of him; or as Heathcliff, sullen, vengeful and with a tight, brooding sexuality that rippled over the blasted moors, making me shiver.
Some very strange, feverish dreams ensued.
So that’s how I knew that I was sulking. Sulking unrepentantly, with my lip thrust out so far that I could see it when I looked down.
It was all Aya’s fault of course. If he hadn’t behaved like such an ass I wouldn’t have been forced to go clubbing on my own. Which I was enjoying by the way, oh yes, just having a whale of a time. I did not, repeat, not need Aya to have a good time these days. I certainly wasn’t sat here now, staring resentfully at my drink, wishing I was with him. I most definitely wouldn’t prefer to be watching him sleep, his pale naked body sprawled across the sheets like spilled ice cream...
Oh crap! Now all I wanted to do was lick him!
How did he do this to me from halfway across the city? I shouldn’t be wanting him at all. I should have a bit more bloody dignity! I reckon that I am pretty thick skinned (after all sensitive assassins are, on the whole, rapidly dead assassins) but some of the things Aya had said (OK, screamed) earlier had bit in and were now creeping their way into that secret warm place inside me, where they curled up like poisonous kittens. Worst of all the secret warm place had only appeared there since I met Aya.
And now he had ruined it.
I had been expecting a row for some time. For weeks Aya had been getting progressively more jealous and suspicious of me. At first I had been flattered. I hoped that it meant that he cared for me beyond just sex. I hoped that it proved that he was still capable of caring for anyone but Aya-Chan. But before long I couldn’t even flirt harmlessly with the schoolgirls in the shop without Aya being unspeakably rude to them, which wasn’t great for business. Many a girl quailed under the flashing of contemptuous violet eyes, scurrying out of the shop, causing Omi or Ken to stare at Aya with bemused concern. Aya had always been jealous but this was ridiculous.
Before long we even stopped having sex. I wasn’t sure how he had managed it but somehow we had stopped without ever seeming to so that before I realised what was happening it was already done. Confused, I waited awhile for him to get over his funk (not very long I admit) but tonight when it occurred to me that I was both single and unable to sleep with anyone else, I had finally lost it. I had stormed up to his room and slammed the door shut behind me. Any normal person (ha!) would have started at the noise but Aya merely looked up at me with that cold expression that I had learned to dread.
“What the flying fuck is going on?” I demanded, standing tall with my legs firmly planted and my arms crossed.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Aya leaned back on the bed resting an arm casually behind his head. I bit my lip. He often lay in bed like that after we made love (if that was what it was, I was never sure) and the image burned on the back of my retinas for a moment.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
“You’ve been behaving like Garbo with a head cold!” I managed at last, “You jealous, miserable git.”
His eyes glittered dangerously.
“I am not jealous without reason,” he said and then he added, with emphatic conviction, “It’s your fault Yohji. You just can’t help being a whore.”
I started as though I had been slapped. Aya had often called me a whore but he had never really meant it before. It had almost been an endearment. The way he said it now, the total contempt in his tone, was lacerating as though I had my own wire wrapped around my throat. I was speechless for a moment and when I did speak it came out more whiney than I wanted.
“I’ve been faithful to you.” I told him, quietly.
“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” Aya replied with a deadly calm that chilled my blood. His eyes were downcast. He couldn’t bring himself to look at me. Did I disgust him that much? A heavy shuddering hurt, like I had always imagined an asthma attack to feel like, was spreading in my chest. A hot, shameful tear fell off my chin.
“Fuck. You.” I grated, trying not to snivel like a girl.
Aya’s head snapped up, “Great comeback,” he sneered.
Anger finally made its way to my brain past the hurt and so we had our first real screaming match. I’m surprised that the walls of the building didn’t blow outwards from the force of it. We had squabbled before but usually only with nasty little comments, sarcasm and, well, actual physical violence, but violence was something that we both understood and it was over quickly.
This was different. Words mean more. For once Aya, not usually an articulate man, expressed himself very clearly. He told me exactly what he thought of me. His angrily spat words eventually stunned me into silence.
And that, via kicking the shit out of my bedroom and half of a bottle of cognac, was how I had ended up here in an unfamiliar straight nightclub. It appeared to be having a Goth night. Beautiful girls sashayed past wreathed in silk and satin, lace and velvet. Wide eyes lined with kohl watched me in the dark. Once I would have loved that. I would have responded eagerly to their fluttered lash come-ons. Once. Before that Grand Supreme Bastard of Bastards, Aya.
Someone sat down beside me. I turned to tell them to fuck off but it was Omi, with a rather adorable, knowing expression in his eyes.
“He’s drinking himself stupid in a bar.” Omi said.
We both knew who ‘he’ was. I shrugged and drank some more. I had been horrified when I first got here and saw the drinks but by now I was just grateful for alcohol. Omi stared at my glass.
“Nice umbrellas.” He said eventually.
“Hn.”
“Do you get to keep the little plastic monkey?”
“Why are you here, Omi? Are you keen to see a man drink himself to death on, oh god, Coconut Madness?”
“You should make up with Aya.” Omi declared.
“’Make up?’ Omi, we aren’t nine. And why should I? He obviously wants it over. You must have heard it.”
“Most of the street heard it. The rats in the sewers heard it.”
“Well then.” I took another sickly, coconutty sip, “I expect I will get over it quickly because apparently I’m such a whore.” I spat the last word bitterly. Part of me was regretting every single sexual encounter I had ever had if they had made Aya think this way about me. It’s true, there had been a lot of them but I had never consciously used anyone and I had never cheated. Admittedly I had never had a relationship serious enough to qualify for cheating but still... The point was that I hadn’t even looked at anyone else since Aya. Well, I had looked but I hadn’t touched!
Omi sighed, “Maybe I’ll have better luck if I try Aya again, now he has had a few drinks.” He pushed himself off his bar stool and wandered off.
I glared at my drink for the next hour, willing myself to be good old Yohji, confident Yohji, randy Yohji, but all I felt like was a slut.
When Aya staggered into the nightclub I had my back to him but I felt it. I felt him standing there on the other side of the dance floor. Despite everything I knew that I was about to forgive him, that I couldn’t help it. The poisonous kitties were worried. I was melting already and I hadn’t even looked at him. I imagined him standing there, contrite, wounded by his wounding of me.
I smiled to myself a little and turned around slowly only to see him...kissing a girl. She seemed as surprised as I did. He looked like he was attempting a new and strange puzzle that he wasn’t enjoying much. Soon he let her go and then he jumped onto the dance floor with all the Goths and threw himself about like an embarrassing dad at a wedding.
Even as I rushed over (to find out if he had cracked up spectacularly and for no apparent reason) I was shaking with laughter. Chilly, humourless Aya, clearly off his head on something, dancing like a twat watched by terrified Goths...
I caught his arm and he stopped dancing. His pupils were tiny and he had the craziest expression. His face was wreathed with the biggest smile I have ever seen on him.
“Yohji!” He cried, flinging his arms around me so that I nearly fell over. I could smell his hair against my face. Aya’s body was vibrating from head to foot. It was like someone had plugged him into the mains. Usually it was only me that could make him feel like that. He released me from his arms but kept hold of my hand.
“This is Yohji,” he announced, to no one in particular, “He’s my boyfriend.”
I was thoroughly ashamed of how those words made my pulse race.
Aya leaned in and told me in an earnest tone that he was sorry about kissing the girl, “I was curious because you like it but I didn’t like it. Why do you like it?” He swayed a little and started giggling. Helplessly I started giggling too. Aya was trying desperately not to fall over.
“Aya,” I asked, “Did you, by any chance, have a strange tasting drink in a bar this evening?”
“Lots,” he confirmed, cheerfully and then, “Ooooh, Sisters of Mercy! I love this!”
“Oh God, please Aya, no more dancing. I beg of you. Now, listen. Someone must have spiked your drink tonight. Don’t you feel weird?”
“I feel great! Although, there was that one man, bought me a drink and said I was pretty. I think I broke his nose. But then I started to feel really...nice. So I came here to find Yohji.” Aya sighed and stroked my hair, his thumb just grazing the side of my face. I closed my eyes briefly. “My Yohji,” he said.
My heart ached even if he was only saying this because he was tripping.
“Come on home,” I said, putting my arm around his shaking waist.”
“But I want to dance.”
I shrugged helplessly. Aya leaned forward and brushed his hot lips softly over mine. I caught my breath. I didn’t care that this was a straight club and people were staring. [censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
I helped him out of the club, which took awhile because he kept getting distracted. Everything was beautiful to him, the Goth girls in their purple bodices, the coloured lights stroking the dance floor. And me, he seemed to find me more beautiful than anything else. And he couldn’t seem to stop talking. I liked to think that the drug, whatever it was, was making him totally honest. Especially when he said things like,
“God, I love you Yohji. I love how your eyes go all dark when I kiss you. I love how narrow your hips are. I love it when you bite my lower lip. Oh, Yohji, I didn’t mean it earlier. I am just so sure that you will hurt me. Eventually. One way or another. I was trying to protect myself.”
I piled him into the taxi and got in, afraid to miss anymore of this wonderful monologue, and alert to the possibility that Aya would start jabbering about Weiss to the bewildered taxi driver. But fortunately Aya seemed focussed entirely on me.
“I know it’s difficult for you,” he sighed, as the taxi gained speed. He ran a shivering hand up my thigh, tracing a path of desire. “It’s hard for you to be faithful. It’s not how you are made. I understand. It’s just lately I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. And the more I couldn’t stand about it, the more I imagined it, the more hurt I felt until everything was spinning and then it all seemed real.”
I breathed out painfully. Who would have thought it? Please God, let him remember all this in the morning...
“I haven’t cheated on you.” I whispered. We were getting funny looks from the driver. “I wanted to but I haven’t. And I won’t. You’re enough for me, really.”
Aya put his head on one side quizzically. He looked like he was desperately trying to think through the drug. He wanted to know whether to believe me. I tried to put everything I felt for him, the hot, crushing, unbearable love, into my eyes. I had to make him see, and make him remember.
“Yohji,” he whispered, “I...”
“Yes?” I prompted, gripping his hand tightly.
“Yohji, I...I...I’m going to be sick.”
Fortunately we were pulling up outside the shop and I got him to the bathroom in time. I stroked his back until it was over and he slumped back against the wall. I was going to find the bastard that did this to my Aya and kick the crap out of him. Aya’s eyes were slowly clearing. I was almost disappointed. I had to admit that I quite liked Aya off his face. He was so happy. Now I was dreading him telling me that it was just the drug talking, that none of it had been true, that it was still all over between us. To delay him having a chance to say any of this I helped up so that he could drink some water and use the mouthwash.
He smelt all minty as he leaned on me and we staggered to his bedroom. I couldn’t tell if he was leaning on me because he wanted to or needed to or both. His bedroom looked like a bomb had gone off in it, an Aya bomb. It looked like he had been pretty upset after our row. He lay back on his bed with a sigh and closed his eyes. I was about to leave him to sleep it off when he murmured,
“Yohji, come to bed.”
His eyes opened and I felt his gaze all over me.
“Is that...is that the drug talking?” I asked, my heart pounding with hope.
“No. I want you.”
I stared at him, suddenly and impossibly happy. Aya smiled at me slowly. He looked a little ashamed of himself. I laughed.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it] When I woke I panicked briefly. He was going to tell me to leave. It had all been the drug. I should have had the strength and the decency to stop it when I had doubts about his mind. I was scum.
But he only turned to me and smiled sleepily. Then he kissed me.
“My turn”, he said.
Later I pulled some clothes on, rather gingerly I confess, and ventured to the kitchen. Aya wanted tea.
I was walking on air.
I found Omi making himself lunch and smirking.
“Yes, alright Omi, try and contain yourself. And though I am grateful for the effects in this case you should know that there is some creep out there who is drugging peoples’ drink. We should go after him.”
Omi suddenly looked very worried indeed. He moved nervously from one foot to another.
“Just bear in mind how happy you are this morning and don’t get too mad,” he said “Um,”
“You are kidding me.” I said, as realisation hit.
“I was only trying to help!” Omi wailed.
I contemplated Omi for awhile. It obviously didn’t pay to underestimate him. Upstairs Aya’s natural grumpiness was reasserting itself.
“Where the bloody hell is my tea?” he yelled.
I looked at Omi, “Is there any left?”
