Catch My Breath
by Rana Eros
Another for the Spring Kink Challenge, for the prompt:Weiss Kreuz, Aya/Yohji: Collar or other jewelry ownership - “When you call my name it’s like a little prayer/ I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there/ In the midnight hour I can feel your power.” Betaed by Eliza, as usual. Title from Deftones' "The Passenger."
Yohji's helping Aya patch himself up after a mission, and that's how he finds it, hunting through Aya's chest of drawers for something kinder to abused flesh than Aya's mission gear and kinder to his own eyes than that fucking sweater. His hand snags on leather and buckles, and he tugs at it, opening his mouth to make some pointed comment about Aya's wires being crossed when it comes to the bedroom and the field. The words die in his throat when he gets a good look at what he's holding.
It's a collar. An honest-to-god, tie-me-up-and-spank-me collar, the same color as Aya's hair. And he knows Aya's never worn it, because he'd remember.
"Yohji, what are you doing?"
It has to be the lateness of the hour that causes him to turn around and hold the collar up for Aya's viewing pleasure, rather than stuffing it back in the drawer and pretending he never found it. "Wondering where you shop, for starters."
"I didn't buy that," Aya says casually.
Yohji can only blink. He fully expected Aya to withdraw behind the expressionless mask, to say it was none of his business, to maybe try to kick him out. He expected a fight. He didn't expect to be left wondering who the hell did buy such a thing for Aya. And if Aya ever wore it for them.
"Someone gave it to me as a joke in poor taste." Aya tilts his head and slits his eyes consideringly, which makes Yohji swallow the urge to ask for more details on the "someone." "I've never worn it, but now I think it was meant for you."
Aya stands and comes to him, stripped to the waist in the low lamplight of the studio, only a bandage on his upper right arm. Yohji's still in his own mission outfit, minus the coat and sunglasses, but under Aya's gaze he always feels bare. He lets Aya take the collar from him, tilts his head back when Aya brushes it under his chin.
"The color suits you," Aya murmurs, "brings out your eyes. Do you want it?"
As though he'd ever refuse anything that made Aya talk like that. "Put it on me?"
"Take off your shirt."
He does, with Aya standing close enough that his knuckles brush Aya's chest as he lifts the hem. He has to break eye contact to get the shirt over his head; when he emerges, Aya's smiling, small and secret, long fingers slipping leather through black metal, undoing the buckles. Yohji stands still and watches, and does not close his eyes when Aya reaches up to slip the collar around his throat.
"You have to tell me if it's too tight," Aya says, after kissing him where the buckles will go, but of course Aya's judged it just right, snugging the leather up against Yohji's skin, so there's the tantalizing almost of asphyxiation whenever Yohji breathes in. Closer, he thinks, when he's excited; he's getting there. "Yohji."
"It's perfect," he answers, dizzy, and he can taste the musk of leather, the sharpness of metal, on the back of his tongue. Aya gives him a smile with teeth.
He drops to his knees to return the favor.
|Feed the Author|