Lilac Wine
by Hannah

Hi minna san! So here is the third part, and the last part I have completed. Sooooooooooooooooo.....tell me what you think! I haven't cemented what the ending will be yet..so I'm open to suggestions. Thanks for reading! ^-^

/ blah / - thoughts

      Although it was raining heavily outside, the air was still humid. It clung to the skin tenaciously, stifling. Though it was late evening, there were no lights on in the small apartment above the flower shop. Lights added unnecessary heat.

      Yoji emerged from the bathroom in a rush, steam pouring out behind him. He ran one hand through his damp hair, the other clutched at the blue towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. The lanky young man padded softly down the hall to his bedroom, breathing deeply of the comparatively cool air outside the bathroom.

      Once in the safety of his room, Yoji let the towel drop to the floor carelessly. The air felt good on his bare skin and a brief smile crossed his face before melting away. He brushed his hair in silence, absently swiping at the wet trails of water that slid down his back with each pass of the brush.

      He didn't bother to dry his hair; the humidity would just make it frizz up anyway. A few minutes of rummaging around in his top drawer produced a pair of underwear and his favorite pair of pajama pants. Although they had once been black, the thin cotton had been worn down to a dark gray color and there were holes in various spots. The soft cotton hung low on his hips and draped over his feet to nearly his toes. Just wearing them made the assassin feel more at ease.

      Yoji slipped a cigarette between his lips casually and searched his dresser top for a lighter. When he couldn't find one he began searching around his room until he found one hidden between the mattress and box springs. It didn't work. "K'so...!" he mumbled, irritated.

      He shuffled down the hall to the kitchen in search of a match. Another 3 minutes of searching came to nothing and Yoji leaned up against the doorjamb wearily, too drained to even curse. /It's this humidity, / he thought to himself.

      Pulling the cigarette from between his lips and placing it behind his ear, Yoji sighed deeply and pulled open the door to the fridge in search of a companion of the alcoholic variety. He was reaching for a bottle of his favorite beer when his eyes lit on the neck of a wine bottle in the far back corner.

      A not quite bitter smile curved soft lips as he read the label: "Lilac Wine." He had bought the bottle a while ago...when he had believed that he had found Asuka, alive again, only to find he was the subject of a twisted game. He had seen her much loved face before him only to realize he could never have her.

      Slamming the door shut with a foot, Yoji grabbed a wine glass from the cabinet and started back to his room. He looked up from the bottle's label only to find his gaze locked on the door before him. /Ken's room. /

      Yoji hesitated for only a moment before turning the knob and opening the door, letting himself into his fellow assassin's room. Ken was out of town on a trip with his soccer team until the end of the week. /He'll never notice I was in here, / Yoji thought, only a little bit guilty.

      The bedroom was a mess. Clothes were everywhere. Yoji simply couldn't believe the amount of * stuff * that littered every surface. Books, random pieces of paper, keys, shoes, dozens of socks, and empty food cartons were only a fraction of the mess. Yoji shook his head in disbelief.

      There was, however, one surface that was devoid of clutter; Ken's bed was clean and neatly made, his dark blue sheets and comforter pulled up to the edge of two pillows with mismatched cases. Yoji realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to take a deep breath as he walked over to the bed. / It's just a bed, / he reminded himself.

      He set the wine and glass down on the bedside table and slowly sat upon the bed. It was soft, but still quite firm; exactly the sort of bed Yoji would've expected the ex-soccer star to have.

      Sliding one hand gently across the surface of one pillow, Yoji gave in and allowed himself to lay his head gently on the softness under his hand. He took a deep breath, relishing the scent of Ken. /He smells so good . . ., / Yoji thought vaguely.

      Hair the color of honey spilled across the pillow as Yoji hid his face there. After a moment, he stood up and reached for the window to the left of the bed. He thumbed the latch and pushed the window up letting rain-scented wind flow into the room. He then took a moment to open his bottle of wine, pouring a full glass before sitting back on the bed.

      Vague green eyes watched the movement of the liquid through the clear glass. One tapered hand twirled the slender glass stem gently, slowly, causing the soothing motion that attracted his eyes, soothing his nerves. Finally, Yoji took a sip. It was dry, but just sweet enough to tease the taste buds. /How appropriate, / he thought blandly.

      Under the bedside table to his right was a stereo. Without checking to see what CD was in, he pushed the ON switch and waited. What played was something slow, soft, and sensuous. Not at all what Yoji had expected, but all things considered, exactly the sort of thing to fit his mood.

      Distantly, he wondered when Ken had started listening to this sort of music. The singer's voice was low and throaty, filled with aching and longing. / Thinking about Kase, Kenken? / Yoji wondered. A flash of something resembling hurt, and maybe jealously lit briefly in his eyes. He swiftly drowned it with a deep drink from his glass.

      That train of thought would get him nowhere. He wasn't sure when he'd first started feeling this way. Certainly he'd felt a twinge of . . . something . . . when Kase had appeared. And his motivation for "urging" Ken not to leave Japan with Yuriko had admittedly been somewhat selfish. He had not wanted Ken to go.

      It had lead to an undeniably intimate moment several months ago on the soccer field, and many longing glances since then. He found himself accepting missions he never would have before, just for the chance to be partnered with the athletic brunette. His dreams were filled with Ken, the only break having come with what he had thought to be the return of Asuka.

      But now . . . he tried to remember the times he and she had sipped Lilac Wine together, tried to remembered the silkiness of her hair on his shoulder. . . and while he did feel a twinge of loss, it was overwhelmed by a different ache. And this one centered on a certain brown-eyed assassin.

      Half a bottle later, things were no better. Ken still cared more for Kase . . . / his backstabbing, * dead *, son-of-a-bitch best friend. . / than he did about Yoji. And that hurt.

      /I want more than camaraderie from Ken, / he thought lazily. /I want the right to touch his hair, his face . . . I want him to think about me, to dream about me, not Kase! There has to be a way to find out if he's open to the idea . . ./ Yoji knew the other young man had felt something when they had been together on the soccer field. Everything about him, his posture, his breathing, had indicated he was waiting to be kissed. But the lanky assassin didn't want to take a chance and lose. /This time is different, / he thought, / I can't mess this up. . . / Still having come to no conclusions, Yoji drifted off to sleep.

      It was some hours later, just after midnight, when the door to Ken's room opened slowly. A very wet, very tired Ken slogged into the small space, dumping his bags on the floor just inside the door. Steadying himself against the wall with one hand, Ken pulled off his shoes, then his wet socks. He grimaced at the wet sound his efforts produced.

      The soccer tournament had been cancelled due to the severe thunderstorms, so he had come home a few days early. He was exhausted; too tired even to notice the loud clap of thunder and flash of lightening that filled the room a moment later.

      Without bothering to turn on a light, Ken hopped out of his wet jeans, almost loosing his balance once or twice, then pulled off his soaked shirt. By the time the young man had stripped down to his only slightly damp boxers, he was even more tired, and cold. He had missed the last train, and the only bus had broken down, so he'd walked the remaining 3 miles in the rain. It didn't help that he'd been up late every night for over two weeks thinking about Yoji.

      His stomach did a little dance that he had now come to recognize as his body's reaction to thoughts of his teammate. In between missions, work, and soccer practice, and in lieu of sleeping, Ken had come to the extremely frightening decision that he had to pursue his feelings for Yoji. What little sleep the brunette had gotten had been filled with images of Yoji. Yoji's voice in his ear, Yoji's touch on his skin, Yoji's lips on his own . . . Ken flushed, / I can't live like this!/

      Ken was the stereotypical "man of action." He didn't like the uncertainty he was feeling. /I know I . . .I desire him. I just don't know what to do about it!/

      Stumblingly, he made his way to the bed, already half asleep. /I couldn't live with myself if something happened to him and I had ignored these feelings. What happened with Kase. . . that . . . I can't live with the questions a second time. I just can't. /

      Just as he was about to settle down, he realized there was a person in his bed. A person that very much resembled Yoji. Squinting, Ken looked closer; it was indeed his tall friend, curled up on the far side of the bed.

      A small thrill raced up and down Ken's spine, followed by a tiny voice reminding him of his state of undress. After a moment, Ken crawled into the bed anyway. He was simply too tired to care, he told himself. There was time enough to find out why the playboy was sleeping in his bed tomorrow.

      Yawning, Ken curled up on the edge of his bed, shivering slightly, but not noticing the open window as he drifted swiftly to sleep. He was only vaguely aware of the little part of him that hoped desperately that something would happen tonight. Something that would take the question of what to do out of his hands.

      A few hours later, as Ken lay sleeping peacefully, the cold air seeping through the window finally woke Yoji. Blinking drowsily, he pulled a few strands of hair out of his eyes and mouth. The dark strands had dried as he slept and he was dimly aware of the need for a brush, but was too tired to care at the moment. He yawned hugely, and then paused, his mouth still half open, at the sight before him.

      Ken, who had unconsciously sought out the warmth of another body in his sleep, was curled up right next to Yoji. His mouth was slightly open, his breath coming even and deep. He wore nothing save a pair of dark blue boxers, and his skin was prickled with goose bumps. A shiver from the cold reminded Yoji why he'd woken to begin with.

      Trying not to wake the peaceful sleeper, Yoji eased off of the bed and around to the other side to close the window. The wet and cold had made the latch sticky, and he had to struggle to lock the window. He pinched his finger in the process, letting out a tiny yelp of pain.

      Yoji held his breath, but Ken appeared not to have woken. Slinking silently across the room, Yoji bent down to retrieve his empty wine bottle and glass.

      "Yoji." Thin fingers froze; anxiety needling the half- dressed figure that only now realized Ken was awake. Stiffly, he stood upright, wary eyes shifting to take in the motionless form on the bed.

      "Ah . . . Ken, I was hoping not to wake you . . ." Yoji's voice trailed off at the look in Ken's eyes. They were dark, almost black in the shadowed room, and very serious. Ever so slowly, Ken sat up. Just as slowly, he extended his arm, holding a gently trembling hand out to Yoji.

      Licking his lips nervously, his heart pounding double time, Yoji put down the glass and bottle, and slid his hand hesitantly to cover the outstretched one before him. Ken's hand tightened, pulling Yoji onto the bed.

      Yoji opened his mouth to explain his presence but stopped abruptly when Ken's fingers brushed softly against his lips. "I don't care, not right now anyway, " Ken whispered, "not tonight. I'm so tired . . ." Ken's voice broke off, unable to express the feelings boiling up inside him.

      His fingers slid slowly across Yoji's cheek, sliding into the tangled hair at the base of his head, caressing softly. Wide brown eyes, brimming with fear and confusion and need, tried to tell what words had failed to express.

      As if in trance, the two men lay down, their hands still twined together. Yoji had no idea what was going on. He didn't know why Ken was back early, and he didn't know why he'd been excused for being in Ken's room without permission. All he knew was that a silent thrill was humming through his body at the touch of the dark haired man whose hand he held. Something deep inside flared brightly in recognition of the fear and need he saw in Ken's expressive face.

      Slowly, he raised the hand that held Ken's to his lips and planted a whisper of a kiss on each fingertip, searching for any sign that his advances were unwanted. He could see Ken's breathing speed up, could feel the hand in his hair twitch, then resume its gentle caress.

      Green eyes locked on darkest brown, Yoji moved his head forward slowly. He could hear nothing but the sound of his blood pounding fiercely in his ears, could see nothing but Ken's eyes, and then, he could feel nothing but the silky touch of lips as he closed the distance between them and kissed Ken.

      It was the barest of touches, as gentle as the brush of a butterfly's wing, but it sang like an electric shock through the two men. Eyes still locked, their lips touched a second time, then a third. The fourth time Yoji applied more pressure, moving his lips over Ken's sensuously, allowing the tip of his tongue to trace Ken's full lower lip slowly.

      Ken's eyes fell to half-mast, a soft sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan escaping him. The kiss deepened, eyes falling closed, lips moving, tongues touching, soft sighs lingering in the air. Finally, reluctantly, Yoji broke the kiss.

      He sympathized with Ken's soft sound of distress, but knew himself well enough to know that much more of that would have led to something more serious. And neither one of them was truly ready for that. Not yet.

      Brushing soft kisses across Ken's nose, cheeks, and forehead in apology, Yoji tried to explain with his eyes. Ken's small smile said he understood. The shorter young man slipped his hand from Yoji's hair and slid it down the muscled back before wrapping around his waist. He pulled himself closer, burying his face in the crook of Yoji's neck and brushing a light kiss across the shoulder before closing his eyes with a shaky sigh.

      Yoji smiled faintly, firmly telling his body to calm down, and wrapped his arms tightly around the body pressed up against his own. He inhaled deeply, reveling in the fresh scent that was Ken. There would be consequences, he knew, but they could wait for tomorrow. /Besides, now that I know what it feels like to hold him in my arms, / he thought, / I'm not letting go. /

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