What You Do For Love

(Oooh my first yaoi fanfic! *excitedness!* Please review... additions will be based on the reviews I get, sorry but otherwise I won\'t have any motivation!)

He rolled out of the car, barely able to stand as his feet touched the cold gravel and his knees fell dangerously low to the ground. But somehow, through some inner strength, he did not fall.
“Oyasumi, Aya-chan,” he whispered tauntingly behind him. The heat of a cigarette butt flew past his weary face. Aya didn’t bother to look back; he didn’t have the strength to do so. The man with fiery orange hair grinned and reached over to close the door. Although it was dark he still wore his obsidian sunglasses. They reflected what little light there was in the darkness, hiding the green eyes that regarded him with lust and desire. He leaned over, that same insolent smile still adorning his lips fingers curled around the handle of the car door. It slammed shut and soon his exhaust roared before he took off into the night, disappearing behind the corner of a building.
“Bastard,” Aya whispered softly, grimacing as he took a painful step forward, wishing that he had at least helped him to the door. But it was stupid of him to think so. It was a false hope he knew would never become reality.
He placed one foot in front of the other, hoping, praying that each time he lifted his leg he did not fall. If he did he knew he would not be able to get up again. At least not without disobeying his orders. “Schuldich,” he growled, gritting his teeth so hard that, for a moment, he thought they would shatter under the pressure.
One. Two. Three. That was all the steps he could manage before he was forced to lean on the door, panting. A small stream of saliva dripped down his chin, flowing from his wet mouth. He moved his jaw, trying to form words, but instead they came out as mewling gasps. “I hate you.” He rested his weight against one arm; his shoulder slumped over, his hair disheveled and in array. Fingers fumbled through his pants to search for his keys. For the few seconds that he couldn’t find them mild panic flared in his stomach, making it tighten instinctively. He allowed himself a breath of relief when he finally his fingers through the loop of the key-chain and quickly pulled them out, clumsily going through each to rind the one that would unlock the door.
Once he heard that desired “click” he pushed it open, falling inside, grasping the handle tightly so that he would not collapse. He leaned against it, knees bent and resting against the other. He could feel the hot pressure in his loins and was grateful that no one was awake to witness the tented fabric of his unbuttoned pants. The legs of the pants clung to him tightly conforming to every curve. The top hung loosely over his hips, small trail of hair exposed to the cool night air. His shirt lay open, save for one wrongly placed button, and his skin was moist with sweat.
“Uhn,” he moaned, forcing his foot to go forward to the staircase. The small friction between his steps tantalized the arousal between his legs and made each step all the more painful. When he finally reached it he wondered how he had done so. It pained him to move his legs, each rise and fall caused him to gasp and clutch the railing. He hoped his nails would not leave noticeable marks on the wood.
His eyes were so narrow it was hard for him to discern where he was going. The golden irises looked like slits of rusted bronze in the darkness, masking the turmoil he felt building inside of his shaking body. He hung his head low and reprimanded himself, voice a mere guttural growl, “Hurry up,” he ordered, his body stubbornly adhering to his demand.
As he moved up the stairs, finally making it to the last step he looked back, remembering that he hadn’t closed the door to the Kaneko. He admonished himself, but turned away, leaving it open. He didn’t care. That didn’t matter right now. Getting to his room, locking that door was what mattered. Better to leave it open and have Omi question him about it later then have them find him on the chilled wooden floor in the morning.
He panted, finding his door in the dark hallway. Anticipation filled his body, spurring him on, knowing what rewards lay behind that closed door. Rest, privacy, solitude, relief, they all called out to him and fed the last bit energy his body still had. One. Two. A few more steps and he would make it. But he didn’t.
Aya could feel himself falling, his bangs pressing against his forehead, moving into his eyes. His legs fell from under him and his body grew tense as he waited for the impact. But it didn’t come. Somehow in his panic instinct had directed his hand to the cool, brass knob of the door and allowed him to land, instead, on his knees.
He groaned, hoisting himself up, feeling something shift inside of him as he pushed the door open. His fingers barely were able to turn the lock as pushed the door back into place, leaning against it as his body slumped down. He rested his back against the hard wood, bringing his legs up and bending them at the knee. Pain registered and flared against the raw lacerations that marred his behind and he shifted his positions, although the pain still lingered and he pushed himself upright, slumping over momentarily. His chest rose highly and then fell.
Soon he collapsed, falling over; his head nuzzled the carpeted ground, thankful for the softness that it provided. His legs were drawn up underneath him, pants clinging to his sweat soaked body. Automatically his jaw tightened when he felt something warm trickle down his cheek and fall off the tip of his nose. “Stop it,” he ordered, biting into the corner of his lip, forcing himself to concentrate on the small spark of pain. He buried his face into the carpet and wiped the ensuing tears away.
His hands moved from under him, fingers fumbling to pull down the zipper that kept his arousal captive behind the restrictive fabric. He always made him wear pants like this, pants that clung to the skin. Aya pulled his member out softly, his hands aching to caress it and ease it of its displeasure. It was throbbing and even the soft touch of his fingers forced a moan to exude from his lips. Thankfully the carpet caught the sound and kept it hidden from the sleeping ears of his comrades.
Moving his feet against the leg of his pants he pushed it down over his hot skin. The tight material moved against him, the friction making it difficult to do so much as pull it off his hips. His hands soon joined the struggle, tugging fiercely down. He even considered ripping them. But he knew he couldn’t the memory of those emerald eyes and that arrogant smile stopped him from doing so. So he struggled to peel them off of his skin, leaving it in a crumpled heap at his ankles.
Closing his eyes he reached back, his finger’s peeling back his pink cheeks. They were flush and bruised, adorned with thin red stripes strewn everywhere over the snow-white skin. It burned where his fingers touched, but he endured it. That pain was nothing compared to what he felt inside.
His arm brushed against the cool plastic strapped around his thigh and his fingers itched to tear it off and throw it away. But he couldn’t. Not without defying his orders. Growling into the carpet he spread himself apart, legs open, doing all that he could to stretch his opening even wider. Slender fingers probed his entrance, pushing in, feeling the smooth egg-shaped objected embedded in his body. He tugged at the cord, feeling the deep vibration against his nimble fingers. He had to stifle another moan into the fabric of the carpet as he pulled at it, slowly extracting the object from inside himself. The sound was wet and sticky as the familiar hum of the vibrator rang clearly in his ears. It was soft, but to Aya it was a scream, a scream of humiliation and shame.
He flung it across the room before turning it off and it landed, softly humming, dancing on the soft ground in front of him. He panted, his shoulders slumped forward, his hands collapsed together in pile underneath him. Slowly he reached up, hands shaking as they took grasp of his member. The painfully swollen arousal made his heart jump at the simple touch. Fingers embraced it and slid over the sensitive organ, pumping it quickly, bringing with it the same heat that had stained his body with sweat.
Sticky white substance dripped from his diligent hands and fell in a small puddle into the carpet, soaking into it. The part of his mind that hung on to any rationality reprimanded himself. I’ll have to clean that later, he thought, exhausted. His eyes were closed, not wanting to stare at the shameful action his body was forcing himself to commit. But he couldn’t help it. The arousal wrapped around him to the point of pain and he couldn’t control himself any longer.
A faint blush enveloped his body. His cheeks were brightly shaded in pink and his jaw was tightly clenched, forcing down any moan that attempted to escape. “You may only take it out and do as you wish after you are in your room. I’ll know if you haven’t followed my orders. Am I making myself clear, Aya-chan?” His voice, Schuldich’s voice repeated in his heated thoughts, bringing his passions to their peak.
“Yes, Schuldich-sama,” he moaned shakily, collapsing into the ground, his hands falling in-between his legs, splattered with secretion. He breathed in deeply, trying hard to regain his breath. His eyes stared at something that wasn’t there, imagining the damnable German’s face laughing at him with that same cruel smirk across his lips. “I hate you,” he growled softly.
*Beep! Beep*
Something in his pants rang and Aya slowly became aware that it was his phone. He tried to ignore it, closing his eyes, hoping that it would drown out the sound. But it didn’t. He groaned, shifting his exhausted body. As he brought his legs up, careful not to apply any pressure to his tender behind as he scrambled to grab the vibrating phone. It rang ceaselessly, not stopping until he flicked it open. He didn’t bother to look at who it was. He already knew.
“Did you enjoy this new present, Aya-chan?” the voice asked cheerfully.
Aya didn’t answer, his eyes losing the luster that they once had. His voice always made him do that. It always forced away his pride and honor. “Well, Aya-chan?” The voice grew cold and impatient as it waited for Aya’s answer.
“Ye-yes, Schuldich-sama,” he whispered. He wondered if he had even heard him.
“Good.”
*Click*

(Poor Aya-san... wonder why he\'s hanging around Schuldich for...yea? hehehe.... All the stuff I listed will be coming in later chapters! promise promise)