© 2006 Jet Mykles for the story. The characters however are not mine. Click here for more info on these beautiful kitties. Or check out the Bishonenworks WK gallery, which is where my obsession began.
Authors note: This is a continuation of a work of love. Pure fan fiction. I get no payment or kickback out of this except pure enjoyment and a wish to share the image of Aya, Yohji, Ken and Omi in my head.
This one’s got Ken/Omi sex. If that squicks you, you may want to skim.
– IN THE WOODS –
Omi tried to hide his smile as he stood on the ridge keeping watch. It really did just figure that Ken’s emergency stash was buried in the woods. How very Ken.
Omi glanced down the slope but couldn’t see Ken through the heavy bushes. But he could hear him. Obviously Ken wasn’t concerned with being overheard. Not surprisingly. Other than the occasional passing car, there should be no other people within miles.
Nonetheless, Omi kept his gaze down the road, leaning on the trunk of a tree just off the pavement. Shiny tree sap threatened the shoulder of his sports jacket, but he didn’t mind too much. The Porshe was hidden down near where Ken was scrabbling around. Omi just wanted to make sure that no one was following them. So far, it seemed, no one was.
“You see anything?”
“Just pavement, trees and a few birds.”
“Good. Could you come down here?”
“Nothing. I found it.” The car door shut.
Omi turned from the tree, taking his hands out of his jacket pockets and descended into the bushes and trees.
Ken was leaning against the trunk of the car, arms over his chest, ankles crossed. His head tilted to the side, glossy brown hair lifted in the faint breeze as he watched Omi with a small grin.
Ken held out a hand. A hand free of gloves, free of bugnuks. “Come here.”
Omi’s heart soared at the dark promise in Ken’s voice. He made himself stop five paces away from that oh-so-tempting body lovingly hugged in comfortable old jeans, an equally worn t-shirt and that favored, battered leather jacket. “Ken we don’t have time for this.”
Omi pointed at him. “Don’t give me that innocent look, you. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Were we followed?”
Ken pushed from the car, stepping ominously toward Omi. “Then what does it matter?”
Omi backed a step as Ken took another. “Hold on, Ken.”
Ken hunched over a bit. Brown eyes narrowed and his grin took on an evil tilt.
Omi’s eyed widened. He knew that look, that preparation. He had a split second to see it, then turn and run.
It was hopeless, really. He was fast. He was really fast. Ken was simply faster. The man was built like a wolf, all compact muscle built for speed and endurance. Instinctively, Omi used most of his wiles, jumping over bushes and dodging through the trees. It was the only reason, he was sure, that he evaded Ken for as long as he did. But there were too many trees and bushes and Ken was familiar with the landscape where he wasn’t. He rounded a tree trunk then cried out a gasp as Ken tackled him to the leafy ground.
“Ken, really!” he gasped, a goofy smile on his face despite himself. “We shouldn’t…”
Ken flipped him onto his back, pinning his wrists to the ground beside his shoulders. Brown eyes bored into his, steamy, heady intent painfully obvious in their gleam. “We should.”
Lips crashed down on his and other than a tiny whimper, he was unable to resist. Unwilling to resist. The chase had set his blood to boiling and there was only one thing for it. He sucked in Ken’s tongue like it was his only nourishment in the world. His tiny whimper turned into a full body moan as he pushed his hips up into the groin that straddled him.
“God, Omi!” Ken rasped, releasing his wrists to cup his face. Calloused fingertips played along Omi’s jaw and chin as Ken’s hot, moist mouth hovered above his. “You taste so fucking good.”
Growling, Omi grabbed handfuls of Ken’s t-shirt under his jacket, yanking it up so he could get to the smooth, precious skin beneath. He leaned up, the bandana on his head falling to the ground as he lifted his head to seal his mouth to Ken’s again.
He moaned in frustration when Ken’s lips trailed down his neck. “God, Ken, we can’t. No lube.”
“I know,” Ken rasped, edging farther down Omi’s body. He paused to shove up Omi’s shirt, nibbling a nipple to make Omi gasp. “And we don’t have much time. But if I don’t taste you now I’m gonna explode!”
Omi fell back to the sparse grass, dirt and leaves, undone by the desperation in Ken’s voice. To think that the athlete wanted him that badly. Was this for real?
The hands opening his jeans were real enough. The fingers that found his cock and gently but impatiently freed it from his pants were also real. And the mouth that closed wetly over the tip was the most wonderfully real thing Omi had ever felt.
“Oh God, Ken!” His voice squeaked but he couldn’t help it. It was too good.
Ken hummed as he slid his mouth down, nearly taking all of Omi in. Omi hadn’t realized he was fully hard. Ken wrapped his hand firmly around the base then mercilessly teased the tip and the rest of the shaft with his tongue and teeth.
Omi dug his fingers in his own hair, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He heard himself panting, Ken’s name spilling from his lips every so often. He wanted it to go on forever but the torture had to end. “Ken, I’m gonna…”
Ken sucked hard. Squeezed hard. Made it impossible for Omi to hold the explosion that detonated deep in his groin to splash down Ken’s throat.
“Oh God, Omi,” Ken groaned, nuzzling the base of Omi’s flagging erection.
Omi flinched. “Ken, stop. Too much.” He looked down to see Ken grinning up at him. He frowned. “Come up here, you.”
Ken crawled up his body to put their mouths back in line. But that’s not what Omi had in mind. He kissed Ken briefly, then pulled him farther up.
Ken didn’t get it. “Huh?”
Omi grabbed the waistband of Ken’s jeans and hauled, wiggling downward himself until he was face to crotch. “You’re not the only one who wants to taste.” He hadn’t gotten to last night. They’d fallen asleep before he’d done a fraction of the things he dreamed of doing to Ken’s body. They didn’t have time now either, but he was at least going to do this.
“Omi,” Ken groaned, bracing on hands and knees while Omi freed his erection.
Omi very nearly sighed at the sight of it. Fat and bright red with a smooth head fully emerged from the foreskin. Omi pulled the skin up, hooding the head, then pushed back to watch it emerge again. Did it a second time, sucking in the head and skin this time. Mmm, salt. Spice. Ken. He released Ken’s cock with his hand—not mouth!—to put both hands on Ken’s hips, pulling down.
Ken groaned, easing his hips down into Omi’s waiting mouth. “Shit, Omi!”
Omi tried his own hum, gratified by Ken’s shaking response. He tilted his head and sucked in as much of Ken’s length as he possibly could, letting the head butt up against the back of his throat. He teased the veins with his tongue, lightly scraped the rim of the head with his teeth. Happily, anything he did, Ken seemed to like.
When Ken’s hips started to pump, Omi went with it. He imagined what it must look like to see Ken humping his mouth and it drove him nuts. He felt his own cock, still free to the afternoon air, start to stir again. Ken kept pumping. Omi glanced up to see his head hanging down between his shoulders, hair trailing in the leaves, eyes half focused on Omi’s mouth. Omi smiled and sucked harder, gratified to see those huge brown eyes close in pleasure.
Unable to help himself, Omi reached one hand down to grip his own cock again. He let Ken fuck his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base so Ken didn’t choke him. He matched Ken’s rhythm with his own hand. Ken’s breathing went awry. He swelled. Omi hummed, then swallowed down the surprising amount of spunk that spurted from Ken. His own second orgasm triggered at the sound of the satisfied groan that tore from Ken’s mouth.
Ken collapsed to his side beside Omi, breathing heavily. Omi watched him dreamily, wiping his own semen on the grass beneath him.
A branch snapped somewhere behind Omi.
Neither of them moved, eyes locked on one another.
Ken glanced in the direction of the sound, moving only his eyes. Omi casually reached inside his jacket, easily finding the feathers of four darts and tucking them between his fingers. Ken was weaponless, other than his own hands. Distant targets were Omi’s job.
Ken’s eyes snapped back to his. He blinked once, deliberately. One target.
Omi sighed, hoping it sounded post-coital. He wondered if the target had let them finish just to enjoy the show. That kind of pissed him off.
Ken leaned toward him, lips to lips. “Gun. Out but up. Three o’clock.”
They kissed briefly. Omi pushed to sit with his free hand. He saw the shadow move in the corner of his left eye.
With well-practiced ease, he flung his left arm, letting loose the darts a split second before he dove forward into a somersault.
A masculine cry sounded to his left. A gun went off. A body fell to the ground.
Anxious, Omi spun, a prayer for Ken’s safety on his lips.
He caught sight of the back of Ken’s jacket turning around the tree the target must have fallen behind.
Omi sprang to his feet, eyes scanning the trees. Too many of them. Stupid of him and Ken to have been so careless.
Ken jumped over a bush toward him. He hit the ground and put hands to the fly of his jeans, fastening. The look he gave Omi told the younger assassin what he needed to know. Dead and, as far as Ken could tell, alone.
Omi reached down to fasten his pants as they both turned back toward where they’d left the car.
They said nothing and moved silently. They saw no one. The car was deserted.
Ken nearly dove under the car to check for explosives while Omi carefully checked inside before he opened the door. They found nothing.
They got in the car and exchanged a quick glance just before Ken started the car. Nothing. The Porsche hummed to life.
Ken got them onto the road.
“Was there anything on the body?” Omi asked.
“No. Nothing. He was American, though.”
“Either American or English. Maybe Canadian, I guess. Definitely not Japanese.”
Omi sighed, flopping back in his seat. “I guess we weren’t being paranoid to leave.”
Ken dragged a hand through his hair, stepping harder on the gas. “No. I guess not.”