"You can leave the ferns, Ken-kun," called a youthful voice from inside the shop as Ken lifted the last of the heavy pots, levering the door open with the foot he'd left wedged in the threshold.

"All right, Omi," Hidaka Ken replied, hefting the pot in his capably strong hands and bringing it into the moist interior of the shop. They kept the Koneko climate-controlled, especially in the hottest summer months, but this dry heat had caught them by surprise and so Ken found himself following the orders of his younger teammate, carting the more delicate plants into the safety of the greenhouse out back.

The boy bestowed a sweet smile on him when he returned from his last burden, making the whole morning worth it. "Thank you, Ken-kun."

Omi knew just how to boss him around, Ken mused, not overly put out by the thought. Of all the members of Weiss, they had been together the longest. And for all his years' advantage, Ken ended up following Omi's orders rather than the other way around.

"Nothing to do now but balance the receipts and hold the counter up, I guess," Ken said with a sigh, suiting action to words and propping his butt against the counter behind him.

"Or make a round with the nutrient spray," Omi added, punching in the code to open the register, giving himself access to the day's receipts. He made a face.

Ken shrugged. "I guess I can do that."

"Ken-kun...have you noticed anything strange about Yohji-kun lately?"

"What makes you say that?" Ken shot his younger companion an alarmed look. "Strange how?"

"Well..." Omi hesitated, angelic face creased in a frown. "Yohji-kun hasn't driven his Jeep anywhere since he got it back from the shop."

Ken's eyes lingered on the teen as he reached for a bottle of nutrient spray. He brushed Omi's arm unnecessarily in the process. "And this makes you worry?"

"Well, yes." Omi leaned back, fiddling with the ties of his apron that he always looped over his hips and knotted in front, because the apron was large and he was petite. "Think about it, Ken-kun. There's been no driving out to clubs, no staying out late and partying, no drunkenness, no girls, and no hangovers. Which adds up to Yohji-kun...just not acting like Yohji-kun!" He threw up his hands in frustration, blue eyes daring Ken to contradict him.

"That's true," Ken replied slowly, walking from behind the counter to spray the leafy plants that needed it. He devoted very little of his attention to the task, finally thinking about that which Omi had prompted him to. Ken was more aware of himself than the people around him, and was generally willing to admit it. He only really noticed others when prodded into it. "But he hasn't been brooding lately, either. Not like how he was after Neu died, or after we escaped from the collapsed building and left Schwarz behind for good."

"No," Omi agreed, and poked him in the chest as he returned from his quick circuit around the shop. "And that's what worries me, Ken-kun."

"Ah!" Now Ken was enlightened. So that was what Omi had been getting at. "Well, then, what do you think is wrong?" He was perfectly willing to accept Omi's logic. The kid was a genius, after all. Ken was just a grunt, as far as he was concerned; rather like hired labor or extra muscle.

"I don't know." Omi chewed his lower lip. "And that worries me, too."

"Have you been watching Yohji for a long time?" Now Ken felt his vitals twist. Yohji was only interested in women over eighteen, he'd made it perfectly clear, and Ken had no problem with that. But...if Omi were to fall for him...well, that would be bad! Because then Omi would just get hurt, and Ken had been protecting Omi for a long time. Actually, the thought of anyone with Omi...like that...made Ken's guts roil, and he'd told himself time and again it was just big-brotherly feelings.

Ken was usually more in touch with himself than with others, but not always.

Omi blushed. "Not like that!" he protested at once, intuiting, perhaps, some of the content behind Ken's tone. "I worry about everyone, Ken-kun."

"I know you do." Risking retaliation, Ken extended his arm and ruffled Omi's bangs in a gesture he'd used frequently when the boy was fifteen, sixteen...how old was he now? It was as if one day he'd turned around and the adorably un-childlike boy had become the leggy, beautiful young man in his late teens that he was today. "So, you want to follow him?"

Omi batted Ken's fingers aside, blue eyes darkening with momentary resentment. Stop it, I'm not a kid anymore, his eyes said. "Ha! Follow Yohji-kun? I may want to know what's going on, but I know him better than that. What do you think he did while he was a private detective, practice on shooting ranges and do paperwork?"

"All right, point taken," Ken conceded. "He'd realize we were tailing him, and probably give you a serious lecture and beat the crap out of me."

"He wouldn't!"

Ken returned the nutrient bottle to its place. "Well, no sense in worrying about it, since we're not going to do that."

"Hmm..." Omi's eyes took on that gleam of concentration that meant he had begun to turn the issue over in his head, examining its ins and outs in the prelude to uncovering some kind of loophole or solution.

"Just come up with something fool-proof, that's all I ask," Ken pleaded, glancing at the door. Speaking of Yohji, it wouldn't be long before the lanky dark-haired playboy descended to take his shift in the shop. "Are you sure it's not a woman?"

"I'm sure," Omi said with finality, ending that line of discussion.

The shop bell jingled and they both looked up in surprise. Custom had been slow to nonexistent all day, and someone stepping inside during the peak of the afternoon heat and bustle was quite a surprise.

"Welcome," Omi said reflexively, giving a slight bow. He elbowed Ken in the ribs. "Customer, Ken-kun." Omi had the most amazing ability to speak through a smile.

Ken straightened from where he was valiantly attempting to prop up the counter. "...Yo."

"Good afternoon," their customer said, nodding at them with a guileless smile that was strongly reminiscent to Ken of how Omi might smile, but perhaps aged to some point ten years in the future. He was a handsome young specimen of salaryman, even Ken couldn't help but notice, with the soft golden hair of a Westerner, cut so that it feathered into eyes of a magnificent turquoise shade. When he spoke again, though, his flawless Japanese accent dispelled the thought that he was a foreigner. "You have a lovely flowershop! It's like an oasis in the midst of a barren desert."

"I hope it's not that hot out there," Ken said, startled.

"Such a poetic compliment flatters our shop," Omi said, bowing again, then kicking Ken in the ankle. "I hope you find something as lovely within our shop as your turn of phrase."

They stood for a moment like that, just smiling at one another. It was starting to freak Ken out.

"I'm gonna...uh...I think there's something in the greenhouse that I need to water," Ken said, rubbing at his head, then backing out fast. "Yeah. Thanks for coming." He bumped into Yohji on his way out, and rationalized his hasty escape as being close enough to the end of his shift, in any case. He had been on duty since opening.

"Whoa, Ken, is there a mission, or a fire under your ass?" Yohji exclaimed as he brushed past.

Ken ignored the jeer and headed for his apartment, determinedly not thinking about how their latest customer looked a good deal as Omi himself might look in ten years' time, especially when he smiled like that... Most of all he was not thinking about the feelings his inadvertent appreciation of that beauty stirred up inside of him.

Oh, no. He wasn't thinking about it. And there was no such thing as a white elephant, either.

Omi gazed briefly after Ken's retreating back, and tried to tell himself he wasn't hurt by his partner's abrupt disappearance. Ken often vanished like that, especially near the end of a shift. It couldn't possibly be because of anything he had said or done, he knew. But with the irrational impulse that fueled most teenagers' convictions, Omi felt like Ken's frequent disappearances were caused by something he'd done or not done, even as he chided himself for the illogicity of his thought.

He might have been surprised at how accurate, yet not, he was on that score.

"What an exceptionally lovely flower," the customer exclaimed, examining a climbing lily that vined up an ornate iron support by the register.

Omi glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and was startled to realize that the man's turquoise eyes were fixed not upon the flower he ostensibly fingered, but on Omi himself. "Th-thank you," he stammered. "That one's not for sale, unfortunately, it's a house flower we've been growing since we opened shop here."

"And it's well-tended, indeed," the man murmured.

Now he looked fully at Omi, and the teenager felt warmth pool in his stomach at the sincere appraisal in the man's turquoise gaze. He was a handsome man, and Omi was not immune to that. He had known since his first sexual stirrings at fourteen where his preference lay. He'd been hoping for the past three years, however, to spend his first passion with his first crush. Only in the silences of his heart did he add the designation: first love.

Omi flushed. "Thank you," he said lamely, unsure how to respond to that. For all that he was an assassin skilled in a hundred different worldly matters, this was one arena where he flopped like a landed fish.

"Though it may not be for sale," the handsome customer said, turning to the flower, fingering its blossoms again, "at least one may still appreciate its beauty. Perhaps even pluck a barely-unfolded blossom from its limbs, the better to enjoy its sweet fragrance." He smiled disarmingly.

Omi's breath caught. The man's veiled words were unmistakable, as was the invitation in the turquoise eye that remained on him as he glanced at Omi in profile. "I...uh, that is, I..." Heat rose in his cheeks, and stirred humiliatingly between his thighs as well. He'd thought he had grown past that particular embarrassment!

The door to the back burst open, and Omi swiveled. It was Ken come to rescue him unknowingly, it had to be...

Yohji, striding into the shop with his typical flamboyant grace. "Good afternoon, my bed of little hothouse flowers...huh? There's no girls in here!"

Omi smothered a laugh, turning it hastily into a feigned sneeze. "Come for your afternoon shift, Yohji-kun?" He was grateful for the reprieve nonetheless.

"Yes, I..." Yohji halted in his tracks, eyeing the handsome salaryman in his dove-gray suit of raw silk. "C-customer?"

"Yes, but as you can see, he's not a girl," Omi supplied helpfully, wondering at the stutter. That, too, was unlike Yohji. He began to untie his apron. Yohji would be working alone in the shop until Aya came to work the last two hours with him, and help close. "I'll be going, now."

"So soon?" Yohji asked somewhat shrilly.

"So soon?" the golden-haired salaryman said at nearly the same time, seeming quite disappointed.

"Ah...um..." Omi stalled, now flustered.

The salaryman glanced at Yohji, giving him the same casually sensual appraisal he had subjected Omi to, but there was a certain extra something in his smile. "Yohji-kun, huh?"

That made Omi flush all over again. Would their customer think he was too young compared to Yohji? Wait, what was he thinking? Yohji wasn't interested in men at all. Then the salaryman leaned against the counter, fixing his turquoise eyes on Omi with an appealing sort of sincerity. "I'd hoped to get your opinion on the best sort of flower to take home with me. If you would lend your expertise?"

"Uh, no, Omi, let me handle this--" Yohji began, lifting a hand, a kind of panic kindling in his eyes.

For whatever reason unbeknownst to him then or later, that was Omi's snapping point. Whether it was the pique of Ken's continued trend of leavetaking, or Yohji's clumsy attempt to 'protect' him, or simply Omi's own desire to accept the straightforward invitation of the stranger, it coalesced into a simple answer. "I'd be honored," he said, smiling at the handsome salaryman. And, he found, he was intrigued. Was this how it was done?

He finished picking at his apron-strings and tossed the protective garment onto the counter, brushing past the startled Yohji to join the blond man.

"Perhaps over coffee?" the man murmured, eyes crinkling up in a smile.

"Omi, I really think--"

"I really think I'm old enough to make my own decisions, Yohji-kun," Omi said firmly, giving him a brief, hard look. After all, if he was old enough to live and die on his own merits, this was definitely within the realm of choice as well.

Yohji made a strangled, incoherent noise as the two of them left the shop.

"I'm Tsukiyono Omi," the seventeen-year old introduced himself.

"You may call me Shiro," answered the handsome blond stranger. His smile had a mischievous cast. "I know a very good coffee place, but we may need to take the subway to get there."

"I don't mind."

There are certain times in one's life when panic gains the upper hand. At such a time, the brain tends to run useless like a vehicle spinning its wheels mired in tractionless sand.

Kudou Yohji was experiencing one such moment, left to his devices in a shop strangely devoid of customers. Shiro, his mind gibbered at him, offering up a paien of images from his last encounter with the gorgeous, impish blond salaryman he'd first met on the subway. He had been introduced to sensual pleasures even he had never considered before, the crowning glory of which had left him aching and sore for a week after. He'd been unable to sit comfortably during the entire time.

How did he find me? was fast superceded by He's taken Omi god-knows-where!

Whether or not Omi was still a virgin -- and Yohji didn't care to speculate on the point -- he doubtless had no idea what kind of predator he had just wandered off with. More than that, it was entirely possible Omi thought he was going above and beyond the call of duty to be helpful to a potential customer. Yes, that must be it, Yohji reasoned as he snatched at his cellphone and dialed Ken's number with heart-tripping haste.

The phone was answered in a breathless, surly tone. "What?"

"Ken, a pervert has just kidnapped Omi!" Yohji blurted the first thing that came to mind. It was, he thought, true in every word upon examination.

"WHAT!?" The word, though the same, was considerably different in delivery the second time around.

"Get down here and follow the bastard! Otherwise who knows what he'll do to Omi!" Yohji stifled a whimper as a slideshow of images helpfully presented itself: Omi, fenced into a corner of the subway, split open and spitted over Kuro's unzipped fly; Omi, bound in artfully-tied cotton bandages with his mouth taped over while Shiro paddled his bare, rosy ass; Omi, forced over a table while he opened his mouth for Shiro and Kuro spread him open for his monstrous cock.

No, best not to think about that.

There was a dial-tone in Yohji's ear. He shook himself out of his briefly, guiltily sexual daze and hung up.

The door slammed open. "Which way did they go? What did he look like?" Ken growled, the shape of his bugnuks making distorted lumps out of his jacket pockets. He was wearing warm-up pants and a sweater zipped partly up the front that revealed a mesh shirt; he must have been getting ready to go out and play a few rounds of soccer. "I'll ask later how you let Omi leave the shop with a pervert."

Yohji winced. "I don't think you can kill him in broad daylight, Ken," he said. Hazarding a guess, he replied, "They're headed for the subway. The perp is tall, good-looking, blond, wearing a gray suit..."

"Sounds like the customer we just had," Ken said, narrowing his eyes.

Yohji smacked his forehead. "He was the customer we just had!" he exclaimed. That made it easier; he hadn't realized Ken must have seen him before passing Yohji on the way up. "Go get him, dammit!"

Ken was already gone, the door's bell jangling a fierce discordant note in the wake of his departure.

Anger ran pure and molten in Ken's veins as he headed for the subway as fast as his legs could carry him. How dare the man, how dare Yohji for letting him, how dare he, Ken, for letting this happen at all...blind anger caught him up and carried him far indeed. He was scared as well, for Omi and possibly what he might find or do to the handsome salaryman who had apparently kidnapped him or carried him off or whatever.

He'd been so handsome...and so seemingly nice...had Yohji been mistaken?

Had Omi gone off with the man willingly?

The thought hurt more than he gave it credit for and blind rage flared along his thought processes again and so Ken found himself hurrying, buying a rail card in haste and casting about for Omi's ginger-blond head and the tall sleek golden salaryman. All around him, people jostled, rushing with more purpose than he did to and fro.

At last, when he was about to declare a rout, sure Yohji must have been mistaken, Ken spotted his quarry at the end of the platform, just about to board a subway car with open doors. He elbowed a strange-looking woman in a kimono and a carnival-bright updo, and her squirrel chittered at him as the woman attempted to hit him with her handbag. Ken gaped, briefly, then ran for the closing doors of the car, squeezing aboard just on time.

No, there was no time to relax, he chided himself, craning his head this way and that.

There, at the far end of the car -- he could see Omi, standing with a grip on a rail. The blond man's head was bent close to his, close enough to whisper in his ear, almost close enough to brush his lips over Omi's cheek.

Ken felt another stab of the anger that had driven him here, but Omi was lifting his chin, giving the man a laughing, amused look, then saying something in response. His anger was tempered, once more, with doubt. Omi certainly wasn't acting as if he'd been carried off by a pervert against his will. Suddenly he was drained of volition; he didn't know what to do.

He watched them from a distance as they moved from one stop to another. Omi spoke with the man, evidencing nothing but rapt attention. The salaryman's head remained close to his, attentive even. At the next stop the surge and flow of people leaving and entering the car pushed Ken a little closer to his quarry and he clung to a rail, head lowered, watching the two from the corner of his eye. They had been squashed into the very furthest part of the subway car, Omi gripping a rail, the blond man pressed close beside him.

Ken now understood the phrase "to see red."

The subway car shifted this way and that, and the passengers moved minutely with it, crammed together row upon row. Ken could barely see Omi and the man who had taken him from the shop, and wanted to get closer. He needed to know...if Omi was here of his own will, or if it was as Yohji had said and he'd been more or less kidnapped. He ducked his head and began to ease his way to the back of the car. Around him, fragments of conversation swirled.

"...oh, I'm so upset with Mamoru, I can't even think! Minako, I don't understand why he would suddenly turn so cool! I just don't get men!" "There, there, Usagi...we'll figure something out. I've got it, we should cook him something special..."

"...just hope Akabane-san doesn't show up this time, Ban-chan. He really gives me the creeps!" "Aa, Ginji, I don't like him much myself; avoiding him is definitely top of my list..."

"...Murai thinks Onizuka hit on his mom again. I've never seen a boy with such a mother-complex, Yoshikawa." "Well, he really loves his mother...Kikuchi, we're going to your place, right, my parents are home..."

"...going to be trouble, Hana-chan. After all, even if they haven't realized it, Yuki and the cat-boy are totally gone over Tohru. One day someone's feelings are going to come spilling out, and the one who waits will end up lashing out at the other..." "I do get that kind of vibe, Uo-chan..."

Ken was very close. He could see Omi's blond head...then he saw a second figure crowding in close to Omi and the blond man, a tall salaryman in an expensive navy suit. What the... The dark-haired man was talking to Omi now, leaning over him in a proprietary fashion that made Ken tremble with outrage. That firmed his resolve.

As he edged closer, keeping his head tucked so that Omi wouldn't notice him -- not that he didn't seem distracted in any case -- he was bewildered when the dark-haired man sank down to the lone empty seat at the back of the car. Now the blond salaryman completely obscured Omi. Just what was going on here? Wait...Omi...Omi was sitting down, too.

Ken clung to a rail and felt his face grow hot. Omi was sitting down. There was only one place to sit. The dark-haired salaryman had already sat down.

Oh, that's it, Ken thought, snapping. What he had on his hands was a couple of subway-grade chikan, perverts, who'd managed to corner Omi. He felt for his bugnuks in his pockets then looked around furtively. Too crowded. He was going to have to go in and break it up.

Then as he moved closer, he heard the first breathy, sexy inhalation. Then another, accompanied by a whimper hastily snuffed. A-as if...Omi were trying to be quiet...

Ken's brain tried to process this, and shorted. What kind of hold do these perverts have over Omi? He edged ever closer. The gray-suited salaryman was blocking off the lone seat at the back of the car rather effectively. He had to see, had to find out what was going on. He was still flushed. With outrage, he told himself. Then the car shifted this way and that and he was at the back of the car and craning his head to look over the blond's shoulder.

Oh, god.

His knees weakened and wanted to give way and there was no railing or pole to cling to for support. What he saw, oh god, what he saw drained all the fight out of him. Omi was seated on the dark man's lap, legs splayed to either side of navy-trousered legs. His shorts had been unbuttoned and the dark-haired salaryman was touching him...ohh...his hand was stroking, tweaking the hardness between Omi's legs, still tangled up in his underwear but Ken could see the smallest flash of cherry-red cock appearing, disappearing within the man's fist. Standing squarely in front of him, the blond man blocked the view of any bystanders, and caressed Omi's face with one hand. His other hand was pressing at the front of his slacks.

"O-Omi..." Ken shook himself. No, he was supposed to be rescuing him! All he could see was the red tip of Omi's cock vanishing, reappearing, and he moistened his lips. "Omi!" He pushed forward.

"K-Ken-kun!" Omi started violently in the dark-haired man's lap, staring up at him, eyes wild and dilated.

The blond man half-turned, seizing his elbow in a surprisingly strong grip and dragging him close, forming a solid barrier with their two backs. "What, you want to watch? Or maybe join in?"

"N-no, I...I came for Omi," Ken said thickly, looking down into Omi's upturned face, eyes straying down to where the dark-haired man cupped Omi's cock in his hand. "Omi, you..."

"Ken-kun," Omi responded, squirming in the dark-haired man's lap, looking up with desperate eyes. "Uhh...ahh...Ken-kun, y-you don't understand..."

"Sex with strangers?" Ken said, wounded. "Omi, all you had to do was ask..."

The dark-haired stranger smirked at him. "You do want to join in. Would you like to change places, sir?" As he made the offer, he tweaked Omi's erection, making the boy moan and arch back against him.

Ken's mouth dropped.

"Ken-kun..." Omi was giving him pleading eyes, the kind of look he would never have been able to resist in a thousand years, more so because of the intimate situation he would never have conjured up for himself in dreams. Omi seized Ken's hand and brought it close, rubbing his cheek against the palm. "Please?" It was as if his inhibitions had been loosed. If it was because of these men, Ken found he no longer cared.

"Omi, I want..." Ken began hoarsely, unable to look away, but he was interrupted.

"Gentlemen, not here," the blond man said, fingering Omi's silky hair again, putting a hand to Ken's shoulder. "What say we take these activities to a more...appropriate...forum?"

Ken looked at him blankly, still feeling the smooth warmth of Omi's cheek against his hand. "Go where?"

As the man who'd introduced himself as 'Shiro' tied Ken's hands securely behind his back, Ken spared an instant to wonder in a dazed fashion how he had gotten himself into this situation. He had fallen down an S&M rabbit-hole, and Omi was the pert bottom that had led him here.

"Ahh...ah!" Omi himself was crouched before Ken, panting and trying to hold himself still as Kuro buckled him into a leather harness that held him in place splayed over a sawhorse. Then Kuro clicked something into place and Omi trembled, eyes huge and fixed on Ken, mouth open as his breath caught in his throat. He didn't have to worry about holding still; the boy looked as if he could barely move now. He was spread out over a piece of furniture that looked like a sawhorse covered in plush -- probably pleasant to rub against, if Omi could move more than a millimeter. His hands were bound behind his back and his legs were strapped to the rear legs of the sawhorse. There was a dip below his pubic bone, curving the end of the sawhorse away from Omi's body to show off his swollen cock, then the article supported his splayed thighs to maintain his spread position comfortably. A padded piece curved up to support his chest and, as Shiro came around to stroke Omi's hair, Ken could see that it lifted Omi up to the perfect height for...

Ken looked away, cheeks crimson. He was utterly helpless in his binds. Well, as if he hadn't been just as helpless staring at Omi in the subway on Kuro's lap while the dark-haired salaryman slowly wanked him... This was subtly different, though. From the moment he had seen Omi's pants unzipped, another man's hand delving down there, Ken's world had tipped into unreality. This was all just part of an extended crack dream.

If it was the only way to enjoy Omi, he reasoned, by sharing him with a pair of sexually knowledgeable strangers, at least it was a start. Some small part of Ken buried deep inside had admitted he would never do what he wanted on his own, but following Omi down the rabbit-hole allowed him a peculiar kind of freedom.

Even if that 'freedom' was comprised of kneeling tied and gagged in front of Omi, eyes avidly catching every detail.

"Don't worry," Shiro had said with a disarming smile as he tied the gag around Ken's mouth. He was quick and professional about it in a way that let Ken know he had surely done it before, and knew the right manner to go about it. "We'll let you enjoy your little friend later. For now, we just want you to watch."

That was torment enough, Ken thought, looking back to Omi and the two handsome men who were pacing about him, sizing him up as if deciding how to start. Kuro had stripped Ken's sweatshirt and mesh top off in the elevator on the way up to the loft, and they lay discarded somewhere near Ken's shoes at the entryway. He knelt, arms tied, top button of his jeans undone teasingly by Kuro, blushing furiously every time he shifted and felt his cock strain at denim seams.

"Ken-kun..." Omi moaned, straining forward, but he didn't move so much as a centimeter.

Shiro stroked his hair again, the gesture soothing and affectionate. "Don't worry, little pretty boy, we'll let Ken play with you too."

"Shiro," Kuro rumbled, and his blond counterpart fell silent. Stripped bare to the waist, the imposing man ran a hand down Omi's back, making the boy attempt to arch up. "So responsive...beautiful. It won't take much to warm him up, we'll have to be careful."

Ken groaned around the gag. He didn't know what that meant, but he feared it. He'd thought Omi's eyes couldn't possibly get wider, but they were now as they fixed on him.

"Can we play with toys, Kuro?" Shiro asked eagerly, pulling his own shirt and tie off and tossing it to an armchair beyond Ken.

Kuro's lips turned up in a smirk. "I think that would be perfect," he said softly. "But we don't want him to come, of course." His eyes fixed on Ken. "Or him."

Ken shifted uncomfortably as Kuro's attention fell on him. Then he groaned, again, in frustration this time as the motion pressed him tight against the front of his jeans. If they did anything to Omi like the things his rampant imagination paraded before him, he might come from the sight of them.

"Shall I...?" Shiro began delicately.

"Yes." Kuro nodded.

Mystified by this exchange, Ken watched as Shiro approached a wooden chest at the edge of the carpeted area they'd referred to as their "dungeon." There were chests and ceiling-to-floor wooden armoires pushed against the wall. It had looked like a neat, somewhat esoteric entertainment center area until Kuro had begun strapping Omi down. There was also a bench pushed off to the side that looked like a weight-lifting setup, but on closer inspection it was another piece of equipment to strap someone down. The harness suspended from the ceiling was what made Ken really worry, though.

These people were...hardcore.

Shiro returned from the chest with something in his hands, more leather. He knelt before Ken and shifted the gag, kissing him on the mouth, grasping one thigh and tugging him so that the kiss was in full sight of Omi and Kuro. He could hear Omi whimpering; felt the blood pulsing in his throat and tied arms as Shiro slipped him the tongue. He responded with restraint at first, then as Shiro ate at his mouth and unzipped his fly, Ken kissed with increasing desperation.

Finally, ah, god, with his cock in Shiro's hand Ken could be happy. He felt his cock spring up at once from its restraint and Shiro chuckled against his mouth. His hand closed on Ken's cock, firm, demanding, and gave him a few satisfying pulls. Then he had Ken in both hands and he was fiddling with the piece of leather and he pulled away, tongue leaving him last. He replaced the gag swiftly before Ken could bite down or curse.

Ken looked down incredulously at the hard cock that curved halfway up to his navel, bobbing slightly from Shiro's ministrations. He'd...he had put a cock ring on him!

"Now you can't come without permission," Shiro said to him with an impish grin.

Ken growled and struggled uselessly against his bonds. He looked back to Omi, who was watching him with wide, fascinated eyes. His cheeks were a delicate shade of pink. He was breathtaking, a wet dream sprawled over B&D equipment.

"Now we can play with pretty Omi," Shiro said, taking off his gray slacks and folding them neatly before sending them to join his shirt.

"Hmm, yes." Kuro sounded distracted. He had pulled open a drawer from the armoire against the wall, and surveyed a collection of paddles and whips. Ken's eyes rounded.

"Omi, would you like to be spanked?" Shiro asked, sounding terribly cheerful. He ran a hand down Omi's flank. "Or...would you like to be opened up with a dildo?" His fingers trailed over the curve of Omi's ass, and an instant later Omi jerked in his bonds, mouth parting again. Ken could only speculate about what Shiro had done, and it made him painfully hard.

"I...I don't know," Omi panted, sounding miserable, wriggling as much as he was able. "I...I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

"You've gone off with a couple of strangers," Kuro replied darkly, coming back with what looked like a tennis-table paddle, but it was covered in black leather. "You are naughty, aren't you, Omi? Just think what could have happened to you if you'd been really bad." He cracked the paddle down onto one buttock, Shiro hastily withdrew his fingers before the stroke landed, and Omi cried out.

"That's right," Shiro said, reaching into his underwear, freeing his engorged cock. "You're both very lucky. There are plenty of people into the scene who would hurt you just for kicks, but Kuro is always careful not to give more than a person can take."

Ken moaned around the gag. The way this was going, he felt as if he couldn't take much more. They'd taken even the ability to come when he wanted away from him.

The paddle landed on Omi's ass again, falling on the opposite cheek this time. Kuro paddled him with a focused expression, directing each blow to alternate cheeks. Omi was silent at first, then as the blows landed with increasing force and rapidity he began to squirm, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. Of course it would take a lot, Omi was an assassin! Ken wanted to shout. He could withstand torture. Kuro lashed the paddle down with a crack like thunder and finally Omi yelped; he did it again and Omi began to wail, trying to arch away from each blow.

From where he knelt, even Ken could see that the pert swells of Omi's bottom had turned an electric, humiliated shade of red. When Omi's voice broke and he began to sob, Kuro lowered the paddle, tossing it to Shiro, who stowed it away. "You're sensitive," Kuro said, stroking his hands over Omi's abused bottom, "but you can take quite a bit of pain." There was a note of speculative admiration in his voice, and Ken wanted to bristle.

An indignant noise left him and Kuro's eyes met him over Omi's prone form, darkly amused. "So possessive of him...I'll bet he didn't even know how much you wanted him." He caressed Omi's bottom, then ran the fingers of one hand down into the exposed crack.

Ashamed at himself, ashamed at the whole situation and overall how turned on he was by it, Ken looked away. His body betrayed him, cock standing up more stiffly than ever. When he looked back, Omi's eyes were on him, still bright with tears but astonished.

"Ken-kun...?" he whispered.

Slowly, awkwardly, Ken nodded. It's true, dammit, I've been wanting you for longer than I should...and you're still not eighteen! There were tears smarting in his own eyes, now. This kind of thing freed him of all the considerations that had shackled him before.

"How touching," Kuro said, and his voice was biting and amused. He held out a hand and Shiro put a bottle into it.

Ken looked past Omi. Shiro had handed Kuro a bottle of lube, some kind of unlabeled oil, and in his other hand he gripped a dildo.

For some reason, this made Ken blush again. It had been a long time since he'd seen a dildo, and he had never seen one actually being used. This one was smooth and blue and maybe ten centimeters long, its width about two fingers. Shiro caught his eye, smiled, twisted the base, and it began to buzz. Ken jerked, cheeks flaming.

"Oh, kitten, would you like one too?" Shiro teased, twisting it off. Ken's eyes flicked back to Kuro, whose hand was completely hidden by the curve of Omi's ass. He wore the same intent expression he'd had while paddling Omi and his hand was moving slowly, rhythmically.

Omi's mouth was open wide in a silent gasp and his eyes had fallen half-closed.

"He's tight," Kuro commented with a satisfied grunt, then reached for the dildo and examined it. "You picked the perfect size."

Shiro smiled sweetly in Ken's direction. "I figured he was a virgin just by looking at him."

"And the way he kissed wasn't an indication?" Kuro said dryly.

Omi's eyes flew open and he looked at Ken, then away, a humiliated expression on his face. Then he gasped in earnest as Kuro lowered the smooth blue column of the dildo, trailing it down his back and over the curve of his still-reddened ass. He spread more oil on it and then, eyes locked on Ken, began to push the slick dildo until it disappeared from sight.

Omi cried out, arching as best he was able, and he stared straight ahead.

"Yes...yes, you like that, don't you?" Kuro crooned, hand -- and with it, the dildo -- moving back and forth in a slow undulation.

Omi gasped, shuddered, and stared at Ken, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Shiro crowded close beside Kuro, rubbing a hand over Omi's back, looking down with an eager expression. "He is tight," he murmured. "We should open him a bit more..." He backed away, one hand fondling his own hardness, then he moved to the armoire again.

"It's a start," Kuro purred, pausing, then putting both hands to the dildo. He twisted its base and Omi cried out again as the dildo began to buzz ferociously, its sound muted. With an expression of enjoyment, the handsome dark-haired man began to thrust the dildo back and forth once more.

Ken wanted to cry out, too, but he was muffled by the gag, tense against his bonds, a drop of sweat trickling unexpected down his temple. His eyes were locked on Omi's, and Omi's were on his.

Shiro returned from his rummaging and Ken looked up, startled. There was a bigger dildo in his hands, thicker, molded plastic and distended with life-like veins. He waggled it back and forth, giving Ken a delighted smile that widened when Ken tried to lunge against his bonds. "Don't worry, we won't hurt him...do you wish you could take its place?"

Face burning, Ken desperately transferred his gaze to Omi. He watched the play of surprise and pleasure across the boy's face as Kuro pushed the dildo back and forth, then withdrew it completely. He paused, handing it to Shiro, who rubbed it against his own upstanding hardness with a pleased, languorous expression.

"Does he need the same restraint as our eager kitten?" Kuro asked, reaching down to adjust himself in his navy slacks, a trace of impatience crossing his face for the first time.

Shiro bent down to examine Omi, rubbing the fleshy dildo across his bottom. "No, I don't think so," he said, sounding a little surprised. "He's excited...but I think having his kitten as an audience is keeping him from his full hardness. The kitten, on the other hand, is turned on even more with the pretty boy watching."

"Interesting," Kuro said with a lazy intonation, and rubbed himself once more before plucking the larger dildo from Shiro's hand. "Unless you'd like to do the honors?"

"Hmm..." Shiro hummed, chin in hand, as if he had been asked to pick out wall colors or which bouquet to buy. "I'd rather have his mouth, but I don't know if he's ready for that."

Omi tensed, eyes meeting Ken's with horror. He shook his head and trembled. Ken thrashed, skidding across the carpet and nearly toppling on his side.

Kuro laughed. It was a dark, wicked sound. "No," he decided, "I don't think he's ready for that. But perhaps the kitten...?"

"Ah, yes." Shiro disposed of the sleek blue dildo and came around the sawhorse, kneeling beside him. "Ken-kun, would you like that?" His beautiful turquoise eyes were shining.

If it would spare Omi... But that was a thought riddled with false altruism. Ken wanted this, too. He nodded.

"Good," Kuro proclaimed, and turned his attention to lubing the fleshy dildo.

Shiro pulled Ken's gag off, letting it circle his neck like a collar. He ran the head of his cock over Ken's lips, then simply held it out, waiting. Glancing up the length of that pale, sculpted body, Ken took Shiro's dick into his mouth, careful to hood his teeth, and plunged down as far as he was able. Shiro sighed and his cock twitched in Ken's mouth.

As if on purpose, and it probably had been, Shiro had angled them so that Ken could still see Omi out of the corner of his eye. As he went down on Shiro, he could see Kuro lowering the glistening dildo. Omi's eyes were locked on the sight of Ken giving head, totally rapt, and then he made the most exquisite noise as the dildo began to disappear into his ass. It turned into a keen as Kuro worked the toy slowly but methodically into him, pushing it from side to side to widen him, then deeper.

Ken groaned around his mouthful, overwhelmed. He had never done this kind of thing, been in this kind of scene with anyone, had it done to him, it made him harder and hotter than he'd ever been and he COULDN'T COME! Shiro was stroking his hair with both hands and murmuring unbelievably obscene things and Ken worked him faster with his mouth, glancing all the while at Omi, panting prettily at the edge of his vision.

Noises tumbled from Omi's throat, one after another, and he was arching and panting and from what Ken could see, either straining away from the dildo or trying frantically to push himself into its relentless rhythm. Ken tried to back off of Shiro but the blond had a good grip on his hair and so he kept going, lowering his head, watching Omi from the corner of his eye as he shook and writhed under Kuro's ministrations.

"Ahh..AHH!" Omi shouted, and he heard the slick, sloppy sound of Kuro pulling the dildo completely free.

"Shiro," Kuro said.

Shiro released Ken's hair and allowed him to pull free. He patted his cheek. "Not bad...you could use some practice, but you're not completely incompetent."

Ken glowered up at him. Not bad? Well, he'd only given head a few times. He was no Yohji.

"Get me the buttplug," Kuro said, nodding at the armoire.

Ken opened his mouth.

Kuro's steely gaze fell on him. "Do we have to gag you again?"

Ken snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, then gazed up at Omi again. He was so gorgeous, flushed and panting, eyes nearly closed. He didn't know what the men were going to do to Omi next but it made him nervous. Not, he amended in his thoughts, any more nervous than anything they had done already...

A drawer clicked shut and Shiro returned to Kuro's side. "Here," he said.

Ken watched, wide-eyed, as Kuro lubed the buttplug liberally, then it, too, disappeared over the curve of Omi's ass and went between those tight globes. Omi gasped, white showing all around his eyes, then he began to shake again. "Easy, easy," Kuro soothed, running his other hand up Omi's back, stripping the sweat there, then rubbing one of his buttocks. "It's in."

"Good," Shiro said lazily, hand tugging at his cock.

Kuro twisted, and Omi tensed all along his body. Tears sprang up at the corners of his eyes again. Ken tensed, too, and inhaled, but held himself still when Kuro gave him a warning look.

"Now," Kuro said, mellow voice perfectly pleasant, but somehow menacing, "it's your turn, eager kitty."

Ken shrank back as Kuro and Shiro approached him from either side. He looked up at Omi's contorted face. What was he doing here, the thought ran through his head, but he couldn't look away from Omi and in the end that was the reason. Shiro was untying his bonds and Ken fell forward onto hands and knees, then Kuro was there, kneeling beside him, taking him into his arms, taking his mouth. Someone was pulling his jeans down, stripping them over his hips and ass, and whether it was Shiro or Kuro he didn't know, and didn't care. Kuro's kiss was like a savage force, battering down his defenses. Behind him, Shiro was digging into him with slick fingers.

They traded places on him, Kuro handing him into Shiro's arms as Ken reeled. He was delirious, deep in a sexual haze with no end to it, no release that was allowed to him. Shiro's kisses, in contrast, scattered over his face, light and teasing. He pinched and squeezed at Ken's nipples, and ran an oily hand down Ken's stomach and up and down his straining erection.

"So frustrated," Shiro sighed against his mouth. "So ready...Kuro, do him now."

Kuro said nothing, merely pushed him forward into Shiro's arms, tugging on Ken's hips and forcing him to raise his ass. And then he was there, large and blunt and splitting him open and even oiled the sensation was painful as the firm length of him slid inside.

Someone was making the most erotic noises, Ken thought, dragging his mouth away from Shiro's. He looked up into Omi's eyes. "O-Omi," he gasped, and all of a sudden felt embarrassed, sandwiched between two men, one of them deep inside. Then Kuro began to move, shoving him forward into Shiro's arms with steady inevitability. "Ahh...ah...oh, GOD!" It had been a long time...and Kuro was hitting his prostate dead-on, reaching it with every thrust and Shiro, in front, was kissing him and pumping his cock with insistent fingers.

Omi whimpered and crowded forward. His lunges, Ken realized after a moment, were to the same rhythm that Kuro was fucking him...and that was probably deliberate on Kuro's part. Their eyes locked over Shiro's shoulder.

Kuro thrust harder, running a hand up Ken's sweaty back, then gripped his hair and pumped his hips, driving him into Shiro's arms. Ken shouted, feeling a climax rolling over him more powerful than he'd ever felt, but it was bottled up inside of him and then Kuro gave him one last hard thrust and held him in place, pulsing in the throes of his own climax.

And then he withdrew.

"No...NO!" Ken said hoarsely, driven into a frenzy now.

"Come on," Shiro urged him, drawing him to his feet. Ken stumbled as Shiro led him forward, around the sawhorse. Kuro rose to his feet, still idly stroking himself of the last remnants of orgasm. As Shiro unbuckled the cock ring, Kuro reached between Omi's cheeks and switched the plug off, pulling it free. Shiro kissed his ear. "Go for it, kitten." Hands slapped his rear.

Lust-crazy, Ken stood behind Omi and just shook for a moment. Even taken to this point, he was still afraid. Then Omi struggled to look over his shoulder. "Ken-kun...please..." He sounded as desperate as Ken felt. That tumbled him over the edge. He touched Omi's spread thighs, caressed up to grip his ass, and that was more than he could stand.

"I'm sorry, Omi," he apologized, unable to wait any longer. He tested with a finger to ensure Omi was still slick enough, then aligned himself and mounted.

He and Omi cried out together.

Ken pounded into Omi with no restraint or finesse, sweat pouring down his face. They had been right, Omi was still so tight, clamping down around him and all he wanted to do was thrust and thrust until the orgasm he'd been denied crashed over him and swept Omi along, too. Omi was making those noises again, delicious little sex noises as he thrust back against Ken and when he fumbled around the boy's hip, pumping him frantically, Omi was dripping-hard. Ken angled into him, aiming for the spot inside of him that would help to bring him off because Ken couldn't hold off much longer. "Omi...come on...come!" he begged, stroking him, pumping erratically. He was so hot...tight...Ken's control was fraying and bad.

"Ken-kun!" Omi moaned, and convulsed.

Endurance reached, Ken put both his hands to Omi's hips and thrust so raggedly it was more of a constant shudder, pushing as much of himself into that tight heat as he could, withdrawing, trembling, then pushing inside again. He panted, bowing over Omi's glistening back and pushing to the deepest point, then orgasm hit him. He whited out, then, vaguely aware of the flesh beneath his hands, beneath his pubic bone as he pressed against Omi's ass, stilled, then pumped languorously as it rolled over and through him. He returned to himself panting, still buried deep inside.

"Omi...Omi..." He slumped over the boy's back, panting, pressing his cheek to Omi's sweaty skin. He could lie like that forever.

"Don't get too comfortable," a darkly mellow voice murmured in his ear.

"Yes," a cheerful voice added. "Our evening festivities have just begun."

At the Koneko no Sumu Ie 2, Yohji had been fidgeting for the past two hours. The situation was not good, definitely not good; in fact, he thought, it was safe to say it was very bad, because it would not take even Ken two whopping hours to retrieve Omi from that subway-loving pervert.

Not, his thoughts had run the circuit, that Shiro was bad in a truly bad way. He was bad in a naughty, very sexual way. That last encounter had disturbed and unsettled Yohji as much as it had gotten his rocks off, though, and the thought of Shiro and Omi -- sweet, naive Omi -- was a frightening one. Hence the dispatch of Ken.

He was trapped in the Koneko. He couldn't close early, because he didn't know where Kuro and Shiro lived. He thought he knew what must have happened...Kuro had joined Shiro, and together they had taken Omi and Ken to that apartment of theirs, with the dungeon...another slideshow of images obligingly followed that train of thought. Ken tied up, helpless, watching in a harness as Kuro and Shiro tormented Omi and perhaps split him open with some of their toys, Ken slung over that bench of theirs while Kuro and Shiro took him at both ends, Omi face-up on a table while Kuro and Shiro took turns reaming him out as Ken watched, buttplug tormenting him, unable to come...that and more played out in Yohji's mind's eye. The two men, Kuro and Shiro, were nothing if not creative. He was sure the scenarios he could come up with were the least of the reality.

In fact, it was turning him on...

The bell jingled at the front of the shop, alerting him to a customer. "Welcome," Yohji began automatically, turning to greet the incoming, expecting a small stream of the girls that comprised the bulk of their clientele. He was glad, considering the current rather confining state of his pants, that he had placed himself strategically behind the register.

"Good evening," a familiar masculine voice replied.

"You!" Yohji exclaimed, frozen. It was Kuro, dark and gorgeous, his short fall of dark hair loose around his mobile, handsome features. The man paced into the shop like a panther.

"Shiro said he'd found you working in a flower shop," Kuro said, looking around the small, well-tended shop, appraising his surroundings. Those dark eyes fell on Yohji, and heat entered his gaze. "So those must be your companions Shiro brought to our subway line."

"Something like that," Yohji replied guardedly.

Kuro moved forward through the shop toward the register and Yohji couldn't help but notice his gracefulness, the economy of movement that defined even his smallest gesture. He didn't know what Kuro did for a living, but he could have been an assassin. Or a dancer, perhaps. At the very least, he practiced some sort of martial art. Yohji was so fascinated simply watching the man move that he failed to notice how close Kuro was getting until it was too late and the man was placing his broad hands on the counter, leaning in close with a dark, challenging look. Yohji considered backing away but that would be failing the challenge.

"Your companions," Kuro said softly, and a hint of a smile graced his lips. "I can still taste them."

Yohji started. That confirmed his suspicions. Since Ken and Omi still hadn't returned, doubtless they were still in the dungeon with Shiro.

"Here," Kuro breathed, "let me show you." He leaned forward and closed the gap.

Though he had opportunity to do so, Yohji didn't pull away. Kuro's lips were warm and firm and tasted faintly musky, then he parted Yohji's lips with a forceful tongue and Yohji knew he hadn't been lying, but why would he? Though he'd never known it first-hand, Yohji was sure this was the taste of Omi and Ken, transmuted. "What have you done to them?" he asked hoarsely, once Kuro released his mouth.

Kuro smiled widely. "Nothing against their consent, I assure you." He licked his lips. "Just as nothing was done to you against your consent, if you'll recall."

Yohji swallowed. "I remember." He had, after all, never said 'no.' He had given his unspoken consent and placed himself in their hands. Even knowing the man who called himself Kuro as little as he did, Yohji didn't think that Kuro would do anything in his world with a lack of consent.

"Well, then," Kuro continued, leaning forward onto the counter with an inviting expression, "with that in mind, how would you feel about joining us for the second half of the evening? Once you're finished here, that is."

Yohji rocked back on his heels, stunned by the request although he knew he should have expected it, given Kuro's presence here in the shop. They know where I work, his mind gibbered, and now they can just come and snap up any one of us whenever they like... Was that so bad? another, calmer voice answered it. After all, he had been searching for an excuse to take public transport since the last incident. Now Kuro had taken the need for that away from him.

"I guarantee, it will be...memorable," Kuro said, and lifted a hand as if to stroke aside a strand of hair that framed Yohji's face. Instead, he produced a small starlike white flower and handed it to Yohji.

Yohji accepted it, startled. That was one of his signature moves! He chewed his lip and thought, once more, of the various scenarios they could have worked upon Ken and Omi...and those that would yet be worked. He had never thought of Ken and Omi like that...all right, that was a lie, so he had, but he never would have acted on it. It might have screwed up the team dynamic. With this, however, giving control into Kuro and Shiro's hands, they could make him do what he wanted with no consequences.

All of those thoughts flitted through his mind on a level that was not quite conscious. He didn't do any active rationalization. "I..." he began, certain he was on the verge of accepting, unsure how to do it in a manner that wouldn't lose him face.

"What time do you close?"

"Five," Yohji answered automatically, then caught his breath.

Kuro gave him a cheshire-cat smile.

A soft scuffle behind him alerted Yohji to another's presence. He half-turned and sure enough, Aya was walking into the shop, giving him a measured look and then sizing up the broad-shouldered Kuro. "Customer?" Aya said shortly, shaking out his apron.

Yohji tucked the asphodel behind his ear. "Uh...yes," he replied, giving himself a mental shake.

Aya's eyes remained on Kuro, and there was a frown between his slanting red brows. It made Yohji wonder exactly how much of their exchange the redhead had witnessed.

"Would you recommend the red roses?" Kuro asked calmly, transferring his attention from Aya back to Yohji with a faint, amused smile.

Red roses, for passion. "Ah...yes, I'm sure it will win her heart!" Yohji said with false enthusiasm. "At the very least it makes your intentions known." Then Yohji could have hit himself, because his own words seemed like an acquiescence to Kuro's carefully-worded question.

"Give me roses, then." Kuro gave him an obscure smile. "This particular person has been worth waiting for."

That was it, then. Kuro would wait for him until after he closed. Yohji wrapped up the roses that Kuro selected, thinking with an inward groan of an erotic play of images, Shiro toying with Ken and then Omi, tying them up, strapping them down, inserting his favorite toys into them and spreading them open, facing the two of them off while they kissed desperately and Kuro took one while Shiro took the other...Yohji jerked slightly as he scratched his finger on one of the thorns.

"Ouch."

Aya rang up the purchase and gave Kuro his change, giving the man a stony look.

"Thank you for coming," Yohji said, and popped his finger into his mouth.

Kuro smiled. "No, thank you." He accepted the roses, giving Yohji a lingering look, then bowed and made his exit. His parting glance was not for Yohji, but for Aya -- his eyes were no longer amused, but steeled in something approaching challenge. The bell jingled upon his departure.

Silence hung heavy on the shop.

Yohji didn't dare look at Aya for fear of the expression he might find. Just how long had he been standing there? How much had he heard...or seen? It bothered him. Of all his teammates, the prospect of Aya finding out about his subway liaisons was the most distressing. Not, as he'd thought many times, that a guy like him had any hope of attracting a guy like Aya, even if Aya was bent in that way. He'd established himself too firmly as a playboy by the time he realized that he might want something contrary to the image he'd been careful to maintain.

The remaining time passed slowly. Yohji knew because he watched the clock and it seemed to click through each second twice as long. When they closed the shop at five, there wasn't much to do...Yohji had already swept the shop, twice; disposed of any cuttings and detritus of the day's trade; taken in the pots from outside. At five he pulled down the metal shutter, hung the closed sign in the window, and Aya pulled the till.

"Go," Aya said curtly as he carried the till into the back and Yohji followed, whistling to himself and pulling off his apron.

"Huh?" Yohji responded, unable to believe the luck.

"Go," Aya repeated. "You have a date, don't you?"

"Uh..." Yohji rubbed at the back of his head. "Well..."

"Just go," Aya said, a trace of irritation entering his voice now. "I don't need you hanging around while I count out. Especially not with that annoying cheerfulness."

"Well, excuse me," Yohji retorted, balling up his apron and tossing it into a corner where other dirt-stained aprons lay stacked. "I'll go, then."

He slipped out the back and stood for a moment, then lit up a cigarette to calm his nerves. He was humming-taut with anticipation and no little anxiety. Then, quickly and quietly, he stole around the side of the building.

Kuro was lounging in front of the shop, wrapped bundle of roses stowed in the crook of his arm. He gave Yohji a slow, melting-chocolate smile when he saw him. "Good," he purred. "I was hoping my wait wasn't for nothing."

Feeling short, Yohji responded, "Let's go."

Kuro seized his wrist and dragged him along. "To the subway, then."

"W-wait...hey, wait!" Yohji let himself be drawn along.

Unbeknownst to distracted Yohji, another figure slipped out of the alleyway to follow them.

Throughout the long ride on Kuro's subway line, Yohji kept expecting Kuro to perform his usual modus operandi, to box him into a corner, to fondle him and get him started.

He didn't. Instead, he took up a stance beside Yohji, gripping a handhold, and just smirked.

It was enough to drive Yohji slightly mad. Every time he looked over at the dark-haired man, Kuro was looking back. The desire was in his eyes, smoldering beneath the surface. This time he wasn't acting upon it, merely letting the anticipation build.

They took a cab the remainder of the distance between subway and Kuro's expansive loft apartment. This time, the salaryman told the driver the destination before letting Yohji climb in. The hand on his knee, and then at his fly, kept him from focusing on his surroundings with any degree of concentration.

Once Kuro got him alone in the elevator, he kissed Yohji, mouth strong and forceful as ever, hands divesting Yohji of his shirt and pinching at his nipples on the edge of pain and pleasure. He drew Yohji from the lift with a hand hooked on the top edge of his jeans. "Are you ready?" he asked, deep voice husky with desire.

"Ever since you came to the shop," Yohji replied hoarsely. He wanted this, if possible, even more than last time...more because he had a greater idea of what to expect.

The door opened. Yohji stepped across the threshold.

The first thing that struck him was sound. Soft whimpers reached his ears, low ragged groans that had everything to do with sex. Yohji felt himself hardening at once. He hadn't even seen what was happening to his teammates, but only the sound of them was enough to get him started.

"Shoes," Kuro reminded him, arms snaking around him from behind, one hand dipping into his waistband, the other teasing at his nipple again.

Yohji toed them off hastily. Kuro released him and, with a hand at the small of his back, guided him into the dungeon once more.

The sight that greeted his eyes was too much to take in all at once.

Ken was bound up in chains, his hands shackled together, arms stretched high above his head. The chains were suspended from a hook in the ceiling, taut enough to keep Ken hovering on the balls of his feet. His face was contorted and he was the source of the ragged groans, which spilled from his mouth as his body strained to remain in place. He was naked but for one article of clothing, the tight little soccer shorts that must have been beneath his warm-up pants. They were pulled down over his hip-bones and his cock was exposed, its hard length disappearing again and again into the eager mouth before him.

Omi, hands bound behind him, was sucking Ken off, head working back and forth with what was surely an agonizing thoroughness. Occasionally he whimpered, but it didn't sound distressed at all. He whimpered again; a sexy, eager noise. On his knees he shifted from side to side, and there was a flat disc pressing between the bared, pale globes of his ass. After a moment, Yohji realized it was the base of a butt-plug, and it was doubtless pressing up inside with Omi's movements.

Beside Ken stood Shiro in half-naked glory. His white torso was every bit as sculpted and handsome as Yohji remembered, and with his golden hair and heavy-lidded turquoise eyes he was an absolute vision. His pants were unzipped, and his hard cock stood at half-mast from the open fly. As Yohji watched, he ran a hand through Omi's hair and gripped, pulling him off Ken's erection with a moist, sucking noise. Omi made another of his delirious whimpers, and Shiro was holding out his cock, pressing it to the boy's lips. Omi opened his mouth and accepted it, sliding down fully half the length. Ken groaned, echoed in the next instant by Shiro.

Yohji and Kuro stood admiring the sight for a full minute or more. Kuro was unzipping him, fondling him through his briefs, pressing the bulge of his erection against Yohji's buttock.

Ken's eyes snapped open as he realized their little scene in the dungeon had observers. "Y-Yohji!" he exclaimed, sounding terrified.

Yohji looked at him, half-leaning back into Kuro's arms as the bigger man pulled him free of his underwear, then began to strip his pants down his thighs. "I see you've found my dirty little secret, Ken."

Omi pulled off of Shiro and the blond let him. "Y-Yohji-kun?" Omi said, then coughed. He half-turned as best as he was able, seeming to shrink against Ken's legs. "Oh, no..."

"What do you mean, your secret?" Ken demanded, but he was hardly commanding while chained from the ceiling, reddened erection bobbing near Omi's cheek. "You mean...you mean these guys have done this to you before?"

Kuro was tugging on Yohji's cock and for a moment he lost the volition to answer. With Omi huddled against Ken's legs, he could see now that the boy was wearing a cock ring, his hardness standing up and looking painfully stiff. He was flushed, and his eyes were unfocused in a dazed, sex-hazed look.

"Yeah," Yohji managed, and Kuro stepped away, leaving him bereft of support. He finished stripping Yohji, then steered him insistently into the dungeon with one broad hand planted firmly on his back. "But from the looks of it, you didn't put up much of a fight, either."

Ken opened his mouth to answer, but just then Shiro pushed Omi's head, urging him between Ken's thighs to nurse on his cock once more. Obediently Omi nuzzled between his thighs, taking Ken in his mouth, head snaking back and forth, back and forth. Ken groaned loudly, a flush breaking over his cheeks, and his eyes slid closed.

Yohji watched, fascinated, barely aware of his surroundings until Kuro had him before the wall. He blinked. "This is new," he managed, looking at the X-frame that was bolted to the wall. It had straps up and down the length of where arms and legs would go, as well as what looked like a chest strap, a waist strap, and a neck strap.

"Shiro," Kuro murmured, and the blond joined them. Kuro leaned into Yohji, kissing his neck, then looked into his eyes. "Last time was for fun, but this is more serious. Have you heard of safe words, Yohji?"

Yohji nodded. Kuro's hand ran through his hair, caressing his scalp.

"Your safe word is 'rose.' If I do anything to you that you cannot stand, your safe word is 'rose.' Say it," Kuro commanded.

"My safe word is 'rose,'" Yohji replied, feeling as if a heavy veil had descended upon his senses.

Shiro leaned in from the other side, kissing his neck as well. "Your slow word is 'thorn,'" he told Yohji, one hand sliding down his chest and abdomen, lingering at his hip. "If anything happens to you that is too intense, but not unbearable, your slow word is 'thorn.'"

Yohji nodded. "My slow word is 'thorn,'" he said dreamily.

They helped him into the X-frame, then strapped him in tight.

Yohji flexed. It was a tight feeling, a constricting feeling, but it felt good, too. Straps held him in place at the wrist, just above his elbows, and across his chest just above his pectorals. The waist strap was cinched tight, then more straps kept him in place on his thighs above each knee, then heavy leather shackles were belted around his ankles. They left the neck strap undone. Kuro ran a hand down him from the base of his throat to the base of his abdomen, leaving his rigid cock untouched. His dark eyes were alight with lust and speculation. "You're doing beautifully," he told him. "Now...the only words I want to hear from you from now on are 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir.' You can scream as much as you like."

Yohji swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Kuro's eyes gleamed approval.

Shiro returned from the armoire, his hands full of gleaming clips. He turned his sleek golden head. "Omi," he said, his gentle voice nonetheless commanding. "Back off."

Omi's tantalizing moist noises stopped as he pulled his mouth free of Ken and looked over his shoulder, fluid glistening on his lips. Ken made a frustrated sort of growl and he rattled, bare feet scuffing over the floor. He was very hard, they could see, and Shiro had called Omi off of him just in time to prevent him from coming. Omi moved to nuzzle his cheek against Ken's thigh.

"Don't touch him," Kuro said sharply, and Omi froze. Ken bit off a curse and Kuro 'tsked.' "Now, now, kitten...do you want to be gagged again?"

Both Kuro and Shiro turned their attention back to Yohji, and he began to sweat. These were merciless men. The last time, they had kept him from coming for well over an hour; perhaps more, he hadn't exactly been coherent at the time.

"We'll take good care of you," Shiro said, tilting his head to the side, then deposited the clips in Kuro's hands. He kept two for himself. No, Yohji could see as Shiro held one up, they weren't quite clips...they were...

"Ah!" He rolled his head from side to side as Shiro opened one and clamped it onto his nipple. It was a sharp pain, a bright point of agony, but not unbearable. Then Shiro fondled his other nipple, pinched it, bent and rolled his tongue around it and Yohji moaned. The pain and pleasure mingled in his head, fusing into one tormenting sensation that went straight to his groin. When Shiro straightened, he put the other clamp onto Yohji's wet nipple, making him jerk in his restraints. "Ahh! Nng..."

"Just wait," Shiro purred. "It gets better than this." He accepted the clips from Kuro and the dark man took them one by one, clipping them onto Yohji's body, pinching his skin painfully and making him cry out each time. Mindful of the threat he'd made to Ken, Yohji didn't dare swear but he didn't think Kuro would gag him...why give him a safeword and then gag him? What made it infinitely bearable, even strangely pleasurable, was Shiro's hand reaching between his legs after the tiny flare of pain that each clip gave him. His hand pulled skillfully once, twice, then left him. They repeated the process again and again, covering his torso and thighs in the bright clips.

He stared over Kuro's shoulder at Ken, who stared wildly right back. From time to time the chains keeping him on his toes would rattle, betraying a tremor in his arms.

"Omi," Shiro said, reaching down to touch himself, voice thick with amusement and sex, "resume."

Omi's mouth opened greedily as he arranged himself before Ken, squirming on his heels for a moment and no doubt moving the buttplug inside in new and interesting ways. Then he ran his lips along the length of Ken's cock on one side, then the other, before taking the glistening tip between his lips. Yohji barely felt the pain as he watched the two of them. They were utterly beautiful. It made so much sense. Why hadn't they done this together before? Of course, he knew. Kuro and Shiro had freed them of the need for courage.

Kuro used the last two clamps on the tender skin at the joining of arm and shoulder, and at this point Yohji only tossed his head, panting as Shiro's hand touched him again and withdrew. He was hard, hard as steel even through the pain. At a certain point, he thought, perhaps it was almost because of the pain.

Shiro left them again, and Yohji simply watched, mesmerized, as Omi's head moved frantically back and forth. He couldn't even see Ken's cock anymore, the angle was impossible for it, but he saw the long muscles tense in Ken's thighs and then he tossed his head back, groaning, panting desperately. Then Shiro was there, pulling Omi's head back, forcing him off Ken's cock with a wet noise. Omi whimpered, blindly seeking Ken's cock again, but Shiro was there to feed him his own cock, pushing it between the boy's swollen lips. He gave him slow, deliberate thrusts, then reached up to run a hand down Ken's sweaty side and laughed. Ken groaned. The eyes that looked toward Yohji were glazed, incoherent.

Omi was making soft, desperate noises as he sucked off Shiro, struggling closer even with his arms tied behind his back.

"You like that?" Kuro asked Yohji, and ran a finger down his body from collarbone to groin, weaving around the clips.

Yohji strained against his bonds, releasing a soft groan. "Yes, sir."

"Stop," Shiro said softly, and Omi sat back on his heels. Shiro touched himself briefly with a sensuous expression, then stroked Omi's hair. "Very good, pretty boy. Now...let's go." He knelt beside the boy, undoing his bonds with nimble fingers. Omi slumped for a moment, rubbing his red forearms, then one hand moved automatically between his thighs.

A hand smacked Omi's bare bottom, and Omi sat back on his heels again, panting prettily. "Bad boy," Shiro chastised. "You'll just make yourself more frustrated, anyhow." He smiled. "Now, come along." He stroked Omi's head, then turned him toward Yohji and Kuro.

Omi began to crawl along the carpeted dungeon floor on hands and knees, mouth open, cheeks stained crimson, the hardness swinging between his legs an even darker shade of red.

Ken trembled in his bonds again, making frustrated, fruitless movements as the pretty teen left him.

"Now," Kuro said, putting a hand to Omi's sweat-streaked hair, "it's his turn, as well." They guided Omi between Yohji's legs.

Omi looked up the length of Yohji's body. Yohji, looking down, felt an incredible thrill. The pain was gone, eclipsed completely by first the show Ken and Omi had given him, and now the prospect of that hot little mouth sucking him down as well. He felt the clips as a faint, dull throbbing across his body. Omi braced himself with a hand on each of Yohji's thighs. There was a vague recognition in his eyes of Yohji, of what he was doing, but the larger part of his awareness was given over to lust. Especially as he was unable to come, at that point he would do anything Shiro or Kuro ordered in the hopes that they would let him come eventually.

His tongue licked up the veiny underside of Yohji's hard cock, making his entire skin tighten with the electric sensation. Then, tentatively, he sucked the very tip into his mouth. Yohji closed his eyes and groaned. He loved it, loved the feel of it, the hardness of teeth sheathed by lips surrounding him, plunging down and retreating, going down on him again and again.

He opened his eyes when he felt something brush his chest. Kuro was standing beside him, threading something through the loop that was at the end of every clip. Rope, he was threading them with rope, Yohji barely registered the thought. His eyes fell closed again. Omi's mouth was so perfect, velvet heat, draped around his cock and sucking the brains right out of him. Then his mouth stopped.

At that, Yohji looked up. Shiro had pulled Omi off of him, and Kuro was done threading rope through Yohji's clips. The dark-haired man leaned into him, kissing Yohji, tongue pushing forcefully between his lips and Yohji kissed him frantically back, moaning as Kuro pressed against him and made the pain flare up in several clips. "Are you ready?" he whispered against Yohji's mouth. Then he stepped back, and yanked on his end of the rope.

Yohji screamed.

All there was in the world narrowed down to pain. Then there was a bright star moving on the horizon, rising up in his groin; the pain/pleasure spread through his entire body. He opened his eyes. He was panting hard, head hanging. Omi was nuzzling between his thighs, his head moving quickly back and forth, pulling back to lash his tongue at the head of Yohji's cock, taking the remainder of his erection in one hand. Then he bobbed down again, burying the flesh in his mouth nearly to the hilt. Yohji gasped and shuddered. He was going...he was going to...

"Enough," Kuro said sharply, pulling Omi off of Yohji with an insistent hand.

Yohji expelled a frustrated groan, almost a shout.

"Come, now," Shiro said silkily. "We've kept this pretty boy from achieving his pleasure for a long time, now. Would you deny it to him now?"

Yohji looked down into Omi's face; he had thought so before, but now he was sure that Omi was completely devoid of coherence or rationality. The only thing in his face was sex and the need to come. How long had it been, an hour? Two hours? Had they kept him on the edge even longer than that?

Omi crawled back to Ken, rubbing his face against the brunet's legs. He reached up, but Shiro pushed his face away, reaching between Ken's thighs with a cock ring, fitting it down on him snug and tight.

"No!" Ken choked out, trying to squirm away.

"Oh, yes," Shiro said, giving him a couple of strokes with his hand. "You're not going to come before we let you, remember?"

Kuro joined him, bringing over a sturdy-looking chair with a curved wooden back at a forty-five degree angle to the seat. The chain that suspended Ken from the ceiling was adjustable, and Shiro let it out from a device on the wall that resembled a crank. By centimeters he lowered Ken, and Kuro maneuvered Ken into a sitting position on the chair. Yohji watched, fascinated. At the angle the chair left him, Ken was half-reclining, cock pointing almost straight up.

"Stand, Omi," Kuro commanded gently.

Legs trembling, assisted by Shiro, Omi stood. Shiro had him brace himself over Ken, lifting his ass up.

While Shiro began to work the buttplug free, Kuro returned to Yohji, hanging tense in his restraints. He placed a hand on his reddened, welted chest, gave Yohji a secret smile, then began to undo his restraints starting with his ankles and working up to his chest stap last. Freed, Yohji crumpled into his arms, clinging to Kuro's rock-solid body. He watched over the man's shoulder, unable to look away as Shiro began to lube Omi up now that he was free of the buttplug.

"Come on," Kuro whispered, dragging him over to the equipment that resembled a plush sawhorse, the one that stood where the bench had been on his last trip. He had to adjust it larger, to fit Yohji's dimensions. Yohji imagined Omi spread out over the sawhorse and thrust his hips forward, wanting friction. Kuro chuckled. "No, not for you, not yet." He pushed Yohji down, strapping him onto the sawhorse as Yohji held himself still. Like the bench he remembered so well, this gave him no purchase at all for his aching cock.

"Go ahead," Shiro told Omi, rubbing his dripping cock briefly against the boy's ass, then stepping back. "Do what you want to."

Ken quivered, legs spread to either side of the chair as Omi crawled onto his lap, settling himself in a straddling position just forward of Ken's cock. He hitched himself up and the oiled swells of his ass brushed against Ken's upright cock, making him groan low in his throat, a tearing noise. He did it again, reaching forward, hands gripping Ken's shoulders, then made a desperate, impatient sound.

"Please," Ken said hoarsely, his brown eyes just as desperate. "Please."

Omi's body undulated, then he shifted across Ken's hips, reaching back with one hand.

Yohji watched, groaning himself as Ken's darkly-flushed erection disappeared between Omi's tight cheeks. Omi sat back slowly, impaling himself while Ken moaned and tossed his head. He rested there a moment, then began to rock back and forth. Shiro stood off to the side, eyes avid, rubbing his hand up and down his own naked length. It was exquisite torment, watching the two of them, watching Omi sink down to the very base of Ken's shaft and rest buried nearly to the balls, then he would lift, exposing a few centimeters or more of Ken's hard red cock, only to seat himself once more.

Kuro returned to him, making him aware of this by laying a hand on his bare buttocks. Yohji had almost forgotten Kuro's presence, wrapped up in Ken and Omi's riveting performance. "Now," Kuro told him, "to warm you up again."

Again? Yohji thought, keeping his eyes on Omi's steady back-and-forth motion as he rode Ken. He barely registered Kuro's words until something trailed over his ass, several strips of soft leather by the feel of it. Even then he didn't quite realize what was happening until the first stroke of the flog cracked down, lashing him across his upturned bare bottom. It was a gentle stroke by all comparison, better even than the first crack of the cane Kuro had given him the last time he'd been bound in this place. Part of him was aware this was because of the titillating sight of Ken and Omi before him as Omi continued to hitch himself up on Ken's lap, fucking himself on Ken's cock.

The flog descended again, and Yohji jerked.

Again and again it came, a rain of blows descending and he began to cry out, grunting, panting. After ten lashes or so he began to realize Kuro was striking him to the same tantalizing rhythm that Omi was using to ride Ken. He shuddered. The strokes were coming faster, harder, especially as Omi sped up, riding Ken with frantic haste so much so that one thrust blurred into the next. That was how the flog struck Yohji, and he shouted, feeling as if he could come from that much. Then the flog stopped.

Shiro moved quickly, worming his hands under Omi's rear, and the groan that left Ken was drawn out this time. He came up with the unbuckled cock ring, then moved around to the front, liberating Omi as well.

Omi lifted himself up, hands sliding up Ken's chest and settling on his pectorals as he moved himself to the insistent rhythm his body demanded. He dropped down and down, pressing himself back onto Ken's cock. Chains rattled faintly as Ken strained to meet him, thrusting his hips up as best he was able. They were unfettered, and now they moved together with unrestrained abandon, a desperate brand of joy in the line of every thrust.

It was Ken who cried out first, body slumping under the weight of his climax. Omi moved faster, pushing himself down in one continuous kind of pulse.

As they came, Yohji felt something entering him, as well.

It wasn't Kuro's cock. He remembered the feel of it well, long and thick. This was thin, harder than flesh, and sank into him with an unyielding quality. He strained forward, unable to escape. It was the handle of the flog that penetrated him, and Kuro thrust it inside of him, teasing it back and forth as Omi screamed, pushing back on Ken, slumping over his chest in utter completion.

"Ken-kun...Ken-kun..." He murmured his name in a ragged voice.

"Beautiful," Shiro marveled, joining them again. With gentle hands he urged Omi off of Ken, sitting him forward over Ken's hips. Then, quickly, he slipped the cock ring on Ken once more, drawing a throttled cry out of him.

The smooth long handle of the flog was withdrawn, and Yohji trembled. His ass felt as though it were blazing. Kuro left him, helping Omi off of Ken and to the side where a mound of cushions awaited. Shiro's deft hands moved between his thighs as well, buckling on the cock ring once more. Omi sobbed and stayed where they left him as they moved to free Ken of the chains. Amazingly enough, the shackles that ringed his wrists had quick-releases, which they unsnapped then lifted Ken between them, arranging him beside Omi.

Shiro returned to the armoire.

Kuro stroked Ken's hair, then Omi's. "Hold him," he murmured.

Ken was still panting lightly. He slid his arms around Omi, who cuddled against him, looking exhausted, and laid his head on Ken's shoulder. It was adorable even in the midst of this scenario, with Yohji still straining and hard. Omi's hands crept behind Ken's neck as the brunet held him close.

Click.

"We should take pictures," Shiro said with an enthusiastic smile, and the other handcuff snapped shut around Ken's wrist, binding him around Omi. With another silver pair gleaming from his finger, he moved to the other side of the entwined boys and cuffed Omi's hands together behind Ken's neck. "It's certainly a moment I want to remember."

Yohji writhed in his bonds, trying to find purchase, unable to do so. He tried to hump up against the sawhorse but the equipment curved away from him; the tip of his cock could just barely touch the surface beneath him, but gave him no friction. He moaned helplessly.

"Ahh, Kuro, I think our other little kitten wants attention," Shiro said, turning with a smile laden with sensuality. He took himself in hand again, jacking slowly.

"He can taste the flog again, then," Kuro rejoined.

That was when the knock came at the door.

From the surprise that crossed the faces of the two men, Yohji could tell they'd expected no visitors.

Kuro nodded to Shiro, who left them and disappeared around the corner of the dungeon that led to the rest of the apartment. Kuro stroked Yohji's back with his hand first, then the flog. "Expecting anyone?" he said facetiously.

Yohji shook his head in any case. "No, sir," he replied, but the first thing he thought of was Aya. It was unlike him to let Yohji go early from the store, even despite his obvious impatience...no, it was more Aya's style to go through every detail of closing with meticulous precision, making Yohji go over things with him even if he was jittering to go.

Why hadn't he been suspicious before? ...Because, of course, he had been too eager to get here.

Shiro returned in an instant, a white yukata with a pattern of green leaves belted around him. He looked unsettled, which made Yohji uneasy -- he hadn't seen Shiro look anything but cheerful or lustful before. "Kuro," he said shortly.

They both departed for the door.

Yohji strained his ears for a hint of what was going on, but the low rumble of Kuro's voice from a distance was all he could make out. There was a pause, then an angry response.

"If I want to see it for my own eyes, there's not much you can do to stop me!"

Yohji's eyes went wide. Aya. That was Aya's angry voice. He began to struggle in his restraints. No, he begged the absent Kuro, don't let him in here, no matter what. He didn't want Aya to see...

Across the white-carpeted dungeon, Omi stirred in Ken's arms, then let his head drop to the other man's shoulder again. Either he was too exhausted or out of it to fully process the meaning of that shout. Ken's head turned, however, and he met Yohji's eyes in a kind of blind panic.

They were in agreement. If Aya saw what was going on things could get very, very bad.

"Well, then, if he wants to see his friends, I think we should let him see his friends," Shiro's voice purred.

Yohji twitched. Ken blinked at him, stupefied, then began to shift and struggle. Omi was deadweight in his arms, mumbling sleepily, lazily, and he wouldn't cooperate. A rising sense of dread rose up in Yohji, spurring him to fight against his restraints again even as he knew it was helpless.

Kuro and Shiro returned, flanking a reed-thin, tall figure in a black turtleneck and black jeans. He had come without his trench coat -- and katana -- or they had disarmed him at the door. He was barefoot.

Aya's eyes fell on him, and Yohji trembled. He wanted to turn his face away but he couldn't. This was a pain keener than anything Kuro or Shiro could have purposefully inflicted.

The redhead's mouth parted and a crease appeared between his brows, but aside from that he didn't look any more startled than someone walking into a surprise birthday party. Aya's eyes flicked from Yohji, in restraints and on the edge, to Ken and Omi cuddled in a heap together on the floor. Ken looked wary, defensive; Omi, by all appearances, was barely sensible. They had probably blown his teenaged sex circuits.

"You see?" Kuro murmured, sweeping forward in a darkly-patterned black yukata. "They're perfectly unharmed."

"Unharmed, perhaps," Aya chewed out his words and spat them at Kuro. His violet eyes turned on Yohji. "Are you here of your own free will?"

Yohji didn't dare look at Kuro for permission to answer, but saw the dark-haired man nod nonetheless. He was humiliated, his cheeks burning -- maybe, if he was especially unlucky, they were as red as his flogged ass. "Yes, I am," he managed. "They didn't force me, Aya."

Aya's gaze shifted to Ken and Omi. Ken looked away.

"That's answer enough," Aya said, his lips compressing to a thin line. He took a step back. His feet were pale, Yohji noticed as he lowered his head; they were almost as white as the carpet beneath them.

"Then I'll see you to the door," Shiro said helpfully, hovering at his elbow.

Aya turned. "I'm not leaving without them," he said icily.

Yohji's head lifted.

"Ah," Kuro said. He faced off with Aya, and from that angle, it was impossible to see the look on his face. "I think you don't understand the situation. Shiro and I don't entertain observers, especially not those who aren't from the scene."

Aya's eyes flickered to Yohji once more, then returned to Kuro, implacable. "Still, I won't leave."

"I see," Kuro said, and his voice was ambiguous. "If you stay, then there will be conditions."

Yohji watched, fascinated, as Aya's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I'm aware of that," he answered. His voice, so low, was almost as deep as Kuro's mellow-dark voice.

"Hmm..." Shiro made a speculative sound, then skirted the two of them to approach Yohji once more. He stroked Yohji's sweaty, tousled hair.

Aya's eyes remained fixed on Kuro. "Name your conditions."

Kuro smiled widely. "Well, first you must strip, of course. And then, you must submit yourself to being bound so that you cannot interfere, however well-meaning, in our consensual activities."

"Done," Aya said curtly.

"Oh?" Kuro sounded surprised, as if he'd expected Aya to stalk out.

Aya's eyes shifted to Yohji, then away as soon as their eyes met.

"Lastly, if you desire any greater level of participation in the scene..." Kuro stepped back, yukata flourishing around his ankles. "Please feel free to make me aware of the fact."

Aya said nothing to that, merely put his hands to the bottom of his black turtleneck and peeled it over his head.

Yohji gaped, confused. Why was Aya doing this? Why was he going so far, why did he even want to stay? Did he really think that Shiro or Kuro would do something truly bad to the three of them? But if so, then why submit to binding and render himself helpless?

With short, methodical movements, Aya unbuttoned his black jeans and eased them over his hips, meeting no one's eyes. Yohji thought he heard a quick intake of breath from Ken. He didn't bother to look to Ken, eyes riveted on the disrobing of the pale redhead. He could have been sculpted of ice.

Whether it was out of modesty or lack of opportunity, Yohji had never seen this much of Aya before. Beneath his jeans, he wore white y-front briefs that he removed without ceremony. Nude, he was flawless. As Yohji watched, fascinated, Aya's cock stirred on its blood-red nest between those perfect, pale thighs.

"Ah," Kuro said softly, and whether it was a noise of appreciation or something more, Yohji was in no position to judge. The broad-shouldered man shrugged, letting his black yukata fall from his shoulders. It pooled around his feet, and he gestured to the wall and the X-frame. "If you would, please."

Expressionless, Aya marched over to the wall.

Shiro moved into the space where he had stood, collecting the clothes that Aya and Kuro had let fall. Then he joined them by the wall, having shed his own yukata to stand once more in briefs that barely concealed his bulging hardness.

They strapped Aya to the wall, to the frame, and Yohji watched. The scene had entered the ultimate surreality, for him; he could no longer quite believe the evidence of his eyes.

Kuro returned to Yohji, touching his bare ass once more. He squirmed. He could barely see Aya from the corner of his eye, but he could nonetheless feel the redhead's eyes on him. If anything, that should have made his erection flag, but he was still hard and firm.

A barrier was being broken, but Yohji wasn't yet coherent enough to see the repercussions that its destruction would have.

The lash that brushed over his skin this time was something ropier, heavier, than the one that Kuro had used on him before. "Ready?" Kuro asked him, as if there had been no interruption.

Yohji swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir," he said, shutting his eyes.

The first blow landed.

He jumped with his whole body, but kept his teeth clamped shut. Tears sprang from the corners of his eyes as Kuro began to beat him with the heavier scourge, but he only cried out after the tenth stroke had landed, three or four times as heavy as the first. He felt like he was on fire; he felt unbelievably hard. Voice freed, he yelled with every stroke and shut his eyes and shook and imagined it was Aya standing above him, Aya landing each blow harder than the last.

Still it came harder, faster. Yohji began to panic. He was overloaded; it was too much, not pain, not pleasure, but something in between, welling up inside of him and pushing against his breastbone with a smothering feeling.

He managed to choke out a word, half-remembered. "Thorn..." he gasped. "Th-thorn!"

Immediately the strokes ceased.

Hands were rubbing his buttocks, soothing, touching. Then a hand reached below him, tweaking, sliding up the length of his cock and Yohji realized anew that it was painfully hard, pre-come dripping into the fingers that captured and then released him.

"All right?" Shiro murmured, kneeling beside his head, kissing his ear.

Yohji didn't want to look at Aya. He didn't want to see. A word welled up on his tongue. Rose. If he said it, they would let him walk away. And then he wouldn't have to feel Aya's eyes on him again, or remember the way his lips had thinned. Why had he stayed? Could Aya possibly...but he had to answer, now. He had no other choice.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

Something touched his rear again, Kuro's hand, then the firm roundness of something hard, slick. Not the flog. Kuro held his cock against Yohji, rubbed it moistly against him, then with very little preparation slid into him, splitting him wide. The groan that left Yohji was long, drawn-out, luxurious. He thought he'd remembered the feel of Kuro's cock but it was even wider than he'd thought, stretching him to comfortable capacity and beyond but as far as pain was concerned, there was none. Pain and pleasure were blended and Kuro's slide inside of him was pure pleasure now.

Shiro stepped in front of him, hand moving slow up and down his length, then he held it out to Yohji as if for inspection. Yohji opened his mouth, feeling the same sort of lazy inevitability that had taken hold of him in the subway when he'd given himself up to two strangers. This was so much more. In this submission was the real power of his sex. Somewhere, faintly, he heard a sound, a rattling, but then Kuro smacked his ass, bucking into motion, and he forgot it in the sheer rhythm of the sex. In front, he gave head greedily, sucking Shiro down, stretching his mouth to accommodate the length that plunged down as far as Shiro could go -- and that was far enough.

The entire world narrowed down to the rhythm of the fuck. Kuro was as brutal as he remembered, thrusting his hips forward again and again to skewer Yohji without a moment's pause. At his head, Shiro stroked through Yohji's hair, moaning encouragement.

"Beautiful," Shiro said breathlessly, "oh, you're so good...Yohji..."

Again Yohji heard that faint rattling. His eyes rolled beneath his lids. Was it Ken, or Aya? Ken was surely quite comfortable, but for the constriction of the cock ring... He lost the thought as Kuro pounded forward harder, pace quickening. Yohji felt his dripping cock brush the sawhorse, just barely, and he made a noise that was muffled completely by Shiro, who backed off then let Yohji slide down nearly all the way again.

"Kuro...Kuro, I'm going to..." Shiro began, and moaned. He backed off again, this time pulling his saliva-slicked cock beyond Yohji's range. Yohji, totally into it now, reached for it with his mouth and missed.

"Mmm..." Kuro rumbled, sounding as if he were rather close himself. He thrust again, langorously, held himself flush against Yohji's ass, and gave him a few more strokes.

"Kuro...if you come too soon, it's not as much fun," Shiro said in chiding tones.

Yohji's eyes widened. Too soon? What did they think was a suitable length of time, then? These men had stamina.

"True," Kuro acknowledged, holding himself stiffly within Yohji, then pulling out.

Yohji groaned at the abruptness of the feeling, the unwanted sense of vacancy. "Please..."

"You want to come?" Shiro's hand trailed over his face, and Yohji leaned into it. The man laughed. "Silly. You should know better, by now."

They left him, Kuro walking somewhat awkwardly, to go to the armoire across from Yohji and his sawhorse where they stood side by side, arms around one another. For the first time, Yohji wondered about the nature of their relationship. They clearly lived at this apartment together; his detective's eyes could tell that much from the small details of the loft apartment that he had absorbed. Where did they work? How had they fallen into their peculiar arrangement, casting for suitable anonymous partners on the subway? Was Yohji the first they'd sought out to the point of finding his place of business? No, perhaps that had been an accident...

"This one," Shiro said cheerfully, holding up a stunningly large, thick black dildo.

"Don't be ridiculous," Kuro said with a snort. "There's no way the pretty boy could take that."

Yohji blew out a sigh of relief. He hadn't liked using his slow-word.

"No, no, I meant for the kitten," Shiro said, giving the thing a wiggle. It moved in a disturbing, floppy fashion.

"Put it away," Kuro insisted, reaching down and adjusting his hardness.

Shiro sighed and went back to his perusal.

"This one for the pretty boy," Kuro said, holding up a jelly-clear red one, about average width but slightly longer than normal.

With a start, Yohji realized he meant Omi.

"Then...how about this, for the kitten?" Shiro asked, pulling out a white one with frightening bluish veins, about the width of one of Omi's wrists.

"Hmm...all right."

They returned to Ken and Omi, huddled blissfully -- until then -- on their cushions, still handcuffed in that sweet pose.

"Ready for more?" Kuro asked rhetorically, uncapping a tube of lube and holding up the red dildo in his other hand.

Wisely, Ken remained silent. Omi still looked half-asleep, satiation hovering about him like the cat who'd had at the cream and licked it dry. He made a small noise, not quite protest, mostly arousal as Kuro pushed up his leg and began to insert the dildo. Yohji noticed now that it was wider at the base, like a buttplug, then narrowed down to encourage its stay in Omi's rear.

Shiro, on the other hand, had picked up a leather harness that looked like a jock strap. As he began screwing the big white dildo onto it, Yohji realized he'd been right. It was a harness to keep the dildo inside of Ken.

Ken shuddered as Shiro knelt behind him and pulled him open. He squirmed, making wordless exclamations of protest, but Shiro was relentless though he went slow and carefully. When it was all the way seated in Ken, Shiro looped the leather straps over Ken's thighs and waist and snapped them together. Ken groaned, his head dropping to Omi's shoulder.

"Lovely," Shiro murmured, standing and stepping back to admire them as they lay together, panting now. Their cocks had not quite been allowed to deflate from their orgasm, but they weren't all the way hard again, either...both were red and Omi's was dripping. He turned his head, looking at his dark partner. "Well?" He fondled himself again.

"It's been quite long enough for you, I think, Shiro," Kuro murmured. "Why don't you come inside Yohji?"

"Mmm." Shiro's eyes shone. "I think I'd rather like that." He took the lube that Kuro handed him.

Yohji hung his head. He was still wet from Kuro; he didn't think Shiro would even need that to slip inside him. It was a measure of how careful they were. For virtually anything involving his or anyone else's ass they used liberal amounts of lube. He wondered, crazily, if they had stock in a brand or two.

Shiro's hands skimmed over his back, trailing from neck to hip. "I'm going to enjoy this very much," he murmured, and he certainly sounded it. "Are you ready?"

Of course, the question was more for form's sake than anything. Shiro didn't wait, just aligned himself and pushed right in. After Kuro's girth and length he felt comfortable, pleasant, and the way he inclined his hips and angled deep within brushed against Yohji's prostate with every stroke. It was...amazing. Yohji panted and pushed back to meet him, though he knew it didn't matter; immobile, he was just where Shiro wanted him and Shiro could do all the work. He was bound so tightly he could barely move at all but still he had to try.

Out of the corner of his eye Yohji saw Kuro pass them, skirting their vigorous activity to move to the wall. He dismissed it in the next instant, staring ahead, mouth dropped open and breathing hard as Shiro continued to thrust and thrust. The man was a machine, moving steadily without pause, hands running up and down Yohji's sweaty flanks and then he grabbed, dragging the sawhorse a few centimeters as he really plowed into Yohji. Yohji yelled. That had been the most amazing jab to his prostate yet.

Too soon, Shiro's strokes slowed. He held himself close within Yohji, fingers digging into the skin just above his hipbones, and gave him a few final thrusts. Then he simply stood there and pulsed inside of him.

When he was done, Yohji whimpered. He still hadn't come. These men were truly merciless. There was a pause, then Shiro was dragging the sawhorse around and him with it, turning it ponderously to face the other direction.

He turned Yohji to face Aya, and the wall frame he hung strapped against.

"Oh, god..." Yohji uttered before he was able to help himself. Kuro was touching Aya, fondling his pale-rosy nipples, running a hand down the white skin of his side and thighs, other hand tweaking the angry red erection between his legs. Aya was totally hard. His face was averted but he looked flushed and furious.

He also looked incredibly sexy.

The Greek gods at the dawn of man, Yohji pondered, must have had scenes like this amongst their gods and heroes.

"I'll let you have him," Kuro murmured, leaning into Aya, thumb and finger moving slowly up the length of him, "but only if you let me fuck you. That's my last condition."

Aya started, then glared at him, violet eyes narrowed in a baleful expression.

Yohji twitched, too, unable to believe his ears. Kuro...was he reading the situation correctly? Yohji's gaze dropped back to Aya's very real, undeniable erection. He looked back to Kuro.

"Fine," Kuro said with a sigh, shrugging bare shoulders and stepping away.

Yohji's eyes were riveted once more on Aya's crimson erection. A single clear drop was seeping at the tip. He wanted to lick it. His mouth opened, then guiltily his eyes jerked up to look at the redhead's face.

Aya was staring at him. His face was unreadable.

"I could fuck him facing you..." Kuro said, stroking Yohji's hair, coming around to the rear of the sawhorse, "or I could put him in harness and fuck him mid-air...mmm. You remember that, don't you, Yohji?"

Yohji shuddered. He did indeed remember. He'd never been split so widely in his life, dangling in the ceiling-suspension harness, sandwiched between Kuro and Shiro as they both penetrated him, then began to fuck him in unison.

Aya's eyes flickered.

"I think I do want him in harness," Kuro decided. "Shiro."

Tucked decorously now in his underwear, Shiro came to help his partner. Yohji couldn't see what they were doing, only heard the jingling of chains and other accoutrements. He remembered last time. Ken's chains had been suspended from a single steel ring in the ceiling, but there was more than one steel ring. There were enough to run the harness-chains up through steel rings. The harness was like a sex swing, which Yohji had actually heard of before, but this one was far more constricting, and would strap him into the seat to allow a man access to his ass and cock as they stood in behind or in front of him. If it weren't for the fact that Shiro was soft still, Yohji might have worried that they intended on a repeat performance.

There was more silence and the creak of leather as they strung it up, then tested it. Yohji let his hair fall into his eyes. He didn't dare meet Aya's gaze again, though this time whether it was because of keen arousal or shame, he could no longer tell.

"All right." Kuro's hand was on his back. They were both unstrapping him, their hands gentle, movements brisk and efficient. "Can you stand?"

He wasn't sure. "Yes...sir," he gritted, pushing himself up off the sawhorse. Shiro caught and steadied him. They had already placed a chair beside the swing to help him climb into the device, and Yohji tottered over between the two men. He felt slickness dribbling down his thighs in back and grimaced, then forgot his discomfort as he had to concentrate to first climb the chair, then allow Kuro and Shiro to strap him into the swing. Yohji was starting to feel like an old pro.

"Good," Kuro said, checking the fastenings, then looking up at Yohji with those rich dark eyes. "Ready?"

Yohji remembered this part. He sat back, giving himself up to the device to make a short, swooping flight through the air while his stomach bottomed out. The swing caught and embraced him, and he rocked back and forth before Kuro caught his thighs, drawing him in. Yohji swallowed thickly, looking over his shoulder. He was still facing Aya. Couldn't they be at least a little merciful? They could have faced him *away* from Aya...

Now Kuro moved around to his rear, caressing his thighs, hands settling on his waist. "Are you ready?"

Yohji wanted to close his eyes. He couldn't look away. Aya was staring at him, and his violet eyes practically crackled with emotion...with anger, with lust, with thwarted pride...everything was in his eyes now, and Yohji couldn't take it all in.

"Wait."

The word fell flat and hard like a stone dropped into a pond rigid with surface-tension. Kuro's hands tightened on Yohji's waist, then slid to his hips.

"You want something?" Kuro's deep voice asked, terribly quiet.

"Yes," Aya gritted, eyes blazing in his pale face.

"Do you accept my last condition?" There was a curl of pleasure like rich, dark chocolate twining through Kuro's voice. He had won, that tone said. He was the top.

"I do," Aya said, and even as he gave in his wrists rattled in his leather shackles. That was the sound Yohji had heard before, he realized now. Aya had been fighting his restraints as Shiro and Kuro took him at both ends.

There was no room left in his brain now for that kind of amazement. It was given over completely as Kuro and Shiro left him, migrating to Aya and the X-frame. They unstrapped him, and he didn't even fight. He was here now. He had given in. He was in the scene.

They slung Aya over the sawhorse and Shiro left them to it, dropping beside the prone Ken and Omi with a happy sort of sigh.

Once more, Kuro slicked himself up. Yohji watched him do it, hand gliding over his rigid cock with sensuous efficiency, smoothing enough over himself to just barely cover his erection. He looked at the pale, faint swells of Aya's ass draped over the edge of the sawhorse. Kuro meant for this to be painful, then, because Aya was most certainly tight. Very tight.

Aya's eyes met Yohji's again, then his mouth was opening and a soft, crackling groan emerged from his lips as Kuro began to push his way in. Kuro did it slowly, shifting from side to side with every centimeter or so, using his girth to open up Aya enough to continue his long slide in.

Yohji felt a drop of sweat roll down his temple as he watched. It was excruciating, and the look on Aya's face, turned inward -- he knew that look. Kuro kept going, not pausing for an instant, now bearing down with a hand on Aya's white-skinned back as he seated himself to the balls. Then, buried full length, he withdrew himself partially, perhaps half his formidable length, and thrust all the way in once more.

Not a sound escaped from Aya. It was uncanny, as Kuro sped up and thrust with abandon, his broad-shouldered frame totally dominating Aya's bound body. Still Aya was silent as Kuro's cock emerged and disappeared, from and into, leaving that tight constriction to plow forward once more in the most primal fuck. "Yes...yes...ah, god, yes," Kuro gasped, moved to admiration, his pelvis grinding in pendulous circles, in and out, relentlessly fucking. "Tight...perfect...has anyone ever fucked you before?" No answer was expected, of course, and none was forthcoming. Kuro moved faster, shedding control as his big hands stroked up Aya's back and then gripped his waist. He unleashed himself then, heavy cock stabbing into Aya again and again.

The look in Aya's eyes was wild and there was the lightest sheen of sweat standing out on his body. Still he gazed into Yohji's face, looking blank, and a thread of color entered his cheeks. Yohji had never seen that look on his face before but he recognized it; it was the expression of the thoroughly fucked.

Kuro kept going, pounding into Aya until the sawhorse began to shake and scrape across the carpet by degrees. Aya remained stubbornly silent, mouth open again, breath ragged. And Kuro moved over him, powerful and relentless as a tsunami battering at the cliffs. He groaned and gave a shout, and then Yohji watched as his hips spasmed, shoving into Aya in what was surely his most painful series of thrusts yet. Aya clenched his teeth and stared at Yohji; his eyes were relentless. He would not look away. Kuro, however, had allowed his eyes to slide shut as he pumped into Aya at a more leisurely pace, then quickened for a few thrusts, then slowed once more.

He bowed over Aya's back for a moment, and his dark eyes fastened on Yohji. His hair was tousled around his face. He grinned and in that instant he looked charming, almost boyish. "You win," he said cryptically.

Before Yohji had time to ponder that statement Kuro was withdrawing, unstrapping Aya slowly, almost teasingly. When he was finished, he went for a towel that hung nearby and wiped himself off before maneuvering his softening dick back into his slacks. As he did so, Aya pushed himself up and stood more than a little stiffly.

"Well?" Kuro said, tilting his head to the side, tossing the towel at the leather-padded bench nearby. "How do you want him?"

Aya's head tilted, too, then his head turned in Yohji's direction. His eyes were dark, assessing. Yohji held his breath before that look. It was undeniable. Aya wanted him, and he'd been willing to submit to Kuro's conditions to get him in this position.

After a moment's consideration, Aya turned to face him fully, folding his arms. "I want him on the bed," he said, violet eyes clinical. He glanced to Kuro again. "Can I have him on the bed?"

Shiro gave forth a peal of delighted laughter.

Kuro's lips quirked with amusement. "You can have him on the bed," he said graciously.

Yohji felt profoundly relieved.

"Do you have rope I can use?" Aya added, pacing toward Yohji, sizing him up as if he were a side of beef Aya was about to begin carving up.

Oh, shit. What made him think for a second that Aya was any less merciless than these two? Not to mention, after all he'd gone through to manipulate himself into this position surely he was going to enjoy it for all he was worth...

Kuro gave him a broad grin. "Of course we do. It's stored in a drawer at the foot of the bed...the headboard is reinforced for exactly that."

"Ohh, yes," Shiro contributed with a sensual smile.

"We'll get him out of harness for you," Kuro said obligingly.

The two salarymen approached him again, while Aya turned and stalked to the perimeter of the white-carpeted dungeon area. For a moment Yohji thought he was going for the rope, then he realized he was going for his pants. Once Shiro and Kuro had gotten him out of harness and he stood shakily between them, Aya returned, standing before Yohji, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Yohji wanted to ask more than anything why he was doing this.

"His safeword--" Kuro began.

Aya's eyes flicked to him. "I won't need that," he said abruptly.

"No?" Kuro said, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Aya's eyes returned to Yohji, and now there was a tantalizing hint of emotion in their depths. "Will I, Yohji?" Desire.

"No, sir," Yohji whispered, barely audible.

Aya did not -- quite -- smile.

"No, then," Kuro said, sounding oddly satisfied and, perhaps, a touch disappointed. At what, Yohji didn't know.

With Aya in the point position, they half-led him, half-carried him over to the immense black bed that he remembered. Turned down, it had black silk sheets. Aya was rooting around in the drawer at the foot of the bed, bringing up coils of a white so pure it looked as if it was shining. When they released him, Yohji climbed onto the bed and lay spread-eagled, his body tingling with anticipation, his cock still painfully hard. He waited.

Aya began with his ankles. He tied the rope to the headboard, then knotted it around Yohji's first ankle with surprising efficiency. It made Yohji wonder just where he'd acquired the knowledge of the art of rope bondage. He quit speculating when Aya finished with his ankles, leaving enough slack for Yohji to draw his knees up and no more, then moved on to his hands. Those he bound quickly, looping them through the appropriate reinforced places in the headboard then tying them tightly around Yohji's wrists in a neat, inescapable knot. But he wasn't done. He took another length of rope and looped it under Yohji's left knee, repeating the process on the other side, tying him to the headboard to spread him up and out.

Then, and only then, did he crawl onto the bed between Yohji's naked, spread legs. The expression on Aya's face was no longer cold or unreadable but feral. One hand worked at his fly, unbuttoning it, and he pulled himself free, still hard and ready.

"Yohji," he said, his voice low and resonant. "You're mine now."

Yohji groaned and tipped his head back, but didn't dare break his line of sight with Aya. He didn't even dare reply, 'yes sir.' Aya's statement required no answer. Like one in a dream, he thought 'my body is yours; do what you want with me.' Do it to me, with me, in me...Yohji's body was abuzz with lust. He couldn't think, and all he could see was Aya's pale, intent face narrowing the gap between them.

He expected Aya to go straight for his ass, for some reason. That wasn't what he got. The redhead crawled over him like a boneless creature, and if the rope hadn't fixed him in place, the look in those violet eyes would have done it. He laid between Yohji's spread legs, pelvis to pelvis, his hard cock nestled infuriatingly close to Yohji's long-ignored erection. Then he lowered himself to Yohji's chest, ear-tails brushing Yohji's glistening skin, and his tongue emerged, enclosing one nipple in a tight circle.

Yohji moaned encouragement. It wasn't so bad, he thought, even though he was tied; this kind of sensation he was familiar with. Aya began to nibble and bite at his sensitized nipple, a feeling on the edge of pleasure and pain. He mapped his course well, making the fast path between the abused nipple over to the untouched one. This he toyed with between his fingers, pinching, playing, watching Yohji's face with an almost clinical expression.

"Aya..." The redhead's name sighed from his lips. "Why...?" Then he held his breath. He'd asked it.

Aya's eyes narrowed and he gave him a brutal twist, making Yohji yelp, his body shocking up off the mattress. Between the rope and Aya's weight pinning him down his movements amounted to nothing. In the next heartbeat Aya's head lowered and he was lapping at Yohji's nipple, provoking a different sensation, twisting up Yohji's responses inside of him. Then he bit.

Yohji thrashed and shouted hoarsely.

"You have to ask that?" his deep voice ghosted up to Yohji's ears as he slid further down Yohji's body, hands soothing the hurt away as his mouth moved over the ridges of Yohji's abdomen.

Yohji closed his eyes. From what he'd seen of the welt Aya had bit around his nipple, it hadn't broken the skin but it would bleed inside and turn into a fine, dark imprint, the mark of teeth ringing his nipple perfectly. It throbbed above his heart.

"Why would you go so far?" Yohji persisted, hands twitching in his bonds. He wanted to touch Aya, wanted to slide his hands into that flame-red hair and encourage him in the direction he most needed; he wanted to touch Aya's face to make sure this was real. Maybe he wanted to pinch himself to be sure it wasn't a dream.

Aya's eyes flared at him from halfway down the length of his body, burning up the space between them. He pushed himself up, both hands flat on Yohji's abdomen. "You really don't get it," he gritted.

Yohji stayed quiet this time, a little scared by the intensity of that look.

"You want this?" With a sweep of his hand Aya indicated the bindings that held Yohji fast to the bed; the dungeon, its implements, the wide spacious loft filled with the scent of sex. His eyes remained fixed on Yohji. "If you want it, I can give it to you."

He slid down further between Yohji's thighs, lips close enough to touch Yohji's firm red erection, though he didn't do so. "Sometimes you don't realize what you want more than anything until you're made aware that you can have it."

Yohji made a strangled noise, captured by Aya's eyes, each breath from every word making itself felt on him, stirring on his hot flesh. Awareness crystallized within Yohji, and he got it. He understood, because that was what had happened to him, too. Then, slowly, the redhead ran a finger up the length of him from base to tip. His free hand settled on Yohji's thigh, thumb rubbing back and forth.

"Get it?" Aya's eyes dared him to say 'no.'

"Aya..." Yohji strained to move more than a centimeter to embrace Aya with his body, his legs, anything to show how completely he welcomed this. His voice was low, almost submissive, when he replied "I feel the same."

Now Aya's eyes went wide and he turned his head swiftly, but not before Yohji saw the look of utter disarmament on his face. Aya was in a place where vulnerability warred with desire, no matter how dominant his position, and Yohji's acquiescence laid it bare. "Lube," Aya snapped, dispensing with courtesies.

After a moment Shiro advanced, passing a tube into Aya's hand before retreating to the almost respectful distance the two salarymen had maintained since leaving Yohji to Aya's devices.

Yohji groaned, swollen, anticipating. He would break through the skin before satisfaction came his way, he was sure. For an instant, he thought Aya might dip his head and take him in his mouth, easing and exacerbating some of that terrible ache, but he reared back on his knees now, flipping the cap and preparing himself.

From the gleam in the man's eyes Yohji knew Aya would be neither careful nor slow but by this point, he wanted neither. He was desperate, and Aya's urgency matched his. He lowered himself, shifted until their bodies were aligned and he waited, gaze holding Yohji's, barely-slicked cockhead resting at Yohji's hole.

Do it, Yohji said with his eyes, not daring to speak.

Aya slithered up inside him like a dragon, forceful, mantling over him, conquering what was his by right. He hovered over Yohji, hair fanning out in that first initial thrust with the force of the motion, a fiery halo. It was rough, and painful, and incredibly erotic all at once.

Their breathing was raspy, commingled, as Aya began to move on top of him, in him, movement quick and almost hasty. Yohji panted. It wouldn't be long, he was already on the edge where Kuro had kept him for this whole time, he wasn't sure he could come just from fucking but if Aya kept pushing into him with that steady, dead-on, almost maddening rhythm then surely he would tumble... Aya's hand touched his face, slid down his neck and gripped his shoulder, and there was a brief struggle in his expression.

Yohji moaned encouragement, feeling split-wide and entirely wanton from it. He had nothing to lose or fear and that which he'd wanted most, without realizing, was moving between his thighs. Suddenly he wished the bonds away, wanting to touch and twine, but for this breaking of boundaries the scene had been the catalyst.

The pace slowed and Aya braced himself over Yohji, breath breaking from his lips in labored cadences, his eyes blazing points of concentration. He gave Yohji strokes of his hips that were frustrating, incendiary, everything and nothing in a leisurely pace. He had figuratively backed off and his face showed the strain.

"Unh!" Yohji thrashed up in protest, clamping down, tensing his body, anything to hurry up the pace of their sex. So close...being dragged away from that promise of bliss made him lash out without thinking.

Aya's eyes glittered. "So you want it all now, do you?" He slowed even more, placing a hand on Yohji's throat. "I could pull out."

Yohji stilled. Inside he hesitated, processes within him given over to desire trying to shift over to thought. The gears protested. He stayed silent, which seemed the wisest course of action, and pleaded with his eyes.

"Or," Aya continued, warming to his subject, "I could ask one of those men for something wide and stimulating to open you up while I went off to..."

Yohji's eyes widened, and he shook his head. Please, he wanted to say, parting his lips but holding it back. Please don't, I only want this inside me, the feel of you...

Aya's lips quirked, and there was a dark knowledge in his expression, as if he were aware of those thoughts coiled in Yohji's brain and knew perfectly well the desperation he evoked. "Or I could continue to take my pleasure." A hand skimmed up Yohji's chest.

It was a struggle not to nod violently at that, but Yohji managed. Only just, but he managed. He was relieved when Aya quickened within him again, leaning over him, rocking Yohji's body with the force of his evenly-measured thrusts. He was a pendulum, he was a fucking metronome, counting out the measures of sex in the march toward completion.

"Aya," Yohji breathed, hoping he was allowed that much. God, he wanted, he wanted...

As if in response to that need Aya undulated against him, the struggle for control plain on his face, then he began to pound Yohji in earnest, giving up the slow controlled pace for something much more primal and violent. Yohji felt the burn and drag of the rope tying him and his muscles' response. Aya's face was wild.

Sinners, Yohji thought numbly, inside we're all sinners but together...divine... That was his last thought in the instant before white noise eclipsed the rest, his brain swept along in the same static roar that took hold of his whole body, until...until...

Aya's strokes had slackened again, he realized, and Yohji stared up desperately into those merciless violet eyes. He didn't know whether to scream or beg and so settled on some of both. "Aya...AYA! Please, *please* let me come, PLEASE..."

The redhead looked down at him and now his thrusts were lingering, ragged. Yohji could see that his eyes were just as glazed and gone.

"Please," Yohji whispered.

Aya lunged forward, planting a kiss on his mouth that was savage and wonderful all at once, pain and pleasure wrapped indistinguishably. Then with an involuntary cry he surged forward within Yohji, cock stabbing into him to ultimate depth. His hands bruised Yohji's shoulders and throat as his hips stuttered in those final moments and he came uncontrollably, staring down into Yohji's wide-open eyes, looking astonished.

He slid out, kneeling without ceremony between Yohji's thighs, a hand on each one. Before Yohji had thought or breath to protest Aya's mouth was on him and moving greedily. Convulsed, helpless, Yohji came. His orgasm thundered through him and he lay taut in his bonds, struggling to keep his eyes open and on Aya as the redhead pulled his climax from him. In the end he lost that battle, letting the white noise wash him away, pleasure-aftershocks crackling through him.

"Aya," he said hoarsely, still breathing hard. "Aya." After all this time, maybe there was something more he wanted, after all.

Even after all that, he might have expected Aya to be done with them. Aya was moving, though, untying the bonds that had him at ankle and knee, casting the ropes off the bed with slow weary motions. Then he undid Yohji's wrists and more or less collapsed beside him. "If you say anything right now," Aya mumbled, snaring him with an arm and pulling him closer, "I'll kill you."

Yohji said nothing, but he grinned. A sense of lazy bliss was enfolding him and he felt satisfied enough not to bait the man.

"A marvelous performance," proclaimed that familiar, vibrantly low voice. Kuro.

Yohji tensed slightly. Swept away, he had forgotten their observers.

Apparently, so had Aya. The redhead hoisted himself up, stomach muscles rippling, a frown settling on his brow.

"Don't worry," Kuro said with a soft laugh. "I've relinquished the scene to you. But if you don't mind, I think Shiro and I will finish off the two kittens, over here."

Losing interest at that statement, Aya sank back beside Yohji.

"You can use the shower if you're of a mind," Shiro added, and the two retreated for their spare white dungeon, arms loosely around one another.

Yohji sighed and relaxed from a tension he hadn't even realized he had. He turned his head that bare fraction necessary to glance at Aya, and found the man already looking at him.

"To the shower," Aya told him in tones that brooked no argument.

Yohji smiled in response and let himself be led.

"I wish we had gotten the camera out," Shiro said regretfully, hand tugging in steady beats at his lengthening erection.

"Yes, it's too bad," Kuro agreed. He glanced over his shoulder, withdrawing his arm from his lover's shoulders as they approached the beautifully displayed boys. "I have a feeling that one won't let our pretty boy play with us again."

"You're probably right," Shiro said with regret. He brightened. "Still, there's so much potential with these two!"

They stood near Ken and Omi, still cuffed in one another's arms, cocks upright again and, no doubt, painfully rigid. Omi's expression was completely gone, his blue eyes glazed over, face flushed as he rubbed against the other youth.

"It's so easy to drive teenagers into a mindless lust," Kuro commented, kneeling beside them, tipping Omi's head up with a finger. "I wonder what he would do now, to get off...?"

Ken struggled to shoulder him aside, making a low protest in his throat. His brown eyes were wary, defensive, even through the sheen of lust.

Kuro laughed; it was an abrupt, delighted sound. "And you, you really care for him, don't you? I wonder what we should do with the pair of you now..."

"Something very special," Shiro contributed, bending to stroke Ken's hair. The man jerked away from the touch, still glaring, and Shiro laughed as well.

For the second time that night, a knock sounded on the door.

Kuro looked up. "What time is it?"

"Nearly seven," Shiro supplied.

"Ahh." Kuro drew the word out, then got to his feet. "I'd completely lost track of the time."

Shiro got up, caressing the other man's bare arm. "They are rather captivating, aren't they?"

"Yes," Kuro affirmed. "The best we've had in quite some time." He moved to the edge of the white carpeting, scooping up his yukata and donning it once more.

Shiro followed. "Perhaps he will have some suggestions."

After checking through the peep hole, Kuro pulled the door open wide. "Right on time, as usual," he said. "It's been too long, I'm glad you've come...we have some new boys you may find quite interesting."

Schuldich stepped over the threshold, shrugging out of his suit-jacket. "Oh?" he said, cocking his head, and then a slow grin spread over his leonine features. He toed his shoes off in the entryway. "I think you may be right, as usual."

Kuro's dark eyes were watchful, anticipatory. "Right this way."

+end+

To be honest, I had never intended on writing a third Subway fic. The first one was disturbingly kinky, and I thought, "yeah, right, sex on a subway...that'll never happen..." then one day someone referred me to an article on CNN where, guess what, a trio of people were arrested for having public sex on a subway. It was in New York though, not Tokyo. That kind of blew my mind; fiction IS as strange as truth.

Now that I've gone this far, I've got a few other ideas in development that I may or may not write. The first, obviously, is a follow-up fic to this one. I'd also like to write a follow-up vignette involving Ken and Omi, and perhaps another one, though not strictly necessary, with Aya and Yohji. More than one person has asked me how Kuro and Shiro met, and to my surprise I have an answer.

I can't promise anything, but if you want more Subway fic, if you like the Subway fics, write me! I am indeed susceptible to peer pressure and flattery.