Ryo found his way to consciousness slowly, blinking against the soft light filling the room. His body felt heavy, his mind felt fuzzy, and he had the disorientating sensation that it was far later than it really was. Jetlag was such an annoying thing.
The sound of a soft, thudding movement propelled him immediately into full awareness. As he laid there and listened, he realized there was a pattern to the movement; it neither drew closer nor went farther away. Beneath the rhythm was the faint give and take of breathing.
Aya.
Ryo’s mouth curved into a lazy smile as the events of yesterday caught up with his drowsy mind.
He had found the Aya of his frayed memory in a flower shop. Aya had come back with him to his room. Aya and he had talked. Aya and he had kissed. Aya and he had touched. Aya had stayed the night.
Other than the wholly inconvenient migraine he’d suffered and the reasons for it, nothing about last night and Aya’s company – even the candor of the words they exchanged – had been unpleasant. Quite the contrary, his body reminded him.
Ryo sat up in bed, catching sight of Aya as he did. He was clad only in the bottom of the borrowed pajamas, his chest glistening with a faint sheen of perspiration as he gracefully flowed from one form to the next. Being a practitioner of marital arts himself, Ryo recognized the series of exercises as katas. Aya was obviously an expert.
He was also fucking gorgeous, easily the most stunning human Ryo had seen. Just watching Aya made his heart start beating faster, made his cock harden. Thoughts and images that were far, far from platonic ran rampant through his mind, distracting him from a fact it would take another minute or two to comprehend:
Aya held a katana as he shifted flawlessly from stance to stance.
Not just any katana, but Ryo’s katana. The very sword Ryo was safe-keeping until the day he located its true owner. Only it seemed that day had come and the katana’s owner was standing in front of Ryo at this very moment, using the sword as if it were an extension of his very body.
Ryo continued to watch Aya, unwilling to break the silence of the moment and unable to pass up an opportunity to study the man who had been occupying his thoughts and dreams for so long. With each precise swing of the katana, with each practiced motion of his body, Ryo learned more and more about Aya. His actions told their own story.
So too did the plethora of scars that stood on the pale skin of his chest. They didn’t detract from his beauty, not in Ryo’s opinion. They somehow made Aya appear more real as opposed to the nearly ethereal being he’d become in Ryo’s mind prior to their reunion. Much like Aya’s command of the sword, they told a story about the man and his life. It was a story Ryo recognized immediately. His own marred skin told a remarkably similar one.
As if sensing Ryo’s gaze, Aya lowered the katana to his side and turned to look at the man. The expression of concentration he’d been wearing evaporated, replaced by a soft, vulnerable look of unexpected pleasure.
“You kept it.” Aya’s eyes drifted down to the sword in his hand, fingers flexing on the hilt.
“I’ve been waiting to return it to you,” replied Ryo quietly.
Aya raised the katana, lightly running fingertips along the flat of the blade. “You took care of it.”
“I learned. Thought it might be mine, quickly figured out it wasn’t. Since they found me clutching the damn thing, I knew it was important. Surprised you didn’t come looking for it earlier.”
Aya turned his back on Ryo and walked back to the small table where the open case sat. Returning it, he closed the case and ran a hand over its hard shell. Ryo thought he heard the man sigh.
“You promised me you would return it. I suppose I’ve been holding onto the idea that you would remember that promise. Anyway, I should have asked before borrowing your keys to unlock the case, but I had to find out if it was there or not.”
Ryo frowned briefly, pushing free of the covers and climbing out of bed, padding over to Aya’s side. He touched a hand to Aya’s arm. “It’s called hope, you know. It’s neither a bad word to say nor a bad thing to want. Besides, I may not have remembered the promise directly, but I did remember that it belonged to someone else. I never travel without it in the off chance I’ll find its owner. I guess that moment has happened. It’s all yours, Aya. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get it back to you.”
Ryo heard Aya choke back a sound only a moment before the redhead spun to face him, grabbing Ryo by the shoulders and claiming the blond’s mouth in a heated kiss that had nothing to do with gentle affection and everything to do with want, need, and the deep, raw hunger born of desire long held in check. A hunger Ryo wanted so badly to satisfy.
He hadn’t realized Aya was steering them both toward the bed until the back of his legs hit the edge of the mattress. The kissing continued, feverish and abandoned, neither man wanting to lose the contact. They groaned at the pleasure and gasped at the lack of air until the latter finally drove them apart, panting.
“Fuck,” was about all Ryo could manage to say.
“Yes, now,” answered Aya, a smile on his lips and a rather predatory gleam in his lust-darkened eyes.
Ryo swore he could feel more blood rushing down to his groin and briefly wondered if he might not pass out from the lack of blood flowing to the head sitting on his shoulders. A shirtless Aya sporting a nice erection barely concealed by the baggy pajamas bottoms was immensely appealing – visually and otherwise.
They reached for one another simultaneously, greedy mouths meeting while frantic hands struggled to rid the other of his clothing. There was a painful bump of noses, an unpleasant abrade of teeth and, finally, an awkward tangle of limbs that sent them both toppling to the bed. They shared a laugh that left them breathless and smiling, each taking responsibility for the removal of his own clothing until they could at last feel the warm press of hard, naked flesh.