On the Run

by Jet Mykles

  “K…”

  Lips crashed down on his and other than a tiny whimper, he was unable to resist. Unwilling to resist. The chase had set his blood to boiling and there was only one thing for it. He sucked in Ken’s tongue like it was his only nourishment in the world. His tiny whimper turned into a full body moan as he pushed his hips up into the groin that straddled him.

  “God, Omi!” Ken rasped, releasing his wrists to cup his face. Calloused fingertips played along Omi’s jaw and chin as Ken’s hot, moist mouth hovered above his. “You taste so fucking good.”

  Growling, Omi grabbed handfuls of Ken’s t-shirt under his jacket, yanking it up so he could get to the smooth, precious skin beneath. He leaned up, the bandana on his head falling to the ground as he lifted his head to seal his mouth to Ken’s again.

  He moaned in frustration when Ken’s lips trailed down his neck. “God, Ken, we can’t. No lube.”

  “I know,” Ken rasped, edging farther down Omi’s body. He paused to shove up Omi’s shirt, nibbling a nipple to make Omi gasp. “And we don’t have much time. But if I don’t taste you now I’m gonna explode!”

  Omi fell back to the sparse grass, dirt and leaves, undone by the desperation in Ken’s voice. To think that the athlete wanted him that badly. Was this for real?

  The hands opening his jeans were real enough. The fingers that found his cock and gently but impatiently freed it from his pants were also real. And the mouth that closed wetly over the tip was the most wonderfully real thing Omi had ever felt.

  “Oh God, Ken!” His voice squeaked but he couldn’t help it. It was too good.

  Ken hummed as he slid his mouth down, nearly taking all of Omi in. Omi hadn’t realized he was fully hard. Ken wrapped his hand firmly around the base then mercilessly teased the tip and the rest of the shaft with his tongue and teeth.

  Omi dug his fingers in his own hair, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He heard himself panting, Ken’s name spilling from his lips every so often. He wanted it to go on forever but the torture had to end. “Ken, I’m gonna…”

  Ken sucked hard. Squeezed hard. Made it impossible for Omi to hold the explosion that detonated deep in his groin to splash down Ken’s throat.

  “Oh God, Omi,” Ken groaned, nuzzling the base of Omi’s flagging erection.

  Omi flinched. “Ken, stop. Too much.” He looked down to see Ken grinning up at him. He frowned. “Come up here, you.”

  Ken crawled up his body to put their mouths back in line. But that’s not what Omi had in mind. He kissed Ken briefly, then pulled him farther up.

  Ken didn’t get it. “Huh?”

  Omi grabbed the waistband of Ken’s jeans and hauled, wiggling downward himself until he was face to crotch. “You’re not the only one who wants to taste.” He hadn’t gotten to last night. They’d fallen asleep before he’d done a fraction of the things he dreamed of doing to Ken’s body. They didn’t have time now either, but he was at least going to do this.

  “Omi,” Ken groaned, bracing on hands and knees while Omi freed his erection.

  Omi very nearly sighed at the sight of it. Fat and bright red with a smooth head fully emerged from the foreskin. Omi pulled the skin up, hooding the head, then pushed back to watch it emerge again. Did it a second time, sucking in the head and skin this time. Mmm, salt. Spice. Ken. He released Ken’s cock with his hand—not mouth!—to put both hands on Ken’s hips, pulling down.

  Ken groaned, easing his hips down into Omi’s waiting mouth. “Shit, Omi!”

  Omi tried his own hum, gratified by Ken’s shaking response. He tilted his head and sucked in as much of Ken’s length as he possibly could, letting the head butt up against the back of his throat. He teased the veins with his tongue, lightly scraped the rim of the head with his teeth. Happily, anything he did, Ken seemed to like.

  When Ken’s hips started to pump, Omi went with it. He imagined what it must look like to see Ken humping his mouth and it drove him nuts. He felt his own cock, still free to the afternoon air, start to stir again. Ken kept pumping. Omi glanced up to see his head hanging down between his shoulders, hair trailing in the leaves, eyes half focused on Omi’s mouth. Omi smiled and sucked harder, gratified to see those huge brown eyes close in pleasure.

  Unable to help himself, Omi reached one hand down to grip his own cock again. He let Ken fuck his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base so Ken didn’t choke him. He matched Ken’s rhythm with his own hand. Ken’s breathing went awry. He swelled. Omi hummed, then swallowed down the surprising amount of spunk that spurted from Ken. His own second orgasm triggered at the sound of the satisfied groan that tore from Ken’s mouth.

  Ken collapsed to his side beside Omi, breathing heavily. Omi watched him dreamily, wiping his own semen on the grass beneath him.

  A branch snapped somewhere behind Omi.

  Neither of them moved, eyes locked on one another.

  Ken glanced in the direction of the sound, moving only his eyes. Omi casually reached inside his jacket, easily finding the feathers of four darts and tucking them between his fingers. Ken was weaponless, other than his own hands. Distant targets were Omi’s job.

  Ken’s eyes snapped back to his. He blinked once, deliberately. One target.

  Omi sighed, hoping it sounded post-coital. He wondered if the target had let them finish just to enjoy the show. That kind of pissed him off.

  Ken leaned toward him, lips to lips. “Gun. Out but up. Three o’clock.”

  “Right.”

  They kissed briefly. Omi pushed to sit with his free hand. He saw the shadow move in the corner of his left eye.

  With well-practiced ease, he flung his left arm, letting loose the darts a split second before he dove forward into a somersault.

  A masculine cry sounded to his left. A gun went off. A body fell to the ground.

  Anxious, Omi spun, a prayer for Ken’s safety on his lips.

  He caught sight of the back of Ken’s jacket turning around the tree the target must have fallen behind.

  Omi sprang to his feet, eyes scanning the trees. Too many of them. Stupid of him and Ken to have been so careless.

  Ken jumped over a bush toward him. He hit the ground and put hands to the fly of his jeans, fastening. The look he gave Omi told the younger assassin what he needed to know. Dead and, as far as Ken could tell, alone.

  Omi reached down to fasten his pants as they both turned back toward where they’d left the car.

  They said nothing and moved silently. They saw no one. The car was deserted.

  Ken nearly dove under the car to check for explosives while Omi carefully checked inside before he opened the door. They found nothing.

  They got in the car and exchanged a quick glance just before Ken started the car. Nothing. The Porsche hummed to life.

  Ken got them onto the road.

  “Was there anything on the body?” Omi asked.

  “No. Nothing. He was American, though.”

  “American?”

  “Either American or English. Maybe Canadian, I guess. Definitely not Japanese.”

  “Esset?”

  Ken shrugged.

  Omi sighed, flopping back in his seat. “I guess we weren’t being paranoid to leave.”

  Ken dragged a hand through his hair, stepping harder on the gas. “No. I guess not.”

  – HELP FROM THE PAST –

  Yohji glanced into the rearview mirror again. He grimaced. “Damn.”

  Aya didn’t even glance at him, eyes trained on the road while one slim and tried to hold back most of his flaming red hair. “We’re being followed.”

  “Hn.”

  “Can you lose them?”

  “Depends. How obvious you think we should be?”

  Aya said nothing, thinking. Yohji turned over a few ideas in his own head. Traffic around him wasn’t too bad. They were far enough outside the city proper that they couldn’t just get lost in a crowd.

  Aya finally spoke. “Drive into the city. We’ve got to ditch th
e car anyway.”

  “What about our stuff?”

  Silence for moment. “How much can you lose?”

  Yohji sighed. “I can lose all of it but I’d like to keep at least one bag.”

  Aya nodded. “Any suggestions?”

  “One. I’ve a friend who owns a bar. It’s place where one of my stashes is.”

  “Hn. You trust him?”

  “I don’t trust her that much, no. But enough.”

  He watched Aya absorb the pronoun. Or, at least, tried to figure out what was going on behind that porcelain mask. He switched gears then reached over to squeeze Aya’s knee. “I haven’t dated her for awhile, Aya. She had a boyfriend the last I heard.”

  Aya shrugged, keeping his eyes trained forward. He didn’t even acknowledge the hand.

  Yohji sighed. Since Aya hadn’t objected, he went ahead and headed for Ayume’s place, keeping a careful eye on the blue sedan tracking them.

  –*–

  Yohji glanced over at Aya just before they went into the bar. “Don’t take anything that I’m about to do seriously, Aya.”

  All he got was a raised eyebrow.

  He grimaced and leaned in a tad. “I want to kiss you.”

  “Don’t. Lead on.”

  He huffed a sigh, shrugged his bag further up on his shoulder, then pushed through the door.

  “Yoshiki!”

  Yohji winced dramatically at the shrieked sound of his alias. He faked a groan when a buxom brunette barreled around the bar to throw herself in his arms, barely letting him drop his bag before he caught her. “Ayume. Loud as ever.”

  She kissed his cheek then swatted his arm. “Oh you! How are you! I missed you. You never come around anymore.” She noticed Aya behind him. Predictably, her eyes lit up. Aya, after all, was quite a looker. She batted her eyes prettily and extended her hand. “And who is your friend?”

  “This is Aida.”

  Aya didn’t bat an eye. His cool mask didn’t slip a bit as he nodded at Ayume, neglecting to take her hand.

  She smiled, dropping it. Realizing she’d get nowhere with Aya, she turned to Yohji, taking his arm in both of hers to press her breasts against his bicep. “What brings you here, Yoshiki?”

  “Haunting the old place, seeing what’s up.” He let Ayume pull him to the bar, trusting Aya to follow. Their bags were left by the door. There were barely a dozen people in the bar. Either Aya or Yohji would notice if someone got to nosy.

  Ayume eyed the bags. “On the move again, Yoshiki?”

  He smiled as she rounded to the back of the bar. “You know it.”

  “Where to this time?”

  “Not sure.”

  “You need a place to crash?” She laughed at his hopeful look. “The room upstairs is still empty.”

  “Ayume, my love, you’re the best!”

  He ignored Aya’s stony silence.

  They made nice with Ayume and her customers for awhile. Well, Yohji made nice. Aya ordered one Jack and Coke and nourished it in silence as he sat beside Yohji. Yohji was shocked that Aya ordered something alcoholic, but wasn’t at liberty to ask.

  Finally, Yohji led him up to the small, one room studio that was across the hall from Ayume’s own apartment. It was drab and dusty, but not altogether bad. Both of them had stayed in much worse.

  He dropped his bag on a rickety chair by the bed and watched Aya as he surveyed the room and briefly checked out the bathroom.

  At last, the redhead turned to face him.

  They shared a moment of silence.

  “It was a long time ago, Aya.”

  Aya shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Obviously it does.”

  Aya took off his jacket, carefully extracting the katana from where it was stashed in the lining. “Should you go sleep with her to maintain our cover?” He laid the weapon carefully on the table.

  Yohji’s eyes narrowed. “No, damn it. I told you…”

  “It was a long time ago, yes. But would Yoshiki fall into her bed when he came back?” Violet eyes pierced him but gave him nothing of Aya’s thoughts or emotions. Abyssinian was in lethal charge.

  “Possibly.”

  Those eyes shuttered, glancing toward the window. “Then you should go.”

  “No.”

  “It’ll seem odd and we don’t…”

  Aya broke off, immediately on guard as Yohji stalked up to him. Yohji didn’t care. “I don’t give a damn about cover. We’re not going to be here all night anyway. The reasons I brought us here are threefold.” He held up one hand between them, one finger raised. “One, Ayume doesn’t talk much as a general rule, despite what you saw tonight. If you think about it, she didn’t really say anything.” Second finger. “Two. My stash is up in the corner of that ceiling.” Third finger. “And three, there’s a poorly guarded car lot that we can get to through alleys and a back way out of here. If anyone did follow us, there’s a hell of a chance they won’t see us leave.”

  Aya blinked at him, beautiful even in the harsh light of the single, uncovered bulb above their heads. “So what are we waiting for?”

  Yohji grimaced. “This.” He snapped out with the hand between them, managing to catch Aya off guard. Surprising. He caught Aya’s chin and held the shorter man’s face tilted perfectly to receive his kiss.

  Those hot, pliable lips didn’t respond immediately. In fact, Yohji thought he’d lose his hold or get a punch to the gut. But after a brief moment of tension, Aya sighed. No, it was too much for a sigh. It was almost, but not quite, a whimper. He melted. He stepped into Yohji’s body, chest bumping chest, and wound his arms around Yohji’s waist.

  Thank god! Yohji thought, releasing Aya’s chin so he could slide his arms around the man’s neck. “Aya, I…”

  “Fuck me, Kudoh,” Aya rasped, strong hands tugging at Yohji’s jeans.

  Yohji blinked. “Huh?”

  Aya snarled, yanking Yohji’s jeans open. “I want you inside me.”

  Yohji shuddered. Be strong. “Aya, we don’t have time…”

  “We’ll make time, damn it.” Aya’s mouth took Yohji’s in a brutal, desperate kiss as his hands freed Yohji’s half hard cock from his jeans.

  Yohji hissed as Aya squeezed his shaft. He lost track enough to be caught off guard when Aya dropped to his knees and shoved all of Yohji into his mouth. “God, Aya!” He grabbed onto Aya’s strong shoulders for balance. Felt his cock surge with blood, forcing Aya to release most of it as it grew. Didn’t seem to bother Aya, who squeezed the base then bobbed up and down the length, torturing Yohji with rough, wet caresses.

  Yohji swallowed, trying not to come. It was a difficult thing. Peeking down at Aya, he groaned, watching Aya not only devour his dick but also open his own pants to free that beautiful red cock of his own. “Aya.”

  Grunt. Aya made him wet, made his cock glisten with saliva. He pumped it, watching it almost critically, getting it just right. When satisfied, he stood. His white coat flew aside, landing in a heap on the faded comforter on the bed. His pants dropped halfway down those long, pale legs. He turned and bent over the pock-marked table. “Now, Kudoh.”

  “Aya…”

  “Yohiji, please!” That desperate tone, almost heard. Just like that first night.

  Yohji couldn’t resist it. He stepped up behind Aya, spread those alabaster cheeks with one hand, aimed with the other, then slid slowly into the most perfect ass ever.

  Aya arched back, moaning softly. The back of his skull bumped Yohji’s shoulder as he leaned forward to wrap an arm around Aya’s chest.

  “Aya…”

  Aya pushed back. Blindly, he found Yohji’s other hand and brought it to his cock. Together they pumped it while Aya rocked back onto Yohji’s cock and Yohji pressed forward into Aya’s body.

  Yohji shut his eyes, completely caught by the beauty of it. Making love to Aya. Not so much fucking. Loving. The frantic moves that they started with slowed. Aya shut his eyes tight but didn’t insist on speed or strength. He gripped Yo
hji’s hand on his length, content to match Yohji’s slow slide in and out of his body.

  “Aya,” Yohji sighed again, face buried in the back of his lover’s neck, breathing deep of the deep rose spice of Aya’s skin.

  Urgency took them slowly. It was inevitable. They didn’t have the time for a leisurely fuck and were too frantic for each other to make the slow pump last. Yohji jerked forward. Aya gasped. Aya gripped Yohji’s hand harder on his cock. Aya fell forward, free hand braced on the table. Yohji’s hips escaped his control and he pumped hard into Aya. He came first, but Aya’s jerk to completion was only a moment behind.

  - TO CATCH A KITTEN -

  Aya rolled his white coat up in one of his bags as Yohji retrieved the locked metal box from its hiding place in the ceiling. Aya told himself not to look, but it was utterly impossible to resist watching that midriff shirt ride higher up that ridged abdomen. Despite the vivid, pleasant ache in his ass, his dick twitched and his mouth watered with the urge to take a bite out of Yohji’s side.

  Resolutely, Aya turned, trying to summon his icy reserve. Sleeping with Yohji might have been a huge mistake. It might have been a good thing if they were normal people, or if their former lives truly could be laid to rest to allow them to “retire”. But such didn’t seem to be the case and Aya knew he needed to put Abyssinian firmly in place for the sake of their survival.

  By the time Yohji jumped down from the chair, Aya almost had himself in check. He was careful to move around the table when Yohji crossed to his own bags. Touching the blond, he knew, would be his undoing.

  Yohji deftly tucked the bag away then swirled his mission coat up and around behind him, making the damn thing flutter like a cape as it gently settled around his body. He shoved the sunglasses over his ears, then perched them atop his head, swung one bag around his chest so that it settled on his back and shouldered the other on his left arm. When he turned toward Aya, his face was set in its own cool mask. Balinese was different than Abyssinian in that he maintained a small grin, but there was nothing in that smile that any enemy could take comfort in. People who discredited Balinese because of his seeming easygoing manner often paid for that mistake with their life.