Rinse Until Clear


by Tenshi


There was no doubt about it, Aya had definitely started to loosen up. True, he wasn't quite knee-slapping happy-go-lucky, but he was smiling up to six times a week and less likely to lop off your head if you got in his personal space (Aya's personal space being about a five mile radius on a good day). But nonetheless, knowing his sister was safe and sound had definitely made it safer to, say, walk in the bathroom while he was taking a shower.

Which was a good thing for Omi, since he had just left his shirt in there.

He peered cautiously around the doorway, old habits dying hard. He didn't really expect a handful of throwing stars to embed themselves into the wall next to his ear, but even with the new and improved Aya one could never tell. Omi shut the door carefully behind him, so as not to let out the healthy cloud of hot steam. Cold, wet, naked and soapy Ayas, while a frequent subject of Omi's nighttime meditation, were not likely to be pleasant when encountered in broad daylight.

"Don't mind me," Omi waved, even though Aya was just a peach-colored blur behind the diffused clear plastic shower curtain. "I just forgot to grab my--" Omi stopped short, staring at the edge of shower floor that was visible just beyond the curtain. Aya's pale feet were in a puddle of bright red tinged water, thick droplets spattering onto the white ceramic tile, streaking his ankles.

"Aya-kun!" Omi, certain the swordsman was mortally wounded, darted across the room and flung the curtain back.

Aya, hands in his hair and body smeared crimson, blinked in slow surprise at Omi.

Omi felt his cheeks burn, noticing too late a jar of manic panic temporary dye in deadly nightshade, sitting half-empty next to the soap dish.

"Is there a problem, Omi?" Aya asked, purple eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Ah, I-- I um..." Omi did his level best not to look, but it was more temptation than he'd ever been faced with, his eyes could have spent an hour alone on the smooth shadow where Aya's thigh curved into his hip. "It was just that you know the water and the red and maybe I thought you had been hurt and hadn't said anything because you never say anything and oh well never mind forget it." Omi was talking rapidly to the floor, deeming it the safest place to look, especially after he couldn't help noticing that Aya must use his dye all over.

"Yes," Aya said, completely deadpan, "I couldn't take it anymore and decided to commit seppuku in the shower."

Omi made a small noise, as if he would have liked to laugh if he wasn't certain that Aya displaying any kind of humor was a sure sign of his (Omi's) impending death. Omi swallowed hard. His arm, holding the curtain, was drenched, water running over his bare chest and making a damp place on the waistband of his shorts. "I--" He had lingered too long to just shut the curtain and go, even though his mind had been trying to get his body to do just that for the past minute and a half. He tried looking Aya in the face. A bit of red foam in Aya's bangs was enough to save his life. "You missed a bit, here--" Omi stood on socked tip-toe and squeegeed water through Aya's hair, locks of wet blood-colored hair clinging to his small deft fingers.

Aya was surprised still, Omi's hand gentle across his forehead, lingering over his temple. As if discovering what he was doing, Omi coughed, snatched his hand back, and wiped it absently on his shorts. "Eh-- sorry. I'll let you--"

Aya's hand shot out and snared Omi's wrist, preventing the boy's escape.

"Aya-kun?" Aya didn't answer, surveying Omi from shorts to bare collarbone, possibly debating which killing stroke would be best for a person of Omi's stature. Omi's knees went watery. "Really, Aya, I didn't mean to--"

He was hauled forward slightly, Aya's other warm wet hand going to the exposed small of Omi's back. His mouth was hot and sudden on Omi's, dark brows lowered as if he was trying to puzzle something out. Omi saw it all, his brown eyes huge in shock, his mouth gone slack as Aya probed it speculatively. Omi shivered and his legs gave out entirely, sending him tumbling forward into Aya's slick body, the shower stream dousing him. Aya's arm caught him, wound around his back and pulled him in close. He freed a hand to jerk the curtain closed, then tangled it in Omi's dripping hair. His mouth moved downwards over Omi's throat, surprisingly tender.

Omi stood blinking at the ceiling, his socks squelching quietly. Aya was never long on words, that was certain, and Omi was certain he was the type to just take what he wanted and not bother asking, that was also a given. Omi just never suspected he would be the object in question. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he managed, weakly, "Aya-kun... my shorts are wet."

Aya solved his problem beautifully by simply removing them. Omi squeaked something unintelligible, going pinker than Aya's watered-down dye.

"You can go, if you want," Aya said, straightening, his mouth open on wet gold hair. "It's your choice."

Omi was eye-level with Aya's collarbone, caught up in his wet clean smell, and baffled that Aya would think him capable of normal conversation. "...Me?" he asked at last, in utter confusion, figuring the one word covered most of what his frazzled brain was struggling to comprehend.

"You." Aya pressed Omi back against the cool shower wall, his hands everywhere. "Omi... Omi..."


"Omi!"

Omi jumped, fantasy evaporating, realizing he was standing in a puddle and Aya was looking at him none too fondly. "Could you shut the damn curtain, maybe?" Aya said. He was still dripping red foam.

Omi eeped, flinging the curtain closed. "S-sorry, Aya!" he managed, and fled with soggy socks up to his room.


~o~





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