Moonlight on canvas, midnight and wine

"Aya?" The sleepy boy sat up in bed, eyes drifting around the dark room until they rested on the window, and the figure standing just before it. Red hair had become a soft shade of red-grey in the moonlight, and the lithe form was still unclothed from their earlier lovemaking session. Aya held a paintbrush, staring at the easel and canvas in front of him for a long moment before looking back to the moon.

The satellite was huge, glowing a bright, soft white. Its silver spilled into the room, lighting it enough to see faint hues. Automatically, the boy checked the clock, surprised to see that it was just after midnight. In front of the clock, he could still see the half-full glasses of red wine, the contents looking like velvet in the pale light. He reached out, slender fingers cupping around the two glasses and bringing them to him. Uncurling from the bed, he took one glass to Aya, handing it to him even as he sipped the other. Critical eyes assessed the picture for a long minute before looking up at the sky.

The likeness was uncanny, but at the moment, Omi had little care. Silently, he reached out again, taking Aya’s arm in one hand and turning the taller man toward him. Their eyes locked.

Two shadows starting to softly combine

Aya leaned down slowly, his lips meeting Omi’s. On the wall, their shadows met, blending together to create a single form. The outlines merged further when they stepped together, bodies going flush against each other. Artist’s fingers traced gently down Omi’s back, calluses from their assassin’s work making a sensual counterpoint to the softness of skin.

The picture they're painting
Is one of the heart
And to those who have seen it
It's a true work of art

Omi recalled easily how fearful they’d been, at the beginning of their relationship. Neither one had wanted to tell their assassin companions, as if the fact that they loved each other would destroy the team. And afraid, too, that prejudice would color Ken and Youji’s respect for them. The team had never discussed homosexuality, had never had a reason to.

It was only when Aya had painted a picture of Omi, the boy looking away from the canvas as though waiting for someone, that Ken and Youji had clued in. And it was Youji, the inveterate heterosexual, who commented on how beautiful they were together, how lovely their passion was. It had taken the two lovers completely off-guard, but it had proven to them the strength of true friendship.

Oh, the red strokes
Passions uncaged
Thundering moments of tenderness rage

The kiss grew suddenly hot, as Aya tried to crawl inside Omi starting at the mouth. There was no harshness to the passion, however. It was one of the things that had drawn Omi to Aya immediately. The swordsman had a will of tempered steel, and a touch as gentle as the first ray of dawn. There would be no hurt or pain from his hand.

Omi’s heart thundered in his chest, a usual symptom of the fever that consumed him whenever Aya kissed him. Their lips played together for a moment longer. As always, Aya’s idea of a kiss was much more serious and needing than Omi’s playful, loving approach. But somehow, the differences combined into something powerful, something awe-inspiring.

Oh, the red strokes
Tempered and strong
Burning the night like the dawn

Their hands drifted down flat planes and the gentle ridges of hard muscles, finding sensitive spots on their bodies. Omi could almost feel their love glowing, the incandescence in his mind spilling out from his body and lighting the room nearly to dawn’s brightness. They pulled apart, becoming two shining beacons for a moment as Aya took the wineglasses from their hands and placed them on the windowsill.

Steam on the window, salt in a kiss

As he turned back, his breath caught on the window, fogging it briefly. The white-grey surprised Omi, who hadn’t realized how truly cold it was. And then Aya was back to him, catching him in strong arms and kissing him deeply. Omi tasted salt on Aya’s lips and knew what his lover felt. The completeness never failed to astonish either of them, and never failed to bring them to tears, either.

Two hearts have never pounded like this
Inspired by a vision
That they can't command

"Aya," Omi breathed, drawing his lover back to the bed. Aya went willingly, sliding into the cool cotton of the sheets before opening his arms to Omi. They snuggled for a long minute, each remembering their chronic dreams of lying together. There was no real need between them at the moment, no necessity. In place of it, there was love, and wanting, and a touch of unconditional lust. Omi loved that about being with Aya, loved the passion and compassion.

Erasing the borders
With each brush of a hand

Their bodies merged once more, combining at each of Omi’s fingertips as he traced the valleys of Aya’s stomach. The moonlight playing down upon them both highlighted the ridges and shadowed the shallow depths, and it was those shadowed indentations that Omi played with now. Aya’s eyes had drifted shut at this new game, and the only sound in the room was Omi’s breathing. Aya had stopped in order to focus completely on the marvelous gentleness.

Eventually, Omi laughingly ordered Aya to breathe, and watched as his lover’s chest rose and fell with obedience. He marveled at Aya’s willingness to take orders from him, and the incredible sensation he got whenever Aya gave similar orders. There was no domination, not between them. It was give and take, and completely equal, and Omi enjoyed every moment of it. That was what made them so perfect together. They didn’t need to test the bonds, didn’t need to find out who reigned supreme in the bedroom.

Oh, the red strokes
Passions uncaged
Thundering moments of tenderness rage

The silence thundered in their ears, and suddenly they were scrabbling at each other, needing more than this romantic simplicity. Mouths played over flesh, tasting nipples and hips, teeth raked over muscles, leaving long red marks. Counterpoints of tiny pains and giant pleasures caught them up, raging through them until they could only follow along in the swift current of passionate lust.

Oh, the red strokes
Tempered and strong
Burning the night like the dawn

If anything, the light from within them had increased, blinding in intensity, more than dawn’s light now. Omi frantically fished on the nightstand, finally coming up with a small jar of ointment. He unscrewed the top, then met Aya’s eyes. And he nodded.

Oh, the blues will be blue and the jealousies green
But when love picks its shade it demands to be seen

Aya scooped out two fingers’-worth of the substance, anointing himself, then Omi. And the light grew brighter at the silky, smooth touch of the lubrication. It was building up to an explosion, the final seconds ticking away as Aya slid slowly, ever so slowly, into Omi. Their souls flew outward, tumbling away from their bodies in pieces before merging together.

Oh, the red strokes
Passions uncaged
Thundering moments of tenderness rage

And then the scrabbling ended, and they floated down on a cloud of tender feelings, knowing that once more, their souls had merged into a single unit. If they parted ways tomorrow or ten years hence, they would still be bound together, loving each other forever and a day beyond.

Oh, the red strokes
Fearlessly drawn
Burning the night like the dawn

They’d been drawn together from the start, Omi realized, coming together without fear of what the other would do. They’d been broken, and had repaired each other with a caring that moved beyond love into adoration, but a healthy adoration. They’d needed each other, and had found completion and more together. They were more than soul-bound. They were destiny-bound, and happily so.

Oh, the red strokes
Passions uncaged
Thundering moments of tenderness rage

Omi watched in tender amusement as Aya rose, moving to the picture once more. The smaller boy moved to the bathroom, getting a washcloth to clean them both and wetting it, wiping himself down right there. The air touching his dampened flesh chilled it, but not uncomfortably so. And then he carried the cloth to Aya, kneeling before him and wiping away the evidence of their passion as Aya worked. The tender mothering always touched Aya deeply, Omi knew.

Oh, the red strokes
Fearlessly drawn
Burning the night like the dawn

Aya finished the last stroke, then looked to Omi. "I’ll hang it in the living room tomorrow." It was the first thing he’d said since Omi had awakened, and his voice was raspy from passion. Omi nodded, rising to once more gaze at the picture, failing to be critical about it. In his opinion, it was perfect, shining as their love did.

Steam on the window, salt in a kiss
Two hearts have never pounded like this

The picture captured their love perfectly, in fact. A not-so-rare moment of tenderness between them, a moonlight kiss, something they’d just shared, was now in oil on canvas, there for eternity. Just like their love.