Drown

By Sunfalling

 

Author’s Notes:  Love Banana Fish.  I've only read the first two volumes but the enigmatic relationship between a naïve Japanese college student and a seventeen year-old American killer is something so powerful and tragic that it completely engulfs you . . . and next thing you know, you've written smut for it.  I felt that the description here was vague enough for an R rating, but if you don't think so, let me know.

 

----

Ash walked leisurely into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.  Behind him, Eiji could feel subtle waft of cold.

 

"You want a beer?" Ash asked casually.  He leaned slowly and tightened his back under the worn, white tank.  Eiji could see paler skin through a hole near his shoulder blade.

 

"Eh, no, thank you," he murmured, unsure of his own limited tolerance.  The last thing he needed was to look even more of a hapless idiot in front of Ash.

 

The former gang leader straightened, a silver can glinting in one hand and a shiny apple in the other.  He set both on the counter and opened up a drawer to get a knife.  Eiji stood silently, watching without realizing it, watching Ash.  He found himself doing it constantly ever since he had met the enigmatic younger boy standing in a smoky pool hall with a gun tucked in his jeans and a cool strength in his gaze.  Ash Lynx looked like a caged predator, fiercely independent, untamable.

 

Ash cut a slice off the apple and set it in his mouth.  He chewed indifferently and reached to pop the tab on his beer, raising it for a slow drink.

 

His gaze lingered on the window and Eiji watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed.  He could see a few scars on Ash's arms, one crossing his collarbone.  Absently, he recalled sitting in the dark room on the pier, ripping a strip off his shirt to ease the ripping in his chest at the sight of the ugly bruises and angry welts marring Ash's skin, the blood smeared on his shoulder, and the defiant amusement in his hard eyes.  Eiji hadn't understood then, the thrilling darkness in the face turned toward him, hadn't understood how his own hands could be so sure in tying the bandage, his voice so firm and calm, when everything inside him trembled inexplicably with a dangerous sickness.

 

Ash's hands looked so strong, holding the knife to slice another edge of the apple, callused but powerful, young but confident.  Eiji had never known such confidence.  He had wandered through much of life unbalanced and unsure, never able to maintain any real strength or certainty.  The faint light of the window illuminated the edges of Ash's glorious hair and Eiji found himself suddenly sure of one thing, so sure that he felt terrified.  Ash's hands...

 

"You can ask, you know," Ash grumbled, a hint of laughter in his voice, "You've been staring like a starving dog."

 

Extending a slice of apple between to fingers, he offered it to the older boy, smirking slightly.  "If you're hungry, just say so."

 

Eiji took it uncertainly, holding the wedge in his palm for a moment.  The flesh of the apple was pale and cool from the interior of the fridge, turning his hand sticky.  The sliver of peel shone green, almost as green as Ash's eyes when he looked at Eiji--really looked at Eiji, acknowledging him, listening to him, really interested in him.

 

"That was a hell of a jump," he had said.

 

Eiji pushed the slice between his lips and ran his tongue over its rough surface.  He imagined he could taste the faint salt of Ash's fingers, but most likely it came from his own palm.

 

"Well, I'm gonna take a break," Ash said, "You can finish the rest of this if you want.  There're more in the fridge."

 

He strode into the living room without a second glance, carrying his beer with him.  Eiji stood in the kitchen for a moment, looking after him, before turning to the half-eaten apple.  "Thank you," he whispered to the emptiness.  He picked up the knife, but it looked pretty pathetic in his small grip.  Turning on the tap water, he washed his sticky hand.  Fading light from the window speckled on his forearms.  Feeling suddenly suffocated, Eiji scrambled with latch tore it open to let a cool breeze filter through the rusted screen.  Closing his eyes, Eiji breathed deeply.  The evening air ruffled his hair, ran under his shirt, cooling his skin.  A sigh escaped into the silent room.  A tension stretched his nerves, crowding in his throat, and he still didn't understand.

 

Ash . . .

 

Ash was stretched out in a recliner in the other room, arms crossed above his head.  Eiji tried to be silent as he stepped into the room to sit on the couch.  He picked up a magazine, but he couldn't make his eyes focus on it.

 

Ash's shirt was pushed up a little to reveal a slender stripe of vulnerable stomach, the rise of a hip above his jeans, the edge of his navel.  His face seemed relaxed, but not peaceful, pale hair falling over his forehead, covering the curves of his ears.  Lying there, against the faded fabric, Ash looked young and strikingly good-looking.  But what he had done, what he had seen and experienced...  He was ages older than Eiji and there was nothing innocent about his beauty.

 

God help me, I'm so weak . . . Eiji thought suddenly.  The magazine was crumpling in his sweaty hands, pages biting his skin. Ash . . . God, Ash . . .

 

Vaguely, he heard the sound of the magazine hitting the floor as he stood, moving forward to stand beside the chair.  Ash breathed softly, his chest rising under the thin shirt.  Eiji picked up the half-empty can of beer on the table near the chair and raised it to his lips.  He felt, or imagined the warmth of Ash's hand, the taste of his saliva.

 

Eiji's only experiences with alcohol consisted of a terrifying, furtive gulp of sake in junior high and the ill-fated drink of "coke" Skip had given him, both of which he had spit out in shock.  The beer in his hand tasted dark and unpleasant, but not intolerable. Americans didn't even believe in second-hand kisses, he reminded himself, but he licked the edges of the opening all the same, feeling fatalistic and desperate.

 

Tipping the container back, he took a larger swig of beer and looked at the stretch of Ash's long, muscular arms, the shadow falling on his throat.  Eiji's heart was beating irregularly in his thin chest.  Am I drunk?  A warmth grew in the pit of his stomach where the beer had settled.  The taste had ceased to matter.  He finished the can and set it back on the table with a slight noise.

 

"Hey."

 

Eiji started, turning to look into mocking green eyes.

 

"Get your own can."

 

Flushing, Eiji opened his mouthed and stuttered an apology.

 

"Ah, forget it."  Ash's mouth quirked harshly.  "You have any sunscreen?  I think I got burned bad yesterday."  He reached up to touch his own shoulder, wincing slightly.  Without thinking, Eiji reached out and touched his cheek.

 

"Does this hurt?"

 

"No . . ." Ash's eyes narrowed slightly

 

Mindlessly, Eiji moved his hand to brush the blonde's jaw.

 

"And here?" he murmured.  His skin sang with a strange heat and his head roiled with fever.

 

"I'm not. . ." Ash started, dropping his arms.  Eiji silenced him with fingers against his lips, shivering with adrenaline.

 

"Here?"

 

Ash's lips were slightly parted and Eiji could feel his breath coming quickly.

 

"Eiji," Ash said, and he could feel the vibration under his fingers as the lips formed the sound of his name and something caught in his chest.  He slid both hands up to hold Ash's face and knelt in the chair, knees on either side of Ash's thighs.

 

"I think I'm drunk," he told the other boy dazedly.

 

"You only had half a can," Ash replied, twisting his beautiful mouth wryly.

 

Eiji was shaking as he moved his hand to touch Ash's strong shoulder, his smooth neck, the edge of his collarbone, the warm indent of a temple.  They were soft, tentative touches, but his hands trembled.

 

"I'm drunk," he said shakily, "So you can't hate me."

 

Ash looked tense then, his face tightening with veiled emotion.  Eiji pushed a hand into his thick, fair hair, sighing at the sensation.  He had been mesmerized by that gold from first sight, shaggy and unruly, framing a sullen defiance.

 

Ash looked so incredibly sexy, skin darkened with color, shadowed eyes watching him cautiously, mouth still slightly open.  Eiji knew he was about to say something stupid like, I love you so much I'm going to die, so he leaned quickly to kiss Ash's mouth, fumbling and clumsy.  His nose bumped painfully against the younger boy's, his bottom lip bruised against Ash's lower teeth.  "You really are a kid," he thought he heard Ash, say, but perhaps it was only in his head.

 

"You're the kid," he should reply . . .

 

Ash's hand cupped the back of his head and tilted his face so that the kiss was right, a friction of dry lips, an opening of moist warmth.  Eiji tasted beer and the sour tang of apple.  He sighed slowly, blood thrumming in his ears.  Ash's mouth felt slick and hot and his tongue deliciously agile, sliding over teeth and gums, tangling with Eiji's own.

 

Pushing the dark-haired boy back slightly, Ash moved to kiss the corners of his mouth, the hard edge of his jaw, before lifting his chin to suck the curve of his throat.  Eiji felt his skin was melting, glowing with an internal heat.  Ash's hands caressed the small of his back and the curves of his thin hips.  Eiji moaned, shocked by his own response.  He didn't understand why this was happening.  Ash was the exquisite one; why would he be interested in Eiji's thin, clumsy body?  Why was he doing such wonderful things to Eiji's neck, licking the long tendons and sensitive hollows?  Ash bit the smooth place where his neck joined to his shoulder--gently--but it was enough to make Eiji cry out and jerk against him.  There were too many sensations pouring into him, too much to bear.  And yet, it wasn't enough.

 

"Ash . . . Ash!" he dropped his head to the younger boy's shoulder and sobbed for breath.  Desperately, he prayed that Ash wouldn't realize his fear, his frantic loneliness, and the idiotic need that had driven him to this insanity.

 

Ash felt so warm and solid against him.  He felt the blonde kiss his ear and turned quickly to catch Ash's mouth again, tasting the intake of his breath.  Their second kiss was harder, a frantic scraping of teeth and tongues.  Ash's skin felt slick with sweat under Eiji's hands as they went to the exposed area at his waist, lifting the thin shirt up to his arms, pulling it over his head.  The collar of the shirt caught on Ash's nose and he laughed suddenly, catching Eiji up in his unexpected delight.  Eiji grinned insanely and leaned into Ash's eager mouth again, swelling with strange pleasure, his chest tight.  Ash was perfect.  Ash made him perfect.  He found his center here, the balance he had longed for.

 

Groaning, Ash tipped his head back as Eiji's fingers ran over the taunt muscle of his stomach and chest, tracing patterns of sensation.  Experimentally, Eiji lowered his head to lick Ash's skin, smooth and salty.  Murmuring his pleasure into the muscle, he heard Ash gasp.  He could taste Ash's desire in his flesh, feel the thrum of need in his pulse.  I love, I love you, Eiji chanted silently.  But Ash had been the object of desire for many men.  Surely they had already told him that in many stupid, worthless words.

 

Eiji felt like a helpless moth, like an insect in an inferno.  He had no control over this feeling, this overwhelming ache.  Any pride he had left was now stripped away.

 

He wanted to drown himself in Ash.

 

Ash . . .

 

Ash caught both his arms suddenly and lifted him out of the chair, standing to push Eiji forward onto the couch.  His chest moved quickly with his panting breaths.  Leaning above Eiji, his fingers moved to unbutton the boy's light shirt.

 

"You always wear these damn schoolboy shirts . . . open collars . . ." Ash growled, his eyes searing, "Drives me fucking insane."

 

Eiji threw back his head and clenched the couch.  Ash's mouth between his collarbones, on his nipples, sucking the tender flesh of his stomach . . .

 

"You're not drunk Eiji," Ash hissed against his side, "Tell me when to stop."

 

Never, Eiji thought desperately.  Never, never, never.

 

"Kamisama!" was what he actually said, as Ash's tongue traced his waistband moistly.

 

He remembered the first time . . .  It was when Ash had woken up one day and caught him holding the gun, practicing aiming with both hands like the guys in the cheesy cop shows.  Ash had laughed at him and stepped out of bed shirtless, watching with mocking eyes.  He flipped the gun out of Eiji's hand in one quick move and laughed again at the Japanese boy's startled expression.  Confidently, he handed the piece back to Eiji, demonstrating how the trick was done again and again.  Standing beside him, Eiji had been overwhelmed by Ash, his scent, his nearness, the flash of his eyes, the sound of his voice.  Feeling the strength in his hands, the beauty of his skin . . .  Eiji suddenly wanted for the first time--really wanted so much that it scared him.  He wanted Ash Lynx.

 

On the couch, Ash unbuttoned Eiji's jeans and pulled them down.  Eiji gasped at the rough sensation and the heat of Ash's palm on his briefs.

 

You really are a kid.

 

"Ash . . ." he groaned.  Light fluttered beneath his eyelids.  His body felt taunt with energy, aching for more touch.  The elastic of his underwear snapped slightly under Ash's fingers.  A wet tongue flitted on the inside of his thigh.  Eiji was sure that he would break, his eyes rolling back, his muscles burning.  Harsh noises grated from his throat.

 

Ash's mouth was right . . . there, hot breaths torturing his sensitive flesh.

 

"Aaaa . . . please!"

 

Ash finally took pity on him and wrapped a hand around the shaft.  Eiji bit his lip to keep from screaming.  Ash's tightened fingers, the rub of his calluses...so perfect, so much better than anything he had ever experienced.

His hips were moving without his will, searching for more friction, more contact.  Everything around him smoldered brilliantly, Ash's green eyes, his wheat-gold hair, the fibers of the couch, the light on the ceiling, the sweat on his own chest.  He glowed inwardly.  His skin blazed brilliant white.

And then . . . Ash's mouth . . .

 

Eiji screamed then, his vision blurring beyond recognition.  Ash's tongue . . . there, his pliant lips, the brush of teeth.

 

"No . . . no . . ." Eiji moaned, arching uncontrollably.  He couldn't see anything but white and gold, his eyes burned, his nerves were on fire.  It was too much, too wonderful, he would die soon from the intensity, from this delicious dementia.  Ash couldn't possibly understand what was happening, what he felt for the fearless youth with the jaded eyes.

 

Ash would destroy him and he didn't care.  But surely Ash would hate him for this.

 

"No . . . wait . . . Ash!"

 

Eiji arched into the wet, hot pressure again, fingers clawing the cushions in vain.  He felt himself collapsing from the inside in a shattering convulsion spreading fire throughout his body.

 

"Ash!"

 

Slowly the blindness faded and there was only a thick, sweet fog covering his mind.  Ash released him gently and rose up on his knees.  With effort, Eiji managed to open his eyes and look at the younger boy.  His limbs felt pleasantly heavy and his skin shimmered with warm afterglow.  Ash's face was hazy, but beautiful.  He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

 

"Hey, you're crying," he said.

 

Eiji blinked and realized his face was wet.

 

"Sorry," he croaked, and blushed at his hoarse voice.

 

Ash shrugged slightly, not looking at him.  "I'm the one that should be apologizing.  But I won't.  We were both drunk, right?"

 

For a moment Eiji couldn't reply.

 

"Yes," he agreed at last, his voice surprisingly calm.  "Drunk."

 

He heard Ash pad into the kitchen indifferently and open the fridge.

 

"Fuck," Eiji whispered.  His back felt scratched from the rough cushions, his throat hurt, and he had just realized that his lower body was uncomfortably sticky.

 

Ash was silent in the kitchen; he did not return.

 

Curling up on himself again, Eiji closed his eyes to keep any more tears in.

 

"How do you say 'Are you coming with me?' in Japanese?" Ash had asked him once.

 

"Watashi to ikimasu ka?" Eiji had replied.

 

"Watshi to ikimasu ka?" Ash repeated slowly, with a thick American accent. 

 

"Now, how do you say 'yes'?" he demanded.

 

"Hai," Eiji said, unsure, uncertain, and still completely oblivious.  He had watched the flash of the green eyes expectantly, waited for comprehension.

 

"Good."  Ash smiled.