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It’s going to be perfectly simple. Ash is certain of it.
Eiji is a human being. A living, breathing person with eyes and a pulse. And in Ash’s experience, if someone meets those criteria, they’re going to take an interest in him.
And not just an idle, passing interest. No, it’ll be an all-consuming, uncontrollable desire. A need. It’s Ash’s talent—he manages to seduce people without even trying. Because, as much as it sickens him to admit it, he is a professional.
He’s been one for a very long time.
So Eiji’s attempts at restraint, at respect, at treating Ash as anything more than a warm body, are admirable, but doomed to failure. And, if Ash is being perfectly honest, it’s driving him a bit crazy. It’s been
months,
hasn’t it? Months, and Eiji hasn’t so much as let a hand wander or whispered a single vulgar thing in Ash’s ear.
The anticipation is bordering on unbearable. Better to simply get it over and done with, isn’t it? No use in keeping up this ridiculous charade that Eiji is any different. No use in delaying the inevitable.
So Ash’s job is simple. It’s the only real job he’s had in his life. His one precious talent, besides, perhaps, killing.
He’ll simply have to seduce Eiji.
And on a rare warm day in late March, when the two of them traipse down to the bodega to get some ice cream in celebration of the unseasonable weather, Ash knows just how he’ll do it.
Eiji gets a vanilla and caramel ice cream cup, sure to grab a spoon from the jar beside the register. Ash buys a strawberry popsicle, squares his shoulders, takes a deep, steadying breath, and joins Eiji on the bench outside.
This sort of performance is familiar to Ash, but that doesn’t make it any less degrading. The worst part is pretending to enjoy himself. He has to act like tearing off the popsicle wrapper with just his teeth is some sort of playful, spontaneous impulse, not an expertly rehearsed motion performed with no regard for the nausea churning in his stomach.
“This is really good,” Eiji says brightly, smiling around the spoon in his mouth.
“Mine too,” Ash says, ensuring the words are at once breathy and gravelly, nearly a purr in the back of his throat.
And then he licks a long, practiced stripe up the side of the popsicle.
It’s revolting. It makes his skin prickle with cold sweat. Hell, on the worst nights, he sometimes finds himself contemplating cutting out his own tongue just to avoid these exact displays.
But unfortunately, they’re too effective for him to ever sacrifice. Ash knows his skills, at least. Parts of him are expendable, certainly, but he’s nothing if he can’t at least put on a good show.
But, when Ash glances over to Eiji, tilting his head so he gazes up through his eyelashes, he isn’t even looking at Ash. Instead, he’s about halfway through his cup of ice cream, with eyes for nothing else.
Ash almost wants to laugh; Eiji can be such a glutton at times, and it’s more charming than it had any right to be. But Ash knows that of all possible sins, lust will win out time and again. He just has to try harder.
So he makes a sound that’s just this side of an outright moan and tilts his head back, sucking the popsicle as deep as he can manage. He leaves it there for a long time, careful not to betray his disgust at the caricature, then pulls it out of his mouth with a flourish, before glancing over again at Eiji.
Eiji is now three-quarters of the way through his ice cream, diligently chasing a bit of caramel ripple with his spoon.
“Oh, did you want a bite?” he offers, noticing Ash’s gaze, and extends a spoonful.
Finally.
For all of Eiji’s attempts at total disinterest, Ash will finally be able to provide that push he needs.
So he nods, closes his eyes, and parts his mouth just so. When Eiji places the spoon in his mouth, he’ll purse his lips around it, and carefully flutter his eyes open, with that exact dazed, slightly shy expression that has brought hundreds to their knees before. And in that position, Eiji’s hand holding the spoon and the spoon in Ash’s mouth, how could he possibly—
Something cold and sticky squishes onto Ash’s nose.
His eyes fly open and he splutters with surprise, only to see Eiji doubled over with laughter, having used the scoop of ice cream to stick the spoon onto the tip of Ash’s nose.
“You should see yourself,” Eiji manages between bursts of laughter. “You look completely ridiculous.”Ash spends several long moments frozen in disbelief before he finally grabs the spoon from his nose, stalks to the nearest trash can, and tosses both it and the popsicle in.
“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” he grumbles, wiping off the remaining ice cream with his sleeve.
“Aww, Ash, c’mon! How am I supposed to eat my ice cream now?”
“Not my problem. Go get another spoon from inside, I guess.”
And with that, Ash stalks off towards the apartment, a strange, uneasy feeling settled in his guts.
Ash just needs to try harder.
His first attempt was too subtle. Or Eiji has truly inhuman self control. Or he just wasn’t in the mood that day. Whatever the reason, for the very first time in his life, Ash’s perfected seduction techniques fell short.
So he simply needs to try again. Do better. No use prolonging this agonizing waiting, trembling as he watches for the other shoe to drop and Eiji to prove himself exactly the same as all those before him. Better just to get it over and done with. Ash knows the sorts of things he’s good for. Surely Eiji has realized it by now too.
So this time, Ash does more. He sunbathes.
He lies a bath towel down on the small balcony of their hideout, slips into a pair of denim cutoffs that leave precious little to the imagination, leaves the door open, lies down, and waits.
When he hears Eiji’s bedroom door open, he rolls over, stretching out in a way that looks casual and nonchalant, but is as choreographed as a ballet, certain to show off his body exactly as he intends.
And at last, Eiji’s footsteps approach the balcony. Ash conveniently times a long stretch of his neck that he knows highlights the elegant line of his collarbone.
Now. This will be it. Ash can’t think of a person alive who could resist this particular tableau. It’s a statement that brings him a vague sense of nausea rather than pride, but it’s true nonetheless.
“You’re letting all the cool air out,” Eiji gripes. “Are you trying to air condition all of New York?”
Ash is startled enough that for just a moment, he drops the facade, and looks up at Eiji in disbelief.
“I… what?”
“And your skin is too fair to spend very long out in the sun like this. At least put on some sunscreen so you don’t get burned to a crisp.”
Eiji tosses him a bottle of sunscreen. Ash blinks dumbly; he didn’t even know they owned any.
But Ash quickly collects himself and rolls over onto his stomach, arching his back in a manner that can only suggest one thing.
“Why don’t you put it on me, then?” he purrs. “Make sure I don’t burn.”
Come on,
Ash urges.
I’m all but giving you an engraved invitation. Let me do the one thing I do best and get it over with.
But Eiji merely rolls his eyes.
“I’m not your maid, Ash Lynx,” he says, and then slams the door to the balcony closed.
For a few long moments, Ash sits in stunned silence, but he comes to his senses and remains undeterred. Hell, Ash didn’t climb the ranks at Club Cod so quickly without knowing how to put on a good show. And the blinds are still open in the living room, giving Eiji a clear view of Ash on the balcony.
Ash doesn’t like being touched, by himself or anyone else. Even in the shower, the feeling of his own hands against his naked, unguarded skin is nearly unbearable. But Ash’s preferences have never been a consideration when it comes to work, so he ensures his face betrays none of his disgust as he pours a bit of the sunscreen onto his hand and glides it down his chest.
But despite Ash’s performance, and despite staying clearly in view of the living room window, Eiji doesn’t so much as spare Ash a glance. No matter how suggestive the drag of his hands against his skin, how carefully posed his body, Eiji remains apathetic, forcing Ash to keep up the show for several excruciating minutes, until the nausea finally becomes too much to bear and he drops to the ground in a heap, defeated.
And even in the warm spring sunshine, Ash finds himself inexplicably cold.
It’s going to work this time. Ash is certain of it.
Fine, maybe Eiji’s self control won out on the past two attempts, but he’s bound to be at his limit by now. There’s only so much restraint a person has. And Ash is going to dig into that weakness with everything he has.
So today, he’s lounging in the bath, reclining back against the side of the tub, one leg dangling over the edge. The picture of languid decadence.
Eiji will like the confident posture. There were some, especially when Ash was younger, who liked him trembling and crying and afraid. But Eiji will be happier if Ash seems willing and eager. Ash can read these sorts of preferences in people—God knows he has the professional experience to guide him.
“Eiji!” Ash calls. It’s loud enough to be heard from the other side of the bathroom door, but Ash adds just a hint of breathy need to his tone.
“What?”
“I left my book on my bed. Can you get it for me?”
Ash listens closely. Although Eiji grumbles about Ash’s laziness under his breath, his footsteps move away from the bathroom and then draw closer again, and at the door opens a few inches and his hand thrusts through the crack, waving the book in Ash’s direction.
“I don’t want to get out of the bath,” Ash whines. “Bring it to me, won’t you?”
This is it. The image is perfect—Ash, reclined in the bath, on perfect, posed display, even the errant drops of water falling from his fingertips somehow seductive. Finally, Eiji will have the motivation he needs, and the two of them can stop pretending that Eiji is any different from anyone else Ash has known.
On the other side of the door, Eiji sighs, mumbling something about Ash being a spoiled housecat, and enters the bathroom.
Except that he’s covering his eyes.
One hand is holding the book out towards Ash, and the other is covering the top of Eiji’s face, refusing to look.
And all at once, something deep inside of Ash bursts open, cold fury flooding into his stomach.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demands.
“I swear to God, Ash, if you tell me I got you the wrong book, I’m going to drown you here and now.”
Ash laughs, harsh and humorless.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Why are you covering your eyes like that?”
Eiji’s mouth pulls down into a frown.
“I’m trying to respect your privacy,” he says, tone uncertain, as if anyone could actually be this clueless. “Would you have preferred I did something different?”
And with that, the fury rushes from Ash’s stomach down each limb, leaving him tense and trembling.
“
Privacy?
” Ash echoes. “Who exactly do you think you’re kidding?”
Eiji’s frown deepens.
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”
“Christ, Eiji, how many people do you think have watched a video of me being violated and abused this week alone? How many of those do you think were filmed before I turned thirteen? ‘Privacy’ isn’t a privilege I have anymore.”
Eiji's whole body stiffens, but his hand remains firmly over his eyes.
“Ash,” he says, his voice strained.
“I’m not exactly the sort of guy you have to take to dinner first, so you don’t have to keep pretending. It’s honestly just getting ridiculous.”
For a long moment, Eiji is still. But then, with a determined set to his shoulders, he steps towards the bath.
Good,
Ash urges.
We can finally drop the act, huh?
But Eiji’s hand is still over his eyes, and he doesn’t reach out towards Ash. Instead, he sits down on the floor, back to the bathtub, still without a single glance at Ash.
“I’m not stupid, Ash,” Eiji says, hardly above a whisper. “I can tell the second you try to put on that persona.”
“Persona?”
“It’s not you who tries to seduce me. It’s someone else. And you’re identical, sure, but only in appearance. That person is nothing like you at all.”
Ash sits in stunned silence.
“It’s sorta creepy, actually,” Eiji continues. “But more than that, it makes me sad. I don’t want you to have to be that other person around me. I know that that person has had to do a lot to protect you over the years, but not with me, okay?”
“Oh. Uh, okay.”
Ash isn’t proud of how unsteady his voice is.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t ever be interested. I feel like it’s only right to be honest; of course I’ve thought about something happening between us. But if it ever does, I’d want it to be between
us,
not me and a stranger who looks just like you.”
Ash can’t think of a single thing to say, and the silence between them stretches on for several interminable seconds, before Eiji, mercifully, breaks it.
“What page were you on?”
“What?”
“In your book. What page did you leave off on?”
Ash blinks, bewildered by this sudden change in topic.
“Uh, it’s a poetry anthology, so I just jump around. I didn’t really leave off anywhere in particular.”
Back still to Ash, Eiji nods and opens the book.
“Having a Coke with you,” Eiji begins, with no preamble, “is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne.”
Ash leans back and closes his eyes, letting the familiar words wash over him. It’s one of his favorites—he’s committed it to memory by now.
“Or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona,” Eiji continues, the soothing cadence of his voice slowing the pounding of Ash’s heart. “Partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian.”
“Partly,” Ash murmurs, along with Eiji, “because of my love for you.”