Irresistible

A/N: Hello, my loyal and patient readers & friends! I am back with more Mizoo! Or should it be Yazavi?? I don’t know, but whatever this is, the boys are back and getting nakeder with each post! :D

Huge thankies to my girls Schwaerze, natzilla and IA1979 for their undying support and wonderful reviews. Without those, I may not have even completed this chapter or kept going. Why don’t people love Mizoo as much as us?? *doesn’t get it*

Schwaerze: Before you review this chapter, remember to COPY IT and SAVE IT somewhere before you even attempt to send it because how many times have you written a big ass review to me and then lost it because of ‘technical issues’ on aff? Yes, it’s very frustrating, isn’t it? Make sure it does not happen this time or Mistress Rina will fly over to your place and spank you for being so careless. ;)

Anyway, darling, thank you for your fantastic comments when they finally got to me. I’m glad you like this story, because I did start it for you initially! I used to write in past tense but somewhere along the line I switched and now find it easier to write in the present, actually, typing as I imagine it happening.

Oh yes, Miyavi certainly does have Yaz wrapped around his finger! And apparently Miyavi IS a tall guy. Can’t tell, huh? It must be just that he’s so skinny. You know, I’ve seen pics of him without makeup and yes, he’s still gorgeous. The lucky prick. lol

Natzilla: Thank you! I know that Yazoo and Miyavi may seem out of character sometimes in this fic but I don’t know them personally and these are just my versions of them, or how I see them…being totally in lust/obsession with each other and acting weirdly or spontaneously because of that. I’m sure Miyavi is a lot more mature than I’ve made him here (also speaking to BMIK as well). Here he IS a little childish and bi-polar but then again, have you seen clips of him on YouTube running around and talking to the camera? He’s a crazy, crazy guy. I don’t think you could predict how he’d act in any given situation! Same with Yazoo, especially after that helicopter scene we all pretend doesn’t exist *squirms uncomfortably* I kind of like to see him clumsy and unsure for once, since he’s always written as being so perfect and elegant. Glad you guys enjoy my versions together anyway!

IA1979: Haha, I know! At this rate my ‘two-parter fic’ will end up as a full-length novel! XD But yeah, Yaz and Meeves go so well together, don’t they? ^__^ They’re both so pretty, but so different, like night and day. I know it seems like Miyavi isn’t as into Yaz as Yaz is into him but he’s allowing Yazoo to do things that he wouldn’t probably allow anyone else. Yazoo’s Allure isn’t quite dead...as you’ll see. ;)

Hope you guys like this update and please, please forgive me for taking so long to write it!

……………

In the previous chapter:

“Oh, all right. If you have to call me something, just call me M.”

Grateful for receiving an answer, even if it is only one measly initial, the tall remnant reveals, “I’m Yazoo.”

“I didn’t ask,” the youth known as M returns in a distracted mutter, grabbing Yazoo’s hand and moving it down lower, onto his vinyl-covered crotch. “Touch me here now.”

“Not just blunt – bold too,” Yazoo remarks in a mix of amusement and approval. “I suppose I’d better do what I’m told, hm?”

……………

Part four.

If Yazoo had any lingering doubts about M’s gender, the undeniable hardness in the front of the musician’s crimson-coloured trousers dispels them, Yazoo moulding his palm around the cylindrical swelling, gauging the shape and length of it beneath the shiny red fabric.

Purring, Yazoo comments, “You’re all boy, aren’t you, my pretty?”

M doesn’t confirm or deny that, just rolls his hips into the caress, making a low sound of stimulation. Yazoo pulls him close, so that the shorter male can feel Yazoo’s erectness against his upper thigh.

“See what you do to me,” Yazoo says in a whisper, pressing harder into his leg. “I want you so very much. I want to make you feel good, make you moan. Make you mine.”

The singer just makes that sexy murmuring sound again, his already half-mast eyelashes lowering even further in enjoyment.

“Do you want that, hm?” Yazoo gives the boy’s bulge a gentle squeeze. “Do you want me too?”

This time the brunette groans out loud, eyes shut, pushing into Yazoo’s hand in affirmation.

“Look at me,” Yazoo urges quietly, needing to see it for himself in those deep, coffee-coloured pools. “Look at me, M.”

With a reluctant effort, the guitarist lifts his heavy, mascara-coated lashes and glances upwards to meet Yazoo’s gaze, velvet brown into brilliant green. Yazoo stares at him searchingly, a little jolt of surprise running through the remnant at what he finds in the other male’s expression. All of the men he’s been with in the past had the same look in their eyes when he was seducing them. Hazy. Glassy. Cloudy. A drunken, dazed kind of look, as though they were under a spell or perhaps slipped a drug. Every single one of them had it. This one, though… When Yazoo gazes into his eyes they are clear and focused. Aware and alert. Unlike those other men caught like flies in Yazoo’s tempting trap of seduction, M knows what’s happening here. He knows exactly what Yazoo is doing and he welcomes it.

Wants it.

M is looking at him not as some enchanted embodiment of perfect beauty, or a divine creature of dreams and fantasy, but simply as another man, a sexual partner – someone like-minded to have some adult fun with - and knowing that he’s wanted without his mystical allure is the most thrilling thing Yazoo has ever experienced in all his existence.

Looking this closely at Yazoo, M also sees something in the other’s gaze that surprises him, the singer remarking with a small frown, “Your pupils are strange. They aren’t…normal. They’re longer. Thinner.”

Unconsciously pulling back, Yazoo enquires, “Does this disturb you?”

“Not really,” M muses with a slight sideways tilt of his head. “I think it’s kinda cool, actually. It’s like you got cat-eyes. How’d they end up like that?”

In a mock-mysterious tone, the paler male divulges, “It’s a highly classified secret.”

Still gazing at Yazoo in open curiosity, M queries, “Will you tell me?”

“I /could/. But I’m not going to. At least, not until I feel like it,” Yazoo declares, getting some payback for the boy’s stubbornness in revealing his name.

Deciding that his lips seem dry after all that kissing, M pulls out a tube of glitter-gloss, slicking the frosty-pink shine around his mouth while regarding the other man thoughtfully. Re-pocketing the item of makeup and smacking his wetly sparkling lips together, he finally states, “You have a lot of secrets, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do.” The remnant arches a questioning brow. “Does that make me interesting to you?”

Fidgeting with his own earrings, M is contemplative for a moment and then he confesses, “Maybe.”

Smirking a little, Yazoo finds that this answer pleases him. The boy is interested. That’s good. Now, let’s see /exactly/ how far M’s interest spans...

Showing just as much brazen boldness as the guitarist did earlier, Yazoo levels his gaze and announces, “Enough talking. I’d much rather like to see your mouth used for something else now.”

The black-haired vocalist stares back at him, long-fingered hand dropping from his ringed earlobe down to his side, resting there slackly. “What, you mean like...a blow job?”

“That’s precisely what I mean.” Injecting some droll humour into his tone, Yazoo remarks, “With lips like that, I can’t be the only man who’s asked you for one.”

“Well, no. Actually you aren’t,” M answers in an irritated voice. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll drop to my knees and do it.”

The slimmer male lifts his chin proudly, dark eyes flashing. “I might wear makeup and girls’ clothing sometimes but I’m not a bitch and I’m certainly NOT a whore. And if you think I am, then screw you, asshole,” he ends with a growl.

“I do not think that at all,” Yazoo replies calmingly, sensing the kid’s righteous anger rising to a dangerous level. “I can see for myself you are neither of those things and I can tell that you take your choice of lovers very seriously. You are clearly a smart, selective young man who knows what he wants, or doesn’t want, and that’s one of the reasons why I like you so much. You don’t fuck around. And neither do I.”

The accurate description of M’s personality and the smoothly inserted compliments effectively starts to soothe the singer’s quick temper, extinguishing the flames of fury flickering in his eyes and replacing them with a reluctant respect, M beginning to admire Yazoo’s forthrightness and frankness.

“Besides, look at me.” Yazoo jadedly gestures to his own femininely-featured face and his flowing, shimmering hair. “Believe me, M, I get more than my fair share of derogatory, offensive comments too. Guys like us are always mistaken and judged unfairly. I know exactly how you feel and would never judge you that way.”

Glancing down at Yazoo’s soft, sensual lips - which are a neutral, un-glossed light rose colour - M ventures, “You get asked for blow jobs too?”

“All the damn time,” Yazoo empathises. “Sucks to be pretty, doesn’t it?”

At the pun, the guitarist’s mouth twitches. “Yeah. Sure does.”

With a new awareness, M gazes at the elegant silver-head in front of him, finally realising that he’s looking at a kindred soul here, someone who also knows the blessing and the burden of being gifted with girlish looks and an abundance of sexual energy. Here’s someone who understands what M goes through every day and deals with the same shit he has to deal with. This makes him like the unusual gun-slinging stranger even more.

“Speaking of sucking...” Yazoo hints with a gleam in his eye. “Will you do it for me? If I ask very, very nicely?”

“I don’t know,” M drawls back. “How nice can you ask?”

Hm. A dare.

Yazoo likes those. They add a touch of spice to an otherwise bland and tasteless existence. When so challenged, he’s never backed out of one before and he’s certainly not going to now, the tall remnant smiling seducingly and half-hooding his eyelids, making his turquoise gaze go all smoky and sultry. Even though it most likely won’t have any effect, he automatically sends out every ounce of Allure in his blood, casting it towards the other boy like some exotic fragrance floating heavily on the evening air.

“Please,” he requests in the softest, sincerest tone he can summon, so it doesn’t sound like an order, his low, velveteen voice carrying through the alley and wrapping around M like a warm scarf of black silk. He steps up to the musician and strokes M’s smooth cheek with the back of his fingers, the inviting caress as light and subtle as the brush of a dove’s feather.

“Pleasure me, my sweet, and I will pleasure you in return.”

At the huskily-spoken offer M falters, looking as though he’s seriously considering it. He’s not outright objecting, anyway.

“Please,” Yazoo asks again, slightly startled to hear the underlying begging quality in the quiet plea, making him realise how much he truly desires this. M must have also heard it because Yazoo can see the moment he makes his decision and gives in, the boy’s face softening, his body language becoming more open and receptive and his posture relaxing.

“Okay,” he sighs, “but if you get rough with me, or try to shove down my throat, I won’t hesitate to bite you where it hurts.”

“Ouch. I certainly don’t want that,” is Yazoo’s amused reply to the half-hearted threat. “Don’t worry. I won’t move. I’ll just stand here and let you do all the work.”

“Oh, is that so? What if I don’t want to?” M retorts, pushing Yazoo’s hand away huffily. Despite his defiant attitude, M seems quite willing to oblige and grant Yazoo’s request, even appearing as though he’s looking forward to it somewhat, going by the way he keeps sneaking glances at Yazoo’s groin area.

“You just going to think about it all night?” Yazoo taunts. “You know, you might technically be a boy but I’m starting to wonder if you have any balls at all.”

“Fuck you,” M snaps, taking the bait, just like Yazoo knew he would. “I’ll prove who’s got the balls around here!”

Still in his black platform boots and skin-tight vinyl pants, the visual kei artist sinks to his knees on the cobble-stoned ground, a resolute look of determination on his pretty face. Kneeling right in front of Yazoo’s crotch, he brusquely pops the press-stud fastening on the waist of Yazoo’s biker trousers – the loud snap echoing down the alleyway - the remnant’s heart skipping a beat in excitement of what’s shortly going to happen to him. Deliberately roughly, M yanks down the zipper and then shoves apart the leather with both hands, revealing thin black fabric stretched over a fleshy bulge. With his breath catching in his throat, Yazoo watches as the gutsy performer takes hold of the top of his trunks, snatching the material down and allowing Yazoo’s impatient erection to be set free, the stiff bouncing organ obviously in dire need of some attention. M makes a pleased face at what he sees; a long, hotly flushed staff of skin stretched over swollen tissue and veins, framed by a small carpet of short steel-grey ringlets low on Yazoo’s abdomen, complimented by a heavy sac beneath and a single crystalline droplet gleaming on the round violet-coloured end. It’s a prime example of virile manhood and M can’t help being impressed. Inquisitively wrapping his fingers around the base, M gauges how hard and thick it is, the contact causing Yazoo to hiss softly.

Still staring at the perfectly-shaped dick in his hand, M bites his full lower lip and lets it slide from between his teeth, subsequently toying at his piercing with the tip of his tongue, as if thinking about what to do next. It’s like he’s playing with Yazoo, making him wait. Teasing him. Looking up at the silver-head with mischief-filled, dark-cocoa eyes, M makes an elaborate show of licking his own lips, top then bottom, slowly and sexily, leaving them glinting with saliva in a most erotically appealing manner. He has quite a long tongue and it’s the loveliest strawberry-pink colour. Unable to stop himself, Yazoo lets out a noise of frustration, wanting that strawberry tongue and those moist, pouty, glittery lips on him right now. Knowing precisely how he’s affecting his taller partner, M grins up at him with rows of impish white teeth, like a gremlin. Or an evil kitten – cute but oh-so-wicked.

“Stop that, you little tease,” Yazoo scolds but his tone is resonant with affection and desire. He grasps M by the chin, moving his face back to Yazoo’s opened zipper and the enlarged male sex poking out from it. “Now, show me what you can do with that luscious mouth of yours.”

M just cocks his head, glancing up in stubborn expectation, as if waiting for something. Demanding it, even.

“Oh, all right. Pretty please,” Yazoo adds sweetly, indulging the boy whilst fighting his own smile of ironic amusement, never thinking he’d see the day when HE had to beg for sexual favours.

Giving a brief smirk of satisfaction, M turns his attention to what’s in his hand. Leaning forward on his knees, he sweeps his dark layered fringe out of the way and experimentally licks the shiny purpled end of Yazoo’s dick, cleaning up that drop of pre-come, making Yazoo hiss a second time. Yazoo must taste nice to M because he kisses the tip appreciatively before licking it again, circumnavigating the smooth rounded flesh with his tongue, getting it wet, and then rubbing it around his lips, getting them slicked with saliva too. The wetter everything is, the easier this will be for him. And the more pleasing it will be for Yazoo, too. Yazoo had expected him to be a lot more uncertain and tentative but M gets right into it without hesitating, his pierced lips parting, the gifted guitar-player taking the head of Yazoo’s cock willingly into his warm mouth. He lightly sucks it for a few moments to draw out another drop or two of Yazoo’s salty-sweet secretions and then shuffles forward on the ground, swallowing more of that heated flesh, Yazoo offering a soft hum of enticement.

“That’s the way, my pet. Take me as deep as you can.”

Holding Yazoo’s hard-on straight and steady with one hand, M leans in further in his kneeling position, his glossed lips effortlessly gliding halfway down the remnant’s thickened shaft and back up again, leaving behind a smear of twinkling glitter. He does this again, and a third time, taking more of Yazoo’s length each time, just about bumping into silvery curls with the tip of his be-ringed nose. He hollows his cheeks, creating suction and maintaining it while his head moves back and forward, the ends of his black ponytail brushing over his own tattooed shoulders and the top of his spine. His is such a sumptuously plump, desirable mouth and judging by how often he stuck out his tongue on stage and blew kisses at the audience, he totally knows it, too. This is surely a mouth made for sucking cock and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Light-headed with all the blissful sensations rushing through his groin and gut, Yazoo gazes down at this exceedingly erotic scene, watching himself be orally worshipped by such a ravishing, raven-haired creature.

“Yes,” Yazoo coaches in a turned-on whisper, his fingers sliding around to cup the side of M’s delicately structured face and jaw, the touch supportive and encouraging rather than controlling. “Oh, merciful Mother, yes... So good...”

Hearing the praise, the androgynous Asian sucks harder, lifting his free hand to cover Yazoo’s where it is resting on his cheek, M briefly caressing the other’s pale fingers as he works, angling his head to gain more depth, his eyes closed in concentration. Hopefully he’s getting some enjoyment out of doing this because Yazoo sure is. Sparkles of euphoric pleasure are shooting through his tensed stomach and into his veins at the feel of M’s magical mouth surrounding him, so wet and hot, sliding slowly up and down his engorged pole and leaving it glistening and glimmering in the semi-darkness. Yazoo can feel the metal lip-ring skimming along the left side of his shaft, the interesting friction adding a new dimension to the experience and intensifying it greatly, taking an ordinary act and making it extraordinary and excitingly different. He’s never been sucked by someone with a piercing before.

When one of the musician’s skilled hands slips underneath Yazoo to carefully cradle and knead his tightened testes while the other starts to jack him in measured pumps, Yazoo has to fight the urge to buck his hips and blow in the boy’s gorgeous mouth, his fists momentarily clenching in M’s hair as he battles for command of his over-sensitised body. As great as that would feel, he doesn’t want to come yet. He wants this encounter to last for as long as it possibly can because it’s turning out to be the best one of his whole life so far.

His hands relax when his body does, excitement levels safely back under control, and he strokes the kid’s head, lovingly and rewardingly, like he’s petting a well-behaved puppy.

“I must say,” Yazoo comments in admiration, “you’re doing exceptionally well for someone who’s never been with a man before.”

Stopping for a moment, M glances up. “I said I was /usually/ straight. I didn’t say ‘always’.”

“That you didn’t,” Yazoo belatedly agrees. “I should have listened more closely, hm?”

“Yeah. You should have,” M says with a cheeky smirk, turning back to the task at hand, engulfing Yazoo’s erection again and circling his talented tongue around it. No wonder he’s so good at this. He’s done it before. Though Yazoo is marginally disappointed that he isn’t the kid’s first, he is nevertheless pleased to be the one who’s receiving all of M’s attention now. As he watches his reddened rod being systematically swallowed and released with slippery, sucking sounds, Yazoo continues stroking over M’s dark head, dearly wanting to undo the samurai style holding up the boy’s brunette mane just to see how long it really is and run his fingers all the way through it; however, he’s not sure if M would appreciate having his hair messed up. Probably not. But still, the desire to touch it unbound wins over so Yazoo chooses to risk the fiery performer’s annoyance and deftly pulls away the elastic band holding his ponytail together, freeing the mass of burnished black and rainbow-dye, letting it all tumble down over the youth’s naked shoulders, the tips reaching mid-to-lower back, even longer than Yazoo’s. The feisty rebel immediately halts what he’s doing, glaring irritably up at Yazoo for his nerve, his eyebrow ring catching the nearby door-light and seeming to glint angrily.

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re-” he starts to object but Yazoo silences him by grabbing the kid’s head and pushing his dick back into M’s mouth, not too far though, just enough to keep him quiet.

“Shut up and suck,” Yazoo instructs, gathering up and burying his hands in the second male’s midnight tresses, which are still luxuriously soft even with all the strips of harsh colour streaked through them. When Yazoo starts combing through the satiny strands, his fingertips skimming over the singer’s scalp and stroking down the responsive cropped nape of his neck, M closes his eyes and shivers, emitting a tiny whimpering noise and forgetting all about being annoyed, becoming even more aroused instead.

Peering down sideways, Yazoo can see that the red bulge in the crutch of the boy’s pants hasn’t disappeared or gone away. Oh, yes. M’s definitely getting some enjoyment out of this. Yazoo wouldn’t force him to carry on if he wasn’t.

Drowning in the heady, invigorating feel of the kid’s magnificent mouth and the way he’s now needily clutching at Yazoo’s thighs with those black-varnished fingernails - pulling him closer and deeper - the platinum-haired remnant lets a velvety moan roll out of his parted lips into the dim, empty laneway, Yazoo unwittingly beginning to rock his hips into that divine sucking warmth, even though he promised he wouldn’t move. M doesn’t seem to mind; the kneeling musician growing still and accepting the slow thrusts with a moan of his own, the muted sound resonating at the back of his throat which Yazoo is precariously close to hitting but careful not to. Open-minded M may have tasted cock before but Yazoo gets the notion that he’s not an expert in deep-throating, at least not yet, and he doesn’t want to push the formerly heterosexual kid beyond his relatively untrained capabilities. Hell, Yazoo doesn’t even care how far M can take him. He’s just thrilled that the boy will even suck him at all.

From this standing view above him, Yazoo notes hazily how the young man’s high cheekbones are even more pronounced and angled, how much shorter and broader his nose is than Yazoo’s and how the outer corners of his chocolate eyes slant upwards; emphasising his mixed-race heritage. Yazoo may speak the same language as M and breathe the same air but they come from different worlds entirely. Unlike M who has real parents to thank for his good looks, Yazoo got his from a tube of alien blood. That’s what makes him so strong and fast and deadly. But he’s not turned off by the fact that M is so human, and therefore so frail and delicate and breakable. It makes the boy seem even more precious to him and for the first time ever Yazoo is compelled to care for someone who’s not one of his own brothers.

“Come back up here, my beauty,” he softly orders, gently pulling the smaller male away, urging him to stand up again. “Let me taste that sweet mouth of yours.”

M clumsily gets to his feet, brushing off his knees and licking his lips which have gone noticeably puffier than before. Now they are nude and natural-coloured, the sparkly frosted-pink lip gloss he had been wearing currently decorating the outside of Yazoo’s dick, causing it to glitter in the dark. The boy’s ebony hair falls freely over his creamy shoulders and down his back in long colour-streaked layers, making him look even more like a girl, especially in conjunction with the eye-makeup and jewellery he’s got on. Half-boy, half-girl...feminine yet masculine... with the piercings and tattoos he looks like some kind of punk angel. Taking the rock-musician by the face, Yazoo draws him in and covers that puffy pout with his own, the kiss much softer and sweeter than earlier, the Jenova descendant tasting himself on the kid’s mouth. And liking it.

“Thank you, M,” he murmurs against the boy’s lips. “That was without comparison the most incredible blow job I’ve ever received.”

Looking confused, M points out, “But you didn’t...actually...blow.”

“No.” Yazoo smiles in anticipation. “I’m saving that for the big finish.”

An uneasy expression crosses M’s fine features as he thinks of the usual endings to porn films. “Um...You’re not gonna like, do it on my face, are you?”

Reassuringly, Yazoo kisses the tip of that cute ringed nose. “Never fear. I may have messed up your hair but I don’t plan on messing up your beautiful face.”

“Great,” M replies, sounding relieved. “Because I fuckin’ hate that. It’s humiliating and it makes my eyelashes stick together. Do you know how hard it is to get dried jizz out of your eyelashes?”

With a chuckle, Yazoo answers, “I certainly do. I’m pretty too, remember? And I hate it just as much as you do. The last guy that did that to me ended up with all his front teeth smashed out.”

“You punched him?” M exclaims.

“Kicked him, actually. Right through his bedroom wall. Oh, I could have done a lot worse, believe me,” Yazoo drawls at the boy’s look of shocked awe. “That’s me letting him off easy.”

M stares at Yazoo for a short while in disbelief and then he starts chuckling too. “Dude, you’re one weird motherfucker but for some reason I am really starting to dig you.”

Yazoo conceals a smirk of smugness.

Excellent. His plan of seduction is working...

……………


To be continued...(Again. I swear, this fic keeps getting longer and longer! XDD)