Walk on shells tonight
Can't do right tonight
And you can't say a word
Cause I leap down your throat
So uptight am I
I never said I was perfect
But I can drive you home
-"Drive You Home," Garbage

It's entirely too quiet in the car. I'm used to this sort of quiet, punctuated only by the sound of road noise and passing cars, but it seems so unnatural with Ayame in the car. He's not speaking to me, just staring out the window, his elbow on the armrest and his hand to his forehead. I don't know what to say to him to make him speak to me, or even if I want to say anything to make him speak. It's a precious moment indeed when one can sit with Ayame for any period of time and not be exposed to his endless, nonsensical chatter. I can't even remember the last time I have experienced such blessed silence in his presence. However, as blessed as the silence is, I cannot be grateful. The circumstances for this silence are not pleasant, and Ayame's moods are so empathic that one can't help but be drawn into them. And besides this, it's worrisome to see him without a smile on his face or laughing heartily at his own jokes. Even more worrisome, I'm the cause for his quiet.

It started innocently enough. He called me wanting to know if I would like to go to dinner with him. I was tired and stressed out from a particularly long day of work -- Akito had fallen ill with a fever and I'd been spending most of the day tending to him, but on top of it all Haru had come in with a sprained ankle he'd acquired from wrecking his bicycle, and Hiro had gotten into a fight at school and had his nose bloodied. Luckily it wasn't broken, but will stay bruised and swollen for a few days. I didn't feel like leaving the house. I really just wanted to stay home and rest, but Ayame is so persistent I couldn't refuse. Looking back on it, I wish I had stayed home.

Dinner was fine. I let Ayame do all the talking, as usual, and filtered most of his prattle. But then he asked me how my day was, and I told him in my usual nonplussed voice. He told me I work too hard, I need to take a break, take a day off every now and then, but I really can't take a day off. That's the downfall of my job. Ayame didn't want to hear it. He was still babbling on the way to the car, going off on a tangent. Obviously he's been holding a lot in, and we haven't had a chance to speak for several weeks. I asked him if his shop kept him busy (I know it does) and he said that was different. He enjoys his job. I told him I enjoy my job. He said it didn't seem that way and I finally, as we were getting into the car, told him to shut up.

I snapped at him. It's something I never do. I almost always tolerate Ayame. I never lose my temper and I never tell him to shut up. That's one of the few things that hurts his feelings, being told to be quiet. He's such an outgoing, opinionated, talkative person he feels that everything he says deserves to be heard. I made him feel as though his words meant nothing. It wasn't that at all. I love Ayame dearly. I was simply stressed and tired and didn't feel like listening anymore, least of all arguing with him. When I told him that, his mouth snapped shut immediately and he stared at me with wide eyes, shocked. And then the hurt bled in, eclipsing that effervescent light that never goes out. I felt stupid and my chest hurt because I knew I had hurt him. He didn't say anything more after that. He just turned to the window and waited for me to start the car.

I don't know why I didn't say I was sorry. Usually it's easy for me to apologize when I've done something wrong. But this time it's so hard. And the longer I keep quiet the more difficult it becomes. I don't understand it at all and it's really upsetting me.

My hands are gripping the steering wheel too tightly. My palms are sweaty and my knuckles are aching. I glance over every now and then to see Ayame's reflection in the window, his sad eyes and small, thoughtful frown. I've been short with him before in the past, but it's never affected him this much. I realize that I have really taken him for granted, the way he always supports me and always stands by his love for me, no matter the things I have done. And I have done many, many regrettable things in my life. I'm not a happy man, but I'm not necessarily a sad man either. I've learned to cope with the tragedies and downfalls and regrets that I have. They've made me stoic and neutral. They've changed me. Ayame hasn't changed at all. Not in all the years I've know him. He grew into a man and found love in men, but even when we were young he would kiss Shigure and I and declare his undying love for us. The only time I've ever seen him look so thoughtful is when he's thinking about Yuki. And I'm sure Yuki is the farthest thing from his mind at this moment, unless he's comparing my coldness to his.

I'm finally unable to stand it anymore, but just as I'm about to open my mouth to apologize Ayame says in a firm, commanding tone, "Stop the car, Tori-san."

I make a face. "Why?"

"Just stop the car."

I do as he says, pulling off onto the side of the road. We're several miles from the main town, in a grassy area where not many people ever venture past. Ayame has always preferred this route for its scenic beauty.

Once the car has come to a stop he opens his door and gets out. "Ayame!" I shout, but he slams the door on my rebuttal. I turn off the car and get out after him, feeling my nerves being worn to their very thinnest. "Ayame! What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm walking home," he says simply, trekking up the dirt shoulder with a swift, determined step. I run after him and grab his arm, jerking him around to face me,

"I'm sorry," I tell him quickly, but it doesn't sound as sincere as I would like it to. He frowns at me, then shakes his head.

"That doesn't matter now. You don't want to hear what I have to say, you've never wanted to hear what I have to say. I love you, but I'm not going to go on being ignored! I just can't take it anymore, Tori-san! I -- "

I think I realize what he's saying before he does. To stop him from saying it I grab both his arms and kiss him, hard and desperate, on the mouth. His lips stop moving and he takes a deep breath before succumbing to me, his muscles relaxing, his mouth parting to mine. I don't know why I do it. I don't know why I don't want to hear it. Perhaps I'm afraid, for him or for me or for both of us. Perhaps I wouldn't know what to do if he said it. Perhaps I'm just a coward and there's nothing else to me. A tiny coward in an empty space and that's all.

When I pull back Ayame's flustered, his large eyes looking at me with a slightly dazed look as he stutters, "Tori-san, what –?" I cut him off with another kiss, and suddenly it's like years and years suppressed desire come rushing to the surface, desire for Ayame that I've never felt so intensely before. I pick him up and turn him, lying him down on the hood of the car. He makes a startled sound, but his kisses become more frantic, his hands pulling on my shirt, untucking it from my slacks. My hands roam up his thighs, beneath his long underclothes, hiking it up around his hips. I kiss him till my lips are sore from kissing him and kiss him some more, not able to get enough of him, not able to taste him long enough or hard enough. I stop touching him to unzip my pants, my erection aching in my hand with simple need.

When I pull away to pull his hips down toward me I see that his eyes are confused, but lustful. I feel as though I'm taking advantage of him; I can see a young Akito's eyes reflected in Ayame's. But then he reaches for me, barely brushing his fingertips against my stiff flesh, and smiles in his gentle, selfless way. A very rare smile. "Tori-san . . ." he says softly, and I lean over him again, kissing my name from his tongue as I push into him.

I can tell I'm hurting him, and I apologize over and over again, in thick gasps. But even so he tells me it's okay, and clutches onto me so tight, as if we're falling from the sky, two shooting stars burning in the atmosphere. His body burns me, and I'm sure I'm burning him. His cries are ecstatic, pain, out of control. I sound like an animal, grunting and panting. I can't have him fast enough, hard enough, rough enough. The hood of the car creaks, the car shakes, and Ayame tosses his head, saying my name.

"Tori-san . . .! Tori-san . . .! I love you, Tori-san! I love you!"

I bite my lip, then cry out gruffly, my body stiffening with a fierce orgasm that shakes me to the soles of my feet. I fall onto my palms, gasping for breath, and Ayame peers up at me with the most peaceful expression on his face, as if he's just seen God. He pushes my hair from my eyes, that light finally back, shining like a new star.

"Do you feel better?" he asks me, an impish glint entering his eyes, and I realize he hasn't come and if I don't make him I'll feel even worse for this. I pull out and drop to my knees, at the moment not caring if I get my pants dirty. That's what the dry cleaner's for anyway. Ayame almost starts to protest as I go down on him, but I suck on him so viciously it shuts even him up. As I'm sucking I can hear his voice telling me he loves me, and I can hear my own voice in turn, answering him.

I love you, Ayame. I can't even say how much.

And I truly can't with a mouthful of him, coming in short, thin spurts and sliding down my throat.

When we've adjusted ourselves we get back in the car. He dusts my knees off and fusses a little, complaining about how hard it is to get dirt stains out of this kind of expensive material. I swallow as I start the car, tasting him in the back of my throat, and feel just a little soothed. He's talking again, telling me about his dry cleaning experiences and how atrocious those people can be sometimes. I listen, and smile to myself, feeling relieved. But I know once he's gone I'll miss his voice, I'll miss his presence, and soon his taste will be missing from my mouth, his smell from my clothes. Once he's gone I'll be alone again, I'll be Hatori, not Tori-san.

---

I got down on myself
Working too hard
Driving myself to death
Trying to beat out the faults in my head
What a mess I've made
Sure we all make mistakes
But they see me so large that they think I'm immune to the pain
I'm praying for a miracle
But I won't hold my breath
-"Drive You Home," Garbage