Notes: Title taken from the poem Homosexuality by Frank O'Hara.

Omi stepped back and surveyed Yohji from top to bottom and back again.

Yohji shifted from foot to foot. "The shoes hurt."

"You get used to it," Omi said.

"I don't want to get used to it."

Omi sighed and put his hands on his hips. "It's just a couple of nights, Yohji-kun. You did say you'd do it."

"I will. Not gonna like it, though."

Omi gave him a sunny smile. "Give it a chance. You might."

"Omi!"

Omi grinned. "Yohji! What?"

"Are you telling me you enjoy dressing up--like this?" He gestured down at the short, spandex skirt clinging to his thighs and the fishnets held up with garters. The garter straps were visible, stretched down his thighs in a way he would've called trashy if that wasn't the entire point of this outfit.

"It's nice to be someone else sometimes," Omi said. He straightened Yohji's tank top, one Omi had pulled out of the back of his own closet. It was hot pink and said Princess on it in glittery cursive. Yohji refused to imagine Omi wearing it.

"I guess," Yohji muttered. "Somebody not a hooker, maybe."

"Somebody not a killer," Omi said quietly. He turned away, fussing with the surveillance equipment that was meant to record anyone watching Yohji and his 'clients.' It would be concealed in the alley. The original plan had called for Yohji to wear a wire as well, but he just wasn't wearing enough to keep it hidden.

"I thought you might appreciate that," Omi added.

Yohji had a comeback for that waiting to get past his lips almost before Omi was done speaking, but he caught himself. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe."

He wished Omi were the one doing this, but when he'd tried to suggest it, Aya had dragged him aside and explained what kind of people Omi would attract as johns. Entirely the wrong kind of pervert. Yohji hated it when Aya was right.

"Costumes, disguises," Omi said, directing the words down towards his equipment. "It's like they change who you are. Who everyone thinks you are."

"And that's the same thing, pretty much. Right?"

Omi gave him a brief smile over his shoulder. "Do you really think that, Yohji-kun?"

"I think it matters what other people think. Whether we want it to or not."

"You two done with the philosophy?" Ken said from the doorway. "If we get this over by ten, I can still watch the game."

"Is that seriously all you think about, Ken?"

Ken shrugged and mimed kicking a soccer ball at him. "Maybe. Better that than other things I could think about."

"Point. Goal. Whatever. We ought to go then."

"I'm driving you," Ken said.

"You my pimp?"

Ken slugged his arm cheerfully and headed outside. "Hurry it up, Ho-ji. We don't have all night."

The shoes hurt like a bitch. At least they weren't the high heels he'd tried on at first, but high-heeled boots weren't much better. Their major advantage was the added stability and the the fact that his legs were only freezing from the knees up. It wasn't much colder than it had been during the day, but standing around in the dark on cold cement with the alley channeling wind right up his skirt--he'd be glad when this was over.

Aya moved towards him, glancing from side to side, every inch the john afraid of being caught. He was the last of Yohji's fake clients for the night. A few minutes with Aya in the shelter of a deep doorway, another half hour or so, and then home, warm socks, and hot soup.

"How much," Aya muttered.

Yohji told him, and they retreated. The doorway was small enough that, to shield them both from view, they had to stand close. Yohji didn't mind. Aya was warm.

"All right?" Aya said quietly.

"Bored. Cold."

"Here." Aya handed him a small flask. Yohji was expecting booze, but it turned out to be coffee, which was actually better.

"Thanks, man."

Aya shrugged awkwardly. "You have the hard job tonight."

"Damn right. If I get one more joker arguing over the price of a fucking blowjob, I'm gonna break his nose. I mean, a thousand yen? Come on, do I look that cheap?"

"Yes," Aya said.

"Eh, screw you, too."

"It gives you a good reason to turn them away."

"Don't need a good reason. 'Sorry, you're too ugly' works just fine. Only fun part of the whole night."

"That's unkind," Aya murmured, but he was smiling a very Aya smile, the kind that didn't actually move any facial muscles at all.

"Did you see that one guy?"

"Well," Aya said, and didn't add anything else, which probably meant he agreed.

They talked quietly for a few more minutes, and then Aya went back the way he'd come. Yohji counted down the minutes, pacing up and down his little stretch of pavement to keep warm and alleviate the ache in his feet.

"Hey, baby," said a voice from the shadows. "How about a freebie?"

It was Schuldig. Of course it was Schuldig.

"Get out of here," Yohji hissed. "You're fucking up our operation."

"Hey, I'm lending authenticity to your 'operation'," Schuldig said. He didn't make air quotes, but Yohji could hear them anyway. He put his hands on Yohji's hips and walked him backwards into the shadowed doorway. "You don't think you ought to actually have sex with one of your clients? Couldn't hurt, right?"

"We're not doing this," Yohji said. He hoped desperately that Aya and the others hadn't recognized Schuldig if they'd seen him, and that they wouldn't come back here to check on him.

"Yeah, yeah. Heartless, murdering bastard, heard you the first time." Schuldig wedged a leg between his thighs and bit lightly at his neck.

"Then why don't you leave me the fuck alone?"

"Why don't you shut the hell up? You're cold, right? I can help you out with that."

"Get off," Yohji mumbled, but there was a limit to how hard he could fight without letting the others know something was wrong, so what he mostly did was squirm, which only gave Schuldig the opportunity to get his hand up Yohji's skirt.

Schuldig grinned. "No lace? Maybe ruffles? I'm disappointed. Still, commando's a good look on you."

"I hate you," Yohji said, and wished like hell he meant it.

"Do not." Schuldig's ice-cold fingers warmed slowly on Yohji's hip and inner thigh. His thumb swiped over the head of Yohji's cock and made Yohji shiver.

"Do so." Yohji couldn't move much at all now. Schuldig's chest was pressed against his, Schuldig's arm twisted at an awkward angle to stroke Yohji's hardening cock.

"Do not to infinity. Shut up."

Yohji did, but only because Schuldig kissed him then. And okay, a little because it wasn't true. Yohji expected more than this, expected a quick turn and shove against the wall and Schuldig hauling his skirt up to slick his ass, but all Schuldig did was kiss him and jerk him off, slow and steady.

"Surprised you haven't had any real customers, looking like this."

"I didn't pick the clothes."

"That was a compliment, asshole." He squeezed Yohji's cock a little and wiped gathering fluid off the head. He painted Yohji's bottom lip with it and went back to stroking him, still too slow.

"I look good in hooker clothes? Maybe that's a compliment where you come from."

"You look good in slut clothes," Schuldig said in his ear. "Like you'd give it away for free. Just like you're doing."

Yohji wanted to reply, but Schuldig sped his hand up, and Yohji was left arching against him and trying to keep quiet. "Fuck," he panted. "Schuldig..."

"Mm?"

"You bastard."

Schuldig shoved Yohji's tank top up under his armpits and licked over his nipple. He blew cold air over now-wet skin, and Yohji bit his lip on a moan. It wasn't fair that Schuldig could still do this to him, and so easily.

Schuldig's teeth closed on his nipple, and his tongue flicked over it. Yohji pushed both his palms against the door behind him, dug his nails into its metal surface. His hips pressed out against Schuldig's hand, and he turned his face away, wishing for more control.

"Good," Schuldig mumbled against his chest. "That's good." He licked and sucked and bit at Yohji's nipple, just the one until it was red and swollen, and he let Yohji fuck his fist with increasingly urgent jerks of his hips.

Yohji came hard about two seconds later, biting the heel of his hand so he wouldn't cry out. Schuldig smoothed down his skirt and then his tank top, and pressed him flat to the door with his body weight. His fingers curled around the side of Yohji's ribcage, and his thumb rubbed circles over Yohji's abused nipple through the thin cotton. It almost hurt, but only almost, and Yohji's nerves were wound so tight he twitched and moaned a tiny bit at the feeling, hot and raw.

Schuldig kept it up, torturously slow, as he dragged Yohji's hand down to the length of his own cock outlined through his pants. Yohji rubbed his palm over it, listening to Schuldig's encouraging hiss and the rasp of his quickened breathing.

He felt Schuldig's free hand clamp around his upper arm, nails pressing into his skin. He felt also the tension in Schuldig's body and the damp patch at the front of his pants. His fingers closed around Schuldig's cock through his pants and stroked him as well as he could, rough and fast, pushing him hard. Probably too hard, from the pressure of Schuldig's hand on his arm. That might leave bruises.

"Don't," Schuldig said, and then he was coming, his open mouth pressed to Yohji's shoulder. Yohji pulled his hand away and wiped it on Schuldig's shirt.

They stood still for a few seconds, both of them leaning forward until their foreheads touched.

"I want you to leave," Yohji said quietly. "I don't want to see you again." And that was true.

Schuldig looked at him a moment longer, but didn't argue. He slipped away into the shadows that lined the alley. Yohji lost sight of him almost immediately.