Circle I (Possession VI)
by paxnirvana
Rating: Adult / NC-17
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Characters: Yohji x Aya, Ken, Omi
Date Completed: 10/8/02
Archive: Please ask first.
Author's Note: Pretty boys. Pretty boy florists. Pretty boy florist
assassins. Pretty boy florist assassins with lots of angst... Me bad.
Mild het sex warning. *guffaws loudly* No warning for boys boinking
boys, however. Me giddy much? Naah... Angst, angst, angst...
Hm. Let's actually spoil Mission 16 - Schatten (Shadow) and bits of
Mission 17 - Kritiker (Critic) now and give them nice hard twists...
Hey, this is fun. *snickers* And it's running long, long, long so I'm
breaking it up into two parts. Sorry.
Dedicated to: Lady Gackt. Thanks for the insightful reviews. It's
nice to have my subtler efforts acknowledged. And oooh you make such
lovely pictures of the boys too... *happysigh* Slutty!Aya in
particular... *oh baby!*
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to the incredibly sexy Takehito
Koyasu and Project Weiß and some other very large and insensitive
corporations who are all bad boys and don't pay their character
designer... I would have!
* * * * *
What kind of love is this that keeps me hanging on
despite everything it's doing to me
What is this love that keeps me coming back for more
when it will only end in misery...
Circle - Sarah McLachlan
* * * * *
Her name was Kyoko. Yohji Kudoh tried to remind himself of that, but
each time he caught a glimpse of her face from the corner of his eye
as he drove his heart jumped in his chest and his mind whirled.
Asuka. Spunky. Challenging. Infuriating. Beautiful. He missed her so.
The ache of the old hurt was almost as strong as the new. Everyone
he'd ever loved had left him behind...
"What is it?" she said in that soft voice that teased at his mind.
Like yet unlike. Asuka had been brash, confident, open. This woman
was mostly subdued and modest, like a good Japanese woman should be,
yet seemed to burn with teasing hints of that inner fire Asuka had
shown so fearlessly.
It was there in the way she looked at him sometimes. A sharpness.
Almost as if...
"I'm sorry," he said, wiping away the pensive frown with a smile and
trying to gather up his fraying charm. "It's just that you seem so
much like someone I once knew."
His Seven was purring along the highway, smooth as glass. He had the
roadster's top down for the sheer romance of it and to enjoy the
beautiful day as they drove higher into the mountains. She gave him a
small smile as she brushed the dancing hair out of her eyes. Away
from that tiny mole below her left eye. The one that was so eerily
similar to Asuka's...
"No, I'm Kyoko," she said again, that flare of something showing in
her seal-brown eyes again before she dropped her gaze demurely, a
slight frown on her glossy lips. "I thought it was cute at first, but
if you're serious..."
"No, no," he said, smiling winningly at her as he glanced away from
the road and let his eyes twinkle at her over his sunglasses. "Kyoko,
I'm so pleased you've agreed to come with me for the weekend. The
cabin is quite lovely, I assure you, but not half as lovely as you
are..."
Chalet Weiß. Not a place that anyone else would be using anytime
soon, he was certain, here in the mountains on the way between Nagoya
and Tokyo. There were two overnight bags behind the seats and an
elaborate hamper of food that he'd purchased. He very badly wanted to
spend this time alone with her. He needed to find out for sure. And
then... then maybe he could forget cold violet eyes and a lean figure
that silently turned and walked away.
His life had been very unsettled since that bloody night three months
ago, Yohji acknowledged darkly. He still hadn't found his inner
balance - on his own, with a new identity, in a new city - and was
trying very hard to forget the recent past and everything that was
now far beyond his reach. He'd thrown himself into clubbing and
dating again. Yet was very careful, in his restless prowling, to
choose as partners only older women who had been around a bit. Women
who knew better than to expect anything more than what they got; a
strenuous night in bed and a cheerful kiss goodbye in the morning.
There were plenty of beautiful women like that in Nagoya. Too many.
Just as there were far too many beautiful young men looking for the
same thing... but none that he allowed himself to approach.
Then had come the day he'd seen Kyoko by purest chance on the street.
Seen her and chased her down like a schoolboy after a favored screen
idol; astonished and flustered and awkward. All the things he hated
so much to be. He'd stumbled through their first meeting like an
idiot - she should have run from him in horrified disgust, yet here
she was at his side.
"Ah, well, I'll soon see, won't I?" she said the small smile back on
her lips as she leaned toward him. She wound her arm about his
shifting arm and leaned her slender body against his. He felt a surge
of heat pass through him, a body-memory that was eerily like flashes
of past times with Asuka in this car, scrambling his breath and his
thoughts even as he jerked his attention back to the road.
"You know, being here like this with you... it reminds me of someone
I used to know..." she said, her voice so soft that he almost
couldn't hear it. He cocked his head toward her even as he caught a
glimpse of a familiar car in the rearview mirror. The same sedan that
had been following them since just outside the city, his cautious
mind noted. Then thoughts of the car behind him vanished as she
stroked her hand down his side to his thigh and said, "I feel as if
I've done something like this with someone like you before."
Her hand drifted further down his thigh, running along the inseam of
his pants. Teasing him. And he glanced briefly down into dark eyes
that seemed so familiar and so long-sought that his foot pressed down
almost involuntarily on the gas, his trusty Seven leaping forward in
response. Like his blood.
Damn it, her name was Kyoko.
* * * * *
Three months. It had been three months since Takatori's end.
Manx's envelope had contained more options than he had expected.
There had been a choice of cover jobs offered inside as well as a
list of available hospitals of a caliber to adequately attend to his
sister's needs. The severance account provided was quite substantial.
Perhaps he had been a favored pawn after all. But Kritiker's approval
didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was his sister.
He had chosen a job based solely on the hospital he preferred for
her. By the sea. Away from the noise and the chaos of Tokyo as an
alarmed and ashamed Japan tried to recover from the shockingly
successful dictatorial coup from within. International relations had
become quite strained as the world nervously watched their
housecleaning efforts.
Efforts that he knew were ultimately in vain. The corrupt found ways
to survive even under the spotlight of exposure. They spun horrors
clean through rhetoric and manipulation. Wiggled out of punishment
through loopholes in the law. Then laughed privately and did it all
over again. Which was exactly why Weiß had existed in the first
place. But it had never been his first concern. His first concern had
always been for his sister; to avenge her, to tend her, to see her
remain safe from further harm. Barely daring to hope that someday he
might see her smile again, hear her laugh, know that she was happy.
"Oi! Aki! Get your butt over here, kid. We need that section now."
He still thought of himself as Aya Fujimiya despite the new identity
of 'Aki Suzuki' he had been given. He still stubbornly held a place
for her in the world with his unworthy presence.
Aya turned from his blank contemplation of the sunlit sea, aware of
the weight of the loops of cable on his shoulder but oblivious to the
burden. The sword slash there had healed clean and with barely a
scar. It caused him no pain. He carried the heavy cable over to where
the rest of the crew was working on laying fiber-optic lines to bring
internet and high-speed data connections to this outlying area. The
advance of technology and the sprawl of society was inevitable. Soon
even this peaceful little backwater would be swept into the dark
decay of modern times.
The work was mindless and physical. Numbing. Like his life. He
worked. He slept. He sat at his sister's side. He tried not to think.
Thinking often brought to mind tangled dirty-blond hair and pained
green eyes hidden behind a veil of smoke.
Omi had found him after only a week. The laptop had been special-
delivered to his apartment. His first impulse had been to destroy it.
He opened it instead. Then it had taken two days of staring
broodingly at it before he turned it on.
The boot-up message had sent a surprisingly strong twinge through
him. 'Be well, Aya-kun.'
He had logged into the anonymous email account included on the
machine. Read the backlog of chatty, harmless messages from Omi.
There had even been one from Ken.
There was a wealth of information buried beneath the apparent
mundanity of Omi's messages. More than enough to tell him that Manx
had yet to contact Omi or the others about resuming Weiß. The boy was
enrolled in his final year of high school, giving it his full
attention for the first time in his life. And he was supremely bored -
Aya could read that between the lines as well. Omi was far too
intelligent for an average school, yet now couldn't attend top ranked
classes for fear of drawing untoward attention to himself. He should
be preparing to take the exams that would earn him the qualifications
to enter the best university in Japan. But he dared not.
Because the enemies of Weiß still existed. Schwartz and their masters
lurked somewhere in the world.
Aya worked through the day beside men he couldn't name until it was
finally time to stop working for the night. He returned to his tiny
apartment to eat his meager dinner, wash and change before going to
visit his sister at the hospital. The motions were automatic. The
routine well-known.
Ken was teaching physical education at a private suburban Tokyo high
school. The perfect job for him, Omi enthused. And indeed, in Ken's
one message, the former J-Leaguer had even sounded content. Omi,
however, was beginning to fuss over current affairs. There was a
serial killer making headlines in Tokyo. His messages were filled
with a sense of helpless frustration. It was clear he was wanting to
hunt this dark beast.
He had not answered any of the messages he received, yet still they
came. He read every one.
Aya arrived at the hospital, made his silent way past the watching
nurses. He knew they thought him heroic and tragic for his devoted
care of his comatose sister. They also all knew better than to
attempt idle talk with him by now. He would not be drawn.
In all these months, Omi's only mention of Yohji had been to say that
he was working as a detective again in Nagoya.
He found that one message open on the screen more often than not.
Found himself simply staring at the characters that made up the other
man's name until they blurred and ran. Then he would close down the
laptop and go visit his sister. Like tonight.
The small hospital where she stayed was high quality despite its
size. Exclusive and discreet. The buildings were functional yet
graceful and positioned near the sea, facing east with windows that
actually opened in order to catch the salty breezes. She had always
loved the seashore. He brought her fresh flowers every day. Sat by
her side with his hand over the closed fist that held the mate to his
earring. Spoke to her when no attendants were around.
Takatori was dead. He had avenged her. Yet still she slept. She had
not marked the event at all, lost in the darkness of endless slumber.
He had knelt beside her for hours, night after night, listening to
her slow, quiet breathing all while he fought the ache in his heart.
He paused at the top of the stairs, alerted suddenly by the silence
in the upper hall. There should have been an orderly doing rounds at
this time. Old instincts screamed at him. He scanned the hall warily.
The door at the end of the hall was open. Aya's door.
Sprinting forward, blood pounding sickly in his ears, he burst into
her room, prepared to ignore any number of startled questions if it
were only a break in normal routine.
Sheer curtains danced in the warm evening breeze that blew through
the wide open windows, carrying the tang of the sea inside. The vase
of flowers he had brought yesterday was smashed on the floor. The
slumped body of the missing orderly lay in the far corner of the
room, but he had eyes only for the bed.
Empty. The blankets were tumbled over the side. The sheeted mattress
had been slashed brutally open in the shape of a cross.
Empty. And yet there was no blood.
"Aya." He stumbled forward, fell down beside that defiled bed.
Clutched scattered sheets between his trembling hands. "Aya!"
His sister was gone.
* * * * *
The evening had gone well, he supposed, if getting the woman into bed
had been the sole object of the exercise. Yohji stood on the deck
outside the main bedroom of the cabin dressed only in low slung pants
as he smoked a cigarette in the deep silence of night. The stars were
bright enough up here in the mountains, he knew, so that if he turned
they would show him the bed inside and the woman sleeping, sated,
upon it. He stared up at the stars glittering coldly in the sky
instead.
Her hand had been busy on him in the car. She'd teased him with
expert skill to the brink more than once, nearly threatening their
lives on the increasingly demanding mountain turns until he'd finally
pulled over at a view point and pinned her to the seat, breathing
heavily as he ravaged her mouth.
Soft. Her mouth was too soft and yielding under his. The sounds she
made were all wrong.
It hadn't mattered with the virtually nameless, endless parade of
women he'd bedded since arriving in Nagoya. But if she was truly a
version of Asuka, his heart's desire... then why did it suddenly feel
so wrong to kiss her? Why was he expecting violet eyes?
He had pulled away from her with a murmured apology for his
roughness, shocked at the direction of his wandering thoughts. A
direction he'd carefully prevented them from going for the past three
months. His detective's eye noted the passing of the trailing sedan.
Noted it's hesitation. The woman had seemed strangely subdued after
that encounter too. The stroking teases stopped. But the heated
glances, the tongue that licked along parted lips, the sharply in-
drawn breaths continued as he drove them to the cabin.
She wanted him, that he knew for certain. But now he was no longer
certain he wanted her, and yet he still needed to be sure.
They had arrived near sunset to find Chalet Weiß exactly as he had
last seen it. Vacant, but with everything prepared for use at a
moment's notice. Omi's work, of course - and he carefully stopped his
recollection from going any further than that.
He had sent her off with a gentle smile for the refreshment of a
shower - that salaryman's version of foreplay - and then set about
creating the perfect romantic scene. A fire in the hearth that had a
soft carpet in front of it. A low table beside the couch set with a
cold meal of things that could be easily eaten with the fingers. A
bottle of excellent red wine opened to breathe. Dozens of candles
glowing scattered about the room like stars. Perfect.
The only thing missing was flowers. Roses. But he'd been unable to
buy flowers. No, unwilling.
She had emerged from the shower wrapped in one of the robes that had
been left in the bathroom. The short one. Ken's. Chasing the
intrusive thought away, he had gone to her, drawn her down on the
floor in front of the fire and proceeded to seduce her over the next
few hours. Talking nonsense, teasing her, feeding her from his own
fingers, drawing out smiles and sighs. Trying in vain to learn all he
could about her.
Yet the seduction itself had been easy. She'd all but melted into his
arms; drawn him eagerly to the bed when the time came, all the odd
darkness in her eyes long banished. And when he'd been buried in her
body, her slender limbs wrapped around him, he'd found himself
choking on his own breath, his throat tight as he closed his eyes
against the sight of her dark brown eyes blank with passion.
He'd finished as fast as he could, awkwardly and not with his usual
finesse at all. All the while fighting himself to keep from turning
away from her entirely. She wasn't quite Asuka - not the Asuka he
remembered - but she was close enough to prove to him what a fool he
was for thinking he could forget cold violet eyes so easily...
And so here he was, standing outside smoking in the chill of the
night and wondering how the hell he could cut this weekend short
without a furious scene.
It was the barest sense of motion behind him triggering assassin-
trained reflexes that saved his life. He got a hand up in between the
wire and his throat even as the loops closed tight around his neck.
The impact of knees against his lower back forced him forward over
the railing, the rough wood biting into the unprotected skin of his
stomach as his cigarette spiraled away in a shower of sparks. He felt
his attacker draw hard on the ends of the wire and through the blood
roaring in his ears could hear the frenzied, high-pitched grunts of
effort as they struggled to choke the life out of him.
Blood ran hot as the garrote sliced into his hand and the side of his
throat. He sucked what air he could frantically. His attacker was
perched on his back, forcing him down. He had no leverage to fight
back. With one hand trapped, most of his weight thrown forward over
the railing, and bare feet slipping on the wooden deck, he was nearly
helpless.
His next impulse was to tumble them both over the high railing and
hope to crush the other beneath him on the dirt below, but before he
could act on it something white swooped out of the darkness and
struck his assailant in the face. There was a gasp of startled pain,
then the weight vanished off his back. He twisted around, desperately
clawing wire away as he choked for air. He dimly heard the pounding
of feet behind him as his attacker fled down the outside steps.
It was a piece of his own wire. His mind fastened on that fact as he
noted the gleam of a dark visor covering the face of his attacker,
chillingly familiar despite the impossibility of it, even as a second
shadow raced across the clearing below in pursuit. The bizarre scene
was illumed clearly by starlight.
The second figure was a man. Dark haired. A curiously relieved face
turned up toward him as he gasped out a harsh curse, starlight
showing him handsome features marred by a brutal scar on one cheek.
Distinctive, but Yohji didn't recognize him. And then the man was
gone, crashing off into the underbrush after his recent assailant.
Yohji staggered to his feet, the strand of wire clutched in a
bleeding hand. Knowing, even before he turned to look in the bedroom
again, that the woman who had called herself Kyoko was gone. That she
had never truly been there.
Because an old enemy had just tried to kill him. And she was supposed
to be dead.
Something white lay on the starlit floor beyond the open sliders
leading inside the bedroom. He staggered to the door, leaning against
it heavily as he stared inside. Wild laughter spilled from his lips
as his mind spun in a bemused whirl, caught between past and present,
guilt and relief, regret and anger.
He had fucked Neu of Schreient tonight. He longed to see Aya again
with a pain sharper than the wounds on his neck and hand.
And a simple paper airplane had likely saved his life.
* * * * *
Aya tore through the hospital like a demon, searching for his sister,
searching for any clue, any shred of hope. The orderly in her room
was dead. A cross-shaped shuriken had been skillfully placed beneath
his ear, the point firmly lodged in his brain. And there had been
something familiar about the style of weapon... something that nagged
at his thoughts, but was quickly buried by the alternating waves of
icy fury and chilling fear that consumed him.
Nurses and orderlies ran about in confusion. No one had seen
anything. No one had heard anything. A comatose girl had been
kidnapped from a semi-public hospital and no one had even noticed.
The hospital director stammered frightened apologies to him, bowing
to him over and over. Fists clenched at his side, Aya listened to the
man in stony silence. He already sensed conventional means of search
would be ineffectual. Futile. Useless.
The slashed mattress had been a taunt - and a message. The work he
had done in Weiß was not forgotten. His sins could never be washed
away, could never be forgiven. He was a murderer. A killer for hire
who had hidden his arrogant inhumanity behind the cloak of revenge.
Someone somehow had found him and now his innocent sister was in
danger again. Because of him. He did not truly deserve to keep on
living, he knew, but Aya had no one else to watch over her. There was
no one else but him to save her.
He would do whatever he needed to find her again. To rescue her. Shed
any amount of blood. Kill whomever it took. Because he was already
far beyond saving. His heart pulsed slow and heavy in his chest,
aching. No one could save him. No one cared to save him. And there
was no one left now who might even want to try...
He turned abruptly and walked away. Ignored the frantic calls after
him, the shouted warning that the police had been called and would
want to talk to him.
He went to his car, climbed in and drove off. He passed a police car
with flashing lights on its way to the hospital, gaze barely
flickering from the road in front of him. His mind had gone blank,
whiting out in a haze of terrible urgency and guilt. She was in
danger. Because of him.
Back in his apartment, his first act was to retrieve essentials; his
katana, a small cedar box that held the few mementos he treasured,
and a coat he had hidden away. The deep green duster swirled nearly
to his ankles, cut for a taller man. He wore it anyway. The laptop
went on the passenger seat beside him in the car, his meager bag of
clothes into the trunk. Everything else - including the identity of
Aki Suzuki - he left behind without a second thought.
Less than two hours after discovering his sister's absence, Aya
Fujimiya was on the road to Tokyo.
There would be no escaping what he had become for her... no escape
from life as a killer. Because only a killer could save her now. He
had finally remembered where he'd seen that type of shuriken used
before. By Hel of Schreient. One of Masafume Takatori's
bodyguard/lovers. And he had been the one to deliver the killing
stroke to the warped beast that Masafume had become, twisted by his
own experimental formula. The women had supposedly died with him in
the destruction of his lab, but it had been their sanctuary. They
could have had escape routes in place for just such a situation.
If they were alive, then they had taken his sister out of hatred and
a desire for vengeance. He could only hope they would want to taunt
him with her. Torment him by keeping her out of reach, but not kill
her outright. Then he might be able to find her. Rescue her. It was a
slim hope, and the only one he had.
But there were other things to dread as well if Schreient was still
alive and the rest of Weiß was unaware of it. Schon loathed Ken and
wanted him dead. And Neu... The slavery ring Riot had worked for
Masafume Takatori. Had gathered samples for him to use in his
experiments. Neu could very well be all that remained of Yohji's lost
lover, Asuka. The one who plagued his guilty nightmares... the one he
dreamed of... the true love he longed for. But now she was a killer
who had vowed vengeance against all of them for Masafume's death.
Against Weiß. And Yohji. Urgency rose. He had to go back.
The white car sped through the night, the driver's tense face nearly
as pale as his vehicle.
* * * * *
"Good afternoon, Momoe-san," Yohji said, smiling down at the old
woman as rain dripped off the awning onto the pavement behind him.
She stood inside the back doorway of her house, a plump, tiny old
woman in a plain print dress - who could have been anywhere from
sixty to ninety years old, there was no way to tell - holding an
enormously fat cream and orange bob-tailed cat in her arms.
"Ah, another kitten returns."
"Another?" he asked curiously, tugging his water-spotted sunglasses
down his nose the better to look at her. She was smiling up at him,
her eyes crinkled in that mysterious, all-knowing way of hers, her
hand stroking the fat back of her nameless cat slowly.
"Oh, yes. Just two for now, but you'll all return to me soon enough,
my kitties. I can feel it," she said, then waved a hand toward the
back door to the shop across the alley. "The door is open to you, my
lovely sly one. Remember to stock catnip again!"."
He shook his head slowly, a wry smile on his lips. "You're a wonder
and a treasure, Momoe-san. How have I lived without you all these
months? But I just want to talk to them, not set up shop!"
She just continued to smile up at him, her expression almost exactly
matching the satisfied look on the cat's face.
"Hai, obasan," he said patiently, humoring her, before he turned away
and dashed across the alley, tugging his coat up over his head again.
The rain hadn't let up all day. At least it was a warm rain, even if
the humidity made it feel like a sauna outside. He paused under the
narrow awning on the shop side of the alley and turned to wave back
at the old woman. She was still standing in her doorway, watching him
with a smile on her face. She bobbed her head several times in reply
With a soft laugh, he opened the back door of the Koneko and stepped
inside the kitchen. Momoe-san had always been an enigma. She had come
with the shop, hired by Persia to help provide them cover. He had
never known exactly how much she knew about their true activities,
but Manx had always treated her with the utmost respect. No one
attached to Persia was what they seemed and nothing about Weiß had
ever been clear-cut.
The façade of laughter and smiles fell away as he closed the door
behind him. He shuddered in the comparative coolness of the darkened
building. The sound of the rain was suddenly distant and somber. This
was one place he'd thought never to return to. Had hoped never to
return to. For many reasons. He glanced at the wall beside the door
and was struck with a vivid flash of memory.
Aya's lean body pinned by his own, long clever hands trapped above
his head, body arching up and mouth opening as Yohji ran his hand
down his body and into loosened pants. Finding and stroking the hard
length he found there, hearing Aya groan in abandon at his touch...
He shook his head, fighting away the image. It was harder to fight
back the sudden painful bulge in his tight pants. Damn the man. How
could a simple memory do that to him? Hell, they hadn't even finished
anything that time - Ken had interrupted them. He tugged at the
suddenly constricting turtleneck collar of his skin-hugging shirt
impatiently. His long jacket swirled around his thighs as he spun and
stalked across the floor toward the hall.
No, he was not going to spend his visit here remembering all the
times and ways he'd fucked that faithless bastard. That was too much
self-punishment even for him.
He walked quickly into the hall, not even trying to disguise his
steps. If one of his former teammates was here before him as Momoe-
san had said then he didn't want to startle them. That was a bad
practice with assassins - ex or otherwise. Particularly if it was
Ken. Who knew if he'd had a chance to get over his worrying bloodlust
yet? On the whole Yohji was hoping it was Omi. Then he might be able
to get some answers.
He hadn't dared return to his apartment in Nagoya to try and contact
Omi via his laptop. Schreient had found him there. Somehow he'd been
compromised. They might know about the Koneko too, but here, at
least, was familiar turf and the possibility of allies. He hadn't
forgotten about the strange man who had thrown the paper airplane
either. He was still uncertain if he was friend or foe. Omi was the
one most likely to know something.
The boy's email messages had increasingly hinted at a strong desire
to return to the team - particularly once some twisted pervert
started snatching young girls and burning them. Definitely a dark
beast, as Omi had longingly said. Poor chibi. It must be a bitch to
have known no other real family save a bunch of assassins. And to
have been raised as little more than a weapon to be used against
one's blood family. He hoped Persia was rotting in hell beside his
cursed brother. Whatever bizarre events had twisted Omi's life,
however, he still had connections Yohji needed. He knew Manx would
never let the boy completely leave her influence.
The third possibility he didn't even seriously consider - didn't let
himself. Because Aya had freed himself of Weiß. Aya had no reason to
return.
Stifling a surge of bitter anger, Yohji slowly descended the spiral
stairs to the old mission room. He paused at the bottom and looked
around, an odd pang darting through him as he slipped his sunglasses
into his coat pocket. Someone - probably one of Takatori's men - had
shot the room up with an automatic weapon. Pure malice, that. Now
only half the track lights worked, leaving the room even darker than
normal. The huge TV was blown. The concrete walls were chipped and
marked with bullet holes. Ricochets must have been a bitch, he
thought with a small, nasty twist of his lips. Both couches were
partially shredded by gunfire and the carpet was torn. He kicked idly
at the pile of loose shell casings that still lay clustered at the
base of the stairs as he quickly scanned the room again.
Somehow the gun freak had missed blasting Omi's computer, he noted
when he wandered over into the small alcove. He wondered if it had
been compromised in some other way instead. Brushing a hand idly over
the faintly dusty keyboard, he didn't even try to find out. Knowing
Omi, the chips in the thing had likely been rigged to melt down as
soon as someone other than him touched it anyway. Which would serve
the damn machine right, he thought with a soft snort. It had
certainly never behaved properly whenever Yohji was cruising the net
for porn.
He turned away slowly. The critical point was that there was no one
down here. He would have to check the rest of the building. With a
sigh of disgust, he crossed the room to go back upstairs, striding
over to the base of the spiral stairs only to come to an abrupt halt
when he caught sight of a lean, shadowy figure standing on the last
round of steps above him. There hadn't been any warning sounds of
feet on stairs.
Then he sucked in a shocked breath at a faint gleam off deep red hair
as the figure took one final step down into the meager light.
It was Aya.
Yohji stared up at him for a long moment, just drinking in the sight
of the other man. His hair was even more ragged if it was possible,
the tumbled bangs concealing his eyes. It looked as if the red hair
had only been trimmed once in three months and then badly. The man
seemed to have put on a little bulk, however. His muscles looked more
defined, sleek and hard under the zippered, long sleeved black shirt
he wore, yet his face was as pale as death with shadows under his
eyes and lines of strain around his mouth, as if he were near the
edge of exhaustion.
Yohji's blood began to throb heavily in his veins; he went instantly
hard. Aya. Here.
Hunger shocked through him. It was all he could do to keep from
lunging up the steps and wrapping the other man in his arms. But a
spurt of wary trepidation and lingering pride stopped him. He gripped
the metal railing on either side of the stairs tightly, breath
rasping harshly in his throat
"Bastard! Where the hell have you been?" And he instantly wanted to
kick himself for speaking first - and for saying something so
stupidly revealing. This was Aya, the man who'd walked away from him
without a backward glance leaving him slowly bleeding to death
inside, his heart shattered. Something he'd tried very desperately to
deny over the past three months but could no longer now that he was
face to face with him once again.
Aya took another step down toward him before locking a hand on the
railing and clenching it to white knuckles.
"Why did you come back here?" Aya said. His voice was low, a trace of
something odd in it. Anger? Pain? Yohji's heart pounded wildly in his
chest and he had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. It wouldn't be
a happy sound. They stared silently at each other for a tense moment,
apparently at an impasse, until finally Yohji moved, sweeping his
knee-length coat back and slipping a hand into a pants pocket.
Forcing a pose of nonchalance that he didn't feel.
"Well, you certainly haven't changed any, Aya," he said. "Still a
sneaky one, aren't you?"
Violet eyes were hooded suddenly by thick lashes. Hiding a flash of
emotion. He felt a brief surge of satisfaction that was wiped away
almost instantly by Aya's next words.
"Why Nagoya?"
The sharp question surprised him, then anger flared. Aya had known
where he was? Any cool, controlled answer he might have wanted to
give went right out the window. "Because it wasn't Tokyo," Yohji
snapped, glaring. "Damn it, it wasn't Tokyo where I kept looking
around for you."
Aya's head jerked to the side, eyes closing all the way, his face
pale and still like a sculpture.
"I left Tokyo." Then he took another step down the stairs and Yohji
could see his arm shuddering, his fingers clenching. As if part of
him was trying to keep himself back while another was dragging him
forward. Yohji felt something that might be hope stir inside him but
forced himself to stay where he was, shoving the feeling down as
wounded pride and pain warred with the demanding desire Aya's mere
presence awoke.
Aya had been the one to leave. Aya should be the one to make the
first move now. But would he?
Three long months of silence had taught him that the other man's
sister came first and probably would forever. That anything they'd
had between them simply wasn't important enough. And that there
seemed to be no room in that cold, guarded heart for anything beyond
the sister... and that he would only be hurt again if he thought he
could change it.
Yet... Aya had been the one to start this.
Aya had lusted after him in secret for months. Aya had waited up for
him on the nights he'd gone clubbing. Taken advantage of those times
when Yohji came home shit-faced drunk to steal what he couldn't ask
for - what he couldn't even admit to needing; touch, closeness,
desire. Moments of human need reluctantly indulged. Until the night
he slipped up; misjudged Yohji's drunkenness and was discovered.
Which had ultimately led to Aya's surrender... Yohji stifled a groan
at the heated memories as he stared hungrily at the man who had
created them. The month they had together had been strangely surreal.
Filled with raw lust, wary exploration and a tentative accord that
had seemed to grow stronger every day. Until those last few days and
those last few hideous missions, when Reiji Takatori finally made his
move and took over Japan. During those days, Yohji had learned -
painfully - just how little he had truly understood his red-headed
lover. Because he'd been abandoned by him to die in Takatori's trap.
By the man who claimed to want him. The man who had surrendered his
body to him in bed but little of his self.
He flashed back to the safe house. To patiently tending Aya's wounds.
To listening to the chillingly cool revelation of his past. Then to
fucking him, brutally hard, in a vain attempt to get closer to him.
Trying to find the truth, somehow, in the passion between them. And
then later staring down at an Aya, asleep in his arms, that he didn't
recognize. A vulnerable boy-man who had seemed strangely innocent
even after that bloody night... Not Aya at all, but Ran... Ran who
had become Aya in order to avenge the sister he loved more than
anything else...
But it was Aya who had started this between them... Aya who had
left... Aya that he...
"Then why did you come back here?" he asked, heart pounding slow and
heavy. Fighting the urge to move closer, to put hands on the other
man. To pull him into his arms and just hold him close. The way he
hadn't truly been able to with anyone else since Asuka. The way he
had only been able to do with Aya in those rare moments after sex...
"I don't want to talk now." The quiet words of denial were backed up
by still-closed eyes.
"When do you ever?"
"Words are useless. Only actions have meaning."
The violet eyes opened again. Met his angry glare with frustrating
inscrutability from the shadows. His pulse throbbed in his ears and
steadily rising lust kept him from pressing for more after the
dismissive, yet suggestive words. Words that just should have pissed
him off, and did on some level, but not enough to matter. Because he
wanted Aya. So badly he could taste it. Being without him hadn't made
the hurting go away anyway, so why not be with him again? It was the
addict's excuse... he was fooling himself...
But with Aya standing in front of him, lean and weary and dangerous,
he just didn't care. Aya was here. Aya had come back.
Aya walked slowly down the stairs until he reached the final step.
Stopped when he was only inches away from Yohji and licked his lips
once, leaving a dull shine behind. The height of the lowest riser put
him at eye level with Yohji. Long pale fingers slid down the railing
and covered his gloved ones. Yohji shuddered at even that much
contact, but kept his gaze steady on the other man.
"Then do something, Aya," he demanded, voice little more than a harsh
whisper. Lids drooped, hiding violet eyes, and the half-lidded gaze
flickered across his face toward his mouth. After a breathless
instant, Aya leaned slowly forward until his lips just brushed
Yohji's. Tilting his head slightly, he looked at him sidelong, gaze
glittering and intent before letting his eyes close again as he
leaned into him, pressing their mouths together, a cautious tongue
tracing the inner edge of Yohji's lip.
His mind just stopped for a moment. Aya was kissing him again. Heat
and need and longing exploded through him. If actions were all that
mattered... Shaking Aya's hold off sharply, he raised his hand,
spreading his fingers wide to cup the back of Aya's head. Holding him
firmly in place as he took over the kiss, ravaging the tentative
mouth, reveling in the little grunt of surprise, in the feel of Aya's
mouth opening wide under his.
His other hand rose up and locked on Aya's upper arm tightly, fingers
aching inside his gloves. It was the hand he'd used to keep Neu from
choking him to death, cut by wire. The last person he'd kissed had
tried to kill him. The one he was kissing now had almost broken his
heart. Which hurt more? It was no contest. Rage flared.
He broke away to stare into Aya's face, looking for something to
temper his rage. His grip tightened on the hair on the back of the
other man's head as he searched, finding little visible but a
familiar wary lust and hints of guilt that threatened to send him
further into a frenzy.
"I might just have to hurt you."
Faintly swollen lips parted. Heavy eyelids fluttered. "All right."
He snarled, tensing. "That is not a smart thing to say to me here,
Aya."
"You talk too much."
"Don't push me..." And even as he leaned down and crushed Aya's mouth
again he wondered if Aya was looking for punishment... expected it...
wanted it. Because right now, blood running hot in his veins, he was
more than willing to give it.
After devouring that pliant mouth for long, breathless moments, Yohji
spun sharply around. Bullet casings scattered across the floor at his
feet, ringing like chimes against each other. He drug Aya stumbling
off the last step with a sharp yank. Shoved him hard toward the
nearest wall, then stalked after him, jacket swirling around him. Aya
hit the concrete wall with a grunt, automatically catching himself
with a shoulder to the wall, a hand bracing him, ready. The red head
lifted to face him; eyes narrowed dangerously at Yohji's approach.
But he didn't move away. And he could have... actions...
Reckless heat raced through him, fed by three months of denial. Yohji
felt a feral smile touch his lips as he stalked closer to the other
man. Fight him or fuck him; either would do for now.
"Gonna fight me?"
"No." Aya's face settled into familiar, cool lines. Watching him.
Waiting. Anticipation shimmered in the air.
Yohji knew he was perilously close to a dangerous edge. Pushed there
by too much longing, too much bottled-up regret - and too many months
spent screwing all the wrong people in a fruitless quest to forget
this man. His lip curled as he let a wave of dark emotion take him.
He advanced deliberately, gaze locked on that controlled face.
"Fight me, Aya."
"No."
He lunged forward. Slapped his hands against the wall just outside
Aya's shoulders, caging him between his arms. Aya didn't move. Didn't
flinch at all as Yohji glared down at him, head dipping close to the
other man's. He took a sharp breath and was unexpectedly overwhelmed
by the scent of Aya. The faint spice of his skin. The clean scent of
his hair. The distinctive musky aroma of arousal. Familiar and
enticing. It made his pulse leap wildly, and fanned desire briefly
higher than anger. He took another breath, absorbing it, already
deflected from immediate violence. He hadn't realized how much he'd
missed the very smell of Aya - or that he'd even known it so well.
"...well, then 'fuck' it is," he muttered, mostly to himself, blood
throbbing eagerly in his veins, in his wrists, in his groin. Violence
transmuted to lust. Aya slowly lowered his chin, his head canting
toward the wall. The lowered eyes flickered away and then back, and
from Aya that was nearly a shout of need. Yohji stifled a groan,
watching him.
He let his gaze roam slowly over the perfect profile. Absorbed it's
icy beauty. Pale skin was touched with the faintest flush along
arched cheekbones. Tired smudges under downcast eyes made him look
deceptively fragile. Crimson strands of disheveled hair clung to lips
that were barely parted as Aya drew in short, careful breaths. The
sight made his own breath catch in his throat.
The tilted head and flushed face were telling; this was Aya subdued.
Submitting to him. But aside from his passively guilty posture, there
was no emotion revealed on that controlled, set face. No sign of a
torment that corresponded to what he'd endured. No regret. No pain.
Rage boiled up again. All those weeks... lonely... aching... and now
Aya was giving in to him just like that? Hard, angry words spilled
out before he could stop them.
"I made you my mine. Fucked you until you were begging me for more.
You were mine to use. So was that all you really wanted from me, Aya?
Was it? To be used?" He narrowed his gaze, let a vicious twist touch
his lips at Aya's continued silence. Yohji reached over and caught
the sharp chin between gloved fingers, holding on tightly against the
stubborn resistance as he tilted the pale face back. Stared down
hungrily. "Are you mine to use however I want now? Are you giving me
that? What if this time what I want is to beat you unconscious before
I fuck you face down on the floor, Aya, all blood and bruises...
would you like that? My uke..."
The red head jerked away sharply. Pride flared in the narrowed eyes
that glared up at him from under ragged bangs, the pale face now
filled with rage, teeth bared in a silent, defiant snarl. But, oddly,
as soon as Aya's anger was revealed his own began to subside. Letting
his mind work rationally again and his heart protest. His own pride
was greatly soothed simply by cracking that impassive façade and he
was already starting to regret his harsh words even as violet eyes
glittered at him dangerously.
"You were mine first," Aya spat. Was that a hint of pain in those
flashing eyes? "I had you first, you arrogant prick."
Yohji just smiled, the expression still tinged with an edge of
violence even as his temper swiftly faded before anticipatory
satisfaction. Name-calling was good from Aya. "So you did." He leaned
forward then and nuzzled the tense neck gently. Felt the silk of a
long eartail against his face and the throb of Aya's racing pulse
under his lips. Definitely good. And he smelled so good. So
right. "Do you know what a rarity that is? I don't let just anyone
fuck me, you know. So you must be special, Aya."
There was a sharp hiss of indrawn breath and a flinch as he gently
nibbled at the soft skin below the unadorned ear. As if tenderness
were violence... His tongue darted out and laid a damp line across
pale skin. He breathed softly on the spot and a deep tremor ran
through the slender body he was almost - almost - pressed against.
His arms quivered as he fought to keep from crushing Aya against the
wall. Actions...
"What do you... Don't..." Aya made as if to move away, but froze when
Yohji trailed his tongue up edge of his ear. He shuddered again
instead.
Caught up in the taste of Aya, the heady scent of him, Yohji found
himself breathing dangerous words against silken skin. "This thing
between us is more than sex." He felt tension sweep through the other
man like a wave. Pressed on recklessly. "You know it..."
"Shut up. Bastard."
"...Or you wouldn't be so pissed now," he finished smugly.
"Shut up!" And Aya reached up and captured Yohji's head, wrenching it
around to cover his mouth with his, body arching up away from the
wall and against him. Yohji wrapped one arm around him in reply,
rolling them until his own back was against the concrete wall before
bracing Aya's body between his spread legs. He eagerly absorbed the
fierce caress, the desperate suck and probe of Aya's mouth, the sharp
tug of Aya's hands on his hair. His free hand lifted to the back of
Aya's head again, gloved fingers threading through thick hair.
Finally Aya pulled away to pant harshly against his mouth, "God, you
never shut up... just let me... I want..."
"What do you want, Aya?" He was in control and knew it. And it felt
good.
But Aya surprised him by backing away, but not entirely out of his
grasp. One hand lowered the zipper at the neck of the black shirt
before both pale hands gripped the hem and stripped the slick cotton
off over his head in one quick move, revealing sleek skin, discreetly
defined chest, and the hard nubs of pale pink nipples. Yohji reached
for him, breath sucking in on a startled hiss of wanting. Aya held
still and let him touch him; Yohji instantly cursed the gloves still
on his hands. He jerked them back impatiently to tug the gloves off
and shove them in a coat pocket. But as he did so, Aya turned away.
"Hey, hey," Yohji protested with quiet urgency, following him a step.
But the other man just gave him a smoldering look over his shoulder
as he bent down and yanked a cushion away from the nearby couch. He
dove down with a hand and came up with a familiar tube.
Yohji's eyes glittered with lust as they met the violet gaze, "You
remembered."
Something electric snapped between them. "Yes."
He took the tube from Aya's hand, dropped it into his coat pocket for
convenience. Aya came back into his arms like water, flowing against
him sleek and powerful. Mouths met in a searing kiss. Yohji ran one
hand up into Aya's hair, the other down his bare back as they
devoured each other. Aya's hands slid inside his coat and up under
his shirt, skimming over his lower back, fingernails raking his skin.
He could feel the other man's erection against his thigh, hard and
hot.
Breaking away, he stared down into the flushed face. "Now, Aya."
He pushed Aya backwards until his thighs struck the high arm of the
couch, then he reached down and caught a lean leg, lifting up and
pulling him close, fingers biting into hard muscle. Aya fell back,
hips braced on the couch, steadying arm looped over Yohji's shoulder
even as he hurriedly toed his low boots off. The motion moved his
groin in waves against Yohji's, making him bend his neck and press
his face into the hollow of Aya's throat as he sucked in sharp
breaths, trying to control himself. So fine...
"Damn it. Too many fuckin' clothes on..." he groaned. Aya didn't
answer, but his hand dropped between them, tearing at the fly of his
own pants. The back of his hand brushed against Yohji's erection,
making him groan and clutch Aya tighter, hips rocking against him.
"Move," Aya hissed. Reluctantly, Yohji stepped back, holding Aya
balanced as he quickly stripped his pants and briefs off in one move,
kicking them to the floor. He stared down at the now-naked man in his
arms, mouth going dry. Aya was hard, his slender cock shiny on the
tip and standing up urgently amid the small patch of soft red hair.
No denying the need there. Pale legs lifted and spread, wrapping
around his hips and pulling him back. Urgent hands tugged at the
closings of his pants, finally drawing his aching cock out of the
confining leather. It was weeping and hard.
The feel of the other man's hand stroking him sent shock waves of
pleasure through his body. He groaned and thrust helplessly forward,
crying "Jesus, Aya!"
"What are you waiting for?"
The impatient words made him half-groan, half-laugh. "Keep that up
and there won't be any waiting," he muttered, staring down at the
other man. The pale face was flushed, lips parted releasing eager,
panting breaths. Wanting him. Satisfaction rolled through him and he
narrowed his eyes, lips curving in a tight half-smile. "You do it,
Aya. Put me in you."
The red head jerked back. Lavender eyes dilated, darkening them as
Aya looked back down at his cock, hand tightening on him, tongue
darting out to wet his lips. Yohji groaned as strong legs drew him
forward, a pale hand lifting erection and balls aside to position him
against the hole below without further hesitation. The lean body
arched under him, hips rolling back. Opening himself. Breath sucking
in sharply, Yohji suddenly had to fight both his own need and the
pressure on his butt urging him forward.
"Whoa, easy! Lube first, baby." He braced himself stubbornly, staring
down into hazy violet eyes. Aya shuddered under him, rolling his hips
impatiently, rubbing against him.
"I don't care..."
"I do," Yohji said through gritted teeth, grimly fighting his own
need as well as Aya's. "I'm gonna want to do this again soon and I
can't if you're torn up."
With a muttered curse and a sidelong glare, Aya fumbled in his coat
pocket with his free hand. Drew out the lubricant and flipped the
cap. Squeezed clear fluid over Yohji's cock and his own clutching
hand. The cool gush made Yohji gasp and grit his teeth tighter.
"Cold!" He glared into Aya's hooded eyes. A malicious, vaguely
satisfied twist that might have passed for a smile curved the other
man's lips. Strong legs flexed around him and the slippery hand on
his cock stroked him once, spreading lube over him before sliding
down to cup his balls. Heat raced through him and his arms tightened
around the other man.
Aya's voice was low, urgent. "You're slick. Now fuck me."
"Bastard," Yohji hissed, and thrust forward. Aya's head fell back as
his cock pushed against the firm ring of muscle, sliding inside after
only token resistance. He paused a moment, trying to catch his
breath, eyes squeezed tightly closed, lungs pumping like a bellows.
Hot. Tight. Aya. He groaned, shuddering, spreading his legs wider as
he tried to keep them both from tumbling over. Aya was balanced
precariously on the arm of the couch beneath him, his grip the only
thing holding him up.
"Don't stop... all the way." Impatient legs pressed him forward and
he surged deep, feeling the heat of Aya's tight passage surround him,
stealing his breath. Aya arched toward him with a cry. A hot mouth
closed on his throat. He could feel teeth scrape at him even through
his high collar, making the wounds on his neck sting. But he didn't
care. He was finally inside Aya again after so long. And Aya had put
him there.
His mind blanked then and all was motion and heat. Frantic hands
raked down his back under his coat, then dragged his shirt up so that
skin could slide against skin. Their mouths met, fused, broke apart
for air only to lock again and again. Sharing breath and then
stealing it. He surged deep, feeling Aya shudder as each thrust
struck the core of his pleasure. His own hand was bracing the red
head, the other wound around the lean back, holding him up. Legs
bent, thighs trembling as he drove into the sleek body over and over
again. Until Aya finally wrenched his mouth away to cry out, the cock
trapped between hard bellies spurting slick heat everywhere.
But he didn't relent. Pulled out only to drive deep, and then deeper
again. Taking his fill of the pale body locked in his arms. Of Aya's
mouth under his own, yielding and damp. Reveled in the clutching
hands that had dropped to his butt. Felt the hard dig in his surging
flesh, spurring him on. Aya cried out again, body bowed and
shuddering, head rolled back over Yohji's arm, face slack with
passion, mouth trembling, violet eyes unseeing.
He came in a blinding, shattering rush; muscles locking with his cock
pushed as far inside Aya's body as he could go, trembling and
gasping, mouth gaping as he poured himself into him in an endless
burst. Mind and body and heart throbbing as one.
Blissfully sated, Yohji staggered on his feet, listing to the side
with a low groan as his shoulder hit the wall beside them hard. He
was grateful for it's support. Aya grunted under him, lean arms
clutching him close despite the slackness of completion he could feel
in the other man's body. The relaxation. The satisfaction. All he
wanted to do now was lie down somewhere with Aya and hold him tightly
in his arms. Forever.
"Where's the bed?" he muttered hoarsely. The red head burrowed
closer, forehead pressed under his chin. Warmth spread through him at
the action. His arms tightened around the other man, keeping him
close.
"Hn. Upstairs."
"Shit."
He half-lay against the wall in silence for a few more minutes, Aya
wound tightly around him, as breath gradually steadied and pulses
slowed. He could feel himself softening, however, and knew he'd have
to do something about that soon. Not that he wanted to leave the
other man's body, but physiology couldn't be reasoned with. He closed
his eyes and laid his cheek against the top of Aya's head with a
resigned sigh.
Then both of them were stiffening in alarm as they heard heavy
footsteps cross the floor above them. Someone had just entered the
building through the kitchen door. Assassin's instincts took over.
The red-headed swordsman pulled away from him without even a wince,
his cock sliding out of him in a rush. Aya's complete attention was
already focused on the stairs behind them and the intruder above.
"Damn it!" Yohji muttered under his breath, adjusting himself
hurriedly. He ignored the slick mess all over his groin as he zipped
up his pants and yanked down his shirt. He was far more ready to deal
with trouble than Aya in that instant. He was still fully dressed and
his watch weighed heavily on his wrist. Turning, he dug his
protective gloves out of his coat pocket and tugged them on. Aya was
braced against the arm of the couch beside him, head canted and eyes
narrowed as he listened intently. He looked surprisingly dangerous
despite his nudity, poised and tense.
Yohji took a step toward the stairs, already drawing a length of wire
from his watch. He froze in surprise at Aya's low words.
"It's Hidaka."
The door above them opened and battered, grass-stained sports shoes
appeared on the top steps. They looked like Ken's shoes to him, but
just to be certain, Yohji strode quickly to the base of the stairs.
He glared up at the newcomer sourly, annoyed to have the precious
aftermath with Aya spoiled by someone he couldn't kill. Ken stumbled
to an abrupt halt, eyes widening as he stared back down at Yohji in
open-mouthed shock.
"Yohji! What the hell are you doing here?" Yohji snapped off the now
unnecessary length of wire with a small sigh for the waste before
letting a mocking smile curl his lips. He was tempted to choke the
shit out of Ken for interrupting them anyway, but it had been three
months since he'd seen the jock. He should probably make an exception
this time.
"Same thing as you, I suppose," he said dryly, aware of Aya gathering
up his clothes behind him. "Looking for allies."
"Shit! You too?" Ken took another step down, frowning in
concern. "What happened to you?" Yohji held up a cautioning hand at
the other assassin, freezing him in mid-step.
"Oi, wait there a minute, would ya?"
"Why?"
Yohji let a knowing smile widen on his face and his eyes twinkle
wickedly up at his perplexed former teammate. "I'm not exactly alone
down here."
Ken blinked at him in surprise. "Wha--?" Then the look of mingled
shock, outrage and resigned disgust on Ken's face almost made him
burst out laughing.
Instead, Yohji glanced pointedly over his shoulder, noting as he did
so that Aya already had his slacks back on and was currently tugging
his shirt down over his head. Pity that. Aya looked wonderful
shirtless. His lips quirked. Not that Ken would truly appreciate the
view like he did. Briefs lay crumpled on the arm of the couch beside
Aya and Yohji astutely concluded that the other man must have used
them to clean himself up a bit before dressing. Aya was fastidious
that way - Ken would probably faint when he spotted them.
"Am I, Ayan?"
Disheveled red hair appeared through the collar of the black shirt
and lavender eyes flashed at him in warning as the other man neatly
zipped the shirt closed. Aya's face was once more an impassive mask
save for the narrowed eyes. Yohji grinned back at him, undaunted. Sex
had always improved his temper. Too bad it didn't do the same for
Aya... or maybe it was just being interrupted that put him into a
foul mood.
"Aya came back?" Ken said, dropping down to sit on the top step,
hands dangling over his knees. The tone of his voice was incredulous.
Sudden apprehension raced through Yohji, making his body tense and
his heart stutter briefly in his chest. Oh, yes. That. And just why
the hell had Aya returned? That topic had been neatly sidestepped
earlier by mutual lust. He wasn't quite besotted enough to believe it
was just for him... not quite, despite the definite twinge that
thought gave him. A frown crossed his face as Yohji stared narrowly
at his lover where he sat on the arm of the tattered couch, those
graceful hands now occupied with pulling on low boots.
"Whoa, Yohji - are you hurt?"
Ken's faintly alarmed inquiry made him frown, but Yohji's attention
was focused on Aya as he finished dressing. He was already
anticipating getting him out of those clothes again. "What?" he
answered absently until he noted the jock peering down at him in
concern from the corner of his eye.
"Your collar... is that blood?"
Aya's head jerked up abruptly at the question. Surprised, Yohji felt
at his neck automatically but couldn't feel anything through his
gloves. He tugged one off and felt at his neck again, drawing the
hand back to find a dark smear across his fingertips.
"Well, damn," he said with a quiet hiss of annoyance. "Guess they
opened up again." It wasn't much blood, but now he realized just how
much his neck was stinging where Neu's garrote had sliced him last
night.
"What did? Damn it, you are hurt!" Ken rose to his feet and came down
the stairs in a bouncing, urgent rush. Aya strode over to him at the
same time, grabbing his upper arm and spinning him around. A pale
hand tugged the turtleneck down and both of the other men sucked in
sharp breaths as they stared at his throat.
"Hey!" Yohji yelped as bandages pulled away painfully from his skin
with the collar of the shirt. Aya rubbing against his neck must have
loosened them. "Looks worse than it is," he grumbled, batting Aya's
hand away. He imagined the bruising was quite spectacular by now.
Particularly when covered with fresh blood. And damn it, this was a
silk knit. It would be a bitch to get the blood out of it. Lavender
eyes glared up at him through ragged bangs. Shit, was Aya actually
worried about him?
"Who did this?" Aya's voice was icy, his expression frozen. The hand
Yohji had automatically knocked away closed into a fist in the air
before dropping to his side. Ken shifted beside them, glancing from
Aya to Yohji warily.
Yohji just stared back at Aya and tugged off his other glove, shoving
them both back into his coat pocket. "Schreient."
"Oh, hell," Ken said beside them, running both hands through his dark
hair.
"No, just Neu," Yohji said, lip curling up in a humorless
smile. "Didn't see Hel..." Aya's eyes narrowed dangerously. A strange
tension filled the other man. Yohji found his attention focused
almost completely on Aya as they engaged in a silent test of wills,
while beside them Ken snorted in disgust.
"Yeah, well, join the club. Schon tried to off me while I was with my
kids... the vindictive bitch." Aya flinched slightly, then folded his
arms over his chest and shifted his gaze down at the floor. Conceding
nothing, Yohji knew, but now lost in that odd, brooding realm of
intense Aya-reserve that warded off everything... and everyone.
"In public?" Yohji said to Ken, raising an incredulous brow and
glancing briefly at the ex-soccer player. Instead of snapping at Aya.
Ken just shook his head in wary bemusement, frowning between the two
of them. Aya stayed silent. Yohji had to forcibly restrain himself
from reaching for Aya and shaking the man in frustration. Aya
certainly wouldn't tolerate such a gesture in front of Ken - if he
didn't just straight-out deck him for it. And there was something in
the other man's stillness that bothered him. A distance... something
wasn't right... no matter that they'd just fucked with wild abandon.
He felt a flutter of alarm in his gut and forced himself to pay
closer attention to Ken.
"She killed some poor slob of a truck driver... almost ran us over. I
barely got the kids out of the way in time." There was raw outrage in
Ken's voice as he slammed one fist into the other hand angrily. His
soccer brats were important to him; they were innocents who had been
put in danger simply because of Schon's grudge against Ken. And
Schreient's grudge against Weiß. Yohji felt a surge of matching anger
tempered by weary regret. There truly wasn't any hope for any of them
to lead normal lives again. Not until all their enemies were dead.
And maybe not even then...
He remembered dark eyes that had looked up at him with bewildered
confusion. Not the eyes blank with lust, but the gentle eyes puzzled
and disturbed by the familiarity of his presence. That kind of look
couldn't be faked and looking back, Kyoko was so similar to Asuka in
so many ways that his heart still ached. Yet Neu was another matter
entirely. She'd honestly tried to kill him. Which woman was the real
one? Could there be anything left of Asuka at all? He sighed
inwardly, wishing he had the certainty of Ken's outrage. At least his
own attack hadn't been public... there'd only been the mystery man
with the paper airplane to witness him stupidly drop his guard.
"Hel..." Aya muttered, frowning.
Both Yohji and Ken looked at him in alarm and curiosity, but any
questions died on their lips as they all heard the upstairs door
open. Again. Ken turned toward the stairs, fists clenching at his
sides, body tensing. Aya didn't move, apparently lost in his dark
reverie. Yohji laughed softly to himself as he remembered Momoe-san's
prediction and smiled grimly. She'd been right after all. They were
all back now. He felt a sudden sharp urge for a cigarette and he dug
inside his coat for the pack even as his stomach sank. Why had Aya
returned?
He stuck a cigarette between his lips with careful nonchalance and
drawled, "Hundred yen says it's Omi." He held his lighter in his
other hand, waiting.
Ken's head swiveled back toward him, brows rising. Light steps
crossed the floor above and came without hesitation straight to the
door at the top of the stairs, much as Ken had. The door opened and
they all saw slender, bare legs clad in baggy white socks and
impossibly clean sports shoes start down the steps. Yohji smirked and
lit up, smugly pleased. Nobody else they knew wore shorts year-round.
The kid had a freakishly warm metabolism, that was for sure.
Omi stopped on the final spiral, shocked surprise widening his navy
blue eyes when he saw them standing near the foot of the stairs.
"Ken-kun! Yohji-kun! What are you doing here?"
"Omi," Ken said, a weary smile tugging at his mouth as he looked at
the boy and shrugged. "It's kind of pathetic, really. We all just
showed up."
"Yeah," Yohji said around his cigarette, the corner of his mouth
turning up wryly. "It's not like we were invited or anything, but we
might have been influenced by Persia's ghost. Or Momoe-san..." Wide
blue eyes turned on him again, and Omi blinked in apparent surprise
to find Aya standing beyond him.
"Aya-kun too," the boy breathed. He came slowly the rest of the way
down the stairs, stopping beside Ken and looking each of them over
eagerly, a wondering yet pleased look on his face. Genuine happiness
at seeing them all again shown in his eyes. He was happy to be back
with the only family he really had - his brother assassins. Yohji
sighed deeply, held the cigarette between his fingers and blew out a
stream of smoke. Poor kid. Omi's gaze skipped back to Yohji suddenly,
locking on his blood-stained shirt and the boy frowned at him in
concern, taking a half-step toward him.
"Yohji-kun! What happened to your neck?"
"Some girls are scary. Very, very scary," he said dryly, shifting his
gaze back and watching Aya intently through the smoke of his
cigarette. The red head lifted, a kind of hollow anguish was lurking
in the violet eyes as they clearly skimmed right past his gaze to
meet Omi's curious look instead. Omi beat Yohji to the obvious
question. The question he'd been avoiding asking. He fingered his
cigarette anxiously before drawing on it deeply once more.
"Aya-kun, if you're here, who's watching out for Aya-chan? Isn't she
still in that hospital by the sea?"
"She was kidnapped." The low voice vibrated with pain and the violet
eyes slid closed again, the pale face frozen. Yohji choked briefly on
smoke, and the sinking feeling in his gut became a tearing ache.
Fuck. He should have known. Stupid, stupid, Kudoh. When would he
learn? He dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it out under
his boot with a savage grind of his heel.
"What?" Ken cried. "Why would someone kidnap her? Wait... was it
Schreient?"
"Schreient?!" Omi squeaked, glancing between them all in shock.
Aya lowered his head, frowning grimly, eyes still closed. "Most
likely."
"Schreient is still active?" Omi said in astonishment. "But they
all... died in the fire. Didn't they?"
"No such luck. 'Cause I swear I saw Schon at the park right before a
truck tried to mow me down," Ken said, crossing his arms over his
chest and frowning at the floor angrily before he jerked his head at
Yohji. "And Yohji fought Neu... that's how he got hurt."
"This is bad..." Omi began, tone worried, blue eyes shadowed as he
glanced between the two of them.
"This is a sign of the growing chaos," a strange voice said quietly
from the stairwell. "A great beast of darkness has begun to prowl
openly. It's fell breath has already been felt in Japan. Now we shall
have to endure the darkness once again - unless something is done."
They all tensed, heads jerking up as they stared up at the top of the
stairs. A man and a woman stood on the spiral, looking down at them
with grave intensity. Somehow they'd entered the shop without any of
them hearing. Yohji did a quick double take at the sight of the scar
on the man's face.
"I know you," he blurted out, gaze narrowing as he remembered
starlight, choking and a white paper airplane.
The dark-haired man nodded to him once in acknowledgement, a somber
smile briefly crossing his face. He was an older man, handsome even
with the scar, but with a kind of deep sadness lurking around his
eyes. The woman was beautiful in a remote way, younger, her mid-
length dark brown hair pinned up on her head, her dark eyes cool and
watchful.
"Who the hell are you people? How'd you get in here?" Ken demanded,
dropping into a defensive crouch and glaring up at them. Yohji folded
his arms over his chest with apparent nonchalance, but it was a
position that put his hand near the watch on his wrist. He mentally
cursed the fact that he'd taken off his gloves again. This man had
helped him once, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. Not with his
past. That point had been driven home to him quite brutally last
night.
"I am Botan of Kritiker," the man said, unfazed by their wary
hostility. "This is Birman."
"Botan... Birman," Omi breathed, eyes wide in astonishment, a kind of
respectful recognition racing swiftly over his expressive face. He
gave the man and woman a short bow. Ken straightened up in surprise,
glancing between the newcomers and Omi. Yohji relaxed his arms as
well, no longer poised to go for his watch.
"Bombay," Botan acknowledged, nodding to the boy with equal respect
as the pair continued their descent into the mission room. The four
of them fell back, watching the two agents with wary care in spite of
Omi's apparent recognition and confirmation of them as members of
Kritiker. "This beast is merely a small branch of a much larger,
powerful international organization. Their influence has been felt in
Japan before, but now more of their attention has been focused here."
"You have heard of the recent kidnappings of young schoolgirls?" the
woman said, her dark eyes glittering with intensity. Her soft voice
was pleasantly husky and under the right conditions might even be
incredibly sexy. But not here and now. Foreboding gripped
him. "Kidnappings that end in burning deaths?"
Aya's breath hissed in sharply beside him. Yohji glanced at him,
dismayed but not truly surprised to find that the swordsman's face
had gone deathly pale and still, like ice, his hands fisted tightly
at his sides. Obviously jumping to conclusions out of fear for his
sister. Yohji wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him with
words or contact, but couldn't. Not in front of others.
Besides, what had given him the stupid idea that he had the right to
comfort Aya? That Aya would even welcome the attempt? The other man
would most likely just smack his hand away and give him a shi-ne
glare for his presumption.
Yohji shifted uneasily on his feet, feeling the sticky pull in his
pants, and was reminded with shocking intensity of the intimacies
he'd been sharing with Aya so gleefully not long before. Intimacies
that seemed dreamlike and almost impossible now as he gazed at that
stoic, frozen profile and anxiously wondered what kind of reckless
plans were going through the other man's mind. Aya had never shared
his true self with him - his fears, his concerns, his hopes - only
his body. Yohji sucked in a sharp breath in sudden shock. The painful
insight made his heart lurch and his guts roil, making him feel
faintly ill. It just wasn't enough. He wanted more.
And he couldn't think about this now. Dared not. He wrenched his gaze
away from Aya. Forced himself to pay attention to the room around him
again.
"Yes," Omi said in reply to the Kritiker woman's question, his face
anguished. "A girl at my school... this morning... Mika-chan..."
"These kidnappings and murders are but a cruel prelude. The chaos
will only grow unless something is done to stop it. That is why we
have been seeking you four," Birman continued, leveling her direct
gaze on each of them in turn. "We wish to re-activate Weiß."
"What?" Ken snapped. Omi gasped. Aya stood silent, frozen, violet
gaze locked on the woman.
Yohji snorted in disbelief. "Reactivate Weiß? You've got to be
kidding!"
"No, you must listen," a familiar voice said from above. They all
looked up at the stairs again.
"Manx!" Omi cried, a distinct note of relief in his tone as the red-
haired woman slowly descended the stairs. Gone was her signature red
and black suit, instead she wore a far more conservatively cut mauve
business suit, plain but still stylish. She looked tired and her eyes
were shadowed with concern under the straight-cut red bangs.
"Shit, we need to put a bell on that damn door," Yohji said, folding
his arms over his chest in disgust and dropping into a pose of hip-
shot irritation. The woman Birman favored him with a narrow-eyed look
of irritation. He ignored her.
"We're not Weiß any more," Ken snarled up at Manx.
"Deny it all you want," their former contact said, her tone heavy
with sarcasm as she came slowly down the stairs, "but you are all in
it already - as the recent attacks on you should have amply warned
you. This dark organization is called Estet. They are far-flung,
powerful and well-funded - and shrouded in the deepest secrecy. We
know nothing about their leadership structure and have little data on
the ultimate purpose of the organization itself. But it is certain
that these kidnappings are part of their plans."
"Is Schreient involved?" The sharp question came from Aya.
"It is very likely," Manx said after a quick look at Birman. Yohji
didn't miss the little exchange, and he was fairly certain the rest
of them had caught it as well. Some kind of transfer of
responsibility had taken place. Whether or not Manx was a willing
party to that was another matter entirely. Persia was gone. And the
buffer between Weiß and the rest of Kritiker was apparently gone now
too. The true puppet masters had been revealed. "Reiji Takatori was
the regional Estet leader. Since his fall they have been
disorganized. But now their influence in Japan must be rising again
through groups like this. We must stamp them out now."
"Y-you're talking about a mission," Omi said, eyes wide.
"Us? No way!" Ken spat, an angry, desperate look on his face. The
sentiment was echoed in Yohji's heart.
"Where is their hideout?" The question came from Aya. The three of
them watched in stunned silence as an impassive Manx lifted up a
slender hand, a folded piece of printout held out between two scarlet-
tipped fingers.
"Here," she said neutrally. Aya stalked forward and snatched the
paper from her hand. And then quickly vanished up the stairs without
another word or look at anyone. Yohji felt almost as if he'd been
kicked in the gut. He shivered, breath trapped in his throat, gaze
locked on the top of the spiral stairwell. He was truly coming to
loathe those steps. More shocking shit had happened on them during
the last hour than he'd endured in the entire three years he'd been
Weiß.
"Aya-kun," Omi said weakly, clearly distressed by Aya's reaction too.
But for different reasons. Botan and Birman exchanged silent looks
for a moment.
"Abyssinian has taken the mission. What about the rest of you?" Manx
lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at them. Ken was staring after Aya,
equally stunned it appeared.
"That's all the mission briefing we get?" Omi asked incredulously.
Manx frowned but nodded. Unsettled, but determined. Omi sighed in
dismay, blue eyes troubled as he glanced at both him and Ken.
These monsters were killing young girls horribly. Aya would go after
them alone if he had to, it was clear, just on the slim chance that
his sister might be one of those caught in these madmen's clutches.
And no matter how much he wanted to, Yohji couldn't let the cold, pig-
headed, arrogant bastard face that alone.
"I'm in," Yohji said grimly, working hard to conceal the helplessness
and sense of deadly inevitability building inside him. Ken shot him a
shocked look that faded swiftly into one dangerously close to pity.
Yohji frowned at him, annoyed. He didn't need foot-in-mouth Hidaka
feeling sorry for him, damn it.
Manx reached into her pocket and pulled out a second copy of the
printout. She held it out between her fingers again, her face still
impassive. At least she wasn't gloating. He couldn't have stood that.
Beside him, Omi was already nodding his agreement at Manx. But then
it was clear the chibi had only been looking for an excuse to take
out the dark beasts that had dared intrude into his life. Of them
all, he'd seemed to have the hardest time adjusting to 'normal' life.
After scrubbing his hands hard over his face for a moment, clearly
struggling with himself, Ken gave a weary, defeated nod. His gaze as
he glanced at first Omi and then Yohji was bleak and panicked, like a
drowning man's. Weiß is swallowing us again, those desperate brown
eyes said. They're making us killers again.
Is this all we are?
Is this all we can ever be?
Shaking his head to try and rid it of Ken's imagined thoughts - or
where they his own? - Yohji reached out and took the paper from
Manx's hand. And it felt like far more than a simple piece of paper
in his hand. He could almost hear the bars of the cage slam closed
behind him once more.
He was back in Weiß. Trapped in a life of killing that promised to be
nothing but brutal and short.
Yet Aya had walked willingly and knowingly into the cage before him.
And the only thing he could do was follow.
You stupid fool, Yohji thought to himself bitterly as he opened the
paper and quickly scanned the scant information there, only dimly
aware of Omi leaning over his shoulder to do the same. When you gonna
learn?
No, he never would learn.
Because he just kept falling in love...
- - to be continued - -