"I'm just using you"

BY : Hestia
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4114
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.


It was an evil way to make money. Drugs that were contaminated and rejected by the huge pharmaceutical company were not destroyed as reported, but repackaged, sold, and shipped to various African nations. The images of some of the women and children that had died from the drugs that were the most contaminated were horrible. Most of the drugs hadn’t killed—but they hadn’t cured either. Weiss agreed that the traffic in the drugs had to stop and accepted the mission to kill the mastermind of the plan, Ochi Izanagi.

The image of Ochi, dancing at various clubs with pretty women, surprised Yohji. “I know this guy,” he said. “I’ve seen him countless times when out clubbing.” And he added, internally, I’ve even competed with him for various women’s attention. Ochi was very Japanese-looking, with sparkling black eyes and dark black hair. Yohji’s honey brown hair and dark brown eyes, along with his Western-looking features, had sometimes gotten him the girl and other times, hadn’t. The idea of this man dancing and sleeping with such gorgeous women while callously causing the deaths of others infuriated Yohji. He volunteered to do the kill.

The plan was simple, almost too easy. He was to follow Ochi Friday night to whatever club he went to. The man had two or three little love nests funded by his little drug deals. He’d tell whomever he picked up that he had a little place in one district or another of the city. Yohji could leave the club, head to the correct love nest and conceal himself. If Ochi arrived first and alone, he’d do the job, leave the evidence of his deals for the cops to find, and be done. If not, well, he’d have to wait until the sex was over and do the kill after the woman had left. It was going to be fun, Yohji decided. He got to dance and kill a scumbag. The only downside was perhaps having to watch said scumbag do a pretty lady, but he could always focus on the breasts.

Friday night found Yohji in his Seven, following Ochi to a club. The first inkling that this night wasn’t going according to plan was when Ochi pulled into a popular gay club, Boyland. Horrified, Yohji called Manx. Yes, well, occasionally the target did go after men, she confessed, but only once a month, so the odds of him doing so this particular Friday had been low. Annoyed, Yohji snarled into the phone that he would be doing the mission tomorrow night. But the beautiful redhead reminded him that the latest shipment of the tainted drugs would arrive in Banjul, Gambia, tomorrow, and if they delayed the hit, it might be too late to confiscate the drugs in the port itself. Yohji tried to wheedle a date out of Manx in return for doing the job tonight, but she simply hung up on him.

Sighing, Yohji headed into Boyland.

The crowd at Boyland tonight was good, the energy full of hormones and hunger. Schuldig drank it in with pleasure. The honey of horny minds was the powerful telepath’s favorite drink. His was the perfect job. He frequented all the gay clubs, too frequently in Crawford’s opinion. But he was here tonight on a bodyguard job—an extremely well paid one. He’d saved Higa Ryuu and fucked the lovely millionaire’s brains out a few weeks ago on a whim. The man had offered him a position on his security staff completely unaware that Schuldig was one of the most gifted assassins working in Japan, with unique telepathic powers. Amused, the German with the wild orange hair had agreed to aid the millionaire’s staff when he could. And when he could was nights when a certain Brad Crawford was trying to make Schuldig do something he didn’t want to do.

So here he was on a Friday night drinking in the desires around him—but suddenly in the sea of arousal was a note of disgust. Someone here was straight, very straight, and their mind felt oddly familiar. Schuldig focused and burst out laughing. It was too, too funny. Kudoh Yohji of Weiss, Codename Balinese, was here following a target. The stupid kitty hadn’t known his mark was bi and was dying having to pretend to be enjoying himself at a gay club. Oh, this was precious! Schuldig surfed Yohji’s mind, plucking out his entire mission and plan from his head—as well as Yohji’s disbelief this many men wanted anal sex with other men. The Weiss kitty’s strong belief that there was no way getting a dick in your ass could be pleasant made Schuldig just have to tease him.

It was easy for Schuldig to make it so that Ochi Izanagi and Higa Ryuu were suddenly overwhelmed with lust for each other, so easy it was boring. What wasn’t boring was watching Yohji trying to move closer to the two men pretty much frotting on the dance floor with their clothes on. The poor thing was so out of place. Schuldig danced up behind Yohji and whispered in his mind, `Poor little Balinese, no pussies for you to play with tonight?’

The wild surge of emotions in Yohji’s mind were pure pleasure for Schuldig, and he grinned at the scowl on the face of the brunette. `Ah, I’d love to have a cat fight with you, Balinese, but are you sure you want to make such a scene?’

`Get out! Get out of my mind and stay out!’ spat Yohji at him internally.

`If you dance with me, and really dance,’ said Schuldig, `dance like you want me, and I’ll vacate your mind—if you still want me to, that is. I’ll even help you out, Yohji-chan, so just relax and pretend to enjoy it. I’ll get you close enough to your target to hear what love nest he is heading to.’

Schuldig enjoyed the internal hissing and spitting of the Weiss kitty as they move across the floor. He was dancing acceptably, but hardly in the manner Schuldig wanted. He could flood Kudoh with lust, of course, but that would hardly be as much fun as making Yoji’s body say yes to him on the dance floor while his mind was saying no. `How do you ever get laid, Kudoh,’ he sneered. `You have zero dancing ability. They say dancing reveals what a man is like in bed. You must truly suck!’ Schuldig let the Weiss assassin hear his amusement, but then the internal laughter abruptly cut off.

Kudoh Yohji could dance, could dance very well. That body in tight, low cut white leather pants and a see-through white shirt suddenly was exuding sexuality, gyrating and wiggling in a way that made Schuldig’s cock start to take interest as well as that of quite a few others on the dance floor. It suggested that Kudoh might be a very interesting fuck indeed. He grabbed the teasing body in front of him and spun him around, pressing his cock against that sweet-looking ass. He could sense Ochi about to ask Higa to his place and quickly interfered yet again, making them kiss, not talk, and want to keep dancing.

The disgust and horror in Yohji at feeling his erection made Schuldig decide to torment the kitty a little more. `You never fucked a woman in the ass, Kudoh?’ he asked inside the brunette’s head. The memories that flooded the mind in front of him, made him grin. The women Yohji had taken that way hadn’t enjoyed it that much, hadn’t begged for it, hadn’t been as tight or as hot as—Schuldig’s mind cast out, searching. Ah, yes, there in the bathroom. He captured the feelings of the man plowing a hot, eager ass in the bathroom and projected them into his dance partner’s mind. Ah, ah, now this, this was fun!

The seme’s enjoyment, the shocking strength, tightness, and heat of the ass swallowing that cock, the sounds of the pleasure, the moans, the begging for more, harder, were making Yohji hard. Schuldig reversed their positions, moving his ass against Yohji’s crotch, feeling the cock in the pants behind him hardening. But Kudoh was picturing some redheaded women in front of him, fucking her ass. No, no, that wasn’t acceptable.

Schuldig switched the flow of feelings from the seme to the uke, flooding Yohji’s mind with the pleasure of the man shoving back into that cock, begging for it. The sex was good—the seme had a big dick and knew how to use it. He was alternating between shallow strokes hitting the prostate dead on and deeper ones. He could sense the feeling of shock in the body once more in front of him, the surprise at how good that cock felt hitting the prostate. Schuldig entered the mind of the seme and influenced him to suddenly become much less selfish. The fucking now was exactly what the uke wanted, and his pleasure soared, intense, rich, and overwhelming. The seme reached around and began to jerk on the uke’s cock, and Schuldig’s hand slid over a slender hip and began rubbing over the straining bulge inside the Weiss kitty’s pants.

He could feel the delicious conflict in the mind in front of him as the pleasure swamped his senses. Still a part of Kudoh was focused on Ochi, never letting the mark out of his sight, but that no doubt left the assassin with less mental energy to fight the feelings Schuldig was forcing into his mind. He rode the minds of the lovers, his employer and the target, and Yohji, the pleasure of all six of them mingling and mixing, giving Schuldig the greatest high he’d had in a long, long time. He noted with amusement that Yohji was having trouble separating the uke’s feelings from his own, and Schuldig echoed the thrusts and the strokes in that bathroom stall, putting on an obscene show on the dance floor. But alas, even he couldn’t keep a man from coming, and the seme’s stamina gave out, his orgasm sending the uke off, and drawing a wild, hoarse cry from the squirming, panting brunette in his arms. With a sudden jerk, Yohji tore himself free, the dance song came to end, and Schuldig’s distaction freed the minds of the two men Yohji was forcing himself to focus on. Ochi asked Higa to come to his apartment in the Kimura Building on Tottori Street, and Schuldig felt relief burst into Yoji’s mind as he made his way to the door of the club.

But the tiny note of fear in him was too wonderful for Schuldig to withdraw from his mind, and teasing, he projected an image into Kudoh of a terrified Balinese kitten fleeing from a large orange marmalade tomcat. `Run away, little kitten. But if you want to experience that pleasure first hand, come find me here some night,’ he whispered, withdrawing from Yoji’s mind.

Anticipation was surging in him as he traveled with the besotted Higa to Ochi’s apartment, along with his two other bodyguards—their skills were laughable, but really Higa had nothing but money, much of it tied up in trusts, and not a bit of power or influence other than what his money might buy. He didn’t need much protection, Schuldig thought contemptuously, keeping the lust strong in the millionaire’s mind, so he wouldn’t question the wisdom of following someone he’d just met to that man’s place.

He suggested to Higa that he call Ochi on his cellphone and ask him to let his men search the apartment and confirm it was safe first. Fortunately Ochi’s BMW and Higa’s limo arrived at the apartment complex at almost the same time. A quick scan let Schuldig find Yohji’s mind—he was already in the apartment, hoping fervently that Ochi arrived alone and let him finish the job fast. Schuldig smirked. He kept his touch on the assassin’s mind light, so the kitty wouldn’t spook. It was really, really just so simple he felt with satisfaction.

When all of them arrived at the apartment, Kudoh’s disappointment and dread were so delightful to savor, especially when he realized he the lover had brought armed men, several with him, who would wait discretely outside, on the roof and in the courtyard, covering all of the assassin’s escape routes. No, he was stuck, stuck in a ridiculous cliché—the man in the bedroom closet watching a pair of lovers. Schuldig took the roof, laying there, his cock out from his pants, determined to enjoy himself.

And the show didn’t disappoint. The lovers, however, were hardly of interest to him although their passions did add a wonderful spice. No, no, the main dish was Kudoh Yohji, straight man, watching two men make passionate love with the memory of exactly how that felt fresh in his mind and his cock stiff in his pants. Now, that, that was almost more than Schuldig had hoped for—he didn’t really think the Weiss kitten had it in him to be aroused at homosexual sex without his help. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone from Schwartz had underestimated a member of Weiss.

The thoughts in the tall brunette’s mind were a mix much more complex than mere desire, however, or even desire and fear and excitement. No, Yohji was feeling also sympathy, pity, curiosity, and disgust, too. Homosexuality was illegal in Japan, hence the need for an apartment, for discretion. Clubs like Boyland might exist, but they were certainly not welcomed by most of society. In an odd way, Kudoh mused, an assassin and many homosexuals were a little alike—lives with secrets, lives with things hidden, hidden especially from women, women who didn’t—and shouldn’t--understand the dark side of life. The grief and sorrow of Kudoh’s own losses and memories of the women he’d loved flowed in his mind, still strong and sharp after the years, but with resignation. The assassin had accepted that he would never have a serious relationship with a woman again.

No, no, he was a playboy, a player, a man who just used women or let them use him. And even if their pleasure was mutual, it couldn’t last—no, they might get too close, or he might start to feel more. No, he couldn’t share his dark, secret life with a woman, a pure, innocent woman. Schuldig was starting to go limp and getting more and more disgusted when Yohji’s mind went carnal again. A man, now, a man who understood the dark aspects of life, of death, of crime—a man like himself, like Weiss, like Schuldig, like Schwartz, now such a man would be an ideal lover. No love, just sex, and regular sex. A lover like that would understand if you had to get up in the night and go garrote someone, understand if you returned back to bed with blood on you, would understand the need to fuck and not talk of love or mush.

Schuldig found himself agreeing—it was indeed how he lived his own life, except perhaps he didn’t share his kills with anyone; no, his men were treated more like Kudoh’s women. But he could see the lure of his vision, agree with it. And then the Weiss kitty imagined himself fucking his friend Aya—now that was a mental image Schuldig enjoyed. But even as Yohji was unzipping his pants and starting to rub himself, Aya suddenly morphed into wearing an orange sweater almost the color of Schuldig’s hair. And he scowled at Yohji and began scolding him about his expenses, his wardrobe, and his love of drinking. Schuldig laughed—how pathetic, truly pathetic of the Balinese! He was a loser even in his fantasies—oh! Yohji was now thinking of him.

A person with orange hair should be careful of what sort of clothes he wore and not wear a yellow headband, a blue shirt, and a green coat, thought Yohji crossly. Why did men with gorgeous hair of red and orange have such horrid taste in clothes? Well, the color of some clothes, Yohji corrected. Maybe people with that color hair tended to be color blind? Coats like the one Schuldig usually wore, however, were cool, stylish. He and Aya preferred them, although neither of theirs had brass buttons like Schuldig’s, buttons that curved up well past when they were needed on a coat. Those buttons were silly! The dark green looked good against that orange hair, though, almost as good as his navy blue coat looked against his hair. He didn’t really have anything against yellow either; he had a shirt that was yellow, that very color of Schuldig’s yellow headband, but of course his hair was a soft honey brown, not fire orange.

The yellow against the orange wasn’t so bad, but add in dark green and blue. . . god! And once when forced to wear a white suit, Schuldig had put on a pink and purple striped cravat! It had been pink, no, fuschia, a violent pink hue as intense as the orange of his hair and awful, simply awful, next to it. And he’d kept on the yellow headband and worn a lime green shirt. It was enough to make anyone sick!

Always too many colors—and his shades, those cool sunglasses, why not a blue, a yellow, or a green tint to match something Schuldig had on? Why red, bright red lenses? Such a crime! Covering up those aqua green eyes was a crime—of course, Schuldig’s eyes would be some odd color. They were aqua—no, darker: they were teal, a teal green under those orange brown eyebrows with the elegant sweeping line. They’d looked good tonight, sexy, very sexy. Hell, tonight Schuldig had looked good—he was in Versace in a wild print of yellow, green, white, and black, but not a dark green, rather a grass green that went well with the yellow of that headband. And the shirt was, well, cut perfectly and worn over a perfect body.

Damn it! Why did Schuldig have to be so sexy? Even his voice in my mind was sexy, thought Yohji. And that cock against his ass, the feelings in his mind—the feeling of how Schuldig had found him sexy, god, so fucking hot! He was vain enough that the pleasure Schuldig had projected in his mind at watching him dance had turned him on. And maybe it was just the sheer wrongness of it all—his enemy, on a mission, and a man—everything he should avoid and find far from arousing, and he’d almost come in his pants out on the dance floor.

God, god—watching the men in front of him fuck, he couldn’t help but remember that pleasure, that shocking, amazing pleasure that Schuldig had put in his mind. God, what a lover he’d be! You could feel his pleasure and your pleasure, mixing and mingling, making it so much hotter. Oh, damn, this was pathetic, it was like Romeo and Juliet—and, almost giggling, he supposed he was Juliet since it had been his ass that was getting rubbed against.

But instead of making him go soft, for some sick reason, Yohji’s hand moved faster. He pulled a shirt off of one of the hangers in the closet silently and wrapped it around his dick—he was going to come, and he’d have to take the shirt with him to not leave any DNA for the cops. This was stupid, madness, really, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He was harder than he’d been in a long time. He wanted to whimper, wanted to cry out. And then his hand was flying as he imagined Schuldig behind him, his yellow headband gagging him, his hand on Yohji’s cock, his cock inside him, making him feel that amazing double pleasure front and back, making him feel a triple pleasure in his mind, feeling Schuldig, the sneering Schuldig, desperate to fuck his ass, pounding him, bringing him, bringing himself, together, maybe even projecting in the lover’s pleasure—the pleasure of those sweaty bodies there on the bed—the lust, the need, the craving, the sensations, the forbidden, dangerous thrill of it all—ahhhhhhhh!

And on the roof, Schuldig let out a cry as he came with Yohji. His orgasm merged with Yohji’s in his mind although he held enough control to make sure he wasn’t projecting. God damn, now that was coming! That was some fucking good jacking off! Damn, he had to fuck Balinese, had to, had to experience that for real, to make that fantasy come true.

A burst of self-hatred and loathing made him laugh—ah, the silly kitten hated himself for his slutty fantasy, hated Schuldig, imagined killing Schuldig, putting the wire around his neck—but somehow that thought derailed into an image of Schuldig naked and secured with wires to the wall, his ass exposed for Yohji to fuck—No! The rejection and loathing returned again, and Schuldig purred at it. Oh, this was too good, he was too good—he wasn’t even playing with the kitty’s mind, and the poor boy was torturing himself, would probably torture himself for years to come!

He got a clear image of Yohji’s apartment, his shower, his desire to go home and just wash it all away. But as the lovers on the bed stepped up the action, approaching climax, Yohji wishfully thought about having someone in his home, in his apartment. No one but the other members of Weiss had been there—and no one ever would. He wouldn’t come home to find a warm body waiting for him or wake up with a naked body next to him, wouldn’t fuck someone—or be fucked in that shower. Wistfulness and envy made Yohji angry, eager to kill, and the feelings in his mind resonated in Schuldig’s in a way that was uncomfortable, horrible, painful. No! No, the Weiss would be punished for making him feel this, yes, he would! And he pushed the two on the bed over the edge, suddenly eager for the night to be over. He’d take Higa to a hotel and fuck him, fuck him just how he’d fucked Ochi, knowing Ochi was dead, dead from the wires of Kudoh Yohji.

Yes, yes, that was how he would end the evening. There was nothing pitiful or lonely about it, nothing at all. But as the limo pulled away from the apartment complex, and he felt Yohji kill, he couldn’t help but shiver a little. No, damn it, no! He was the greatest telepath in the world, the best assassin, and his life was wonderful. He turned to Higa and pulled the man to him, flooding them both with lust. No point in waiting to get to a hotel or Higa’s place. Now, he needed to be fucking someone now. Besides, sex in a limo always had a wonderful spice to it—the voyeurism of the driver gave things some extra pleasure, like whipped cream on hot chocolate. But for some reason, he couldn’t get the memory of Kudoh Yohji out of his mind, his honey cries as he came, the memory of that body dancing for him, rubbing against him, aroused by him against his will.

The unsatisfactory fucking ended with a drinking binge funded by his silly, stupid millionaire. And when he stumbled into the house that Schwartz shared, wasted, dirty, and unsatisfied, Crawford smirked at him. In a fit, Schuldig smashed everything in his room but the bed. As he fell asleep amid the shambles of his room, he planned just how he was going to get back at a certain man with honey brown hair. Yes, yes, he would put that plan in action and feel better, much better. Then having used Yohji, he could get on with his life. A smile on his face, Schuldig slept.

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