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The Dance	By : jeisvenka Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 3654 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
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The
Dance

Any
comments/critiques/signs of life would be extremely appreciated. It's
nice to know when people read, even/especially if you didn't like it
:)
-----

He
didn't know when he first stopped trying to stab the man, and first
started trying to get close to him, just to feel the other's warmth
against his skin, but now he couldn't imagine their time spent any
other way.

He
liked to think that it wasn't sexual… like it was more of a game.
Like tag. Dodge this, parry that, and suddenly their thighs were
touching; but only for the briefest moment, and then the dance began
again.

Farfarello
liked the way he smelled. Blood and Cigarettes. It was strange,
because Schuldig smelled the same, in a way, although there was
something missing from the red-head. Maybe it was the fact that the
former's haughty look so easily turned to one of pain… a pain that
Farfarello didn't really understand. Was it loss? He wondered if he
himself had carried that look long ago, after his family's sudden
departure.

His
faux family. But that was another story for another day, and right
now, he wanted nothing more than to play this game with the blond in
front of him. Crawford's gun popped playfully behind him, Aya rolled
with a thud into the wall in an effort to dodge; Schuldig had Ken in
a headlock off to the side, filling the boy's head with unimaginable
horrors; Nagi had Omi in a sort of gentle mental embrace, pushed up
against the bricks; and Farfarello… well, he got to play with
Yohji.

It
was so rare that he got this special chance. Usually Schuldig liked
to play with the blond, and although Farfarello couldn't blame him,
he found it increasingly hard to pay attention to his current
opponent when the sound of the German's gun kept cutting through the
air, making Farf wonder if maybe this
time, Kudou hadn't been agile enough to escape its blast.

But
he always was, and now, Farfarello had his chance. Balinese's wire
cut through the air in a series of wide arcs, trying to cover as much
square footage as possible. Farfarello's fighting style was sporadic,
spontaneous, and the wide arcs revealed the fact that Yohji had
absolutely no
idea where the Irishman was going to go next. Farf liked it that way.
When Yohji was at the peak of his performance, his green eyes lit up,
and his cheeks got the faintest reddish tint. And here, he was almost
to that point.

Farfarello
felt something deep move inside him at the idea, and he made a quick
circle around the nearest wire, moving closer, closer to his target.
Yes, he wanted to see him up close when he reached that peak. He felt
cool metal move against his shoulder, and he moved away just in time
to see a smaller circle of wire remove his sleeve and cut a small
gash in his skin. He moved fluidly away from that attack, the rolling
blood filling him with a surge of euphoria, and suddenly he was much
closer to Yohji than he'd ever intended. Farfarello's hand brushed
the blond's shoulder. Their legs crossed. His knife, bright and
hungry, reached too close for that sweet spot in his opponent's
elegant neck. The one that would end it all.

He
could see the look of surprise in Yohji's too-wide eyes. The body
stiffening, looking for an escape, and finding none. The split-second
change in that expression, when Yohji knew he was going to die. And
then, accepting it. All of this happened in a moment, with
Farfarello's knife swinging in close for that finishing blow, their
bodies dancing around and toward each other.

And
then, the dance crashed to a screeching halt. Farfarello jerked
violently, twisting his arm around, his shoulder slamming against
Yohji's chest, pushing them both backwards. And he could feel the
wires, which leapt up invisibly around him, tightening swiftly around
his neck.

Oh,
how easily the tables turned.

Farfarello
felt his last breath escape him before his airway closed completely,
and he found himself face to face with Yohji, who held the wires
tight on either side. Even in his closing vision, he could see the
confusion apparent on the other man's face.

Farfarello
stared up at him, that one amber eye still blazing, and realized the
dance had finally reached its last movement. It looked like Yohji was
leading, after all. He grinned slightly, dropping his knife and
bringing his hands up to ghost his fingers along Yohji's flushed
lips. If this was the end, he wanted something meaningful to get him
through his burning eternity in Hell. He brought the face forward,
pressing those full lips lightly against his own.

His
face felt like it was burning, but not in a bad way, and it felt as
though life were returning to his suffocated body. Such was the power
of a kiss, he supposed, although this was his first experience with
such.

When
they finally drew away, he felt dizzy, and was forced to take a deep
breath to steady himself. …Wait… A deep breath? He could…
breathe? He took another, and noticed his sight was widening again.
Yohji was about three feet away, holding his wire in attack mode, and
casting quick, nervous glances at his teammates. Farfarello looked
around as well, noting that everyone seemed to be lost in his own
battle. No, nobody had noticed their near brushes with death, or
Farfarello's… victory.

Farfarello
felt his neck where the wire had cut into it, and then reached up and
touched a finger to his lips. They still tingled softly. Yohji's eyes
were on him, now, but neither of them moved an inch, whether to dance
or flee.

And
Farfarello wanted him.

He
wanted him so badly, it hurt. And this pain… this pain, he'd never
experienced before. He wanted to get closer to him. To touch him. To
tear him apart.

Crawford's
mental voice cut through the thick silence between them, calling his
team away, and Farfarello obliged, fleeing the scene without so much
as a backwards glance.

When
they reached the car, he felt… lighter, somehow.

"Hey
Farf, where's yer knife?" Schuldig purred, casting an arm around
his thin shoulders.

Well,
shit.

"You
didn't leave it, did you?"

"Nn.
Yeah," Farfarello sighed, mentally berating himself.

"What?
But you never let that thing out of your sight," Nagi exclaimed
in a half-interested tone from the front seat of the jeep.

"Got
sidetracked," Farfarello murmured, receding back into his own
thoughts behind a barrier far too thick for Schuldig's jeering mental
tendrils.

----

To be continued?

Comments/crits/random stuff thrown in my direction is VERY appreciated. Thanks!

Jei S.
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The Dance