Strange Times

There was a rather short list of things Aya envisioned taking up his evening, and meeting up with Yohji for a couple of drinks with Schuldich in tow was somewhere on the ‘no way in hell’ end of it all. But, having been coaxed into pants that Schuldich had deemed ‘shapely enough’ and a shirt that was inching its way towards so small as to be silly, Aya could only hope the lighting in the bar was bad enough to let him hide.



Schuldich, on the other hand…there wasn’t light shoddy enough to take the gleam out of his eyes or the shine out of his hair. The bastard had spent an epic amount of time primping and preening, humming and happy, and had emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam to display battered jeans and a shirt that looked like it had gained a soft comfortable texture by being mauled by an almost considerate predator; it had holes in all the right places and clung and moved with every little twitch of Schuldich’s torso.



Going out had been Yohji’s idea, a suggestion Schuldich had latched onto like a last hope for salvation. Aya scowled, tried one last time to get the top button of his shirt to make contact with its evasive button hole, and made a mental note to make Yohji regret the flippant suggestion. Ken got to bow out with a wave and a smile and no one gave it a second thought. No one expected Ken to agree to an unhealthy evening of drinking and dancing in nicotine and tar laced air. It was a Yohji sort of ambiance, a den of sinful motivation guaranteed to bring a twinkle to Schuldich’s eye.



Leaving Aya as designated driver and telepath wrangler.



Sure, the world had attempted a summersault, failed, and landed on its head. Omi was heading Kritiker, Aya had a sex life, and Yohji was flustered over the ethics and morals of ogling a bit of telepathic ass. The Mastermind was slumming it with Weiss, Kritiker was desperately trying to subterfuge its way towards murder. But the bars were still open and going out was better than being stuck in when Schuldich was antsy enough to be impossible.



Somehow Aya didn’t think Schuldich would ever be the tea and news in the evening sort of person.



“Shall we?” Schuldich grinned, shaking unbound hair back over his shoulder in a gesture that tried to look casual, but missed and went right to cock-raising seductive. “Or were you going for fashionably late?”



“I’ve been ready.”



Schuldich traced a finger along Aya’s cheek. “Next time, use some eyeliner. It would show off your eyes.”



Aya drew back. “I don’t want to show them off.”



“I do.” Before Aya could choose between flushed or furious, Schuldich exited the apartment in a swirl of cinnamon and musk.



“Always have to get the last word.” Aya growled, grabbing his keys before slamming the door hard enough to let the whole building know he was unhappy.





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“Since when did ‘place to sit and have a few drinks’ turn into ‘hangout for college dropouts who want an excuse to catch a hookup on the dance floor?’” Aya glared death at Yohji’s experience impervious smile.



“You wanted to get out and have fun. This is fun.” Yohji shrugged, not at all apologetic.



“For you.”



“Watch my ass. I guarantee you will have fun.” Schuldich wiggled the bit of his anatomy in question and then slid his way onto the dance floor.



“Schuldich…”



‘Unwind. You’re tighter than Crawford’s accounting.’ A sly bit of teasing twined through Schuldich’s telepathy as he engaged in a rather suggestive bit of dancing with an unsuspecting and awestruck passerby. ‘C’mon, kitten. If you don’t dance with me, someone else will.’



Yohji hadnt really expected a floor show with his drink that evening, but like hell he was going to complain. Honestly, if Schuldich could goad Aya into a social activity that didn’t involve homicide, Yohji was willing to allow that to count as a point in the telepath’s favor.



A moment later Yohji forgot to finish his drink.



He didn’t know Aya could dance.



And it had definitely never occurred to him that Aya could dance like that. Schuldich was an unholy force of temptation, undulating his way through the willing crowd, encouraging Aya on in some sort of game of dance floor cat and mouse. Every time Aya caught up with his lover Schuldich would give a dubious reward involving roving hands and a creative mouth. He would give Aya enough time to abandon at least a few straight-laced inhibitions before whirling with a laugh to assault a new partner, giving Aya the option of retreat or possessive reclamation. It was brilliant, really. Yohji tried to blink away the image of Aya pressed up against Schuldich’s back as Schuldich danced with another man, and offered Schuldich an amaretto salute.



The world could come tumbling to a tragic halt, and Yohji would die happy, brain burning with the image of Aya trying to shove his tongue far enough down Schuldich’s throat to wipe away every hint of each partner Schuldich had had the audacity to kiss as he traveled the floor.



It seemed Aya had a new obsession. Yohji just hoped this one proved to be a bit healthier.



Tossing the remains of his latest drink down his throat, Yohji accepted the inviting smile of the woman sidling up to him and led her out onto the floor. Like hell he was going to let Aya have all the fun.



Later they would deal with business like assassinations and changes in leadership. Later rouge would be replaced with blood. right now, hideous clichés and common sense be damned, he was going to have some fun, get too drunk to feel bad about it, and hoped he woke up in someone else’s bed. And that they had a good shower.