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Come As You Are	By : animegher Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6971 -:- 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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Disclaimer: All characters and hoo-ha’s belong to WeiB Kruez and Koyasu Takehito… All conventional plot lines have been abused before as well ^_^ because fan fic land has plot holes, I give you:
"…and then he just fell down, but one of Aya-kun’s classmates helped me carry him to a chair," Omi explained, his chin resting on top of Ken’s chest as they both lay on the bed. Omi was on his stomach, somewhat half on and off of Ken, who lounged as usual with his head on the pillow and a hand on the back of Omi’s hip. The light was off, nighttime slowly falling over the city with neither Aya nor Yohji coming back home. Ken personally didn’t want to be awake for either return, damn sure that it would not be pretty. Those two had too much pride to not to come to blows next time they crossed paths.

"That’s when he got the nosebleed?" Ken asked as Omi paused in his report of what exactly had happened between coming home from school and Aya flipping out on Yohji. Omi nodded, the motion more felt against his bare skin than actually seen. Ken hadn’t hesitated to take advantage of an empty house to strip naked, grab a beer, and watch the game on television no matter what the reason. Omi had, of course, preferred to pace around the living room until he couldn’t even enjoy himself with so much worry and anxiety in the background. Ken wasn’t too particularly concerned with Yohji and Aya’s fight, having seen hundreds of them before and being stuck in the same house when the two made up. He couldn’t see how this one was going to be any different- perhaps Yohji would even settle things with a marriage proposal once the two met again. Ken couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that thought, wondering just what wire had been crossed in the man’s head. He doubted if Yohji would want to go through with an engagement once the bruising from Aya started coming in.

"Wait, does that mean Aya made a friend at school?" Ken asked in bewilderment, the realization that Omi had been helped by an acquaintance of Aya’s. God, it was weird to even think about. Aya being friendly with strangers was just about as probable as the sun not coming up ever again. Was there even a semi-normal person that could deal with Aya, much less be buddy-buddy with the unapproachable bastard? Omi and Ken were both used to the purple-haired man’s fickle temper and outrageous explosions over small things, but some things just had to be taken in stride for the sake of knowing the person. Not every assassin was perfect.

"I don’t know after the guy touched Aya," Omi said sadly. The boy didn’t need to explain any more; Ken grimacing as he could only imagine Aya’s reaction to that. If how badly Aya had beaten Yohji up was any indication, Ken was glad he hadn’t been there to see it happen. Still, Ken didn’t really see why Aya had freaked out so badly, and on Yohji of all people. Usually Aya clung to the man, the only time Ken ever saw Aya affectionate and physical with another person. If he had had such a bad day at school, why had Aya punched Yohji instead of allowing himself to be comforted like usual?

"You have to stop thinking about this. We can’t do anything, and those two will work things out on their own," Ken assured Omi, knowing that the boy loved to worry things to death, past the point of reason and usually straight to tears. It wasn’t going to do a bit of fucking good, since Aya and Yohji weren’t about to listen to them anyway. Even if Ken could give good advice on relationships, he doubted either one would hear of it. They both had too big an ego for that. Ken’s words only deepened the frown on Omi’s face as the blonde shifted off of him and sat up, the smiley-face design on the back of his shirt a bizarre opposite.

"But, what-…"

"I know something that might help you forget," Ken purred as he leaned up to kiss the underside of Omi’s jawbone. Omi put a hand on the side of his face, pulling Ken up to met his eyes before Ken finally-after the better half of a full week- got full tongue and mouth action. Just a quick shift of muscles and he had their positions switched, Omi underneath him as Ken straddled the smaller body and braced his elbows on either side of the blonde’s head. He didn’t want to crush the poor boy, having heard complaints before and not about to risk the mood. Ken did his best to ravish that mouth, lips, doing everything short of licking Omi’s face. He had to remind himself to calm down, a hard-on already starting to form as his body rushed, afraid Omi would change his mind yet again for the hundredth time. He was in luck though, because Omi was responding with just as much energy, hands pulling at Ken’s body. He was already working on getting Omi’s shirt off, if he could only figure out how to do it without breaking their kiss. That might give Omi the chance to talk.

However, Omi finally grew tired of how long Ken was taking, pushing away his hands to tear off his shirt himself. Ken was already working at the boy’s shorts before Omi grabbed his head in both hands to plant another fierce kiss on Ken’s lips. This run of abstinence was obviously wearing down on Omi too, since Ken knew damn well it was a school night. Still, after witnessing a fight like Yohji and Aya’s, it was hard not affirm their own relationship was still okay with good, old-fashioned sex. They both were a little desperate, rubbing against each other, and Jesus Christ he had missed it. Ken couldn’t get enough of Omi, having forgotten the taste in the few days Omi had been rejecting him.

The door opened, the loud squeak of it causing Ken to sit up on his knees and turn to the noise, Omi’s head snapping over as well. Light cut across the room, broken only by the shadow of Aya standing with one shoulder braced against the doorway. He was too shocked at the entrance to say anything for a moment, naked and Omi had almost been as well, and Aya didn’t even have the common decency to turn around. Some larger chunks of bangs had fallen out from Aya’s ponytail and a jacket was hanging off his shoulders, giving him a sloppy and apathetic look that Ken hadn’t seen in years. Not since Aya used to go binge drinking every blue moon or so, guilty as all hell about murdering someone who had deserved it for the most part. In fact, Aya was obviously blitzed right now, as Ken could smell the alcohol from the bed. He was more surprised at the fact Aya must have gone to a bar by himself, but above all-

Omi and he were fucking naked!

"Aya!" Ken barked, not believing that the man wouldn’t respect the fact that this was not a good fucking time. The walls were very fucking thin, so he didn’t doubt that Aya must have heard what was going on before he entered without even knocking. The fucking hypocritical bastard always bitched at everyone else whenever they accidentally walked into a room that Aya was occupying, demanding insane privacy. Why couldn’t Ken even get a damn second to be alone with Omi? When was the next time going to come along, Friday night? Hell no! Ken was going to kill Aya himself if the man didn’t close the door in the next five minutes.

"Yohji isn’t back yet," Aya said in a soft, miserable voice that made Ken’s stomach clench. Ken finally had the sense of mind to look at the clock, a bright red three a.m. shining back at him. Omi sighed heavily underneath Ken, patting his arm in a silent signal to move off. So goddamn fucking close. He rolled, grabbing some of the sheets as he went and yanking them up into his lap as he sat upright in the bed. Omi did as well, pulling a zipper up and buttoning the pants Ken had finally been able to get open. Thing was, he couldn’t even be angry anymore, not when Aya looked so classically pitiful in the doorway.

"Did he call?" Aya’s question was barely above whisper, but Ken could hear it clearly above Omi’s soft breathing next to him. The rest of the house did seem unnaturally quiet without the older blonde making a commotion. Ken was used to Aya and Yohji arguing, but not actually coming to blows. Tonight had definitely been weird, and not just for the couple involved. Ken lost the last little bit of arousal then, just gone like smoke fading out into the sky; didn’t have an answer for Aya that wouldn’t break the man into a hundred pieces. He didn’t have that sort of sensitivity, so Ken decided this might be one of the times when he should just shut up.

"No, we haven’t heard from Yohji-kun," Omi answered honestly, making Ken wince and peek out one eye to see if Aya was finally going to go crazy with that one. Aya’s expression didn’t change, but his whole body slumped down with visible despair. Ken opened and closed his mouth, wishing that Yohji was there and he could force them to make up. He couldn’t bear to see one of his friends like this, and didn’t doubt that Yohji was bound to show up in the same shape in a couple of minutes…but, until then, Aya was standing there with knees threatening to buckle and eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Ken didn’t even know if Yohji would be there to support Aya like he always was, and he knew how damn hard Aya must be taking these few hours of separation.

"You can come in here with us, Aya," Ken finally offered, Omi nodding enthusiastically beside him as he fumbled around the covers to find his shirt. Aya stood there as if they had offered a three-way orgy, violet eyes not reflecting anything back other than the light from the hallway. Ken didn’t think he could recall the last time their resident hardass had ever looked so completely alone. He couldn’t help but reach out, fingertips brushing against Omi’s ankle just to make sure that he was still there. He didn’t want to get in a fight with Omi, didn’t want to argue like some fucked-up version of marriage as Aya and Yohji did. Ken wasn’t about to belittle Aya’s pain right now, but if Omi ever left him, he wouldn’t handle it as well as Aya, who was merely sinking into depression. Ken wasn’t sure what he would do, but it certainly wouldn’t be as collected as Aya was, completely canned or not.

"We could all watch some TV together or something instead, Aya-kun," Omi suggested when it seemed like Aya was only becoming a statue in their doorway. Omi, being the most sensitive one out of them all, could tell that Aya probably wasn’t at ease coming into their bedroom but didn’t want to be by himself right now. Ken sat up a little straighter, figuring that they were going to move on out to the living room until Yohji finally decided to come back home and fix this mess. He certainly didn’t know what else to say, stuck scratching his hair and trying to push down that bitter anger directed at Aya for interrupting them. Even he could wait a little bit longer for sex when the purple-haired man was going to the length of actually trying to talk to them, his apprehension naked for anyone to see. Ken didn’t doubt that Yohji was in the corner of some bar, but Aya was likely imagining much, much worse.

Aya mumbled out something that resembled an apology, turning to leave- before he made a wavering, uncertain trek to the bed. Ken barely had the time to move before Aya dived face first between him and Omi, the leather cord he wore finally losing its last hold on his hair as it fanned around his head, sideways on the mattress with his shoes still on and brushing the floor. Damn Aya’s long limbed body, effectively making a nice line between him and his lover. Ken tried to pull at Aya’s arm and coax him into at least sitting, but the man stubbornly dug his face in deeper to the untidy sheets. Ken heard it then, the very soft and disturbed hitch of Aya’s beer tears, and realized why the man was doing his best to cover his face with his hair and the mattress.

"I fucked up. It’s my fault, I’m so fucking stupid," Aya’s own quiet, punishing words sounded too harsh even for socking the living daylights out of Yohji. Ken had to admit there were a few times when he wanted to punch the cocky asshole himself. Hell, Aya had more right than any of them to hit Yohji, as the two were so stupidly in love. He had seen more conflicted personalities between cats and dogs, but they had always worked before. Even if Aya had been the one to punch Yohji, there had to be a reason. Aya was temperamental and unpredictable, but not this badly. Usually. Often…hadn’t been in a while.

"Aya-kun, it’s going to be okay," Omi’s comforting voice brought Ken back to the task at hand, which was the sobbing drunk in their bed. Omi had a hand on Aya’s back; stroking the heaving shoulders like he was a house pet. Aya wasn’t hitting Omi away or shaking him off, which only made the man’s hurt more palpable. Aya was definitely regretting what happened and blaming himself on top of it, the angsty bastard that he was. If it started to rain, Aya would be able to rationalize that it was his fault in that twisted, damaged head of his.

"Hey, man, don’t worry. Yohji’s coming back soon," Ken tried his hand at cheering Aya up, sounding fake to his own ears. "I’ll hold him down for you when the jerk gets back!" Omi snapped up at that, the glare sharp enough to cut through Ken as Aya’s crying increased to audible weeping. Silence it was, Ken sitting there awkward as all hell. He should have known better than to try to say anything at all to Aya when the man was upset, because for some reason the only thing Ken seemed able to do was make it worse. A little bit of humor wasn’t go to go anywhere in this situation, so he just made sure his dick wasn’t showing before mimicking Omi and rubbing Aya’s shoulder.

"I have to tell Yohji I’m sorry. What if he doesn’t come back?" Aya was clear enough through his tears, even if his fear wasn’t a very valid one. Yohji’s stuff was still all here, and it wasn’t as if the man could just pick up and leave everything behind. Ken would hunt the asshole down himself if that ever happened. It pissed him to hear Aya being so ready to apologize, the regularly prideful prick barely anything more than a heartbroken teenager. Yohji should be damn complimented to know that he meant this much to the man. He looked up over Aya’s shaking back to Omi in hope of seeing what to do, only to find the boy was having a hard time holding back tears of his own, those baby blues misting over but somehow Omi was managing to keep it together.

"Yohji-kun is going to come back," Omi returned in a firm, certain voice despite the wavering look on his face between sympathy and physical pain. Ken still had one free hand, so he used it to grab Omi’s other. Immediately the younger blonde looked at him and mouthed a ‘thank you,’ lacing their fingers together and squeezing once before Omi went back to trying to console Aya.

"Everything will get sorted out, Aya-kun," Omi almost sounded like it might actually be possible. Ken didn’t doubt that eventually the dust would settle from this particular fight, but he just couldn’t see when or how this time. Omi was different. Omi seemed to think that there actually was a Christmas Miracle, the Easter Bunny did exist, and that goodwill to all mankind wasn’t a cliché. Or, that Yohji and Aya were going to be able to kiss this one better. Ken had to smile at that, certain that just hearing Omi being so heartfelt was enough to make him cheer up.

"It’s my fault. What if he doesn’t come back?!" Aya might have yelled it, but his repeated worry was muffled by the bed and his hair. Aya was different as well, and he wasn’t handling this well by a long shot. It was the first time that one of them had left the house in a rage, despite everything. Ken frowned, wishing that Aya would actually explain why this had happened in the first place. He supposed that was impossible after all, since Aya wasn’t about to talk about his feelings or motivations. All they could do was sit there on either side of Aya without a single word to make him feel better. Even Ken knew that it was hopeless to stop Aya’s self-loathing and hated it as well. How could he have ever thought that Aya was a robot when it came to emotions, the ice-princess behind his back and ice-sir to his face?

Omi didn’t say anything to that, just lifted his hand off of Aya’s back and switched it with his whole body for an awkward hug. Ken found himself dragged into it whether he wanted to or not, Omi still having a tight grip on his hand. He managed to keep from falling over the two by leaning forward, but what was more amazing was Aya hadn’t tossed Omi off yet. Without Yohji around, in a matter of hours Aya was no longer able to function and actually needed them right now, the desperate loneliness coming off of him in waves. Ken couldn’t help it anymore, falling more across Omi than Aya, but he joined up in the comforting embrace the blonde had started. The other two people in the bed with him right now probably meant the most to him in the whole world, Yohji included as well…but the asshole wasn’t here right now. So, Ken and Omi did their best to try and make up for that absence as Aya cried himself dry.

* * *
Schuldig had not been expecting Yohji Kudoh to come stumbling out völlig betrunken from the bar, frozen to the spot in utter surprise that he hadn’t sensed the man coming. He had left his mind slightly open, listening to the endless prattle of the people around them with only half an ear, and still didn’t catch Balinese until the man literally fell into his arms. Schuldig hadn’t known what to do, knowing he should rip into Kudoh’s mind right now and twist it up so badly that he wouldn’t ever remember seeing Schuldig…or his own name, for that matter. His cover was blown, his typical watch-and-grab-at-the-right-time plan gone down the drain, but was pretty sure Balinese would have cracked his skull open on the sidewalk if Schuldig had moved out of the way and disappeared before he’d been recognized...

Or not recognized, as the blonde suddenly turned into pure liquid against his body, managing to press every inch of his legs and chest against Schuldig, and kissed him. Really kissed him, a skilled and hungry set of lips sucking, urgent, twisting against his own… Schuldig even lost the presence of mind to care about just who this was, returning the exchange with a mouth and tongue of his own. Kudoh went weak at that, stumbling before Schuldig caught him with an arm around his waist, not about to let this kiss end early. It was incredibly erotic to brush against Yohji’s mind at the same time, the barest touch informing Schuldig that the man didn’t even know up from down right now. Intoxicated, vulnerable, tossed into Schuldig’s lap with a nice ribbon on top. Crawford had been right on the money to send him after Weiβ everything falling into place like a child’s puzzle. Schuldig barely had to extend the slightest amount of effort and he had been rewarded gratuitously.

When their lips finally separated, Schuldig decided he’d just fuck Kudoh right now. The man reeked of cigarettes and liquor with a faint, fading cologne underneath it all. This was completely different from his usual victims who twisted and fought against him. He wasn’t digging through memories, not yet, but just to check that his newest acquisition didn’t realize whom he was using as a human crutch. Even this morning when he had made Ran believe that he was Balinese, the Kätzchen had still fought him; desperately rejected the reality Schuldig had tried to force on him. Schuldig had to cut his fun off early for the sheer fact it would take a little more effort than he was prepared to put forth. At this rate, he’d probably have to borrow some of Farfarello’s restrains next time. Still, it had been a delightful little experiment, and the results…well, Schuldig could count on Ran to overreact, but not quite so magnificently in his favor. He had a willing victim on his hands, all but getting down and begging for it when the man had been stupid enough to kiss him. Kudoh was pliant and conforming against his side, giggling with his bruises coming in all over his face. He looked like shit, one eye was swollen shut, evidence enough that his Kätzchen still had his claws; they were just very well hidden now. Yohji laughed and suggested something in a slurred, incomprehensible voice; a few white teeth smeared red with blood from a cut on the inside of the man’s mouth. How was Schuldig supposed to resist? The night was young, they were in the perfect part of town, and a short walk had him at a hotel that rented by the hour. Schuldig just paid for a flat rate of a single night with Balinese shouldered up beside him. The man behind the counter just gave them a courtesy glance, having obviously seen worse couples come in here than just two men, one a glass away from alcohol poisoning. His money was good, and that was enough for the manager to pass Schuldig a set of keys.

It was hard to get Kudoh moving again once they had been standing for a while; his legs tangling up as if he had completely forgotten how to use them. Schuldig ended up hauling Balinese to the elevator with the man’s shoes dragging on the carpet, Kudoh being rather easy weight for his height. Even still, it was hard to hold up an adult male when he was too far gone, with more than just alcohol from the tangy smoke hanging on the man’s hair. Schuldig thankfully didn’t have to wait long for the two metal doors to open into a stark, faded blue cabin with the carpet and siding peeling. He swung Kudoh into it, letting the man slam against the wall to help shore up some of the weight as Schuldig pressed the taller man into it. There was a missing button for one of the floors as Schuldig hit the story for their room, the doors sliding shut slowly with a loud grind that didn’t bode well for the device actually being capable of going to their floor. Schuldig frowned as he heard the gears creak to life above their heads, a warm wet tongue hitting behind the corner of his jaw before licking a path up to his ear.

For the first time in his life, Schuldig truly understood the meaning of an erogenous zone. Schuldig had done the same to his victims and partner before, enjoying the taste and the way they squirmed, but had never once had it performed on himself. It had been a long time since he had treated a sexual partner as an equal allowed to do such; even longer still since he had been forced into it by someone stronger. Schuldig didn’t like to recall his childhood. Yohji swirled his tongue, forcing Schuldig’s thoughts to come to a full halt.

He turned around so fast their faces almost collided, but that was the point anyway. Schuldig kissed Balinese so hard his head slammed back against the wall, the fresh metallic tang of blood as a cut inside Kudoh’s mouth opened up again at the rough treatment. It was hard not to sweep into the man’s mind at the same time; to drink up every little thought and detail that had led this man here. Schuldig was sure that this was nothing more than old habits taking over, that Ran couldn’t have possibly been enough to keep Kudoh satisfied every night. The same man, the same thing, and the boredom would creep in like a disease. Everyone needed a night like this, where all control was given up and true freedom was found. Why was there a need for guilt between two strangers, just a few hours where nobody was going to judge or fall in love- just fuck and leave in the morning before a petty thing like names got involved. Schuldig did his best to imprint that on Balinese’s mind while he slide his hand up underneath the old cotton tank top the man was wearing like the finest silk, his palm appreciating the muscles and divots between the ex-assassin’s ribs before he turned his fingernails into the flesh and dragged his hand down. That nice flash of pain had Kudoh moaning into his mouth, pressing a hardening bulge up against Schuldig’s own; pants suddenly the most hated thing in existence.

The elevator door opened too slowly, and Schuldig found the walk down the dim, small hallway an impossible wrestling match between getting Balinese to cooperate in forward motion and not undress him then and there. He had gotten a room for privacy, mainly because Schuldig just assumed he was going to have to get violent for this one and didn’t want to be interrupted; but now it was more for the fact he wanted to screw the man’s brains out. Between opening up the door to their room and shoving Kudoh inside, Schuldig wondered why he hadn’t done this before. The blonde, slightly older man was perfect- not asking any questions, not even thinking about anything other than staggering over to the bed. Schuldig very much doubted that Balinese even realized that there was anyone else in the room once he lost physical contact with the man. A quick glance at his consciousness told Schuldig that the man was hovering between awareness and blackout from the liquor, giving Schuldig strobe-like images of thoughts.

Nausea from too many cigarettes, too much to drink. Aya punching him in the jaw. Aya screaming at him, the words muted because he’d been too shocked to listen at first. A bitter, angry hurt leftover from what Aya had done to him. A wound that ran much deeper than that, of guilt beyond all the loves of his life, of a time when h-

Schuldig had to pull himself away before he got tears from the emotional backwash. He hadn’t expected there to be so much raw depression underneath than smiling, sodden exterior. Everyone had their own dark, delicious secrets that he loved to peel back and thrust in their face. Schuldig had made an art of it, loved to watch lives crumble, the psyche finally give out underneath too much stress. He loved the sophisticated destruction, instead of the simple bloodlust Farfarello had. Schuldig had been gambling on Kudoh getting upset because of what he had done to Ran in the man’s place; but he hadn’t thought there would already be so much to work with in the first place. Yohji’s own self-loathing was like water nearly the boiling point, little bubbles that could burst and explode at any moment. It was a small wonder that the man wasn’t already comatose on the floor with the depression Schuldig had felt only for a few seconds.

Yohji cried out in delight when he fell into the bed, and Schuldig couldn’t help laughing aloud at the behavior. Schuldig kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt off neatly, his belt being the only other article of clothing he got off before he got to the bed. Yohji was on his back, long legs still bent over the side of the mattress and touching the floor. The man had his eyes closed, on the verge of passing out as Schuldig leaned forward with one knee close to the man’s side, an arm braced on the mattress above Yohji’s head. An open, warm smile burst out on the mind’s face, lips twisting upward as he realized someone was on the bed. Schuldig had never been so close before when the bright, green eyes opened up, one slightly narrowed with purple and green bruising as they tried to focus on his face.

"Heeey, handsome," Yohji slurred out in smoky, barely lucid voice, one hand reaching up to tangle itself in Schuldig’s hair. That affectionate touch was disarming, Schuldig forgetting the usual plan of dealing incredible physical pain and getting off on the fear. The bastard wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t even have the common sense to know that one of his greatest enemies was frozen above him without a shirt on, just looked tempting as all hell despite the bruising on those pretty features. It only seemed to heighten the good side of Yohji’s face, the raw beauty coming out when it was slightly marred. Ran was the same as well, looking his best with a black eye or bloody mouth, but Schuldig doubted the two enjoyed that common feature. They didn’t explore violence as eagerly as Schuldig, and yet had been just as close to it as he had, long ago.

He just couldn’t resist it anymore. For the first time in his whole life, Schuldig might have actually met someone’s lips with his own as complete equals, something resembling gentleness. It was so strange, too foreign for that brief instant when Yohji just moaned against his mouth, kissing back just as much and using his hand to pull Schuldig in deeper. It was that slight movement that knocked Schuldig out of his daze, quickly realizing just who this was and who he was. Schuldig thrust in tongue into Yohji’s mouth, ignoring the way the surprised grunt felt like duplicity against the man. He couldn’t help himself, too used to devouring a human being whole to stop now. Schuldig grabbed Yohji’s wrist, yanking the man’s fingers away as hairs snarled and were ripped out. Schuldig ignored the tingling sensation in his scalp, pinning the man’s arm down beside his head and forcing control of the situation. Yohji struggled a bit at that, uncoordinated bucking and shaking of his head until the man finally ripped his mouth away from Schuldig’s.

"You’re rough," Yohji complained, eyes narrowing and glaring at Schuldig in an accusation that the man was too betrunken to voice. Since when did his victims actually feel like victims? He knew that Balinese was the biggest slut of all the Weiβ boys, or at least had been, as Schuldig had learned from that brief touch on the man’s mind, not at all a stranger to sex, gay or otherwise. However, it still felt like he was looking at a young Ran, when the boy had still been a virgin and broke down in tears when Schuldig had merely talked about what he would do when he finally caught the redhead in reality instead of his dreams. That purity and absolute innocence had stayed, refusing to tarnish no matter what Schuldig did. Perhaps that was why he kept coming back to this otherwise poor, laughable excuse for an assassin team that he should have killed long ago purely on occupational principal. To think that he could have Balinese there, without a weapon on him and only able squirm lusciously underneath Schuldig.

"I’m in the mood for it…right now," was the next husky thing Yohji voiced, which would have made Schuldig completely hard if not for the hiccup at the end. The thigh nudging against the inside of his groin made up for it though, his body language and pouting lips telling him that he would have one of his first willing partners. Amazing how Ran had become so steadfastly devoted to the man when Yohji was more than ready to spread his legs for anyone smart enough to pick him up. It didn’t matter though, because Schuldig was still going to fuck this man over, physically and mentally. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise. The man beneath him was an enemy, nothing more than a good fuck toy before he threw the bitch back into the mess he was making in Weiβ’s home. It didn’t matter if he had a strong jaw line and the curly hair and exotic natural blonde that Schuldig was particular to, if his knee was starting to rubbing against Schuldig’s knees or if he was leaning up for another kiss even though one of his hands was restrained.

"Verdammt," Schuldig swore, grabbing the collar of the thin tank top the man was wearing and ripping it. Fabric that had been washed hundreds of times tore easily, ripping awkwardly to the shoulder before down the seam to the man’s waist. Yohji only giggling like this was some kind of game, demure and curious as Schuldig gathered up the ruined shirt and twisted it down into some semblance of a rope. He used it to tie the man’s wrists together, a tight and bulky knot that only worked because Yohji didn’t have the coordination to loosen it. Balinese didn’t even struggle until Schuldig was done, frowning when he found himself restrained as such.

"Wha…I dun…like this. We don’t need this," Yohji focused on making his second sentence clearer, pushing at Schuldig’s chest with bound hands. He smiled, blinking up like a lost little sheep that didn’t have the slightest idea it was in bed with a wolf. Schuldig didn’t need this kind of trust, simple belief that this was merely a one-night stand between strangers. He grabbed Yohji’s wrists in one hand, forcing them down above the man’s head. He wrenched the up that strong chin in the other, digging fingers into Yohji’s cheeks until his mouth opened. Schuldig pressed his lips down on the other man’s with teeth scraping together. Just like forcing his tongue into Yohji’s mouth, the man’s own folding over his throat to keep Schuldig from choking him, he dived straight down to the depths of Yohji’s mind. Sand trickling down a small hole as he found one dark, cogent morning that the man seemed to be doing his best to forget.

A woman. Mother. Passed out in the hallway with her dress ridden up to her waist, underwear still on and stained from urination. An empty bottle underneath her loose hand, a trail of new ones on top of older trash that had piled up and never been cleaned. A small, dismal squalor of an apartment, electricity long since shut off and a leaking sink the best-functioning thing in the house. Yohji standing at the end of the hallway, too scared to cross around her lest she wake up and still be in the middle of a drunken rage. Too young to be seeing this and yet bruises on his face and underfed body pointing to a long history, bastard son of the rumored chronic alcoholic in town. She couldn’t hold a job or a man, and when she did make a meal, the tirade that followed was enough to make him regret eating in the first place as she cut up something on a mirror, smoking and glaring at her worthless son. Because of it, he had grown old and withered up inside before his voice started to change, unable to say word against his mother but not about to take it from anyone else.

Yohji yanked his head away, at the same time managing to pull his mind away from where Schuldig was trying to direct it as well. Years of repression and denial could be scary, even allowing some common, second-rate assassin to hide thoughts from a telepath. Schuldig figured most of it was because of the strong desire to forget, having a mother no better than Yohji’s and a father even worse; but he had made their brains explode inside their skulls as soon as he had learned to control his powers. It wasn’t too long after that he was called Schuldig by the other orphans with similar stories, all of them young, hungry, and alone, and Esset came to pick him up. He didn’t know how Yohji had ended up with Kritiker, but if he dug around some more, Schuldig would be sure to find the answer.

"Oh, God, I can’t do this. Let me go," Yohji demanded in a shuddering voice, tears streaking down the side of his face and wetting Schuldig’s fingers. That look of complete agony, so old and repressed, but still raw and tormented, was the most arousing thing Schuldig had ever laid eyes on. Blood immediately started surging, racing along his veins to his groin. He let go of Yohji’s face, hearing a soft sigh of relief as the idiot thought he was being released, before he only reached down to start working on the man’s pants. The belt proved to be a bit of a problem when Balinese started to yell, struggling and trying to knee Schuldig in a delicate area. He didn’t think that anyone would come to investigate some screaming in a place like this, but even with his hands somewhat tied together and coordination a distant thing, Balinese was hard to manage. Schuldig tried to maneuver himself better; keeping his legs straddled over Yohji’s kicking ones, but he found himself almost being thrown off the man despite having weight, leverage, and sobriety to overwhelm him.

Schuldig punched the man solidly below the sternum, causing a great ‘woof’ of air to escape as Yohji gagged and curled up reflexively underneath him. It was even worse for a chronic smoker as the half-American started coughing hard, snorting tears and mucus as he flopped about between his legs. Schuldig just had to slam a hand down around Yohji’s throat and all struggling ceased as the man froze up and simply wheezed for air. Pants came off easily enough then, and it was only a matter of rolling the man onto his stomach. Yohji still tried to crawl out from beneath him, fighting as if it was his life at stake. Schuldig grabbed a fistful of that beautiful, curly hair to jerk the man’s head back until his spine cracked as he hauled Yohji up.

"Get off me!" The man roared out when Schuldig fastened his mouth down against the tan, muscular neck. He bit down, teeth digging into soft flesh not quite hard enough to break the skin. Schuldig didn’t need the taste of blood for once, just the struggling grunts and curses of the man trying vainly to free himself enough of a turn on. He grinded his hips into Yohji’s backside, against that slightly paler ass, laughing when the man bucked and tried to kick at him without managing to even come close. Schuldig was certain that with a personality like Balinese’s, the man had never once allowed himself to be on the bottom in any of his relationships. Now wonder Abyssinian had dulled so quickly after being in den Arsch gefickte every day by this man.

Schuldig pulled down the zipper to his own pants, and his erection fell down to slap against the small of Yohji’s back. Fear did amazing things, giving Yohji the strength to surge backward and nearly slam his head into Schuldig’s chin. It was a miss, but the mere fact that the bastard was still fighting back even though he had been somewhat gentle infuriated Schuldig. He would have started breaking limbs at this point, if it was anyone else. If it wasn’t Weiβ. Schuldig didn’t want to just hurt Yohji; he wanted to break the man. It was only what he deserved for ruining Ran with the falsehood of love.

>Stay still!

Schuldig forced his thought in, clenching his will around Yohji’s nervous system until the long, slender body shuddered and went stiff as stone. It was a nice little trick Schuldig had learned to do, as long as he could touch and see his victim. He didn’t understand the finer points of why, not about to listen to the long English words Crawford used to explain his gifts…but just knew the if he put pressure on a certain spot his victim’s brain would freeze up, like premature rigor mortis. Even though Schuldig had never taken Balinese for much of a crier, tears were now leaking from unblinking eyes as if he had any sort of virtue left to violate. He licked them off the side of Yohji’s cheeks; enjoy the salt taste and the raw fear in Yohji’s eyes close up. Though he was definitely much easier to handle now that Schuldig had stopped all movement, it wasn’t very much fun either. Besides, Schuldig wouldn’t be able to maintain this hold indefinitely, eventually running out of strength to hold another person against their will for very long.

Schuldig went inside Yohji’s memories one more time, feeling along the edges for the major events that had shaped his life. He didn’t want to spend all night watching some useless recollection of someone else’s sad childhood. Schuldig eventually found what he was searching for, everything coming down on him like a loose thread being yanked loose.

Coming home from school one day to a truly empty apartment, a short note explaining in clear words that he would never see his mother again. Being shuffled around from foster home to foster home and having to get harder and tougher each time. A single woman who couldn’t have children of her own was the first, overly affectionate with her adopted son. A teacher at school taught him much, much more than what she covered with the other students in class. Yohji seemed to draw older women to him, unwanted until he finally learned to control it, to be the one seducing instead. From then on, his life had become a race to leave one woman for the next before they could ever have a chance to abandon him. He was always gone long before anyone could hurt him…

Schuldig pulled away before Yohji’s thoughts could turn to how after finding Ran everything had gotten better. He didn’t need to know anything further to despise the very concept of it. Schuldig grabbed a hold of Yohji’s scared, panicked consciousness and forced him to look back on these memories, on the past betrayals, the long list of people who had left, died, were forgotten, were murdered; forced him to remember and concentrate on actions that Yohji had been regretting for years.

Loneliness and self-loathing blossomed like a flower, Schuldig letting go of his mental hold on Yohji’s body. The man only used his regained control of his limbs to bury his face in his hands. He cried with honest, soul-wrenching honesty; a wonderful music to fill up the cheap, stinking room while Schuldig sat back on Yohji’s thighs and watched the show. He stroked himself into full hardness, holding the rigid length in his hand while he shifted up to only straddle one leg, using his knee to kick them apart. The man must have realized then, in that position, that there was no escape even if he did try to fight again. He didn’t even resist, softly whispering that other name Ran had chosen to call himself when Schuldig pried his buttocks apart.

Yohji screamed beautifully when Schuldig penetrated him, even better than anyone else ever had. There was no need for preparation or lube when thin skin split easily to accommodate him. Schuldig worked his way in hard, pushing against muscle clamping desperately to expel him before finally managing to slam in up to the hilt. The sounds of Yohji’s pain-filled cries faded into hurtful gasps as the man tried to stay silent for his pride alone. Schuldig didn’t care, nothing but his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he shuddered up in Yohji’s warmth. He was soft inside, organs barely protected from this kind of assault. If Schuldig wanted to really hurt the man, he could just literally fuck a hole into him and let Yohji bleed to death in this hotel. The thought of Abyssinian’s face at having to find out his boyfriend was raped and murdered during the morning news was almost tempting enough to do it…

…and yet, something made him hold back. It wasn’t just the way Yohji was squirming around, desperately trying to get away from what Schuldig was driving into him. The long-limbed body below him bunched up, muscles jumping in Yohji’s back and arms underneath a gorgeous bronzed flesh broken only by the artistic splattering of bullet wounds and other scars. A mix of sweat and tears was soaking his hair, making it glint gold in between darker browns. Yohji was attractive, sah gut aus, but even with his face buried into the mattress, his body alone was captivating. Schuldig didn’t feel the desire to beat Yohji bloody or keep working away at his mind until he was nothing more than a vegetable. The simple act of sex was enough to get off on, for once, as Schuldig felt a tightening in his balls and a surge of pleasure he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He started thrusting in and out, slowly at first inside Yohji’s tight, dry channel until blood finally eased the way. It would have been almost painful for Schuldig, if it hadn’t felt so overwhelmingly good. He lost focus of other things, fumbling around to find a grip on Yohji so he could hold the man at the right angle. He heard hair rip but didn’t feel anything, skin tear underneath his fingers but wasn’t sure whose. It might have been animalistic, and anyone looking on might have considered it completely brutal, but Schuldig thought of it as liberation. Finally taking what he wanted without being ordered around or watched, no Esset monitors trying to follow him secretly. There was only this man, and with a climax so powerful he couldn’t help himself from crying out, Schuldig successfully ruined Yohji’s life. The high of adrenaline and sex started to fade out and he returned to himself, still inside a warm body that was shaking and moaning with pain. It was intoxicating, like any drug, so much so that Schuldig rather thought he would want a second go of it. Maybe a third as well…

* * *

Aya woke up feeling distinctly like hell. He had had vivid, frightening dreams that he couldn’t recall all night long, flashes of something horrible happening but he didn’t know what, waking up trembling-but warm and vaguely…safe. Even so, a full night’s sleep was impossible without Yohji, a fitful switching back and forth between a daze and nightmare. His hand throbbed slightly in time to his heartbeat, reminding Aya exactly why he was alone right now. He hadn’t ever regretted anything more in his life, couldn’t even think, just kept remembering Ken pulling him back and Yohji falling to the floor. He had only been able to stare blankly at the mess he had made, at Yohji’s shocked expression as blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth. He had run from it as fast as he had anything else in his life, walking around the city aimlessly as he hadn’t done in years. Aya felt dead inside, but hurt too much to be anything else than reality.

He had spent the better half of an afternoon circling around aimlessly on the streets, his anger radiating off enough to clear a wide path in the typically swarming sidewalk. Aya couldn’t even stop to consider what had happened, what he was so pissed off about, or where he was…just pissed. It just simply hurt. Yohji’s mask, that act in front of everyone like he hadn’t been a complete bastard a few hours ago, was intolerable. So was the mess he had made. No matter what Yohji did to him, it didn’t justify Aya punching him back. For the first time in his life, Aya regretted his temper and wished that he had just talked first…but the sting from Yohji’s words didn’t disappear so quickly.

‘If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be fighting me.’ Aya swallowed rubbing at his eyes as he thought about that particular line. It had stood out more than the others, cutting deeper than Aya had ever thought it could. It felt like Yohji hadn’t just been talking about what had happened in the bathroom. Aya thought back on all the times he’d woken up screaming and struggling against Yohji because the poor man had simply been holding him in his sleep at the time. Yohji didn’t do anything other than try to comfort him, and Aya struck out like a fucking animal. He couldn’t control it, the instincts drilled into him in a few months lasting much longer than the love Yohji had shown him steadily for over a year. Except Aya had made a choice, had decided that physical revenge was the only answer like a circuit breaker flipping in his mind. It was absolutely insane, he was insane. Everyone in the whole house had accused him of such before, but this was the first time Aya thought it might actually be true.

The bright lighting from inside a convenience store cut into Aya’s eyes, making him blink up and realize that it was nighttime already. He looked around to place himself a good mile or more away from the floral shop, miserable and lonely like a dog that had been kicked around and abandoned. Only he’d been the one doing the beating this time, regretting it so badly that tears were starting to well up. Aya wiped them away fiercely, telling himself that it was because he was adjusting to the dark light- and also knowing that he’d been walking around in it since sundown. He sucked in a breath and entered in the automatic, sliding glass doors of the convenience store.

He came out with a bottle of sake in a bag, a flush on his cheeks, and a heart that was threatening to break through his ribs. Everything had been fine, not very many people apparently choosing to shop at this time of night; but it left Aya without having to wait in line. He’d set the bottle on the counter, it had been scanned and placed in a paper bag, he’d handed out a bill- and the man asked him how his night was going. Aya hadn’t been asked a personal question by a stranger in so long that it shook him straight to the core. His hand froze when the clerk took his money…and decided he couldn’t even wait for the change. He couldn’t stand there in front of that man, knowing that he was being judged on his purchase and appearance. Aya grabbed the bag and ignored the cry of ‘Your change’ as he darted out the door and crossed against the light through the slow traffic; not even really sure what he was escaping from. A car honked at him, the sharp noise only reminded him of building alarms and having to escape before the cops came or the bombs went off…

He slipped into the park across the street, avoiding the path and steering into the large trees and flowers that were dulled in the nightlight. The darkness should have been frightening instead of feeling like it was covering him from searching eyes. He should have been thinking about the homeless and criminals that would be hiding in the cultivated bushes, but at this point, he was the more dangerous predator. He had already beaten his boyfriend, what would he do to stranger that tried to approach him this night? …if he could even think of Yohji was his lover any more. Was Yohji doing his best to forget that he and Aya had ever even been together? Aya couldn’t begrudge Yohji if the man had, would understand full heartedly if Yohji never wanted to see him again. Aya was absolutely terrified at thought of when he might have to meet Yohji in the eyes next. It was enough to make walking harder and harder, Aya stumbling in the neatly trimmed grass until he finally took a seat against the trunk of a cherry tree long out of bloom.

"I’m sorry," was the toast Aya peeled back the label and opened the bottle to; not even intoxicated yet and already talking to himself. He tried to imagine apologizing- again- for hitting Yohji, and words that shouldn’t be haunting him came back to mind. Sorry isn’t going to cut it, babe. Yohji was so very, very right. Words didn’t cover this, actions were the only things that counted in the end, after all. Aya could have tried to cover it all up with saccharine lines like Yohji did, but…this regret, this utter terror clenching in his stomach wouldn’t be expressed with an apology. Just feeling so damn stupid and sorry.

Aya started drinking as if it was a mission, in the middle of the stifling, humid heat that was summer. He hated this season the most, didn’t like going outside into insufferable heat and sweating while he was constantly reminded of the day when Aya-chan had been hit by Takatori’s car. Aya had once thought that he would be free of that particular memory once she had awakened from her coma, but he was still haunted by it whenever the summer festivals came around. Another part of a long list of guilt and regret he had kept track of over the years. Aya hung his head down, wishing that he could have called Aya-chan right then even if she hated his relationship with Yohji and had yet to really say she was okay with him being gay. He wanted to talk to her, just someone who knew most of what he had been through, how mom and dad had raised them, a person who understood him for the most part. He had always depended on Yohji to be the one he could talk to, but he had knocked out that trust just as thoroughly as he had Yohji in the kitchen. Such a goddamn fool. All the bad things happened in summer, and it was usually his fault. Aya-chan, his parents, and now the only person he ever loved.

Aya hated himself with a new vigor he hadn’t felt in a long time. Yohji usually held off that bleak depression, gave him more reasons than Aya could count to why he was a fabulous human being, with talent, grace, beauty, sensitivity-… Aya threw one hand up to his face, to curl up in his hair and scratch down his neck. What had Yohji done to deserve such harsh treatment? Had Yohji touching him in public really been that awful? He had cum, had wanted to die when he felt the orgasm ripped from his body…but the act had also pushed the bloody nose and faint in the hallway far from his mind. Yohji had comforted him, in the strangest, sickest of ways, had done what he thought was best no matter how much Aya had fought him. He hadn’t comprehended it at the time, still couldn’t now, but who had done the worse deed: a hand job or kicking the crap out of Yohji…He’d hit Yohji right on the face, the handsome lines probably swelling up and marring the features Aya loved so…

He was such a fucking idiot.

The alcohol finally started to hit his stomach, a warm and uncomfortable swelling in his gut from chugging the better half of the bottle so quickly. He had never managed to be a graceful drinker, not like Yohji. Aya couldn’t handle his liquor well, and right now, it was almost exactly what he wanted. A little bit of self-punishment before he went onto the real deal of having to confront Yohji. No…not confront, Aya corrected himself, just lie down and do anything it took to make sure to the man forgave him, so that Yohji wouldn’t leave. He had really screwed up this time, and the thought that he might not get another chance to rectify his mistake chilled Aya to the bone. He was running out of forgiveness, sure that even a patient man like Yohji got to the end of his chain. This would certainly be enough to push anyone over the edge. He was suicidal and didn’t even have a mark, though his elbows were sore from banging them on the bathroom floor- but that was his own fault for struggling.

Aya brought the bottle up for another drink and found himself staring down the neck instead. Just when had he ever turned to alcohol to solve a problem? Aya had quickly learned that getting sloshed to chase away depression only increased it, until he ended up breaking down like he wanted to do all the time. Aya was always trembling on the verge of something, fear or violence or just…just…

When had he become such a fucking gutless, pitiable bastard? It anyone could see him now, Abyssinian, the former leader of Weiss, hiding out in a city park with a bottle of sake…Aya wasn’t about to choke on tears for himself, not outside and vulnerable like this. He couldn’t help looking up at the sky, a black curtain falling down on his life. What a spectacular mess he could make in a simple afternoon. He missed Yohji already, like it was a fact that he would never see the man again-pull it together, Fujimiya! Aya screamed it silently at himself, dropping the bottle to grab his head in both hands and shake it back and forth. The small bit of sake left was spilling out onto the grass and his shoe, but it was for the better in the end. He shouldn’t be here, ready to fall into a drunken stupor and be a nice, unconscious victim for the next person to walk up. He could add martyr to the list of complaints, practically begging for bad things to happen because at least Aya knew how to deal with that. He could focus on simply surviving instead of the mistakes he’d made.

Still, there was that small chance that Yohji might not be as pissed as Aya assumed he was. Maybe he was home already, since Aya had lost track of time long ago, and that would at least give him an opportunity to apologize. Pride wasn’t something Aya was going to try to cling to in a situation like this. There wasn’t much left to hold onto, save the tree as he pulled himself into a standing position again. Yohji wasn’t something he should be letting go so easily, not without doing his damnest to keep the man first. Even though he could say such fine words, it was still another matter entirely to navigate his way back to path. He didn’t realize how far gone he was until he was standing up and moving along with everything else in the world; perception rolling around like the liquor in his stomach. Aya fell to one knee and hand to pick himself back up carefully. He couldn’t be stumbling around in public, not like this.

A tall streetlight helped Aya back to the patterned cobblestone path and he joined the late night crowd slowly. It was mostly couples that were out right now, men and women of all walks of life clinging to each other; each pair that passed by like a knife in his heart. He was getting stares and people were making an effort to circle around him on the path, smelling like alcohol and looking like shit. As if the world could expect better of him when he didn’t know if Yohji was going to be home or not when he returned. If Aya regretting punching Yohji, he felt almost as bad about wasting so much time to get smashed instead of walking around with that nervousness threatening to tear its way out of his body. He couldn’t run, not in his state, but the slow and sure pace he had taken to assure he wouldn’t trip was killing him. Even though the streets were familiar, even though it couldn’t have taken more than five minutes to take the direct route back home, it felt like the rest of the city had already backed up and gone to bed when he was finally standing underneath the overhang outside the front of the shop. Aya put a hand to the clean glass, staring in at the darkened and locked up shop as if he could see through the walls and into the house. The lights were out in the upper windows and Seven was still parked in the garage, painfully just the way he’d left everything. There wasn’t a single hint if Yohji had come back yet or not, so Aya entered through the backdoor to actually search inside.

Every floorboard creaked underneath his feet as if to alert any living creature in the house that he had come home. Aya couldn’t bring himself to take his shoes off, lamely considering the fact he might need to run. Yohji’s temper was brutal, once it finally ignited. The emptiness of the kitchen, the living room, even the den downstairs seemed to scream at him that Yohji was gone, that he wasn’t going to come back. Aya was physically aching with the guilt, the thought making his stomach turn into ice anew now that he was standing alone in the middle of the house, his throat tightening so hard he couldn’t even breathe. Looking in on their empty bedroom was his worst nightmare come to life. He couldn’t even consider the possibilities, the utter desolation impossible to think around. How was Yohji even going to forgive him this time? Aya had always adored Yohji’s patience, wondering where it had come from when he had always just assumed Yohji to be a mindless flirt. There was such depth to the man, a secure place to crawl up inside of, and he had all but kicked Yohji out the door himself.

It occurred to him that Yohji might have called, however ridiculous it might be. He was willing to hope, pray even that it might be true. Just a simple message that he wasn’t leaving the country, wasn’t going to leave him forever. He tripped in haste to get up the stairs, but caught himself on the banister and bounded up the rest of the steps, forcing himself to pause at the top of the stairs to compose himself. He wasn’t going to be overly emotional about this, not in front of Ken and Omi. He tried taking deep breaths and concentrating on counting to ten, but that only seemed to give the darkness more time to grow thick and suffocating. Aya flicked on the light, standing there uncertainly in his lack of control before forcing himself to barge into his roommate’s bedroom. If he had to face those two, he could put on the mask and push these indescribable doubts away for a moment…

At least that had been the plan. It wasn’t supposed to end with Aya feeling hot and dirty in the same clothes from last night, wedged between his two friends. He finally came out of his haze when the streetlight outside the window turned off and the sun tried to raise above the city skyscrapers, sandwiched between Ken and Omi and taking a moment to remember just how this had happened. The only reason he wasn’t bolting outright from the bed was because he was still fully dressed and on top of the covers. Even though under the sheets, Aya was sure that Ken was completely naked while Omi had the blankets pulled up all the way over his head, making it impossible to tell the boy’s state of dress. Still, the small lump was pressed up against his shoulder while Ken had slung an arm over Aya’s chest so his hand was touching the mound that was Omi. Both of them were snoring loudly and peacefully in the middle of a deep sleep Aya had never experienced, though Omi’s was slightly muffled. He was successfully trapped between them, sweating, and the guilt building up yet again as he remembered crying in their bed last night until he finally fell asleep.

Aya picked Ken’s arm up and slowly lifted it up and off of him. Ken didn’t even wake up, being the heavy sleeper he was, but Omi moaned and shifted when Aya tried to slip down to the foot of the bed. He had to pause and wait for the lump underneath the sheets to finally settle before finally crawling off the bed and out of the room in a silent retreat. Waking up with them was just something Aya didn’t want to deal with; he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to talk to them after this either. He left his shoes behind, not about to risk gathering them up and waking Ken and Omi. He managed to escape the room without them even realizing it.

Aya couldn’t help himself from quickly pacing around the house to check each room for Yohji, not about to allow himself to run…But, God, it was hard to do. It seemed like everything had faded into a dead grey, not just from the morning light, but also because of the distinct lack of Yohji. Aya went on autopilot then, something he had learned to do when Aya-chan had first landed in her coma. If he actually thought about what was happening right now, it would be hard not to fall down to the floor and never move again. So Aya reduced his senses down to going up the stairs and taking a cold shower mechanically with the dulled thought that he wouldn’t want to smell for when Yohji got home. If he got home.

When he got home.

Aya appreciated cold showers, different from the punishing hot ones he would indulge in because the temperature never changed, no matter how long Aya stayed collapsed at the bottom of the tub sobbing helplessly. The numbness that spread over his body helped to reminded Aya that he should be trying to freeze up his heart as well. He had to be calm when Yohji came home, he couldn’t cry again or lose his temper. How could Yohji even stand to see Aya lose control of his emotions yet one more time? Aya managed to turn the water off and dry himself off before he got hypothermia, at least taking care of the physical. He couldn’t bring himself to brush his teeth or comb his hair, could barely keep himself breathing. He just didn’t care, freewill and self-sufficiency gone in an instant as Aya shuffled into the bedroom that both he and Yohji should have been in last night. It was actually painful to get dressed in silence, thinking of all the times Yohji had teased him, flirted with him, or didn’t even let Aya get as far a second piece of clothing before the man was working them off again…how stupid he had been to actually want a moment to himself. He had it now in abundance, choking him with hopelessness.

Aya stared down the top of the dresser, framed pictures glaring back at him.

One of all four of them when they had opened up the flower shop for real and not as a front for their nighttime occupations, even Aya smiling slightly in the picture with Yohji hanging off of his shoulder. There was another that Aya wasn’t so proud of and would have thrown out ages ago if Yohji didn’t look so damn handsome in a tuxedo, standing right next to him dressed in the most convincing drag Aya had ever managed. The only reason he had even gone out the front door was because Yohji had been there. Where was Yohji now? Even on his worst drinking stint, Yohji had been home before the morning light.

Aya was struck by the chilling terror that Yohji might actually be hurt, somehow incapable of getting home. What if he couldn’t get to a phone, or had been attacked by former enemies and was bleeding to death in an alley? Life always had a way of getting worse when everything already seemed so bleak. He closed his eyes, firmly ordering himself to stop the hysteria and drama. Paranoia on top of this all wouldn’t help anything. It didn’t stop the shaking, even though Aya made fists at his side to hold himself tense. When he summoned together the strength to look up again, his gaze settled on a discarded black lighter instead of Yohji’s personal silver-plated Zippo with a cross pattern. Yohji would certainly be using that to light the cigarettes he was smoking. Aya wondered where he was, if he was enjoying that morning cigarette like usual; if he was even thinking about coming back…

Aya went to the bedside table, opening up the small drawer and sorting around until he found an untouched pack of emergency cigarettes Yohji always kept on hand. He took those along with Yohji’s lighter and left the room, not able to stand in there much longer without the sound of the other man there. It was strange how Aya had gotten so used to him, had even begun to take Yohji for granted; and now his absence seemed to make each second last an eternity. It was hell.

Telling himself that he wasn’t running away, that he wasn’t trying to escape the stifling quietness of the house, Aya went downstairs. He grabbed one last item, a bowl from the kitchen, before heading out to small patio outback. There, on the cheap set of plastic chairs Ken had bought and contrasting metal table Aya had put out there for planters long ago, he set up the makeshift ashtray, tore into the cigarettes with something akin to desperation when he couldn’t get a proper grip on the slippery plastic film covering the box. He ended up just ripping the thing open and yanking out a cigarette, not sure where the irritation had come from.

Aya tried not to cry again as he lit up, taking one long drag, holding it in his mouth as the smoke vaguely tasted like his lover. He hated the tears, hated the emotion and trembling urge to simply crash and burn. The harsh tobacco couldn’t even hurt his lungs, not when Aya was so desperately seeking physical pain instead of the crippling wound he was feeling inside. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself purposely do anything to hurt himself, start punching his legs or the wall till his fist was bloody, because Yohji had made him promise not to do it anymore. Aya took another hit off the cigarette, deeper this time until his eyes watered and he had to start coughing.

He needed Yohji back.

* * *
Schuldig opened up the door to Crawford’s study instead of walking past to his own room when he saw the strip of light cutting across the hallway. Crawford didn’t even look up, hunched over his desk with a pen moving frantically, every now and then switching to type something into the computer. Schuldig took a quick glance around at the walls covered in framed credentials from universities and such, bookshelves going all the way up to the ceiling filled with thick law texts and reports. Schuldig felt bored already as he strolled up to the desk, ignoring the glare that clearly meant ‘get the hell out’ as he approached the man.

"Still up this late, Lieber?" Schuldig asked as he draped himself over the papers spread out on top of Crawford’s desk. Crawford frowned down at him above the thin rims of his glasses, his suit jacket hung over the back of his chair and his tie loosened. He must have been up for a while now, working without break as was the man’s tendencies, the fact that Brad was still awake when Schuldig had finally come back home after getting bored by an unconscious bed partner. Sex had been amazingly satisfying tonight, and eventually Balinese had worn down into nothing more than a barely coherent recipient pressed bonelessly against him, lost in pleasure and absolutely astounding. His endurance had been incredible, even when Schuldig had managed to coax the man ejaculate several times, but it was still nothing compared to his own. In fact, the walk home after leaving Yohji properly debauched and still dripping wet from sweat and sex had only made him more horny. And, of course, Brad looked as crisp as he had this morning in the white starched shirt even if it was turning into the next day. A dangerously straight, serious bastard that Schuldig had never wanted more in his life. Not only was there the challenge of Crawford being a complete fucking prude, barely did anything more than breathe faster whenever stimulated past any normal human’s standards; but the fact that Schuldig couldn’t beat the man. He had been shuffled around teams in Esset, usually switched to a new one after making hardened assassins believe they were five-year-old girls and such, until even that got boring and Schuldig just started killing them. Then, he was sent to Crawford, who was apparently a very important person in the company that had employed Schuldig, even though he had no clue why. He got to kill people and was kept fed, a roof over his head and anything he could possibly want, and so Schuldig didn’t worry about the details.

He had thought Crawford would be the same as any other useless suits boy, dämlich and unexciting, seeming like a businessman who had never dealt with anything more painful than a hangnail- minus the fact that there was a crazy Irishman in the basement. Until Schuldig had tried to sneak out for some fun like usual and found Crawford waiting at the front door. Schuldig quickly discovered that living with a precog was hell. A constant cycle of him trying to outsmart, outfight, outmaneuver the man and finding himself on the losing end every time. Schuldig stayed in Schwarz just to finally get Crawford, that one day when he would finally get under the man’s skin and see the smug bastard’s face after being force-fed a taste of the absolute torture Schuldig had gone through all these years. He was fucking sick of never being right, making mistakes that were so obvious to Crawford, always being ordered around by the man just because he could see the future…not that Schuldig didn’t try to return the favor every waking hour.

"Get off my desk, Schuldig," he ordered coldly after a pause, obviously fighting down irritation. Crawford didn’t show emotion, adjusting his glasses stiffly as Schuldig didn’t even move, crossing his legs to knock the stapler, a file of boring papers, and a few pens off the table. He was close enough to look at the large silver watch on Crawford’s wrist, the small hand on the three before the man moved it out of his sight. No wonder Crawford was in such a bad mood if he had been going through papers all day and the better half of the night.

"Working hard, Chef?" Schuldig purred with a diminutive batting of his eyes, just like that innocent Kätzchen he had debauched just a few minutes ago.

He was shoved off the desk, hard, falling between it and the pair of leather chairs Crawford used for his clients. The only pleasure Schuldig got out of it was he took down the phone, lamp, and the better half of the files the man had been working on. He picked himself up irritably, cursing in German while Bradley cursed in English, both of them obviously pissed about the result. Schuldig had just been trying to cheer his fearless leader up…or irritate the piss out of him, which was a lot more fun.

"Damn it, Schuldig, I’m trying to get something done here," Crawford snapped when he sat up on his knees poked his head over the edge of the large wooden desk. He frowned at their leader, seeing that their resident prick wasn’t in the mood for messing around, not that he ever had been in the first place. Crawford wouldn’t know a good time if it crawled up his ass and laid eggs. The man was efficient and matter-of-fact about everything, had special hangers for all those damn suit jackets and slacks. Schuldig had yet to see the man without a collared shirt. He couldn’t understand how anyone could be so stuck in their ways, never even wanted to try anything new. Even if Crawford knew what was going to happen in the future, it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself.

"Shouldn’t you be going to bed?" Schuldig returned, knowing how the man felt about getting his exact seven and a half hours of sleep. He ran like clockwork, and Schuldig knew if Bradley missed out on his sleep, it would only be more painful for the rest of them in the morning. Brad Crawford, the leader of one of the most elite assassin groups in the underworld, was a cranky bitch if he didn’t get enough sleep. Beschissen. Schuldig didn’t need someone who could tell the future spouting off wise-ass predictions all day long just because he was sleepy. Even Farfarello didn’t get this damn moody.

"Your concern is overwhelming. Go away," Crawford dismissed him coldly, starting to gather up that scattered files and organize them. Schuldig frowned at that, still wound up from his night with Yohji and all but flat-out being told he was annoying. Schuldig didn’t put up with that sort of attitude, not about to be sent away like… like Nagi! Crawford just thought he knew Schuldig, clearly believing that since he’d been so nice as to allow the psycho out of the house to play with Weiβ he’d be a grateful, obedient little drone. If the man didn’t look so good in the glasses and loosened black tie, Schuldig would have beaten the shit out of him; if he ever could land a hit on Crawford. It was getting a little bit closer each day, but he was getting a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be in his lifetime.

Schuldig ducked his head back down, but this time it was to sneak under the desk, in between the two heavy legs that had file drawers and such inside, over the thin board serving as a footrest and to sit comfortably between Crawford’s legs. The man leaned back in his chair, cranked his head down to look at Schuldig in a mix of questioning and repellence. At least he was the slightest bit confused, which was the best Schuldig could ever hope for…and he hadn’t been kicked at yet either. They were good signs all around, but he put his hands on Crawford’s knees first just to check the reaction. Nothing but one eyebrow arching up as the man adjusted his glasses carelessly.

The fucking smug, cool bastard. Schuldig hated always been looked down on, and it wasn’t just because he was eye-level with Crawford’s groin. Schuldig always felt smaller in Crawford’s presence, no matter what he did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to get some sort of reaction out of the man. Their leader always stayed distant, never actually touching Schuldig or anyone else, certainly hadn’t ever been to bed with Schuldig…and yet he’d found that Crawford wasn’t entirely abhorrent to the occasional stroking or blowjob. It was just another form of stress release, and it was better to go to your teammates than some prostitute on the street…Crawford might even have run into Abyssinian if he had ever been loose enough to have anonymous sex, Schuldig thought with a sadistic smirk.

He felt jealousy leak out through Crawford’s mind, the usually tightly guarded thoughts streaming out softly enough for Schuldig catch. Bradley obviously didn’t like having to be the only responsible one, doing all the paper work and bookwork of Schwarz; but that’s because he was the only one who would do it. The rest of them were lazy screw-ups, Nagi barely able to take an order without feeling guilty, Farfarello unable to take one step outside without berserking, and Schuldig always reeking of cheap cologne and old sex-...

I don’t wear cheap cologne! Schuldig’s own wounded pride snapped his mind away from the thoughts he had accidentally tapped into. He could only hope that Crawford hadn’t sensed him, or else the man would probably punish him for reading his mind…Schuldig couldn’t repress the shudder that went through his body at the last time he’d been reprimanded. His life at Schwarz might seem sweet on the surface, but the organization had ways to torture a human being that made death seem like a dream, a welcome release. Of course, Esset’s ‘doctors’ made dying impossible, for better or worse. Working with Farfarello was a chilling reminder of that everyday. However, Crawford didn’t even make the slightest motion to show that he had felt Schuldig’s mind on his, just continued smiling as if he knew better.

Crawford was definitely going to pay for thinking so poorly of him. The man might have already seen that Schuldig was going to give him a blowjob like he wanted to, but did his visions also tell Bradley exactly how it was going to feel, what Schuldig was going to do with his mouth? They weren’t that precise! Tonight wasn’t just about the usual challenge of seeing if he could get a response from Crawford, but also a little test to see just how accurate the man’s visions really were. He had never thought about it before, working at Crawford’s belt quickly before he got in trouble for taking too long. The man would only humor him for so long until Schuldig started using up too much time and was told to finish it up. That could kill the mood faster than a bullet, and Schuldig didn’t want that tonight after having such a good time with Balinese. If he got Crawford as well, Schuldig would have had the perfect day and would go to sleep happy.

He unbuttoned the top of Crawford’s pants, spreading the fabric before leaning forward to grab the zipper between his teeth and pull it down. He enjoyed the feeling of the metal jumping around, nuzzled the plain, black silk boxers underneath. That made Crawford’s legs shift a bit, the foot of his house slipper accidentally brushing a hand Schuldig had braced against the floor. The asshole drew it back quickly, wanting to remain in little contact as possible even though his knees were on either side of Schuldig’s shoulders. He reached up to pull out a soft but definitely above-average sized penis, Crawford not about to get hot and bothered just because Schuldig was underneath his desk. He couldn’t help grinning, half in humor that he was under it in the first place, half in pain that any other man would probably been spurting in his face by now. Crawford wasn’t like that; he had to make everything a hardship…but it just made it all sweeter in the end as Schuldig ran his tongue down the length of it. He couldn’t help remembering Yohji’s at the same time, the new things the man had shown Schuldig when he had forgotten to fight as the alcohol had taken over. Schuldig wondered if Bradley would ever lick his ear and tensed at the thought, getting hard for what seemed like the hundredth time today just imaging it. Why did he have to be surrounded by such delectable men? If he had known Schuldig would have moved to Japan so much earlier, sometimes barely even to stand the women back in Germany, more than delighted to give Crawford head since the man didn’t allow much else.

Schuldig used his mouth just slightly at first, teasing the head with his tongue while Crawford started to shake minutely ever so often before his self-control slammed back down. He still wasn’t making any noise, not like Yohji had. The man had moaned magnificently, twisted around like an unwilling Bordsteinschwalbe; just oozing sexuality even as he had tried to push Schuldig off. Crawford’s thighs were twitching, which was more reaction than the man usually showed; but for some reason it wasn’t very satisfying at all. Schuldig almost forgot the other man was there as he thought back to the few hours he had spent with Balinese, the man’s unique voice screaming obscenities at him. Crawford only leaned over his desk to brace his forearms against it, obviously needing support as Schuldig mechanically used his hand to tease his balls. He had done this countless times before, had gotten better at it and yet was still sleeping alone. Schuldig knew deep down inside that he would probably never get a chance to beat the bastard, but he could deny it again and again…except for tonight.

He wanted Yohji Kudoh more than Crawford. Maybe it was the thrill of new prey, maybe it was because he wasn’t just screwing Balinese but also managing to hurt Ran through the man as well, but in the end, he was just unexplainably obsessed. Typical. He no longer focused on Bradley, closing his eyes and imagining it was Yohji. It could be so vividly real with his powers, his brilliant memory, that wonderful tattoo he hadn’t seen before. Schuldig hollowed his cheeks out , sucking hard before relaxing enough to take Crawford all the way…well, coming up a little short with pubic hair brushing his nose because his mouth simply didn’t stretch that wide. Schuldig ignored the discomfort, remembering that Yohji had cried when he had orgasmed, like a suffering Engel.

There was no warning when Crawford finally came, nothing, just a shudder like a car engine dying down and a heavy sigh. Schuldig had no problem taking it all down after the surprising load Yohji had shot off in his mouth earlier. It was amazing Ran hadn’t exploded before now with that man’s sexual stamina. Bradley did touch him then, a hand on his head to part his hair in what could have been a loving gesture before shoving him back. A personalized handkerchief was already out and cleaning himself off. Schuldig crawled back out, rejected and at the same time realizing he hadn’t been so into either. Crawford didn’t excite him like Kudoh had, who had actually been returning the affection for a few precious moments during the night. He stood up and brushed himself off indignantly, wiping at his mouth and wishing that Crawford wasn’t such a bastard…and forgetting even that when he was overcome by homicidal rage at the sight of Crawford’s desk.

All those scattered files had been picked up and put back in their respective folders, the few items Schuldig had upset all organized and perfect yet again. As if Crawford had been so bored that he had needed something else to do in the meantime. Schuldig had a hard time forming words, too insulted to even know where to start. He wanted to scream a thousand things at Crawford and knew none of them would be worth it.

"Now that you’re done, will you leave?" Crawford sighed, as if Schuldig had been nothing more than a tedious diversion. He would have choked the utter fucking life out of the man if he had the chance…but he couldn’t do anything more than bite his lip and stay silent. He had learned his lesson about talking back before leaving a room. Apparently, Crawford got the last word, or nobody would. He opened up his mind instead, broadcasting loud and clear how much he utterly despised Crawford, dreamed of his death, and going to take his corpse, stuff it, and set it up in the bedroom just so the man would watch Schuldig have the time of his life for the rest of eternity. Gott, he had never wanted anyone dead more than Brad Crawford. The man only smirked at Schuldig’s murderous rage as his zipped his pants back up.

"And, Schuldig, whatever you’re doing, don’t involve Farfarello," Crawford called lightly to his back as Schuldig left.

He slammed the door as hard as he could to that order, almost losing his balance as he stormed out into the hall. Schuldig grabbed the first thing he saw, one of Crawford’s precious vases on that stupid circular table that was good for nothing other than getting in the way. He picked it up and tossed it to the floor because he knew the soundproof doors would keep Crawford from discovering it immediately. Ridiculously expensive ceramic shattered on the fine hallway carpet, dusting up onto Nagi’s bare feet as the boy stared at him. He hadn’t noticed the younger teammate in his rage, standing there in simple pair of blue, long-sleeved pajamas and a large stack of photocopies in his hands. Crawford had no doubt woken the boy up to make him help with the paperwork, always knowing the best way to make their lives hell.

Schuldig pushed Nagi hard, slamming the boy back into the wall and causing him to drop all those papers, fluttering to the floor in an explosion of white sheets. He grabbed Nagi by the neck, needing a victim more than anything else as he pinned the boy. He didn’t like how the Tunte had assumed that he could outsmart him; hide the fact the rest of Weiβ was still alive as well. Schuldig didn’t even know why the boy wouldn’t want to tell him, couldn’t understand why his own teammates thought he was such a loose gun. He did his job right, whenever he was actually allowed to leave this fucking prison.

"Don’t you dare lie to me again, Nagi," Schuldig hissed to Nagi’s wide open eyes, using his gift to dig into the boy’s mind and ‘pinch’ that one little spot where electrons danced around before Nagi’s gift activated. He could keep the Tunte from blowing him away like this, had learned quickly after the boy had tossed him aside like a rag doll. Schuldig was not to be looked down upon, not by Crawford and certainly not by this little shit.

"What are…you…talking about?" Nagi wheezed out, one hand scratching weakly at Schuldig’s wrist. The boy wasn’t very strong physically, not much to fear once his power was restrained. He lifted Nagi up easily until he toes were only brushing the floor, wondering for a brief moment just how much trouble he would get into for killing Nagi. Well, in the morning, once Crawford found the vase, he’d probably already be in too much shit to add a teammate’s murder to the mess.

"Weiβ. You’re to report every detail to me… about each of them," Schuldig ordered, feeling fear well up in Nagi’s mind. There was worry there, concern, but it was so vague and heavily guarded that Schuldig couldn’t determine anything specific. He didn’t care to, not about to give Nagi that much importance. The boy shouldn’t have any sort of anxiety for Weiβ, shouldn’t be thinking about anything else than how to help him destroy them as quickly as possible. It wasn’t as if Nagi and Abyssinian were going to become friends because they were in the same class, but the fact that Bombay had been on campus as well worried him.

"You know, Farfarello has always had the cutest crush on you," Schuldig sneered at the boy, feeling delightfully in control of the situation when Nagi’s eyes widened in fear. It was better than back at Crawford office, underneath that desk and believing like an idiot for that split second when Bradley had touched him that he might have actually meant something to their leader. But, he didn’t, was only getting this sort of freedom to terrorize Weiβ because he was a veteran employee, they were an old enemy, and Crawford already had seen a vision about it and already given his approval. Schuldig wanted more than that, wanted to be seen on his own merit for once. He hated Bradley so much it was almost unbearable, not even torturing Nagi cheering him up like it usually did.

"Next time you try to hide something from me, Tunte, I’m going to let him show you all his love," Schuldig promised before let Nagi’s jaw go in a sharp jerk that left even more bruises than the grip had. The boy fell all the way down to his knees, choking and rubbing at his neck while he tried to glare at Schuldig at the same time. Schuldig made sure to keep a hold on Nagi’s powers until he was safely back in his own room, not doubting that the boy would have attacked him from behind in an instant. He hadn’t been punished enough to know the consequences of those sort of actions, so obedient to Crawford that he had yet to get into much trouble. At least Schuldig knew that Crawford had to think of him more than the other two in the house, on the pure fact that Schuldig made so much go wrong. It was attention, in the end. Alone in his own darkened bedroom, the only personal items being his clothes, Schuldig went to bed without even taking a shower. He still had traces of the night, the feeling of dried sweat and being pressed up against Yohji left on his skin, and he wanted to keep it for as long as possible.

Schuldig fell asleep with dreams of a tall blonde instead of his dear leader for once.

* * *

"Fuuuuuck," Yohji moaned out when his eyes finally opened to an upside-down view of the world. His head was tossed over the edge of a mattress, the rest of him somewhat in one piece diagonally across the foot of the bed. He moved just enough to get his head resting flat on the beds, a splitting headache pounding between his ears and a horrible soreness centering from his ass were both raging war to become the most prominent ache, the battlefield in his stomach clenching with helpless nausea. Yohji realized he was in a hotel room when he rolled over to throw up on the floor, so sick and hung-over there was nothing else he could do. He closed his eyes when he was done, not so much with the disgust and embarrassment he couldn’t even walk to the bathroom yet, but with the fact he was starting to realize what must have happened.

He had definitely gotten liquored up last night, and how. The last thing he remembered was getting ready to leave the bar, with the plan to go home and settle things with Aya. Obviously, it hadn’t turned out like that. Yohji whimpered pathetically, not hung over for a while and had completely forgot how fucking horrible it was. Even if his teeth felt like they were growing his hair and his brain had been crumbled up, twisted, rolled into a nice little line and smoked up with whatever else he had done last night, it wasn’t as bad as waking up with a complete blackout of how the hell he had gotten here. Yohji could guess that he had picked someone up…or had been picked up, from the dull throbbing coming from between his legs.

Oh…God.

He had been on bottom.

Yohji wasn’t sure how long he lay there, staring up at the ceiling in a frozen daze that pushed nausea, hangover, and pain all to the side. The silence was so loud it was ringing in his ears. It wasn’t as if he had lost his virginity, since Yohji had never considered his anus to be a sexual orifice for such…yet felt like something had been stolen. Just this utter fucking emptiness, worse than the fact that he wasn’t even sure how it happened. He prayed it hadn’t been kinky…Yohji didn’t think he could live with himself if he had engaged in freaky sex last night when Aya was probably home alone, crying…just like he wanted to right now. Yohji bit his lip, not about to shed tears in this stinking, dingy hotel room- determined not to start blubbering over this sort of thing...but, God damn it, if he was ever going to get drunk enough to agree to someone poking something up his ass in the first place, he had wanted Aya to be the first. He could trust Aya to do whatever the erratic, temperamental bastard wished with his body, not some fucking stranger that Yohji couldn’t remember. At least he hoped it was a stranger. If it was someone he knew- they both knew…

Aya was going to find out about this.

Movement was a complete impossibility now. It wouldn’t have mattered if Armageddon had started right above his head. Yohji couldn’t even begin to take in the enormity of it all. He had to first work around the fact someone had screwed him up the ass last night, had to make it reality instead of some sick video he was watching. Where was the rewind button for this morning, hell, the entire night? If he hadn’t already pissed Aya off past the point of reconciliation, this would certainly do it. He could barely even stand to be in his own body right skin, crawling with the touch of someone he couldn’t remember. There wasn’t a pit deep enough to jump down and hide in.

"You stupid bastard," Yohji growled to himself. He had to get himself out of this fucking bed and in front of Aya; just throw himself at the mercy of the court and hope for the best. Yohji couldn’t deal with himself right now, had to push down that scared and confused part of him that was trying to claw its way up his throat, and concentrate on the more important aspect of damage control. He had to sober up and fast…then beg on all fours for Aya to take him back. This was the biggest fucking mistake of his life, panic one emotion that he couldn’t ignore right now. It wasn’t so much wondering just what he had been involved in last night or how kinky it had gotten- it was the fact he had done it all when he was about to marry Aya. He should be kicking his own ass on principles alone. He’d more than certainly let Aya take his best shots now; this time sure he deserved to be beaten up.

Yohji bit his lip to keep from throwing up a second time when he sat up, swinging himself around to the good side of the bed. He stood up, forgetting just how hung-over he was for a moment when a new sort of pain erupted at the bottom of his spine and made his legs go watery. Yohji fell to the floor, and on such close inspection of the dirty carpet, decided it wasn’t the best place to be. He had little choice in the matter, too ill and hurt to do anything but lie there while every single sense was jolted and reeled about. The pain in his head was almost enough to distract him from the ache centering between his hips, inside his heart…

He got up off the floor and into the bathroom by pure willpower alone. He meant to just take a shower, but when he finally saw the toilet, a barely-white porcelain seat and somewhat clean water in the bowl…Yohji almost didn’t make it as his knees slammed down on floor in front of it, emptying a stomach that had gleaned away most of the flavoring and left him with pure alcohol spurting out. Yohji had enough mind to pull his hair out of the way with one hand, under the over to grip the seat cover for support. It was still so violent water splattered back in his face, disgusting Yohji even more than the taste of what was coming out of him.

Yohji only got sicker.

He was finally left with nothing but weak legs and a very small amount of self-respect, flushing the toilet twice before he managed to stand up again. Everything seemed a little more controllable now that he had emptied out his stomach. The pain from the waist down was bearable now that the nausea was gone. He stood up, meaning to finally turn the shower on but caught sight of himself in the mirror. The bruising was fantastic, of course, and the corner of his mouth had turned a nice purple overnight. In fact, his whole mouth was looking pretty swollen, but Yohji was pretty sure it wasn’t from Aya. What was worse were the several bluish-green circles coming in on his neck, one with a definite ring of teeth surrounding it. Yohji had a perfect set of dental records underneath his Adam’s apple. If he had wanted to be crazy enough to try to hide this, it was now impossible. A quick turn and a stretching glance over his shoulder showed Yohji about half a dozen plus reddened scratches running parallel to his spine. What kind of rough bitch had he been with last night…

Yohji ironically reminded himself just who had been bitch by tearing himself away from the mirror and walking to the shower. His thighs screamed at him when he bent down to turn on the water, his butt cheeks tingling with sensation as blood was worked back through them. Yohji looked down and sure enough found fingerprints on his hips, as if just simply feeling like hell wasn’t bad enough and he had to look it too so Aya could know exactly what had happened beyond a shadow of a doubt. Now he looked like a fucking abuse victim…and he wasn’t even sure where that thought came from. Yohji had a sinking suspicion that he would never know a lot of things about what had happened last night.

He wasn’t sure if he should be surprised or not when there were no toiletries in the bare bathroom, but the water was hot. That would be good enough as Yohji forced himself to stay underneath the spray even though his shoulders jumped around instinctively. He worked the dirt and scuzz off from last night with his hands, combing through his hair and trying to do his best to clean it all off. It was going to be hard, and Yohji didn’t think he’d feel clean even if he rolled around in Comet and rinsed it off with bleach; but this was all he had to work with now. He could spray 409 on his crotch when he got home, but he could only scrape at the skin with his fingernails for now. Yohji turned around so his back was facing the water and did the dubious task parting his ass to clean away whatever had happened…

Big fucking mistake. Yohji fell down to his knees again at the biting sting, bringing his hands up and staring at the light pink smears of blood being washed away on his fingertips. It really hit him then that…God, he had been raped. Yohji lost his breath, lost his vision, lost his fucking masculinity. He had to put his arms around himself, wishing desperately that it were Aya instead and knowing he had screwed that up at the same time. How could he think of going for comfort to the man he cheated on? He didn’t deserve it, and at the same time… damn it…

"Damn it," Yohji screamed it hard enough to rip his throat, burying his hands in wet, stringy hair and pulling. He had walked out on Aya and then cheated on him, against his will or in the middle of a night of intoxication. How was he going to keep the man, get Aya to ever trust him again? If he tried to propose now, it would look like nothing more than a last-ditch attempt to hold onto Aya. As if there was anything else Yohji could ever imagine doing right now. He’d never needed to have Aya there with him this badly, didn’t need to make sure that Aya still loved him underneath that emotionless exterior. He wanted forgiveness…aw, hell, it didn’t even matter what Aya thought of him. Even if Aya hated him, it wouldn’t be a complete shut out from his life. Yohji just had to get home.

There. Things already seemed better now with a clear goal. Get home. Worrying about all this shit right now wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good. Yohji shook his head, trying to get over how blindingly stupid he had been last night. When he was actually meeting Aya in the eye, face to face, would be the best time to start getting scared shitless. He stood up, letting that water run down his body one final time before turning it off. There were two threadbare towels on the shelf above the toilet for Yohji to dry himself off with. He used one for his hair and one for his body, dropping them both to the floor when he was finished with it. When he left the bathroom, it was like walking into a brand new room now that he was somewhat sensible. Even his puke seemed to blend in perfectly with the other large stains on the dark carpet. Yohji shook his head slowly in denial, still trying to accept the fact he had walked into the place and had willingly laid down on that bed. Now that he was off it, Yohji could only grimace at the semi-white sheets and stiff patches of dried and crusting stains that Yohji could guess he was half-responsible for. He slapped himself on the good side of his face to get himself moving again, searching around and eventually finding his jeans. Yohji put those on somewhat gleefully, his leather belt with the metal studs still in the belt loops. Even his wallet was in his back pocket, a few measly small bills left inside. At least something was going all right today…as if Yohji even had a fucking right to things working out. He should save Aya the trouble and hang himself from the highest tree immediately.

Yohji found his shirt underneath one of the sheets that had fallen off of the bed, but when he held it up he found the fabric ripped straight down the front. He clenched his eyes clothes before tears could even start, dropping the ruined shirt without another question. He wasn’t going to think of how it had happened, wonder why it filled him with such immediate revulsion. He forced himself to ignore this new little fact that threatened to take him all the way down, vaguely considering if this was anything how Aya had felt on a morning after. He tried to be purely business about it, opening up the closet and all the drawers in the beat up dresser for anything to replace his shirt and found everything empty. He did find a set of sunglasses left behind from someone and a number written down on the last few pages left on the notepad for the hotel. He tore that up until he couldn’t even get a grip on the little shreds, staring down at the paper snowflakes and wishing he had burned them instead.

He took the sunglasses, the thin, rectangular lens not being his first choice in style; but bruised-up beggars couldn’t be choosers. He felt a little bit better with the smoked glass hiding his eyes, picking up his shoes and using the wall to step into them. He didn’t dare sit down right now, not for a while at least…not just because of the pain, but because a nervous shake had suddenly taken over his legs. He couldn’t stay in the room much longer, almost eagerly running out the door and down the hallway toward the elevator. He didn’t care about finding a shirt, just wanted to get the hell out of here. Everything would be better once he found Aya again. He could just hold onto Aya for a bit before he told him exactly what happened. As much as Yohji wanted to set things straight between them, he was going to need a fucking hug first.

The elevator was taking too long to finally get to whatever floor Yohji was standing on. He glanced around to spot the door for the stairs, much preferring to stomp down those like there was a bomb ready to go off. It wasn’t far from the truth, right now. The last door at the bottom of the backtracking flights led Yohji out into a parking complex. He was sure he hadn’t driven last night, never stupid enough to risk Seven no matter how loaded he got.

Too bad he wasn’t smart enough to keep his dick in his pants too.

Yohji had a hard time not punching himself then and there. How could he care more about a goddamn piece of metal more than Aya; no matter how stylish that metal was, or how well it preformed? A car was nothing next to Aya, absolutely fucking nothing. Yohji would push Seven off a cliff himself if it meant Aya would forgive him.

He managed to guess his way out of the parking structure and onto the street. It took him a moment to recognize the buildings surrounding him, thankfully finding himself not too far out of walking distance from their home. If he could still consider it ‘their’s. Shut the fuck up, Kudoh! The rational part of him ordered, not about to let himself fall into depression so easily. Quite one thing to think it, another to realize that the crowd moving around him was staring at him. It was still too early in the day for it to be hot enough to stripping off shirts, even if it had been popular on the streets of Tokyo instead of usually limited to the beach. Yohji didn’t have a choice in the matter, unable to do anything other than tilt his head up at the sky as he started walking; thusly avoiding most of the stares sent his way. It didn’t help with the murmured gossip that passed him by, but that could be covered up with the honking from cars and yelling from several agitated people across the street. A few clouds reflected down against the glass windows of the huge towers, neon signs dead fixtures in the middle of the day above him. He could already spot a few colored fans and sun umbrellas in the crowd, solid dots of color among the various sea of people. They all just seemed to blur into the same person, only a girl with a cheap purple dye on top of bleached hair able to catch his attention for a moment. Once again, she was absolutely nothing compared to that rich, full wine color of Aya’s hair, slowly darkened from that bright red when Aya had decided to grow it out. Yohji still remembered the day with a smile, actually getting on his knees and begging, even adding in a bit of oral persuasiveness that had nothing to do with words.

If he had known that the last time he had had sex with Aya was threatening to become the final tryst, he would have fucking appreciated it more. He would have slowed down, would have even tried something new just to make certain that he knew all Aya’s weak spots instead of just rutting inside the man like usual. He wanted to go back to that, quickly, to get rid of last night as soon as possible- whether he remembered it clearly through the alcohol or not. He hadn’t felt this dirty, this empty in a long time, because Aya had usually been there to fill that gap, take up the vacant meaninglessness of his life once they had decided to stop killing. It had sounded so noble at the time, like there really was a second chance at life, but Yohji didn’t have a clue to how fucking boring it had gotten, quickly degenerating into nothing but long periods of time to contemplate about what he had done with his life. Yohji didn’t want to go back to that uncertainty, had to hold onto this peace he had made with Aya; Ken and Omi as well, to some extent. Aya meant more to him by far.

Yohji didn’t have very long to walk, but the last couple of block had seemed to stretch miles. He was nearing the familiar corner, was going to see the bright sign of the shop and all the flowers set out like some bad romance film…except a fall straight to hell was waiting. Yohji didn’t stop, not exactly- but his feet suddenly seemed to be made of concrete. His soles seemed to be unable to lift off the ground, shuffling along until he finally had to step down to cross the street. Sure enough, the door to the shop was propped open and potted flowers were lined up outside. He didn’t see anyone standing outside…and suddenly that worried him.

He wanted to know where the fuck Aya was, finally realizing that the other man had been the first to walk out…and also might not have come back yet.

"Yohji! Where the hell have you been?!" Ken’s yell was the first thing to greet him when he walked through the front door. A varied handful of young women and older ladies stared at his entrance, the sunglasses giving him enough confidence to keep his head up. Ken was standing there by the counter in his usual blue apron, Omi behind the register even though it was a school day. They both were the classic picture of anxious parents waiting up all night on their errant son finally coming back home, minus a shirt and his dignity. Aya wasn’t working or anywhere in sight, of course, and the sinking feeling in Yohji’s stomach was only growing bigger by the minute. He crossed the shop quickly, forced to pause when Ken put a hand on his shoulder. Yohji stared down at it, surprised at the own repugnant, violent reaction that was clawing it’s way up his stomach and wondering if Aya ever felt the same.

"I was worried, man," Ken admitted in a softer voice, leaning in to make it for his ears only. Ken wasn’t about to announce emotions to another guy, the exception being Omi, but concern was touching enough to forgive the man for squeezing his arm before letting go. Ken backed off with a relieved smile turning into a knowing and dreading frown, shaking his head at Yohji like he was a criminal finally making the walk down death row. Yohji didn’t feel much different from it.

"Aya-kun’s out on the patio," Omi informed him from around Ken, the usual enthusiasm replaced by a serious tone. Even Omi couldn’t make this reunion go smoothly, or erase the fact that he had done something he was going to regret for the rest of his life. Amazing how quickly things could fall apart right after he bought a ring. He nodded to Omi as he passed, not even bothering to go upstairs for a shirt. Half of Tokyo and two of his roommates already knew he was walking around with a pair of busted jeans, so there would be little point in trying to hide it from Aya now.

Yohji had never remembered the walk from the store, down the hallway, and to the kitchen ever being so long before. The floorboards seemed to stretch, giving him enough to time to imagine all sorts of nasty things. Aya’s temper was a fickle beast, and Yohji knew he damn well deserved any sort of punishment right now. He might not be able to remember what had happened, but he knew in his heart that it had been wrong. Yohji had sworn to never hurt Aya, because no matter what kind of asshole he was, underneath it was a beautiful, compassionate person that hadn’t deserved one single damn bad thing…and had gotten stupid with such a spectacular fuck-up like Yohji. He was going to break Aya, feeling depressed and lonely and only wanting to find the man to hold onto, not to admit that he’d cheated on him. Yohji didn’t have to be an ex-detective to figure that one out, one look at the hotel room more than enough to confirm anyone’s doubts.

He looked out the window above the sink first, catching sight of that familiar wine-colored hair let loose for once. It was hanging down around hunched shoulders as Aya sat in one of the cheap white, plastic chairs on the patio. He looked…defeated, the usual posture that would give a ruler a run for its money gone without a trace as Aya slouched in the seat against the small metal table, staring out at the small five feet of lawn between the house and the garage. His hair was down, a few strands blowing in the slight breeze…Aya didn’t even know how beautiful he could be. Yohji took a deep breath, tearing his gaze away to go to the door. He had to face up to this one, there would be no avoiding it, and he hoped for once that Aya wouldn’t be stubborn. He needed Aya even more now, so scared that he might actually lose him to this stupid fucking misunderstanding.

"Omi, I told you not to bother me unless Yohji called," Aya snapped coldly when the door opened without a single glance back. Aya looked crumpled and desolate in a plain white t-shirt and loose jeans, obviously not giving his usual thought to attire today. Aya raised a hand to his face, the red and silver scars around his wrist visible from where he was standing, resembling cuffs as Yohji’s eyes just about dropped out of his head at the cigarette between the man’s fingers. Aya took a drag from it, a brand new carton that must have been from Yohji’s stash on the table torn apart without regard for the thin, dotted line for easy access and a few filters sticking dangerously far out. There was a lighter and a bowl serving as a makeshift ashtray beside the pack, quite full of ash for being slightly past noon.

"Sorry," Yohji answered as he closed the door, trying to make it mean so much more. Aya’s head shot up at his voice, snapping around to check with his eyes that widened when they finally caught sight of Yohji. There was a motionless, quiet split-second of shock as they both stared at each other, Yohji taking in the bags underneath Aya’s eyes the trembling cigarette before it fell while the purple-haired man stared openly at his neck. Suddenly Aya jumped up so fast he banged his knees on the underside of the table. The bowl turned over and everything else just slid off the table as Aya cursed and dropped back down into his seat, forced to simply rub his legs in pain to obviously keep himself from making any noise. Yohji slowly approached, picking up the fallen cigarettes and lighter, up righting the bowl and snatching up the still-burning cigarette to take a drag for himself before holding it up to Aya.

"We have to talk," Yohji said in the silence, Aya’s eyes bright, shining things that he couldn’t interpret. The wasn’t looking away, his gaze boring down into Yohji like he was on exhibit at the zoo, not making one move toward the cigarette that he usually never smoked. Yohji sighed, placing the filter back between his lips and leaving it there, figuring that he needed a nicotine fix more than Aya right now. He took a seat in one slow, painful movement that he hoped hid most of the wincing from Aya. He didn’t need to know exactly how bad it really was.

They both were mute, nothing but the sound of distant cars and busy streets fading around the corner as Yohji found himself in the middle of a staring match, a dog barking in the distance. Yohji’s couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been able to read the look in Aya’s eyes, but he found himself stranded without a clue, the conversation started but having nothing more to say. He took off the stolen sunglasses and set them on the table, shuddering at the thought of the John Doe he had sex with last night, not caring if it made the bruising and swollen, teary eyes all the more apparent. He wasn’t going to hide behind them during this, ready to be as completely honest with Aya as he had ever been with anyone in his life. He took a deep breath of clean air through his nose, steadying himself before he opened his mouth to explain.

"Yohji, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault," Aya rushed out when he tried to apologize first. Yohji couldn’t help the glare, pissed that Aya would immediately be guilty, so ready to take up another regret, one more thing to feel bad about. Yohji hated it, knowing that after he had done the first mistake of walking away, followed up by getting too plastered to remember just whom he had ended up sleeping with. Aya could apologize for hitting him, but that was all Yohji could accept. The rest was his fault, his fucking choice to sleep with someone else because to be alone was unbearable and he hadn’t been sure at the time if Aya was ever going to talk to him again.

"No, no, it’s not, Aya. I-…" You started, very serious as he went about trying to prove to Aya just how idiotic that statement was.

"Yes, it is! I didn’t understand, and I’m so damn sorry, Yohji. Please, I’m sorry," Aya cut him off, one hand gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles, the other visibly shaking on the table. Aya was staring right at him, violet eyes fixed on him with a pleading expression to not go any further. He knew the man was smart, had probably already pieced everything together from his appearance, and still just wanted to ignore it and be the bad one. Yohji couldn’t meet that straight on, such honest hope when he didn’t deserve it. Aya was so ready to take all the blame if it meant they could just make up without having to go into detail. Yohji shook his head, quiet as Aya settled back down, wondering just who the hell had taught the man to be so self-sacrificing.

"Aya, I have to tell you something," Yohji said very firmly, ignoring it when Aya tried to cut him off again and simply talking over the man.

"I did something last night that I’m not proud of," Yohji couldn’t think of anything else, knowing that it sounded clichéd and horrible. Aya’s face hardened, his eyes going glassy for a moment as Yohji thought he wouldn’t even get a further chance to explain, that Aya was going to bolt instead of listen. He could only sit there, cringing as he waited for…something to start, not sure what was going to happen next. The purple-haired man just scratched at his face uncomfortably, deciding to stare at his lap for some sort of answer.

"Aya, I got wasted last night," Yohji paused after that, deciding he didn’t want to explain it with that opening statement. He was on fucking trial here for his whole relationship with Aya…and knew he was guilty, not Aya. Those punches had hurt, but not that much, not enough to support his actions last night. Aya eccentrically picked up the lighter, nervously and passing it between his hands for a moment before speaking.

"Yohji, please, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t…I don’t care what you did," Aya whispered with tight lips and a hushed, trembling voice, but it was clear enough for Yohji to hear. Aya was back to staring at the cement wall of the garage, a little bit of ivy creeping up the corner created by the fence and building. Amazing how fragile Aya could look when he was acting like the king of denial, clearly ready to pretend that the last twelve-odd hours had never happened. As if that was any sort of solution to let them make up and go back to life as usual. It seemed sweet, especially to him who had the most to lose out of this bout of truth telling, but Yohji just couldn’t do it. He would always know, and that was more than enough reason to tell Aya what had happened whither the man wanted to or not, if Yohji remembered it all or not.

"I do, Aya. I can’t lie about this," Yohji insisted, serious and all business despite the fact he only had a pair of pants, boots, and an almost-finished cigarette to cover himself. Aya only went paler at his words, fine skin turning a bone color as the man blanched and had to put a hand to his mouth to compose himself. There wasn’t the slightest sign of tears or rage, just fear. Yohji couldn’t even imagine what must be going through Aya’s head, which was all the more reason to lay it all out as soon as possible.

"I’m not asking you to! Just don’t say anything at all!" Aya wasn’t really yelling, not yet, but for some reason his voice seemed explosively loud. Aya didn’t realize how tempting of a demand he was making, and he knew that Aya would probably be happier not knowing exactly what he had done last night…and the feeling of the sun sneaking between the buildings on his chest reminding Yohji that he had woken up with his hands bound in his own shirt. Not exactly the best preparation for a proposal. Yohji didn’t see how he could screw things up any worse than he had already.

"Aya, I got really drunk. I slept with someone last night. I don’t remember who, but I woke up in a hotel room," he admitted softly in the face of Aya’s plead to leave well enough alone. He didn’t give the whole details of it, sure that if Aya learned he’d been tied up and his ass was still aching he’d either lose complete respect for Yohji or go on a killing spree. Aya shook his head once, twice as if he could make the words disappear, before glaring at Yohji square in the eye. He could read that expression, tight lips, narrowed eyes, and the wrinkle between his eyebrows all pointed to Aya getting determined and focused; like this was a battle instead of a talk.

"I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve slept with!" Aya snapped back, discounted the fact that when he had been with numerous partners, he hadn’t been with Yohji. He had cheated on Aya, which was yet another promise broken to the man, and yet Aya was still trying to shoulder all the responsibility. All he had done wrong was hit Yohji, while he had gone and spread his legs for the first thing that moved. In that retrospect, he felt like an even bigger whore than Aya had been.

"I’m not in a fucking competition about it, Aya," Yohji hissed, slamming his hand down on the table hard enough to make everything rattle and Aya flinch in his seat as if he was expecting worse. He had to catch himself then, realizing that he was starting to scare Aya on top of everything else. Yohji took the cigarette out of his mouth and stabbed it out in the bowl, frowning down at the metal grate pattern of the table as he slumped back in the plastic chair. Aya didn’t relax one bit, his whole body trembling like a wire being stretched to its furthest limit.

"Look…All I can say is I regret it."

There was more silence.

"I’m sorry. I screwed up, and I’ll understand if you want me gone," Yohji sighed out, surrendering himself to whatever reaction Aya wanted to have. He couldn’t even look up to see what exactly happened next, his lap much more interesting. It didn’t have the power to completely break him with one word. Aya did, and was taking a few deep breaths to steady himself beforehand. Yohji felt the sting of tears in his eyes, and told himself it was still too damn early and the hangover was long from over. That was the only reason it felt like his insides were turning into lead as the quiet hush of the city was the only noise.

"When you left..."Aya trailed off, Yohji glancing up to see Aya turning his face slightly toward him but still keeping his eyes downcast on the table. He noticed now that Aya’s eyes were bloodshot and blue shadows were coming in underneath, wondering just how long Aya had been sitting out here, waiting for him to stop being a fucking idiot and call or just come home. He had stayed out at the bars far too late, but it had taken a while to numb the hurt that wasn’t just the sting of bruised bones. Yohji waited for the rest of the sentence, the rest of the explanation, but it didn’t come. And that only pissed him off.

"You hit me," Yohji returned, not about to glaze over what had incited the whole mess. Aya met his gaze at that, frowning guiltily and biting his lower lip in uncharacteristic uncertainty. Were they even thinking about the same thing? "You…goddamn it, Yohji! I’m sorry, isn’t that enough?" Aya suddenly switched to anger, obviously still feeling justified but not giving one good reason why. Yohji hadn’t done anything other than tell Aya how much he loved him and was going to miss him at school, and that warranted Aya giving him several punches for a ‘welcome home.’ No matter how traumatized, messed up, and just plain wrong Aya could be at times, he usually didn’t hit other people. The walls and furniture was fair game, but otherwise Aya was fairly logical in his temper tantrums. Unlike Ken, who had broken more than his fair share of windows after punching through them, and that was usually the easiest to clean up when Ken was on a rage bender.

"I wanna hear why, Aya," Yohji demanded. He had given Aya his story, and now he needed to hear his lover’s side of it. He could come to understand it then, get rid of this dread building up in the pit of his stomach. Aya had been handling it so well up until now too, stubborn resentment coming in hard. Yohji couldn’t argue with Aya once the man made up his mind about something, and he didn’t think anyone would be able to change that no matter what sort of evidence was brought forward. He could only hope that Aya hadn’t made a decision about him yet.

"You act like nothing happened then, so why can’t we do it now?" Aya shot back coldly, vague as fuck.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Yohji cried out, unable to keep his voice at a nice, even tone when Aya was talking so crazy. What was he acting like nothing? Yohji couldn’t understand Aya, didn’t comprehend how these horrible little thoughts wormed their way into the man’s mind and took root. He could barely restrain the urge to slam his head against the wall…repeatedly. He wasn’t getting in trouble for sleeping around, but for some stupid misunderstanding that only Aya knew the true nature of. It would just happen to be one of the few things about Aya he just couldn’t change for the better no matter what he tried.

"If you honestly don’t know, Kudoh-…" Aya started up, getting all snide and icy. Yohji could see the old mask building up again, the stiffness of the man’s shoulders spreading through his whole body. Like he needed the defense against Yohji, so much that he couldn’t even call him by his first name right now because it was too personal. As if Yohji hadn’t made love to him in every room in the house, even though the bedroom and bathroom saw the most usage.

"Shit, Aya, I’m trying to apologize and you turn it into a fucking war!" Yohji interrupted him before Aya could even start on the higher road. He wasn’t about to let Aya get away with this lame argument, completely jumping over the fact that he had been unfaithful last night. Aya clearly didn’t want to deal with it, and neither did Yohji, but what else could he do when there was a hickey on his neck and a whole lot of remorse in his heart? Aya’s brows slanted down together even further at that, looking pale, sick, and outraged that Yohji wasn’t curling up onto his back while he was getting kicked.

"Why even bother? Apologize to whoever had to be with you last night," Aya was always cool at first, like how a blue flame didn’t appear hot, until he couldn’t hold up that icy front a moment longer and started burning everyone. Yohji felt his mouth drop open at that hurtful comment, each word a sharp prick meant to go straight to his core. As if Aya was glad someone else had done the task, like all the sex had been just that…sex. Did Aya honestly not see how much Yohji loved him? Even if they were fighting, he couldn’t believe how callous and spiteful Aya could be, as if he could ignore the past year or more.

"You are so damn infuriating sometimes! Get your head out of your ass for once and listen to what another person is saying!" Yohji yelled it, barely managing into stay in his seat. He wasn’t going to leave this unfinished, not this time. Getting Aya’s forgiveness seemed an impossibility at this point, but he still had to pound the fact into the man’s thick fucking skull. Aya wasn’t about to shove this thing back into the corner of his mind and let it fester until it ruined their relationship further down the road. Hell, Yohji was always going to hate himself for this, hating being a thinned-skinned drunk, hating Aya being able to wound him so easily. He had never meant for Aya to become everything; just didn’t have it left in him to trust another person again…but here he was, feeling himself getting empty inside as he wondered if he had finally pissed Aya off enough to really leave.

"I told you I just want to forget about it, so-…" Aya began again, the same words falling out of his mouth as if they had been chiseled in stone somewhere.

"God, just shut up. Shut the fuck up. We can’t talk, can we?" Yohji felt like crying in defeat, angry that Aya had been able to turn this around and make him start yelling and screaming. How was he supposed to say he was sorry when they were in the middle of the worst fight of Yohji’s life?

"Didn’t I already said I didn’t want to?" Aya hissed out in a deadly seriousness, obviously being pushed too far. As if Yohji even gave a damn, already reaching the end of his rope long ago.

"Why the hell do you always make it so damn difficult?" Yohji demanded, not about to listen to the same shit twice. He had lain himself bare for Aya, who was only taking the opportunity to drive a few more emotion nails into him. He couldn’t take it a second longer, fingers digging to the plastic armrest as he sucked down a good fourth of his cigarette in one deep drag. It was the only thing keeping him from breaking down.

This is exactly what hell must be like, Aya’s face getting angrier and angrier.

"’Why?’" Aya spat it back viciously, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Because I love you, you fucking asshole!"

The way he yelled it, Yohji would think that it would be a little more insulting. He blinked at Aya, bomb shelled, all the tension gone just like that. Aya’s mouth closed, and for a moment he was nothing more than a still-life photograph as the man had to playback exactly what he had said. Aya didn’t blush or curse, just sort of deflated as he fell back in the chair hard enough to rock and bow the wobbly legs but managed not to have an accident. That lovely, long hair that Yohji had begged Aya to grow out did a good job of covering up the man’s face; Yohji left in silence to digest the first time Aya had ever admitted he loved him. He wondered if Aya had even said it to his sister. Things were still a little too tense to smile about it, but Yohji was on the verge of getting up and dancing. Aya had managed to solve it all, cure that queasiness in his stomach and so much more. Yohji picked the cigarette out of his mouth and stabbed the end down in the bowl, swallowing as he tried to think of what to say next.

Aya grabbed his hand before Yohji withdrew it to return to his lap, cold fingers tightening desperately around the heel of his palm in a clumsy attempt to hold him there. Aya leaned forward, bringing Yohji’s hand up to his fast too for him to uncurl his fingers, capturing them underneath his cheekbone. He couldn’t help but stare, caught up in Aya, in the way the man managed to forgive him without saying a word. Aya sighed and inhaled against Yohji’s thumb, as if it were another sense to confirm that Yohji was really there. His eyes were closed for a moment, that simple contact enough to make Aya happy when he deserved much, much more. He looked angelic, like one of those saints in a Renaissance painting, nothing else in the world quite able to compare.

"I never want you to leave," Aya didn’t as for anything outrageous, his simplicity stunning. Yohji shook his hand a bit to free his fingers so he could properly cup the side of Aya’s face, warm flesh underneath his hand and cool silken hair on the other. It was the ridiculously small things that made Yohji happy, that made him grin as that arctic clamp around his internal organs finally loosened. ‘Because I love you,’ replayed in his head with the right editing was the sweetest, most honest thing Yohji had ever heard from Aya.

"Do you know how much I love you?" Yohji only had to whisper it, knowing that Aya could hear him. He didn’t really mean it as a question, unable to really gauge it for himself. It was more than enough, it was overwhelming, and he prayed to God that they never had another argument like that again. He wasn’t going to spend another night away from Aya, would not be able to bear that profound loneliness even if he had been with someone else. It was just like being alone without Aya, like an old grey television box being set up next to a 40-inch color plasma screen. Was there even a comparison? Yohji could actually breath again, his thumb rubbing over the curve of Aya’s cheekbone. He really did want to grow old with the stubborn, moody bastard; couldn’t imagine surviving through a repeat of last night ever again.

"Do you know how much I love you?" Even if it was ornery, Yohji smiled wider at Aya saying love for the second time. Shit, he’d been waiting a year plus to hear that and now it was twice in one day. At least he had Aya meeting him in the eye again, that stiff and offended expression softening when he only saw Yohji grinning like an idiot.

"Let’s not fight about this one, babe," Yohji suggested, letting his hand fall and slide down the length of Aya’s arm until he grasped his wrist, fingers wrapping around the limb firmly. Aya regarded at him with one fine brow arched up in confusion as Yohji stood up, gently tugging on his hand until the man followed suit to make a silent trek upstairs to their bedroom where Yohji could really confirm this love.

* * *
Ken ran a hand through his hair, frowning down at the mess in front of him and unable to keep from comparing it to his life at the current moment. He didn’t know why they opened shop this morning other than the fact that it kept Omi busy; therefore not bothering Aya. He had woken up in a bed that was short one member that Ken was sure would be there; he had assumed that Aya coming in was just a really messed-up dream until he’d woken up Omi…who upon discovering Aya was not in the room began a full house search. Ken had taken his own sweet time in actually getting out of bed, putting on a pair of pants, and eventually wandering downstairs to start the coffee pot while Omi was running around screaming Aya’s name in the background.

He spotted Aya through the window, sitting at the unmatched patio set with a cigarette. A fucking cigarette when the man bitched to high heaven whenever Yohji lit up inside. It was like Aya’s dog had been run over, if the man had liked animals, miserable as fuck and obviously wanting to be alone. Ken didn’t say anything at first, feeling sorry for the man and knowing that sometimes he just wanted to be by himself when he was upset…except hearing ‘Aya-kuuuuun’ over and over again got annoying. Ken wouldn’t have minded if it was his name, but it was barely even five minutes before he was screaming to Omi that Aya was on the back porch. True to form, Omi rushed out the door to speak with Aya and got chased back inside by Aya’s attitude almost immediately. Since then, it had been a clever mix of avoidance and concern for Aya, the fact that they had opened the shop and it had finally gotten so busy Omi didn’t have a chance to run back and get his head bitten off again. Of course, business had started to slow down, but they had been saved by Yohji finally walking through the front door as if it was any other day…

Ken wasn’t going to hold his breath for Yohji’s safe return from his confrontation look like he had just walked off a porno set. Even Aya had never gotten a neck like that, though there were a few days when the man forgot to wear a turtleneck and accidentally showed off hickeys so bad that Ken wondered if Yohji wasn’t a vampire. The man looked like he’d been mauled by a sex offender and still smelled faintly like alcohol when he had smiled cockily and breezed pass them. Some girls in the shop were still pestering him about what had happened to Yohji-kun, why was Kudoh-san half-naked, did he break up with his girlfriend, and did he need someone to comfort him? Ken was almost ready to yell that they all were gay to the silly girls, even though they probably would have just ignored him in favor of their fantasies.

"Ken-kun! They made up!" Omi’s scream preceded his entrance through the backdoor of the flower shop, checking once behind himself to see if said couple had heard him. Ken wondered how they possibly couldn’t have, with the whole store staring as Omi turned back around to rush over to Ken- and noticed that he had made himself the center of attention for several housewives, a sweating businessman, and two very tanned high school girls with bleached hair obviously playing hooky. Ken could see the chill that went down Omi’s spine before he was bowing and apologizing to the startled customers while crab stepping over to the workbench Ken was currently seated at. Omi would have been at the register but couldn’t help following Yohji to see what would happen. Ken would have liked to watch as well, not sure if Aya was going to kick the man’s ass a second time. Ken had been waiting for Omi to run in screaming for help to keep Yohji and Aya from killing each other, not that everything was A-OK.

"I don’t know what Yohji-kun said, but they’re going to be okay," Omi rushed out excitedly when he was in a little more private earshot, like their two roommates had been cured of a disease, not made up from one hell of a fight. Ken just nodded, picking up a white rose and eyeing everything carefully one more time before stabbing it into the center of the base, crushing several flowers beneath it. Omi audibly choked in disgust at what was going to be Ken’s finished floral arrangement, since the orders had been piling up and Aya had spent the day smoking on the patio instead of working. He couldn’t blame the man after Aya had cried himself to sleep last night on their bed, but Aya was still the best in the house at Ikebana and the two of them had made up within twenty-four hours. In retrospect, it was really nothing to get upset about.

"Come on, Ken-kun! Hello? Anything?" Omi called out, shaking his hand in front of Ken’s face as he stared into the mess he had made out of the flowers.

"What?" Ken snapped back, already irritated that he had about as much skill at being a florist as he did at cross-country skiing. Needless to say, it wasn’t a lot. Omi all but bursting out in laughter at his arrangement didn’t help matters in the slightest. Ken wasn’t meant to be dethroning stems or matching colors, or worrying about his best friends’ love life. Ken was damn sure that Yohji didn’t care about theirs, and that Aya wasn’t about to poke his nose into the middle of whatever Ken and Omi might be doing at the time…usually, discounting last night.

"Don’t you care that Yohji-kun and Aya-kun back together?" Omi demanded, concerned that Ken wasn’t as into this as he was. Ken tried to keep his life from resembling a soap opera as much as possible while Omi seemed to run headfirst for it. He wasn’t even involved in the relationship and Omi had more drama going on then Yohji and Aya. Once again, Omi just cared too much about everyone else, unnecessarily worrying when everything had already worked itself out, with or without him spying on those two.

"Were they ever apart?" Ken asked, hoping more to point out just how stupid all this excitement was. Those two worried about each other so much that it was almost sickening to see them separated; especially when he knew they were going to make up. Ken still remembered that before Aya had staggered into their room, he had almost managed to get Omi out of his pants. Now that was something worth screaming and running around about. By the time Omi finally got over being so happy for those two, they would probably already be in another fight. Yohji and Aya had become sadly predictable, just like everything else these days.

"Well, no…" Omi trailed off, clearly trying to think of a good reason but having nothing. Ken nodded, feeling as if he had won but not exactly sure at what. They both turned down to stare at the mess of an arrangement Ken had made until Omi finally reached out and pulled it closer to him. Small, deft little hands started plucking out the bulk of what Ken had done, leaving a few of the original flowers standing upright before he easily redid the rest of them. Ken was sure that Omi used the exact same flowers, ornamental ferns, and leaves; but for some reason when Omi was done and stood back for him to see, it was like comparing chocolate to shit. Just because he recognized and admitted to having no floral skills whatsoever, it didn’t mean that Omi had to show him just how awful it was.

"I’m gonna go work the register," Ken grumbled, seeing that his job had clearly been taken over. The people receiving the arrangements would probably be a lot happier that Omi was now peering at the work order for the next Ikebana order, but it still pissed Ken off. He was getting tired of being the dumb jock that couldn’t do a single complex task to save his life. Maybe he couldn’t match flowers, their colors and meanings worth a damn, but there were a whole fucking lot of rules for soccer and a little thing called strategy involved. That took a little more quick thinking than most…right? Ken felt his shoulders slump forward as his justification sounded weak even in his own mind, shuffling towards the front counter while Omi started humming behind him. The blonde probably never had these sorts of small, petty thoughts, which only ended up making Ken feel worse about the whole thing.

"Excuse me," asked a cool, elderly voice that didn’t sound very polite at all as it ordered his attention. Ken turned around with his imitation Aya glare, facing off yet again with that old man from the other day and a tall, well-built guy in a black suit and sunglasses at his side. Now up close, Ken could see that this was no ordinary grandpa with eyes still sharp and his back straight as a ruler underneath the grey kimono. Hell, Ken had to respect the man just for walking around in that outfit in this heat; but he didn’t suspect that the man was just gazing at the flowers again.

"I’m looking for Omi Tsukiyono," the old man started. It was different this time, using the name Ken considered to be Omi’s real one, instead of Mamoru Takatori. Beyond that, it didn’t change a thing about this old shit all but oozing danger and bad news. The muscle next to him was no better, far too imposing for a simple visit to the floral shop. This old man just shouldn’t be walking in here, knowing both of Omi’s names and seeming like he was out to hunt the boy down. Incessant phone calls and unwelcome visits were what stalkers and gangsters did, not old men that should be getting ready for an afternoon nap.

"No, you’re not," Ken corrected the elderly man, not even giving the bodyguard a second glance as the bad guy in black started to puff up like he was getting ready for violence. The older man held up a hand, silently ordering his fucking pet to back down. Ken didn’t stop glaring at the man, ready to send grandpa to the emergency room if he said the wrong thing. The man just took his glasses of as if it would intimidate Ken, causing a few high school girls to whisper among themselves and point at what was brewing.

"Is there a problem, Ken-kun?" Omi asked at his side, a hand on his elbow as the boy stepped into the conversation, checking Ken’s face before glancing over at the pair in front of them. Ken gaped as Omi blinked at the two men with his set of baby blues, like a rabbit considering set of rabid dogs to be friends. He couldn’t very well shove the boy away and insist that it was his evil twin, hating it when the elderly man’s eyes widened in recognition. He searched around the shop desperately, the place not very full of customers but more than enough witnesses. That and Omi’s hand tightening on his arm was the only thing that kept him from lunging forward then and there.

"Mamoru," the man wheezed it out like the name hurt to speak; the only sign of weakness or old age that he’d shown since walking in the door. Both Omi and Ken stared at man, and he wasn’t even sure which on of them was more shocked. Ken pushed Omi back to stand in front of him protectively even as the smaller blonde made a small noise of recognition.

"Grandfather?"

This was not a good day.

* * *
It would be an understatement to say that he was pissed when Yohji showed up without a shirt and a neck that looked like it had been through a meat grinder. He wouldn’t have even needed to say anything for Aya to know exactly what had happened. He felt a colder anger, which Aya bitterly realized was jealousy. Intense, burning resentment that someone had dared to mark up his Yohji! No less on the man’s jugular, one of Aya’s favorite places to stare at, to be hypnotized by the dance of muscles underneath his skin when Yohji spoke...but, it didn’t matter, not when Yohji was actually back. The relief was enough to make his knees fill with water, barely able to do anything else other than tremble in relief. He had Yohji’s hand in his, fingers gripping into bones and muscles so deeply that it must have been painful if Yohji wasn’t returning it with just as much pressure. He couldn’t bring himself to let go, not even to stop the bedroom door from hitting his hip as it swung shut. Aya kicked it shut in a bit of revenge and also to assure privacy, needing to feel the other man just like he had to breathe. Yohji glanced over his shoulder in confusion at the violent noise- before Aya jumped up on the soles of his feet to smash his lips against Yohji’s.

Smoke, alcohol, a mix of Yohji that was caused when the man used to go out to the bars with Ken. Aya used to complain about the taste of a morning after, but it was heaven right now. Yohji stumbled back at the ferocity of the kiss, and Aya followed until they fell into the bed. He couldn’t break away, couldn’t risk it unless Yohji would disappear underneath his hands. They landed with him in between Yohji’s legs and on top of his stomach, his forearms braced against the man’s shoulders, and his mouth on top of Yohji’s. Aya wanted to permanently attach his tongue to the man’s tonsils, but instead had to break for air

"Christ, Aya, breathe! You’re scaring me," Yohji half-yelled it when his lips were finally released, and there was a glimmer in his eyes that said there was a worse truth. Aya opened his mouth and shut it with an audible clack, staring down at Yohji’s face close up. He concentrated on Yohji’s good side instead of the swelling one, unable to stand looking at the bruises he’d caused, and also requiring an eye that opened all the way. He could read into Yohji deeper from that window to the soul than he ever could from listening to what the man hard to say. Yohji tended to brush things off with words anyway, and Aya wasn’t about to allow that this time. He could see that something was very, very wrong inside those emerald depths that Yohji was probably never going to talk about. He couldn’t hide that in his eyes.

"Oh, Yohji, what happened to you? I’m so sorry," Aya whispered, feeling the agony echo in himself. He knew how bad it could be, how utterly fucking desolate and black everything became the morning after, how words would never be able to describe exactly what had happened in a matter of minutes. Aya assumed the worst, figuring that Yohji hadn’t been exactly willing in whatever had happened last night- and despised the joy he felt inside at it, because it meant that Yohji hadn’t been cheating on him intentionally. Yohji even apologized for it! He felt tears despite telling himself he wouldn’t cry…but Aya just wished he could take on some of Yohji’s pain, knowing that he must be suffering right now and unable to do a thing himself. Aya was already at the end of his rope, driven down to the cement so hard with the fear that Yohji might have never come back home…

Yohji started crying first, tears slipping down the side of his face without any words, everything already said and yet nothing explained. Aya didn’t need it, could understand from the bottom of his heart that Yohji regretted it, felt ashamed and guilty even though it was obvious it hadn’t exactly been his choice. Aya knew quite well how irresponsible Yohji could be when he got drunk, liable to go along with anything. He remembered one morning when he had first joined Weiss when they received a call from Yohji explaining he had finally sobered up and was broke in Osaka. Ken had been the only one who cared enough and had the free time to go pick the poor bastard up. Aya figured something similar had happened to Yohji last night- prayed that was the case- and frantically determined that Yohji had been tricked due to last night’s bender.

They both held onto each other, Yohji’s bare chest feeling cold underneath him as Aya tried press himself into the man so he could shove all that hurt away. Neither of them were actually sobbing, both too weary and drained at the thought of losing each other to release so much emotion right now…but it felt like his eyes wouldn’t stop watering. Pressing his cheek up against Yohji’s, feeling the other man’s tears as they wet his hair and face; and gripping Yohji’s shoulders hard in his own selfish fear. He wanted to be comforted right now, wanted to be the strong one for Yohji at the same time. He wondered if Yohji ever felt like this, listening the small hitched noises that the blonde was making as his hands grasped Aya’s hips. It was almost painful to have Yohji seeming so fragile and vulnerable for once, but Aya started crying in relief that it was with him.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Okay, before one more person asks: yes, Aya IS going to find out exactly what happened in the bathroom…just angst is always kept on a slow boil. Please be patient with me, people. J
I realized I’m starting to write like Hemmingway or Conrad, the two people I hate the most… "Jesus Christ, we don’t NEED every detail, get to something already!" +_+ sigh. This is supposed to be a fan fic, not War and Peace Weiss style. Accidentally updated ‘I Hate Him’ when I attached fan art. I didn’t think it would update the WHOLE fic; it’s like moving the Mona Lisa to the 7/11 on Main. God I suck.

Call me a feeb but I love Kyo Kara Mao, I die laughing every time. This chapter title is from ‘Explode’ by Stargazer Lily, but if you actually find a copy of it…you get a fucking gold star! Anyhoo, I learned about this thing called ‘Shout-outs.’ I’m so out of the internet loop it’s not even funny…Website in progress (it consists of me saying I want this picture for the background to my html-noob friend and then passing out).

Beta roll call: Auribiel and Cattley helped out a lot with German, along with Chaosfirestar, Dawnfire, demshinigami, Morningstar, and ThantosEros.
Amanda-I figure there’s an end to that sentence but mm.org can suck a nut sometimes. Does this count as back in love? No? Myeh, that’s why it’s gonna be more than four chapters. :D

Bisexual Pygmie- Hopes this satisfies the dark smut quota. Seems to be a fine harvest this year.

Evilkat (winner for first to review for this chapter. Hooray) - Sweet! A comparison to the Spanish Inquisition AND bodily threats. Have you seen History of the World, Part I?

Halcyon- oh, the smut’s already been broughten! (Quoting our favorite cinematic masterpiece, ‘Bring it on’)

Ilovedaveyhavok- Lets see… July 01, 2004 20:47 EDT. It’s been over five hundred and fifty hours since then. I’m awful.

Koji-chan- you get an A for effort with trying to get me a full review. Thank you for the email!

Kyouryoku_hime- (looks at everything before this) I guess things didn’t improve for anyone…but constructive criticism helps keep us in shape – pose.

Memorietrail- thank you for reviewing all the time on adult-fanfiction.org!

Tpassinthrough- stop? Never! Full smut ahead, my friend…reviews make the boat go faster. :D
Hope that this chapter is as good as the rest for you all and thank you for reading this far. I promise a happy ending, a deliriously happy ending to end all endings…it’s just not for a while ^.^ (as much as we want to forget, Gluhen DID happen)… geez, I really wanted the Yohji and Aya make-up sex in this chapter, but in the interest of readers everywhere I stopped there before it mutated into unreadable length.
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