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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained	By : KDSarge Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6318 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Beg
and you shall receive. Sometimes. ;) Thanks for letting me know!

If I
owned them, I would be off having fun with them, not writing fanfics.

Preparations

(Little
bit of reverb here, in case you didn’t just come from the last
chapter.)

“I’ll
go out,” Yohji offered. “If you go with me.”

“Are
you insane?” Aya demanded.

“No
more than you.” Yohji grinned at him. “But that’s
the deal. You go with me, and actually attempt to have a good time,
and I’ll stay out the whole night, bring you home drunk,”
and hopefully smelling of Yohji, “and your sister will hate me
for being a bad influence on you. Not to mention how she’ll
have to help Ken and Omi all day, neither of us will be in any shape
to work.”

“I
do not get drunk, Kudou.”

“There’s
a first time for everything, Ayan.”

“No
deal.”

“Even
if I let you help me pick out some clothes to un-wow your sister? For
wear around the house, I mean, you’re not touching my club
clothes.”

And
so it was that Aya–codename Abyssinian, expert swordsman,
ruthless assassin, icy leader of Kritiker’s finest team
ever–spent the afternoon trying not to watch his playboy
teammate root through his closet, searching for anything that would
meet Aya’s sense of decency. Yohji had to try half his things
on, since the redhead quickly realized that modest on the hanger
suddenly became risque, when painted onto a body three sizes larger
than it was made for. Yohji took full advantage by spending most of
the time in his underwear.

“Mou,
Ayan!” Yohji surveyed himself in the mirror, when he finally
came across something Aya didn’t object to. “It’s–plaid!
I think it’s Ken’s! And I look...Aya, I look frumpy!”

“That’s
the idea, Kudou.”

“You
didn’t say you’d make me look stupid!” Yohji
complained.

“Stupid,
frumpy–anything that lets Aya-chan see the real you.”

“Hidoi...”
Yohji muttered. And yanked the clothes back off.

“What
are you doing?”

“That’s
one outfit.” Yohji tossed Aya a grin, though he wasn’t
looking again. “I can’t wear the same outfit every day,
Aya, and I’m not wearing that out of the house. We have to go
shopping.”

“Shopping?”
Aya repeated. “We?” He really hadn’t thought this
through, had he? Yohji held his breath, closed one eye and thought
skinny thoughts, and maneuvered his way into the
could-read-his-credit-card jeans, then a blue crop top that brought
out his eyes.

“Shopping,”
he confirmed. “We. Unless you trust me to buy decent clothes on
my own?”

“Fine,”
Aya snapped, his arms folded and the glare back. “But you’re
buying me dinner.”

“Mou,
Ayan! This is all your fault!”

*****

Bungee-jumpers,
Yohji had always thought, were idiots. Bungee-jumpers, skydivers,
extreme sports enthusiasts, that crocodile guy from
Australia...idiots, all of them. Life held more than enough danger,
without going looking for that “I’m gonna die!”
thrill. An odd attitude for someone in his line of work, maybe, but
he did what he did for reasons that had nothing to do with
adrenaline.

Yet
apparently, Yohji was still an idiot. Because he’d found
something more dangerous than all of that, he’d
discovered...teasing Abyssinian. Oh, he’d always known the
sport, from the day he met Aya. But it had been just something to do,
when Aya got a little too stone-faced, and Yohji was feeling maybe a
little suicidal. Now, though, he was as hooked as the most wired
adrenaline-junkie. That guy who jumped America’s Grand Canyon
had nothing on Kudou Yohji.

Fortunately
it was something the blonde was very good at. He ought to be, he’d
been practicing pushing his luck his entire life, and nearly died for
it more than once. So though they started out in respectable
stores–Yohji knew where they were, if only to avoid them–he
still went for the clingiest, most revealing clothes he could find.
And everything Aya rejected, Yohji made him explain exactly why.

“What’s
wrong with my navel, Aya?”

“Lace
is not just for women.”

“It’s
not that tight, I can still breathe.”

“So
we’re in the kids’ department. Don’t you always say
I’m childish?”

“Leather
does not scream ‘fuck me now.’ It whispers.”

Only
Aya could say such complimentary things with such a deadly glare.

When
Aya–who was carrying because Yohji kept walking off without his
new wardrobe–was loaded down enough to slow his
really-deadly-assassin reflexes, Yohji led him into a different kind
of store. He’d worn Aya down, it took a moment for him to
register where they were.

“Kudou,
you are not buying anything here.”

“Not
for me, Aya. For you.”

“You
are insane.”

“Mou,
Ayan!” Yohji took down a black PVC vest, much like the
sleeveless shirt Aya often wore under his work trench. Only lots
shinier, and with zippers. “You said you would try to have fun,
and you can’t have fun if you don’t get noticed!”
Like that would be a problem. Aya could wear that hideous orange
sweater and a pair of plaid bell-bottoms, and not only would he get
into any club in Tokyo, he’d set a new fashion trend. But Aya
didn’t know that.

“Kudou,
you will not pick out my clothes for me.”

“You’re
no fun, Ayan.” Yohji hung the vest back up with a sigh.
“Hiroshi! Hiroshi-kun, are you here?”

“Do
I hear the bellow of the great Kudou Yohji?” Hiroshi came
around a rack of clothes, clutched his chest and staggered back.
“Wow, Kudou-sama, who is your friend and do you share?”

“Never,”
Yohji snapped, while Aya simply glared. Hiroshi gulped and
straightened, adopting a more business-like attitude.

“Maa,
maa, Kudou-sama, and–?” He trailed off expectantly, and
Yohji cursed himself for forgetting what a slut Hiroshi was. But he
was the best, too, so–

“Fujimiya-sama,”
he answered. “Hiroshi-kun, Fujimiya-sama needs some help.”

“I
do not, Kudou!”

“Aya,
there are two ways I’ll wear those new clothes. One is you
cooperating. The other is you dressing me.” He sighed happily.
“You’d have to tie me up to do that.”

Wow.
That shi-ne glare was impressive, even for Aya.

“Well,”
Hiroshi licked his lips, “I’d need to measure him–“
The glare turned to him, he paled. “To get you the right fit,”
he protested. “You can’t just try things on, it’s
not hygienic. It’s business, Fujimiya-sama!”

“You
may measure me,” Aya said in that deep voice, “just as
soon as you tell me which fingers you no longer want.”

Oh to
hell with it. Yohji wished a cowering Hiroshi a good day and led Aya
out, deciding it was time to take pity on the redhead. Not only
because Kritiker would frown on one of their best assassins killing
one of their other best assassins right in front of a whole mob of
afternoon shoppers, but because he was hungry, too.

There
was no truth whatsoever to Aya’s charge that he chose the
noodle place because it was cheap. It was just there, and Yohji was
really hungry. Somehow risking his life gave Yohji an incredible
appetite.

Besides,
he’d spent more than enough today, on clothes he’d never
wear again as soon as he was done courting the redhead.

***

“Schuldig,
what the hell are you doing?”

The
telepath remained bent over the thick book, but he glanced up, then
rolled his eyes to look at Nagi watching TV while he squeezed lemons
with his mind, and Farfarello muttering over a fireworks catalog.
“Reading,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious
thing in the world. Which, he rather thought it was.

“You’re
reading a cookbook.”

“And?”

“You
cook eggs, Schuldig. And you don’t do it out of a book. What
are you up to?”

“Told
you,” Nagi said, without looking. Schuldig tossed a pillow, it
came winging back. Schu knocked it towards Farf, who flung a knife
and pinned it to the fake palm tree. So much for that.

“Fourth
of July,” Schuldig finally answered. “Any excuse for a
party, ne?”

“You’re
a German living in Japan and you want to celebrate the American
Independence Day?”

“Farf,”
Schuldig said, “why are we doing this?”

“Boom,”
Farfarello answered. “Boom, phhhssssstt! BOOM!!!” He
stabbed a finger at a picture. “This one goes
takkita-takkita-tak-tak-BOO–OOM!!”

“There
you go.” Schu smirked up at his leader.
“Takkita-takkita-tak-tak-BOO-OOM. What more could you want?”
The American shivered, probably at the idea of Farfarello with any
sort of explosives. Schuldig hoped he didn’t ‘see’
that they were already bought, Farf was only looking at the catalog
to plan them out. “Maa, maa, Brad. Haven’t we been good
little assassins? Farf hasn’t shredded a carpet in days, and
Nagi came in top in his class again this week. Even I’ve been
hideously nice.” He’d have been a lot nicer, if
Farfarello hadn’t come charging in yesterday morning, begging
Brad for the newest espresso machine with a bean grinder built-in.
Like they wanted him anywhere near something involving pressurized
hot water, steam, or euphoria-inducing amounts of caffeine. Before
Schu could run him off to investigate sausage grinders instead, Brad
had finished the tray and was picking out a tie. Damn it.

“You’re
up to something,” Brad accused. What, he hadn’t seen any
of this? Now that was a surprise. Another surprise was Nagi speaking
up.

“Ne,
Crawford-san, it will be fun. Schuldig hasn’t even suggested
hiring strippers.” Well, he had, but only as a joke, and Nagi
hadn’t bothered to argue with him.

Brad
sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right, all right.
Have your fun. Just don’t let any of the takitta-booms get too
close to the house.”

“You’ll
have to supervise, of course,” Schu said quickly. “How
will we know if we’re getting it wrong?” He gave Brad an
exaggerated wink, a gesture usually followed by some sort of
proposition. The American braced himself, Schu grinned. “We got
pistachio ice cream...” he sang. Brad made a face.

“Not
for on top of the apple pie, I hope. That has to be vanilla.”
He frowned. “Is there going to be apple pie?”

Schu
held up the cookbook. “Schwarz willing.”

***

Author’s
Notes: Okay, whoever came up with Crawford liking pistachio ice
cream, thanks! It’s a great little bit of humanity for Oracle.
Sorry if this is Schwarz-light, at first Schu was only there to give
Yohji a way to get into trouble. My interest is growing, however, so
who knows where things will end up?
- 4
- 5
- 6
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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained