Vindication

Chapter Seventh

Yohji looked around the vacant loft, huddled in his warm overcoat, hands stuffed in the pockets and his right hand fingering the packet of cigarettes and lighter hidden away for later use. He gnawed the inside of his cheek and peered over the top of his sunglasses, disappointment clearly etched on his face, his hope almost faltering. No one was home. He was certain it was the right apartment. The all too familiar katana with its worn leather handle lay forgotten on the kitchen counter along with a Beretta. But the owner of those weapons was gone. Yohji tentatively reached out and lightly traced the curved scabbard of the sword as if he was petting a leopard that could have ripped his throat out at any given moment. Aya abhorred the thought of allowing anyone to touch his sword, and Yohji felt as though he was breaking every rule in the book by even looking at it. He couldn’t explain why he touched it, even if it didn’t ease the burdening sense of worry that had overcome him.

He heaved a sigh and slouched further into the protective folds of his coat, turning away from the sword and wandering through the rest of the loft with no given purpose. It helped to focus his mind, if only for a little while before he began to worry all over again. Where was Aya? There was no word from him in the past week. In fact, Aya had made it clear that he had wanted the other three members of Weiss to stay out of this affair, thus cutting off all ties of communication. His foolish pride had gotten the best of him again, Yohji decided.

Yohji’s persistence wasn’t deterred so easily, however. With Omi’s help, they had found more information about the so-called mission and the people involved. It was a complicated and dangerous series of twists and turns to hack through Kritiker’s files without leaving a trace of their presence behind, but it had paid off in the end, no matter the amount of reluctance and trepidation it had caused Omi. Along with the location of Aya’s temporary apartment, they had found information that linked a member of Schwarz with the crime lord Del Toro. Schuldig was apparently alive and working for the target. What were the odds of that happening? Yohji knew it was more than just a coincidence.

After the fall of Estet, Kritiker had said there was no trace of Schwarz, which caused them to believe they had died in the fall of the temple. But if one was alive, then it was likely the other three were as well, which wasn’t a reassuring thought in the least. What were their dealings with the crime lord Del Toro, anyway?

Yohji shook his head, tired of his thoughts filling his head with too many questions and worries with no point of conclusion, and he sat down on the edge of Aya’s unkempt bed. Everything was out of place without any direction of order, and if it hadn’t been for the katana, Yohji would have thought he had the wrong apartment. Instead of lacking a good homey feel, it felt too much like home, and no one like Aya had occupied it. Yohji placed his hands on the down comforter, the soft fabric rustling underneath the pads of his fingers as he ran them across it. He imagined it was Aya he was caressing, stroking the subtle curves and lines of his back then slowly traveling up to the base of his shoulders to feel the strength of a swordsman rippling underneath his palm. He imagined he brought his mouth to the juncture between the red head’s shoulders, a soft quiver emanating from both of them as Yohji ran his tongue up to the base of Aya’s neck-

Yohji shivered, quickly placing his hands in his lap. The fantasies were getting more intense, more vivid, and Yohji felt overwhelmed and cornered. His skin had broken out in gooseflesh, and he rubbed at his arms vigorously, forcing himself to block those images from his mind; it was pointless to fantasize about a man that placed more passion into vengeance than anything else. However, he couldn’t really complain. He preferred Aya that way; otherwise, he wouldn’t have cared for the redhead as he did. Feelings even Yohji wasn’t sure about, but he still felt the need to express something, even if it was in his dreams.

He needed a cigarette, and his hand was already fumbling for the pack in his coat. They were shaking as he lit up, and frustration quickly ebbed its way into Yohji’s psyche. Fuck that bastard for making him feel so helpless and out of control of his own mind, of his own emotions. Why now? Why Aya? Why was it a man? Yohji shook his head again and groaned, taking a long pull on his cigarette as he stood and paced the room. Soon, he found himself in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking a horizon of an endless expanse of skyscrapers and city lights. It was a beautiful night, perfect to sulk and think and worry all at the same time. The conflicting sides were driving Yohji to wits’ end. He just couldn’t understand it, why he felt so strongly for Aya. Was it pity, an act of sympathy? Perhaps it was, for the reason that they hadn’t surfaced until the news of Aya’s sister.

Yohji suddenly tensed when he heard the faint jostle of keys before one was placed in the lock of the front door. Aya was home, or so he hoped it was the swordsman. He snuffed his cigarette in the trash, and stood in the threshold of the bedroom, leaning heavily against the frame, watching as a lanky silhouette staggered into the loft with no evidence of grace. Yohji knew it was Aya without the aid of light in the loft by the shape of his body, but it was the gold earring dangling from one ear that glinted in the outside hallway light that gave the redhead away. Aya appeared injured by his movements and the way he kept his head low, his shoulders sagging, almost like a dog that had been beaten to submission.

“You’re home late, honey,” Yohji said sardonically, a small smile forming on his lips.

The younger man whirled, almost tripping over his own feet as he fumbled for purchase on the handle of the Beretta lying on the kitchen counter. Hand raised and shaking, he aimed the gun at Yohji’s chest. Yohji froze without thought; he hadn’t expected to startle Aya so easily, knowing how the redhead was easily alerted to another’s presence by their ki.

“It’s Yohji,” he said softly, unsure of the swordsman’s mental stability, in order not to tempt the redhead to fire the gun without realization of whom he was pointing the weapon at.

Slowly, the gun lowered, and Aya doubled over in pain, clutching at his side. A barely audible moan rose from his lips, and Yohji panicked. He rushed over, grasping Aya by the elbow in order to steady him, and that’s when he noticed the extent of Aya’s external injuries. His right cheek was a large mass of blue and purple bruises that surrounded a long gash along the cheekbone. There was also a series of bruises around Aya’s neck, vague handprints, as though he had been strangled. Yohji felt enraged, a sense of protectiveness overcoming him at the thought of someone hurting Aya.

“What the hell happened to you? Who did this?”

Aya’s emotionless mask was in place before he clumsily jerked away from Yohji, and he stumbled back only to crash into the side of the kitchen’s bar counter. He winced visibly, but he was quick to hide his pain under the veil of his thick bangs.

“Don’t touch me,” he muttered and turned away, his tone ignited with anger. His hand was still poised over his side, cradling it with a sign of tenderness that Yohji only assumed was caused by an injury to the ribs, possibly even broken.

“What happened to you?” Yohji demanded again, following Aya, his eyes unable to leave the redhead’s side.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit!”

“What are you doing here, Kudoh?”

“Did you really think I was going to keep my promise? Especially when you didn’t keep your own side of the bargain?”

Aya just glared, not saying a word.

“Don’t try to sidle your way out of it now,” Yohji said angrily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me what happened to you.”

“Go away, Yohji. I don’t need you here.” Aya crossed into the bedroom, gingerly shrugging out of his wrinkled trench coat on the way. It lay forgotten on the floor, along with his shoes. It was unbecoming of Aya to leave his belongings lying around, and Yohji knew the man had taken a hard blow, most likely more to the heart than physical damage.

“Right,” Yohji said with annoyance. “I know about Schuldig…and your sister. I’m beginning to think that Schuldig or Del Toro was behind this. Am I right?”

Aya froze, his body tense. His fists clenched at his sides, and his shoulders hunched forward; the obvious stance of his restraining anger. “Kritiker doesn’t waste time,” he murmured. He shook his head and slowly sat on the edge of the bed, desperate to hold back a grimace along the way.

Yohji stood in front of Aya, his gaze intense and staring. “Omi hacked into the system. It was tough, but we found out everything.”

Fingers plowed through dark crimson hair, and Aya sighed. “Did Kritiker know before…?”

“No, Kritiker didn’t seem to know anything until you had gone missing for a few days. They were just as surprised.”

Aya looked up at Yohji, his eyes glaring. He quickly looked away, setting his lips in a grim line, as though he wanted to say something, but he figured he would have regretted it if he had. He rubbed his side absentmindedly and sighed again, glancing out the windows.

“I’m sorry,” Yohji admitted softly, suddenly.

“About what?” Aya didn’t turn away from the windows, his face a solemn expression of regret and defeat and pain. The mask was slowly slipping away, but Yohji realized it was more due to the signs of Aya’s injuries and fatigue than anything else. He was the leader of Weiss, yes, but he was still human and capable of feeling even if he fought to the depths of hell to hide it.

“About everything… your sister mostly.”

“You couldn’t help it anymore than I could,” Aya said. “At least she’s alive.”

“She’s become a target as much as you.”

“I know that,” Aya snapped. He shook his head and rubbed his forehead with irritation. “I fucked up.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yohji said and slowly, cautiously sat down next to Aya. “You had no idea.”

“I should have,” Aya said angrily, his brow furrowing. “I should have made sure Schwarz was dead. I should have never-“

“How could you have prevented Schwarz from escaping the collapse of the temple? We weren’t exactly in tip-top shape afterwards, you know.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Yohji sighed, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He looked over at Aya’s profile, and a sudden memory of staring at that beautiful, forlorn face on the rooftop came back to Yohji. He lost focus for a moment. Too lost was he in his recollections again to realize that Aya was staring back at him. He blinked out of his daze and faced forward.

“Why did you come here, Yohji?”

Yohji said nothing. He always found it disconcerting that he never knew what to say or always said the wrong things when he was around Aya, as though the redhead intimidated him. It was best, at times like these, that he kept his mouth shut.

Aya slowly stood from the bed. “If you’re going to stay, get out of my bedroom. I need a shower.”

Without thought of consequence, Yohji grabbed Aya’s wrist, gently holding him. He stared into those violet eyes and caught the faint sign of panic as Aya flinched away ever so slightly from Yohji’s touch. Usually, the redhead was ready to bite Yohji’s head off for touching him, but he seemed fearful of anyone getting too close to him. Yohji assumed that Schuldig played a big part in that reaction.

“Are they broken?”

“What?”

“You’re ribs. Are they broken?”

“No,” Aya said. “Now, let go, Yohji.”

Yohji stood after he reluctantly released Aya’s wrist. The redhead took a staggering step back, placing a good amount of distance between the two. There was a mixture of conflicting emotions that flashed in the violet gaze, but it was quickly staunched, and the mask of indifference was in place. Yohji was determined to crack it, to break the facade into tiny little shards until it was impossible to repair. Heart pounding with anticipation, Yohji filled the gap instantly, yet tentatively, reaching out to brush crimson bangs aside. His fingers gently trailed down to an ear tail, caressing the silky strands across the pads of his fingers before he allowed his hand to move to the back of Aya’s neck, where it remained, massaging the taut muscles into relaxation.

With the ministrations, he felt Aya tremble, and long lashes fluttered closed with a sense of earnest, a sense of need that had surfaced all too suddenly. He moved to gather Aya into an embrace, but to his surprise, Aya was the one that pulled Yohji into a breathless kiss. It was subtle and gentle, at first. Then, it steadily grew into a more ravenous impulse. His tongue stroked and explored while his hands did the same to Yohji’s sides, over the fabric of his coat and shirt, the cotton scrapping along sensitized skin. He couldn’t suppress the moan that surfaced from his throat, only to have it muffled by Aya’s mouth holding him captive.

Yohji pressed Aya against him firmly by the tangled hold in the crimson locks, his nails lightly massaging Aya’s scalp that caused every nerve in the swordsman’s body to tremble in response. The trench coat was pushed off of Yohji’s shoulders hastily by nimble fingers, and he was forced to relinquish his hold from Aya’s hair in order to shrug out of it completely, his shirt following quickly behind to lie in a puddle of clothing on the floor. Aya released Yohji’s mouth, gasping for air before he lowered his lips to the blonde’s collarbone, sucking lightly on the skin stretched over the bone. A small gasp escaped Yohji’s lips, and he tilted his head to give Aya ample room to roam his mouth over his neck and up to his earlobe. Yohji gave a small yelp and snapped open his eyes when Aya had bit down a little hard with his canines.

“Kinky,” Yohji teased, breathless and completely aroused.

Violet eyes, glazed and drowning in lust, lifted to meet Yohji’s own. There was a silent warning in that gaze for Yohji to shut his mouth before he ruined the moment. He had no choice; Aya had him at his mercy without restraint or complaint. He allowed the red head to take control -if that was what the swordsman needed to satisfy some part of his mind that doubted his abilities, then so be it- and callused fingers deftly tugged with urgency on the buckle of Yohji’s jeans. The blonde half laughed, half moaned when those fingers lightly tickled the fine hairs that trailed down to the center of his groin. He dove in for another kiss, sucking and nibbling on the redhead’s bottom lip as his own hands traveled down to the button of Aya’s jeans, and with expert ease, he was able to get them undone and pulled off of the smaller man’s hips. He pushed Aya toward the wall, driving a knee between the redhead’s legs to rub against his growing erection, but Aya suddenly went very still, his body rigid and unresponsive to Yohji’s touch. His breath froze, and he began to choke, gasping for air that was hindered by Yohji’s mouth pressed against his, hands desperate to push the blonde away from him. He pulled away enough to witness the blind panic and agony clouding in the red head’s eyes, and it had finally registered -Aya’s injuries.

“Oh, fuck,” Yohji said, stumbling back. “Aya, I’m sorry.”

Aya just shook his head, sidestepping around Yohji, and staggered toward the bathroom. The door slammed shut a few seconds later, and Yohji cringed as if he had been physically slapped. It was no different; he had fucked up. He plowed trembling fingers through his hair and glanced around the room, lost in a state of euphoria and regret. The sense of pleasure was steadily waning along with his erection, however. Such a waste, he thought as he slowly padded his way to the kitchen, intent on making some tea and smoking a cigarette. He couldn’t remember a time that he had gone uncompleted, unfulfilled like that. It was very disconcerting, and Yohji was just thankful he didn’t have to jerk himself off with the knowledge of how much he had screwed up with Aya, how much he had hurt the redhead without comprehension of his actions. Or the better explanation was how he had started anything with Aya in the first place.

“Stupid, Kudoh,” he muttered resentfully. His movements were jerky, trembling and filled with tension as he lit up a cigarette and then rummaged through the cabinets for tea bags and cups. The search proved more frustrating than it was worth as it took Yohji ten minutes to find what he needed, completely unaware that he had overlooked the first five times around. Curses fluttered from his mouth as he poured water into the teakettle and set it on the stove, showing more anger toward the inanimate objects than with himself. He blamed the kettle for his rash actions; he wanted to throw the bags across the room for his inability to think without his penis being involved.

“Fuck.”

Yohji breathed heavily and leaned forward, propping his hands on the counter to support his weight. Under the messy strands of his hair, he watched the languid swirls of smoke rising from the glowing tip with detached interest as he tried to think. It proved useless; there was no reprieve from his burdening thoughts as Aya walked into the kitchen. His hair was damp, and he was wearing an oversized shirt and drawstring pajama pants. A wave of fresh shower scent invaded Yohji’s nostrils as Aya stepped past him to remove the whistling kettle from the stove, throwing the larger man into an even further downward spiral of lust and a passionate need to consume every inch of the swordsman, preferably on the countertop.

Snapping his eyes shut, Yohji turned away and threw his spent cigarette in the sink. Glaring with disapproval, the redhead poured the boiling water into the mugs, finishing what Yohji had started. He didn’t offer the other cup of hot water to Yohji, silently insinuating that the blonde had to make his own tea.

“That isn’t the trash,” Aya said in that tone that meant nothing and everything at the same time.

Yohji did as he was told and took the cigarette from the sink and tossed it into the trashcan. He knew Aya was hiding again. But from what, he wasn’t sure. Yohji? The pain? The truth? Himself? The sex? Staring out at the cityscape from the balcony’s French doors, the redhead appeared peaceful, but Yohji felt the strain so thick it was almost suffocating.

“I don’t believe Kritiker wasn’t involved with the dealings of Del Toro,” Aya suddenly admitted, breaking the sexual tension like a crushing wave over a newly built sand castle.

Yohji blinked hard, looking up from his tea. “I don’t understand.”

“Think about it, Yohji,” Aya said as he turned around, gently placing his cup on the edge of the counter. “They know what my sister looks like. How did they not realize the oversight with the body? Whose body was it they cremated?”

The redhead had a point that Yohji hadn’t even cared to recognize before, an issue that had never occurred with either of them. If it was true, and Kritiker had betrayed Weiss, well, Yohji wasn’t certain how to accept that. As much as he didn’t agree with most of the agency’s protocol, he had never doubted his level of trust. But Aya spoke of logic, and Yohji felt himself in limbo, battling between Aya’s suspicions and the agency’s true motive. However, he couldn’t help but agree with Aya’s assumption.

“It makes sense. You never saw the body before then, so it never gave you a reason to doubt it. Until now,” Yohji said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “But what if it was true, and they were completely taken by surprise? Just like the rest of us?”

Aya narrowed his eyes, his arms crossed and his fingers tapping an unknown beat on the upper part of his arm. He was not convinced, and Yohji couldn’t blame him. What were they supposed to believe?

“Whatever it may be, I’m not letting Del Toro live. I can deal with Kritiker afterwards.”

“You’re in no shape to take on Del Toro, or even Schuldig. How do you plan to do it?”

Aya’s brow furrowed, and he absentmindedly rubbed his injured side again, as though it was a heavy reminder of how much he had lost. “I’ll think of something.”

“Let me help you,” Yohji offered, stepping closer to the redhead. “With two people-“

“No, Yohji. You should have never come here.” Aya quickly turned away, while he grabbed his tea and settled on the sofa in the living room.

Yohji leaned against the kitchen’s island, staring at Aya through the thick veil of twilight. The late hours had quickly waned to the early morning, and neither one had slept in the last twenty-four hours, the depravity already making itself known in the tense muscles of Yohji’s neck and shoulders. He rolled his head from side to side, and instantly, he felt a sense of relief as the muscles loosened under the light stretching.

“Just admit it, Aya. You can’t do this alone.”

The red head said nothing and continued to sip his tea with nonchalance.

“Aya,” Yohji drawled, a light hint of warning in his voice. “Talk to me. I’m not your enemy.”

“And you’re not my friend, either,” Aya said with just as much emotion as a man conversing about the weather.

It pissed Yohji off, and he lashed out without thought of the outcome. “That didn’t seem to be the case when your hard cock was pressed against mine in a more than friendly manner.”

Yohji ducked as the teacup sailed past his head and crashed against the opposite wall, shattering into tiny little shards on the floor and countertop. He stared at Aya over the edge of the island, watching the redhead with caution as he glowered on the sofa.

“What the hell is your problem, Aya?”

“You are the problem,” Aya said with derision. “You are a distraction I don’t need!”

“What?” Yohji cautiously straightened. He found his body tense on its own accord when the swordsman stood and approached him with a slight predatory grace that resembled Abyssinian in mission mode. To say that Yohji wasn’t uneasy would have been a blatant lie. Aya, the assassin, was a force not to be reckoned with. Yohji had finally pressed the last button.

“You remind me too much of him. Of my failure.”

Yohji blinked, backing away from the redhead only for the space between them to close up. Soon, there was nowhere to go, and Yohji pressed his back against the fridge with Aya’s nose inches away from his own. Breath stilled and heart racing, he waited for the unknown, staring into amethyst eyes glimmering with rage and passion. The latter glared hotly, and its fevered existence brushed along Yohji’s face, tickling him into a state of arousal. He couldn’t stop it, even if he had wanted to. His mind and his body were two separate entities.

When Aya cupped Yohji’s erection, fondling him through the fabric of his jeans, the blonde reacted out of instinct for release and pushed his hips forward only to be slammed hard against the fridge. Dazed, he stared at Aya for an answer, but the smaller man’s eyes were hidden under the thick veil of his bangs.

“What are you doing, Aya?”

“Taking control,” Aya said, his voice shaking with a hint of anger.

“Aya-“ Yohji suddenly jerked upright when trembling fingers unbuckled his jeans and slipped between skin and denim with ease. His eyelids fluttered closed, and a deep moan rumbled in his chest as Aya revealed more skill than he had let on. But Yohji didn’t want this. Not like this. “Stop it. Stop - nhnnn.”

All train of thought completely left him as Aya stroked harder, drowning Yohji in euphoric madness. Body rocking with the motion of Aya’s sword-callused hand, Yohji tilted his head back, slamming it against the door of the fridge with a resounding thud. Aya’s forehead pressed against Yohji’s shoulder, damp strands of crimson brushing along bare skin like a tantalizing whisper. Damn his conscience; Yohji wanted more. He threaded his fingers through that luscious hair, relishing in the tingles that shot through his fingertips down to his toes not only from an orgasm, but also from the sensation of Aya’s hair grazing across his skin. A wordless cry surfaced and Yohji felt his legs go numb when he came. Fortunately, when Aya captured his lips in a sensuous, lustful kiss, he felt the anchor take place, and he steadied his equilibrium. With his hands on either side of the swordsman’s head, Yohji stumbled as he guided Aya backwards until he collided with the kitchen island, upsetting a canister of cooking utensils. Both assassins paid no heed to the loud clatter of spoons, wire wicks, and spatulas as they toppled on the floor; Yohji was too distracted with depriving Aya of his clothes.

Releasing Aya’s lips, gasping for breath, Yohji couldn’t help but notice the large bruises that decorated the redhead’s side in a hideous display of color and pain. He could only imagine that each breath was agony for the smaller man. There was enough harm done, and Yohji had already made the mistake of disregarding Aya’s injuries before. But he realized that wasn’t the only reason he felt hesitation. The look in the redhead’s eyes was distant and unfocused, and it wasn’t for the need for release. Aya had been thinking of someone else while he had jerked Yohji off; it was evident, and Yohji concluded that it was most likely Schuldig, out of spite. Gingerly, he grazed his fingers over the bruises while his mind conjured images of Schuldig abusing the swordsman, and Aya’s body tensed instantly, his hand grabbing Yohji’s to prevent it from moving further.

“What are you doing?” Aya’s voice was husky, laden in desire and wariness.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Yohji admitted, tenderly brushing an ear tail behind Aya’s ear. “Who kicked you?”

Aya blinked, and his gaze seemed to focus a little on Yohji’s face. “Schuldig, I think.”

“You don’t know?”

“Hn.”

Biting his lip, Yohji said, “Remember this, because I will probably never admit to saying it later on, but I think we should stop.”

Violet eyes regarded Yohji closely, as if for the first time that night Yohji was actually there in front of Aya instead of someone else. As much as Yohji wanted to continue, he knew it wasn’t the right time. If Aya felt the need to vent his anger, he should have chosen his usual outlet with his sword. If all Aya wanted was the sex, Yohji more than likely would have fallen for it, just for the experience of a lifetime with the aloof swordsman. Even if he had to admit to himself that his feelings for Aya went deeper than just casual encounters. The look in Aya’s gaze proved the former, and Yohji backed away, frowning. He had lost another battle with the smaller man.

There was a bottle of painkillers by the sink. Yohji sighed as he reached for them and shook the bottle in front of the red head’s face. “Take these, and get some sleep. You need it.”

Aya snatched the bottle before it rattled once more, gulping down four pills dry. He sent a glare in Yohji’s direction before he made a swift escape for the bedroom but not before retrieving his sword on the counter. “Don’t forget to clean up your mess,” the smaller man said, hinting toward the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor.

Yohji had to laugh at that, shaking his head in displeasure. “Asshole,” he muttered, desperately craving a cigarette.

TBC...