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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Deal
with the Devil

Schuldig
hated being wrong. Usually. Not this time. Within ten minutes of the
disappearance of Weiss, Brad Crawford, the Oracle, leader of Schwarz,
hot-as-hell assassin and precognitive and all-around American badass,
was giving Schu’s tonsils a thorough examination. And not with
a tongue depressor and flashlight, either. Schuldig was loving it. If
the brunette wanted to play Herr Doktor, that was just fine by him.

Brad’s
mouth slid off his, to nuzzle beneath his ear. “Have you had
enough dancing?” he murmured. That was why they were here,
supposedly, Brad had caught him torturing the neighbors again and
decided Schu needed some exercise. Not for one second had the
telepath believed him, of course. Especially not once he saw the man
was prepared, with the hottest clothes this side of– “Hmmm,
Schu-Schu?”

“Nein.”
Schuldig shook his head. Brad drew back in surprise, Schu smirked at
him. “You said you’d show me how well you can dance,”
he went on. “What do you say we make it more challenging?”

Brad
grabbed Schu’s hips, grinding against him as they danced. “How
so?”

Schu
closed his eyes and tried to remember where he’d been going
with that. Ahh, it had been over a week, and– “Horizontal,”
he shoved out. “How well do you dance horizontally?”

“Try
me,” Brad chuckled.

“Right
here?”

“You
would.”

“You
know it.”

“There
is a hotel three blocks away,” Brad murmured against his neck.
“But what to do about the music?”

Schu
almost asked what the hell he was talking about, had almost forgotten
the joke. Again. Now he twined his fingers through unexpectedly soft
hair. “Brad-chan, I always hear music when I’m with you.”

Brad
snorted. “What music?”

“Beethoven,
usually.”

“Wagner
would be more appropriate,” Brad muttered, leading Schu off the
dance floor.

“Sometimes
it’s the Rolling Stones,” Schu told him.

“I
cannot imagine what song.”

“Tonight
it’s ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’”

“There’s
an American singer,” Brad said, dragging Schu–only
because Schu liked trailing behind and looking at the American’s
ass in red leather–dragging Schu across the parking lot. “Alice
Cooper. He has a song called ‘Poison.’”

Ooh,
Schu liked that song... “Scorpions,” he blurted. “Tease
Me, Please Me.”

“Pink
Floyd,” Brad said, shoving Schu into the passenger side, “Brain
Damage.”

Schuldig
laughed. “Liszt’s Faust Symphony.”

Brad
slid into the other side, gave him the ‘I like killing’
smile, the one that should have had evil light glinting off his
glasses, but he’d put in contacts tonight. “Queen,”
he said. “Princes of the Universe.”

“I
don’t–“

”Here
we are,” Brad sang–sang!–as he started the car,
“We're the princes of the universe.

Here
we belong, fighting for survival,

We've
come to be the rulers of your world.

I
am immortal. I have inside me blood of kings.

I
have no rival. No man can be my equal.

Take
me to the future of your world.”

Oh,
God, that was why they belonged together, Brad knew. Nagi didn’t
get it, he still thought it mattered if normals liked him. Farf,
while useful, was just a nut, but Brad–he knew. “Some
American rap guy,” Schu gasped out. “Me So Horny!”

The
BMW stopped as Brad chuckled. “I told you it wasn’t far.”
They were in front of a garish love hotel. “Go in, I’ll
park. Reservation for Brian McKnight.”

“Reservation?
At a–”

“Go,
Schu.” Brad winked at him. “Unless you would rather go
home?”

Fuck
that, home was another ten minutes at least. Schu climbed out–it
wasn’t easy, he was hard as hell–and went to the desk.
But when he asked for the key, the clerk handed him an MP3 player
instead.

“What–“
Schu didn’t finish, he ran outside.

The
BMW was nowhere in sight. Schuldig took a deep breath, put the
headphones on, and pushed play.

“All
you do is tell me lies,” Crawford’s voice said. No
singing this time. “Can't you see/I'm not surprised/That you
think that I'm a fool/hey/'Cause you think that no one sees. /And you
think you're playin' me. / I just think that you’re confused. /
You're playin' you, baby.”

Kudou’s
voice was next, laying out the bet that night. That bastard Brad had
bugged him!

Then,
“Love is for idiots,” Schuldig’s own voice sneered.
“If I win, you go clubbing with me. To the Ball and Chain, on
your best behavior and I choose your outfit. It will include a
leash.”

Then
Brad’s voice, one more time. “You lose, Schu-Schu. At
2:43 exactly, Balinese handcuffed Abyssinian to his bed.”

Fucking–!
Schuldig flung the player to the ground and stomped on it. He looked
up, his eyes narrowed. A cheap little Toyota accelerated, then veered
into a light pole. A moment later inside the hotel, the clerk
screamed as his worst nightmare broke free and ravaged his brain.
Farther in, a man enjoying an anniversary blowjob from his wife,
called out his secretary’s name. Ten minutes’ drive away,
Farfarello writhed and howled in his sleep. Nagi whimpered and cried,
as both were suddenly wrapped in a nightmare featuring Farf as a
priest and Nagi as an altar boy. Different nightmares, of course.
What frightened Nagi would please Farf, if he did it as a priest.

“Take
that, Bradley,” Schu sneered. “You think you’ll
just go home to your clean white bed, do you?”

It
wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t! Brad Crawford needed
to pay. Unfortunately, Schuldig could kill the American, but he
couldn’t torture him. Blunt force could get through, when he
was on guard subtlety was not possible.

But
hey. Schuldig was a creative kind of guy.

“Princes
of the Universe,” he said into the sudden sound of sirens. “Did
you forget already, Brad-chan?”

***

When
finally Aya fell asleep, Yohji went for that shower. He came back
shivering, and decided regretfully that as big as it was, the bed was
not large enough for him to be safe from Aya, restrained or not. He
took the duvet and pillows to the window seat instead, wishing he
dared uncuff the redhead. Aya could not be comfortable, and was sure
to wake up sore and pissed. But it was his own damned fault, the
sneaky little–

Yohji
shook his head with a grin, opened the window and lit a cigarette.
Tomorrow life was going to get very interesting. There was so much
more to Aya than he’d dreamed. Sneaky and kinky and–well,
he’d known the determined part, he’d just underestimated
the depth of Aya’s resolve. He’d thought that in a
contest between a slender man who never drank and a bottle of scotch,
that the scotch would win. Silly Yohji.

Maybe
it was just wimpy scotch, since it hadn’t knocked Yohji out. Or
maybe it was that he was much more used to drinking than Aya, he’d
drank less, he had a lot to think about, and he was alone.

No.
Not alone anymore. Yohji turned from outside to survey a much better
view. Aya’s torso glimmered pale and stunning against indigo
sheets, but from the waist down his pants blended into the dark. That
just wouldn’t do. Yohji turned the dimmer all the way down,
then switched on the light and brought it up slowly, until he could
see all of the beauty that was in his bed.

Hmm.
Survival instincts were telling him that the less pain Fujimiya Aya
was in when he woke, the more likely it was that Kudou Yohji would
survive another day. He didn’t dare uncuff the sneak, he’d
been tricked already. Twice. But he could make Aya a little more
comfortable. Yohji approached warily, and pulled Aya’s boots
off. No reaction. He studied the redhead for a moment, planning his
moves, then as cautiously as humanly possible, moved Aya across the
head of the bed, so instead of being above his shoulders, his arms
were in front of him.

Kami-sama,
Aya was gorgeous. Yohji admired with his fingers, just a little. He
quelled the flash of guilt with memories of what the redhead had done
to him, in the Seven and after. He’d been worried he’d
need more restraints, he could have sworn there were at least five
hands on him at one point...

Aya,
in his bed. Again. God or Fate or whoever had a sense of humor, that
was for sure. Aya was easily the most beautiful person Yohji had ever
had in his bed, he’d spent the night there twice now, and both
times Yohji had had to keep his hands off. It was not, Yohji vowed,
happening again. He was not made to be noble. That was for Aya.
Incredible Aya. That hair, those eyes, that noble heart–he
could write a poem to Aya, he should write a poem, Aya had to be a
poetry kind of guy. And he’d call the poem–

“Mine,”
Yohji tried it aloud, and liked it a hell of a lot. “Mine.”
He knew he was being presumptuous, but he didn’t care. Besides,
as Aya had proved again tonight, the swordsman did nothing by halves.
How had Yohji forgotten that when Aya did something, he did it all
the way? He shouldn’t have been surprised at Aya’s sudden
passion. He had set out to melt the redhead, and Aya had gone from
ice to flames in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

And
God had he burned hot.

Yohji
bit his lip on the thought, looked to the clock and did some math. If
a healthy body dealt with alcohol at about a drink an hour, and Aya
hadn’t drank in–

Oh to
hell with it.

“Wake
up,” Yohji whispered, then changed his mind. He went and
brushed his teeth, brought back a glass of water and two or three of
his favorite hangover remedies, then reached in the drawer for the
handcuff key.

And
felt sweat stand out on his face when he couldn’t find it.
Chikusho! His life wouldn’t be worth three yen if he had to get
help to–there it was. Aya’s rooting had misplaced it,
that was all. Yohji leaned to unlock the redhead, but he had to pause
to take a deep breath and gather his courage. Enchanted as he was,
the blonde was still able to remember that Aya was an assassin, a
damned good assassin, and able to carry a grudge like no one the
world had ever seen. He was completely capable of killing Yohji first
and regretting it after. Then, of course, Aya would punish himself,
but what the hell good would that do Yohji?

Enough.
While the odds on Yohji’s survival were better if Aya woke
restrained, he didn’t want to start things that way. He wanted
Aya forever, and he didn’t want him chained up when he told him
so.

After,
on the other hand–Yohji grinned, though he had a feeling it
would be a long time before Aya let his guard slip enough Yohji could
get him restrained again. Judging from last night, things weren’t
going to go quite the way Yohji had expected. Which wasn’t
fair, really. He was supposed to–well, damn it, Yohji was
taller. But the truth was, he didn’t care. Yohji would
take anything Aya chose to give him, anywhere he chose to stick it.
He would wear his fluffiest sweater and make sheep noises if Aya
wanted it, he would borrow Aya-chan’s school–

Okay,
now that was just sick.

But
he could see right now the handcuffs were going to get a lot of use.
Might want to look into getting some with more padding–so what
about Aya’s wrists, Kudou? Yohji reached again, and lost his
nerve again. Compromise. He shook Aya’s shoulder gently.

“Aya.
Wake up. Wake up, koi,” might want to hold off on the
endearments, Kudou, “Aya, wake up.”

If an
assassin wanted to survive, he learned to be a light sleeper. The
redhead stirred, those gorgeous eyes blinked. Naturally the first
thing they saw was the handcuffs. Aya froze. Of course, Kudou you
idiot, he didn’t know where he was–

“Aya,
it’s okay. I’m right here.”

Slowly
Aya turned his head, to focus the worst shi-ne glare Yohji had ever
seen. F5, definitely, on the Fujimiya scale, and Yohji couldn’t
believe he wasn’t dead on the floor.

“Kudou...”
Abyssinian growled. Softly. Yohji shivered.

“Oi,
Aya, let me say one thing. Two things. First, I’m going to
uncuff you in a second, and I’m not asking you to promise not
to kill me or anything. I won’t even try to stop you.”
Quickly he undid his watch, tossed it across the room. Aya watched it
go, anger forgotten for an instant of shock. “Second, I really
hope you’ll stop and think a minute before doing anything
irrevocable like killing me.”

“Yes,
please,” said a horribly familiar voice. “Don’t
kill him, he’s so much more fun alive and suffering.”

“K’so!”
Yohji lunged after his watch. Damn it, Schuldig, and Aya was
defenseless–

Behind
him something flashed. Yohji spun, already throwing the wire and
forget the damn gloves. Schuldig dodged it, of course, with a wink.
Damn, fighting a telepath sucked!

“You’re
not the only one who made the mistake of forgetting that,”
Schuldig said. “Maa, maa, be nice and maybe I’ll give you
a copy. I meant what I said, you’re much more fun alive.”

A
copy? Chikusho! He had a fucking camera!

“Balinese!”
Aya was just about tearing the bed apart, damn it–Yohji edged
to him, keeping his eyes on Schuldig, who just stood there and
smirked. Damn the bastard, damn him–

“Love
you too, Kudou.” The German blew a kiss as Yohji unlocked one
cuff and pressed the key into Aya’s hand. “And may I
compliment you on your win? Such a shame, I had an outfit all picked
out for you and everything.” An image of Yohji wearing nothing
but straps, with a collar, leash, and g-string–Aya stiffened,
the bastard had given it to him too!

“Get
out, Schuldig!” Aya had dropped the key, damn it, of course his
hands weren’t working yet–the redhead rolled to his feet,
Yohji steadied him as he staggered. Aya jerked away.

“Did
you fall asleep?” Schuldig asked. “Leaving him like that
for hours is cruel.” His smirk widened. “My admiration
grows.”

Aya
advanced, swinging the undone handcuff. Yohji went with him, of
course, but Aya ignored him. Schuldig bounced to the window seat.

“My
awesome mental powers tell me I’m not wanted, so I’ll
go.” He winked at Yohji. “Shall we bet on if you can nail
his sister next?”

Aya
lunged with a roar, but Schuldig was gone. Yohji didn’t sigh
relief, the more dangerous man was standing next to him.

Slowly
Aya turned, and Yohji gulped and added a category 6 to the Fujimiya
shi-ne scale. He tossed his watch away again, Aya would be slower to
kill an unarmed man. Not much, but it might gain him a few seconds.

“Chotto,
Aya, listen to me. It’s not–“

”I
have one question,” Aya interrupted. “Did you bet
Schuldig that you could ‘nail’ me?”

To
hell with the rulebook, Yohji was going to cry. “Aa. But it’s
not–“

”Yohji-kun!”
The door opened, Aya-chan ran in. Stared at her brother and Yohji,
dishevelled, partially dressed, in Yohji’s room at nearly dawn–
“I–must have dreamed,” she said, dropping her eyes
and blushing. “I thought you were hurt. That you–called
me.” She glanced up, but on the way her eyes fell on the
handcuffs dangling from her brother’s wrist. Aya-chan gulped
and ran.

Damn
Schuldig!

::Why,
thank you, pretty kitty!:: came that voice he should never have
stopped hating, with undertones of delighted laughter. ::Balinese on
the edge of tears, Abyssinian on the verge of homicide–not like
it’s a stretch–little Aya-chan blushing for a week...my
work here is done.::

Fuck
the wire, Yohji was going online and finding himself an Uzi. Let’s
see the orange-haired freak dodge that!

Later.
“Aya–

“Don’t
bother, Kudou.” Aya walked to the bed, searched a moment and
came up with the key. “I don’t want to know.” He
unlocked the handcuffs and put them and the key on the nightstand.
Then he walked out Yohji’s door, carefully closing it behind
him. Yohji felt something rip inside him, and damn did he know that
feeling.

Emergency
measures. First, the desperation CD. He turned the volume up, knowing
he’d be disturbing Omi as well as giving away his guilty
secret, but he didn’t care.

“Well,
I’m back again,” Dwight Yoakam sang, “for
another night.

Of
trying to break free from the sadness that I can’t lay to rest.

This
old honky-tonk sure does feel like home.

And
the music with the laughter seem to soothe my loneliness.”

Yohji
liked the blues, he did. But so did everyone else. Sometimes a guy
needed something different. And this man, and a few others–nobody
did misery like American cowboys.

He
locked the door before digging under the bed, then threw himself on
it with his very own first aid kit. Three bottles of good vodka, and
a carton of cigarettes. Anything those supplies couldn’t get
him through, he wasn’t surviving anyway. He poured himself a
glass, lit a cigarette and sang along with Dwight.

“So
turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose.

From
the memory that’s driving me lonely, crazy and blue.

It
helps me forget her so the louder the better.

Hey
mister, turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose.”

***

“Princes
of the Universe” is by (did I mention? ;) Queen, from the
Highlander soundtrack. I just thought it really fit these guys. The
Brian McKnight song was a lot harder! It’s “Played
Yourself.” Dwight Yoakam is awesome, I don’t care what
you think about country music. “Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me
Loose” is from the album If There Was a Way.

You
didn’t really expect to get by without angst, did you? This is
Weiss, after all.

Reviews
are very appreciated, and sometimes inspiring!
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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained