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Torn and Bloodied Angel	By : bombaykitty Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1080 -:- 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
- 1-Torn and Bloodied Angel
- 1
Title: Torn and Bloodied Angel

Author: Bombaykitty

Summary: The night of Ouka’s death, Aya comforts Omi (albeit
reluctantly).

Rating: Ch 1 is G, nothing but some angsty talks. Ch2 is NC-17

Pairing(s): Aya x Omi

Feedback: Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Chapters: 1 / 2(there’s only going to be 2 chapters I
swear! No more!! It was only suppose to be a one-shot but I got too tired at
the end to write the lemon into it ^^;;

Betas: none.

Author’s notes: Hmm…seeing as there’s a distinct lack
of Aya x Omi fics, I decided to try my hand at writing one. Although not my first fanfic, it is for this
fandom (I’ve rp’ed with fandom plenty of times, but never actually wrote a
story). I’m writing from Aya’s POV so
it might be a little (or a lot) OOC since that guy’s mind is so hard to get
into. Also there’s one line in here
that a totally awesome friend of mine helped me out with, you know who you are
^-^

Disclaimer: As much as I dream about it, I don’t own
Weiss Kreuz, Aya, or Omi. I am also not
making any money off of this thing either.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The calm night air hid the
sufferings of the 4 young men residing in the flower shop. I silently watch through the thin crack of
the slightly ajar door, observing the thin form lying on the bed, curled as if
that would ward off the horrors of what those blue eyes had seen tonight. He’s shaking…even from here I can tell that
he’s shaking. His muffled sobs reach my
ears each time sending a stab of pain coursing through my body and plunging
into my heart. I shouldn’t be here, I
knew, but something kept me glued to the spot as I continued to watch in
silence. Just a child, nothing more
than a child forced by those that should have given everything to protect him
to, instead, fight a losing battle against faceless targets whom they’d deemed
‘evil’.

Letting out an irritated sigh, I
shake my head in frustration and turn to leave. Fate, however, didn’t seem to want to let me off the hook so
easily. His door opened wider as a
small, trembling hand reached out and managed to grab my sleeve. In surprise, I whirled back to face the
bedroom, jerking my arm away instinctively.
Dammit, how’d he get to the door so quietly? I look down into his face and even in the darkness, I can see the
sparkle of the moonlight shining through his window and reflecting off the
tears streaming down his face. Slowly,
he lowers his head, something he tended to do often these days whenever I’m
around.

“G…gomen..Aya-kun…did I wake
you?”

His voice is thick with hidden
tears and his words sound like they’ve been forced into formation.

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

Not exactly an answer to his
question, but close enough. No one’s
gonna blame the kid for shedding a few tears after seeing his own half sister
get killed in front of him, no one but himself it seems.

“I’ll be quieter, I promise
Aya-kun,” he claims as he lifts his head and that smile is shakily formed on
those rose-petal lips. Apologetic and
an attempt at reassurance that he’s just fine.

I narrow my eyes and his smile
fades as he realizes that I’m not going to get fooled so easily. He turns his back to me, facing his bed. A dismissal? Or another attempt to
hide? His trembling shoulders answer my
inner debate, besides, Omi didn’t just dismiss anyone.

“I…I killed her Aya-kun…Just the
simple fact that she knew me got her killed.”

Why didn’t it surprise me that
he’d say something like that? Is it
really so hard for him to just believe that it was her time? I guess that’d be
too easy huh Omi?

Taking two steps into the room, I
stand behind our youngest member and put my hands on his shoulders. The simple contact seemed to startle Omi
into tensing up for a millisecond before he twirled around to my surprise and
threw himself into my chest. His
slender arms wrapped tightly around my torso as he hid his face in the fabric
of my t-shirt as heart-wrenching whimpers trembled through his body. He was still trying to muffle his mourning
lest he should wake the other two, but
his self control was slowly slipping.
Unsure as to how to comfort the distraught boy, I simply bring one hand
up to run my fingers through his rain-dampened hair and the other to wrap
around his waist. Looks like he didn’t
even shower after coming home from that incident earlier.

Omi didn’t move from his position
for what seemed like an eternity, his small body trembling, whether it was from
the coldness, from his tears or a combination I couldn’t tell. What I could tell, however, was that having
his warm body pressed up against mine and clinging to me as if he’d drown
otherwise was having some problematic affects on my body.

Now let me step away from this
situation and explain something. Did I
find Omi physically attractive? You try and find me one person that can resist
those baby blues accompanied by that mile-wide smile. Although 17 in age, Omi’s body still seemed as if puberty was
only beginning to work its magic on it.
Omi moved with an unconscious grace born from years of training to be an
assassin and his child-like personality only added to the charm. Being a killer longer than any of the other
three of us, how Omi can maintain that innocent front is beyond the
comprehension of the brightest psychologist.
Just being around him as he bustled about can make anyone forget their
troubles, and if he should shoot that beaming smile your way, then you’re doomed
to melt into a gooey puddle right there on the spot. My first meeting with Omi had thrown me completely off my
balance. In Kritiker’s top assassin
group, the last thing I expected to find was a fallen angel, torn and
bloodied. I thought I’d perfected my
own mask of frigid independence over the years of training, but to my dismay,
Omi tore through it like a knife through microwaved butter. Not that the kid intentionally meant to or
anything of the sort, but day after day of shooting me with that damned smile
had me looking forward to seeing it when I got out of bed every morning. But like Yohji said, Omi was the chibi of
the group, the one we all liked to pamper and spoil, the one we all protected
aware or not, and definitely should not be the one on the receiving end of any
type of sexual advance.

So, back to the bedroom, having a
trembling, distressed and warm Omi pressing against me was definitely not a
good idea. Frantically, I wracked my
brain to look for some type of excuse to get away without hurting the boy any
further.

“Omi?”

A sniffle is my reply.

“You should take a shower and get
changed, if you catch a cold…”

I left the sentence
hanging. If you catch cold…then what?
Then you’d be a liability to the missions? Then Kritiker would be upset?

“…Aya-kun..?” His voice is soft, softer
than usual, like someone half awake and yet still dreaming.

I look down at the tangle of
blonde hair snuggled against my chest and gently continue brushing my fingers
through them.

“Hm?”

His arms tighten around me.

“Aya-kun if…if…I offered to you…this
dirty…and blood covered body-”

Before he can even finish the
sentence, I’ve jerked back from him causing him to lift his head. I only catch a brief glimpse of wounded eyes
before my hand lands on his cheek with such force that he stumbles back and crumples
in a heap beside his bed. My hand
tingles from the slap as I can imagine his cheek must be feeling about the same
if not worse. A minute of the tense
silence is all I can take as I carefully walk towards my team-mate, kneeling
beside him and pulling him into a sitting position while leaning on the side of
the bed. He keeps his head lowered,
using his long bangs to shield his eyes and face from my glare. I reach a hand over and gently grasp his
chin, tilting his head up to face me.
His eyes are closed and a drop
of blood had begun to trickle down from the corner of his mouth. Dammit I’d hit too hard, dammit Omi.

Ignoring the thumping of my heart
trying to escape my chest, I lean down and carefully lick away that trail of
red, marring the pale skin. Unable to
resist the temptation, my lips gently move until they found Omi’s underneath
and proceeded an extensive exploration.
I heard Omi’s surprised and muffled squeak but chose to ignore it,
keeping my hand on his chin as the other arm wrapped around his back as
support. The boy’s lips are compliant
under mine, opening under my dominance almost too easily. I slip my tongue into that warm cavern,
testing the waters of how far Omi’s willing to go. Apparently pretty far since his arms manages to link behind my
neck and pull me closer almost desperately.
In my fuzz-induced mind, I concluded that Omi tastes like chocolate,
probably in relation to those Pocky sticks he’s always nibbling on. I pull back slightly as a need for air makes
itself known. Looking into Omi’s face,
I wince to see teary blue orbs gazing back at me, as if expecting me to shove
him away any moment and leave him in this cold room all alone once again. What hurt even more was that what I saw in
his eyes told me loud and clear that if I should choose that course of action,
this usually strong-willed and determined young man honestly believes that he
deserves it.

Moving my
hand from his chin to wipe away any remaining tears, I gently brush back blonde
locks that partly covered his eyes.

“I’m sorry
Omi. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

He looks
away, not really lowering his head this time, but turning his eyes away from
mine. Shaking his head, I can see the
edges of a forced and bitter smile.

“Iie…I
deserve that and so much more.”

I resist the insane urge to grab
him by those slender shoulders and give him a good shake. Instead, I sit down and lean my back against
the bed, pulling him to sit in front of me and enfold him in my arms against my
chest.

“Hn, I
never took you to be an idiot Omi, but tonight you’re acting denser than Ken.”

I feel him
tense up in my arms. This kid really
doesn’t take to criticism very well does he?
I plant a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“Just sleep
Omi. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

After some apparent
contemplation, he nods and snuggles closer to me. I reach up onto the bed and yank down the blanket to wrap around
him. I watch as his frown and furrowed
eyebrows slowly evens out into neutrality as he is lured into dreamland. A torn and bloodied angel in the middle of
all this bloodshed. But no worries, one
day we’ll mend his broken wings and he’ll fly once again.
- 1
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Torn and Bloodied Angel