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Musk	By : jeisvenka Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1251 -:- 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-Musk
- 1
Back again with a
one-shot that will probably spawn a new obsession, if I'm not careful
:)

Spontaneous
FarfxYohji, plus another implied pairing. I love lesser-loved
pairings :D
-----

It
had all started during a reconnaissance mission: an investigation of
a medical facility where scientists were rumored to be conducting
human cloning experiments. Yohji somehow managed to separate from the
group. It was no big deal, until the wiring of his earpiece
short-circuited. And then Omi cut the electricity, as planned, but
Yohji’s flashlight refused to respond. And of course, Yohji just
happened to be in the basement, where the full moon couldn’t wind
its bright tendrils. There was no onslaught, no huge attack, not even
a chemical needle that suddenly found itself under his skin. No,
there was no heroic moment for Yohji. His main problem arose from a
simple soup can abandoned on the floor of the laboratory. An
abandoned soup can that somehow found its way, out of all the nice,
flat floor, underneath Yohji’s foot, propelling him backwards into
something unnaturally soft.

…Soft?
Last thing he remembered before the electricity went out was a room
full of sharp, pointy metallic objects. Shouldn’t he have fallen
into a table or something else bone-breaking or concussion-inducing?
A sharp jolt shot up his leg, reminding him that the fall itself
wasn’t his only worry. Judging by the pain and the multitude by
which he’d twisted it, he had at least sprained his ankle, if not
broken it. He tried putting pressure on the sore appendage, only to
gasp out in pain, berating himself for his stupidity. Broken.
Definitely broken. Shit. He felt around for something to lean
against, only to have his hand brush up against that same incredibly
soft object. Soft and… warm? Warm. Alive. Double shit.

Yohji
tried to twist around, but his ankle gave out halfway, and before he
could react he was pinned face-forward against something flat,
probably a desk, his arms forced to cross behind his back. Warm
breath wafted across the back of his neck, and he could feel the warm
pressure of a body lying across his back. The hand that wasn't
holding his arms in place wound its way up to his head, making a fist
around his numerous yellow curls. Yohji bucked violently, only to
have his face return somewhat painfully to the metal tabletop. The
smell that drifted down was saturated in the scent of blood, and as
nauseated as he already was from the pain, it was all he could do not
to lose his lunch.

After
gaining several uncomfortable bruises in a few ungainly attempts, he
decided to take a break. No movement. It seemed his “attacker”
didn’t have a plan, either. Perhaps the man was just as surprised
as he was? His leg started to cramp where he’d damaged it, and he
squirmed slightly, trying to get it into a better position. The body
behind him made a surprised low hissing noise at the friction, and
Yohji paused.

“Hey
buddy, you think you could give me a little lee-way here? My leg
kinda… well…” he chuckled lowly, his voice muffled against the
hard surface. The creature stiffened against him, and Yohji felt the
warm weight shift, followed by a ghost hand drifting down his leg. He
gasped out in pain as it prodded his leg, which he realized now was
probably broken, and the stranger paused, as if pondering what to do.
As Yohji recovered from the invasion, thoroughly puzzled and annoyed,
he suddenly felt the weight against him lessen, allowing him to pull
his leg into a somewhat less painful position (although he could do
nothing else, he learned, earning himself a fresh bruise). And still
he waited. Well, it didn’t seem like his attacker was planning on
killing him any time soon. Or letting him go. Or doing anything, for
that matter.

Yohji
sighed, returning to his fidgeting, although not fighting as
violently as he had been a moment ago. The body above him pressed
down in response, although curiously avoiding his injured leg. He
stopped. The weight lessened. He fidgeted, the body pressed. He
stopped. It lessened.

“Heh…
feels like we’re dancing or something, buddy. Care to spin me?”
he chuckled, and was just trying to decide whether or not to begin
again when a warm, breathy voice wafted across his neck.

“I
would, but I think you might fall over,” it laughed lowly, pressing
its weight once more deep into the back of his spine to hold him in
place. Yohji felt the blood run cold in his veins as the man's
identity fully registered. No way. It wasn’t possible.

“F…
Far.. f...,” he stammered, feeling the first drop of cold sweat
work its way down his arm. The voice behind him chuckled again, and
he felt the vibrations deep in his own chest, as if he were the
initiator of that burning laugh. The table felt cold and unforgiving
beneath his skin, almost as unforgiving as the cold sociopath pinning
him against the hard surface.

“Ah
yes. Now you see my problem? Can’t exactly let you go, but-” he
murmured, his voice straining painfully at the end in some alien way
that didn’t make sense to Yohji.

But…? But
what? It was obvious who had the upper hand. So that only left one
option: torture. His captor wanted to play with him. Yohji found new
life, and swore violently, raging against the hands that so easily
held him in place. How was it possible for something so slight to
possess such immense strength?

“What’s
the matter? Forget your precious knives somewhere?” Yohji spat,
unable to restrain himself, even in his present position.

Again,
he felt the pressure increase, until it was almost suffocating, and
then, to his complete horror, the hand disappeared from his scalp,
and he felt a very familiar cold surface pressed against his throat.
Maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“No,
not exactly.” The blade traced a very thin line against his neck,
making lazy, slow loop, deep enough to draw a thick crimson line to
the surface.

“Then...”
he rasped in surprise, his voice jumping as the blade vanished. But
he could feel his enemy’s weight on him shifting, and he knew that
soon, in the darkness of this room, he would die. A slow, painful
death. He… he… He felt something warm and wet against his neck,
pinching, pulling at the skin where the small amounts of blood were
welling to the surface… Yohji felt lightheaded from the lack of
air, but even in his half-conscious stupor, he was sure, sure
that… Farfarello was… was… Another vibration moved
inaudibly through the man’s chest into his, but this time it
originated much, much deeper.

“Now
wait… just...” he rasped desperately, breathing heavily against
the tabletop as he tried to kick away from this new species of
warmth. "I… I mean… You…" Yohji felt ill as something
cold wound its way around his wrists, clinking happily in the
darkness. The chains, God knows where they came from, were twisted
tight, and Yohji cried out angrily as he was jerked violently
backwards onto the solid concrete floor, his arms now pinned beneath
him and bound by thick metal as he faced the darkness above him. Only
now, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, could he make out his
attacker's more prominent features. Wild white hair, two rows of
perfect pearly white teeth, a set of high, pale cheekbones. And that
single gleaming amber eye, which pierced his soul far more
effectively than any dagger.

Yohji
felt a hand tangle painfully once again in his hair, pulling his head
to the side and causing the insignificant wound on his neck to stab
daggers across his nerves. He merely hissed at the assault, but
lashed out wildly, to no avail, when he saw those pale features
descend and felt soft lips ghost past the shredded tissue. His leg
throbbed in protest to his flailing, but only because of that.
Farfarello's weight was completely removed, perched above him like
some distorted bird of prey, only allowing a single hand to keep his
quarry in line. Finally, as if unable to contain himself any longer,
Farfarello pressed a warm mouth against his victim's neck, nipping
and suckling the wound possessively. A low whine pressed itself from the youth's ghostly pale throat; a sound that seemed to convey and pervert both
happiness and longing with a single strangled note. The noise echoed
softly in the expansive room, despite being muffled by his attacker's
current task.

Yohji
felt ready to kill somebody. Or cry. He couldn't make up his mind.
Maybe he'd kill somebody as he cried. Or maybe he'd cry and kill
somebody, although the mixture might make it difficult to see his
victim. As he contemplated which of these choices seemed the most
logical, the fingers in his hair suddenly detangled themselves, and
the wet warmth detached itself with an unappetizing pop.

The
blond breathed shallowly, listening, watching as those glistening
features hovered dangerously above him. What now? Death? Knives?
…Worse?

He
flinched violently as something solid came into contact with his
neck. Farfarello withdrew his hand, sucking his fingers to free them
of the blood they'd gently swiped from their owner. That single eye
burned silently down on him. He couldn't move, pinned to the spot
like a doe caught in the headlights of some crazed eighteen wheeler.

A
movement. Yohji closed his eyes, feeling the bile rising in the back
of his throat. This was it. The last moment. He would die like a
stuck pig, chained helplessly to the floor. What would his teammates
think? What would Manx think? He pictured her in all her
curly-headed, short-skirted glory. That cocky smile, greeting him
from afar, responding unabashed to his confident flirtations. And
what would he be now? A blood splotch on her radar, killed in a
rendition of some perverted, kinky BDSM video. He'd forever be the
one who slipped on a can and wound up kicking the bucket. The one
who-

His
breath caught in his throat. Warmth was spreading itself across his
face, pressing gingerly down against him. The core of the sun seemed
to ignite against his mouth, spreading like fire against his lips. He
couldn't breathe. Didn't want to breathe. The lightheadedness made it
easier to ignore the fact that his horrifying, blood-thirsty,
murderous arch-rival was softly... gently…. caressingly... kissing
him.

Slowly, at first, and then harder, faster, as if feasting on Yohji's mouth could satisfy some unnameable greed that danced within him. A half-suppressed moan escaped through their shared connection. Where...? But then the thought was gone, and there was something thick slipping between his lips, sliding across his teeth, demanding more. More. He opened slightly in a gasp, and the warmth exploded into his mouth, rocking against his tongue. He couldn't stifle his own surprised noise, which sounded high and meek compared to the low, base moans that were now filling his mouth every other moment. There had to be something to stop this... something to stop him... something... The world was growing dim and fuzzy, and the edges of his vision were turning dark.

He couldn't breathe. Literally.

With a jolt, the
warmth left as suddenly as it had appeared, and with it disappeared
that unwavering golden stare, those eerily pale features, and any
other sign of his malevolent counterpart. Of course, the scent of
blood still remained, although it was mingled with an indescribable
musky texture.

A
voice chuckled murderously in his head, and he sat up violently,
looking around in the darkness.

"Don't
worry, kitten. I'm nowhere close. Just… listening in,"
laughed a nasally voice. Yohji wrestled with his bonds, only to find
that when twisted a certain direction, they came apart quite easily.
The lights flickered for an instant, and then blindingly flooded the
entire room. He stumbled around for a moment, finally finding
something solid to hoist himself up on, and stared through squinted
eyes around the room. Nope, no sign of anyone.

"I
told you, I'm nowhere close,"
said the voice, sounding amused. "And
as entertaining as that was, I'll give you a small tidbit of
information…"

"Yohji?
Yohji?!! Is that you? Guys, I can hear something!"

"Next
time you plan on encountering a hypersensitive bad guy…"

Muffled
footsteps turned into sharp, clear footfalls, and Omi burst into the
room, followed by Ken, then Aya, all looking worried (except the
last, who never looked anything). "Where have you been?"
Omi whined, sounded relieved, but annoyed.

"Make
sure…"

"Did
you turn off your earpiece? I've been trying to tell you, the mission
is a bust! This was a set up, the real location is-" He cut off,
seeing the glazed look in Yohji's eyes.

"…you
don't wear something..."

"Are
you listening? Yohji? What's wrong? Oh! God! What happened to your
neck?! SHIT! Your leg! What on earth?!" Omi fluttered around him
like a hummingbird, examining his wounds, and he slowly realized that they were ushering him out of the building. He was too stunned to care.

"...that'll
cause strange reactions in your opponent.
Although, I admit, it probably saved your ass tonight..."

The
scent. So mangled by the blood, he almost hadn't recognized it. They
intertwined so perfectly. Yohji was almost startled to realize that
it was his very own cologne, sprayed thoughtlessly earlier that day,
as it had been for years before he started Weiss. He didn't like to
leave tracks behind, even as fleeting as a scent, so he hardly wore
it anymore. He usually didn't spray it unless it was a special
occasion.

And
before now, he had never, ever worn it on a mission day.

"Ah! Our time is up, I'm afraid. Young Jei has arrived, and he looks
rather... confused? You could say, in need of a 'friend'…What was that cologne again? Unn hnn hnn, I'll remember that..."

"Gute
Nacht, meine Leibe."

-----

Thanks
for reading :) Hope you enjoyed! Comments/crits/etc. are massively
appreciated!

-- Svenka
- 1
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