The Hits Keep Coming

BY : KD Sarge
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 3537
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.

“Kudou!”

“Asuka!” Yohji bolted upright, but didn’t grab his head. Someone was leaning over him, he grabbed there instead. “Asuka?” No. Strawberry-scented hair and hard muscles, this was–

Oh shit.

“Kudou,” rumbled that deep voice, “Let...go. Now.”

Yohji grumbled, reluctantly releasing his teammate even though two fingers had found skin between Aya’s shirt and pants, and reported back that heaven was a place on earth.

God, not that damn song in his head again. Yohji shook it, and remembered that was a bad idea. Aya stood.

“You...came back.”

“Go to sleep.” The redhead walked away. Again. Che...

“Aya, don’t go.”

He’d re-lit the candle, so Yohji could see the annoyed lift of one eyebrow when he turned from the door.

“Please? I’m...not sleepy.” Liar. Aya had to know it. But he sat in the chair anyway. Arms and legs crossed, Aya was such a friendly bastard.

And so flipping hot in that black lace-up shirt. Yohji wanted to pull the tie out and admire that chest and then put the cord to better use somewhere else...

Bad idea, Kudou, don’t even think about it. Yohji lay back, his head was spinning. And there was something he was supposed to– “Chikusho! Omi! I promised–“

”He called an hour ago.”

“I’m kind of surprised he didn’t come home.” And maybe a little hurt. Omi was the one who took care of all of them, if he didn’t care to come home–

“Try not to be an idiot, Kudou. Even Bombay fucks up exams when he doesn’t sleep. I didn’t tell him.”

Which left Yohji stuck with Aya’s oh-so-compassionate care. Lovely.

Yeah, so Omi didn’t need to come running home in the middle of the night anyway. He was fine. Mostly.

Talk, Kudou. Or Aya would leave. And he didn’t want that. God knew he didn’t want to be alone.

“Hey, uh–sorry. About making you carry me out and all. Glad you were fast enough to keep your boots clean.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve tried to throw up on me. I doubt it will be the last.”

Oh. Yeah. He had rather made a habit of getting plastered and groping Aya, hadn’t he? When he thought about it that way, he was amazed he still had both hands.

Why did he have both hands?

Maybe Aya secretly liked him. Yeah. That must be it.

Ow. Even Yohji couldn’t take that much sarcasm, not on a sore head.

“So...um...the target. I guess you got him, huh?”

“Hn.”

“I hope you got the bastard that brained me.”

“Hn.”

And the award for Conversationalist of the Year goes to...

“You, uh–you know you’re pretty good, right? I know I bitch at you and all, but you’re good to have on the team.”

No answer, not even a grunt, let alone a “why, thank you, Yohji, I’m happy to be part of the team and honored at your respect for me. You’re a fine teammate as well, and very sexy too, if I may say so.” Even just the last part would be enough...

Yeah, like Aya would ever say any of that. The Ice Princess, Yohji had dubbed Aya, late one night in an argument he wasn’t proud of. A one-sided argument, the redhead had been ignoring Yohji as thoroughly as usual. Kenken had picked it up, though, and threw it at Aya every time he got pissed off. Since Ken got pissed on behalf of anyone the redhead treated badly, that was a lot. Aya ignored it almost as thoroughly as he had the first time, but he always glanced at Yohji. Just to emphasize that though Ken was saying it, he knew where the nickname came from.

Sometimes Yohji tried to envision an alternate universe, where everything he said and did and was didn’t piss off the most gorgeous, mysterious, sexy man he’d ever met.

“Go back to sleep,” Aya said quietly. Even...gently?

Couldn’t be.

He didn’t want to sleep. Yohji wanted to get the redhead to talk again, see if he really had just been gentle. But any resistance to Aya’s orders was sure to result in not-gentle, so there wasn’t much point.

Besides, his head really, really, really hurt.

“Will you stay?” he asked, and was annoyed at how pathetic he sounded.

“Hn.”




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