The Hits Keep Coming

BY : KD Sarge
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 3554
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.

I am SO SORRY. I completely spaced that I was posting this here.

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Sometimes, not often, Yohji was able to realize he was dreaming and jolt himself out of it. Sometimes, when he was at just the right point of drunkenness–still able to think, but loose enough to be honest–he thought it was so rare because he didn’t want to escape it.

Yohji made it a point to shoot past that drunk-but-not-enough state as fast as possible.

Maybe it was knowing Aya was there, in what passed for a friendly mood, that made Yohji able to dodge the dream this time. Impossible as it seemed, Aya intrigued him more than yet another reliving of Asuka’s death. But when he opened his eyes, the chair was empty.

Before he could think about why he was so disappointed, a soft sound drew his gaze towards the door and the only open floor space in the room.

There in the candlelight, Aya was–dancing? As Yohji watched he drew his sword and saluted, attack and defense to one side, to the other, front and back and on, slow and elegant and graceful, as perfect and beautiful as Nureyev or Baryshnikov and Yohji had to grab a tissue to mop the drool.

Oh hell. He’d done it again. Yohji had stared too long, and fallen head over heels in lust. Fortunately he was familiar with the place, and managed to keep himself from tackling the redhead and ripping his clothes off.

The headache helped with that, too. The headache and the long pointy sharp sword.

Since he desperately needed to grab something, Yohji reached for his cigarettes.
“Don’t even think about it,” came Aya’s voice as he twirled the sword.

“It is my room,” Yohji reminded.

One final, impressive, kill-them-all move and Aya sheathed the sword. And headed for the door.

“All right, damn it!” Yohji tossed the cigarettes down. Aya came back to fling himself in the chair, looking more relaxed than Yohji had ever seen him. He actually slouched a little, one arm draped behind the chair-back, that beautiful hair hanging in his face, breathing just the slightest bit fast...

It really was not fair Yohji couldn’t touch.

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” he demanded. “You think either of us is going to live long enough to die of lung cancer?”

“I do not care to sound like badly-played bagpipes after running thirty meters.”

Yohji ignored the insult to ask a more pressing question. “Is there such a thing as well-played bagpipes?”

Whoa. “Fujimiya, did you just–almost–laugh?”

The redhead shook his hair back and didn’t answer. Yohji thought of and discarded at least six different ways to get the moody man to leave, before he thought of something that might not drive him away.

“Double pay tonight, since we didn’t need the kids. How are you going to spend it?” He had to have enough saved by now, didn’t he? The others thought he loved money for the smell of it or something, but Yohji was a consumer extraordinaire, and he recognized pangs of longing when he saw them. “Are you going to buy that white leather trench?” God, Yohji hoped so. He’d pay to see the man in it. And pay a lot more to peel him out of it–

Hmm. Next time he got to feeling suicidal, he might just make an offer. Either way he’d get something he wanted.

The silence continued to be unbroken. Che.

“It’s called conversation, Fujimiya. An exchange. I say something, you say something? Think of it as a swordfight only we’re not trying to hurt each other.”

And there the bastard went, headed for the door again. Kuso. Yohji lit a cigarette and resolved to be as silent as Aya next time. At least then he’d get to stare at the man.

For days. If he could hold out that long. There was no doubt in his mind Aya could.

Would there be a next time? It had been hours, and Aya had seen for himself that Yohji wasn’t having trouble waking up.

There would be a next time. If there was one thing Yohji had known about Fujimiya Aya from the beginning, it was that when he did something, he did it completely. Aya would not abandon his vigil because Yohji was a pain in the ass. He’d just wait until whatever checkpoint he’d decided meant Yohji was recovered, then get his revenge.

Fujimiya was definitely big on revenge.

Yohji drifted off again, trying to imagine the icy redhead so out of control he’d actually flung his beloved katana at a helicopter. Then, of course, because he was Kudou Yohji and it was how his mind worked, he dreamed of melting the icy redhead another way, driving him out of control, the man screaming his name and not in rage either...

But eventually, as it always did, his dream turned to Asuka.


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