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.


“Shimatta!” someone growled just as Yohji was about to discover what Aya really wore under his work trench. “Three hours! Kudou! Wake up!”

No, no, go away, one more buckle and–

A weight landed across his chest, good old survival instinct popped Yohji’s eyes open to stare into the violet gaze of his too-pretty-by-far teammate.

“Bastard,” Aya grumbled, setting the water glass back on the nightstand. He’d been about to throw water in a sleeping man’s face, a wounded man, and he was calling Yohji names?

“Follow,” the bastard snapped, and did the move-the-finger thing again, still lying across Yohji’s chest. Yohji tracked just fine, it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t woke up for three hours. Aya hadn’t woken him.

Aya grumbled something, satisfied. Then he blinked.

“Kudou,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “what are you doing?” was habit. Wake up with a gorgeous redhead sprawled on you, touch said redhead. One hand was on Aya’s upper arm, tracing light circles on elegant skin. The other had migrated...south. Yohji cringed, shut his eyes and turned his head and waited for death.

“SHI’NE!!!” was not screamed, no sword came swinging to chop him into neat little cubes. Did Aya not remember he’d brought his katana to bed?

Did his touch?

Yohji dared to peek from one eye.

It didn’t look like Aya liked it. That was a die-in-agony glare if he’d ever seen one, but Aya didn’t do anything. What the hell did that mean?

Someone needed to do something. If Aya shifted the tiniest bit to his left, he was going to feel something he couldn’t dismiss as a maybe-innocent–

Even “touch and die” Aya had to know Yohji’s left hand was not delivering a friendly pat.

The redhead was still frozen. That couldn’t last long. “Do something!” the good old survival instinct yelped. “Do something!” another part of him begged, with specific ideas of the “something.”

As soon as Yohji moved, Aya would. He had one chance.

Survival was overrated. Yohji clenched a handful of red hair, an armful of redhead, and kissed for all he was worth.

Aya kissed back. Those sexy lips opened for him, the graceful hands slid into Yohji’s hair, and Aya kissed him back. Yohji hummed delight at the clean, spicy taste of sexy bastard, joyously tangled his tongue with Aya’s, let his fingers seek out bare skin–

And moved way too fast, he realized when Aya hit him. Not as hard as he could have, but not gently either, right in his sore ribs. Yohji pried unwilling lips free, came up for air and blinked and wondered when he’d rolled on top of the man.

“Get. Off.”

Kami-sama. Aya aroused was even more breathtaking. His face flushed, his hair tousled, his lips glistening–and actual flames dancing in violent eyes. His fist was cocked for another blow, and if Yohji knew Aya–well, he didn’t, but he did know Aya would punch him in his sore ribs again, and this time he’d do it harder. Death didn’t worry Yohji. Pain, on the other hand–apologize. Fast.



Move first, apologize later. Carefully, finger by finger, Yohji lifted his hands from the redhead and scooted back to the other side of the bed. Aya rolled to his feet, straightening his clothes without looking at Yohji.


“It seems,” the redhead said, “you’re back to normal.” He shot a glare of disgust from under shaggy bangs, then stalked to the door. He did not slam it behind him.

Che. Yohji ran his hands through his hair, cursed the headache that would probably knock him flat before Aya could if he went after the swordsman, and let his hands drop.

His left hit something. Yohji lit a cigarette and lay back with a grin.

Aya would be back. Yohji wasn’t the only pointy thing in the bed.


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