BY : MikoNoHoshi
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4283
Disclaimer: I get no money from writing these fics, nor I don't own Weiss. In fact, I'm not even allowed to touch the pretty least not in any of their special places...

Chapter Twelve: Direct Me

It was a long discussion, eating away a good portion of their Sunday morning and still leaving a hundred unanswered questions. Omi had uneasily acquiesced to talking with Kritiker about taking on Aya after Yohji pointed out that when they discovered the houseguest he would either be killed or shipped off for training and assigned to a team anyway should his skills prove up to the task. Several caveats had preceded this agreement, and while Omi was guaranteed a long chat with the boy, Yohji had signed up for not only basic integration 101 but some kind of weapons training to make his appeal to Kritiker at least a little logical. Lodgings, wardrobe, and mental stability also fell into his jurisdiction, and Yohji got the distinct feeling he was being made to work for a new pet.

If Omi expected him to give Aya up in the face of a little hard work, he was sorely mistaken. Yohji didn’t take it lightly. After all, dragging someone into the world of assassination wasn’t a flippant decision. Had he left the boy at Marked, he would have been sold, beaten, and gods only knew what else. Tortured. And now, he was too close to Kritiker to escape; the best bet was to keep him close and shield him as much as possible. Aya might kill; he might have to kill in order not to be killed, but he could at least do it on a reliable team and with Yohji to watch his back.

It was the best he could do.

Of course, the blonde didn’t intend to spring it upon him right away. They had to hear from Kritiker first (and Yohji had to get through the inevitable lecture from Manx). For now, he resolved to make Aya as fit a specimen as possible, or, he decided upon entering the living room, as least something close to normal.

He was on the floor again, kneeling beside the window, his empty coffee cup on the floor in front of him. Once again, he was looking out the window, and in the moment before his presence was noticed, Yohji caught a wistful longing on the light-washed face.

Then it was hidden away.

Yohji realized how far they had to go.

“Hey,” he began, plopping into the plush chair just to Aya’s right, where the boy could have easily sat and looked out the window. “You don’t have to sit on the floor.”


“Were you sitting there the whole time?”


Aya barely resisted looking up at his owner as the man posed the inane question. Of course he had been sitting here; that’s what he had been ordered to do: go to living room, sit, drink coffee.

“Yes, Master,” he said without inflection.

“You didn’t turn on the television or anything?”

Of course not, he wanted to defend himself, almost spoke the words aloud before realizing that the tone was not accusatory. An actual night’s sleep seemed to have revived a bit of his innate impertinence, a quality that had gotten him whipped more than once. It was far better not to answer at all, though his owner didn’t seem too pleased by the silence.

He was leaning forward to look at Aya’s face, his blonde hair falling down around his own. It caught the sunlight and seemed to trap the golden light. He looked so alive. It was hard to think of being beaten by this man, but Aya did his best to keep the thought in mind.

“I’m sorry,” Yohji stated, his face serious.

Aya looked up at that, instantly jerking his head back down. What game was his owner playing? It had to be some bizarre kind of test, but he was hard pressed to figure out the logic of it or what his responses were expected to be.

“I didn’t even think that you’d be just sitting here,” he sighed, and Aya tried desperately to decipher the tone. “I guess we’ve got a ways to go, eh Aya?”

When he looked up in the silence, Yohji smiled.


He waited, content to study the play of light over Aya’s hair. What would the boy do when faced with the silence he seemed to mete out so easily? No, that wasn’t quite right, Yohji knew. No doubt he had been trained to that state, silence often enforced by who knows what means. But Yohji liked to talk, and his princess was just gonna have to get on board with that. So, when no agreement was forthcoming, Yohji waited.

Aya stared at the floor for over a minute. Then, just as Yohji was going to abandon the trial as a failure, violet eyes rose cautiously to meet his own.

It was a little thing, but the human curiosity, mixed with uncertainty as it was, brought a smile to his face.


Silence rebuked his enthusiasm.

“Okay, here’s the deal. You don’t have to talk all the time, but I would really, really like it if you’d answer me when I ask you a question.”

The boy’s head instantly ducked into a low, kneeling bow.

“Forgive me, Master, I—”

“Yohji,” he corrected. “Call me Yohji.”

The boy nodded without rising; his forehead was almost touching the floor near his flat palms.

“What were you going to say?”

“I beg your forgiveness, Yohji-sama, I did not know you wanted me to speak.”

The words were stiff and formal, and Yohji wasn’t thrilled with hearing his name laden with the excessive suffix. Still, they were words, and that might be a step forward.

“It’s fine, Aya. I mean, shit, we’ve got things to figure out about each other. Just, you know, answer me when you can.”

“Yes, Yohji-sama,” he responded obediently as he righted himself into what Yohji was beginning to think of as his default position, kneeling, head bowed, hands on his thighs.

“Great!” he attempted an encouragement, but it sounded shallow. Trying for something concrete, Yohji went again with, “Hungry?”

“Yes, Yohji-sama.”

That was going to get old really quick.

“I know what my name is; you don’t have to say it all the time,” he warmed the comment with a smile, not that Aya was looking now. “And for my next complaint, you’re too skinny; let’s see if we can con Omi into feeding us.”


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