Chains

BY : MikoNoHoshi
Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 4275
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 boys...at least not in any of their special places...

Chapter Fourteen: Deprive Me


Aya hadn’t thought about food since Schuldig had handed him over to Joji, but when the plate clicked against the table in front of him, his body decided to remember that it did, at some point, want to eat. The smell of the spicy sauce stirred his hunger into life, and long-deprived, it was loud and demanding, causing his stomach to make an embarrassingly audible noise and his instincts to perk up and hint emphatically that he devour whatever he could get his hands on.

But he waited, closing his eyes over the physical need and fighting it back with threats. He clenched his teeth when his stomach decided to voice its displeasure again. This was something he could deal with, watching others eat before him, having the food in front of him and being ordered not to touch it.

But his owner hadn’t said that.

No. But Crawford said it was a rule, so Yohji would expect him to already know what to do. Though unsure of how widespread the system of servitude was, Aya had been informed more than once that Crawford was “educating” him to survive under its guidelines. For his own benefit, of course. Aya didn’t believe that for a second, but he understood that the rules were meant to be obeyed and that Yohji’s displeasure could result in her . . .

No, he couldn’t think of that now; he didn’t have the strength to fend off the painful memories while his body rebelled against him with its clamoring for food. He would just—

“Aya, eat,” Yohji said, his own mouth full. And at Aya’s curious, sidelong glance, “Eat.”

*** * ***

“Eat,” Schuldig commanded as his fingers pressed the oily bit of meat against Aya’s lips. He didn’t want to take it, not like this, but he was so hungry. And wasn’t it always a losing battle, holding out against this man?

//Yes, kätzchen, but the battle’s half the fun.//

Aya turned his head away, the food swiping down his cheek to leave a greasy trail. He wanted to reach and wipe it away, but his hands were bound tightly by the leather cuffs which were in turn fastened to the sturdy ring on his collar. The damn leash was attached there too, it’s beaten, leather length dropping down against his bare thighs and leading to the point where it was tied around the leg of Schuldig’s chair, giving Aya little choice but to kneel patiently beside the man while he finished his own dinner.

It was always a bizarre affair, and though Aya was brought in only at Crawford’s whim, he would guess this strange parody of a family dinner occurred on a regular basis. Crawford was at the head of the table, an excessively long, heavy thing designed to seat twelve; to his left was Schuldig, Aya forced to kneel between them at the corner. The little one, Nagi, was to his right and Farfarello, who, as far as Aya could tell, chose his seat at random each time, was down on the far end making repulsive noises that the other three seemed to ignore.

There was the smell of food, some kind of chicken prepared by gods knew who. It piqued his instinct, making him want to snatch the bits from Schuldig’s hand, and if he bit the man in the process, all the better.

//I heard that.// He pressed the piece of meat against Aya’s lips again, //Just remember, I bite back.//

When he opened his mouth to retort, Schuldig shoved the food inside. As Aya chewed, he watched with satisfaction.

“Schuldig,” Crawford drew both their attentions, but while the German looked up, Aya ducked his head towards the floor, tucking t just atop his bound hands. “Don’t feed him from the table.”

“Want me to get the—”

But Farfarello was already there beside them, crouching next to Aya and running rough fingers down the edge of his exposed spine.

“My turn to feed the kitty,” he smiled, planting one knee on the ground and leaning forward until he could twist uncomfortably and look Aya in the eyes. “Here kitty, kitty.” This time two bare fingers pressed roughly against his lips, trying to force their way inside. Aya turned away, more harshly than from the scraps, and the other man grabbed his hair hard, forcing his head back and shoving his fingers far enough in his mouth to make Aya gag.

“Stop it,” Schuldig demanded, taking Farfarello’s wrist and withdrawing the offending digits. “If you’re going to feed him, get the bowl.”

Aya felt the hand in his hair relax, and then the Irishman scampered quickly away. Shifting forward, Aya coughed quietly and traced the cut along the roof of his mouth where Farfarello’s fingernail hand erringly struck. He hated that, and given half a chance he would one day make good on his threat to bite the things off. He didn’t understand why the crazy man did that in the first place, some sort of sick satisfaction, no doubt, but not one that Aya could easily decipher.

Not that he was given much time for deep consideration.

A silver bowl clattered to the wooden floor next to him and Crawford leaned over to scrape the leftovers from his plate into it.

“You’re getting thin. You should eat that.”

“Are you going to untie my hands?” He already knew the answer to that. And true to pattern, the blow delivered to the side of his head was strong enough to send him off balance.

“Impertinent. It’s early,” Crawford took a breath, regaining his calm as he cleaned his glasses on a cloth napkin, “in another month, you’ll be glad to get it.”

He stood for a moment, looming over Aya who hadn’t bothered to sit back up. There was no rage, only contempt as he kicked the boy hard in chest, causing him to gasp for breath and try to curl up, prevented by the short leash.

“Clean him and bring him to my room. Ran needs another lesson.”

He couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped at those words, and he closed his eyes to listen to Crawford walk away with the others. Only Schuldig remained, kneeling next to him on the floor, untying the leash, and dragging him back into a sitting position , propped against the table leg. Another piece of chicken hovered near his lips.

“Eat,” Schuldig repeated, and when he turned away, sick and exhausted, “Eat, kätzchen, you’ll need your strength.”

*** * ***

The chopsticks felt strange in his hand, and he had to pause to remember how to hold them. It surprised him, how such a basic thing, something he had done from childhood, had slipped from his automatic memory. But having dragged it forward, he picked up a bit of rice and placed it in his mouth.


~tbc~



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