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...


Miko: My internet is still down, and I live in a rather rural area—

Evil Hentai Slug: Middle of nowhere … not one gay bar anywhere, not one bar period! I’m dying here—

Miko:*smack slug with newspaper* He’s still adjusting. Anyhow, we’re posting today from the next town over (the one with the traffic light and the grocery store) in a Save-a-Lot parking lot. So we thank you for your patience and ask if you will continue to extend it to us. *attempts to execute a polite bow only to knocked down by the slug*

Evil Hentai Slug: Get me the hell out of here. I need pretty boys, alcohol, bookstores, internets at least! *holds SOS sign in one hand and a shot glass in the other*

Chapter Sixteen: Distract Me

Omi waited patiently in the hall, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door and thinking of other times he had manned the same post. After a brief run of water, Aya appeared; he was pale, though when he noted another presence, a soft spread f pink touched his cheeks as he quickly looked away. His hands caught in the hem of the t-shirt and clung there as he waited silently for something.


A tiny inclination of his head.

“Maybe I should’ve made something simpler to start with,” Omi debated out loud, smiling and hoping to put the boy at ease. But Aya wasn’t looking at him. He had backed against the doorframe, standing very still and looking incredibly young. Omi wasn’t sure if it was the posture, the slightness of his frame, or actual youth that produced the image.

“How old are you, Aya-san?”

Slowly, his eyes rose, and Omi caught his first glimpse of the strange violet hue. They didn’t quite meet his own, hovering somewhere near his chest.


“Am . . .” The choice was deep but quiet when not tinged with urgency. “Am I allowed to talk to you?”

“Allowed? Of course! What did Yohji-kun tell you?”

Silence again. The boy looked like he wanted to say something, but he just held himself very still. Omi sighed.

“Do you want to go ask Yohji first?”


“Yohji-kun,” Omi directed towards him.

Yohji looked up from his place on the couch to watch as Aya followed Omi stiffly into the living room.

“Question,” the younger blonde pronounced his purpose. His smile, indulgent at first, faltered when Aya went silently to the end of the gray couch and promptly settled near Yohji’s feet, his right cheek bare inches from the blonde’s knee.

About to correct the behavior, Yohji quickly reconsidered as he watched a good deal of excessive nervous tension melt away from Aya’s body. He had seen it before, but the opening of clenched fists, so the nails no longer bit into the palms, the softening of the sharp jaw that indicated an unclenching of teeth, and the slight settling of stiff shoulders had just then registered against the previous tightness of the boy’s frame.

Perhaps this ‘default’ of correct posture and tucked legs actually made Aya feel better. He certainly looked more at ease than he had in the chair; no, it wasn’t ease, not really, maybe more of a giving in. It was something he knew, something he could execute correctly without fear. And though Yohji realized it was a result of a training process he couldn’t begin to fathom, the fact that Aya relaxed, even the tiniest bit, in his proximity, made him feel a little better too.

Cautiously, slowly, he reached out s hand with the intent of touching the red bangs that hung over Aya’s face, perhaps to brush them back. The boy pulled his shoulders up stiffly, but he didn’t flinch, and Yohji wanted nothing more than to let those silken stands slip through his fingers.

“Yohji-kun,” Omi warned.

Dropping his hand, Yohji flopped back on the couch. He had expected Omi to claim the mother hen nest, but his timing was lousy.

“Aya-san wants to know if he can talk to me.”

“Don’t talk for him, Omi.” Leaning forward again, he laced his fingers and propped his elbows across his knees to look at Aya. “Wanna ask me something?” What Yohji wanted was to call him princess and maybe pet him a little.

A nod. Okay, attempt at natural conversation having failed, he went a step farther, “Okay, ask.”

“May I speak to,” he paused, staring hard at the rug as he searched for a term, “Omi-sama?”

“Yeah, I mean, talk to whoever you want—just don’t call him that; it creeps me out. And don’t even think about using ‘Ken-sama’! That’s Omi, I’m Yohji, and the other guy’s Ken. Deal?”

“Yes.” Yohji was pleased to see Aya visibly stop himself from adding an appellation. When nothing further came, Omi rushed to fill the silence.

“See, Aya-kun!,” he smiled, slipping into familiar address, “I told you he wouldn’t mind.” Yep, that was the full-watt Omi-smile special, which, to Yohji’s surprise, seemed a while lot less effective than Yohji-proximity for relaxing Aya. Yohji was fairly sure he shouldn’t have been happy about that, but his day had been about a nine point six on the suck-o-meter (which sounded a lot more fun than it really was), and he was willing to take his victories where he could get them.

“So, Aya-kun,” now released to talk, Omi seemed intent on making use of it, “how old are you?”

A cautious look to Yohji preceded the answer, “What . . . what month is it?” He seemed embarrassed to ask, though he fought to hide it by lowering his head. Omi shared a look with Yohji that was sad. Yohji was all too aware that this was just a trivial aspect of what they had done to the boy.


There was a silent, little sigh, nothing more than a rise and fall of his chest, “Sixteen, then.”

Damn. He was a year younger than Omi. It took a sick shit to capture a kid, and Kaimo—no, Kaimo had just facilitated the buy. It was someone else who had bound this boy when he wasn’t even grown. And for how long?

Omi seemed to be hinting along similar lines.

“Did you have a birthday?”

A nod, then, when Omi unexpectedly settled on the floor beside him in a comfortable slouch against the coffee table, “In July.”

“Sixteen’s a good number, isn’t it? I just turned seventeen in April. It’s close, right?”

A curious stare met his friendly tone. Yohji wondered how Omi had so quickly been granted the privilege of looking at Aya’s eyes. Yohji had sat on the floor, too, first damn thing! And Aya hadn’t much more than glanced at him; now Omi was getting full-on if unsure attention. How the hell did the chibi render himself so harmless? Yohji stared hard at him. Great, he couldn’t even be properly jealous looking at that face.

“I think we’ll be good friends,” Omi assured.

That was part of it. He was talking to Aya like they already were, blatantly ignoring the awkwardness, overpowering it with happiness and the insistence that everything was absolutely fine. It was a method that caught Yohji’s attention, but his mind kept going back to Aya’s apparent discomfort in the chair, to his slight relief at returning to Yohji’s side: would normal work with someone whose responses were so screwed up?

“Do you like ice cream?”

A nod, again, but Omi responded as if to vehement agreement.

“I’ll get us some at the store. Yohji-kun’s making me go anyhow. Do you want soup or something?”

Yohji caught Aya’s eyes as they looked to him, flicking away the next instant.

“Get us some miso soup, Omi. Instant. And beer. We’re definitely gonna need beer.”


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