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 Twenty-One: Deliver Me

The collar was a stiff reminder of what would come.

Aya stood silently a few feet from the bed, hands clutching at the hem of the blue shirt, expecting it to be ripped from him in the next instant. His owner would do it now, like Crawford. That’s what Aya was for, his purpose here, and the reason his owner had spent so much money. He almost lost his breath at the thought of being pressed under this man, but he prevented it, biting hard on the inside of his lips and telling himself to stand still and be quiet so he didn’t make it worse.

It would hurt enough.

He knew that, had known that before. Crawford had told him it was supposed to, and in Aya’s experience it was the truth. He didn’t know too much about normal lovemaking, but the version carried out with slaves was a painful process of blood and blows. And now Yohji would do that to him.

His second.

He’d only been with Crawford. Several times Aya had thought Farfarello would take him, but the man had been prevented by both Schuldig and Crawford. And his redheaded keeper didn’t seem inclined to have him that way.

Crawford had been enough. He had taught Aya his lessons with swift brutality.

Now they ran through Aya’s head, a sick litany of things to do with his new owner.

He would go where the man said. He would not try to cover himself. He would not struggle against the bonds. He would not touch the man unless told to do so. He would not bite. He would not be dirty. He would follow directions. He would open when told. He would not disobey . . .

He was so tired.

He would not disobey. To do so would compromise her safety, would kill her. Aya could take it for her.

The small attempt at encouragement brought an unpleasant lump to his throat and he swallowed over it. He could do this.


The order was coming. He would need to strip, be bound, let his owner take him.

It shouldn’t hurt already, but it did. It hurt the way Schuldig liked, inside.



There was no response to his query, and Yohji paused mid-pajama search to approach the other. Something was wrong; he was, if possible, more pale.


A tiny shake of the head indicated that wasn’t the problem. If Yohji could see his eyes, he might have a chance of deciphering the issue, but they were riveted to the ground,

“C’mon, sit on the bed and talk to me.”

The thin shoulders shook, but Aya went with minimal reluctance, settling himself near the corner of the bed, long arms dropped between his spread knees and head hanging; it was the most dejected Yohji had seen him, and while any display of emotion assured him that Aya was still human, this sad-looking posture wasn’t pleasing.

Yohji took a seat close to him and felt the boy tense, pulling in on himself. His hands clasped one another, tying, Yohji thought, to stop them from shaking.

Once the fear registered, it took all of two seconds for Yohji to put the pieces together; deciding what to say was the hard part.


Aya jumped at that.

“Shit, I mean, fuck, Aya—I’m not gonna hurt you!”

The boy nodded, but obviously it was done in disbelief. Yohji wondered how many men had told him the same thing before they did just that.

“Look at me, please,” he reduced his tone to a soft request.

The eyes were disclosed, meeting his own with hesitation. Yohji’s instinct told him to grab Aya and hug him as tight as possible; it was what the older man would have wanted if their situations were reversed. He kind of wanted it now. But he held himself in check, thinking such an action would be misconstrued as an advance. After all, he could think of nothing specific he had done to give Aya the idea that he wanted to have sex with him; in fact, the idea of taking Aya like that, pounding against that frail-looking, unwilling body made him almost physically ill.

But the boy didn’t know that.

Yohji forewent the hug with firm resolve, but not touching was harder. It was his nature to be touchy, constantly leaning on Ken, poking Omi, or brushing against pretty strangers should they show a little interest. He comforted the same way, by taking a hand or arm, dolling out hugs willingly to his friends and simply sitting shoulder to shoulder with a hurting comrade. Sexual touch he could put away, but not to make some casual contact stressed his restraint.

“I don’t want to do that with you.”

The eyes fled, and Aya’s throat worked twice before he spoke.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No,” he repeated it more calmly the second time. His hand reached, then jerked back. “Listen to me, look here.”

Aya did.

“We’ve got to get this straightened out, so keep your eyes here, okay?” With two fingers, he gestured at his own eyes as he turned to stare at the redhead. He needed the indicator of Aya’s reactions, especially when he was holding himself so still. Again, Aya did as he was told, though clearly uncomfortable.

“I didn’t bring you here to be a, a slave. I don’t do that. I brought you because . . . well,” he ran a hand through his hair, tugging out the loose tie and tossing it on the nightstand. “I don’t know. You asked me to, right?”

“Yes, Ma—Yohji.”

“Right. Good. I didn’t want to leave you there, but I don’t – I’m not the kind of person who does that.”

He stared at Aya, wondering if it was getting through and deciding it was not. Time to apply a blunt instrument; Yohji silently told himself to think like Ken and forged ahead.

“I won’t force you. I won’t order you around. I won’t hurt you. Understand?”

“But—” The rebuttal was cut off, the eyes jerked away, then came quickly back. One hand came up to yank hard on a red eartail in some kind of nervous gesture Yohji didn’t like. But it was a matter for another day; they had bigger issues.

“But what?”

“I . . . my Master, my other Master, he . . . if I don’t,” he paused, took a breath, and tried again after several seconds of Yohji’s silent invitation. “I have to serve you.”


“You own me!”

It was the first sign of exasperation, and though it was immediately followed by a gasp at his audacity, Yohji’s mind leapt to grab on to it. He had heard hints before, but there was definitely more than servile grace beneath the dust in those eyes.

“I don’t have to, Aya.”

Yohji caught it before it could become vocalized; the boy was instantly terrified.

“Wait, shhh. Listen. I’m not sending you back.”

The wide eyes stayed in place, but the shaking of the shoulders increased. Yohji sighed and chose his words carefully.

“I don’t want a slave, Aya. I brought you here to, huh, rescue you, I guess. You can stay, if you want. I’d like you to. But you don’t have to do this anymore. I should have said so sooner; I just thought, well, I thought you kinda knew.”

“Please . . .”

The eyes were closed. Yohji waited.

“Please let me serve you.” He didn’t want to say it; Yohji saw the strength it took to get out the words. He looked so tired.

“Why?” He honestly couldn’t understand, and his own pleading frustration soaked the word. Was it conditioning? The exasperation told him no; cold acceptance was not what Aya had going on. Yohji felt it.

“Master, my old Master, he’ll know if I don’t behave, my keeper will see and then—I have to!”

“Okay, okay. We can do that,” he calmed, pulling anything he could to combat the fear he was looking at, “But, why?” Yohji repeated; this time he did take Aya’s hand, clasping the frail thing between his own. It was cool to the touch and tense.

Aya made a desperate, quiet sound somewhere between moan and keen. They’d gone too far for retreat, and Yohji hated himself for it, but he needed to know.

“Tell me. Now.”

“He has her.”

Leverage. That was it. That was why this boy was in the clutches of such a strange institution. Whoever did it would die, Yohji decided without tint of doubt or regret or play. He would take their fucking heads off.

“Her? You said that last night. Who is she?” Who was worth this kind of torture? And who had her and in what circumstance? His mind was on Weiss, now, rescue and kill. In and out. And Aya was free.

“Who is she?” he repeated, then, “Tell me.”

Belatedly, and a little disgusted at himself, he added, “Please, Aya.”

The boy said something, but it was too quiet. Yohji brought the captured hand closer to himself, unconsciously rubbing the smooth skin of the wrist.


“My sister.”


You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story