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...

Notes: Thank you everyone for the reviews! And on an unrelated note, I just brought home two stray kitties who were starving; I’m thinking of naming the pretty one Aya.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wring Me

They were looking at him. He had felt it all day, the lingering stares of people running over his body, and he hated it.

It had gotten worse since he owner took the coat away.

Aya wasn’t sure if it was the collar, his hair, or the sick way he looked now; they probably thought he was a survivor of some kind of serious disease. It wasn’t that far off, and it was preferable to the truth. But couldn’t they just look away?

There had been times before, he thought, when he had enjoyed casual outings to places like this, dragging his friends to the bookstores or eating takoyaki* with melon soda, both of which had the added benefit of grossing out his sister who preferred more elegant selections. He had even enjoyed the occasional attention to his strange looks, when he was dressed just so or trying to show off as teenage boys often do. But not now. He wanted to crawl away and hide.

He knew he should be grateful for his owner’s concern, for the patient selection of things for him to wear, but it wasn’t his choice and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when you were going home to be stripped and punished and . . . Yohji hadn’t done that, he reminded himself. But he could. So far he had tried to help, and even took the sweater Aya thought was so soft and nice.

Aya didn’t understand why the blonde bothered to ask him things, to try to get him to choose; Schuldig had played games like that, punishing Aya when he, inevitably, selected incorrectly. It didn’t feel like Yohji was playing, but Aya didn’t trust himself to judge.

He just wanted away from the staring people, but the best he could do was to stay close to his owner. So he did as he was ordered, trying to focus his attention on the man’s words and actions and put the stares of the other customers away from his mind. The effort to play at being friends was the best he could manage, and he knew it appeared as strained as it was. Constantly he reminded himself not to walk behind his owner, not to look at the floor, not to kneel when Yohji sat. At least not right then. And the moment he thought he had a handle on the new rules, his owner would do something unexpected. Aya did his best to adapt, all the while trying to make their interactions as inconspicuous as possible.

They went from one store to another, gathering shirts and pants, all slightly big, and more common items of necessity that had, through his neglect, become odd luxuries. They were too nice; it was all too nice, and sure to look out of place on him, to draw more stares in its contrast. Dressing a slave in finery was, as Crawford had once commented, like putting a suit on an animal: ridiculous. He had allowed no such pretenses, matching Aya’s physical appearance to his status. He had been naked, like a dog, and expected to be treated no better. Now, like this, he didn’t know what to expect.

His owner had lingered over the underwear more than any man Aya had ever seen, but apparently it was a crucial decision. Simple, serviceable types were discarded, his owner declaring that if one was going to wear ‘the damn things’ they ought to at least look nice. Aya couldn’t fathom why it embarrassed him to see the blonde hold up a pair of boxers and question him, but he was grateful when his owner sent a smiling saleswoman away. She left, but not without a long, hard look at the redhead that made him step momentarily behind the shield of his owner’s tall frame. He was lucky Yohji didn’t hit him for it.

From there they went to shoes, and his owner seemed pleased when Aya chose black boots over brown loafers; he smiled brightly at his small gesture towards the former. Simple walking shoes and a pair of house slippers were added to these and they had once more headed into the main area.

It was starting to get crowded, and it made Aya uneasy. He looked down at the tile only to remember that wasn’t the posture expected; looking up, he caught an unexpected hint of orange through the crowd. He froze, his whole body going rigid as he jerked his head around to focus on it, but it was gone. Where did it go? Had it been there? Was he watching?

“Aya?”

He was looking at Yohji before he thought about it, and saw the concern in his eyes. Strange.

Then his owner’s hand was on his arm, pulling him to the side, guiding him to lean against the cool wall out of the crowd.

“Okay?” he questioned.

Aya did a quick check and was surprised to find his heart racing at an unnatural pace and his breathing more erratic than it should have been. Still, he nodded in the affirmative, letting, just for a moment, his back lean against the wall. It had just been his imagination; Schuldig wasn’t there, not yet. His instinct was to snap back to attention, but Yohji was too close in front of him, letting go of his arm only to reach for his hands.

Several heavy bags hung from the blonde’s arms, but he moved easily, lifting Aya’s right hand in both his own. The younger man didn’t know what he was about, but knew better than resist when his owner took hold of his fingers and guided them to uncurl, turning tight fist into open palm.

“Oh, Aya,” it was a quiet exclamation.

His hand was released, and Aya stood, a little stupidly he thought, with his hand as his owner left it, held out like he was asking for something. What he received was a white handkerchief. His owner’s warm hand cradled his own while the other wiped with the handkerchief, collecting the small amount of blood from where Aya had, unthinkingly, let his nails bite too hard. He had been startled.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely managing to stop himself from kneeling in front of his owner; that motion of subservience had been the only thing to save him a more serious blow with Schuldig, since the man seemed to favor the position. But Yohji didn’t, and Aya could only clench his eyes shut in anticipation of the reprimand for making such a mess.

“Huh? Hey, it’s fine,” his owner voice seemed calm. “Look at me.”

His owner’s hands were still on his, not raised, then, to hit. Aya opened his eyes, and again, those eyes—green and gold—were startling in their kindness.

~*~

God, he was shaking. Yohji didn’t personally give a damn if people were looking, but he definitely didn’t want Aya making a scene that might scare him more in turn. They had been doing do well.

“Come, on,” Yohji said. Shifting his hold on Aya’s hand so that he held it normally, he led the boy towards the restrooms. A few passing customers spared curious glances towards the two men holding hands, and it was only for his companion’s sake that Yohji repressed the urge to flip them off.

The men’s room door swung shut behind them with a small swoosh, and he piloted Aya towards the sinks. Trying to get to something concrete that would calm him down, Yohji fished for the first easy request he could find.

“Here,” he tugged up Aya’s sleeves like he might do for a little brother, “Wash your hands.”

Aya nodded and hurried to comply, running his hands under hot water, carefully tipping up his palms to rinse out the shallow wounds.

“Dry,” he said and handed over a wad of brown paper towels. Aya did so, depositing the towels into the trash and turning back to face Yohji with his head ducked. He seemed more in control with the able accomplishment of the simple tasks.

“Better? Aya?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he took a breath, unsure whether to address the issue now or press ahead. He decided on the latter, but altered his plan slightly. “Let’s go grab some lunch; I’m starving.”

The redhead followed by his side as if nothing had happened, and Yohji started off towards the food court. If he could find a quiet table towards a corner, it might give Aya a little reprieve. The thought of leaving all together crossed his mind, but that might put too much emphasis on Aya’s slip. No, Yohji was determined that this was going to be a success. Now, what the hell was he going to feed him?

~tbc~

* This is the best Japanese mall food ever! It’s these round, kind of crispy balls with octopus in them and potato salad on top. Okay, I realize that doesn’t sound good, but it is. Just writing about it makes me want to go back . . . ah, takoyaki . . . *stares dreamily into space*


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