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-Nine: Wilt Me

Depositing his burden in and around the suede chair by the window, Yohji stretched and plopped down on the bed. He watched Aya, curious as to what amount of independence the other would show. He felt a serious pang of disappointment when the boy stood politely inside the doorway, waiting.

“Put the stuff down, Aya, and come rest.”

The boy nodded once and carefully placed his boxes on the floor near the chair; the two bags he settled beside the ones Yohji had put down. With slightly more confidence, he approached the bed and, to compound the blonde’s disappointment, knelt to Yohji’s right, bowed his head, and was silent.

“I had a good time today,” Yohji told him.


He wasn’t sure what his owner wanted; for all appearance he was content to wander around and buy things. Aya didn’t want to think about the amount of money that had been spent on him, but it was almost comforting that Yohji seemed to want him dressed. Of course, that served a purpose. Obviously his owner didn’t want to be known as a purchaser of slaves; he had said as much. Aya was to act differently when outside the house so as not to alert the authorities.

It was fine. He could do that easily.

It was what Yohji wanted once they returned home that concerned him. It was easy to be coerced by that voice, by the gentle handling that was so different. Aya struggled to keep up his guard; it was be all too easy to fall back into the half-forgotten pattern of an old life. But that was gone; Ran was gone, and his owner would be requesting reparations soon.


Omi turned from the disaster Ken was making of dinner to smile at Yohji as he entered the room.

“Thanks for the candy!” he beamed, hoping to convey how much the gesture meant to him. It was nice to be thought of.

“Welcome,” Yohji returned, headed straight for the fridge. He took out a beer, popped the tab, and shut the refrigerator. He took the first two drinks standing there in front of it, and, seeming to consider the half-empty state of the one he was holding, took out another can before sitting down at the table.

“Ow, shit!” Ken swore, holding his hand defensively and glaring hard at the skillet of bacon.

Omi shook his head, leaving the brunette to his own devices against their dinner; really, he had to learn sometime. Yohji didn’t seem to be paying any attention at all. The blonde was staring hard at the table as he finished off the first beer. When the can was empty, he pushed it away a little and opened the second.

“Was it awful, Yohji-kun?”

“Huh?” Dark shades were aimed in his direction, then Yohji tilted his head a little to look over them.

Omi took a different track.

“Where’s Aya-kun?”

“Resting,” he returned, still only half involved in the conversation. He went back to looking at the table.

It was odd.

“Are you—”

A loud metallic rattle interrupted him, accompanied as it was by a small burst of flame. Omi jumped up and slammed the lid on the skillet; using Ken’s abandoned oven mit, he moved the whole smoking mess to the sink and, having starved the flames of oxygen, ran water over the mess.

Ken got up off the floor, looking rather rumpled.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” he complained.

Was he four? Omi tried not to think cruel thoughts, but sometimes it just wasn’t funny how inept the others could be.

“Fine,” he gave up.

“Omi . . .”

“Nevermind, Ken-kun,” he forced a smile, obviously relieving the brunette, “just microwave something.”

Ken nodded, as if it was some great responsibility, and Omi sat back down to deal with Yohji who, apparently, had missed the entire incident.

He wasn’t exactly sure how to broach the subject. Though Omi had warned against the outing, he sincerely hoped it hadn’t gone very badly. Yohji had come in so happy, and Aya had seemed okay. Had something happened that Omi hadn’t noticed? Something that had disappointed Yohji?

“Are you okay?”


With a little sigh, Omi shifted to the seat next to the taller man and propped his elbow on the table. He decided to start with something straightforward.

“Did you get Aya-kun some new clothes?”

“Yeah,” Yohji smiled a little at that. “Some decent stuff, good enough for now. He’s thin.”

Omi nodded at the fairly disjointed answer. Yohji finally seemed to recognize his ‘I’m here to listen’ face. Stretching his long limbs as he arched out of the chair, Yohji popped his back and settled in again, this time facing Omi and with a more engaged attitude. Finally.

But Yohji was wearing his debriefing face, a kind of tired neutrality that tried to read board and hit closer to mournful reflection.

“It wasn’t bad,” he started. “Actually, I’m surprised it went so well. He was okay, or . . . he played at being okay.”

Yohji shifted forward in the chair, dropping his elbows to the table.

“I can’t tell what all’s an act,” he admitted. “Today at the mall, he was almost fine. Quiet. The people didn’t seem to bother him too much. Followed me around, watched me like a hawk. I got him to choose a few things, but as far as taking the initiative,” he shrugged.

“Don’t expect too much, Yohji-kun.”

“I know. I was happy, I mean, I thought he might really flip out or something.”

Omi nodded; similar thoughts had occurred to him.

“But he went with it, mostly. He’s . . . adaptable. I don’t think,” he paused, as if debating whether or not to share.


“I don’t think he’s been like that forever.”

The microwave dinged, and Ken, attending it carefully, took out the plate and began to divide the flat, melted excuse for a pizza. It seemed to resist being cut, and Omi and Yohji both paused to watch until the jagged, battered portions arrived on paper plates.

“Is he coming down?” Ken questioned, mouth already full.

Yohji shook his head, and Omi made a mental note to send something back up with the blonde. He hoped the candy hadn’t made Aya sick; he would feel terrible if it had.

“So,” Ken swallowed and surprised them by asking, “why do you think he’s new at it?”

So he was paying attention.

Yohji shook his head again, “Not new exactly, but he hasn’t always been that way. He’s angry, even if he hides it. He doesn’t want to do that.”

“How do you figure that?”

Omi seconded the question but was hard pressed to interpret Yohji’s grin.

“He yelled at me.”

No. Omi couldn’t even fathom the meek, fragile Aya letting Yohji have it. Impossible.

The disbelief had to be written on his face, and Ken was openly scoffing.

“He did,” Yohji assured. “He apologized right after. He was freaked out, totally off kilter, chibi. I pressed him about his past a little . . .”


“He’s in a mess.”

“No shit,” Ken decided.

Yohji glared; Ken returned to his pizza.

“Yohji-kun,” Omi drew his attention back. “What do you mean?”


Finishing off the second beer, Yohji set it aside and began to recount the important aspects of his time with Aya, omitting a few of what he considered to be privileged, personal details. He started with their trip to the mall, and quickly went over the boy’s reactions to the small decisions Yohji had asked him to make; he focused, though, on the selection of the color black, leaving out the orange sweater which, he thought, would be evident soon enough. He offered observations about Aya’s ability to deal with anonymous crowds, not comfortable, but far from terrified excepting the one incident that put Yohji at a loss. He could function, and he was able to pick up on social cues. Additionally, he understood that his situation wasn’t normal; he had quickly perceived why he couldn’t appear to be Yohji’s slave.

From there he moved to the change he noticed when they arrived home. The scene in the doorway with the chocolate was merely a transition, and by the time they arrived upstairs, Aya had returned almost fully to his position as servant, calling into question the validity of the day’s success. Yohji tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but the look on Omi’s face told him he wasn’t quite successful.

Dismissing it for the moment, he related , carefully, Aya’s sparse account of his situation, his insinuation of some kind of debt, his revelation of a captive sister, and his sudden show of anger.

They all sat quietly over empty plates, thinking.


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