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 least not in any of their special places...

Chapter Thirty-One: Warn Me

“Close the door,” Yohji said without turning around. He heard it shut softly. Depositing his loaded plastic bag of essentials on the floor near the sink, he went to tub and, after opening the shower door completely, plugged the drain. Knowing it would take time to fill, he started the water, testing it with his hand and making adjustments until it was verging on hot but not uncomfortable.

Righting himself, he looked back to Aya.

The boy had been tired the day before, and Yohji had let him put Omi’s PJs back on rather than dig through their purchases for the better pair he had gotten. The blue fleece made him look younger as he stood close to the door, his back almost touching it, with his head bowed and hands clenched near his sides.

The last detail didn’t sit too well with Yohji. He had expected some, if not resistance, hesitation, but not so early on.

“Okay?” he questioned, finding it a phrase he now used on an hourly basis. But when someone didn’t express their needs or, well, anything, unless directly prompted, it became necessary.

Aya nodded without looking at him.

The water continued to run quietly in the background as Yohji rifled through the bag and pulled out a bottle: pink. Screwing off the lid, he sniffed it, was ambivalent about the rosy scent, and was about to let Aya see for himself when he decided it might be more confusing than helpful to ask the boy to smell something. Instead, he dumped a generous amount into the tub and watched as the pour of water began to produce a growing mound of bubbles.

Yohji stood, put away the bubble bath, and situated the stack of dry towels on the back of the toilet. Turning to Aya, he tried to formulate his request in a manner least likely to induce fear, but, as talented his was a words related to seduction, Yohji found himself slightly at a loss when telling someone to disrobe for another reason.

“Alright, hop in.”

Okay, maybe that was too casual, but Yohji thought evident tension on his part was only going to send Aya over the edge. Already he was rigid; closing his eyes briefly, he nodded, took a step forward, and began to work the first button while he stared at the floor. It was more than awkward; Aya was undressing with the obvious expectation of something unpleasant. Yohji could feel it in the air, and see it in the reluctant movements of those slender fingers as they slipped one button after another from their places like some forced striptease.

Yohji wanted to offer encouragement, but he thought his words wouldn’t help. Aya needed to see, to feel, that the blonde wasn’t going to hurt him, and that would take time, not just this instant, but repeated, awkward, painful repetitions where his anticipations of pain were left unmet. But god, it hurt to see him undo the drawstring of the pants and clutch the waistband so pitifully.

Then Aya let the loose cloth fall from around his thin hips, bending, carefully, stiffly, to retrieve them and fold them carefully. Again he paused, holding the folded pants in front of him, but, with a breath, he set them aside on the vanity, clasping his hands over himself instead, still staring intently at the floor.

The running water was the only sound.

This wasn’t going to get any better.

“Do you keep that on?” Yohji gestured at the collar, and once again Aya nodded.

Well that couldn’t be comfortable, but it was far from the time and place to have it out over that particular reservation.

“Okay. Get in, then.”

Another nod, then a silent, deep inhalation before Aya stepped forward. Carefully he navigated around Yohji and stepped, cautiously, into the tub. There he hesitated again before sitting, not in a relaxed sprawl that usually marked Yohji’s own bathing ritual, but a tight, drawn up position with his knees hugged towards his chest and his chin resting nearly on top of them.

He was shaking.

Taking a clean cloth from his linens stack, Yohji tossed down a towel by the tub and knelt on it. When he reached to dip it in the water, Aya jumped, his elbow banging into the far edge as he instinctually tried to get away.

“Woah, calm down,” Yohji withdrew his hand with the washcloth, not bothering to wring it out. Aya settled back, still trembling. His eyes were closed.

“Geez, Aya, you’re like a frickin cat at bath time,” he laughed, but it was cut instantly short by the horrified look on Aya’s startled face. The boy stared at him, eyes bright with fear, lower lip shaking. “Aya?”

Yohji dropped the rag on the floor with a wet plop and reached with a bare hand, hoping to touch Aya’s shoulder in a repeat of his comforting touches while the boy had been asleep. It failed miserably. Aya scrambled to get away, slipping in the rising water before he managed to half stand, a loud bang marking the moment when his temple connected painfully with this tub’s porcelain wall, just before he sank back down, gathering his cowering form in the back right corner and shaking worse than ever.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered, words almost lost as he pressed his forehead against his knees, “I’m sorry, Master. I’m s—”

“Aya, it’s okay.”

“Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything.”

Aya made a sound, a soft keen that was piteous in its desperation. Yohji hated himself for putting the boy in that position. He wanted to call the whole thing off, to take Aya back to bed and watch him sleep, to chase away the nightmares, at least for a little while longer.

“It’s my fault. I should have warned you.”

There was no response; Aya just remained curled around himself as the water rose around him. Yohji could barely reach him over there in the corner. Seeing the water hovering around the boy’s hips, Yohji reached to turn off the tap before reaching again.

“Come here, Aya. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

How many times had he said that? It really was a lot like coaxing a frightened cat out of its crate, but he didn’t dare repeat the analogy: there was obviously something deeply unsettling in it. Instead, he carefully brushed his fingertips across Aya’s shoulder, wincing himself at the startled jump.

“Come here,” he tried again. This time it seemed to register; there was a small movement of Aya’s head, a stiffening of resignation, and a careful movement as he shifted himself slowly back into the center of the tub.

Yohji let him sit there a minute, watching his back, hoping the gasping, shallow breaths would even out.

“Okay?” he asked, again.

There was a nod, but Aya didn’t lift his head from his knees.

“It’ll be fine. I promise.”

His fingers trailed down Aya’s arm, causing the other to shudder.

With a sigh, Yohji turned to take the shampoo and conditioner from the plastic bag.

“I’m gonna wash your hair, okay?” The bottle clicked open. “This is your shampoo and stuff; we’ll get you some better things when this runs out, but I thought you’d want some of your own.”

Aya turned his head to watch Yohji cautiously. It was a slight improvement that gave him the courage to proceed.

Squeezing a glob of shampoo out into his hand, he held it up for a second, making sure Aya understood his intention, then reached to rub it against the boy’s head. He started, but just a little, staying still to let Yohji work the shampoo into his hair. Sitting up on his knees, Yohji carefully rubbed the lather through the red strands; obviously long neglected, Aya’s hair felt fine and brittle. He pulled the long bangs back from Aya’s face, slicking them back with the rest as he massaged the scalp, careful to avoid the newly injured left temple which promised to bare yet another knot. He had to keep himself very still when the boy leaned, just a little, to let him reach the other side.

“I don’t want to get it in your eyes, so tilt back.”

He didn’t know how well it would go, but Yohji went for it. Placing his hand on the back of Aya’s neck, he supported his head gently as the boy did as he was told, tilting his head back to let the older man pour water over his hair to rinse the red strands. As he started in with the conditioner, Yohji noted the change in the other’s demeanor. Aya looked, well, out of it. He stared dully ahead, responding to Yohji’s direct requests but little more.

It wasn’t exactly the healthiest response, but given the earlier ones, Yohji would take it.

Finishing Aya’s hair, Yohji retrieved his rag and unwrapped the fresh bar of soap he had found; it was supposedly for sensitive skin, and given the redhead’s complexion, he had figured he couldn’t be too careful. As neglected as his hair, Aya’s skin was dry in places, slightly red in others which was better than the bluish bruising still dominating his back. Dehydration and abuse had taken their toll on every part of him, and Yohji felt an instinctual anger rising in his chest at the thought of such inhuman neglect. He wanted to strangle the bastards who had denied the boy the basics of compassion, treated him undoubtedly worse than a prisoner of war, and made him jump at Yohji’s touch.

He had to shove down the frustration. Taking a breath, he focused on Aya.

Gently, he washed the boy’s face, tipping the pointed chin towards him to brush across his forehead and down his cheeks. As he light whisped the cloth over Aya’s nose, he studied the eyes and found them disturbingly blank.

Was Aya even there?



“Aya?” he leaned close to the face, still holding the boy’s chin. At the movement, Aya jerked away. “That’s better. Don’t check out on me. You don’t have to do that. Understand?”

“Yes, Yohji.”


To prove his point, he began to carefully work his way down one thin arm, lathering the pale skin, rubbing it gently, then sweeping away the soap. Picking up Aya’s hand, he worked carefully to clean beneath the boy’s nails and was watched carefully all the while; the confused observation swept away the last of his trepidation, and Yohji felt reassured in his choice as he continued to work his way over Aya’s arms, shoulders, and back, cautious and gentle about the still-healing marks.

He actually felt the tension building in the muscles under his hands a he moved closer to the waterline. He didn’t need to know what had happened before; it was enough to realize the kind of trauma it took to make a person so terrified of another’s touch.

Taking Aya’s hand again, Yohji pressed the rag into it.

“Here, you finish up while I run put this stuff in the bedroom.”


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