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...

Shorter chapters and faster posting…FAIL.

Another long chapter this time, but there’s plot in the works. And I think Schu will be back next chapter.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Spare Me

“Just fix it,” Ken whined, burying his head with his hands to escape Yohji’s teasing.

“I am,” Yohji defended already working over the bouquet, poking and prodding it in ways that made no sense to Ken but seemed to make it better. “But please tell me you don’t handle everything this roughly.”

Ken sensed the innuendo, but he didn’t spend time obsessing over it. As soon as the pansies looked halfway decent, he snatched them from the blonde and hurried out to do the deliveries. He was released only on the condition that he swore to be back by three. Yohji, apparently, didn’t intend to introduce Aya to the fan girls.


When he had finished the floor, Aya had approached Yohji with more trepidation than the other thought the task merited. The boy had hesitated at the table, obviously uncomfortable standing over him but knowing he wasn’t supposed to sit on the floor either. Yohji had given him a few minutes, and he had finally gotten out that he was finished sweeping. It had hurt that he flinched back when Yohji stood, but he had vowed to be positive in the face of difficulty; it was nothing a cold beer wouldn’t fix, after all. Since he had been lacking said saving grace of a beer at that point, Yohji committed the improvement to time, and found something else for Aya to do.

The redhead took to the windows with careful determination, though Yohji thought he was new at the chore, taking a minute or two to adjust the cloth and figure out which swipes didn’t leave marks on the clear surface. Yohji hated doing windows, and though he felt slightly guilty at shifting the task onto Aya, the boy seemed glad to do something and relaxed into the physical chore. He stopped only when customers entered; the occurrence was thankfully rare as it made him instantly anxious. Even from across the room, Yohji’s eyes had been drawn to him each time, watching his whole body tense as he took a few steps backwards. For the most part, he had let Aya get through it on his own. However, the entrance of one dark-haired man actually had him backing into the corner, and Yohji quickly intercepted the customer and drew him away. Only when the man left had Aya resumed washing the windows.

Now the shop was empty.

Finishing up another order, Yohji let his eyes drift to Aya’s back. His hair was made bright by the afternoon light and as he stretched upwards, the hem of his blue shirt lifted to reveal the proper fit of the jeans, causing Yohji to note the way they hugged the curve of his ass, making it look—

Yohji stopped mid-thought, determinately dragging his gaze back up and dismissing the slip as habit. He watched, instead, the slight droop of thin shoulders just before the boy again reached up. He was tired, Yohji realized, regretting he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Though their shopping trip had proven Aya to have decent stamina (or determination), that had been preceded by two days of enforced rest. Even after a night’s sleep, the heat of the tub had almost taken him out, so he obviously wasn’t fully recovered; how could he be after such an extensive span of abuse? Maybe that’s what Omi had been babbling about the other night. Damn, he should have listened, but, having many of them delivered on the topic of his vices, he tended to check out at the first hint of a lecture.

But, as Omi kept trying to remind him, rescuing Aya didn’t make him all better. There were probably injuries Yohji couldn’t see, and the boy had yet to keep down a decent meal since he arrived. Yohji sighed; he just wasn’t used to taking care of people. Most of the time, he could barely take care of himself. Thankfully, the power of observation was on his side, otherwise he would be royally screwed, especially with someone who complained as little as Aya.

“Aya.” He turned quickly, and Yohji caught a flash of fear in his eyes. Positive thoughts; he had to remember that. “That’s good enough. Set it down and come here a minute.”

There was a nervous hesitation, but Aya took the chair next to Yohji after the blonde patted it twice in invitation. Tucking his hands in his lap, he stared at the tabletop.

“Look here,” Yohji instructed, pulling out a new sheet of green paper, “Let’s start with the basics.”


Yohji found Aya to be an attentive student and far more receptive than Ken. Slight nods left him wishing he had some type of formal training or theory to share, or at least professional instruction beyond the skills he had picked up during the haphazard orientation; Manx’s contact had done little more than shove a stack of Xeroxed papers in his hands and toss together a few sample bouquets before he was left to his own devices. Most of his prowess had been developed by trial and error, and he was about to let Aya go the same route when the bells cut loudly into his instruction.

Expecting Ken back from deliveries, Yohji looked up to find Omi tossing his school bag under the counter.

That was bad. Unless Omi was early, it was worse than bad.

“Yohji-kun, do you think—”

“Omi, what time is—”

Neither managed a full thought before the rush was suddenly upon them. The quiet of the shop was suddenly disrupted by the flit and flip of skirts, the quiet disturbed by a variety of female voices all raised to excited pitches. Yohji could never figure out how so many girls managed to get into the shop so fast; it was like some perverse magic trick, and while usually amused by their antics, he didn’t need to look over to Aya to know the situation wasn’t going to be good.

“Omi-kun, you ran off so fast!”

“Didn’t you hear Miki call after you?”

“We were gonna walk home with you!”

“Can you help me find a birthday present for Sanako-san? Something pink?”

“Aa,” Omi’s voice was heard for only a second before it was swallowed in the din.

Yohji thanked whatever gods looked out for attractive florists that he and Aya had chosen to work at the back table partially obscured by a few displays. They hadn’t been spotted just yet, most of the first girls having followed Omi directly and currently engaged in prying out details of his school day.

“Misato Sensei was so cruel, don’t you think Omi-kun? So much work!”

“Did you get the assignment for algebra II? Do you want to work together? I’ll order take out!”

“No, Na-chan, Omi-kun’s going to study English with me tonight!”

There was a brief denial from the boy in question.

“The present, Omi-kun, please!”

“Are there new roses today?”

Silently, Yohji reached out to touch Aya’s elbow; the boy jumped, but sat still as Yohji took loose hold of his upper arm. When violet eyes snapped to him, he motioned for quiet with a finger across his lips, not that it was necessary. Aya nodded and at Yohji’s slight tug, stood; they had been sitting close, and stood even closer, Yohji’s hand holding him mere inches from the blonde’s side. Yohji could smell the boy’s lotion and thought, just for a second, that the soft fabric of the shirt couldn’t compare to Aya’s skin.

No. No, no, no. The hair, the jeans, the skin— it was all just something his mind did, but it needed to stop, quick, before he got any ideas. Berating his brain for being two-thirds a pervert, Yohji demanded it shut up about Aya being warm at his side and get them out of their current situation.

He was an assassin for fuck’s sake; he could outmaneuver twenty teenage girls.

Make that thirty.

Surveying the room tactically, he realized the girls were blocking both the front door and, his first hope of escape, the break room. Their only solution was the door that led into the house. It was further away, but if they could slip along the cooler, maybe knock out the two girls there…damn, but he would give his right foot for some chloroform. In the process of trying to catch Omi’s eye and ask for a proper distraction, Yohji heard it, the high-pitched death toll for his half-baked plan.

“Oh my god! Who is that?!”

Positive thought got plowed over by dread.

All eyes were suddenly upon them, and the crowd converged in an instant, surrounding the small work table. Though they were all a good six inches shorter than either man, the sheer amount of girls, along with their overeager attitudes, made the situation claustrophobic. Yohji’s hand tightened around Aya’s arm as he tried to think.

“Now, ladies—”

“Who is he, Yohji-kun?” came from somewhere to his left.

“Does he work here?” from his right.

“Look that hair!” from a small blonde in the front. “I love that color!”

“He’s so pale and thin, just like—”

“Totally visual kei!”

“Look, Ayumi-chan, his eyes!”

“Wow! I’m in love!”

“You’re cheating on Yohji-san, Mitsuo!”

“Never! Double date!”

“Is he your friend, Yohji-san?”

“Can I get his phone number? Birth date? Blood type?”

“Girls, if you’ll—”

A camera flashed, leaving Aya blinking and taking a step back only to find the crowd just as close behind them. Without thinking, Yohji drew the boy closer to him, shifting his arm to lay over Aya’s shoulders. God, he was trembling. Damn it. He had worked too hard to be set back by overeager teenagers that did not need to try to touch his Aya.

“Should we buy him a flower, Saa-chan?”

“Yeah! What’s your favorite, uh…”

“His name, Kira-chan! Ask him!”

“Oh, he’s so handsome! I just can’t!”

When the first reaching hand made contact, Aya made a small sound in the back of his throat, closing his eyes tight and tucking his head down. Yohji hated it; the boy either thought he was going to be hurt or, more likely and somehow worse, was thinking of some other time he had been. Yohji felt the slight tug on his arm, like Aya intended to sink to the floor, to protect himself. No. No fucking way. He wasn’t going to let this happen.

He might have said excuse me, but he doubted it. Pulling Aya tight against him, Yohji pushed his way through the dense ring of girls. He took an elbow to the side for his trouble, and there was a cry of desperation that went up from the group, punctuated distantly by the louder cry of one particularly adamant girl who landed on her ass as Yohji shoved by.


“Where are you going, Yohji-san?!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Come back!”

“Omi!” he called as he cleared the worst of the crowd, noting the quick nod from the blonde. They might have pursued, but Omi stepped in quickly, trying to distract the upset girls left in Yohji wake, potted sunflower used tactfully as a blocking shield.

The noise continued behind them, but the pleas had little effect; Yohji couldn’t care less about the tears a few of the drama queens were shedding even before he gained the door, and as for the ones that were holding their camera phones, he was ready to strangle the lot of them. Couldn’t they be calm for two fucking seconds? Normal customers let a guy leave a room and didn’t fucking touch employees without permission. Damn!

By the time he got to the kitchen, Yohji had worked himself into a proper fit and was swearing quietly under his breath. But as suddenly as it had come, the anger left, dispersed instantly by an incidental glance at Aya. He stopped.

When he halted in his quick retreat, he turned to pull Aya against his chest, wrapping the shaking boy in a hug. Aya’s head was pressed against his shoulder, and Yohji could feel the rapid, wavering inhale exhale of warm breath. He hugged the boy tighter, arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders, trying to reassure.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. He wanted to say something about the girls’ true intentions, but it probably hadn’t even been them Aya was thinking of. There was a deeper fear, fueled by the reaching hands and his own anger. He needed to know if Aya was alright, but he didn’t want to move.

And it was working.

As he waited, his cheek rested against soft strands of red, and he wondered if the hug had been a bad idea despite Aya’s responding to it. He was committed now. Yohji kept him there until his breathing settled and he was still.

Gently, he relaxed his arms and moved them to Aya’s shoulders, carefully pushing the other away, just a little, to check. It was only then that Yohji sensed the two hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching at his sides, feeling simultaneously the bereavement of Aya’s warmth against him. As the boy’s head lifted off his shoulder, Aya’s eyes, strange shadowed amethyst, met Yohji’s own.

He wanted…

He leaned in without thinking. Only the sudden widening of those odd eyes saved him from the kiss. Swallowing hard, Yohji rested his forehead against Aya’s. That, he reminded himself, would have definitely been a bad idea. Aya might have been warm and pliable and beautiful, but he was fragile and broken. Yohji forced his mind to summon images of the too-thin body, sounds of the pitiful crying in the night, anything to distract him from the suddenly attractive creature in front of him, a trap of his own making, still close, still clutching his shirt.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

With Yohji’s forehead against his, Aya was unable to nod, but he offered a small and forceless, “Yes.”

Taking a deep breath, Yohji pulled him close again, letting Aya’s head rest against his chest when it fell limply forward. He kept the hug loose and tried not to think of how perfectly Aya fit against him, small and delicate, so much like a woman. Another deep breath.

“Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you. I,” he weighed his words, found them overdone, then said them anyway, “I’ll protect you.”

He would. Even from Yohji Kudou.

“I mean it. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Aya.”

There was the slightest of nods against his chest, and then they stood still together in the bright light of the kitchen.


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