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 Nine: Blame Me


Little bastard.

Yohji rolled his eyes as he stood over the figure. He was more than a little offended that someone had declined his bed for the floor, but the majority of this anger, he realized too quickly for his own liking, was a result of the moment of panic he had suffered. Upon waking he had spent a few tense minutes thinking the other had slipped away in the night, and the intensity of his disappointment was disconcerting. It had twisted his stomach, driven him from bed, and made him think at the ungodly hour of seven, planning intricate methods of locating his missing guest, that is, until he almost tripped over him.

Yohji should have thought it out fist, used the god-given time he had to come up with a cohesive plan of action. But, then again, Yohji had always been a man of instant gratification, and the collar was currently assaulting his sense of aesthetic decency.

The boy was lying so close to the bed that had the blonde chosen to stumble out of that side, he would have undoubtedly stepped on him. He was curled up on the stained area rug, resting on his side with one arm tucked under his head and the other draped over his stomach. Facing the bed, his back was to Yohji, his bare and bandaged bottom displayed as he rested with one leg drawn up slightly higher than the other but with both pulled towards his stomach. The thin, slatted rays of pale morning light that managed to force their way through Yohji’s thick defense of blinds fell over him, highlighting the last vestiges of fading marks and bruises as well as fresh injuries of the night, but when it touched his hair, it lit it with some strange precious metal gold.

He was beautiful—bandages and tangled hair only intensifying his fall angel image. Yohji might have been in awe if not for the damn collar strapped around his neck.

Yohji wanted it off.

It was this thought that put an edge to his voice as he asked his question, simultaneously reaching both hands to the collar buckle as he rolled the boy onto his back, “What the hell were you think—”

His question was cut off as the boy’s eyes shot open, wide with fear. Yohji had time only to think ‘different,’ before the boy jerked away from him. Yohji’s grasp on the collar’s front was instinctually firm, preventing him from righting himself properly and causing him to bang his head into the side of the bedframe with a sudden, loud crack that made Yohji wince in sympathy.

He released the collar and reached to check the injury only to have the boy draw further away. Getting his knees under him, he scooted quickly backwards into the makeshift corner created by the large bed and its matching nightstand. He ducked his head, pressing his palms to the floor and said something Yohji had not expected:

“Forgive me.”

“What?” A flinch at that, and the boy’s head lowered further.

“Please forgive me . . . Master.”

Yohji stared for a moment, for though the last word sounded forced, there was no play in the deep voice, and Yohji got the definite impression that had he reached out and slapped the other across the face, he would have gotten the same reply.

Shoving his blonde hair out of his face, Yohji settled onto the floor, dragging his long legs into an easy Indian style position so that he could be at eye level with the redhead rather than leaning over him. Well, they’d be at eye level if the other decided to stop inspecting the rug and look at him anytime soon.

Two minutes later, his chances didn’t seem any better.

Yohji needed a cigarette break. He wondered if the boy smoked; about to ask, he realized there were a few priorities he ought to cover first.

“Hey, can you look at me?”

The eyes met his in an instant—purple, like amethysts dusted in the fine silt of exhaustion but with grand potential.

“Better. I’m Kudou Yohji. Yohji’s fine, okay?”

A nod. Yohji waited, but there was no following reply. His princess was not a conversationalist.

“And what should I call you?”

“Whatever you like.”

He might have been mistaken, certainly the submissive slump of the shoulders said he was, but Yohji thought he heard defiance buried in the boy’s voice; it came off with the connotation that Yohji could call him whatever he pleased, but only because he didn’t personally give a rat’s ass what he went by. In Yohji’s opinion, this made the boy vastly more interesting and a whole lot less hopeless.

“Is that so?” He paused to consider. “Well, then, princess it is!”

There was a visible tightening of his jaw, a slight straightening of the shoulders, and a slightly clipped quality to the reply, “As you wish, Master.”

“Alright, princess, let’s get up and dressed.”

Leveraging himself from the floor, Yohji popped his back and sauntered to the closet. His princess followed, standing a few steps behind him, hands clasped over his privates as he stared at the floor and waited. Yohji cast him a glance, then, purposefully before he could become distracted by either enticing skin or infuriating collar, went back to pulling out things to wear. He passed a pair of stonewashed jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt to the boy who seemed surprised. But he took them gratefully. So Yohji added a pair of underwear (a thong being the only type of said article available) and a large towel which, despite his apparently familiarity with being nude, the boy quickly wrapped around his slender hips.

They walked together to the bathroom, Yohji trailed by the princess, two steps behind and one to his right, a habit that promised to annoy him in record time. He halted outside the door and turned to the other.

“Okay, you shower first while I steal a smoke. Get dressed and meet me in my room, okay?”


“Yeah—you can do that, right?”

“Yes, Master.” An almost enthusiastic, hurried nod accompanied this statement, his eagerness tempered by a cautious expression that seemed to expect the simple boon to be ripped away.

Yohji motioned him inside and pulled the door towards the frame, congratulating himself on remembering not to close it all the way. That, he thought, might be enough to startle a person so used to locked doors, and, despite his assumed ease, Yohji knew too well that there could be nasty surprises that might require sudden entrances.


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