Let's Get It On
Howdy, all. A lot of you have already read this story. I was poking gently at "Don't Make Me Kill You" to see if it wanted to be finished, and in the process I remembered (again) that the preceding story, "Let's Get It On," still hadn't made it onto my LJ. Which seemed wrong. So here it is, cleaned up a bit and all in one chapter for easy access (well, one chapter in four parts, because -- long).
Story: Let's Get It On
Author: Kinukitty
Rating: X, NC17, Mature
Word count: 23,300
BTW: Weiss Kreuz is owned by Project Weiss.
Summary: Aya: brooding bad boy, adorable dork, and/or completely opaque and oddly socialized. Yoji: in way, way over his head.
Aya was acting strange.
A redundancy, obviously, but it wasn’t like Yoji really had much to go on. He could look at Ken or Omi and identify a wide spectrum of moods and emotional states -- happy, sad, millions of gradations in between. He could look at Aya and determine, basically, fuck-all.
Maddening.
Fascinating.
But tonight, for some reason, on this mission that wasn’t really any different from any of the other missions, there Aya was, waiting for him. Looking like that.
Yoji had been late getting to the check point. He’d run into a couple of unexpected minions on the way who’d required first eluding and then killing, which had slowed him down a bit. And there was Aya, with that look on his face.
It wasn’t the expression itself, of course. He’d looked worried, and then, catching sight of Yoji, hugely relieved. One might expect such a reaction under the circumstances -- but not from Aya, who was closed off and repressed and stoic in the extreme. Two expressions served for the vast majority of Aya’s interactions: a blank look that made it clear he was unaware of your existence at the moment; or kind of pissed, which covered most things from answering a polite question about whether there was any coffee to killing evil mad scientists and child torturers. They’d all come to realize that Aya wasn’t always pissed when he looked pissed, but nobody was able to reliably determine which occasion was which, so dealing with him was a total crap shoot.
“Are you all right?” Aya asked softly. There had even been some inflection coloring his usual near-monotone.
“Umm... yeah. I’m fine. Ran into a couple of emergency back-up goons, but, you know, the flies have been swatted.”
Aya looked at him assessingly, then nodded. “You look winded. Should we wait a few minutes before we head out?”
OK, now that was fucking peculiar. Aya was kind of a fascist about his mission plans, and he had a wicked sense of survival of the fittest. He wouldn’t actually leave anyone alone and possibly wounded out in the middle of nowhere just because they were late -- he probably fantasized about it, but he wouldn’t do it. At least, he hadn’t yet. But that didn’t mean he was necessarily interested in accommodating anybody’s smoking-related lung-capacity issues, either.
Yoji realized he was staring, with his mouth open. He closed it and nodded. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
Aya nodded and sat down on the ground. He pulled out his cell phone and called in with the information that the mission was complete and Yoji wasn’t dead after all. Then he just stared off into space, his jaw resting on his hand.
Yoji watched him a lot longer than it took to just catch his breath. He loved watching Aya -- did it whenever he got the opportunity and thought it wouldn’t get him killed. And Aya seemed awfully agreeable tonight...perhaps it was time to attempt conversation. After all, what would a man be if he didn’t try?
“Do you ever think about hell, Aya?”
Aya looked startled, then quickly regained control of his face and turned his head. Well, that wasn’t an answer, but he wasn’t broadcasting “Die you stupid son of a bitch” vibes either, so good enough.
“You know, my mind wanders when I’m just sitting there, waiting to kill somebody. Are these guys going to hell? Am I? Because, well, I am killing the bad guys, so I’m not as bad as they are, right? But I’m still a killer, so.... Maybe Purgatory? Or is it Limbo?”
The sound of Aya’s voice surprised Yoji -- he’d kind of expected the redhead to just let him natter on until he ran out of steam. “Limbo is different from Purgatory. And the Pope got rid of Limbo. It doesn’t exist anymore.”
“What happened to the souls in Limbo, then?”
There was a brief pause while Aya presumably thought about it. “That’s why God invented Starbucks with Wi-Fi.” Aya looked over at Yoji, face unreadable, and continued. “He moved all the souls from Limbo and put them in coffee franchises. They sit there from open to close generating spam, drinking overly harsh coffee, and asking you day after day if you want to increase the size of your dick.”
“Umm...”
“No.”
“Huh? No what?”
“No, I don’t believe in hell.”
“Uh... No. Me neither, really. I was just...you know...thinking about.... Is that the kind of stuff you think to yourself all the time when you’re not talking to us?”
Long pause. “Maybe.” Aya rose abruptly and started walking to the car. The “Shut up and leave me alone” light was lit.
Yoji followed him in silence, and the ride home was unmarred by banter. Aya parked, got out of the car and walked into the house without even looking in Yoji’s direction.
Alone in the dark garage, Yoji leaned against Aya’s Porsche and lit a cigarette, thinking about his enigmatic teammate. Aya rarely spoke, and never about himself. Yoji knew more about most of his customers at the flower shop than he knew about Aya, despite a certain amount of obsessive scrutiny. Shit, they didn’t even know his real name.
Yoji couldn’t help himself -- he was beginning to romanticize the situation. Here was this beautiful, brooding, deadly stranger in their midst, this alluring man... who was about as miserable and fucked up as it was possible for one person to be.
Something truly horrible had happened to Aya -- that wasn’t really even a guess, given where he’d ended up -- and it was about all he could do to contain the anger and pain between kills. Yoji theorized that Aya didn’t worry about having a name because he didn’t really think of himself as human. The person who’d had a name had been killed by whatever had destroyed Aya’s life and made him part of Weiss.
Well, everyone reacts differently to emotional devastation. Some people pick up the pieces and move on -- or so Yoji had read. And some people don’t bother even trying to pick up the pieces and instead just storm out into the night, determined to make the world pay. Yoji crushed out the butt of his cigarette under his boot, chuckling at himself for waxing poetic. That was always a bad sign.
He had a thing for dark, brooding bad boys. Major angst was just a big turn on.
Shaking his head, he walked into the house, squinted against the bright light of the kitchen. Ken was still up and sitting at the table; he looked over at Yoji and put down his cup of tea.
“Hey, man, you all right? We were worried about you.”
Good old Ken. He really was a nice guy, for a vicious killer.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just ran into a couple more idiots whose night wasn’t going to be complete until I strangled them. Inconvenient, but whatcha gonna do?” Yoji got a beer from the refrigerator, lit another cigarette and sat down. The ashtray was on Ken’s side of the table, and he slid it over without even being asked.
“So,” Yoji said. “How come you didn’t wait for me? Don’t you love me any more?”
“It’ll never be over between us, blue eyes,” Ken said. “Oops.” Yoji rolled his eyes, which were undeniably green, and Ken smiled. “You know, Aya just announced that he was staying -- sorry, man, but it wasn’t even a choice. Let’s see, come home and take a nice shower, or get into an argument with Aya for the opportunity to wait around in the cold, dank woods for your sorry ass.... You can imagine what a quandary that was for me.” Then he narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at Yoji closely, wondering why he’d even ask about it. “Why, did he rip you a new one for something on the way home?”
“No, he didn’t say a word. I was just -- I don’t know, actually. He just seemed a little -- odd.” Yoji shrugged.
Ken nodded. “He went straight upstairs, and I thought he had kind of a weird look on his face. I don’t think he’s feeling well.”
“He said that?”
“Sure. After our emotionally wrenching but cathartic conversation about his fear of commitment.” Ken paused to take another drink of tea. “Then monkeys flew out of my butt.”
Yoji snorted. He put down the beer can and stubbed out his cigarette. “Fucking smartass,” he said, getting up. “I’ve had it -- I’m going to bed too. See you in the morning.”
Heading up the stairs, Yoji shook his head and thought that if any of his dreams tonight had anything to do with either winged simians or Ken’s ass, he was going to kick it for him tomorrow.
Yoji stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Turing on the light, he jumped and choked back a little scream when he saw Aya, who was leaning against the sink and staring blankly into the mirror. Roused somewhat by the noise, Aya slowly turned around.
Deep breaths, Kudoh, deep breaths. “Aya, what the fuck are you doing?”
Aya stared at him uncomprehendingly. Lost.
“Aya.” Yoji walked over to him, started to put his hand on his shoulder, thought better of it. Whatever tender thoughts he’d been entertaining, Aya was crazy, and violent, and it was probably best to proceed with caution. “Aya, you scared the shit out of me. You were standing in the dark, staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror. What the fuck is that all about?”
Aya was now staring sort of at Yoji’s chin, but really at something in another dimension. He looked like he might be broken.
Slowly, carefully, Yoji moved beside him and put his arm around his shoulders. Somehow, Aya was much smaller than he’d always seemed -- must be his battle aura, Yoji mused. Maybe this was the first time he’d turned it off.
“Hey, Aya.” He said it softly, almost a whisper. “What’s going on?”
“I....” Aya’s voice was so deep, so quiet. He paused, apparently unsure of how to proceed with a sentence that started with “I.” “Have you ever heard that old wives' tale, that if you stare into a mirror in the dark, you’ll see a demon?”
Yoji nodded.
“It’s true.” He smiled slightly, mirthlessly. “Same as when the light’s on.”
“Aya...”
“There’ve been -- on missions, people have called me a demon. And, you know, seemed to mean it. It’s not much of a leap, really -- the hair, the eyes... the blood... the sword....” He closed his eyes. “But it happened before, too. My parents always told me those people were just superstitious idiots.” The eyes opened again, now staring at the floor. “Sometimes I wonder if those people just recognized the signs.” He looked up at Yoji, gave him that sad little smile again. “That’s something I think about sometimes when I’m waiting around to kill somebody.”
Yoji pulled Aya against his chest and held him. “You’re sounding a little nuts, you know?” He said it gently. “This is what happens when you don’t talk to people. You lose track of things. You get fixated on stuff and you don’t have anybody to tell you it’s bullshit.”
Aya didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away. If it were anybody else, Yoji wouldn’t hesitate to describe this as clinging. It wouldn’t pay to get smug with Aya, though, even if he did seem small and fragile for once. So Yoji didn’t say anything else, just stood there holding him.
Finally, he leaned Aya against the sink and took one step back, still holding his shoulders. “Listen, Aya, I want you to come into my room and talk, OK?”
Aya nodded vaguely.
“Good. Now, if you could just -- well, you know, I came in here for a reason.” He waited for Aya to remember where he was, but nothing happened. “Aya, I need to pee.”
Aya looked at him with those far-away eyes and nodded slightly, shifting his attention back to the weather report from outer space, moving away from the sink and out of the bathroom not at all.
Pondering the dilemma for a couple of seconds, Yoji decided it was really only a minor social nicety after all. He shrugged, went over to the toilet and did his business.
He leaned around Aya to wash his hands, then took his arm and tugged a little. “All right, let’s move.” He walked them to his bedroom, pulling his teammate behind him like a small child.
Yoji guided him into the room and sat him down on the bed with no trouble. He leaned the redhead back against the pillows and settled next to him, turned to look at him, Aya, who was so fucking beautiful and, for once, not resisting anything, not at all.
Aya looked at him with an expression Yoji had never seen. His mouth was open, his breathing heavy and a little ragged; his lips were lush and pouty and full of potential. As Yoji watched, mesmerized, the glazed purple eyes drifted shut, and long, sooty lashes rested softly against satiny white skin. Aya’s head fell back into the pillows, exposing his throat. His chest heaved.
Yoji’s meditation was broken by the urgent twitching of his cock, accompanied by the reflexive tremor of his fingers, desperate to know what the skin would feel like. He rearranged himself so he was sitting over Aya, facing him. He wasn’t quite close enough to rub himself against -- but, oh God, almost. Yoji’s breath hitched as he reached over to brush the hair from Aya’s face, stroking that beautiful, flushed skin -- which was burning hot to his touch.
Son of a bitch, he really was sick.
Well, that kind of sucked. He’d finally gotten somewhere with Aya, and it was only because the bastard was delirious with fever.
And, upon closer inspection, asleep.
Sadly, these realizations didn’t immediately deflate Yoji’s -- hopes.
Cursing quietly to himself, Yoji moved to the end of the bed, staring at the door. He was actually a little tempted to use this opportunity to further study the subtleties of Aya’s appearance... But that would be kind of creepy. Under the circumstances, and all. In fact, he really needed to get himself away from the source of the problem. Which was a bit of a dilemma, since he couldn’t exactly go back downstairs just at the moment -- “Hi, Ken, I’m back, and look at the size of this hard-on!”
Maybe he’d sneak back down the hall and have a nice wash up before figuring out where he was going to sleep. No, no, that was the wrong direction. Definitely best to achieve detumescence before thinking about the possibility of lying next to Aya on his bed and sleeping next to him all night, maybe accidentally rolling over in his sleep and...
Yoji stood up determinedly and got himself back to the bathroom. He’d kind of wanted to take a shower anyway. Pondering whether it was going to be a cold or a hot one, he pulled his tight, mesh t-shirt over his head and stripped off his now-painfully tight leather pants, gasping softly when his erection sprang free. Hot it is, Yoji thought, adjusting the water temperature.
He avoided thinking directly about the Aya situation, letting his subconscious turn it over and examine it from every angle while he practiced shampoo meditation, keeping his conscious mind blank as he lathered, rinsed, applied a liberal handful of his ludicrously expensive conditioner, which he ordered a case at a time over the Internet because it kept his hair from frizzing under even the most difficult circumstances, no matter the humidity or number of assailants.
He leaned against the corner of the stall to let it sit for three to seven minutes and only then allowed himself to reconsider the redhead in his bed. It had been difficult to fantasize properly about Aya up until now because Yoji just hadn’t had enough to go on. He liked to get at least a gloss of realism going in his fantasies, but until tonight, he hadn’t seen anything close to sex from Aya.
Yoji’s hand slowly drifted over the muscles of his abdomen, down to his cock, which was straining eagerly. He pictured Aya’s gently parted lips, pictured his dick sliding between them. Aya would give good head, Yoji was sure of it. He had no idea if Aya had ever given head before, or even received it, or considered either possibility. But Aya was good at anything he tried to do, and all that iron self-control promised exciting things as far as being able to control his gag reflex. Yoji imagined Aya taking him down the back of his throat, that deep voice moaning against his eager, sensitized flesh... He came hard and rested his head against the tiled wall, catching his breath.
Oh, that was so much better.
Now Yoji remembered how tired he was, and he finished his shower, dried off and got dressed quickly. He’d just go to bed and leave Aya alone -- the bed was roomy enough to give him all the space he could need, surely. Yoji didn’t like it, but he knew a dead end when he saw one. They’d talk about it in the morning.
Or maybe not. When Yoji got back to his room, Aya was gone.
**********
Yoji was navel-gazing. Literally. He was standing in the middle of a dark, empty warehouse -- it was always a dark, empty warehouse -- waiting to deny some dark beasts their tomorrows, and they were late, and he was bored. He was slouched against a wall, looking down, admiring the play of moonlight over his fine, fine stomach muscles, bared by his tight mesh cut-off top. You’re fucking hot, Kudoh, he thought to himself, not for the first time. How can Aya see you like this night after night and refuse to admit his attraction to you? Or, as the case may be, fail to experience any attraction?
And, just like that, Yoji was plagued by self-doubt. Perhaps Aya didn’t like men who dressed in tight mesh cut-off tops. It would be just like him, the repressed little....
“Hey, Ken,” he whispered.
“What?” Ken hissed back.
“Do you think my outfit makes me look, you know -- cheap?”
Yoji could feel Ken’s incredulous stare piercing the darkness.
“I don’t know, Yoji,” he whispered. “Do you think this warehouse makes my ass look big?”
Tossing back an unseen glare, Yoji fell silent once more. Those fucking dark beasts had better make an appearance soon.
He looked up into the rafters, trying to catch a glimpse of Aya, although he knew it wouldn’t happen. God-damned megalomaniac and his penchant for grand entrances, anyway. The idiot was still sick and probably shouldn’t even be here, and if he had to be here, he should be on the fucking floor with the rest of them instead of crouching on a four-inch beam and trying to sink a story-and-a-half dismount with a 102-degree fever.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a small fleet of expensive foreign cars pulling up near the door opposite him. He’d have an unobstructed line of sight when they came in. What was on the menu tonight, anyway? Oh, yeah, the politically connected pornographers making snuff films. Hard to feel especially bad for them.
There was supposed to be a first round of security sent in to make sure the place was safe, and the plan was for Weiss to remain undetected until the targets’ men signaled the main party that they could enter. The next bit would be the tricky part. They needed to wait until everyone was in the warehouse and the door was closed, then kill the first round of guards before the second group got settled. Yoji and Ken would do that, and Aya would take care of the rest, striking before the targets and their immediate bodyguards could figure out what was happening or get into a good, defensible position. Yoji would help if needed, and Ken would cover the door to make sure nobody got out. If anybody did get past Ken, Omi was on guard outside to pick them off with darts. You didn’t want it spilling outside, though; it was messy. Too many variables.
There were four men in the advance group, and the two targets had four more guards around them. Yoji was concealed in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to fling his wire. He was a little wound up and pulled harder than he had to, parting the first head from the first set of sloping shoulders with hardly a sound. He unspooled a second length and repeated the treatment on the second guard just as he was turning to look at his colleague. Amazing how fast Yoji could pick them off when they just stood there and let him.
He readied a third length of wire. Ken, already moving to his post at the door, reached out his claws and separated someone from his spine. The survivors were beginning to register that there was a problem when Yoji’s third victim fell. At least three hands were reaching for guns.
Didn’t do them any good.
From where Yoji stood, it looked like one man just fell to the floor for no reason at all, followed seconds later by two heads that flew from their respective bodies, also seemingly of their own volition. He hadn’t seen or heard Aya leap from his perch, land behind the six men left standing, gut one of them as he rose, and behead two more with one stroke when he got to his feet. Now that he knew where the swordsman was, Yoji could see Aya finishing off one more with a nice, clean slice across the chest, thank God. Yoji had asked him to aim above the waist when he could -- the stench of a freshly disemboweled body was stomach-turning. Of course, whether this was just a coincidence or Aya was actually endeavoring to comply, Yoji couldn’t say.
Not counting the waiting, Weiss had done about a minute’s work so far. The remaining men were starting to run for cover, and that needed to be nipped in the bud. Yoji killed the one he could reach with his wire, the one who was most exposed, and he knew Aya had reappeared in the darkness next to one of the targets when he saw the man drop.
Normally Aya would have no problem taking the last two himself, cutting them down before they had time to get off a good shot. But Yoji could already see that the swordsman was in trouble, not moving quickly enough to get out of the sights of the last body guard, who was squeezing the trigger as Yoji dove from his hiding place. He didn’t reach the bastard in time to throw off his aim -- he saw Aya stiffen when the bullet hit, although he didn’t fall. Which meant he wasn’t dead, but you couldn’t really draw any conclusions beyond that.
Yoji got to the son of a bitch before he could aim again and slammed into him with everything he had. It was enough, and he was satisfied to hear the meaty sound of the man’s head cracking against the concrete. Then Yoji wrenched the gun from his hand and shot him between the eyes just to make sure.
That chore finished, he jumped to his feet, scanning for the last target. He heard three cracks of gunfire in rapid succession and felt his stomach lurch when he saw Aya apparently running right into it. Aya was usually pretty good at calculating what he could get away with, but then again, he’d already proven that he was off his game tonight. Yoji’s relief was overwhelming when he saw Aya’s blade connect with the target, sending the shooting arm flying. His opponent’s head followed promptly.
Aya looked over, ascertained that Yoji was all right, and sat heavily on the floor. Ken took a step toward him, then saw Yoji’s signal that he should go outside instead. They had to know whether or not everything was clear before they could decide what to do about Aya’s injury. Besides, Yoji was going to be the one taking care of him, not Ken.
Yoji sank to his knees next to Aya, who was looking a little gray. “How bad?” he asked quietly.
“It’ll be OK,” Aya grunted, leaning one shoulder into Yoji to help him balance. “Left shoulder. Bleeding’s not too bad -- wait for Ken,” he directed as Yoji started unbuckling his coat to assess the damage.
Yoji pulled his hand back, slick with blood. He wiped it on the floor.
“I fucked up,” Aya said. He paused, then added, “Thank you.”
“You’re sick. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”
Ken and Omi ran in. “All’s clear,” Omi called out. “How’s Aya?”
“Able to answer for himself,” Aya said clearly, brows knit with irritation.
Yoji smiled to himself and shifted Aya gently, working the blood-soaked coat off his injured shoulder. “Omi, do you have a penlight? Shine it over here, would you? Ken, would you cut a shirt off one of those meat puppets so I can wipe away some of this blood?”
The wound, glistening wetly in the small circle of light, got to Yoji far more than any of the carnage around him. Putting his hand over Aya’s stomach to brace him, he pushed the redhead forward so he could see his back, looking for an exit wound. There was one; Aya’s breath caught when Yoji wiped away the blood to look at it. He pushed Aya back to his previous position.
“It went in under his collarbone and looks like it came out clean. Ken, get me some more cloth to pack around it and we’ll put his coat back on and get him out of here.”
Aya’s head rested against Yoji’s shoulder. His mouth was open and he was breathing deeply, eyes closed in concentration. It was a way to control the pain, Yoji knew, but holding him like this felt so intimate; he had the scent of Aya’s blood, and with all the adrenalin pumping through his system, he was getting confused. This felt like sex.
Yoji took a deep breath. This was so wrong. Aya was hurt and bleeding, and Yoji was getting hard. He looked down at Aya’s face and was shocked to see the redhead staring back at him now, his expression heated. They held the look for several seconds, the connection electric. It was frantic and dangerous. The blood pounded in Yoji’s temples and for a terrifying moment he didn’t think he’d be able to hold himself back.
“Um, Yoji?” Omi asked, sounding concerned. “What are you doing?”
Yoji had been leaning forward for a kiss. He checked the move and tried to moderate the fierceness of his scowl when he looked up. “Nothing, Omi. Just making sure he’s not in shock.”
Aya closed his eyes and smiled for a moment, just the slightest bit.
Ken had returned with a couple of fistfuls of clean white fabric. Omi gestured for Ken to come closer. “Look at this,” he said. “What do you think?”
Ken glanced at the gory mess on Aya’s shoulder, then back to Omi. “I’m no ballistics expert, but it looks like he got shot.”
Omi huffed. “Ken, this is no time to--”
“Will you guys shut the fuck up and put some bandages on me so we can get the hell out of here?” Aya barked.
(this way to part 2)
Story: Let's Get It On
Author: Kinukitty
Rating: X, NC17, Mature
Word count: 23,300
BTW: Weiss Kreuz is owned by Project Weiss.
Summary: Aya: brooding bad boy, adorable dork, and/or completely opaque and oddly socialized. Yoji: in way, way over his head.
Aya was acting strange.
A redundancy, obviously, but it wasn’t like Yoji really had much to go on. He could look at Ken or Omi and identify a wide spectrum of moods and emotional states -- happy, sad, millions of gradations in between. He could look at Aya and determine, basically, fuck-all.
Maddening.
Fascinating.
But tonight, for some reason, on this mission that wasn’t really any different from any of the other missions, there Aya was, waiting for him. Looking like that.
Yoji had been late getting to the check point. He’d run into a couple of unexpected minions on the way who’d required first eluding and then killing, which had slowed him down a bit. And there was Aya, with that look on his face.
It wasn’t the expression itself, of course. He’d looked worried, and then, catching sight of Yoji, hugely relieved. One might expect such a reaction under the circumstances -- but not from Aya, who was closed off and repressed and stoic in the extreme. Two expressions served for the vast majority of Aya’s interactions: a blank look that made it clear he was unaware of your existence at the moment; or kind of pissed, which covered most things from answering a polite question about whether there was any coffee to killing evil mad scientists and child torturers. They’d all come to realize that Aya wasn’t always pissed when he looked pissed, but nobody was able to reliably determine which occasion was which, so dealing with him was a total crap shoot.
“Are you all right?” Aya asked softly. There had even been some inflection coloring his usual near-monotone.
“Umm... yeah. I’m fine. Ran into a couple of emergency back-up goons, but, you know, the flies have been swatted.”
Aya looked at him assessingly, then nodded. “You look winded. Should we wait a few minutes before we head out?”
OK, now that was fucking peculiar. Aya was kind of a fascist about his mission plans, and he had a wicked sense of survival of the fittest. He wouldn’t actually leave anyone alone and possibly wounded out in the middle of nowhere just because they were late -- he probably fantasized about it, but he wouldn’t do it. At least, he hadn’t yet. But that didn’t mean he was necessarily interested in accommodating anybody’s smoking-related lung-capacity issues, either.
Yoji realized he was staring, with his mouth open. He closed it and nodded. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
Aya nodded and sat down on the ground. He pulled out his cell phone and called in with the information that the mission was complete and Yoji wasn’t dead after all. Then he just stared off into space, his jaw resting on his hand.
Yoji watched him a lot longer than it took to just catch his breath. He loved watching Aya -- did it whenever he got the opportunity and thought it wouldn’t get him killed. And Aya seemed awfully agreeable tonight...perhaps it was time to attempt conversation. After all, what would a man be if he didn’t try?
“Do you ever think about hell, Aya?”
Aya looked startled, then quickly regained control of his face and turned his head. Well, that wasn’t an answer, but he wasn’t broadcasting “Die you stupid son of a bitch” vibes either, so good enough.
“You know, my mind wanders when I’m just sitting there, waiting to kill somebody. Are these guys going to hell? Am I? Because, well, I am killing the bad guys, so I’m not as bad as they are, right? But I’m still a killer, so.... Maybe Purgatory? Or is it Limbo?”
The sound of Aya’s voice surprised Yoji -- he’d kind of expected the redhead to just let him natter on until he ran out of steam. “Limbo is different from Purgatory. And the Pope got rid of Limbo. It doesn’t exist anymore.”
“What happened to the souls in Limbo, then?”
There was a brief pause while Aya presumably thought about it. “That’s why God invented Starbucks with Wi-Fi.” Aya looked over at Yoji, face unreadable, and continued. “He moved all the souls from Limbo and put them in coffee franchises. They sit there from open to close generating spam, drinking overly harsh coffee, and asking you day after day if you want to increase the size of your dick.”
“Umm...”
“No.”
“Huh? No what?”
“No, I don’t believe in hell.”
“Uh... No. Me neither, really. I was just...you know...thinking about.... Is that the kind of stuff you think to yourself all the time when you’re not talking to us?”
Long pause. “Maybe.” Aya rose abruptly and started walking to the car. The “Shut up and leave me alone” light was lit.
Yoji followed him in silence, and the ride home was unmarred by banter. Aya parked, got out of the car and walked into the house without even looking in Yoji’s direction.
Alone in the dark garage, Yoji leaned against Aya’s Porsche and lit a cigarette, thinking about his enigmatic teammate. Aya rarely spoke, and never about himself. Yoji knew more about most of his customers at the flower shop than he knew about Aya, despite a certain amount of obsessive scrutiny. Shit, they didn’t even know his real name.
Yoji couldn’t help himself -- he was beginning to romanticize the situation. Here was this beautiful, brooding, deadly stranger in their midst, this alluring man... who was about as miserable and fucked up as it was possible for one person to be.
Something truly horrible had happened to Aya -- that wasn’t really even a guess, given where he’d ended up -- and it was about all he could do to contain the anger and pain between kills. Yoji theorized that Aya didn’t worry about having a name because he didn’t really think of himself as human. The person who’d had a name had been killed by whatever had destroyed Aya’s life and made him part of Weiss.
Well, everyone reacts differently to emotional devastation. Some people pick up the pieces and move on -- or so Yoji had read. And some people don’t bother even trying to pick up the pieces and instead just storm out into the night, determined to make the world pay. Yoji crushed out the butt of his cigarette under his boot, chuckling at himself for waxing poetic. That was always a bad sign.
He had a thing for dark, brooding bad boys. Major angst was just a big turn on.
Shaking his head, he walked into the house, squinted against the bright light of the kitchen. Ken was still up and sitting at the table; he looked over at Yoji and put down his cup of tea.
“Hey, man, you all right? We were worried about you.”
Good old Ken. He really was a nice guy, for a vicious killer.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just ran into a couple more idiots whose night wasn’t going to be complete until I strangled them. Inconvenient, but whatcha gonna do?” Yoji got a beer from the refrigerator, lit another cigarette and sat down. The ashtray was on Ken’s side of the table, and he slid it over without even being asked.
“So,” Yoji said. “How come you didn’t wait for me? Don’t you love me any more?”
“It’ll never be over between us, blue eyes,” Ken said. “Oops.” Yoji rolled his eyes, which were undeniably green, and Ken smiled. “You know, Aya just announced that he was staying -- sorry, man, but it wasn’t even a choice. Let’s see, come home and take a nice shower, or get into an argument with Aya for the opportunity to wait around in the cold, dank woods for your sorry ass.... You can imagine what a quandary that was for me.” Then he narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at Yoji closely, wondering why he’d even ask about it. “Why, did he rip you a new one for something on the way home?”
“No, he didn’t say a word. I was just -- I don’t know, actually. He just seemed a little -- odd.” Yoji shrugged.
Ken nodded. “He went straight upstairs, and I thought he had kind of a weird look on his face. I don’t think he’s feeling well.”
“He said that?”
“Sure. After our emotionally wrenching but cathartic conversation about his fear of commitment.” Ken paused to take another drink of tea. “Then monkeys flew out of my butt.”
Yoji snorted. He put down the beer can and stubbed out his cigarette. “Fucking smartass,” he said, getting up. “I’ve had it -- I’m going to bed too. See you in the morning.”
Heading up the stairs, Yoji shook his head and thought that if any of his dreams tonight had anything to do with either winged simians or Ken’s ass, he was going to kick it for him tomorrow.
Yoji stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Turing on the light, he jumped and choked back a little scream when he saw Aya, who was leaning against the sink and staring blankly into the mirror. Roused somewhat by the noise, Aya slowly turned around.
Deep breaths, Kudoh, deep breaths. “Aya, what the fuck are you doing?”
Aya stared at him uncomprehendingly. Lost.
“Aya.” Yoji walked over to him, started to put his hand on his shoulder, thought better of it. Whatever tender thoughts he’d been entertaining, Aya was crazy, and violent, and it was probably best to proceed with caution. “Aya, you scared the shit out of me. You were standing in the dark, staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror. What the fuck is that all about?”
Aya was now staring sort of at Yoji’s chin, but really at something in another dimension. He looked like he might be broken.
Slowly, carefully, Yoji moved beside him and put his arm around his shoulders. Somehow, Aya was much smaller than he’d always seemed -- must be his battle aura, Yoji mused. Maybe this was the first time he’d turned it off.
“Hey, Aya.” He said it softly, almost a whisper. “What’s going on?”
“I....” Aya’s voice was so deep, so quiet. He paused, apparently unsure of how to proceed with a sentence that started with “I.” “Have you ever heard that old wives' tale, that if you stare into a mirror in the dark, you’ll see a demon?”
Yoji nodded.
“It’s true.” He smiled slightly, mirthlessly. “Same as when the light’s on.”
“Aya...”
“There’ve been -- on missions, people have called me a demon. And, you know, seemed to mean it. It’s not much of a leap, really -- the hair, the eyes... the blood... the sword....” He closed his eyes. “But it happened before, too. My parents always told me those people were just superstitious idiots.” The eyes opened again, now staring at the floor. “Sometimes I wonder if those people just recognized the signs.” He looked up at Yoji, gave him that sad little smile again. “That’s something I think about sometimes when I’m waiting around to kill somebody.”
Yoji pulled Aya against his chest and held him. “You’re sounding a little nuts, you know?” He said it gently. “This is what happens when you don’t talk to people. You lose track of things. You get fixated on stuff and you don’t have anybody to tell you it’s bullshit.”
Aya didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away. If it were anybody else, Yoji wouldn’t hesitate to describe this as clinging. It wouldn’t pay to get smug with Aya, though, even if he did seem small and fragile for once. So Yoji didn’t say anything else, just stood there holding him.
Finally, he leaned Aya against the sink and took one step back, still holding his shoulders. “Listen, Aya, I want you to come into my room and talk, OK?”
Aya nodded vaguely.
“Good. Now, if you could just -- well, you know, I came in here for a reason.” He waited for Aya to remember where he was, but nothing happened. “Aya, I need to pee.”
Aya looked at him with those far-away eyes and nodded slightly, shifting his attention back to the weather report from outer space, moving away from the sink and out of the bathroom not at all.
Pondering the dilemma for a couple of seconds, Yoji decided it was really only a minor social nicety after all. He shrugged, went over to the toilet and did his business.
He leaned around Aya to wash his hands, then took his arm and tugged a little. “All right, let’s move.” He walked them to his bedroom, pulling his teammate behind him like a small child.
Yoji guided him into the room and sat him down on the bed with no trouble. He leaned the redhead back against the pillows and settled next to him, turned to look at him, Aya, who was so fucking beautiful and, for once, not resisting anything, not at all.
Aya looked at him with an expression Yoji had never seen. His mouth was open, his breathing heavy and a little ragged; his lips were lush and pouty and full of potential. As Yoji watched, mesmerized, the glazed purple eyes drifted shut, and long, sooty lashes rested softly against satiny white skin. Aya’s head fell back into the pillows, exposing his throat. His chest heaved.
Yoji’s meditation was broken by the urgent twitching of his cock, accompanied by the reflexive tremor of his fingers, desperate to know what the skin would feel like. He rearranged himself so he was sitting over Aya, facing him. He wasn’t quite close enough to rub himself against -- but, oh God, almost. Yoji’s breath hitched as he reached over to brush the hair from Aya’s face, stroking that beautiful, flushed skin -- which was burning hot to his touch.
Son of a bitch, he really was sick.
Well, that kind of sucked. He’d finally gotten somewhere with Aya, and it was only because the bastard was delirious with fever.
And, upon closer inspection, asleep.
Sadly, these realizations didn’t immediately deflate Yoji’s -- hopes.
Cursing quietly to himself, Yoji moved to the end of the bed, staring at the door. He was actually a little tempted to use this opportunity to further study the subtleties of Aya’s appearance... But that would be kind of creepy. Under the circumstances, and all. In fact, he really needed to get himself away from the source of the problem. Which was a bit of a dilemma, since he couldn’t exactly go back downstairs just at the moment -- “Hi, Ken, I’m back, and look at the size of this hard-on!”
Maybe he’d sneak back down the hall and have a nice wash up before figuring out where he was going to sleep. No, no, that was the wrong direction. Definitely best to achieve detumescence before thinking about the possibility of lying next to Aya on his bed and sleeping next to him all night, maybe accidentally rolling over in his sleep and...
Yoji stood up determinedly and got himself back to the bathroom. He’d kind of wanted to take a shower anyway. Pondering whether it was going to be a cold or a hot one, he pulled his tight, mesh t-shirt over his head and stripped off his now-painfully tight leather pants, gasping softly when his erection sprang free. Hot it is, Yoji thought, adjusting the water temperature.
He avoided thinking directly about the Aya situation, letting his subconscious turn it over and examine it from every angle while he practiced shampoo meditation, keeping his conscious mind blank as he lathered, rinsed, applied a liberal handful of his ludicrously expensive conditioner, which he ordered a case at a time over the Internet because it kept his hair from frizzing under even the most difficult circumstances, no matter the humidity or number of assailants.
He leaned against the corner of the stall to let it sit for three to seven minutes and only then allowed himself to reconsider the redhead in his bed. It had been difficult to fantasize properly about Aya up until now because Yoji just hadn’t had enough to go on. He liked to get at least a gloss of realism going in his fantasies, but until tonight, he hadn’t seen anything close to sex from Aya.
Yoji’s hand slowly drifted over the muscles of his abdomen, down to his cock, which was straining eagerly. He pictured Aya’s gently parted lips, pictured his dick sliding between them. Aya would give good head, Yoji was sure of it. He had no idea if Aya had ever given head before, or even received it, or considered either possibility. But Aya was good at anything he tried to do, and all that iron self-control promised exciting things as far as being able to control his gag reflex. Yoji imagined Aya taking him down the back of his throat, that deep voice moaning against his eager, sensitized flesh... He came hard and rested his head against the tiled wall, catching his breath.
Oh, that was so much better.
Now Yoji remembered how tired he was, and he finished his shower, dried off and got dressed quickly. He’d just go to bed and leave Aya alone -- the bed was roomy enough to give him all the space he could need, surely. Yoji didn’t like it, but he knew a dead end when he saw one. They’d talk about it in the morning.
Or maybe not. When Yoji got back to his room, Aya was gone.
**********
Yoji was navel-gazing. Literally. He was standing in the middle of a dark, empty warehouse -- it was always a dark, empty warehouse -- waiting to deny some dark beasts their tomorrows, and they were late, and he was bored. He was slouched against a wall, looking down, admiring the play of moonlight over his fine, fine stomach muscles, bared by his tight mesh cut-off top. You’re fucking hot, Kudoh, he thought to himself, not for the first time. How can Aya see you like this night after night and refuse to admit his attraction to you? Or, as the case may be, fail to experience any attraction?
And, just like that, Yoji was plagued by self-doubt. Perhaps Aya didn’t like men who dressed in tight mesh cut-off tops. It would be just like him, the repressed little....
“Hey, Ken,” he whispered.
“What?” Ken hissed back.
“Do you think my outfit makes me look, you know -- cheap?”
Yoji could feel Ken’s incredulous stare piercing the darkness.
“I don’t know, Yoji,” he whispered. “Do you think this warehouse makes my ass look big?”
Tossing back an unseen glare, Yoji fell silent once more. Those fucking dark beasts had better make an appearance soon.
He looked up into the rafters, trying to catch a glimpse of Aya, although he knew it wouldn’t happen. God-damned megalomaniac and his penchant for grand entrances, anyway. The idiot was still sick and probably shouldn’t even be here, and if he had to be here, he should be on the fucking floor with the rest of them instead of crouching on a four-inch beam and trying to sink a story-and-a-half dismount with a 102-degree fever.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a small fleet of expensive foreign cars pulling up near the door opposite him. He’d have an unobstructed line of sight when they came in. What was on the menu tonight, anyway? Oh, yeah, the politically connected pornographers making snuff films. Hard to feel especially bad for them.
There was supposed to be a first round of security sent in to make sure the place was safe, and the plan was for Weiss to remain undetected until the targets’ men signaled the main party that they could enter. The next bit would be the tricky part. They needed to wait until everyone was in the warehouse and the door was closed, then kill the first round of guards before the second group got settled. Yoji and Ken would do that, and Aya would take care of the rest, striking before the targets and their immediate bodyguards could figure out what was happening or get into a good, defensible position. Yoji would help if needed, and Ken would cover the door to make sure nobody got out. If anybody did get past Ken, Omi was on guard outside to pick them off with darts. You didn’t want it spilling outside, though; it was messy. Too many variables.
There were four men in the advance group, and the two targets had four more guards around them. Yoji was concealed in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to fling his wire. He was a little wound up and pulled harder than he had to, parting the first head from the first set of sloping shoulders with hardly a sound. He unspooled a second length and repeated the treatment on the second guard just as he was turning to look at his colleague. Amazing how fast Yoji could pick them off when they just stood there and let him.
He readied a third length of wire. Ken, already moving to his post at the door, reached out his claws and separated someone from his spine. The survivors were beginning to register that there was a problem when Yoji’s third victim fell. At least three hands were reaching for guns.
Didn’t do them any good.
From where Yoji stood, it looked like one man just fell to the floor for no reason at all, followed seconds later by two heads that flew from their respective bodies, also seemingly of their own volition. He hadn’t seen or heard Aya leap from his perch, land behind the six men left standing, gut one of them as he rose, and behead two more with one stroke when he got to his feet. Now that he knew where the swordsman was, Yoji could see Aya finishing off one more with a nice, clean slice across the chest, thank God. Yoji had asked him to aim above the waist when he could -- the stench of a freshly disemboweled body was stomach-turning. Of course, whether this was just a coincidence or Aya was actually endeavoring to comply, Yoji couldn’t say.
Not counting the waiting, Weiss had done about a minute’s work so far. The remaining men were starting to run for cover, and that needed to be nipped in the bud. Yoji killed the one he could reach with his wire, the one who was most exposed, and he knew Aya had reappeared in the darkness next to one of the targets when he saw the man drop.
Normally Aya would have no problem taking the last two himself, cutting them down before they had time to get off a good shot. But Yoji could already see that the swordsman was in trouble, not moving quickly enough to get out of the sights of the last body guard, who was squeezing the trigger as Yoji dove from his hiding place. He didn’t reach the bastard in time to throw off his aim -- he saw Aya stiffen when the bullet hit, although he didn’t fall. Which meant he wasn’t dead, but you couldn’t really draw any conclusions beyond that.
Yoji got to the son of a bitch before he could aim again and slammed into him with everything he had. It was enough, and he was satisfied to hear the meaty sound of the man’s head cracking against the concrete. Then Yoji wrenched the gun from his hand and shot him between the eyes just to make sure.
That chore finished, he jumped to his feet, scanning for the last target. He heard three cracks of gunfire in rapid succession and felt his stomach lurch when he saw Aya apparently running right into it. Aya was usually pretty good at calculating what he could get away with, but then again, he’d already proven that he was off his game tonight. Yoji’s relief was overwhelming when he saw Aya’s blade connect with the target, sending the shooting arm flying. His opponent’s head followed promptly.
Aya looked over, ascertained that Yoji was all right, and sat heavily on the floor. Ken took a step toward him, then saw Yoji’s signal that he should go outside instead. They had to know whether or not everything was clear before they could decide what to do about Aya’s injury. Besides, Yoji was going to be the one taking care of him, not Ken.
Yoji sank to his knees next to Aya, who was looking a little gray. “How bad?” he asked quietly.
“It’ll be OK,” Aya grunted, leaning one shoulder into Yoji to help him balance. “Left shoulder. Bleeding’s not too bad -- wait for Ken,” he directed as Yoji started unbuckling his coat to assess the damage.
Yoji pulled his hand back, slick with blood. He wiped it on the floor.
“I fucked up,” Aya said. He paused, then added, “Thank you.”
“You’re sick. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”
Ken and Omi ran in. “All’s clear,” Omi called out. “How’s Aya?”
“Able to answer for himself,” Aya said clearly, brows knit with irritation.
Yoji smiled to himself and shifted Aya gently, working the blood-soaked coat off his injured shoulder. “Omi, do you have a penlight? Shine it over here, would you? Ken, would you cut a shirt off one of those meat puppets so I can wipe away some of this blood?”
The wound, glistening wetly in the small circle of light, got to Yoji far more than any of the carnage around him. Putting his hand over Aya’s stomach to brace him, he pushed the redhead forward so he could see his back, looking for an exit wound. There was one; Aya’s breath caught when Yoji wiped away the blood to look at it. He pushed Aya back to his previous position.
“It went in under his collarbone and looks like it came out clean. Ken, get me some more cloth to pack around it and we’ll put his coat back on and get him out of here.”
Aya’s head rested against Yoji’s shoulder. His mouth was open and he was breathing deeply, eyes closed in concentration. It was a way to control the pain, Yoji knew, but holding him like this felt so intimate; he had the scent of Aya’s blood, and with all the adrenalin pumping through his system, he was getting confused. This felt like sex.
Yoji took a deep breath. This was so wrong. Aya was hurt and bleeding, and Yoji was getting hard. He looked down at Aya’s face and was shocked to see the redhead staring back at him now, his expression heated. They held the look for several seconds, the connection electric. It was frantic and dangerous. The blood pounded in Yoji’s temples and for a terrifying moment he didn’t think he’d be able to hold himself back.
“Um, Yoji?” Omi asked, sounding concerned. “What are you doing?”
Yoji had been leaning forward for a kiss. He checked the move and tried to moderate the fierceness of his scowl when he looked up. “Nothing, Omi. Just making sure he’s not in shock.”
Aya closed his eyes and smiled for a moment, just the slightest bit.
Ken had returned with a couple of fistfuls of clean white fabric. Omi gestured for Ken to come closer. “Look at this,” he said. “What do you think?”
Ken glanced at the gory mess on Aya’s shoulder, then back to Omi. “I’m no ballistics expert, but it looks like he got shot.”
Omi huffed. “Ken, this is no time to--”
“Will you guys shut the fuck up and put some bandages on me so we can get the hell out of here?” Aya barked.
(this way to part 2)