Fic: Night and Day
Fic: Night and Day
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Yohji/Aya
Rating: R
Word count: 1540
Beta: whymzycal
Notes: This fic was supposed to be an epically long angst-fest that just never happened. I worked on it for well over a year and just couldn't get it going past a certain point. This part stands on its own, so I'm going to let it go and hopefully free myself up to write something new.
"There's no smoking in my car."
Yohji snorted as he pocketed his lighter and slipped the unlit cigarette behind his ear. He hadn't had a chance to light up after the kill, Aya noted; they’d been in too much of a hurry once the alarm had sounded. Omi had gone off with Ken and Yohji with Aya, their boot steps heavy on the pavement as they raced to Aya's Porsche parked in the alley behind the building.
It was Omi who had tripped the alarm with a wayward dart, and Aya hoped he'd had enough time to download the information that he'd been assigned to steal. No doubt Kritiker would have something to say about it if Omi hadn't gotten the intel, but they'd cross that bridge when -- if -- they needed to. For now Aya concentrated on driving the speed limit and making sure no one was following them as he took the long way back to the Koneko.
Yohji leaned back in the passenger seat, stretching out his long legs. He drummed his fingertips on the armrest impatiently. He was always wound up after a mission -- they all were -- but it was such a sharp contrast to Yohji's daytime persona that Aya always stopped and took notice.
"Which one is really you?" he asked as he checked the rearview mirror one last time and slipped into the parking garage beneath the flower shop.
"What?" Yohji peered over the top of his sunglasses. "What do you mean?"
Aya turned into his assigned spot, put the car in park, and killed the ignition. He turned his keys over in his hands thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced over at Yohji. The cigarette dangled from Yohji’s mouth, waiting to be lit.
"I mean you," he replied, "focused, alert. You slack off half-asleep during the day, but you're efficient during a mission. Which one is the real you?"
Yohji just stared at Aya for several seconds, then snorted and opened the door. He exited the car and reached for his lighter, then smoothly lit his cigarette. His Zippo snapped closed and disappeared back into his coat pocket with a flash of silver.
“Why are you so interested all of a sudden?" he asked. Aya shrugged. "I see." Yohji flicked his cigarette absentmindedly, then took a drag as he pushed his sunglasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes from view.
"You were trained by Kritiker, weren't you?" he asked.
Aya nodded. "Flower shop, the whole deal. It was ... well, it was a long time ago." It was also something Aya didn't like to think about. Shion, Aya’s mentor, had been -- in the end -- just another person in Aya's life that he'd lost. Someone important. Someone who had taught him how to live, how to fight, and how to die. Everything else after -- Crashers, Weiß -- sometimes it all seemed unreal, just as Shion's death had been.
"I was trained by Kritiker, too," said Yohji, bringing Aya back to the present. "I was trained here, at this flower shop, working with these people." He gestured over to Ken's bike in the corner, the engine cooling as it rested. "So you tell me," he said, gesturing toward Aya with his cigarette, "which one of you is real?"
"I'm not night and day," Aya replied, with a slight frown.
Yohji took one last drag of his cigarette, then tossed it down and crushed it out with his boot.
"You want to see the real me? Come on, I'll show you," he said, gesturing toward the garage exit. Aya followed him. The metal door clanged shut behind him as he climbed the stairs that took them past the flower shop on the first floor and up to the second, where they each had their own apartment. Yohji's coat swished in front of Aya, dark blue in the dim light of the stairwell.
Once they’d reached the second floor, Yohji pushed the door open and held it for Aya while he slipped past. There was another loud clang as the door swung shut. Yohji wasn’t worried about being quiet since Omi and Ken would be listening for their arrival home. Aya could hear water running in the pipes as someone, Ken most likely, cleaned up after the mission; his weapon was much more gruesome than either Yohji's or Aya's. A quick wipe on the dead guy's shirt had been enough for Aya's katana for the moment, but he'd give it a thorough cleaning later. For now, he continued to follow Yohji until they reached Yohji's apartment, where he unlocked the door.
Once inside, Yohji removed his sunglasses and put them on his dresser, then reached for a large bottle he had waiting.
"Drink?" he asked, and at Aya's nod, grabbed two glasses, filling one halfway and handing it over, then filling one for himself. "I didn't think you'd have one," he said, gesturing toward Aya's glass.
"The shop's closed tomorrow." Aya took a sip, grimacing a bit as the amber liquid burned a path down the back of his throat. He propped his katana up in the corner, then took several long moments to survey Yohji's apartment. He'd only been inside once or twice, when Yohji was late to start his shift, and usually it was just to stick his head in and shout. More often than not, Yohji had a girl in bed with him. Yohji's room was an echo of Aya's own, sparsely furnished with a bed, a dresser, a small sofa, and a desk. Yohji’s laptop hummed as the screensaver cycled a series of flying toasters.
"So, is it what you expected?" Yohji asked, swirling the liquid in his glass around once or twice and then taking a drink. Aya shrugged, then walked over to the closet where he slid the door open and looked inside. Off to one side were Yohji's shop clothes, things that he could afford to get dirty -- if he bothered to actually work -- followed by more casual attire that Yohji wore around the house, followed by Yohji's "night" clothes, the things he wore when he went out: Armani, Yamamoto, Boss, all tell-tale signs of Yohji's wealth. It wasn't like he had to pay rent, or anything else really, other than food and gas for his Super Seven. None of them did, though Aya made significantly less than the rest of them to help offset the hospital bills for his sister.
"I don't know what I expected," Aya said as he watched Yohji shrug out of his mission coat. He stepped aside so Yohji could hang it in its rightful spot in the closet and got a brief whiff of cigarette smoke and cologne, familiar enough in Yohji's unfamiliar room.
Yohji unbuckled his watch and set it on his dresser, then turned to regard Aya closely. "Want to have sex?" he asked. Aya downed the rest of the alcohol, then set the empty glass down on the dresser. The whiskey warmed his stomach pleasantly, relaxing him.
“Yeah," he said.
Later, alone in his own bed, Aya wondered how all the pieces of Yohji fit together. The sex was everything he‘d expected. Yohji had been attentive and gentle, with a hint of roughness. It was easy to see why girls clamored around the shop asking for him, not content with just sleeping with him once, but wanting another go -- or possibly even something more. He‘d made sure Aya came before coming himself, and he’d seemed to take great enjoyment out of every breathy moan to escape Aya's throat.
"Yeah," Yohji had whispered into Aya's ear as he‘d fucked him from behind, "you feel so good, Aya." He‘d smoothed his hands over Aya's ass and down his thighs, then back up to his hips, where he‘d dug in his fingers deliciously, his own hips moving forward, driving into Aya harder and harder. He‘d nuzzled the back of Aya's neck, teeth nipping at his earlobe and giving his earring a gentle tug, his hot breath sending shivers down Aya's spine. Not normally one to make noise during sex, Aya had thrown his head back and moaned as Yohji wrapped one of Aya's eartails around his finger and pulled, his other hand working Aya rhythmically. Aya had come all over Yohji's hand and onto the sheet below him. He‘d squeezed Yohji's dick hard and Yohji cursed, groaning loudly as he pumped several more times, harder and harder until he stiffened against Aya's back, pulling Aya's head back by his hair and pressing his mouth against Aya's, his breath coming in warm puffs through his nose, against Aya's cheek.
"God, that was good," Yohji had said as he pulled out. He’d tossed the spent condom into the nearby trash and flopped down onto his back to catch his breath. It was good, Aya‘d had to agree, and even after he had dressed and gone into his own room to his own bed, Aya's body still hummed pleasantly. Yohji had said that Aya was welcome in his bed anytime, and it was possible that Aya would take him up on the offer. Maybe he'd eventually figure out just who Yohji Kudoh really was.
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Yohji/Aya
Rating: R
Word count: 1540
Beta: whymzycal
Notes: This fic was supposed to be an epically long angst-fest that just never happened. I worked on it for well over a year and just couldn't get it going past a certain point. This part stands on its own, so I'm going to let it go and hopefully free myself up to write something new.
"There's no smoking in my car."
Yohji snorted as he pocketed his lighter and slipped the unlit cigarette behind his ear. He hadn't had a chance to light up after the kill, Aya noted; they’d been in too much of a hurry once the alarm had sounded. Omi had gone off with Ken and Yohji with Aya, their boot steps heavy on the pavement as they raced to Aya's Porsche parked in the alley behind the building.
It was Omi who had tripped the alarm with a wayward dart, and Aya hoped he'd had enough time to download the information that he'd been assigned to steal. No doubt Kritiker would have something to say about it if Omi hadn't gotten the intel, but they'd cross that bridge when -- if -- they needed to. For now Aya concentrated on driving the speed limit and making sure no one was following them as he took the long way back to the Koneko.
Yohji leaned back in the passenger seat, stretching out his long legs. He drummed his fingertips on the armrest impatiently. He was always wound up after a mission -- they all were -- but it was such a sharp contrast to Yohji's daytime persona that Aya always stopped and took notice.
"Which one is really you?" he asked as he checked the rearview mirror one last time and slipped into the parking garage beneath the flower shop.
"What?" Yohji peered over the top of his sunglasses. "What do you mean?"
Aya turned into his assigned spot, put the car in park, and killed the ignition. He turned his keys over in his hands thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced over at Yohji. The cigarette dangled from Yohji’s mouth, waiting to be lit.
"I mean you," he replied, "focused, alert. You slack off half-asleep during the day, but you're efficient during a mission. Which one is the real you?"
Yohji just stared at Aya for several seconds, then snorted and opened the door. He exited the car and reached for his lighter, then smoothly lit his cigarette. His Zippo snapped closed and disappeared back into his coat pocket with a flash of silver.
“Why are you so interested all of a sudden?" he asked. Aya shrugged. "I see." Yohji flicked his cigarette absentmindedly, then took a drag as he pushed his sunglasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes from view.
"You were trained by Kritiker, weren't you?" he asked.
Aya nodded. "Flower shop, the whole deal. It was ... well, it was a long time ago." It was also something Aya didn't like to think about. Shion, Aya’s mentor, had been -- in the end -- just another person in Aya's life that he'd lost. Someone important. Someone who had taught him how to live, how to fight, and how to die. Everything else after -- Crashers, Weiß -- sometimes it all seemed unreal, just as Shion's death had been.
"I was trained by Kritiker, too," said Yohji, bringing Aya back to the present. "I was trained here, at this flower shop, working with these people." He gestured over to Ken's bike in the corner, the engine cooling as it rested. "So you tell me," he said, gesturing toward Aya with his cigarette, "which one of you is real?"
"I'm not night and day," Aya replied, with a slight frown.
Yohji took one last drag of his cigarette, then tossed it down and crushed it out with his boot.
"You want to see the real me? Come on, I'll show you," he said, gesturing toward the garage exit. Aya followed him. The metal door clanged shut behind him as he climbed the stairs that took them past the flower shop on the first floor and up to the second, where they each had their own apartment. Yohji's coat swished in front of Aya, dark blue in the dim light of the stairwell.
Once they’d reached the second floor, Yohji pushed the door open and held it for Aya while he slipped past. There was another loud clang as the door swung shut. Yohji wasn’t worried about being quiet since Omi and Ken would be listening for their arrival home. Aya could hear water running in the pipes as someone, Ken most likely, cleaned up after the mission; his weapon was much more gruesome than either Yohji's or Aya's. A quick wipe on the dead guy's shirt had been enough for Aya's katana for the moment, but he'd give it a thorough cleaning later. For now, he continued to follow Yohji until they reached Yohji's apartment, where he unlocked the door.
Once inside, Yohji removed his sunglasses and put them on his dresser, then reached for a large bottle he had waiting.
"Drink?" he asked, and at Aya's nod, grabbed two glasses, filling one halfway and handing it over, then filling one for himself. "I didn't think you'd have one," he said, gesturing toward Aya's glass.
"The shop's closed tomorrow." Aya took a sip, grimacing a bit as the amber liquid burned a path down the back of his throat. He propped his katana up in the corner, then took several long moments to survey Yohji's apartment. He'd only been inside once or twice, when Yohji was late to start his shift, and usually it was just to stick his head in and shout. More often than not, Yohji had a girl in bed with him. Yohji's room was an echo of Aya's own, sparsely furnished with a bed, a dresser, a small sofa, and a desk. Yohji’s laptop hummed as the screensaver cycled a series of flying toasters.
"So, is it what you expected?" Yohji asked, swirling the liquid in his glass around once or twice and then taking a drink. Aya shrugged, then walked over to the closet where he slid the door open and looked inside. Off to one side were Yohji's shop clothes, things that he could afford to get dirty -- if he bothered to actually work -- followed by more casual attire that Yohji wore around the house, followed by Yohji's "night" clothes, the things he wore when he went out: Armani, Yamamoto, Boss, all tell-tale signs of Yohji's wealth. It wasn't like he had to pay rent, or anything else really, other than food and gas for his Super Seven. None of them did, though Aya made significantly less than the rest of them to help offset the hospital bills for his sister.
"I don't know what I expected," Aya said as he watched Yohji shrug out of his mission coat. He stepped aside so Yohji could hang it in its rightful spot in the closet and got a brief whiff of cigarette smoke and cologne, familiar enough in Yohji's unfamiliar room.
Yohji unbuckled his watch and set it on his dresser, then turned to regard Aya closely. "Want to have sex?" he asked. Aya downed the rest of the alcohol, then set the empty glass down on the dresser. The whiskey warmed his stomach pleasantly, relaxing him.
“Yeah," he said.
Later, alone in his own bed, Aya wondered how all the pieces of Yohji fit together. The sex was everything he‘d expected. Yohji had been attentive and gentle, with a hint of roughness. It was easy to see why girls clamored around the shop asking for him, not content with just sleeping with him once, but wanting another go -- or possibly even something more. He‘d made sure Aya came before coming himself, and he’d seemed to take great enjoyment out of every breathy moan to escape Aya's throat.
"Yeah," Yohji had whispered into Aya's ear as he‘d fucked him from behind, "you feel so good, Aya." He‘d smoothed his hands over Aya's ass and down his thighs, then back up to his hips, where he‘d dug in his fingers deliciously, his own hips moving forward, driving into Aya harder and harder. He‘d nuzzled the back of Aya's neck, teeth nipping at his earlobe and giving his earring a gentle tug, his hot breath sending shivers down Aya's spine. Not normally one to make noise during sex, Aya had thrown his head back and moaned as Yohji wrapped one of Aya's eartails around his finger and pulled, his other hand working Aya rhythmically. Aya had come all over Yohji's hand and onto the sheet below him. He‘d squeezed Yohji's dick hard and Yohji cursed, groaning loudly as he pumped several more times, harder and harder until he stiffened against Aya's back, pulling Aya's head back by his hair and pressing his mouth against Aya's, his breath coming in warm puffs through his nose, against Aya's cheek.
"God, that was good," Yohji had said as he pulled out. He’d tossed the spent condom into the nearby trash and flopped down onto his back to catch his breath. It was good, Aya‘d had to agree, and even after he had dressed and gone into his own room to his own bed, Aya's body still hummed pleasantly. Yohji had said that Aya was welcome in his bed anytime, and it was possible that Aya would take him up on the offer. Maybe he'd eventually figure out just who Yohji Kudoh really was.