Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Ace of Hearts ❯ Hold 'Em ( Chapter 2 )

Author’s Notes: Oooh, look, I’ve dug this one out of the vault and thought I’d take a whack at continuing and maybe even *gasp* finishing it. Since there’s such a gap in time, I apologize for inconsistencies in style, but I hope the story will be worth it.


Ace of Hearts
Chapter Two: Hold ‘Em



“Shit!” Omi cursed at the computer screen as it refused to give up the information he needed.

“You shouldn’t swear,” a quiet voice spoke up unexpectedly from behind him, “It’s a bad habit.”

“Today you told Yohji to ‘move his lazy ass’ or you would ‘introduce his dick to the fucking garden shears.’”

He turned in his chair to view Aya sitting on the arm of the couch. When the man had entered the mission room was beyond him. He did note, however, that the slightest blush betrayed Aya’s cold expression as he heard his own, unmistakable words being repeated back to him.

“That’s different.”

“Really?”

He sat is silent thought for a moment, “Yohji’s a bad influence.”

Omi smiled weakly as he turned back to the computer screen, trying again to hack the science lab’s records. Aya watched him for a moment, obviously interested in the possible results of the attempt. When it resulted in another failure, but no swearing, he stood and left.

~*~

Frustrated by his lack of success, Omi left the computer. Grabbing two aspirin to assuage the headache that staring at the screen had given him, he took a Coke from the fridge and hoped the television wouldn’t aggravate the pain in his temples. Ken and Yohji were already occupying the living room, attentions focused on some action movie that was novel only in its inability to produce one realistic fight sequence.

Ken occupied one end of the couch, sock feet propped on the coffee table next to a can of soda and empty paper plate. Yohji, living slightly more dangerously, had chosen a bottle of beer and what they all knew was Aya’s chair. Like the couch, it was upholstered in a soft leather the color of deep red wine; sitting at a right angle to the sofa, it offered a mediocre view of the television, but access to the tall lamp made it a perfect spot for reading. Omi also suspected it kept the redhead comfortably isolated from unintentional contact with the rest of them.

Taking the other end of the sofa, Omi leaned back and rested the cool aluminum can on his stomach. It made a hiss as he popped the tab. Downing his medicine, he let his attention drift to the movie; the main character, a man in his mid-thirties with insanely defined abs, seemed to be attempting to infiltrate enemy headquarters.

“Oh, come on!” Ken suddenly burst out, throwing up his hands. “There’s no way you can do that with an automatic!”

“I still can’t get past the outfit,” Yohji contributed. “Can you see me running after a target shirtless and with a Rambo bandana around my head?”

“You, no. Aya, well . . .” Ken shook his head with a smile. They all paused to think about it.

Yohji chuckled. Something exploded on the screen, and the three of them set about critiquing flaws in the location of the blast.

A soft creak of the stairs made Omi break off in his explanation of why the hero couldn’t possibly be using plastic explosives. Aya, dressed in soft black pants and t-shirt, padded into the room. His hair was damp, and it was obvious he’d just come from the shower, probably after training. He spared the television screen a few seconds of his attention, scoffed openly at the man’s leap from a rooftop, and then focused on Yohji.

“Up,” he directed, clearly intending to run the blonde out of his chair.

“I was here first,” Yohji defended, seemingly serious as he continued to watch the t.v., pointedly ignoring Aya as the younger man stalked over to stand directly in front of him.

“Kudou,” he threatened.

“Fujimiya,” the other returned, looking around him to the screen and sprawling, just a little more, in the large chair.

Aya resisted the urge to sigh, but planting one hand on his hip stiffly, he glared.

Yohji had the nerve to push at his leg a little, insinuating that he ought to move over and let him see. “You make a lousy window.”

Omi and Ken watched with trepidation as Aya’s eyes twitched.

“Move,” he growled.

Yohji set his beer down on the small side table and looked him directly in the eye.

“No.”

There was a silent moment as tension crackled between the two. Then, Aya turned and quickly dropped into Yohji’s lap. Yohji ‘oof’ed when the full weight of the swordsman landed across his lap, but was quick to adjust by pulling Aya close to him and snaking his right arm behind Aya’s back to rest on the chair aim. He was shuffled a little when Aya’s hand slid up his thigh, but the redhead was simply trying to pull his book from between the cushions and Yohji’s intruding bottom. Still, it earned him a pleased smirk as he settled back to open the book across his own lap.

Ken rolled his eyes; Omi swallowed.

It really didn’t happen that often. Though Yohji was constantly begging and suggesting and even grabbing, Aya prevented much of their relationship from really seeping out into the public arena. He would sit close to, but rarely actually touching, the blonde; Yohji occasionally made it to holding his hand when the room was dark enough and everyone’s attention was adequately turned elsewhere, but a public kiss was out of the question. Really, the only time Omi or Ken bore witness to such events was upon their unexpected entrance into the more secluded parts of the house, and the greenhouse, that one time. More details were revealed in fights than anything else, both men willing to use personal information to wound when wounded.

Omi wasn’t sure he liked the new direction this was taking. But he couldn’t chastise them; they weren’t even doing anything. Yohji watched the movie while Aya sat on him and read, just sitting on him. Taking a breath, Omi glanced at Ken who had already forgotten the entire thing. Ken was practical like that; Aya and Yohji were gay, okay, they shared a chair, okay, the sky was going to be orange and rain wiener dogs, okay. Ken just picked up and went on. Omi envied that sometimes.

And he envied Yohji. God, how he wanted–

No, he stopped the thought, commanding himself to watch the movie and forget the computer, forget the lab, forget the Aya. That worked for all of ten minutes.

There was a bit of shuffling on his left, and, with a dread that threatened to be anticipation, Omi turned inconspicuously to see what was going on. Aya was glaring as Yohji disturbed his reading by reaching for his beer. Yohji just bore it, taking a drink before offering the bottle to his lover. Aya accepted it half-heartedly, raising the brown bottle to his lips, drinking, then making a face when he lowered it. Yohji smiled, tipping his head back to empty the bottle himself.

“I’d go get you something else if I thought you’d let me crawl back under you.”

A tiny a smirk, more in his eyes than on his lips, as Aya turned to whisper something in Yohji’s ear, their cheeks almost touching as he spoke. The blonde shifted uncomfortably, Aya whispered again and was pulled more firmly against the older man.

“Well,” Yohji sighed, his right arm moving to rest on the other’s thin waist, “Now neither of us is going anywhere.”

Aya shrugged, going back to his book. Omi noticed that he didn’t turn the pages as quickly. Finding himself suddenly out of soda, Omi thought it necessary to be courteous as he headed back to the kitchen.

“Would you like another beer, Yohji-kun?”

“Thanks chibi,” he smiled as he passed Ken the empty which was passed to Omi.

“Aya-kun?”

A shake of the head indicated a negative, but Yohji’s voice followed him.

“There’s a Smirnoff Ice in the drawer.”

His head already in the refrigerator, Omi pulled open the drawer and debated if bringing the drink would put him into the bad graces of Aya. Doing the opposite was just as likely to have the same results. With a sigh, he snagged the clear bottle along with a beer and two Cokes and returned to distribute them.

Ken offered a thanks, distracted by the rather busty blond thing that was trying to seduce the hero by being completely helpless. As his intermediary was out of it, Omi was forced to approach the couple. Yohji reached out a hand, his eyes aimed at the screen where the woman’s top had somehow been ripped off one shoulder. Aya spared him a glare, but turned to Omi to accept his drink. He elbowed Yohji, not too kindly.

“Thanks,” the blonde mumbled, apparently speaking for both of them.

As Omi settled back on the couch to debate whether he should have brought something stronger back for himself, he watched Aya watch Yohji as he ogled the exposed girl. Omi wasn’t sure how she’d lost the shirt completely, but he thought she was doing too much bouncing to be seriously injured. Aya’s thoughts seem to be running along similar, although more homicidal, lines.

Holding the untouched bottle of Smirnoff between his hands, he glared at Yohji; the blonde continued to stare at the screen obliviously. The anger was clear, but Omi thought he saw hurt in that glare, somewhere beneath the hard, cold anger. The youngest boy was absolutely certain that was he lucky enough to get Aya to sit on his lap, he wouldn’t stare at anything else. Ever.

He thought Aya might move. Maybe he would come sit by Omi on the couch. Maybe Omi could ‘accidentally’ let their fingers touch, or maybe he could just pull Aya into his lap, run heated touches all over those bare arms, under his shirt, give him hot kisses until the pale man was rubbing up against him desperately.

Omi clamped his teeth together almost painfully to stifle the sound. Once again he ordered himself to stop it. Crossing his legs, he leaned back against the cool leather of the sofa and watched. Just watched.

The hero was making his exit, toting the nearly naked girl tucked close against his broad chest as explosions fired behind them. Sloppy, he thought, cutting it that close. A convenient scene change brought them to her apartment, no, her bedroom, with its satin sheets and insane number of pillow. He laid her on the bed and, after backing off so the camera could pan up her body, was crawling on top of her.

Ken and Yohji seemed rapt, and Omi wondered if they were breathing. Aya was concentrating on drinking.

When the girl moaned, loudly, Aya shot a venomous glare at Yohji. The blonde looked at him, finally and guiltily. When green eyes, perhaps not of their own will, flicked back to the screen, Aya got up. It was a surprisingly graceful movement, considering he had a book to deal with and a bottle occupying one hand, but, Omi believed as an afterthought, he did manage to poke his elbow painfully into Yohji’s ribs.

“Aya,” the blonde sighed, absently rubbing his side. “C’mon, sit down.”

But Aya, book, and bottle went silently into the kitchen.

~*~

“You shouldn’t drink.”

Aya turned from his hunt in the freezer, closing the door with the hand not holding the sizeable bottle of Absolut Blue vodka.

“It’s a bad habit,” Omi added, trying a smile.

Aya retrieved a shot glass, Yohji’s, from the top shelf of the cabinet.

“Aya-kun, I know Yohji-kun hurt your feelings–“

“No,” he spat, turning a glare on Omi that threatened death if he kept making crazy assumptions like Aya having feelings. Omi didn’t dare open his mouth again in his presence, and the redhead ascended the stairs in silence. Quietly, Omi took a seat at the kitchen table, opening and closing the book Aya had abandoned.

~tbc?~



Author’s Note: So, what do we think? Shall I continue this or let it sink slowly back into oblivion?