Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Take Me ( Chapter 61 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.31.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 258 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.31.2010 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 258 | Status: Work In Progress
The chapter doesn’t bode well, does it? Angst ahead, be warned.
Chapter Sixty-One: Take Me
Schuldig slipped into the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes, less happy than he anticipated being. It had been so easy, just a tiny push to Balinese’s addled brain. The idea had already been there, lurking behind walls of conscience; he hadn’t expected that from Balinese. But they were easy to get around , especially since the idiot had drank himself into stupidity.
Find Aya. That’s all it took.
Schuldig sighed. The kätzchen had been too happy, and it was beginning to make it difficult to get into his mind, not to mention Crawford was more than suspicious. If he hadn’t done something, the precog was sure to handle it himself once he returned to Japan. Still, he wondered if it was worth it. Schuldig didn’t like the idea of someone else handling his kätzchen, and he anxiously awaited the days when the redhead would be his alone. It wouldn’t be about pain then, for either of them.
~*~
He kept one hand on doorframe to keep himself standing. The stairs had been a bitch, not to mention the five blocks he had stumbled through to make it home. Thank fuck he had walked, because Yohji had no delusions that he could have driven himself home without wrapping his car around something big and unpleasant.
He was drunk. Nothing new. What was new was the hardness between his legs that seemed undeterred by the massive amount of liquor he had managed to pour into his system. And no girl.
But it didn’t matter, because he didn’t want a girl. He wanted Aya.
Aya, with those long, thin fingers and that ghost-pale skin, with that soft hair and strange eyes that had so many shades of feeling.
He clung to the doorframe and looked.
Aya slept in the bed, their bed. He was on his side, and while there was nothing overtly sexy about the way he curled into the covers, Yohji could see one perfect hand resting on the pillow next to those pink lips. The lamp was on, and its light spilled over Aya’s back, trying to shadow his face and illuminating the disarray of crimson hair.
Yohji wanted to fuck him.
But he couldn’t. He knew that. Aya was hurt, and Yohji couldn’t fuck him.
He was just going to lay down beside him. Aya never had to know. Not ever. He wouldn’t wake up, would he, if Yohji just pressed up against him a little? He wouldn’t care.
His cock was so hard it hurt. Fueled with thoughts of the boy in his bed. even the walk home hadn’t flagged it. It was leaking in his pants, making the spot near the tip sticky and uncomfortable. It was ready to be next to Aya.
Yohji wanted to be silent, but it was hard. His feet didn’t seem to want to use the stealth he knew they had and threatened to abandon him altogether as he took a few stumbling steps towards the bed. The lamp was on his side, and he blocked its light with his body as he stood there, looking.
Aya.
Gently, he lifted the covers away, shoving them awkwardly towards the foot of the bed. Aya stirred, shivering a little as he curled tighter into himself. Always cold. Yohji could warm him up.
Tugging his tight shirt over his head, he dropped it on the floor and climbed into bed wearing only his jeans and socks. Aya shifted as the mattress dipped, rising almost to awareness.
“Shh,” Yohji soothed, letting his hand rest on one shoulder, so thin and delicate beneath the soft blue fabric. The familiar touch seemed to placate him, and opening eyes drifted shut. Yohji waited, tense. Aya couldn’t be awake. He couldn’t know.
Deciding that the boy was once again resting, Yohji laid down and snuggled close, wrapping his arm around Aya’s chest as he pressed his crotch against the boy’s ass. There was an instant of bliss before Aya started to struggle, providing brief, satisfying friction before he began to pull away.
“No,” Yohji demanded, tightening his grip and yanking the boy back against him. Awake now, Aya fought harder.
“No!” Yohji hissed at him. Forcing Aya back onto the bed, Yohji rolled on top of him, pinning the other beneath him. He wasn’t going to hurt him; Aya knew that. It was okay. With an elbow planted on either side of the other’s head, Yohji closed his eyes and ground him hips against Aya’s. The boy moved beneath him, enticing as he held tight to Yohji’s shoulders, saying something.
“Shhh,” Yohji said again, grabbing a handful of red hair to still the thrashing head.
“Stop,” Aya said. But his hands were clutching at Yohji’s shoulders, his lips moving against Yohji’s cheek as the blonde leaned closer.
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stop,” he promised, already half out of breath. Snaking his free hand between their bodies, Yohji fumbled with the fly of his jeans, freeing his cock to let it press hotly against Aya’s flaccid member through the cloth of his pajamas. “Fuck, Aya.”
The boy shook, trembling under his touches, and Yohji ground harder against him. He wouldn’t have sex with him, but he needed this. He had done so damn much, and now he just need it. Moaning into Aya’s hair, Yohji felt himself on the edge of orgasm. Aya was moving again.
“Stop it!” Yohji demanded, tightening the grip on Aya’s hair, using his other hand to hold the boy’s shoulder as he laid directly on top of him. Aya wasn’t cold now.
There was a sudden wetness, and for a second, Yohji thought he had come. He stopped, raising himself up to investigate. There was a damp stain spreading on the front of Aya’s pants. In that frozen second, the reality of the situation dawned on him, forcing its way into his fogged brain. The boy was so scared that he had pissed himself.
Eyes wide with realization, Yohji went to look up, maybe to comfort, only to find himself shoved suddenly off of Aya. The boy was off the bed before he could recover.
“Aya,” he pleaded softly, for what he wasn’t sure.
The boy turned back at the doorway, a look of trembling anger on his face, “I hate you!”
And then he was gone. Yohji heard a door slam in the hall.
Oh shit.
He had—
God damn it.
Yohji levered himself from the bed, swaying as he gained his feet. He forced the jeans from his legs, ignoring the demanding hardon that was suddenly a whole lot less important.
“Shit,” he swore aloud as he kicked his pants and socks away. He had to find Aya, to tell him that he wasn’t going to hurt him.
Stumbling naked into the hallway, Yohji kept a hand on the wall to steady himself. It was dark, but a light shone from under the bathroom door, so he went to it, sure Aya was inside. He tried the doorknob, and it rattled beneath his hand and refused to turn, locked.
Leaning on the door, Yohji rested his forehead against the rough wood.
“Aya,” he moaned, “Aya.”
There wasn’t an answer. Yohji pounded on the door with his fist.
“Please, Aya!”
No answer, only a soft shuffling.
“Aya…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m drunk,” his voice trailed off, “I’m drunk.”
He waited there for a long time, but Aya never opened the door. So Yohji went away.
Aya knew Yohji wouldn’t hurt him. He knew.
Yohji’s head ached and his cock hurt. He would go to bed and talk to Aya in the morning. He was drunk, anyway.
Back in his room, Yohji peeled away the sheets with disgust, dumping them on the floor. Turning off the lamp, he laid down on the bare mattress. Rolling to his side, he took half-hearted hold of his erection but managed only a few distracted strokes before passing out.
~tbc~
Notes: Punishments for Schuldig or Yohji may be left in the form of reviews.
Converting /tmp/phpLt0isH to /dev/stdout
Chapter Sixty-One: Take Me
Schuldig slipped into the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes, less happy than he anticipated being. It had been so easy, just a tiny push to Balinese’s addled brain. The idea had already been there, lurking behind walls of conscience; he hadn’t expected that from Balinese. But they were easy to get around , especially since the idiot had drank himself into stupidity.
Find Aya. That’s all it took.
Schuldig sighed. The kätzchen had been too happy, and it was beginning to make it difficult to get into his mind, not to mention Crawford was more than suspicious. If he hadn’t done something, the precog was sure to handle it himself once he returned to Japan. Still, he wondered if it was worth it. Schuldig didn’t like the idea of someone else handling his kätzchen, and he anxiously awaited the days when the redhead would be his alone. It wouldn’t be about pain then, for either of them.
~*~
He kept one hand on doorframe to keep himself standing. The stairs had been a bitch, not to mention the five blocks he had stumbled through to make it home. Thank fuck he had walked, because Yohji had no delusions that he could have driven himself home without wrapping his car around something big and unpleasant.
He was drunk. Nothing new. What was new was the hardness between his legs that seemed undeterred by the massive amount of liquor he had managed to pour into his system. And no girl.
But it didn’t matter, because he didn’t want a girl. He wanted Aya.
Aya, with those long, thin fingers and that ghost-pale skin, with that soft hair and strange eyes that had so many shades of feeling.
He clung to the doorframe and looked.
Aya slept in the bed, their bed. He was on his side, and while there was nothing overtly sexy about the way he curled into the covers, Yohji could see one perfect hand resting on the pillow next to those pink lips. The lamp was on, and its light spilled over Aya’s back, trying to shadow his face and illuminating the disarray of crimson hair.
Yohji wanted to fuck him.
But he couldn’t. He knew that. Aya was hurt, and Yohji couldn’t fuck him.
He was just going to lay down beside him. Aya never had to know. Not ever. He wouldn’t wake up, would he, if Yohji just pressed up against him a little? He wouldn’t care.
His cock was so hard it hurt. Fueled with thoughts of the boy in his bed. even the walk home hadn’t flagged it. It was leaking in his pants, making the spot near the tip sticky and uncomfortable. It was ready to be next to Aya.
Yohji wanted to be silent, but it was hard. His feet didn’t seem to want to use the stealth he knew they had and threatened to abandon him altogether as he took a few stumbling steps towards the bed. The lamp was on his side, and he blocked its light with his body as he stood there, looking.
Aya.
Gently, he lifted the covers away, shoving them awkwardly towards the foot of the bed. Aya stirred, shivering a little as he curled tighter into himself. Always cold. Yohji could warm him up.
Tugging his tight shirt over his head, he dropped it on the floor and climbed into bed wearing only his jeans and socks. Aya shifted as the mattress dipped, rising almost to awareness.
“Shh,” Yohji soothed, letting his hand rest on one shoulder, so thin and delicate beneath the soft blue fabric. The familiar touch seemed to placate him, and opening eyes drifted shut. Yohji waited, tense. Aya couldn’t be awake. He couldn’t know.
Deciding that the boy was once again resting, Yohji laid down and snuggled close, wrapping his arm around Aya’s chest as he pressed his crotch against the boy’s ass. There was an instant of bliss before Aya started to struggle, providing brief, satisfying friction before he began to pull away.
“No,” Yohji demanded, tightening his grip and yanking the boy back against him. Awake now, Aya fought harder.
“No!” Yohji hissed at him. Forcing Aya back onto the bed, Yohji rolled on top of him, pinning the other beneath him. He wasn’t going to hurt him; Aya knew that. It was okay. With an elbow planted on either side of the other’s head, Yohji closed his eyes and ground him hips against Aya’s. The boy moved beneath him, enticing as he held tight to Yohji’s shoulders, saying something.
“Shhh,” Yohji said again, grabbing a handful of red hair to still the thrashing head.
“Stop,” Aya said. But his hands were clutching at Yohji’s shoulders, his lips moving against Yohji’s cheek as the blonde leaned closer.
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stop,” he promised, already half out of breath. Snaking his free hand between their bodies, Yohji fumbled with the fly of his jeans, freeing his cock to let it press hotly against Aya’s flaccid member through the cloth of his pajamas. “Fuck, Aya.”
The boy shook, trembling under his touches, and Yohji ground harder against him. He wouldn’t have sex with him, but he needed this. He had done so damn much, and now he just need it. Moaning into Aya’s hair, Yohji felt himself on the edge of orgasm. Aya was moving again.
“Stop it!” Yohji demanded, tightening the grip on Aya’s hair, using his other hand to hold the boy’s shoulder as he laid directly on top of him. Aya wasn’t cold now.
There was a sudden wetness, and for a second, Yohji thought he had come. He stopped, raising himself up to investigate. There was a damp stain spreading on the front of Aya’s pants. In that frozen second, the reality of the situation dawned on him, forcing its way into his fogged brain. The boy was so scared that he had pissed himself.
Eyes wide with realization, Yohji went to look up, maybe to comfort, only to find himself shoved suddenly off of Aya. The boy was off the bed before he could recover.
“Aya,” he pleaded softly, for what he wasn’t sure.
The boy turned back at the doorway, a look of trembling anger on his face, “I hate you!”
And then he was gone. Yohji heard a door slam in the hall.
Oh shit.
He had—
God damn it.
Yohji levered himself from the bed, swaying as he gained his feet. He forced the jeans from his legs, ignoring the demanding hardon that was suddenly a whole lot less important.
“Shit,” he swore aloud as he kicked his pants and socks away. He had to find Aya, to tell him that he wasn’t going to hurt him.
Stumbling naked into the hallway, Yohji kept a hand on the wall to steady himself. It was dark, but a light shone from under the bathroom door, so he went to it, sure Aya was inside. He tried the doorknob, and it rattled beneath his hand and refused to turn, locked.
Leaning on the door, Yohji rested his forehead against the rough wood.
“Aya,” he moaned, “Aya.”
There wasn’t an answer. Yohji pounded on the door with his fist.
“Please, Aya!”
No answer, only a soft shuffling.
“Aya…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m drunk,” his voice trailed off, “I’m drunk.”
He waited there for a long time, but Aya never opened the door. So Yohji went away.
Aya knew Yohji wouldn’t hurt him. He knew.
Yohji’s head ached and his cock hurt. He would go to bed and talk to Aya in the morning. He was drunk, anyway.
Back in his room, Yohji peeled away the sheets with disgust, dumping them on the floor. Turning off the lamp, he laid down on the bare mattress. Rolling to his side, he took half-hearted hold of his erection but managed only a few distracted strokes before passing out.
~tbc~
Notes: Punishments for Schuldig or Yohji may be left in the form of reviews.
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