Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Crack Me ( Chapter 85 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Chapter Eighty-Five: Crack Me

Yohji stared down at the boy, wondering how this had become a normal part of his life. Shaking his head, he went to go put a shirt on, giving Aya a little space and a minute to collect himself if he could. He found a white t-shirt in the dresser and, after a glance at the redhead, decided to take a few more minutes to put on a pair of sweatpants as well. A shower would have to wait.

Walking back to Aya, Yohji sat down on the floor in front of him. He reached out a hand, intending to get Aya’s own away from his much-abused hair. That, however, didn’t happen.

“Don’t touch me!” Aya repeated as he pressed further back against the wall.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Yohji told him. It was getting to be an old line, but it seemed the boy needed to hear it. Yohji still fostered meager hopes that one day it would sink in. “You know that?”

“Yes,” Aya whispered, the word almost lost as he bent his head down.

Going with the words and not his actions (a tactic that had worked in the past), Yohji reached again.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Aya yelled, swatting his hand away. Shocked, Yohji watched as the boy moaned almost like he was in pain, scrunching even further into himself. His hand slipped from his hair, both arms crossing over his stomach.

“Aya,” Yohji started, quietly, with a calm he wasn’t really feeling. He was not trained to deal with this. “What’s wrong?” When there was silence, Yohji tried again, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s…you can’t,” he said, a stressed tone.

“I can’t what?”

“You…Yohji…”

“ Look at me,” he said, waiting patiently as purple eyes came up. Half-hidden by wet, red bangs, they were desperate. Yohji held the look, slowly lifted a hand, making sure Aya saw it first, before tentatively touching his fingers to Aya’s hair.

“It’s okay,” Yohji assured when the boy shivered under his touch. The desperation in his eyes only increased.

“How can you do that?” Aya asked.

“Do what?” Yohji returned, keeping his movement slow as he reached down to find one of Aya’s hands, pulling it up and setting it on the boy’s knee, slowly untangling him.

“Don’t,” Aya said, not moving. “Don’t touch.”

“Why?”

Aya tried to get his hand back, but Yohji had it in his grasp. Using his free hand, he brushed through the boy’s hair, trying to think of what to say.

“Father was right,” Aya said suddenly, with so much pain in his voice that Yohji stilled his hand to listen, “I…I’m not…don’t touch me, Yohji.”

“Shh, stop that,” he said when Aya tried to pull his head away. “You’re fine. You didn’t do anything the rest of us haven’t done.”

No, Aya shook his head adamantly and once again tried to pull his hand out of Yohji’s grasp.

“Yes,” Yohji refuted the silent reply. “Ken, Omi, me…we’ve all killed people, Aya. You’re not any different. Stop that.”

Aya stilled, no longer trying to get his hand away. For a few long minutes, Yohji just sat there, running his fingers through Aya’s hair, trying to think of what to say that would make it better.

“You know…Omi and Ken, anybody, you don’t have to let them touch you. But me,” he sighed, knowing he should group himself in with the others but a little afraid Aya wouldn’t ever let him get close again. “It’d be hard, not to touch you, like this. I’m kinda attached to you, Princess…I like this.”

Aya looked him in the eyes, searching for something. Slowly, carefully, Yohji let his fingers slide down to brush over the boy’s pale cheek.

“Do you, Aya? Do you like this?”

When the other answered, it was barely a whisper, one quiet word slipping through dry lips, “Yes.”

“Then don’t worry about the rest of it.”

~*~

“Weird, huh?” Ken asked.

Omi agreed. He had expected…something else.

“I thought he’d freak out or something,” Ken continued, not really talking to the blonde as he removed his shirt and tossed it on his bed, getting ready to take a shower now that Omi was done. “I mean, didn’t you?”

There was an unspoken question there, one they were both thinking: what kind of person killed someone and didn’t react? There was hypocrisy in the thought, accusing Aya of something they did every week, but the boy wasn’t a seasoned assassin—not yet—and they sure hadn’t been so calm the first time around.

***  **  ***

The iron rings tugged at his wrists, biting into the skin as his arms were anchored above his head, dragging him upwards so that his feet barely touched the floor. Too tired to fight, Aya tried only to shift a little so he might look around.

It was the room with the stone floors, lit by the one swinging light. At one time he had thought it was a basement, but it had long ceased to matter.

A warm, smooth hand ran over his back, and Schuldig moved close to him, half leaning on him as he smiled.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “Such a naughty kätzchen.”

The door opened behind them, and the German’s head jerked up, his hand instantly removed from Aya’s back.

“Get away from him.”

Crawford. There was no relief with the thought.

Schuldig continued to grin, but he backed away to lean against the far wall.

//How lucky. He’s taken time out of his schedule to see you. Aren’t you grateful?//

Heels clicked on the floor, and Crawford walked to stand in front of him, Nagi silent at his side. For a long second, he just looked at Aya, then, with a motion the boy couldn’t even follow, reached out and punched him hard in the stomach. Aya coughed weakly, trying to catch his breath.

Crawford began to unbutton his cream-colored suit coat, letting it slide from his shoulders and into Nagi’s waiting hands. Next he began to undo his sleeves.

“You broke the rules,” he accused, flipping one sleeve crisply back and starting to roll it up. “Again.”

He glared at Aya intensely as he finished his chore, then held a hand out to have Nagi place a small, black whip into it. The leather curled around his pale fingers, and Aya had to look away.

“Anything to say?” Crawford questioned.

“I hate you,” Aya spat, teeth clenched as the sudden wash of despise took him. He hated it all, and whether or not the man killed him, it was worth saying.

Crawford grabbed his chin, hard enough to bruise, and wrenched it up so that their eyes met.

“The hate of a dog is nothing to me.”

The handle of the whip came down hard on Aya’s chest, an odd, aching wound. Before he could recover, Crawford was behind him.

“Disobedient,” the man’s cold voice stated. The whip cracked, and a line of fire shot across Aya’s lower back.

“Stupid,” Crawford said. Pain, higher, across his shoulder. With each word that followed, a lash.

“Dirty.”

“Pathetic.”
“Filthy.”

“Weak.”

“Slave ,” the man finished with no more emotion than when he started. Seven lashes. Aya felt the blood starting to drip down his back and had the fleeting thought that it wasn’t as bad as he expected.

//He’s in a hurry.// Glancing up, he noticed that Schuldig’s smile was gone.

“Clean him up,” Crawford ordered. “And put something on those so it doesn’t scar. Nagi.”

The door opened and closed.

“Just us,” Schuldig whispered. Aya wondered how he had gotten so close so quickly, standing behind him, those smooth hands again on his back. “He’s always so rough with you.”

There was a fluttering touch on the back of his neck, and when Aya realized it was a kiss, he shuddered. Schuldig laughed, low in his chest, as his hands ran down Aya’s thin sides, lower, over his hips, terrible in their gentleness.

“I’ll be nice to you.”

Lower. Aya closed his eyes over the feeling of shame. It was worse. It was so much worse.

“Don’t you like it, kätzchen?”

***  **  ***

Yohji gasped for air as Aya’s elbow landed hard in his stomach but refused to relinquish his position. Clamping his arm around the boy’s thin waist, he drug him resolutely backward, getting a struggling Aya into his lap and maneuvering him into a kind of bear hug to trap his arms.

“Aya! Wake up, damnit! Aya!”

Suddenly, the desperate flailing stopped.

“Yohji?” a quiet voice asked him.

“Yeah,” he sighed, resting his head on Aya’s shoulder. “You gave me a fucking heart attack just now. Awake?”

He thought Aya nodded, but with the boy facing away from him in the dark it was hard to tell.

“Nightmare?”

Nothing. With another sigh, Yohji shifted them a bit, backing against the headboard and reaching to turn on the lamp. Aya was stiff, but he wasn’t trying to get away.

“Nightmare?” he asked again, letting Aya loose and watching the boy withdraw to his side of the bed. Surveying it in the light, the blonde realized their bed looked a little worse for wear, the sheets and blankets tangled, the pillows missing. “Aya, nightmare?”

He knew it was, but it would make him feel better to hear Aya acknowledge it. But Aya shook his head, no.

“Really?” Yohji asked, half sarcastic as he grabbed his cigarettes and lit up. Smoke in one hand, he used his other to push at his hair, finding it damp with sweat. Aya had fought like the devil.

“It...no, not exactly,” the boy said. Aya was curled up again, picking at a loose string on his pant cuff and not looking at Yohji. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell me about it?” Yohji kept it a question.

No.

“Please?”

“Can I go downstairs?”

“It’s four in the morning,” Yohji replied, exhaling smoke and watching it drift towards the ceiling. “Let’s talk.”

The glare Aya was giving him made it clear that the boy did not want to talk. Well, Yohji didn’t want to be awake, so tough.

“I’m sorry,” Aya said again.

“I’m not mad,” Yohji lied. He wasn’t mad at Aya, but he was awake for the third time in not that many hours with more than one bruise to show for it. And he was worried. Besides the night after his doctor’s visit, Aya hadn’t had these kinds of dreams, the kind where he woke up fighting, screaming even, trying to get away from…something.

The first one had been about the mission; Yohji had no doubt of that. Aya had been screaming about blood and apologizing. The second time he wasn’t so sure, knowing only that Aya had been crying, despite the fact that he’d denied it the moment he’d been conscious. And now this.

“What did you dream about?” he asked out right.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Well, someone was being awfully resistant tonight. Giving the boy a sideways look, Yohji was met with a glare. It almost made him smile, but he held the serious look, determined to make Aya tell him.

“No,” he sighed, “I guess it doesn’t. It’s just got you screaming in the middle of the night.”

The glare fell away, leaving Aya looking too young.

“Aya…shit, I just wanna help.”

A long silence followed, Aya picking again at the string. Yohji had counted his loss when the boy started talking.

“I…about them. I dreamed about them,” Aya said quietly.

“Who?”

“My master. His men. The things they did.”

Yohji was afraid to move too much, to breathe too hard, anything that might stop him.

“What did they do?” he risked.

“They hurt me,” Aya said simply.

~tbc~

Notes: Review?

Converting /tmp/phppXXK3o to /dev/stdout