Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Chains ❯ Fear Me ( Chapter 93 )
[ 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: 08.15.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.5K | Visits: 225 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.15.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.5K | Visits: 225 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: Sorry for the delay. I promise I wasn’t torturing you all on purpose (though I do like that kind of thing), I wrote this chapter three separate times. But, here it is at last for your perusal and subsequent critique. Thanks again to everyone who’s reading, and especially to those who leave reviews—you guys are the best, and this long chapter is dedicated to you, because without the encouragement, I doubt it would have gotten done!
Chapter Ninety-three: Fear Me
Omi leveled his crossbow, waiting for a clear shot as he perched on the thin, metal walkway above the warehouse floor. Ken was below and to his right, about to gut a gang member who had just been relieved of his weapon. Yohji, not far from Ken, had another trussed up, strands of wire doubled over a metal pipe as he levered the large man off the floor.
It was Aya who was engaged with the target. Two other large men, however, were complicating things by trying to kill the redhead before he got his hands on the trembling leader who was shakily holding a gun. Omi hoped he would back away, but he remained close, and the archer couldn’t get a clear shot for fear of hitting Aya.
But the boy was holding his own. More than that, Omi realized, he was keeping one man between him and the gun as he fought off their weapons—a broken piece of wood and a rather wicked-looking switchblade. There was a flurry of movement, and Omi watched as Aya turned in a swish of black leather. The man with the club made a strangled gasp and blood sprayed from his slashed neck. But the other was too close, and the switchblade slashed across Aya’s upper arm. He didn’t seem to notice, turning again and bringing his sword down across the man’s chest, severing a deep line. The man gasped, and the sword came down again; he fell.
The target was backing away, gun still impotently raised against Aya. For a second it looked like he might pull the trigger, but Abyssinian never flinched.
A dull thunk. The arrow flew from Omi’s crossbow, burying itself deep in the target’s chest. The gun clattered to the floor, and the man clutched at the shaft protruding from his reddening shirt. Aya stepped in and, with one forceful swing, nearly decapitated him.
“Target’s down,” Omi spoke over the comm. “Clear?”
“Clear,” Yohji repeated.
“Clear,” Aya echoed.
“Rendezvous in five.”
~*~
They met between the warehouse and the next, in an alley cluttered with empty and broken crates. The other three were waiting for him. Ken had a white cloth pressed to his forehead and Aya had one arm across his chest, hand over the wound he had received. Yohji was hovering, but the redhead edged away from his raised hand.
“Okay?” Omi questioned.
“Just a cut,” Ken answered, lifting away the cloth. Omi couldn’t see anything in the dim light.
“Abyssinian?” he questioned. The boy nodded. “Let’s go.”
~*~
They shuffled into the kitchen and, despite silent protests on both their parts, Aya and Ken were deposited at the table. While Omi went upstairs for the big med kit, Yohji began to tug at the buckles of the redhead’s coat. He had been worried, unable to get rid of his guy quick enough to help Aya back there.
The boy tried to pull away, but Yohji insisted, working the dark coat off his shoulders; it pulled in one spot, but it was only Yohji who winced as the drying blood pulled free. Aya was left in his sleeveless black top, the cut darkly visible, a horizontal gash across his pale bicep. The boy didn’t respond as Yohji prodded it.
Omi came back and opened the kit on the table, taking out several alcohol pads and handing a few of them to Yohji. Then he set about getting Ken cleaned up. The brunette was used to the process and shucked off his gloves so he could hold his hair out of the way.
“I don’t think it’ll need stitches, Ken-kun. Hold still,” Omi warmed just before he swiped across it with the alcohol pad. Ken frowned but didn’t say anything
Yohji pulled out another chair and settled close to Aya who had been sitting with his eyes closed and looked ready to sleep right there at the table. Opening one alcohol pad, the blonde took the boy’s thin arm in one hand and began to dab at the cut with the other. It wasn’t too deep, but it had to hurt. Yohji was as gentle as he could be, cleaning out the wound. It wouldn’t need stitches, either, so he just wrapped it loosely, just enough to hold until Aya had gotten out of the shower. When he was finished, he looked up at Aya who was staring at the table, completely ignoring him.
Yohji wasn’t sure if that was an improvement.
He was about to ask if the redhead wanted to get a shower when Ken escaped Omi’s clutches and declared that he was injured and therefore got the first one. Rolling his eyes, Omi packed up the kit and followed, deciding that he was next and wasn’t going to settle for cold water after skulking on the catwalk. Aya and Yohji were left in the quiet kitchen.
The timing could have been better, but, seeing as how the universe rarely cooperated with his wishes, Yohji wasn’t terribly surprised with this new development. They needed to talk, anyway. He’d put it off all day long, increasingly aware of the growing tension between them.
It was his fault. Of course it was. When was Kudou Yohji not to blame for some serious fuck up?
He hadn’t meant to kiss Aya. Well, not right then. He had to admit, to himself at least, that a certain thought had been lurking a little closer to his consciousness than he liked, a thought that he definitely wanted to kiss Aya and not stop there. It wasn’t that wave of lust that had almost got the better of him a few weeks before. Yohji was used to that; he knew how to deal with that. He could look at Aya’s constantly scratched wrists, the impression of ribs under his t-shirt, the wary look in purple eyes when someone got too close—that put the lust to a stop.
But this other thing. The thing that whispered that he wanted to hold the redhead, to comfort him, to kiss him, yes, but to keep him safe. Yohji wasn’t sure he liked wanting that, but he wanted it nonetheless.
He wanted Aya, scarred, scared, unstable Aya.
He was seriously screwed, and not in any good kind of way.
There were a few problems, several problems, a whole freaking herd of problems. Aya was a trauma victim. He hadn’t had enough time to heal. Yohji wasn’t sure where they stood with the whole I-don’t-own-you thing, rehashed as it was. Aya was undoubtedly cautious of any intimacy beyond a handshake, and he couldn’t manage a decent conversation to save his life. And he was young! Gods, he was still a freaking kid. Yohji had an over-eighteen policy, after all, but it was different with Aya.
It was all different with Aya.
He ought to be scared of it. Yohji didn’t exactly have a great track record in the case of—these types of feelings. But, in lieu of fear, he felt only hesitant anticipation. He had spent a good portion of the night examining it and, realizing that having not been deterred by either logic or Aya’s rather antisocial interactions, this feeling was not likely to pass over. He was stuck with it, so the only thing to do was grab a beer and strike a path forward. With caution. A hell of a lot of caution.
Though his own mind had thus been made up at some early hour of the morning, Yohji realized he was in the dark as to what Aya was thinking. The boy had been less than forthcoming on that subject.
The night before he had slipped out of Yohji’s arms before the blonde could even think to apologize. Aya had regarded him, for just a second, with disbelief, then walked away. Yohji had followed, but neither had broken the silence as they got ready for bed. Unsure if he was still allowed to do so, Yohji had refrained from pulling Aya close to him to sleep, and so they had gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
Morning, however, had found Aya pressed close to his side. Yohji didn’t know if it was an accident or if Aya had moved there of his own conscious volition. He’d been given little time to think about that since the redhead woke up. Again Aya regarded him, but Yohji had a hard time making out the expression. The redhead had slid from their bed and mumbled something about a shower.
All day Yohji had been the target of those long glances. Shadowed expressions that only grew more confused as the day went on. Most of the time Aya looked when he thought Yohji wouldn’t notice, but the eyes would linger just a moment too long, and he would be caught. Occasionally their eyes would lock, Yohji would catch a hint of fear, and then Aya would look away.
He wasn’t the least bit sure of what Aya was thinking.
~*~
Aya wanted to go to sleep. He was too tired to sit in the kitchen and talk to Yohji, but it wasn’t his choice, was it?
He hadn’t slept well the night before, thoughts rather than nightmares keeping him awake in the dark as he tried to piece out Yohji’s actions.
The man had kissed him!
Aya wasn’t stupid. He knew what a kiss was, what it meant. Or he used to.
At first, Aya was shocked at the affront. Hadn’t Yohji said he wouldn’t do that, that he didn’t want that?
For a terrible minute, Aya thought it had all been a lie. Sitting there on Yohji’s lap, he waited for the blonde to push him down, to keep kissing him, to strip off his clothes and hurt him.
He remembered Crawford and the forceful way his slippery tongue invaded Aya’s mouth, the rough way his own lips were forced too far open, the thumb at the corner that tugged on sensitive skin. He remembered the choking feeling and the inability to breathe, the sick way saliva made its way down his chin and that his hands were tied so he couldn’t wipe it away. Then worse things. Crawford called him dirty, said he liked it, but Aya didn’t like it.
Yohji’s kiss hadn’t been like that. Only this gave Aya the strength to get up, and he felt a wash of surprise and relief as Yohji let him go; it was tempered, true, by a great deal of reservation. Was Yohji toying with him? If he turned, would the blonde grab him from behind? Was he just waiting to get to the bedroom so no one else would see him hurt Aya?
It had been a tremulous faith alone that got him in bed with the other. Yohji staid on his side, and Aya was thankful. He wasn’t sure he could let Yohji touch him without screaming, not right then. He didn’t want to seem weak, so he hurried under the covers so the other wouldn’t see him shaking.
Yohji hadn’t touched him, and after he calmed down a little, Aya had tried to figure out what the blonde was thinking.
That kiss, it had been…something. Not nice. No. Aya did not want to be kissed.
An old memory shook loose.
He remembered Kana.
*** ** ***
She was Aya-chan’s friend, a little girl with long, dark hair and huge eyes, always smiling. She walked home with them sometimes, spending time in his sister’s room giggling over things only girls understood. She had stayed a few hours and was leaving.
They all stood together, Ran having caught them by accident as he went to the kitchen to get a drink before going back to his studies. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, wondering why both girls were looking at him. He knew he looked odd, but those two ought to be used to it.
Suddenly, Kana rushed over to him. Ran had been surprised by the proximity, and, without warning, Kana had risen to her toes and kissed him right on the lips.
Then she was gone, and Aya-chan was giggling like mad as they stood in the living room.
Ran wiped his mouth and asked, not too nicely, “Why did she do that?”
“She likes you,” Aya-chan explained, like he had just acquired the IQ of a rock. A very dull rock.
“Why?”
“She likes you,” the girl repeated.
He sighed, continuing on his way to the kitchen as she followed.
“Why does she like me?”
Aya-chan tilted her head and considered him, “I don’t know, brother, but she does. She like likes you.”
*** ** ***
Aya did not think Yohji like liked him, but the kiss had been like that one.
What was the point? What did Yohji want?
All day he had debated this, on edge, waiting for Yohji to order him to do something he didn’t want to do. But the blonde didn’t even talk to him. And that was bad too. Had Aya done something wrong? Had Yohji had certain expectations when he kissed him? Was he supposed to follow those rules, to touch Yohji, to lay still and let the older man continue? He probably shouldn’t have gotten up, but if he had sat there, Aya wouldn’t have been able to take it. It didn’t matter if Yohji was going to be gentle with him; if he was going to do that, then it only made it worse.
No, Aya told himself for what had to be the hundredth time that day, Yohji didn’t want that.
Then why the kiss?
He could only sit and wait, watch cautiously, and prepare himself for whatever happened.
~*~
“You know what?” Yohji asked, scooting his chair a bit closer to Aya’s, watching the boy tense. “I think we need a beer.”
He felt Aya watching him as got up and took two cans from the refrigerator. He sat again, opened both, and pushed one towards the boy. He expected denial, resistance, but Aya only took the can and, after a small sip that didn’t seem to please him, held it between his hands and stared at it.
“Are you mad at me?” Yohji asked him.
No, he shook his head.
“You’ve been quiet today.”
“You didn’t,” Aya stopped, shut his mouth, and stared harder at the can in his hands.
“What?” Yohji asked gently. He wasn’t going to run into this hyped up. He was going to take it slow and careful, for as long as he could at least. “Go on.”
Aya hesitated, took a drink, set it down again, then, “You didn’t talk to me.”
“Ah,” Yohji agreed. “You’re right. Know why?”
Aya seemed to be thinking about that. Yohji let him while he finished off his beer, and finally Aya ventured an answer.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly, little more than a whisper and so uncertain that it tugged at Yohji’s heart.
“No, I’m not mad.”
Aya took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the action.
“I wasn’t sure how you would take it. Last night. The kiss.”
There, he’d said it. They’d avoided it all day, and now he’d tossed it out in the open to be had out one way or another. Aya flinched at the word, took another drink. Yohji watched him silently fumble for words, opening his mouth only to close it again, keeping his head bent and eyes away from the other’s inspection.
“How did you take it, Aya?”
“What?” he whispered, still bent over his lap and the can held there.
“The kiss. Last night,” he reiterated, trying not to sound condescending but starting to get frustrated. “Are you…okay with it?”
“Okay?” Aya repeated quietly, a question. Yohji let it hang for a moment, hoping to get something more, but nothing happened.
“Aya, shit, look at me a minute,” he requested. He reached over and took the beer can out of a pair of trembling hands. Why was Aya shaking now? Hadn’t he just taken down three armed guys? What made Yohji scary? “Look, here.”
Obediently, Aya looked. He didn’t so much straighten up to meet Yohji eyes as peek out from underneath his own bangs.
“Don’t be scared,” Yohji tried.
Now Aya did straighten up, back becoming rigid, but the eyes fled, “I’m not scared of you.”
“Oh?” Yohji returned in a tone that clearly implied he thought Aya was full of shit. “Then why don’t you look at me when you say that?”
Aya did, “I’m not scared of you.”
Yohji still thought it was a lie, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he leaned forward and chastely kissed those trembling lips. He felt Aya’s gasp, just before the boy jerked back in his seat.
“Nothing to be scared of,” Yohji smiled, thrilled by the fact that he’d gotten away with that again.
Some of that thrill was tempered, because Aya didn’t look so good. Nervous. Shaky. Paler than he had any right to be. And damned if that didn’t make Yohji want him more. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it persisted.
What was Aya thinking? That he would want more, probably, that he would take it. No, he wouldn’t. But he wasn’t giving this up either.
“Just a kiss,” he promised, though his mind was already tending towards what else it might be. Nothing, he reminded it, nothing else for now. “I like you, Aya.”
“Like me?” the boy repeated, a hand coming up to clench in his hair. It shouldn’t be that bad.
“Yeah. I’m not gonna hurt you or…or make you do… anything you don’t want to do. The kiss…it’s just that I like you,” he tried to explain. His hand fell to Aya’s knee, but the boy shuddered and Yohji pulled it back.
“You like me?” Aya asked, like it was the strangest thing he’d ever heard.
“Yes.”
“Like like?” he asked.
Yohji grinned at the elementary way of putting it, thinking of little girls and notes and something far behind them.
“Yeah, something like that.”
Aya stared at him. Thin fingers worked in his hair, twisting in the strands, catching and tugging as his eyes bored into Yohji’s. Then, in a tone that was so laden with confusion and despair it could express no more than a single word:
“Why?”
~tbc~
Converting /tmp/php3PSdeA to /dev/stdout
Chapter Ninety-three: Fear Me
Omi leveled his crossbow, waiting for a clear shot as he perched on the thin, metal walkway above the warehouse floor. Ken was below and to his right, about to gut a gang member who had just been relieved of his weapon. Yohji, not far from Ken, had another trussed up, strands of wire doubled over a metal pipe as he levered the large man off the floor.
It was Aya who was engaged with the target. Two other large men, however, were complicating things by trying to kill the redhead before he got his hands on the trembling leader who was shakily holding a gun. Omi hoped he would back away, but he remained close, and the archer couldn’t get a clear shot for fear of hitting Aya.
But the boy was holding his own. More than that, Omi realized, he was keeping one man between him and the gun as he fought off their weapons—a broken piece of wood and a rather wicked-looking switchblade. There was a flurry of movement, and Omi watched as Aya turned in a swish of black leather. The man with the club made a strangled gasp and blood sprayed from his slashed neck. But the other was too close, and the switchblade slashed across Aya’s upper arm. He didn’t seem to notice, turning again and bringing his sword down across the man’s chest, severing a deep line. The man gasped, and the sword came down again; he fell.
The target was backing away, gun still impotently raised against Aya. For a second it looked like he might pull the trigger, but Abyssinian never flinched.
A dull thunk. The arrow flew from Omi’s crossbow, burying itself deep in the target’s chest. The gun clattered to the floor, and the man clutched at the shaft protruding from his reddening shirt. Aya stepped in and, with one forceful swing, nearly decapitated him.
“Target’s down,” Omi spoke over the comm. “Clear?”
“Clear,” Yohji repeated.
“Clear,” Aya echoed.
“Rendezvous in five.”
~*~
They met between the warehouse and the next, in an alley cluttered with empty and broken crates. The other three were waiting for him. Ken had a white cloth pressed to his forehead and Aya had one arm across his chest, hand over the wound he had received. Yohji was hovering, but the redhead edged away from his raised hand.
“Okay?” Omi questioned.
“Just a cut,” Ken answered, lifting away the cloth. Omi couldn’t see anything in the dim light.
“Abyssinian?” he questioned. The boy nodded. “Let’s go.”
~*~
They shuffled into the kitchen and, despite silent protests on both their parts, Aya and Ken were deposited at the table. While Omi went upstairs for the big med kit, Yohji began to tug at the buckles of the redhead’s coat. He had been worried, unable to get rid of his guy quick enough to help Aya back there.
The boy tried to pull away, but Yohji insisted, working the dark coat off his shoulders; it pulled in one spot, but it was only Yohji who winced as the drying blood pulled free. Aya was left in his sleeveless black top, the cut darkly visible, a horizontal gash across his pale bicep. The boy didn’t respond as Yohji prodded it.
Omi came back and opened the kit on the table, taking out several alcohol pads and handing a few of them to Yohji. Then he set about getting Ken cleaned up. The brunette was used to the process and shucked off his gloves so he could hold his hair out of the way.
“I don’t think it’ll need stitches, Ken-kun. Hold still,” Omi warmed just before he swiped across it with the alcohol pad. Ken frowned but didn’t say anything
Yohji pulled out another chair and settled close to Aya who had been sitting with his eyes closed and looked ready to sleep right there at the table. Opening one alcohol pad, the blonde took the boy’s thin arm in one hand and began to dab at the cut with the other. It wasn’t too deep, but it had to hurt. Yohji was as gentle as he could be, cleaning out the wound. It wouldn’t need stitches, either, so he just wrapped it loosely, just enough to hold until Aya had gotten out of the shower. When he was finished, he looked up at Aya who was staring at the table, completely ignoring him.
Yohji wasn’t sure if that was an improvement.
He was about to ask if the redhead wanted to get a shower when Ken escaped Omi’s clutches and declared that he was injured and therefore got the first one. Rolling his eyes, Omi packed up the kit and followed, deciding that he was next and wasn’t going to settle for cold water after skulking on the catwalk. Aya and Yohji were left in the quiet kitchen.
The timing could have been better, but, seeing as how the universe rarely cooperated with his wishes, Yohji wasn’t terribly surprised with this new development. They needed to talk, anyway. He’d put it off all day long, increasingly aware of the growing tension between them.
It was his fault. Of course it was. When was Kudou Yohji not to blame for some serious fuck up?
He hadn’t meant to kiss Aya. Well, not right then. He had to admit, to himself at least, that a certain thought had been lurking a little closer to his consciousness than he liked, a thought that he definitely wanted to kiss Aya and not stop there. It wasn’t that wave of lust that had almost got the better of him a few weeks before. Yohji was used to that; he knew how to deal with that. He could look at Aya’s constantly scratched wrists, the impression of ribs under his t-shirt, the wary look in purple eyes when someone got too close—that put the lust to a stop.
But this other thing. The thing that whispered that he wanted to hold the redhead, to comfort him, to kiss him, yes, but to keep him safe. Yohji wasn’t sure he liked wanting that, but he wanted it nonetheless.
He wanted Aya, scarred, scared, unstable Aya.
He was seriously screwed, and not in any good kind of way.
There were a few problems, several problems, a whole freaking herd of problems. Aya was a trauma victim. He hadn’t had enough time to heal. Yohji wasn’t sure where they stood with the whole I-don’t-own-you thing, rehashed as it was. Aya was undoubtedly cautious of any intimacy beyond a handshake, and he couldn’t manage a decent conversation to save his life. And he was young! Gods, he was still a freaking kid. Yohji had an over-eighteen policy, after all, but it was different with Aya.
It was all different with Aya.
He ought to be scared of it. Yohji didn’t exactly have a great track record in the case of—these types of feelings. But, in lieu of fear, he felt only hesitant anticipation. He had spent a good portion of the night examining it and, realizing that having not been deterred by either logic or Aya’s rather antisocial interactions, this feeling was not likely to pass over. He was stuck with it, so the only thing to do was grab a beer and strike a path forward. With caution. A hell of a lot of caution.
Though his own mind had thus been made up at some early hour of the morning, Yohji realized he was in the dark as to what Aya was thinking. The boy had been less than forthcoming on that subject.
The night before he had slipped out of Yohji’s arms before the blonde could even think to apologize. Aya had regarded him, for just a second, with disbelief, then walked away. Yohji had followed, but neither had broken the silence as they got ready for bed. Unsure if he was still allowed to do so, Yohji had refrained from pulling Aya close to him to sleep, and so they had gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
Morning, however, had found Aya pressed close to his side. Yohji didn’t know if it was an accident or if Aya had moved there of his own conscious volition. He’d been given little time to think about that since the redhead woke up. Again Aya regarded him, but Yohji had a hard time making out the expression. The redhead had slid from their bed and mumbled something about a shower.
All day Yohji had been the target of those long glances. Shadowed expressions that only grew more confused as the day went on. Most of the time Aya looked when he thought Yohji wouldn’t notice, but the eyes would linger just a moment too long, and he would be caught. Occasionally their eyes would lock, Yohji would catch a hint of fear, and then Aya would look away.
He wasn’t the least bit sure of what Aya was thinking.
~*~
Aya wanted to go to sleep. He was too tired to sit in the kitchen and talk to Yohji, but it wasn’t his choice, was it?
He hadn’t slept well the night before, thoughts rather than nightmares keeping him awake in the dark as he tried to piece out Yohji’s actions.
The man had kissed him!
Aya wasn’t stupid. He knew what a kiss was, what it meant. Or he used to.
At first, Aya was shocked at the affront. Hadn’t Yohji said he wouldn’t do that, that he didn’t want that?
For a terrible minute, Aya thought it had all been a lie. Sitting there on Yohji’s lap, he waited for the blonde to push him down, to keep kissing him, to strip off his clothes and hurt him.
He remembered Crawford and the forceful way his slippery tongue invaded Aya’s mouth, the rough way his own lips were forced too far open, the thumb at the corner that tugged on sensitive skin. He remembered the choking feeling and the inability to breathe, the sick way saliva made its way down his chin and that his hands were tied so he couldn’t wipe it away. Then worse things. Crawford called him dirty, said he liked it, but Aya didn’t like it.
Yohji’s kiss hadn’t been like that. Only this gave Aya the strength to get up, and he felt a wash of surprise and relief as Yohji let him go; it was tempered, true, by a great deal of reservation. Was Yohji toying with him? If he turned, would the blonde grab him from behind? Was he just waiting to get to the bedroom so no one else would see him hurt Aya?
It had been a tremulous faith alone that got him in bed with the other. Yohji staid on his side, and Aya was thankful. He wasn’t sure he could let Yohji touch him without screaming, not right then. He didn’t want to seem weak, so he hurried under the covers so the other wouldn’t see him shaking.
Yohji hadn’t touched him, and after he calmed down a little, Aya had tried to figure out what the blonde was thinking.
That kiss, it had been…something. Not nice. No. Aya did not want to be kissed.
An old memory shook loose.
He remembered Kana.
*** ** ***
She was Aya-chan’s friend, a little girl with long, dark hair and huge eyes, always smiling. She walked home with them sometimes, spending time in his sister’s room giggling over things only girls understood. She had stayed a few hours and was leaving.
They all stood together, Ran having caught them by accident as he went to the kitchen to get a drink before going back to his studies. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, wondering why both girls were looking at him. He knew he looked odd, but those two ought to be used to it.
Suddenly, Kana rushed over to him. Ran had been surprised by the proximity, and, without warning, Kana had risen to her toes and kissed him right on the lips.
Then she was gone, and Aya-chan was giggling like mad as they stood in the living room.
Ran wiped his mouth and asked, not too nicely, “Why did she do that?”
“She likes you,” Aya-chan explained, like he had just acquired the IQ of a rock. A very dull rock.
“Why?”
“She likes you,” the girl repeated.
He sighed, continuing on his way to the kitchen as she followed.
“Why does she like me?”
Aya-chan tilted her head and considered him, “I don’t know, brother, but she does. She like likes you.”
*** ** ***
Aya did not think Yohji like liked him, but the kiss had been like that one.
What was the point? What did Yohji want?
All day he had debated this, on edge, waiting for Yohji to order him to do something he didn’t want to do. But the blonde didn’t even talk to him. And that was bad too. Had Aya done something wrong? Had Yohji had certain expectations when he kissed him? Was he supposed to follow those rules, to touch Yohji, to lay still and let the older man continue? He probably shouldn’t have gotten up, but if he had sat there, Aya wouldn’t have been able to take it. It didn’t matter if Yohji was going to be gentle with him; if he was going to do that, then it only made it worse.
No, Aya told himself for what had to be the hundredth time that day, Yohji didn’t want that.
Then why the kiss?
He could only sit and wait, watch cautiously, and prepare himself for whatever happened.
~*~
“You know what?” Yohji asked, scooting his chair a bit closer to Aya’s, watching the boy tense. “I think we need a beer.”
He felt Aya watching him as got up and took two cans from the refrigerator. He sat again, opened both, and pushed one towards the boy. He expected denial, resistance, but Aya only took the can and, after a small sip that didn’t seem to please him, held it between his hands and stared at it.
“Are you mad at me?” Yohji asked him.
No, he shook his head.
“You’ve been quiet today.”
“You didn’t,” Aya stopped, shut his mouth, and stared harder at the can in his hands.
“What?” Yohji asked gently. He wasn’t going to run into this hyped up. He was going to take it slow and careful, for as long as he could at least. “Go on.”
Aya hesitated, took a drink, set it down again, then, “You didn’t talk to me.”
“Ah,” Yohji agreed. “You’re right. Know why?”
Aya seemed to be thinking about that. Yohji let him while he finished off his beer, and finally Aya ventured an answer.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly, little more than a whisper and so uncertain that it tugged at Yohji’s heart.
“No, I’m not mad.”
Aya took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the action.
“I wasn’t sure how you would take it. Last night. The kiss.”
There, he’d said it. They’d avoided it all day, and now he’d tossed it out in the open to be had out one way or another. Aya flinched at the word, took another drink. Yohji watched him silently fumble for words, opening his mouth only to close it again, keeping his head bent and eyes away from the other’s inspection.
“How did you take it, Aya?”
“What?” he whispered, still bent over his lap and the can held there.
“The kiss. Last night,” he reiterated, trying not to sound condescending but starting to get frustrated. “Are you…okay with it?”
“Okay?” Aya repeated quietly, a question. Yohji let it hang for a moment, hoping to get something more, but nothing happened.
“Aya, shit, look at me a minute,” he requested. He reached over and took the beer can out of a pair of trembling hands. Why was Aya shaking now? Hadn’t he just taken down three armed guys? What made Yohji scary? “Look, here.”
Obediently, Aya looked. He didn’t so much straighten up to meet Yohji eyes as peek out from underneath his own bangs.
“Don’t be scared,” Yohji tried.
Now Aya did straighten up, back becoming rigid, but the eyes fled, “I’m not scared of you.”
“Oh?” Yohji returned in a tone that clearly implied he thought Aya was full of shit. “Then why don’t you look at me when you say that?”
Aya did, “I’m not scared of you.”
Yohji still thought it was a lie, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he leaned forward and chastely kissed those trembling lips. He felt Aya’s gasp, just before the boy jerked back in his seat.
“Nothing to be scared of,” Yohji smiled, thrilled by the fact that he’d gotten away with that again.
Some of that thrill was tempered, because Aya didn’t look so good. Nervous. Shaky. Paler than he had any right to be. And damned if that didn’t make Yohji want him more. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it persisted.
What was Aya thinking? That he would want more, probably, that he would take it. No, he wouldn’t. But he wasn’t giving this up either.
“Just a kiss,” he promised, though his mind was already tending towards what else it might be. Nothing, he reminded it, nothing else for now. “I like you, Aya.”
“Like me?” the boy repeated, a hand coming up to clench in his hair. It shouldn’t be that bad.
“Yeah. I’m not gonna hurt you or…or make you do… anything you don’t want to do. The kiss…it’s just that I like you,” he tried to explain. His hand fell to Aya’s knee, but the boy shuddered and Yohji pulled it back.
“You like me?” Aya asked, like it was the strangest thing he’d ever heard.
“Yes.”
“Like like?” he asked.
Yohji grinned at the elementary way of putting it, thinking of little girls and notes and something far behind them.
“Yeah, something like that.”
Aya stared at him. Thin fingers worked in his hair, twisting in the strands, catching and tugging as his eyes bored into Yohji’s. Then, in a tone that was so laden with confusion and despair it could express no more than a single word:
“Why?”
~tbc~
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