Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Closer to the Wall of Confessions ❯ Installment #4 ( Chapter 4 )

Ken was beginning to worry. His redhead teammate had never been gone for this long on his own. The brunette was pacing back and forth in the shop, his apron a mess after working his and Ran's shifts. All he could think of was a bloody redhead lying dead in some dirty alley, katana shattered along with its wielder's skull. Ken's eyes began to burn as tears streamed done his cheeks. He couldn't stand there and bawl his eyes out while closing up shop. The last thing he needed was a worried Omi or curious Youji. Carefully, he wiped his eyes and swept the floor like he had done every night. The tears stopped, but he bit his lip to keep in all the pain and worry that he would be carrying until he saw Ran again, alive.

Still upset, Ken turned on the radio in hopes of lightening his spirit. He tuned it to an American station, seeing how he was fluent in the language. A new, pop song came on and he quicken his movements to keep in up with the rhythm. After a minute or so, he looked around suspiciously. Sensing that no one was present, he took the broom into both arms and began to dance with the wooden tool. He imagined himself with Ran, at some club dancing together in ways that only lovers did. As he began to get into the day dream, his thought was interupted with a whisper, "Tiger..." Stupified, Ken stopped, fearing that the German telepath was lerking around the corner or in his mind. Just as his theory was proven wrong, a vision came to him . . .

Ran was lying on a western bed, with a thin white sheet thrown over his naked waist. He held himself up with his arms behind him, erect body lean and pale. His eyes were dancing before him, he must be watching something. Ran bowed his head and eyes as that something crawled above his body, just as naked as the redhead. Straddling Ran was a man of a very muscular build, flushed cream colored skin and a grin that matched the gleam in his eyes. This man had a head of dark hair and glasses that framed his smoldering gaze. Glasses . . . Crawford. The precog leaned down and gentle kissed the redhead's neck, nibbling every inch of exquisite flesh.

Brad slipped beneath the sheets and ran his large hands over the smaller man's thighs. In return, Ran shivered and ran rough hands over the muscled chest before him. Softly, he pulled the precog's face down and onto his lips. There was a ruffle of sheets and the sound of a whimper, it was to be understood as a welcomed intrusion. The two bodies began grinding against one another and sweat covered the two lovers. After almost silent climaxes, the couple lay still, breathing heavily and turning from the other.

Minutes passed and it wasn't until the air was quiet that Brad spoke softly, "You know that I love you, right?" Ran was unmoving and did not nod til the dark haired man cupped his face in his right hand.

Shocked, Ken dropped the broom and fell to his knees like a heap of bricks. His only chance at love was riped from his grasp and left him in pain. His one hand held his bowing body up and the other clutched at his aching heart. Just as Ken went limp and lay on his side and cry openly, oddly enough, the redhead chose that moment to enter the shop's door. Ken did not hear the bell ring, nor did he care. Just then, the radio began to play a little louder than the brunnette remembered setting it.

"As sorry as it seemsIt can be like it used to beWe live on broken dreamsWe've given up on tryingThe face I thought I always knewThe picture that I'd paint of youYour crying eyes are lyingCan't you see the writing on the wallWill the ghost from the pastShow us how it used to beDraw the line on the things we saidLet them fade awayNow you'll see the writing on the wallOh yea, everything that used to beIs writing on the wallAll the time we fooled ourselvesHad some fun if nothing elseBut oh our little world was dying"
- Motley Crue's WRITING ON THE WALL -
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