Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Don't Make Me Kill You ❯ Grumblebunny ( Chapter 2 )

Betas: Noah and Wedjateye

Note: WWAD (“What Would Aya Do”) is a fun game from the previous story arc, “Let's Get It On.” It's on MediaMiner -- see chapter 8.

**********

Yoji drifted to consciousness, groggy, muddled and depressed. He opened one eye, saw daylight, and closed it again. Something was wrong, something that hung just on the other side of wakefulness, and he wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, he'd been dodging it for several hours by just falling back to sleep each time he surfaced. Alas, he had to get up eventually.

 

He stretched and reached out for Aya, who wasn't there, then reached for his cigarettes, which were. He lit one, inhaled deeply, and opened both eyes. It looked to be about mid-afternoon, and he felt like twelve kinds of hell.

 

Aya. Aya, Aya, Aya.

 

Wasn't it always.

 

Yoji took another drag and cast about for the specific cause of this creeping malaise. Obediently, his brain replayed his morning in painful detail. Particularly the Aya part of the morning. Fuck, Yoji thought, why am I such a jackass, anyway? He'd known damned well Aya was going to take this mission badly.

 

Yoji smacked his forehead hard with his palm and sighed deeply. “It's hard when you're stupid,” he muttered to himself.

 

He needed to get his decrepit ass out of bed and go find his baby. But first he needed to figure out this morning's fiasco, or else be doomed to repeat it. It was time to play a little game he thought of as “What Was Aya Thinking?” WWAT was never as fun as WWAD, but Yoji found himself playing it a lot more often.

 

WWAT was a game of strategy, like chess, but on crack. It was often best to start out with what a normal person would be thinking, but of course that was impossible in this case, since a normal person would never be faced with this situation. Well, one just had to do one's best.

 

He knew how he'd felt last night because he'd been there -- mostly -- but Aya didn't. Aya had seen him put on his game face, flirt shamelessly with a beautiful woman wearing a latex catsuit, leave the club with said beautiful-woman-in-catsuit, and then come home the next morning looking like he'd just starred as lead Hobbit in a 10-hour, three-part porn epic called “Lord of the Clit-Ring.” That was all -- bad. And then he'd huffed at Aya and gone to bed without talking to him first. Also bad.

 

So, what would a normal person think? A normal person would think Yoji was an ass. Aya no doubt thought that too, but there would be more; he would make it hurt as much as possible. He wouldn't just be angry, and he wouldn't just be jealous. He'd come to drastically unpleasant conclusions.

 

He'd think that Yoji didn't love him any more.

 

And fuck if Yoji wouldn't feel exactly the same way, if the tables were turned.

 

Yoji finished the cigarette in two deep drags and stubbed it out, then threw himself out of bed and pulled on the first pair of pants he found on the floor. If he was lucky, he'd reach Aya before the intransigent hothead had fully plotted his death.

 

Standing in the hallway, Yoji stopped to listen. The house was eerily silent. Perhaps he should be more careful. He stood quietly, his back to the wall, thinking out his next move. He was over-reacting -- probably -- but he'd seen Aya do some crazy violent things, and it didn't pay to let love blind you. Or gut you.

 

He decided to try Aya's room first, since that's where he tended to lurk there when he was particularly unhappy. He pushed the door open slowly, quietly, and stuck his head in. And there was Aya, not leaping from the shadows to do him bodily harm but lying in his bed, curled up in a fetal position.

 

Yoji would have preferred the attack.

 

He slipped quietly into the room and lay down next to his emotionally overwrought sweetie, putting his arms around him before he could fully wake up and put a stop to the snuggling. Aya didn't say anything or move; he just lay there, bringing new depth and breadth to tense.

 

“I'm sorry,” Yoji whispered, kissing Aya's temple. Aya flinched.

 

Oh, this was badder than bad. This had the makings of a fatal error.

 

“Aya, whatever you were thinking, you were wrong,” he blurted. Aya turned to look at him, the fire of hatred lighting his eyes.

 

“Right, that was also a stupid thing to say. I just meant...” He was briefly unable to speak because of a sudden pain in his chest caused by Aya sitting up and staring at him, jaw forward in the “I'm hurt but will never give you the satisfaction of knowing it” position. And his expression was completely blank, which was worse than hatred.

 

Yoji took a deep breath and tried again. The words poured out desperately. “I was feeling sorry for myself because I had to take this stupid fucking mission. I hated doing what I did, and I felt like shit. I was feeling so sorry for myself when I got home this morning that I wasn't even thinking.” He was actually close to hyperventilating. “Aya, please don't stare at me like that.”

 

In response, Aya's gaze drifted down to the sheets.

 

Right. He was trying to discuss things. He kept making the same mistake. Talking to Aya was counterproductive.

 

Yoji sprang to his knees and threw his arms around Aya, holding on as tight as he could. “God damn it, Aya, I love you. I know you don't like me to say it, but we seem to be in the middle of an catastrophic misunderstanding here and you need to be reminded. I love you.”

 

Aya didn't respond. It wasn't as if Yoji expected any similar declaration of tender feeling or emotional intensity -- or even vague fondness -- but he had been hoping for some slight relaxation of Aya's shoulders, which might as well be carved from marble.

 

Well, in battle, you use whatever your opponent gives you. Yoji pushed Aya down -- a task made easier by the stiffness of his stance -- and quickly dropped on top of him. Before Aya could react, Yoji started kissing him as thoroughly as he knew how.

 

It was a calculated risk.

 

Aya wasn't hot or eager, but he wasn't rebuffing him either, so Yoji decided to soldier on and hope for the best.

 

He reached down into Aya's sweatpants and fondled his cock, which was still soft and slack. He shifted onto his side to give himself better access and jerked the pants over Aya's hips, slipping a hand down to play with his balls and stroke his scrotum, then further still to gently finger him. Aya was finally getting hard, so Yoji went back to his cock, holding it in his fist and pumping hard and fast, as Aya preferred.

 

Aya rested his hand on his own thigh, long fingers starting to stroke that soft, glorious skin. He teased himself for several minutes, then the hand fluttered, landed on top of Yoji's. He held Yoji still and they lay there, Yoji feeling Aya's cock throbbing in his hand, Aya gently tracing Yoji's knuckles. The expression on his face was some combination of angry and queasy and worried.

 

Yoji was desperate to fuck him and make everything all right, but he knew he needed to shift gears. He pulled his hand from beneath Aya's and slipped it back between his partner's legs, slipping his fingertips inside him. Aya had never bottomed for anyone but Yoji, but they'd quickly discovered that he liked having his ass played with a whole, whole lot. Aya closed his eyes tight but got into it quickly enough, the lines on his forehead eventually smoothing, his mouth going slack.

 

“Let me make love to you,” Yoji whispered.

 

Aya's brow furrowed. “I don't want to fuck.”

 

“I didn't ask you to fuck,” Yoji muttered.

 

Aya scowled.

 

“OK,” Yoji said, forcing his pout into a more encouraging expression. “But let me give you something.”

 

Aya's frown lessened in intensity. Finally, he mumbled, “Fist me.”

 

Yoji's cock jumped. He'd still rather have intercourse, but hearing Aya say those words was undeniably hot.

 

“OK,” Yoji whispered.

 

Aya flipped over onto his stomach, face buried in the crook of his arm. Yoji hesitated. Aya was distancing himself, and Yoji hated it.

 

He grabbed the lube from the nightstand and pulled Aya's pants the rest of the way off, followed by his own. He kneeled between Aya's legs and just stared at his body, amazed as always. And that ass -- it was really perfect in an absolute, comprehensive way. It was the Platonic ass.

 

He shifted Aya's hips and spread his thighs further, then slipped in two well-coated fingers. Aya made some quiet noise, pushed back against the hand. Yoji carefully slipped in the third finger and heard Aya's breath catch. It hurt some, as it was intended to. Aya liked it that way. Yoji started fucking Aya with his fingers, kept at it until Aya was moaning and grinding his hips helplessly against the sheets.

 

That was more like it.

 

He folded his hand and worked it in halfway. Aya was moaning, frenzied, muffling himself with his arm. Yoji stopped and gave him time to adjust before pushing in with his knuckles. Aya was sweating, gasping for breath, fully hard. Yoji started fucking him with his hand, slowly at first, then, when Aya began pushing back against him, harder and faster.

 

Part of Yoji's brain couldn't help reminding him that Aya must have chosen this in order to keep his distance. Then again, it showed a substantial degree of trust -- he knew Yoji wouldn't hurt him.

 

Aya was begging Yoji to bring him off -- he wasn't getting much friction from the bed. Yoji's cock was pretty eager for attention too, and Yoji was also getting tired -- thrilling as it was to see Aya completely abandoned like this, it was work. But he couldn't help wondering how far he could string Aya out. The sense of control was... nice.

 

Aya had moved from begging to cursing, which made Yoji smile. He moved Aya's hips enough to give him room to work and then gave his cock several rough strokes, pulling his hand out just as Aya started to come. He screamed something incoherent that Yoji hoped was his name, although it could just as easily have been more swearing.

 

Aya was limp and wrung out, panting for breath. Yoji rolled him over, grabbed some wipes from the container by the bed, and did some clean-up. Aya was watching him. At Yoji's questioning look, Aya said, “Make yourself come. I want to watch you.”

 

This was not an unusual request from Aya either, but it caused another small stab of concern. Aya didn't seem to want to touch him.

 

Well, he was in too much physical need right now to address that. He fisted his cock loosely and started pumping slowly; despite being so hard it hurt, he still intended to put on a bit of a show. His body had other ideas, though, and he was momentarily blinded by the force of the orgasm that overtook him.

 

Sated, he collapsed on the bed, wiped most of the semen from his stomach with a sheet, and pulled Aya against him. He kissed him deeply; Aya didn't resist and in fact seemed much more relaxed, actually kissing back. Yoji sighed in relief. “Fuck me now?” he asked.

 

Aya's eyes were still closed. He shook his head no.

 

“Oh,” Yoji said dejectedly.

 

The eyes opened. The distance was gone, and the anger. “Tonight.”

 

Yoji was so relieved he felt light-headed. He pretended to pout. “If you really loved me...”

 

Aya looked at him, shaking his head. “You're a dick,” he finally said.

 

Yoji smiled, nodding his acknowledgment. “And right back at you, by the way,” he added.

 

Aya failed to react for a good 30 seconds, presumably processing the accusation and scanning for anger. He eventually smiled and lay his head against Yoji's chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

 

He held Aya until he started feeling restless. He casually shifted his hand to Aya's side and, with no warning, started tickling him mercilessly. Aya bent over, actually giggling, then pushed off and twisted him into a stranglehold. Yoji broke it, but Aya caught him off balance and threw him over the side of the bed.

 

There was no such thing as entirely playful wrestling with Aya.

 

Yoji lay on the floor, catching his breath. He started to climb back onto the bed but noticed piles of manga underneath. Was that... Ranma 1-1/2?

 

He started pulling them out -- 10, 20, more. “What the hell, Aya?” he asked, waving one in the air. “You have, like, the whole series.”

 

“So?”

 

“Aya, you have a huge stack of Ranmas under your bed. Are you reading them for, what, martial arts tips?” Yoji climbed back up on the bed and stared at Aya incredulously.

 

“No,” Aya said. He looked very serious. “Cross-dressing.” He waited just long enough to make Yoji wonder before giving a small, playful smile.

 

Yoji grinned. He felt much better. “Nobody ever believes me when I tell them you have sense of humor, Grumblebunny.”

 

Aya smiled contentedly before remembering he was supposed to hate the nickname. “If you ever call me that where anybody can hear you, my retribution will be swift and horrible to behold.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Yoji said, leaning over and kissing Aya's forehead.

 

**********

 

Yoji was jonesing for a cigarette, but he didn't think it was safe to leave the shop. It was Saturday evening and most of the squealing fan girls were gone, but one particularly intent admirer remained, flirting at Aya.

 

“...I know she couldn't help being ugly, but she could have stayed home,” Ken was saying.

 

Yoji was about to ask him what he was talking about, but Aya's frustration was obviously reaching the danger zone. He excused himself and strode over to head off the impending explosion.

 

“Oh, Aya-kun, you know you've been avoiding me!” the girl trilled.

 

Aya looked at her impassively. “You mean nothing to me. Why would I bother to avoid you?”

 

Yoji grabbed the girl's elbow just as the tears started flowing, murmuring soothingly as he led her toward the door. He threw Aya a look over his shoulder.

 

“What?” Aya asked, confused. Ken barked in laughter, and Yoji shot him a glare. A few moments and several lavish compliments later, he had the snuffling girl out the door, perhaps with a new crush object.

 

Yoji returned to his coworkers, not hiding his displeasure. “Aya, could you please try not to utterly devastate them?”

 

Aya frowned. “She wasn't going to buy anything anyway,” he muttered.

 

Yoji rolled his eyes, then turned on Ken. “And you -- stop laughing. You should know better.”

 

Ken smirked. “Why don't you make the last couple of deliveries, Prince Valiant? Aya and I can finish up here.”

 

Yoji eyed him suspiciously but could think of no reason to argue. Well, of course he could think of a reason -- he'd rather stay here with Aya. But if he were to argue that, it would piss Aya off, and then there'd be no reason to stay here with Aya anyway. He wondered, though, why Ken wanted to stay here with Aya. Ken usually seized any opportunity to get out. Yoji finally nodded and headed over to the cooler to get the arrangements. This would only take about 30 minutes, anyway. And what the hell, was he jealous of Ken? That was clearly absurd.

 

Getting the flowers boxed and wrapped, Yoji headed out the back, calling out a breezy goodbye.

 

As soon as they heard the back door close, Ken turned to Aya and said, “I just wanted to ask you how you're doing.”

 

Stiffly, Aya asked, “What do you mean?”

 

“Oh, come on. If my girlfriend slept with somebody else -- OK, if I had a girlfriend, and she slept with somebody else -- I'd be completely freaked out. Anybody would.”

 

Aya looked startled, then muttered, “He's not my boyfriend.”

 

“*What?*”

 

“Everybody assumes he's my boyfriend.”

 

“Well, Aya, I think that has something to do with the fact that you fuck regularly and exclusively.” Ken shrugged. “I mean, that's just a guess.”

 

Aya shot him a dark look. “Does he have to be my boyfriend, just because we fuck? Don't I get any say in this?”

 

“Sure, you get a say in it. You get a say in it every time you scream `Oh God Yoji, yes, just like that!' So that would be several times a day, by my count.”

 

Aya frowned.

 

Ken cocked his head, his expression turning serious. “Aya, it's fine. Nobody thinks any less of you for loving Yoji.”

 

Aya looked frustrated. “But I don't.”

 

“You don't what? Love him?”

 

Aya just looked at him, finally nodding ever so slightly.

 

Ken seemed unconvinced. “Are you sure about that? It's not down to me to tell you how you feel, but I think it's fair to point out that you're kind of epically not in touch with your emotions.”

 

Aya seemed to be considering that. “I don't think of it in those terms. I don't think of it as a relationship. I don't think about love,” he eventually said.

 

“Oh, it's all about sex? That whole staring into each other's eyes and kissing tenderly and sitting with your head on his shoulder stuff is just a ruse?”

 

Aya was looking at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. Ken shook his head. “Whatever, Aya.”

 

His next remark was cut off when Aya suddenly lunged for the door, turning the “open” sign to “closed” and turning the lock. Walking back over to Ken, he gestured to an angry-looking woman who'd been about to walk in. “Mrs. Thoma,” Aya said, picking up a broom and starting to sweep the floor.

 

Ken nodded, grinning. He waved happily at the red-faced harpy standing outside and pulled down the grating. Aya was hopeless, but he sure as hell had good timing.