Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Falling to Pieces ❯ Chapter Seven ( Chapter 7 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Dark Hunter 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense / Romance / Occult / Hentai / Drama / Comedy / Angst / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.05.2003 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 464 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense / Romance / Occult / Hentai / Drama / Comedy / Angst / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.05.2003 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.4K | Visits: 464 | Status: Work In Progress
Yay for more Youji and Aya type stuff! Cheering must now ensue!
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Terse silence. My thoughts waver drastically, never sure where to settle their discomfited flight. I'm not sure what it is Aya wants, what his motives are. Last night, when I was exhausted and in pain and disturbingly out of control, all I could think of was betrayal and fear. Now, in the daylight, standing eye to eye with him, I'm still not sure of the reasons behind any of his actions, but I am more convinced that they might not be as warped and horrible as I'd first assumed.
Aya sighs, softly, snapping my wayward wandering wonderings (how's that for mental alliteration) back to the now.
"I don't know why." He answers my previously asked question. "Because I was-" He shuts his mouth, face tightening, looking away.
"You were what?" I press, curiously. The fact that he's even attempting to articulate any explanation at all bodes heavily in my favor. I back up; still watching his closed off face, until the back of my legs hit the couch. I wriggle back in relaxation as my none-too-steady legs are finally relieved of my weight. Years of injuries and scars have taught me the better parts of bearing and ignoring pain, but the physical and the mental don't always follow the same limits.
He hesitantly follows my lead, sitting next to me. His twists great handfuls of his drawstring pants in that somewhat familiar nervous gesture. Now we're straying into dangerous territory. It's a known fact that Aya simply doesn't DO the emotional thing.
Without thinking, I leave off on my own hair and start to carefully stroke Aya's scarlet head instead. He jumps, then calms, leaning into my touch like a diffident stray, cautious but still wanting some reassurance. I leave off the smoothing motions and rub the back of his neck, drawing hope from the slight relaxing of the lines of his shoulders.
Gods, this is normally the point in despair and emotional and mental weariness where I'd run out to find another human being to drown my temporary misery in. What is it I'M doing here exactly? Maybe I should be interrogating myself before I go after Aya. I remind myself that he initiated every single action taken, from the very beginning. Even before I was captured, every rule of the game was his.
Aya leans forward, curling in on himself, resting elbows on knees. "I guess I just saw you being tired and hurt and lonely, and thought maybe I could do something about it. Most of the hostility between us... It's not your doing. I just figured maybe I should try doing something decent for once. It didn't quite turn out the way I'd planned." His head sags even further forward.
"You weren't trying to use me for something?" I inquire archly, still a tad suspicious by nature.
"Perhaps as an alleviation of my own stupidly human emotions."
I sigh. If he feels that way about his own thoughts and patterns of behavior then what the hell must he think of me.
We sit side by side, completely withdrawn from each other. Isn't this where we always wind up? No matter what happens, by the end of it, Aya and I aren't speaking or acknowledging each other's presence.
I draw in a slow breath until my ribs start to protest and let it out even more slowly, air shuddering out of me. I'm definitely a creature of habit, but all this strife is starting to wear me down. I scoot forward, resting my forehead against his slumped shoulder. After a moment's hesitation, he relaxes slightly and reaches over to curl his hand around my calf, still leaning heavily forward.
Aya inhales once and then sits up, grasp on my leg letting go. "I should probably recheck your injuries." He states, more to himself than to me. "In all likelihood I managed to damage them inadvertently." He stands in one swift move, not meeting my eyes, looking away from me, in fact.
He extends a hand to help me to my feet. I consider brushing it away out of pride, and then stop. Damn, but I'm tired. A hand up would be a welcome assistance right now. I clasp his warm, dry palm and heave myself to my feet. If he wants to poke at my already sore side and whatnot, that's his business. I just want some food and some peace.
"When will Ken be back with food, I wonder?" I murmur tiredly. "And clothes as well."
"You don't find my pants to be suitable attire?" Aya fires back, sounding insulted.
I look over to offer some apology, some excuse. He's almost smiling. For Aya, that's as good as a bold faced grin. I smile back. "Even more than clothes, food, or even you jabbing your fingers into already sore parts of my body, I'd love a nice, long, hot shower." I sigh happily, thinking of obsessively clean weeks of fun to come.
Aya pauses, a tiny crease between his eyebrows. "I thought you had a thing about water now." Not meant as a mockery of unwanted fears, merely a puzzled inquiry into an issue of which he has no understanding.
I lower my eyelids, consider tucking away one of my current vulnerabilities, pause. "I don't like water deep enough to drown in. I never have, and these past few weeks... just haven't done anything to lessen that dislike. A shower is standing, and the water is constantly draining. All I want is to be clean. I've missed that."
"You know, all it takes to drown is a spoon full of water. The trick is getting it into your lungs." Aya feels the need to indulge me in this happy little fact.
"Are you suggesting I give up bathing? Perhaps I can have myself dry-cleaned from now on." I teasingly suggest, feigning a lighter attitude.
Aya has no reply for my teasing.
"Well, where could I find a towel for myself, then? I don't know where anything is kept in this house. Hell, do we even own towels?" I ask, my memories of the night before are foggy at best.
With his typical grace, he stretches out an arm and places his hand palm down against my right side, resting over some of the more painfully broken ribs, covering the ugly blackish bruises. It feels almost odd, all that heat concentrated in one spot, solid skin behind the warmth. He frowns, lifting his other hand to my forehead.
"Your skin is too warm. Do you feel fevered?" He peers into my eyes. "Your eyes aren't all unfocused like they get when you're very ill, but you still seem to have a bit of a fever."
How would HE know what my eyes look like when I'm sick? "Why does it matter if I have a high temperature?" I ask aloud, feeling he's merely searching for issues to trouble himself with now.
"I don't want anything to become infected, and it could also be a sign of serious internal damage."
"Why do you worry so much? I don't feel that bad at all, and I wouldn't know from experience, but I'm assuming that life-threatening internal bleeding would hurt just a tiny bit more." I pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Now, about those towels..."
I follow him up the stairs, both of us keeping quiet to avoid waking Omi. He stops and grabs a towel for me from a small closet off the hallway before stopping in front of the bathroom door, handing me the towel carefully, as if the weight will be too much for me. I consider making one of my usual smart-assed comments, but refrain, figuring maybe we should both cut each other a little slack now, at least until one of us knows what the hell is going on.
Aya pauses, starts to open his mouth to say something, pauses again. My eyebrows draw together as I wait for whatever it is he wants to say. I resist the urge to draw up one of my old smirks, wondering if he wants to invite himself along. He brushes his knuckles across my cheek before escaping back into the confines of his room, nothing said to me at all in the end. I shrug, pushing the door open and feeling the wall for a light switch.
Here's another room that doesn't look the slightest bit eerie or ominous in the daylight. The walls are paneled wood, like the entirety of the downstairs, excepting the kitchen; like Aya's room. I drape my towel over the back of the spotless new toilet, scrounging around for soap and shampoo. On the edge of the whirlpool tub. The shower fixture is on the wall above it. Hmm, an octagonal tub with a showerhead. How odd. Someone's even set up a shower curtain so none of the water will splatter out.
I turn on the hot, kicking away the pale blue pants while I wait for the heated water to replace the cold. I scratch irritably at my head. Yeah, my hair's clean, but it could be cleaner. I try not to shudder. Now that I'm standing here dwelling on it, suddenly every inch of me seems streaked and filthy again. I step under the spray, adding just enough cold to keep it from scalding my skin, gritting my teeth against the still too hot water. No, it's not healthy, I'm not too stupid to know that, but now that the idea's fixed in my mind, being scrubbed raw and spotless seems pretty nice.
Time to concentrate on using up most of a bar of soap, finally leaving off to attend to my hair when my skin starts to redden. My poor ribs don't like either the steaming water OR my abrasive cleansing. I have a feeling some parts of me will regret this later. I couldn't find any conditioner, so now I just make do, scrubbing up lather with the cheap shampoo for all it's worth.
Someone bangs on the door. I tense for a second, then remember that not only is this my bathroom right now, but the door is locked and no one can bother me.
"Youji! Are you still in there using up all our hot water? Come out and eat! I got clothes for you too; I'll leave the bag outside your door." There's the faint thud of something against the wooden floor, followed by his steps bounding off. How does he manage to make so much noise?
My hand blindly scrabbles for the faucet as I fully immerse my body in the still painful heated water one more time. The air feels cooler, more bearable on my skin. I wring out what water I can from my hair, drying off my body with the new, soft towel before borrowing the brush I see next to the sink. I trace patterns in the fogged over mirror, grimacing at what bits of my body I slowly reveal.
Not only do I feel like the victim of some sort of domestic abuse, but I damned well look like it. Either that or the "I'm going to beat your ass" brigade showed up to air their grievances. Wrapping the towel firmly around my waist, I quickly open the door, scoop up the large brown paper shopping bag from outside my old room, and dart back behind the closed door before the warm air can escape.
Once I've carefully slathered gallons of goop back on my various burns and abrasions, I shuffle through everything. I see nothing but black, some leather/pleather type stuff, I'm unsure as to whether it's really made of genuine dead animal or not, some denim, a few nice knit tops for me. Normally the exposed abdomen is my sort of signature look, but right now I'm wishing he'd just bought a few concealing burlap sacks for me. The last thing I want showing now is a big swath of my reddened, bruised skin.
I sigh. He bought me plaid boxers. I shake my head. Gods, at least they don't have little soccer balls all over them, or Hello Kitty, perhaps. I pull on a pair in spite of my initial dislike of the undergarments. Follow them up with some pants, loose enough to be comfortable, barely. I should have told him to buy me old hobo clothes, perhaps a flowered muumuu or something tasteful like that.
Shirt, damn, need a shirt that doesn't let everyone get a few more looks at how bad my ribs look. I root around, finally finding a sleeveless black shirt. It reaches my waistband in the back and sides, at least. Still leaves my stomach showing, but less bruises there than a few places I could count.
I pick up the sack by it's cord handles, exit the bathroom, hesitate before dropping the bag next to Aya's closed door, and then head down for some food. I can smell it before I even put my bare foot on the first step. I hurry down, just the scent alone rejuvenating me.
Aya's sitting cross-legged in the empty room between the living room and the room that hosted our little make-out section. He has a plate in one hand, a fork in the other. I catch site of some scrambled eggs and waffles before I hurry past to the kitchen. There's a note on the microwave. From Ken. Apparently he made up a breakfast plate for me, and though it has cooled a bit, all I need to do is nuke it for a minute or two. I shrug and toss the note in the trashcan. And where is he then?
I open the microwave door, examine the food heaped on my plate, poke it with my finger and find it to be only room temperature, at best. Hit the button and leave it for a few minutes.
"Where did Ken run off to?" I inquire. Aya doesn't betray any reaction but the violet eyes that briefly meet mine before flickering back towards his food are startled.
"Upstairs." He states, back to one word replies. Well... shit! There's a new matter for me to take care of. Gods, I just went through hell and back, and after a day or two of sleep, I'm essentially back to normal. What the hell could Aya possibly have under his belt to not only rival my recent experiences, but to surpass them and give him leave to behave in such a discouraging manner?
"I'll be back in a few minutes." I tell him. "If I'm not back before the microwave beeps, could you grab my food for me and bring it out here so I can eat with you?" Without waiting for a reply, I climb back to the upper level, walking along the wall to avoid squeaking floor and stair boards.
Ken's room is first; the door is open. Silently peeping around the doorframe I expect to startle him doing... I don't know, something, instead, he's not even there. The bathroom door is open, unoccupied, but across the hall, in Omi's room, I hear voices.
I quietly tiptoe closer to Omi's door, peek around the doorframe. Omi's lying on his back, Ken crouched beside him, talking.
"We lost possessions, that's it. Hell, at least we're all still alive." Ken reasons, eyes earnest and serious in that cute way of his.
"Yeah, you're right." Omi sighs softly. "We didn't just loose our stuff though. We lost our home. That was where we lived; we were like a family. I thought we were all safe there. What's it all coming to if I can't even sleep at night without one eye open, and one hand on a fire extinguisher."
I watch the pale golden blur that is Omi's face from a distance. The light hits him at such an angle that I can't even begin to make out his facial expressions. Hell, why should I be spying on them anyway? They're my teammates. They have no secrets I want to know, no privacies I want to invade. Well, excluding Aya, those rules apply. I start smiling off into space, thinking on my new topic. Ken's voice jolts me out of my gleeful reminiscing.
"Omi, don't cry. Everything will turn out all right. We talked about this." He reaches down and brushes back pale hair from Omi's forehead. "Yeah, it seemed like a home, the first place that was like a home in a long while to most of us. It wasn't the building though. The building is gone, nothing but rubble. It was we four together who made it a home, an almost family. We're still together. Even Youji is still here. Maybe not in the best of shape, but still here."
Omi pushes himself upright, blankets tangling around his legs. He presses his face against Ken's shoulder, muffling sniffles against the dark fabric of his t-shirt. Ken lets out a deeply held breath and wraps his arms around the slim shaking body.
"I'm sorry." I strain to hear the younger boy's quite voice. "I'm just tired and I'm over reacting. We're all tired though, I can guarantee that." He pauses. "Ken, I want to go home." The words are bleaker than they should have the right to be, coming from someone to young and seemingly untouched by worldly evils.
I'm feeling more than a little guilty. Yeah, I went through some pretty horrendous shit, even for me. That doesn't exempt the others from feeling anything either. They were actually there when our house was decimated. They were actually there. Omi especially, with his abandonment issues and the like, deserves a little more attention, at least until things settle down.
I watch Ken tilt Omi's face upwards, expecting some hope-filled, big brother "I'm there for you" comment from him. Instead he lowers his face and starts up a kiss that would almost put all my carefully cultivated skills to shame. With Omi. I stare. What else can one do? "Sex" and "Omi" is even more foreign a pairing of words than "sex" and "Aya". Sex and Ran.
I wait for Omi to push him away and demand an explanation. He doesn't; in fact, he seems more than comfortable with the situation. Being more than a little confused and shocked myself, I back down the hallway, deciding to be nice and give them their bizarre little 'alone' time.
What the hell was that I just witnessed? Omi sure as hell didn't seem uncomfortable or suprised. Gods. I look back in Ken's room, giving myself something to do while I sort things out in my mind. His room is it's usual mess, but the bed is made. I hadn't noticed that before. Stupid me. That would explain how it is Omi and Ken arrived last night during the fight at the same time. If they were both in the same bedroom...
But Omi? And Kissing? And sex? Those just don't mix in my mind. Hell, he's not a kid anymore, I know that as a fact, but it doesn't really register all the way. I still think of him as that wide-eyed child I first met. I sigh and lean against the wall, the desire for a cigarette overwhelming. I consider going down and accosting Aya and making him go and buy me a fresh new dose of my old addiction. Hell, cigarettes may give you cancer and lots of other crappy side effects, it may affect your entire level of fitness, but as for combating stress me, I can't think of anything that works even the tiniest bit better, except perhaps Valium...
So, Ken's in there smooching with the kid, yet I was worried he'd walk in on Aya and I doing almost the same thing. I rub at my eyes. My stomach growls. I take a deep breath and do the Youji-type thing to do. I just tell myself none of this happened, and I head downstairs to eat. It's easier to ignore problems, I find.
Aya glares balefully at me as I silently make my way back to him. I wonder what I've done this time.
"Your food is cold now, and I won't reheat it for you." He states churlishly.
I smile at his unhappy face; relieved it's nothing more. Time to eat and to NOT think about whatever the hell was and is going on upstairs. I sit down cross-legged, not quite touching Aya's knees with mine. He shifts uncomfortably but doesn't move away. Encouraged I scoot forward the few remaining inches. Yes, I do thrive on pressing my luck, now that you mention it.
"You're in my space." He informs me, not moving, staring down at me. Down, because I'm slumping over, trying to help my battered spine and all. I smile back chummily, ignoring him and gulping down lukewarm scrambled eggs like there's not tomorrow. I'm not up to playing the starvation game at this time.
"You. Are. In. My. Space." He repeats, uncomfortable and expecting poor, injured, little ole me to do something about it. I swallow my mouthful of eggs, take a swig of the water Aya thoughtfully brought out for himself, to share with me no doubt, and lean forward, enthusiastically plastering him with a big, in-your-face kiss. Startled, he kisses back, knocking over his mostly empty plate.
It only takes him a few minutes this time to figure out I'm playing him like a fiddle. It's hard for him to be angry with me if my tongue is busy running across his lower lip, to say the least. When he decides enough is enough, he pulls away, fingers gripping large handfuls of my hair, threatening me with baldness if I feel the need to move towards him.
"Am I still in your space?" I glibly jibe, against my better judgment. Aya grunts and lets go of my hair, absently smoothing it back into place. He turns his eyes downwards. Apparently we're going back to the "pretend Youji doesn't exist" delusion. Yipee, yay.
"You don't have to ignore me." I mutter, feeling like I'm about to start talking too much in all this silence, exactly how Aya wants me to feel, I'm assuming. I go back to stuffing my face, backing off. Even I can figure out that running headlong into a cement wall for a long while isn't good for you. He'll warm up to me again later.
I finish eating, not really tasting the food in my haste to cram it all into my empty stomach. I shouldn't have eaten so much so quickly. I know I'll regret it in just a bit. Beside me, he rises to his feet with more grace than I'll be able to muster for a long time coming. He takes my plate, stacks it on top of his, and ruffles my hair on his way by in an almost affectionate way.
A reluctant grin spreads over my face. Gods, but he's an odd one. I follow after him. What else is there to do? I have nowhere to go, nothing to do. Nothing to do except amuse myself with my red headed teammate that is.
Washing dishes like a good little neat freak. I still haven't lost that reluctant smile. I loop my arms around him from behind, not because I need the support or attention, just because I feel like it. The desire to feed off of someone else's attention is definitely a big part of that.
Essentially nothing is making sense to my perpetually frazzled mind right now, but hey, that's okay. After his initial, startled jump, Aya doesn't even waste breath protesting. He leans slightly back against me, still washing dishes. This is... nice. It really is. Almost domestic, I'd call it.
"So, how badly would you maim me if I asked for some more details on this whole 'my name is Ran and I have a sister' thing?" He stiffens in my loose hug, but I don't back down an inch.
"Pretty badly." He flatly states. End of story. Gods, how horrible of him! Riling up my curiosity and then just refusing to continue with the issue. How like him.
"So, my calling you Ran would automatically guarantee me a black eye?" I try to set down boundaries. Being the master of relationships that I am, I obviously can see the inevitability of this one. And why not? We all have lonely, painful lives; we isolate ourselves from the real world if we can. Maybe Ken and Omi had the right idea, and gods know I could sure as hell do with some good old fashioned sex right now.
He slams the second clean dish down on the rack, pushes my arms away and whirls around. I expect some angry comments, or at least one of his infamous death glares. Instead he pushes me back against the white, new fridge and proceeds to take my breath away. Mmm, now this, I could get used to. He's harsh, almost brutal, expressing how much my usage of his real name would irk him with his mouth instead of his fist.
I fight back, tongue wrestling for dominance. He's either picked up some skill from me already, or had it beforehand and was just too nervous to show me the fun way. I press forward, mouth still locked to his, almost completely caught up in the play of wet tongues against teeth and lips. I can faintly taste the syrup from his breakfast.
When I walk him back far enough that his lower spine connects with the table, he pulls away, unsettled by the intensity of it all. He's out of breath, lips flush and little swollen. I can't help myself; I swoop back down for another kiss. His lips are parted before I even have to do anything, drawing me into the heated cavity of his mouth. Gods, could he be any more desirable? I think not.
It's beyond easy, in the heat of the moment and distracted as he is, to start bending him over, onto the table, weight coming off his feet as it distributes itself between the slab of wood and me. I release his lower lip; we breathe into each other's mouths.
"If this is what I get," I murmur, out of breath, "then I'll have to bring up taboo topics more often." I don't give him a chance to reply.
Sitting all the way on the table now, his hips slide forward, meeting mine; legs hooked around my waist as I tilt his head back and attack his neck with the only non-lethal weapon I have on me. I can feel the shudder running through him as I set my teeth to his neck, setting off pleasure points galore.
He moans my name of all things, perhaps less uncomfortable then I'd previously assumed. I can only be thankful he never bothered to put a shirt on, focusing on pale pink nipples, my current obsession. I thrill to the feel of the rough puckered flesh under my tongue, thrill to his throaty moans, do my damnedest to wring more out of him simply from the motions of my hips.
Panting for breath, I look up, keeping up the steady pulse on the heat between his legs. His head is thrown back, long, elegant neck exposed, eyes turned to dark slashes. I give in to the breathless grin before sealing my mouth to his skin, sucking on the hollow of his throat, sliding to the side to nip at his collarbones.
"Gods, you are beautiful." I whisper harshly in his ear, nibbling on one pale, perfect ear lobe. He shivers, turning his head to catch my lips with his; he leans back, propping up his body on his elbows, hips thrust up and forward, rocking against mine.
Now, what a pretty picture. I wonder if he has any idea how much I would enjoy peeling every last article of clothing off of him and taking him right here on the table.
"Mmm. Not on the table." Aya gasps back, perhaps gleaning my thoughts from my expression, trying to regain some modicum of self-possession.
"Why not? It's as good a place as any. Ken and Omi are upstairs, and trust me, they won't be back down for a long while." I think of those two, getting a hell of a lot more action than I'd been up until this moment.
For a second, his eyes tell me he's going to give in, tilt his face up, and spread his legs a little wider, unable to stop once the doors of reserve have been broken down. Then the curtain comes back down. Shit. I shouldn't have ever tried to start up a dialogue. Aya doesn't like talking period, let alone talking while I'm thoroughly molesting him.
He wriggles away from me, off the table, stomping towards the doorway. I consider tearing out a few handfuls of my hair. All I want is to get laid, is that sooo much to ask. It's not like Aya doesn't want it. It's not like he wasn't frustrating enough before he started up with behavior like this.
Aya turns to look over his shoulder and adds as an afterthought, "While the table is off limits..."
Aya. Hinting at something? Aya? Hinting at something possibly obscene and erotic? Obviously the world is not only coming to an end, but my mind is going to shatter, and I'll leak brain matter all over the kitchen floor.
Aya's still in sight, slowly, mockingly sauntering away. The son of a bitch! He's asking for it. I dash after him.
He turns to meet me as I near, an almost smirk on his face. He wants to turn this into a competition, that's fine by me. He sinks down onto the couch, every inch of his body straining upwards, trying to prolong the kiss. I straddle his lap, rocking in a way I know will get more than just a positive reaction. Repetition doesn't matter, it's not the variety of it all, it's the sensation that matters.
We slide down; I concentrate on retaining my position on top. He's pliant and more than willing to let me do whatever it is I feel the need to. Hell, if either Ken or Omi came down the stairs right now, with us right in front of the last step, I still wouldn't be willing to stop. Let them watch, I've been waiting for this for a long while, hours at least.
He breathily whispers encouragements as I slide down, kisses fluttering across his chest, then stomach. He sucks his stomach in as my tongue probes his navel. His fingers pluck at handfuls of the couch, unsure as to whether it tickles or feels unbearably delicious.
No sounds but for the hushed pleading and rhythm of our rapidly speeding breathing, the whisper of skin against skin. Mouths war with no purpose but the furthering of pleasure, tongues seek heated flesh, sensitive hollows; hands devour the opposing flesh under their fingertips.
He shivers as my hands dip bellow the waist of his pants. "Youji, wait." His hands catch my wrists. I try to calm the racing of my heart, gods; he's going to do it to me again. I keep still, waiting for my dismissal, waiting for a chance to rage at him to push back disappointment and arousal.
"If we don't slow down, I won't be able to stop." He whispers in my ear, sending another pang of pleasure through me, setting off a string of lovely mental visual. "I'm NOT going to get into this on the couch where anyone could just show up, especially not if it might cause you more injury." A hint of the ice is back in his voice.
"Upstairs?" I offer hopefully, prepared to be rebuked, but pushing for it all the same.
He worries my lower lip between his teeth, train of thought lost. "Mmmhmm, definitely take this upstairs." He pushes his tongue into my mouth, effectively silencing any other irksome comments I may have had.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, happy little boys and girls (prolly mostly just girls though -_-), can we guess what will happen next? I'll give you a hint, it begins with an L, and it took me a $*&#ing long time to write it! Stick around! Yeah, and write me a damned e-mail as well! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare Yay for variety. People like to have choices, right?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Terse silence. My thoughts waver drastically, never sure where to settle their discomfited flight. I'm not sure what it is Aya wants, what his motives are. Last night, when I was exhausted and in pain and disturbingly out of control, all I could think of was betrayal and fear. Now, in the daylight, standing eye to eye with him, I'm still not sure of the reasons behind any of his actions, but I am more convinced that they might not be as warped and horrible as I'd first assumed.
Aya sighs, softly, snapping my wayward wandering wonderings (how's that for mental alliteration) back to the now.
"I don't know why." He answers my previously asked question. "Because I was-" He shuts his mouth, face tightening, looking away.
"You were what?" I press, curiously. The fact that he's even attempting to articulate any explanation at all bodes heavily in my favor. I back up; still watching his closed off face, until the back of my legs hit the couch. I wriggle back in relaxation as my none-too-steady legs are finally relieved of my weight. Years of injuries and scars have taught me the better parts of bearing and ignoring pain, but the physical and the mental don't always follow the same limits.
He hesitantly follows my lead, sitting next to me. His twists great handfuls of his drawstring pants in that somewhat familiar nervous gesture. Now we're straying into dangerous territory. It's a known fact that Aya simply doesn't DO the emotional thing.
Without thinking, I leave off on my own hair and start to carefully stroke Aya's scarlet head instead. He jumps, then calms, leaning into my touch like a diffident stray, cautious but still wanting some reassurance. I leave off the smoothing motions and rub the back of his neck, drawing hope from the slight relaxing of the lines of his shoulders.
Gods, this is normally the point in despair and emotional and mental weariness where I'd run out to find another human being to drown my temporary misery in. What is it I'M doing here exactly? Maybe I should be interrogating myself before I go after Aya. I remind myself that he initiated every single action taken, from the very beginning. Even before I was captured, every rule of the game was his.
Aya leans forward, curling in on himself, resting elbows on knees. "I guess I just saw you being tired and hurt and lonely, and thought maybe I could do something about it. Most of the hostility between us... It's not your doing. I just figured maybe I should try doing something decent for once. It didn't quite turn out the way I'd planned." His head sags even further forward.
"You weren't trying to use me for something?" I inquire archly, still a tad suspicious by nature.
"Perhaps as an alleviation of my own stupidly human emotions."
I sigh. If he feels that way about his own thoughts and patterns of behavior then what the hell must he think of me.
We sit side by side, completely withdrawn from each other. Isn't this where we always wind up? No matter what happens, by the end of it, Aya and I aren't speaking or acknowledging each other's presence.
I draw in a slow breath until my ribs start to protest and let it out even more slowly, air shuddering out of me. I'm definitely a creature of habit, but all this strife is starting to wear me down. I scoot forward, resting my forehead against his slumped shoulder. After a moment's hesitation, he relaxes slightly and reaches over to curl his hand around my calf, still leaning heavily forward.
Aya inhales once and then sits up, grasp on my leg letting go. "I should probably recheck your injuries." He states, more to himself than to me. "In all likelihood I managed to damage them inadvertently." He stands in one swift move, not meeting my eyes, looking away from me, in fact.
He extends a hand to help me to my feet. I consider brushing it away out of pride, and then stop. Damn, but I'm tired. A hand up would be a welcome assistance right now. I clasp his warm, dry palm and heave myself to my feet. If he wants to poke at my already sore side and whatnot, that's his business. I just want some food and some peace.
"When will Ken be back with food, I wonder?" I murmur tiredly. "And clothes as well."
"You don't find my pants to be suitable attire?" Aya fires back, sounding insulted.
I look over to offer some apology, some excuse. He's almost smiling. For Aya, that's as good as a bold faced grin. I smile back. "Even more than clothes, food, or even you jabbing your fingers into already sore parts of my body, I'd love a nice, long, hot shower." I sigh happily, thinking of obsessively clean weeks of fun to come.
Aya pauses, a tiny crease between his eyebrows. "I thought you had a thing about water now." Not meant as a mockery of unwanted fears, merely a puzzled inquiry into an issue of which he has no understanding.
I lower my eyelids, consider tucking away one of my current vulnerabilities, pause. "I don't like water deep enough to drown in. I never have, and these past few weeks... just haven't done anything to lessen that dislike. A shower is standing, and the water is constantly draining. All I want is to be clean. I've missed that."
"You know, all it takes to drown is a spoon full of water. The trick is getting it into your lungs." Aya feels the need to indulge me in this happy little fact.
"Are you suggesting I give up bathing? Perhaps I can have myself dry-cleaned from now on." I teasingly suggest, feigning a lighter attitude.
Aya has no reply for my teasing.
"Well, where could I find a towel for myself, then? I don't know where anything is kept in this house. Hell, do we even own towels?" I ask, my memories of the night before are foggy at best.
With his typical grace, he stretches out an arm and places his hand palm down against my right side, resting over some of the more painfully broken ribs, covering the ugly blackish bruises. It feels almost odd, all that heat concentrated in one spot, solid skin behind the warmth. He frowns, lifting his other hand to my forehead.
"Your skin is too warm. Do you feel fevered?" He peers into my eyes. "Your eyes aren't all unfocused like they get when you're very ill, but you still seem to have a bit of a fever."
How would HE know what my eyes look like when I'm sick? "Why does it matter if I have a high temperature?" I ask aloud, feeling he's merely searching for issues to trouble himself with now.
"I don't want anything to become infected, and it could also be a sign of serious internal damage."
"Why do you worry so much? I don't feel that bad at all, and I wouldn't know from experience, but I'm assuming that life-threatening internal bleeding would hurt just a tiny bit more." I pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Now, about those towels..."
I follow him up the stairs, both of us keeping quiet to avoid waking Omi. He stops and grabs a towel for me from a small closet off the hallway before stopping in front of the bathroom door, handing me the towel carefully, as if the weight will be too much for me. I consider making one of my usual smart-assed comments, but refrain, figuring maybe we should both cut each other a little slack now, at least until one of us knows what the hell is going on.
Aya pauses, starts to open his mouth to say something, pauses again. My eyebrows draw together as I wait for whatever it is he wants to say. I resist the urge to draw up one of my old smirks, wondering if he wants to invite himself along. He brushes his knuckles across my cheek before escaping back into the confines of his room, nothing said to me at all in the end. I shrug, pushing the door open and feeling the wall for a light switch.
Here's another room that doesn't look the slightest bit eerie or ominous in the daylight. The walls are paneled wood, like the entirety of the downstairs, excepting the kitchen; like Aya's room. I drape my towel over the back of the spotless new toilet, scrounging around for soap and shampoo. On the edge of the whirlpool tub. The shower fixture is on the wall above it. Hmm, an octagonal tub with a showerhead. How odd. Someone's even set up a shower curtain so none of the water will splatter out.
I turn on the hot, kicking away the pale blue pants while I wait for the heated water to replace the cold. I scratch irritably at my head. Yeah, my hair's clean, but it could be cleaner. I try not to shudder. Now that I'm standing here dwelling on it, suddenly every inch of me seems streaked and filthy again. I step under the spray, adding just enough cold to keep it from scalding my skin, gritting my teeth against the still too hot water. No, it's not healthy, I'm not too stupid to know that, but now that the idea's fixed in my mind, being scrubbed raw and spotless seems pretty nice.
Time to concentrate on using up most of a bar of soap, finally leaving off to attend to my hair when my skin starts to redden. My poor ribs don't like either the steaming water OR my abrasive cleansing. I have a feeling some parts of me will regret this later. I couldn't find any conditioner, so now I just make do, scrubbing up lather with the cheap shampoo for all it's worth.
Someone bangs on the door. I tense for a second, then remember that not only is this my bathroom right now, but the door is locked and no one can bother me.
"Youji! Are you still in there using up all our hot water? Come out and eat! I got clothes for you too; I'll leave the bag outside your door." There's the faint thud of something against the wooden floor, followed by his steps bounding off. How does he manage to make so much noise?
My hand blindly scrabbles for the faucet as I fully immerse my body in the still painful heated water one more time. The air feels cooler, more bearable on my skin. I wring out what water I can from my hair, drying off my body with the new, soft towel before borrowing the brush I see next to the sink. I trace patterns in the fogged over mirror, grimacing at what bits of my body I slowly reveal.
Not only do I feel like the victim of some sort of domestic abuse, but I damned well look like it. Either that or the "I'm going to beat your ass" brigade showed up to air their grievances. Wrapping the towel firmly around my waist, I quickly open the door, scoop up the large brown paper shopping bag from outside my old room, and dart back behind the closed door before the warm air can escape.
Once I've carefully slathered gallons of goop back on my various burns and abrasions, I shuffle through everything. I see nothing but black, some leather/pleather type stuff, I'm unsure as to whether it's really made of genuine dead animal or not, some denim, a few nice knit tops for me. Normally the exposed abdomen is my sort of signature look, but right now I'm wishing he'd just bought a few concealing burlap sacks for me. The last thing I want showing now is a big swath of my reddened, bruised skin.
I sigh. He bought me plaid boxers. I shake my head. Gods, at least they don't have little soccer balls all over them, or Hello Kitty, perhaps. I pull on a pair in spite of my initial dislike of the undergarments. Follow them up with some pants, loose enough to be comfortable, barely. I should have told him to buy me old hobo clothes, perhaps a flowered muumuu or something tasteful like that.
Shirt, damn, need a shirt that doesn't let everyone get a few more looks at how bad my ribs look. I root around, finally finding a sleeveless black shirt. It reaches my waistband in the back and sides, at least. Still leaves my stomach showing, but less bruises there than a few places I could count.
I pick up the sack by it's cord handles, exit the bathroom, hesitate before dropping the bag next to Aya's closed door, and then head down for some food. I can smell it before I even put my bare foot on the first step. I hurry down, just the scent alone rejuvenating me.
Aya's sitting cross-legged in the empty room between the living room and the room that hosted our little make-out section. He has a plate in one hand, a fork in the other. I catch site of some scrambled eggs and waffles before I hurry past to the kitchen. There's a note on the microwave. From Ken. Apparently he made up a breakfast plate for me, and though it has cooled a bit, all I need to do is nuke it for a minute or two. I shrug and toss the note in the trashcan. And where is he then?
I open the microwave door, examine the food heaped on my plate, poke it with my finger and find it to be only room temperature, at best. Hit the button and leave it for a few minutes.
"Where did Ken run off to?" I inquire. Aya doesn't betray any reaction but the violet eyes that briefly meet mine before flickering back towards his food are startled.
"Upstairs." He states, back to one word replies. Well... shit! There's a new matter for me to take care of. Gods, I just went through hell and back, and after a day or two of sleep, I'm essentially back to normal. What the hell could Aya possibly have under his belt to not only rival my recent experiences, but to surpass them and give him leave to behave in such a discouraging manner?
"I'll be back in a few minutes." I tell him. "If I'm not back before the microwave beeps, could you grab my food for me and bring it out here so I can eat with you?" Without waiting for a reply, I climb back to the upper level, walking along the wall to avoid squeaking floor and stair boards.
Ken's room is first; the door is open. Silently peeping around the doorframe I expect to startle him doing... I don't know, something, instead, he's not even there. The bathroom door is open, unoccupied, but across the hall, in Omi's room, I hear voices.
I quietly tiptoe closer to Omi's door, peek around the doorframe. Omi's lying on his back, Ken crouched beside him, talking.
"We lost possessions, that's it. Hell, at least we're all still alive." Ken reasons, eyes earnest and serious in that cute way of his.
"Yeah, you're right." Omi sighs softly. "We didn't just loose our stuff though. We lost our home. That was where we lived; we were like a family. I thought we were all safe there. What's it all coming to if I can't even sleep at night without one eye open, and one hand on a fire extinguisher."
I watch the pale golden blur that is Omi's face from a distance. The light hits him at such an angle that I can't even begin to make out his facial expressions. Hell, why should I be spying on them anyway? They're my teammates. They have no secrets I want to know, no privacies I want to invade. Well, excluding Aya, those rules apply. I start smiling off into space, thinking on my new topic. Ken's voice jolts me out of my gleeful reminiscing.
"Omi, don't cry. Everything will turn out all right. We talked about this." He reaches down and brushes back pale hair from Omi's forehead. "Yeah, it seemed like a home, the first place that was like a home in a long while to most of us. It wasn't the building though. The building is gone, nothing but rubble. It was we four together who made it a home, an almost family. We're still together. Even Youji is still here. Maybe not in the best of shape, but still here."
Omi pushes himself upright, blankets tangling around his legs. He presses his face against Ken's shoulder, muffling sniffles against the dark fabric of his t-shirt. Ken lets out a deeply held breath and wraps his arms around the slim shaking body.
"I'm sorry." I strain to hear the younger boy's quite voice. "I'm just tired and I'm over reacting. We're all tired though, I can guarantee that." He pauses. "Ken, I want to go home." The words are bleaker than they should have the right to be, coming from someone to young and seemingly untouched by worldly evils.
I'm feeling more than a little guilty. Yeah, I went through some pretty horrendous shit, even for me. That doesn't exempt the others from feeling anything either. They were actually there when our house was decimated. They were actually there. Omi especially, with his abandonment issues and the like, deserves a little more attention, at least until things settle down.
I watch Ken tilt Omi's face upwards, expecting some hope-filled, big brother "I'm there for you" comment from him. Instead he lowers his face and starts up a kiss that would almost put all my carefully cultivated skills to shame. With Omi. I stare. What else can one do? "Sex" and "Omi" is even more foreign a pairing of words than "sex" and "Aya". Sex and Ran.
I wait for Omi to push him away and demand an explanation. He doesn't; in fact, he seems more than comfortable with the situation. Being more than a little confused and shocked myself, I back down the hallway, deciding to be nice and give them their bizarre little 'alone' time.
What the hell was that I just witnessed? Omi sure as hell didn't seem uncomfortable or suprised. Gods. I look back in Ken's room, giving myself something to do while I sort things out in my mind. His room is it's usual mess, but the bed is made. I hadn't noticed that before. Stupid me. That would explain how it is Omi and Ken arrived last night during the fight at the same time. If they were both in the same bedroom...
But Omi? And Kissing? And sex? Those just don't mix in my mind. Hell, he's not a kid anymore, I know that as a fact, but it doesn't really register all the way. I still think of him as that wide-eyed child I first met. I sigh and lean against the wall, the desire for a cigarette overwhelming. I consider going down and accosting Aya and making him go and buy me a fresh new dose of my old addiction. Hell, cigarettes may give you cancer and lots of other crappy side effects, it may affect your entire level of fitness, but as for combating stress me, I can't think of anything that works even the tiniest bit better, except perhaps Valium...
So, Ken's in there smooching with the kid, yet I was worried he'd walk in on Aya and I doing almost the same thing. I rub at my eyes. My stomach growls. I take a deep breath and do the Youji-type thing to do. I just tell myself none of this happened, and I head downstairs to eat. It's easier to ignore problems, I find.
Aya glares balefully at me as I silently make my way back to him. I wonder what I've done this time.
"Your food is cold now, and I won't reheat it for you." He states churlishly.
I smile at his unhappy face; relieved it's nothing more. Time to eat and to NOT think about whatever the hell was and is going on upstairs. I sit down cross-legged, not quite touching Aya's knees with mine. He shifts uncomfortably but doesn't move away. Encouraged I scoot forward the few remaining inches. Yes, I do thrive on pressing my luck, now that you mention it.
"You're in my space." He informs me, not moving, staring down at me. Down, because I'm slumping over, trying to help my battered spine and all. I smile back chummily, ignoring him and gulping down lukewarm scrambled eggs like there's not tomorrow. I'm not up to playing the starvation game at this time.
"You. Are. In. My. Space." He repeats, uncomfortable and expecting poor, injured, little ole me to do something about it. I swallow my mouthful of eggs, take a swig of the water Aya thoughtfully brought out for himself, to share with me no doubt, and lean forward, enthusiastically plastering him with a big, in-your-face kiss. Startled, he kisses back, knocking over his mostly empty plate.
It only takes him a few minutes this time to figure out I'm playing him like a fiddle. It's hard for him to be angry with me if my tongue is busy running across his lower lip, to say the least. When he decides enough is enough, he pulls away, fingers gripping large handfuls of my hair, threatening me with baldness if I feel the need to move towards him.
"Am I still in your space?" I glibly jibe, against my better judgment. Aya grunts and lets go of my hair, absently smoothing it back into place. He turns his eyes downwards. Apparently we're going back to the "pretend Youji doesn't exist" delusion. Yipee, yay.
"You don't have to ignore me." I mutter, feeling like I'm about to start talking too much in all this silence, exactly how Aya wants me to feel, I'm assuming. I go back to stuffing my face, backing off. Even I can figure out that running headlong into a cement wall for a long while isn't good for you. He'll warm up to me again later.
I finish eating, not really tasting the food in my haste to cram it all into my empty stomach. I shouldn't have eaten so much so quickly. I know I'll regret it in just a bit. Beside me, he rises to his feet with more grace than I'll be able to muster for a long time coming. He takes my plate, stacks it on top of his, and ruffles my hair on his way by in an almost affectionate way.
A reluctant grin spreads over my face. Gods, but he's an odd one. I follow after him. What else is there to do? I have nowhere to go, nothing to do. Nothing to do except amuse myself with my red headed teammate that is.
Washing dishes like a good little neat freak. I still haven't lost that reluctant smile. I loop my arms around him from behind, not because I need the support or attention, just because I feel like it. The desire to feed off of someone else's attention is definitely a big part of that.
Essentially nothing is making sense to my perpetually frazzled mind right now, but hey, that's okay. After his initial, startled jump, Aya doesn't even waste breath protesting. He leans slightly back against me, still washing dishes. This is... nice. It really is. Almost domestic, I'd call it.
"So, how badly would you maim me if I asked for some more details on this whole 'my name is Ran and I have a sister' thing?" He stiffens in my loose hug, but I don't back down an inch.
"Pretty badly." He flatly states. End of story. Gods, how horrible of him! Riling up my curiosity and then just refusing to continue with the issue. How like him.
"So, my calling you Ran would automatically guarantee me a black eye?" I try to set down boundaries. Being the master of relationships that I am, I obviously can see the inevitability of this one. And why not? We all have lonely, painful lives; we isolate ourselves from the real world if we can. Maybe Ken and Omi had the right idea, and gods know I could sure as hell do with some good old fashioned sex right now.
He slams the second clean dish down on the rack, pushes my arms away and whirls around. I expect some angry comments, or at least one of his infamous death glares. Instead he pushes me back against the white, new fridge and proceeds to take my breath away. Mmm, now this, I could get used to. He's harsh, almost brutal, expressing how much my usage of his real name would irk him with his mouth instead of his fist.
I fight back, tongue wrestling for dominance. He's either picked up some skill from me already, or had it beforehand and was just too nervous to show me the fun way. I press forward, mouth still locked to his, almost completely caught up in the play of wet tongues against teeth and lips. I can faintly taste the syrup from his breakfast.
When I walk him back far enough that his lower spine connects with the table, he pulls away, unsettled by the intensity of it all. He's out of breath, lips flush and little swollen. I can't help myself; I swoop back down for another kiss. His lips are parted before I even have to do anything, drawing me into the heated cavity of his mouth. Gods, could he be any more desirable? I think not.
It's beyond easy, in the heat of the moment and distracted as he is, to start bending him over, onto the table, weight coming off his feet as it distributes itself between the slab of wood and me. I release his lower lip; we breathe into each other's mouths.
"If this is what I get," I murmur, out of breath, "then I'll have to bring up taboo topics more often." I don't give him a chance to reply.
Sitting all the way on the table now, his hips slide forward, meeting mine; legs hooked around my waist as I tilt his head back and attack his neck with the only non-lethal weapon I have on me. I can feel the shudder running through him as I set my teeth to his neck, setting off pleasure points galore.
He moans my name of all things, perhaps less uncomfortable then I'd previously assumed. I can only be thankful he never bothered to put a shirt on, focusing on pale pink nipples, my current obsession. I thrill to the feel of the rough puckered flesh under my tongue, thrill to his throaty moans, do my damnedest to wring more out of him simply from the motions of my hips.
Panting for breath, I look up, keeping up the steady pulse on the heat between his legs. His head is thrown back, long, elegant neck exposed, eyes turned to dark slashes. I give in to the breathless grin before sealing my mouth to his skin, sucking on the hollow of his throat, sliding to the side to nip at his collarbones.
"Gods, you are beautiful." I whisper harshly in his ear, nibbling on one pale, perfect ear lobe. He shivers, turning his head to catch my lips with his; he leans back, propping up his body on his elbows, hips thrust up and forward, rocking against mine.
Now, what a pretty picture. I wonder if he has any idea how much I would enjoy peeling every last article of clothing off of him and taking him right here on the table.
"Mmm. Not on the table." Aya gasps back, perhaps gleaning my thoughts from my expression, trying to regain some modicum of self-possession.
"Why not? It's as good a place as any. Ken and Omi are upstairs, and trust me, they won't be back down for a long while." I think of those two, getting a hell of a lot more action than I'd been up until this moment.
For a second, his eyes tell me he's going to give in, tilt his face up, and spread his legs a little wider, unable to stop once the doors of reserve have been broken down. Then the curtain comes back down. Shit. I shouldn't have ever tried to start up a dialogue. Aya doesn't like talking period, let alone talking while I'm thoroughly molesting him.
He wriggles away from me, off the table, stomping towards the doorway. I consider tearing out a few handfuls of my hair. All I want is to get laid, is that sooo much to ask. It's not like Aya doesn't want it. It's not like he wasn't frustrating enough before he started up with behavior like this.
Aya turns to look over his shoulder and adds as an afterthought, "While the table is off limits..."
Aya. Hinting at something? Aya? Hinting at something possibly obscene and erotic? Obviously the world is not only coming to an end, but my mind is going to shatter, and I'll leak brain matter all over the kitchen floor.
Aya's still in sight, slowly, mockingly sauntering away. The son of a bitch! He's asking for it. I dash after him.
He turns to meet me as I near, an almost smirk on his face. He wants to turn this into a competition, that's fine by me. He sinks down onto the couch, every inch of his body straining upwards, trying to prolong the kiss. I straddle his lap, rocking in a way I know will get more than just a positive reaction. Repetition doesn't matter, it's not the variety of it all, it's the sensation that matters.
We slide down; I concentrate on retaining my position on top. He's pliant and more than willing to let me do whatever it is I feel the need to. Hell, if either Ken or Omi came down the stairs right now, with us right in front of the last step, I still wouldn't be willing to stop. Let them watch, I've been waiting for this for a long while, hours at least.
He breathily whispers encouragements as I slide down, kisses fluttering across his chest, then stomach. He sucks his stomach in as my tongue probes his navel. His fingers pluck at handfuls of the couch, unsure as to whether it tickles or feels unbearably delicious.
No sounds but for the hushed pleading and rhythm of our rapidly speeding breathing, the whisper of skin against skin. Mouths war with no purpose but the furthering of pleasure, tongues seek heated flesh, sensitive hollows; hands devour the opposing flesh under their fingertips.
He shivers as my hands dip bellow the waist of his pants. "Youji, wait." His hands catch my wrists. I try to calm the racing of my heart, gods; he's going to do it to me again. I keep still, waiting for my dismissal, waiting for a chance to rage at him to push back disappointment and arousal.
"If we don't slow down, I won't be able to stop." He whispers in my ear, sending another pang of pleasure through me, setting off a string of lovely mental visual. "I'm NOT going to get into this on the couch where anyone could just show up, especially not if it might cause you more injury." A hint of the ice is back in his voice.
"Upstairs?" I offer hopefully, prepared to be rebuked, but pushing for it all the same.
He worries my lower lip between his teeth, train of thought lost. "Mmmhmm, definitely take this upstairs." He pushes his tongue into my mouth, effectively silencing any other irksome comments I may have had.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, happy little boys and girls (prolly mostly just girls though -_-), can we guess what will happen next? I'll give you a hint, it begins with an L, and it took me a $*&#ing long time to write it! Stick around! Yeah, and write me a damned e-mail as well! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare Yay for variety. People like to have choices, right?