Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Fashion Plate ❯ Graveyard Shift ( Chapter 1 )

Pairing: Yohji/Omi implied

Rating: R

Summary: "It wasn't really his style, but his curiosity was dying to know what it would be like to be Yohji Kudou."

Warnings: This story contains yaoi (aka slash), meaning that it involves male/male sexual relations. If this is not your cuppa, I suggest you turn back now and spare both of us the trouble.

Author's Notes: First part in a three part series. (Although it's perfectly suited to be read as a stand-alone piece.) Shameless PWP. Special thanks also goes out to my beta, Nalan Li, for humouring me.

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz (and its characters) belongs to Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiß. Only used here to exploit my own fannish perversions, nothing more.

Fashion Plate, Part I

Graveyard Shift

Omi Tsukiyono's otherwise normal existence was cast into limbo as he and his three roommates were thrown once again into another mission. Preliminary data needed to be collected, and that was Omi's department. As he had found a particularly good lead, he decided to follow it, well into the wee hours of the night.

Omi groaned as he arched his back in a long, satisfying stretch. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the clock. 5:41 am. It was no wonder that he was starting to see his computer's desktop burned into the inside of his eyelids whenever he shut them. He silently gave thanks to the fates that allowed this late night to occur on a weekend, when there would be no school to attend the following morning. Additionally, this was also his weekend off from the flower shop.

He swallowed thickly; he'd been sitting in front of the computer for so long that his mouth had gone fuzzy. Any longer and he probably would've started attracting flies. It was definitely time for bed. He decided that he would meander downstairs for a quick glass of water first before he turned in for the night.

Creeping quietly downstairs so as not to wake the others, he made his way into the tiny kitchen. Filling a glass with water from the tap, he stepped back and took a sip, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. As he leaned against the counter in the kitchen, he (out of sheer habit of his profession) scanned over his surroundings. He noticed nothing particularly different or out of the ordinary but did note that Yohji had apparently come home.

Yohji had left the others behind that evening, taking off for a night carousing about the town, Omi assumed. But he had wandered home sometime in the night, perhaps drunk, and had thrown his coat haphazardly on the floor.

Omi polished off his glass of water, placed the glass into the sink and wandered over to pick the coat up off the floor. He dusted it off, putting it back to rights. But as he moved to drape it over the back of the couch, he had a wicked thought, wondering to himself how it would perhaps look on him. It wasn't really his style, but his curiosity was dying to know what it would be like to be Yohji Kudou.

Sneaking a cautious glance back towards the stairway leading to their respective bedrooms, he once again made sure that he hadn't woken anyone on his way down. He certainly didn't want anyone to walk in on him. Satisfied that the others were still sleeping like the dead, he pulled the coat around him and shrugged it on.

As Yohji was a good head taller than Omi, the jacket was way too long. Instead of ending elegantly mid-calf (as it did on Yohji), it fell nearly to his ankles. The coat's broad shoulders swallowed his diminutive frame and his hands disappeared completely under the sleeves. He caught his reflection in the window and flirted with it, flashing it a rakish smile, like he imagined Yohji would with the ladies. However, when he did it, he felt horribly young and ridiculous.

Omi sighed. He didn't think he'd ever be as comfortable in his skin as Yohji was. He moved to take off the coat, when he finally caught the whiff of the smell emanating from it.

He was surprised he had missed it the first time; the coat reeked of cigarette smoke. "Eugh," Omi mustered, wrinkling his nose. Yohji was a smoker, but he wasn't exactly considered a heavy smoker. His responsibility to Weiss dictated that he stayed in shape for their missions so as not to compromise the health and lives of his fellow teammates or his own. Omi imagined that the club or bar Yohji wandered off to was probably smoke fogged and it had clung to his coat when he left for the evening.

Although, despite the overbearing stench of the smoke, Omi could still tell that the coat still smelled undeniably like Yohji. It was a reassuring scent, in a way. Because the four of them had each suffered their own losses, they had come to depend and rely each other. Yes, they were a team of professional assassins, but it wasn't lost on Omi that they were closer than that. When their lives were in the balance of missions being carried out successfully, it was a good feeling to know that, at least at this moment in time, all four of them were under this roof and alive.

Omi felt a yawn fighting its way to the surface and decided that it was definitely time to go to bed. He moved to take off the coat again, but realized he didn't want to. The coat blanketed him and it was comforting. He wondered if he could get away with stealing it for the night. He knew it was juvenile to want so very much to fall into a dreamless sleep enveloped as close as he could be in one of his teammate's arms. But he yearned for the reassurance of their vitality.

Emotions tamped out logic as his mind began making excuses to justify this. He'd just have to make sure he'd be up in the morning to replace it into the coat closet before anyone noticed.

Omi wrapped the coat around himself possessively and crept back upstairs. Padding silently down the hall, he made his way back to his room, where he slipped in and closed to door with a satisfying click. He promptly breathed a sigh of relief. One doesn't exactly underestimate the heightened senses and reflexes of those who risk their lives by taking the lives of others. Spooking the others would've been most embarrassing and difficult to explain, especially while tripping over someone else's coat.

Pulling back the covers of his tiny bed, he crawled in, coat and all. Curling up on his side, he hugged his arms to himself. Omi smiled as he stroked his face reverently against the sleeves of Yohji's coat, the slightly rough material scraping his cheek. He breathed in and filled his lungs with the smell of Yohji - part cigarettes, part alcohol, part whatever cologne he used but one part that was deep down, undeniably Yohji. Omi reveled in it and buried himself in deeper.

Omi inhaled again deeply and frowned. That smelled like ... woman's perfume. Jealousy flared momentarily; if any of these women knew what Yohji did for a living, they wouldn't be so enamored. Omi was sure that they'd actually be quite repulsed. Yohji belonged to them. Weiss belonged to each other.

He imagined how Yohji's flavor of the night ended up with the coat. There was a chill wind this evening and he had probably generously offered his coat to her. Chances were that the move had been to suit Yohji's own ulterior motives, which were to show off his proffered goods.

Women would be dumb to refuse his advances. Omi envied how smooth Yohji was. He had an answer for everything. And in that voice! Surely his voice was why they created the expression "smooth as honey". Omi wasn't sure how he felt about his fellow Weiss member being the "love 'em and leave 'em" sort, but he knew that Yohji loved and respected women. Come to think of it, he'd never seen any of the women show up at the shop, demanding to know why he hadn't called or anything of that nature. He decided that Yohji and his women were in agreement -- it was a mutual gratification sort of thing.

He considered himself thoughtfully. So yeah, he was a virgin. He was very much dedicated to his work with Weiss, and with that (along with his day job and school), there wasn't much time for him to fraternize with his peers.

Although, just because he was a busy guy, it didn't mean that he wasn't immune to physical attention his body demanded from him. Usually, it was in the shower where he took care if it; it was a no fuss way for him to enjoy himself and leave no evidence behind. Sure they were all guys, but Omi felt as if he deserved that bit of privacy. There were other occasions where he'd wake in the middle of the night, his mind still awash with feelings and emotions from a dream that was as yet faceless, but no less pleasurable. Then he took care of himself quietly in bed, the fading sensations of his dreams fueling his hand.

He knew that, regardless of whom he lost his virginity to, it would be something memorable. Had he the choice, Omi decided, it would have to be with someone with more experience. He had no interest in immature, adolescent fumbling between the sheets. He was going to do it right the first time.

With the scent of Yohji's coat permeating his senses and those sorts of thoughts coursing through his mind, Omi couldn't help but imagine what the first time with Yohji would be like. Swathed in the building warmth of the coat's cover, Omi hugged himself and thought of him.

He tried to recall what Yohji had been wearing tonight. That's right; heavy black steel toe boots, black leather pants (that clung low on the playboy's hips) and a blood red sleeveless shirt that fitted the lines of his body impeccably. He had come downstairs into the shop as the others were closing, declaring to the group that he was headed out for the evening. He had then shrugged into his coat and exited through the double doors of the shop with a wave, slinking out into the enveloping night like the top cat in town. The darkness swallowed him and it was some distance away before he reappeared, lit where he stood by his Caterham Super Seven, as he brought his Zippo smoothly to his lips to light the cigarette there.

Smooth. Like a cat, like liquid, like ... honey. Honey ... Omi imagined Yohji's honey voice whispering into his ear now, telling him to relax. Telling him how much he was going to love this. He'd practically be begging for more.

Omi swallowed and nodded to no one in particular. He hugged himself close with his hands crossed tightly over his chest and began to massage his upper arms at their own volition.

"You're tense."

"I-I'm nervous. I didn't tell you before, but I'm a -"

"Shh. We won't do anything you don't feel comfortable with."

"... thank you, Yohji."

Yohji chuckled; the warm puff of air tickled Omi's ear. One of his hands slipped under Omi's shirt, sweeping long reassuring strokes over his chest. Omi, whose opportunities in receiving any sort of positive or pleasurable human contact whatsoever were nigh on slim, practically mewled and arched into the hand.

This seemed to please Yohji. "Eager, Bombay?" he whispered, barely audible to Omi's ears.

Yohji's hand continued to trail over Omi's chest, where his questing fingers brushed over the boy's nipple, which stiffened and tightened under the caress. Omi nearly bucked out of Yohji's arms at the sensation.

"Yesss," he drawled, the ability to form even monosyllabic words becoming increasingly difficult. He could almost see Yohji smiling in victory, but he couldn't give a damn, so long as Yohji kept on doing what he was doing.

Yohji's fingers spread over Omi's chest, branding him with the imprint of his hand. His thumb found Omi's nipple again, nudging it roughly and circling the hard peak to the sounds of Omi's helpless whimpers. His other hand slipped deftly into Omi's shorts and graced over the already stiffening arousal it found there.

A sharp cry tore from Omi's lips, his voice cracking, at the sensation of Yohji's warm touch caressing him. The touch was firm, but with an express purpose of prolonging Omi's pleasure as long as possible. It moved in slow, deliberate strokes, moving from the very base of his cock to the head, making sure to tease to tip with his thumb on its way up. Omi whimpered hoarsely as all other thoughts flitted away to focus intently on those warm, talented hands playing him like a well-tuned instrument. It wasn't long before Omi started to move as well, attempting to find some release by fucking himself faster into the cupped hand.

He could hear and feel Yohji's rough breath in his ear, each breath heavy and hot. In Omi's lust clouded mind, he thought to himself that Yohji was really enjoying this. He was getting hot on jerking me off.

"A- ah! Yohji!"

That did it; the combined thought of Yohji satisfying him and the possibility that it was turning him on as well set Omi over the edge with a throaty cry. His eyes were squeezed tight as he stroked himself through one of the stronger orgasms he'd had in his recent memory.

Omi managed to catch his release into to the cupped palm of his hand, leaving Yohji's coat safely clean. Toweling himself off, he now felt truly sated and drowsy. Taking care to set his alarm early (so he could replace the coat before interested parties noticed it missing), he crawled back into bed, again with coat and all, and fell into one of the most peaceful slumbers he'd had in a damn long while.

...

Yohji stumbled down the stairs, yawning. He was more or less always the last one to be up, regardless of whether or not he opened the shop in the morning. A survey of the group's common living room told him that Ken and Aya were probably already up and downstairs, opening the shop. The room's only other occupant was Omi, who seemed to be digging around in the coat closet.

"Oi, what're you up to, Omi?"

Omi started and drew back from the closet as if it were on fire. Sticking his hands guiltily behind his back, he mustered a big, unsuspecting smile for Yohji. "Ah, good morning, Yohji! I- I just couldn't find my favorite pair of sneakers." Omi quickly dusted his hands off and shut the closet door. "Ah well," he chuckled, "I'm sure they didn't walk off by themselves so they must be in here somewhere. I'm starving."

Wandering back into the kitchen area, Omi poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down at the table where he had set up his laptop. With one hand tapping idly on the keys of the laptop and the other carefully guiding milky spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, Omi was back in his own world.

Yohji noticed that Omi was looking a bit tired. Perhaps a late night for him as well, thought Yohji. He worried a bit for the boy's well-being -- as much time as he spent on the computer these days, Yohji was concerned that he might lose his connection with the humankind. Or rather the kind with a pulse, that wasn't separated by walls of 0's and 1's.

Omi looked up from his laptop and smiled tiredly at Yohji, cutting off his musing. "Sit down, have some breakfast."

"Yeah, I think I will," Yohji replied nonchalantly. The last thing he wanted was for Omi to pick up that he was actually worried about the kid. Knowing him, he might actually be offended by the implication of his youth. After all, the boy had more or less been orphaned and left to fend for himself since age six. Moving to grab a mug for some coffee, Yohji managed to glance quickly at Omi's laptop screen. It was a news page he had loaded. Yohji then glanced over at the actual, physical newspaper sitting not two feet away from him. "You'll go blind if you keep doing that," Yohji added.

As he poured his coffee, he noticed Omi stiffen and turn around, assaulting him with wide, incredulous eyes. He resisted the urge to laugh at Omi's misunderstanding. "I meant, you'll go blind if you keep staring at that computer screen for most of your waking hours," he clarified, tapping the upraised corner of Omi's laptop.

Omi relaxed visibly. "I prefer to catch the news online. It's more comprehensive and far less biased than the local papers."

Yohji claimed the newspaper on the table for his own. Flipping it open, he turned and smirked at Omi. "To each their own, I guess."

Omi grinned and nodded. "Besides, the newspaper seems to be taken."

The remaining time was spent in silence, as the two Weiss members perused their own respective news sources. Yohji polished off his coffee first and moved to get up. He wanted to get out and enjoy the good weather before he had to return for his shift. If only he could remember where he left his coat ...

"Omi, have you seen my coat?"

Omi made no move to acknowledge that Yohji had said anything at all, but eventually, with eyes still fixed upon his laptop's monitor, he found the time to mention, "Yeah, you left it on the floor when you came back last night so I picked it up and hung it in the coat closet," he said as his head motioned toward the general direction of the aforementioned closet.

Yohji couldn't help but reach over the ruffle Omi's hair. "Thanks, what would I do without you?" He moved to grab his coat, leaving an affronted Omi sputtering in his seat.

With his coat tucked under his arm, he cut his way in through the flower shop, provoking another wave of squeals from the various lovesick girls to tear its way through the tiny room. Yohji made no move to stop, but did stay long enough to tell Ken and Aya that he was headed out. "I'll bring back some lunch when I get back!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Squeezing his way out through the double doors, he finally found enough room to throw his coat on. Lighting a cigarette before he started his stroll, he pulled his coat tight around him against the chill morning breeze. As he wandered down the city street, his thoughts turned to Omi again.

Omi. If he had only even half the balls that Omi did when he was that age ... Turning out compliments towards his teammates was definitely not his forte, but he admired Omi for his strength, intelligence, and that damn unwavering spirit. Yohji was sure he would've gone completely insane by now if it weren't for Omi's tenacious determination to live as normal an existence as possible. He imagined that Aya and Ken would probably say the same.

Funny, he thought to himself, my coat even smells like Omi now. Yohji smiled. We really do grow on each other.