Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Flawed Arc ❯ Garnet ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss. Sue and I'll plead insanity.

Warnings: Yaoi, NCS, Darkfic, R/NC-17, Bastardization of Aya.

Pairings: YojixFarfarello, AyaxYoji

Notes: After seeing how well Topaz did, I decided to write the arc that had been dwelling in my mind ever since. *Grins.* This is my first attempt at a fic of this type that's written in sections that classify as separate fics rather than as chapters. Hope everyone likes it!

I'm also using Yoji's manga coloring for this. I know so many of you love his blonde hair, but I myself prefer brunette Yoji. Too bad for you.

Now onto the second installment of the Flawed arc.

Garnet

by DragonSoul

God help me please, on my knees
Betrayed by lust
We lied to each other so much
Now there's nothing we trust

-Trust, Megadeth

Two bodies moved on the bed, one pale, skin flawed, jagged lines running across the surface. The other was the direct opposite, tawny skin supple and near perfect, sheened over with sweat. One pale yellow eye was glazed over and half open, unseeing, moonlight washing over the ruined face. Arms sheathed in cracked quicksilver skin wrapped around the back of the other, ragged nails drawing blood from the unmarked surface and staining the hands that hosted them with crimson smudges. Golden skin flexed and tightened over muscle, garnet and ruby drops shivering on the smooth back as more were mined by raking nails. Harsh gasps and low moans echoed around the room, their primal melody spurring the two figures on. It wasn't a dance of love, nor of affection, not even friendship. It was lust, pure, raw, simple. No emotions, no words, no thoughts. Unadulterated pleasure and pain, no giving, simply taking.

Two voices called out in completion, the golden form pushed roughly away from the silver one, chestnut locks pasting themselves to the fine sheen of sweat that beaded his forehead. The vivid droplets that had arisen on his back were absorbed by the sheets, staining the cheap linen with splotches of bright crimson. Flesh slid against flesh as the emaciated silver figure slipped from the bed, gathering his clothes and drawing them on, the dusty black material seeming to glow against his pale skin. The window slid open with a feather light touch, then the silver one was gone.

Not a word had been spoken.

Yoji leaned back against the head board, flicking damp strands of hair out of his eyes and tapping a cigarette from the pack that lay on his bed side table. Lighting up, he took a drag and exhaled slowly, the smoke curling upwards through the air like an erethreal being, forming delicate twists and curls with a life of their own.

Verdant green eyes watched as the designs slowly faded and unraveled, unfazed by the disintegrating beauty. He saw it all the time in withering flowers, dying targets, the smooth movements of his teammates. Beauty was common, not a thing to be trusted. It was deceptive, stealing away reason and thought. It hid things behind a mask of perfection, a deadly facade that could get someone in his profession killed.

Yet for all that he denounced beauty, Yoji was surrounded by it, bathed in it. All four members of Weiß had their own personal beauty, yet even that was corrupted. Behind the graceful expression of perfection that Aya exuded, lived Abyssinian, a cruel and sadistic being who wouldn't hesitate to kill in the name of personal gain. Sure, he said that it was for his sister, but Yoji could see the unchecked bloodlust in his eyes and the barely concealed rage that burned whenever someone else got the target. Omi had an innocent beauty, seemingly untouched by shadow. Of all of them, his beauty was the least genuine. He was the darkest of them all, stained so badly that the blemishes had reached his soul. Son, nephew, brother, all murderers in their own way, as well as being one himself. If Omi had ever existed, that person was long gone, killed as surely as Mamoru had been. Only Bombay existed, the darkest member of their team. Ken was naive, an unconscious beauty. Yet he drew more blood that Abyssinian did, and he always made sure his targets suffered. It was a chilling sight to observe the other brunette after a mission if he hadn't been allowed to make a hit, the trembling and flashes of insane rage as the adrenaline and bloodlust wore off. Until he came down off that that half sane adrenaline rush, he wasn't safe, wasn't lucid. Siberian was insane. Yoji himself was far more than tarnished, indulging his indolent nature to stave off his past, emerald green eyes having seen too much already and accepting what was to come. Balinese was jaded, at peace with his life, never rejecting or accepting. Of the four, he was probably the closest to beautiful, a fact that he both loathed and prided himself over.

The wisps of smoke tapered off, the slim cigarette having burnt away while he mused. Yoji quickly stubbed it out, sighing out of habit and leaning back against pillows that smelt of sex, sweat and alcohol. How many nights had he drunk himself senseless upon these pillows, taken or been taken by men and women? Too many to count, and they stretched out in front of him endlessly. Hands would tangle in the sheets, moans would be stifled, essence and sweat would be absorbed. The brunette smiled emotionlessly. He was dependent on that monotony to keep him together, to stay sane. The only break that was welcomed was the appearance of the silver washed Irishman, his enemy, confessor, penitent, friend. Though they never spoke unless their sins became too heavy to bear alone, they had a silent understanding. Pain was taken, same as pleasure. Their coupling was frigid, silent, and calculated. Manipulated by those around them. Yoji knew that Weiß knew, as did the rest of the Irishman's team. Just another unspoken understanding. No mention was ever made, they still tried to spill each other's blood when they met outside of this room, and life went on as normal. Life would always go on, no matter what happened. He could strip naked and kill every girl that entered the flower shop while screaming that he was gay, and the world would continue around him. No pity for the damned. There never was.

"Yoji."

His head shot up. The routine was disrupted. The shadow in the doorway shouldn't be there. A glance at the sheets rumpled below him convinced Yoji that the night was far from what it should have been, the startling ruby splashes staring up at him accusingly. The Irishman's visit had been out of place as well. The whole routine was shot to hell.

"Yoji." The shadow's voice was insistent, giving no time to think, no room to ignore it. Only one person had that low baritone, and he was definitely not someone Yoji wanted to see right now. Not someone Yoji ever wanted to see.

"What the hell do you want Aya?" Was that his voice? In the confusion behind the realization that the routine was now obsolete, he couldn't remember speaking. The voice was cold, syllables clipped. Far from his usual drawl or seductive whisper.

"Break it off. You are not to see him again. Ever." Cold, colder than Yoji could ever manage, colder than Antarctic ice, and laced with jagged steel. A command that brooked no objections. No chances for compromise.

"Fine. One question though." Chestnut hair fell over emerald eyes as he slipped off the bed, unheeding of his nudity and padded over to stand face to face with the red-head, breaths mingling. "Why?"

Violet eyes, stained garnet by the shadows, stared back at him impassively. "You are Weiß. We need no traitors in our ranks."

"Aa. Is that all?" A lazy smirk curved Yoji's lips as he looked down into Aya's eyes, expression amused but there was no humor in his eyes. "If we are Weiß, then there should be no secrets Aya." Inside his mind, Balinese awoke, waiting his time to take over.

Garnet eyes narrowed, Abyssinian taking the place of the man who stood before him. A cold sneer spread across his features while his eyes came alive with sadistic pleasure. "If you are Weiß, then you belong to me." The words were low, spoken with minimal inflection and hung in the air like steam on a winter's day.

The distance was bridged. Breaths mixed, flesh met, touched, surged.

The predators awoke, stretching and seeking to hunt.

White teeth clamped down on a lip, drawing blood which was lapped up even as the other gasped in pain. Hands curled around limbs, digging in, marring the tanned width with dark splotches, blood pooling beneath the tawny skin as muscle and tissue was crushed by the relentless grasp. Emerald eyes widened in shock, head falling back as he fought a cry of pain, baring delicate skin to the other man. Hungry lips and teeth brushed over the pulsing vein, parting and latching onto the delicate skin. How easy it would be to bear down and tear the skin, to drink his fill as the life left the brunette who was resisting him still.

Yoji stumbled, pain overloading his senses and he fell, sprawling across the bed, vision flashing with white from his head striking the wall. He lay there dazed, barely cognizant of what was happening. Aya tugged the drawstring of his pants undone, dropping the the flimsy cloth to the ground and stepping out of them. He would have been beautiful, a living statue, if not for the glint in his eyes before his form seemed to crumple and he pinned the taller man to the bed.

"Mine." Still dazed from the sharp strike on the back of his head, Yoji was in no state to argue. Rough hands flipped him over, his face pressed into the pillow. The other's weight settled on him, hands spreading his legs as the weight shifted, settling between his parted legs, a scalding heat pressing his entrance.

"No..." His body finally fought the assault, struggling to be free. This wasn't right. But how many times had he done this to the Irishman? Taken him roughly, no lubrication or warning? This was his payback, a punishment far over due. No! Farfarello had asked for it, had come to him just for that purpose! "Aya... get off."

A husky chuckle in his ear was his answer. "Don't you know that slaves can't boss their masters around Yoji? I've given you free reign for far too long. You are Weiß and you belong to me." The red head shifted, entering the brunette with no warning or preparation, never pausing before he set up a rhythm.

Yoji cried out, retreating into his mind to escape the pain, fighting the other man, attempting to convert the pain into pleasure. Aya snarled and bit his shoulder violently, tearing through skin, blood surfacing and breaking across his tongue in copper tanged waves. More of the red liquid seeped down his thighs, staining the skin and dripping onto the sheets. Helpless tears were absorbed by the pillow, spilling down his face no matter how hard he fought them back. They encouraged the red-head, who lifted his head from the sluggishly bleeding wound on Yoji's shoulder and cupped the brunette's face, lifting it so he could lap at the saline drops.

Two voices cried out, one for salvation, the other in dominance. Their movements were a travesty of the pure lust that had been expressed earlier, one striving for domination and possession, the other fighting to save his soul.

Above him, Aya stiffened, stifling his cries in Yoji's shoulders, breaking the skin again and reopening the existing wound. Blood flowed freely from the wounds as the red head came, heat flooding Yoji's body as he was pressed against the mattress by the now limp form. He bit his already savaged bottom lip, finally able to blink back the tears. If this was how Weiß functioned, was he still expected to trust Aya? He couldn't, wouldn't.

The swordsman pulled away, sliding off of Yoji and standing, stepping into the think pajama bottoms and pulling them up, as if nothing had happened. His gaze flicked distastefully over the brunette's shivering form before he turned and walked to the door. Behind him, Yoji turned his back on him, knees pressed to his chest and arms wrapping around them in an attempt to calm the tremors that shook his body.

Aya paused at the door, mask once again in place except for the small, satisfied smirk that curled his lips. "You are mine Yoji. Don't forget it." The door shut and Yoji lost his hold over the sobs, body shaking violently as tears slid silently down his cheeks.

And the moon looked on while blood the color of flawless garnets stained the sheets below him.

~*~

Is it just me or are my non con lemons better than my other ones?

And yes, this arc does have a plot. I'm still setting it up and figuring it out though. Not all of them will contain NCS lemons.

I have started looking for a place that sells coats like Farf myself since no one will buy it for me.