Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Found ❯ Chapter 1

Found
Scribblemoose

Aya had been dreaming, when the sharp rap on the door brought him rudely awake. At least, it had felt like a dream, but rooted so deeply in memory that he couldn't, for a moment, distinguish between reality and the workings of his imagination.

It had been a turning point, a decision. One of those times they could have stopped, and didn't, one of the times when they could have parted, or stayed together.

He woke up before he had a chance to find out which it was.

It was a familiar knock, and one he could hardly believe, dared hardly to believe, he was hearing.

Aya swung his legs off the bed, pushed a hand through his messy crimson hair. His surroundings flooded back as he came properly awake. It was still hot, too hot for him to want to put his shirt back on. Sunshine flooded the room, casting a golden glow over the basic but comfortable furniture: double bed, dressing table and wardrobe, chest of drawers, and a large, polished wooden desk. A sturdy door lead to a small bathroom. Anonymous, comfortable, a typical London hotel room. It had been Aya's home for a month now, and yet it bore nothing that would identify itself as such.

He couldn't seem to shake the dream, the sense of a decision needing to be made, a turning point, a moment of change.

Perhaps the knock had been a dream as well. Of course. No-one knew he was here, unless. . . but it had been more than two weeks since his leads had dried up, there was no reason to think anything would happen now. The hotel staff never knocked on his door; they cleaned once, in the morning when he was out, that was all.

A dream, then.

He got up and strode to the door to check, nonetheless, pausing with his hand on the handle, waiting for the knock to come again.

"Fuck it, Aya, just open the door."

Aya's heart leapt in his chest; he wrenched the door open, and stared.

Standing in the doorway, living and breathing, was Yohji.

Aya stood there, speechless, thoughtless, motionless. Stunned.

"Happy birthday, Aya." Yohji held out a long, thin, brown paper-wrapped thing with one hand, his face lit with a smile as familiar to Aya as the smell of flowers, the noise of Tokyo traffic.

He looked at the thing Yohji offered him, blinking at it. His katana. Yohji had promised. It was here. Yohji was here.

"I got your message," Yohji was explaining. "I've been out of town for a couple of weeks. Took you a while to find me, love," he added, reproachfully. "I was about to give up and settle down with this cute nurse I met."

Aya stared at him; the blood roared in his ears, he couldn't think. He wasn't even sure he wasn't still dreaming.

"You could ask me in," suggested Yohji.

Aya noticed for the first time how tired he looked, his voice a little edgy, a trace of pain in the huge green eyes.

"Sorry," he said, stepping aside and taking the katana from Yohji's outstretched hand. "Come in."

Yohji stepped into the anonymous room, looking around him, curious as ever. "Not bad," he said, approvingly. "Not as spartan as I'd expect from you, Aya. You going soft in your old age?"

"How. . ." Aya began, paused to clear his throat. "Where. . ."

"It's a long story," said Yohji. "Full of intrigue, a heavy dose of irony and some bits you really aren't going to like. People you aren't going to like."

"You're really here," said Aya, believing it at last.

Yohji looked at him, the grin fading. "Yes," he said softly.

Their eyes met, properly, completely, for the first time in half a year, since Aya had abandoned him in Essett's doomed building with only his katana and Schuldig for company.

Schuldig.

People he didn't like.

Aya had a lot of questions, all of a sudden, but he couldn't voice any of them. He drank in Yohji's presence instead: the smell of outdoors and cigarette smoke; the tousled blonde hair, longer than it had been, dark roots showing; the faintly ironic expression; deep green eyes full of sadness and longing, with an unusual glimmer of hope that he'd first seen back in that final battle, and hadn't had nearly enough time to get used to.

"Yohji," he said.

"Aya." Yohji replied. He didn't reach out, or come close to him; Aya realised with a shock he was waiting. Waiting for Aya to make the first move.

For one awful moment Aya didn't think he'd be able to. He was paralysed, partly by the shock of finding Yohji at last, partly by the fear of rejection, and partly out of a strong instinct of self-preservation. There had been so many moves in this elaborate game that he and Yohji had been playing for the past half-decade, and every time Aya ended up hurt and alone.

But to think he might not make the move implied that he had a choice, and where Yohji was concerned, Aya never really had a choice. However closely he controlled the rest of his life, and that of those around him, he was bound to Yohji as tightly as if the other man still had his wire around Aya's throat. There was no choice. There was just inevitable need and wanting, and ridiculous, painful hope.

Aya reached out a trembling hand to touch Yohji's face, an indescribable thrill shocking through him at the feel of Yohji's lips as they kissed his palm. He pulled Yohji into his arms and kissed him, a tiny noise escaping from his throat as he drowned in the warm familiarity of the embrace. Yohji's kisses were like nothing else: lazy, sensuous, greedy; he moved his mouth slowly with Aya's, pausing to nibble briefly at his lower lip, his tongue chasing Aya's and winding around it. Then all at once the tension between them flared to heat, and their kisses became fervent; Yohji cupped Aya's face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs across the smooth lines of Aya's jaw. Aya wanted to weep, his need was so profound and unbearable.

Yohji pulled back to gasp breath into his lungs and Aya choked a sob, horrified at the intensity of the emotions that were running through him, and at the same time completely lost to them.

"Oh hell, Aya, oh, Aya, I missed you. . ." Yohji rested his forehead against Aya's, breathing hard. "I want you so bad, is that wrong?" Aya felt the shake in Yohji's fingers as they tangled in his hair. "Is it wrong of me to want you so much?"

Aya shook his head slowly, not trusting himself to speak.

"Is it okay?" Yohji whispered. "Can we? If it's too soon, if. . . I know I was an asshole, and. . . but. . ."

Aya covered Yohji's mouth with his own, cutting off his babbling, answering his question with a kiss so deep, so hard, that neither of them were left in any doubt as to what the other wanted. Aya pulled Yohji closer, the zip of his leather jacket cold against his bare chest.

Yohji pressed his lips to Aya's throat and neck, his hands still combing through Aya's hair, his fingers twisting the strands where his eartails used to be. Aya unzipped the jacket and slid it off Yohji's shoulders, realising for the first time how thin Yohji had become. Always on the lean side, his shoulder blades felt sharp, shifting under his skin to ease the jacket off, and Aya could clearly feel the bumps and notches of his spine through his shirt. He pulled him closer for an instant, feeling strangely protective of this seemingly fragile body.

Yohji moved his lips further down, dragging one hand to range over Aya's sleek chest as he licked at a puckered nipple. Aya let out a small moan and started to unbutton, moving smoothly down Yohji's shirt, pausing only to run fingertips briefly over too-prominent ribs before continuing down to undo his jeans. The silk whispered over Yohji's shoulders and down his arms to join his jacket on the floor. Yohji raised his head and Aya fastened his mouth to the soft spot where Yohji's shoulder curved gently into his neck, squeezing his eyes tight shut as he sucked.

Yohji groaned, his fingers grappling with the fly of Aya's pants, deft as ever. Aya smoothed his palms down Yohji's naked back, hooking thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and pushing them over Yohji's hips; they fell easily, too big really for his narrow form. Yohji toed off his shoes and stepped out of the puddle of denim without so much as a stumble; and then he was sinking to his knees, pulling Aya's pants down his legs as he went.

He gripped Aya's hips and kissed his way up one thigh, trailing his tongue over the taut, quivering muscle. Aya's head dropped forwards and he clutched at Yohji's hair, weaving his fingers through it over and over, gasping as Yohji' nuzzled the bulge in his briefs. Strong fingers slid under the waistband, and Aya could barely breathe as the soft cotton was pulled down over his aching flesh. Yohji murmured, as if greeting Aya's cock as it sprang clear of clothing to bop his nose. He cupped Aya's balls gently in one palm, rested his cool cheek against the urgent heat of Aya's erection, and sighed. "I missed you," he whispered, although whether he was addressing Aya's cock or Aya himself wasn't entirely clear.

"Yoh~ji," Aya stammered; it was all he could do to stop himself from coming on the spot at the barest touch of Yohji's skin to his, it had been so very, very long since anyone had touched him at all, and no-one set him on fire like Yohji. Yohji's tongue flicked out and licked up the shaft of his cock, gently easing down his foreskin and probing the ridge and cleft of the head, teasing the tiny slit at the top to taste the bead of precome that formed there. Just when Aya thought he would lose it completely and come all over Yohji's face - and that thought alone was damn near enough to drive him over the edge - just then, he felt something pressing firmly, just where his foreskin was joined to the underside of his cock, the most sensitive part. Yohji knew. Yohji was squeezing him, stopping the violent urge to climax, just a bit, just enough. Yohji always knew.

Aya breathed deeply, his fingers still tight in Yohji's hair, and wrestled himself back under control. Then there was Yohji's tongue again, and the wet heat of his mouth, and his nose brushing against the crimson curls at the root of Aya's cock, and it was all he could do to stay standing.

"Yohji," he whispered hoarsely after just a few moments of Yohji's blissful deepthroating. "Yohji, the bed."

Yohji reluctantly released Aya's cock from his mouth, dropping a kiss to the tip, and smiled up at him.

"You taste as good as ever," he said.

Aya groaned. "Bed," he said, helping Yohji to his feet.

They climbed out of the last few items of clothing and onto the bed. Aya headed straight for Yohji's cock, the familiar silky skin, the heft and weight and incredible hardness of it, thick and twitching in his hand. Yohji sank his head back onto the pillow, and Aya took a moment to look at him properly, taking in the fresh scars, stripes of silver-white on his honey skin. He looked pale, and thin, and unbelievably beautiful, spread out there before Aya, moaning softly and rocking his hips into Aya's touch.

Aya dipped his head and took Yohji's cock into his mouth, revelling in its heat, the sweet taste of his skin. He let Yohji pull his hips around so he could reciprocate, sucking and licking at Aya's erection as Aya swallowed him. They fell into each others' rhythm easily, although Aya was still holding himself tense for fear of coming, and judging by the telling jerk of Yohji's cock in his mouth as Aya started to probe the crack of Yohji's ass with his fingers, he wasn't the only one.

Yohji's mouth slid off Aya's cock. "Aya, if you want to fuck, it had better be soon," he panted.

Aya looked up, risking a final swirl of his tongue around the glistening head of Yohji's cock as their eyes met. "You want me to, or. . ."

"You, Aya," husked Yohji. "Fuck me? Please? There's lube in my jacket." He grinned. "I didn't want to presume, but old habits die hard."

Aya scooted off the bed and rummaged among the familiar paraphernalia in Yohji's pockets: crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighter, wallet, and a little silver cigarette case, which Aya pulled out. He returned to Yohji's side and opened it, spilling the contents onto the bed, little foil wraps of lube and condoms.

"I'm clean," said Yohji. "They tested me for every disease known to medical science at the hospital. But I'll understand if you want to. . ."

"Hospital?" Aya interrupted. Baka. Of course he'd have been in hospital for a while, even Yohji couldn't have just got up and walked away after a building fell on him. "Are you okay? Now?"

Yohji smiled at him. "Good as new," he said. "But I'll feel a lot better with your cock inside me."

Aya reached for a sachet of lube with trembling fingers. He spread Yohji's thighs and cradled his balls carefully in one hand, lifting them to better expose the tiny hole underneath. He dipped his head to kiss and lick at it, teasing with the very tip of his tongue. He licked across the soft skin of Yohji's inner thigh, and up to his balls, releasing them to drop into his waiting mouth. His throat was tight, choked; the taste and smell of Yohji was so familiar and so real. He'd found him, at last, after searching all this time, he'd really found him, he was here, on his bed, where he belonged, naked, alive, hard, his, found. Aya couldn't stop tasting and touching him, every inch of his cock, of his balls, snuffling into the soft brown hair around them, kissing the delicious ridge of flesh that ran from balls to anus, swirling around the pucker, probing with his tongue.

He tore open the packet of lube with his teeth, and squirted it over the tips of his fingers, slickened Yohji's entrance swiftly, tried to catch his breath. He took a look at Yohji's face; he was smiling, eyes closed, his tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. As beautiful as ever.

"Oh, Yohji," Aya whispered, applying another sachet of lube to his dick, not taking his gaze from Yohji's face for a second. "Are you ready?"

Yohji's eyes flickered open, gleaming with lust. "Always," he said. "Do it, Aya. Take me back."

Not fuck me. Not take me. Take me back.

Aya hesitated, his glistening cock nudging gently at Yohji's anus, completely oblivious to any feelings that might be going on in Aya's mind, just wanting to rub skin to skin and revel in the pleasure of Yohji's slick, tight insides. The best ass Aya had ever fucked, the most beautiful body he'd ever held, the most impossible man he'd ever loved.

"Yohji. . ." Too many feelings; Aya was completely lost.

"Aya." Calm. Certain. Just a little impatient.

Aya looked down at where their bodies were about to join, and swallowed hard. He watched the tip of his cock nudge its way into Yohji bit by bit, pushing against the impossible tightness for a few heartbeats before the muscles gave way, and then it popped in in a rush, the head suddenly engulfed by the hungry mouth of Yohji's ass. Aya threw his head back with a roar and pushed all of the way inside, claiming Yohji as his again with that one, passionate thrust. He heard Yohji's voice blending with his, just as rough and raw; he reached out for Yohji's hands and twined their fingers together; he waited, panting, sweat forming on his brow and trickling down to sting his eyes. He looked once more into Yohji's eyes. The calm, casual charm was gone now, and Yohji gave him his true face, all the passion and grief and hurt and love, and Aya wondered if his mask had slipped too.

Something in Yohji's expression suggested that it had.

Aya took Yohji with long, deep thrusts, on his knees at first, Yohji's ankles wrapped around his waist, and then crouching over Yohji like a cat, licking his neck and face in long swipes. It was raw and noisy; the slap of flesh against flesh, the headboard slamming against the wall, both of them groaning out loud, even Aya, who usually barely even sighed. Gradually, it changed. Aya changed. The hurt inside was fading to hope, the pain released, for now. He sat back on his heels, gathering Yohji up in his arms, light as a feather. He fell back, still buried deep in Yohji's body, and watched Yohji ride him: his beautiful body arching and writhing on Aya's cock, his long fingers raised above his head, pushing through his own hair. Aya bucked to meet him, faster now but not yet frenzied, a steady, patient rhythm that they'd perfected long ago and made their own. The pleasure built quickly, though, the urge to finish growing stronger, more irresistible with every thrust.

Yohji leaned back, clasping Aya's thighs and using the leverage to better meet Aya's thrusts, his body a magnificent arc, hair just long enough to shake with the impact of body to body, almost long enough to fall in his eyes.

Aya reached out and took Yohji's bobbing cock in his hand, stroked in time, spreading precome over the head, rolling the foreskin back and forth, feeling the rush as semen blasted up Yohji's thick shaft, white streamers flying through the air to stripe the ivory skin of Aya's chest and belly. Aya waited until the jets had settled to a dribble before he let himself thrust again, and when he did he came straight away, with a shout that burnt his throat. He emptied himself inside Yohji, spurting again and again, each spasm as strong as the last. It seemed to go on forever, and he felt like he'd never stop, even though his balls were starting to hurt from the endless spasms and surely must be dry soon. . . He felt Yohji's fingers gently probing his shoulders, soothing, unwinding him, and realised his whole body was clenched tight. He let himself go, wincing as the last few spurts escaped from his throbbing cock, and sank back into the mattress, pulling air deep into his lungs, and relaxing at last and all at once.

It was almost as if he were asleep again. Perhaps he was. He was on the hillside by the old mobile flower shop, and Omi asked again: "will you come with us, Aya?"

Aya found his voice, at last, at least in the dream. "Yes," he said. "Weiß are still needed. We should stay together." His eyes darted towards Yohji, leaning against the side of the van. "All of us. Always. We are stronger together than apart. We are Weiß."

The dream faded, and he gradually became aware of Yohji shifting on top of him, stiffly raising himself to let Aya's spent cock slither out of him, slapping wet against Aya's belly. He flopped down next to Aya with a grunt; Aya snaked an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

He felt a gangly arm reach across his chest, a warm body snuggling into his side, still there, still real, still found. He would have allowed himself a rare smile, but he was, he realised with a shock, grinning like a maniac already.

"So," came the slow, smooth murmur of Yohji's voice. "I suppose as it's your birthday you want me to take you to dinner. I've found this great little place in Covent Garden."

Aya contemplated this for a moment, his fingertips ruffling through Yohji's hair, willing it to grow.

"Hn," he said.

He felt Yohji's lips curve to a smile against his shoulder.

"Okay then, lover," Yohji's tongue darted out to flick Aya's nipple. "Room service it is."

Aya gave Yohji a swift hug of assent, and allowed himself to savour that bright, fragile thing that was the closest to happiness he dared to feel. The thing that only Yohji could make him feel.

"You need feeding up," he said. "You're far too bony."

"If you say so," said Yohji. "Go get my cigarettes, Aya?"

"No," said Aya.

"Oh, please," whined Yohji.

"Get them yourself, if you must."

"But I'm all bony and frail."

"Hn."

Aya reluctantly let Yohji slip from his arms and wander off to fetch his cigarettes. He watched as he rattled one out of the pack, popped it between his slightly swollen lips, lit it and took a long drag. The smoke drifted over in Aya's direction, acrid, familiar, and disturbingly welcome.

Yohji padded back to the bed and sat beside Aya, raising his knees and draping his arms over them.

"I suppose you have to tell them you found me," he said.

"Yes," said Aya. "Ken's been pestering me and Omi. . ." he frowned. "Omi's not been himself at all."

"And then it'll start again," said Yohji, sadly. "I'll be Weiß again."

"Is that what you want?" Aya felt his heart sink. He wasn't sure he could bear to lose Yohji again. Not this time.

"If I get to be with you," Yohji said, quietly. "And besides," he took a long drag on his cigarette and blew smoke over his shoulder in some vain attempt to keep it away from Aya. "Let's face it, I'm not much good at anything else. I sucked as an art teacher."

Aya laughed. "You weren't so bad," he said. "When you actually turned up, that is."

Yohji sniffed. "I like flowers better," he said. "I know where I am with flowers."

"Flowers it is, then," said Aya, softly.

"So, you going to call the chibi?"

"It's one in the morning in Japan," said Aya. "It'll wait."

"Oh good," said Yohji, brightly. "Then we get a night of uninterrupted fun before it's all mission this and Persia that again? Is Omi still Persia, by the way?"

"Not exactly," said Aya. "Yohji. . . are you sure? You could stay here. I could pretend I never found you and. . ."

"I'm sure." Yohji picked up Aya's hand, pulled it to his lips and kissed the palm. "I'm not going to lose you again, Aya. Never."

Aya couldn't let himself believe that, not yet. Possibly not ever. There were so many unanswered questions, so many problems, so much history between them. But he knew one thing, as Yohji pulled him up into his arms and held him, kissed his hair, the warm brush of his smoky breath caressing his neck. He'd kept his promise. He'd found Yohji, and brought him back.

And for now, that was enough.

* * *