Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Kill You Later ❯ Chapter 1
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Yohji messed up a mission, and now he's got to avoid the wrath of Aya.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 02.10.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 788 | Status: Work In Progress
Yohji messed up a mission, and now he's got to avoid the wrath of Aya.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 02.10.2011 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 788 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss. They wouldn’t give me even one pretty boy. Of course, I’d have to have two to make it fun.
Notes: Today was a snow day from school, so no work for me. So, instead of cleaning my house like I should, I played with my kitten (uh, the real ones…then the others). This is another of those maybe it’s yaoi, but not quite, though Yohji definitely has a few ideas in that direction.
Kill You Later
“Should I kill you now, or are you going to order dinner first?”
“Dinner,” Yohji returned, smile looking not at all sure as tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m paying, of course.”
“Hn.”
“Yohji-kun doesn’t blood all over his car,” Omi informed Ken in a fake whisper. “We’ll definitely get food.”
Ken looked doubtful, “I dunno. It was pretty bad. Food might not save him.”
“Good food,” Yohji promised.
“You can’t go in,” Omi reminded, reaching up between the front seats to tug gently on the strap of Yohji’s top. While he and Ken were wearing their mission gear, Aya and Yohji looked a bit more…interesting. “And it’s two in the morning, Yohji-kun.”
“Drive through,” Ken suggested.
“Drive through’s not gonna save my ass.”
~*~
There wasn’t much of a choice, and Yohji could only pray over the three bags of cheap food he brought into the kitchen. Ken and Omi followed, the former carrying their drinks while the chibi toted in his laptop and the case of surveillance equipment.
They had all expected Aya to go change the moment he had an opportunity, but the man simply put his sword down in the middle of the kitchen table and took a seat. That did not bode well for Yohji. Ignoring the weapon, the blonde opened one of the bags and handed over a foil-wrapped sandwich. Aya took it without a word, and Yohji could only stand and look at him as he unwrapped it, still not used to seeing, well, so much of Aya.
Yohji might have been scantily clad in his too-tight tank top and cut-off jeans shorts that exposed a good third of his butt, but that wasn’t so unusual. Aya, previously seen in nothing more risqué than short sleeves, was shockingly comfortable in black velvet pants and not much else. Well, there was the mesh shirt, but it was more holes than shirt, and the choker, but Yohji didn’t think that was helping anything. It sure hadn’t helped him earlier.
Trying not to think about why Aya wanted to liberate his organs from his body, Yohji took a seat next to the swordsman and dug out a hamburger. Aya made a face at it and went back to his chicken, making Yohji roll his eyes. Trust Aya not to recognize the delight of a cheap hamburger with extra pickles.
Ken and Omi quickly sorted out the rest of the food (save the one bag Yohji was hoarding) and drinks, both of them obviously trying not to look at Aya. Not that Aya looked bad. Hell, no. He looked a little thin, but muscular and pretty damn perfect, and pale. Yohji couldn’t get over that. He saw Aya every day, but there was something so freaking exotic in all that pallid skin exposed against the dark pants and choker, the last attached to a silver charm that glinted in the light and matched the silver earring he was wearing. Roses. They were both roses.
Yohji knew because he had spent a good part of the night staring at the younger man.
That alone had not made Aya happy, especially because Yohji was supposed to be looking out for the target. But damn, it was hard, especially when Aya was constantly surrounded by strangers intent on getting him out of those incredibly snug pants.
Aya hated strangers. Yohji knew this. Everyone knew this. The redhead was just as soon break someone’s wrist as speak three friendly words to them. But Aya had been in top mission form, playing up the part of flirtatious club kid.
Serendipity was diverse enough that it was hard to pinpoint the target’s taste, so they had to run the gambit. After sending in Ken and Yohji three nights in a row, they had made a tough call and decided to run the risk with something different. Frustrated that the last stage of the mission wasn’t progressing, Aya had given in with only token complaint and had been instructed, by Omi no less, to dress in something ‘a little dark’ that would ‘attract attention and, for gods’ sake, show a little skin.’
Aya followed those strange directions surprisingly well. Yohji had worried all the way to the club, what with Aya refusing to remove his long coat to reveal his outfit. True, it wasn’t his mission coat, but the black trench was not going to do it. Probably. Yohji wasn’t too sure, and it stung his pride a little that Aya could probably walk into a bar wearing a burlap sack and still be a rival for attention.
They weren’t supposed to be together, so Yohji had gone in first, made his way to the bar, and waited to see if Aya would actually show. He already had a drink in his hand and a businessman on his arm when his teammate appeared and went straight to the dance floor.
Aya hadn’t been the most revealed dancer, but he attracted immediate attention when he went out on the floor. Hell, even the guys wearing little more than underwear were stopping to take a look, forgetting their own, rather desperate, attempts for attention as they watched Aya cling to the shoulders of a muscular gentleman in red leather. Yohji hadn’t meant to stare, or meant to notice how damn good Aya looked in those pants, or meant to be jealous of the way he moved expertly to the music, enticing his audience.
It wasn’t that he was better than Yohji, no, the blonde wasn’t going to go that far, but Aya wasn’t supposed to possess any of the skills Yohji had a corner on. Aya was supposed to be awkward on the dance floor, stumbling over his feet, uncomfortable in the club and barely able to dress himself. That was the order of the universe.
Yohji had lost his businessman through inattention, and gotten a glare once Aya noticed he was staring. It was the first of many.
It didn’t really matter. They knew the target, playing bait only to get through his rather impressive defenses and kill him without drawing attention. Kuin was a powerful man, and the news was going to be all over his death; Weiss didn’t want their participation in any way revealed, so taking out twenty armed guards and slicing him open was not an option. They had to get close and kill without blood. To that effect, Yohji had carried only his watch and Aya, well, Yohji had thought that he was unarmed. Wrong.
But that hadn’t come up for a while. No, for the first two and a half hours, Yohji had been completely involved with digging himself a hole. He got caught staring no less than five times, and he got away with it more often than not. Aya was…he wasn’t fucking Aya, not just then. He had people gathered around him, a small entourage of shifting faces that followed him from dance floor to bar to table and back again. And no wonder.
Aya was a man of stunning looks. Yohji knew this, had thought about this, had even jerked off a few times to this. However, the reality of Aya asserted itself on pretty much a daily basis when the blonde was glared at, yelled at, or completely ignored. He wasn’t used to seeing this Aya, the one who smiled and writhed and even, gods, batted his eyes a time or two. His brain was contemplating having an aneurism.
That’s why he had done it.
What he had done was completely freaked out.
Aya had caught the target’s eye; Yohji had seen it even before Aya whispered it over the comm. Twenty minutes and three mind-numbing moves later, Kuin was speaking to his bodyguards, Aya on his arm. The redhead was ushered to the back rooms.
All this was according to plan, but Yohji had been suddenly assaulted by doubts.
They had both been given a neat little lesson on how to off the target by slipping him a bit of poison while kissing. At the time Yohji had been joking when he asked Aya to practice with him, but at that moment, he really wondered if Aya knew how to do it. Not kissing, the poison. What if something went wrong? What if the packet didn’t work right? They should have tested it.
And, in his defense, he had thought Aya was unarmed. If something had gone wrong, and if Aya had been unarmed, and, Yohji rather reluctantly admitted, if the redhead hadn’t known at least twelve ways to kill a man with his bare hands, then he could have been in danger. Could have.
He wasn’t. But Yohji didn’t know that until he had taken out two guards and left three more unconscious, not until he had fucked the plan and burst into the backroom. Well, actually, it was a few seconds after that, since the moment he crossed the threshold he had felt wonderfully vindicated. The target was a large man, and he had Aya pinned down on a stained futon the back corner. Or so Yohji thought.
That’s why he grabbed the guy, hauling him up despite the shocked look on Aya’s face. Yohji could only think of hitting the bastard, making him pay for hurting Aya, but even as he drew back his fist, Kuin’s eyes went wide with more than shock, a gruesome hole appearing in his throat as Aya stabbed him from behind. Yohji let him go just quick enough to avoid the spray of blood.
Stepping back, he could only watch as Aya leant down and retrieved a vicious-looking switchblade, wiping each side on the shoulder of the dying man’s dress shirt before snapping it closed.
Yohji shook his head, trying not to relive the verbal thrashing he had gotten.
He was so dead.
As Aya finished his meal and neatly folded the foil, Yohji pulled out the last of defenses.
“Here,” he offered the small, wrapped item.
Aya glared at it, then at him.
“Cherry turnover,” he waved it enticingly. Aya’s sweet tooth wasn’t a secret to any of them, and Omi was even rolling his eyes at Yohji’s antics, but it didn’t matter. If Aya took the offering, maybe Yohji would live through the night. Maybe.
“Come on, you like cherries.”
Aya remained still, anger shifting slightly to cold calculation, probably weighing the pros and cons of slicing the blonde into bits and then taking the turnover. Yohji smiled and held the dessert a little closer. He would have felt more secure if it were strawberry mochi or one of those too-sweet beignets from the bakery down the street, but it was three in the morning and something a little less gourmet was going to have to save him.
“Please?”
Aya reached out and snatched it from his hand.
“You’re still dead,” he said, but his attention was focused on the pastry as he pealed the wrapper away from the flaky crust.
“Even if I have icing?”
“Maybe.”
~tbc?~
Converting /tmp/phpZhT5cC to /dev/stdout
Notes: Today was a snow day from school, so no work for me. So, instead of cleaning my house like I should, I played with my kitten (uh, the real ones…then the others). This is another of those maybe it’s yaoi, but not quite, though Yohji definitely has a few ideas in that direction.
Kill You Later
“Should I kill you now, or are you going to order dinner first?”
“Dinner,” Yohji returned, smile looking not at all sure as tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m paying, of course.”
“Hn.”
“Yohji-kun doesn’t blood all over his car,” Omi informed Ken in a fake whisper. “We’ll definitely get food.”
Ken looked doubtful, “I dunno. It was pretty bad. Food might not save him.”
“Good food,” Yohji promised.
“You can’t go in,” Omi reminded, reaching up between the front seats to tug gently on the strap of Yohji’s top. While he and Ken were wearing their mission gear, Aya and Yohji looked a bit more…interesting. “And it’s two in the morning, Yohji-kun.”
“Drive through,” Ken suggested.
“Drive through’s not gonna save my ass.”
~*~
There wasn’t much of a choice, and Yohji could only pray over the three bags of cheap food he brought into the kitchen. Ken and Omi followed, the former carrying their drinks while the chibi toted in his laptop and the case of surveillance equipment.
They had all expected Aya to go change the moment he had an opportunity, but the man simply put his sword down in the middle of the kitchen table and took a seat. That did not bode well for Yohji. Ignoring the weapon, the blonde opened one of the bags and handed over a foil-wrapped sandwich. Aya took it without a word, and Yohji could only stand and look at him as he unwrapped it, still not used to seeing, well, so much of Aya.
Yohji might have been scantily clad in his too-tight tank top and cut-off jeans shorts that exposed a good third of his butt, but that wasn’t so unusual. Aya, previously seen in nothing more risqué than short sleeves, was shockingly comfortable in black velvet pants and not much else. Well, there was the mesh shirt, but it was more holes than shirt, and the choker, but Yohji didn’t think that was helping anything. It sure hadn’t helped him earlier.
Trying not to think about why Aya wanted to liberate his organs from his body, Yohji took a seat next to the swordsman and dug out a hamburger. Aya made a face at it and went back to his chicken, making Yohji roll his eyes. Trust Aya not to recognize the delight of a cheap hamburger with extra pickles.
Ken and Omi quickly sorted out the rest of the food (save the one bag Yohji was hoarding) and drinks, both of them obviously trying not to look at Aya. Not that Aya looked bad. Hell, no. He looked a little thin, but muscular and pretty damn perfect, and pale. Yohji couldn’t get over that. He saw Aya every day, but there was something so freaking exotic in all that pallid skin exposed against the dark pants and choker, the last attached to a silver charm that glinted in the light and matched the silver earring he was wearing. Roses. They were both roses.
Yohji knew because he had spent a good part of the night staring at the younger man.
That alone had not made Aya happy, especially because Yohji was supposed to be looking out for the target. But damn, it was hard, especially when Aya was constantly surrounded by strangers intent on getting him out of those incredibly snug pants.
Aya hated strangers. Yohji knew this. Everyone knew this. The redhead was just as soon break someone’s wrist as speak three friendly words to them. But Aya had been in top mission form, playing up the part of flirtatious club kid.
Serendipity was diverse enough that it was hard to pinpoint the target’s taste, so they had to run the gambit. After sending in Ken and Yohji three nights in a row, they had made a tough call and decided to run the risk with something different. Frustrated that the last stage of the mission wasn’t progressing, Aya had given in with only token complaint and had been instructed, by Omi no less, to dress in something ‘a little dark’ that would ‘attract attention and, for gods’ sake, show a little skin.’
Aya followed those strange directions surprisingly well. Yohji had worried all the way to the club, what with Aya refusing to remove his long coat to reveal his outfit. True, it wasn’t his mission coat, but the black trench was not going to do it. Probably. Yohji wasn’t too sure, and it stung his pride a little that Aya could probably walk into a bar wearing a burlap sack and still be a rival for attention.
They weren’t supposed to be together, so Yohji had gone in first, made his way to the bar, and waited to see if Aya would actually show. He already had a drink in his hand and a businessman on his arm when his teammate appeared and went straight to the dance floor.
Aya hadn’t been the most revealed dancer, but he attracted immediate attention when he went out on the floor. Hell, even the guys wearing little more than underwear were stopping to take a look, forgetting their own, rather desperate, attempts for attention as they watched Aya cling to the shoulders of a muscular gentleman in red leather. Yohji hadn’t meant to stare, or meant to notice how damn good Aya looked in those pants, or meant to be jealous of the way he moved expertly to the music, enticing his audience.
It wasn’t that he was better than Yohji, no, the blonde wasn’t going to go that far, but Aya wasn’t supposed to possess any of the skills Yohji had a corner on. Aya was supposed to be awkward on the dance floor, stumbling over his feet, uncomfortable in the club and barely able to dress himself. That was the order of the universe.
Yohji had lost his businessman through inattention, and gotten a glare once Aya noticed he was staring. It was the first of many.
It didn’t really matter. They knew the target, playing bait only to get through his rather impressive defenses and kill him without drawing attention. Kuin was a powerful man, and the news was going to be all over his death; Weiss didn’t want their participation in any way revealed, so taking out twenty armed guards and slicing him open was not an option. They had to get close and kill without blood. To that effect, Yohji had carried only his watch and Aya, well, Yohji had thought that he was unarmed. Wrong.
But that hadn’t come up for a while. No, for the first two and a half hours, Yohji had been completely involved with digging himself a hole. He got caught staring no less than five times, and he got away with it more often than not. Aya was…he wasn’t fucking Aya, not just then. He had people gathered around him, a small entourage of shifting faces that followed him from dance floor to bar to table and back again. And no wonder.
Aya was a man of stunning looks. Yohji knew this, had thought about this, had even jerked off a few times to this. However, the reality of Aya asserted itself on pretty much a daily basis when the blonde was glared at, yelled at, or completely ignored. He wasn’t used to seeing this Aya, the one who smiled and writhed and even, gods, batted his eyes a time or two. His brain was contemplating having an aneurism.
That’s why he had done it.
What he had done was completely freaked out.
Aya had caught the target’s eye; Yohji had seen it even before Aya whispered it over the comm. Twenty minutes and three mind-numbing moves later, Kuin was speaking to his bodyguards, Aya on his arm. The redhead was ushered to the back rooms.
All this was according to plan, but Yohji had been suddenly assaulted by doubts.
They had both been given a neat little lesson on how to off the target by slipping him a bit of poison while kissing. At the time Yohji had been joking when he asked Aya to practice with him, but at that moment, he really wondered if Aya knew how to do it. Not kissing, the poison. What if something went wrong? What if the packet didn’t work right? They should have tested it.
And, in his defense, he had thought Aya was unarmed. If something had gone wrong, and if Aya had been unarmed, and, Yohji rather reluctantly admitted, if the redhead hadn’t known at least twelve ways to kill a man with his bare hands, then he could have been in danger. Could have.
He wasn’t. But Yohji didn’t know that until he had taken out two guards and left three more unconscious, not until he had fucked the plan and burst into the backroom. Well, actually, it was a few seconds after that, since the moment he crossed the threshold he had felt wonderfully vindicated. The target was a large man, and he had Aya pinned down on a stained futon the back corner. Or so Yohji thought.
That’s why he grabbed the guy, hauling him up despite the shocked look on Aya’s face. Yohji could only think of hitting the bastard, making him pay for hurting Aya, but even as he drew back his fist, Kuin’s eyes went wide with more than shock, a gruesome hole appearing in his throat as Aya stabbed him from behind. Yohji let him go just quick enough to avoid the spray of blood.
Stepping back, he could only watch as Aya leant down and retrieved a vicious-looking switchblade, wiping each side on the shoulder of the dying man’s dress shirt before snapping it closed.
Yohji shook his head, trying not to relive the verbal thrashing he had gotten.
He was so dead.
As Aya finished his meal and neatly folded the foil, Yohji pulled out the last of defenses.
“Here,” he offered the small, wrapped item.
Aya glared at it, then at him.
“Cherry turnover,” he waved it enticingly. Aya’s sweet tooth wasn’t a secret to any of them, and Omi was even rolling his eyes at Yohji’s antics, but it didn’t matter. If Aya took the offering, maybe Yohji would live through the night. Maybe.
“Come on, you like cherries.”
Aya remained still, anger shifting slightly to cold calculation, probably weighing the pros and cons of slicing the blonde into bits and then taking the turnover. Yohji smiled and held the dessert a little closer. He would have felt more secure if it were strawberry mochi or one of those too-sweet beignets from the bakery down the street, but it was three in the morning and something a little less gourmet was going to have to save him.
“Please?”
Aya reached out and snatched it from his hand.
“You’re still dead,” he said, but his attention was focused on the pastry as he pealed the wrapper away from the flaky crust.
“Even if I have icing?”
“Maybe.”
~tbc?~
Converting /tmp/phpZhT5cC to /dev/stdout