Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Life Is A Highway (Where's The Nearest Exit?) ❯ Fisticuffs and Branding, How Cowboy-ish ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: Come on, this is fan fiction. Gotta know what it's all about, right?

 

 

Stalking off to the back of the shop and out into the alley, Yohji couldn't have cared less if Aya was following him or not. Hands lighting a cigarette, he didn't even notice how the cylinder came to be in his mouth, distracted as he was. On the third draw he closed his eyes, held the smoke, and exhaled as long as he could. He derived a small satisfaction from watching the curling smoke float up and fade away in what little light came into the back alley. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Aya's voice address him from somewhere behind him.

 

“What the fuck is your problem, Kudou?”

 

He risked a glance over his shoulder and sure enough, something red, angry and sexually frustrated was standing right there. Aya's frustration could have been measured by how much he clenched and unclenched his hands, as if they were clamoring for the handle of the sword, willing it to materialize from out of thin air. As it were, they just had to contend with something from out of the trash bin- something long, sharp, and full of tetanus- if Aya was that desperate.

 

“Fuck it Aya I'm just having a cigarette break, so bugger off will you?”

 

Aya's lips curled into a snarl, but no sound came from it. Fine assassin instincts sensing danger, Yohji carefully positioned his body to face Aya's, stance seemingly nonchalant but ready at the first sign of movement. His instincts were right; in the time it takes to blink twice Aya had crossed the distance between them to make a grab for Yohji's shirt, which Yohji dodged by taking a step backwards. Undeterred and under the natural flow of his movement Aya made another grab and this time caught Yohji's left shoulder with his right hand. Yohji didn't even see the fist coming when it came into contact with his jaw, the blow hard enough to send Yohji reeling to his left, cigarette hurtling through the air. Making use of the gained momentum, Yohji grabbed Aya's out flung left arm with his right arm, so that Aya was momentarily unbalanced. The blonde quickly grabs Aya's shoulder and hurls the redhead towards the wall, and smiled when he heard the satisfactory sound of flesh against concrete. Without hesitation he let fly a kick that caught Aya on his side, but Yohji didn't go in because in a close proximity fight between him and the swordsman the latter definitely had the upper hand.

 

Distancing himself from Aya, who was getting up and pushing himself away from the wall, Yohji took another cigarette from his pocket and put it to his lips, which was bleeding. Cursing, he wiped it with the back of the hand holding the lighter before replacing the cigarette on his lips and lighting it. Aya, face in concentration, watched him with eyes of unrestrained hate, waiting for an opening for an attack. Yohji wasn't even trying to be cheeky anymore, as he smoked while staring back at the silent redhead. He sucked on the cigarette as if he had a vendetta against it. This, this is a bar-room brawl, a back alley fight, all knees and teeth and tricks. There is no art of war, zen nor warrior philosophy when a fast rising knee is about to say hello to your Jackie and his two friends. A fight like this was inevitable, and once started, must be ended one way or the other, and it follows a certain script. Someone had to say something, anything, to start it all over again. Yohji obliged.

 

“Fuck. Off. Aya.”

 

Taking it as a cue, Aya lunged, ducked as he dodged a punch from Yohji, and neatly elbowed Yohji on the side. Mumbling another expletive, Yohji wrapped his right arm to give Aya a headlock as the redhead grabbed hold of his middle and was proceeding to ram the two of them against the door, when the door suddenly opened and in they went, Yohji falling backwards while Aya fell forward and they met the ground, hard. What was then two grown men about to engage in a back alley fight became a ball of tumbled limbs, grumbled expletives and incoherent pain. Straightening out, the fight knocked out of the both of them, they were greeted by a pair of reproachful feet encased in much used, once-upon-a-time-they-were-blue-but-now-they're-grayish chucks. Looking up, they both saw the reproachful face of Ken, who was carrying garbage bags on either hand. He sighed.

 

“All right. I'm not gonna ask. Just don't let Omi catch you guys, yeah? He gets really upset. And no one's manning the store, just to let you guys know. Now get out of the way.”

 

Embarrassed, the two older men scrambled out of Ken's way, who didn't even spare them a glance (probably, to lessen their embarrassment). Aya brushed himself down, while Yohji tried to get the bits of tobacco that got stuck to his lips. The cigarette was the worst casualty- it was definitely maimed- but seeing Aya with a cigarette burn on the arm made him feel better for losing a nicotine soldier.

 

“Heh,” Yohji pointed at the sacrilegious burn on the otherwise ivory skin, “marked you A~yan. Which would mean what?”

 

Aya gaze followed the pointing finger, appeared to think about it, and then shrugged. “I don't know, Kudou, what does it mean?”

 

The blonde smirked as he reached for another cigarette, placed it on his lips, and lighted it. The younger man waited on him with one raised eyebrow to show that he was actually remotely interested in what the smoker had to say.

 

“Means you're mine now.”