Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Mending Wounds ❯ Confession ( Chapter 1 )

Omi had already made the rounds, checking to see if his Youji and Ken had injuries that needing mending. Once he was satisfied that the other two were in decent enough shape, he headed for Aya's room. There came a small knock at his door. Aya looked up hoping that his visitor could feel his scowl burning its way through the door. No such luck. Another hesitant tap sounded on the thin door.

"What?" Aya ground out.

"Uh, Aya-kun," squeaked Omi's apprehensive voice, "can…can I come in?"

"Hn," was the noncommittal answer.

Omi took that as a "yes" and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open as he did so, and slowly slid inside. His heart ached at the sight before him and he instinctively clutched the first aid kit tighter to his slightly heaving chest. Then again, his heart ached each time he had to see his precious Aya injured. Various wounds and injuries were an inherent part of the life of an assassin, but no matter how many times he had been exposed to it, the sight of Aya's blood always unnerved him. The stoic redhead sat on the edge of his bed not even bothering to lift his head in acknowledgement of his teammate's concerned presence.

"Why can't he just leave me be," Aya thought bleakly. "Omi is the last person I need to see right now. He wants to be all tender and take care of me. I don't want those hands on me now…all the blood…not now." He let out a weary, but nearly inaudible sigh.

During the mission that night, there had been a "slight miscalculation" as Youji had put it, and Weiss was ambushed. Seven main bodyguards and one big kahuna target. That made a grand total of eight men that needed to be eliminated. Kritiker mentioned nothing about the extra nine hired, but very skilled guards, which patrolled the dock that night. Whatever. It didn't matter at that point. What was done, was done. They would have to learn to stop taking the information that Kritiker provided at face value.

Blood coated his leather pants and most of the right side of his turtleneck shirt. Aya had discarded his trench coat the moment he walked in the door of the Koneko. Omi realized, as he stood there gazing at Aya in his dimly lit room, that a good deal of the blood that clung to those leather encased legs belonged to Aya himself. His right arm was marred with a rather nasty gash which was bleeding quite freely at the moment. His right leg was adorned a wound of a similar grotesque nature. Omi walked over to Aya and set the kit beside him on the bed. Cautiously, he knelt down in front of the silently bleeding man.

"Aya-kun, you really need to let me treat those injuries," came the half obvious, half pleading comment from Omi.

Not receiving a response, Omi took it upon himself to begin. Seeing as how Aya wasn't about to offer any assistance, the straw haired boy began divesting Aya of his shirt, then made his way to the older man's boots. Omi stood and placed the soiled clothing on a chair by the window. He turned around and silently grimaced as he took in the whole picture that was Abyssinian. Definitely worse for wear. Aya had done nothing to staunch the bleeding from his arm or leg. The flowing rivers of his life's blood clashed garishly with his pale skin, making for a very disturbing scene. He knelt gently between Aya's outstretched legs again and reached for the first aid kit. Omi took the antiseptic and wet some of the gauze pads in his hands and turned to Aya.

"Uh, well, this is probably going to hurt," he mused, giving Aya warning of what was to come.

His amethyst eyes narrowed while Aya screamed silently, "Hell yes that hurts," as the cold, wet gauze was swept over his right arm. But he kept his head bowed. Apparently, the floor was extraordinarily interesting at that moment. Outwardly, all he did was flinch slightly. Aya would never give voice to his hurts, physical or otherwise.

Omi flinched himself when he saw that he had caused Aya pain. He didn't want to hurt the beautiful crimson haired man anymore than he already had been. When he saw that Aya's jaw had finally unclenched, he felt it safe to continue his ministrations. Small, deft hands moved swiftly over porcelain skin, all too accustomed to repairing the damages wrought by their profession. He tied a firm knot in the rolled gauze around Aya's arm. Omi removed another roll of gauze from the first aid kit and set it beside himself on the floor.

"Now for that leg of yours," Omi sighed, a caring tone that carried a slight reprimand for not having attended to such a wound earlier.

Omi reached out to undo the button on his older teammate's leather pants. He stopped mid-stride when he realized what he was about to do. A fierce blush rose to his cheeks. Aya was hurt for Christ's sake! This was not the time to be bashful. How many other times had he stripped down his friends, his comrades, to patch them up? All the same….

"Uh, A-Aya-kun, do you think you could get these off?" He tugged lightly on the lower leg of Aya's pants.

"Hmm? Yeah, sure," was Aya's tired response.

Aya looked up and for the first time since Omi had walked into the room, he really looked at his younger teammate. Immediately thoughts took flight in a whirlwind around his exhausted brain. "Wait a minute. Oh, no. Is he blushing? Please don't let him be blushing! Kami-sama, this is not what I need right now."

Aya removed his pants, and with the same precision as earlier, Omi tended to the wound on his leg. The precision was there in his movements, but the quickness was gone. His fingers lingered on Aya's leg, caressing the freshly wrapped injury. Omi's wandering fingers expanded their territory and began ghosting over Aya's pale flesh with a tenderness the redhead hadn't been on the receiving end of in along time. While his hands lovingly traveled the lengthy expanse of Aya's legs, his eyes remained glued, with unshed tears threatening to overflow, to the sight of the obscene wound that he had just bandaged. Aya sat perched on the edge of his bed, clad in nothing but his black silk boxers, not knowing how to react as Omi knelt between his legs, massaging his creamy thighs.

It was too much for Omi to bear any longer. Unnamed, unvoiced feelings swelled in his heart and surged through his young body. Sure, Aya's injuries weren't life threatening this time, but what about next time? Would the Weiss leader walk away to fight another day, or would his luck run out? Omi couldn't take that chance. He had to let his fierce angel with the orchid eyes know the truth of how he felt. Omi understood that he was young, but what he felt for his Abyssinian was no school crush. Omi, in all his glorious innocence and inexperience, couldn't find the words he needed so desperately at that moment. He stuttered and stammered, but his tongue failed him miserably. Finally, he did the only thing he could think of, hoping that his actions would state clearly what his voice couldn't. Aya's heart lurched violently in his chest as he watched Omi lean very gently into his body, raise himself up slightly using his thighs for leverage, and place a brief kiss on his lips.

Omi backed away slowly and cast timid, hopeful eyes towards his crimson love. Aya, after several seconds, swallowed thickly.

"Get out," Aya spat.