Warnings: Slash, Lemon, Angst, PWP, sap, sort of a Cabin Fic

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz, Ran or Youji, or TS Elliot's "The Hollow Men", which you will find at the end of the fic. (I think the poem fits Ran and Youji very well. The title comes from the poem and is meant to signify Ran's image flower and his complexity.)

Timeline: After Takatori's death but before Aya-chan wakes up.

AN: This fic originally sprang from my statement that I would never, ever, be able to get into Ran's head. Apparently my subconscious couldn't help but try and in the end (prodded a bit by Krysana :P) forced this out. Ran is terribly complicated and there are so many different ways to read his character - I would greatly appreciate comments/criticisms on whether this feels like him or not.

Multifoliate Rose

by Xellas M.

Lightning briefly illuminates the small tool shed. A disproportionate amount of its space appears to be filled by the man sharing it with me, a tall man wearing a dark coat. Only inches of the natural dirt floor, all colors unnatural in the elemental light, lie between my arm and his.

No time to make out any details before almost total darkness returns. One thing almost glows in the room, the long white cross on his sleeve. The holding pattern continues.

Thunder.

"It's not letting up." His voice is like the sound of the rain. Relentless. Something that should annoy, but soothes instead. Aya-chan would have liked him. Most women do.

Does that rationalize my attraction? I gave up my life when I took her name. Perhaps I've succeeded to the point where my deepest urges, things over which even I have no control, are guided by her. I hope so. Because if that is the case, then there can be no betrayal.

Another flash of light. This one is brighter, almost purple. Before it disappears I look again, measuring the distance between us. Three inches. Maybe a little bit less. Certainly not more.

"What do we do now?" Youji asks. I cannot hear him because the thunder crashes around us almost immediately, riding the afterimages of the lightning, drowning out his words although I am able to read his lips.

"What?" I reply, quiet though it seems against the pounding of the rain against the roof. I know very well what he said, but refuse to let the storm cheat me out of the sound of his voice.

The air shifts. I feel warmth along my side and it is no surprise when light next floods

the room, the three inches of pale earth between us are gone.

"I said, what do we do now?" He repeats, his voice low in my ear, the prickling of my flesh a response to the charged atmosphere.

The sky rumbles in wicked amusement.

"We wait, then report to Manx." The unexpected storm has already botched the carefully planned timing for this mission.

He knew that. He is playing another game now, one he plays very well. It isn't what he would like everyone to believe it is. It is all about misdirection. He flirts, he plays. But in all the time I've known him, I seriously doubt he has had a single sexual partner. And I've never seen anyone else suspect a thing. He is dismissed as a whore and left alone to nurse the guilt he carries for being so much worse than that.

It works for him and I would not begrudge him the affectation, except that he's been toying with me for months now. Not so that anyone else would notice, but for some reason he refuses to give up. I hate it. He understands people, understands their emotions far better than I ever could, and I know he can tell I am affected by him.

We listen for awhile, to the wind and the rain and each other's harsh breath.

His thigh shifts against mine. At some point he has moved even closer. His body is pressed into me along our thighs, elbows, and arms. And I come to a decision. I will call his bluff now because this has gone on too long, because we are alone and the storm is making me reckless.

And, I am forced to add to myself, because it is too dark to see his eyes.

Their green reminds me of the sea in the Caribbean years ago, when I was on a holiday with my family and just a small child. The color of that water fascinated me. It looked so alive; I was convinced that if I went swimming in it I would simply dissolve, that I would melt away and never reform. I think I was secretly a little disappointed when it never happened.

I do not like his eyes, which is why I never complain about his sunglasses, not even when he wears them in to work at the shop despite how inappropriate that is.

I wait until the reverberations of the loudest bang yet die down, and then begin carefully. This is not my game and frankly, I've never cared enough to learn all of the rules.

"What do you want to do?" I throw his question back at him and feel his body start in surprise alongside mine. He can back out now, if he likes. I will not press the issue.

"Not a lot we can do, is there?" Youji responds, not missing a beat. I envy him that ability. "Not like there's any alcohol in here. Or any way to get laid."

I sigh, not with irritation, but because my course is now set. I need light to see by for the next part so I wait until the sky grants me an extended flash of the purest purple.

Even though I have my bearings, it is difficult in this small and dark place to not only grab his shoulders, but to find the leverage I need to pull him over me and do so quickly enough that he is caught off guard. Somehow I manage.

Relying on touch, I gently move my hand upward, curling my fingers along the back of his neck, stretching my thumb around to locate soft lips parted in utter shock.

"You can fuck me." It isn't a poetic offer. I am not teasing. I am purposely breaking the rules of his little game.

"I…what? Aya, this isn't funny." He sounds shaken, upset and insecure.

"I wasn't joking." To drive the message home, I pull his head down and cover his lips with my own. I would swear another flash of lightning has lit the sky, if my eyes weren't open and telling me otherwise.

He will back away now. I have forced him into a position where he has to act. He will either have to live up to his arrogance and unspoken promises, or slink away, tail between his legs, to lick his wounds in private like always and allow me to do the same. It is his choice. And I'm not insane enough to believe that it would be worth it for him to give up his safety net simply to have sex with me.

"Anything you like. Kudoh Youji always comes prepared." I am surprised by his answer. His voice is aggressive, even angry, and I can tell he is going to make me pay for bringing this into the open. Underneath there is hurt hiding behind bitter humor and I have no idea why.

He kisses me, finding my lips in the darkness with unnerving accuracy. He can see as well as a cat in the dark.

I'm not sure what I would have expected from his kiss if I had thought for a second he would take my offer at face value. Something forceful and a bit antagonistic, probably; something almost wholly physical and ultimately empty, safe. Instead his lips are warm and caring. Their touch is so gentle it is painful, burdening me with a regard I do not deserve. But I am the one who started this, I am committed to see it through to the end.

I respond, stiffly at first, but he does not let up or change the nature of his assault. There is going to be no mercy. The kiss deepens; his tongue begins sliding softly along mine as his hands lightly touch my face. Unrelenting sweetness; I feel myself giving in by degrees, answering his demands with passion he has stirred up so easily despite all my defenses. He takes in everything, never pausing for thought or breath.

It is not until he lowers his weight fully onto mine that I become aware of just how completely I have let go. Surrounded by his warmth, there is not a place on my body that does not hunger for his touch. Nothing remains to focus on that is filled with anything aside from my need for him. The intense physical pleasure and overpowering sweetness of his emotion releases me from my own mind, from my endless self-questioning. His hands push aside my coat and pull up my sweater, allowing those achingly gentle kisses to invisibly mark more and more of my skin.

I pull the sweater off. Bunched up like it is, it is too hot, too bulky and is keeping him at an unforgivable distance. Clumsily, I begin removing his clothing as well. The mechanics of doing so in the dark and drunk on emotion are as complicated as Youji is himself, but necessary if he is going to have me as completely as his touch promises.

Our naked skin meets, but still his mouth does not stop tasting me as if I were something to be savored, rare and exotic. There is no hurry apparent in his actions. However, my own sense of urgency has grown beyond any means of comparison and I begin returning his touches, impatient to move to the next point even though I am not sure the pleasure of it all will not kill me.

I feel him react to my hands on his body. He moans, the sound low in his throat, the thrill of it amazing.

He stops at his own sound, pulling back a little, breathing heavily. He buries his face in my hair and his shoulders shake. I am not sure what is going on but I am genuinely puzzled when I realize that he is laughing helplessly, tears beginning to wet his cheeks. I wrap my arms around his back and wait patiently; eventually he will calm down and explain the joke. Although given the slightly hysterical nature of his outburst it probably will not be very funny at all.

"I'm sorry." He says, when the convulsions have died down and only the occasional rogue chuckle escapes. I can feel rather than see him wave his hand carelessly about our cramped shelter. "This just isn't the way I pictured things would be. I've wanted you for such a long time, Ran, I -"

"No." I tense automatically. My reaction to that name is reflexive and it comes out much harsher than I mean it.

It wasn't that I was at all surprised he knew my birth name. I trust my team with my life. Any competent individual under those circumstances would find out as much as he possibly could about those he was fighting with. I have no doubt that Youji knows everything important about my family and my sister. Just like I know, although he has never said a word, that he had been a top-notch PI. The best there was, famous within certain circles, until he and his partner had ended up in over their heads. Her death had been entirely his fault.

We are all able to cope from day to day only because by unspoken agreement none of us ever brings any of these things up. Although I guess under the circumstances I should have expected this. Kissing changes the rules, one reason I have avoided doing it with him until now.

He freezes in response to my tone, and then slowly begins climbing off of me. My skin feels cold for the first time in years. I try to stop him, knowing he does not understand yet, that his feelings are so much quicker than my clumsy words.

The entire room shakes under a particularly violent assault by the wind and the thunder.

"Ran is dead." I'm not trying to hide from you or keep you from knowing me. I have been consumed by rage and grief and revenge and now there isn't anyone left to know. But you are welcome to whatever remains, if you want me.

I tighten my grip on his shoulders, hoping that he will understand everything I did not say.

There is a sudden stillness outside, dead calm. The pressure of the air hasn't changed and the smell of ozone permeates the air. It is the eye of the storm. I wonder how long it will rest here before moving.

"That is kinda what I like about him." Youji replies unexpectedly. I can hear a smile in the words, but it is acid. "Hard for me to screw up and kill someone who is already dead, ne?"

I am not ashamed or insulted by this. Instead, I am fiercely glad that I can give him any kind of respite from the demons that torment him, that I can return the very thing his warmth and kindness are giving me. I lift my head to nuzzle his jaw, drawing his unresisting body back to my own.

"Aya -" He begins, his voice heavy with apology.

"Ran." I correct him between kisses.

I feel him inhale, as though about to continue his statement. I am too afraid that whatever he wants to say will take him away from me, that the here and now I have temporarily traded my logic and reason for will not happen after all. I kiss him deeply before he can speak. Once begun, this has to continue to its end. If it does not, I will not be able to find my way back to the person I was yesterday. I will be ruined.

He makes a noise into our kiss, hurt again but only for an instant. He soon recovers and reciprocates, this time holding nothing back. The tenderness from before is still there but his control is wavering. I run my hand over his lower back, pressing his hardness into my belly encouragingly. For a few brief, intense moments he thrusts himself roughly against me, then reaches down to open my loose black pants and pull them down. I kick them away and he takes my cock into his hand, holding it firmly but not moving.

The thunder picks up again where it left off, rattling everything around us, drowning out the cry I feel leaving my throat. Blind and helpless in his hand, I thrust upward, needing friction, needing him to finish this for both of us. He lets me screw his fist, his other hand stroking my thighs, my balls. He traces the opening to my body, drawing a territorial line, staking his claim to what he wants before he takes it. He presses a dry finger against me firmly, any harder and it would push inside, as he lowers his wet mouth to the head of my cock and sucks hard, then lets go.

My consciousness has shattered. I am begging for him and trying to impale myself on his finger no matter how unprepared it is. I feel everything through him and through him only. I am nothing until he finds pleasure in me.

"Sssh. Just a minute, I won't leave you like this, I promise." The tenderness of his words is at odds with the cruel reality that he has stopped touching me, that though he now straddles my body he is starving most of it of the feeling of his skin.

I relax when I hear that he is only reaching back into his coat to grab the lube and condom he carries with him everywhere. All part of the show he puts on for the world in general, but at the moment I am very glad for it. I hear the crackling of the little plastic package and am struck by a whimsical thought; I would bet anything he has not bothered to keep the items fresh.

I touch the condom lightly and feel myself smile. It feels good. "What's the expiration date on that?"

He freezes completely. Seconds tick by, light fills the room and I can see him kneeling over me, his head down, face hidden beneath blond hair, body completely tense.

"Ran?" He sounds almost terrified.

"You didn't think I knew." His previous hesitancy and lingering pain suddenly make sense. Deep inside he is still worried that this is a casual thing for me. Idiot. As if I could submit like this, so completely, without truly knowing the one I let in.

Nothing above the sound of the thunder and rain for several moments and I guess that he is shaking his head. Eventually he realizes that I cannot see him and he whispers brokenly, confirming my suspicions. "No, I didn't."

He takes several deep breaths and regains control. When he speaks again it is with an almost shy modesty that is infinitely sexier than his best fabricated suggestive tone. "The condom probably isn't any good, now that you mention it, but the lube should be alright." He ends the statement with the slightest raised note, asking my permission to continue.

It has been long enough for both of us that any diseases would have shown up on one of Krikiter's mandatory physicals. Even if that weren't the case, the odds of us surviving long enough to slowly die of AIDS are pretty slim. And I already knew that I wasn't going to find anyone else who could give me what he was giving, without judgment.

"I'm clean. Youji, I want you." Even if there had been others I would want him now anyway. I had once had my revenge to live for, and now I have Aya-chan, but in all my life he is the only thing worth dying for.

I do not have to wait very long. Wet coolness soothes the aching emptiness, first outside of me and then, so gently as to seem almost timid, moving inside. A spark of pure electricity cascades through my body when he finds my pleasure center. I hear a low rumble of satisfaction, not caring if it comes from him or the weather, as he withdraws his hand.

He runs his hands down my thighs to my ankles, lifting them gently to his shoulders, pausing to lean in and kiss the insides of my knees. I can feel him trembling now, his entire frame shivering under the weight of my legs. His anticipation washes over and through me. I feel the head of his cock pressing against me and I vainly look for the leverage it would take to bury his length inside my empty body.

"Mine." The word escapes his lips in a hissing whisper as he pushes in carefully. It is almost enough to end me prematurely; fortunately it has been long enough that I need to concentrate fully to relax and accept him. To make his claim true.

It is when we are finally joined together and he has paused to make certain that I am all right that the hottest white burst of light fills the room. It is as though a star has exploded between us just so that we would finally be able to see into each other's eyes. His are like the sea and they have absorbed me utterly. It is better than death; it is life and all its rawness that he feels inside me, and I through him.

The vision ends, but the knowledge and the urgency remain. He begins to move, no longer hesitating or asking or taking precious time. It is ecstasy. I stroke myself in time with his thrusts, the touch outside my body serving to draw still more focus to what he is doing to me inside. I cannot get enough and I do everything in my power to urge him on, begging and moaning until he hits my prostate again and the beginnings of orgasm deprive me of voice and breath. At that same time, he empties himself inside me, the pulsing of his cock prolonging my peak almost beyond endurance.

When it is over, he collapses to my side, his heat spilling out of my body. We lay quietly together for a long time, dozing, listening to the dying storm. Eventually, the rain slows, and then stops. The sun begins to rise and this stolen time has come to an end.

I reach for my shirt and pull it on, starting in surprise when Youji presses his boxers into my hand.

"You can use those to clean up. I'm sure the boys wouldn't mind a little air after that workout." Beneath the crude humor, there is a question I am not sure I am ready to answer.

I roll my eyes but accept the article in question. It doesn't work very well, but is better than nothing. I finish dressing and turn to Youji. Although he is a night person, I have always thought he looks beautiful in the morning light.

I do not say anything of the sort, of course. I am already focused on making our way back and contacting Manx. I am my old self again, although I am forced to admit that there is something more. The emptiness is still inside and always will be, but it is no longer threatening to extinguish the final sparks of life I possess. I have placed them in Youji's keeping.

He is watching me, affection and warmth written openly on his features. A small measure of nervousness is showing as well. I lean up and kiss it away, smiling slightly at the softness in his eyes, before moving to the door.

"Let's not keep them waiting."

* * * * *

~Owari

The Hollow Men

by TS Elliot (1925)

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer -

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.