Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ My Kitten and Me ❯ My Kitten and Me ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Just a little reminder to readers, please: This is a work of fanfiction. The opinions and observations as expressed by the characters in this piece of work, should not be construed as opinions and observations shared by the author.

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DISCLAIMER: Kyoko Tsuchiya and Project Weiß hold the copyright over all names, likeness and rights of Weiß kreuz. All these characters and materials are used without permission, and I'm not profiting from this piece of fan fiction.

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The bell-like sound of dripping water peels softly in the dark room that I'm sitting in. I've always thought that the light splash of water delightfully contrasts with dripping blood on the occasions when I can arrange such an event. It adds a nice touch to the bleak and gloom.

The thought makes me smile to myself at the various memories of victims past, for I am so very proud of this room. It is a room that is ripe for murder and mayhem when I feel the urge rise within me. Crawford and Schuldich have yet to wheedle its location from me. At times, I wonder why they care if I wish to disappear to my own amusements. Contrary to what Estet may think, I am not a half-wit who needs keepers.

I am careful. I am always careful. God's agents are ever about. I have to be crafty to avoid them, for they will seek to stop my unholy crusade against Him. They do not understand why I dare seek to punish Him. He will hurt. I have sworn to it. He, who is the greater Father of Lies than Lucifer... He, who claimed to favour me by taking away my pain and yet chose to forsake me by stealing away my loved ones with my unintended cooperation... For all His powers, I still exist. But I nevertheless must be careful. He is, after all, the Almighty, and His agents are ever about. However, his agents, unlike Schwartz, are still ordinary humans.

A smile curves my lips again to think of my comrades. Talented as they are, even they cannot find me when I wish to be absent. Does it disturb them, I wonder, that I can come and go as I please? That the straightjackets are useless to contain me, however much they may tighten and secure the buckles.

They amuse me.

A slight movement in the darkness interrupts my thoughts and draws my attention to my latest guest; The one almost luminescent feature in this shadowed room. Even as he awakens, he stays in control of himself and makes no sound. Such is what I suppose must be expected of Abyssinian. I have oft overheard his teammates mutter to themselves that he is cold, aloof, emotionless-- A marble statue that cannot be touched. And-- beautiful... I cannot confess to being more captivated by any other until I met him. I had long decided that this Weiß must be a favoured son of Adam. And I would ponder how much God would hurt to lose this beautiful one. To lose this Weiß kitty, who hunts the dark beasts to protect His flock?

I cannot begin to express the eagerness I felt earlier this evening when I chanced to come across him alone, without the other kittens. He apparently completed his part of their mission and arrived early at their rendezvous, unaware that I was already there. God would hurt for this mistake of letting him wander obliviously within my reach, for I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

A glint of amethyst tells me that he's finally opened his eyes and is gazing at me from his position on the floor. With his wrists securely tied to the pipe over his head and his ankles manacled to a ring before him, he knows that there is little chance of escape. Yet I feel no fear radiating from him. I find myself surprised. I am not deaf to the whispers that gossip of my reputed insanity. Surely he should feel some worry at discovering himself lying alone and helpless before me? But even when I approach to lean over his recumbent form, he still shows no alarm. Can he be so removed from his emotions to feel nothing at all? I admit to having the wind knocked from my sails with his response, or lack of it. But I swallow my disappointment and turn my attention instead to my plans for the night.

He doesn't flinch or utter a word of protest when I start to slice off his vest. But even in the dim lighting, I can see his cheeks turning pink as I completely expose his chest to my gaze. Then he stuns me again.

Where I expect to find smooth, unblemished pale flesh stands a veritable roadmap of scars. Down his chest, across his abdomen... Scars, old and new, mar what should have been perfect skin. What more-- I know enough about injuries such as these to recognise that they are all self-inflicted.

I feel cheated. Why? This-- I-- God must be laughing at me now. I had fantasised about this moment... Plotted and planned what I would do to this canvas of untouched skin... And here-- I have been swindled! I--

I lifted my gaze to glare at him, but he has his face turned away. His cheeks are pink, his countenance filled with shame... So-- Abyssinian isn't without emotion after all, but why--? An insight suddenly strikes me. I feel my hand reach over to run a finger along one of my many scars. An injury I had done to myself when I was experimenting with my inability to feel pain. To feel again? Is this why? I caressed one of his scars lightly and feel him shiver at my touch.

'Emotionless.' That is one of the descriptions given of him. 'Unfeeling.' Have they used that word with him too? Does hearing these words affect him more than he lets anyone realise? There are so many scars-- to feel...

Without even being fully conscious of what I'm doing, I raise my knife to his skin and draw the blade along one scar. His eyes snap open to regard me as he breathes in sharply, with a soundless gasp. I find myself locked in his gaze, my knife moving again to trace the path of another scar, allowing bright ribbons of blood to form in its passage. I feel as if I am drowning in his amethyst depths.

It takes a great deal of effort for me to drag my eyes away from his. I do so only to be transfixed by the swelling threads of blood crisscrossing his chest, formed by my handiwork over his. Without consciously thinking about what I am about to do, I bend to lap at the blood seeping from the shallow cuts. I'm kissing and sucking at the crimson lines, letting my tongue occasional flicker over a nipple whenever I move my mouth close enough to touch the hardening nub.

My blade continues to flash between us. The darkness is no obstacle for it to be unerringly guided by the lines he has drawn across his flesh. His soft gasps are sweet music in accompaniment to my fevered worship. This lovely communion between us... God must hurt. He must be in agony to know that with my every slice and cut, I'm laying my claim on this little kitten. Every wound and scar that I'm re-opening and lavishing with my kisses and my tongue... They are all mine now. I've drunk his blood, claimed his flesh... Oh, how must God hurt to see him arch into my kisses.

At some point, I realise that I've opened every old wound and scar that he has over his body and I drop my knife to tangle my fingers in his red hair. So much blood... I'm quite drunk on it and it strikes me that I should share the sweet-salty nectar with him. His lips open willingly to my gentle probes, to allow my invasion and share in the blood that I've sipped from him. Below me, I can feel his hard length rubbing against my thigh as he tries to buck against me. Such a wanton, sweet kitten... Mine.

His amethyst orbs are glazed over from lust as well as pain and I am all too eager to answer that lust. But-- not with force. No-- God has abandoned this one too. I realise that while He has given Abyssinian talent, beauty, and grace, He also chose to make him suffer a harsh life; taken away his family and thrown him in the company of companions that must be unapproachable. Such loneliness in company; what man, social creatures as we are, would be able to stand this for very long?

I can read the disappointment in his eyes when he sees me sheath my blade and throw it out of my reach. Ah, such a masochist he must be to want the pain. Does he want me to be rough too? No, he shall not have that of me. I can tell that Abyssinian believes God thinks he deserves to be forsaken and hurt. But I will not let God work through me to punish him for his surrender. I will claim him on my own terms. It will hurt God more if I am gentle. It would hurt God far more if I made love to him.

It is with shock that I realise I am his first. He's not quite sure what I want him to do when I present my fingers to his lips, but he opens his mouth readily to take in my digits and let me tease and stroke his tongue with them. As I draw my fingers in and out of his maw, he soon gets the idea to lick and suck the intruders. However, I can see from the expression in his eyes that he still does not understand the significance.

Even after I undo his pants, pull them and his boxers down as far as the tops of his boots, and kneel between his thighs, he still lacks comprehension of what is to transpire next. He is such a sweet virgin, God. You must hate this so. His eyes do widen quite comically to see my erect girth as compared to his own still semi flaccid member, but I don't believe its registered to him just yet, where I mean to shove my rod. He will learn soon enough.

He jumps to feel the first blood and saliva slick probe of a finger. I quickly distract him from that pain by rubbing my erection against his, encouraging him to respond and feel the pleasure build within him. Even distracted as I am by sparks of lust, I cannot resist the sight of blood swelling in his cuts anymore and quickly bring my mouth and tongue back into play. The soreness of my fingers' intrusion is easy for him to gloss over as compared to the sting I cause with warm tongue and sucking mouth over the crimson lesions on his chest. I am overwhelming his senses once again with pleasure and pain.

With my little kitten squirming so erotically under me, it is a battle not to lose myself in the blood lust. But I am determined to hold myself back and ensure that he is stretched and ready for me. It will be difficult enough to be gentle with blood as our only lube. Ordinarily it is a poor lubricant, but in such quantities that we have from my handiwork, I should hope it is sufficient for our purposes.

Oh God! He is so-- tight and-- so-- perfect-- What sweet violation! Did You want-- something better-- for the kitten-- God? I would-- dare say You-- would have wanted-- something cleaner for-- this sweet kitten. Not-- being taken-- in this-- dark-- dank room-- Not-- while lying-- in a pool-- of his own-- blood-- Not-- with-- me...

Does it hurt, God-- to see me kiss and-- nibble at his flesh-- like a lover should? Does-- it hurt-- to see him arch-- into-- my every-- thrust? Does it-- hurt-- to see-- him try to-- grip my hips-- with his knees-- to-- encourage me despite-- the restraints-- that he wears-- about his ankles? Does it hurt-- to see him spill his seed-- over his bloodied stomach-- and-- smear it-- against my flesh? Does-- it hurt-- to know that I've-- laid my claim on this-- creature so thoroughly-- inside-- and out? Can You-- feel-- the exquisite-- pain, God?!

I pull myself back from the explosion of stars that fills my vision, catching myself before I collapse over my kitten. Abyssinian pants raggedly beneath me, looking at me with eyes still half glazed in lust. There is such invitation in his stare that I lean down again to nibble and lick at lips that are stained with his own blood. He tries to encourage me, opening his mouth to incite me into plundering the depths of that sweet cavern. I nearly give in to his demands, my lust building easily to make me harden within him again. Then I notice his heartbeat fluttering weakly like a dove's wings against my chest. Then the amount of blood I am kneeling in suddenly dawns on me and I realise that Abyssinian is starting to tremble from the shock of blood loss. His eyes can no longer focus on me. Their amethyst lights seem to grow dull as I watch.

Abyssinian slips away into unconsciousness before I am able to finish removing the last of the manacles. I waste no time to try and pull up his pants and boxers from where they are cinched around his calf-high boots. His hastily thrown on trench coat should be sufficient modesty for our mad dash to the nearest hospital.

How much blood can a man lose before he bleeds to death? How much time have I left to get him to an Emergency Room? He still bleeds from the wounds I've opened on his chest. Stupid, stupid! Why did I have to slice open every scar on him? There were too many of them! So many past sufferings... all of them bleeding... He cannot die. I will not let him die. He is mine. I will not let God take him from me as he did my loved ones. He is mine!

I startle Nagi when he opens the door of our abode for me. I well know that our youngest Schwartz is ever wary of me, but this morning, I do believe that I've frightened him. I can feel my lips pull into a smile to see the little urchin fling himself into Crawford's arms. No one will blame the lad for reacting that way. I've never before returned from my amusements with my garments soaked in blood and blood also smeared so boldly over every exposed part of me. The nurses at the emergency ward reacted no better when I dashed in with the kitten and laid him on an unoccupied stretcher before I returned to the safe house.

Crawford pushes Nagi behind him as he stands to face me. It is so rare to see our leader react as he does, taking the part of the protective father or older sibling. He fools no one with his stern countenance. I, for one, know that he genuinely cares for the boy. Why he bothers to try and stand aloof, I will never understand.

He does not speak to me, so I make no comment as I walk past him to head towards my room. I'm quite sure he must have foreseen this. If he had not wanted me to amuse myself as I did last night, he could have stopped me and I would never have realised what I missed--

"Farf--" Ah, the last of my teammates. I had wondered if he'd be in, or if he'd be elsewhere comforting his own kitten.

Schuldich blanches when I turn to face him. I can feel him struggling to fight his urge to reach into my mind and scan me. We both know that he dare not. He tried once and swore never to attempt that intrusion again. I wonder what he told his kitten last night. Did they fight? Or did they both try to work together to locate me and their mutual object of lust? I know how he and that Weiß slut think. I was hardly oblivious to the gleam that would shine in their eyes whenever they regarded Abyssinian. Once, I had even wondered when they would finally make a move on him. But they are too late now.

"Abyssinian is mine."

"He-- he's alive?" I suppose he has a right to be surprised, given how much of the man's blood is smeared over me.

"He is mine. I did not let God take him."

I turn away from him to enter my room and lock the door behind me. I know Schuldich wanted to stop me and ask me more, but I care not to speak with him. I want to be alone, to sit and feel my kitten's dried blood flecking off my skin. Alone to drown in the scent of his blood that has soaked into my clothes... and revel in the memory of the wanton sex between us.

Schuldich's kitten is angry. Their lips are moving too rapidly for me to read them properly from where I stand hidden across the park, but their expression is unmistakable. I cannot say that I am surprised. There is no rational for Weiß not to believe that I tortured and brutally raped Abyssinian. I very much doubt that my kitten would try to correct their supposition. If he follows true to form, my kitten has probably closed himself off even more than before. I can feel a grin pull at my lips to think of the agony his colleagues must be going through in speculation of what I did to him.

I do wonder though what is running through Abyssinian's thoughts now? Would Schuldich's kitten ask him to take a peek into his mind and find out? What will the telepath uncover? How shocked will they be to learn that it wasn't rape? Will they find out about the existence of the scars before I took a blade to them? And even if Schuldich does learn the truth, will he dare to tell his lover?

I can't help but smile at the private joke that I now share with my Kitten. I have given him all the excuses he could have ever asked for. Weiß need not ever find out that he had hurt himself. He need not fear to have his shame exposed any longer. All his scars belong to me now.

Ha! Just seven weeks since our little tryst and the Weiß kitties are still protective of Abyssinian. No matter how much he bristles at their coddling, they cannot seem to help themselves. Each time we meet, one or more of his colleagues step between us and push him behind them. But is it any cause for surprise? I'm sure they notice, just as I do, that he won't look at me. My poor, lost little kitten...

Is it for me that your façade cracks, my kitten? Have I left it too long then? I do consider that perhaps-- it has been too long. I have already given him time enough to heal. If I dally any longer, the sluttish duo will break down his walls and take him from me. I have to exercise my ownership.

Do I surprise him, I wonder, by appearing at his window not two nights after we met on a mission? On this night of all nights, when the storm rages outside and lightning fills the sky? I know this is God's work. It is so obvious, isn't it? He tries to keep us apart with the disagreeable weather. This night, the streets are not fit for man or beast. He does not want me to be here this night, so I will, of course, defy Him.

We stay staring at each other for a time. Me, dripping wet and perched on his windowsill; him, warm and dry, enfolded by the snowy white sheets of his bed. I can feel a smirk pull at my lips to notice the sword that he is clutching in his hand. So... apparently, my kitten is sleeping with his Katana now. Is this because he wants to, or is it a put on act to keep the others from pestering him about his 'feelings' of security after the 'rape'? Will he draw it on me then?

I make no movement towards him, tempting though it may be to swoop down upon my kitten, knock the sword aside, and take him in his own bed. I admit to being curious as to what thoughts he may have about my presence. I let him make the first move and I can feel my eyebrows lift to watch him crawl off the bed, place his sword on the floor, and begin to strip off the sheets. But understanding does not escape me for very long when I see him take out a new bundle from the recesses of his closet.

The sweet whisper of silk is the only sound we hear next. Blood red, silk sheets. I find myself mildly surprised and amused by this. Do you feel the knife twist in you now, God? It seems the kitten means to make a gift of himself to this demon.

The bed remade, I see his hands shaking as they begin to undo the buttons of his pyjamas. I leave the windowsill and stop him then with my hands over his. I don't feel like being idle any more. He is shivering, my kitten. But not from fear though, never in fear. My hands move swiftly but not hurriedly to release him from the confines of his clothes. Why rush things when we have all the time in the world? I move ever so gently, careful not to touch his skin again just yet, sliding his clothes off his frame. For a moment, I do wonder if his legs will give out before I am done. But he manages to stand steadfast before me.

Such a glory of pale flesh, it seems such a sin to cover it. But isn't it a greater sin that it is marred? I let my rain dampened hands run over his chest and lightly trace the healed scars. Scars that I have made mine.

He trembles at the cold exploration of my fingers, but it is the feel of my tongue tracing the line of a scar that finally makes him sag against me. It is little difficulty for me to catch him. My Abyssinian... so sweetly compliant. Allowing me to explore the softness of his skin and touch his silken flesh. His length is already hard in anticipation of what we will soon share. But not yet, I have yet to show him what gifts I myself have brought. I hold myself back from molesting him any further as I lay him in the centre of the bed.

He murmurs a tiny sound of disappointment to feel me release him, but makes no more protest as he watches me place my pack on the bed between us. I smile at his curiosity as I start to draw out my equipment for the night.

A Kaiken blade... I grin to see him frown as if insulted. Yes, I do know its significance as a weapon of a female ninja, or a means given to the samurai ladies of old with which to protect their virtue. But isn't he my bitch now? I will not have my property compromised by the sluttish duo. We need no words between us for me to convey this to him. He catches my meaningful look and blushes shyly in understanding.

A bottle of rose-scented oil... Oh, blood proved to be quite sufficient for us that night, but I'll admit that I was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic with my blade. I have no wish to risk laying him in the arms of God again. He is mine to have and keep.

I place the rest of my pack aside. He doesn't need to know of my mundane preparations with the antiseptic wipes and the bandages. It is easy enough to distract him from what else I have brought with the soft, black, silken cords that I hold before him. Good little kitten. He obediently crosses his wrists over his head and against his headboard without prompting.

A few loops about his wrists ensure that he cannot pull free from that tie. A couple of loops around his ankles allow me to secure his legs to the foot of his bed. I don't make his restraints too tight this time. Enough to limit his freedom, but with sufficient play so that he can easily wrap his knees around me, unlike the last time when I'm quite sure that, despite the protection offered by his boots, he bruised the skin of his ankles to accomplish that. I smile inwardly to think of the many ways I could tie down my Kitten. Perhaps I will deny him any movement the next time and try a spread-eagle position.

Done with the cords, I step back to survey my pretty little gift. He is beautiful, isn't he, my Lord? Contrasting so strikingly against the blood-red silk, his pale skin appears almost luminescent in the fleeting glare of the lightning that still rages outside. The black cords look harsh, wound around his wrists and ankles, giving him an air of vulnerability that makes my lust swell to regard him. He blushes prettily and draws up a leg to shyly hide himself from my hungry gaze. But the action only succeeds in emphasizing the eroticism of the creature that lies vulnerably exposed on the bed before me. A brief thought drifts through my mind in wonder of how he will look if tied with his legs splayed invitingly wide. I promise myself to try that with my next visit.

Ahh, the storm that rages outside seems to build in fury with each passing minute. Is that You, God? Is this Your tantrum that we see and hear? Does it hurt You, God, to see this pale beauty lying so helpless before me? Does it hurt to know that he is so willing?

Do You hear his breath, so ragged and sweet as he watches me lick the flat of the Kaiken blade? Can you not see his eager anticipation of the pain and pleasure I promise to lavish upon him? He is mine, oh Lord. He is mine.

As I stroke my kitten's pale face, I swear to myself that I must be more careful next time. I will *not* let God take him from me. Control... How pathetic am I to almost lose myself to the blood lust yet again? It was a close thing. The Master of Lies works too deceitfully. I almost forgot myself... made too many incisions... But peace, peace, though unconscious, my little kitten still lives.

The shock from the blood loss will past eventually. For now, I know that I must keep him warm. I already stopped the bleeding and wound bandages over his chest. He smells of antiseptic wash and the sweet, rose scented bath salts I used to cleanse him of our earlier exertions. Wrapped once more in the soft folds of his white cotton sheets, he sleeps peacefully, innocent as any child.

God, You would rejoice if he had left me, wouldn't You? I would have fallen into your trap and done Your bidding, if I did deliver him into Your arms, wouldn't I? You shall not have that satisfaction of me, my Lord, oh jealous God in the heavens above. You took my loved ones away years ago, leaving me with nothing. I will not lose this one to You too. It hurts You that I dare to love him, doesn't it? I know that. I made him my creature, and You howled Your impotent fury outside our window as we made love. You came close to stealing him from me yet again, just as You had once used me to kill my loved ones, but I thwarted Your design this time. And I know, God. I know what You wish. You shall never have him back, my Lord. I know now and will remain ever vigilant of Your temptations. I will not let You trick me again. He is mine to love and keep.

I stay a while to share with him my body's heat, but I know I cannot allow myself to fall asleep with my kitten in my arms. His comrades will not understand. Sighing with great reluctance, I prepare to leave. First dragging a duvet from his closet to tuck it securely around him and make sure he stays warm, before I lean over to give him a farewell kiss on his forehead.

I leave my kitten the Kaiken blade, but take the stained sheets with me to wash. I know he will not have the strength to launder them when the morning comes. I make sure there is no other evidence remaining in his apartment of what transpired between us. If he can conspire to keep his shirt on, his comrades will never realise anything is amiss. If our luck holds, they will think he only caught a cold and let him rest. I silently promise him that I will do all that I can to keep this covenant between us a secret. His friends will never know.

Well... perhaps one kitten will know of this tryst when his lover finally breaks his silence. But he will never be able to reveal this knowledge without exposing his little secret too. And I wonder if Kritiker will be as forgiving as Crawford.

Despite the late hour, Crawford meets me at the door. It is no surprise to me that he'd know when I returned. I have little doubt he foresaw everything that happened between my kitten and me. I wonder if he will finally say something about it now.

Dear leader... He doesn't know where to begin. It is rare to see him so hesitant and tongue tied, but I suppose this must be such an awkward thing to talk about. He knows of Schudich's trysts with his kitten and still lets them be. How can he with clear conscience protest against my own arrangement? We all know why Schuldich chooses to play and it will be of little consequence to halt that activity should Crawford demand it. But he cannot begin to understand why I do this.

Even if he will not voice it, his eyes ask this question of me. I feel in a good enough humour to offer him a glimmer of insight. "It hurts God to love and keep him."

I leave the man staring after me as I walk to my room with the silk sheets. I know it will be more difficult for me to wash them later if I let the stains dry and set in the fabric, but I don't mind. I cannot stay with Abyssinian and awaken with him, so this is the next best thing that I can do. From now until I awake in the morning, I can wrap myself in the depths of these stained sheets and surround myself with the scent of his blood and sex. I know it will bring me sweet dreams of the next encounter between my kitten and me.