Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ No Words ❯ Chapter 1

RATING: NC-17; Aya/Yoji. If m/m interaction bother you, pass this by. Non-con.
SPOILERS: "Mission 13: Bruch-- Rain of Revenge," "Mission 16: Schatten-- Return to Battle," and "Mission 21: Trane-- Memories."
SUMMARY: Aya says no, for all the good it ever does him.
FEEDBACK: can be sent to Viridian5@aol.com.
DISCLAIMERS: All things Weiß Kreuz belong to Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiß, Polygram k.k., and Animate Film. No infringement intended.
NOTES: I've been reading a lot of Weiß fic featuring hazy consent lately, and this is where it led. I've used some of Yoji's lines on Aya in other stories under different circumstances.

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"No Words"
By Viridian5
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"If you need anything, Aya," Omi said as he gave the bandage on my arm one last look-over, "just ask us."

"I know." And he probably knew that I wouldn't ask.

I'd been careless, nearly reckless, in battle, and our enemies had taken advantage. It's been so hard to care about myself lately, but I had to care. I had to survive to find Aya and get her back.

I was so tired... and the painkiller Omi had given me just made it easier to drift.

Behind Omi, Yoji kept looking at me. He said, "I can take it from here, kid." He had such heat in his eyes that not even his perpetual shades could hide it. He'd taken his coat off half an hour before to show off low-riding pants and a midriff-bearing shirt.

I knew what he intended and didn't bother to hope for a reprieve, but this time I would be stronger.

Omi smiled. He probably thought he knew what was going on here. He probably thought it was sweet.

Despite everything, he could be such an innocent in some ways, and, stupid as it might sound, I wanted to preserve that. Then again, Yoji probably waited to make his moves until after Omi left for similar reasons.

Omi smiled at us as he closed the door to my room behind him. Once he'd left, I said, "Get out of here, Yoji. I'm in no mood for company."

He crouched down in front of me so our heads would be level as I sat on my bed. "You don't mean that."

I stood. "I do. Get the hell out of here."

He stood as well. "You needed a little coaxing last time too."

The first and last time. I'd said "no" several times that night, but he'd kept going until my "no" started to sound like "please." He'd kept going as if killers had any right to feel arousal after a kill or pleasure at any time. I'd been tired and weak. I could have fought harder.

I'd thought that sex with him would change everything between us, yet it had changed nothing. The next morning it had been as if nothing had happened, and that night he went out as usual. If not for the marks he'd left on me, I might have wondered if I'd imagined it.

"Leave," I said. Instead of leaving, he took me in his arms, held me tightly, and kissed my neck, branding me with his heat. "No, Yoji. No. Stop."

I struggled, but not as hard as I could have, since I didn't really want to hurt him. Maybe I did want this. I didn't know. He didn't stop. Did he think this was some sex ritual of mine?

He probably thought he was doing me a favor.

His hands went under my tank top to stroke my back, skin against skin, making me miss my coat, which I used as armor in many ways. I had to take it off so Omi could tend to my wound. I could feel Yoji's excitement as he rubbed himself against me, and his hardness made me unwillingly hard too.

"No, Yoji...."

"Shhh. I can make you feel better."

Maybe my words sounded different to other people than they did to me. I'd noticed the change after I'd lost my parents and sister. I would say something like "My parents were murdered" or "That car struck my sister on purpose," but nobody heard what I said. It got me nowhere. So I stopped talking and starting doing. People noticed my deeds a little more than they did my words.

I used to write poetry when I was a stupid kid, but he probably wouldn't believe it. I'm not known for my words now. The sword is mightier than the pen.

I've been saying "no" for two years without anyone giving a damn.

He had his hand in my pants now and stroked my cock through my briefs, making me moan. Did he notice now or the last time that I never did anything to him in return? I never reached for him. I never kissed him or stroked him or jacked him off. I did nothing but struggle and receive his ministrations and react. Maybe he didn't notice.

Maybe he didn't care and simply saw me as an object that was somewhat better than a blow-up doll.

"I hate you, Yoji." I hated his refusal to let go of his lost love, a refusal so deep that he refused to love again and instead spent his time running through a series of one-night stands since sex seemed to be okay for him as long as he didn't really fall in love. At least I didn't inflict my personal pain on others. I hated that his love for a woman who didn't even exist anymore let him fall completely for Neu's act and let her use my sister as bait.

I hated him for being so attractive that he could get almost anyone he wanted yet still be greedy enough that he had to have me as well.

"No, you don't," he answered.

He had pulled my briefs away to better stroke my cock and smiled as I bucked at the animal sensation. He smelled like cigarette smoke, lust, sweat, and blood. Hard and implacable, he made me feel.

He made us fall onto my bed, and I struggled harder at the feel of his weight on top of me. It reminded me too much of being pinned beneath the wreckage of my home. But my pushing at him only seemed to excite him further. Maybe he liked the bruises.

"No. I don't want this," I growled.

"You don't want to want this."

As his fist slid almost painfully up and down the length of my hard, idiot cock, I writhed, and my breathing quickened. This was just my body.... I didn't close my eyes, because that only made the sensations stronger. At least it would be over soon, since I wouldn't last much longer and I didn't think he would either. He'd jacked the both of us off last time and seemed to be inclined to repeat himself. It seemed that he only fucked women, to my everlasting relief. I would have to kill him to stop him if he tried to go that far.

"C'mon, Aya.... God, you're beautiful...."

He lied so well, to himself most and best of all.

He stroked his cock and mine, harder and harder, faster and faster, finally yanking me into orgasm. For a few moments, I felt only the riptide of sharp pleasure and his weight and heat. I came to as a sweaty and sticky mess, as he looked at me with a stupid smile on his face.

Sated, he fell right over onto the bed, grinning, as I pushed him away. "Get out of here," I snarled.

"You're not the type to cuddle, are you, Aya?"

"Fuck off."

He zipped himself up and went to the door, but before he left he looked back at me and asked, "Are you okay, Aya?" He almost looked concerned.

"No. You moron."

That seemed to reassure him. It ceased to surprise me anymore. With a wave, he said, "See you tomorrow."

Lying in the mess we'd made of my bed, in the mess everyone--myself included--had made of my life, I closed my eyes and tried not to feel anything.

**********************THE END***********************

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