Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Our Kitten ❯ Helping Out ( Chapter 5 )

Our Kitten

Chapter Five: Helping Out



Well, it had to be love.

That was the only solution, because Yohji had just decided to do someone else’s laundry. He didn’t even do his own laundry! Well, at least not until Omi or Aya forced him to, and then only if he couldn’t sucker Ken into doing it. He sighed and looked into the cardboard box near Aya’s bed.

“See what you did?” he accused the kitten. She promptly hissed at him and backed into the corner.

Propping his hands on his hips, Yohji surveyed the situation. Aya’s laundry system seemed vastly superior to his own insomuch that the redhead’s dirty clothes were exclusively contained within a large hamper near the closet; he bent to shovel these into the plastic basket he had brought up from the utility room and marveled at the ease as opposed to his floor-as-catchall idea. Still, Yohji wasn’t sure the initial effort of taking one’s clothes off and putting them somewhere was worth the later convenience.

He smiled as he lifted out Aya’s faded red shirt, a few black tees, and the infamous orange sweater. Yohji might daydream about destroying the horrid thing, but somewhere along the way Aya’s assault on fashion had become oddly endearing.

Awwww!

Okay, now his own mind was mocking him. He gave it a mental kick and got back to his chore. A plastic bag neatly contained his mission clothes in isolation; these Yohji left, not about to risk ruining them. The next item he could handle as they were just Aya’s usual dark jeans, at least two sizes too big; Yohji checked the tag out of curiosity and found them four sizes above his own. Not sure what he wanted to make of that random information, he chucked them in the basket and shoved his arm further into the hamper . . . to come up with Aya’s underwear.

He held it a little too long, which made him feel more than a bit like a creep, but Yohji couldn’t help it. Logic said Aya wore tighty whities, clean, cheap, orderly, practical things that they were. True, he had observed firsthand (though too rarely and under circumstances not to his liking) the black boxer briefs Aya wore on missions; those were logical, he supposed, and the dark, concealing, solid nature spoke of Aya too, but these short, silky, expensive-looking boxer shorts did not. They were green.

Aya should not wear green.

He probably looked like a fucking Christmas decoration in these.

Yohji rolled his eyes at the ridiculous lack of color coordination Aya possessed, tossing the shorts into the basket. Still, as he pulled out several other pairs, mostly black but mixed with a few of varying colors (shoved, he noted, to the bottom of the hamper for some unknown reason) he found that he liked their softness. The royal blue probably wouldn’t be too bad, but his favorite by far were the purple; they matched Aya’s eyes.

He was saved from his inadvertent lapse into fantasy by the artifact his fingers next fished from the depths of the hamper.

“No fucking way,” he whispered to the empty room.

Orange.

They were orange boxer shorts.

Well, those would never again see the light of day. Carefully, he tucked them into his own pants (the pockets being far too tight to provide adequate room) and made mental note to dispose of them in some way befitting their horrendous marring of Aya’s natural beauty.

With a fleeting smile for having something of Aya’s down his pants and a fervent wish that it might soon be the swordsman’s hand, Yohji threw the rest of the clothes into the basket and turned towards the bed to collect what he guessed was the primary reason his friend was eager to get to the washing machine.

Aya’s sheets were white, and with the comforter thrown back, he could see the smears of blood, dried to that unmistakable color that hovered indefinitely between maroon and brown. The stains swept across the foot of the bed where Aya’s boots had laid. There were more brushes towards the edge, absent movements of his hands. Both these were interspersed with dark, condensed drops where the gore had actually dripped from him. The night had been violent and bloody, and Aya had slept with his head resting in its leftovers.

Yohji wasn’t even sure the pillow could be saved. The starched pillowcase was dark at its center, small, odd trails making their way outward like the wobbling tentacles of some sea monster, all smeared by the fitful morning turns of Aya’s head.

It was still a murder scene, and Yohji found it all the more gruesome for the removal of the body.

Pressing his teeth hard together, Yohji yanked the pillow from the bed and pulled the filthy case away from its soft innards. They weren’t as badly stained as he expected, so the pillow went to the floor and the case to the basket, followed promptly by the other case, fitted sheet, and covers. He left the comforter pulled away from the mattress– a cheap thing that might have passed for a medieval torture device– but folded neatly. It was all very unlike him.

He favored the kitten with another accusatory glance as he settled her on top of the brimming basket. She sniffed and, apparently finding the familiar scent of her keeper, curled around herself and settled in to sleep. Of course, she was soon jostled by Yohji’s walking and gave up her rest for a brief hiss and glare.

“Tsssst, yourself,” Yohji replied affectionately as they made their way from the room.

~*~

The sheets were in the washer and the kitten’s belly swelled with what Yohji thought was a bit too much formula; still, she had cried for it, and he wasn’t one to deny a lady her heart’s desire. Tucking her into the crook of one elbow, Yohji swaggered into the living room, quite proud on the rare occasion of his good deeds. The gods, it seemed, were pleased.

Had he not been holding the kitten, he might have dropped to his knees and given thanks.

Aya indeed was a bounty of sensation which Yohji intended to devour, with his eyes at least.

The swordsman had fallen asleep in his chair. Without the interference of artificial light, the still room had begun to sink into deeper shadows under the influence of the late afternoon sun which slanted through the window. The gold-orange glow brushed over the fine features of Aya’s face, softened by sleep that relaxed the brows and left his pale pink lips slightly parted to allow the unhurried passage of breath which stirred, just slightly, the tip of a drooping eartail that hung over his ivory cheek. The other cheek rested lightly on Aya’s left palm, a warm cushion between his face and the wine leather of the chair’s arm as he snuggled down into its overstuffed cushions, drawing that arm tightly to his side and letting the other drop unconsciously over his folded knees and fingers half curled around a battered copy of Shinju.

It was rare that Aya slept in the presence of the others, and Yohji recalled it happening only in the limited spaces of safe houses or hotel rooms, and then only with extreme reluctance that had more than once left the redhead standing guard rather than resting. Yohji wondered if Aya knew how sweet he looked curled around himself like–

“See,” Yohji whispered to the bundle in his arms, “that’s my other kitten.”

“Mew.”

“Hm? Yours too?” he questioned quietly as he lifted the little feline in his hand. “I’ll think about it, but I’m not very good at sharing.”

He silenced as Aya shifted turning his face further into the chair as he tried to stretch, inadvertently revealing that enticing strip of bare skin below the hem of the gray t-shirt. Yohji wasn’t sure when he had started walking forward, but he suddenly found himself on his knees in front of the chair, kitten clutched in his left hand while his right itched to take action; it wanted to brush back the straying strands of scarlet hair, to ghost gently across the exposed abdomen, to pet Aya like a kitten.

There was a thump as the book fell from Aya’s relaxed hand, and violet eyes shot open, catching Yohji much too close and only seconds away from an inappropriate act of affection.

“Mew?”

The kitten intervened as Yohji shoved it into Aya’s face, simultaneously retracting his own as much as possible and praying to the gods of lovestruck fools that the redhead didn’t gut him.

Aya, apparently, was more concerned with righting himself in the chair as quickly as possible. He shoved off the arm, tugging at his shirt and roughly rubbing the red mark on his cheek in an effort to disguise the fact that he had been napping. Yohji thought it best to spare him the trouble.

“Good nap?”

Aya glared; Yohji countered with a kitten.

“All fed and ready to be loved,” he smiled as Aya lifted the kitten from his waiting hand, leaving Yohji to savor the fleeting brush of skin and skin as he deposited the fluffball into his lap and carefully stroked its head. Over full and perfectly content to be out of Yohji’s clutches, she pressed herself against Aya’s stomach and fell asleep before Yohji had even managed to settle himself nearby on the couch.

“You fed her?”

“Yep. All by myself too,” he added in his I’m-a-big-boy-now voice.

“Hn.”

“And I started the wash.”

“You didn’t–”

“The words you’re looking for are ‘Thank’ and ‘you.”

A pause, a stroke of the kitten’s tiny back, then, “Thank you, Yohji.”

“You’re welcome,” he said seriously, then burst into a brilliant smile. “Guess what else?”

Warily, and without looking up, “What?”

“I named the kitten.”

“Hn.”

“Not just now, of course. I thought of it last night. Wanna hear it?”

“Did you name her after your girlfriend?”

“Aya! I’m offended!” He sniffed, only half in offense, and most of that aimed at the fact that Aya had failed to notice his recent abstinence from the supposedly fairer sex.

“Sorry, one of your girlfriends,” he corrected absently.

“Che, that’s not fair,” Yohji complained, “I don’t even have a girlfriend right now.”

“Boyfriend, then.”

How was he to play that? Aya was obviously (to Yohji’s delight) trying to pick on him, and in ways that were considerably less cruel than the swordsman’s normal fare. Such an opportunity couldn’t be wasted, but an outright declaration of intent would get his ass beaten to a pulp. Middle ground, then.

“Nope. Haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Hn.”

Now that wasn’t the shock and surprise and mutual declaration of homosexual tendencies Yohji had hoped for. Damn. Falling back on his original plan and hoping the conversation–and it was an honest to god conversation with Aya–wouldn’t be a total loss.

“Don’t you want to know her name? Or do we need to rehash the finer points of my love life?”

He got half a glare, then, but it seemed mellowed by the warm afternoon light and contentedly sleeping kitten which Aya continued to pet.

“What’s the name?”

“Fetish.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on! Just think about it–”

“No.”

“Oh this,” he spoke to a pretended audience of curious observers, “this is Aya and Yohji’s little Fetish.”

“Kudou–”

“Aya-kun, ” he mimicked Omi, “Yohji-kun said to meet him upstairs; it’s time to feed your Fetish.”

By this point he knew Aya wasn’t finding it very funny, but the slight blush making its way to his cheeks was worth the risk of a punch. Plus, he would have to sit the kitten down first, and that would give Yohji time to escape.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be sure to keep our Fetish in the bedroom!”

He really didn’t think Aya would use the kitten as a projectile, but he was twitching as he silently stared down at her.

“Oh, Omi, we’ll be right back. We just have to go buy a leather collar and a leash for our little Fetish!”

~tbc~

Yohji thanks you for the compliments on his jeans! Although, now Aya is watching you suspiciously; perhaps if you review, I might be able to distract him . . .