Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Reckless ❯ One-Shot

"It's gone quiet back there, at least." Yohji took a long pull on the bottle he was holding, and tossed his head back against the head rest as he savoured the rich flavour of the wine. He fidgeted himself a little more upright, rolling one cramped shoulder. The cab of the mobile flowershop wasn't the most comfortable place at the best of times, but at least it afforded some kind of privacy to him and Aya, as well as giving Ken and Omi a little space - which he'd thought they needed, seeing as they'd argued all the way home.

That is, Omi had argued. Ken had been oddly quiet since killing Powell, hardly responding to Omi's complaints at all. Yohji remembered the chilling, frenzied grin that had contorted Ken's usually soft features as he shot the American, and a shiver ran down his spine.

"Quiet doesn't mean much," said Aya, taking the wine bottle from Yohji and helping himself to a generous slug.

"No. It probably means Omi's moving into phase two: the silent and reproachful looks."

Aya nodded, his expression grim. "The eyes."

"Yep. Poor Ken." Yohji wriggled some more, hitching his knees up to rest on the steering wheel.

How come Aya always got the passenger side, anyway?

"No-one forced Ken to take on Omi," said Aya.

"Are you sure about that?" Yohji reached out for the wine, but Aya brushed his hand away to take another gulp first. "I mean, if Omi looked at you with those big blue eyes, all swimmy and pleading, and asked you to-"

"I am absolutely sure," said Aya, eyes narrowing, "that I would not sleep with Omi."

"Even if-"

"Under any circumstances," said Aya, firmly.

"Oh. Well, yeah, you're right. It would be like sleeping with a little brother. Or something. And far too young, obviously. Out of my range. I was just saying..."

"Well, don't," said Aya.

"I was only kidding."

"Hn." Aya stretched his long legs out in front of him, and his arms over his head, his shirt riding up a little to reveal a glimpse of pale, well-muscled midriff.

Yohji sighed.

"Damn, I'm horny," he muttered. Missions, alcohol and Aya. Did it every time. He cupped his swelling cock through his pants, pulled it straight to give it room to grow, unable to resist a quick squeeze.

Aya was watching him through slitted eyes, his expression inscrutable.

"Don't let me stop you," he said, reaching for the wine again.

"We can't live like this forever," said Yohji. "It's not humane, expecting four grown men to share one room. If you can call it a room."

"It suits our purposes," said Aya, licking his lips to catch a dribble of wine.

"It sure as hell doesn't suit mine right now," muttered Yohji.

"It won't be forever. Once Kritiker's regained strength..."

"When we're not having to do the work of ten teams, you mean. When we don't have to cover the whole fucking country and half of Europe on our own... but can you honestly see that happening any time soon?"

Aya didn't answer him; just took another mouthful of wine and stared out into the darkness.

"I can see you wouldn't mind it," Yohji continued. "The moving about. Never in the same place for too long. Makes it harder for her to find you."

"It's for her own good. She's better off this way."

Yohji swallowed a reply. They'd had this argument before, and it always ended the same: Aya dug his heels in and refused to listen to reason. It seemed so straightforward to Yohji: Aya-chan was always going to be in danger, simply because she was connected to Weiss. Yohji liked to keep the people he worried about close to him, where he could protect them. But Aya would never see it that way. He couldn't see himself as anything other than a liability to Aya-chan, from the moment she'd been kidnapped. Maybe even before.

"We could take a vacation," he said, wistfully, absently kneading his half-hard cock through his jeans. "Go to the cabin, maybe."

"That would be good," said Aya. Unexpectedly.

"Really?"

"But they wouldn't allow it. Not after this. We'll have to move on."

Yohji sighed; took a swig from the nearly empty bottle and passed it back to Aya. "Yeah."

Aya took it from him, rested it on his thigh and caressed the neck with his fingers, squeaking against the glass. Still staring out of the window.

Yohji whispered, under his breath, completely bewitched by the slow, rhythmic movement of Aya's hand: "I don't think I can keep it together much longer without doing something reckless."

"Like I said," Aya turned to him, the slightest twitch of a grin on his face. "Don't let me stop you."

Yohji felt his cock leap under his palm, eager for him to take Aya at his word. His balls ached. He rubbed suggestively, grinned back.

"I will if you will."

Aya's eyes glinted at him through ragged crimson bangs; cheeks slightly flushed from the wine. Yohji watched, breathless, as Aya's hand moved slowly down his body to pop the top button of his pants. He slid his fingertips just inside, splayed flat against his belly.

He looked at Yohji: a challenge. "Go on, then."

Yohji eagerly undid his jeans, and slid them and his underwear smoothly down his thighs. His cock stretched into his waiting hand; he circled the root with curling fingers and pulled up, foreskin smoothing over the wet tip, then let it settle back, thumb teasing the sensitive spot where it joined the shaft.

Aya watched. Drained the bottle and licked up the drips with his soft, pink tongue.

A groan escaped from deep in Yohji's throat. He gripped his sex firmly in his right hand and started to stroke. Forcing himself to take it slow, to resist the urge to pump hard and fast to relieve the ache. Wanting to enjoy the show Aya was putting on too much to rush it. He stopped at the end of every stroke, cradling his erection in his palm and making himself wait.

Aya stuck one slender finger into the bottle, twisted it in a way that made Yohji's heart skip. Pulled it out with a pop, only to suck it into his mouth, eyes on Yohji's all the time as he moved it slowly in and out. Cheeks sucked concave, moist lips hugging his finger, slipping over the knuckle. Yohji knew what it felt like inside that mouth: soft and inviting to his tongue; warm and wet and slick to his cock. He let out another groan.

The bottle slipped to the floor, clinking to rest next to the one they'd already finished, and Aya's finger slipped out of his mouth, trailing a wet line down his jaw, his chin, his throat. He tugged his shirt up and pulled it over his head, his nipples puckering instantly in the slight chill of the cab. Stiffening even more under his touch as he smoothed his palms down his chest, caressing his own skin, crossing his belly, both hands sliding into his pants.

"Oh, man..." whispered Yohji, staring helplessly as Aya touched himself, fingertips brushing either side of his cock under the straining fabric. Yohji's vivid imagination pictured it, long and elegant, hard as steel, begging to be licked and touched...

He stroked himself a little faster, finding it more difficult than ever to hold back.

Aya unzipped his fly and released his straining erection, smoothing his pants down his legs. There was a clunk as Aya's shoes hit the floor; he pulled one foot up onto the seat, let the other leg fall out to the side, spreading his thighs a little. Cupped his balls in one hand and took his cock in the other.

He was wearing socks. White cotton socks, a little too big for him, wrinkling around his ankles. Omi socks.

Yohji could do nothing but stare.

Aya was stretched out next to him, wearing nothing but Omi socks, and Yohji was more turned on than he had been in a very, very long time. More than he had any right to be. Aya looked beautiful, almost boyish, with his lean body and natural, easy grace. And socks. It felt as indecent as it was irresistible. A glimpse of the boy Aya had been. All the more special for being so rare, so at odds with the man he'd become.

Aya started to stroke himself, two fingers running the length of his pretty cock, his other hand dipping lower, between his spread legs, beneath his balls, shifting his hips so he could reach and gently stroke his ass, one fingertip pushing just a little way inside.

Yohji found he was holding his breath, and his own hand no longer moved. He watched, captivated, as Aya pleasured himself, realised for the first time that Aya was every bit as wound up as he was. He could see it in the straining erection and the tension in the fingers that gripped it; in the need burning in hooded violet eyes. Hear it in the snatched breath, the rapid slap of flesh on flesh as Aya's fist flew over his cock. Yohji waited for the right moment, when Aya's hips were flexing in that particular rhythm, when he was making a low, breathy sound deep in his chest, when the head of his cock was purple and flaring, the moment that the first stream of white arced and splattered over his naked chest. Then Yohji gave himself the three quick strokes which brought about his own wrenching, almost painful release.

He watched Aya finish, as absorbed in his lover's pleasure as he was his own. Aya looked so content, the last waves rippling through his body as he drained the final few drops from his cock to pool onto his stomach.

Yohji cleaned himself up and was settling back and lighting a cigarette by the time Aya had opened his eyes. Yohji passed him a fistful of tissues, and grinned at him. Aya accepted them gratefully, with an adorable little smile. He pulled his clothes back on without embarrassment, and was soon sitting there, one leg curled up under the other, as if nothing had happened.

"Wind the window down if you're going to smoke that, Kudoh."

"You say the sweetest things," Yohji muttered. But he opened the window just the same. "That was reckless," he observed.

"A little," admitted Aya, with the slightest of smiles.

"So what now? Bed? Or another bottle?"

"Neither. I don't suppose there's any water?"

"I think Ken left some in the glove compartment." Yohji's eyes flickered to the wing mirror: there were still lights on in the rest of the trailer. Omi and Ken must still be up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Yohji took a long drag of his cigarette, and blew smoke with admirable precision through the open crack of window.

"You look worried."

Yohji was surprised, flattered, that Aya had noticed. Or rather, had said that he'd noticed. Alcohol suited him, Yohji decided. Loosened him up, mellowed him without taking the edge off his perception.

"I was thinking about Ken," he said. "It wasn't an easy mission for him."

"You're concerned that he might have become unstable." Aya had found two bottles of water in the glove compartment; he handed one to Yohji, taking no notice when he shook his head to refuse it.

"Well, I wouldn't put it exactly like that," Yohji found himself opening the bottle and drinking anyway. "But... yes."

"He had a high opinion of Akira."

"Yes. I get the feeling that's one of the things Omi's been having words with him about."

"Because he got too close to the target?"

Typical of Aya, to see the mission first, and the people second. If at all. "Because Kenken got too close to another man."

"Oh. Oh, I see." Aya's eyes widened as he considered the implications of this new possibility. "If Akira hadn't died, you think they would have-"

"I don't know," said Yohji. "That's the odd thing. A few weeks ago, I would have said no. Absolutely no way would Ken have done that to Omi. But lately..."

"He's changed," Aya agreed. "Yet he's known Omi has feelings for him for all this time, and done nothing. It's none of our business, anyway."

"You don't seem worried."

Aya took a long drink of water. "I've seen it before."

"A love triangle?"

"A beserker."

Yohji felt the chill seeping through the open window keenly all of a sudden. "In Crashers?" he said, quietly.

"Not my team. One of the others. I was on temporary assignment after one of them was killed. They had worked together a long time, and Satomi wanted revenge for his team-mate's death.

"So he got obsessed with killing the guy who did it?"

"He was already dead. Kritiker saw to it."

"That figures."

"Satomi... generalised. The man he'd wanted to kill had been head of a drugs ring, so Satomi decided to single-handedly eradicate every drug dealer in Japan."

"Without a mission?"

"He wasn't even an assassin."

"And Kritiker-"

"He kept it to his spare time, at first. Kept it from the team. Eventually we ran into one of his... targets, when we were on recon. We tried to stop him. He wouldn't listen. Went back later, on his own. Got killed."

"But for revenge... we're no stranger to revenge, Aya. Omi, Ken, me, you - we've all tasted it."

"It wasn't revenge. Not anymore. Kritiker took his revenge for him. It was something else. Once he'd had a taste of power..."

"The sheep that tastes blood becomes the wolf, and cannot return to the flock," murmured Yohji.

"Yes," said Aya, softly.

"Ken's been in Weiss a long time," said Yohji. "We've never worried before that he might-"

"I have," said Aya, his eyes on the damp label he was peeling slowly from his water bottle.

Yohji arched a brow. "You have?"

"Have you ever watched him when Omi gets hurt?"

Yohji thought for a moment. "No. Not really. I tend to be a bit busy when that happens." Watching your back, usually.

"He gets reckless."

"Any of us would, surely. That's one of the reasons we've all lasted this long."

"Not to protect Omi. To kill his attacker. There's a difference."

Yohji thought back, running past battles through his mind. With a sinking feeling, he realised that Aya was right.

"What can we do?" he said.

"Nothing, for now." Aya drained his bottle of water and crunched the plastic in his fist. "Watch him. Hope Omi can care for him."

"But if Omi's bothered about Akira... Maybe you should talk to him?"

"That's your department," said Aya with a somewhat rueful grin.

Something in the mirror caught Yohji's eye: the lights had gone out.

"You sleepy yet?"

"A little. We ought to rest. Manx said she'd be back in the morning with new orders."

"I guess. Bed, then."

Aya nodded, but made no move to leave, and neither did Yohji.

The moon was starting to set before they finally went to bed.

* * * * * * *

There was exactly enough room, once the couches were folded away, for four narrow futons to be spread on the floor, with no more than a foot of space between them. When Yohji woke, his first realisation was that most of his body appeared to be wedged into the gap between his futon and Aya's, the metal floor cold and hard against his mostly-naked flesh.

It would appear that he had cuddled up to Aya in his sleep, spooning around his back like he used to in his big, comfortable bed back at the Koneko.

Sometimes he really missed that bed.

Yohji took a few moments to establish that he was the only one awake. The others were breathing slow and deep, and Omi snored: not a loud, buzzsaw snore, but a low whiffle, like a puppy.

It made sense to Yohji, seeing as the only parts of his body that were warm and comfortable were the bits that were touching Aya, that rather than retreat to his futon, he should shuffle it next to Aya's. Once equipped with warm bed and a warm Aya, Yohji let out a contented sigh, and nuzzled happily into Aya's hair.

It seemed automatic, as Yohji's lips brushed Aya's shoulder, to kiss it. Like a reflex. If Aya's there, kiss him.

Yohji smiled to himself in the mostly-dark, and reached an arm around Aya's middle. There was no response: Aya slept on. After a few more moments, Yohji started to get a little bolder. He allowed his fingers to slowly stroke Aya's skin, avoiding his tummy (which tended towards ticklish), and concentrating instead on his chest. Feeling the steady rise and fall of his ribcage, smooth nipples stiffening under his touch.

Kissing Aya's neck, drowse giving way to excitement, Yohji held himself in check as best he could, shaking faintly from the effort of restraint. Instead of nibbling the tender skin of the nape of Aya's neck, he allowed himself only to lick; where he wanted to pinch and rub those hardening nipples, he permitted only the gentlest caress.

It was impossible, of course, to be this close to Aya and not to want him. Yohji revelled in the scent and feel and presence of his lover, and allowed it to possess him completely. Stifling a moan, Yohji pressed his trembling body against Aya's strong back. Almost hoping now that Aya would wake, not least because Yohji was fairly certain that Aya would stop him, and however wrong this might be with Ken and Omi sleeping just a few feet away, Yohji knew he couldn't stop himself.

He trailed his hand down Aya's side, avoiding his groin, not daring to find out whether Aya was hard or not, because to wrap his fingers around Aya's prick, hard or soft, was just too tempting for words.

He cupped the elegant curve of Aya's buttock in his hand, so soft and firm that it was all Yohji could do to resist ducking under the covers and-

Aya shifted. Yohji snatched his guilty hand back from its exploration and held his breath, but Aya was still again. He'd rolled forwards, shifted one knee up a little so that he was lying not quite on his stomach and not quite on his side, but somewhere in between. Exposing his tempting bottom all the more. Making it easy for Yohji to touch the dip at the base of his spine and run his fingers down to the soft fuzz at the curve where his buttocks began. An irresistible temptation, then, to dip between them, following the valley lower and lower until his fingertips came to rest on Aya's soft, sensitive hole.

He couldn't think any more. Ken coughed and he froze for an instant, but he could no more stop touching Aya than he could stop his own breath. Some part of him noted that this was more than not caring that they weren't alone; whether it was the potential thrill of being watched, or the risk of getting caught, Yohji wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it felt damn good.

He went to wet his finger with spit, but his mouth was dry. He tugged a tube of lubricant from the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed - he'd got used to carrying, now he and Aya had to take their chances where they could. He slicked two fingers, and went back to teasing Aya's ass. Stroking, around the pucker, down the ridge of flesh to his tight, fuzzy balls and back again, slipping just the barest fraction inside.

Eventually he realised that Aya was moving. Very slowly, anticipating Yohji's caress and rocking to meet it. Trying to impale himself more fully on Yohji's fingers.

He was awake. Aya was awake, and wanted this as much as Yohji did. Aya wasn't going to stop him.

The thrill of it made Yohji's cock throb.

He pushed more firmly against Aya's entrance, and both fingers slid inside, all in a rush, as Aya's body let him in.

Yohji fingerfucked him slowly, agonisingly slowly, twisting and scissoring, breathing against the soft nape of his neck, pressing his own cock rhythmically into the crevice between Aya's thigh and the futon.

Aya moved almost silently, only the ragged edge to his breathing voicing his pleasure.

It was good. Oh hell, it was good.

But it wasn't enough.

He buried his fingers in Aya's ass to the third knuckle, flicked his prostate, and whispered in his ear, as soft as he could: "I have to fuck you, Aya. Now."

He expected Aya to refuse. Or, perhaps, to scramble into some clothes and drag him outside.

But Aya pressed back against him with a low growl, and hissed: "Do it!"

Yohji stared in disbelief at the back of Aya's head. Red hair turned dark by the shadows.

They lay still for a moment, both breathing hard. Yohji half expected Ken or Omi to cough, or roll over, to break the spell. But they didn't.

Aya clenched around his fingers, and Yohji was lost. He slathered lube over his erection, and draped himself over Aya's back, letting his cock find its own way to the crack of Aya's ass. Slid it up and down a few times until the very last shreds of self control fled and he had to shove inside. Pausing for the bare instant it took for Aya's ass to relax and admit him, then sinking himself to the hilt in the hot, tight clench of Aya's insides.

It was crazy. Omi and Ken could wake at any moment. Risky, wicked and outrageous didn't begin to describe how it felt.

It was fucking good. Unbelievably, fucking good.

"Okay?" he breathed into Aya's ear, his hand sliding past Aya's hips to wrap around his cock.

"Do it," Aya whispered, softly now. "Do me, Yohji."

He thrust into Aya with shallow strokes at first, his mouth clamped to Aya's shoulder to stop himself from crying out, every nerve ending in his body alive and tingling, his cock so hard it hurt, only the steady friction of Aya's flesh soothing the ache.

Aya shifted a little, making it easier to push deep inside him, the slightest catch in his breathing telling Yohji that he was hitting the right spot.

It felt so good that Yohji could hardly bear it. He was caught between wanting to finish as quickly as he could, in case the others woke up, and wanting to languish in the delicious, intense sensations forever. It was Aya, in the end, who made the decision for him: his ass clenched suddenly around Yohji's cock, so hard that Yohji had to bite his lower lip hard, to keep from yelping. Then there was a rush of warm-wet as Aya came in his hand; he could smell sex and hear Aya's muffled cry as he bit the pillow and shuddered against his bed. It was all Yohji could take: he gave Aya's still-clenching ass three swift, hard thrusts, and couldn't fight a gasp as his body convulsed with pleasure. He banged his forehead repeatedly on Aya's back in an effort to keep quiet, as his cock jerked and pulsed stream after stream of sperm into Aya's strong, willing, beautiful body.

Yohji lay, spent and panting, sprawled over Aya's back; his hand found Aya's, shaking fingers twining together as he planted a tender kiss on his lover's neck.

He could still feel the rush, even now his body was sated, and judging by the tremble of Aya's hand and the still-rapid pulse that beat under Yohji's lips, he wasn't the only one.

He was suddenly aware of the draught sweeping from the door to chill his naked back - the covers had apparently disappeared at some point - and he shivered. He rolled off Aya, and wiped his sticky hand across his own chest, for some reason liking the idea of being anointed with Aya's sperm, a proof for the morning that this hadn't been just a wet dream.

Aya rolled back onto his side and Yohji cuddled up behind him again, on purpose now, pulling both quilts up to their ears before curling his arm around Aya's tummy. Aya covered Yohji's hand with his own, and let slip the barest sigh.

They slept.

* * * * * * *

Omi stifled a yawn, and tried to concentrate on Persia's flickering image on the screen in front of them. It wasn't easy. He found his eyes drawn away again and again to settle on Ken, who sat on a hard chair, leaning forwards, heels bouncing in agitation, one clenched fist cupped in the other. Wound tight as a spring, still.

A picture of a church appeared on the screen.

"This is where we believe the man known as Brother John is running his operation from." Persia's voice was stern, impassive. Nothing of Uncle Shuichi's passion or conviction. "Our intelligence suggests that a group known as the Circle of Light secretly deliver new cultists here for initiation. What the cultists don't know is that the initiation is actually a brainwashing process, which will leave them helpless and bound to do whatever Brother John and the Circle ask of them. They must be stopped."

"Evil bastards," muttered Ken.

The screen faded to black; Manx turned the lights back on.

"What, no dark beasts?" said Yohji, with mock disappointment. "Did I drift off there, or did Persia neglect to mention who the target is?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious," said Ken.

"There is no target at this stage." said Manx. "Your first task will be to establish the identity of the members of the 'Circle of Light'. The Kritiker agents we sent were unable to make a positive ID."

"Rookies," Yohji murmured under his breath. Omi shared the sentiment: since Estet had all but wiped out Kritiker, Weiss had been taking on far more intelligence missions than they'd been used to.

"Surveillance, then," said Aya.

"You are strongly advised to remain undercover until we know who the Circle of Light are, and what they're doing."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "Advised?"

"Take it or leave it," said Manx, in a voice that suggested very strongly that they should take it.

"Makes sense," said Yohji.

"Don't see why," said Ken. "The sooner the evil bastards are rotting in Hell the better. All the while they're alive more people can get hurt."

"And as soon as they know someone's on to them, they'll all go underground," Yohji pointed out. "Which will make them even harder to find when the time comes. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend months rounding up strays while they get to think far too hard about who upset their applecart."

Ken scowled, but he had to concede Yohji's point.

"Besides," said Aya. "No targets, is that right, Manx?"

"Not at this stage," said Manx.

"How can people be so stupid?" Ken muttered. Omi could sense his frustration. Religion always struck close to home with Ken, he knew.

"Not stupid," he said, gently. "Misguided."

"They must have had some suspicions," said Ken. "Don't people read the papers? Initiation rituals, secret cults... you're not telling me they had no idea what was going on."

"If people need something enough, it makes them blind," said Aya. "People believe what they want to believe."

"Is that right?" Ken muttered under his breath, with more than a trace of bitterness.

"Ken-kun," Omi breathed, wide-eyed. Ken's eyes darted briefly to his, then to the floor.

"I take it you're all in." Manx asked, offering the usual manila envelope to Aya.

There were an assortment of grunts and nods around the room.

"Good," said Manx. "I look forward to your report."

With a click of heels on the metal floor of the mission room, she was gone.

* * * * * * *

Yohji blew out a stream of smoke and enjoyed the sway of Aya's hips, the smooth motion of his body as he crossed the mission room, slipped into his coat, secured his katana carefully in place.

"Hurry up, Yohji. We haven't got all day." He tossed the rolled bundle of Yohji's own mission coat over to him, hitting him square in the chest and thumping the wind out of him.

"Alright, glorious leader," Yohji wheezed. "Just let me finish this cig, and I'll-"

Aya was on him in a heartbeat, shoving him back against the wall and pinning him there with one hand planted firmly in the middle of his chest. He snatched the cigarette from Yohji's hand and ground it into the metal floor with one bootheel.

"It's a mission, Kudoh. Focus."

Yohji's heart was beating like a wild thing; he was sure Aya could feel it. Purple eyes burned into his with an intensity that had little to do with anger, and a lot to do with something else.

"It's only a fact-finder." Yohji kept his gaze on Aya's, his voice steady. "We could do it blindfold. In fact, better still..." He slowly licked his lips, savouring the resulting flicker of lust in Aya's eyes. "Why don't we just send Kenken and the chibi to do it, and I could spend the night fucking you senseless instead?"

For an instant, Yohji thought Aya was about to hit him, and sure enough his head was slammed against the wall, but only to be kissed, hard and brutal, Aya's tongue thrusting into his mouth, fists clenching in his hair.

Before Yohji could catch his breath, Aya was gone, the door rattling behind him. Yohji's eyes flickered open; Aya's taste was still in his mouth, the memory of his body imprinted on Yohji's.

With his coat clutched in faintly trembling arms, Yohji followed Aya out into the night.

* * * * * * *

"Are you sure there's no direct entrance to the basement, Omi?" Yohji peered between the branches that hid them from the view of anyone who might emerge from the church they were watching. Yohji disliked churches at the best of times: they echoed and creaked, and had too many shadowy corners, and made sneaking around far too difficult while at the same time offering the enemy far too many places to hide.

"I can't tell," said Omi. "The only way into it I can be sure of is from one of the ante rooms to the main church."

"Stupid design," said Ken. "They've built themselves a tomb."

"Yes," said Omi. "That's probably what it was intended for."

"Oh," said Ken.

"From what I've managed to find out, there are extensive catacombs underneath the building; it's based on a European model. They were intended for high-status burials, but it turned out not to be a good idea because of earthquakes, so they were abandoned."

"Good thinking," said Yohji, sardonically. "It's unstable enough round here, without digging holes under things."

"Hm," agreed Omi. "The monks who built it seemed to think God would protect them."

"Shut up," hissed Aya. "Someone's coming out."

They watched in silence as a tall figure emerged from a side door, locked it behind him and got into the solitary, shabby-looking car waiting for him on the gravel outside.

"Brother John," growled Ken. "We could take him. I could catch him before he hits the main road."

"No," snapped Aya. "Don't be an idiot, Hidaka."

"Best follow the mission plan," said Omi, with a gentle squeeze to Ken's elbow. "Remember?"

Ken shook Omi's hand off, and turned away. "In that case, let's get inside." He glared at Aya. "That's the plan, as I remember."

Aya locked eyes with him for a moment, not angry, as far as Yohji could tell. Just exuding his usual air of authority, controlling Ken's wild impulses by sheer force of will.

"Yohji," said Aya, not taking his gaze from Ken's. "Go open the door. We're going in."

* * * * * * *

The church was cold, shrouded in the thick chill of old stone. Yohji followed Aya silently past the shadowy wooden pews to a side door.

They paused, and Aya indicated for Ken to wait; he obediently took guard outside the door while the others went inside.

They entered a narrow room, a half-curtained opening at one end leading to stone stairs - the bell tower, Yohji recalled from the plans. There were two plain leaded windows in the exterior wall; a couch and low table the only furniture. A threadbare rug ran the length of the room.

"Trap door," said Yohji, pointing to the far end of the rug, one dog-eared corner curling upwards, a faint crease in the pile showing that it was often folded back.

"Let's go," said Aya. "Wait here, Omi, usual signal if anything happens."

Yohji tugged back the rug and pulled on the thick metal handle set into the top of the wooden trap door. It opened with the ease of regular use, onto pitch blackness and the musty smell of earth and rotting wood. Yohji could just make out the top three steps.

He lowered himself slowly through the opening.

The steps were mercifully short, finishing outside another locked door, beyond which there was a large vaulted room that reminded Yohji of a wine cellar he'd once visited in Europe. It was only the rows of niches, built for coffins rather than friendly rows of bottles, that gave the place an altogether more sinister atmosphere.

Against this macabre backdrop, Yohji's sweeping torch revealed ordinary, out of place things: an old desk, a filing cabinet, a big, battered table surrounded by half a dozen chairs. Desk lamps, blotters, pots of pens, staplers - and a computer, of all things. One of the alcoves boasted a coffee machine on a tray with several mugs. He was half expecting to find pot plants and a no-smoking sign.

"Lights," said Aya, and, as if obeying his command, fluorescent tubes in the ceiling flickered lazily to life.

"Neat trick," said Yohji.

"I found the switch," said Aya, his mouth twitching into a smile.

Yohji smiled back, and held Aya's gaze for a moment longer than he really should have done.

"I wasn't expecting an office," he said. "More an evil headquarters with manacles and maybe a big leather chair for the bad guy to sit in. Possibly a few cages for the minions. Not the damn accounts department of some charitable operation."

"I'll start with the files," said Aya. "You get the computer started."

"Okay," said Yohji, but he made no move towards the computer, choosing instead to cup Aya's face in his hands and kiss him. Gently at first, wearing down scant resistance with soft, tempting lips, then harder, working his tongue into Aya's mouth, pressing his thigh against the already hardening ridge of flesh in Aya's jeans.

Always a risk, trying this on missions, but a risk Yohji never tired of taking, and one which seemed to be paying off handsomely. Of course, this wasn't a real mission, just recon. Perhaps that explained why Aya melted into his arms with a low moan, wrenching Yohji's coat open and sliding gloved hands inside, warm leather rubbing smoothly over his bare belly.

"Aya," he breathed against his lover's warm lips. "I want to lay you on that table and fuck you senseless."

Aya slapped Yohji's ass, hard enough that Yohji couldn't help but jump, barely suppressing an undignified squeal. "Not if I fuck you first," said Aya.

"Oh baby. Now you're talking."

"You-" Aya froze, his hand still on Yohji's ass, his lips so close to Yohji's that he could feel his breath.

"What?"

"Omi," whispered Aya, and pulled himself out of Yohji's arms to dash for the stairs.

"Fuck." Brainwashed or otherwise, it seemed these guys had a crap sense of timing.

The room above was empty: Aya crept to the door while Yohji silently closed the trapdoor behind them and folded the carpet back into place.

"Shit," murmured Aya. Yohji craned over his shoulder to peek through the crack in the door.

"Shit," he agreed. "What the fuck's he playing at?"

Ken stood in front of the altar, his arm looped around the neck of a wriggling, middle-aged man. He held a short knife in his other hand.

Yohji was wondering where the fuck Ken had got a knife from, when Aya opened the door a little further to reveal another five men, each similarly equipped with what were probably ceremonial daggers.

"Any further, and he dies," came Ken's voice. Ken's voice with a wild edge to it that Yohji didn't like the sound of at all.

"What the fuck's he doing?"

Aya didn't answer him; Yohji heard the click of his katana, and readied his fingers on his own wire.

"Tell me what's going on here, or your friend starts bleeding."

"It's more of a direct approach than we'd planned," muttered Yohji. "But it might work."

"They're innocent people," said Aya, his voice a low, angry rumble. "They've been brainwashed. They can't tell us anything. All he's done is blown our cover. He's an idiot."

Yohji could see his point. The cultists were advancing on Ken, completely fearless, uncaring.

Ken tossed the knife to the floor, and for a second Yohji thought perhaps he'd come to his senses, but then he heard the metallic hiss of his bugnuks unsheathing.

"Ken-kun!" Omi's voice, from a little to the left of the door, by the sounds of it.

Ken ignored him. "Tell me. This is your chance to pay for your sins. If you don't want to take it, I can send you straight to hell. Don't think I won't do it."

"Please," his captive blinked at him with big, expressionless eyes. There was no emotion in his voice, even as he begged. "Stop. No. Can't."

"We can help you find the light." A new voice: one of the cultists was leading the others towards Ken in steady, measured steps. "Release the hate in your heart, and join us."

"You don't know anything about me," said Ken. "I may be going to hell, but I'll send you there first!"

He dropped his captive and launched himself at the cultists with a loud, sickening scream. Yohji and Omi started forwards, Omi to grab him from behind, Yohji to fling out his wire, but Aya got there first. He threw himself between Ken and his victim, drawing his katana too late to stop Ken's attack completely, only deflecting Ken's hand with the flat of his blade after the blades had cut through Aya's thin shirt, through his pale skin, with a spray of blood that splashed Ken's face.

"Aya!" Yohji launched himself at Aya, catching him as he crumpled to his knees from the sudden pain.

"Capture," said Aya. "No kill."

There was a scuffle; the cultists were slow but eager to take risks. Yohji took a couple of scrapes to his thigh and his exposed midriff before he could get his wire into action. He still didn't get a chance to use it, though: no sooner had he got his hand to it than the cult leader barked something in a language he didn't recognise, and they were running away, Ken racing after them.

"Contingency, Omi!" Yohji yelled. "Stop that fucker before he does anything we can't fix!"

"Rendezvous at base!" Omi shouted over his shoulder, voice echoing back to them as he ran down the main aisle after Ken. "Take care of Aya!"

"Of course," muttered Yohji, turning to his injured lover with a grim expression on his face. "How is it?"

"I'm fine," said Aya, wincing as he tried to get up. "Go after them."

"No," said Yohji. "I won't leave you."

"It's not that bad." Aya tried again to get to his feet and succeeded this time, one arm curved protectively over his wounded chest.

"I won't take any risks, Aya. You're bleeding. Let's go back in there," Yohji nodded towards the anteroom. "I'll patch you up and clean up here, then we can catch up with mad Kenken and the chibi. I don't want you passing out on me."

Aya gave in with a hard stare and the barest of grunts, and let Yohji help him to the door.

"I can't believe even Ken was that stupid," said Yohji.

"It was my fault," said Aya. "I knew Ken was unstable. I shouldn't have left him on guard."

"You couldn't know what would happen. That was a dumbfool thing to do."

"I knew it might happen. That should have been enough."

"We all make mistakes, Aya."

"And one day it will kill us," said Aya. His words sent a chill down Yohji's spine.

"Maybe, he admitted, running his fingertips softly over the cool skin of Aya's cheek. "But not today."

"No," said Aya, with a flicker of a smile. "Not today."

* * * * * * *

Omi caught up with Ken somewhere in the forest; he was slumped against a tree, breathing hard. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he was sobbing wretchedly, gasping for air, as Omi approached.

"Ken-kun." He held out his arms.

Much later, when Ken had done crying and lay still and quiet, while Omi ran soothing fingers through his hair, he confessed his fear. The awful truth in his heart, that he had a growing need to kill.

Killing didn't hurt anymore, he said. It should hurt, but it didn't. It felt right.

"Go to Manx," said Omi, softly. "This happens, sometimes. It's not easy to cope with what we do. They can help."

"Perhaps."

Thunder rumbled through the trees. The wind was fresh now, building to a gale. A storm on its way. They should be heading back to the rendezvous point, but Ken felt warm and solid in Omi's arms, and he didn't want to move.

"You heard them, last night?" said Ken.

Omi blinked in confusion. "Heard who?"

"Yohji and Aya."

"Oh." Omi felt a blush rise up his cheeks, and was grateful for the dark. "Yes."

"Do you think that's how they keep sane? Because they have each other? I wonder sometimes, if things were different, if Kase... or if Yuriko hadn't left..."

"If you weren't so lonely."

"Yes. I suppose."

"You don't have to be," whispered Omi. His fingers stilled in Ken's silky hair. He could hardly believe he was about to say what he-

"Don't stop," said Ken. "I like it when you touch me."

Omi paused a moment longer, causing Ken to pull back a little and look up at him.

"You do?" said Omi

"Yes." Ken's eyes darted away, fixed on Omi's other hand, where it rested, innocently enough, on Ken's waist.

"In that case," said Omi, a smile spreading across his face, "I'll keep touching."

He pulled Ken close, and pressed his lips to the crown of his head, a sigh escaping from him as Ken's arms slid around his middle in return.

They held each other until lightning streaked the sky, and the first drops of rain began to fall. Even when they made to leave, Omi was sure to keep a hold of Ken's trembling hand.

"Will Aya be alright?" said Ken, as they left the forest.

Omi smiled. "He's with Yohji," he said. "He'll be fine."

* * * * * * *