Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Reflections ❯ Consequences ( Chapter 8 )

Reflections: Consequences

Chapter Eight

A Weiss Kreuz fanfic by L.A. Mason.

Standard disclaimer applies: No copyright infringement intended. No profit being made or sought.

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Author's Note:

This story is being posted at a slightly quicker pace than I write, which means that after chapter 9, I will probably have to lengthen the interval between posts. Initially, I found this worrisome, but given that I haven't had to go back to adjust plot elements very often, perhaps it will be okay.

Of perhaps greater importance, I also need to rectify an omission on my part: I have neglected to thank the wonderful people who've been reading this story before it's posted. Thank you, Shay, for proofing and putting a stake through some of the overabundance of commas, and for catching peculiarities of spelling when it comes to character names. Any that have snuck through are entirely my fault. Thank you, Lita, for being a perceptive reader. You've made me happier than I can express every time you've spotted a plot element without my having to rub it in. And, last but far from least, thank you to Kirei-Rei, Rose, Kelly, and the folks at the shadows_of_the_fox group for putting up with my posting this as a WIP. Your willingness to read without throwing things at me has been most gratifying.

With regard to comments I have received:

`Aya is OOC.' My first reaction was "Well, gee… You think? I wonder what Ken has been obsessing about for the past five chapters!" but that is a bit unfair. Remember, this story is being told from Ken's point of view. By that, I mean that what you as readers see is filtered by his perceptions. As time passed, his views on his teammates, and how he interacts with them has changed. Also, Aya himself has been through an experience that has changed how he interacts with others. The motivations that drive the characters aren't always clear, and that's as it should be, or I wouldn't have much of a story left to tell.

`And, since you like to talk about plot devices :), it was nice to see another common plot device smashed: that of someone being raped during captivity. Instead, you completely reverse it until Aya was *alone* too much, which partially explains his strange behavior up to now.' YES! Phoinos, my catnip mouse is yours! Thank you for figuring it out. I personally think that so long as Aya has an opponent to struggle against, or a cause to fight for, that he's focused/obsessive enough to go through almost anything unscathed. But loneliness and neglect are a much more subtle thing to fight. There's no one, other than yourself, to strive against. The inevitable self-doubt would be more damaging than any direct torture.

*happy sigh*

On to chapter 8. Enjoy!

L.A. Mason, a.k.a. LibraryCat

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Ken wasn't sure quite what he expected when he stormed into the redhead's room, but this was definitely not it.

Aya's slanted eyes fixed unblinkingly on Ken's, staring at him past the flushed curve of the boy's cheek. Omi's dark lashes fluttered, but he made no attempt to resist when the man's lips shifted from the childishly soft mouth to the line of his jaw, still kissing with slow and careful precision.

Yohji had known that this was going to happen. That was what he had been teasing about; a subtle warning to Ken concerning what he would find when he walked through that door.

It was hard to watch. Ken swallowed against the tightness in his throat, wishing he could run, wishing it was him cradled in Aya's lap, utterly helpless. Aya's lids lowered, veiling the remarkable blue violet as the gleam of white teeth scraped lightly over the hinge of the younger assassin's jaw. He nuzzled into the hollow below Omi's ear, rubbing his nose lightly over smooth skin before tilting his head a fraction to set the sharp points of his canines together on the lobe of that ear. The first sound that Ken had heard him make issued from between those teeth: a barely audible whine of tightly leashed frustration. Omi gave a faint, strangled groan in response, and fumbled one thin arm up behind Aya's shoulder, questing fingers gripping the too-short, fly-away strands of blood red. Ken knew precisely how strong those small fingers were, remembered them wrapping bandages around his chest, grabbing his wrist to tow him along in dizzy cheerfulness… But never like that. Never in passion.

Aya shifted the tensed body against his torso, one supporting arm behind the shoulder blades, and the other freed to stroke a palm more harshly up the lean chest. Omi shifted, arching back to bring the caress into line with one small nipple, just visible as a ghostly, tawny shadow through the white cotton. The hand continued without pausing at the involuntary shiver until the pale fingers curled around the back of the kid's skull, massaging the tendons even as Aya's thumb stroked the outside curve of the blushing ear. Red hair followed till strands of it mingled with shining gold, the swordsman's head leaning down to murmur something quiet. A tremor rippled down the taut form, and Omi relaxed back against the arm holding him with a shudder.

Whatever command Aya had given had rendered the slim boy bonelessly passive. The pulse of fear that shot through Ken's gut almost drowned out the growing arousal he had felt over watching his best friend making out with the feyly beautiful swordsman. But the fear turned back again into something darker when Aya opened his eyes again and just looked at him.

He had never seen anything like that, not in Aya. The tilted, storm gray eyes widened, glittering with emotion that might be a desire to do violence, or might simply be desire. As if even desire could be simple when it involved anyone that confusing and messed up.

Omi slid off the bed in a fluid rush that was nothing like his usual scramble. Mesmerized as he was by Aya's hot gaze, Ken hardly noticed until the boy was right in front of him, reaching up small, slender hands to grasp his shoulders and tow him toward the rumpled bed. But once he did look, the young man couldn't tear his eyes from the youth leading him.

Walking backwards, the kid's usual high energy was very apparent, but instead of bouncing as he normally did, his movements were quick and agile. The top of his shining sleek blond hair was level with Ken's nose, distractingly soft as it shifted in the room's low light. Then Omi's intense dark blue gaze captured his, and an unmistakable buzz of desire slid along his nerves. The teenager just looked so good, his winter-faded tan giving his fair skin a faint, golden glow, and unfamiliar passion heightening the effect by touching his cheekbones with rouge. Fleetingly, the older boy wondered if Ouka had ever gotten that much of a reaction from the kid, or if his mask of good cheer hadn't extended to it. Wondered if this was something reserved for their watching companion.

Whatever it was, Omi sure wasn't letting inexperience get in his way. It was possible that even if Ken had been inclined to resist - which he was too stunned to contemplate - that the petit assassin would have been able to drag him to bed by force. When the mattress brushed the backs of Omi's legs, he adroitly stepped and folded until he was kneeling on the edge, still pulling his captive along with him. The brunet didn't have a chance to balk when his turn came. One of the hands transferred from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, slipping into the ragged, near-black strands of Ken's hair, while the other shifted lower, gripping his hip with bruising strength. His knees were on the bed, bumping Omi's before he had a clue as to what was happening.

A big part of his mental processes had just been trashed by the moist impact of rose-soft lips. Ken had maybe a second to register that the fleeting contact had been from the boy before larger, stronger hands closed onto his waist and neck, hot where they glanced across bare skin. His eyes were rolling back into his head, shock bringing him to the edge of hyperventilating.

The electric sizzle of the mouth that descended onto Ken's was nothing like the sweet brush of the kid's lips. Omi was sunshine, and the exuberance of a bright spring morning, while this was a midnight thunderstorm during the breathless height of a summer heat wave. The hard-suppressed violence and desperation of the contact couldn't be hidden by its slow deliberation. Aya was sucking on Ken's lower lip until he pouted involuntarily, offering the soft flesh. In sudden contrast, sharp teeth closed hard enough to wring a sob of pain from the brunet, even as it drove a spike of pleasure straight through his gut. The teeth held Ken captive while the agile tip of Aya's tongue tormented the sliver of trapped skin and tissue, burning every nerve. Lightheaded, gulping for breath, Ken finally jerked back and was released before he could hurt himself.

"Wow… So that's what a kiss looks like…" Omi's husky, wondering voice reminded the athlete that he had just had the kid as a very close up and personal witness to Aya destroying what little presence of mind Ken had left. "I want to, to try…"

What Omi wanted became abundantly clear as he transferred his arms to wind around Ken's neck, and went to work finishing what the older assassin had begun.

Different, but oddly the same. Eager, soft to the point of tickling until delicate teeth nipped his bruised lower lip, sending a shock straight down to curl his toes in his socks. Wow… Ken barely felt Omi transfer himself to sit astride his thighs until the enthusiastic strength of slender hands caged him temple and jaw. The kid's thumbs stroked outward along Ken's cheekbones as his blunt nails scraped the brunet's scalp, wringing forth another shudder like a horse flinching under the stinging bite of a fly. An overload of sensation was making it difficult for him to sit still, especially when he had no idea where to put his hands. Just because Omittchi was kissing the daylights out of him didn't make it appropriate for Ken to put his hands just anywhere; they fluttered, indecisive, until warm palms slid over the backs of his knuckles, and strong fingers interlaced themselves with his. The new hands guided the athlete's arms down and around Omi's trim waist, wrapping him tight in a double embrace.

The heated brush of fine hair over the nape of Ken's neck, followed as it was by a moist kiss and once again the electric scrape of incisors and sharp canines nearly made his heart stutter to a stop. Frozen as he was in shock, he made no effort to resist as hard bone and muscle settled against his back. Please, God… Don't let Yohji come by and look in just now… Ken was acutely aware of just what he must look like, sitting back on his shins with Omi straddling his legs, and with what could only be the once-aloof swordsman kneeling at his back, the soccer player firmly nestled between his out-stretched thighs. Worse, Ken was caged between two guys with definite hard-ons, if he was to judge by the pressure against his backside and the definite friendliness of the blond in front of him. The only good news was that Omi was so caught up in necking that he hadn't noticed that he was practically sitting on top of a third one.

Twisting aside, he stammered, "P- p-please!" Please what? wasn't exactly clear even in his own mind, but Ken was damned sure that he had better stop while the stopping was good. Or, if not good, at least a possibility. Frantic, he untangled his fingers from Aya's strong grip, catching Omi by the waist and lifting him bodily. The petit blond squeaked in a mixture of surprise and outrage, but he was no match against the older youth's nearly desperate strength. Panicking, Ken gabbled out "Oh, God! Please! Omi-You-Oh, my God. I gotta--"

"No, you do not `gotta.' " The intensity of the low baritone stood every hair on Ken's body on end. Or at least it felt that way as it slid like heated sake around his nerves. It made him go limp with the sudden urge to lean into the unyielding muscle at his back as an arm that snaked about his waist locked him in place. The puff of Aya's breath against the sweat-dampened back of Ken's neck sent another shudder down his spine. Then the man's sensual voice dropped even lower, as if unaware of the effect he was having, which damn it all didn't seem possible with Ken practically melting into his lap, and he asked thoughtfully, "Too much, too fast?"

"Yeah," Ken gasped in reply. "Something like that."

"Then we'll stop. Omi-- " The last was addressed to the quivering teenager astride his lap. For a second, it seemed like the kid would chose to ignore the command, then he kissed Ken on the cheek tenderly. "Sorry, Ken-kun. I didn't mean to get carried away."

Damn. The younger Weiss sounded genuinely sorry, as if he blamed himself. "N- no! Omi, wait. It's not you. Even though, God, you could've knocked me over with a feather. I never dreamed you would-- " Ken grabbed him by the biceps as he tried to slide off the older youth's legs. Surprise warred with distress until a wobbly but sunny smile appeared.

"You're not mad?"

"God, no. Flabbergasted, more like. But never mad. You're my best friend, Omittchi. How could I be mad at you?" Embarrassingly, his voice cracked on the final question, making Ken sound like the younger of them. It surprised a real grin out of the teenager, and his eyes danced with giddy pleasure. He bounced a little, and giggled, swooping back in to plant a sloppy smooch on Ken's other cheek. If the kid got any higher, he would float away. As it was, his reaction to necking with two of his best friends was making him act drunk.

"Omi." The command in the low voice arrested the smaller blond before he could take matters any farther. "Enough."

To Ken's surprise, the cheerful face didn't collapse immediately; Omi didn't even pout although there was disappointment in his quiet sigh. He exhaled, blowing the breath up through his bangs but settled down to sit cross legged on Aya's bed. "Yeah, I know. I didn't mean to get carried away. Again. Sorry." Then his mouth trembled, and he had to fix his stare on the creased bedspread before his wide eyes overflowed.

Pulling the slight form back into his lap for a different kind of hug was instinctive, and the brunet didn't hesitate at all. That Aya's also arms came up around the both of them was unexpected but he didn't argue, not even when the swordsman tugged at him, pulling the them over so that Omi ended up lying in between, tangled with both their bodies. This time, Omi was the one who was cradled between his friends, kept safe and lulled into deep and dreamless sleep. As he quickly followed the younger boy into oblivion, Ken drowsily figured that, being as the kid was the one who always worried about the rest of them, it was only fair.

**************

A loud whimper dragged Ken back from the depths of some confusing nightmare about Kase, and drowning, and some soccer groupie girl whose name he couldn't even remember. He blinked, driving the image of straight, waist-length black hair out of his head in favor of sweat-streaked blond that was glued to his temple and cheek. He blinked again, going cross-eyed as he tried to focus on normally fly-away wisps that tangled into his eyelashes and ended up in his mouth. Bleh. Although he recognized the chamomile and honey taste and scent as belonging to the weird concoction Omi had mixed up during one of his energetic fits when it had been imperative to find a use for the flower shop's left-over stock. Which meant that the trembling, whining weight half on his ribs had to be the junior member of Weiss.

By his other side, the mattress creaked and shifted as Aya sat up. Ken caught a glimpse of the concerned frown creasing the smooth skin between the man's thin brows, then Omi was starting up, thrashing onto his knees as a shriek burst from his parted lips. The terrified blue eyes were barely open before Aya reached across to intercept him, grunting a little in pain at the not-inconsiderable impact of frantic fists into his injured shoulder. Ken floundered upright as well, lending a hand to lift Omi across his chest and into the redhead's lap.

"Shh, shh… You're safe." murmured Aya, his warm baritone wrapping as tightly around the shivering boy as his arms.

"Daddy?! No, don't leave-- " The anguished wail cut off abruptly as Omi came full aware, and realized where he was, and who he was screaming at. The horror of his dream transformed into another kind of horror as, mortified, he buried his burning face in his hands. "Kannon have mercy; I can't believe I just did this." he mumbled.

Against its owner's will, Aya's mouth twitched; Ken could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smile. "Indeed." he said dryly, "I assure you that being mistaken for Takatori Reiji is not high on my list of ways to wake up."

Startled, Omi's head jerked up. The movement would have caught the older assassin in the chin except that his reflexes allowed him to tilt back just in time. "What?" The blue eyes darkened in distress as the precise words he had spoken came back to him. "Oh! Aya-kun, I wasn't calling you-that. It… it was a n- nightmare. That's all. I was dreaming about being left with the kidnappers, and they were going to kill m-m-me…" His face crumpled and tears flooded down over splotched cheeks.

"I know." The sleeves of his blue sweater were vivid against the stark white of the boy's cotton shirt as he hugged the thin figure closer. "We aren't going to abandon you, Omi. Never think that. You're Weiss, and I don't intend to let that change."

Omi sobbed, returning the embrace with all the strength he could summon, and refused to let go until he began hiccuping uncontrollably and begging them to forgive him. Ken rolled his eyes and ran to the bathroom for a glass of water. It kind of bothered him that the kid's good-for-nothing family still had such a hold on him that they could still make him cry, but if nothing else, it proved that he was still human. The Takatori were the ones who were scum for treating the sweet child like garbage, as if not worth their time or money.

After gulping down the tepid water, it still took several minutes to calm the distraught boy so that the hiccups abated. They took turns to reassure him that yes, everything was okay, and no, neither Ken nor Aya were pissed at him. The exasperated soccer player repeated the mantra, "Omi, just chill. We don't hate you." one more time, but this time the quivering lower lip and the way the kid's wet lashes stuck together into clumps made something splinter apart deep inside him. Ken grabbed Omi's face between his hands and kissed him soundly to make the point. A tiny, suffocated squeak heralded a complete melting, and that was a bit scary. Flustered, Ken pulled back and helped tilt Omi back upright.

The noise coming out of the kid was not crying. It was laughter.

The now-giggling teen broke into a goofy grin and dashed off downstairs to start breakfast. Ken flopped back onto the bed, scrubbing his hands through his ruffled, sun streaked hair. At the rate things were going, he was going to be bald from giving in to the temptation to yank it all out by the roots.

He had not just kissed a teammate into submission.

Hell. Yes, he had.

Something very like grief flooded him. There was a line, invisible maybe, but none-the-less real for all that, that he had not only crossed, but burned to ash. What the fuck had possessed him to go there?

How could he have betrayed Omi's trust like that?

There had to be a heck of a lot of bad karma swimming around out there with the name Hidaka Ken attached to it, and it had all just come home to roost. There was no other explanation for his behavior, because, unlike on the previous night which he could always claim had not been his idea, that the other Hunters had been the ones to start things rolling, this had been entirely his fault.

It had been one thing for the two of them, him and Omi, to plot new and devious ways to yank Yohji's chain, doing things like faking howls of animal passion while banging the headboard into the wall between their rooms. He would never forget the first time they had succeeded in causing the frazzled playboy to come storming in, screaming `What the fuck are you doing?!' only to discover the two of them, fully clothed, rolling around in hysterics. It had been more than worthwhile having to repair the busted latch on his bedroom door when all either of them had had to do for days afterward was to make kissy-faces and moan. But this, this was something entirely different. There would be no taking back the sensation of amazingly soft lips on his, or of a trim body fitted into his lap…

Just when had Omi developed an interest in kissing, anyway?

Whimpering softly, Ken prayed fervently for the power to turn back time, or, failing that, a lightning bolt striking dead-center where he lay. But neither happened. Thinking it over, there was a fair possibility that Omi had started out with the intent of distracting their companion from his spiral of self-revulsion and misery. Which, while a kind-hearted sentiment worthy of the nicest kid he had ever met, was still a really stupid reason for landing in this kind of a situation. Things had gotten way beyond that, to judge by the buzzing tingle in his lips, and the uncomfortable heat centered a lot lower in his body. He was just going to have to figure out what was going on, and find a way to make things right with his best friend. And that meant he would have to talk to the enigmatic center of all the mysteries obsessing him: Aya. He took a deep breath, ordering his frazzled nerves to shut the fuck up, and broached the topic.

"Hey, um… Which one of you started it?"

Aya didn't have to ask what `it' he was referring to, answering with detached calm, "Omi."

The temptation to haul off and punch the annoying man who stretched out at his side was immense and immediate. Ken's fingers clenched as he forced himself to remember that Aya was not only a teammate, he was already recovering from worse abuse than any of them had suffered since the spectacular battle to rescue Aya-chan and put a stop to Esset's plans. Adding to his injuries would not endear him to the group's medic… Temper derailed, his stomach went into a moment of guilty free-fall: he couldn't hurt a man who might possibly - scary thought - be on his way to becoming the kid's lover. He groaned. "Jesus fucking Christ. What made you go along with it?"

The sensuous, deep voice sent a shiver up the younger man's spine; close as they lay together, Aya's breath tickled the short hairs around his ear. "I learned a couple of things while I was a prisoner. One of them is that it's a mistake to think that relying on no one but oneself is a strength. Because it isn't. Keeping others at arm's length is a weakness. Being deliberately alone is a weakness. Treating another as an object that doesn't matter, is a weakness."

To hear Aya verbalize the thoughts that he had entertained himself, barely two days before was frightening. Ken had just made the decision that he didn't care who he got involved with because he wasn't going to allow that person to reach his heart, and here was the proud redhead admitting that when he had followed that path, it had been a mistake. Confused, the younger man rolled onto his stomach and propped himself on his elbows so that he could look down at the pale, handsome face on the pillow beside him.

Lashes a shade darker auburn than that glorious hair rested on the smooth curve of translucent skin. Even the fading bruise was beautiful seen this close up, layers of color transparent beneath a covering that was too perfect to be human, let alone part of a very much alive, very attractive male package that was lying inches away in bed. It didn't help that he kept flashing on that all-too-brief make out session, because even with his reservations over Omi's part in it, the rest had been incredible. It was a damned good thing that he was lying on his stomach, although the pressure of the resilient bed was not helping matters.

As if sensing his regard, Aya's lashes quivered and his violet eyes blinked open, meeting Ken's chocolate brown regard steadily. There was none of the half-crazy, terrified frenzy that their interrogation had nearly sent him into. It was more like looking down the shaft of a well, where the sheer weight of the transparent water rendered it impenetrable.

"What are you thinking about?" Aya whispered.

"You…" Whatever else he might have intended to say trailed off into silent contemplation as Aya shifted closer, his shoulder now pressed against Ken's elbow where it was planted on the bed. Prior to the travesty that had begun as a vacation, the athlete had never been this close to the older assassin when they weren't preoccupied with trying to just stay alive. The myriad, unanticipated details flooding his senses were making his head swim.

Aya didn't have much of a scent, just laundry detergent and a faint wood-smoke aroma from the old sweater that he liked to wear when lounging in front of the cabin's fireplace. It made sense that he eschewed the strong colognes that Yohji was fond of; Ken could almost hear the precise, disapproving voice saying that smells like that could give away an operative's location to observant guards - human or canine. It sent him off into a momentary fantasy about what Aya would smell good as… Ken couldn't decide, but he was tired of flowers, and aftershave didn't seem right, either. Thinking out loud, he murmured, "…leather, maybe. Or something a little spicy, like cardamom, or ginger."

The slanted violet eyes widened marginally, amused by the comments. Ken felt his face heat, and ducked his head a little to hide behind a tangle of his own bangs. Distracted, he thought that he really should get a hair cut. The portion that last summer's sun had bleached to chestnut streaks was growing out and the darker roots probably looked weird… then lean fingers had hold of his chin and were forcing him to look up again, and he was trapped all over by the prettiest eyes…

Ken had no idea when he had started thinking of them as just violet, because they weren't. Their irises were flecked steel blue and silver, touched with lilac and orchid, and given reflected color by the thick lines of lashes that were cherry-wood dark. He was just opening his mouth to say something stupidly poetic to that effect when the hand gripping his chin slid around behind his neck and pulled him down close enough to kiss.

A light brush of dry silk against his mouth was punctuated by the breath of words: "Why…" Touch. "…think…" Nibble. "… at all?" The tip of a tongue teased across Ken's parted lips, dragging a whimper out of the depth of his soul.

I'm on top… Ken thought woozily. I can back off from this, anytime. But he couldn't. The gentle pressure against the base of his skull could as well have been one of those bizarre American TV wrestlers trapping him in a headlock, for all the capacity he had left to struggle. With five slim fingers, Aya had him trapped. Gasping, the younger man jerked back, wide eyed and flushed as if he had run a marathon, or fought with Schwartz all over again. I'm on top - so why is this so freaking hard to get free of?! He was off the bed, down the hall, and slamming the door to his own room before an answer could come to him, distracted and confused, and completely aware that Aya had let him go. A sob tore loose from his chest, and Ken sagged bonelessly against the closed panel, a trembling hand pressed against his mouth.

God, how he wanted Aya.

Ken pushed away from the solid support of the door and began pacing his room with long, swinging strides. There wasn't really enough space, but he would be damned if he would go downstairs to the living room, and outside where he might by some remote chance be spotted was likewise out of the question. Moving helped, though. Action of any sort calmed his nerves, made him think better and faster, whether it was seeing strategies in soccer, or hunting the Dark Beasts. And right now, he needed all the help he could get because nothing made any sense at all.

This had gone way beyond Aya just acting a bit strange thanks to drugs, or whatever. The man was playing some sort of game, acting out some hidden program of his own, and Ken had zero intention of playing along. They were a team yes, but there were things that didn't figure into teamwork, and he knew he had just stumbled over one. Derisively, the brunet snorted to himself at that. Less stumbled, and more like a face-first pratfall into a cow-pie.

He could kind of see how Omi would fall for a suddenly more approachable, touchy-feely kind of Aya. The gifted swordsman had always been fuck-me-and-die gorgeous, both in physical form and in his skill with his chosen weapon. Their first meeting had ended with Ken laying the man out cold on the floor, and he had suspected even then that if there hadn't been just a hint of uncertainty to throw Aya off balance, it would have ended the other way around, with himself bleeding out on the flower shop's floor. Pure luck as much as ability had let him win that once, and the winning had set the tone for their interactions for weeks afterward. Cold hostility fit Aya like a glove, and had done an equally effective job of preventing anyone from taking his hand to welcome him. Aya didn't touch, or accept touch, so why the hell was he making out with the exact same teammates that he had always shunned?

It didn't make any sense at all. He muttered, "Christ, Aya… What is going on in that fucked up head of yours? Why are you doing this?"

A little part of Ken - like the horny libido part that wasn't good at thinking through the consequences of a course of action - was clamoring that he march right back down the hall and see just how far the redhead would be willing to take things. He could even justify it to some extent by reminding himself of his decision that from here on out, any partners he took would be just a body to share the physical with, and not a friend, or, God forbid, a lover. He was not going to do it, even when traitorous memory painted a very clear picture of Aya's normally pale lips coloring a shade darker pink, a sharp contrast to the flash of white teeth as they parted a little in a sensuous smile. Ken tugged at a handful his hair in frustration; he didn't know if he had even seen that smile, or if it was his over-active imagination deciding to torture him.

One thing was very clear, though. No matter what had transpired, Omi was still his best friend. He needed to talk this strange seduction out with him, and preferably before the other boy lost his capacity to think along with his virginity.

*************

As it turned out, all Ken had to do was to follow the sound of shouting to the Villa's living room. Deep in worried thought and moving through the comfortable house like a zombie, Ken had been on his way to the kitchen when he started noticing things like the spider webs in the corners of the room's high ceiling, and how they swayed with the faint draft leaking through the big sliding glass doors, and how the angry pitch of Omi's voice burned the diffident politeness from it, giving it more the timbre of an adult. By contrast, Yohji's idiotic drawl became more infuriating, exaggerated to the point where he sounded like a street punk as he reclined lazily on the couch with his feet propped up on its arm.

Ken had absolutely no idea what they were fighting about this time.

Standing in front of the older man with his fists clenched, the kid was freshly showered, autumn gold hair sticking up in damp clumps, presumably from the vigorous application of the towel that was looped around his neck. The white button-down shirt that had caused so much trouble had been traded for a black turtleneck that hung on his slender frame, suggesting that it had been borrowed from a teammate's closet. With a sinking feeling, Ken figured he could guess which one. And judging by the enraged flush on both Yohji and Omi's faces, clothing was probably the cause of this argument as well.

"I did not sleep with him, you asshole! But even if I did, it wouldn't be any of your business!" Wide blue eyes gone to pewter and steel, the grim look Omi that speared the older blond man with promised a world of pain. Yohji visibly flinched, sinking back into the sofa cushions, the sensation of the smaller boy kicking him in the groin and taking him down far from forgotten. That had been the first time that any of them could remember a quarrel hitting a physical level with the youngest of their team. And it was obvious the shorter Weiss wasn't regretting his past actions. In fact, he seemed to be taking sadistic pleasure in driving home the change in the tenor of their interactions.

Yohji hadn't called him `kiddo,' or `chibi,' or any other cutesy nickname since getting dropped on his ass. It made Ken wonder if Omi objected to being treated like a child… And guiltily he realized that he was no better than Yohji, constantly referring to their little hacker as `kid,' even if he mainly restricted it to his thoughts. The Omi that stood, shaking with the effort to control his temper wasn't all that different from the one Ken had met three years earlier when he joined Weiss. Or was he?

This Omi was still short for his age, no matter whose definition one used, but he had grown several inches in the time Ken had known him. His face had lost some of its cherubic sweetness, becoming more handsome as the planes of his cheekbones and jaw emerged from puppy plumpness. While he had always been sure-footed and adept with his weapons, he was now graceful in an unstudied, unselfconscious way. But most important of all, with his steady temperament and intelligence, Omi was most likely the most mature of the four of them. And that said a lot, given that Yohji was the oldest at twenty-five and Omi was only seventeen.

At some point, while Ken hadn't been watching, the kid had grown up.

"Um, Ken-kun… Do I have something on my face? You've been staring at me." The husky alto shocked Ken out of his reverie, bringing with it a hot blush. Yohji coughed, and snickered, amused that the wrath of the petit teen was focused on someone other than him.

"Wha-- ? Oh, crap! Sorry, Omi, I didn't mean to-- " What the heck was he thinking? He was mooning over his own teammate, and it wasn't like him at all! Ken resisted the temptation to smack his forehead into the wall. Christ on a crutch, he was again thinking as if Omi was someone he was interested in. It was so not happening. Blue eyes widened in shock.

"-would think he was the one who got his butt kicked." Yohji complained. There was a note of teasing beneath the whine, and the hint of a smile around the cigarette in his mouth as he took another drag.

An amazing shade of pink flooded the smaller blond's face, continuing on down his throat to where his shirt hugged his collar bones. He squeaked, "Yohji-kun! Don't say things like that!" flapping his hands frantically. Blithely, the older man went on, "Oh, come on, Omittchi. Don't tell me that you don't like it that everybody is looking at you in a new way?"

As revenge went, Yohji was being fairly gentle about it. He smirked at the sputtering teenager, and winked at Ken who felt a blush of his own rising in a tide toward his hairline. Then he unfolded his length from the couch, blew a smoke ring vaguely in their direction, and slouched off toward the door. A casual wave over his shoulder was accompanied by "Bye-bye, boys. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"As if." Omi muttered to the shaggy green carpet. Big eyes, gone midnight dark with worry, cut upward to look at the older youth, then returned to their determined examination of the nap. "You hate me, don't you?"

"Huh? NO! No, of course not, Omi." exclaimed Ken. He took an involuntary step toward the smaller figure, noting how he hunched his shoulders defensively. The anger that had let him stand up against the playboy had vanished. "Oh, Omi… I could never hate you. If anything, you ought to be pissed at me, for taking advantage of your friendship. I should never have let things get so out of hand."

Anguished, the blond head jerked up, the delicate mouth trembling. "You! But I-- " Something died in Omi's expression, leaving him wan and unhappy. "You think I'm just a little kid, too. Don't you?"

"No, of course not-- " But his expression betrayed that that was exactly what he had been thinking about, even if he didn't believe Omi was a child anymore. Before he could explain, the slim form was pelting up the stairs to the second floor, and the sound of a door being slammed rang through the house. Frustrated, Ken threw himself down on the swaybacked old couch.

The dull, throbbing beat behind his eyelids and inside his temples had to be a subversive plot, because it hurt worse than the time he had let Omi talk him into sneaking the underage boy in to hear an American grunge band perform at a club near home. That band had been so bad that his skull had been pounding for a couple of days after, just like the way he hurt right now. Ken gripped a double handful of his messy, chestnut brown hair and tugged hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"Hey, hey… It's not that bad, is it?" That voice, with its clipped, lower class Tokyo accent was surprisingly gentle. The couch frame shook and sagged a little as Yohji sat down by his side. Ken managed a miserable little nod.

"Yeah, it is…" He burrowed his fingers in along his scalp, trying to find the pressure points so that he could hopefully relieve some of the headache beating him down. A quiet, exasperated sigh was all the warning he had as the wire man's strong fingers disentangled him from his hair.

"Geeze, kiddo!" the older Hunter muttered. "Let me do that." Yohji shifted around on the couch, tugging at Ken's stiff shoulders until he had him turned sideways, facing toward the lean man.

Ken couldn't decide which was more of a shock: the Great Kudoh wearing a serious frown of concentration, or the fact that the senior Weiss was bothering to pay attention to him, to the sports freak. Yohji had actually left his shades somewhere, but not hiding behind them didn't automatically mean that his motivations were clear to be read. Imprisoned though he was by the long fingers digging expertly into his head, he tried to shake it in confusion. "Why are you doing this?" he muttered resentfully. "You've supposed to be an asshole so I can tell you off."

The wide mouth twitched, and quirked up into a grin. The mockery in it seemed to be mostly directed inward, against the playboy himself, rather than at the thoroughly confused brunet. "I can do that, if it makes you feel any better."

"Yohji!" Exasperated, Ken batted away the hands that suddenly made him uncomfortable. He felt a momentary pang when the forest green eyes opposite darkened, but the other man had settled into the angle of the couch arm, hooking an elbow over its back. The lanky assassin fished for his pack of smokes and lit up, the movements providing his hands with something to do. His voice was neutral when he finally continued.

"I did have a reason for coming to talk to you, you know? I was thinking about Aya, and his story… and it hit me that he only told us about the first couple of days he was a prisoner."

"Huh? But…" Scowling, Ken thought back to the first time they had managed to have a conversation with Aya. He distinctly remembered that Omi had gotten the swordsman to look at the mug shots that he had hacked from the police computers, only one of whom had looked familiar to the redhead. At that point, Aya had said flatly that he had been kept in a windowless, constantly lit room, and had had no concept of how much time he had passed there. That had been just before the katana adept had manipulated Ken into volunteering to go to Tanagawa. The younger Weiss had been understandably distracted after that, occupied by studying the industrial town, and putting together a plausible cover for his being there. Yohji followed his mental struggle, and tsked when Ken hit the inevitable roadblock.

"Think, sweetie. I know that you're smarter than you generally give yourself credit for. We've got two areas to look into. One, what the cops know, and aren't talking about. And, two, the Ice Prince. Aya claims that they left him locked up, pretty much alone, for days. But someone brought him food, and someone bandaged his wounds. Now, whoever it was didn't sew him up, so it's gotta be a person with only basic first aid skills, but you can be damned sure he wouldn't have made it without that attention."

Shit, but there was something to what the former PI was saying. Frowning, Ken ran back over the little bits they had gotten out of their rescued friend, and yes, it was obvious now that he was looking that Aya was still being evasive. He might have appeared to give in and tell all, but there was a lot that he had held back. And, as Omi had pointed out more than once, something was up with the police if he couldn't find any information through them, either. There was something that they knew, and chose to conceal, because it would implicate their suspects.

Both owners of the whorehouse had known the two foreigners: Honey had said that Mishakawa had let them in to the brothel, and they had seen the one walking with Iida on the videotape. It bugged him that there was nothing further on any of the tapes he had purchased, but that might only mean that they had been at the club and had fallen into the hands of the police. Adding on the two hookers, that meant that a minimum of six people had been aware of Aya's presence. The odds were against Honey knowing anything useful beyond what she had told him in Tanagawa - if she had any more secrets, she would almost certainly have hit the athlete up for more money - but there might be things that she wasn't aware of. Like the connection to the one woman Aya had seen.

And, Yohji was right; Aya hadn't said anything concrete about his experiences after waking up filthy with only a four-day growth of beard.

The older man had waited patiently while the younger struggled through his conclusions, but now he leaned forward, placing a hand on Ken's knee to attract his attention. His tone was bleak as he said, "Remember when Birman's pet doctor, that Nariakira guy, checked Aya over? He said that the fractured cheekbone had happened only about a week earlier. Two weeks after the beating that let them take him. So, what I want to know is, what happened to earn him a serious wallop like that? You know as well as I do that a casual punch to the face generally doesn't break a cheekbone. Nose, sure. Jaw? Yeah, a solid hit can shatter a guy's jaw… but like the brow ridge, the cheekbone is a part of the skull's protection system for the weak spot that the eye represents. I'm betting it wasn't a fist he was hit with."

It was getting hard to breathe; pain flooded Ken's chest. He protested weakly, "Aya said he wasn't raped."

"And if he wasn't, great." the tall blond retorted. He sagged back into his corner, removing his hand from the athlete's knee. It left a residual spot of distracting heat, like the ghost image of an infrared photo. "But just so you know, there's a lot he obviously isn't sharing. Somebody needs to go after that information."

"But… how are we going to find out? Oh… Oh, no. You can't mean it!" The protest became emphatic as Ken watched Yohji's expression turn smug.

"An why not? He opens up to you and Omittchi. I'd suggest it to Little Bro, but he's been smitten pretty hard to judge by the noises I was hearing this morning, and I'm not sure he's exactly objective at the moment. I'm thinking he'd be better off going after the police, with me. "

"Why don't you go after Aya?" desperate, Ken grabbed hold of the blond's elbow as he stood up. The lanky form cocked a hip out as he stuck an insolent pose and smirked.

"Nah. Despite appearances, I really do prefer women. If I'm gonna go after a guy, even one as fuck-me gorgeous as Fujimiya, I prefer `em to be the sort I don't have to face in the morning. And the morning after that, if you get my drift."

Blushing furiously, Ken snatched his hand back. Just when he was starting to think Yohji might be an okay kind of guy after all, he had to come out with something crude like that. His thoughts must have been plain on his face, because the older man's face softened and he rumpled Ken's hair with affection. "Look, I'm not suggesting you screw him, even though you might as well and have the pleasure along with the hassle, I'm just saying that he's more likely to trust you, and not question your motives. Me, he's going to be wondering what I'm up to from the get-go, and I'd never get past his defenses. Because, face it, we not only need to know what happened to him while those guys had him, but what the police are up to, too. So you can think of it as a two-step mission: infiltrate Aya, and the cops."

What Ken had been about to say froze on his tongue. Yohji was seriously suggesting that he try to get information from Aya, and leave the cops to the other Weiss?

"Why is that, Yohji? I've watched you wiggle and squirm your way close to lots of targets…"

"Yeah, I've got the talent, all right. The difference is, those aren't people I care about." answered Yohji. A careless grin broke out, and he raised one hand in farewell as he ambled back toward the stairs. "Think about it, Kenken."