Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Reflections ❯ Comfort ( Chapter 13 )

Reflections: Comfort

Chapter 13

A Weiss Kreuz fanfic by L.A. Mason.

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

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

I won't leave you alone. Not ever.

A shiver rolled down Aya's slim body, and his eyes squeezed shut in reflexive defense against a tide of emotion that threatened to swamp him. As it was, his mouth twisted briefly in pain.

A momentary panic made Ken wonder if he had gone too far with his promise, but it had felt so right, and he had nothing else to go on than his gut response. His gut said `mine,' and his heart and soul seconded the sentiment with a fierce possessiveness that would have surprised him only a few days earlier. But now… Now, he couldn't care less.

"I don't have the energy for this." Aya said dully. The kneeling brunet shrugged as best he could, answering easily.

"So what? You don't have to. Let me take care of you." With luck, the weary man wouldn't guess how much it was costing Ken to keep his tone light. The searching gaze seemed to see right down to the bottom of his soul.

Finally, Aya shrugged as well. "All right." he replied simply. It was hard to tell if he was giving his trust, or if he was just too tired to care, or to resist any more. Either way, it was a relief to not have to fight him. Ken rocked back onto his heels and stood up, extending both hands to the fey creature that made no move to push him away.

But neither did he accept the proffered hands.

"Aya…?"

"Why do you bother?" he sighed. For a second, the man seemed genuinely interested, but it wavered under a tide of exhaustion. Aya stood up on his own, without benefit of Ken's aid, and began a slow march toward the stairs. Ken shadowed him, ready to catch him if he stumbled, literally or figuratively. A glare stopped the athlete in his tracks, and he had to struggle against a sheepish grin as he held his hands up in silent apology.

Ken was used to the silent grace that characterized Aya's movements; it was strange to see him plod up the steps like an ordinary mortal. And even more strange when they stopped together at the door to Ken's room. One tilted, scarlet brow quirked up to inquire just how far the offer to `take care of' extended, and the shorter brunet found himself reaching around a slim, sweater-clad torso to open his own bedroom door. He sketched a bow, and stepped back, prepared to keep his distance in case it meant that Aya's sense of humor was turning to Three Stoodges routines. Worn out or not, the redhead shot him an amused glance.

Aya was in his room. The breath squeezed from Ken's lungs. Oh, God, what was he doing?

Having the handsome swordsman standing, patiently waiting for his fellow assassin to stop gaping and do something, was a bit rich. Suddenly self-conscious, Ken muttered a vague apology and began trying to straighten up some of the clutter. The furnishings were simple, just like those of the other three rooms: a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a small desk, and a matching chair. Except that his room had already acquired an assortment of strayed dishes from the kitchen downstairs, and his much-loved, ratty maroon Antler's jersey was draped carelessly across the foot-board of his bed. A hand intercepted him, grasping his shoulder and forcing Ken to stop in his tracks. Astounded, he looked up to see what had gotten into the owner of the fingers impeding him.

"Ken… leave it be." The low, husky tones went straight past the brunet's brain, and did something to other parts of him… Jesus Christ; Aya had voluntarily accompanied him to his bedroom. He opened his mouth to protest, and was stopped by the sight of an unnatural pallor, and the dark shadows beneath twilight-hued eyes.

Leave it be.

Just like Omi's `let it go.' Only, this time it was directed at an abashed young man whose days of dreaming of pro-soccer were long gone… He couldn't afford vanity. Not about something stupid like how clean and tidy his room was. Quietly, Ken sighed. There was no point in arguing; he had lost days ago. And, more importantly, if they were going to go along to help flush the rat from the police department out into the open, they would both need some rest. Getting bent out of shape over whether his room was presentable enough would have to wait.

Because Aya couldn't. Now that Ken was really paying attention, he could see how haggard the older Hunter had become. More than just dark circles under his eyes made it obvious just how far he had pushed himself; there was a fine and constant tremor in the long limbs, and what little skin was left exposed around the bulky armor of his sweater was unhealthily gray. "Hey," Moved to pity, Ken tried to dredge up a reassuring smile. "I guess this means you're spending the night, huh?"

"Something like that." was the dry reply.

In spite of himself, the soccer player felt an answering, rueful chuckle bubble up in his chest. "Hmm. Well, I did say I'd take care of you. Let's get you nice and relaxed, and off to sleep, okay?"

That earned him a lift of both eyebrows, politely disbelieving, and Ken blew out a deep breath, lifting his own shaggy bangs momentarily. A part of him was desperate to see if Aya would stay… and if he would do it in Ken's bed. But another part was saying that what he had in mind was inappropriate to the deep massage techniques that he had learned. And, regretfully, just at the moment Aya looked as if he needed the chance to sleep in comfort far more than Ken needed to indulge his libido. Indecisive, the athlete scratched at the back of his neck, then felt a lift as his eyes lit on a flabby old cushion on the floor. It would do.

It was almost worth seeing the faint consternation on the redhead's face when he trotted back and plopped the flower-patterned pillow at his feet. "Okay, Aya… Peel off that sweater and have a seat."

Schooled to careful blankness, Aya knelt, automatically slipping into what Ken thought of as a swordsman's pose: knees slightly apart, heels tucked neatly under his rump. The sweater, as ordered, came up over his head, momentarily eclipsing the startling red hair as it revealed a sliver of marble-pale stomach at the hem of his under shirt. Quartered, folded, he dropped the garment to the side and sat, hands loosely on his thighs and attention fixed on the far wall.

So much for enjoying Aya's consternation, Ken thought. He blew out another breath, cheeks puffed, and stared at the erect back, clad in a thin, black turtleneck. Well… nothing ventured, nothing gained. And Aya was there voluntarily, right? He dropped to his knees behind the distant man, and licked suddenly dry lips. Maybe if he tried to talk them both through this…?

"Okay… You know what Shiatsu is, right? With you sitting up, I can't give you the full treatment, but this should help you unwind, and to wake up without too many aches and pains from being stressed out. Um…" Ken's hand hovered indecisively. I can do this… it's not like I've never touched him before. "The first step is to 'make contact' with the receiver. This enables the giver to engage with the receiver's 'ki', or energy, and helps to establish a physical rapport between the two people." His hands settled onto Aya's back, splayed fingers covering his shoulder blades.

The rapidly cooling cotton of the turtleneck beneath his palms molded itself to the hard muscles. As the heat fled, faint shivers danced across the unwilling flesh, and up Ken's forearms. He could almost hear Aya's teeth chattering over the soft, measured tick, tick… of the clock on his desk. If there was one thing that his passion for soccer had taught him, it was how to give a good massage. To start with, it had been just a consequence of playing in all kinds of weather, and all sorts of field conditions; players got hurt, and strained joints and pulled muscles had to be dealt with. That he had a knack for it made Ken popular, even before he started to make it big and got scouted for the J-League

It had been one of the things that Kase especially loved about him, and at that thought, his hands faltered. But Kase was gone, dead and gone. And that was Ken's fault, too.

Don't think about it.

Stroking his hands down the firm length, the brunet called up the explanation from a class he had taken, back when Kase and he were still playing in the minors. It felt like a lifetime ago, although it couldn't have been more than five years… just before he had been old enough to sign and go pro. He spoke as much to his first love's memory, as to the stiff back in front of him, " `Palming the energy channels can be very supportive, bringing the receiver's attention to where it's needed…' Or, something like that… Shit, I was never too good at all this theory crap." There was suggestion of a different tremor under Ken's hands.

" `Receiver's attention?' " The almost-laughter sounded good, really good, and Ken's mouth jumped in an answering, goofy grin. Given that everywhere he touched was equally tensed, it seemed that the message was that he could pretty much have his pick of body parts. Crouched behind Aya, one knee lightly resting on the edge of the flowered cushion, Ken gently pressed his elbow into the lean back at the upper edge of Aya's shoulder blade, and wrapping his other arm across the black-clad chest, gripped the redhead's biceps and pulled. As Aya's arm swung inward, across his chest, the shoulder blade opened, exposing his knotted muscles to the insistent pressure. A sharp inhalation, cut off before it could actually become sound, was the only indication that the Shiatsu had accomplished anything.

Smiling, Ken continued. Aya was pliant, and agreeable, allowing himself to be moved and positioned as if he were a life-sized, jointed doll. But, with typical obstinacy, he wasn't a whole lot more relaxed than he had been at the beginning. Even when Ken turned, tucking his chin below the line across the top edge of Aya's shoulders, and again wrapped an arm across the man's chest, there was no overt resistance, just the steady sense of Aya being himself, reserved and watchful. The younger athlete resisted the urge to shake his head ruefully, braced his fist against that flexible spine, and bent the redhead back into a bow.

The remarkable, almost feline-shaped eyes fluttered open, and Aya whispered, "You stopped telling me what you were doing."

Surprised into muteness, Ken raised his head and looked down into the shimmering violet depths. They were so close together that the faint, weary puffiness to the lids, and the nearly bruised shadows surrounding those eyes were drowned by cool, twilight colors. As he stared, the pupils dilated minutely, and the slanted eyes widened.

Ken had absolutely no idea what had provoked the response.

The slender man was still bowed back over his arm, and not withstanding the vulnerability of that position, he was as unresisting as ever. But there was no sense that the swordsman was helpless. His slim hands, fingers curved gently, still rested limply on his thighs, but they didn't need a katana to be deadly. Aya was as much an assassin as Ken, never mind his recent declaration that he wouldn't kill. Belatedly, a fluttering certainty that he had lost control of the massage crossing his mind, Ken licked his dry lips. "Uh, yeah… I guess I did. Stop, I mean."

"I thought you were going to make me relax." The low, throaty baritone did interesting things to Ken's insides. Unthinkingly, he sank down till he sat on his shins, turned at right angles to the red haired man arched over his lap. Following, Aya formed the smooth line of a taut bow, from knees to throat, exposed. The position lifted his buttocks from off his heels, transferring his weight to where Ken's closed fist pressed against his supple spine, grinding the knuckles of his hand against the corded muscles paralleling the bone.

The position was designed to extend the spine, and open the ribcage, encouraging good breathing habits and posture. Yet, somehow, Ken didn't think this was what the masters had had in mind, as the sleek and slender body bent back. Aya's Adams apple worked subtly, just clearing the edge of his turtleneck's collar, translucent-white stark against dead black. Thin, too thin, really, with the faint hollows between each rib clearly defined through the shirt, and the whipcord muscle that lay over his torso. By contrast, Ken was covered with pads of dense muscle, concealing the bone structure beneath. But with his smaller frame, the effect was deceptive, so that clothed, he didn't look all that much better developed than Omi. Still, no matter how he looked, the athlete was plenty strong enough when it came to supporting the redhead bodily. He pressed the spread fingers of one hand across the gap between the sharp shoulder blades, taking the weight easily.

But Ken still nearly dropped the man when one slim armed snaked up, wrapping around his neck.

Heat stole away the brunet's breath when tender lips brushed his. For a wild, confused instant, he thought he had fallen through a time/space warp, and the lean form belonged to some alien interloper, a changling, but the heart beating hard against Ken's felt human, and vitally alive. Hard fingers threaded themselves into shaggy, sun-streaked hair, tugging insistently to bring his lower lip into position for a sharp nip. The bruising force startled Ken into a harsh gasp, parting his lips to a slick tongue that cajoled and teased, probing deep into his mouth. For a bare, frantic second, Ken wondered what had happened to keeping the massage on a professional level.

Fumbling, his broader hand rubbed over the thin cotton knit of the turtleneck, feeling the hardening bud of a nipple sharp against the insubstantial curve of a flatter, masculine breast. Under his touch, Aya jerked, silently encouraging, even as his teeth closed on the tip of Ken's tongue, the burst of pain mingling with a discordant, gasping inhalation and the stab of pure, unadulterated lust.

The fingers wound into the brunet hair twisted sharply, controlling the depth of their kiss. Sobbing, Ken allowed the clever, teasing touch of the hot tongue to draw his own out, and let the wet mouth suck at him until they were twining and dueling in the heat of Aya's.

Shaking, the younger man's hands fisted, one into the back of the black turtleneck, the other into its front. The punishing kiss was making him dizzy, sucking away his ability to think rationally. This was radically different from their mutual sessions in Aya's bed with Omi; the passion had been there then, as well, but leashed… banked under layers of control until Ken had been trembling with conflicting impulses, and he had had a sense that Aya, too, had been holding back.

He was definitely not holding back this time.

Aya's remaining hand was busy elsewhere, doing something with nearly furtive rustles and soft creakings of leather. Distracted, Ken barely registered a metallic jingle and hiss, starting when strong fingers closed on his wrist, yanking his grasp free from the distorted knit covering the man's lean chest. Guided, Ken's blind fingers closed over heated velvet, feeling it firm into steel.

Oh, God…!

Had Aya really done what he thought he had-- ? The swordsman's narrow hips jerked up, thrusting into their joined hands. Sticky-wet, feverishly hot, the hardening flesh in Ken's grasp contrasted with the nearly ticklish brush of crisp curls and the rough rasp of jeans fabric and the teeth of a zipper. An echoing arousal tightened the younger man's groin, painfully sharp with need. Aya… he had Aya bucking with increasingly frantic, erratic urgency under his touch, grinding his flexing shoulders back against Ken's splayed hand and lap, rubbing the younger man's own wrist across his own aching, burning flesh.

The silent, shuddering, spasming release was almost anticlimactic. Despite the tremors that racked his thin frame, Aya was perfectly silent, reminding Ken that the only time he had head the redhead make a sound was the single, faint whine of frustration that he had given when he had had both Omi and Ken in his bed.

Collapsing back, finally, Aya was relaxed.

Ken froze, confusion making his head spin. A last hot dribble from the man's softening erection forming sticky threads between the soccer player's hand and Aya's belly. The redhead's limp hands fell to either side onto the flowered cushion, as his unresisting weight lay across the younger man.

What the hell had just happened?

A sharp cramp in Ken's calf forced him to move with gingerly care, to shove aside the bewildered, queasy uncertainty that flooded him. Suddenly awkward and self-conscious, he averted his eyes from the soft, dusky violet organ in his trembling hand, automatically tucking it back inside the gaping fly of Aya's unfastened pants. Lightly slapping Aya's bent legs got the slim man to slowly uncoil, straightening the long limbs. The exquisite lavender and pewter eyes were half-lidded, unfocused and vague, overcome by the combined release of sex and too many days of stress and exhaustion.

Ken wadded up the hem of the soiled shirt, and carefully rolled it up the lax body. Aya wasn't actively helping, but at least he wasn't hindering Ken's efforts to get him to sit up; the drowsy redhead even raised his arms obligingly enough, and struggled up to stand when the shorter brunet tugged at him. The man nearly fell into Ken's bed, curling loosely onto his side and drifting into deeper slumber. For a long moment, the shaking athlete simply stood, staring down at the beautiful face, and the pale, muscular body, bewildered by the mix of scars and bruises, and perfect marble smoothness.

Aya had used him.

Ken examined the conclusion thoughtfully, and then decided that he didn't care.

It still hadn't been enough.

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

"Hey, Kenken… You awake?"

"Hn?" Muzzily, Ken floundered his way back to consciousness. He wasn't at his most coherent when first waking up, under the best of circumstances, and the emotional roller coaster represented by a certain redhead could in no way be considered `best.' He blinked repeatedly until the blurry form standing over the bed resolved itself into Yohji, still clad in his green button-down shirt, sunglasses pushed up into his wavy, honey-dark hair. "Uh… izzit time?" he mumbled vaguely.

"For the mission briefing? No. But I do want to talk to you. Privately."

"Oh… okay." There was a surprisingly solid weight lying across his middle, preventing him from crawling out of bed. Or moving, for that matter. Feeling stupid, Ken glanced down, and found a familiar head of scarlet and claret colored hair lying on his sternum, and a pale, muscular arm thrown across his abdomen. With the sheet thrown haphazardly across at waist level, exposing both of their bare torsos to the chilly air, it suddenly dawned on Ken that it looked as if he and Aya were naked. Which meant that Yohji was undoubtedly assuming the worst. An angry burn heated Ken's chest, spreading uncomfortably to twist his gut, and clench his fists.

Except that the older man wasn't doing or saying anything. No snide remarks, no knowing winks… Nothing. If anything, the expression on his face was unaccountably grave. A serious Kudoh was the equivalent to sighting a yeti in the wild: an unexpected and unnerving event. It drained the fight from the temperamental athlete like water running out of a sieve. If Yohji was standing in his room, looking like that, probably believing that he was interrupting a post-sex cuddle, it probably meant that there was something very, very wrong. Hastily, Ken slithered out from under his still out-cold bedmate, blessing whatever saints had made them fall asleep while he still had pants on. Yohji might be acting like a mature adult, but there was no point in Ken pushing his luck.

The older Hunter turned on his heel, leading the way out of Ken's bedroom without comment. Baffled, and growing worried, the brunet snagged his shirt from the floor and dragged it on over his head as he followed. The second the door closed behind them, he demanded, "What's going on?"

"Not here." Shaking his head, Yohji led down the hall to his own room, and gestured for Ken to precede him.

"Okay. Now, spill." growled the younger man, his defensive instincts screaming trouble, and urging him to get back to where he belonged, at Aya's side,

Yohji eyed him thoughtfully, taking in the way he shifted into a fighting stance, body curling slightly forward as he rocked onto the balls of his feet, and said dryly, "Relax, sweet cheeks… I'm not gonna come between you and your honey, now that you've finally quit pretending you didn't want him."

Appalled, Ken jerked back. Not that it wasn't true, but he really didn't need to hear it put that way. "Yohji!" he protested, "It's not-- "

"Oh, shut up." The blond sighed good-naturedly. "I'm not gonna tease you about your raging hormones, or anything, so chill. I just want your opinion: do you think Aya's up to going on this little adventure of ours? That's all."

"He's-- " The words stalled. Ken wanted to shout `of course!' but the truth was, he wasn't sure. One minute, their teammate was a shattered wreck, the next he was a hostile, bitter asshole. And Ken couldn't tell where the defense mechanisms left off, and the real Aya began. Miserable, he admitted, "I don't know, Yohji. I want to say `he's fine,' but I just don't know. He's been hurt really bad, and I have absolutely no idea what's gonna set him off. He could be fine, or he could be about to go into a total melt-down."

"Right." A gusty sigh underscored the frustration wrapped up in that single syllable. Yohji tossed his sunglasses onto the nightstand beside his bed and flopped down crossways on the mattress, his long legs dangling to the floor. "Jesus, Ken… do we take him with us, or leave him here at the Villa?"

Disconsolate, the brunet dropped down to sit on the foot-end of the bed. He trained his eyes on the coverlet, and began absently tracing the lines of stitching that quilted its layers together. His fingertip was on its third circuit around the pattern when he muttered, "He's not going to be willing to stay behind, you do realize that? This is Aya's fight, not ours."

"Yeah." Yohji agreed, addressing his comments to the ceiling overhead. "We may never know exactly what happened to him, Omi's theory about self-induced brainwashing aside, but either way, Aya's gotta have some closure. He has to face up to those people, or he'll never get over it."

"So… He's still going, right? He's still your backup?"

The senior Hunter gave a humorless bark of laughter. "Yeah, I guess he is. God help us both." He was silent for a long moment, then a throaty, genuine chuckle eased out. "So, did you two finally do it?"

"Yoh-ji!" Ken groaned. He snatched up the first thing that came to hand - another of the glossy magazines that the blond left lying around - and whapped him with it. Chortling, Yohji's quick strike wrapped lean fingers around Ken's wrist, yanking him off balance. Without thinking, the startled former J-leaguer hooked his assailant's neck with one elbow, and locked together, they tumbled into a heap on the floor.

The lean man twisted like an eel, squirming right-side-up in half a breath. Ken was stronger, but strength did him no good if he couldn't get a grip on his quarry, and Yohji had the advantage of actually knowing more martial arts. His free hand came up inside Ken's choke-hold, easily breaking it, and providing him with an opportunity of his own to flip the straining athlete. And Yohji wasn't even breathing hard. It was just so fucking unfair.

Because, of course, once Yohji had him pinned to the bare wooden floor, he cheerfully assaulted his ribs. Ken had to bite back a squeal.

Brute force was only going to get him so far, and it quickly became apparent that so long as he kept ending up on the bottom with the jerk tying his arms into knots, Ken didn't have a prayer. Finally, exasperated beyond belief, the brunet pounded on the floor and surrendered. Yohji chortled gleefully, but kept a tight hold on the arm he had twisted up behind the younger Weiss' back. "So, you gonna tell Uncle Yohji all about it, or do I have to read about it in the paper?"

"Ah, fuck off!" Ken wheezed. He really hadn't pulled any of his punches, but the end result was the same: himself on the floor with the annoying asshole sitting on the small of his back, pinning him face-first.

Yohji blew in his ear, and leered. "Fingers of Evil, Kenken." The exaggerated drawl was more than Ken could stand; he sputtered, coughed, and began to laugh helplessly.

"A- assass- inated… b- by tickling. What a way to die!"

Yohji growled playfully and demonstrated what the `Fingers of Evil' were capable of, running them lightly up Ken's side, then darting in to attack his armpits and the backs of his thighs. The out-raged howl and accompanying bucking nearly pitched the snickering blond off.

"All right, all right! I give!" The tickling ceased as if by magic. Panting, Ken relaxed into the floorboards, allowing the cool surface to ease the burning in his cheek. It felt nice against the overheated skin… until he realized that he was having a hard time breathing. "Hey, would you mind getting off of me?" he wheezed.

There was a thoughtful pause, and then the unseen voice drawled, "Yes."

Long minutes passed, and all that happened was that Yohji shifted a bit and got comfortable. "Yotan…" Ken growled threateningly. "Why is your bony butt still on my back?"

"Ken, sweet Ken… Think about what you said. You asked if I would mind, and I said `yes.' That means I do mind. I'm not about to let you make a run for it. Uh, uh. Got you. Gonna keep you. We have some things to discuss." Ken could practically feel the smugness radiating off of the lanky blond, but damn it, he hadn't been kidding when he referred to Yohji's butt as `bony.' Plus, for such a skinny man, the guy was surprisingly heavy. Taken together with the fact that he was more agile, had a longer reach, and had mastered some martial art or other that emphasized throws and holds, and Ken was thoroughly stuck. His best chance against Yohji had come and gone before he had even sat down on the bed.

Like his encounter with Aya, it was all so fucking unfair. Annoyed, Ken growled and simply gave up. The sudden lack of fight confused the older blond, who reached down and lifted a hank of black and brown streaked bangs from his victim's sullen face. "Hey… What's the matter?"

"Fuck off, Kudoh."

The loose-limbed man scrambled up, grasped Ken by the scruff, and hauled the smaller man erect. He stared searchingly at Ken's face, remarking, "This is not the face of a man who has just spent the night in paradise. What gives?"

Flushing with embarrassment, the athlete stared miserably at the floor. When the moments ticked by and he still hadn't answered, Yohji sighed and shoved him down to sit on his bed, dropping himself at Ken's side. "Okay. No more stupid jokes. Tell me about it."

Reluctantly, the brunet opened his mouth, but as his handsome teammate's name left it, he stalled. "Aya…" Aya what? Aya was too stressed for a backrub, so he made me jerk him off? That sounded really good. Ken's mouth snapped obstinately shut. Nothing was going the way he had hoped it would. Not that he'd had a really clear idea of what that was, but still… Grudgingly, he mumbled, "Why do you care?"

"Hm. Good question." Yohji shrugged. "No idea. Guess I'm a soft touch. Might have something to do with living with you for, oh, going on three years? Might be I can't stand to see a guy all cut up. Whatever, I'm willing to listen."

It sounded as if he meant it, too. Sighing, Ken muttered, "I, uh, I told Aya I'd take care of him. You know, be there for him. He came along to my room with me, and I was giving him a back rub, to… um… try to get him to unwind enough that he would rest…" Fingers twisting awkwardly together, the younger man hesitated. "He had me bring him off."

"Huh. And I gather by your tone that this wasn't a, ah, `mutual thing?' " Quiet and gentle, the question was non-judgmental, and served to open the flood-gates. Ken spun half way around, and burst out.

"I don't get him. He acted like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing. How could he?"

"Hey, hey…" Hands raised in a `slow down, take it easy' gesture, Yohji urged him to stop, and after a long moment, Ken subsided, chest still heaving. "Okay. Did you invite him to your room?"

"Well, yeah. I guess." the brunet admitted.

"And he let you touch him, voluntarily. And you wanted to touch him… voluntarily?"

"Yeah." Ken repeated. An annoyed frown settled on his mobile features, and he glared at the taller blond. "So?"

"Well, even though things didn't go so good this time, you're still several jumps up on where you were a couple of days ago. My advice is to keep trying. Show him that it's a mutual thing. Reciprocal. If you want him to open up, you open up and show him how it's done. Believe me, he wouldn't have let you jerk him off if he wasn't interested."

"I, uh…" The truth of what Yohji was saying sank in. A few days earlier, Ken had wanting nothing from a partner beyond that casual release. But his desires changed, had evolved. What was to say that Aya wasn't the same? He had taken the unprecedented step of allowing his younger teammates within his tightly held perimeter, had encouraged both physical and emotional contact, and had talked more than he normally did in weeks. Why would Ken expect everything at once? Suddenly happier, the brunet's mood flipped and he found a grin tugging his lips. "Yeah." He snickered. "I had my hands on him, didn't I?" Memory supplied an image of Aya, flushed and aroused, bent back over his lap with Ken's tanned fingers wrapped around the dusky shaft jutting from his undone jeans. Yohji was right; that had definitely not been the sign of someone who wasn't interested. A lean, long-fingered hand gripped his arm before he could jump up and head back to his own room to pursue the thought.

"Just save it until after the mission, okay? You're Omi's partner on this one, and I don't know that the kid is ready for a horny ball player." He paused, and chuckled. "At least, not those kinds of balls."

"Yohji!" Blushing, Ken snatched up the abandoned pillow and began whapping the chortling man until they both collapsed into helpless laughter.

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

Of course, Ken thought sourly, he shouldn't have expected Yohji to quit while he was ahead. The lanky blond had followed him to the bathroom, and stood leaning against the doorframe while the shorter Hunter splashed cold water over his tired face. The ever-present pack of cigarettes materialized out of somewhere, and the former PI just had to shake one out and light up as he delivered the killing stroke: "So… I gather Aya's not a screamer, since I didn't hear a thing last night."

Ken choked, inhaled, and got water up his nose.

A long, skinny arm reached past the smaller man's shaking back, and snagged a tissue for him. Wheezing, agonized, Ken blew his nose and shot a furious glare up at the quietly snickering assassin. Yohji's forest green eyes widened, and he collapsed against the counter, howling.

Offended, Ken muttered, "I'm not telling you shit ever again, so help me God."

Across the hall, Omi's door creaked open a hair, and a sleepy complaint issued followed by a thrown house slipper. The door slammed shut. Wiping at his streaming eyes, the senior blond reigned in his hilarity, instead whispering, "Just as well you guys are the quiet types; the poor kid stayed up way too late getting the mission profile squared away, thanks to our Kritiker honeys. You know Manx is the `more is better' type, as opposed to Ms. Birman-san and her `info, what info?' approach."

Now, there was a situation that he'd been avoiding, Ken realized. He had deliberately not allowed himself to think about how their littlest teammate would take what had happened - or not happened, as the case might be - between the withdrawn swordsman and himself. What a mess that was going to be. He snagged a towel from the wall rack and wiped his face.

"Yohji?" Ken said quietly. "That's the thing… it wasn't just that he's not a screamer. Aya doesn't make a single sound. It's like he wasn't even there."

"Whoa…" Yohji exclaimed, forgetting to whisper, "That's a challenge if ever I heard one. So, why do you think he's so quiet?"

"Because he's a repressed bastard?" Ken sighed. He was really beginning to hate these analytical conversations. Every time he got anywhere near either of the blond half of the team, it seemed like he was getting sucked into one.

"Hmm… But is he? Repressed, I mean. Seems like he's not exactly inhibited when it comes to sex."

"Fuck, I don't know! What do you think it is, then?" He couldn't believe that he was standing in the bathroom of Villa Weiss in the wee hours of the morning, having a personal conversation with the team's resident playboy. And not just any personal conversation, but one that revolved around Ken's own sex life. Suddenly apprehensive, he strangled the towel in his hands rather than hang it back up to dry.

Yohji shot a glance across at the hacker's closed door, and nudged the bathroom's most of the way shut. He lowered his voice, saying, "Trust. I don't think Aya's the trusting sort. Yet. He holds a bit of himself back, even if he's enjoying himself, because he doesn't have the trust to let go. The question is, can you get him there? I mean, it's only been a few days since we got him back, and we've gotten more out of him this past week than we have in two years. It's bad that it took getting kidnapped to break him down, but good that he's finally starting to open up."

"Uncle Yohji's Advice to the Lovelorn? From the master of the one night stand?"

"Pffst." He airily waved away the snide comment. "That's different. Me, I'm in it for some fun and relaxation. Laugh all you want, but sure, why not? You guys will only have one `first time' together. Why not make it memorable? I told you before: Anticipation. It's the greatest spice there is. It helps that Aya was in Crashers. Trust me, those people are not innocent, or inexperienced. If you can get Dr. Jekyll to cut loose, Omi and I will have to move out for a week. At least."

Yohji ignored the inarticulate squall of protest from the brunet, simply leaning aside so that the reflexive punch missed his shoulder. "The thing is, we gotta patch him up enough that he can still function in Weiss, or it isn't going to happen. We have to move him past the `no kill' thing."

That gave Ken pause. He lowered his cocked fist slowly. "Do you believe killing is okay?"

"Me? No. Not really. Targeting the bad guys of the world makes us only a hair better than the people we hunt. But on the other hand, I don't think the world can survive without some kind of wolves to take out the sick and diseased in the herd. I think that's what we're for. We hunt the feral sheep, the ones who've turned into something else, because it has to be done. This mission of Omi's is make-it or break-it time."

"Omi." Ken said, finally recalled to his initial concern. "You do know Omi was… um… `interested' in Aya?"

"Re-e-e-eally? And here I thought it was you he wanted." Yohji boosted himself up to sit on the counter beside the sink.

"I… don't think it's me. At least, not totally. Omi said that he and Aya talked it over, and the kid - young man now, I should say - decided he was going to wait. But all this stuff you're saying about first times, and how it should be special… I worry about him. How is he going to have a normal life with a bunch of assassins? Even if Kritiker did set us up intending we, ah, be more than just teammates, and everything, it's not fair to Ommitchi."

A warm hand patted his shoulder, and Ken looked up, meeting the blond's tilted, amused green gaze in the mirror. "Hey, I'm proud of you, kiddo. Proves you got a great heart, and a brain under there. It's a good thing you're our little computer wiz's backup tonight. He'll be in good hands with you to look out for him." He hopped off the counter. "Come on. I'll fix you breakfast while we wait for the sleepy-heads to get up. Then we'll go over all the maps and crap, frontwards and backwards, until we're totally ready to roll out. Right?"

"Uh, right." Ken agreed. Bemused, he followed the swaying hips out and down the stairs. Yohji? Offering to cook? It was official; the world had gone totally insane.

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

The sanity of the universe was still a toss-up, hours later, when the four of them assembled in the villa's kitchen for a final, pre-mission equipment check over lunch. Ken shivered at the brush of Yohji's fingers as the older man walked behind him, trailing his fingertips teasingly across the exposed skin on the backs of the athlete's thighs.

Damned jeans. He should have burnt them the first time. He was either going to end up with pneumonia walking around with his goods hanging out through the rips, or spontaneously combust due to terminal embarrassment. Either way, Ken figured he wouldn't make it through the night. The only consolation, if that's what it was, was that Omi didn't look any happier in his baggy black cargo shorts and slinky, metallic shirt. Now that the smaller Hunter had caught on to the significance of the sultry looks Yohji kept shooting his way, he was a constant, dull red. In a way, Ken supposed he ought to be grateful for the distraction; Aya hadn't spoken a word to him.

Oh, that wasn't to say that the redhead was silent. Far from it. He had given voice to his normal, brief `Excuse me,' and `Pass the rice,' back at breakfast. Had even said `Thank you' when Omi set a full bowl of miso in front of him. He just hadn't addressed Ken, or what had occurred between them. And Ken couldn't decide if he was relieved, or pissed off over the silence.

Or worried.

When Aya had emerged from his own room, clean, showered, dressed from head to toe in his unrelieved black, he had been carrying that dog-eared book on the assassin, the one who had refused to kill, and devoted his life to atonement. And when Yohji had asked him where his katana was, the wire man had been on the receiving end of such a cold, forbidding stare that words had been unnecessary. It had made Ken realize that in the preceding days, ever since the first fight at the Kritiker mansion, Aya had not laid a finger on his beloved sword. Instead, Ken had been the one to carry it for him, and if that wasn't ironic, he didn't know what was.

Whatever. At least Aya couldn't get into too much trouble working with Yohji on tracing phone calls. Unfortunately, the plan also meant that the younger half of Weiss would be stuck in the city of hours until it was their turn to move. It was lunch time now, and allowing for the two hour drive down from the mountains, they would still have hours to kill until the night life - such as it was - woke up in Tanagawa.

"Hey… You okay with this?" Ken asked, leaning over to nudge his partner. Omi paused, mouth crammed full of toast and stared at him.

Swallowing, the smaller Hunter replied, "Yeah. Sure. Why not?" Ken shrugged.

"Dunno. Just seems kinda rough that we're going to have to find a place to lie low all day, that's all." A slice of toast provided his hands with something to do as he slowly picked it to bits. He glowered at the growing pile of fragments.

"Ken-kun. What's wrong? It's not like you to get a case of nerves before a mission."

"I just don't know!" Angry, he bit out the words and shoved away his plate. "I just have a bad feeling about this. That's all. A really bad feeling."

The rice cooker dinged and Omi jumped up to tend to it. Fragrant steam rose from the big bowl that he parked in the middle of the wooden table, and Yohji, opposite, made an approving noise at the back of his throat and held his bowl out hopefully. Smiling, the younger blond spooned up a scoop for him. He neatly arranged bowls of rice and miso at his place at the table and slid into his chair. "I don't think it's going to be so bad, Ken-kun." Omi surveyed the group, and as his enthusiasm warmed, he spoke more rapidly. "A little while ago, I got an email from Manx-san to one of my free accounts. She's arranged a panel van for us, with some basic surveillance equipment, a spare laptop, and also a small telecommunications dish. And before you ask, yes, I did remember to ask her to keep this between just her and us. No one else in Kritiker will know."

"What about the wire tap software?" Yohji's right hand hovered over the plate of toast, finally descending on a slice just as the other snagged the dish of butter from under Ken's reaching fingers. The playboy flashed him a grin, then turned his once-again serious gaze to the shrugging teenager.

"I've got my latest version burned onto a cd-rom, so it's ready. Aya-kun has run through it, and shouldn't have any problems with it. Mostly, the computer does the work anyhow. All he needs to do is to monitor it." Omi hesitated, his pleasure over assembling their strategy dimming. "Maybe Ken-kun is right to have a bad feeling. Manx-san parked the van at a ramp about a block from the police headquarters. It was the closest place she felt confident that no one would notice its presence, even if it was left there for hours. But that also means that if you are attacked again, Yohji-kun, Aya-kun will be too far away to be of help. I don't think I like that too much. Maybe… maybe we should re-think this part of the mission."

"Nah. I'll be fine. I'm just a successful PI, visiting an old buddy. At a police station, kiddo. In broad daylight. What could go wrong?" teased the older blond. He made a show of adjusting the cuffs of the expensive navy blue sport jacket that he wore, and brushing off nearly invisible crumbs. But in spite of the light delivery, Omi shot him a worried glance.

"Don't make fun of it, Yohji-kun." he admonished. "Tempting fate is a bad idea, and you know as well as I do that the opposition is well-armed, and has superior numbers. We've been very lucky so far."

Grinning, the tall assassin unfolded from his chair. "Didn't know you cared so much, sweetie. I'm starting to envy Kenken here." Abandoning his dirty dishes, he leaned across the table and ruffled both the younger Hunters' hair, blew them a kiss, and ambled out of the kitchen before either could organize a suitable retort.

Seething, Ken snarled at the retreating back, "He's got a hell of a lot of nerve." A tight grip on his wrist drew his attention back, to find Omi's thin fingers clutching him. Startled, he met the boy's hurt gaze.

"I wish he would stop doing that. He's going to get killed if he keeps on being so careless."

Ken didn't really know to say to that, but unexpectedly Aya spoke up from his place at the end of the table. "Omi. Yohji isn't speaking to you when he acts this way. It's his own bitterness at not being able to affect things that happened in the past that's coming out." Low, and serious, Aya's rich baritone sent a shiver up the younger man's spine, and drove the flash of fury he felt straight out of his brain. Omi's hand fell away as the teen swiveled around in his seat to level a bewildered stare at the redhead. Impatience over their lack of comprehension drew Aya's elegant brows down into a scowl. "It's easier to taunt the gods than it is to admit that he's failed."

"Yohji-kun… failed?" Omi asked faintly.

"Of course he did. Everyone he's ever cared for has died due to his actions. Why should his own fate be any better?" Indifferent, Aya tossed the comment over his shoulder as he, too, left the table and silently walked out.

***********