Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Thursday ❯ Thursday ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Yohji makes trouble for his roommates. Y/A
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 01.15.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 409 | Status: Completed
Yohji makes trouble for his roommates. Y/A
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 01.15.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 409 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: Weiss in not mine, and for writing about them I get nothing but a cheap thrill.
Notes: There’s been so much angst lately, that I thought we needed a quick bit of Yohji/Aya humor to break it up.
Thursday
“What the—“
“Hey, Kenken. Could you hand me the remote?”
“No,” Ken shook his head, backing away from the older man and towards the stairs. “Just, no.”
Then, shaking his head once in avid denial, he turned and hurried to his room.
~*~
“Where’s everybody at?” Omi questioned loudly, setting his grocery bag down on the kitchen table.
“In here,” Yohji announced. “Would you bring me a beer?”
Muttering about not being the blonde’s personal servant, Omi snagged a beer from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and took it in the living room. Expected to find all the guys watching television, he stopped a good four feet from the couch, and a good ten from the chair—Aya’s chair—where Yohji was sitting.
“Yohji-kun!”
“Beer?” the other questioned, reaching out a hand. But said beverage was set haphazardly on the coffee table, well out of his reach.
“What are you doing?!”
“Me?”
“Yes!”
< br> “Waiting.”
“But—What, um—why’re—Nevermind! Enjoy your beer!”
And with that happy invitation, he almost ran back into the kitchen.
Amused that the chibi could turn that shade of red, Yohji got up to grab the can and plopped back into the leather chair to flip channels on the television.
~*~
Hand firmly over his eyes, Omi tripped twice before making it to the safety of the stairs.
“Careful, chibi,” Yohji warned.
The boy did not reply.
~*~
The back door opened and closed quietly, and Yohji was quick to shove the empty beer can under the couch cushions. Making it back to his seat, he sprawled out in the chair, hooking one slender leg over the arm and resting his elbow on the other.
He listened to the water run and the kettle click against the stove, getting slightly impatient as a cabinet opened and closed. In a last minute flash of inspiration, he pulled Aya’s novel out of the crease of the chair and flipped it open, careful to hold it up in front of him rather than letting it rest in his lap. It was more refined that way, he thought, barely avoiding laughing as he heard the kettle squeal.
Two minutes later, Aya walked silently into the living room, mug of tea in his hand and completely unsuspecting of what precisely was in there.
“What are you doing?” he asked, propping his free hand on his hip and looking at the blonde.
“Reading,” Yohji returned, barely able to suppress a smile as he turned a page.
“I don’t mean that,” Aya replied with surprising calm.
“Oh?” he looked up over the edge of his sunglasses. “What do you mean then, Ayan?”
“You’re in my chair.”
Yohji sputtered. Raising an eyebrow, Aya took a seat on the end of the couch closest to him, sitting at almost a right angle to the man. He sat down his tea on the small side table; plucking his book from the blonde’s hands, he reached to adjust the light.
“Aya!”
“The light’s still better over there. Trade me.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Oh?” he feigned, and Yohji missed the barest turn of a smile; the man’s voice was as level as ever. “What is the point then, Yohji?”
Yohji stood, giving Aya a cold stare, “I hate you sometimes.”
He then tried to stalk off in proper fashion, only to have his arm caught when Aya stood to prevent him.
“Yohji,” Aya shook his head, drawing the other back to him without resistance. Still, Yohji was stiff as the redhead went to his chair and sat, carefully arranging the other. It wasn’t easy, but somehow Yohji’s long limbs were situated so that he rested comfortably across Aya’s lap in the chair. He let his head lean on Aya’s shoulder, not quite having the resistance be stay angry when the swordsman was gently running a hand over his thigh and, just for a second, pulling him close in a small embrace.
“I was teasing,” Aya spoke quietly in his hair. He understood how Yohji missed it; it wasn’t something he did often, and he had an idea that he wasn’t very good at choosing his moments.
“Oh,” Yohji replied with equal quiet, reaching to straighten the collar of Aya’s sweater.
They sat quietly for a while, Aya resting his chin lightly on top of Yohji’s head, still running his fingers up and down the man’s thigh.
“Do you remember last night?”
A nod. Yohji shifted, dragging the collar a little away from Aya’s neck so he could kiss the man’s throat.
“Do you remember what you told me? What you were going to think about during that delivery today?”
“Aa.” Aya’s hand moved upward, cupping Yohji’s bottom and pulling him closer as the taller man twisted around to straddle to lap, seeming to never leave off kissing his neck.
“I was listening, and so I thought,” he sucked, hard, and smirked at the suppressed gasp Aya made. “I was waiting, just like you said.”
“I—ah!—stop that.”
“Really?”
A pause. Then, “No. Go on. I was,” he tried to get out as Yohji began to use his teeth in the way he knew his lover liked, “I was thinking upstairs.”
“Where’s the surprise in that? I’m always—”
“Yohji-kun!”
Yohji twisted in Aya’s lap, his hands lingering on the swordsman’s shoulders as he stared at Omi and Ken over his shades. Aya looked around him, his own hands not relinquishing their hold on Yohji’s thin waist.
“Aya-kun, you saw what he was doing—you were supposed to tell him not to do that! Not, not—not join him!”
“What was he doing?” Aya asked, biting back a smirk.
“Sitting here, like that!”
“Like what?” Yohji asked, expression surprisingly serious.
And suddenly Ken couldn’t take it anymore.
“No more! Not in the living room!”
“Oh?” Yohji did grin now, wiggling his naked bottom against Aya’s jeans in an all too seductgive manner that made Ken’s eyes widen. “What’re you gonna do about it? Besides watch, that is.”
But Ken’s hesitant anger was suddenly solidified, and he stepped towards the couple, “You do it; I do it!”
“You’re gonna make out with Aya?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You won’t,” Yohji challenged.
“Try me.”
“You’re a few steps behind, Kenken.”
“That’s it. That’s so fucking it!”
“Ken-kun, no!”
Shoving away the hands that sought to save his modesty or dignity or common sense, Ken ripped his shirt off.
“That’s right,” he threatened, one hand pointed at Yohji and the other reaching for the snap of his pants, “You get naked; I get naked!!”
Yohji was on his feet, in Ken’s face, daring him to do it while wearing nothing but his sunglasses. After passing a rather weary hand across his eyes, Aya got up and took his tea into the kitchen, leaving them to sort it out. A few minutes later, Omi joined him. He stood, pale and shaking his head as he clutched at one of the kitchen chairs.
“Ken-kun tried to take my shirt off,” he spoke quietly, as if he wasn’t quite able to believe it.
Sitting down his cup for the second time, Aya went to the cabinet next to the refrigerator. He pulled something out and handed it over; Omi smiled. He turned and started back into the living room, Aya following.
Ken had made good on his threat, and now he and Yohji faced off, making almost nonsensical arguments that only heightened the farce of the situation as they argued, pointing figures at one another as they stood naked next to the couch.
The yelling stopped, instantly, at the first bright flash of the camera, but that didn’t stop Omi from taking two more Polaroid pictures before they wrestled the camera from him. One of these was destroyed by Yohji as a naked Ken sat on Omi who was screaming about his innocence being ruined. Another was captured by Ken himself, taken from Omi’s hand just prior to his release.
No one seemed to notice the third, slipped into Aya’s back pocket.
He wasn’t sure when he would use it, but it was an interesting thing to have. One picture of his two friends, intimately close together, with nothing but sunglasses and a pair of socks between them.
~tbc?~
Notes: If this finds favor, I might do a few of these ‘moments of Weiss’ kind of things, just for a little variation.
Converting /tmp/phpFjBvsb to /dev/stdout
Notes: There’s been so much angst lately, that I thought we needed a quick bit of Yohji/Aya humor to break it up.
Thursday
“What the—“
“Hey, Kenken. Could you hand me the remote?”
“No,” Ken shook his head, backing away from the older man and towards the stairs. “Just, no.”
Then, shaking his head once in avid denial, he turned and hurried to his room.
~*~
“Where’s everybody at?” Omi questioned loudly, setting his grocery bag down on the kitchen table.
“In here,” Yohji announced. “Would you bring me a beer?”
Muttering about not being the blonde’s personal servant, Omi snagged a beer from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and took it in the living room. Expected to find all the guys watching television, he stopped a good four feet from the couch, and a good ten from the chair—Aya’s chair—where Yohji was sitting.
“Yohji-kun!”
“Beer?” the other questioned, reaching out a hand. But said beverage was set haphazardly on the coffee table, well out of his reach.
“What are you doing?!”
“Me?”
“Yes!”
< br> “Waiting.”
“But—What, um—why’re—Nevermind! Enjoy your beer!”
And with that happy invitation, he almost ran back into the kitchen.
Amused that the chibi could turn that shade of red, Yohji got up to grab the can and plopped back into the leather chair to flip channels on the television.
~*~
Hand firmly over his eyes, Omi tripped twice before making it to the safety of the stairs.
“Careful, chibi,” Yohji warned.
The boy did not reply.
~*~
The back door opened and closed quietly, and Yohji was quick to shove the empty beer can under the couch cushions. Making it back to his seat, he sprawled out in the chair, hooking one slender leg over the arm and resting his elbow on the other.
He listened to the water run and the kettle click against the stove, getting slightly impatient as a cabinet opened and closed. In a last minute flash of inspiration, he pulled Aya’s novel out of the crease of the chair and flipped it open, careful to hold it up in front of him rather than letting it rest in his lap. It was more refined that way, he thought, barely avoiding laughing as he heard the kettle squeal.
Two minutes later, Aya walked silently into the living room, mug of tea in his hand and completely unsuspecting of what precisely was in there.
“What are you doing?” he asked, propping his free hand on his hip and looking at the blonde.
“Reading,” Yohji returned, barely able to suppress a smile as he turned a page.
“I don’t mean that,” Aya replied with surprising calm.
“Oh?” he looked up over the edge of his sunglasses. “What do you mean then, Ayan?”
“You’re in my chair.”
Yohji sputtered. Raising an eyebrow, Aya took a seat on the end of the couch closest to him, sitting at almost a right angle to the man. He sat down his tea on the small side table; plucking his book from the blonde’s hands, he reached to adjust the light.
“Aya!”
“The light’s still better over there. Trade me.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Oh?” he feigned, and Yohji missed the barest turn of a smile; the man’s voice was as level as ever. “What is the point then, Yohji?”
Yohji stood, giving Aya a cold stare, “I hate you sometimes.”
He then tried to stalk off in proper fashion, only to have his arm caught when Aya stood to prevent him.
“Yohji,” Aya shook his head, drawing the other back to him without resistance. Still, Yohji was stiff as the redhead went to his chair and sat, carefully arranging the other. It wasn’t easy, but somehow Yohji’s long limbs were situated so that he rested comfortably across Aya’s lap in the chair. He let his head lean on Aya’s shoulder, not quite having the resistance be stay angry when the swordsman was gently running a hand over his thigh and, just for a second, pulling him close in a small embrace.
“I was teasing,” Aya spoke quietly in his hair. He understood how Yohji missed it; it wasn’t something he did often, and he had an idea that he wasn’t very good at choosing his moments.
“Oh,” Yohji replied with equal quiet, reaching to straighten the collar of Aya’s sweater.
They sat quietly for a while, Aya resting his chin lightly on top of Yohji’s head, still running his fingers up and down the man’s thigh.
“Do you remember last night?”
A nod. Yohji shifted, dragging the collar a little away from Aya’s neck so he could kiss the man’s throat.
“Do you remember what you told me? What you were going to think about during that delivery today?”
“Aa.” Aya’s hand moved upward, cupping Yohji’s bottom and pulling him closer as the taller man twisted around to straddle to lap, seeming to never leave off kissing his neck.
“I was listening, and so I thought,” he sucked, hard, and smirked at the suppressed gasp Aya made. “I was waiting, just like you said.”
“I—ah!—stop that.”
“Really?”
A pause. Then, “No. Go on. I was,” he tried to get out as Yohji began to use his teeth in the way he knew his lover liked, “I was thinking upstairs.”
“Where’s the surprise in that? I’m always—”
“Yohji-kun!”
Yohji twisted in Aya’s lap, his hands lingering on the swordsman’s shoulders as he stared at Omi and Ken over his shades. Aya looked around him, his own hands not relinquishing their hold on Yohji’s thin waist.
“Aya-kun, you saw what he was doing—you were supposed to tell him not to do that! Not, not—not join him!”
“What was he doing?” Aya asked, biting back a smirk.
“Sitting here, like that!”
“Like what?” Yohji asked, expression surprisingly serious.
And suddenly Ken couldn’t take it anymore.
“No more! Not in the living room!”
“Oh?” Yohji did grin now, wiggling his naked bottom against Aya’s jeans in an all too seductgive manner that made Ken’s eyes widen. “What’re you gonna do about it? Besides watch, that is.”
But Ken’s hesitant anger was suddenly solidified, and he stepped towards the couple, “You do it; I do it!”
“You’re gonna make out with Aya?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You won’t,” Yohji challenged.
“Try me.”
“You’re a few steps behind, Kenken.”
“That’s it. That’s so fucking it!”
“Ken-kun, no!”
Shoving away the hands that sought to save his modesty or dignity or common sense, Ken ripped his shirt off.
“That’s right,” he threatened, one hand pointed at Yohji and the other reaching for the snap of his pants, “You get naked; I get naked!!”
Yohji was on his feet, in Ken’s face, daring him to do it while wearing nothing but his sunglasses. After passing a rather weary hand across his eyes, Aya got up and took his tea into the kitchen, leaving them to sort it out. A few minutes later, Omi joined him. He stood, pale and shaking his head as he clutched at one of the kitchen chairs.
“Ken-kun tried to take my shirt off,” he spoke quietly, as if he wasn’t quite able to believe it.
Sitting down his cup for the second time, Aya went to the cabinet next to the refrigerator. He pulled something out and handed it over; Omi smiled. He turned and started back into the living room, Aya following.
Ken had made good on his threat, and now he and Yohji faced off, making almost nonsensical arguments that only heightened the farce of the situation as they argued, pointing figures at one another as they stood naked next to the couch.
The yelling stopped, instantly, at the first bright flash of the camera, but that didn’t stop Omi from taking two more Polaroid pictures before they wrestled the camera from him. One of these was destroyed by Yohji as a naked Ken sat on Omi who was screaming about his innocence being ruined. Another was captured by Ken himself, taken from Omi’s hand just prior to his release.
No one seemed to notice the third, slipped into Aya’s back pocket.
He wasn’t sure when he would use it, but it was an interesting thing to have. One picture of his two friends, intimately close together, with nothing but sunglasses and a pair of socks between them.
~tbc?~
Notes: If this finds favor, I might do a few of these ‘moments of Weiss’ kind of things, just for a little variation.
Converting /tmp/phpFjBvsb to /dev/stdout