Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Torn Between Two Lovers ❯ Flashback: Laundry Room Liaison ( Chapter 2 )

Title: Torn Between Two Lovers [chapter 2 of 4]

 

Book 1 of the Realizations Arc

 

Author: Enigma (also known as “E-sama the Llama”)

 

Series: Weiss Kreuz

 

Rating: NC-17

 

Pairing for Lemon: Yohji x Ken

 

Warnings: Yaoi, mild angst, coarse language, sexual triangle (Yohji/Ken/Aya), implied sex, masturbation, detailed lemon. AU-OOC.

 

Disclaimer: “Weiss Kreuz” is the property of Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss. All original characters, including “Christie”, the unnamed drug dealer, etc. © Enigma, 2007. This unauthorized work of unpaid fanfiction is intended for entertainment only.

 

//internal thoughts//

 

 

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{{flashback begins}}

 

The first time that Ken had unexpectedly ended up having sex with a teammate had been one month earlier. It had been after one of those missions where absolutely everything went wrong, yet, through some miracle none of the Weiss members had died.

 

Not atypically, Abyssinian and Bombay both had minor injuries that adrenaline alone had allowed them to ignore in their quest for vigilante justice on that sultry June night. Siberian and Balinese, however, had only psychological issues to cope with afterwards. The ride home in Yohji's Seven and on Ken's Kawasaki had all been tense; but at least once there, the team could relax and deal with the aftermath like usual.

 

Toiling in the basement laundry room, Ken was doing his level best to get blood out of battle garments like usual while attempting not to blame himself for some of what had gone wrong with the assignment.

 

“Those fucking assholes!” He seethed as he rinsed Omi's skirmish shorts until the water ran clear.

 

The tiny tear that a bullet had left in the garment was something he'd mend later using the sewing machine and other implements available in the same room in which he stood now. There were also closets filled with duplicates of their battle costumes as well as racks for the long coats favored by his elder teammates. Overall, the insufficiently named “laundry room” was Ken's domain, yet he truly didn't mind being responsible for the work that went on there.

 

Being the unheralded “den mother” for both the assassin and florist aspects of their lives had its share of responsibilities, but he didn't complain since it meant active, physical effort with concrete results. This was something he needed to be able to feel good about not only what he did for his comrades but also about himself in general.

 

In his opinion, Omi's online research combined with a full high school course load was harder, yet that was mostly a reflection of the former soccer star's lack of technical savvy. Similarly, Aya's responsibilities as both accountant and chief designer for the flower shop were baffling to Ken. Yohji's primary responsibility for acquiring and then maintaining their deadly assassin's equipment involved far too much intrigue for the straightforward ex-goaltender.

 

Once Bombay's shorts were rinsed sufficiently, he placed them in the oversized washer and then turned his attention to Aya's maroon coat. As he did so, Ken's lips curled back in a sneer of pure scorn as he growled, “Who the hell did those jerks think they were up against?! Bringing only a knife to a brawl with us was just plain *stupid*!”

 

Shoving the coat into a deep bucket of sudsy water and working at the bloodstain there with greater intensity than truly necessary, Ken silently reflected on the fact that he felt that he himself had been the stupidest person present.

 

//Yeah, way to go, Siberian! You didn't even *see* that bitch with the blade when she was about to stab you in the back! If you'd been paying attention, maybe Abyssinian might not have felt he needed to take the hit for you! Idiot!!//

 

The internal diatribe might have continued endlessly if it hadn't been interrupted by the sound of heavy bootsteps descending the spiral staircase which connected the basement with the rest of the house/shop.

 

“Oy, Ken!” Yohji's voice called out. “You down here, dude?” There was a clear note of tiredness underlining the inquiry, but there was another element in the familiar voice that Ken never even noticed.

 

“Yeah, I'm in the laundry room, Yohji,” Ken called back.

 

Swishing the specially treated leather once more through the soap, he probably should've asked what the slender blond wanted, but he didn't. Since Yohji had been in charge of caring for their slightly injured comrades, he assumed it had something to do with that and never gave it another thought.

 

Stepping into the room clad in his dark blue mission coat which now hung open and displayed his usual uninhibited midriff top and skin tight leather pants, Balinese was an imposing sight. Yet the bright red blood smudged dramatically across his face was that of a friend and had been left there inadvertently even as it added to his air of seriousness.

 

Refusing to maintain eye contact with the man who was several years older than himself, Ken asked acidly, “Come to give me hell for letting Aya get sliced up like I did?” Shoulders still clad in a leather battle jacket slumped as he added, “Don't bother. I've already been doing that the whole damned time I've been down here!”

 

“Why?” Yohji replied, surprised despite the fact that he knew Ken had a tendency to blame himself for everything that went wrong at times. Odds are this lingering and inappropriate self-hatred was some type of residual mental health issue left over from when he'd been betrayed so heinously during and after his soccer career. Regrettably, Yohji hadn't yet bothered to analyze it that much.

 

Ken's tragic choice for a first love, Kase Kouichiro, had been a heartless, conniving man who had enjoyed his young, virginal body to the fullest, then misused him deplorably before drugging him in a scheme to defraud legions of J-league fans. Ultimately, that selfsame bastard tried to kill Ken more than once prior to falling to Siberian's bugnuks, but that was old news as far as Yohji was concerned. The only salient issue that remained from that series of events was the obvious realization that Ken was as gay as he himself was bisexual, but Yohji hadn't yet acted on this knowledge.

 

Instead of dwelling on the past, Yohji turned to the present as he answered, “Omiitchi said he was hungry, so I wondered what was free game in the fridge?”

 

“Huh?” Was the best Ken could come up with as he turned a stupefied expression on his friend. He had pulled the wet coat out of the soapy pretreatment with every intention of dumping it into the washing machine, yet failed to do so thanks to his comrade's distracting inquiry.

 

Laughing as he tossed a dark blond though slightly dirty lock of hair over his shoulder, Yohji remarked with a suggestive sigh, “Ah, Kenken. When your jaw hangs open like that, you just make me want to kiss you.” With a salacious wink, he added, “Or put something *other* than my tongue in it, ya know. Something lower on my body, perhaps?” In a move uncomfortably reminiscent of an international popstar whose career would ultimately be tainted by rumors and innuendo, he grabbed his own crotch and smirked broadly.

 

“Yohji!!” Ken's expression of shock transformed into one of profound embarrassment even as the sodden coat that he'd completely forgotten about slipped from his fingers and slumped wetly onto the floor.

 

Chuckling sexily, Yohji stepped closer still and pulled the dripping trench coat up with one strong hand. Gazing at the almost black color of the wet coat even as he tossed it into the gaping maw of the washer, he commented lightly, “Oh, Kenken, I'm just messin' wit' ya! Honestly, you're too much fun to tease.” Negligently smearing the water off of his hand and onto his black pants, he remarked, “Good thing Kritiker's wardrobe department has access to so much washable leather, don't you think? It'd be a real bitch if we had to send these out for dry cleaning every single time we…..” His words trailed away as he lifted emerald eyes and caught something entirely unexpected.

 

Standing at the large utility sink between the washer and dryer, Ken hadn't moved an inch during this brief tête-à-tête. Yet unbeknownst to himself, the tears which had threatened to fall earlier had gathered on thickly lashed lower eyelids and were slowly beginning to slither free, painting wet trails down cheeks still grimy from the all-out street fight that the team had found itself in earlier that evening.

 

To Yohji's complete surprise, the powerful hands that had choked the life out of one of the scum who had dared to injure one of his teammates now trembled uncontrollably. It was a very personal form of execution and completely atypical of the Siberian he knew, but right now he was concerned about the shaking that began to creep upwards from there.

 

Soon even Ken became aware of the way that battle fatigue was beginning to overwhelm him. Staring numbly at his shaking hands through his own tears, he asked between gasps for breath, “Yohji…? I….?”

 

Abandoning the lighthearted kidding, Yohji murmured, “Tch, poor overly sensitive Kenken.” With a single shake of his head, he stepped close and grasped his friend's hands with his own, stilling them even as he said softly, “You've got to lighten up, bro.”

 

“But, Yohji---“ Ken's response was lost as he suddenly found himself wrapped in a bear hug. Any instinctual desire to struggle was overridden as a large hand warmly cradled the back of his skull and pushed gently until Ken buried his face in Yohji's chest.

 

“Just let go for a change, would ya, pal?” Yohji urged tenderly as his hand moved down from Ken's head to his back all the while offering firm, comforting caresses.

 

Melting into the strength that was supporting him in more ways than one, Ken finally released some of the pent up energy inside of himself. With tears of frustration, fear, helplessness, and ultimately powerless rage, the teenager vented.

 

Throughout the brief storm of emotion, Yohji had simply stood there, wordlessly strong while supporting Ken as much as he could. Once the worst had passed, he asked quietly, “Feel better?”

 

Nodding yet not stepping out of the encircling warmth, Ken replied, “Yeah.” Tilting his head up, he gazed at his friend and said with what he hoped was a grin yet what actually seemed like sadness that no one his age should ever feel, “It's good I hadn't washed your coat yet, Yohji. I got snot all over it. Sorry.”

 

“Who'd give a shit about that?!” Yohji's voice was gruffer than intended as his own unrelieved post-battle tension found its way into his throat. Sudden awareness of his own ignored need to unwind caused him to unintentionally loosen his grasp on the boy who needed his strength so badly.

 

Unfortunately, this only added another level of misunderstanding.

 

“Huh?” Ken's tear-stained face morphed yet again as he hurried to apologize, saying, “I'm sorry. Uh, what'd I do or say wrong this time?”

 

Momentarily overwhelmed by the response that his own condition had inadvertently engendered, Yohji failed to reply.

 

Worried that he'd seemed ungrateful or simply weak, Ken frankly wasn't thinking when he tried to rub tears from his eyes but instead succeeded in transferring some of the laundry detergent from hands that he'd never even considered washing off.

 

“Oh, fuck!!!” Flailing as the burn intensified, Ken's hands fluttered about uselessly while new tears rushed to try to rinse away the offending chemical. As the agony increased, he exclaimed, “Gods! Shit, that burns!!”

 

Snapped out of his own momentary lapse, Yohji responded by grabbing Ken's hands as he shouted, “Don't get even more into them, dummy!”

 

“But it hurts!!” Ken's agony was clear in his voice as was his relative youth.

 

“As if *I* don't know that?!” Yohji's answer was filled with sympathy since he'd made the same mistake with shampoo more times than he cared to admit.

 

Luckily, this thought brought an immediate cure to mind. Without explanation, he tugged Ken away from the laundry room and over into the nearby locker room which housed their extensive first aid center as well as a modified bathroom of sorts featuring an oversized shower enclosure.

 

Boasting multiple showerheads and enough room for any or all of the Weiss assassins to be able to rinse away the worst of missions that became bloody, the enclosure had strong fans to pull away humid air before it could interfere with their electronics. The doors which separated this area from the other more normal bathroom fixtures were not meant for privacy, but they gave some anyway. There were also sinks, urinals, etc, but mostly the locker room still looked like it belonged in a military dormitory. Whether or not that was what the prior owner had intended would remain an eternal mystery.

 

“Where're we going?!” Ken demanded but didn't resist. For better or for worse, he trusted the eldest member of Weiss to have his best interests at heart. It was this trust that made what else happened that night not seem as bizarre as it might have otherwise.

 

Once they were in the locker room, Yohji tugged on the waistband of Ken's jeans and said, “We're going to get that soap out of your eye, what did you think?! Now get undressed so we can wash it out in the shower.”

Ken stopped stock still for only a moment, then nodded blindly and obeyed, unselfconsciously ripping off layers of clothes still dirty from the earlier conflict. As he stripped, he could hear the water begin to gush forth from one of the showerheads, a noise that drowned out those of Yohji's clothes being tossed aside as well.

 

As Yohji guided both of them into the warm caress of the shower, Ken asked belatedly, “But weren't you supposed to be getting Omi some food?”

 

Pausing ever so briefly, but then pulling the large shower enclosure doors closed firmly behind them, Yohji answered, “The chibi only got grazed by that stupid bullet to the leg. Let him get his own damned snack! Your eye needs attention first!”

 

Emerald eyes traveled a good bit lower on Ken's enticing naked form as he silently amended that other parts were overdue for attention as well. Adrenaline had a predictable effect on some people and he was almost relieved to see that Ken's response in the form of a lingering erection mirrored his own.

 

Even though they had each seen the other naked more times than they could count, it had always been either for the sake of first aid following a mission or purely by accident. These prior events had never had an overtly sexual overtone to them, but considering some of the upheavals that had been occurring recently, seeing one another in new lights was overdue anyway.

 

There was very little additional intelligent conversation after that point.

 

Not to say that Yohji was quiet. Far from it. He was actually a “talker” during sex and that characteristic had always served him well during his club-hopping days. Women, men, and several transgendered partners had all fallen under his hypnotic spell of sweet talk only to find themselves enraptured by his innate prowess. The skills with which he gave his partners pleasure were well honed, yet he rarely welcomed any of them into his bed more than once.

 

Despite his reputation as a playboy, Yohji had been searching for something special after the loss of his partner from his years as a private investigator even if his conscious self had yet to acknowledge that quest.

 

It was within the steamy confines of the basement level shower that Yohji finally took action on a desire that he'd held for quite some time, but only after he had been absolutely certain Ken had agreed to it.

 

The way the teen ultimately responded so exquisitely to the act of preparation with only body wash as lube had been a major bonus as had the throaty gasps and moans which echoed brilliantly inside the shower stall. The eventual sensation of pressing into Ken's tight ass had exceeded even the sensualist's own best imaginings.

 

Their rapturously shouted shared moment of orgasmic bliss had been one worth remembering even as it silently started a slow domino effect of change in both of their lives. Despite their cries of pleasure, the sound of water beating down and exhaust fans whirring had kept their coupling a secret.

 

By the time the two of them made their way back up the stairs, the laundry had been forgotten as had any thoughts of discussing this radical change in their relationship. Ken awoke alone the next morning since Yohji had first shift in the shop and thus any opportunity for the proverbial “morning after pillow talk” was gone.

 

Neither of the other two Weiss assassins said a word about how the night had ended and Yohji didn't either, so Ken wrote it off to his own overly emotional state and left it at that. Sadly, this set a precedent for leaving important matters unaddressed, but for someone with as painful a sexual past as Ken's, it was understandable.

 

{{end flashback}}

 

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To be continued….