Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ White Desires ❯ Part 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

White Desires (1/2)

by paxnirvana Rating: NC-17 Fandom: Weiss Kreuz Characters: Yohji x Aya, Ken, Omi, OC Villain Date Completed: 11/16/03 Archive: Please ask first.

Author's Note: Me bad. Boys in chains. Boys in chains inspired by Kapital's opening credits... ::drool:: Non-arc story. Stand alone. I use 'An Assassin and White Shaman', 'Kapital' and 'Verbrechen-Strafe', but I completely ignore 'Dramatic Precious', 'Gluhen' and 'Weiß Side B'. *wink*

Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz belongs to Takahito Koyasu, Project Weiß and others - not me. *sigh* But this is for fan entertainment only, absolutely no money being made. The good doctor, however frightening that may be, does belong to me so please ask if you want to borrow him.

Look into the others eyes, many frustrations Read between the lines, no words... just vibrations Don't ignore hidden desires Pay attention; you're playing with fire Silence must be heard... Silence Must Be Heard - Enigma

They had brought him into a vast echoing space, dimly lit by a single obscured bulb so that the small pool of light fell only around the doorway. It was just enough illumination to follow the dull tiled floor as it stretched away unbroken into darkness, to hint at smooth concrete walls and the shadowy impression of a high ceiling. Echoes reinforced the impression of space. The room was cold in the way of unheated underground places; clammy and vaguely dusty. A level under the parking garage, perhaps. There had been odd blank places on the plans they'd perused. Construction voids, they'd thought. But it seemed someone had taken advantage of those empty spaces. Turned them into something else all together...

He'd been shoved through the rusty-hinged metal door by three men in anonymous dark suits, their hard faces impassive, into this place that shouldn't exist. They were fresh muscle, unscathed from the earlier battle. Part of the unexpectedly competent reinforcements that had surprised them before they could complete their mission. The briefing hadn't mentioned mercenaries of this quality - or quantity - being available to the target. A deadly omission, no doubt result of the still shaky state of Kritiker... or something had changed drastically between when the mission had been given and Weiß had struck. A leak of some kind, during the twelve-hour gap, that had allowed their target to prepare.

They'd fallen far too easily, Yohji Kudoh knew, and part of it was his fault. Rather than proceeding on to kill the target - one Enjoji Homa, supposedly cornered in a back office - he'd turned back. Had turned back because he'd seen Ken take a knife clean through the shoulder, and Yohji had been unexpectedly jarred by the sight of his teammate's eyes gone huge with shock, disbelief and pain. This was no faked injury. Ken's blood had dripped from the wound for real... and he had found himself leaping into the open to defend his wounded teammate, despite the fact that his weapon of choice worked far more effectively from the shadows. Still the wire had sung it's deadly song at his direction, felling the man behind Ken before he could twist the knife. Then Omi had broken cover too, scattering darts and caltrops amid their foes to delay them as he whisked Ken away... but that was the last he saw of them. He'd been cut off. Trapped by chance on the wrong side of the corridor from the planned escape route that Aya was holding open for them somewhere below.

He'd smiled grimly at his opponents over the top of his sunglasses. Then he remembered only the blur of battle in close quarters and blood and the growing certainty that this time he wasn't going to make it. After surviving Takatori and Schwarz. After the horror of Esset. After that bloody, gut-wrenching fiasco with General Powell and his American Rats. So here, in this miserable southern port town, he was finally going to buy it at the hands of hired mercs. There were too many guns. Too little cover. And he was running out of wire.

Then Aya had appeared.

Silent. Swift. Fierce. Hewing through their foes from behind like an angel of death. Almost shocking even him with the raw savagery of his attack. And for a while Yohji had felt a surge of hope that together they might actually make it out of there... but hope had disappeared in a blinding flash of pain and darkness as something impacted with the side of his head.

He hadn't been awake long now. Just long enough to figure he wasn't going to like whatever was in store for him. He'd been woken rudely with a kick to the ribs. Looked up to find himself surrounded by three goons in a tiny room that might have been a janitor's closet once but made an effective makeshift cell now. He was chained to a bolt in the wall, as if the heavy leather cuffs holding his arms behind his back weren't enough to deter escape. After unlocking the padlock, they'd dragged him out, silent and intent. Hauled him along until he managed to get his feet underneath him and push himself to his feet. That they'd let him walk on his own after that somehow wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

One of the burly, grim-faced thugs calmly stuck a gun in his already sore ear while another removed the restraints on his arms. His head ached; he had blood matted in his tumbled hair and a crackling dried line of it on the side of his face. Yohji watched his captors from under half-lidded eyes, a faint smirk on his lips for the caution with which they were treating him. His watch and gloves and coat were long gone, his belt and boots as well. The skin-hugging navy blue half-shirt he habitually wore under his mission coat revealed lean forearms as well as his tight stomach above the low-slung line of his pants. His feet were chilled by the floor.

The thugs hadn't even commented on his clothing. But then, he and Aya had taken out over a dozen armed men in little more than a couple minutes. It was understandable that they'd treat him with respect. What was puzzling him, truthfully, was why he was still alive.

And now he was free. Of course, free was relative. There were still three men surrounding him - two of them far bulkier than he. The man with the gun poked the muzzle sharply into the side of his head again to draw his attention. Time to die, maybe. Well, at least the other three had gotten away. And at least... it would be quick. Yohji let the smile curl deeper as the reality of his no doubt imminent death began to sink in, but didn't deign to look up, his loose hair falling around his face.

"The boss is watching, ne?" the thug with the gun in his ear said. "He likes a good show."

"And this should matter to me... why?" Yohji said, his voice carefully bare of emotion. Now that it was here, he almost welcomed the end.

The thug bared his teeth at him in a mocking grimace. "You'll live longer that way, punk."

"Ah, now you're assuming it's worth living around pathetic gutter trash like you..."

The gun poked him painfully again. He felt skin break and a fresh trickle of blood under his hair. Deliberately widened his half-concealed smile.

"Funny guy. Your friend will live longer that way too."

Friend? Fuck, he thought, stiffening slightly as alarm shocked through him. That must mean they'd managed to capture Aya too. Oh. Shit.

He was suddenly no longer so resigned to his fate. Not with Ay... a teammate at risk too. He turned his head slightly away as he fought to mask his dismay and the thug with the gun glowered at him.

"Not such hot shit after all, are you, pretty boy?" the man hissed at him as he twisted the barrel of the gun harder against Yohji's head. "Thought you'd get us easy, did you? Huh, well we got two of you." It was the first sign of open resentment for what they'd done. It told him a lot. That the men he'd killed had likely worked together for a while - had history. Hastily gathered muscle seldom cared what happened to each other. He didn't bother to reply, his mind racing, looking for clues that might somehow lead to their survival.

This wasn't exactly the same picture of a rogue, power-grabbing street-yakuza looking for outside help to cement his position that they'd been painted by the mission briefing. Something was beyond wrong with the whole situation. He'd been uneasy when Manx presented them with the mission, but unable to put his finger on the disquiet. It was similar to many they'd had in the past... too similar. From the start it had seemed almost routine; survey meeting site of potential alliance between murderously upstart yakuza and foreign interests - kill everyone present at meeting. But there had been far more than simple punks and brutish enforcers waiting for them. The men they had fought had been well-trained and professional.

One of the other two guards glared at him too, the look ugly with the promise of pain if he tried anything. But then, to Yohji's veiled astonishment, all three of them just backed out of the room, leaving him alone and unhindered. The metal door shut tight behind them with a heavy clang. He heard the rattling sound of a bolt being thrown. Not a lock that could be picked then, even if he had access to the tools concealed in his absent coat. Shit. Stuck for certain - unless there was another exit somewhere, which he sincerely doubted.

He stood where they had left him, looking cautiously around from under the cover of his long hair. The room beyond the small circle of light by the door remained obscured by darkness. It was nearly silent except for the heavy throb of his own pulse in his ears and the faint hum of basement heating and cooling systems somewhere outside. Which wasn't much help in placing his location in the building, since the plans had shown two separate boilers in the basement. Which, of course, was always presuming they hadn't moved him somewhere else entirely while he was unconscious...

He'd kind of expected this at least to be the kick-the-shit-out-of-the-assassin portion of the evening's entertainment - if they weren't going to kill him outright. That they'd apparently left him alone in here didn't bode well. Minutes dragged by in silence, but nothing happened. Finally, he sighed dramatically, tilted his head back and slipped both hands into the front pockets of his pants.

"Are we boring you, my friend?"

The rich, faintly mocking male voice came from up high and crackled slightly, so he could tell it was coming to him through a speaker system of some kind. He turned his startled flinch into an insolent toss of his head instead, looking around carefully.

"Yeah, actually."

A soft laugh. "Oh, I believe that can be changed."

With the clatter of heavy switches, the room went completely dark; electronically augmented laughter echoed off the walls. He kept his calm, uncaring pose with difficulty, not knowing what other kind of surveillance he might be under. But he was rattled. There was something too knowing, even smug, about that low laughter.

"Welcome to my playroom."

There was another low round of laughter and he bit back a curse. He didn't like the sound of that at all. The kind of people they encountered in this line of work who claimed to like 'games' were often dangerously random in their actions - if not outright insane. His hands fisted loosely at his sides and he dropped into a wary crouch, as prepared as he could be to defend himself without boots or weapons. But he wouldn't go down easy. Last defiance and all that shit.

After a just-a-few-minutes-too-long moment of darkness that scraped the tension higher in his nerves, a harsh spotlight flashed on deeper in the room casting a cone of light over a section of the floor several meters away from him. The stark light illuminated a single bound figure under its merciless glow.

Yohji sucked in a shocked breath before he could stop himself as he recognized the figure.

Aya. Slumped on his knees on the cold tile floor. Stripped to only his black mission pants. His head lolled limp against one upraised arm; ragged hair, dulled by the intensity of the light to a washed-out pinkish-red, hung over his face. Pale skin over firm muscle seemed to almost glow against the surrounding darkness with only scattered bruising like shadows marring its perfection. Slack body held upright by wrists bound to a bar that hung from the ceiling, he looked like someone's darkest, kinkiest wet dream as he hung there. Thick leather cuffs on his wrists held his hands against a bar shoulder-width apart, while a heavy chain rose from a ring in the center of the bar on up to vanish into the blinding glare above.

Yohji's heart stuttered in his chest with an odd combination of tension, exhilaration and unease: Aya was alarmingly still. But after a moment, to his distinct relief, he could just make out the slight motion of the lean chest that indicated he was still breathing.

"Incredible, isn't he?" the voice announced with an ominous purr that made Yohji want to shiver. "Strength. Speed. Form. Deadly and yet so beautiful. I may just have to add him to my collection. It would be so enlightening to study one such as this... for however long he lasts."

"What do you mean by that?" Yohji snapped, even as his nerves sang with sick apprehension. The set up. The tone. The language. This was no punk wanna-be yakuza boss. This man was something else entirely. Just who the hell had the yakuza been making a deal with anyway? Kritiker had screwed up royally on the research of this mission. And now Weiß was paying the price.

"Do you know his family history?" the voice asked, filled with curiosity. Ignoring his question completely. "His background? He is full Japanese despite his coloring, is he not?"

"Fuck you."

Laughter rolled through the room again. Yohji shifted his position slightly, wary of retaliation, while trying to pinpoint a location for the speakers since the camera that was no doubt trained on him was probably nearby.

"Now you... Tall. Agile. Hardy. A half-breed, definitely. Abandoned American military spawn, most likely."

Fury flashed hot in Yohji's veins. Not many guessed the truth of his heritage so accurately. He glared up at the ceiling. "Why the hell does it matter?"

"Ah, I am merely indulging a passion of mine... genetics. I am fascinated by the extremes of variation the human genome encompasses. Evolution has not stopped, my friend - oh, no. There are such exciting changes going on in the human species... from chemical exposure and food additives, new diseases and pollution. Such wondrous talents developing amid all the spectacular failures and deaths; even the appearance of abilities once thought only magic..."

Yohji sucked in a surprised breath. Magic? Talents? The only 'talents' he'd ever encountered had been those sick bastards in Schwarz. But they were gone. There'd been no sign of them for nearly half a year now. They'd thought them dead when the museum-cum-temple had sunk into the sea with the corpses of those twisted old bastards who had apparently ruled Esset... or so they had all fervently hoped.

"...evolution continues, the pace subtle again... ah, but the set-back... such a waste..."

"What do you want with us?" Yohji demanded, interrupting the oddly rambling, half-murmured monologue sharply. Uneasy. Unsettled. Weiß had run into someone who talked something like this before: Masafume Takatori - brilliant but barking mad scientist. And long dead. Apparently madness was an occupational hazard for geneticists.

"What do I want with you?" the voice said, laughing softly again. "Why until you and your companions interrupted today's rather prosaic dealings, my friend, I wanted for little that was not within my ability to obtain. But now... now my curiosity has been aroused. I would know why you came here. Who sent you. Who you all are. Especially... him."

The voice dropped to an intent murmur on the last word. In it was an echo of the kind of awed tone he'd heard over and over in the voices of those captivated by the redhead and his untouchable air, his alluring beauty. He should recognize it; he'd worked hard to remove it from his own voice long ago. But here - as prisoners - the focused interest in Aya alarmed rather than amused him. Hoping to deflect that potentially unhealthy curiosity, he opted for a pose of indifference. "Hell if I know," Yohji said, giving a deliberately careless shrug of his shoulders as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Ah," the voice said, the tone now light and condescending, "then you will surely not object if I shoot him..."

Yohji heard a series of distinctive metallic clicks from the ceiling that sounded sickeningly like an automatic weapon being readied. His mind focused frantically. No other doors at his level, maybe, but an overhead gallery hidden from his sight behind the floodlight... shit!

"No!" He sprinted forward through the intervening darkness without further thought, diving across the thankfully unobstructed floor toward Aya's slumped body even as the sharp sound of a gunshot echoed through the concrete room. Floor tile right beside Aya's folded legs shattered in a spray of slender shards like a dropped plate, pinging and clattering across the remaining tile. Yohji came to a rolling stop at the edge of the cone of light, poised warily, heart thundering wildly in his chest, anxious gaze scanning Aya for injury.

No blood... not shot... not yet.

His relief was tainted by the eerily delighted laughter that echoed through the room, rebounding off the hidden walls and booming in his ears like an assault. Ragged red bangs shifted as Aya's head rolled fractionally against his suspended arm, disturbed at last, but by shot or laughter he couldn't tell.

Yohji drew himself to his feet slowly, keeping his face impassive even though it was far too late to truly disguise his concern, watching Aya closely for further signs of consciousness. He thought he saw a slow shudder go through the pale form, but there was no other response. Drugged, most likely.

"That was a most enlightening display," the voice said. "I must thank you."

Shit and shit again... No sense even pretending now. He moved fully into the light, dropping to a crouch beside Aya's still form. Reaching out an amazingly steady hand, he caught the finely chiseled chin and tilted Aya's face up carefully toward the light to examine it closer. To his shock, Aya's eyes were half way open but his pupils beneath heavy lids were contracted to pin-pricks by whatever he'd been drugged with. The wide violet irises almost seemed to glow in the harsh overhead light, flickering only faintly in response. Yohji hissed in a concerned breath.

"He is aware - sees and hears and feels everything with exquisite intensity - but may do nothing of his own volition," their tormentor informed him suddenly. "I fell upon the combination of drugs quite by accident... An interesting effect, don't you think?"

And a singularly effective torment for someone like Aya as well, Yohji thought with a sick lurch in his stomach. To be rendered a prisoner in his own body, stripped of control, forced to feel... had anything else been done to him while he was so helpless? Impotent fury churned in Yohji's gut, chipping at his calm façade.

For the first time he wondered exactly how long he'd been unconscious himself. And how long Aya had been here in the 'playroom' before him.

He hastily examined Aya further. Was relieved to find that there weren't any extreme bruises or unusual wounds on the lean body - aside from the usual minor ones that could be attributed to the battle before. Nothing to indicate that he'd been beaten or tortured since. But he did notice a spot of matted hair on the back of Aya's head, dark with crusted blood. He'd been taken down from behind, it seemed - a rarity. Aya seldom let himself get in bad tactical positions. But then, Aya rarely came back to help, either...

"What kind of sick game are you playing?" Yohji demanded through gritted teeth, gaze fixed on Aya's glazed eyes.

Low laughter rolled through the room again. The bastard up there was having entirely too much fun at their expense. And it was starting to get on his nerves.

He glanced around surreptitiously as he let Aya's head sag back down against his chest again, then lowered his hands down to his own thighs, fisting them there. The buckles that held Aya trapped were so close that his fingers actually itched to undo them. But he didn't dare - not with that trigger-happy bastard above him. Now that he had some idea of the location of their tormenter, Yohji was able to isolate the sound of quiet shifting above and to his left just before the voice returned over the speaker system to taunt him again, curling around him with a tone mildly irritated and yet still condescending.

"It is a game of my own invention, of course. You cost me several reliable men tonight - you and your katana-wielding companion - and they are a difficult resource to replace. Tell me, do you exclusively use the harigane?"

"Why don't you drop that gun down here and find out?" he answered with a snap, shading his face with his hair as he looked around again for something he could use as a weapon.

He couldn't see much beyond the cone of light, but there were a few small shards of broken asphalt floor tile on the far side of Aya. Nothing really big enough to do serious damage, but maybe enough for a distraction. If he could even get his hands on them without being spotted. If Aya weren't chained in one spot and drugged insensible. And if he had a prayer of getting them out that barred door at the far end in the first place. The impulse to leave Aya behind and attempt escape on his own never quite surfaced; the cold, logical part of his mind told him he should at least try - Aya most likely would if their positions were reversed - but something stopped him from seriously considering it despite that knowledge. Loyalty? Friendship? Sheer stubbornness?

"I don't believe I will accept that challenge at this time, my friend," the voice answered his flip comment with a ripple of genuine amusement. "But your spirit is impressive. I shall enjoy finding out how long it will endure."

"Long enough to see you dead, you bastard," Yohji said under his breath, fists tightening against his thighs. There was no telling exactly what the crap was that Aya had been given - and no telling how long it would last - but he shot a frowning look over at the limp form, willing the other man to show some sign that he was coming out of it. He might as well be tied up too as long as Aya was like this. Not that they'd be in all that much better shape if the swordsman were able to move, but he'd certainly feel better if he knew Aya could at least glare again.

"And I believe I would be far less inclined to shoot you if you moved away from your companion now."

Aware of the gun that was no doubt trained on him at that moment, Yohji rose slowly to his feet. Then he took a wary half-step back.

"Another step, please." Yohji complied reluctantly. "Yes, thank you. Such extraordinary protective behavior you have all displayed for each other; a trait quite unusual in contract killers. The four of you worked your way through Homa's men with remarkable rapport, almost anticipating each other's moves, complimenting each other's strengths and bolstering weaknesses even when the battle with my men began to go against you." There was a kind of covetous admiration in the voice now, making Yohji frown slightly as he listened. "The ability to retain such precision even under adverse conditions is something that usually arises only after many years of experience. Yet you are all so young - early in your twenties, I assume, save for the blond boy... and he appears quite young to display such exceptional skill and ruthlessness as well. I find the four of you most intriguing - how long have you worked as a unit? Who trained you?"

"Life," Yohji shot back, lifting his head to flash a half-smirk toward the watcher above, determinedly covering his growing unease. From the way the man was talking, there may have been cameras recording them during the battle. A secondary security system Omi had missed somehow, somewhere maybe. Shit. So not only did this freak have them, he could also have hard evidence of Weiß's existence. The kiddo was going to be pissed about that. If they survived to tell him about it.

Low laughter rolled through the room. "Such determined insolence, 'Balinese'." Yohji tried to suppress the reflexive jerk at the almost fond use of his code name, but knew he was too brightly lit, too exposed for the small motion to be hidden from his observer.

"Just a cover name, I presume," the voice said with more than a trace of satisfaction. "Yet more than you care for me to know, I see. And this one is 'Abyssinian' and the injured one 'Siberian'. I was unable to determine the blond boy's designation... a shame. Perhaps the three names will be sufficient for my inquiries."

"Hope you like 'Cat Fancy'," Yohji said, flipping his hair back to grin sharply toward the light and the watcher hidden beyond. "I hear the subscriptions are a good deal."

"You are quite insolent, for one in your position," the voice said mildly, all amusement gone of a sudden. "As endearing a trait as I find it, however, I do find myself growing somewhat pressed for patience..."

Yohji heeded the faint warning in that tone and stayed silent, eyes narrowed to a glare, hands fisted at his sides.

"Better. Now. Why were you sent here?" the voice demanded calmly.

He tried to frown past the light, eyes squinting tightly. Thought he could almost see the gleam of a pistol barrel facing in his direction. Readying himself and banking heavily on both the fascination for Aya that he'd heard in the man's voice already and the sheer curiosity the man had shown for both of them, Yohji snapped, "To take out the trash."

Yohji rolled to the side as the gun discharged again, but the shot wasn't aimed at him as he had thought: instead an asphalt tile directly between him and Aya exploded into shards. Several of them pelted Aya's slack body, a few drawing blood. The bound man didn't react to the injuries with anything more than a soft moan and a slight roll of his head, still deep under the influence of whatever drugs had been pumped into him. Yohji cursed and spun back to his feet again, glaring furiously up toward his tormentor.

"If you do not answer the next question in a fashion of which I approve, I will shoot your lovely 'Abyssinian' in the stomach."

Yohji squinted against the light, then bared his teeth briefly before he jerked his head to the side in defeat, glaring at the two thin ribbons of blood that dripped slowly down Aya's ribs. Imagination all too vividly showing him that creamy flesh torn apart by a bullet, blood cascading... He shook his head once, viciously, to dispel the image. Courting his own death was one thing, but...

"Why were you sent here?" the voice repeated.

"To kill Enjoji Homa," he answered honestly, eyes closing.

"Ah." There was a pause. He heard soft metallic sounds and a rustling, then, "Who sent you?"

"We came here for Homa," he said wearily, staring at the blood on Aya's skin in grim fascination. "Does it matter who sent us?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not." The words were said gently, as if to a backwards child, but he could hear the steel beneath. "Answer the question, please."

He had no choice. And it wasn't as if the organization was widely known anyway. Odds were the name would mean nothing to this freak.

"Kritiker."

"Indeed."

The single softly-spoken word made Yohji's head rise slowly, a sick feeling of dread filling him. The next question - for someone who was just a free-lance psycho - would logically be 'who is Kritiker?' He waited for the question anxiously, warily. Because the alternative threatened to make him scream in frustration as hints fell into place. It wasn't fair; they should be done with those Esset bastards. They'd killed the Elders and taken out a good two or three hundred underlings at that freakish ceremony nearly six months ago now. Esset had been broken and scattered even more completely than Kritiker - they'd thought. Damn. It was just their shitty luck to run into one of the survivors now.

There was a hollow thuck sound, followed instantly by a burst of pain in his shoulder. He clawed frantically at the tranquilizer dart that hung there, but the edges of his vision were already darkening, his gaze narrowing down like a tunnel until all he could see was the pale glow of Aya's body stark under the glaring light in front of him. It came closer, suddenly, and he wondered what the hell he thought he was doing as he crumpled across Aya's thighs, body slack, eyes staring straight ahead.

Oh fuck - he drugged me too, was his last thought before everything winked away into darkness.

Yohji woke to the sensation of cool fingers trailing gently across his brow, brushing his hair back. They felt soothing against his dry, hot skin. He rolled toward them, groaning softly at the lingering ache in his head, the faint nausea churning his stomach. How much had he drunk last night...?

"Ah, but you are quite exquisite as well, are you not?" a hushed voice said. "Blessed with the hardiness of cross-breeding - which sometimes produces such interesting spontaneous mutations. I thought you dyed it, but no, this is your natural color as well..."

His eyes snapped open as the strange words penetrated his hazy mind, bringing memory back in a rush, and he jerked his head away from the unwelcome touch amid the sound of chillingly familiar laughter.

"And the eyes too. Such a lovely green."

He was lying on a bed that had the head raised enough for him to be half-sitting; a hospital bed complete with bars along the edge. Heavy leather straps bound his wrists to his sides, another bound him securely across the chest. Over him leaned a strange man. He blinked his eyes hard. A very strange man.

Weiß, was his first thought, even as improbable eyes the color of rubies stared thoughtfully back at him through narrow steel-framed glasses perched on an elegant nose set in a moderately handsome face. Not young, but not old either; strangely ageless. Long, thick glass-pale white hair was gathered in a loose tail that hung beside narrow features that were still recognizably Asian. But white beyond white. Albino. Thin lips turned up in a sharp, knowing smile at his shocked perusal.

"Ah, yes," the man said quietly, that oddly disturbing gaze never wavering. "We had yet to meet face to face, had we not, my friend? Allow me to introduce myself; I am Shiroi."

"No kidding," Yohji managed around the cottony feeling in his throat, his voice little more than a croak.

The smile didn't shift but the red eyes narrowed fractionally behind gray-tinted lenses.

"Doctor Hirohito Shiroi, to be exact," the white man said, straightening up and turning toward a rolling table nearby. Yohji examined his captor more closely, looking beyond the shock of his coloring. The bastard was tall - probably not as tall as he was, but close - and slender to the point almost of seeming effeminate; his wrists and hands were delicate where they emerged from the sleeves of a pristine white lab coat worn over an ice-blue dress shirt, matching tie and white pants. Every movement was deliberate and graceful, yet he still gave the impression of subtle strength, exuded an aura of competent confidence. Not someone to underestimate, this freak, he was sure.

The doctor turned back to face him, a small glass of water, complete with bent straw, in his hand. Yohji eyed the glass suspiciously as the doctor leaned closer to him, the other fragile white hand rising to guide the straw toward his mouth. He could smell the water inside and thirst clawed at his throat, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together, his expression falling into mulish lines.

"The water is untainted, I assure you," the doctor said with a twist of his lips. An ice-colored brow rose in amusement as the red eyes danced. "Come now, be rational, my friend. If I had wished to drug you again I could have done so with ease long before you awakened. Now drink; the sedative has dehydrated you."

Yohji glared at him for a moment longer, but then the sense of the man's words sank in. Yeah, he could have just as easily been drugged again while he was out... or killed. But that didn't mean there wasn't something in the water. His breath rasped in the back of his throat. Lips twisted stubbornly tighter as the straw moved closer. His gaze flickered up, met the doctor's. He could see nothing there but serene amusement sparked with the light of sharp intelligence.

"My my, how stubborn. Are you marking this off as a victory on some appropriately masculine scorecard in your mind?" The laughter was almost delighted. "The human body can go only so long without water, my friend. The denial of it can be an effective torment. Yet here I am, offering it to you."

Yohji frowned as he met the doctor's red gaze warily. That was all true. And that only made him more uneasy.

"Where's A - ah... where's my friend?" he murmured, barely catching himself before he gave away Aya's name. He might have told the doctor indirectly about Weiß, but hell if he'd give up it's members that easily.

The doctor smiled knowingly at him, still holding the straw ready for him to drink from. "Your compatriot is lying in a bed similar to this one on the far side of that curtain," the doctor said, inclining his head back slightly toward the greenish, hospital-style barrier drawn across the room behind him, the glass of water still held patiently before Yohji. Tension thickened the air. Yohji shifted against his restraints. A snow-pale brow rose slowly even as the strange red gaze seemed to soften slightly.

"Drink," the doctor urged again.

Confusion and anger merged; frustrated helplessness flared. There was no point to this. He knew the doctor was a bastard and a manipulator who had threatened his life several times already. The last person he should trust. But when it came down to it, Yohji knew he was a survivor - despite his reckless behavior before. Yohji grudgingly parted his lips and let the doctor place the straw between them. He sucked up the small amount of water offered, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing to better ease the parched tissues. It tasted bland and slightly stale, just as one expected water that had been sitting out for a while to taste. Not overtly drugged. But that didn't mean shit, really.

Dr. Shiroi favored him with a gentle smile, one that was almost paternal in it's way, as he turned to set the empty glass back on the table.

"There, you see? Not so difficult after all."

Yohji frowned and felt almost that he'd failed somehow. Been tricked. But he just lay quietly against the mattress, narrowly watching the doctor as he turned back to face him. Shiroi brushed aside his lab coat on one side and slid a hand into the pocket of his slacks, completely casual and at ease. The unusual gaze ran over him slowly from bottom to top and Yohji became hyper-aware of his own position. His ankles were strapped out to the corners of the bed, opening his legs wide and making him feel inordinately exposed. Well, at least he was still wearing his pants, he conceded. The hospital motif hadn't been taken that far yet. His hands were buckled down at the wrist to the raised rails on the side of the bed while the strap over his chest kept him firmly in place in the center of the mattress. There would be no attacking the doctor. Not until the doctor released him anyway. Which Shiroi seemed hardly likely to do. The idea of freedom sat like lead in his stomach.

"Are you considering ways to kill me?" Shiroi asked after a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Amusement vying with the cool interest.

"No, but that's a good idea. Thanks for reminding me..." Yohji said, baring his teeth at him briefly. Shiroi's smile grew fractionally wider even as one brow rose.

"You are quite determined to vex me are you not, my good Balinese?" The doctor raised his free hand and trailed it slowly up Yohji's arm. The touch was feather-light and somehow cool. He firmly stifled the urge to flinch away, not wanting to reveal how much the doctor's touch disturbed him. "Due to unfortunate circumstance, the quality of subjects available to me has been quite poor lately. But you and your... friend have managed to intrigue me quite thoroughly." Alarm flared through him. Aya. Had the doctor done something to Aya while they were both drugged? Yohji fought back the spurt of panic that thought brought, forcing himself to appear calm even as Shiroi's hand paused on his shoulder, a finger tracing over his tattoo curiously. The doctor narrowed his gaze for a moment as he examined the design, then it flickered quickly up to catch Yohji's. It felt as if the doctor were peering into his soul for an instant; his breath caught and his pulse stuttered in reaction. "It's a pity that I will have to damage that brilliant self-assurance and defiance, but you have already handed me all the tools I need to do so."

Yohji couldn't stifle the flinch then when Shiroi's hand fluttered from his shoulder to his face, long, slender fingers cupping his chin, a thumb skimming quickly across his lips. He jerked his head away, eyes wide, and the doctor let his hand fall to his own side again with a soft laugh, the red eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Ah, yes, quite bewitchingly exquisite," the doctor murmured and Yohji grimaced, lips still tingling where Shiroi's thumb had brushed across them. He wanted to reach up and scrub his hand across them to erase the sensation, but couldn't. The proprietary tone in Shiroi's voice made his fists clench at his side and a shudder of revulsion pass through him. He was getting sick of the doctor's creepy smiles and the way he watched him so closely. It was almost obsessive.

"So bewitching that perhaps I am simply reluctant to do what I must," the doctor went on with a faintly rueful smile, that oddly tender look entering his expression again. "But there are many ways to elicit cooperation..."

Shiroi turned to the dividing curtain. Catching pale green fabric in one hand, he walked slowly toward the wall, shuttered gaze still fixed on Yohji. It felt as if magician were about to reveal a trick, anticipation gathering thick in the air.

As the curtain slid aside, he saw that the doctor had not lied to him... yet. Yohji blinked in shock. Aya was there, bound to a hospital bed much like he was, only with the head of the bed lowered flat and his arms stretched above his head instead of bound at his sides. His ankles were strapped firmly down to the corners like Yohji's own. A heavy strap also crossed Aya's chest to hold him down too, but he was also blindfolded and gagged and stripped completely naked.

Creamy-pale flesh shivered in the sudden wash of air across bare skin. Aya was awake and able to move again, it seemed, as his head jerked toward the metallic scraping sound of the curtain along its track as it opened. Brief relief filled Yohji. At least Aya didn't look any more hurt than the last time he'd seen him. In fact, the shallow cuts on Aya's side had even been neatly bandaged.

"Shit," he breathed, scarcely able to tear his gaze away from the other man. Yohji was dimly aware of Dr. Shiroi smiling his creepy little smile as he avidly absorbed his reaction to the sight of his friend's condition.

"Interesting," Shiroi said, drawing a flicker of Yohji's attention before he walked slowly over to Aya's bedside. The doctor removed a pair of thin, almost translucent, latex gloves from his coat pocket. Tugged them on over his hands with easy familiarity and smoothed them neatly into place. The deliberate preparation made Yohji's skin crawl uneasily.

Without hesitation, a slender gloved hand, whiter even than Aya's own pale flesh, skimmed down Aya's knee and along his thigh toward the patch of pale red hair at the core of his body. The swordsman tensed, muscles quivering at the unexpected touch, knees jerking up as far as possible against the ankle restraints, confirming that Aya was indeed awake and able to move again. Yohji struggled to keep the outrage, the indignation off his face at the doctor's action. He knew that Shiroi was still watching him, trying to provoke a response. Knew it and still had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from snarling.

"I understand your fascination, my friend. This one is quite... alluring. And somewhat... familiar, I believe," the doctor said, pausing the motion of his hand briefly as he pursed his lips, turned his head and frowned down at Aya for a moment for shaking his head slowly. "Yet I am certain I would remember working with one so unique as this. Ah, well, it will return to me in time. It always does."

Glancing back again, the doctor caught Yohji's gaze once again, then, when it skittered angrily away from his amused stare to track with outrage down to where his hand lay, the doctor let that hand flatten on Aya's inner thigh. Aya shuddered deeply, and helpless fury mixed with dread ripped through Yohji. What exactly was the bastard up to? The doctor paused a moment before his fingers began to glide steadily higher in little searching sweeps. Aya jerked his hips as far away from the encroaching hand as he could. Which wasn't far at all, given his bonds. The doctor just smiled wider, leaning closer and keeping his hand in place no matter how Aya twisted, his gaze fixed on Yohji even as Aya's struggles grew more urgent, futilely trying to escape the invasive contact.

"Don't touch him!" Yohji snapped at last, unable to stay quiet any longer. Knowing Aya's abhorrence of any kind of excess familiarity... to be bound like this and touched so intimately... unable to prevent it, even to anticipate it... Something furious and wild and only thinly masked by anguished dismay surged through him making his lip curl in a snarl.

"You care deeply about this man I am touching, don't you, Balinese?" Shiroi said, his voice low, his gaze thoughtful. "So possessive - don't bother to deny it, it's clear to see. Interesting... are you lovers?"

Angry heat flamed in Yohji's face; Aya might be blindfolded but he could still hear everything that was said. Shiroi was clearly playing them both, but taking some twisted pleasure in watching him squirm in particular. Yet he couldn't stop himself from rising to the bait. "No! You bastard... get your damn hands off of him!" he answered furiously, tugging wildly at his own restraints, head thrashing against the raised mattress behind him.

"If you are not lovers, then it should not matter to you what I do to him..." The pale, gloved hand slid up the last few inches and cupped Aya's genitals gently, almost tenderly. Aya made an abrupt, strangled sound behind his gag and froze; all struggling stopped. But then, Yohji didn't doubt that any man who had been stripped naked, tied up and blindfolded by an enemy and who then felt someone's hand on their balls would do the same. He knew he likely would. Shiroi smiled faintly, red eyes gleaming as they stared into his own. Yohji's stomach lurched with a strange mixture of dread and shame and outrage, and it suddenly seemed almost as if the violation of Aya's person were happening to him as well.

"Shit.. stop it..." he groaned, "don't touch him... you bastard..."

Indifferent to his protests, Shiroi's hand moved completely over Aya's contracted scrotum and flaccid cock. Yohji could only watch, unable to tear his gaze away, as the doctor slipped a thumb between cock and balls, and lifted his hand just enough to encircle the cock, rolling the soft flesh down gently, almost clinically between his fingers. Yohji could see Aya swallowing hard behind his gag, throat working. He watched the sweat start on the lean body, the tiny tremors that passed through tense muscle. And yet Aya remained almost ominously still save for the faintly unsteady jerking of his stomach as he sucked in quick, shallow breaths through his nose. Shiroi tilted his head to the side to look back at Yohji, his long tail of pale hair slipping down his shoulder to fall across Aya's thighs. Aya jumped violently at the sudden contact, his belly heaving wildly for a moment.

"Tell him how much you want it to be you who is touching him like this." The words were low, sibilant and insistent, Shiroi's voice almost sing-song in its coaxing. "Tell this lovely one that, my friend."

"Wh-what?" Yohji gasped. The doctor's eyes glimmered with avid interest behind his glasses as they met Yohji's appalled stare.

"Tell him how the sight of him bound like this excites you. Tell him how much you want him," the doctor went on, voice husky as his little finger probed down below the wrinkled skin of Aya's scrotum before sweeping up and around the root of his cock to join the rest of his fingers in their grasp. Squeezing the delicate flesh with deliberate intent now, not clinically at all.

"Tell him how much you want your hand where mine is..."

Aya's chin jerked higher, his body bowing as Shiroi began to stroke his cock in earnest. At first gently, and then harder, in long, deliberate strokes that slid a thumb over the head at the end of each. The swordsman shuddered in helpless response, hips shrinking futilely back into the bed, choked gasps of angry denial coming from behind the gag. But direct stimulation was too much for his body to endure and Aya slowly grew hard before his eyes at Shiroi's direction.

"...how much you want to know how he feels in your hand as the blood flows into his erection..."

Yohji could only watch and listen, unable to tear his gaze away. The white hand encircling the pink, blood-flushed cock as it grew until it was standing rigid, the shine of fluid at the tip, soft red hair scant beneath. Beyond it lifted the hard arch of Aya's sculpted body, writhing in denial. A body seen so many times, but only in glimpses; when practicing katas, in the forced intimacy of the trailer, in passing in the always-inadequate bathrooms at their temporary safehouses. Drawing him, always, like a moth to flame. All strength and grace and lethal beauty. A body watched surreptitiously for months, coveted, but never touched... like he longed to touch now... trapped as it was... bound... He felt an eager surge in his own groin that sickened him.

"Tell him these things and perhaps I will release him and question only you."

"You fucking bastard," Yohji gasped as he finally yanked his gaze away, heart pounding wildly in his chest even as his own cock grew steadily harder. Hating himself for it; hating Shiroi more. He glared narrowly at Shiroi, trying not to let his gaze drift back to the steady motion of the doctor's hand. Or listen to the muted, involuntary sounds those motions drew from Aya. But his gaze was drawn inevitably down to see the flash of pre-come shine at the reddened tip only to jerk guiltily away again. The doctor's mouth twisted knowingly, eyes twinkling with avid fascination and he knew there was no way out now. Yohji squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched tightly against the truth. There was no way to win here. No matter how hard he tried to hide, how little he said. Things he'd only dared acknowledge to himself with the feeble excuse of alcohol this sick bastard had somehow picked up on and was skillfully using to crack his defenses. And to crack Aya's...

He heard a strangled groan from Aya. Heard the distinctive sound of hand on flesh, stroking wetly. It tore at him like a knife. How much could Aya endure? A straight beating, without question... but this... not this kind of torture... this intimate assault... he wanted to... had to stop it... Another tiny sound from Aya, muffled by the gag, and Yohji lunged desperately against his own restraints, arms quivering, wrists aching, a panicked feeling he didn't want to name like an ache in his chest.

"Yes, I want him!" Yohji's voice broke, shattering on the words at first and then growing stronger until he was almost shouting, yanking hard on his wrists and welcoming the pain of abraded skin. "Yes, damn you, seeing him tied up turns me on! I want him... I want to touch him like that... I want to fuck him... gods forgive me... There! Shiroi... you bastard... Are you happy? Now stop it!"

A slow, satisfied smile curved across the eerie face and suddenly the doctor bent down low over Aya's chest, his tail of white hair trailing across shuddering flesh - but the gloved hand did not stop moving. Instead, Shiroi looked almost tenderly down at the raised chin, the bobbing throat, the obscured face beneath blindfold and gag. Sweat had matted strands of the red hair to damp skin, Yohji noted as he could only stare at Aya, curses and demands backing up in his suddenly tight throat. There was a trickle of blood running down the pale chin from beneath the gag. The sound of desperate, muffled gasps for breath escaped from beneath it as well.

"Now you know," Shiroi said to Aya, his hand moving faster. "From his own lips, as I promised you... you know exactly how he wants you."

"What are you saying? Shut up! Stop, you sick bastard! Stop it!" Yohji shouted, now frantic and lunging desperately against his own bonds. The hospital bed shook and rattled loudly with his effort. The strap across his chest cut into his skin cruelly but he barely felt it. His gaze was fixed on Aya... Aya who was trapped with that demonic doctor bending over him, that slender hand moving relentlessly on his cock.

"I'll remember this..." Yohji snarled at Shiroi in between curses. "I'll fucking cut your damn hand off for touching him like that you sick freaking pervert! I said what you wanted, now, god damn it, leave him alone!"

"So possessive, isn't he? But that's why you came back for him, ne?" Shiroi continued, oblivious to Yohji's rage, red gaze flickering over Aya's face alone as it flushed beneath the bindings. "Because you know this... and you want him to own you..." The red head began to roll wildly back and forth on the mattress. In denial... in fury... just trying to escape the insidious, damning, patently false words... yet Yohji now could only listen too, eyes wide, heart racing, a sickly eager feeling lodged in his gut warring with the outrage. "And you want him to bind you like this and hold you down and take the terrible burden of responsibility away..."

Yohji roared his outrage as Aya made a desperate, choking sound under the gag, head straining away even as Shiroi worked him. Yohji threw himself against his restraints again, blind to reason, to prudence. Knowing only that he had to stop it; arms twisted wildly until wrists were raw. To no avail. Furious and helpless, he almost didn't notice when the doctor reached into the pocket of his lab coat with his free hand and pulled out a small jar. Shiroi was still talking to the bound man, but Yohji couldn't hear the words over his own spewed curses, the futile clattering of his restraints. Aya was arching up, body as taut as wire as Shiroi jerked him off faster and faster. And then there was a hard shudder and the doctor deftly slipped the jar over the end of Aya's cock just as he came, spurting helplessly into the glass.

"Bastard! What the hell are you doing?!" Yohji shouted in sudden shock.

But it was clear to him now that the doctor was collecting a sample. Of Aya's semen. But why? Gritting his teeth, breath whistling through them sharply from his exertions, Yohji could only glare as the doctor turned away from the bed, releasing Aya's cock almost absently now even as he held the jar up before him, examining the contents critically. Shiroi slipped a lid out of his pocket and secured it over the jar. Then he gave Yohji a sidelong glance, a smugly pleased smile on his face.

"I do so thank you for your able assistance, Balinese," the doctor said and gave him a mocking inclination of his head. Yohji gathered what little moisture he had in his mouth and spat at him, fury spiking when the projectile fell short. The doctor just raised an admonishing brow at him before moving away from him, circling the bed that held Aya. There was another green hospital-style curtain beyond the bed that the doctor disappeared behind. Yohji heard a door open, then the brief hiss of an auto-closing mechanism before the door thunked softly closed behind the doctor.

"Shit. That fucking bastard," Yohji cursed, glaring after the doctor for a moment. Suddenly reluctant to lower his gaze to look at Aya again in the other bed. What could he say to him? Nothing. But he still felt driven to try.

"Ay - Abyssinian," he called, correcting himself mid-word. Shiroi was a tricky bastard. He wouldn't put it past the sick fuck to bug the room to listen in when they thought they were alone. Particularly after... Then he stopped, throat thick, mind going blank. What could he say?

Aya was lying relatively still again, his face turned away, his stomach still jerking with rapidly drawn breaths. It had to be hard for him to breathe only through his nose, the gag making it so much more difficult to recover his breath after... Yohji broke that thought off, not wanting to remember and letting his indignation flare in its stead. To be manipulated like that... what the hell did Shiroi want with that kind of sample? Aya needed to know what had happened - why he had been used that way. Maybe... maybe it would help. He deliberately ignored thinking about the words Shiroi had uttered just before Aya climaxed. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"He was taking a... a sample," he said as calmly as he could manage. Watched Aya react to his voice, the obscured face turning toward him slightly, but not facing him fully. Yet he knew Aya was listening. "He used a sterile jar and gloves. I think he took blood while we were out. I've got a bandage inside my elbow." He glanced over Aya's stretched arms for confirmation. Found it. "You do too."

Aya couldn't answer him but he could see the tension growing in his body again. Yohji dragged his gaze up to Aya's face when he found it wandering down the lean, pale chest toward the concave belly and... lower. Felt the heat rush into his own face again, the self-disgust wash through him when he realized he was still hard. What did that make him then? He was even more twisted than Shiroi if he got off on watching his friend's humiliation. And yet...

"We'll get out of here and we'll get that sick bastard when we do it," he vowed grimly, falling back against the bed and forcing his eyes closed. Forcing his mind to silence. Not letting himself think for a time. Trying to ignore the throb in his groin, he focused on the aches of the rest of his body instead. On the raw places he'd scraped on his chest and his wrists when he'd fought his bonds - trying to get free to stop that travesty of desire. He hissed in a breath. Those small pains suddenly became a welcome distraction... but they were an inadequate punishment.

He couldn't keep his eyes closed for long. Couldn't bear to leave them both so vulnerable, and yet once they were open his gaze slid inevitably to Aya. He fought it for a time, tried to keep his eyes on the red hair, the bloody chin, but they insisted on drifting down. Until he found himself guiltily devouring the display spread out beside him. Aya was creamy pale skin stretched over lean muscle, limbs long and elegant. There was surprising strength in that slender body, as Yohji well knew. It was a swordsman's form, honed by an iron will that had no care for the incidental beauty it produced. The man within had little awareness of the dark aura of sensuality that came with every motion, every action. Powerful. Graceful. Controlled.

And now bound, with leather hard over his mouth. Over his eyes. On his limbs, holding him to the bed. Aya had been rendered vulnerable. Defenseless. Yohji's pulse sped up as guilty memory surged and he yanked his gaze away again at last. He bit his lip, anguished and heart-sick that something in him found true excitement in those facts. He was a bastard for that, even though he knew he'd had thoughts along these lines about Aya long before Shiroi came along. Especially because of that, guilt prodded him to admit. But how had the doctor known?

"Those things I said..." he said, the guilt sharpening, tearing at him inside for simply not being able to stop looking at Aya even though Aya couldn't know that he was. Couldn't see the gleam of lust he knew was in his eyes. That Shiroi had seen long before. "I had to. I'm sorry."

The bound head turned toward him slightly, chin rising. Aya swallowed hard, throat working, body tensing a moment before subsiding into a posture that was simply less tense and not truly relaxed. Yohji frowned, uncertain how to interpret that.

"You should rest. I'll keep watch, okay? "

Aya's head jerked aside in a clear rejection. Yohji sighed.

"Who knows when that sicko will come back, ne? We need to be ready for anything."

The red head jerked aside again and Yohji went silent, words failing him at the sight of that averted head. The uneasy wait began.

- - on to part 2 - -