Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ White Desires ❯ Part 2 ( Chapter 2 )

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

White Desires (2/2)

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

Time passed slowly, unmeasured but felt in every uneasy beat of his heart. Yohji examined the room as thoroughly as he could from his bed in an effort to keep himself distracted. There were no windows; the walls were simple concrete painted hospital-white, the floor was covered with gray faux-tile patterned linoleum. Green curtains on ceiling tracks and tall rolling tables, IV racks, pipes that ended in gas valves, and multiple power plugs as well as other odd electrical equipment ran openly along the walls; all things that could make up an ordinary hospital room. There was a sink on the wall opposite the single door and a glass-front cabinet filled with the odds and ends one might expect to find in a medical clinic; bandages, bottles of antiseptic, syringes, brightly labeled drugs. It was only moderately warm in there. Heat came into the room through a narrow duct in the ceiling.

Shiroi had not returned immediately to torment them again, as he'd half expected. But then thugs hadn't been sent in to haul them off and beat hell out of them either, which was something else he'd half expected. He wondered if those were good signs or not.

Aya eventually fell into a light, uneasy doze. He succumbed either from the drugs still in his system, the passing of adrenaline or simply from boredom; Yohji couldn't tell. But he slept with his face turned toward Yohji, red bangs falling down over the blindfold, the lean body tense even in sleep.

Yohji lay with his head turned toward his companion as well, watching over him as he'd promised. And tried not to stare at his partner's exposed body. Tried to keep his mind from circling endlessly around the images of what had happened earlier too, and failed miserably. He kept seeing flashes of Aya arching up against his bonds, cock hard, body taut. First shuddering in denial, in rejection but ultimately coming - but under the influence of Shiroi's insistent touch or his insidious words... Or both?

A guilty thrill went through him. Because the words Shiroi had used had been about him - about Yohji. About something Aya longed for. And given how adroitly Shiroi had managed to get into his own head, Yohji had to wonder just how much truth there had been in what Shiroi had taunted Aya about.

Did Aya want him?

The idea tormented him, because he already felt as if he'd lusted in secret for the redhead forever. Ever since that moonless night nearly three years ago when he bound the other man in wire for Birman's recruiting, at least. Long before he had even known his name.

He remembered the heat he had sensed in the deadly flash of the stranger's eyes, the furious struggle against the inevitability of the wire. He had gazed, entranced, on that deep red hair illuminated by a distant streetlight, on the lean body that had moved with fluid, deadly grace before he trapped it like a moth in a spider's web, on the face graven like a medieval angel's, stern and remote and yet filled with righteous fury for their interference in his vengeance.

The intensity of his response to this vision had been like nothing he'd ever known before. Hot. Urgent. Distracting. He'd almost missed Birman's order to release the redhead, so reluctant had he been to do so. Only Ken's punch in the arm had clued him in and Weiß had left the stranger crouching in shadow alone to contemplate Birman's harsh ultimatum: join Weiß or become their target.

Yohji had long known he was uncomfortably bisexual. It was just one more reason to so vocally disdain men aside from his self-imposed role as woman's protector. And while he'd had urges to bed men before - had even acted on one or two despite his unease over his orientation - none had been so strong as that instant draw he had felt for that red-haired stranger trapped in his wire. Attraction. Chemistry. Lust. He had hesitated then to name it, knowing only that it was something raw and primal and hungry. Borderline obsession. But what had alarmed him most, later when he was honest with himself in the depth of the night, was that not even Asuka had stirred feelings like the ones fanned to life inside him in that breathless moment when every instant of this beautiful stranger's mental struggle had been felt through the wire as if through his own nerves, heady and exotic.

The wire could be intimate, when he used it that way. Like a temporary connection to the mind of his captives, letting him, much like a fisherman, respond deftly to the actions of his prey.

Yet as many as had died on his wire, for some reason Aya's conflict had sung through it to him that night, calling to him seductively, making him long to possess the other man. He had sensed every minute change in his captive's emotions as Birman talked to him. He hadn't heard a word of their conversation, but had instead felt it as first outrage, then bitter comprehension and helpless shock swept through that proud body. Had felt the exquisite instant of surrender vibrate through the wires and into his own flesh when Aya joined Weiß in spirit if not yet in word; felt the instant that entrancing fire was bound to a new purpose and buried beneath icy control. He had felt connected to him ever since, body aching to possess the other man's, wanting to free that leashed, secret passion himself. Someday. Somehow. But he had held little hope.

Aya had sealed his fire away too thoroughly in that moment. It was an Ice Prince who appeared at the Koneko to join Weiß, dispassionate and focused and daunting.

As many women as Yohji had dated and brought around the shop and house into Aya's range, he'd never seen the other man show anything other than an icily polite interest in any of them - or in any female aside from his sister. Even Sakura had turned out to be just a poor replacement for the then-comatose girl. Yet he'd never seen Aya show interest in or even awareness of any male either - unless their name was Takatori. His passion had seemed to have been subsumed utterly into his thirst for revenge. But for nearly a year now Takatori had been gone and even his sister had finally been awakened and was safe. Yet for Aya nothing seemed to have changed. If anything, the ice had thickened, burying the fire further, as the brutal mission with General Powell had proved. The punch in the face Aya had given him to convince Powell they had fallen for his lies delivered through Manx had held nothing back.

He remembered crouching on the floor of the trailer in that instant, wiping blood away from his throbbing mouth and looking up at Aya from beneath his disheveled bangs, promising revenge with his gaze even as he spoke words of acceptance for their observer's benefit. Watching Aya closely, he had sworn he had seen a flare of answering heat beneath the ice in the violet eyes; it had only fanned his secret desire.

Yet that had been weeks ago. Weeks of watching Aya ignore him after that hellacious mission ended. Weeks of dangerous frustration that led him to use any flimsy excuse to touch or brush against the other man, hoping to annoy him into heated reaction again. But nothing worked. Aya glared coldly. Aya snarled. But there was no violence again. No heat. Which meant, for Yohji, weeks of fucking anyone he could pick up - even finally a man, once - in an effort to purge himself of what seemed to be a futile obsession. But the raw, re-awakened yearning had yet to fade, no matter how debauched he became, and he hated himself for being unable to stop wanting Aya even after all this time. He never would learn, would he? It could never be what he wanted. He'd lectured himself time and time again that Aya wasn't interested in anyone at all... much less him. And both of them were laden with too much bitterness, too much guilt, too much regret, he told himself, to find any kind of true connection beyond the enforced intimacy of Weiß and so he had once more tried to bury his lust deep.

Now there was this mission... their capture - soon to be followed by their lingering deaths, no doubt. But in spite of the peril, when he had first seen Aya bound in Shiroi's playroom, artfully displayed and hanging so still in his bonds as if submitting to fate completely - exactly like that instant so long ago - Yohji had felt a terrible sense of satisfaction fill him. It had lingered there despite everything he'd tried to do to stifle it, stirring beneath the drive to escape, fueling the reckless disregard for his own safety that had prompted him to mouth back to Shiroi.

Somehow Shiroi had seen and understood Yohji's secret longings, his guilty fantasies. But the taunts the doctor made to Aya had hinted at something else... something about Aya's own desires. He scarcely dared remember Shiroi's words, afraid they were only another cruel deception, a taunt aimed at him and not Aya. Yet Aya had come after that... hard, arching in denial... but releasing at last. Yohji's breath came short again, his body stirring as reckless implications percolated through the depths of his mind.

Just what had Shiroi done to Aya before he was brought in to the playroom too? How long had he questioned him before drugging him? And why the elaborate display? Who's benefit had it really been for...?

Yohji started and his thoughts scattered as he heard the door hiss softly open at last. He lifted his head to stare at the curtain that concealed it from immediate view, carefully blanking his expression and trying hard to stifle his awareness of Aya lying so vulnerably beyond, not wanting to give Shiroi any more weapons to use against them if he could help it. There was a quiet rattling sound beyond the curtain, a shuffling of feet, then after a moment a woman emerged from behind it pushing a small cart laden with various medical items. He tried to ignore the vaguely humiliating wave of relief he felt that it wasn't Shiroi - yet.

The woman who entered was older, grim-faced and dressed as a nurse. Maybe they had actually been transported to a real hospital of some kind, Yohji thought even as he forced himself to smile at her, flashing all the charm he could muster. She rebuffed his best effort with a flat stare, clearly unimpressed and not disconcerted at all by the fact that there were two mostly naked men tied up here. The wheels of the cart squeaked when she turned it further into the room, and Aya jerked awake on the other bed, arching up violently against his bonds. The woman ignored him other than a quick glance to make certain he was secure as she guided the cart into the gap between their beds.

"It's okay," Yohji called to him quietly. "It's a nurse." Aya subsided into wary stillness at his reassurance, but his body remained tense, muscles flexing.

Then the 'nurse' reached into a box on the cart and pulled out a large black handgun. She pointedly and competently released the safety and Yohji cursed under his breath, gaze flashing to her unsmiling face as she walked over and pressed the mouth of the pistol against his temple, her finger dauntingly steady on the trigger. She dropped a plastic urinal in his lap with the other hand, then, after a level stare, deftly unbuckled the restraint on the wrist closest to her.

Well, that was certainly clear, he thought, blanching slightly. After another quick glance at the woman's impassive face, Yohji unzipped his pants and took fumbling, one-handed advantage of the opportunity to relieve himself. He briefly considered flinging the contents at her when he was done but the distinct narrowing of her eyes stopped him. That and the pistol that pressed briefly harder to his head. Not an original idea, that one - apparently.

Without bothering to zip up, Yohji held the urinal up for her with a flourish and a grin, even going so far as to wink saucily at her. She frowned forbiddingly at him for a moment, then finally took the jug, reaching across herself to set it on the table beside the bed.

And his chance appeared.

In the fraction of a second while her attention was divided, he snaked his hand up with the speed that so often shocked his opponents and caught her wrist, driving it up and forcing the gun away from his head in one swift motion.

The angry astonishment on her face was almost comical. Apparently Shiroi's victims were usually far more docile by this time. The urinal fell to the floor beside them in a loud clatter, the pungent scent filling the room even as the gun went off above him. He slammed her wrist down brutally hard on the bar of the bed beside him before she could get off another shot. She cried out, a sharp sound of pain, and the pistol tumbled dangerously free into his lap. But she kept her head despite the pain; her other hand was already clawing desperately after the weapon. Snarling, he yanked her arm across his body, sprawling her onto the bed, aided unexpectedly when her scrambling feet slipped in the piss on the floor. He grinned wolfishly. Letting her wrist go, he chopped the side of his hand down hard on her neck, right beneath the ear, and had the satisfaction of feeling her go limp atop him.

Panting hard, blood thundering in his ears, he scrambled to free first his other hand and then his chest of the confining straps. He rolled the unconscious woman off his legs and the bed without another thought, her body crashing to the floor beside him. The gun slid reassuringly into his hand as he darted a wary look toward the door. Wondering if there was anyone outside to hear the shot. Wondering if the room was monitored or not after all. No one had burst through the door yet, but all this had taken just a few seconds. He needed to keep moving, or the advantage of surprise would be lost.

Yohji clawed his ankles free, then sprang off the bed. Cursed when he too slipped to one knee in the puddle of his own urine, then staggered upright and over to Aya's bedside. The other man was lying unnaturally still, poised and listening. Probably wondering what the hell had just happened.

"It's me," Yohji said reassuringly as he put his hand briefly on Aya's shoulder. "Got the drop on her." He moved his hand down to the chest strap, fingers brushing accidentally across a pale nipple peaked by exposure. His hand fumbled on the buckle as a shock of something - adrenaline; that was all it could be - flowed through him.

"Let's go, Aya," he muttered, taking a precious second to steady his shaking hand before reaching for the wrist restraints. There was no time for these reactions now, he savagely berated his libido, and some measure of control restored, he had both of the other man's hands free within moments; noting with a frown in passing the raw, nearly bloody state of Aya's wrists beneath. He'd fought hard. Aya's hands fell immediately to his own head, tearing shakily at the blindfold, so Yohji moved down to deal with the ankle restraints, forcing himself to keep one eye on the doorway. Hours of staring at Aya's nude body aside, he had to focus on getting them both out of there alive now.

Once he had Aya's legs freed, Yohji darted around the bed and threw aside the curtain to reach the door, plastering himself to the wall beside it, listening intently for any sounds approaching from outside. He heard nothing, frowning darkly at the lack. Far too easy so far. He took a quick moment to tuck himself back inside his pants and zip up, gaze rising to check on Aya.

The swordsman was still on the bed, but sitting up at least, the blindfold already gone. Unsteady fingers were tearing at the gag now. He could see a definite wildness in the violet eyes - they were dilated and watering, blinking furiously against the light. Shit. Aya would take a minute or two to adjust, most likely. Plus he was stark naked and weaponless.

Swallowing hard and realizing there wasn't anything he could do about those two issues right away, Yohji turned his attention back to the door and pulled it open slightly the better to listen, gun at the ready in case there was someone just outside. But there was no one and nothing. He dared open it wide enough then to glance out. Saw an empty corridor that stretched for about half a dozen meters in either direction, more doors opening off it on both sides. It looked far more basement-like out there than hospital-like. Maybe they were still in the same building after all, he speculated. That would help; if they could make it to familiar parts of the complex they could follow one of the alternate escape routes they'd worked out for the mission. He frowned and scanned the hall quickly again. There was an elevator door at one end and a stairwell at the other marked with a glowing green exit sign. Speed or mobility? It was no contest, really.

"Aya?" he called softly back into the room, not taking his attention away from the hall. He heard a heavy thud, followed by a rattling behind him and glanced back in alarm to see the swordsman leaning heavily on the nurse's cart. He had apparently stumbled when he climbed off the bed, catching himself on it. In between cautious glances down the hall, Yohji watched Aya paw clumsily through the cart. After a moment of searching, the grim-faced redhead found a cloth hospital gown. Not bothering to put it on properly, Aya simply tied the thin fabric around his hips before he stumbled over toward the glass-front cabinet by the sink at the back of the room. He stepped over the nurse's body without more than a quick glance down to make certain she was still unconscious.

"What are you doing?" Yohji hissed.

"Weapon," the other man said, his voice a hoarse rasp as he reached for the cabinet door.

"The hall's empty... no alarm... Let's go," he called urgently. Aya's head swiveled around, and the other man fixed him with a wild, tormented stare. Fighting back a spurt of answering anxiety, Yohji lifted his hand, waggling the gun significantly as he held his gaze. "This'll have to do. C'mon."

He could see something raw and hot and wounded lurking in those violet depths. Not something he was used to seeing in Aya's eyes. The other man had red lines on his face from both the blindfold and the gag. The trickle of dried blood from where he'd bitten himself earlier still marked his chin. He was haggard and unsteady looking, still suffering aftereffects of the drug Shiroi had given him. Or maybe it was just the aftereffects of what had happened earlier... As the memory flashed through Yohji's mind, Aya's lids flickered down, breaking the brief lock.

But Aya came toward him then, moving without any of his usual grace, a hand braced against the wall to support himself as he walked, eyes now doubly hidden behind the fall of ragged bangs.

"You okay?" Yohji asked him, the words reflex. Stupid and useless. He knew Aya wasn't okay. He was pretty far from okay himself right then too, acting on desperate instinct and training. Of course, Aya didn't answer. The lean form simply stopped beside him, the now impassive face averted.

"Let's go."

The words were cold and distant, deflecting his concern. No, now was definitely not the time to talk. Now was the time to get as fucking far away from Shiroi as fast as they could. Yohji nodded and pulled the door wide. He stepped out into the hall, sharply aware of Aya as a silent presence behind him, and tried to be ready for anything.

The stairs turned out to be a potential trap, but one he spotted as soon as he passed through the door.

"Shit! They're key-coded from the inside!" He caught the heavy door before it could close behind them, reaching across Aya to do so. The redhead flinched away from his encroaching arm even as Yohji pointed at the pad installed beside the door with the gun in his other hand.

"Do you remember any codes for the mission?" Yohji asked, mostly ignoring Aya's flinch, turning his frown toward the door instead.

"Yes."

"Might not be the same building - "

Icy violet eyes fixed on him from beneath ragged bangs, silencing him. "Then you can shoot out the lock." Aya ducked beneath his arm, a sleek shoulder brushing against Yohji's own bare chest as he did so. Yohji shivered, torn between annoyance and a kind of giddy satisfaction as he stared after him. Aya was already starting up the stairs, moving awkwardly, with a heaviness and deliberation to his movements that was starting to worry him. With a curse for stubborn independent bastards muttered under his breath, Yohji let the door swing closed behind him before he followed that unsteady form up the steps. The door locked with an audible click, sealing them in. Now the only way they could go was up. He followed Aya.

After climbing just one flight, it was clear Aya was still suffering badly from the effects of the drugs Shiroi had given him. He kept clutching the railing to steady himself, mouth held in a grim line, and placing his feet on each step with exaggerated care, almost as if he thought they might move out from under him. Mentally Yohji cursed Shiroi as he watched the other struggle through it, back stiff with pride and determination. He knew Aya wouldn't be much use in a fight in this condition - but at least he didn't have to carry him. Despite the precariousness of their freedom and the danger of imminent discovery of their escape, a surge of heat swept through him at the very idea of holding Aya in his arms. And Yohji couldn't stay behind the other man for an instant longer. Not with the way muscular thighs and lean hips shifted under the makeshift sarong made only from a thin patient's robe as Aya climbed the stairs ahead of him. The covering didn't leave much to Yohji's imagination - not when he'd already had plenty of time to memorize what lay beneath it in the hours before.

With an inward groan, Yohji brushed past Aya, taking the steps two at a time, bare feet slapping loudly on the concrete steps. "I've got the gun - I'll scout ahead." Any concern he expressed would likely be smacked down just as hard as he would be if Aya caught a glimpse of the lust in his eyes, he knew. There were no convenient women around to pawn his interest off on here; no way to convince Aya the wanting could be for anyone other than him.

He kept a half a flight between them, not wanting to get too far away from Aya, but listening for signs of discovery. They climbed four more flights until the sign beside the door said 'B1'. Logically, the next level should be ground level, but then Yohji didn't remember the building plans they'd reviewed for the mission showing so many basement levels either. When he reached the landing, he waited for Aya to catch up to him.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly, gesturing around. The sign by the door said 'B' alone and the stairs ended abruptly beyond it in what looked like a structural wall and not just a make-shift barrier. This door was heavier than the ones below too, but still fitted with a keypad. He'd already tried the handle and found it locked. "We still in the same building? I was out cold... do you remember being transported?"

After a quick look around the small space, Aya frowned and shook his head. "No, we weren't taken far - mostly by elevator. This has to be somewhere in the same..." He trailed off suddenly and half fell back against the wall beside the keypad, head tilting back to thump against the wall, eyes clamping closed. He wasn't breathing overly hard, but there was a haggard air about him and a tremble in his limbs that made it look as if he might need to lean against that wall to keep from slipping to the ground. It wasn't like Aya, who he had seen press on with missions before despite major wounds.

Worried, Yohji tried to clear his throat of an odd tightness by swallowing hard. "Think the same codes will work then?"

Aya didn't respond, taking slow, deep breaths instead. The skin around his closed eyes was so shadowed it appeared bruised. He looked drained. Concern flared higher, and Yohji couldn't seem to stop the hand that reached out toward the redhead He managed to divert it at the last second, bracing it against the wall beside Aya's shoulder instead of touching the other man. There was no reaction to his approach, not even a flinch Then he pressed his luck by leaning closer, staring down at Aya's weary face. Fascinated. Drawn. He knew that face so well, after all the months spent watching him on the sly, yet he still knew so little of the true man behind it. He found himself easing even closer. The draw was almost too much to resist now that a crack had been made in the wall of ice between them, letting him catch a glimpse of something he'd never actually considered possible before. Hope stirred, unfamiliar and hesitant.

"You're still fucked up." His voice came out low and caressing, not quite the businesslike tone he had intended. He was close enough that the exhalation of breath with his words stirred an eartail against the pale cheek.

"Hn," was all Aya said, opening one eye just enough to glare at him briefly for the utter obviousness of his observation before closing it again. Yohji felt as if they were suspended in an instant of infinite potential, his pulse surging faster suddenly as he stared down at the other man. Aya hadn't objected to his closeness, didn't try to shove him away, but instead let out a slow, shuddering breath, jaw bunching as he struggled to master his drug-impaired body. It didn't seem to work too well; he was still trembling heavily, hands splayed against the cold concrete behind him. Yohji frowned down at him, gaze tracking over the strained face, sorely tempted to reach out and scrub the thin line of dried blood off Aya's chin. He barely restrained himself.

"What the hell did that bastard give you?" he murmured, now fighting an urge to stroke the tumbled bangs back from those dark-circled eyes. Aware that he was searching for any thin excuse to touch what had been so long thought unobtainable. But the door of possibility had finally been opened...

Aya surprised him by actually answering after releasing another weary sound. "Partly a muscle relaxant, I think, with something to alter equilibrium." Aya's head rolled a little against the wall as he turned toward him, eyes still closed. It was a small move, almost unconscious, he thought, but the revelation burned through him suddenly that Aya trusted him. In his weakness he hadn't pushed him away - had actually turned toward him.

"Shit, you're dizzy too? Why didn't you tell me?" Aya's eyes snapped open at that and he finally did push away from him, now glaring fiercely. He should have known any implication of failure would prompt this kind of reaction. Aya's escape was ruined, however, when his uncooperative body stumbled and he fell against Yohji's instead. Skin to skin, heat spread instantly between them as Yohji caught him and steadied him against his chest. He could feel the little tremors in Aya's muscles as he half-slumped against him for one breathless moment.

"I can stand," Aya ground out, finding his balance again.

"Barely," Yohji snapped back, staring down into wary violet eyes that swiftly went shuttered and icy. "You can't fight, that's for sure."

"Let go of me, Kudoh," Aya snarled, shoving at Yohji's shoulder as he tried to twist away again, a move that should have been graceful and smooth but instead sent him stumbling heavily against the wall when Yohji released him without a struggle. He glared at Yohji from under sweat-spiked hair for a moment as if accusing him of malice. Yohji met the look as impassively as he was able, hoping that Aya wouldn't look down. His body had reacted to the touch of Aya's in a rather alarming and immediate way. He was as hard as a rock and glad he had pants to partially hide it at least. Tension snapped in the air between them.

Aya, however, seemed content to just glare into his face, the look growing slowly more poisonous before he turned to the keypad beside him, pointedly snubbing him. "I'll manage," he said at last. "You didn't kill that woman; she could raise the alarm any time now." Bracing a forearm against the wall, he raised a visibly trembling hand to the pad, clearly trying to get it under control before he attempted to enter a code. When his hand just continued to waver, fingers swaying above the keys, he clenched it into a fist and rammed it into the wall beside the door in frustration. Blood flew as knuckles split on concrete.

"Aya! Shit!"

Yohji stepped up to him and caught his arm before he could do it again, dragging the clumsily resisting man away from the wall and the keypad.

"Shit! Just relax! It'll wear off eventually, Aya... oh hell!"

Aya was snarling again as he swung at him with the other arm. Yohji dodged it by yanking the shorter man against him roughly by his upper arms, drawing him between braced legs. There were some advantages to height, after all. Aya's head tilted back and violet eyes chill with frustrated anger snapped up to meet his own too-wide gaze.

Then Aya went still and Yohji forgot to breathe in a moment of shocking clarity.

There was no hiding his arousal now. Blood throbbed wildly in Yohji's throat, roared in his ears, pulsed in his groin. He let one arm slide down and locked it around Aya's waist, drawing them closer together without further thought. He was lost in the warmth of Aya's bare skin against his; sensation ripped through him like electric current in a moment charged with lust, anxiety and the anticipation of violence.

"No," Aya said, mouth grim, face gone hard. Yohji felt his lips twist up at one corner in what couldn't be a pretty smile. Something dark and hungry was moving behind his own narrowing gaze now. He could feel it. Along with the need clawing at his throat.

"Oh yes," he countered before leaning down enough to cover Aya's lips with his own. They were surprisingly warm. Soft. And for a fleeting instant they stayed that way, heady and yielding. Then sharp teeth snapped shut just catching the inside of his lip, drawing blood. He jerked back, hissing, tongue swiping out automatically to catch the blood as Aya glared savagely at him.

"What did Shiroi give you?" Aya snarled, struggling awkwardly to break his hold but too uncoordinated to succeed immediately. Long-denied desire surged through Yohji wiping out all other concerns. He was holding Aya at last. Yohji shoved him back, roughly pressing Aya's shoulders into the wall, looming over him as he rolled his hips up against Aya's. No restraint now. Thigh slid against thigh in blissful friction. He bit back a small groan and buried his face against the side of Aya's head, breathing in the other man's scent tinged with traces of sweat and blood and leather.

"Nothing... a sedative..." he said against pale flesh. "Aya... I lied before... about not wanting you..."

Aya stilled at his words, going wire-tense. He ran a hand down Aya's side, brushing it against the thin fabric wrapped around his waist. It wouldn't take much to strip it away, he thought, mind hazy with anticipation and need, remembered images a torment. Aya strained away from him, trying to twist out of his hold but only succeeded in pressing their thighs tighter, one of Aya's slipping between his own. His cock felt like a hot iron bar pressed between them, throbbing and urgent, while Aya's was only half hard. It was a minor concern, lost in the moment as he rocked his hips against Aya's again and again, savoring the feel of him. He turned his face further into Aya's neck under the silky eartail, opened his mouth over the soft skin beneath his ear and sucked on it gently. Aya arched away, hands clutching, trying to wedge between them. Yohji persisted, humming against the pale flesh, feeling shivers wrack the body in his arms.

"There's no time for this," Aya spat, hoarse and furious.

"You're right," Yohji said as he reluctantly drew back only a few inches, need a demon on his shoulder urging him on despite the deadly fury in Aya's eyes, the precariousness of their freedom. His own hot gaze flickered between Aya's mouth and his eyes. "But let me kiss you once... properly... then give me the code and I'll enter it."

Violet eyes narrowed, answering heat flaring in their depths at last. A breathless few seconds passed, then, to his shock Aya reached up and grabbed his head with both hands, clenching his fingers painfully in the long strands of hair at the base of his neck.

"Then make sure to get it right, fool," Aya said before surging up to meet him, pulling Yohji's head down at the same time. Mouth met mouth in an explosion of searing fire. Hot, open, avid. Tongues tangling in wet heat, lips sliding over lips, first hard then soft, accented with the dangerous brush of teeth, the tang of his own blood. Yohji groaned as he sank down into the embrace, tasting everything Aya for endless, intoxicating moments.

When they finally broke apart he stared into Aya's eyes, drinking in the dangerous fire that flared there beneath heavy lids. The other man turned his head away after that one long instant, hands sliding out of Yohji's hair to fall down limp at his sides as if all his strength had drained away.

Yohji leaned back toward his mouth eagerly, but stopped when Aya rattled off a string of numbers, his eyes sliding closed wearily.

Yohji blinked at him stupidly through a haze of lust. "What's that?"

"The stairwell security code."

"Fuck that..." Yohji snarled, diving down to catch Aya's mouth again. But the other man was having none of it now, wrenching his face away so that Yohji's lips caught his jaw instead, an arm wedged firmly between their bodies to keep him off.

"We have to go - now."

Somehow reason prevailed over his hormones. He knew Aya was right. This was not the time, despite the fire running through his veins, but it was likely only the fact that Aya had initiated the kiss that convinced him to control himself now. Hope was a heady thing. Yohji stepped back, running a steadying hand through his hair as he mentally cursed his own weakness for the other man.

"Give me that code again," he muttered. After shooting him a dark glare, Aya repeated the string of numbers. Yohji entered them into the keypad carefully. They both seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the result.

To their mutual relief, the door lock clicked free. Yohji opened the door just enough to keep it from locking itself again, looking over his shoulder at Aya. The violet gaze met his warily.

"Too easy," he said.

Aya nodded once, frowned in agreement. "Not like we have other options."

"No," Yohji said grimly, raising the gun and releasing the safety on the automatic with his thumb. Then Yohji eased the door open, peering cautiously beyond.

The heavy door from the stairs led into a small room that looked like a utility closet of some kind. Fortunately, there were no guards. They could see another door on the far side that didn't seem to have a keypad connected to it. Piled on one side were boxes, on the other, a collection of cleaning equipment, including a heavy-duty metal-handled push broom. Aya's eyes narrowed at the sight of it. He moved over to the broom, picked it up and unscrewed the broom-head from the handle, then he gave the handle an experimental swing, testing both it and himself. He didn't fall over, but it was close. But armed again, he seemed a little steadier, if definitely not up to full speed. Yohji shot him a wary glance as he crossed to the far door. After a moment, Aya moved over to join him, giving him a look out of the corner of his eyes.

"Using that code may have triggered an alarm somewhere," Aya observed grimly. Yohji nodded, his hand already on the other doorknob. Aya held the broom handle ahead of him in both hands, like a bizarre sword.

"Then we need to hurry. Ready?" Aya nodded and Yohji pulled the door open. Beyond the closet door was one of the basement levels that he thought he recognized from mission reconnaissance. Aya sidled out beside him, both of them looking opposite directions down the hall. Clear. For the moment.

"Is this the west side?" Yohji hissed at his partner. Aya just frowned, shaking his head to indicate he was unsure. "I think it is," Yohji went on, frowning down the hallway. "The stairs should be around this corner. Two levels up, then we're at ground floor again."

"Hn."

"You okay?"

"Stop asking that. Let's go."

Yohji had taken only a few steps forward, Aya on his heels, when a bulky man in a dark suit came around the corner ahead of them. Yohji spotted the gun in the thug's hand even as he snapped up his own gun and fired at the man. The sound of the shot was loud in the hall, as was the crash as the body hit the floor. They saw the flash of a second man whipping out of sight back around the corner, heard shouts of alarm echo down the hallway from more men on the way.

"Damn it!" Yohji snarled, spinning around and catching Aya's arm, yanking him along with him back the other way. The redhead stumbled beside him, still nowhere near as agile as usual and stuck with a close-quarter weapon against guns. Yohji scanned ahead desperately. There wasn't any cover in the empty hall and it was suicide to go back in the way they'd come up - they'd be trapped for sure. But there wasn't an alcove or another bend in the hall for at least ten meters - too far if the hired guns got their courage back.

"Run!" He shoved Aya ahead of him then spun back around, sending another bullet toward the bend in the hall to keep the thugs at bay for a few precious moments longer.

Aya ran. He could just hear the pounding of his bare feet on the floor above the shouts of their pursuers. Yohji ducked into the utility closet doorway, using it as scant cover as he watched the far end of the hall, covering Aya's escape. A head poked out low around that far corner, trying to place them and he fired at it, having expected something like that. The head jerked back. Angry shouts and vile curses rewarded him, but he didn't think he'd hit the second man. Too bad.

"Balinese!"

Yohji risked a look back over his shoulder, gun still leveled on the corner where the dead man lay. Aya had made it to the far end of the hall, and was leaning heavily against the wall, chest heaving as he glared back at him.

Yohji frowned, alarmed at Aya's hesitation. "What are you waiting for? Get the fuck out of here!"

"We..."

"Go!"

Their gazes met across the length of the hall and Yohji thought for one pulsing, fearful moment that Aya was going to come back down the hall again. But then the red head bowed, bangs covering glittering eyes as lean shoulders rounded in anger or frustration.

"Don't die yet," Aya spat at him. Then he vanished around the corner to safety.

Yohji jerked his attention back toward their pursuers, a bitter smile curving his lips even as a sick feeling settled in his stomach. That wasn't something he thought he could promise. Not here, not now. But at least he could give Aya a better chance to get away.

"Well, I'll miss you too, Aya," he muttered wryly under his breath, sinking to one knee to present a smaller target in the doorway and trying not to regret waiting this long to finally kiss the redhead. The door was cold against his bare back as he braced himself against it, watching for any sign of excess bravery from the men around the corner. He could hear a hushed argument and what sounded like orders being responded to over some kind of communications device. The guy he'd shot must have been dead, since they had made no attempt to retrieve the body and had just left it lying there on the floor in a spreading puddle of blood. Their mistake. That much blood on the floor would make for poor footing when they finally did charge him.

But it was one more to his kill list. Yohji smirked darkly to himself as he risked a quick look around the doorframe again. He was not in a good defensive position, he knew, but there weren't any better options available. If he tried to make a break for the far end of the hall, they'd hear him and gun him down. If he stayed, they'd run him out of ammo eventually - he had at least eleven bullets left in this kind of clip, maybe twelve if the nurse had been the type to keep a round in the chamber as well. He was a decent shot; he could probably take out quite a few of them before they finally got him. But then it would be blaze of glory time...

"Hey, punk!" a gruff voice called to him. "You got nowhere to go! Give it up!"

Talk? After he'd killed one of them? That was interesting. He laughed quietly to himself.

"Shiroi-sensei must still want me alive, huh?" Yohji called back, head tilting back against the door as he kept a sharp watch on the far corner. "That's comforting to know." They might try something if they thought he was distracted by the conversation.

"Accidents happen, you know," the gruff voice answered, menace clear. "The boss understands."

"How compassionate of him," Yohji snorted, keeping a sharp eye out. And sure enough, two hands holding guns whipped around the corner, both firing several shots blindly down the hall at him. He ducked back behind the doorframe, leaving just his own gun hand around the corner, and returned two shots spaced a few seconds apart just to discourage anyone from trying to make a break under the covering fire.

Nine bullets left. Or ten. His blood was pounding loudly in his ears as he listened intently for sounds of advance. There was none yet.

"Hey, this is fun. You guys bored yet? 'Cause I'm not," he called, forcing a sarcastic note into his voice. More gunfire answered his taunt and he ducked further behind the doorframe as bullets ricocheted wildly down the hall outside. Sounded like three guns now. And they were being extravagant with their shots. But they could afford to be, he thought grimly - unlike him, they no doubt had spare clips handy.

He grit his teeth, hunkering down to make as small a target for a bad bounce as possible, ears ringing from the seemingly unending barrage. Then, somewhere under the noise and the adrenaline, he suddenly remembered the stairwell behind him - and the elevator below.

Cursing himself for being suckered so easily, he spun around on his heel, gun turning to bear even as two men burst through the stairwell door behind him on the far side of the room. One was armed with a tranq gun. He fired even as he felt the sharp impact of a dart in his thigh. Had the brief satisfaction of seeing one go down even as the tunnel-vision effect seized him and Yohji fell forward onto the hard floor and into darkness once more.

Pain dragged him out of the embrace of darkness at last. Pain radiating in fiery bands down his shoulders and neck and back. With that unwelcome inducement, he slowly became aware of his surroundings again. He was kneeling on a cold floor, head hanging on his chest, his hands raised above him and shackled to something that swung slightly with every minor movement, his upper body suspended from that awkward support. Blindingly bright light spilled through even closed eyelids, sending stabbing pain into his brain.

Crap, he thought blearily. Now this was a familiar position. Only last time, Aya had been the one trussed up like this. Thinking of the redhead made him jerk in his bonds. The chain above him rattled, pain rolling through him as the slight sway put more pressure on his arms and shoulders. His hands tingled from lack of blood. He'd been like this a while, then. Groggily he tried to pull himself up, wanting only to ease the strain on his aching shoulders. They didn't like holding up all his body weight. He was just lucky he was on his knees. If he'd been suspended fully, they'd most likely be dislocated by now. To his surprise he managed to lift himself up a bit, easing the pain fractionally, and he was suddenly grateful that for some reason he hadn't been given a dose of the same paralytic agent that Aya had been. He could move of his own volition, at least, if only in small ways so far. Standing might be another matter entirely. He might stagger as badly as Aya then...

Aya. Worry gnawed at him. Aya had been in iffy shape when they parted, still unsteady and armed only with a metal broom handle. Shiroi's men had seemed to concentrate on re-capturing him, as he'd intended, but it hadn't taken them very long; there was no telling how far away Aya had been able to get on that slim lead. Yohji could only hope it had been long enough. If Aya hadn't still been suffering from the drugs Shiroi had given him, Yohji would have cheerfully bet on a broom-stick wielding Aya winning out over Shiroi's thugs. Even without his sword Aya was deadly. But his reaction to the drugs had left him barely stable.

Releasing little involuntary grunts of pain, he shifted on his knees, bracing them under him in an effort to support his body better. It helped, easing some of the fiery strain. He slowly lifted his head, rolling it against his raised arm, eyelids still firmly closed against the relentless glare from above. The long hair around his face provided his eyes some protection, but the light that leaked through his lids still made his head throb.

"Ah, my lovely Balinese, so you are awake at last," a disagreeably familiar voice said from the surrounding glare. Shiroi. Close. And above his head Yohji slowly fisted hands that felt as if they'd been coated in wax, rendering them stiff and unresponsive. "You have caused a great deal of trouble for me. Too much, perhaps."

"Guess I'm just contrary that way," he managed to croak, voice hoarse, throat dry. "Part of my charm, ne?" Soft laughter greeted his attempt at bravado. He dimly sensed a presence moving nearby, then a hand stroked through his tumbled hair making him flinch back, head jerking aside against his upraised arms to avoid the contact. Shiroi's hand followed his motion, threading in his hair before tightening painfully. He held still against the warning tug, eyes watering slightly as his head was tilted back and his face exposed to the intense light.

"You are quite clever, my friend. And skillful. It is seldom Mako is taken so unaware." There was amused respect in Shiroi's voice, though Yohji wasn't quite certain what he was talking about. A single finger traced across his cheek, pausing at the corner of his mouth. "Is there perhaps something I could offer you that would induce you to work for me of your own free will?"

"I suppose that depends on what kind of work you mean," Yohji said, letting his lips curve in a small, tight smile and firmly stifled a tremor of distaste as Shiroi ran his finger gently over his lower lip. "I can be... flexible, if the price is right." There was a moment of hushed silence as Shiroi no doubt examined his expression carefully.

"Ah, but you are simply humoring me. A pity." The doctor let out a soft sigh. "No matter what promise I extracted from you, you would certainly attempt to kill me at your first opportunity. Such loyalty. It still surprises me. I wonder if Kritiker truly deserves such devotion from you, my friend."

As if he would risk this much for Kritiker. It was easier to keep the cynical disgust out of his expression with his eyes closed like this even though he felt hampered and unbalanced this way. Blinded. But protecting Weiß was his concern, and where his real loyalty lay; not with Kritiker, but with Omi and Ken... and with Aya. They were far more important than the faceless, conscienceless puppeteers of his destiny. Yet how had Shiroi figured out his ploy so fast?

"I confess I am not surprised, but I am disappointed. But I expected no less from one of the men who brought down the Elders of Esset," Shiroi said, his voice dropping to a vicious hiss as he suddenly spat, "Where is Schwarz? What did they do with the girl?"

Despite the light, Yohji's eyes flashed open for an instant in shock, then just as quickly screwed shut again, tearing painfully against the blinding glare. His suspicions had been confirmed - Shiroi was Esset. The doctor jerked his chin up, stretching his neck awkwardly as bony fingers bit hard into Yohji's chin making him swallow warily. This wasn't the Shiroi he was used to. The cool amusement and superior distance were gone. There was a manic passion in the doctor's question that made him distinctly uneasy.

"What are you talking about?" he managed to get out through his tight throat.

"The True Vessel. Where is she?"

"Did you check the harbor?" he gasped. Shiroi's free hand locked around his already extended throat, squeezing warningly. Shiroi was apparently not amused, Yohji noted as he choked for breath.

"No more games, Balinese of Weiß," Shiroi said as he abruptly eased his hold on Yohji's throat. He sucked in breath desperately, bitterly aware of the irony of Shiroi choking him. "I want the girl. I prepared her most carefully for their ritual, as they instructed and despite the fascinating things I saw in her genetic code... she should not live... those pairs were impossible... ah... but now that the Elders are gone and their ritual has failed... I want her back. I will find her... and then I will know..."

Aya-chan. Aya's sister, Yohji thought through a haze of confusion. Shiroi wanted Aya's little sister. The girl Aya had become a killer to avenge. The girl he was still desperate to protect from the truth that her brother was an assassin... Fuck fuck and fuck again.

He had to warn Aya. But had Shiroi re-captured Aya? He didn't think so or he'd be trussed up here beside him. But what if he was? He hadn't been able to see anything beyond the blinding light and the dim silhouette of Shiroi himself.

"I don't know anything about a girl," he gasped.

Pain exploded across his cheek as Shiroi slapped him, snapping his head around with a blow harder than he'd thought the man capable of, rocking his body against the chains as the doctor shouted wildly, "Do not lie to me! Weiß took her! Schwarz had to retrieve her!"

Shiroi was losing it, he noted with a kind of bleak satisfaction. He forced a laugh. "We're assassins - we don't do rescues."

A hand wound in his hair, bent his head back painfully, while hard fingers clamped around his face as if trying to force the words Shiroi wanted from his mouth. He could feel the hot wash of Shiroi's breath across his face, the pressure of the doctor's body against his as he crouched over him, tense and shaking with frustration

"I have drugs that will tear you apart from within," the doctor hissed, "nerve by nerve, synapse by synapse, until you beg me to end your life... you will tell me what I want to know, Balinese... one way or another..."

Shiroi was desperate. He had no one else to threaten. He wouldn't be this unhinged if his men had managed to kill Aya - he would have used that information to taunt Yohji already - so he must have escaped, then. Relief flooded him. Relief and resignation and gratitude.

It was all right then. He could die content. Aya was safe - beyond Shiroi's reach. He would have smiled if he could, face locked in Shiroi's brutal grasp. Maybe the doctor felt the muscles moving toward a smile or maybe his uncanny perception simply read the relief in him somehow, but Shiroi let out a shriek of outrage and drew back to backhand him once again.

Blood flew from his lip as his head whipped around. Almost instantly, a foot caught him in the ribs, sending the breath out of him. His body jerked against the chains painfully again and again as a series of kicks followed, brutal and wild. He endured them, the pain filling him but not reaching the core of him. Aya was safe. He held on to the idea like a charm. It just didn't matter what happened to him anymore...

He would have slipped away into darkness then, content, satisfied, but the beating abruptly stopped. He could hear Shiroi's ragged breathing from somewhere beyond, over the sickening thud of his own pulse. His ribs and gut and arms ached, his mind spun somewhere in a shadowy realm between agony and nothingness. There was blood in his mouth. A long moment of nothing passed and he wondered when the real torture was going to begin.

"You are not afraid to die," Shiroi finally said, voice low, stunned. "How...?"

"Just... get it... over with... you... freak," Yohji gasped, lifting his head enough to spit out some of the blood, coughing painfully as he dared to crack his eyes open against the glare. As long as he kept his face down the light didn't stab quite so cruelly into his brain. He could see Shiroi's legs in front of him, the white pants and shoes bright in the glare, the splash of blood on the cracked floor vivid between them where he'd spit it, his own knees dark smears in his navy pants.

Shiroi crouched down in front of him. A hand caught his chin, lifted his face higher. He glanced at him sidelong beneath his bangs, eyes still tearing slightly from the glare. The doctor's pale face was flushed with exertion, his searching gaze behind the gray lenses filled with angry frustration, with disgust. Yohji knew there was a smile on his face; could feel it in the pain of his split lip, the ache of his bruised jaw.

"You fool," Shiroi breathed. "Love will destroy you and you're happy..."

"It... already did," Yohji rasped, heart lurching to hear the contented feeling filling him given a name. But he didn't deny it. Couldn't. "I've been... dead for years... you're just doing me a favor..." And if his own death would keep Aya and the one he had protected so fiercely safe, then so be it.

Shiroi's glare bored into him, the red eyes narrowing thoughtfully behind their protective lenses and Yohji felt a lurch of unease as some of Shiroi's control returned. "That's where you are mistaken, my friend. If you love... then can hope not be far behind? And hope I can break... turn to my advantage..."

The hand on his chin softened, a thumb stroked across his sore flesh gently as the doctor's gaze filled with a kind of manic light. Yohji shuddered, wondering how the hell Shiroi had figured it out so easily. It was as if he had some way of looking right into his head... into his heart... into places even he found no easy access to...

His eyes widened in shock. There was one other he knew of who had that kind of skill... Mastermind of Schwarz... but Shiroi hadn't reacted to his thoughts directly, just his emotions. Could there be a kind of power that read only the emotions of others? he wondered frantically.

"What are you?" he gasped. Shiroi smiled gently, his former amused control now firmly in place again, the edgy hysteria of before only a hazy memory.

"A freak, as you said, my lovely one." The hand on his face skimmed up his cheek, brushed the tender bruise under his eye. "I damaged your face. Such a pity. I must apologize for my brutality."

Yohji heard the distant door open. Shiroi obviously heard it too, straightening up and turning away impatiently. He looked over his shoulder toward darkness until one of his dark-suited mercenaries walked to the edge of the cone of light.

"Boss, sorry for the interruption," the man said, bowing slightly, his face like granite but with a trace of anxiety marring his flat gaze. Professional, but not impervious, apparently. And wary of Shiroi.

"What is it?" Shiroi said, a hint of irritation in his cool tone. The man's gaze flickered briefly to Yohji in his bonds and Shiroi stiffened. He gestured the man away with a sharp wave of his hand, then followed him into darkness. They stopped a few strides away and began to speak in low voices. Yohji could catch tone, but not words. His man was uneasy about something, while Shiroi was his usual composed self again, speaking quietly.

After a few minutes of discussion, Shiroi returned to the cone of light, staring at him thoughtfully, his arms folded across his chest. After a moment he heard the door open and close again behind the flunkey. He didn't hear the bar close, however. Which made sense if Shiroi was in here with him.

"It seems a pity to destroy such a one as you, but it is quickly becoming clear that I can ill afford the resources to explore your so very intriguing genetic traits fully," Shiroi said at last, a note of wistful regret in his voice that faded into steely firmness as he continued, "But I still require the True Vessel - you will tell me where she can be found."

"I have no idea," he answered with absolute truth. But of course Aya did. And Aya was beyond Shiroi's reach...

Shiroi's face convulsed with raw fury again and he took a step toward him just as Yohji heard the soft twang of a crossbow and a white-fletched bolt appeared in Shiroi's left shoulder, spinning him aside and out of the light with the force of the impact.

"Balinese!"

Omi's voice. The chain above him loosened with a loud clatter, dropping his arms down abruptly in front of him and making him gray out briefly in relief as he sagged forward over his knees. He heard the sound of someone landing with a hard grunt behind him, then feet racing across the floor toward him.

"He's still alive!" he called out in warning as Ken dashed into the light, one arm bound tightly to his chest, bugnuks flashing on his free hand. His teammate disappeared in the direction Shiroi had fallen even as Yohji heard the sound of the main door opening again. "He's got men out there!" Yohji shouted, staring after Ken anxiously. There was a clash of switches and lights came up around the room in series, diffusing the effect of the spotlight. He blinked in relief, head rising. Ken was at the door already, doing something with it.

Metal rattled loudly behind him and he twisted around to see a slender, folding stairwell drop down from the network of catwalks that hung high on the walls of the room. Omi was at the top of it, his hands dancing over some kind of control panel beside it. The kid looked up, a brief smile lighting his face when he saw Yohji staring back at him. He gestured toward the stairwell urgently.

"Balinese, get out of the way and I'll unhook the chain. Siberian's blocking the door."

Understanding that Omi didn't want to drop the rest of the chain on his head, Yohji struggled to his feet, dragging the metal bar and a good bit of the loosened chain out of the way. Then he flinched from the noise as the rest of it crashed to the floor. It made a hell of a leash and his hands might still be trapped, but his legs were free. He dragged the whole mess toward the stairs not caring how much his body ached from the strain; he was determined to get out of there under his own power if at all possible. He made his stumbling way toward the stairs, falling against the flimsy handrail with a gasp when he made it there. He stared up it bleakly a moment before blinking down at his awkwardly bound hands. Well, there was no way he was getting up those steep stairs dragging all that chain. He looked up at Omi plaintively.

"Hey, kiddo, need some help here."

A hand touched his shoulder, making him flinch and look over his shoulder into Ken's grinning face.

"What did you put on the door?" Yohji asked, grinning briefly back at him, relieved to see him active after the wound he'd taken. Hell, relieved to just see them both there to pull his ass out of the fire. Ken's injured arm was immobilized, but he seemed otherwise fine. Yet he knew with the right kind of drugs, a dying man could get up and dance. Ken's eyes seemed a little glazed, now that he looked closer, but he was moving without pain - for now. Ken lifted up the bar on his arms - earning a stifled groan from Yohji for the strain it put on his sore shoulders - and examined the restraints more closely. Heavy-duty leather buckles. Tough to deal with one-handed, Yohji knew.

"A couple wedges," Ken said distractedly, frowning darkly at the buckles. "Hey, Omi, you'll have to get these."

Wedges? They had maybe a few minutes then, but not much longer. He was surprised they weren't listening to Shiroi's men beating on the door already.

Then a deeper concern flared. "Where's Aya?" he asked urgently.

Ken shot him a sidelong look, a predatory grin on his lips. "He's taking care of the rest of the distractions."

"What?" Yohji said, eyes widening in alarm. "He could barely stand!"

Omi clattered down the steps beside them, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "It's been more than a day since he escaped, Yohji-kun," Omi informed him, his nimble fingers already hard at work on the buckle closest to him. "He's over the side-effects of the drugs the doctor gave him." Yohji blinked at them both in shock. A full day? Shiroi had kept him under that long? Why? What the hell had the sick bastard been up to? Yohji resolved to get himself checked out with a full physical at the first opportunity.

The second cuff fell away and Omi was almost instantly dashing back up the shaky stairs. He rubbed the abraded skin of his wrists, glad to be free. Then Ken nudged him toward the steps and he went, climbing awkwardly with the other man hot on his heels. Now that he was moving faster, he felt a stabbing protest from his ribs, aching from the beating Shiroi had given him earlier. He wrapped one arm around himself as he climbed, gasping shallowly for breath as he half hauled himself up to the top.

Omi stood at one of the catwalk junctions further ahead, urgently gesturing him on as he made the top. Yohji paused to catch his breath, wincing and hunching over.

"We've got to hurry, Balinese!"

"I'm comin'," he groaned, wishing they'd thought to bring him some boots. The open mesh grating of the catwalk was going to be savage on his bare feet. Ken glanced down and hissed in sympathy.

"I'd carry you, but..." he began, gesturing toward his bound arm. Yohji shook his head impatiently.

"Don't be stupid." He pushed away from the railing, following Omi toward a door set high in the back wall of this torture chamber. He couldn't wait to get out of here. Ken trailed close behind him, throwing the occasional wary look back at the wedged door below them. So far no one seemed to be testing it from the other side. That lack was beginning to bother him. He tried to hurry, but running was out of the question.

By the time he reached the open door and the narrow access hall beyond, his feet were tender and bruised. He was forced to pause inside the doorway to catch his breath, suspecting Shiroi might have actually cracked one of his rib in his enthusiasm earlier. His side hurt like a hot poker had been shoved into it and he was sweating despite being half-naked.

Omi was watching him anxiously. "Are you all right, Yohji-kun?"

"I'm alive, aren't I?" he said shortly, pushing away from the wall with determination. He had a goal of his own now. To see for himself that Aya was fine. "Let's get out of here."

He followed Omi down the dim corridor, limping badly now, both arms clutched around his body. Ken would put his hand on his back from time to time to steady him, but he made it to the far end on his own.

Omi was waiting for them again at the door at the far end, frowning down at his watch.

"What's the hold up?" Yohji wheezed.

"Waiting for mark," Omi said, reaching under his jacket to take out a small automatic pistol. He checked the clip and safety, then offered it butt first to Yohji. Who took it and checked it himself, flipping off the safety himself, grateful to be armed again even if it wasn't his wire. He wasn't sure he could manage it right now anyway. "Just a few more minutes," Omi continued, glancing at him and smiling encouragingly. "Shiroi doesn't seem to have a lot of men. They're good, but limited. The levels above are a legitimate research facility - it's only these lower levels where he has complete control."

"Don't bet on it. It's an Esset facility," Yohji muttered.

Omi glanced at him sharply, voice rising a little in alarm. "Esset? How do you know?"

"He all but told me."

Omi and Ken exchanged alarmed glances. "If he's Esset, what does he want with a thug like Homa, then?" Ken asked, confused.

Yohji shrugged and instantly regretted it as his ribs and shoulders protested. "Well, we pretty effectively wiped out most of their command structure. I think he's trying to rebuild a power base of his own." He kept the information about Aya's sister to himself for now. Aya deserved to hear it first.

Omi was frowning darkly now. "We wondered why the police weren't called in when the building staff discovered Homa's men - even if it is the weekend, someone should have noticed."

"Shiroi's men probably cleaned up the mess," Yohji said with a sigh, leaning back against the wall for a moment to gather strength. Which was doubtless why Shiroi had had plenty of time to 'play' with him and Aya personally. He cautiously took a deeper breath. "You guys should know, I think he's got a talent like those Schwarz bastards. He seemed to know what Aya and I were... feeling."

Omi paled while Ken frowned in confusion. "You mean like Mastermind?"

"No, not thoughts, just he could tell when he was... getting to us. When he was on the right track, that kind of thing. Far too well to just be guessing." Yohji shuddered, fighting back the charged, guilty memories of Aya's nude body arching high while Shiroi urged him on and his own body responded helplessly to the sight. Oh, yes, Shiroi had known all too well how he was getting to them... both of them.

"You think he's an empath? Someone who reads emotions?" Omi said, looking concerned and a little ill at the whole idea.

"Is that the name for it?" Omi nodded weakly as Yohji frowned. That just made it all the worse, somehow. The world was plagued by enough monsters even given normal human limitations. There were some things that should stay in books and legends - or nightmares... like all of Schwarz.

Ken shifted toward the door, made uncomfortable as always by the talk of powers and odd talents. "It's almost mark," he interrupted. Omi snapped back into mission-mode, his expression going blank as he lifted his crossbow and set the bolt while Ken checked the door.

"What's mark?" Yohji asked just as a series of rumbling blasts echoed through the walls. Dust sifted down through the air and the lights flickered briefly before steadying.

"Explosions, what else?" Ken said with a grin before he darted out through the door, Omi on his heels. Yohji followed along as best he could into a vaguely familiar-looking hallway. He soon realized it was almost identical to the one he and Aya had stumbled into outside their 'hospital' room. Elevator shaft at one end, exit stairwell at the other, a few unmarked doors lining the hallway between. This time, Ken and Omi lead him toward the elevator, where the car was waiting, locked off and dark.

"How far down are we?" Yohji asked breathlessly as he joined them inside the car, leaning heavily against the wall. Omi was already crouched down next to the dismembered control box, fiddling with a hastily patched-in panel.

"Nine levels," Ken said as the elevator lights came on and the door slid closed. The car jerked roughly into motion. "This'll take us all the way to the second floor where the cover offices are."

"We have to fight our way down again?" Yohji said grimly. He'd slow the others down, he knew, but he'd do his damnedest to keep up.

"Not if Aya-kun has taken care of the back exit," Omi said, grinning up at him with confidence.

Yohji fell silent, gathering his energy for what was to come.

The elevator came to a jerky stop, the lights flickering out even as the doors slid open. Omi ripped his control box out of the elevator controls, ignoring the shower of sparks the action produced, a satisfied grin on his face. Apparently this elevator wouldn't be going anywhere else anytime soon. Yohji waited while Ken and Omi peered cautiously around the opened doors. The way ahead was clear because both of them slipped out into the hallway, Omi gesturing urgently to him to follow.

Yohji forced his protesting body into motion, feet and body aching worse after a few minutes spent unmoving in the elevator. The gun Omi had given him was heavy in his hand and meant he could only wrap one arm around his sore ribs.

Ken led the way this time, racing silently down one side of the hall, crouched low and looking quite feral. Omi made sure Yohji was in front of him as he watched their back. The cool tile floor felt almost soothing on his abused feet.

The halls were all interior with no windows and mostly dark, lit only by night panels every twenty meters or so. Locked office doors lined the walls. It was a big building, part of a much larger, sprawling semi-industrial research complex. Five floors and two legitimate basement levels, plus Shiroi's little playground beneath.

It felt like they'd walked a few kilometers or so, getting deeper and deeper into the building before Ken held up his good hand in warning at one corner. They'd been moving silently, no chit-chat. There hadn't been any more explosions since the ones that had been their clue to go, and there were no alarms going off anywhere that he could hear. Omi's work too, no doubt. There were no signs of live guards or Shiroi's men yet either. Occupied elsewhere, probably. Omi drew close, his crossbow ready, coming up around Yohji to crouch beside Ken.

"Are we still on schedule?" Omi whispered, a little strained. Ken glanced at Yohji before nodding. Yohji knew he'd been holding them back, but not how much. He tried to straighten up, failed.

"Where do we meet Aya?" he asked, keeping his voice as low as Omi's. Ken glanced at him curiously, frowning slightly.

"Later."

"We're leaving him here?" Yohji said, voice rising slightly in alarm. Omi frowned at him now too even as Ken full-on glared at him, shaking his head in disgust.

"He took out thirty rogue US Marines alone once - why are you worried about him?" Ken hissed.

"Shiroi... he's like Schwarz," Yohji said, trying to bury his unease and failing. Aya, alone and without back-up against Shiroi. He didn't like it at all. "Don't underestimate him."

"Aya-kun knows what he's up against," Omi said reassuringly. He put a hand on Yohji's shoulder, squeezing gently enough that Yohji didn't even wince. "He'll be fine, Yohji-kun. Besides, Shiroi's hurt. He'll be the one on the run now."

"Maybe," Yohji conceded unwillingly. Without their cooperation, he'd never find Aya in this maze in time, even if the swordsman did need his help. And he was injured and hampered without even shoes on his feet as well. There wasn't anything he could do except leave Aya behind to do what Aya did best...

Omi patted his shoulder, an encouraging smile on his face. "Let's go, Yohji-kun, we're almost there," he said and with a quick look around the corner, disappeared down the other hall. Ken was still frowning at him, puzzled. Yohji ignored him and followed reluctantly after Omi, letting Ken pick up the rear again as they headed for freedom.

"Tell me again when he was supposed to meet him?" Yohji demanded, getting up to pace restlessly across the main room of the house they'd rented for their stay in Kobe. Ken glared at him from his place stretched out on the low couch, his bad shoulder propped up by pillows.

"He's not that late and you know it, Yohji, so sit the hell down and quit pacing, you're making me dizzy," Ken growled irritably. He looked pale and wan, a damp cloth laid over his forehead. The drugs he'd used to manage the rescue mission had run out on him just after they reached the stolen car hidden outside the research complex's fence. There they discovered he'd re-opened his wound somewhere along the way and simply hadn't noticed under the influence. Blood had soaked the new leather jacket he wore through. Yohji, as sore as he was, had had to drive so that Omi could tend Ken before the idiot bled to death. At least they'd thought to bring along full changes of clothes for all of them in the car. Yohji had dressed gratefully. His spare watch and cigarettes were even there as well. He'd taken a deliberately round-about and lengthy route back to the house to make certain they weren't being traced.

Yohji shot Ken an annoyed look, raking his hands through his hair before slumping back down in the chair he'd just left. He hated waiting. He hated being this on edge more.

According to plan, one of them was to immediately take the car and dispose of it, then meet up with Aya at a shrine in the city where they had hidden alternate clothing for him as well and then return here with him by taxi. Those tasks had fallen to Omi, since Yohji was too visibly bruised to visit a shrine and Ken was weak from blood loss.

That rendezvous had been scheduled to take place hours ago. Omi had called them once from his cell phone to tell them he'd safely disposed of the stolen car, then again to tell them he was at the shrine and while he had yet to see Aya, he had apparently not been there to retrieve the clothes left for him either.

Yohji was about ready to tear his hair out, imagining several all too likely scenarios. Aya wounded and bleeding his life away in a dark alley somewhere. Aya trapped in the complex, waiting for back-up that would never come. Aya helpless in Shiroi's hands again. He leaned forward in the chair, burying his head in his hands, aware that Ken was both annoyed and confused by his odd behavior but he couldn't stop it. He reached for his cigarettes again, shaking one out of the pack and lighting it. It had been a full pack when he found it waiting for him in the car - already half were gone.

"What happened with this Shiroi guy anyway?" Ken asked after a moment, almost making him jump out of his skin.

"What do you mean?" Yohji said, keeping his gaze fixed on a dark stain on the ugly carpet as he tried to keep his reaction under control when immediately images of Aya helpless and bound on the hospital bed while Shiroi ran his corpse-pale hand over him flooded his mind - followed swiftly by the memory of Aya in the stairwell, eyes flashing with anger as he reached up to pull him down for the kiss he'd demanded.

"Aya's been acting weird ever since he got of out that place too," Ken said, and he could see the other man watching him intently from the corner of his eye. He refused to look at him, taking a deep drag on his cigarette instead.

"Weird? How so?" he said as blandly as possible as he exhaled smoke. Ken shook his head in disgust.

"The two of you are barely even civil these days... since the Rats." Ken hesitated over the mention, still hung up on the boy Akira's fate. "But now all of a sudden Aya won't let up on Omi and me until we've worked out a plan to get you out of there as soon as possible."

"Are you telling me you would rather have left me there, Kenken?" Yohji said wryly, gaze flickering to the other man at last and meeting the thoughtful stare. Ken flushed - at least as much as he was able after the blood loss - and was the first to glance away.

"No, shit, that's not what I meant you bastard," he said, gaze shifting back as an angry glare now. "It was the way he acted... all focused and cold like he gets whenever his sister's mentioned."

Something odd ran through Yohji then; warm and unexpected and more than a little alarming. But truths were far easier to face when one was convinced one didn't have long to live. Living with them might be too much for his already burdened soul to bear. It would be far easier to pretend none of it had happened... they were both men, after all... assassins... teammates... what future did they have anyway? But he wasn't sure he could forget so easily - at least not until he'd seen Aya once more.

Ken's cell phone rang shrilly on the coffee table beside him, and Yohji all but leapt on it. Glad for the distraction from both Ken and his own thoughts.

"Aya?"

"No, it's me again, Yohji-kun," Omi's subdued voice said into his ear. "I'm sorry, but he's still not here."

"You're sure you're at the right shrine?"

"Yes, Yohji-kun," Omi said, sounding weary. "Aya-kun picked it himself." Yohji chewed at a small swollen spot on the inside of his lower lip, ignoring the sting of the larger split Shiroi had given him as he fought back a surge of apprehension, of fear. "How... long do you think I should wait here?" Omi asked.

Forever, he wanted to say. Let me come take your place, he amended it to almost immediately. But he said neither, letting out a slow, unsteady breath before he finally did speak.

"Just come back, Omi. He knows where the house is."

"Yohji-kun..."

"Just come home, Omi." He disconnected the call and let the phone fall to the dingy carpet between his feet.

Much later, Ken was settled in his own room, deeply asleep and Omi had come back to the house safely alone. The boy had returned, face drawn with exhaustion, eyes worried, just a few hours before false dawn lightened the sky.

There had still been no word from Aya.

Yohji stood by the window of the tiny bedroom he'd claimed, the narrow bed undisturbed behind him, smoking and staring out into the overgrown side yard. Untrimmed bushes and trees spilled over the fences and pressed up against the house, partially obscuring the windows of the shabby suburban house in a deteriorating neighborhood. It was one of the reasons they'd rented it - so their comings and goings would be harder to note.

He wasn't particularly tired yet. Probably from the 24-hours of drug-induced rest he'd received courtesy of Shiroi. His ribs still hurt, but Omi's rough nursing skills were enough to determine that while none were actually broken, one or two might be cracked. A few aspirin and an athletic bandage for support had taken care of part of the ache, but Omi hadn't wanted to give him anything stronger after Shiroi's unknown cocktail. That suited Yohji just fine; he'd had enough of high-power drugs for a while. His cigarettes had helped soothe his aches more than the aspirin.

Outside, the normal world was waking up and starting to go about it's calm, ordinary business. Birds were calling to each other in the trees outside; a dog barked somewhere when a car started, faint and muffled by distance. The cloying shadows of night were falling to the rose and peach and pale blue of dawn.

The door slid open behind him, nearly noiseless in it's track. He heard motion and the rustle of clothing as someone entered, then the door slid closed again with a soft thump. His pulse leaped, blood rushing deafeningly for a moment in his ears.

"I didn't think you were going to come back," he said after a long moment of silence, not bothering to turn around. The cigarette in his hand trembled slightly, the smoke fluttering up, it's steady stream disturbed by the motion.

"You know that isn't an option for any of us," the familiar deep voice said quietly.

"No," Yohji said with a sigh, reaching forward to crush out the cigarette in the saucer littered with several more butts that sat on the windowsill in front of him. "We don't have a lot of choices left to us, do we?"

It was a rhetorical question and deserved the silence it received. He folded his arms carefully over his chest before leaning forward enough to press his forehead against the cool glass.

"I want to kiss you again," he said to the windowpane, watching his breath cloud the surface. There was no reply. He waited, frozen, pulse tripping faster, until he couldn't stand it any more and turned slowly around, leaning back against the wall.

He looked across the bed and the slowly brightening room to find Aya standing in front of the door, wearing a tee shirt and dark pants. His expression was flat and unreadable, the narrow gaze fixed steadily on him. There was no anger in that gaze, no disgust or outrage, but no welcome either. It raked over him pausing on the darkening bruises on his face and throat, and the grim mouth tightened further.

"What did he do to you?" Aya asked. Yohji let the corner of his mouth turn up slightly in an ironic smile as he listened to the urgent throb of his own pulse sounding the word fool fool fool in his ears.

"Beat the shit out of me because I wouldn't give him what he wanted."

The slim brows rose in silent inquiry.

"Your sister."

Something dark and savage flared in Aya's eyes then, his slack hands fisting at his sides. "How does he know about her?"

"He's Esset. He's the doctor who... prepared her for that ceremony."

Aya's face clouded with fury as he silently absorbed the information.

"We'll have to hunt him down; Omi only grazed him," Yohji went on, letting his hands fall to his sides. He briefly wished he hadn't crushed out his cigarette so he'd have something to do with his hands, but he didn't want to light another.

"I know," Aya said, his expression still dark as he stared off into the middle distance, maybe bitterly regretting an opportunity passed by to take out the doctor sometime during the night.

"He doesn't know who you are... but I think he suspects," Yohji added, remembering Shiroi's odd comments about recognizing him.

"We will hunt him," Aya said starkly.

"We'd better, because he's sure as hell going to come after us," Yohji said. He stared at Aya then, out of words, but feeling the throb of his blood, urgent through his body. The other man stood silent, lost in dark contemplation for long minutes, until finally he lifted his gaze to Yohji's again.

"This was never supposed to happen," Aya said, something smoldering in the depths of his gaze and Yohji's heart lurched wildly in his chest. Heat. The heat he remembered from so long ago. Unleashed at last.

"You think I planned for this?" Yohji took a step away from the wall, watching Aya intently. "This is so fucking stupid I can't believe it." He took another step, around the end of the bed and Aya's head turned to follow his slow approach. "You aren't tied up or drugged all to hell now." Aya waited silently, watching him. Yohji felt a slow, liquid smile stretch his lips - the pain inconsequential - as he reached Aya's side.

Aya's head had tipped back the fraction necessary to keep their gazes locked, ragged red bangs shading his eyes. He licked his lips slowly, deliberately, it seemed, then let them part.

"I want you to fuck me," Aya said and the bottom dropped out of Yohji's stomach.

He was already reaching for him. "Hell, yes," he said.

- - fin - -