Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ White Noise ❯ Another Day in the Cracker Factory ( Chapter 8 )

Hello!! Took me long enough. I'm actually not finished nor happy with this chapter BUT I figure I'll let you all know it's not dead or that I'm not. By the way people, in a review by Empyreal, a damn good point was made. Alcohol is a depressant, muscle relaxants are depressants. When one depressant is mixed with another (alcohol + heroin, al + sedatives, etc), it can cause DEATH or COMA. Do not mix depressants, they can stop your heart. Thank you Empyreal ^_^ Luckily for me (and Yohji), this is not the real world, so stuff like drug mixing has no ill effects on him, unless it proves amusing to me, in which case he's screwed. ENJOY!

Last thing: no money made, no characters owned, nothing

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Damn! Connection lost, please try again. Telepathy would be so much fucking easier if there was an operator there to announce when your connection was about to severed by the asshole teammates of you torture interest. Love's far too cliché.

I rub my temples irritably as pain sparks through them. Hell, wasn't even Kudoh's "buddies," it was Kudoh himself. How in the bloody hell did he suddenly figure out how to attack me back? That better damn well not have been intentional. `No,' I think to myself. `Couldn't possibly known what he was doing, couldn't've. He didn't even know where he was. Must've been pure desperation at work there.'

I'm still pissed that he was able to nearly fling me outta his dream, my dream. The smirk tugging at my mouth, I know, looks menacing and predatory. Then again, it is.

But damn if that dream wasn't the sweetest. Seeing him writhe around on the sheets. The sweat trickling down his sides as he complied to my orders. His beautiful, shattering surrender to me. Me. I owned him.

The most fortunate thing about the whole experience was that, even while being tossed out of Kudoh's head like 3-day old meat in a butcher shop, I got to Hidaka. The irritating, stupid, annoying, ugly, asinine…okay, not ugly but he is irritating. I digress. The point is, I got him. Implanted a few thoughts, tweaked his little lustful thoughts and voila, insta-rapist. Or nearly that.

It's a sacrifice, but one I'm willing to make. If football-boy takes his need out on Kudoh, that's just one more rift between the "white hunters." What kinda idiot figured out that title? Bet it was Fujimiya. He seems to find overwhelming amounts of pleasure in ranting at us or anyone else who'll listen before he goes into battle with `em. Then again, Brad seems to enjoy it just as much. Smirking his `I already know what you're going to do' smirk. Hmmm, maybe I could get those two together and see if, in a dark secluded area, they'd kill of fuck each other. Could provide some amusement. Then again, they might pontificate at each other for hours on end. Huh, pontificate, wonder where I came up with that one. Maybe that socialite, drama queen we killed. Man, Farf had fun with disemboweling her.

Now, if I didn't have this overwhelming bitch of a headache, I could reinforce those compulsions in little Kenken. Considering I have one helluva bitch of a headache, that's not gunna happen right now. Nope, morphine and sleep. Sounds like a plan.

I walk out of my room passing Nagi's on the way. Looking briefly, I see the light's still on and I hear the tapping and ticking of keys. That kid's a mushroom. He desperately needs a life that doesn't include having an umbilical cord connected to his, what's it called?, oh yeah, motherboard.

I contemplate on the irony of Nagi having an umbilical cord connected to a motherboard as I grab a glass and fill it with water. This train of thought continues as I return to my room and grab the little bottle of bliss out of my bedside drawer.

I hate pills. Far too many bad memories, far too many bad experiences. But this quirk doesn't stop me from downing the blue 50mg capsule. Not so much that I'll be out, just enough to take off the shooting edges of this razorblade pain.

Hoping that Kenken's compulsions'll hold enough to get him to at least act on his lust, I climb back into bed, glass of water safely secure on the bedside table. Think I'll sleep in today, I've been very busy.

The smile I feel creeping on my face as I close my eyes is definitely predatory. Kudoh'll be mine. Soon enough. With this thought the back of my eyelids become my tired little universe.

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He was on the bed, arching up. Squirming, sweat trickling over his abs, strands of hair sticking to his face. Beautiful. Sexy. These are the only things I could see, the only things I could think when I stood in the doorway staring at Yohji. How perfect and amazing he looked. I could see myself being the one to hold him down. Pressing the length of my body against his as Aya had done. Aya, that lucky bastard, got to hold Yohji, got to feel the shift of muscles, the slick glide of sweat over skin.

His voice sounded rough, but so seductive.

Suddenly, I feel a complete and utter wrongness in this thinking. I try to tell myself that this is sick. Yohji was terrified. He wasn't screaming in anything other than a voice on the edge of hysteria. Aya was only lucky that he didn't get a bone or five broken.

But the thoughts swirl into a confused mass leaving me only with the idea that Yohji looked so breath-taking in his terror. This slowly takes my thoughts in a direction leading toward another visit with my fist.

I try to stop that trail before it builds. …But if he's that beautiful in terror, then how much more perfect would he look in ecstasy? Would his body arch off the bed? Would is cries fill the room, the house? Would his body rippling around me make anyone else who heard his cries jealous? Instinctively I know the answer, yes. If he were with me, everyone would be jealous knowing that they couldn't have him. That he was only mine to hold, to kiss, to hug, and cuddle.

To fuck.

The thought is so abrupt that I'm left shaking as my legs have decided to swiftly drop my ass onto my bed. When did I get here? Oh yeah, Omi, the muscle relaxants, Aya. Yeah, Aya sent me back to my room. So deep in thought I had been that I guess I didn't even notice when I'd left his doorway. So enthralled by the scene before me, so engrossed, that I couldn't stop replaying it.

Somehow it's wrong. I don't just want to screw Yohji into the next century. I mean, I do. I definitely do. It's not the only thing though. He's got a good sense of humor. We're comfortable around each other. We know which buttons to push. I actually want to be with him. Not just bedmates, not just an occasional roll in the hay. I wanna be able to talk to him. Tell him which customers decided that they needed to change their arrangements thirty times. Which ones had to stand there and watch my every move. I want to know that at the end of the rush of rabid fangirls, he's with me. Not them.

In all honesty, I'm not sure I love him. Well, right now I do love him, but as a friend who I would more from. Do I love-love him? It could happen. …If it hasn't already.

These thoughts are interrupted by the sudden realization that I have a hard-on that makes the leaning tower of Pisa look like a thumbtack. Trying to ignore it as I slowly, gently stand and make my uneasy way to the bathroom to jump in a cold shower and take care of the thing I'm trying hard to accommodate for and ignore simultaneously. Most people might think these two aims are mutually exclusive. Well, I can tell them…they are.

Upon reaching the shower stall and turning the knob on cold, I start to strip off what few clothes I'm wearing.

Stepping into said, freezing ass shower, my overheated skin immediately shrinks back in an attempt to retract into my body. Ahh, much better. …God I'm so masochistic.

My erection returns full force as I make the mistake of idly wondering if Yohji's got a bit of a kinky masochistic side to him. I moan in frustration. My body seems set to ignore the pelting of ice cold water in favor of making my thoughts shrouded by lust and giving me ideas of Yohji tied to a bed, spread eagle, blind-folded and begging. Begging to be touched, to be fucked, to reach climax. Begging me.

I barely even realize my hand is sliding down my chest to my stomach, hitting over the bump of one cold and lust hardened nipple, making me gasp, to rest teasingly on my lower abdomen. Slowly, oh so slowly, my hand creeps lower, brushing against the brown curls at the base of my penis. The hand is not my own, it's Yohji's. He's standing in front of me, moving his hand down my stomach, the other taking a nipple between forefinger and thumb to pinch and twist gently. His hand moves lower, taking a fistful of the curls and gently, cautiously tugging.

`Yeah, that's it baby.' My mind slurs.

He smiles shyly, but with a glitter of lust and amusement in his eyes. No, he's not so innocent as to be able to be shy. Sure, he's not done this before, but he's not new to the idea of sex.

His hand moves from one nipple to the other, as his other hand releases the curls from his tug and moves his palm over the vein throbbing on the underside of my dick. The palm rests there before his fingers move to curl around the base of my shaft. His fingers are firm, sure. Obviously using knowledge from his own private sessions. The thought makes me shiver. I'll have to remember to ask him to masturbate in front of me some time. My cock twitches in his sure grasp. He smirks as I pant a bit harder, enjoying the power he has over me right now. It won't stay that way for long. The images of him tied to a bed still simmering in the back of my mind. But for now, I'll give him his teasing.

The smile widens as his hand begins to move over my cock. Thumb rubbing the mushroomed head with every long, luxurious sweep. Then his hand leaves my chest and cock, making me whimper at the loss. But watching him slowly kneel down before me, eyes large and looking right into my eyes with his lips delicately parted makes my body convulse quietly with the knowledge of what is to come. No pun intended.

His eyes stay connected to mine as his breath wisps over my twitching cock, tongue coming out to lick his already wet lips. The water from the shower making his hair flat against his skull with strands sticking to the edges of his face, framing it perfectly. Then he looks to the object in front of him and smiles. God, he smiles. He wants to do this as much as I do. Once he's taken his fill, the green rises to meet my blue again and I watch as his mouth opens to allow the tip of my cock to push against his mouth. Pushing in, into Yohji, into his warm, wet mouth passed his pink lips.

I tremble with need as my cock sinks slowly into his mouth, pushing further into the wet cavern. Immediately those lips close tightly over the heated flesh of my body and his pulls me in completely. I can feel my tip bump the back of his throat and I want to cry. He's doing this for me and it feels like heaven and all I can do I stand with my head thrown back knowing that his eyes are still looking up at me. Watching my reactions and need.

I place my hands in his hair and hold him, not to keep him from moving, but to ground me. He moves his head back and forth over me taking me deep, then nearly letting me slip from his lips. No steady pace, no warning for changes he's going to make, only his mouth moving over my cock in a deliberate attempt to make me come and keep me from coming at the same time.

Desperately I start slowly pumping my hips into his mouth. Soon enough I'm fucking his mouth. Moving in and out as fast as I can without hurting him. Though a black thought in the back of my mind asks why I would do that if Yohji belongs to me? With all the pleasure I feel, I can't seem to form an answer and instead follow what that voice whispers. It whispers to me that I should take and claim what's mine. And Yohji is most certainly mine. His mind, his face, his ass, his mouth. They're all mine. So I pump into his mouth, tilting my head down to see him engulf me again and again to the root. It's a heart stopping image to say the least. I repeatedly ram my cock down his throat, my grip tightening in his hair keeping his head immobile. His eyes are looking at me, pleading with me. The back of my mind yells that he's asking for me to stop, to be gentle, to slow down. The forefront, the whispering voices tells me he's pleading for me to use him, to go faster, to pour myself into him and make him know that he's mine. The voice is so loud that it drowns out the other thoughts and my conscience.

I move faster and with more force. Plunging past his lips, over his tongue, and down his throat. Tears slowly leaking from Yohji's eyes, his lips looking more bruaised by the second and the feel of need and power crash over me. My cock takes one last plunge down his throat as I pour myself into him and claiming him.

When I open my eyes I'm gasping in the shocks of a mind-blowing orgasm and horror. I did not just masturbate to the image of my best friend and crush crying! He was crying and I got off on it. I came so hard that it nearly tore a scream from me and it was while he was crying. I looked down my body half expecting to see Yohji looking up at me, but saw only my hands wrapped tightly around my now limp penis. I released myself and shakily reached to turn off the water.

`What had I done, what was wrong with me? That's not what I want. I want to make his first times gentle, fun, good.' I thinkt to myself as I step out of the shower, my lips surely cyanotic from having stood in a cold shower for as long as I did. I wrap a towel around my waist after ruffling my hair somewhat dry with it. Then suppressing a sob at how messed up I am, I walk back to my bed and crash onto it.

The second my body hits the bed I'm out.

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I've spent the past half hour contemplating my bellybutton. I suppose to the individual looking from the outside-in, I look like I'm brooding. I'm not. No, I'm in a deep philosophical debate as to what my bellybutton could be categorized as. I know the bellybutton, the physical appearance of the bellybutton comes from the shriveling and falling off of the umbilical cord after birth. It's a scar. A scar that people have either facing inwards or outwards. But I've spent this past half hour trying to really figure out what it is. Is it a cavern, tunnel, a chasm perhaps? Maybe it's an orifice. No, an orifice is, although an opening to the body, usually something that works or does something. Doesn't have to be, but that's how I define it. Well, maybe the bellybutton has to be put in a category unto itself. How else can I describe it? It is a scar, but it's like a weird puckered scar. And it's deep too. I can shove the first half of the top of my pinky finger into it. That's one helluva scar.

This brings me to my next topic of contemplation: lint. More specifically, bellybutton lint. I know how it gets there, I know why it's there, I get all that. Now why's it called bellybutton "lint"? it's not like I have a dryer in my bellybutton churning out lint from random left socks that will be later lost into the depths of the hole that is the `button' in my belly. So why lint? Sure, it is lint from clothes that are worn. The fabric rubs and oh, I put my silent contemplation on hold.

I watch Hidaka enter the shop. I've scheduled my shifts with his as much as possible without raising suspicion in the others. His attitude the night Kudoh had his night terror bothered me something fierce. The entirety of his body language screamed "aggression!" and "mating season!" How would I recognize those signs in someone if I'm Aya the Ice Prince? Simple, the fangirls of the flowershop often have the same posturing, except maybe a bit more aggressive and disturbing. Those girls, if Kritiker got a hold of whatever it is that makes those psycho beasts with breasts so insane, and bottled it…There'd be no Estet or Schwartz or any need for any assassination squads.

All in all, I've been keeping an eye on Hidaka. I think he has designs on the fair Kudoh. I almost laugh out loud at that thought. There's not a damn thing that's `fair' or `virtuous' or anything about Kudoh. And the word designs in that context? I've finally gone off the deep end. Not to mention the excruciatingly amusing mental image I had along with the concept of Kudoh being fair and Hidaka having designs on him. Oh Scarlet O'Hara, eat your heart out!