Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ White Noise ❯ Dead Baby Jokes and Pre-Cognitive Orgasms ( Chapter 10 )

A/N: You can all thank linguistics class for this chapter. Unless you really hate the chapter, in which case, you can all blame linguistics for this chapter. Either way, linguistics is the perpetrator. Sorry for taking so long with this. Just wasn't inspired. And I'm still not. So if this sounds forced, corny, stupid, or bad, blame linguistics. If it's one you like…raise your standards. Thank you to those who reviewed. I love reviews; it makes me feel like I'm getting mail. And ummm I think there was something else I was gunna say, but I forgot, so never mind. Enjoy!

Oh, and Weiss, and everyone, they're not mine, so no suing please.

+++++++++++

Don't ask me how, but Yohji managed to get himself out of the bathroom with out me or Aya having to go back and pick the lock. He also managed to get out before Omi could get wind of the situation, and that would've been bad. He'd have ripped us all new ones for not taking care of ourselves and each other better. It's always fun when Omi gets pissed.

But anyway, Yohji's been quiet and keeping to himself lately, Aya's been silently watching me and Yohji, and I've been watching Aya watch me. Hey, a person's gotta find their amusement somewhere. Luckily for us, there haven't been any missions lately. I don't think Yohji's up for one, I really don't wanna go on one, and I have to admit that I always worry that there'll be one mission too many for the chibi and it'll crack him. He's too good a person for that. I really just hope that Omi'll always find ways to overcome and stuff.

I walk over to Yohji to give him a bucket of baby's breath that I know he's gunna need for an arrangement, I saw his order sheet, and immediately feel Aya's icy glare boring a whole through my back. Oh sure, I don't let on that I know, but I can feel. Who the hell wouldn't feel a severe drop in temperature suddenly? Holy shit! I just put it together! Aya only *really* watches me when I get near Yohji. Maybe that ice-prince wants Yohji and gets jealous when I get near him. That would sure as hell explain a lot. I mean, every time I look at Yohji my mouth feels cottony, my throat goes dry, and I want nothing more than to bend him over the nearest surface and make him beg me to take him. It's been a few days since the rape fantasies and Yohji's bathroom incident, I think it was just a really short, really not wanted phase for me to have those thoughts. So now it's back to the good ol' `Yohji's willing, and I take my time with him so that he's crying and pleading and wanting me so bad it almost hurts' fantasies. I much prefer those to the horrible, not to be mentioned again, dark fantasies.

Back to Aya. He's still staring at me as I move away from Yohji and back to register, where I'm only happy to be. Flower arranging? Not my forte. But the minute I start to turn toward him, suddenly the icy gaze on my back is gone, and all that's left is me turning to find Aya in the middle of a very intricate arrangement involving light orange dahlias and white calla lilies. I hate calla lilies, they always smell so much. The smell reminds me of this funeral I once went to when I was really little. The smell was everywhere and then there were so many of the damned flowers near the casket. Why anyone would ever want to be buried and not cremated is beyond me. And who in the hell would want dahlias and calla lilies in the same arrangement!? It just seems so…overkill or something. Like I said, flower arrangements are not my thing.

I turn back from Aya-watching to see Yohji staring at me like I've grown eight heads and a customer standing at the register waiting for me to acknowledge her presence. Great, maybe Yohji thinks I want Aya now…if he evens knows I'm gay.

+++++

Somehow, it always strikes me as amusing that ikebana, the cherished art of flower arranging, is the same word used to describe the sexual act of double penetration. Although, I can see a correlation between the two. Does that make it better, or worse? Now this all brings me to Freud. I dabbled in psych when I was in high school, there was a 101 class, so I'm familiar with Freud's theories. So, I'm extremely good at ikebana, I'm a bit of a natural. I love working with the flowers and arranging them to where I want them, they don't talk to me nor do the want me to talk to them. Is all this Freudian? Do I, subconsciously, want to be fucked by two guys at once? As double penetration usually consists of two guys screwing one receiver. Or do I want to fuck someone else while they're being fucked by someone else? Maybe I'd just be a natural at getting screwed by two men at once. Or I'd be a natural at screwing someone while they were getting screwed by someone other than me.

And this all finally brings me down to my most recent conundrum: can you be bulimic if there's no food in your stomach to purge? Do anorexics do that? Puke when they've not had anything to eat?

Damnit! Again my ruminating has to be halted because there are other people in the room. This is irritating, here I am trying to decipher what I think are secrets of the universe, and Hidaka has to go and ruin it. I suppose I at least get solace from Kudoh's current silent jag. But still. Regardless, I raise my eyes from their customary frowned gaze into the depths of my arrangement, to focus my customary frowned gaze on Hidaka as he moves towards Kudoh with a bucket of baby's breath in his hand. Ah, the helpful little soccer boy, helping out the guy he most obviously wants to jump the bones of. Wonder if Kudoh's noticed yet? I doubt it. The man may have been a great PI, but he hasn't even been able to figure out that he's a raging bisexual. I mean, he wears tank tops, spends more time in front of the mirror than Aya-chan used to, and I've seen his eyes flicker over some truly nice asses. I have no doubt that the man loves women, but it's obvious he loves men too.

Hidaka goes to Kudoh, handing him the bucket, then bumbling back toward the register, my eyes stay on him the whole way. I've been watching the two interact, I hate to admit it, but I am a bit concerned about Kudoh. I mean, that look on Hidaka's face when Kudoh was in his nightmare…it was chilling. So, as unofficial leader of Weiss, I make it my duty to watch them and keep an eye on Kudoh.

Hidaka gets to the register and slowly starts to turn my way, I quickly flick my gave back to the flowers, dahlias and calla lilies…why, and make sure to look like I've been working the whole time. Or at least have been glaring at them the whole time. I let myself drift back into my thoughts.

The first and foremost thought? I'm going to hell. Not because I kill people. Yes, I do feel bad about it. I do feel tainted. I often wonder what Aya-chan will think of her brother when she wakes. And sometimes the blood seeps under my cuticles and stains underneath my nails. Sometimes my face in the mirror disturbs me, looking into my eyes and knowing they just watched my hands slice someone's guts, the air filling with the vile stench of bowels releasing, urine and yellow fat sliding out of the gaping slash. But I do this for her, for all the things she should have. I kill those who have stolen from other innocent people like her. Their deaths, my part in them, are not why I am going to hell. If there is a hell. No, hell will greet me with open arms because I think dead-baby jokes are some of the funniest things in the world. I'm going to hell because I watch Omi move around the shop and think "How would he look impaled on my cock, what noises would he make while he was riding my dick?" Or, "Are Crawford's orgasms diminished because he sees them before hand? Or does he even have to have sex because he can see how things'll turn out and thus not need to experience it otherwise?" And, "Would Naoe's powers be an amazing new kink to sex?" Definitely going to hell.

++++

Here I am, standing in front of my mirror contemplating my outfit to see if it's good enough to go to a…gay club. I check again, blond hair slightly mussed but in a good way, green eyes rimmed ever so little by kohl, long-sleeved snake-skin colored industrial netted top fitting over skin tight sleeveless midriff, and low hanging leather pants painted on. Yup, I'm to die for. Now why the *hell* am I dressing so well for a gay club? Why the hell am I even contemplating a gay club. I go over the reasons in my head again.

I've been to gay clubs before with friends, so I've seen the scene.

I want a place I know so I can get out as soon as is necessary.

I need to see if I really am gay, or at least bi.

Yeah, those reasons are okay, but I've only seen the gay scene, not been a part of the gay scene. There's a shit load of difference there! I was an outside observer, and now I'm contemplating being a participant. Cause hell, if being an outside observer a couple of times before hasn't helped me answer my question, I assume I have to test the waters and dive in to get real results. So now I'm going to this fucking club, dressed to the nines, where I can assume I'll be groped! By men! Unnerved? Me? No, of course not. But I guess if I'm gunna see if I'm gay, I better do it some place that I know. Some place where I can go as deep as I want, and leave as fast as I need.

Kinda disturbing that I got this all planned out.

++++

Twenty minutes later I step out of Seven and go toward the door of the club. Sasurau. Wander. Weird name for a club, but I've heard it's good. So I'll give it a go. My hand automatically reaches for my other wrist to feel the presence of my trusty, kill-dark-beasts watch. Still there, now that I've made sure I can strangle those who grope me, I'm ready to go. Anytime now…yup, just gotta pick up one foot and put it in front of the other. Anyyyytime.

Fuck knows I do not want to dive headlong into something when I'm not sure I can swim. That whole sink or swim theory? I find that it doesn't pertain to me. Hell, even as a little kid, I was pissy bout pool water temperature, so I'd dip my toe in, *then* I'd jump headlong in. But I always had to feel the temperature first. And the heavy bondage scene, one reminiscent of my nightmare? Yeah, that's fit under the drowning with lead weights tied to my arms and legs. So, okay, just a few more steps. Just a few more and I'll be in the club. It won't be so bad. And I already know I love women; talking with them, listening to them, having sex with them, so I don't have to try and convince myself of that. Or try to prove it. Maybe I'm just broadening my horizons. I mean, being bi is the best of both worlds, right? Right. Three more steps to go. More like seven is I shuffle really slowly. Wonder if I can shuffle a bit slower and eek out those three to ten instead of seven.

"Oh for fuck's sake, suck it up Kudoh!" Great, I'm back to mumbling to myself again.

But it has the desired effect and I find myself in the midst of swirling lights, thumping music, and a caressing heat coming from all the writhing, grinding, twisting flesh on the dance floor.

I love clubs. They're so much less somber than bars, the lays are usually better, and you can still get drunk during it all. Clubs are great. This club, superficially and ignoring the clientele, looks clean and has good music. I can deal with this.

I feel the push of the music moving me toward the dance floor while I brush against several people, some of them looking very androgynous. Still able to deal. Looking at the bar and scanning the room as I move forward, still intent on the dance floor, my eyes rest on two women doing nothing less than fucking each other against the wall. Now, not only is that sight arousing as hell, but it really brings to mind how lucky women are. Not only can they fuck each other and look beautiful doing it, but they can literally fuck each other. Men and women, nope, not truly fucking each other at the same time. Not in my book. Men and men, nope, still not. But that's just my opinion, I wouldn't mind being proved wrong on one of my assumptions, and I may even find out about the second one…eventually.

As I let my thoughts wander, I find myself on the dance floor with someone's ass pressed to my groin. How did I not notice that? Oh well, feels good. My partner is small and dainty with nice slender hips and shoulder length, glittering dyed blue hair, shining with the moving lights. Very acceptable.

And then my partner turns. Oh…shit. I forgot where I was. I'm reminded quite thoroughly when a familiar, totally not feminine, bulge presses against mine. Oh, shit.

I make some mumbling, stuttering apology and back up, bumping into other couples in my haste to retreat. Making my way to the bar, I look back and find my former -dance partner has already moved on. At least his night wasn't ruined. I wonder if mine's salvageable.

When I reach the bar, the bar tender saunters over to me, his eyes smirking as he approaches.

"Hey lovely, looks like you could use a stiff one." He says, his short black hair spiking in all directions as his light brown eyes wait for a reply.

"Yeah." Even I can hear the relief in my reply.

"Well I'm on break in ten, we can meet out back." He grins, no, that's a leer.

Shaking my head and waving my hands, I say, in a distinctly `cornered-animal' kind of voice, "No! A drink, I need a drink!"

Maybe it's time to leave, or maybe not. As I see a Long Island iced tea slide up in front of me.

"Hey, hey calm down sweetheart. It's okay. You're new to the scene?" The bartender is looking at me with calm concerned eyes. Doe-eyes, my mind notes somewhat hysterically.

"Yeah, very." Is my answer as my lips meet the edge of the glass and I suck down half the glass.

We talk for a while, the conversation drifting lightly from topic to topic, with it getting kinda fuzzy after my fourth glass of…something. At this point, I have no idea what I've had, but I know the drinks keep coming. And I know I was upset about something, but for the life of me I can't remember what, or why. Huh, but that's okay, cause I feel the music pulling me back to the dance floor. With a lop-sided grin to the bartender, I stand, steadily, and move from the bar to the floor.

All the way I keep asking myself why I was having issues and what was it that was bothering me so much? But the lights help to move me into a pleasant state of disorientation that help to swing me into moving fluidly into and on the floor.

The bodies press around my leather pants and net and midriff covered chest, the press feels good as I move with the mass surrounding me, enveloping me.

Someone moulds themselves to my back, hands grabbing my hips and pulling me, holding me tightly against their, no, his, definitely a his, and what a his!, body. Another body moves to my front pressing his, yup, both are guys, chest against mine and pushing me tighter still against the guy behind me. The man, no kid, the kid in front of me is slightly shorter, but not by much, with his hair pulled back into a low ponytail at the back of his neck. His hair ranging in shades of rust to deep brown, hinting at mixed heritage, as do his blue, bright and all too glassy eyes. Probably on Ecstasy.

I think I'm about to protest when suddenly the one behind me moves his hands to grab the ass of the kid in front of me. This ends up making a nice, tight, writhing, not really appreciated Yohji sandwich. Stuck now. Well, how to extricate myself from this.

Back Boy, as I so kindly deemed the guy grinding his dick into my ass, squeezes the kid's ass and licks the shell of my ear. Okay, done, *now*!

I turn to say to Back Boy that I'm leaving, and possibly step on his instep…hard. But, find instead a tongue thrust into my mouth and a hand gently gripping my hair to keep my head turned so he can keep kissing me.

I, of course, do the only thing I can possibly do in such a situation, and that is to moan into his mouth. Wait, no, shit! Kudoh Yohji does not moan when another guy uses my tonsils as a punching bag for his tongue!

Okay, so I don't moan when he does that, I moan loudly, wetly, and wantonly. And I most definitely can't deny my suddenly weak knees. Damnit if I don't groan louder when the kid reminds me of his presence by rubbing his thigh against my dick. When did my legs get spread enough for his leg to be between mine? When did my idea of running away fly the hell out the window?

It takes a moment for me to realize I'm leaning back against Back Boy's rather broad, strong, and pert nippled chest. Yes, you can feel someone's nipples when they're all erect. It's not that difficult, especially when you're right up against them. I'm panting and writhing and the moment Back Boy releases my lips, my head is turned only to be claimed and devoured by the kid. He's much more gentle and much less domineering, but no less invigorating. I think I finally get it. These two are a couple, BB obviously the seme and the kid is the uke. Apparently, the kid is more then just his partner's uke as he seems quite content to let me take control of the kiss, sliding my tongue against his, feeling his teeth, the roof of his mouth. Pushing against his tongue just to feel the slick slide as he gently pushes back. He's not fighting me for dominance at all, whereas, BB wouldn't let me get in a good spar no way. Not that I'm complaining.

Wait a sec, I don't think we're doing more than humping in the middle of the dance floor, and although I like to show myself off, I'm not an exhibitionist. It's at this realization that I have a few epiphanies: A) maybe we should move off the dance floor and continue this elsewhere, B) I'm interested in continuing, and C) maybe I've always been a bit bi, but was too stupid to take advantage of it.

But it seems the issue is taken out of my hands as BB has already gotten the idea of continuing somewhere else, and shuffles us, groping and kissing the entire way, to a darkened hallway that I can only imagine leads to back rooms made for such occasions. Fuck this is hot.