Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ WK Teasers ❯ Debts - S/A ( Chapter 2 )

DEBTS

BY: MiniMorr

PAIRING: Schuldig x Aya

RATING/WARNING: Yaoi. Lemon-ish. Angst. My take on psychological stuff (yes, that requires a warning ;).

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, I know. Please don't sue, I mean no harm.

ADD. NOTES: Too little sleep and too much CoF... ;)

********

The door to the room open silently, the sliver of light into the darkness where I'm waiting revealing the silhouette of a man.

He shuts the door softly behind him and walk into the open space to stare at me. I utter one word, my eyes glittering in what little light there is.

"Strip."

We have been through this a hundred times, if not more, and still he hesitates. Tonight is different though, tonight he killed his worst enemy. Or the man who he believe was...

How did this begin? With his first kill...

I watch as he takes off his gloves - they're probably soaked in blood and the leather stiff. The katana is set carefully on the floor as he drops the gloves upon it. He then moves to unbuckle his coat, working swiftly and without a hint of seduction. As usual. The coat falls to the floor, landing upon the already discarded items.

I was waiting for him in the shadows, having sensed his distress for the deed he had just commited. It was something I wanted to feed off for a long time - to see the death through another's eyes and I was lucky enough that night to find him. He was crying in the garden of the man he had just killed, crying because he was losing his soul. Or so he believed. I could have told him that man have no souls. As a matter of fact, I think I did...

He's standing there, naked and pale and perfect. The light of the streets and the moon illuminate him as he meets my eyes levelly, not betraying with a flicker what he's thinking. I reach out to touch his mind, watching as his eyes widen just a fraction as I slip through it, sorting through the memories of the night. His eyes are dull again, the violet as lifeless and barren as the moon herself.

"Kneel."

I scared him with my sudden arrival, when he was still on his knees and not quite down from the high of taking another's life. He has become addicted to it since, that particular rush he experiences as he slash through them with his blade. But back then, he wasn't. Back then he was terrified for what he had done... And I offered him a way of repenting, a deal with the devil to keep a part of himself pure for the sister who's name he had claimed for his own.

I circle him in slow movements, enjoying the stress that he radiates, the dull pain that will never go away. This is a man who's never content with what life have given him, who will always drown in it, even tonight when he accomplished what he set out to do...

As I unbutton my coat, I can hear his thoughts run in the usual jumbled flow; fear and anticipation, trust - this one makes me want to laugh - and a thousand other things I have no name for.

It was a mockery of a confession - Farfarello would be delighted had he been there - but it served its purposes for me. He yielded to me without more than a random thought for what and who I might be. I am many things; a sinner or a saint, an angel or a demon - all depending on who you want me to be. I'm the one who will come back to haunt you over the years, I whispered to him and still he yielded. Opened up his soul to me to feed from it - all the darkness and pain...

My coat is hung over the back of a random chair and I start on my shirt. He's waiting for me, his eyes following my movements even as I move behind him and fling my shirt over my coat. His back is straight, he's still tense, but as I run a hand down his spine he melts a little. We both know what will happen now as I press up against him.

It was heaven and hell, that first time. Heaven for me, hell for him... He screamed in pain, both physical and emotional, but he didn't cry. He never cries. No matter what I do to him, no matter how much I force him to relive his crimes over and over again. The ache inside him intensify, but nothing ever shows on his face, or in his movements. It puzzles me, sometimes.

The gasp as I first enter him is the only sound he has uttered this night, and I draw another from him as I press myself up against him, into him, impaling him...

Soft moonlight makes his pale skin glow, almost ethereal in its shine as I pull him up against my own chest. I can feel his heart beat under my hand as I move it slowly over his chest to find a nipple which I pinch viciously. His breath hitch and change into a whimper. His head falls back on my shoulder, those ridiculus eartails tickling my neck.