Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Yohji Kudou, International Man of Parody ❯ Our heroes bond and an enemy attacks ( Chapter 5 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Title: Yohji Kudou, International Man of Parody

Author: Ann

Rating: R. Yaoi, baby, yeah!

Pairings: It would spoil the fun to tell you; from the title, you can assume Yohji gets some. Male/male situations, though mostly implied. Be adult or be gone.

Notes: Parody/fusion of the Austin Powers films and of Weiss Kreuz. Austin Powers characters belong to the very funny Mike Myers, Michael McCullers and New Line Cinema. Weiss Kreuz characters belong to Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss. This is fan fiction, and no profit is made from this endeavor. Parody is a long-standing, protected form of free speech.

*emphasis*
//song lyrics//
~telepathy~
#thoughts#

Warnings: Bizarre and lame humor. OCC? Of course! Character bashing? Yes, but just in fun... well, mostly. ::snickers:: Character deaths, bad language, bad puns, just... bad.

Feedback: Feedback would be greatly appreciated at Ann89103@lvcm.com.

Archive: Ask and you shall receive.


**Author's Note**

Thanks everyone for the kind words and feedback. It truly is appreciated. The posting speed is going to slow down now due to work issues and the upcoming holidays, so I apologize in advance. I hope to work on this story once a week, and will try to post that often. On the plus side, this part is looooong!

***

Using Schuldig's directions, Yohji drove his Shaguar to a nearby flower shop named 'Kitten in the House.' The area was quiet: a number of small businesses and a few private residences lined the street. Entering through the back of the shop, the two men made their way past the exotic, fragrant blooms, and headed upstairs. Located above the store were a small number of apartments; Schuldig pushed open the first door on the right, a wave of his hand and a small smile serving as invitation.

The small apartment could not match the ambiance and sheer luxury of Yohji's bachelor pad, but Yohji still found it comfortable, especially liking the large windows and high ceilings that created the illusion of a larger space. The living area was divided into two distinct, separate spaces: the first half served as an office, complete with desk, computer equipment and files. Yohji was immediately drawn to the other side of the room, his body making for the black overstuffed leather couch like a heat-seeking missile.

"Ahhh," he purred as he stretched lanky legs across the couch, then looked up at his companion, "very nice. But it would be *much* nicer if you joined me, baby."

Schuldig took one look at the man sprawled over his couch and replied, "I would, if there was any room for me."

"Oh, but there is, Schuldig," leered Yohji, patting his lap with both hands, "right here. Put it right there!"

Schuldig's eyes lit with an unholy glee, and his grin stretched nearly from ear to ear. "I'd love to 'put it right there,' Kudou." With that, the armful of files Schuldig had retrieved from his desk dropped onto Yohji's unprotected groin.

While Yohji was bent over wheezing with pain, Schuldig effortlessly slipped into the now available space on the couch. "So, Kudou, shall we go over the reports?"

"S-sure," Yohji answered, in a voice far too high pitched to be *his,* "why don't you start?"

"Love to," Schuldig answered, "so let's start with Brad Evil. Real name is Robert van Winkle, he legally changed it to Brad Evil when he was 14, born in 1975, Las Vegas, Nev--"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Yohji interrupted, "He changed his name *to* Evil? Didn't he know that one's name can have a major impact on their future? I mean, can you imagine someone saying, 'Let's hire Evil,' or 'Did you have a Good Friday, Evil,' or even, 'Do me, Evil, do me right now?'"

Schuldig stared blankly at Yohji for nearly a minute before answering. "My guess is Brad had a vision outlining the negative effects of keeping his original name; I only wonder why he chose 'Brad.' Couldn't he come up with something sexier?"

It was Yohji's turn to be confused. "What's wrong with the name Robert van Winkle? And what's this nonsense about 'visions?'"

Schuldig responded, "Brad changed his name in 1989. The next year, a young man from Florida named Robert van Winkle had an enormously popular hit song. He was one of the first nationally known white rappers, using the handle 'Vanilla Ice', and--"

"Oooohh, I remember now!" exclaimed Yohji, who in his excitement was now dancing around the couch, "Ice, ice, baby! Ice, ice, baby!"

With one hand Schuldig yanked the dancing Yohji back to the couch; he used the other to cover the spy's mouth, cutting off any further singing. "I *hate* that song. Anyway, In the space of a year Vanilla Ice went from rising star to one-hit wonder, and his musical talents were dismissed across America as a bad joke."

"Vanilla Ice--or Robert van Winkle--is not the important part of this story," Schuldig continued, "what *is* important is a special skill, or power, that Brad possesses. Brad Evil has the ability to see future events *before* they happen."

Yohji shook off Schuldig's hand and laughed, "That's just not possible, Schuldig! There's no such thing as foreseeing the future, or lifting things with the mind, or even--"

"Telepathy?" the redhead offered, cutting off Yohji's sentence.

"Hey, how--"

"Did I do that?"

"This is--"

"Some sort of joke?"

"You're going--"

"The right way for a smacked bottom? Sounds very nice, but not now. Did you even read the files Omi Elucidation must have given you about *me*?"

Yohji blushed in embarrassment . "Well, Schuldig, I really didn't have time. I had to prepare for the mission, and you of all people must know how long it takes to pick out the proper spy clothing."

Schuldig nodded his agreement as Yohji continued, "And, well, I started on Omi's report, but it was really long, he takes *far* too long to make a point, he uses *way* too many big words just to prove he's smart, and there weren't any pictures or illustrations. How was I supposed to concentrate?"

Schuldig gave Yohji another flashy grin, then reached over to playfully muss Yohji's wavy golden-brown locks. "Why don't we try another method of reviewing mission information? I tell you everything I've discovered thus far, and you be a good superstud and listen. Should you actually understand everything I tell you, you get a very, very, very *nice* reward."

Yohji's interest was perked, along with a few other things. It was with great enthusiasm he replied, "Grr, baby! Very grr!"

Once again Schuldig rattled off the necessary information. "Most of the operatives in Schwarz have some sort of psychic ability. That's one of the reasons they have become as successful and dangerous as they are. That's also why I was assigned to this mission: I have a few special abilities as well."

"My main power is the ability to read minds, and also send my thoughts to other minds. A secondary ability I have is better-than-normal speed and agility. And in answer to what you're thinking right now, Kudou, yes, that includes flexibility. Focus!"

Yohji was brazen enough not to blush. He simply leaned back on the couch, allowing one hand to casually brush through his honey-gold locks, curling lustrous strands around his fingers. "If Brad Evil can foresee the future, as you say, why hasn't he killed you by now?"

It was Schuldig's turn to be momentarily distracted by his companion's languid, sensual presence. It was a few moments before he responded, "For some reason our abilities clash. When in his presence my telepathy fades, and he is unable to use his gifts. However, you do make a good point, Yohji. Brad could have foreseen our meeting after I left Schwarz headquarters, and from this moment on we are both in danger. That's why you have to be prepared for anything Schwarz throws at you."

Schuldig continued, "From what I've observed, Brad Evil is a cunning, meticulous planner with a taste for power and woefully inadequate social skills. He likes to develop elaborate, bizarre schemes and revels in controlling the men that work for him. He enjoys killing, but doesn't like to get his hands dirty. He allows the other men making up Schwarz to take care of that type of business."

Yohji lifted one of the surveillance photos from the couch; in the process, he brushed his hand softly against Schuldig's thigh.

"Wait a minute, you said the 'other men' of Schwarz: just who is this stunning specimen of sullen, distant femininity? Exotic amethyst eyes, sharp features, those stunning eartails: I'd like to melt *her* ice!"

Yohji had to wait another five minutes for his answer, as Schuldig tried to recover from his laughing fit. Traces of giggles colored his nasal tones, softening the words, "You may want to check the prescription strength of your glasses, Kudou: that *man* is the assassin known as Frau Abyssinian."

"Hey, I'll have you know I only wear these for effect," Yohji replied, "and I don't know any men named Frau."

"You do now," Schuldig answered. "Frau Abyssinian's real name is Ran Fujimiya. Ran's father was a high-ranking executive at Sumitomo Mitsui, Japan's second-largest bank, for a number of years. During that time, he was laundering money for drug cartels, Schwarz among them. Three years ago, your employer, Kritiker, discovered the scheme and arrested most of the participants."

"Three years ago?" Yohji wondered, "I think was visiting 1969, one of my favorite years, attending Woodstock... oh, and stopping a Russian scheme to prevent the Apollo 11 moonwalk. Can't beat the sixties for free love, baby. But we could try..."

"Down, boy," Schuldig sneered, "while you were wearing tie-dye, in Tokyo 1999 Ran's father was about spill to Kritiker all sorts of information about his crimes, thereby implicating a number of wealthy, powerful men."

"Instead," he continued, "the Fujimiya's home exploded, immediately killing both of Ran's parents. Ran was able to escape with his younger sister, Aya, but the same criminals that blew up the house managed to run her down with their car. Since then, she's been in a coma. Ran vowed vengeance on those responsible; he's also since then developed a second personality that he calls 'Frau.'"

Schuldig paused, placing one of his hands on Yohji's left shoulder. "This is very important, Kudou. The assassins were never identified, and Ran Fujimiya's heart died that night. He blames Kritiker for the arrest of his father, leading to the destruction of his family, and as Frau Abyssinian he has killed numerous Kritiker agents for Schwarz."

A slight shudder shook Schuldig's slender frame. "Every time I entered his mind, I could barely withstand the hostility and pain within. His desire for revenge is red-hot beneath his icy exterior. Don't underestimate him, Yohji. He wields a sword better than anyone I've seen."

Yohji leaned in closer to Schuldig, using his left arm to pull the man even nearer. Schuldig shuddered again at the feel of soft, warm breath washing against his ear as Yohji purred, "You haven't seen me wield *my* sword yet, baby. I think I can change your mind."

Schuldig knew he should pull away, force his companion to stay focused on their mission, but it was impossible to resist the irresistible Yohji Kudou. He sat there, stunned, as Yohji moved back slightly, just far enough for each man to gaze into the other's eyes.

For only a few minutes, though it seemed to last longer, Yohji and Schuldig were frozen, entranced: each recognized the other's hopes, longings and fears, startled to discover they were mirrored, shared. No words spoken, no broadcasting of thoughts, the bond was formed anyway, stronger than attraction, deeper than lust.

They leaned towards each other, heads tilted just so for the meeting of lips, all thoughts of the mission forgotten. The kiss was gentle, barely a brush of tender flesh, a kind of introduction: seconds later the pressure deepened, drawing both men willingly into a more passionate embrace.

The unexpected sound of cracking wood barely registered in their minds; they were slow to react to the assassin that leapt into the room. With a sweeping gesture, one strong arm crashed into Schuldig, separating the two spies. Another powerful blow send the German reeling, the impact sending him through one of the windows before he could even utter a sound, much less attempt a telepathic attack.

Recovering from his astonishment Yohji sprang forward to reach his partner, only to be forced back by the sharp stiletto that nearly sliced through his chest. The next fifteen minutes was spent in an intricate dance of death, Yohji using his speed and agility to evade the slashing, jabbing blades wielded by the one-eyed stranger with the wild white hair.

As Yohji leapt over the charging assassin, avoiding yet once again the deadly knives, he questioned, "Have we met before, baby? I'm sure I would have remembered someone as unusual as you."

His unknown assailant paused for a moment, his amber unblinking eye fixed upon Yohji. "I am Farfarello, best killer in Schwarz, and sure winner of the upcoming Assassin of the Month award!" he stated proudly.

Yohji relaxed his stance slightly; he smiled at Farfarello, allowed a hint of admiration to color his words, "That's very impressive, Farfarello. Only the very best murderers can claim such an honor. Do you work exclusively with blades, or do you vary your routine?"

Farfarello replied, "I try to be a well-rounded assassin; if you depend on one skill too much ye leave yourself open to a counterattack. While my knives are my favorite tools, I have been known to use guns, a poison or two, and sometimes I find ripping a person in two with my bare hands is quite a rush!"

Yohji paled at those last words, but maintained his smiling, nonthreatening demeanor. "Haven't tried that trick yet, love, wouldn't want to get blood all over my clothes. My cleaning bills are already outrageous." With those comments, Yohji took a few careful steps back, adding more distance between himself and his opponent.

Farefarello didn't seem to notice, or more likely he didn't care. It wasn't often he got to discuss the finer points of assassination with a professional, especially one who seemed to appreciate his genius. And the man *was* easy on the eye. Sleek in leather, enticing jade eyes, that winning smile...

He'd kill him, of course. Messily. But it couldn't hurt to drag things out. Could it?

Yohji was tempted to yawn, but too professional to do so. But it got so boring, sometimes, assassin attacks, Yohji goes into charming mode and makes conversation, assassin is distracted, Yohji kills attacker. The bastard could have waited until *after* he had seduced Schuldig, dammit! Another potential love interest bites the dust; that's the third one this year!

The slice of wire slashing though air caught Farfarello by surprise; he could hear the sharp wire cut into skin, smell the fresh blood, sense the constriction of his air flow.

What he didn't feel was pain, much to Yohji's dismay. Farfarello reached for the wire with both hands, ignoring the fresh cuts that appeared, and *pulled.*

The stunned spy stumbled forward, into the Irishman's waiting bloody hands. Already the cuts around Farfarello's neck had started to heal, Yohji's mind distractedly noted, but he had a bigger problem to deal with: he was being wrapped up in his own weapon.

Farfarello's single, unblinking eye never left Yohji's face; his lips curled into a cruel sneer as he growled, "I was willing to play for a wee bit, but ye had to go and make me mad." Bloodied fingers curled around Yohji's neck and started to squeeze. "I get even messier when I get mad!" he continued.

##Looks like my number's up. It's been a great run, really. I just wish this Farfarello kook wasn't so damned messy, I wanted to leave a gorgeous corpse for my adoring fans to cry over.##

The grip on his neck shifted slightly as Farfarello pulled out one of his blades. "This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt ye... oh, wait, this won't hurt me at all!" he laughed.

"Guess again, asshole," came the voice from the door. "This is gonna hurt you a lot!"

And there was Schuldig, a fiery angel of vengeance, in the doorway, those gleaming eyes, a mixture of blue and green, promising retribution.

"Oh, yeah?" sneered Farfarello, pushing Yohji away like a rag doll, ignoring the Eurasian's curses as he fell to the floor, "You and what army? Yer bloody mental blasts won't hurt me at all!"

Schuldig didn't flinch as the angry Irishman headed towards him; in fact he smiled as he stepped out of the doorway and jeered, "Say hello to my little friends!"

With that, a dozen puppies darted into the room, the three beagles heading straight for Yohji, large brown eyes begging him to play. Four terriers raced haphazardly through the room, yapping at everything in sight, while a nervous Chihuahua did his business on the carpet. But it was the four poodles that captured Farfarello's attention; at their approach he came to a dead stop.

Yohji couldn't understand why the dangerous killer from Schwarz grew deathly pale and staggered back against the damaged windows. "No...no!" The Irishman gasped, trembling fingers unable to hold his blades. "C-curse ye, Dog! Someday I will kill every one of ye!" With that fierce cry, the one-eyed man jumped through the window and escaped into the night.

Yohji didn't know what to think: he was most happy to be alive, thrilled by Schuldig's unexpected return, confused by Farfarello's retreat, and finally annoyed at the poodles, who considered his leather boots to be an excellent chew toy. He moved away from the puppies, exclaiming, "I need those ankles, baby!"

"Be nice to those puppies, Kudoh," Schuldig advised as he leaned over the spy, helping him remove the treacherous wire holding him captive, "and give thanks that there's a pet store on this street. Those pets just saved our lives."

Yohji was happy to be free from the wires, and happier to see that Schuldig only sported minor cuts and bruises. "Care to explain to me what just happened, baby?"

"You met Farfarello, Yohji, one of Schwarz's most deadly killers," Schuldig replied.

Yohji glared at him. "I figured that part out, Schuldig. But why the hell did he take off when you brought the pups in?"

Schuldig sighed. "Because he's another assassin with a painful past. Farfarello--no one knows his real name--apparently came from a very close-knit, religious family. There was an incident that took place when he was nine: while on a vacation to Paris his family was killed in an attack by a pack of rapid French poodles. His father, mother and sister were killed, with Farfarello the only survivor. But the rabies infection affected his mind, and he was placed in an institution back in his native Ireland."

After a brief pause, Schuldig continued, "During his stay in that institution, any mention of dogs, even a drawing of a puppy would send him into a murderous frenzy. No therapy, no medication has been successful in fighting his illness. In fact, ever since that attack he doesn't feel pain. Even the most brutal assaults have no effect. He escaped the institution a few years later and Brad recruited him into Schwarz."

Yohji bent down to pet the various puppies that had gathered at his and Schuldig's feet. Schuldig joined him moments later.

"That's very sad," Yohji said, "to be unable to love such beautiful creatures."

Schuldig nodded, and both men were silent, simply content to play with the happy puppies.

After a few minutes Schuldig stood, then started to gather the pups into a large cardboard box. "Time to return the puppies, Yohji. We've got work to do."

Yohji lifted the last of the puppies into the box. "Right. Looks like Brad Evil's on to us. I'm going to call Omi and have him meet us at my place."

After returning the puppies to the pet store, the two men headed back to Yohji's lair.

***