Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ You Can't Have My Pants! ❯ Hand Over the Pants ( Chapter 1 )

You Can’t Have My Pants

Disclaimer: The Weiss boys are not mine, but the pants they’re not wearing are!

Warnings: yaoi, humor, approaching adult situations



Chapter One: Hand Over the Pants



“You can’t have my pants.”

Omi stopped dead in his tracks as he stood before the door of the shop. He thought he was perhaps hearing things, surely Aya had not just said . . .

“But, Aya!”

“No, Yohji! Not the pants.”

Taking a deep breath and preparing his mind for a myriad of possible scenarios, many of which involved at least one indecent assassin in the closed Koneko, Omi walked in; thankfully, both were fully clothed, albeit somewhat differently. With his bare arms crossed determinately across his chest, Aya stood stiffly glaring at Yohji. A far cry from what he had been wearing mere hours before, he was sporting a navy shirt, sleeveless, high at the neck, and tight enough to be painted on; upon noting that it was a good two inches from meeting his jeans, Omi quickly identified it as ‘Yohji clothes.’ This was confirmed by the pair of sunglasses, Yohji’s, that sat on Aya’a ruffled hair. He looked…good. Yohji, on the other hand, well, Aya’s orange sweater was not doing his complexion any favors.

“It doesn’t work without the pants!” Yohji gestured at his own tight jeans, dark washed and barely decent.

“I can’t fit in those.”

“You can!” he defended, as if Aya were trying to cheat him out of fifty dollars.

“You’re too skinny, Kudou.”

“You’re as skinny as I am, and they’re loose, see.” He bunched the sweater up around his chest to demonstrate the looseness of the pants by pulling at the waistband; the inch it gave was with extreme protest.

“I’m not giving you my pants. You’re probably not even wearing underwear.”

“I am too! It’s blue with little lightning bolts on the ass!”

Omi chose that high point to break in with a quiet cough. Two pairs of eyes jerked towards him. Aya had the decency to shake his head in embarrassment, but this subsided instantly as Yohji brought his case before the newfound judge.

“Make him give me his pants!”

“Kudou!”

“He promised, Omi--”

“I did not.”

Sensing the immanent violence and debating what kind of clothes-swapping children he worked with, Omi stepped in.

“Yohji, I can’t make Aya give you his pants. You have your own pants. And Aya, whether or not you promised Yohji the pants, then …” What could he say? “Um, well, then you should probably apologize for the misunderstanding.”

They stared at him for a moment in silent.

“Give me those pants!” And then Yohji made a grab for Aya’s jeans, and for the third time that week all hell broke loose. When Aya grabbed the reaching arm and flipped the blonde onto his back on the floor, he didn’t land too hard, and when Yohji tried to kick the swordsman, it didn’t throw him back that far. And even though Aya ended up with his hand fisted in his own sweater and holding his teammate by the throat again the wall, it didn’t seem like Yohji was having any trouble breathing like he normally did. So Omi let it go on, that is, until they knocked over the vase.

Tripping the taller man, Aya tossed him back to the floor, pinning him there by dropping his own weight across Yohji’s thin hips. And though the redhead had his wrists effectively pinned down by leaning forward over him, his leg kicked wildly, making the table jump and the glass vase set out for an expensive arrangement topple to the floor. Their faces were very close when it fell, and it looked to Omi as if something were just about to be settled, but he could hardly let them tear the shop apart to figure it out.

“That’s enough!” The authoritative was not his forte, but Omi did manage to threaten, albeit in a rather high-pitched manner. Neither of the older men, however, moved.

“We’ll get it, chibi,” Yohji promised, panting, from his restrained position.

“Hn,” Aya agree, face flushed with the exertion that Omi had not thought required too much effort on his part.

“No.” To his credit, Omi stood firm in the face of their glares. “Get up and stop fighting.”

“It’s over,” Yohji explained. Aya nodded. Neither moved.

Omi remained, and finally Aya extracted himself from on top of the other and Yohji scrambled to feet, pulling down the sweater.

“Come on Aya,” he snagged the fallen shades from the floor and, handing them to Aya, started towards the back room; Aya followed.

“Wait…the vase…where are you going?”

Yohji was already inside the door when he yelled back, “I’ll get the vase later; I gotta get Aya’s pants first!”

Omi thought he heard Aya calling Yohji an idiot, but the closing of the heavy door muffled the word.

~tbc~

Author’s Note: What can I say for myself except, next chapter we’ll take off Aya’s pants! Reviews are appreciated and are used to fuel the lemon-machine that lurks in my basement. Flames, as always, will be gifted to freezing criminals in Siberia; we appreciate your continued attention to the plight of frigid convicts.