Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ You're Joking, Right? ❯ Chapter 8

beta by Wedjateye

**********

 

Yoji couldn't help wondering if Aya were cold.

 

Crazy thing to be thinking about, obviously, but he kept wondering. The night air had taken on a chill, and he and Aya had stuffed their waiters' jackets into a dumpster a few blocks back, after parting ways with Ken and Omi. Standard procedure, groups of two not being as noticeable as groups of four. It also seemed to have become standard procedure to pair him off with Aya -- which didn't exactly bother him, but he was going to have to make sure they knew he'd noticed. Candy assed wimps.

 

Yoji unbuttoned a few buttons of the overly crisp polyester-blend police shirt he still wore. No reason not to make the effort when a bit of styling could make the difference between unattractive and -- well, somewhat less unattractive.

 

And speaking of attractive, he probably needed to stop staring at Aya. Who definitely looked a little chilly, just wearing that thin, white undershirt. But good. Really, really good. He looked tough, muscular and keyed up, but just a little broken, with that cast. Yoji had definitely come to fetishize the cast a bit. Tough but broken...

 

He kept stealing glances at Aya. He knew Aya noticed and assumed, therefore, that Aya was annoyed. Yoji couldn't help it, though. Rather, he didn't want to.

 

He kept picturing Aya assembling that rifle, lying on the floor and coolly taking that shot. Manx had been right -- he knew what he was doing. And what did that mean, exactly? Other than that Yoji was a complete freak, since just thinking about it made him half hard. Aya was a cold-blooded killer with unknown allegiances. He was incredibly dangerous. It should have been a kink too far.

 

Aya finally stopped and rounded on him. “What?”

 

Yoji decided to play dumb. “What do you mean, `what'?”

 

Aya narrowed his eyes and practically vibrated with displeasure. “You keep looking at me.”

 

Yoji shrugged, oozing nonchalance in a studiously provocative manner.

 

Aya took several deep breaths, then abruptly resumed walking. He looked furious. No, that wasn't right. He looked -- volatile. Like he might blow up at any moment. Just right for a little poking, Yoji judged.

 

“Hey,” he said, barely touching Aya's arm.

 

“What?” Aya hissed. He made it sound like a curse.

 

Yoji forced a smile. “Where were you?”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“You know exactly what I'm talking about. Today. Where were you that was more important than preparing for this mission?”

 

Staring straight ahead, Aya squared his shoulders and picked up his pace.

 

“Answer me.”

 

“It's none of your fucking business.”

 

“Now, where have I heard that before,” Yoji mused rhetorically. “Tell me where you were.”

 

Aya was ignoring him, the prick.

 

“Look, sweetheart, I know you like to keep the mystery in our relationship, but enough. Spill it. Now.”

 

No joy.

 

Yoji'd had it. They'd just started crossing an alley, and without thinking, Yoji shoved Aya into it, throwing him against a wall, pinning him there with his body. He felt Aya's muscles shift, ready to throw him off, but he never followed through. He struggled, then stilled. He looked up at Yoji, eyes glassy, mouth open, chest heaving. Fucking irresistible. Letting instinct take over again, Yoji ground his hips against Aya's and couldn't suppress a moan when he felt that Aya was hard too.

 

“Tell me,” Yoji growled. God, Aya looked so turned on.

 

“I was doing another job.” Aya was panting.

 

“What kind of job?” Yoji was having trouble breathing himself.

 

Aya stared into his eyes. His body was pressed against Yoji's, and everything about him screamed “fuck me.”

 

“I can't tell you.”

 

Yoji slammed him back against the wall, and Aya made a noise in the back of this throat. “Why can't you tell me? Unless you were betraying us...”

 

Aya suddenly looked a little sharper, less helplessly aroused and more straight-ahead pissed off. “Your logic is impeccable, but stupid. You know I'm telling the truth -- Manx knew where I was. She contacted me. I had the information.”

 

Yoji would be the first to admit he wasn't exactly doing his best thinking at the moment, but he could grasp Aya's point. Seeing the realization dawn on Yoji's face, Aya added, “Kritiker uses me all the time for things you guys don't want to dirty your hands with.”

 

Yoji stared at him. Aya was allowing him to retain physical control, but the man's patience was about to wear out. He was still worked up, but he could walk away from it in an instant. And Yoji knew he should let him. But the feel of that hard, powerful body beneath him, that satiny skin beneath his fingers, that beautiful face right there, pouty mouth a mere incline of the head away... He couldn't hold back any longer. Aya had him.

 

Yoji slammed Aya into the wall again and kissed him fiercely. Aya's eyes closed and he moaned into Yoji's mouth, his back arched, bringing their groins into tighter contact. “Fuck me,” he snarled.

 

Yoji wanted to. He wanted to so much that hearing Aya say the words almost made him come in his pants. Part of his brain was still working despite it all, though, and that part of his brain was screaming for him to stop this madness. “Aya, no.” He didn't sound very convincing, he had to admit, especially since he was still grinding against the redhead, one hand tangled in that enthralling hair and the other holding onto his ass.

 

“Come on, Yoji,” Aya breathed. “Do me. Here. Now.”

 

Yoji groaned. “Oh, God.” He thrust his hips against Aya, who pushed back against him, so hard and so responsive. “Not here,” Yoji thought to himself. This kind of thing always seemed hot at first, but the logistics were problematic, and even if it worked out OK, you still wound up with your dick and your ass hanging out of your pants in public, and garbage on your shoes. “But I want to fuck Aya in an alley,” he whined to himself. “Not... here,” he managed to grunt again, more or less convincingly this time. “Hotel.”

 

“Wuss,” Aya muttered as he grabbed Yoji, turned him around and slammed him against the wall. Yoji closed his eyes against the pain as his head cracked against the bricks. His mind fogged over for a moment, and his ears were ringing. By the time he came to his senses, Aya was already on his knees in front of him and had his cock out of his pants. The near-concussion had dimmed his ardor slightly, but he remained at half-mast, and the expert suction quickly reminded him what he was about. He looked down into Aya's wild, intense eyes -- fuck, what a turn-on. He realized Aya was fisting his own cock, hard and fast. Yoji was going to come in about 30 seconds. Well, no shame in that, under the circumstances. Aya could do things with his mouth that would make a dead man come. Yoji closed his eyes, rested his head against the wall -- carefully -- grabbed hold of Aya's hair and enjoyed the ride, however short it might be.

 

It felt as if the orgasm were being torn out of him, a fact his four functioning brain cells found fitting. Fast and furious -- that was Aya. He heard Aya spit, then opened his eyes to watch him stuff his dick back in his pants and stand up, wiping his mouth on his arm.

 

Aya met his eyes, expression unreadable. A muscle next to his mouth twitched once, and he turned abruptly and walked out to the street. He hailed a cab instantly -- a minor miracle, even for Aya. And then another miracle -- he actually waited for Yoji to collect his wits, zip his pants and stumble after him. Yoji decided it was now officially the weirdest day ever.

 

**********

 

Aya was ready to kill someone -- someone else -- before he even walked into the house. Kudoh hadn't even tried to talk to him in the cab, but the weight of his stare had been annoying enough. And the man's thoughts had been so obvious he could all but hear the endless nattering anyway. Aya had sucked him off in an alley -- get over it, Kudoh. It's not like it was a first for either of them. It didn't mean anything.

 

And Aya knew Ken and Omi would be waiting to share the hate. If Kudoh had been that intent on finding out where the hell he'd been all day, he could only assume the rest of the team would be eager for their turn to annoy him as well. Fucking Manx -- sometimes he thought she left him hanging like this on purpose. Would it have killed the bitch to leave him a cover story? Of course, what could you expect from someone who wore stilettos and God-damned ankle socks?

 

Aya got out of the cab, strategizing all the while. He'd walk in ahead of Kudoh, who appeared to be shell-shocked -- and that was aggravating as well, because Aya knew he gave good head, but it couldn't have been that good. Let the idiot pay the driver, maybe that would snap him out of it. And maybe Aya could get up to his room before anybody caught him.

 

Ken was in his face before he could get halfway to the stairs. “What the hell happened today, Aya?”

 

Aya closed his eyes and counted to ten in German.

 

That trick had worked better with Crashers.

 

“Don't you dare ignore me, you arrogant mother fucker.” Ken gave him a powerful shove that sent him flying backward -- and into Yoji's arms.

 

Aya growled. He was going to kill Ken. Crawford was going to have to get whatever he needed out of Weiss as a three-member team, because Aya was going to wrap his hands around Ken's neck and squeeze until his eyeballs bulged out of their sockets.

 

Except that Kudoh held onto him and wouldn't let go. The lanky son of a bitch was stronger than he looked -- Aya would remember that.

 

“Cut it out, both of you,” Yoji said. He shoved Aya into a nearby chair and turned to Ken. “Sit down. Omi!” he roared. “Get in here -- we're having a meeting.” Yoji sat on the sofa next to Ken, meeting his glare and raising him a narrowing of the eyes.

 

If Aya'd had his gun, he'd have gladly shot them both.

 

Omi rushed in, looking all fluffy and concerned.

 

Make that all three of them.

 

Omi surveyed the room in an instant, then sat in the seat closest to the door, which Aya had to admit wasn't a bad call, given the ambient level of murderous intent in the room. Omi frowned. “Ken, I told you to wait. I told you we'd wait until tomorrow and discuss things like rational human beings.”

 

Rational -- oh, that was rich.

 

“Apparently we need to move to the back-up plan,” Yoji said, lighting a cigarette. His whole body relaxed visibly after he sucked in some smoke. Looking somewhat refreshed, Yoji continued. “Ken seems to feel an urgent need to know what Aya was doing all day. I was a bit curious myself. Omi?”

 

Omi nodded.

 

“I'm sure Aya will be delighted to enlighten everyone. Aya?”

 

Aya glared at his teammates and wondered for the millionth time how he'd gotten into this mess. How the hell did Crawford expect him to do this? He forced himself to speak calmly.

 

“I was doing a job for Kritiker. If Manx didn't tell you about it, she obviously didn't want you to know. If you need details, get them from her.” He crossed his arms and watched their reactions. Damn it, he felt colder in here than he had outside.

 

“We're a team. We can't keep secrets from each other,” Ken said.

 

Aya fought the compulsion to roll his eyes. “Apparently you work for a different Kritiker than I do.”

 

Omi nodded grudgingly. “He's right, Ken. He isn't supposed to talk about what he does on solo missions.” Omi thought for a moment, and sighed. “And it isn't his fault that this came up while he was already working on something else.”

 

Aya felt slightly calmer. They believed him.

 

Ken still looked angry, but he was deflating. Giving Aya an accusing look, he said, “I guess. But I don't want any more missions like this.”

 

Aya snapped. “What, you think it was good for me? You think I signed on for major hits with a few hours' notice? You...” He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He yanked it out of its holder and flipped it open. “What?”

 

“Hey man, nice shot,” Schuldig said, cackling. “Listen, Crawford wanted me to tell you the alfresco fellatio isn't going to cut it. He said he's not worried, though, `cause he knows you can do better. Get to it, hellcat.”

 

Snarling in fury, Aya flung the phone at the wall. It snapped into several pieces, which all four of them stared at in silence.

 

“Um, Aya?” Omi finally asked.

 

“Wrong number,” Aya hissed.

 

Ken shook his head. “Brooding headcase erupts in violence. Film at 11.”

 

Aya was pretty sure he didn't draw enough lines, as a rule, but he was going to lay one down here. He would not be mocked by a man whose IQ barely qualified him to get a driver's license. Gathering his injured pride, Aya swept from the room, hoping to get upstairs without any further interruptions so he could freak out in private.

 

It wasn't to be, of course. Kudoh caught up to him before he got to the top of the stairs. Aya tried to just resign himself to it -- he had to resign himself to a lot of things and should be used to it by now. Besides, he had his orders; it wasn't like he was done with Yoji tonight, anyway. He'd just hoped to have a moment alone, to pull himself together. Damn it, he'd had a rough day. And they were asking a hell of a lot from him, with Kudoh. When he tried to think about it, all he found was a sea of seething chaos that made him want to cry with frustration.

 

Hold on, now; that would probably work.

 

He let Yoji follow him into his room, then whirled around and met his eyes. He let Yoji see the anger, betrayal and fear he actually felt. It should have been terrifying -- it certainly terrified Aya -- but he knew that Yoji lived for this shit. He could actually see him melting. Yoji Kudoh: sucker with a soft caramel center.

 

Aya turned away and waited for Yoji to come after him. He didn't want Kudoh to be there. He didn't want Kudoh to touch him. The panic that almost consumed him didn't have anything to do with fear -- he wasn't afraid of Kudoh. He was pissed off about being whored out again. Pissed off because Crawford had whored him out. Again. And he was pissed off because his life was such a mess and they never stopped pushing him.

 

He flinched when Yoji put his hands on his shoulders. Yoji paused but didn't move away. Aya took a deep breath, then leaned back the tiniest bit, feeling his heat.

 

Aya turned toward him, too close to see his expression. Awkwardly, he rested his head against Yoji's shoulder, buried his face in Yoji's neck. It was... comforting. This is what normal people felt like, he thought. Sort of. Scared and confused and awkward. Gentle. Warm. Aya was cold-blooded, like a lizard.

 

Yoji swallowed. Aya watched his adam's apple bob, watched the skin flow. Yoji had nice skin. He smelled good, too, although Aya couldn't help wondering who the hell wore cologne to an execution.

 

Then Yoji put his arms around him, leaned in to kiss him. Aya wouldn't let him at first but finally relented. Yoji was good at it, as advertised. He'd be good in bed. Aya took a deep breath to steady himself. He could do this -- of course he could do this. They'd made him do much worse. He could withstand the tenderness.

 

He didn't trust himself to get it right, though, so he let Yoji do everything. Which seemed to be working -- Yoji was practically trembling with longing. Or maybe that was him -- trembling. Shit. He was so tired and confused. And so cold. And Yoji... Yoji was stronger than he looked.

 

“You were unbelievable tonight,” Yoji whispered. “I can't believe the things you can do.”

 

Oh -- that hit harder than it should have. “You want to know more about what I can do, don't you,” Aya purred, grinding against Yoji's hip. He was hard. They both were.

 

Holding Aya's face in his hands, Yoji stared intently into his eyes, searching. “I want you -- whoever you are.”

 

Aya knew he needed to say something, needed to move this along and do his job. But he couldn't speak. Christ, he really didn't know what to do. Too much... They wanted too much.

 

Yoji ran his thumb down Aya's cheek, then licked it. “Aya tears,” he said, smiling a little. “Do I get magic powers now?”

 

Tears?

 

Aya closed his eyes. “Shut up and fuck me, Kudoh. Just fuck me.” Get it over with, he meant. He couldn't stand it after all.