Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ You're Joking, Right? ❯ Chapter 11

Yoji was a creep and a loser and he knew it, but he had to wonder if he was really enough of a bastard to deserve Aya.

 

He blew out another lungful of smoke into the cool darkness of his room, then stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one. The twenty-fourth. He was counting. Yoji had retreated to his room after dinner, wanting to sit in the dark and let his thoughts flit unacknowledged across a haze of light gray smoke. It was like meditation. After five or ten cigarettes, all he noticed was the minute crackling of the tobacco as he took a drag, the raspy feeling in his throat as he inhaled, the beautiful flare of fire when he lit the next one. Occasionally he'd look out the window and stare at the moon, wondering what Aya might be doing beneath it.

 

He'd been trying to nail Aya down for days. They worked together and lived in the same house, but Aya managed to never be alone with Yoji. Made it look effortless, too, although it certainly wasn't. Of course, that's more or less what Aya had always done -- avoided Yoji, avoided everyone. But that was different because in the past, Yoji had been just as eager to avoid Aya. It wasn't that Yoji had though Aya would offer himself up like some babe in a James Bond film, but he'd been pretty sure they had made some connection that night. When you gonna learn, he muttered to himself. What the hell had he been expecting? He didn't know -- he'd never articulated it to himself, probably couldn't. Just -- something.

 

One thing was for sure: Aya was crazy. Not like most people used the word, but certifiably fucking batshit insane. Which made Yoji the same, he mused, since he'd known it all along and fallen for the guy anyway.

 

Yoji had shied away from thinking of the situation in that light. Falling for Aya... Just thinking the words gave him chills. But what else could it be? Yoji had been sniffing around after him for days. There wasn't anything else in the world he wanted. Fuck me, he thought, I may as well shoot myself in the head right now.

 

The door opened quietly, and closed quickly. Aya seemed to hover there in the darkness, the moonlight making his skin glow like something supernatural. He stood there, maybe watching Yoji, maybe just facing him. It was too dark to see his face. Yoji stubbed out number twenty-four and turned to face the demon. “I thought you'd cut me loose,” he muttered.

 

“Wanted to,” Aya answered, slurring slightly. “Can't.” He walked slowly to Yoji's bed and sat down. Now Yoji could smell the alcohol.

 

“You avoid me like the plague for days, and then you show up in my room at 3 a.m., completely befuggered, and you expect... What? What do you expect, Aya?”

 

Aya met his eyes, the intensity of his expression somewhat mitigated by his apparent difficulty in focusing. “All right, I'll spot you. I expect you to hold me and kiss me and tell me everything will be all right.” He stopped to laugh harshly, wiping his mouth on his arm. “You told me you'd take care of me the other night, remember? Tell me that again. Tell me you love me again. You like to hear yourself talk -- make up whatever shit you want.”

 

“Oh, I see. You're coming on to me again. Is there a pattern or something? Because I could use some help keeping track. And I've got some news for you anyway: You're too drunk to fuck.”

 

Aya shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on what you're after. You want a lot more from me than fucking, anyway.”

 

Yoji wished he didn't sound so damned sure about it. He sighed. No reason to put up a pretense of a fight -- he didn't have the heart to lose another one and they both knew it. Beyond an initial fit of pique at having been treated like a piece of shit Aya wanted to scrape off the bottom of his shoe, Yoji's overwhelming reaction to this unexpected visit was relief. Possibly joy, or the closest he could come to it anymore. He wasn't about to kick Aya out of his bed.

 

“Yeah,” Yoji finally said, pulling Aya down into the pillows next to him. “How drunk are you?”

 

“Drunk,” Aya said, emphasizing the word slightly. He closed his eyes but didn't look remotely peaceful. Yoji watched him eagerly and wasn't at all embarrassed when Aya opened his eyes and caught him.

 

Aya looked at him for some time. “Yoji,” he finally said. “I need you.”

 

Yoji snorted. “Bullshit.”

 

“No joke this time,” Aya said, one corner of his mouth quirking up a bit. “Nothing but the truth.” Now he laughed quietly at his own drunken humor. “How's it feel, Yoji? You win, right?”

 

“Don't know if I'd call it winning -- even if I did believe a word you said.”

 

“Oh, you believe some of it.” Aya's eyes drifted shut again. He was smiling, or smirking -- right about halfway between the two, Yoji decided. “Doesn't matter anyway. You'll see.”

 

Yoji lit another cigarette. “So you need me, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Tried to figure a way out of it, but there isn't one.” The eyes opened again, and Aya's expression was almost good-humored. “Sorry.”

 

“Me too,” Yoji said. He didn't really mean it, though. He was going straight to hell anyway; might as well show up a few days early if he could ride with the devil's favorite toy.

 

“You're not very talkative tonight.” Aya sounded peevish. Also drunk.

 

“You seem disappointed.”

 

Aya nodded. “I find that I am, sort of. Surprises me, too.”

 

“What bar were you at?”

 

“No bar. Just wandered the streets with a bottle in my coat pocket.” He grinned, and it was pure evil. “Not likely to run into anybody worse than I am, right?”

 

“The odds are probably in your favor.”

 

“So polite. Fucking tired of that... Are you really that pissed off at me?”

 

“I let you make yourself comfortable in my bed -- does it seem like I'm pissed off at you?”

 

“Yeah, well, you can't help that. And sure you could still be pissed off. What, you only feel one thing at a time?”

 

“With you? Never.” After a long silence, Yoji said, “I figured I was a one-night stand.”

 

Aya shook his head, then looked searchingly into Yoji's eyes. “I told you -- I need you.” He seemed to be thinking about something. “Like you said before -- let's pretend, OK? Have you ever had a real boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

 

Yoji nodded slowly.

 

“I figured. All right, treat me like I'm your boyfriend tonight.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don't know. Show me.” Aya chewed absently on his lower lip as he watched Yoji's reaction. In fact, Aya looked weirdly animated; kind of friendly. It was unnerving.

 

“Aya, what the hell are you doing here tonight? Tell me the truth.”

 

“I already did. How would you want me to be, Yoji? If I was your boyfriend?”

 

“I can't even imagine what you'd be like if you were a real person, much less my boyfriend. Besides, you already have a boyfriend.” Yoji smiled bitterly. “Guess he's not much of a cuddler, though.”

 

“Is that what's bothering you? Farfarello?”

 

Yoji just stared. “Words fail me. Is that what's bothering me? Like that's nothing? Let me tell you, for anyone with any sense at all, Farfarello would be a total deal-breaker. Of course, if I had any sense, you'd be a deal-breaker. This whole situation is so fucked up I couldn't even have conceptualized it before I met you.”

 

Aya's brow furrowed as he struggled for comprehension. He was still chewing on his lip, too. It was surprisingly adorable.

 

“What, do you want to be my boyfriend?” Of course he didn't, Yoji admonished himself.

 

Aya's face smoothed into the perfectly blank expression Yoji knew and loved. “Something like that,” he muttered.

 

It was that exact moment when Yoji realized his head was throbbing. It might have just started, but he was also gritting his teeth, which probably meant he just hadn't noticed it right away. The onset had probably coincided with Aya's arrival. “Well,” Yoji said, striving for a blasé tone, “if you were my boyfriend, you'd tell me the truth.”

 

Aya laughed, an honest-to-god laugh with smiling and the corners of his eyes crinkling and everything. Yoji was completely done in. “Riiight,” Aya finally replied, still chuckling. God damn, Yoji was ready to do anything for him. Anything. He'd break every fucking rule in the book, just to hear that again. Aya's voice in the dark was one of those unexpectedly perfect things a man might spend the rest of his life trying to find.

 

“How did you get into all of this, anyway?” Yoji wanted to keep him talking.

 

“Fell for the wrong guy.” Aya thought about it for a few moments, then giggled. “You know how that goes,” he added, smirking. The smile died off his face slowly, and he sighed. There was a far-away look in his eyes. “Not like, you know, the world was exactly my oyster anyway.”

 

“Was that one-eye... umm, Farfarello?”

 

Aya sighed again. He managed to do it aggressively. “No, not Farfarello. This was before Farfarello.”

 

“How long have you been with Farfarello, anyway?” Yoji asked faux-casually.

 

“Don't know if `with' is really the word,” Aya said sourly. He frowned, but it was a new one, a frown that came very close to being a pout. In fact, on someone else, Yoji wouldn't have hesitated to call it a pout.

 

“You two having trouble, then? Is he jealous?” The thought had never occurred to Yoji, but it made him shiver violently. The overall concept was appealing, but the idea of one-eyed freaky guy actually out for his blood was unnerving.

 

Aya snorted. “Farfarello is not a jealous man.” He sounded proud, but also put out.

 

“Yeah. I can see that.” Yoji let his thoughts drift for a while. “Where were you today?”

 

Aya's eyes flew open. He made a quiet grunting noise. “You woke me up.”

 

“Sorry. Where were you today? Were you with your boyfriend?”

 

Aya watched him sleepily. “I haven't seen Farfarello for a few days. You shouldn't worry about it. I hardly ever see him, really.”

 

He's not yours, Yoji reminded himself. Keep your wits about you. “It's what you do with him when you do see him.”

 

“It's more than that. You are so fucked, Yoji Kudoh...” Aya's eyes closed; he was asleep again.

 

Yoji looked down at Aya's arm, resting on his chest. Aya had big, strong hands. Yoji ran one finger delicately along the inside of Aya's cast, at the wrist. Whereas earlier he'd been calm, if quietly despairing, now he'd wandered out of the eye of the storm. Lust was the main thing -- Aya got him hard. That's just the way it was. But it wasn't all about lust, not with this one. There was also longing, confusion, anger... and excitement. This is what Yoji had been waiting on for years.

 

**********

 

Aya woke up when Yoji got out of bed. Headed for the bathroom, probably. It felt late; he squinted toward the window and called it for about noon. He felt like his teeth were wearing mittens. Dirty mittens. His head was pounding. He rolled over gingerly but didn't feel like throwing up -- must have gotten enough sleep.

 

Aya considered bolting before Yoji returned but decided it would be counter-productive. He'd hang around and cuddle, let Yoji fuck him if that's what he wanted to do. After he took a piss and drank some water. And found some drugs.

 

Sitting up, Aya looked around Yoji's room. He hadn't spent any time in here, but that was about to change. It was a nice place to hang out -- big bed, nice sheets, reasonably clean. He scanned for personal items but didn't see any. That didn't surprise him; he and Yoji actually had a lot in common. He reached across the bed to the nightstand and snagged Yoji's cigarettes. He lit one up and pulled the ashtray closer. He should be able to satisfy Yoji and get out of here by 1. He had the afternoon off, so after he stopped by the hospital to have a look at his sister, maybe he'd do some shopping.

 

Yoji opened the door quietly and smiled when he saw Aya was awake. “I didn't know you smoked.”

 

Aya took an appraising look and had to admit Yoji looked good, all rumpled and wearing nothing but a pair of dangerously low-slung white cotton pants. Aya fished another cigarette out of the packet and lit it, then handed it to Yoji, who was now sitting next to him on the bed.

 

“There's not much I don't do,” Aya said, smiling seductively.

 

Yoji shifted and gave himself a couple of lingering strokes as he adjusted himself, but he shook his head. “You don't need to tell me, baby. Not now, though. I'm already late for work, and I've pushed Ken too much lately as it is.”

 

That wasn't what Aya was expecting to hear. He was relieved -- but on the other hand, if Yoji could turn him down so easily, he had more work to do than he'd thought. He shifted the flash of annoyance engendered by that thought into a visible show of petulance. “Whatever,” he said, making sure he sounded a little hurt. If the tactics he'd been using were falling short, he'd try a different approach.

 

Yoji smiled. Aya could see why all the girls were into him -- he looked warm and inviting and... capable. “What's the matter, baby?” Yoji murmured. “You need to be able to take it if you're going to dish it out.”

 

Aya was surprised, again. But this time his annoyance was tempered with actual amusement. He stood up, stretched. He was still wearing his jeans, but no shirt -- must be on Yoji's floor somewhere. He'd come back in later and look for it. He felt fairly relaxed again; judging by the way Yoji was staring at him, there wasn't too much cause for concern. “Oh, I can take it -- baby,” he said, sauntering to the door. His hand on the knob, he looked over his shoulder to see Yoji watching, rapt. It would be OK. He stepped into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind him.

 

**********

 

Aya left the hospital in a hurry. He hated that place and had grown to kind of hate the undead creature his sister had turned into, as well. He only looked in on her every few months -- what was the point?

 

Shivering, he turned the corner and tried to decide which way he'd go. It was still early, and he had the whole afternoon to himself.

 

Farfarello stepped in front of him from out of nowhere. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, giggling.

 

Aya had to smile. “Looking for me?”

 

“Well, I bloody well had to go out and look, didn't I, since you don't have a fucking phone.” He took Aya's hand and pulled him along. They were going left when Aya had just decided to go right -- story of his life, Aya thought to himself. He didn't mind, though.

 

“There's a store right around the corner,” Farfarello continued. “We're going there. Now. I want to see you buy it and put it in your pocket. Then we'll take a walk or something.”

 

Aya was pleased that Farfarello had sought him out, but he couldn't help wondering if Crawford had sent him. “Fine,” he muttered.

 

“It better be fine -- I thought I was going to have to walk all over fucking Tokyo to find you today.”

 

“Bullshit,” Aya said, walking into the store. “You knew exactly where to find me.”

 

“Just because I caught you by the hospital. If I'd missed you, I'd have been trailing along behind you for who knows how long. He isn't that precise, you know.”

 

Aya actually liked the idea of Farfarello trailing along behind him in vain. He smiled a little as he asked for the phone, provided the fake ID Crawford had given him, and paid for the thing -- in cash. Crawford's largesse didn't extend to credit. When the salesman finished the transaction he flashed a dazzling smile at Aya, and after a moment's hesitation, a more begrudging one at Farfarello.

 

“Fuck you with a telephone pole until you die,” Farfarello told him, looking as though he meant it. He grabbed Aya's arm and ushered him out of the store.

 

“What the hell was that?” Aya asked.

 

“Look, I'm not in the best mood. I'm disgruntled, and the man was flirting with my boyfriend right in front of me. I saw no reason to be polite.”

 

“I thought you didn't get jealous.” Aya was smiling openly.

 

“A man feels the way a man feels,” Farfarello said, shrugging slightly.

 

Aya grinned. “I assume that all the pouting and glowering didn't keep you from getting the phone number?”

 

“There was no pouting, and very little glowering. It was more of a modest display of malevolent hovering. And yes, I got the number. I'm insulted that you'd even ask. I think I won't buy you ice cream after all.” He turned to Aya. “Ah, now who's pouting?”

 

“You said we were going for a walk. Something up?”

 

“No. I don't have anything to do today, so I thought we could prowl the city.”

 

Aya couldn't help feeling wary. “Did Crawford...”

 

“Fucking Crawford,” Farfarello muttered. “I get tired of him, I tell you.” He stopped walking, and so did Aya. Farfarello studied him intently. “You have a calling,” he finally said. “I respect it. But Crawford sees imperfectly, Red, and a man must go his own way, according to his own vision.”

 

Aya stared blankly.

 

Farfarello smiled tenderly. Aya thought he looked like an arctic wolf. “You don't need to worry about what Crawford tells me to do with you. I follow him as I see fit. I'm not a believer, the way the rest of you are. I will not give you up just because he tells me to. That's what you're afraid of, isn't it?”

 

Aya nodded.

 

“So you have your answer, then. Before you even asked.”

 

That hadn't exactly been Aya's question, but it was a better answer to a more important question, so he was content. “OK. You wanted to take a walk, then?”

 

“Actually, I want to fuck you and beat you senseless and drink your blood.”

 

Lust fogged Aya's brain. “We should get a room, then.”

 

“I'd rather do it outside, with nothing to shield us from the eye of heaven -- but I'm under orders not to attract attention. Compromises must be made,” he added.

 

“Come on,” Aya said, grabbing Farfarello's hand.

 

**********

 

They stepped into their room and locked the door.

 

“The Sturm und Bang,” Farfarello said, shaking his head in wonder. He sounded almost reverent.

 

“I've always wanted to come here,” Aya said.

 

“And you shall,” Farfarello growled, throwing both of them onto the bed. He pushed himself up, sitting on Aya's hips, and slowly began unbuttoning Aya's shirt and spreading it open. He traced over the exposed scars with one finger, obsessively, an expression of awe on his face. It put him into a kind of trance. Aya found it soothing as well; also hot, to have Farfarello worshipping his body like this.

 

“I did this to you,” Farfarello whispered, running his thumb over a mark just below Aya's breastbone, where his ribs opened up. Aya closed his eyes, remembering. He was vaguely aware that his hips were thrusting erratically, although he was almost unable to move under Farfarello's unaccountably solid weight. The man looked slight but felt like a ton of bricks.

 

“You almost killed me,” Aya breathed. He remembered how it had felt, the heat of the knife, the shock, the momentary panic when he'd realized how extensive the wound was, seen the skin pulling back to reveal the darkness beneath. Then he'd caught the frenzy. Farfarello had looked up at Aya, eye too bright, pale, delicate face covered with blood. Aya wouldn't have anticipated his reaction, but it set him on fire. He'd been painfully hard, panting, riding the best high ever.

 

Farfarello frowned, perhaps taking Aya's pillow talk as a diminishment of his skills. “I got a bit carried away, perhaps. But I wouldn't have let you go.”

 

“It was good.” The sound of his own voice excited him, so deep and raspy, so vulnerable. The first time Farfarello had done this to him, Aya had been impressed with himself, proud of how dangerous and debauched he could be. He was well past that sort of childish pretension now; all he cared about was that this worked for him. It turned him on. It made him feel whole.

 

“It's always good,” Farfarello murmured, still staring at Aya's chest. “You're always good.” His eye flicked up, focused intently on Aya's face. “Too good to take apart, as much as I'd like to.”

 

Farfarello was romantic, almost too romantic to be real. “What are you going to do to me now?” Aya breathed.

 

“I have to be careful -- Crawford's orders. But surely just fucking isn't too much of a disappointment?”

 

The anger came quickly, although it was blunted by residual lust. “I thought you didn't answer to Crawford.” Aya suspected his scowl was veering toward something more pathetic, but it couldn't be helped.

 

“Don't be stupid. I said I haven't granted him a writ of infallibility, not that I don't take basic orders. He's my boss.”

 

“But you let him control your sex life.”

 

“Not as much as some. And don't think I don't know what you're doing -- I will not be goaded into violence against my will. If what I offer isn't enough for you, we'll just leave.”

 

Aya closed his eyes against the crush of frustration. Farfarello sat beside him and pulled him into his lap, arms tight around Aya's shoulder. Farfarello kissed his cheek, where a fading mark remained from their night at the warehouse. “You have to let it go, Red,” he finally said. His voice was gentle but brooked no argument. “He's turned you into a fucking monster like the rest of us, but you chose him. Feeling sorry for yourself doesn't help.”

 

“You're implying I had a choice. When was that? When did I have a choice? I was created for Eszett, and if they hadn't found me, Kritiker would have.”

 

“Death is always an option. You could have said no, but you wanted to save the world.”

 

Aya stared. “Is that wrong?”

 

Farfarello ran his thumb over Aya's bottom lip. “Probably.” He smiled. “Now, do you want to fuck, or should we just go get ice cream?”

 

Aya rested his face against Farfarello's shoulder. He breathed in, counted to four, and let it out. Then again, counting to six, and then to eight.

 

Farfarello ran his fingers through Aya's hair. “I sometimes wonder how someone can be as fucked up as you are. Of course, you're not as messy as Schuldig -- not that this is any kind of achievement.”

 

“Don't poke the bear,” Aya muttered.

 

“What's got you so wound up, anyway? Your new assignment seems to be going well.”

 

Aya pulled away slowly; Farfarello let him. “Seems to be going well.” Aya wasn't even sure why that hurt, but the relative happiness he'd felt upon running into Farfarello had drained away completely, leaving him feeling cold and lost.

 

“That's what I said. Crawford's visions are getting better all the time -- I'm not sure exactly what's up, but this strategy has him obscenely pleased with himself.”

 

“Strategy,” Aya repeated. He was having trouble focusing.

 

Farfarello cocked his head. “Shuldig told us you're into the guy -- Kudoh.” He smiled. “He offered some compelling evidence.”

 

“I... hate him,” Aya said quietly.

 

“No, you don't. He doesn't seem so bad, Red. I've come to like him a bit myself, in fact. He's taking care of you. And I like that glint in his eye. He's a right bastard, that one is.”

 

The flicker of anger from earlier exploded. “And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, since you've had Schuldig tell you every detail,” he hissed.

 

Farfarello raised an eyebrow. “I'd have thought you'd be pleased that I'm taking an interest in your work.”

 

Aya felt his mind go very still. “Let's get out of here,” he finally said. “I'm not really in the mood.”

 

Farfarello shrugged. “First time for everything, I suppose,” he said, hopping up gracefully. He appeared unperturbed. Aya found that deeply annoying.

 

Reaching for Aya's hand, Farfarello smiled. “Let's go get a manicure,” he said, pulling Aya off the bed and buttoning up his shirt. “I want black nail polish.”