Hi, me again ^-^. Having nothing else to do then write cheesy fanfics (...
and essays about the Neolithic process in China and Korea, but that's a
diffrent story ^-*).
This is dedicated to anybody who has to fight with his/her loved one to get him/her out of bed. /me blows million kisses towards her boyfriend (would never ever compare you to Youji, Sweetheart * cough *)
So this is just a little scene like it could happen anywhere ^-^
Please excuse any mistakes, I made.
English's not my native tongue
disclaimer: I don't own Weißkreuz ... blablub, the usual stuff ... and I have NOOOOO money at all.
**********************************************
The slamming of a door woke me up. If you're an assassin, slamming doors can get really onto your sensibilized nerves. I mean, you start to pay attention on the way the door is slammed into the lock. I could give you hundreds of examples for it - doors that are slammed, 'cause you want to get at least something between you and the enemy, doors that are slammed, 'cause you think it'll make a better impression ... you get the point.
In this household exists one person who has made an art out of it - I mean to express his feelings through tons of diffrent ways of slamming doors. I would say, he's a little bit ... angry? Not mad ... yet!
The next thing I can hear is a supressed cry of pain, followed by a loud frustrated scream.
"Ken!!! Soccerballs in your room or outside. Not. In. The. Fucking. Hallway! Next time, I'll kill you and the ball!"
Wow, three sentences in a row. Kenken you should better hide yourself.
The ball is shot down the stairs. Cosidering the fact, that he states all the time that soccer is a sport for idiots, he has a really good shot - even Ken has to admit it.
Downstairs another person screams. A childish voice. "Ahh ... watch it, baka!"
"Gomen ..." - sometimes, just sometimes I wish to be at Omis position. He rarely yells at him.
Looks, like it's going to be an ordinary sunday.
I turn around, wrap my sheets tighter around me. There is this new scent on them, I still have to get used to. Not long ago, my sheets smelled more like Chanel or Laura Biagotti - take any kind of feminine perfume. For sure, they didn't smelled like 'Deodorant-that-works-for-24-hours-bought-at- the-next-grocery-store-without-actually-care-about-it".
I love this smell.
I want to sleep a few more minutes, dream about the one who left the scent on my sheets.
"Youji!"
Fuck! I bury my head under the pillow. The soccerball was not the distraction I had hoped for.
"Get out of the fucking bed!"
He does not bother to knock. Not anymore. He peers - excuse moi, glares into the room. I know that he does it, I don't have to look at him.
"Why?" I whimmer under my pillow.
"'Cause I said so!"
Allright, you wanna have a fight - you can get one. This is my territory, my room, my bed - and I'm not willing to leave it right now. I throw the pillow at him. He catches it without any problems. I give him a smile. He holds the damn pillow in his hands and gives me one of his death-gazes. "Get up. Now!" he says coldly. The battle has started.
"Calm down." I tell him and sit up, grabbing my cigarettes. "It's sunday, you know." I light the cigarette and inhale the smoke. My room - my rules. "For three major religions in this world Sunday is the day to rest. You can look it up. Bible, right at the beginning."
"We're in Japan." he answers coolly. "Haven't figured out that it counts here, yet."
"Jerk!"
He's not dressed up I realize. Just wearing some shorts and a tee - my tee. Looks wonderfull on him. He must have taken it accidently. We both wore black shirts yesterday.
"Ehm, you got the wrong shirt on." I point out at him.
"What?" he looks puzzeled, one blink of an eye out of concept. Strike. Then he walks in the room and takes his shirt from the floor. He changes the clothes right in front of me. Sonofabitch ...
I can't take my eyes away. Watch his quite movements, the play of his muscels under the white skin of his stomache. I can't get enough of it.
He's done with changing. "Better?"
It's to dark in here to see his violet eyes completly. I curse silently. "Maybe ... you have to change the pants, too?"
His jeans are also lying on the floor. Wow, yesterday we were really in a hurry!
As answer he throws the pillow back at me. "Don't even think about it, Kudou."
"You have no idea, what I think right now." I laugh.
"Uhm, I don't wanna know, what you think. Lets put it this way!"
"Sure?"
"Sure ..."
He's still standing in front of me, glaring down. "Get up." now it sounds soft, close to 'nice'.
"Why?" I ask again and bump the cigarette into the ashtrey ( it tastes awully without coffee)
He twists his eyes and shakes his head. (It took a long time, till we figured out that it's one of the ways he's showing his amusement). "Because Omi prepared breakfast."
That's an answer that suits me way better than the harsh tone he used before.
I decide that the boys can wait a little bit longer with breakfast.
Aya has no chance ... at least I make myself believe this.
I grap his wrist and draw him close to myself. No resistance till now. His face showes no emotion but finally I can directly look into his eyes. They sparkle. Today is my day!
"The breakfast ..." I close his mouth with a long kiss. He tastes so sweet, better then any candy I had in my whole life. I want nothing more than this kiss. It could hold on for eternity. His tongue replies to my actions, still a little bit akward, but with more experience he will become the world's greatest - I'm sure. And it's me, only me, who teaches him. I can nearly pitty the rest of humanity, that they will never get a taste of it ...
" ... is ready!" he gasps, after I let him go. Not too far away.
I'm nuts, insane, out of mind ... I'm in love.
"Aya!" a loud yell from downstairs. "Get Youji out of bed! The coffee's getting cold! And don't kill him!"
No, the redhead doesn't look like he's killing me within the next few minutes.
"We should go downstairs." - he says.
/We should stay here/ - he thinks. I can see it in his eyes.
"Yeah, we should. Do you have any further plans for today?"
"Not yet."
"Great."
We go downstairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This is bad. Don't you agree with me?" Ken sipped slowely his coffee.
"What?" Omi wondered.
"Youji's Influence on Aya. I'm used to big fights on sunday mornings. The silence frightens me."
Suddenly they heard somebody yelling.
"How many times have I told you, to put your fucking stuff at the wardrobe, Kudou!"
"Don't bitch around, Aya! My coat must have just recently fell down!"
"You're such a lazy bastard, you know?"
"And you're fucking overtidy ... stop getting on my nerves with it."
The two men entered the kitchen. Both glared furious at each other. Omi and Ken bursted out in a laugh.
An ordinary sunday.
*************************************************************************
Six cigarettes later ... done, yeah. Finished the second fanfic. Hope you liked it. Give me some reviews please ^-^
And now back to my studys *sniff*
Comments are also welcome at Kabuki@wurzelshakra.de
This is dedicated to anybody who has to fight with his/her loved one to get him/her out of bed. /me blows million kisses towards her boyfriend (would never ever compare you to Youji, Sweetheart * cough *)
So this is just a little scene like it could happen anywhere ^-^
Please excuse any mistakes, I made.
English's not my native tongue
disclaimer: I don't own Weißkreuz ... blablub, the usual stuff ... and I have NOOOOO money at all.
**********************************************
The slamming of a door woke me up. If you're an assassin, slamming doors can get really onto your sensibilized nerves. I mean, you start to pay attention on the way the door is slammed into the lock. I could give you hundreds of examples for it - doors that are slammed, 'cause you want to get at least something between you and the enemy, doors that are slammed, 'cause you think it'll make a better impression ... you get the point.
In this household exists one person who has made an art out of it - I mean to express his feelings through tons of diffrent ways of slamming doors. I would say, he's a little bit ... angry? Not mad ... yet!
The next thing I can hear is a supressed cry of pain, followed by a loud frustrated scream.
"Ken!!! Soccerballs in your room or outside. Not. In. The. Fucking. Hallway! Next time, I'll kill you and the ball!"
Wow, three sentences in a row. Kenken you should better hide yourself.
The ball is shot down the stairs. Cosidering the fact, that he states all the time that soccer is a sport for idiots, he has a really good shot - even Ken has to admit it.
Downstairs another person screams. A childish voice. "Ahh ... watch it, baka!"
"Gomen ..." - sometimes, just sometimes I wish to be at Omis position. He rarely yells at him.
Looks, like it's going to be an ordinary sunday.
I turn around, wrap my sheets tighter around me. There is this new scent on them, I still have to get used to. Not long ago, my sheets smelled more like Chanel or Laura Biagotti - take any kind of feminine perfume. For sure, they didn't smelled like 'Deodorant-that-works-for-24-hours-bought-at- the-next-grocery-store-without-actually-care-about-it".
I love this smell.
I want to sleep a few more minutes, dream about the one who left the scent on my sheets.
"Youji!"
Fuck! I bury my head under the pillow. The soccerball was not the distraction I had hoped for.
"Get out of the fucking bed!"
He does not bother to knock. Not anymore. He peers - excuse moi, glares into the room. I know that he does it, I don't have to look at him.
"Why?" I whimmer under my pillow.
"'Cause I said so!"
Allright, you wanna have a fight - you can get one. This is my territory, my room, my bed - and I'm not willing to leave it right now. I throw the pillow at him. He catches it without any problems. I give him a smile. He holds the damn pillow in his hands and gives me one of his death-gazes. "Get up. Now!" he says coldly. The battle has started.
"Calm down." I tell him and sit up, grabbing my cigarettes. "It's sunday, you know." I light the cigarette and inhale the smoke. My room - my rules. "For three major religions in this world Sunday is the day to rest. You can look it up. Bible, right at the beginning."
"We're in Japan." he answers coolly. "Haven't figured out that it counts here, yet."
"Jerk!"
He's not dressed up I realize. Just wearing some shorts and a tee - my tee. Looks wonderfull on him. He must have taken it accidently. We both wore black shirts yesterday.
"Ehm, you got the wrong shirt on." I point out at him.
"What?" he looks puzzeled, one blink of an eye out of concept. Strike. Then he walks in the room and takes his shirt from the floor. He changes the clothes right in front of me. Sonofabitch ...
I can't take my eyes away. Watch his quite movements, the play of his muscels under the white skin of his stomache. I can't get enough of it.
He's done with changing. "Better?"
It's to dark in here to see his violet eyes completly. I curse silently. "Maybe ... you have to change the pants, too?"
His jeans are also lying on the floor. Wow, yesterday we were really in a hurry!
As answer he throws the pillow back at me. "Don't even think about it, Kudou."
"You have no idea, what I think right now." I laugh.
"Uhm, I don't wanna know, what you think. Lets put it this way!"
"Sure?"
"Sure ..."
He's still standing in front of me, glaring down. "Get up." now it sounds soft, close to 'nice'.
"Why?" I ask again and bump the cigarette into the ashtrey ( it tastes awully without coffee)
He twists his eyes and shakes his head. (It took a long time, till we figured out that it's one of the ways he's showing his amusement). "Because Omi prepared breakfast."
That's an answer that suits me way better than the harsh tone he used before.
I decide that the boys can wait a little bit longer with breakfast.
Aya has no chance ... at least I make myself believe this.
I grap his wrist and draw him close to myself. No resistance till now. His face showes no emotion but finally I can directly look into his eyes. They sparkle. Today is my day!
"The breakfast ..." I close his mouth with a long kiss. He tastes so sweet, better then any candy I had in my whole life. I want nothing more than this kiss. It could hold on for eternity. His tongue replies to my actions, still a little bit akward, but with more experience he will become the world's greatest - I'm sure. And it's me, only me, who teaches him. I can nearly pitty the rest of humanity, that they will never get a taste of it ...
" ... is ready!" he gasps, after I let him go. Not too far away.
I'm nuts, insane, out of mind ... I'm in love.
"Aya!" a loud yell from downstairs. "Get Youji out of bed! The coffee's getting cold! And don't kill him!"
No, the redhead doesn't look like he's killing me within the next few minutes.
"We should go downstairs." - he says.
/We should stay here/ - he thinks. I can see it in his eyes.
"Yeah, we should. Do you have any further plans for today?"
"Not yet."
"Great."
We go downstairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This is bad. Don't you agree with me?" Ken sipped slowely his coffee.
"What?" Omi wondered.
"Youji's Influence on Aya. I'm used to big fights on sunday mornings. The silence frightens me."
Suddenly they heard somebody yelling.
"How many times have I told you, to put your fucking stuff at the wardrobe, Kudou!"
"Don't bitch around, Aya! My coat must have just recently fell down!"
"You're such a lazy bastard, you know?"
"And you're fucking overtidy ... stop getting on my nerves with it."
The two men entered the kitchen. Both glared furious at each other. Omi and Ken bursted out in a laugh.
An ordinary sunday.
*************************************************************************
Six cigarettes later ... done, yeah. Finished the second fanfic. Hope you liked it. Give me some reviews please ^-^
And now back to my studys *sniff*
Comments are also welcome at Kabuki@wurzelshakra.de