WeissKreuz - Fire And Fans
Fandom: WeissKreuz
Characters: Schwarz and Weiss
Rating: NC-15 / M for references to male/male sex and foul language.
Warnings: Irony. I wrote this a while ago for the funny flamer on 'Magic Words'. That's what happens if you tangle with a satirist XD (who happens to be a guy living with a guy). To all my other readers - a big thank you for sparing the time to read and for sending me loads of lovely reviews. I hope you will have a few jolly moments with this one.
Summary: Yohji and Aya are told who should be top. Aya gets cranky. Weiss feel the need for protection and call upon Schwarz – better the devil you know... The mission room gets hot.
xxx
Around the low coffee table in the mission room of the Koneko sat the complete Weiss team, along with all of Schwarz. The table was overflowing with piles of letters and cards, mostly colourful, perfumed and generally lovely, full of compliments and flattery about the florist assassins. The Schwarz men would have been jealous, had they not been called in as a matter of urgency.
Weiss required backup. They were even prepared to put up with their worst enemy.
It must be bad, Crawford had decided, let's go and check out what's up with them... And now, they were here, Crawford on a chair, Schuldig on the floor by Crawford's feet; Omi, Nagi, and Farfarello on the couch, and Ken standing behind it with folded arms. Yohji and Schuldig were stinking out the dimly lit room with cigarette smoke, with Crawford taking the occasional drag from his own smoke.
The ashtray on the floor by Yohji's feet was overfull already, and scattered over the room stood a number of mugs with cooling remnants of the black brew that Yohji claimed was coffee. Schuldig looked at the scrap of pink paper that lay atop the heap of letters, and wrinkled his nose, an almost dejected expression in his ice-clear eyes.
"It smells evil." Crawford's glasses glinted as he shook his head. He tensed and shuddered, and Schuldig shot him a concerned glance.
"Brad, you alright there?"
"I SEE," Crawford groaned, his eyes sliding half-shut, his face going slack with something resembling... bliss? Horror? He had schooled his features into steely blankness for so long that sometimes it was impossible to remember whether he had more than one stock standard expression.
"Hey," Yohji chipped in suspiciously, "not here! The chibis-"
"What about us?" Omi piped up, and Nagi nodded. Ken glared, the effect spoiled by the pink bubble gum he was chewing and blowing into bubbles that burst with wet little plops.
"Uh... well..." Yohji faltered and decided to light another cigarette.
Schuldig fidgeted closer to Crawford. "Brad?"
Farfarello brought out a fat, crisply new paperback tome from underneath the sofa pillow and slapped it onto the coffee table, next to the fluttering pink scrap which he pinned with his knife. He licked his index finger, then picked up his knife and licked the steel. He looked back and forth between blade and finger, before giving his knife another lick and starting to leaf through the book. "It must be somewhere here..."
"What?" grouched Aya.
"A rule," Farfarello explained patiently, his amber eye scanning the pages of smallprint even as he traced the gleaming tip of his blade down endless paragraphed columns of text that still smelled of ink.
"What rule?" Aya snapped, getting angrier by the moment.
"Some sort of rule that tells us who can-"
"It's the wrong book," Crawford said, "this is 'Kritiker Rules and Regulations', ninth edition, volume eight. Why are you reading the Kritiker rules anyway?"
"Know thy enemy," Farfarello started solemnly.
Only to be interrupted by Nagi who rolled his eyes and described little circles with his forefinger at his temple. "Crap," he said succinctly, "they don't know their rules, so why should we?"
"Brat," Schuldig said. "So where should we look?"
Crawford took off his glasses and began to polish them intensely. His cheeks turned a pale shade of pink. "'Lexicon of Canon Lore, The Truth About Fanfiction'. Look in section two, 'Theory and Practice', under 'S'."
Schuldig gaped. "You read this?"
"S?" Yohji looked at Aya blankly as if for help, then at Crawford when Aya merely shrugged, not in the mood for talking.
Crawford polished furiously.
"S like 'screwing'," Omi suggested helpfully, and Ken thought the smirk on his pretty lips was way too knowing.
"Who is allowed to screw whom, yanno?" Omi winked at Yohji, who had the good grace to blush fiercely and bury his blond head in his hands. Schuldig shifted uneasily on his seat, then he stuck his hands under his bum and began to chew on his lip.
Farfarello rose with dignity, closed the book with a thump and placed it back on the bookshelf of the Koneko's mission room. He scanned the other books, mostly dirty novels Yohji enjoyed, some calculus Nagi needed for school, computer magazines that belonged to Omi, and the silk-bound haiku collection Aya treasured. Crawford's broadsheet papers were heaped in a stack by the side of the sofa, mixed through with a few soccer magazines owned by Ken.
"Good that you made yourself at home here, Brad," Farfarello commented, not in the least disturbed by the presence of Nagi's books, as he stood on the stack to reach the upper shelf. There he found the lexicon, buried beneath a crumpled-up crop top that belonged to Yohji. Farfarello flung it at the tousled blond head; Yohji – in best assassin fashion – sensed the whizz of a flying object approaching and caught it with a cry of delight. "I missed that!" He buried his nose in the shirt, soaking up deeply the smell of a memory – cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, the men's loo, sex, pot...
"You are welcome." Farfarello sat down again and began to search for the relevant section.
Schuldig could not bear it any longer. "Brad," he said hesitantly, "those rules... do they mean I don't get to..."
"You really think I am going to do all the work all the time?" Crawford cut him short. Schuldig wisely swallowed his sigh of relief.
For a moment, they were still, until Farfarello broke the silence with a small snort of triumph. "Here..." He read, frowned, read again, travelling the lines with his forefinger trailing after his knife. "I... this is..." The scars in his pale face begun to redden fiercely.
Omi peered over his right shoulder, Nagi leaned over his left. "Rabid," Omi read out. "Man, Far, how d'you get here from S?"
"Cross-referencing," Farfarello choked out.
Omi leaned forward a bit more, baring an expanse of pale, smooth flesh at his lower back where his tee was riding up. Nagi stared. Ken drooled a little. Omi read on, not quite oblivious because he swayed his backside the tiniest bit. "Synonyms for Rabid: extreme, fanatical, bigoted, militant... also see Fan, types of."
Nagi reached over Farfarello's arm and began to turn the pages with a telekinetic touch, barely stirring his finger. "Fan, types of... here it is: deluded," he mumbled, scanning the page that had finally fallen open, "eager, fierce; fan-boy; fan-girl, loyal... here: rabid." The trio read in silence. Farfarello's single eye grew wide and began to shine with an unhealthy gleam. Omi grew ashen, Nagi gagged and took on a greenish tinge. He turned, and in an instant he and Omi clung to one another.
"Nooo," Nagi moaned in something resembling panic as he buried his face in the crook of Omi's neck.
"Pure evil," Omi breathed, petting Nagi's back while shooting Crawford and Yohji accusing glances. "Hey, do something! You are supposed to be the grown-ups!"
"We need protection," Ken mumbled. He sounded nervy, depressed, and lost.
"Oi," Aya snapped, "I am your leader here!"
Crawford's lips twitched, and Yohji shot him a look daring him to comment.
"Aa, of course, Aya-kun," Omi was quick to agree. Ken just bit his lip.
"An eye for an eye," Farfarello began.
He was interrupted by Schuldig's nervous cackle. "That would please God, I think." He slanted an insecure glance at Crawford, who finished polishing his glasses and planted them back onto his nose.
"I am afraid Schuldig is correct here," he said measuredly, though he sounded tense. "Those are Dark Beasts indeed, but I cannot SEE us overcoming them. The surge is too great."
Aya practiced glaring, his hands clenching and opening. "I am your leader," he hissed insistently.
"Surge?" Ken enquired, exchanging a flustered glance with Yohji who shrugged, lifting his hands, palms out, in a gesture that meant he was clueless.
"We should assess this situation carefully," Crawford continued, looking highly uncomfortable.
"Perhaps ask for help from Kritiker?" Aya growled.
"You wish!" Schuldig sneered.
"We could ask for a mission instead," Ken mumbled.
"I do not think... well, checking the categories of Dark Beasts listed under Definitions in appendix five of the Kritiker rules, I think Rabid Fans don't quite hit all the essential criteria," Crawford clarified with a tinge of helplessness. "We need to think of something else."
"What do they want, anyway?" Nagi enquired shakily. "Hostages?" He clung faster to Omi. Ken shuffled closer, grabbing Omi's free arm.
Aya blushed beet-red. "I'd rather die."
Yohji leveled a green glare at him. "Don't you dare! Through torture or misery, depression, drink and debauchery, you belong to me! Even when they tear you to shreds-"
Aya looked alarmed. "What do you mean, when?" he snarled.
Yohji opened his mouth to answer, but when he met Farfarello's eager eye, he bit his lip instead. No need to fuel this fire lest it raged out of control…
Omi shook his head and stared at the pink, smelly note in knowing disbelief. "No, look... this one is demanding Aya and Yohji adjust their, ahem, sex life to the tastes of the writer of this particular letter, or else..."
With a swing of his arm, Aya wiped the books off the shelf. Everyone jolted and ducked as they tumbled to the floor in a messy whirl of paper and dust. "I am no one's bitch," he raged, "I will show this stupid..." His rant broke off with an irritable snort when he met Yohji's gaze, attentive, soft, a little shaded...
"It's just kids," Yohji shrugged, "what do they know? She can't even spell, and her grammar... abysmal?" he suggested, with a tender click of his tongue.
Aya tried to glower Yohji down. "What's that got to do with it?"
"Nothing, really; he's just being his usual irrational self," Crawford said dryly.
"She was probably high." Schuldig slithered up and pressed against him from knee to shoulder. "Or maybe she's just doesn't get any, what with all those guys screwing other guys..."
Yohji's eyes shone, and he lit a cigarette. "You mean, frustrated? I don't mind. Maybe I could-"
"Shut it, Yohji!" Aya hollered. Yohji did as asked.
Aya glowered at him. "What?"
"I shut it." Sparks dancing in pools of green, full of promise.
Aya grew warmer. He tugged at the collar of his sweater and craned his neck uncomfortably. "I'm no bloody queen."
"Yes you are," Yohji goaded softly - and caught Aya before he could lash out. "Yanno, I think she'd wanna bonk you if she only could but she ain't got the kit. I mean-"
"We got it, Yohji," Omi said sweetly, and Yohji smiled, a tad sheepish.
Ken shrunk into himself. Nagi melted into Omi, who now had one arm around Nagi's shoulders, the other one around Ken's waist.
Farfarello leaned back against the three of them, looking rather contented. "She scared Nagi."
"Big deal that," said Schuldig. He sounded distracted because he was thinking about biting Crawford's ear, and Crawford uttered a low, encouraging growl because he could SEE what was going to happen to him in the next few minutes.
Aya gave the pink paper a wary glance and shuddered. "You think she'd rape me?"
Yohji nodded earnestly. "Yeah, she made that clear, according to this guy... wait a minute, Freud I think was his name. She suggested you mustn't screw me, under no circumstances. She also said you were not capable of bonking me. Unable, like..." He cleared his throat when he caught Omi's glance. "She's not your average nice fangirl," he then went on more soberly. "Nice fangirls are great. They write you nice letters. They help your inspiration and all that." He shook his head and puffed a lungful of smoke into the rapidly thickening air of the small room. "This one... well, it's probably a decoy."
"Huh?" said Aya.
Yohji slapped his tousled blond head. "Sorry, jargon – leftover from my old days. A cover. Dangerous. Just pretending she loves you when in truth, she's rabid, won't allow you to have any fun, and she'd probably tie you up, torture you a bit, and then..." He coughed discreetly, leaned into Aya and said in a stage whisper, "show you what it really means to be made... I mean, thoroughly... uke?" He paused, his hands kneading Aya's upper arms, then – when he was sure Aya was too tense and mulling too deeply over his words to pay proper attention – sliding to Aya's back and down to maul his backside a little. "Ayan?"
"I wanna go home," Nagi wailed softly. Ken tugged at Omi's arm. Omi tried to smile reassuringly.
Yohji ducked his head, bit lightly Aya's ear and whispered hotly, "Fuck me, uke darling!"
Aya's head snapped up, his eyes glittering, cross and keen. "Yohji!"
Yohji raised his eyebrows in a mock challenge. "What? Can't you? Won't you?"
Crawford's eyes grew round behind his glasses, which begun to mist over somewhat because Schuldig was kissing his jaw and neck. Omi whispered something into Farfarello's attentively inclined ear.
"You!" Aya hissed, his hands clamping down on Yohji's hips, nails raking over heated flesh. "And who has his birthday on Doll's Day?"
"That would be my irresistibly sexy self," Yohji moaned, nuzzling the side of Aya's neck. Aya allowed himself a satisfied, greedy little smirk because no one could see it with him having his nose buried in Yohji's bleached locks. Yohji gave a tentative, slightly slobbery lick to Aya's throbbing pulse. Aya shivered and nudged his leg between Yohji's thighs.
Yohji groaned. "And... ah... you... man, Ayan... you're born on... mmmh... Liberation Day..." He laughed breathily, the laugh melting into another moan as he almost collapsed over Aya who kept rubbing his thigh against Yohji's hardened middle.
"Independence Day, Yohji," Aya corrected calmly, only the smallest hint of strain in his tone. "Now, be a man or I won't screw you."
Yohji's eyes slid open, a sly glitter of green glinting at Aya. "I like the way you mended your errant ways."
"I didn't," Aya growled, clawing firmly into Yohji's bottom. "Bed. Now."
"Ayan... I want to..."
Aya shoved him up the stairs. "Screw me silly, right. My turn first. My room. I'll nail you like never before. Now hurry!"
And off they went, stumbling up the stairs to Aya's bedroom, leaving a trail of shredded clothes behind that all belonged to Yohji. When the door fell shut, a deep silence spread in the mission room.
"Yo, Schwarz," Omi said at last, stretching his small frame that was wedged snugly between Ken and Nagi.
"Hmph," Schuldig replied indignantly, too busy to chew on Crawford's finger, with Crawford having somehow slipped into a semi-reclined position of abandon on his chair.
"You might wanna stay over."
"Why?" Crawford growled throatily.
Omi blushed wildly. Nagi bent towards him and whispered hastily into his ear, and Omi beamed at him in return before turning back to Crawford and Schuldig. "Uhm... it's getting dark outside, the roads are bad, icing over and such..."
Ken nudged him, giving a stern glare. Omi swallowed. "I mean, protection and that sorta stuff?"
"Hmph..."
"He said yes," Nagi eagerly translated the sound that wrenched from the depths of Crawford's chest. The chibis received no reply this time, a swath of bright copper hair shrouding both Schuldig's and Crawford's faces.
Farfarello looked up over his shoulder. "Ken... would you show me your… blade?" He tried a winning smile. Ken blanched.
"Shush." Nagi glowered at Farfarello. "Ken and I will stay in Omi's room. We're safe enough there, I think."
Omi looked surprised, but said nothing. Ken began to worry at the soft flesh of his upper lip.
"Oh fine," Farfarello said, offended. "I'll be off on my own then. Without a nursery!"
Nagi huffed. Pressed up against one another, the chibis went upstairs without much ado, Omi mumbling about a new computer game he meant to show the other two, and Ken groaning about a stupid waste of time, while Nagi cooed his approval to the games-idea.
Only when Farfarello wandered to the door of the mission room did Crawford shove Schuldig back a bit and looked up, glasses askew, eyes squinting, his hair in disarray for once. "Where are you going?" he yapped.
Farfarello looked thoughtful, cleaning his nails with his knife. "I need some fresh air." His eye gleamed at the pink scrap of paper on the table, his nostrils widened and quivered as he drank in the reek of bile. "Ahhh..."
"Good man. Get busy, both of you," Crawford groaned, falling back into his seat. Schuldig gladly obliged.
Farfarello kissed his blade, an expression of rapture on his pale face. "Thank you, thank you, thank you... dear pink letter writer... sweet pink letter writer... beloved anonymous letter writer..." And off he was.
xxx
THE END