Fandom: Weiss Kreuz
Length: 1000 words
Rating: M
Time frame: Takes place offscreen during Kapitel episode 11. Part of my Siblings arc.
Warnings: It's Aya thinking, so angst/pathos. Yaoi references. Sex mentioned.
Notes: The "Number 2" reference is not to my other works, but to events of significance to Aya. Some Crashers references.
Summary: Aya contemplates a decision accidentally made.
Title: Morning After No. 2
The low sounds of someone snoring woke him.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
He was not in his room. True. He was not in bed with a snoring Kudoh Yohji. False. The former was acceptable; the latter, unforgivable. Why? It wasn't supposed to happen. He had promised, he had vowed, he had sworn: no attachments. Minimal interactions. Only sex. Nothing more, no matter how the part of him that sounded disturbingly like Yuushi said he was an fool for not taking more of what Yohji willingly offered.
Yet here he was. In Yohji's room. In Yohji's bed. Next to a still-sleeping (thank the gods) Kudoh Yohji. He didn't need a mirror to tell him what had happened; hell, he didn't need to open his eyes to know the embarrassing extent of what they had done. The various stings, stiffness, and twinges told him that. Along with the scattered aches of bruises caused by a certain sweet-talking mouth.
Sex was one thing. Animal-like sex, while embarrassing, was still sex. But staying the night? That never should have happened.
Yohji might get ideas that this wasn't enough. That it was okay to ask for more.
It wasn't. Aya had no more to give, not since he had ceased to be Ran. Ran was a gentle soul who would have rejoiced in the attentions great and small Kudoh Yohji paid him, but Fujimiya Ran had his heart broken not once, but three times. It didn't matter the third time was by choice because it wasn't Ran's choice, but Aya's. Fujimiya Aya was an unfeeling killing machine. He existed for revenge: everything he did was in support of that aim. Breathing, talking, eating: these were permitted only because they kept him working. Sex was an acceptable (and only an occasional) part of his routine because it was a distraction to get out of the way. Under normal circumstances it was easy to control the urge to scratch this particular itch, but missions wore his control thin and allowed the beast to escape its cage. Memories of better times had the same effect, but thankfully (no, sadly, thought the small remains of Ran) they were far and few between. A sardonic inner voice, the one that sounded like Masato, wondered why the frequent visits to the Magic Bus hospital didn't have him humping everything in sight, but the answer was easy. The creature he visited there wasn't his sister, not really. It was a husk that resembled his sister, one that housed her once and he hoped would again, but for now, it was empty. It lacked the spirit, the motion, the energy that made Aya, Aya. All it could do was remind him of his failure to achieve his revenge.
It was the appearance of someone who reminded him of his sister that triggered this - affair, liaison, whatever it was - with Yohji, that caused the first breaking of his vows. It nearly crippled him. Thank gods he had quickly recovered; he insisted on rules, boundaries, to keep it from being anything more, from meaning anything to him or Yohji.
It was proof of how desperate they were for human contact, he guessed, that Yohji agreed to his terms. Ran wouldn't have. He only had to look at Ken's romantic problems to know why Yohji had agreed. Others weren't safe around them. They were too-close kin to the dark beasts they hunted.
Still, that didn't excuse distractions from his goal; it only allowed him to justify scratching the itch with a teammate. Keeping his teammates happy made sense; they were there to aid him. The rules he set with Yohji after that first encounter ensured this interaction wouldn't be a distraction from his quest, not as his relationships in Crashers were.
So last night -- last night didn't, couldn't have happened. If it did, he'd have to end this whatever with Yohji. It didn't matter if the inner Yuushi and Masato called him an idiot ten times over for even considering it, and it didn't matter if the tiny remnant of Ran grew sad at the thought.
But last night had happened and it was his own damn fault. Too overwrought by another failed encounter with one bearing the name "Takatori," he had lashed out, and an equally angry Yohji answered – with passion. Yohji was like that. The fault was all Aya's, though: why had he gone to Yohji's room? Why had he thought talking with him about Omi's betrayal would help? There had been little talking last night; not even the usual exchange of names that occurred on orgasm.
Best to cover it up, to pretend it never happened. That way he wouldn't have to end it. If he did, gods knew what Yohji would do. Look at how broken up the man was over Asuka, and that was long ago.
With that in mind, he rose from bed with the best stealth his aching body could muster, and continued that stealth as he picked up the apparently shredded remains of his clothes. He winced, confronted by evidence that no, it wasn't his imagination, he and Yohji really had ripped each other's clothes off.
His habit of rising early aided him in this mission of concealment: Yohji slept on, and he saw no one as left Yohji's room, nor when he left his own for the bathroom.
Once inside, the sight of his bruised, slightly bloody self in the mirror reaffirmed his purpose. He would not allow himself to grow attached, or Yohji to become more attached. There was nothing special about last night.
Still, he owed Yohji something, as memory said he had administered more violence than he received. He would not harm Omi, even if he was a Takatori. Stepping into the shower caused him to reconsider as it revealed several more pulled muscles and bruises. Damn Yohji for marking him. Oh well. At least none of the marks would be visible once he dressed. Maybe Omi would live after all.
...end...
posted to LJ 18 Feb 2005