WeissKreuz – Whim 3 – Arrangements
Comtess, you're such a star. There I thought I'd just stop writing fanfics, but you do keep me going, yanno? Thank you for your very flattering, thoughtful revs onmy latest Schuldig/Yohji stories. I should hug ya. So here's another one, hopefully providing some answers... and I do hope you'll enjoythis one, too.
Cheers
LH
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Warnings: male/male affection and references to sex.
Rating: M for the above reasons.
Summary: What kind of arrangements could Aya possibly have with Crawford? How will Yohji and Schuldig fare? Together canstill mean very much alone...
xxx
Standing on the pavement near the shopfront of the Koneko, Aya stared at Crawford, who took off his glasses and polished them with a spotless white handkerchief from the pocket of his suit jacket. Dark grey suit, white shirt, blue silk tie, expensive black shoes, a charcoal coloured dust coat draped over his arm, he looked like a high-end salaryman. When he was done, he put the glasses back on and met Aya's purple gaze. "I think we should take this meeting elsewhere."
"There's a good restaurant not far from here. If you like sushi," Aya replied flatly. He wore his smartly tailored leather coat over a loose white shirt and skin-tight leather pants, complete with buckled boots. In spite of the heat of the summer evening, he had pulled on gloves, and the hilt of his katana just showed from the folds of the coat.
Crawford cast a pointed glance at the weapon. "You have taken care to appear unobtrusive," he remarked, "I think I know the place."
Aya choose to ignore the jibe. "Then I hope we get there quick and can get this over with."
Aya made to stalk off, but Crawford stepped towards the curb and waved down a cab. "Style, Abyssinian," he smiled thinly, his dark eyes resting appraisingly on the redhead. "Would you care to accompany me?"
Aya got in after him without a word. They rode the short distance to the restaurant, Crawford was quicker than Aya to pay their fare, and a little later they were seated comfortably and discreetly at a raised table in a secluded, European-style booth. Aya ordered tea, Crawford coffee. Aya choose a small selection of sushi and miso soup, Crawford picked sashimi.
They ate in silence, and only when Aya had received his second order – a large bottle of hot sake and two cups – did he break the stillness. "You're wasting my time."
"I think not," Crawford said evenly, replacing his chopsticks and accepting the cup. He drank, taking his time to savour the sweet-sharp flavour of the rice wine, before nodding his approval. "Good quality."
"I don't do cheap," Aya snapped.
"Neither do I." Crawford leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. "I value my assets. Every one of them. They were expensive to create, and currently, they arehigh maintenance equipment." He paused, meeting Aya's cold glare levelly. "I do not appreciate seeing them affected or impaired, let alone through certain… avoidable difficulties."
"Is that why you rang me?"
"In fact, I contacted your team leader first to ask his permission. He authorised this meeting. I am not interested in augmenting our professional rivalry more than necessary." With every one of his movements watched by Aya like a hawk, Crawford retrieved a stainless steel cigarette case from the inside of his jacketand lit up. "It seems that our… personal arrangements suffer from related complications," he went on, blowing an elegant ring of smoke at Aya. "I need not tell you that it does not suit me to have one of my agents involved with Weiss on a rather intensely personal level."
"You mean Balinese fucking Mastermind?"
"Or vice versa," Crawford replied without missing a beat, but deep inhiseyes something was shifting that made them look like liquefied coal. "Idid hope you would understand, and I see you don't disappoint me. You may deem it purely a matter of vanity. An issue of bruised pride. I will not dispute either assumption. In fact, I shall admit that they do play a role in this whole sorry affair."
"Spill it, Oracle."
Crawford let a cloud of blue smoke escape his nostrils, his posture unchanged, motionless, his expression frosty. "Yes, I forgot you lack patience and the will to understand such things."
"There's not much to understand. They bonk. What do you want?"
"That you talk with Balinese. I want him to leave Mastermind alone."
"As far as I could see, it was Mastermind who didn't let off. He's been after Balinese's ass for some time now."
Another pause. Aya refilled his sake cup and pushed the bottle across the table to Crawford. Who wordlessly poured himself a second drink, tossed it back, and filled up again. Aya watched, drinking much slower. He was not good at holding his drink, as Yohji had demonstrated to him vividly on a number of occasions...
Crawford half-drained his third cup of the strong, steaming drink, then he set it back onto the table with carefully measured movements, took off his glasses and met Aya's eyes with a stare that belied his controlled façade. For in those dark brown depths, ice was mingling with fire, unforgiving and determined. And when he spoke, his voice was barely audible but cool and clear in the climatised air of the restaurant. "How old are you? Just past twenty?" He put the glasses back on and stared at Aya through whisps of smoke. "When I found Mastermind, you were still a snotty pre-teen, spoilt rotten by your upbringing, neither money nor education an issue, the world at your feet without any effort on your side."
Aya drew in a sharp breath but Crawford lightly lifted his hand. "Do NOT interrupt me now," he snarled quietly. "When I found him, he was a wreck who'd seen more of life than anyone ever should, and he was fighting like hell where you gave up a long time ago. He was fighting to be himself; he's still doing just that. But what we want isn't always what we need, and Balinese is not what he needs because Balinese comes with a history, and with you."
"How considerate of you," Aya murmured sarcastically.
"Oh, call it self-preservation." Another cup of sake, downed rather quickly this time. "You might still wonder why I'm going to such lengths. Now, I do not wish to upset your team leader if I can help it, and I know for certain that killing Balinese would do just that. So Bombay referred me to you. I wonder whether his trust in your… influence on your colleague is misplaced, after all."
"Shut it, Oracle," Aya hissed, hands wrapped around the sake cup, clinging to it for dear life, nails white, muscles straining. "What are we having here, a jilted lovers' spat? You rein in this bastard you're banging, and I'll take care of the rest."
"Your tone," Crawford retorted blandly, his voice suffused with mild disapproval and latent anger.
"Got a problem with it?" Aya unclasped his fingers from the cup and rose from his seat to hover closer to the older man.
"I KNOW you, but the staff here…" Crawford lightly nodded at a couple of waiters who had edged closer and were whispering, casting discreet glances at him and Aya.
Aya plopped down again and drew a few deep, long breaths. "You lay one hand on Balinese, and I'll wipe out your cursed team."
"Oh. Threats." Crawford's words were edged with ice.
"No. Warnings." Aya tossed a few bills onto the table, shoved his chair back rashly,and turned to leave.
"I will know before you do, boy," Crawford said quietly to his back, "and I will be quicker."
Aya froze. Forgot to bristle at the softly delivered insult as images of Yohji, bleeding away his life in some dark alleyway, flashed past his mind, flickers of what seemed a patchwork of all those moments when Aya had seenYohji hurt, a medley of blood and fear and the pong of death assaulted and threatened to overwhelm him. And yet…
Aya closed his eyes for a brief moment, his heart thudding hard in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears, his breath flowing like liquid heat into his lungs.
... how often had he dreamed of seeing those shiny eyes go dull and blank, the smile fade from the handsome face, features distorted in a mute cry… He shivered, and with disgust registered the familiar mix of lust and anger flicker through him, tingling down his spine like an icy caress, and pooling in his groin... to sense the warm wash of blood, to hold the slackening body close, to press his ear to those kissable lips and listen toYohji's breathing, stuttering and stalling…
Yohji would finally, utterly, be his.
To hold, to console, to keep. In life and in death.
And whatever lay beyond... (1)
Aya bit his lip, small, sharp teeth drawing a droplet of blood. He felt ill, disgusted with himself and full of scorn for Yohji. It was Yohji's fault, after all, that he kept having these cursed ideas, that this strange hunger knotted in his belly and snaked around his dreams, that he longed to slake his thirst for-
No.
He forbade himself the thought, for once relieved to hear Crawford's cool voice that pulled him back to reality. Dark eyes staring at him, evaluating, calculating, and oddly free of judgement. It was disconcerting, to say the least...
"Keep him away from Mastermind." Crawford's tone betrayed nothing, they could have discussed the weather, some business transaction, the next train… "Keep him clear of my team, or I will have to take certain measures I would rather avoid."
No. Not like that.This was no one's right but Aya's…
Aya swallowed hard, his hand slipping into the folds of his coat to clasp the hilt of the sword. He could cut Crawford down, right here, slice him open and let him spill his guts all over the neat seats and the tatami floor of the restaurant, swamping them in a deluge of blood and waste. He did not care, he would be gone by the time they recovered from their shock and called the police.
"It won't help to switch me off," Crawford continued calmly to Aya's back, his tone just on the right side of condescending, "because it won't bring him back to you, will it?"
"You bastard," Aya murmured, unthinkingly pressing his free hand against his chest. He was hurting in there, a numb, consistent kind of pressure that constricted his breathing and clamped around his heart like an iron fist. He rubbed slowly, trying to ease it a little, knowing he would fail. He had sought medical advice and gotten nowhere… his heart was sound and healthy, his lungs fine, his body fit and well.
His mind though…
"Yes," Crawford replied smoothly, "this is what I am. Of course, I could have chosen to take the easy option…"
And wiped Weiss out…
"But the current balance of… probabilities makes it necessary for us to keep all our options open. And I mean your team as much as mine. I rather hoped you would appreciate my effort."
Crawford's words washed into Aya's bitter thoughts, yet he failed to make sense of them. Omi had dealings with Schwarz. How could this be? What kind of probabilities? A sick feeling of utter helplessness sunk into Aya's stomach, roiling and churning there relentlessly… He swallowed down the wave of nausea that pushed at his throat, and suppressed a groan. And Crawford was right, in his cold, precise way. He needed Schwarz intact and was doing what any good team leader would do: after taking every precaution, he was stepping through the motions now, to assure himself of his possession whilst keeping his dealings with Weiss strictly businesslike. A delicate balance indeed, and he had struck it perfectly.
Omi had sanctioned this encounter. By now, Aya was sure the chibi had also carefully considered the outcome. Omi had turned a blind eye to Yohji's odd encounters with the firehead, but he could not have been happy, andhe was tightening the leash without pulling at it himself.
It would reel Yohji back in. Return him firmlyto where he belonged. To Aya's arms, Aya's bed, Aya's whims...
Aya shuddered at the sudden blast of heat in his groin.
To haveYohji back, to own, to possess this honeyed warmth, keep it all to himself and make surehe would... heCOULDnever stray again…
It was worth... everything.
Aya let go of a long, slow breath. "I will need your co-operation in the matter," he ground out, crossly holding Crawford's bespectacled gaze. "If you want me to have any success, you need to rein in Mastermind."
"I will take care of my team," came the cool reply, content and unsurprised. "I appreciate your… insight." Apparently satisfied, Crawford tapped his index finger against his cup. "Oh, and thank you for the sake – a particularly good one indeed."
"You're welcome," Aya gritted, "You'll excuse me now, I think we are through."
"Yes. We had quite enough of one another's company." Crawford lifted the cup, a tiny smile playing on his thin lips. "To your health."
Aya fled the place without looking back.
xxx
Yohji lay on his back on Schuldig's rumpled bed, one arm angled over his eyes, a cigarette wedged between his lips, the other arm across his bare chest. He was naked, long legs drawn up slightly and spread a little, dick limp, belly and thighs glistening with stickiness, feet tangled in sweat-dank sheets. Eyes closed, he was smoking lazily, slow blue whorls drifting from his nose and parted lips.
Schuldig lay pressed between Yohji and the wall on one side of the bed. He was still wearing his jeans, though the fly gaped open, and pants and boxers were pulled down to bare his groin and snag around his pale bum. He had his arms crossed behind his head and stared at the water-flecked off-white ceiling of his room. One leg pulled up and weaving back and forth, knee tapping against the wall, the other one stretched out, bare foot touching Yohji's sheet-covered one, skinny body tense like a bowstring.
"You're one hell of a fuck," he said into the dark, muggy stillness.He sounded sharp, brittle, jealous. From outside drifted the vague hum of the city at night, along with strips of orange light that slipped through the slatted blinds of the only window.
Yohji grunted quiet assent. Schuldig wriggled, mussed hair sliding against Yohji's shoulder and arm.
"Stop shifting," Yohji growled around his cigarette.
"I'm uncomfortable."
"You will be when you get home to Crawly."
"Shut up. Don't call him freakin' names."
"Crawly."
"Bali, you're such an asshole." Schuldig tensed to sit up; Yohji turned onto his side, reached out and clamped an arm across the redhead's bony chest.
"Stay put, idiot. Why the hell are you defending him? Ah, no, forget it, I don't wanna know."
Schuldig made an effort to lie still. "Because you do know, dickhead. Gimme a smoke."
Yohji took another pull, then slipped his cigarette between Schuldig's lips, letting him draw deeply a few times before taking it back. He counted and arrived at eleven before Schuldig began to fidget again. "They're ganging up on us."
"There's no US," Yohji rebuked him.
His gaze flitting about restlessly, Schuldig ignored the remark. "Him and your icicle."
Yohji kept smoking in silence, eyes heavylidded.
"It hurts," Schuldig went on, sounding somehow off.
"Uhm… perhaps I was a bit rough this morning…"
"Not my backside, dumbass."
Yohji swallowed hard. A few times. The sudden gush of bile to his throat making it difficult to speak and driving the water to his eyes. "Shut it, Schuldig. Just shut it," he managed at last, intending to sound harsh and angry, but his voice betrayed him, the words coming out as a hoarse whisper instead.
The almost finished cigarette wedged between his fingers, he let his hand wander, sliding it over Schuldig's damp, cooling skin, taut over a quivering belly and sharp ribs. He caught a few strands of soft, mussed hair and rubbed them absently between his fingertips. A few white and grey crumbs of ash drifted down to settle on the whiteness of Schuldig's shoulder. Yohji propped himself on one elbow and leaned over to lick off the specks of ash.
Arrived at the crook of Schuldig's neck and gave it a lick too, then a little nip. He could feel Schuldig's heart race against his own. He placed his long, hard hand over the redhead's chest.
"Running like a rabbit," he commented quietly.
"Huh?" Schuldig's expression was dazed,spaced out, and something akin to panic flashed in his pale eyes when Yohji looked up at him.
Yohji studied his face. Narrow, freckled, lookingyounger than hisyearswithout the half-smirk that usually pulled at those thin lips. He bent to kiss them, pressing firmly against Schuldig's chest to keep him down. Sensed the hitching of breath, the shiver that ran through lanky limbs, followed by a shower of gooseflesh. Schuldig was coiled tight enough to break.
Yohji blew a puff of air up the redhead's nose. "Hey, breathe or you'll die."
And when Schuldig opened his mouth to hurl some retort at him, Yohji dove in to kiss him again. Long, deep, soft, his hand sliding up to claw into swathes of bright copper to pin Schuldig's head in place and keep him still.
"There," Yohji murmured when he broke the kiss at last, "I gotta go now."
"Ass…" Schuldig did not finish. He turned over, facing the wall, and wrapped his arms around himself.
Yohji got up and put the kettle on, then he disappeared in the cramped shower room Schuldig called a bathroom. For a while, it was still save for the even rushing of water and the occasional splashing sound. Then the toilet flushed, and a little later, Yohji emerged in a cloud of cheap scent from Schuldig's soap, his hair wet and slicked back, towel slung loosely over his shoulder. Still naked, he made two mugs of coffee.
Outside, the sky grew paler, the light that trickled through the blinds a mere wash of murky orange. The soft night breeze brought no relief from the heat of the day. The pong of dust and barely cooled tarmac, exhaust fumes and rubbish wafted into the small room, to mingle with the smells of sex and granulated coffee, aftershave, cigarettes and stale sweat.
Yohji sat down on the edge of the bed and nudged Schuldig. "Hey. Coffee."
Schuldig scrambled to sit up and slouched against the wall when he took his mug. Balancing his own drink, Yohji groped singlehandedly for the packet of cigarettes and the lighter, found it next to the spent tube of lube under the bed, and lit two cigarettes. Schuldig took one without a word.
Yohji lazily towelled his hair while drinking his coffee, then setmug and towelonto the floor, and began to pick up his clothes to get dressed. Something rustled in the backpocket of his jeans. A condom wrapper. "Shit," he mumbled, feeling up the pocket even as he shot Schuldig a guilty glance.
"You're clean," Schuldig said smartly through a mouthful of smoke, "Prodigy pulled your file for me, including medicals… you think I'm daft, or what?"
Yohji snorted softly, but made no reply. Still smoking, he rose to button up his jeans, pull on his shirt and socks, slip on his shoes.
Schuldig tossed back his messy hair, a tangle of sweaty strands stuck to his temples and neck, the rest wild about his narrow face. He soaked in a deep lungful of smoke… then gulped, eyes watering, and burst out coughing. When he could breathe again, he swore quietly at the spilled coffee on his sheets, and sucked some more on his cigarette. "Besides," he wheezed, still breathless as he watched Yohji bend and shift, "you're not quite what you wanna make your icedoll believe, are you?"
"Leave it," Yohji snapped and got up, long hands curling into loose fists, opening again… as if he was missing something… "Just leave it, okay?" Missing the coil of wire, its ends looping snugly around his knuckles, strong arms ready to pull the snare taut. The cigarette tore a little, crumbs of tobacco floating to the floor.
Oddly enough, Schuldig complied, his eyes a glint of ice beneath bright lashes, a vague, mirthless smile lingering on his lips. The silence stretched. Yohji shifted from one foot to the other, Schuldig shuffled his backside against the sticky sheets.
Yohji lost his nerve first. He made a vague gesture with his cigarette-equipped hand, a small whisp of smoke trailing his motion. "Well then… see you around."
Schuldig slanted him a strange gaze. Panic, madness, everything that had ever glittered from those translucent blue pools had gone… or rather solidified, gelled into a cool, appraising calm.
Yohji blinked. What had he missed?
It was as if nothing had happened. Nothing at all. As if this night had been wiped out, like a bizarre dream, to melt into the shadows of the mind, to be buried alive, burned away by the bright light of another day.
But then, what exactly had he expected?
Outside, the traffic began to pick up, soon to melt into the usual rush of people pouring into the big city for work. The night air grew lighter, the breeze that snuck through the slatted blinds cooler as dawn slowly soaked up the darkness.
"Nothing changes," Schuldig said, his tone flat, neutral, almost businesslike.
Yohji paused for a moment. Unsure, hollowed out, not yet prepared to let go and cursing himself for it… and then he took another breathful of smoke, plastered on a broad, easy smile and waved with the almost finished cigarette. "Nah… I'm gonna kill you sometime soon."
Schuldig laughed. "Sure… if you get round to it. I got the feeling your ice bunny's gonna be waiting for you."
Yohji was back on the bed in a flash, pinning Schuldig between his arms against the wall. He flicked the cigarette from Schuldig's mouth and pressed a hard, open-mouthed kiss on those tobacco-flavoured, strangely chill lips. "Aa, he will be, and this," he hissed, eyes open and boring into Schuldig's cold blue, "is so you can tell Crawly how you enjoyed it." He bit down hard on Schuldig's lower lip.
Schuldig yelped and knocked Yohji back with a fist into his stomach. Yohji gasped and gained the door before Schuldig could disentangle himself from the mess of sheets and pull up his jeans, andYohji managed to slam the door shut behind him before the mug shattered against it.
Deflated, still holding up his jeans with one hand, Schuldig stared at the burst of white china shards, gleaming faintly against the dark floor. He pressed two fingers against his swollen, bleeding lower lip – Yohji's teeth had reopened the cut Crawford had given him earlier– and bent to pick up the smouldering cigarette end.
He heard the outside door of the building creak and went to lift the blind so he could look out onto the street, fuzzy in the grey morning light.
Hands deep in the pockets of his tight jeans, Yohji stepped off the curb to cross the road. Striding out easily, weaving through the traffic as if he did not have a care in the world.
Schuldig watched, a strangely vacant sensation in his belly. When Yohji reached the other side and turned towards the Koneko, Schuldig was about to drop the blind…
Yohji paused, freed one hand and raked through his shaggy hair.
And then, over his shoulder, his green gaze met Schuldig's across the street.
He smiled, mouthing something that Schuldig interpreted as 'idiot'.
And the hollow in Schuldig's stomach began to fill with warmth even as he let the blind slide down and, humming a silly pop tune, applied himself to the task of tidying up his home.
Xxx
The End
NOTES:
(1) Aya's fantasies... see WeissKreuz Monsters.