Hi folks,

Four variations about a common theme, starringAya, Yohji, Schuldig and Crawford of Weisskreuz. None of the characters mine, all rights with current owners. Story mine and not for profit. Rating M for boy-loves-boy. Disclaimer and warning applies to all chapters.

Non explicit - if you are after mechanics, you won't find them here. If you like mindgames, see whether youfancy this one. Two rather tempestuous setups, two resolutions. Have fun, and perhaps you could drop me a line to say whether you liked it - methinks that cannot have been it between those four... they are too bloodyminded.

Cheers
LH

Green-Eyed Monster

(Set after Kapitel, before Gluehen.)

Aya wore tidy blue jeans and a sweater that closely resembled the burnished orange of the one his sister had given him a lifetime ago. The jeans neither too tight nor too sloppy, the jumper fitting him loosely, and his growing hair in a neat braid, he looked tame, almost conservative. He walked into the lounge of their current safe house with a newspaper in one hand and reading glasses balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. Focused on the text, and holding on to the glasses with his free hand, he only looked up when a warm wave of Yohji's scent wafted over him.

Aya stopped dead, short of bumping into the blond, feeling his mouth fall open and his breath hitch in his throat. Yohji smiled, in his usual soft way that was much too inviting for Aya's liking. "Ayan, you alright?"

Aya fumbled for words. Being scrutinised by those incongruously sharp green eyes did not help, and he was getting angry at his own clumsiness, and at Yohji for making him feel like that. Always Yohji. Gentle smile and lucid eyes that looked right into Aya's soul. No one else had the knack for this. No one else could ever make him lose it like Yohji, overwhelm him with sensations, with feelings, and drown him in the throes of passion.

Aya's lips twisted in a thin sneer. Perhaps it would have been better had Yohji decked himself out in his usual oversexed attire – his fondness for netting and latex meant that, more often than not, he displayed an expanse of bare flesh beyond any measure of decency. Apparently though, he was taking the preparations for their upcoming mission seriously for once: he wore polished black shoes, neatly pressed charcoal coloured trousers, a black jumper from which peeped a spotless white shirt collar. Along with a grey blazer and a pair of smart rimless glasses, he looked every inch the respectable schoolteacher he was supposed to impersonate.

He also had cut his hair. Chopped off those soft, burnished-gold waves that used to tumble about his face and neck, well down to his shoulders.

Unthinkingly, Aya stretched out one hand and ran it over the short, bleached stubble. Yohji inclined his head, leaning into this touch. His hair slid silky, like fine fur, between Aya's fingers. So perhaps this hairdo did not quite fit the picture after all – too short, too bright, a tad too rebellious… it would go down well with his pupils, a bunch of snotty teens, if the mission brief was anything to go by. Had he calculated the effect? Yohji could be surprisingly calculating, much like Omi. A very businesslike trait, skilfully concealed behind this disconcertingly warm, pleasant smile.

But Yohji was still a killer for hire, Aya reminded himself with not a small deal of satisfaction. Whoring out his murderous skills for money, just like the rest of Weiss. Someone with blood on those long, hard, brutal hands that could make Aya melt into the honeyed heat that was Yohji… Lots of blood… how loathsome… how… tasty… Aya bit back a moan, only half settled by all this and half raked up into a state of resentful arousal, and let his hand drop from Yohji's hair.

"Got it cut this morning. Like it?" Yohji enquired, a tiny spark of unease flitting through his gaze as he gleamed up at Aya.

"Does it matter?" Aya bit out. "It's done now." He had not meant to say that. He had wanted to rant at Yohji because he missed the feel of wavy blond lengths sliding through his fingers, the smell of cigarette smoke and the warmth of a supple body by his side. Why do I never seem to be able to say the right things?

Yohji was – still and undeniably – attractive. Too pretty for a man, Aya grouched silently, with this sweet face and big eyes, those soft lips, that long neck… and too tall all the same…

Not enough that Yohji was the eldest of their group – it had never ceased to bug Aya that the blond towered over him by a good head. And that behind his yielding, gentle façade, Yohji could be cold, cunning, and tough as nails. It was a startling contrast. It was wrong. Yohji could kiss and the next second kill, the smile still lingering on his lips, so sweet and pleasing… Aya hated surprises, and had never gotten used to this. He killed – admittedly with zeal – and was done with it. Smiling seemed unbecoming to their occupation.

"It always matters," Yohji said, voice low and smokey. It sent a shiver down Aya's spine. Yohji's smile was not bright. It was like the dusky glow of ash-covered embers, a promise of the heat beneath… so infuriatingly steady… so very hard to resist…

"Like shit it does," Aya bit out. So Yohji always made Aya feel insecure, wary and awkward. Because Yohji was so damn sure of himself, so comfortable in his skin, and appeared so impossible to scratch. Aya hated that too because he was none of these things.

Yohji's breath touched Aya's neck as Yohji straightened, his fingers briefly brushing Aya's hand that clutched the newspaper. Aya pressed his lips together in a hard white line. Yohji, anticipation and danger. Aya wanted, needed, was addicted to them, to the buzz that made him feel alive and assert his worth. Aya longed for a challenge that would claim everything he had, and let him sink into darkness. Finality achieved.

"It does, Ayan," Yohji said, lifting his hand and sliding his fingers over the firm, heavy braid of crimson hair that trailed down Aya's back. Yohji was just what Aya had sought: fire pure, a challenge that pushed his limits. Lure, risk, thrill. Something to pick mercilessly at Aya's singleminded focus, making him burn with want and hunger.

Yet he denied Aya the finality he craved.

"It never did. Nothing matters to you. I do not matter to you. You will never change, Yotan." To reassure his pride, Aya had determined a lifetime ago that he needed to conquer what scared him, or destroy what he could not conquer. He had chosen his weapon because he had decided to shun subtleties in favour of head-on confrontation, but more often than not he had wondered, bewildered and uneasy, whether this approach included Yohji. Who was warming him when close, and searing him when closer… making Aya want to plunge into his molten heat and tear his heart out. Because the thought of writhing in those flames for an eternity scared Aya witless.

"…yan?"

Aya blinked back to consciousness to find Yohji's face almost nose to nose with his own, his hands softly kneading Aya's upper arms that hung limply, small, sword-worn hands curling into loose fists. He tensed, Yohji's grip promptly tightened. None-too subtly, either. Yohji could be blunt if he wanted to. "Aya, you're miles away."

"Let go." A low rumble deep in Aya's throat.

"I… I find that difficult," Yohji said quietly, and it ocurred to Aya that he was answering a different question altogether – Yohji was stubborn that way, and he would not let off now, as always when they got into this kind of argument. His hands clamping around Aya's arms in a steely caress. "I don't believe that rubbish you're spewing at me."

Aya gave him a gloomy glare. Yohji winced a little, but choose attack over defence. "Man, Ayan, why're you so damn stuck up? What d'you want me to do?"

Wrong question, Aya mused bitterly. It's what you do NOT want me to do… things you do not know of me… thoughts too black to be spoken, things too ugly to be done…

"You wanna hurt me, don't you?" Yohji kept hold of him, but his eyes darkened as he sought Aya's gaze.

Aya cast his eyes down. Yohji used the moment to catch him offguard and yank him close. He could hear, feel the thudding of Yohji's pulse in the big vein at his neck. Warm, living, Yohji. Pouring heat into Aya's frosty soul, into his chill limbs and into hands that were always cold. Like a corpse…

Yohji held him. Yohji had always held him. Aya wanted nothing more than to yield and sink into this embrace, and with a harsh gasp he began to pull away, eyes flying wide open, terrified. Yohji knew too much. He saw too much with those uncannily beautiful eyes, so clear and sharp… the promise of being safe and restful too much to bear… Aya felt his knees buckle; the newspaper rustled as it fluttered to the ground by his feet, and his hands clenched, knuckles whitening even as his breathing became heavy and laboured, and his heart hammered wildly in his chest.

"Hai, you wanna hurt me." Yohji's lips a feathery touch against Aya's temple. "I won't let you do that, Ayan." His hands, holding on, steadying Aya, immobilising him. "There's no pleasure in pain, not for me."

But he would. He always was a bad liar. "Let go!" Aya gasped sharply.

"No." Yohji tightened his grip. Rings of steel clasping Aya's arms. Unyielding.

Yet Yohji was also weak where Aya was concerned. He would let Aya do what Aya pleased. He always did, always yielded, bit by bit, like the tide retreating, waves lapping a rocky shore, wearing away at the stone yet bursting into oblivion even as they were lashing it… it was this lack of resistance that scared Aya, for here he was on his own. Here, where he needed Yohji the most, where he was desperate for the curb.

Yohji's rubbed his thumbs over Aya's arms in small circles. Hard, wire-scoured, calloused thumbs that scratched over his skin, trying to soothe the reddening prints he had made in his effort to hold Aya still. Aya relished the hint of pain, the slight sting, the swelling marks to show for it. But it was not enough, not nearly enough… it was not a fight. Fight me… why can't you see, Yotan? With those green eyes that always, always see too much… forbidden, breathtaking… and mine…

"Yours," Yohji murmured into Aya's hair. "All yours."

But not mine alone. If he wanted to hurt Yohji, Yohji would let him. He badly wanted to hurt Yohji. Beat him out of his stupid dreams and hopes, until he would finally see Aya for what he was. A monster… Accepted the truth and walked away, to finally set the limit Aya coveted, and relieve the terrible fear of loss… yet another loss, capable of tearing Aya's heart out for good. Aya had tried to kill off this useless piece of flesh, deaden his soul and flatten his mind. He had nearly succeeded, but Yohji, obstinate, muleheaded, sunny, had spoiled it. Because he steadfastly refused Aya his redemption.

"I don't believe you," Aya hissed.

Because once he saw, Yohji would walk out on him and screw someone else. But Yohji would still say he loved Aya, even when Aya had split his lip and planted welts and bruises on that perfect golden hide of his. Blackened those green eyes enough to make them swell shut. Bitten into the muscled flesh, beneath the tattoo that spelled his SIN, until it bled. Yohji, battered and exhausted beneath him, would still insist on chanting his love, and Aya would almost cry with misery.

"Then tell me," Yohji murmured, his lips ghosting over Aya's temple, "how to prove it."

Yohji's warmth seeped through Aya's body, and Aya felt boneless and angry. Why won't he say NO for once? Why won't he hit back? He could. He is stronger than me. But he wrenches around in my guts with his stupid sweet talk, trying to make me FEEL… and he won't stop whatever I do…

So sometimes, Aya wanted to make Yohji scream, but not with lust… the vision of the amber body, splayed out on the bed and splattered with crimson, his eyes clouded and sightless, made Aya shudder. Think of something else. Now. "What about Schuldig?" The words slipped out before Aya could swallow them down, and he swore under his breath when Yohji's fingers dug into his flesh a bit harder still. To hold him, to stop him from fidgeting, to calm him. To keep him safe and anchored, as always. Always Yohji.

Ignoring Aya's annoyed, slightly pained hiss, Yohji tried to see his eyes. "Schuldig is different," he said, a hint of impatience in his tone.

"You've taken to spending a lot of time with him."

"We talk." Was that sarcasm in his voice?

Aya tensed a bit more, muscles bunching, until he leaned stiff and heavy against Yohji. "You won't talk with me that much."

"Because it's like babbling to myself, or pissing in the wind." Yohji paused. "Do you want me to stop seeing him?" And then, suddenly sharp, "And what about him and you, Ayan?"

Aya glared some more. "What?" He tugged at his arms, but Yohji did not budge. If anything, he pulled Aya a bit closer still, until Yohji's breath stirred a few tendrils of fiercely crimson hair at the top of Aya's head, and Aya's short, hard body moulded against every nook and plane of Yohji's long, pliant one.

"Yanno, you going off to fuck him," Yohji specified with a mean tinge to his tone. "Or being done. I suspect it's the latter, Ayan. Is it 'cos you need it? Need control ripped from you once in a while? He's rather good at that, isn't he? He needs to feel that he can dominate someone now and then 'cos Crawford won't let him top at home. So he's got you for his doormat, and you're freaked out enough to like it."

"Fuck off," Aya hissed, jerking at his arms furiously. Yohji held on, his breathing hot in Aya's hair, against Aya's brow, and when Aya sharply turned his head, against his ear and jaw.

"The hell I will. Why can't you let me love you? Why is it never enough that I respect you and treat you well? Why can't you give me the same, huh? You hate me that much?"

Yes. No, no, no. Wrong. This is all wrong… only where?

"You are trying to control me, through him," Aya snapped, his whole body beginning to convulse in his attempt to free himself. Short of an all-out fight with Yohji, he would hardly break loose that way, but he had to try, did not want to yield to this black urge… too familiar, too tempting, could Yohji not see? Why did he refuse to grasp it? Why did he have to insist on ripping open what should have been left in its ugly confines? Why did he have to put his life on the line like this, reckless, stupid, for someone like Aya… always for someone else, Yohji was like that, and the risk was never worth it. Nothing was worth Yohji's life.

"Let the hell off," Aya snarled.

"Like shit I will until you calm down, dammit."

Aya moved harder. Pulled, heaved, tested how far he had to go before Yohji's grip would break. This sensation deep inside him was prodding Aya, as it had been doing for years, ever since he got together with Yohji, ever since he first felt this blinding sting, the frantic fear of losing what he had barely gained… it had always been such a fragile thing. He had known even before they slept with one another for the first time, meant to resist because he needed security and with Yohji could never have it. Because Yohji was easygoing, charming, and had the world at his feet if he only tried, and Aya was nothing like it and acutely aware of what he considered his shortcomings. It was an uneven equation. Unbalanced, unfair.

For Aya felt broken, and Yohji was whole. Aya resented it. He resented himself, and Yohji for not understanding. For forcing him to confront this every moment they were together.

"You're the freak here," Aya panted, "you trying to pull strings by using this looney!"

It would be easier to bear if Yohji were unable to run, escape and let Aya down. If Yohji could not drop him and turn him over to the blackness that swirled inside him, so it could swallow him completely. If Yohji were hurt badly enough, or fell ill enough for Aya to be sure he would not walk away…

"Pull strings?" Yohji shook him a bit and laughed. It was not a happy sound. "As if. Keep an eye, perhaps. At least I'm trying. Is that so wrong?"

Trying to do what? Protect Aya from himself? By keeping Schuldig at arm's length? Or much closer perhaps? "I don't need nannying!" If someone broke him… his legs… those long, sleekly muscled legs that will part all too readily…

Yohji shook Aya a little. "Right, you're old enough, hm? Not prone to temper tantrums at all. Not crazy enough to try and get yourself killed all the friggin' time…"

… spread for anyone who wants him… Aya yanked at his arms and succeeded in freeing one; Yohji though knew the game, had expected this move and caught the flailing fist as it flew towards his face. Aya was tough, but Yohji was stronger at such close quarters and bent the unruly arm back behind Aya, pulling up the captive hand at a painfully uncomfortable angle.

Why can't he ever listen? One of those nights, he'll end up banged and beaten to a pulp, a helpless heap at anyone's mercy, all mine, all mine… Aya felt tears of furious humiliation burn their way into his eyes and he bit his lips hard enough to draw blood to distract from the embarassing sensation… the same a child might feel at being thrashed over some trifling matter… utter, pointless, acrid shame, mingling with helpless hatred at the perceived cause of this defeat.

All mine because he won't be able to run from me any longer, and I'll taste his fear and his blood… wonder whether they'll be as sweet as his lovemaking…no, sweeter, melting on my tongue as I lap up those bitter salty drops from the corner of his eye… and then he felt Yohji's lips on his eyelids. Yohji's grip stayed where it was, hard on Aya's wrist and against the small of his back, trussing him up against Yohji's tall body, restraining him, making him vulnerable and helpless and safe at the same time. Aya was in a mess, loathing it and wanting more, those soft kisses that trailed from his eyes over his temples with a tenderness only Yohji could give him. With his inexhaustible capacity for warmth and love. Because Yohji was not afraid of loving. Not afraid of Aya.

Love. He should be afraid. How stupid. Him saying he won't let anyone do to him what he allows me to do…but it's nonsense, hollow lies…he is shallow, he is lying, he has Schuldig banging him, hasn't he, even though he denies it… and Aya hated himself for wanting this, as well as fighting it off. Fighting Yohji, for once, until he was still and cold and limp, bleeding his life away, those bright green eyes dull with pain… this golden hide turning ashen as the warmth left him, this silken tongue silent, all those honeyed words thrust back into his throat, with Aya's fingers round his neck and boring into those points that would suck the life out of him for good while Yohji sucked-

Again, again, this dream, this nightmare… too tempting. Too close. "Stop it," Aya choked out, and with a desperate effort, tore free. His heart pounding against his ribs, his breath coming in heavy gasps as he staggered back against the door and groped for the doorknob.

Yohji stood still, his arms dropping limply to his sides, the smile on his lips fading, his eyes overcast. "I love you, Ayan. Why're you making it so hard for us?"

Aya's fingers closed around the smooth cool metal, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed it with a force as if to crush it. Because it cannot be… mustn't be… I am not like that. Not like Yohji the slut, the faggot, the pansy. All soft and mushy. Not ever like him, and I mustn't fall for all this rubbish he keeps blabbering so he can get me into bed with him… he deserves to get hurt. He deserves every single bit of this. He should-

"It's not hard for me," Aya retorted, trying to sound as hurtful as possible. He turned the knob and pushed at the door. Yohji looked lost one of a sudden, his smiley façade crumbling, and Aya felt a strange satisfaction pour into his raw soul. Finally. Yohji shaken. Would he cry? He did cry once, in this bitter, hard way. No tears, just sounds, small and strangled, deep in his chest… this broad, warm, tanned chest… almost like those noises he makes when we have sex… so it does hurt him after all, no wonder, it would hurt anyone to be done dry and rough… he's been lying all along then, hasn't he, there's no pleasure in this. Nothing. It means nothing at all…

Yohji looked as though he was about to make a step towards Aya, but he hesitated. "Yes, it is, Ayan, it's hard for you too." He sounded odd. Off. Brittle. "You hate me 'cos can't control this inside you. You don't trust yourself. And you can't bring yourself to trust me. So tell me, if you got the guts, what d'you want me to do?" Yohji cocked his head a little, his eyes cool, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his blazer. "Or are you a coward after all?"

This question again, and he's digging, provoking, why on earth would he not let off? So what? Yohji's words hammered in Aya's brain, who lifted his free hand to briefly rub at his temple, his eyes sliding shut for a heartbeat. He knew the answer. Had always known it; it had crept into his mind the first time Yohji had asked: the only answer that was right and honest, the only way he could gain peace. Die, Yohji. No small deaths, no… die for me, and for me alone. Let your blood wash over my hands and let me keep you close, dead and cooling, for that's better than having you alive and elsewhere… fucking someone else, smiling at someone else, laughing with strangers. Belong to me utterly. Every word, every breath, every heartbeat. I don't care whether it kills you… just be mine, stay with me, don't leave me… never, ever leave me…

Yohji sucked his lips between his teeth, his gaze darkly appraising. "Ayan?" he murmured then, voice taut as a string. "Aya, do you want to kill me?"

Aya bumped back against the door, his eyes widening in shock. To hear his fantasy spoken out loud, in brusque, plain words. Conjuring it a tiny bit closer to becoming real… Sweat was beading on Aya's skin, his lips turning grey. Yohji reached out, about to say something else; Aya burst from the room without looking back. Fleeing down the corridor to his own room and slamming the door shut behind him.

Yohji stepped out into the hallway and listened to the hard clack of the lock clicking into place. He slid his right hand back into the pocket of his blazer and felt absentmindedly for the coiled wire. It settled snugly against his fingertips. Caressing the cool metal, he bit his lip as he sent a stormy glance after Aya, as though he could bore through this door that had shut him out… as Aya always shut him out.

One day, one of those days or nights, he would hear Aya's answer. And once Aya picked up the courage to say it, Yohji would do what Aya wanted. He would always do what Aya wanted; he would prove it the only way Aya understood. Yes, he would prove it, beyond even Aya's doubts.

And then, Yohji thought, he could finally rip from Aya the reply to another, unspoken question.

He was willing – no, eager – to pay the price.

He only had to wait until Aya was ready to accept it.

xxx

Next chapter: Study in Red