SPCFC: Yaoi Vengeance
A continuation of the saga of the Society For the Prevention of Cruelty to Fictional Characters, originally conceived by Melchoir.
This is the second volume culled from the archives of the SPCFC and presented for public perusal. These annals chronicle the actions and histories of the intrepid members of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Fictional Characters in their never-ending quest: To uphold the standards of good fiction, to protect and preseve pretty people in their natural habitats and to let them run free without worry of man's (or woman's) corrupting perversions. To this end, they dedicate their lives in service to the promotion of excellence in creative works, and to the protection of those who are created in good faith by practitioners of such creativity.
[AN: The first and fourth titles in this series are currently being held hostage by Melchoir, who, while he has not outright refused to post them, does seem loath to release them to the world at large. However, I will be posting my own contributions to the saga, which (so far) include volumes II, III, V and VI of the SPCFC series. If you have questions about the first story, email me privately and I'll see what I can let slip. I also apologize for the screwy formatting; there's only so much that HTML can emulate. I've done what I can to make it readable.]
SPCFC: Yaoi Vengeance
Prologue
He had always known there were mysterious powers at work. He felt at times that he was not in control of his actions, that his movements were being directed by an outside hand. This strange force interfered when he was in danger or on a mission, driving him to go beyond human limits and become the immortal assassin, become Weiss itself. Perhaps there was a charm on his life or his profession. His sword always cut true, even when he felt weak. His strike meant instant death, even to strong foes. Although he'd been wounded a dozen or more times, the bullets always missed their mark, and instead of killing him merely clipped his arm or grazed his ribs. Only once had he been seriously injured, and even then he had still been able to fight.
Although he never mentioned it to them, he knew the others sensed it as well – that Weiss was almost too effective, and they'd been "lucky" far too often. As the missions grew more difficult, their skills increased to match the demand, making them something more and something less than human. They had learned not to question the mysterious power, but to accept and utilize it as the missions demanded. Still, the feeling of being manipulated latched on to him, gnawing at his mind every time he donned his black boots and coat and slipped into the night.
Perhaps it was the simply stress of the missions, telling after so many years. Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps those he'd murdered were haunting him, punishing him every time he went to take another life. He could accept their hatred; it was part of the mission, part of being Weiss. The strange force was driving him on into the night, perhaps to a worse fate.
Chapter the First:
In which Ken looks in the bathroom, and Aya gets a cold shower
"Ken-kun!" Omi stretched to look over the teeming masses of schoolgirls in the Koneko. "Is Aya-kun up yet? It's almost time for his shift, and I haven't seen him all day."
Ken stepped around a pair of high-school girls browsing the daisies and looked into the back room. "Don't see him," he called back. "I'll check upstairs. He's probably still asleep, after last night."
Omi shot a warning glance in his direction, but Ken added nothing incriminating about the mission. With typical athletic exuberance he darted up the narrow stairs two at a step. This building had been a perfect choice for their operation; the flower shop was a convenient front for the public, the basement was their mission headquarters, and the top floors were apartments – more living space than four bachelors really needed, but that was better than being too cramped.
The bathroom was empty but still steamy, which meant that Aya had been the last one to use the shower – Yohji always wiped down the mirrors, the better to fix his hair. Aya was up a little earlier than usual, then… With an inexplicable feeling that something wasn't right, Ken headed for Aya's room. He hesitated outside the closed door; something stopped him from knocking. Instead, he called softly:
"Aya? Can I come in?"
There was a monosyllabic response that Ken took to be an affirmative. Aya was sitting on his bed with a towel draped around his shoulders, only half-dressed after his shower. He didn't look up as Ken entered, but continued to gaze at something on the bed in front of him. Coming closer, Ken recognized the item as one of Aya's only personal treasures, a well-worn photograph of himself and his sister. The picture captured Aya-chan's perfect laughter as she flung her arms around her brother's neck. Ken stood silently by the bed, waiting.
"I always hated it when she did that," Aya said after a few minutes, never moving his eyes from the photo. "Whenever she'd see me, she'd demand a hug. I think she did it in part just to annoy me." The towel slipped from his shoulders, and to Ken's eyes he looked fragile, vulnerable. "Secretly, I think I was glad that she wasn't embarrassed to embrace me. But now…" He closed his eyes and turned away. "I'd give anything for another chance to feel that again."
"It's a rare thing for us," Ken agreed softly, sitting on the bed beside him. "We have to be cut off because of who we are, and what we do. We can't afford to embrace those we love."
---
The monitor illuminated the blonde woman's features as she tapped commands on the keyboard. In one corner of the screen, an alert box dutifully flashed its warning. It had been yellow a moment ago; now it was orange, and if things kept up this way, it would be red in a few moments.
The woman reached punched a button on the communications panel. "This is Wendy. Please put me through to the Director, right away. I think we have a problem."
---
Ken sat for a moment, unsure of what to do. He could feel Aya suffering beside him, an almost tangible ache that radiated from his whole being. Suddenly he realized that he felt the same – he was tired of being alone, tired of being deprived of the closeness and human warmth that were so important to him. His hands reached out, moving almost of their own accord, to touch his friend's shoulders. Aya jumped at the first touch, then gradually leaned closer as Ken gently caressed the warm, bare skin of his back.
---
"Fight it, boys," Wendy hissed through clenched teeth, staring at the monitor. "Don't let them do this to you." She glanced up as the Director, a woman with chin-length dark hair, approached the viewing station. "The doujinshi writers are at it again, ma'am," Wendy explained quickly. "I think it's bad this time. I was hoping the FCs would be able to reject the influence, but it seems the sheer quantity of it is overwhelming them."
The dark-haired woman leaned closer to peer at the screen. "Let me see," she said.
---
Aya lost himself in the warmth of the gentle touch. Ken's hands moved over his back and shoulders, trailing an electric tingle on the bare skin. His head dropped forward to rest on Ken's shoulder as the arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. The embrace was soothing, healing. Without being aware of moving them he felt his own arms slip around Ken's waist. Here was someone who understood him, who felt the same pain, who had the same needs and longings – someone who could connect with him on the most intimate level. Was this what he had been missing all along?
---
The warning light began blinking red. "They're already under its influence," the Director said. "We have to snap them out of it before it becomes canonical." She pressed a button on an adjacent panel. "Priss, we're going to need interference for world WK-1a. Soon." Returning to the monitor, she sighed and closed her eyes. "Sorry boys, but it's really for your own good…"
---
Aya was drawn irresistibly into the embrace, and lifted his head as he felt Ken's hair feather his face. He sensed the soft glow of breath on his cheek, the warmth of the lips nearly brushing his own. Closing his eyes, he felt himself pulled forward…
---
"Now, Priss. Now!"
---
A stab of cold like an icicle wrenched through Aya's mind, and he lurched back in a spasm of shock and terror. His body quivered uncontrollably, flashes of color washing his vision. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the touch in his mind was gone, and with it the compelling force. He opened his eyes to see Ken's face mirroring the same horror he felt. Both of them jumped back, putting a suitable distance between them.
"What… were we doing?" Ken's whisper was barely audible. Aya felt a line of cold sweat run down his back.