And yeah - I don't own any of these characters, but the story is pure Momo. ^_^
Boy's Night In
Crawford, Schuldig and Nagi walked together down the dark street, silence hanging in the air between them. Through puddles of amber light they edged closer, with every hurried footstep, to their destination. Cradled in Schuldig's arm, beneath the fine fabric of his jacket, an expensive Champagne flowed back and forth in tinted glass making tiny tidal waves. A cool autumn breeze carried the scent of cheap, greasy food along the narrow streets, and sent up garbage in cyclones.
"They'd better appreciate this." Schuldig smiled, staring down at the bottle as though he was addressing it while taking his cigarettes from his pocket with his free hand. He stopped walking, momentarily, to search for a lighter in his silk jacket.
Crawford, looking straight ahead, remained deadpan. "It's not as though the money came from your pocket, now is it?" He lowered his thick lashes, for a brief moment, at thoughts that only he could guess. "...And, yes - they will appreciate it. Greatly. Now shut up and hurry up - we're late."
Schuldig rolled his eyes as the cigarette between his lips broke suddenly and neatly in two. "Hey!" He glared at Nagi, who stood innocently a few short feet away.
"What? They're bad for you!" Nagi laughed, narrowly missing a solid shot in the arm. "I'm worried about your health!"
Schuldig snorted in disbelief, examining the broken tabacco between his fingers. He frowned, flicking it into the shadows on the grey concrete. He would have to smoke one later, then.
*
Yoji paced back and forth, running his hands through his sandy hair in impatience. His watch read, in bold numbers: 9:01. "See?? They're officially late!" He glared angrily at the door, as though it would offer up excuses for their tardy guests.
Across the room, seated comfortably in the deep cushions of the couch, Ken laughed. "Calm down, Yoji - you'll wear out the rug! They're only one minute late, and besides...you're making me nervous with all that pacing. Just sit down and ... I dunno, smoke yourself into a coma or something." Ken turned, before he could see the face Yoji made at him, his attention back to arranging the sparkling sivler platter before him.
Disgruntled, Yoji threw himself down on the couch opposite Ken, and examined his friend's work with a critical eye. "Geez, Kenken, it's not ikebana- it's a plate of cheese and grapes for chrissakes. No one's gonna notice if you arrange the food to look like a ... chicken, or whatever that is."
Ken frowned, not wanting to ruin the aesthetic perfection by looking at Yoji. "It's not a CHICKEN, it's a PHOENIX. And it happens to be symbolic." As he spoke, he carefully laid down the last piece of cheddar needed to complete the beak. He smiled in boyish triumph. "There!"
"Symbolic that you're an idiot sometimes, Ken."
"Yoji!" From the kitchen they heard Aya's voice, rising over the sounds of running water and crashing pots. "If you have nothing better to do, come help us in - AH!!" There was a loud, metallic bang, and the sound of water rushing over the tiled floor. "Dammit, Omi!!"
"Mou! I'm sorry, Aya - it was an accident!!!"
Reluctantly, Yoji hauled himself off the couch and prepared to help avert disaster in the kitchen. He had to spare Omi some of the agony that went hand-in-hand with cooking under Aya's scrutinous glare; at any rate, the redhead was probably beside himself with frustration by now. Yoji stopped in his tracks. On second thought... Reversing his course, he dumped himself back into the cushions and reached into his pocket with a slanted smirk.
"Oh, no you don't!" Ken flicked a spare grape at Yoji, hitting him between the brows and shocking the slender blonde. "Aya's rule - no more smoking in the house! It's going cost us at least six hours of his lecturing if he even sees you pull one cigarette out."
Yoji laughed, the tabacco already secured between his lips. "Oh yeah - I forgot last time." He narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips, trying to assume Aya's frigid mein. Ken loved this impression. He tried to stifle a laugh as Yoji began, in an artificially deep voice, "Kudou, what do you think this is?... Kudou, this is a house, not a bordello ... So help me, Kudou..." Without missing a beat, Aya called out from the kitchen, "So help me, Kudou, if you smoke one cigarette in there... "
Yoji looked rolled his eyes at Ken "See.? Shiné, Kudou, shiné." He sighed, slouching over in the chair and begrudgingly hauling himself up from the seductive comfort. Shooting an angry glance towards the kitchen, he spoke with an emphasis intentioned for those not in the room as he sauntered towards the door. "Fine - if that's how his kingship wants it, I'll go out front! In the cold!" He continued, turning the knob, "Alone!"
Ken watched as Yoji swung the door open, intentionally flicking his lighter into life and dragging on his cigarette while still inside the apartment. A weak, childish act of defiance. He also saw Yoji suddenly look up, and saw the expression on his face change instantly upon viewing whatever there was beyond the door. "Oh - it's about time!"
Ken heard light footsteps climbing the front stairs as a hand reached into the apartment, grabbed Yoji by the collar and tore him off his feet and out of the door. He heard a familiar voice, lightly seductive: "Cigarette. NOW."
Yup. That must be them.
"Aya! Omi!" Ken called towards the kitchen, standing and giving one last look at his perfected platter, "they're here!"
Crawford and Nagi let themselves in though the open door, well-dressed and wearing unfeigned smiles. They carried with them the scent of a cool night and expensive, alluring cologne, which filled the room and overwheled the mysteriously-like-burning smell which wafted from the kitchen. Ken smiled too, though still shocked by the sight no matter how often it greeted him. Crawford. Nagi. Schuldig. In his apartment. How ... wonderful. He hurried over to take Crawford's coat, who lifted an amused eyebrow.
"Are you still so surprised when we come in here smiling and unarmed? You really do not adjust as quickly as the situation would demand, Ken."
Crawford walked into the room, casting his eye over the tastefullly-chosen luxury. "You cleaned? It looks so much more civil then last time."
Ken took Nagi's jacket as well, hanging them lightly on the ornate stand by the door. "Well, we are having guests, you know ... but, since you're here, I guess I'll have to call and tell them not to come."
Crawford turned with towards Ken with a bemused smile, just at the moment that Aya and Omi walked in from the kitchen. In a rare occurrence, Crawford, and the rest of the room, were struck silent by what they saw; Nagi and Ken each threw their hands to their mouths, stifling laughter. Aya and Omi were each coated with flour from head to toe, and looking particularly less-than-amused. Aya had a smudge of some unknown substance slashed across his face; tears still beaded the corners of Omi's eyes, and if he did not know better Ken could have sworn that they had been involved in a wrestling match with the kitchen appliances. Overall, the general state of their clothes told that supper would not be ready any time shortly. Aya greeted Crawford and Nagi, making an exercise in futility as he tried to undo his apron and look civilised, as Ken picked up the phone and pressed the memory botton marked 'Domino's'. Crawford walked over, scrutinizing his red-headed host.
"That look is good for you," he said, gesturing vaguely at the flour that dusted Aya's face.
Beside them, Omi quipped in, "Yeah ... white-face, like a little geisha. Oh, wait - you don't even have any flour on you! That's just your natural skin colour!" He giggled, ducking from Aya's murderous glare and bounding over to his friend across the room. "Hey Nagi!"
Nagi smiled in return, looking his friend up and down. "My, you've made a real mess of yourself," Nagi observed affectionately, "What an idiot."
Omi grinned, batting his long lashes. "I know - I need to go get cleaned up, but I'm such an awful mess..."
Not needing any special powers to guess at the meaning behind Omi's words, the two boys shared a look that made even the air in room uncomfortable. They bounded upstairs, tripping over themselves and giggling wildly, before anyone in the room could blink.
Aya, when he regained his composure, looked towards the stairwell where the sound of mirth floated gently down. "Those two, I swear ..."
Aya turned, a blushing thought making him suddenly aware of a prominent absence in the room. "Where's Schuldig?"
"Here, mein man, right here." Schuldig and Yoji sauntered the room like two giant cats, closing the door and sealing them all within the four close walls. The party was complete. Schuldig, reeking of smoke, glided over to Aya with his gift. "Here ya go, precious." He handed over the crysal champagne, sniffing at the unpleasant smell drifting like a lazy ghost from the kitchen. He guessed, "I think it'll go perfect with pizza."
Aya frowned, guiding his guests towards the comfort of the living room and away from the awkward formality of the entrance. Before sitting he made a vain effort at cleaning himself off, which he quickly abandonned. He would probably have to shower later, anyway. They each took a seat; Schuldig sinking into the armchair with Yoji sprawled at his feet, and Ken nestled in the frigid comfort between Crawford and Aya on the couch. The five of them sat in expectant silence, wondering who would be the first to address that unspoken thought that hung in each of their minds. Upstairs, they could hear Nagi and Omi banging around, punctuated by the sounds of muffled laughter.
Schuldig was the first to break the silence; leaning forward in his chair, he picked up a triangular wedge of cheese from Ken'S tray and popped it into his mouth. "Nice chicken."
"It's a phoenix!" Ken protested pathetically, watching his hard work picked apart by Schuldig's greedy hands. From beneath his heavy bangs Ken could see the cuff of a wide-collared white shirt get drawn back, exposing the German's slender wrists and collarbone as he leaned forward to grab another mouthful.
"Perhaps, while we await the haute-cuisine, we chould address the current issue at hand; it is Friday night, after all." Crawford pushed his glasses back up the rim of his nose as he spoke, watching the faces of those around him from behind the glare. Business was business, after all. No one would speak first, but the tremour of anticipation became palpable in the air like a current of electricity, scurrying along the ceiling. Each mind was racing, tracing slow fingers over a thousand delicious possibilities. But to name them ... Across the room, a subtle tightening in Schuldig's mouth told Crawford that he could sense it, too.
Yoji, not one for dancing around the obvious, stood up and walked into the other room. Even when he vanished behind the dividing wall all eyes were on him, waiting impatiently for him to re-emerge. They could hear him shuffling about; when he came back into the room, he walked slowly enough to feel each set of eyes examine him as he moved. In his hands he carried a large bag, black and made of cloth, that he placed on the table before them all.
"Gentlemen!" Yoji said it with a flourish as he ripped the cotton bag back, revealing its contents on the table. There were boxes, board games of different sorts, and playing cards, dice, and a few scattered poker chips. There were other items, too - and it was on these that the others rested their eyes on with gleaming curiosity: blindfolds, edible body paint, whipped cream, and a pair of old handcuffs, glistening silver.
He smirked, sweeping his eyes around the table at all those that were fixed on him. "So," he said, "What shall we play?"