Lust
By Tien Riu
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Disclaimer:
Weiss Kreuz and all characters do not belong to me. Plot (what little there is of it ^_^) and depiction of characters are mine.
C&C, R&R and any other derivation there of including flames will be appreciated.
"Lust" is the first of three Weiss Kreuz stories that are determinedly yaoi (that means homosexual relationships for the initiated) and (unfortunately, since I was aiming for a PWP at the start and failed miserable) plot-driven. For those who are interested, "Do you believe in sin?" is a short background story to this series - however, you don't need to read it to understand anything that happens.
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Inherent Problems on One of those days
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Aya
There were inherent problems with the mission from the beginning. Aya frowned as he re-read through the mission descriptions.
It was obvious that the Kritiker analysts had created the deep cover personalities with Omi and Ken in mind and, when it became obvious that Omi - and thus Ken - would be unable to take the missions, it had been quickly - and roughly - recreated for him and Youji.
Very roughly.
He ran his finger across one phrase in particular, mentally reading it once more - as if to be sure it was no misunderstanding: "Youji's devoted lover, Aya - a silent and serious young man who is still very much in love with partner despite the former's sexual problems."
All undercover missions required a degree of acting - it was rare however that Kritiker's analysts required this much acting. And it's usually Omi and Ken who have parts with these much depth. He admitted silently to himself. Since he had joined Weiss, his parts in missions had rarely required more than a couple of casual conversations. Typically, he entered the target's organisation as another hired killer.
"Hey."
Aya didn't look up – of the three assassins that made up his team, only Kudou was able to make the skin down his spine shiver. In another lifetime, when he was another person with another name, he would have called it chemistry or romance or some other childish, hopeful word. But that had been before all this started.
"Have you read the mission report?" Aya asked, keeping his inflexion flat.
"Of course not." Kudou leapt over the back of the couch, dropping down onto the cushions with a slight thump, the air of his passage making his pony tail bounce, and stretched his long legs underneath the table, "But Omi gave me the synopsis." He said defensively, "I'll read them now." He added with a grin, eyes hidden beneath the dark of his sunglasses, "When do we leave?"
"Tonight." Aya said; by now used to Kudou's strangely inefficient method of work – and yet, the man was professional during missions.
He irritates you. Either that or you notice everything about him and pretend you notice because he irritates you.
"Tonight?!" Kudou exclaimed, "Why so soon?" he made a fake mew of petulance, "I had a date tomorrow with Jay –"
"Kritiker wants to update our weapons for the mission."
"Update our weapons?"
"Your watch detracts from the persona you will assume."
Kudou stared at him, Aya could feel his gaze, a hot sensation across the side of his face. He ducked his head, allowing his hair to slide down, and pretended to read the mission report in his hands.
You notice a lot about him.
Kudou leaned back, throwing his arms across the back of the couch, "So basically Kritiker wants us to go to some safe house so they can comment on whether or not my watch matches the rest of my wardrobe?" he said, and chuckled, "Who said a Rolex goes with everything?" he paused, "What about you? No way you can carry your katana through airport security without a lot of paperwork."
Aya paused, then continued, "Kritiker will be providing me with a sakaba-to."
That irritated him. Sakaba-to – they were ceremonial swords or practise swords. Meant for practise or display, and blunted on the cutting edge to ensure the right to carry them were not abused. It was a matter of honour that when carrying a sakaba-to, the swordsman did not kill. But the sword Kritiker would give him would be sakaba-to in name alone. The flip side – the opposite side of the sword – would be as sharp as the katana sitting in his room.
"Sakaba-to?" Kudou whistled – and at this at least, Aya could not fault how quickly his mind worked, "I assume they'll make sure you can use it the wrong way with no problems." A slight inclination of the head was all that was required, no speech at this question.
There was silence, Aya looked up, and caught the flash of Kudou's smile.
"Our very own Rurouni Kenshin." He murmured, "Somebody at Kritiker has been watching too much anime." At Aya's continual silence he sighed, a breath of air that flittered the edges of Aya's hair.
"Oh come on Aya – if we're supposed to be lovers you're going to have to melt a little bit. There's no way anybody will be fooled by either our acting if you don't at least smile at my jokes – or something!" he said in exasperation.
Kudou continued speaking, but Aya had stopped listening, the words repeating in his head as if something in his subconscious had caught the phrase and found it pleasing to hear. Or worse.
Supposed to be lovers. . .
Flesh to flesh – shared heat and breath, warm against his skin. The sound of silk rasping and smooth, and eyes – glowing in the dark –
Aya shook his head. Foolish – all of this is foolish. It's an act. And besides – Kudou is –
"Aya."
Aya blinked and looked up to stare at Kudou, sunglasses still hiding his eyes, "What?"
Kudou nodded to the paper Aya was holding, "I'm going to need to read those character profiles too, some day." He said.
Aya handed the paper over silently and stood up, "Be ready by six." He said and walked out of the room.
Walked out of the room and feelings and desires he didn't want to remember. Wasn't allowed to remember.
You promised you would wait for her to wake up before you continued your life. Step by step, together – remember? Like it's always been. Not by yourself. Never by yourself.
Liar.
Youji
I don't understand Aya.
I doubt I ever will. You would think somebody who would make even a saint stand up tall and sizzle would acknowledge some of the heat he brings out in others. But not Aya. It's as if he's got a layer of ice from five inches above his skin and down all the way to the centre.
And the worse bit is that between that creamy pale of that skin and the extraordinary violet of his eyes, you start getting the urge to see if you can melt it.
Like I said, Aya could make a saint sit up and pay attention. And I have never been a saint.
I stare at the sheets of paper spread out on the table. In piles of course, arranged in logical order of required reading. Aya is methodical, logical and above all, cold.
And yet –
Give up Kudou. The day you get Aya in your bed is the day he's out cold from fighting with Ken – again.
Nobody knows this – and never will if this fixation of mine will fade like all good fixations should - but he's the reason I keep those black silk sheets. Despite the fact that they're murder to laundry, the amount of ribbing Ken gives me about them and the fact that bringing a girl back to my bedroom has become too much of a security risk I keep them. And the reason?
For the sake of my reputation – and my pride – it'll never pass my lips. But I keep them not for sex – but for the memory.
He glowed, that morning, while the sun slowly streamed through the mist and entered via the streaked glass of my window. Against black silk, with that hair, and that skin, he glowed.
Throwing out the black silk would have been sacrilegious after seeing that.
Asuka always said I was a fool – guess she was right. How else can I explain lusting after a man who doesn't look like he relaxes long enough to have an erection?
Especially when I can't explain why I'm lusting after him in the first place. He isn't even my type. If I have a type. Asuka once explained it to me. She figured I was probably ten percent gay, and ninety percent straight. Which, she added with a laugh, made me one hundred percent bisexual.
How she came up with those figures are beyond me – especially since my one and only experience with a male was my first kiss.
Age eighteen if you would believe. Yes, Youji Kudou wasn't always a slut, ready and willing for any beautiful woman's pleasure.
At one stage, I was even virginal.
Try saying that with a straight face. Try thinking it without breaking into hysterical laughter – Omi wonders enough about my sanity or at least state of health, the last thing he needs is to wonder if I've cracked and need a nice white suit with long arms.
But contemplating my psychological issues is the job of Kritiker's psychologists. Till they figure I belong in a white jacket with nice long sleeves and buckles, I do what I'm best at. Killing people.
At least there's the possibility I won't be killing anybody during this mission. Hey – maybe Tamahino is doing a good deed for the future of mankind and really looking for a cure to male impotency. . .
Well, at least I'll get a new wardrobe out of this.
The piles of paper shift as somebody upstairs – possibly Omi – finishes locking up the store and close the door leading to the corridor. Other than the dull light from the low voltage light bulb nobody ever thinks to replace with something that produces a brighter glow, I'm alone.
Youji Kudou, alone with a stack of paper and several glossy pictures of pretty men.
And if I were the sort to get turned on by pictures rather than the real thing, I'd be happy, hot and bothered on the couch.
Visions of the delectable Jay Bennett float through my mind as I pull another stack of papers over and start reading.
It's going to be another one of those days.