Lust
By Tien Riu
tien_riu@yahoo.com
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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.
Extra Note: Yes, 'Shades of Blue, Grey and Pink for the Inmate', 'Celibacy' and 'Mine' (chapters eleven, twelve and thirteen respectively) were merged into one chapter. I discovered after I uploaded 'Mine' that I had left some errors in the writing - and when I had fixed those errors, I discovered a whole host of others. By that stage, I figured, why not just merge those three chapters that should have, according to my previous plan for chapter setouts, been one chapter anyway - except weren't based on my (rather weird) idea of suspense. This was followed by fanfiction.net's author database system failing. My life is echoing a farce lately. ^-^
In any case, thanks once more for all the wonderful reviews.
Specifically to -
Aris2000: I'm sorry you don't like the way I portrayed Aya. I was worried about my characterisation of Aya. It's hard to walk the balance for him - too much on the 'silent' side and he ends up flat, too much on the inner angst, and he ends up OOC. I'd really appreciate it if you could comment on what you think of him in the following chapters as I try and walk that fine line a little better.
noX: I did a rather bad job explaining exactly what Kritiker was doing to Youji didn't I? ~_;;;~ I hope I remedied that in the corrections. This isn't really a spoiler as I won't go any further into it in the story, but as there does seem to be some questions about it, I thought I'd mention it here.
Basically, Schuldich doesn't have the same deal with Crawford. What Youji has with Aya is a psionic-psychosomatic reaction that can happen to any psychic - especially a completely untrained, passive psychic, as Youji very obviously is. Kritiker is using that reaction by chaining it to a secondary reaction. If anybody knows anything about psychology, think of the Pavlovian effect - except chemically induced. And if that doesn't make sense (~panics~). It's a supernatural story right? I can use magic as something to fill a plot hole right? ~grins~
tmelange: sorry about the slow speed of story telling. It will speed up drastically after chapter thirteen. ~grins~ I finally get to show that I wasn't lying when I wrote the summary.
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Colours, Celibacy, Mine
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Youji
The limousine might be luxurious but it is also cold - freezing actually - and decorated in shades of blue that only make the matter more pronounced. It's cold enough that I'm glad for the all-enveloping jumper I was wearing. Grey is most definitely not my colour - it makes my tan look decidedly sallow. I was hoping that looking less than perfect would drive some of the more shallow girls away - no such luck. Several even tried to check my temperature.
I never thought the day would come when I wasn't eager to be groped by random females - or the day I defined their attention as 'groping'. If this ongoing hallucination is sign of my impending descent into insanity, I wish it would reach a state where I could crawl into a corner, gibber and not care.
Why couldn't I be the normal sort of crazy? And if I had to hallucinate, why couldn't it be of fun things - like a naked demon Aya attempting to seduce me. (As if 'seduce' would even come into it!)
The car is silent - and it seems an eerie repeat of that night, a month ago. Except this time, we're in a limousine and Aya is sitting at the far end, long legs stretched out across the expanse of space. Manx sat next to me, in a car that has enough space for twenty people - a foreshadowing of what is to come.
She knew - before I spoke, she knew. I don't know how and - although her knowledge says much for how much privacy we are allowed - I can't care. Kritiker owns me - and I guess this shows that they take care of their property.
It's soothing - not having to worry. Also unnerving that I can't find it alarming. But then I'm insane - or physically reacting to the emotions of others. Take your pick, either way I'm screwed.
It's another mansion - slightly less well kept than the last one. I wonder where Kritiker finds these safe houses. The gardens are overgrown and untended; there are patches of brown earth scattered throughout the verdant green of the lawns.
The limousine pulls up to the front of the manor, and the uniformed chauffeur opens the door, nodding politely to Manx as he helps her out. I can feel his lust - heat and pressure - and at the same time, I know that as far as he is concerned, it is passing notice. Aya opens the door, stepping out from the other side - and I swear softly as I slide sideways, to keep him within that unmarked region I finally discovered after two days of trial and error.
If I stay within a certain range - no more than five or six meters - of Aya, the burn of his anger washes over me, diluting everything else. Any closer and the phantom pain of his anger increases, any further and everything else crowds close, till I loose track of him. . .
Unless he touches me. And I wish I knew why it matters to my mind whether he touches me or I touch him. But when he touches me. . .
It doesn't matter where I am, all I'll feel is him, surrounding me: his anger, his scorn, his frustration and impatience. It burns and flickers around me, through me – as if that single brush of skin against skin brands me. Breathes through me till what went wrong inside my mind focuses only on him. Crazy and illogical – but it works.
I wish I knew why. But then, it is not for me to understand, merely to know.
Over the past two weeks I've become amazingly good at finding reasons to stay somewhere close to Aya. Okay, so some of those reasons are more than a little dodgy – but. . . It's worth it okay? Forget pride, composure and my reputation. If I'm careful – and thankfully Aya has never been much of a social party animal or even a mildly social insect – I can get through my shifts at the Koneko, even with the worst of the hormonally influenced schoolgirls mobbing the counters. Better yet, I can almost ignore Ken's nightly adventures – though it helps that if I'm right up against my wall, I'm on the edge of that circle of Aya-influence. So long as Aya stays in his bed.
You could almost say that we're sharing the same bed, the way I've memorised his sleeping patterns. Okay, you can't say that. But some of us can dream. Or fantasize anyway.
"Why are we here?" Aya asked as we followed Manx.
"I was waiting to see which of you would ask that question first." Manx said, glancing at me.
I flushed and looked away - I hadn't been paying attention. Strange isn't it? Balanced on the crux of insanity, and I still have the ability to feel embarrassed over unprofessional behaviour and looking silly in front of a beautiful woman. This from a man who is likely to find himself jumped in the next half hour by men carrying a white jacket with extra long sleeves. Then it would be off to a padded room somewhere - maybe even here in this rundown manor - for a long stint at banging my head against the wall and screaming about pink elephants.
The way I look at it, at least in my padded room, I wouldn't have to deal with Ken's sexual adventures in dreamland - not to mention that while he might enjoy himself, I end up a rabid, frustrated Youji dancing the line between horny and depressed. Or failing that, maybe one of the guards will be a nicely curved femme fatale - after all, padded room equals 'very big bed' right?
"Youji." Manx's voice brings me back to the manor.
I stop short of walking into Aya - and only because he puts a hand on my chest to stop me. Like I said, I've become very good at getting Aya to touch me - unfortunately, the touches are rarely of the intimate nature that I would have preferred. Or at least I would prefer if it wasn't that his touch makes half of me wince in pain. Yeah, but the other half jumps up and down and ask for more. I'm ignoring that hereto forth unknown masochistic portion of my nature. Well, unless Aya decides intimacy between the two of us is a possibility. Yeah, and pigs not only fly, they have bad fashion sense.
I cough and say apologetically: "Sorry - wasn't paying attention."
Manx glances at me, expression unreadable, and gestures to the door we - or at least they - had stopped in front of.
"Doctor Tsukiata is waiting for you." She said.
I re-run the conversation I had barely heard, through my head. Aya would be getting a debriefing on the modified weapons this mission required him to use. During that lecture, Doctor Tsukiata was going to give me a thorough physical to ensure I was truly ready for active mission duty again.
By the inflex in Manx's words and the thread of scepticism emanating from Aya, it's more likely Doctor Tsukiata is a psychoanalyst and I'm about to keep my appointment with a straight jacket.
Manx nods at me and turns, walking on down the corridor, followed after a brief pause by Aya. I watch them - and swallow the urge to grab a hold of Aya's arm, pull him back and kiss him goodbye. I might be insane but I don't have a death wish. Besides, when he tells Omi and Ken where I ended up, I want there to be minimal drool and slobber in the retelling as possible.
I brace myself as I walk through the door. So this is how it will end: Youji Kudou, insane asylum inmate.
Aya
The room had a large feature window that overlooked a small wooded portion of the manor's lands. Despite the layer of dust encrusting the glass, sunlight lit the room to blinding proportions after the comparative darkness of the hallway. There was no more weaponry on display, as there had been on previous missions when Kritiker had required him to use something less conspicuous than his katana. As if this mission was normal.
Manx closed the door as she entered behind him, "Well Aya? You must have questions."
This has been about Kudou – but why does Kritiker want me here? Surely not because Kritiker required help to disarm and capture one of its operatives. They ask too much – Youji is my teammate, regardless of what I think of him.
"What is wrong with Youji?" Aya asked - and ignored the flicker of memory of a deserted corridor and a similar question.
"That - I'm afraid, is up to Youji to answer." Manx said.
"Then why am I here." Aya demanded quietly.
Manx paused, then turned to the window, staring down at the rolling green lawn and the grey-green of the trees beyond, "It will be your task, Abyssinian, who will - remove - Balinese should he ever becomes a danger to either Weiss or civilians."
No.
He was frozen in place - shocked, and unable to hide that emotion as he had all the others till they too had been lost.
Why? But he had already been told that Youji was the only one who could answer that question. Something happened, while he was in that hospital - something happened that changed him. Made him -
Memory flashed images before his eyes - of days of shapeless clothing and a gradual air of exhaustion and emptiness around Youji.
"You cannot ask this of me. Balinese is Weiss - as am I." Aya said finally, the words stilted, cold - despite the fact that inside, he felt anything but in control.
"Kritiker's analysts recommended Balinese be - eliminated immediately. His continued status is an instability in Weiss - one that Kritiker cannot afford." Manx did not turning from her position in front of the window, "Persia - and I - do not want to loose Balinese. He is -" she paused.
He grows on you. His irritating habits, his lack-lustre approach to work. His bad taste in clothes and personal habits. He grows on you. After a while, you have to care if he dies - if one mission, a bullet takes him down and he isn't there in the morning, complaining about coffee, women or a hangover.
"Balinese - Kudou - Youji is a valuable member of Weiss. Without him, I believe the team shall be weaker." Manx finished, "The compromise that was reached was this, Aya - for Youji to remain in Weiss, there must be one of you able to stop him if he -" she stopped - and he wondered what she had not said.
What is it that you have kept hidden? What is it that makes it important now to watch Youji. He is a trained killer - a feckless playboy. A person who doesn't follow rules, flirts with anything that wears a skirt - and occasionally not if it suits him. Why now is he considered a risk to Weiss' security?
And more than that, a part of him wanted to demand, why was he the one this task was placed on?
"This is not a request, Aya." Manx's voice was distant, "It is an order - and if you refuse, then Balinese must be eliminated today."
"Why is this necessary?" Aya repeated.
"That is classified knowledge." Manx said, then added, "It is Balinese's right to tell you the answer to your question - Kritiker will respect his privacy in this matter at the very least." Manx said, "What I can tell you, Abyssinian, is that there have been two known subjects prior to Balinese who were injected with a similar serum. Both died, insane, and under charges for mass murder. Research continues and Balinese has not yet shown signs of further deterioration - but the statistical likelihood is high."
"That is -" Aya paused. He wanted to say that it was impossible - that drugs could not create murderers or produce insanity - but. . . The things you have seen - the men and women you have killed, the reasons you have killed. Nothing is impossible Ran.
"Weiss has defeated statistics before." Aya said finally.
Manx inclined her head, "The argument has kept him alive thus far but it is not enough."
"I am to be the safeguard? Bombay, Siberian and Balinese will not know of my task?" Aya asked finally.
Manx nodded, "Yes."
"Then I will do my job." Aya said.
"Yes."
He turned and was stopped by Manx's hand on his shoulder.
"There will be a test, Abyssinian. Weiss' members must be above suspicion and trusted without doubt."
"A mission." Aya said.
"When Balinese is ready, bring him back here. I will provide the mission specifics." Manx said.
Aya nodded shortly and turned. He opened the door and stepped out.
"And Abyssinian -?"
Aya paused, turning.
"Good luck." Manx said.
The corridor was silent; Aya walked silently, his footsteps the only noise. The door of the room Youji had entered was still as faded and paint-worn as it had been fifteen minutes ago. The carpet lining the ground still as worn, and the light that streamed through the window at the far end still as grey and desolate.
Will he tell me if I ask?
There was a bitter taste in his mind - made all the worse by the fact that he suspected that once, he would have cared that the answer to the unspoken question was a negative.
Aya leaned against the far wall, and waited. Despite the worn out, unkept quality of the manor, the soundproofing was adequate. He could hear the slight murmur of the unseen doctor's voice - and the occasional deeper reply that must have been Youji. But it was on the edge of his perception - too faint for true eavesdropping.
The door slammed against the wall as Youji jerked out - so quickly that Aya had barely enough time to straighten.
Youji was angry - it was clear in the way he held himself, in the flash of his eyes. Aya had seen him like this once - on a mission when a mistake had nearly cost Bombay's life. Youji skidded to a halt in the corridor at the sight of Aya.
"Mr. Kudou -!" a short, slender man whose waist length braid of hair seemed to overshadow his stature, hurried out after Youji, "Please -"
"Damn you." Youji snarled, "No - fuck you! You and your theories and your -" he slammed a fist against the wall.
Paint flecks floated to the worn carpet, and blood splotched the edges of the grey sleeves.
"Please, Mr. Kudou - you have to listen -"
The doctor reached out, Youji flinched away before his fingers could make contact.
"Don't - don't touch me." The words were barely a whisper; Youji straightened, hands falling limply to his side, "I understand what you said. Everything that you said. Is that enough for you?" at the doctor's silence, he looked up, "I know - I will follow your orders -"
"Kritiker's orders." The doctor corrected.
"Kritiker's orders." Youji echoed.
He was clenching something in his hand - a small bottle, Aya realised. It was filled with a blue liquid.
When he hit the wall, when the sleeves of his jumper slid back - a trail of blood. As if he cut himself -
What had happened in there?
"I am - I am honestly sorry, Mr. Kudou." The doctor whispered, and he seemed, somehow, younger than his age in that moment, "Truly sorry."
"You and me both." Youji whispered, "I will see you in three weeks, Doctor Tsukiata." He said, voice dead.
The doctor bowed formally, "In three weeks, Mr. Kudou." He said and turned, opening the door and walking back into the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
There was a slight thump - as if the doctor had collapsed against the back of the door in relief.
Youji stood in the centre of the corridor, head bowed - his entire stance one of defeat. The silence stretched.
"What happened?" Aya asked finally.
Youji looked up, then laughed as he opened his hand and stared at the bottle in it, "I'm not going insane." He finally said.
Aya waited.
"What - no questions? No remarks? Not even an inquiry on my state of health - mental or otherwise?" Youji quipped, "Oh wait - I forgot, you are Aya - the man capable of standing in below zero degree conditions without breaking into shivers. Ordinary social pleasantries are beneath you." He pocketed the bottle, and laughed - and there was an edge to the laugh, as if something inside of the man was made of glass, and a single touch could shatter it at any moment.
"What happened?" Aya repeated - in a different place, as a different person, he might have reached out to touch Youji, perhaps offered comfort in that shared touch, instead he took a step closer and caught the hand that had held the bottle, "Why are you angry?"
Youji stared at him, then at his hand and he crumpled.
Aya, startled, stepped back, then forward, barely able to catch Youji and balance for the extra weight in time.
Youji was - cold. His hands, against Aya's chest, were cold. His face, caught on Aya's shoulder, was cold. And he was shaking, a tremor that vibrated through his tall frame.
"What happened in there, Youji?" Aya said - or tried to. The words came out as a whisper, an induced intimacy based solely on proximity.
Youji whispered something – too low to be audible – the words translated into puffs of warmth against his skin.
"Youji." Aya repeated, staring down at the older man – this was not a situation he was used to handling. This was not a situation he knew how to handle.
Flesh to flesh, shared warmth – to touch and to feel - a voice whispered in the back of his head, Take advantage – you can make him want you -
No.
Youji smiled, a broken, sharp flash of white –
Now. Take it now. Vulnerable – you can make him want you. You can make him -
Shut up!
" - why did you have to be beautiful?" Youji whispered.
And then Youji leaned forward and brushed his mouth against Aya's.
As kisses went it was barely more than a touch. Still Aya jerked back, dropping Youji - shocked.
"Don't -"
"I know. Don't touch you." Youji said; he rose slowly from the ground, flipping a hand through his hair, "God how I wish that was a possibility." The words were flippant, but his eyes were flat - broken, "I don't have a choice any more Aya -" he laughed, it was a bitter sound, "Don't you understand, A~ya?" he asked, "Don't you understand at all?"
"No. What are you talking about?"
Was this what Manx had meant - was this the danger the analysts had attempted to discard from Weiss? Was Youji insane?
His lips were warm.
"It's you, Aya." Youji said, hugging his arms around his waist, "The way you talk. The way you walk. The way you breathe and smell and smile - if you smiled. I thought it was a fixation, an obsession - an interest brought on by hormones -"
Aya's mind froze.
"But now I don't have a choice – I can't stop -!" Youji's voice rose, almost shrill, "To die - or to live. It's you Aya - all you."
"I -" Aya took a breath and glared at the man, "I don't understand." He bit out, "Explain." He snapped, "What are you talking about?"
Youji stared at him - green eyes flecked with scatters of brown - "You really never noticed. Not once." He chuckled, and the sound grated against Aya's patience, "It's everything - it's you and it was all those chemicals." He shook his head, as if trying to clear his head, "Did you know Ken-ken has a sex life - but only when he's dreaming? Or that Omi has nightmares almost every night - except it happens so often that he's not scared any more? Or that you -" Youji's voice broke, "Or that sometimes, you aren't angry. For a few seconds - you are actually at peace - in your dreams before the nightmare starts?" he shivered, "When you touch me - I can't feel anybody but you: how much you hate - me or the world, I can't tell the difference. It hurts - but I keep wanting you to touch me. I thought it was lust. A fixation - but it wasn't."
"What was it?" Aya asked, despite himself - despite the fact that he understood nothing of what the older man was saying.
"That I'm yours." Youji looked away, voice soft, "To have, to hold - sick or well. It won't go away. . . And they want to make it worse. Until I'm yours."
Aya stood there, frozen - shocked - and the voice in his head whispered: Mine.
Youji
The words slipped out - I didn't mean them. I don't think I mean them.
I don't think that what's happened to me has changed me that much yet. There's still time to fight this - right?
"Until I'm yours."
My voice seems to echo in the silent corridor that will feature in my nightmares from now on - that and the room with its silent observers watching me as if I was some sort of crazed animal they would as soon put down as keep imprisoned.
Lucky me - they decided I look good behind bars.
In my pocket, the vial with its blue liquid, seems to burn - a constant physical reminder of my future. Aya is staring at me - and I wonder what it will be like, my future. I could have handled imprisonment - could have lived with the anonymity of a life behind bars. I would have adapted to being an insane inmate - of gibbering and talking to things that didn't exist. In a way, the knowledge that this surreal life of mine was about to end was - peaceful. The worse would happen, and then it would be over. I could have handled it -!
I should have known my life never follows the expected path.
"Hold him -!"
The hands of the doctor's assistants, bands of steel holding me in place; the crack of something giving way beneath my kick - broken bones or the table leg, I can't tell, my vision is obscured through the arm wrapped around my face, keeping me from speaking. And suddenly, I want to laugh - all these precautions to stop me from making noise. What do they expect me to do? Scream? As if Aya would come to save me.
Sunlight - ordinary sunlight - streams through the large glass window that faces a lake. The light glints off the needle the doctor is holding; the reservoir is filled, tinted blue.
Such an innocuous blue - I gag against the arm and am rewarded by an increase in pressure.
I can't breath -!
"For god's sake - don't kill him!" the man standing in the back of the room orders roughly.
My eyes, frantically darting, take him in - dressed like the others, a white lab coat over every day clothes. Spots are dancing in front of my eyes.
The arm relaxes and the ground is suddenly underneath my feet, I gag, choking and try and fall. Arms catch me, holding me back.
No way to escape. Stupid, careless Kudou - walked into this trap.
The doctor is next to me, his eyes apologetic. Such a short man to have so much power over me. It's always the little ones who surprise you isn't it?
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kudou." He says, "But this is the only way to keep you alive."
He really believes what he is doing - I can see it in the way he stares at me. This Doctor Andrew Tsukiata - he actually believes that what he is doing is the best thing possible in the circumstances.
The urge to laugh rolls up my throat, I know that if I start, it will sound hysterical. This - this - this is impossible.
The doctor stares at me as if he expects me to say something, do something – he actually leans closer. Where did they find him? He isn't Kritiker - surely no person trained by Kritiker would step so close to the enemy? Too easy to be attacked, to be overpowered. . .
Except, I'm not the enemy. I'm Kritiker-trained. I'm Kritiker-owned. The energy leaves me. I said it myself - knew it myself. I sold my soul to Kritiker in exchange for the chance to kill Asuka's killers.
Will this make so much of a difference?
"This is for the best, Mr. Kudou." Doctor Tsukiata says; his hands are small - ungloved, I notice, unlike the others - he lifts my arm.
This is my chance I realise - there is enough slack for me to lash out, to knock him away, to break free - to escape -
But would it matter?
Would this make any difference?
I belong to Kritiker - this is just. . . a different collar.
The needle is cold as it slides into my wrist; I wince - but watch, silently, as the reservoir empties itself into my blood stream.
The memory flickers, unpleasant as the dull ache of my hand and the bruises that will form where they held me down. Aya is still watching me - I wonder if he thinks I'm insane.
I wonder what he will do when I tell him what happened. The chemical collar they used on me has placed my leash completely in his hands. No choice, no warning - suddenly you are responsible for another human being.
This must be what being told your girlfriend is pregnant is like.
Have you ever been in a serious situation, with fragments of composure lying like so much glass around you, and felt the urge to giggle?
"You are mine?"
Aya takes me by surprise - it takes me several moments to comprehend the meaning of his words, so flatly were they said.
I stare at him, "Yes."
Did I mean to answer him – did I speak? I can hear the echo of my words at least – but then I can also feel the roil of his anger, a constant heat against my flesh.
He stares at me - and like all his others, this is just as incomprehensible. I was never a fan of the significant look - not in movies, not in real life and certainly not now, with that blasted vial nestled against my thigh.
Not when the constant star of the few dreams I have had lately that aren't nightmares is still staring at me. Not when I can still feel his anger, a burning knot in my stomach, liquid flame trickling over my skin. Not when the new batch of drugs they shot into me is making my stomach cramp and my head ache.
"Come with me." He turns on his heel and stalks down the corridor, leaving me like some pet to follow on his heels.
I stand there, unsure of what to do except - follow on his heels like some pet. Humiliation will hit me sooner or later - for now, I am disgusted with the relief running through me that Aya hasn't asked for more answers, that he has taken control of the situation.
Disgusted that all I want to do is find some corner to sit in and rock quietly in fear.
Disgusted that I can feel myself bending to this - not breaking or flexing back, but accepting it. Adapting to it.
You're tied to him, and he to you. Isn't that enough?
Insidious voice, whispering stupid fantasies. I'll ignore it and continue angsting.
Aya stops at the end of the corridor; there is a door there - the last room I would assume. Unlike the rest, this one is freshly repainted. There are signs of soundproofing around the frame. He turns to look at me.
"Stay out here. Do. Not. Move." Followed by the famous Fujimiya warning glare.
The door slams shut in my surprised face and I am alone in the corridor. I stay - but slump against the wall, slowly sliding downwards.
The ground is hard - but it's stable, and it ignores me so I can ignore it too.
Oh god.
The bottle is small - barely longer than the length of my palm, barely wider than two fingers. The liquid is the same shade of blue - I could really get to hate the colour.
Two needles, filled with the drug, taken once a week, will last precisely three weeks. Then I will be given a new bottle to finish. Once every three weeks for the next four months. And at the end of that period - " - stage, your brain will start producing the chemicals by itself. A psionic-physiological response completely unique to your particular talent -" Doctor Tsukiata's voice echoes in my mind. He had sounded so - happy - as he spoke those words. As if he was describing the discovery of a new genetic disorder rather than - rather than -
Rather than -
Just say it Kudou!
- rather than being made to be happy that Aya gets to control me.
It is more than just 'control'. It 'induces a predisposition towards obedience to anybody who focuses the psychosomatic-psionic reaction in the case study'. A fancy way of describing my reaction whenever Aya touches me - something else that's gone wrong with my head. He calls it empathy - I have a name for it now - too bad they couldn't have just given me something to take to get rid of it. Psychological anti-biotic. Hah! As if Ken's 'happy moments' wasn't bad enough -
Now I might never get another 'happy moments'.
I can just imagine life with a 'predisposition' to do whatever Aya wants me to. Morning shifts. Hell daylong shifts. Work - work - work. Talking, smiling, joking - smoking! And clubbing? Forget it.
No sex.
Oh god - I'll probably end up as celibate as him.