[DISCLAIMERS] : We own Weiss. *get bricked* Ok, we don't. *walk away nursing each others' wounds*
[AUTHORS] : Yoippari & Phenocrystian
[WARNINGS]
Yoippari : Beware, strangers, of fanfucktion.net.
Pheno : *stomps fanfucktion.net* Die! Die!
Yoippari : *sternly* Ash. That's not very nice.
Pheno : *meekly* Gomen nasai, Yoippari-san. *bows head in shame*
Yoippari : You should do this. *tramples* DIE! DIE!!!!!!! DIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
With thanks to the following people who have taken their time to leave us lovely reviews on their way out. We would also like to add that we do own the Weiss mangas, the anime and OVAs, too, thank you very much. If we're all set, here we go :
Ciphercat, Black Iris, Lady Iron, Karina, Blade.., Pickles, Angela, Lolita, AutumnFire, Sylan, LittleIsa, G, Sakuya, Alyssa, fei, Jade Green, Camille, Siberian, lott
CHAPTER TWO
Ken sat on the battered couch, hands between spread knees as he stared blankly at the television.
Yoji grinned. Despite the heated soccer match tearing up the screen, he could tell that Ken's mind was miles and miles away. He plopped down and stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa behind Ken and asked easily, "Hey. What's up, Ken?"
Still Ken refused to look up. "Nothing. What do you need, Yoji?" he asked in an uncharacteristically weary voice.
Yoji's smile disappeared. "Whoa." He leaned forward, elbows on knees and looked over the young assassin slouching disgruntled and dismayed beside him. "Man… who died?"
A wry smile curved Ken's lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yoji," he begged, "do you mind? I'm trying to watch the game."
Yoji snorted. "No you aren't."
Ken turned his dark head and teal blue eyes narrowed into twin slits as he made a futile attempt to fix the tall lanky blonde with what he hoped was a menacing glare. "Yes, Yoji. I am."
Yoji snapped up the remote, clicked off the game and tossed it aside. "No you aren't."
Ken sighed dramatically and fell back into the cushions of the sofa, hugging a limp pillow to his chest. "Yoji," he very nearly whined, eyes closed. "Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?"
The blond smacked Ken purposefully on the kneecap. "I want you to snap out of this."
Ken cracked open one eye. "Snap out of what?"
Yoji raised an elegant eyebrow.
"Oh," Ken said, his voice soft. "I'm just tired. It's been a bad week." Again he closed his eyes and threw a hand over his chest, stretched his athletic legs out in front of him, practically sitting on his spine as he yawned.
Yoji nodded. "I know, Ken. And that's exactly why you are coming with me tonight."
Ken's head rolled to the side, big blue eyes wide and pleading. "Aw, Yoji. Come on…"
Yoji stood up and held out his hand. A friendly offer. A hostile command.
"Ain't gonna work, kiddo. Move it."
Ken sighed yet again and squeezed his eyes shut once more, praying that if he ignored the pesky blond playboy, he'd just ghost away and leave him alone to wallow in his everlasting misery. Ken took a chance and peeked.
No such luck.
Yoji strolled around to the back of the couch and bent, whispered conspiringly in Ken's ear, "Look, what if I let you wear one of my clubbing shirts…"
Ken sat up abruptly and cast Yoji a look of disgust over his shoulder. It so happened that Yoji was wearing a pair of hip-hugging black leather pants and a blood red mesh shirt. The criss-crossing fabric molded so snugly to his body, he looked as though he'd been poured into them.
Chunky dark boots adorned by shiny buckles.
A spiky dog collar wrapped around his neck.
And dozens of silver chains dangling around his wrists.
Yoji took a step back to grant Ken a full view of his gothic glory and held his hands in front of him in a gesture of supplication. "Okay. One of Aya's shirts then."
"Fuck no!" Ken snapped, horrified.
Yoji laughed long and hard. "Fine, Ken. Wear whatever you want. But don't come complaining to me when you get laughed out of the club."
Ken stood and walked into the kitchen. "That's not going to happen," he said in a resolute tone, shaking his head forcefully as he made a long arm for a clean glass. "Because I'm not going."
Yoji exhaled loudly and leaned against the doorway.
"Ken."
Ken poured himself a tall glass of milk.
"Ken."
Ken drank and drank and drank. Downed the contents until the glass was empty and not a single speck of white was to be seen. On impulse, he ran his tongue over the rim.
"Ken."
"What?!" Ken asked, exasperated.
Yoji grinned, eyes cocky and meaningful.
Ken glared daggers at him and set the glass on the counter.
Glared at Yoji.
Wiped his mouth with his heel of his hand.
Glared at Yoji again.
Yoji was still wearing his obnoxious trademark smirk.
Ken rolled his eyes in agonized defeat and threw both arms up in exasperation. "Fine," he heaved a heavy sigh. "I'll go for your sake. But," he jabbed a warning finger in Yoji's face. "I am not changing."
Yoji laughed and draped an arm around Ken's shoulder. "Fine by me. A little alcohol, a little action, and you're gonna be good as new."
Ken tried to shrug him off. Failed. "Alcohol and sex aren't the answers to everything," he grumbled.
Yoji blinked innocently as they headed out the door. "Yes, they are."
*******
Ken crossed his arms over his chest and leaned deeper into the shadows. He was so not having a good time. The soccer-loving brunette was over his third beer and firmly on his way to hell.
Yoji had deserted him within five minutes. A pretty blonde had seen to that. So he'd been standing by the entrance for the past half hour wishing he'd brought his bike instead of riding with Yoji. So he could haul his ass right out of there.
Like, now.
The music was deafening. The smoke was filling his lungs to full capacity, threatening to choke him. The people were... Ken glanced around again… strange. For Yoji had brought him to a local goth club.
A goth club. To cheer him up.
Yoji's sense of humor was so fucking twisted.
Ken was tired of weird-ass punks with dog collars, blue hair, black lipstick, and far too much leather staring hungrily at him like they were hyenas and he was lunch. He glanced down at his faded tee, his baggy jeans, his worn sneakers. Hell, he looked so normal. So why was everyone staring at him?
His attention was momentarily diverted by two gorgeous girls making out heatedly not two feet away. Sure, one of them had shaved part of her dyed green head, and the other one had god knows how many piercings------and those were just the ones he could see. It was unreal and all wrong. But goddamn. Perfect little scantily clad bodies rubbing erotically against each other, tongues and teeth devouring plush lips, hands roaming, groping one another intimately under the blinding lights of the club…
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Well, nice to see you're enjoying yourself," Yoji smirked.
Ken turned and trained his wide-eyed stare at Yoji. "I wasn't... I mean... I didn't... they just..." He babbled senselessly for a few seconds before he realized Yoji was teasing him. He scowled and looked away. "Oh shut up, Yoji."
"Come on!" Yoji grabbed Ken's arm and hauled him towards the dance floor.
Ken tried to dig in his heels. "No! Yoji! Stop!" he shouted over the rampaging music. "Goddammit, Yoji! I said stop!"
Ken wasn't at all surprised when Yoji chose to completely ignore his protests. He hauled Ken up the three short steps to the floor, flung him into the middle of the crowd, and started dancing.
Ken was mortified.
Petrified.
He just stood there. Bodies slammed into him from all sides. The heat was unbearable. The noise… the smell… Jesus. He just wanted out. He shoved his way back towards the edge of the floor but firm hands grabbed him and pulled him back into the swirling mass of bodies.
"No." Yoji shook his head slowly, green eyes laughing.
Ken's hands balled into fists. "Yoji…" he tried to be heard above the music, his voice promptly drowned out by the screaming notes.
Yoji waved his hand in a beckoning motion above his head, and a cute little redhead with spiked hair instantly appeared out of nowhere. Yoji leaned down and spoke into her ear. The smile never left his face. She dashed away.
Yoji still had a firm grip on Ken's forearm. But at least he wasn't dancing anymore. Thank god. Yoji dancing was… something else. Embarrassing to say the least. Although apparently the female population appreciated it for some weird reason.
The redhead reappeared, two glasses in her hands. Yoji took one from her, gave her a deep kiss, and turned back to Ken. He shoved the drink into Ken's hand. "Here."
Ken just stared at the glass.
Yoji took the other glass from the redhead and downed the plonk in one long swallow. "Damn." He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.
Ken sniffed delicately at the contents of the glass. Eyed it.
Skeptical. Suspicious.
"Oh for Christ's sake. Just drink it, Ken," Yoji snapped.
Seeing Yoji alive and still intact, Ken followed Yoji's example, downing the entire glass in one huge gulp. He instantly broke into a fit of coughing. Yoji pounded him on the back. "You okay?"
Ken hacked twice. Nodded.
Shit.
"Now," Yoji pushed Ken back into the crowd. "Go have some fun."
Ken slammed into a tall girl's back. She was clad completely in black, four inch heeled boots and more buckles than he could count, wires at her neck and wrists, black makeup lining her eyes, her lips. She spun around, death evident in her eyes. Then her expression softened as she took in his apologetic gaze. Before he knew what was going on, she had her hands on his waist and was dancing with him. Well, not really with him, since he wasn't moving. But against him.
Then the music changed and Ken was lost.
The pounding beat slamming into his brain. Thud thud. Thud thud. Thud thud. He knew this song. Nine Inch Nails. God, anything but this song. His body began to move, responding to hers by pure instinct. His hips shifting more than anything else in a seductive rhythmic sway to the pounding beat of the drums. The strobe flashed across them briefly, and then smoky darkness closed in again.
Ken was lost.
Schuldich studied him from across the room with immense interest. He had to admit, the little Weiss pawn was extremely tasty. He took a long drag off his cigarette and his eyes narrowed as his gaze followed that young athletic body weaving through the shadows.
Jesus Christ.
He had his pretty blue eyes screwed shut. Long tanned fingers buried deep within chocolate dark locks. Arms raised and twisting causing the ragged T-shirt to ride up, exposing the merest teasing glimpse of taut abdominal muscles. Broad shoulders rolled, sneakers flowing over the dance floor as he rocked systematically along the music. Every single gesture met the melody in sync. A little awkward perhaps. But sensual. Almost sweet in his unique clumsy manner.
The German touched his neck and stroked the four small, scabbed wounds acquired in his recent tangle with the Weiss pawn. If he hadn't known better, he'd have regarded the dark-haired youth as another possible prey.
But then again, Ken was prey.
Schuldich took another pull on his cigarette. He concentrated on the dark-haired assassin, gently slipping into his mind. All he found was chaos. The lyrics to the song rolling through the anarchic consciousness, fragments of old memories… hmmm. This had been Ken-ken's sex song not too long ago. Entrancing.
Schuldich moved closer, pushing past slicked bodies, blocking others' thoughts, focusing only on the dark haired youth so very near. A flash of a tall lanky blonde in the young man's head. A moment of anxiety, quickly swallowed by the arousing touch of his dance partner.
Schuldich paused. Ah yes. Balinese was here, too, wasn't he... Schuldich cast his thoughts across the room, pinpointing Balinese instantly. Heavily preoccupied by a trashy blonde. No problem.
Ken let the music carry him. He didn't care that he couldn't dance. Didn't care that this song stirred painful feelings within him. Didn't care about anything except the rhythmic beat pounding into his fuzzy, alcohol-soaked brain, the blunt finger pads kneading the hot sweaty flesh in the small of his back. He leaned into the caress. Not caring who was touching him. Not caring why.
The fingers were skilled and gentle, skimming over pectorals, down his ribs, sliding under his t-shirt across his firm abdomen, nails lightly scoring his skin. He felt a brush of hair against his neck. Hot breath, soft lips.
He didn't care. Didn't care.
A hand drifted over his torso, drawing long slow patterns down his chest, dipping into the waistband of his jeans. Another found its way to the hem of his shirt. Lifted the thin fabric to bare his stomach and run callused fingers over the smoothness. Inquisitive fingers felt for the hollow of his pelvis, dug into the soft flesh and rotated, grinding trimmed nails against hard bone.
Ken's breath hitched in his throat. A slow smile curved upon his shoulder. Lips and teeth and tongue devoured his naked flesh and cold dry air enveloped saliva-slicked skin. A thumb dipped into his navel. He clenched his eyes shut, all too aware of the warm palm sliding downwards to press against and cup his throbbing scrotum.
Ken gasped and arched back. Bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
Gods.
He wanted more than just the touch. He wanted the hunger and the heat. Welcomed it. Those hands… those bloody talented hands were making him feel so good… so hot.
They pulled him close and he felt the firm lean body press up against his back, the distinct maleness of it. Felt the unmistakable hardness between the cleft of his firm buttocks. With a start, Ken jerked forward and ground himself into the inviting palm. Stepped back and his ass came in contact with his partner's arousal once more. He tensed.
Ken was trapped.
"Shhhh…" A heavily-accented whisper in his ear. "Relax. You're doing just fine, Ken-ken…"
:+: OUTTAKES :+: (Assassins Weekly)
Yoippari : *rubs hands together* So today we're here to discuss the title of the story.
Pheno : *nods* Right on.
Schuldich : *strikes a suggestive pose* I hereby declare this fic The Universal Sexbomb.
Ken : *weary* Is that you, or is it me?
Pheno : *excited* What about the Glare Bitch Project?
Aya : *head in hands* Please tell me that doesn't involve me.
Everyone : *snorts in coffee*
Pheno : What about XXX?
Omi : *wide-eyed* Are we here to talk about sex?
Yohji : ASH! YOU DEMENTED LITTLE HENTAI! *covers Omittichi's ears*
Pheno : Grr… Why does everything I say come out wrong? *to Omittichi* Yeah, we're here to hold a group discussion regarding the mysterious wonders of 69. Duh. You're underage.
Brad : Speaking of underage, so are you.
Pheno : O.O; *switches topic* Isn't today a celestial day?
Nagi : Who in his right mind calls a day celestial?
Yoippari : *yawns* Come on, guys. We need something serious. We don't have all day here.
Pheno : *eyes shining* What about Terminator? We can have Ken rip Schu's throat out and Ken can be the robot!
Everyone : *takes ten steps back*
Schuldich : Yoiiparriiiiiii… but wheeeeeen? When can I fuck Ken? I'm the only one who hasn't read the script yet!
Yoippari: *laughs softly* You little hentai, you.
Schuldich: *blinks* What? Why are you laughing? *toys with a cigarette in an extremely suggestive fashion* It's a perfectly legitimate question.
Everyone: *smothers a snicker*
Schuldich: *marches over to Crawford and jams a finger in his face* What? What do you know? What did you see? You had a vision, didn't you? *whines* Bradleeeey, tell meeeee…
Brad: I knew you'd say that. I've seen it coming.
Schuldich : *pouts* Yoippari… you won't make me jack off. That's just plain mean.
Yoippari: *grins* Damn right.
Schuldich : *throws tantrum* Damnit! Just tell me!
Pheno : *hands over a bound and gagged Yotan as bribery*
Schuldich : Hn. If I didn't know better, I'd have believed you'd just read my mind.
Everyone : *packs things to leave*
Ken : What about the title?
Schuldich : *squeaks* I still propose The Ultimate Incredibly Seductive German Hottie Currently Under the Impressive Title of Schuldich Sama.