Dyed Crimson
By the Weaver Atropos
Dyed Crimson, Blaze III
Ken blinked chocolate eyes up at Aya.
He had just crawled in through the roof-window square, pushing the levered window open with his right hand and using the other to prop himself up, when two strong arms had wrapped about his torso and pulled him up in one smooth flourish.
"Uh…hi—" Ken wondered why he hadn't seen Aya as he'd tried to life himself out of the hole. He'd looked around—in every direction he was pretty sure. Then again…the redhead had a way of camouflaging with his surroundings. Especially when it was night. "Ne…Aya? You can let go now."
The remark was coupled with a bit of a grin, Ken having only recently discovered his leader had a bit of a penchant of drifting off, and the young man chuckled when the other pushed him off somewhat roughly. It was then he realized Aya was topless, thin sheet of sweat glistening on his exposed torso, hardened pectorals and smooth abdominals seeming almost ethereal in the moonlight. He quirked up his eyebrow in the best imitation of Youji he could muster and craned his head to the side in thought. "Practicing?"
A slight grunt signaled his response, and Ken found himself trailing behind the taller man more out of habit than any real curiosity. He stopped a few feet away from the redhead, watching him stretch languidly, arms raised above his head, stomach pulled taut, shivering as the breeze of the night hit his overheated body. The chocolate-haired youth felt his body stiffen just the slightest bit.
He'd be damned if he hadn't had imagined Aya like that before.
A bit of a blush tickled his cheeks.
He'd be damned if he hadn't imagined Aya like that…and with infinitely less clothing…before.
"Ken?"
Snapping out of his momentary reverie with a guilty smile that Aya recognized as such, the young man approached his soon to be clone and awaited instructions. "Practice the katas I showed you the other day."
Ken nodded, absently peeling off his Brazilian jersey in a habit he'd adopted quite unconsciously from Aya, and accepted the katana the other gave him with both hands. He closed his eyes then, envisioning the many times he'd seen the redhead practicing…remembering how gently he seemed to slice through the wind, how graceful his movements always were…how sensual he nearly always managed to look.
The wind whispered against his warming flesh as he tore through the space about him, emulating that same gracefulness, caressing the spirits of nature with his own extended spirit—the katana—and feeling strangely pleasured as a result of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of Aya's gaze, hot and probing at his back, almost curious at his ability to lose himself so completely in the exercise.
He had seen Aya practicing many times—both as a result of their newest mission, and secretly many times prior to that—and the young man always looked focused, concentrated…but there were rare times when he lost himself to the wind…the night…the feelings of one's body.
As concentrated as he was, Ken could almost feel his muscles rippling and flexing with each movement, his upper body stronger than it had been a week ago, and it felt odd to be so balanced. Soccer had given him stamina, powerful lungs, and enduring legs…but this…this had given him the type of mental discipline he had always yearned for, but been frightened to seek.
He loved how the wind talked to him…how it stroked his abdomen and murmured in his ear…how it made him so relaxed he could almost feel himself drift…His body worked by Pavlonian theory alone…muscle memory at it's finest.
All thought fled from his persona the minute his footfalls became the beat that thrummed alongside his quickening heart. His breathing became erratic at the same time that it stilled…it was a paradox he had grown to love.
He knew he was close to finishing his katas when the contact of the breeze against his skin became more bruising than warm, and his arms tightened in exhaustion as lactic acid drifted inevitably through his muscles. Frowning that the experience be over so soon, and aching for it once more, Ken lowered the katana and opened his eyes uncertainly.
He found a pair of amethyst staring back.
There was a strange glint in Aya's eyes, as though he expected Ken to say something...to entrust something to him. Aya had given himself totally for the mission, after all, confided his secrets in Ken, but had received very little in response.
Ken smiled his quirky little smile at the redhead, feeling sheepish that he'd grown so attached to the man's katana, and extended his hand almost sadly to return the steel weapon back to its master. "You seemed to enjoy that."
The younger man nodded, arching his back in the same manner Aya had earlier, easing the tightened muscled alongside his spine. This time around it was Aya who took in his sweaty upper-body, the almost painfully tight abdominals, and the mussed chocolaty hair.
He was a sight to behold. And he had been an even greater one when he'd been practicing his katas.
He had looked so…sated as he'd danced about, katana poised to strike at nonexistent enemies, lids fallen shut as he strayed into his dreams…
He had looked more skillful wielding that katana than people who had studied their entire lives for it. Aya was mildly aware that this supple, fluid Ken was a sharp juxtaposition to the one who attacked with the bugnuks, tearing open tender flesh in the most crude of manners, leaving scars so unfit and ugly.
The katana was different; it killed with grace, beauty…It left but one single, clean delineation. And that was it.
"Youji bought the dye."
It was an honest attempt at conversation; at an exchange that wasn't solely centered around how he could be more like Aya. He was tired of those dry, long nights together, where all they did was plot his behavior, attitude, and speech. He was tired of it, and gods knew, Aya was as well. And perhaps that was why he conceded with an absent smile.
"I know. I saw him come in."
Ken smiled a little at Aya's soft, amused tone, glad the other was comfortable enough to talk. "He went undercover, too, apparently."
Cocoa brows shot curiously upwards, "Undercover?"
"Yes, as you."
"Me?"
Aya nodded, remembering the faded jeans Youji had been sporting, combined with an old, plain white t-shirt, and running sneakers he had no doubt pilfered from the soccer player's own closet.
And then the redhead sombered slightly, taking in the younger man before him, watching the goose-bumping flesh with morbid interest. "Are you going to dye it tonight?"
"Huh…what? Tonight…?" Ken shrugged, "I suppose I'll dye it whenever you guys see fit…or whenever Manx decides I should."
"It'll grow out."
"Yeah…yeah it will…" Ken fingered his long, shaggy bangs with a bit of a frown, then looked upwards at Aya's own, kempt bangs. The taller man had a way of keeping his bangs level, so that—while they didn't look trimmed—they didn't look overgrown and scruffy either. "I guess I have to cut it, too, ne?"
Aya nodded, dropping down beside the boy, feeling his hesitance even before it was voiced. Ken had let his hair grow out slightly, so that he could have Aya's eartails, but his locks were wild and unruly where his were flat and limp. It was going to be a task to tweak Ken's slightly curling tresses into behaving. "You dye it tomorrow, then?"
An absent, thoughtful nod.
"Then…one more night as Hidaka Ken?"
"Hmm?" Ken turned curiously toward his partner, not entirely sure what that supposition entailed, and was startled to see his leader's eyes shining mischievously, as though daring him to deny the invitation. "Tonight?"
A nod. "Tomorrow you're Aya as far as the world knows. And, at least for a week after that, you won't be Ken."
"Oh…" and then, "Will you miss Ken?"
Aya looked curiously at the young man sitting beside him, wondering when he started referring to himself in third person, and shrugged. "He'll be right here, won't he? I won't have to miss him."
"Yeah, I guess…"
"So…how about it?"
Ken looked uncertain. He hooked his thumbs about themselves, and let them hang between his knees, frowning in thought. "Wouldn't it…wouldn't it be dangerous for the mission?"
"No. Better yet if we get their attention. They'll be wanting me even more, then."
( - - - )
"Ne, Youji-kun?"
"Hmm?" Youji shifted from his position on the couch, arching his back slightly to look at the young boy. He was carrying a large bowl of popcorn, clad in too-long pajama pants and a smooth, somewhat transparent, old shirt. He looked younger than he usually did, the illusion perhaps caused by his oversized clothing, vacant, curious expression doing nothing to help matters.
"Aya and Ken-kun are gone."
Youji raised an eyebrow. He wasn't all that surprised. "Youji-kun?"
"What, Chibi?"
"What do you know that I don't? I know that look."
A smooth chuckle dripped from the blonde's lips, his naked torso looking pale and wan, illuminated only by the light from the television. "I've just got a bit of a hunch, is all."
Omi pouted, looking almost skeptic, and continued towards the older man, dropping down on the floor so that he could lean his back against the couch Youji was stretched languidly across.
He wondered if Youji were as much a bed hog as he was a couch one.
"Oi! Chibi!" the words were coupled by Youji unceremoniously dropping his hand into his lap, quite unawares that he had relocated the bowl of popcorn from his lap, onto the floor. It took Youji a full minute to realize what he'd done, but once he had, his hand shot from Omi as though the boy were the plague. Rising in such earnest that he lost his balance, Youji tumbled backwards from the couch, effectively lodging himself in between the wall, and the sofa's armrest. Positioned as he was, blood rushing to his head, derriere raised into the air for all to see, he felt slightly stifled. Omi, for once, was glad, and was slow to help the man out of his self-made hole.
The boy's cheeks were burning a dark scarlet, and he was more annoyed with his body's reaction to the man's touch, than at it having happened at all. His skin still ached at the contact, and he felt the slightest shiver or recognition as he realized precisely why it did.
At least he didn't have to worry about Youji-kun interpreting his reaction. Youji most obviously and decidedly enjoyed the company of men. He might not have been exclusive to it, occasionally bringing home women, but—though he had never brought home any of his 'male' dates—Omi could tell. He'd smelled the scent of another man on Youji more times than he could count. He'd seen bruises females could scarcely dream of leaving behind, and he'd seen the tall blonde with a man at a club once. Accidentally.
And, luckily enough, Youji hadn't seen him there, or he would've been dead meat. The man had a sense of righteous protection over him, as though he were a little boy he'd rather have bypass corruption.
Which was ironic, given Weiss.
Omi remembered his initial reaction to finding Youji so closely pressed to another man. For having played the part of the ladies' man to them for so long, it had seemed as though he had been the one being courted. Another man—tall and of dark, near blue hair—had pulled Youji close, whispering something in his ear that had made the self-proclaimed sex-god blush.
Omi had been surprised. He'd never seen Youji blush. Much less with such a scandalized look in his eye.
It hadn't been that hard to figure things out afterward. Hints could always be found if one looked hard enough. After that incident, Omi had become aware of the customary glance Youji paid his female customers, the habitual friendly touch—the almost Casanova whisper he'd let loose as he leaned across them to pick up an idle arrangement.
But he had become even more aware of how his gaze lingered when those same customers were male. His eyes would follow them surreptitiously around the store, seeming almost rueful despite it all, and he'd offer them a lazy, if not suggestive, little smile if they looked back.
That wasn't usually something he'd do with women.
"Ne, chibi?"
Omi was startled out of his thoughts when Youji managed to wriggle around somewhat, only succeeding in getting more firmly lodged in place. A slight thud soon followed.
Smiling to himself before getting to work on getting the other man out, Omi pulled up his sleeves and sighed.
( - - - )
"Ice-cream?"
Crimson locks swayed in the night's breeze, searching out the speaker's voice absently. Aya's eyes found Ken, looking almost awkward as he stared at him, arm half-raised to point at a nearby ice-cream vendor. The teen, lost amidst a random magazine bearing a scantily-dressed female on the cover, looked up at him, waving him over energetically. "What'll you guys have?"
Ken was about to respond with a polite shake of the head, not to sure his redhead companion was all that interested in ice-cream—he'd never really seen him have any before—when he felt Aya walk past him, shoulder rubbing against his, and politely give his order to the teen. Amethyst eyes twinkled mysteriously at him. "You're not having any?"
"Uh…yeah…um, strawberry."
Turning, Aya recited Ken's order to the teen, sifting through the change in his pockets for the appropriate bills.
"I didn't know you liked chocolate ice-cream." Ken followed his teammate down the winding path of the park, eyes scanning the area out of habit, pinning possible suspects and escape routes.
"We didn't come for you to do that, you know."
Ken was startled out of his thoughts by a voice that was a few notches softer than it normally was. Feeling his face burn up, and thanking the night for the darkness, he shrugged. "I don't do it on purpose. Just used to it."
"You never did it before."
"Oh…? I guess it's just a habit I've picked up, then."
His remark was coupled with a bit of a smile towards the taller man. He had been adopting quite a few habits that were in line with those of Aya's. He'd been imitating the man to a fault by then.
Aya simply nodded at the comment, agreeing with him in his own tacit manner, and concentrated on his ice-cream. Aya was as graceful in eating as he was in all else he did. He took small measured bites, always chewing thoroughly, never speaking with his mouth full, always careful to keep himself from spilling things—whether on his persona or in the remote area.
He was no different in eating an ice-cream.
His tongue, fleshy and pink, lapped at the frozen cream, taking care to keep it from sliding down the cone's side in melted drops, or on his fingertips in that same manner. Ken, meanwhile, was the picture of childish ecstasy when it came to ice-cream. He remembered his younger days, when Kase and he would go out for ice-cream after soccer practice, Kase always ordering pecan vanilla while he swore religiously by plain strawberry.
Ken licked clumsily at his own cone, cursing under his breath when thawing droplets of pink slid downwards onto his hands, caking them and making them sticky. On impulse, he licked at his forefinger, tongue trailing from the very base of his digit, all the way upwards to the wrinkled bends at his second phalange. The elusive liquid then slid inwards into his palm, and he followed it relentlessly, licking it down his thumb. He was so focused on his current mission, that he was unaware of Aya's curious stare, trained almost specifically on his mouth. "I never noticed you were such a messy eater."
Hmm?
Startled, the brunette looked upwards, eyes locked on amused amethyst ones, and pulled his hand from his mouth, licking his lips to rid them of the sweet taste of strawberry a bit self-consciously. "Oh…uh…yeah. I've always been."
Aya simply nodded, his question having been rhetorical, and motioned towards a more brightly lit sector of the park.
"A carnival?" Ken looked curiously at his companion. "I didn't know they still had these."
Once more, a red head bobbed up and down in answer. "They've been having them every year…for quite a while now."
"Are we…?"
That strange look again.
"Only if you want to."
( - - - )
"Ne, chibi…that was mean of you."
Omi rolled his eyes, tossing the older man a bag of chips, and plopped down beside him on the newly repositioned couch. "Now. There can't be any accidents with individual bags, can there?"
He wasn't looking straight at Youji, or he would've caught the thoughtful look he was giving him. "No…I guess there can't."
There was a bit of a silence as the two concentrated on the movie, Omi curled up around a pillow, spare blanket spread out on top of him. Youji, meanwhile, had retreated to the opposite side of the couch, legs spread out majestically in front of him, lean torso slouched on the armrest, eyes trained on the younger boy.
He swallowed thickly.
"Omi, I saw you at the club the other day."
( - - -)
"I've only ever been to a carnival once," the soccer player began, eyes scanning the crowds for familiar faces, maybe a few of his charges. "And that was a while ago. I got jumped by some stupid kid who took my money."
He looks towards Aya, waiting—or perhaps, wanting—a response of some sort, and receiving that well-practiced nod of his. He was listening. Ken frowned a little as he remembered how that story had ended up. "Then…Then Kase chased him down and beat him to a pulp—he always defended me."
Ken smiled to himself, looking at his shoes absently, not sure he should have divulged so much about his past. But, in a certain way, it felt reciprocal to what Aya was doing for him. He didn't have to do it, Aya could have just declined participation in the mission.
But he hadn't.
And why hadn't he?
Ken would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about asking him that before. It was something that plagued him continuously; they'd conferred the matter at hand as part of the mission briefing, but the motives had never been discussed. And…more than anything else, Ken wanted to know why.
"You stepped on a piece of gum."
"Hmm?"
Eloquent as always. Following the direction of Aya's pale, pointing finger, he lifted his right foot, encased in new soccer sneakers, and found a good thick wad of pink bubblegum stuck to one of the crevices between the cleats. He grimaced. If there was one thing Hidaka Ken did not do, it was gum.
Or better yet, gum removal.
"Gross. Someone's spit is ravaging my sneakers."
A vivid red eyebrow arched at the choice of words. "Do you know what that word implies?"
"Hmm?" Tipping a little, as he was balancing himself on one foot, assessing the damage to his precious cleats, his hand reached out in a reflexive manner, gripping Aya's sleeve for support. The redhead didn't seem to mind. "Yeah…I was helping Omi with his vocabulary the other day. It means to destroy or invade. Something like that."
"Ah…"
"What…?"
"Nothing."
"Hey no, wait!" Ken hopped along behind Aya, fingers tightening around the piece of cloth he had gotten hold of to keep his balance, and smacked into him when he stopped. "What does it mean?"
"You were right."
"No—you gave me the look."
Aya turned towards him, lavender eyes focusing almost curiously on his. "What look?"
"That look." Ken pointed with his free hand to the taller man's face. "That look that says I said something that's ridiculous, ludicrous, or ridiculously and ludicrously stupid."
"That's redundant, you know."
"Yeah…I know—and stop changing the subject."
"I'm not."
"Yeah, you are."
The pale man took a few more steps forward, hearing six crazed and unsteady hops behind him, and couldn't help the small smile that came to his lips. Ken couldn't see his face anyway. "Have you gotten the contacts, yet?"
"Contacts?"
Blessed be the brunette's short attention span. "For what?"
"You're eyes."
"Oh…" and then, "Oh! No…Manx was supposed to bring them around. I don't think it matters much for the next mission, since they don't know us much anyway."
Aya shook his head. "It matters. C'mon. There's store around here that sells them."
( - - -)
"I refuse."
A glare.
"That doesn't work. I know the power behind it."
The last bit of the statement was near the point of laughter.
A darker glare.
"Aya! I don't want to go in there and have to walk on this vile and grotesque piece of gum. And before you ask, I've been quizzing Omi on his vocabulary exams."
The brunette was a bit surprised when he was forcefully pushed into a small, out of the way store, Aya's cool, soft hands at the small of his back, his breath landing at the nape of his neck at the proximity. Ken rushed into the store. What motivation.
"Morning."
"Good Evening."
Ken blushed at his greeting, realizing how dark it was outside, but shrugged anyway. He took in the stooped, greasy looking man standing behind the counter, and couldn't help but shift a bit closer to the redhead. The man looked oily, and his fingertips were caked with black, palms twinged a faded yellow. He stared at Ken with a predatory look, raking his small, squinty rat eyes up and down his body, lingering on a particular attribute in such a manner that he shifted a bit behind Aya.
He'd never felt so threatened by another man as he was at the present moment…and it wasn't even a feeling of fear. It was more one of disgust. He wished Aya wouldn't have brought them in there.
"What'll you two gentlemen like? We have…" he paused and cast Ken another hungry look, "…the utensils, near the back room."
Ken looked at Aya inquisitively, not sure what 'the utensils' were, but eager to leave from the man's remote line of vision, and had begun wandering in that direction, when the young man caught his arm. Violet eyes bore dangerously into his. Their message was easy enough to understand. No.
He spoke to the man without tearing his eyes from Ken.
"I need contacts."
"Ah. No utensils?" The man seemed disappointed.
"No." The reply was sharp. Almost daring for another offer. Just for good measure, Aya turned towards the man, towering form coupled with the most intimidating look he could muster.
"Well then. Clear?"
Ken interrupted the conversation with a bit of a tug at his arm, wanting to break free of the redhead's grasp. He was starting to feel claustrophobic in the shop, becoming suddenly aware of the…seediness of the place.
He looked towards Aya imploringly, pulling him just the slightest bit away. "Ne…Aya, can we go someplace else," the brunette caught side of the squinty-eyed man staring at him again, "please, Aya?" his eyes expressed his uneasiness in regards to the situation.
"Don't worry about it," his voice was below a whisper, "you can take care of him easier than I can if he tries anything. Which he won't."
Well, that was certainly reassuring.
Nodding despite himself, he followed Aya back to the counter, looking everywhere but at the sale owner. Apparently, the greasy bastard took that the wrong way entirely. "You've certainly got him on a leash," he was talking to Aya, "Quite a little piece, ne?"
Ken exploded then, and was about to tell the damned man that no one had him on any sort of leash, when the redhead tossed him another look, coupled with a bit of a push, and he fell silent.
Aya turned back to the man, amethyst eyes narrowed. He did not seem amused. No reply was offered. "Color. Purple."
"Purple? You mean purple or a paler hue."
Aya pointed to his eyes impatiently, the sudden smell of something on the old man reaching his nostrils, "This color."
The seedy man leaned over then, no doubt under the pretense of examining the pale youth's eyes more closely, and breathed liquor and smoke on his face. "Yes…well, these—these are a difficult tone to copy…"
"Can your or can't you? There are other shops here." The tone was deadly.
The man backed away, baring yellow teeth dotted with black, fuzzy growth bordering the sides. "I can," he looked towards Ken once more, "for a price."
"He's off the market."
"Is he? He looks perfectly unbranded to me…unless, it's somewhere less visible?"
"He's mine," Aya practically snarled, shoving Ken clear behind him, so that his bigger form hid his. "One more insinuation on him and you'll find yourself in a glorious bloodpath with the next one you pick up."
The man didn't seem fazed. If anything, his smile widened, "He must do his work well, if you're that keen on him."
Ken, meanwhile, shielded behind Aya, was wondering how much longer until the redhead lost his patience. His breathing was growing unsteady, and, being behind him, the brunette could see the rapid rise and fall of his back, caused by his breathing. "Can you make the lenses or not?"
"I already gave my price. Take it or leave it."
"Aya?" It was Ken…and he sounded just the slightest bit uncertain. Almost as if he feared Aya would toss him to the wolves.
"Fine."
A look of ecstasy filtered into the man's eyes at what he thought to be Aya's concession. "I'll find another place."
With those words, Aya took hold of Ken's wrist, pushing him somewhat roughly in front of him, and was nearly out the door when the man's voice called back to him. "Wait…Maybe, maybe I can arrange for something else."
Pausing a minute, and weighing the consequences, Aya gave the brunette another gentle shove and sent him out to wait outside the store. He walked back inside, hands in pockets, expression dark. "Well?"
"You don't seem willing to share that boy."
A crimson brow rose condescendingly. "Is that what you called me back for? I thought I made that much clear."
"What about you, then?"
"What about me?"
"Well…you won't share the fiery boy…his energy could be useful for a lot of things. But you…you're just plain pretty. I'm sure we could find something for you to do…"
"Is that your price?"
An uncertain nod.
"What exactly do I have to do?"
"Nothing. Just…look pretty."
Aya flashed gloriously white incisors. "Can you make the lenses?"
"Yeah. I can. Two hours. You're eye-color's unique, but not entirely impossible to mimic. Who's it for?"
"It's not your business to know."
"It is. If it's for blue eyes, the tint's I use'll be different. If it's for brown eyes, same concept."
"It's for the boy," Aya admitted reluctantly, head jerked towards the door, where he could see the brunette's frame resting against the metal grating of the store's window.
"Ah…dark brown eyes, then."
A nod.
"How many pairs. The boy looks clumsy; he might break them. Do you want them on 24/7 or just for a night?"
"Give me enough for a year."
"All right. You know the price."
A sharp nod. "I'll be back in three hours. You have an extra one to make sure they're damned perfect."
XD...I've got Chappie 4 written up...it's being edited as we speak...
Aya's a little bit OOC, I think...but, it works.