Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Don't You Dare ❯ 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: If I owned Weiss, Aya would wear vinyl cat ears and Yohji would wear nothing but a rainbow bandana. Obviously I don’t…

Warnings: shonen ai, lame attempts at humor, OOC

Author’s Notes: This is an older fic that I’ve touched up but not completely rewritten. I like the idea, and I may redo it yet, but I’m involved with my make-Aya-wear-a-collar story at the moment and can’t quite drag myself away… Anyway, the idea here is kind of “The Way It Really Happened.”

*collar-wearing Aya coughs loudly, tapping his foot impatiently* Ah, a Miko’s work is never done. I must run along since my naked Aya has his panties in a bunch…hm…Aya and panties…




Don’t You Dare


The hinges protested as the door of the Koneko flew open, the harsh jangle of bells barely preceding the door’s loud rebound off the wall. It smacked back into the man’s shoulder. Yohji grabbed it, forced it shut, then turned to lean against its glass panes, face flushed and panting.

“Omi!” he shouted as he looked nervously over his shoulder. His dark apron was twisted awkwardly over his lanky frame and, along with his wide eyes, gave him a curiously disheveled look of desperation.

Omi, bouquet of yellow acacia* loose in his hand, stared, eyes wide and expectant. Ken dropped automatically into a defensive crouch, apparently intending to use a display of tulips as strategic cover from whatever was chasing Yohji. It was a little after four, and a fight, he knew, would be inconvenient in the bright light of afternoon, especially with a flock of chitterling schoolgirls in close proximity. There were at least eleven inside the shop, and more visible through the window, all likely to compromise their cover should Weiss launch into action.

Both Omi and Ken were silently planning, and the younger boy was preparing to kill the lights when Yohji caught sufficient breath to deliver his next line.

“I have a secret!” His apprehension broke instantly into a wide grin. Plucking the dark glasses from their precarious perch on top of his tousled hair, he shoved them on his nose and finger combed the gold locks into place before winking at an especially attractive highschooler.

There were sweatdrops all around, and Omi saw fit to swat Yohji across the head with his bouquet as the blonde dashed past him to take refuge behind the worktable. It hardly seemed a safe location, unless Yohji was planning to fold himself up under it. This didn’t seem likely until the door was once more shoved roughly open. Omi said a silent prayer that the shop would survive the onslaught.

Aya stood in the doorway, all green apron, orange sweater, and clashing hair. He didn’t seem as winded as Yohji, but the sweat dampening his bangs was indicative of a prolonged chase. There was the murderous look in his eyes as he growled, “Kudou.”

“Aya, you came,” he pretended at surprise, “I was just about to tell Omi about–”

“Shut up!” He made a run for the blonde, skillfully darting between two amazed girls. Yohji was quick, though, rushing to the other side of the table. Aya glared; Yohji laughed. When the redhead lunged over the table, Yohji left its wooden safety to hide behind Omi, which, as the younger boy was a much shorter, seemed equally futile. Still, he gripped Omi’s shoulders and spun him in the direction of Aya, effectively creating a human shield, albeit a small one.

“I’ll kill you,” Aya threatened. Most of the girls had backed towards the door, but they stood in a huddle, all but the most sensitive entirely amused. Someone giggled. Being literally in the middle of it, Omi didn’t think it was funny.

“Omi,” Youji leaned over his shoulder and made a show of stage whispering into his ear, “do you want to hear my secret? Well, not so much mine, but–”

Aya took a step forward, and Yohji shoved Omi at him. The boy had hardly expected his human shield position to suddenly transform into that of projectile weapon, and even as he tried to keep his balance, he found himself caught in Aya’s arm. Though saved from the floor, there was nothing gentle about the way Aya shoved him to the side to pursue Yohji who was by then crouching behind Ken.

He poked Ken’s cheek with a finger and leaned in conspiratorially, “It’s very good. But don’t tell Ayan. He’s so–shit!”

The swear originated from the unexpected pain in his head which, Yohji could only theorize, came from the watering can that had been lobbed at him.

“Yohji-kun,” Omi admonished, obviously tired of the game. The watering can flew back across the room as Yohji attempted to return Aya’s attack. The redhead dodged, making a rush at Yohji who only escaped by shoving Ken in his way. With an indignant ‘oof,’ the boy fell into the floor and was tripped on by Aya. The redhead refused to fall, but in the half second it took him to regain footing on the tiled floor, Yohji had once more escaped.

Loathe to use his fan club as decoys, Yohji chose the counter. However, instead of hiding behind it, he jumped up to sit on its edge.

The game was at an end.

Aya stopped right in front of him, glaring, hands fisted at his side in silent threat.

“Don’t be so mad, Aya! It’s a good thing, right? You should be glad to tell everybody that you have such a cute boyfriend!”

“Kudou!” He swung a Yohji who slipped off the counter and to the floor, slithering through Aya’s arms and, much to the astonishment of their audience, swept out his leg and knocked Aya off his feet before taking his last choice of refuge in the middle of the group of girls. Not a one of them was over eighteen.

“Is it true, Yohji-san?” one begged, taking hold of his sleeve.

“Who is it?”

“How do you know?”

“Did you see them?”

“I didn’t even know Aya-san was–”

“Shh! Let him talk Maki! We want details.”

There was a round of agreements. Aya watched a moment from his inelegant sprawl before letting his head fall back against the floor, hard, and trying to decide first how he was going to get himself out of his current, mortifying situation and second, whether it would be more satisfying to run Yohji through with his sword or strangle him with his own wire. He had about decided on drawing and quartering when the schoolgirls’ vapid and increasingly inappropriate questions gave way to Yohji’s response.

“Ah, well, of course he’s very handsome,” he began.

“Of course,” a short girl rejoined.

“Aya’s too pretty for anything else.”

“Handsome, Yuuka! Boys are handsome.”

“Not bishounen!”

Yohji coughed to gather their attention, then, “If you all would rather argue this than know . . .”

“Tell us!”

“Details, details!”

“Shoot me,” Aya quietly requested of Omi as the blonde boy stared down at him.

Yohji was eating up the attention, “The relationship is quite new, but it will be good for him. I, of course, will give him the benefits of my wisdom, but I don’t have time to hold his hand. I’m afraid you girls will have to be kind and help Aya-san through the inevitable rapids of the river that is amateur love!”

There were multiple offers of assistance, as well as several vivid descriptions of intimate activities.

“Have they done that, Yohji-san?”

“Don’t ask that Natsuki-kun. And Yohji-san wouldn’t know, anyway,” she sounded disappointed by this fact.

“They’ve only kissed,” Yohji supplied with a smirk, then appeared to think deeply on the subject, “but I think that they’ll go beyond that soon.”

“Did you see them kiss?”

“Was it very sweet?”

“Did Aya-san smile?”

“Did you take a picture? Can we have it?”

“I want it on my cell phone!”

“It was very sweet,” he winked, “at least a first.”

There was a general round of excited gasps and giggling; Aya threw his arm over his eyes and hoped to sink into the floor.

The girls seemed intent on sorting out the details.

“I wonder who’s on top–”

“Say seme, Yuuka-chan,” another corrected with a blush.

“Could you tell, Yohji-san?”

“Who was taller?”

“Hmmm, the boyfriend’s taller,” he decided.

“Ah! I knew it!”

“Aya-san’s too pretty to be seme anyhow!”

“Imagine how nice he’d look when,” she broke off to whisper in another’s ear. They had the same green uniform on and were likely best friends. Even so, the other girls were slightly jealous.

“Don’t hold out Manami-chan!”

“Shhh, let Yohji-san talk! We don’t know who it is yet.”

“Do we know him, Yohji-san?”

“Does he like flowers?”

“Did Aya-san confess to you?”

“Did you help him win his boyfriend’s heart?”

At this point, Aya found the inner strength to sit up and then, with a sullen glance at Yohji’s antics, stand and brush off his apron and jeans. He stopped Omi’s tentative hand of comfort with a glare, but the spurned boy’s sound of pouting drew unwanted attention. There was a rush of feet, and Aya found himself surrounded by the prying girls.

“Is he cute, Aya-san?”

“Did he buy you flowers?”

“What’s his blood type?”

“When can we meet him?”

“Is he a good kisser?”

“Will you go all the way?”

“Girls,” Omi went to break in, but Aya cut him off.

His low voice was eerily calm as he slowly untied his apron, “It hardly matters.” Pulling the green cloth over his head, he placed it on the counter and turned to push through the tight circle of skirts and avid eyes, “I’m breaking up with him.”

“What?!” It was a shout shared by several voices, but Yohji’s was the loudest.

Aya left without looking back.

“No, Aya! Come back, damnit,” the blonde began to go after him, but the girls were at him again, forcing him to yell, “I was only kidding! Don’t you dare–” Finally making it through the group, he paused in the doorway to call after the redhead, “Don’t you dare break up with me, you asshole!”

And then he was gone.

The girls blinked.

Omi sighed, glanced at Ken, and attempted to straighten his crumpled acacia.

~tbc?~


*yellow acacia: secret love


If a kitty does a trick, you pet him. If a reader reviews, pretty boys pet each other. Good deal, ne?