Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Natural ❯ Show Me Yours ( Chapter 1 )

Notes: What is this? A few ideas converged here: a homage to my new hair color (Malaysian cherry this time), hostile resistance to the idea that some writers insist Aya’s hair is dyed, and writing a fic that hints at yaoi but probably isn’t (which is really difficult for someone who really likes to stick Yohji’s hands down Aya’s pants). I feel like this is really off from my usual fare, so I hope it’s not too awful, and if it is, well, I’ll make it up with Yohji sticking his hands down Aya’s pants! That solves everything . . .



Natural


“So what’s your pleasure? Young and innocent?” he cast a leering glance at Omi. “Or perhaps I can show you something in long, lean, and luscious?” Yohji threw his arm around her shoulders only to be shoved away.

“I’ll call you when I need something slutty, Balinese.”

Effectively chastised, Yohji sniffed and flopped down across a chair.

“The target’s tastes are fairly simple. Homosexual. Submissive. Generally pretty with pale skin and dark hair.”

Omi’s brows drew together, Yohji titled his head, and even Aya shifted his gaze to the woman in front of them.

They didn’t do pale and dark haired.

“Sorry,” Yohji took it upon himself to explain, “That one’s not in our pretty boy repertoire. Unless you want us to spray paint Ken . . .”

“No chance.”

“C’mon, Kenken. Do it for Manx-san; she needs us.”

Manx sighed, pointedly ignoring the languid, suggestive drift of Yohji’s hand along his own thigh while he talked. He was incorrigible.

“Abyssinian will do it.”

Pushing off the wall, Aya stood a little more at attention, looking far from pleased at the idea. Then again, Aya didn’t do ecstatic on a daily basis.

“Uh, no offense Manx, but you have seen Aya, right? Tall guy, red hair.” Yohji indicated said man with a jerk of his head.

“You’ll dye it,” she chose to speak to Aya, handing him both folder and a box of dye which he inspected carefully, eliciting another sigh. “Don’t glare at it, Abyssinian. It’s costume dye, so it’ll wash right out.”

“I don’t care.”

“Hm, I wonder,” she refrained from stating out right her suspicion that Aya was just as vain as the resident fashionista they knew as Yohji. Really, what normal man kept his nails manicured all the time? More than once she had seen a suspect sheen across the nails that might have been clear polish. Not to mention his night wardrobe; orange sweater or not, Aya could pull off attractive with surprising skill if the situation called for it. Currently, he was doing his best to convince her otherwise with a glare. “You accept?”

~*~

“Hold still, Aya-kun!”

Something muffled.

“Sorry . . . wait, here.”

A hiss.

“Too cold?”

Curious, Yohji ventured through the open bathroom door. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t Aya, shirtless, and kneeling by the tub to lean under the rush of water. Omi was presiding, hands wrapped in oversized plastic gloves and wearing an old t-shirt spotted with dark dye. Close beside Aya, he worked carefully to remove the excess dye from the swordsman’s hair, pausing occasionally to let Aya wipe his eyes with the edge of a stained towel.

The water cut off. Peeling the gloves from his hands, Omi tossed the towel over Aya’s head, guided him to sit up beside the tub, and proceeded to roughly dry his head.

“Aw, Aya,” Yohji couldn’t resist a comment as he hopped up to sit next to the sink, long legs dangling against the cabinets, “You have such a good mommy. I’m jealous.”

A growl came from under the towel, but Omi was having none of it. He tugged a little and kept at Aya’s hair until he was satisfied. Pulling off the towel with a flourish, he revealed his work.

Aya’s hair stood up, a silky, spiked disarray in jet black. It made his skin appear even paler, and as he finger combed it down around his face, Yohji couldn’t help but note the brightness of his purple eyes. When not competing with the brilliant red of his hair, they were attention-getting in their own right.

“Move,” Aya ordered, trying to get to the mirror that was currently behind Yohji’s back. Rather than getting up, the blonde simply leaned to his left, dropping his shoulder against the wall as he turned to watch Aya examine the results as he smoothed his eartails into place. The dark strands brushed his bare shoulders in stark comparison.

Omi silently cleaned the bathroom, now crowded with the three of them loitering there.

“So why the chibi?” Yohji asked.

Aya lifted an eyebrow (also dyed, Yohji noted) in his direction before tugging on his t-shirt.

Yohji shrugged. “Just thought you’d be good at this by now.”

“What are you talking about, Kudou?”

“You know. You dye it red and all.”

He was suddenly getting two curious looks, one slightly amused, the other exasperated. Surprisingly, the exasperation came from Omi.

“Yohji-kun, Aya-kun doesn’t dye his hair!”

“Eh?”

“Natural redhead,” Omi pointed at Aya as if Yohji needed some visual example in order to process the information. Maybe he did.

“No way! That’s not a natural color, Ayan.”

“Hn.”

“Look at his eyelashes, Yohji-kun.”

“They’re dyed.”

Omi huffed again, coming to stand between the two older men and taking Yohji by the shoulder as if to guide him.

“Not eyebrows, eyelashes, eyelashes,” he pointed, Aya standing still and allowing the gesture, still with that slightly amused smirk on his lips. Leaning close, Yohji noted the maroon tint of strangely long lashes.

“Mascara,” he pronounced.

Omi sighed.

“He was just under the water!”

“Waterproof mascara.”

“No chance.”

“It’s natural,” Aya finally defended as he began to gather his things.

“No way! No proof!”

Then, just as he paused in the doorway, “Carpet matches the drapes, Kudou.”

Omi was kind enough to catch him when he fell off the sink.

~*~

Sexy goth didn’t begin to describe Aya’s latest mission dress. Yohji might have called him a Visual Kei reject, but he had serious doubts that Aya would be rejected, at least when he was dressed like that.

His pants were vinyl, honest to god, tight-enough-to-be-painted-on, shiny as shit black vinyl. They hung low on his hips, held up by a studded belt and the grace of god, a full three inches below his shirt. It was tight and caught the light at certain angles, a spandex blend, Yohji theorized from the way to clung to every line of Aya’s chest, revealing his nipples as they hardened immediately in the cold rush of air. He looked thin with his flat stomach exposed that way, his long arms bare, and this fed into the uke image the file suggested. The collar helped, an inch-wide vinyl number buckled just above the curved sweep of the shirt’s collar and coordinated nicely with his wrist cuffs.

His hair was styled into its usual order, but dark with dye and making him more expected and, yet more exotic for Yohji. He was unearthly pale, that way, and looked damned fragile. Though he knew it was half an act to draw in their target, Yohji was tempted to offer his coat as they stepped out into the chilled air of early December.

He followed silently instead, being a good little soldier and preparing to play sexy backup to Aya’s pseudo-seduction.

~*~

It was almost too easy. Three songs and one brush of the hand and Aya led the target to the bathrooms. Six minutes later, Yohji met him at the door, hand out for the jump drive and plastic bag ready to accept the small dagger and bloody gloves that Aya quickly stripped off his hands. Playing the aggravated boyfriend in case anyone happened to be watching, Yohji took Aya by the arm and lead him from the club.

~*~

Aya didn’t so much sit in the passenger seat of the Seven as lounge there. Yohji wasn’t sure if it was the three shots of whiskey or the exhaustion, but he wasn’t going to complain when Aya’s usually stiff posture was altered into this. Settled rather low in the seat, he propped one boot-clad foot on its edge, dropping an elbow on the raised knee and resting his head against the seat.

He seemed surprisingly mellow.

True enough, since Aya-chan had returned to the land of the living their antisocial Ice Prince had warmed a little, but besides the sharp tongue, occasional smile, and a few cheerful group activities, Aya wasn’t exactly Mr. Super Fun Good Time in Yohji’s book. But this slick, sexy version of the swordsman was pretty attractive, attitude notwithstanding. Something, though, was missing.

“I want the red hair back,” he said aloud as he pulled the Seven away from the curb.

“Hn.”

“It’s really dyed, isn’t it? You and Omi were screwing with me.”

“Stop being stupid,” Aya replied. Dropping his bent leg, he relaxed back in the seat to tug up the hem of his tight shirt and scratch a little; the fabric apparently itched.

“It bothers me,” Yohji persisted. “I mean, we’ve lived together for two years; I should have noticed!”

“Why is this an issue?”

“I was a detective. I notice things; it’s what I do. And, well,” he paused then rushed ahead, “you having bright red downstairs is the kind of thing I should have noticed!”

Aya obviously didn’t know what to say to that and chose to look at the road instead. The moon was bright, spilling over him and highlighting his pallid skin, the air rushing past stirring his hair; it gave him a wild, ethereal appearance.

There was a moment of silence, an opportunity to let the matter drop, but Yohji couldn’t let it go.

“I had you naked, you know.”

“Excuse me?” Purple eyes snapped back to him, anger threatening the mild amusement there before.

“When you came to Weiss, you were in my bed, right? Well, I had to clean you up since Omi was busy fixing the whole mess. And you were definitely naked at one point.”

“Kudou,” almost a growl.

“I’m just saying, it’s the kind of thing I would have noticed! I’m Kudou Yohji; I see these thing! I mean, I know Omi dyes his hair blond and that he doesn’t do any work below the belt, and Ken, well, he’s definitely a trimmer.”

“I don’t want to know this,” Aya decided.

“I don’t really either. What I’m saying is that I ought to have seen something!”

“Let it go.”

“I can’t!”

They pulled into the warehouse parking lot to wait for their contact, and Yohji shut off the engine. It was quiet for a few minutes as the older man started a cigarette and Aya plucked at the uncomfortably tight pants, finally deciding to remove the belt as it was biting into his thin hips. This motion, apparently, gave Yohji ideas.

“Let me see again.”

“Go fuck yourself,” was the instant reply offered without vehemence.

“C’mon, just a little peek. It’s driving me crazy! I’ll show you mine.”

“I’ve seen yours.”

Okay, that was true. Yohji spent a good portion of the morning naked, and he’s been spotted more than once wandering the halls in such a condition.

“Then it’s only fair!”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

There was pause. Yohji flicked the butt of his cigarette out into the gravel. Then he tried to put his hand down Aya’s pants.

There was a fierce struggle, and Yohji took a serious fist to the jaw as he drug Aya’s hips towards him. This was followed shortly by a knee to his thigh which he was fairly sure was aimed at his groin. But by then he was leaning over Aya, his upper body in the passenger seat as he circled one arm around the swordsman’s back to hold him still and planted a knee between Aya’s legs to keep him there. There wasn’t much of a solution for the hands that were now yanking at his hair, but Yohji could deal with that.

“You know I like it rough.”

“I’ll kill you.”

Yohji looked down and flicked open the snap of Aya’s tight pants; Aya bit him.

“Shit!”

“Get off me!”

“You fucking bit me!”

“Get off!”

“I’m trying, love,” he replied sarcastically as he swept his bare hand down Aya’s stomach and began to wedge his fingers down the front of Aya’s pants.

“You’re sick,” Aya hissed.

“And you’re not wearing underwear, Aya-baby.”

Aya stopped struggling and just looked at him; Yohji looked up from his roaming hand to meet his eyes.

“Get your hand out of my pants,” Aya demanded.

The hand descended further, approaching a line where play turned to something else. But Yohji didn’t cross it, just ran his fingertips over the skin he found a few inches below the waistband of Aya’s pants. It was smooth, slightly sweaty from the confinement in the tight vinyl, and delightfully hairless.

“Ahhh.” He smirked, leaning close to rest his head on Aya’s tense shoulder, his nose nestled in the crook of the other’s neck. “There’s no carpet here, Ayan, but I think you could make a claim for hardwood if–”

He broke off as a sweep of headlights washed over the Seven, causing both of them to shrink lower in the car, instincts honed by more than one spray of bullets. It was this that caused Manx to find Yohji laying completely on top of Aya, his right hand down the younger man’s pants and his left arm catching him in a tight hug while he rested on his thin chest. Yohji rose up and smiled widely at her as she stood beside the car.

“Get off of me!” Aya growled, bad ass attitude, Yohji thought, completely betrayed by the blush spreading across his cheeks. Still, he took it upon himself to take himself off of Aya, pausing to fasten the man’s pants before righting himself on the other side of the console and announcing that he needed a cigarette after all that fun.

Aya asked Manx if he could borrow her gun; thankfully, she refused.

“Here,” Yohji handed over the data. “You should appreciate the sacrifices we make for you.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself, Balinese.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just not the same without the red hair.”

Aya was definitely going to kill him when they got home, so he might as well live it up.

“You wanna satisfy my craving, Manx-san?” He winked as he took a long drag off his cigarette.

She scoffed, “It’s dyed.”

“What?!”

~end~



Notes: Review? At least say you support Yohji getting into Aya’s pants!