Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Natural ❯ I'll Show You Mine ( Chapter 2 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 01.13.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 357 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 01.13.2011 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 357 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Two
“So, do you shave it?”
Aya didn’t jump, but Yohji saw his hand tighten on the towel around his waist. He hadn’t been expecting it. But really, there were worse surprises than a beautiful man waiting outside your shower.
“Or maybe you wax.”
The glare was aimed at him from beneath wet bangs. True to Manx’s word, the majority of the dye had washed easily away.
Shoving off the wall, Yohji crossed the hall to block his escape route.
“If you ever need a hand—”
“I don’t.”
Yohji shrugged. Casting his eyes downward, he let them roam over Aya’s body, zeroing in on his terrycloth-covered crotch.
“Lemmee see.”
“No.”
“Please?”
< br> Yohji found himself sitting suddenly on his ass courtesy of Aya’s one-handed shove. He probably should have been embarrassed, but all he could think was that he might be able to see up Aya’s towel if he just scooched forward.
Ow. Damn. Okay, touching Aya’s naked calf in the process of scooting oneself across the floor was not a good idea. It, in fact, led to hitting. And Yohji just couldn’t deal with hitting at two a.m. He retreated, but only to regroup.
~*~
Ah, the red was back in full force. Aya must have had another shower before work since his hair was currently doing its utmost to clash with his orange sweater. The pink roses weren’t helping either.
Approaching the worktable, Yohji was about to plop himself down beside Aya when the other got up and walked away without a word.
Antisocial little bastard. Not to be so easily ignored, Yohji followed. He trailed Aya to the cooler, gathering his thoughts while the swordsman put away his finished arrangement, only to have him walk away again the minute he went to open his mouth. With a roll of his eyes, Yohji pursued.
This time they were headed to the register (where the blonde ought to have been stationed). Without a word, Aya assumed the post, propping himself stiffly on the stool behind the register. Here, Yohji decided to be quick; planting both palms on the counter, he leaned over it to speak.
“Question.”
“Hn.”
“Why won’t you let me see?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“But it is my business.” He leaned a little closer, assuming his best suggestive leer; Aya ignored it.
“No, it’s not.”
“God damn it, just let me in your pants.”
“Kudou, I don’t let anyone else into my pants unless they intend to make themselves useful there.”
Okay, that he hadn’t been expecting that, but he could work with it.
“Deal.”
“What?”
For the first time, Yohji felt he had Aya’s full attention; it was a good sign.
“What if I make it worth your while?”
It wasn’t quite a glare leveled at him, and Yohji basked in the wavering curiosity.
“You know I can, Aya.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You do me a personal favor. No shaving for two weeks,” he smiled as the glare returned full force. “Then, you take down your pants and I make it worth your while.”
“You’re crazy.”
“And you’re horny. I can tell.”
“Leave me alone, Kudou.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“I thought it would be self-evident.”
“It’s not.”
“Try this.”
~*~
Yohji rubbed the knot on his head, wondering how his finely honed instincts had completely failed him. This, however, was still secondary to wonder how to know once and for all. He needed inspiration, and so he went to get a beer.
~*~
Over the next two weeks, Yohji embarked on a number of improbable plans; and while he didn’t learn whether or not Aya dyed his hair, he did learn a number of other things.
For example, if a person was to remove the blades from each and every razor Aya owned, said person was likely to be awoken at the ungodly hour of six a.m. (a time at which, apparently, some people shaved), and the waking was most likely to be accomplished by said person being shoved off their bed. After gratuitous yelling, their blankets might be taken in retaliation. Yohji had lost his favorite bath towel, his name brand cologne, and an expensive ashtray to similar bouts of experimentation. Really, his relationship with Aya had degraded into a fraternity house war.
Now, though, Aya was losing patience. He had taken to simply hitting Yohji the moment he suspected the blonde was up to something. While his shoulder, Aya’s favorite target, was a motley shade of blue, Yohji was enjoying the other man’s reactions, not so much the hitting part, but the confused, almost nervous moments just before that. Besides, now he really had to know. If Aya was working so hard to hide it, he had to be lying.
Maybe.
~*~
In the end, it was a mission. As hard as Aya tried to blame Yohji for his sprained wrist, he couldn’t quite defend the accusation. Besides, he was busy being pissed at Manx, who (with Yohji’s encouragement), had, while Aya was still unconscious, instructed the doctor to put a hard cast on his wrist, insisting that he wouldn’t let it rest otherwise. So, Aya woke up, instantly freaked out by the hospital and within minutes was yelling at Manx and demanding Omi to take him home. Yohji got only a passing glare as Aya clutched his injured wrist to his chest and stalked out of the hospital.
The next week had been unpleasant. Aya was in a foul mood, finding himself unable to either practice with his sword or arrange his flowers. Much to Yohji’s amusement, despite his ability to kill people with either hand, the redhead didn’t seem to be ambidextrous, and common tasks like writing, eating, and picking up delicate objects were frustrating to him. And, in Yohji’s figuring, if he was having trouble aiming a pair of chopsticks at a dumpling, there was no way in hell Aya would risk getting a razor near his swimsuit zone.
Yohji had waited patiently, ceasing and desisting any and all attempts to get Aya naked, partly because with Aya already disgruntled, these were likely to get him seriously injured, but mostly because he had a new master plan. In order to enact it, though, Aya had to be fully convinced that he had given up.
So Yohji played distracted. It wasn’t hard. He chased after a cute blonde for a few days, not sure what to do with her once he caught her. She was too flighty, even for him. They went out to the movies, but he came back spinning tales of fantastic positions achieved in the backseat of his car. Aya wasn’t the least interested, but Ken eventually told him to shut up. After that, he had gone after an older woman. She was all of thirty-two and knew how to play hard to get; plus, she had enough money to show up and buy flowers, allowing Yohji to play fascinated lover in front of Aya.
Occasionally he wondered if he was putting too much effort into his attempt, especially when he realized he hadn’t gotten laid in two weeks and that he had spent most of that thinking about his teammate.
But Yohji wasn’t one to dwell on the drives behind his desires. Not that he desired Aya; what he craved was information. He told himself this as he plotted. Aya wasn’t letting him see something, and he wanted to see it; it couldn’t matter less that the something happened to be a naked Aya.
After three weeks of normal Yohji behavior and sufficient distraction courtesy of his cast (which only Manx’s dire threats had kept him from cutting off with a kitchen knife), Aya had apparently forgotten their previous exchanges, or at least relegated them to the offensive-but-not-currently-deserving-of-homicide category. Not that they were on friendly terms, but injured, Aya wasn’t on friendly terms with anyone.
Reaching up, Yohji pulled down the shutter and locked it at the bottom. It was one of the chores at work he enjoyed, mostly because Aya couldn’t do it without standing on something and he could, barely.
“That was rough,” Ken decided, leaning back against the counter. Omi nodded solemnly.
“How did we used to do this without Aya?” he questioned.
“No idea, but I’ll be glad when he gets that thing off.” With a sigh, Ken went to get the broom. There was a certain general animosity against the cast, maybe caught from Aya who, despite his developing ability to work with his left hand, absolutely refused to take on certain tasks while it was on and people were watching. For someone who usually couldn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thought of him, he seemed direly afraid of being embarrassed.
While the shop hadn’t necessarily suffered from Aya’s injury, the workers certainly had. Not only did they have to cover the large, special-order arrangements Aya usually handled, but they had to keep the window displays fresh. These were looking notably more mundane than usual, and they hadn’t sold one. Besides that, there were the collection of little chores that Aya personally oversaw. He stocked the ribbons and kept the books and told Ken when to wash the windows. Now, though, he spent most of his shifts hiding out in the greenhouse, citing that he couldn’t do much more than sit around in the shop.
It was coming to an end though. Manx had called, and while Yohji hadn’t been up to going and getting Aya, he had taken the message. Whether the healing time was done or Manx had finally succumbed to Aya’s complaints, he had an appointment the following morning to remove the cast.
He could have delivered this news when Aya walked in the back door to help them close shop, but he didn’t. No, he waited. When they had cleaned, sorted, and restocked, Yohji stood near the center of the room and stretched, extending the motion long enough to draw the attention of the others.
“Gods, I’m stiff,” he decided, not at all scripted. Now, if he could get Omi to—
“It’s been a long week, Yohji-kun.” Perfect.
“You know what we need, chibi?” he asked in the most innocuous tone he could muster, “A trip to an onsen!”
“That sounds perfect! We could close tomorrow and spent the weekend in an inn!” Instantly enthusiastic, Omi fell headfirst into his trap.
“Ken?” Yohji polled.
“I’m in,” he agreed, never one to turn down a trip. “They shouldn’t be too crowded this time of year.”
“Aya?” Yohji turned to the swordsman who had been doing his best to ignore the entire conversation. “You in?”
“No,” Aya stated simply, taking off his apron (only a little awkward) and hanging it up.
“But Aya-kun,” Omi turned to look at him, “It’ll be fun. And good for the team.”
Aya shook his head, and the barrage continued. Yohji hung back and let it happen, let Ken and Omi wheedle Aya down into submission. Okay, it didn’t quite work that way, but they did badger him enough to make him angry. Finally, he snapped, offering a full sentence in his defense.
“Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t!” he glared at Omi, lifting his right wrist as if it bore a hideous disfigurement rather than a simple cast.
“Oh.” Omi looked stricken, genuinely sad, but before he could respond Yohji stepped in, destined to save the day.
“No worries!” Risking bodily harm, he threw an arm over Aya’s shoulders, feeling the smaller man stiffen beneath it. Aya’s eyes were hard, his left hand drawn into a fist that Yohji thought was destined for his healing shoulder. “Don’t hit, Aya,” he instructed, using his free hand to snag Aya’s and feeling the fist tighten under his long fingers. “Use your words.”
“Kudou—“
“Listen, Manx called; you’re getting it off tomorrow, then we can all go to the onsen!”
~tbc~
Notes: Is a naked Aya in Yohji’s future? Will he get what he wants, and will he know what to do with it if he does?
Converting /tmp/phpwOnCZQ to /dev/stdout
“So, do you shave it?”
Aya didn’t jump, but Yohji saw his hand tighten on the towel around his waist. He hadn’t been expecting it. But really, there were worse surprises than a beautiful man waiting outside your shower.
“Or maybe you wax.”
The glare was aimed at him from beneath wet bangs. True to Manx’s word, the majority of the dye had washed easily away.
Shoving off the wall, Yohji crossed the hall to block his escape route.
“If you ever need a hand—”
“I don’t.”
Yohji shrugged. Casting his eyes downward, he let them roam over Aya’s body, zeroing in on his terrycloth-covered crotch.
“Lemmee see.”
“No.”
“Please?”
< br> Yohji found himself sitting suddenly on his ass courtesy of Aya’s one-handed shove. He probably should have been embarrassed, but all he could think was that he might be able to see up Aya’s towel if he just scooched forward.
Ow. Damn. Okay, touching Aya’s naked calf in the process of scooting oneself across the floor was not a good idea. It, in fact, led to hitting. And Yohji just couldn’t deal with hitting at two a.m. He retreated, but only to regroup.
~*~
Ah, the red was back in full force. Aya must have had another shower before work since his hair was currently doing its utmost to clash with his orange sweater. The pink roses weren’t helping either.
Approaching the worktable, Yohji was about to plop himself down beside Aya when the other got up and walked away without a word.
Antisocial little bastard. Not to be so easily ignored, Yohji followed. He trailed Aya to the cooler, gathering his thoughts while the swordsman put away his finished arrangement, only to have him walk away again the minute he went to open his mouth. With a roll of his eyes, Yohji pursued.
This time they were headed to the register (where the blonde ought to have been stationed). Without a word, Aya assumed the post, propping himself stiffly on the stool behind the register. Here, Yohji decided to be quick; planting both palms on the counter, he leaned over it to speak.
“Question.”
“Hn.”
“Why won’t you let me see?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“But it is my business.” He leaned a little closer, assuming his best suggestive leer; Aya ignored it.
“No, it’s not.”
“God damn it, just let me in your pants.”
“Kudou, I don’t let anyone else into my pants unless they intend to make themselves useful there.”
Okay, that he hadn’t been expecting that, but he could work with it.
“Deal.”
“What?”
For the first time, Yohji felt he had Aya’s full attention; it was a good sign.
“What if I make it worth your while?”
It wasn’t quite a glare leveled at him, and Yohji basked in the wavering curiosity.
“You know I can, Aya.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You do me a personal favor. No shaving for two weeks,” he smiled as the glare returned full force. “Then, you take down your pants and I make it worth your while.”
“You’re crazy.”
“And you’re horny. I can tell.”
“Leave me alone, Kudou.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“I thought it would be self-evident.”
“It’s not.”
“Try this.”
~*~
Yohji rubbed the knot on his head, wondering how his finely honed instincts had completely failed him. This, however, was still secondary to wonder how to know once and for all. He needed inspiration, and so he went to get a beer.
~*~
Over the next two weeks, Yohji embarked on a number of improbable plans; and while he didn’t learn whether or not Aya dyed his hair, he did learn a number of other things.
For example, if a person was to remove the blades from each and every razor Aya owned, said person was likely to be awoken at the ungodly hour of six a.m. (a time at which, apparently, some people shaved), and the waking was most likely to be accomplished by said person being shoved off their bed. After gratuitous yelling, their blankets might be taken in retaliation. Yohji had lost his favorite bath towel, his name brand cologne, and an expensive ashtray to similar bouts of experimentation. Really, his relationship with Aya had degraded into a fraternity house war.
Now, though, Aya was losing patience. He had taken to simply hitting Yohji the moment he suspected the blonde was up to something. While his shoulder, Aya’s favorite target, was a motley shade of blue, Yohji was enjoying the other man’s reactions, not so much the hitting part, but the confused, almost nervous moments just before that. Besides, now he really had to know. If Aya was working so hard to hide it, he had to be lying.
Maybe.
~*~
In the end, it was a mission. As hard as Aya tried to blame Yohji for his sprained wrist, he couldn’t quite defend the accusation. Besides, he was busy being pissed at Manx, who (with Yohji’s encouragement), had, while Aya was still unconscious, instructed the doctor to put a hard cast on his wrist, insisting that he wouldn’t let it rest otherwise. So, Aya woke up, instantly freaked out by the hospital and within minutes was yelling at Manx and demanding Omi to take him home. Yohji got only a passing glare as Aya clutched his injured wrist to his chest and stalked out of the hospital.
The next week had been unpleasant. Aya was in a foul mood, finding himself unable to either practice with his sword or arrange his flowers. Much to Yohji’s amusement, despite his ability to kill people with either hand, the redhead didn’t seem to be ambidextrous, and common tasks like writing, eating, and picking up delicate objects were frustrating to him. And, in Yohji’s figuring, if he was having trouble aiming a pair of chopsticks at a dumpling, there was no way in hell Aya would risk getting a razor near his swimsuit zone.
Yohji had waited patiently, ceasing and desisting any and all attempts to get Aya naked, partly because with Aya already disgruntled, these were likely to get him seriously injured, but mostly because he had a new master plan. In order to enact it, though, Aya had to be fully convinced that he had given up.
So Yohji played distracted. It wasn’t hard. He chased after a cute blonde for a few days, not sure what to do with her once he caught her. She was too flighty, even for him. They went out to the movies, but he came back spinning tales of fantastic positions achieved in the backseat of his car. Aya wasn’t the least interested, but Ken eventually told him to shut up. After that, he had gone after an older woman. She was all of thirty-two and knew how to play hard to get; plus, she had enough money to show up and buy flowers, allowing Yohji to play fascinated lover in front of Aya.
Occasionally he wondered if he was putting too much effort into his attempt, especially when he realized he hadn’t gotten laid in two weeks and that he had spent most of that thinking about his teammate.
But Yohji wasn’t one to dwell on the drives behind his desires. Not that he desired Aya; what he craved was information. He told himself this as he plotted. Aya wasn’t letting him see something, and he wanted to see it; it couldn’t matter less that the something happened to be a naked Aya.
After three weeks of normal Yohji behavior and sufficient distraction courtesy of his cast (which only Manx’s dire threats had kept him from cutting off with a kitchen knife), Aya had apparently forgotten their previous exchanges, or at least relegated them to the offensive-but-not-currently-deserving-of-homicide category. Not that they were on friendly terms, but injured, Aya wasn’t on friendly terms with anyone.
Reaching up, Yohji pulled down the shutter and locked it at the bottom. It was one of the chores at work he enjoyed, mostly because Aya couldn’t do it without standing on something and he could, barely.
“That was rough,” Ken decided, leaning back against the counter. Omi nodded solemnly.
“How did we used to do this without Aya?” he questioned.
“No idea, but I’ll be glad when he gets that thing off.” With a sigh, Ken went to get the broom. There was a certain general animosity against the cast, maybe caught from Aya who, despite his developing ability to work with his left hand, absolutely refused to take on certain tasks while it was on and people were watching. For someone who usually couldn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thought of him, he seemed direly afraid of being embarrassed.
While the shop hadn’t necessarily suffered from Aya’s injury, the workers certainly had. Not only did they have to cover the large, special-order arrangements Aya usually handled, but they had to keep the window displays fresh. These were looking notably more mundane than usual, and they hadn’t sold one. Besides that, there were the collection of little chores that Aya personally oversaw. He stocked the ribbons and kept the books and told Ken when to wash the windows. Now, though, he spent most of his shifts hiding out in the greenhouse, citing that he couldn’t do much more than sit around in the shop.
It was coming to an end though. Manx had called, and while Yohji hadn’t been up to going and getting Aya, he had taken the message. Whether the healing time was done or Manx had finally succumbed to Aya’s complaints, he had an appointment the following morning to remove the cast.
He could have delivered this news when Aya walked in the back door to help them close shop, but he didn’t. No, he waited. When they had cleaned, sorted, and restocked, Yohji stood near the center of the room and stretched, extending the motion long enough to draw the attention of the others.
“Gods, I’m stiff,” he decided, not at all scripted. Now, if he could get Omi to—
“It’s been a long week, Yohji-kun.” Perfect.
“You know what we need, chibi?” he asked in the most innocuous tone he could muster, “A trip to an onsen!”
“That sounds perfect! We could close tomorrow and spent the weekend in an inn!” Instantly enthusiastic, Omi fell headfirst into his trap.
“Ken?” Yohji polled.
“I’m in,” he agreed, never one to turn down a trip. “They shouldn’t be too crowded this time of year.”
“Aya?” Yohji turned to the swordsman who had been doing his best to ignore the entire conversation. “You in?”
“No,” Aya stated simply, taking off his apron (only a little awkward) and hanging it up.
“But Aya-kun,” Omi turned to look at him, “It’ll be fun. And good for the team.”
Aya shook his head, and the barrage continued. Yohji hung back and let it happen, let Ken and Omi wheedle Aya down into submission. Okay, it didn’t quite work that way, but they did badger him enough to make him angry. Finally, he snapped, offering a full sentence in his defense.
“Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t!” he glared at Omi, lifting his right wrist as if it bore a hideous disfigurement rather than a simple cast.
“Oh.” Omi looked stricken, genuinely sad, but before he could respond Yohji stepped in, destined to save the day.
“No worries!” Risking bodily harm, he threw an arm over Aya’s shoulders, feeling the smaller man stiffen beneath it. Aya’s eyes were hard, his left hand drawn into a fist that Yohji thought was destined for his healing shoulder. “Don’t hit, Aya,” he instructed, using his free hand to snag Aya’s and feeling the fist tighten under his long fingers. “Use your words.”
“Kudou—“
“Listen, Manx called; you’re getting it off tomorrow, then we can all go to the onsen!”
~tbc~
Notes: Is a naked Aya in Yohji’s future? Will he get what he wants, and will he know what to do with it if he does?
Converting /tmp/phpwOnCZQ to /dev/stdout