Categories > Anime/Manga > Weiss Kreuz > The Not-So-Tragicall Historie of Kudou Yohji
The Not-So-Tragicall Historie of Kudou Yohji
In which a Pact is made with a Mephistophelian Redhead with Regard to another Redhead - to the Satisfaction of All Concern'd - and no apologies to Christopher Marlowe.
?Blocked
The Not-So-Tragicall Historie of Kudou Yohji
in which a Pact is made with a Mephistophelian Redhead
with Regard to another Redhead -
to the Satisfaction of All Concern'd
(I'd apologise to the ghost of Christopher Marlowe, except that he wouldn't have minded this at all. He was a kitten himself...)
Sometimes above it all was the best place to be, which was one of the reasons Yohji liked the roof. It was quiet, the street noise muffled by distance and the heavy air; it was private, and nobody bitched him out about the cigarette smoke, the empty bottles, and the exotic magazine collection. Last week he'd dragged up an old lounge chair, which had since been augumented by three cushions, an ashtray, a candelabrum, and a pair of binoculars - because you never knew, right? And not a single green, growing thing to be seen anywhere. He got enough of that at work.
He also got a certain amount of shit - "That's where he goes to search his soul for inspiration. I've noticed that his haiku's been improving lately - it's starting to show a real delicacy of touch," Ken informed Aya and Omi, filling a plant-sprayer with something lethal.
Omi choked on his poccari. "Nah. He's just spanking the monkey."
"I said, /delicacy of touch/..."
"That's sooooooooo gross -"
"Fuck you and everybody who looks like you," Yohji had retorted wittily. He was going short of sleep and it was starting to affect his temper.
Omi blinked and Ken frowned, looking like he wanted to clap his hands over the kid's ears to keep him from hearing naughty words. "Hey, lighten up, Yohji-kun...no one cares what you do in your little secret clubhouse."
"Yeah? Fuck you /twice/, Ken-chan." Yohji slid his hand down the back of Ken's jeans, grabbed the waistband of his little Manchester United boxers and jerked upwards sharply.
His pointed cat's-face white with contempt and muttering about a goddamned boys' locker room, Aya had removed himself from the ensuing scene, effectively making Yohji's day even worse than it had been. Looking like an idiot in front of Abyssinian was not part of Yohji's grand seduction scheme, and it felt like it was happening an awful lot lately.
Case in point: Aya had caught him trying to wrestle an inflatable mattress up the fire stairs a day or two ago- "What the hell are you planning to do up there? You've got a bedroom, you know. Or that's what I've been told by about three dozen people who claim to have seen it personally." The look on his face had added, "Slut."
Yohji had opened his mouth to say, " Why don't you come up and I'll show you?" but bit his tongue and substituted a remark about providing stimulating entertainment for the office girls in the building across the street instead. It didn't come out quite as smoothly as he'd intended it to, but the narrowness of the stairwell meant that Abyssinian was close enough for Yohji to smell whatever übersexy thing it was that he washed his hair with...
Aya had studied him curiously, as if Yohji was something in a glass box with a large warning label on it. "Has anyone ever suggested that you ought to be neutered, Balinese? It would probably help you concentrate on what you're supposed to be doing." He reached out and flicked open the valve on the mattress, which deflated with a sad sigh. Yohji knew how it felt.
"I don't need you to tell me what to do, Aya-/sama/." And how big a lie was that?
There was something about Aya that made Yohji want to lie...and kill and steal and commit adultery and worship graven images and covet his neighbour's ox, as well...it was sort of disturbing, when you thought about it. Which he tried not to do. Ever. In case someone was listening to his mind.
That was the other reason he liked the roof. When the demon in his head spoke to him there, no one could hear him answer. And when the demon stuck a pointed tongue down his throat, there was no one to hear the sounds he made.
Tonight he'd brought a bottle of vodka along with him; the view of the stars overhead was getting a little blurry and there was a taste in his mouth like steel, but the warm dirty wind was fingering through his hair and for once his head felt pleasantly empty. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke fade out into the dark, blue-purple sky. That's what it would be like, looking into Aya's eyes...like this sky......
"Voici des roses,
De cette nuit écloses.
Sur ce lit embaumé,
Ô mon Faust bien-aimée,
Répose.....
But you'll have to imagine the roses, I'm afraid..."
The words hummed in his ear like a radio, poorly tuned to a classical station, gradually becoming clearer, taking over.
"Dans un voluptueux sommeil
Où glissera sur toi plus d'un baiser vermeil...
Mmmmmm.....it's really the wrong key for me...."
"Go away."
"But I just got here.
Où des fleurs pour ta couche ouvriront leurs corolles,
Ton oreille entendra de divines paroles...
Ton oreille entendra de divines paroooooooles...
Ton oreille or any other part of you you'd like to name, kitten. And you don't want me to go away, really."
Yohji rubbed his forehead and wished it wasn't true. "Could you get out of my head, then?"
A slice of the darkness by the edge of the roof shifted and revealed itself as a man in a black coat, a vague gleam of white for a face and shirtfront.
"Out of your head and into your pants?" Schuldig drifted over to Yohji's lounge chair and stood looking down at him, red hair flickering around his face. "Don't stare at me like that - I came up the fire stairs. Did you think I flew here? I can do all kinds of things, but I have to come and go at the mercy of unlocked doors. Thoughtful of you to leave it open. Again." The telepath smiled. "There's a deflated air mattress down there, by the by - could be a hazard in an emergency - I almost fell over it myself. Did you decide it wouldn't be needed?"
"Surplus to the requirements," Yohji said, flicking away his cigarette. He'd discovered that getting involved in a conversation with Schuldig made his brain hurt and only put off the sex an uncomfortably long time, so he tended to keep his remarks short and his hands free.
"It has been so far," Schuldig agreed. He moved so that he was straddling the chair and Yohji; it ought to have looked clumsy, but it didn't - it was just hot and sort of scary. Yohji looked up into the pale, mad eyes and saw all kinds of bad things.
And that was really what kept him up at night, kept him coming to the roof where they could do this undetected - it was hot, and it was scary, and really, really wrong - and Yohji knew that what he liked best was everything most people shouldn't have.
Guns.
Power.
Dangerous sex.
Psychotic German telepaths who sang in French.
Aya.
Schuldig reached down and took Yohji by the hair. "Stop it," he said, and his voice sounded like something you'd hear in the middle of a near-death experience.
"Stop /what/?" Yohji said, pulling Schuldig down on top of him and maneuvering himself into a more interesting position. "You liked this last time."
"You're thinking about the damned Abyssinian."
Ah. No point in denying it. Schuldig would know he was lying. "Well, yeah. It's an absorbing subject. Why does your shirt have to have so many buttons?"
"You are not going to think about him while I'm fucking you." Schuldig had gone even paler, as if his hair had drawn all the colour out of his skin and eyes the way a flame sucks oxygen.
Yohji grinned to himself. Pissing Schuldig off could be dangerous, but very, very rewarding, if you didn't mind it rough.
"I might. Since when do you care what I'm thinking about, anyway?" Yohji dug his fingers into the German's back and arched upwards, assuming Schuldig would notice that he had a serious hard-on and decide that something needed to be done about it.
Unanticipated pain exploded behind his eyes, kind of like being hit in the face with a bottle rocket.
The telepath had lost his temper.
"/Shit!/!" Yohji yelped. "What was that f-"
Schuldig clapped a hand over Yohji's mouth. "/Halt's Maul/, idiot. I'd rather not get caught up here, so control yourself." His eyes narrowed. "All right. You want Purple-Eyes."
Yohji shoved Schuldig's hand away and tried to sit up, but the telepath held him down. "I said I did. You know whether or not I'm lying. What do you -"
"Shut up. If you want him, I'll give him to you. Once/. And then it's over. I don't want to have this conversation again. And I don't /ever want to see him in your mind when you're with me." He released Yohji and stood up, buttoning his shirt.
Yohji pulled himself upright. "What makes you think we're going to be doing this again? I don't have to let you tell me what to do. Where are my fucking cigarettes?" He really hated being that ready and then getting cut off. Damn Schuldig.
The telepath picked the box up, took one for himself, and tossed it to Yohji. "Don't sulk, Kätzchen." He leaned forward and ran a finger over Yohji's lips. "Do you understand what I'm offering you?"
"Yeah," Yohji said, lighting his cigarette. "I understand. But I think it's bullshit. There's no way you can make Aya say yes to something like that. He's totally straight. And he thinks I ought to be neutered," he added, thoughtfully.
Schuldig produced his shiny, predator's smile. "What a wicked waste that would be. Although I'd still be able to have you, you know."
Yohji coughed. "Don't even think about it. And unless you've got some kind of voodoo love magic I don't know about, you're just blowing smoke. I mean, I know you can fuck with my mind, but...we're talking about Aya here. He's...hard."
The smile got bigger and incrementally more threatening. "Do you know what they use to cut diamonds with, Weiss?"
"No."
"Other diamonds."
Yohji considered that one for a minute. "Mmm. Nice analogy. Very elegant. And assuming for the moment that you actually can do it, what exactly do you get out of it? Do you want to watch or something?"
"That's an option, of course. But I was thinking of something even more valuable."
"Saa, I get it." It was Yohji's turn to grin. "Something like my immortal soul, maybe?"
" Oh...." Schuldig sighed and lit his own cigarette, the reflected flare of the match flickering in his eyes. "I've already got /that/, Kitten. For what it's worth."
Yohji gave in. That's what he got for involving himself in a battle of wits with a lunatic. "Then I've got nothing to lose, have I?"
That made Schuldig laugh, a sound that tended to give Yohji a strange tingling sensation that started at his scalp and moved down his spine like cold electricity. "Just a little bit more of your mind."
Yohji rolled his eyes. "Yeah, OK. Let's see you do it, then."
(tbc)
in which a Pact is made with a Mephistophelian Redhead
with Regard to another Redhead -
to the Satisfaction of All Concern'd
(I'd apologise to the ghost of Christopher Marlowe, except that he wouldn't have minded this at all. He was a kitten himself...)
Sometimes above it all was the best place to be, which was one of the reasons Yohji liked the roof. It was quiet, the street noise muffled by distance and the heavy air; it was private, and nobody bitched him out about the cigarette smoke, the empty bottles, and the exotic magazine collection. Last week he'd dragged up an old lounge chair, which had since been augumented by three cushions, an ashtray, a candelabrum, and a pair of binoculars - because you never knew, right? And not a single green, growing thing to be seen anywhere. He got enough of that at work.
He also got a certain amount of shit - "That's where he goes to search his soul for inspiration. I've noticed that his haiku's been improving lately - it's starting to show a real delicacy of touch," Ken informed Aya and Omi, filling a plant-sprayer with something lethal.
Omi choked on his poccari. "Nah. He's just spanking the monkey."
"I said, /delicacy of touch/..."
"That's sooooooooo gross -"
"Fuck you and everybody who looks like you," Yohji had retorted wittily. He was going short of sleep and it was starting to affect his temper.
Omi blinked and Ken frowned, looking like he wanted to clap his hands over the kid's ears to keep him from hearing naughty words. "Hey, lighten up, Yohji-kun...no one cares what you do in your little secret clubhouse."
"Yeah? Fuck you /twice/, Ken-chan." Yohji slid his hand down the back of Ken's jeans, grabbed the waistband of his little Manchester United boxers and jerked upwards sharply.
His pointed cat's-face white with contempt and muttering about a goddamned boys' locker room, Aya had removed himself from the ensuing scene, effectively making Yohji's day even worse than it had been. Looking like an idiot in front of Abyssinian was not part of Yohji's grand seduction scheme, and it felt like it was happening an awful lot lately.
Case in point: Aya had caught him trying to wrestle an inflatable mattress up the fire stairs a day or two ago- "What the hell are you planning to do up there? You've got a bedroom, you know. Or that's what I've been told by about three dozen people who claim to have seen it personally." The look on his face had added, "Slut."
Yohji had opened his mouth to say, " Why don't you come up and I'll show you?" but bit his tongue and substituted a remark about providing stimulating entertainment for the office girls in the building across the street instead. It didn't come out quite as smoothly as he'd intended it to, but the narrowness of the stairwell meant that Abyssinian was close enough for Yohji to smell whatever übersexy thing it was that he washed his hair with...
Aya had studied him curiously, as if Yohji was something in a glass box with a large warning label on it. "Has anyone ever suggested that you ought to be neutered, Balinese? It would probably help you concentrate on what you're supposed to be doing." He reached out and flicked open the valve on the mattress, which deflated with a sad sigh. Yohji knew how it felt.
"I don't need you to tell me what to do, Aya-/sama/." And how big a lie was that?
There was something about Aya that made Yohji want to lie...and kill and steal and commit adultery and worship graven images and covet his neighbour's ox, as well...it was sort of disturbing, when you thought about it. Which he tried not to do. Ever. In case someone was listening to his mind.
That was the other reason he liked the roof. When the demon in his head spoke to him there, no one could hear him answer. And when the demon stuck a pointed tongue down his throat, there was no one to hear the sounds he made.
Tonight he'd brought a bottle of vodka along with him; the view of the stars overhead was getting a little blurry and there was a taste in his mouth like steel, but the warm dirty wind was fingering through his hair and for once his head felt pleasantly empty. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke fade out into the dark, blue-purple sky. That's what it would be like, looking into Aya's eyes...like this sky......
"Voici des roses,
De cette nuit écloses.
Sur ce lit embaumé,
Ô mon Faust bien-aimée,
Répose.....
But you'll have to imagine the roses, I'm afraid..."
The words hummed in his ear like a radio, poorly tuned to a classical station, gradually becoming clearer, taking over.
"Dans un voluptueux sommeil
Où glissera sur toi plus d'un baiser vermeil...
Mmmmmm.....it's really the wrong key for me...."
"Go away."
"But I just got here.
Où des fleurs pour ta couche ouvriront leurs corolles,
Ton oreille entendra de divines paroles...
Ton oreille entendra de divines paroooooooles...
Ton oreille or any other part of you you'd like to name, kitten. And you don't want me to go away, really."
Yohji rubbed his forehead and wished it wasn't true. "Could you get out of my head, then?"
A slice of the darkness by the edge of the roof shifted and revealed itself as a man in a black coat, a vague gleam of white for a face and shirtfront.
"Out of your head and into your pants?" Schuldig drifted over to Yohji's lounge chair and stood looking down at him, red hair flickering around his face. "Don't stare at me like that - I came up the fire stairs. Did you think I flew here? I can do all kinds of things, but I have to come and go at the mercy of unlocked doors. Thoughtful of you to leave it open. Again." The telepath smiled. "There's a deflated air mattress down there, by the by - could be a hazard in an emergency - I almost fell over it myself. Did you decide it wouldn't be needed?"
"Surplus to the requirements," Yohji said, flicking away his cigarette. He'd discovered that getting involved in a conversation with Schuldig made his brain hurt and only put off the sex an uncomfortably long time, so he tended to keep his remarks short and his hands free.
"It has been so far," Schuldig agreed. He moved so that he was straddling the chair and Yohji; it ought to have looked clumsy, but it didn't - it was just hot and sort of scary. Yohji looked up into the pale, mad eyes and saw all kinds of bad things.
And that was really what kept him up at night, kept him coming to the roof where they could do this undetected - it was hot, and it was scary, and really, really wrong - and Yohji knew that what he liked best was everything most people shouldn't have.
Guns.
Power.
Dangerous sex.
Psychotic German telepaths who sang in French.
Aya.
Schuldig reached down and took Yohji by the hair. "Stop it," he said, and his voice sounded like something you'd hear in the middle of a near-death experience.
"Stop /what/?" Yohji said, pulling Schuldig down on top of him and maneuvering himself into a more interesting position. "You liked this last time."
"You're thinking about the damned Abyssinian."
Ah. No point in denying it. Schuldig would know he was lying. "Well, yeah. It's an absorbing subject. Why does your shirt have to have so many buttons?"
"You are not going to think about him while I'm fucking you." Schuldig had gone even paler, as if his hair had drawn all the colour out of his skin and eyes the way a flame sucks oxygen.
Yohji grinned to himself. Pissing Schuldig off could be dangerous, but very, very rewarding, if you didn't mind it rough.
"I might. Since when do you care what I'm thinking about, anyway?" Yohji dug his fingers into the German's back and arched upwards, assuming Schuldig would notice that he had a serious hard-on and decide that something needed to be done about it.
Unanticipated pain exploded behind his eyes, kind of like being hit in the face with a bottle rocket.
The telepath had lost his temper.
"/Shit!/!" Yohji yelped. "What was that f-"
Schuldig clapped a hand over Yohji's mouth. "/Halt's Maul/, idiot. I'd rather not get caught up here, so control yourself." His eyes narrowed. "All right. You want Purple-Eyes."
Yohji shoved Schuldig's hand away and tried to sit up, but the telepath held him down. "I said I did. You know whether or not I'm lying. What do you -"
"Shut up. If you want him, I'll give him to you. Once/. And then it's over. I don't want to have this conversation again. And I don't /ever want to see him in your mind when you're with me." He released Yohji and stood up, buttoning his shirt.
Yohji pulled himself upright. "What makes you think we're going to be doing this again? I don't have to let you tell me what to do. Where are my fucking cigarettes?" He really hated being that ready and then getting cut off. Damn Schuldig.
The telepath picked the box up, took one for himself, and tossed it to Yohji. "Don't sulk, Kätzchen." He leaned forward and ran a finger over Yohji's lips. "Do you understand what I'm offering you?"
"Yeah," Yohji said, lighting his cigarette. "I understand. But I think it's bullshit. There's no way you can make Aya say yes to something like that. He's totally straight. And he thinks I ought to be neutered," he added, thoughtfully.
Schuldig produced his shiny, predator's smile. "What a wicked waste that would be. Although I'd still be able to have you, you know."
Yohji coughed. "Don't even think about it. And unless you've got some kind of voodoo love magic I don't know about, you're just blowing smoke. I mean, I know you can fuck with my mind, but...we're talking about Aya here. He's...hard."
The smile got bigger and incrementally more threatening. "Do you know what they use to cut diamonds with, Weiss?"
"No."
"Other diamonds."
Yohji considered that one for a minute. "Mmm. Nice analogy. Very elegant. And assuming for the moment that you actually can do it, what exactly do you get out of it? Do you want to watch or something?"
"That's an option, of course. But I was thinking of something even more valuable."
"Saa, I get it." It was Yohji's turn to grin. "Something like my immortal soul, maybe?"
" Oh...." Schuldig sighed and lit his own cigarette, the reflected flare of the match flickering in his eyes. "I've already got /that/, Kitten. For what it's worth."
Yohji gave in. That's what he got for involving himself in a battle of wits with a lunatic. "Then I've got nothing to lose, have I?"
That made Schuldig laugh, a sound that tended to give Yohji a strange tingling sensation that started at his scalp and moved down his spine like cold electricity. "Just a little bit more of your mind."
Yohji rolled his eyes. "Yeah, OK. Let's see you do it, then."
(tbc)
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