Categories > Anime/Manga > Weiss Kreuz > Rumors
The dreams didn't start until months after their last encounter. They were always dark, as if the room was always pitch black, lighted only by the flickering of flames. There was pale flesh and long legs wrapped around him. Bright eyes, gleaming between blue and green, framed by strands of red. Sometimes the face was smirking, other times sneering. Always mocking, with a sweet, poisonous laugh. Sometimes it whispered everything he wanted to hear. Other times he woke up in a cold sweat, terrified but still hard.
He tried to stop them. Tried to forget. Concrete and stone falling down around them. Ice cold darkness, swallowing them up. The wire in his hand, tightening more and more. A yell, a declaration of some sort, and a pale hand lined with blood giving up, instead reaching out for the black-haired figure across the room.
The wire had slackened then, fell away just as they did, but not before Youji had seen the mark it had made.
He wondered if it left a scar, even though he knew it did.
He never wondered whether or not they were dead. Couldn't even pretend not to know. Because they could have survived anything.
He took to drinking before bed, cursed when it seemed to make the dreams stronger. As if it broke down his last defenses completely. And those days he woke up in a start, teeth biting into his lips and legs spread open.
It was almost a relief when he spotted the redhead in a club one night.
He approached cautiously, eyes fastened on the long scar along a slender throat. He had caused that, and he felt a surge of power at the thought.
A nasal-toned laugh interrupted his thoughts. "My, my, Kudo. And you call us the monsters? Tch. Disillusionment must make life grand." The voice was rougher than he remembered but no less hypnotic and sent a different surge entirely through his body. One slim eyebrow raised and looked pointedly at his now obvious arousal. "So you have been enjoying our little midnight rendezvous."
Youji growled. "You sick fuck. What have you-"
"I haven't done anything to you, sweetcheeks. Except give you a bit of a farewell present."
It wasn't until he was corner in an alley with one pissed off and armed American that he realized what the German had meant by that.
He tried to stop them. Tried to forget. Concrete and stone falling down around them. Ice cold darkness, swallowing them up. The wire in his hand, tightening more and more. A yell, a declaration of some sort, and a pale hand lined with blood giving up, instead reaching out for the black-haired figure across the room.
The wire had slackened then, fell away just as they did, but not before Youji had seen the mark it had made.
He wondered if it left a scar, even though he knew it did.
He never wondered whether or not they were dead. Couldn't even pretend not to know. Because they could have survived anything.
He took to drinking before bed, cursed when it seemed to make the dreams stronger. As if it broke down his last defenses completely. And those days he woke up in a start, teeth biting into his lips and legs spread open.
It was almost a relief when he spotted the redhead in a club one night.
He approached cautiously, eyes fastened on the long scar along a slender throat. He had caused that, and he felt a surge of power at the thought.
A nasal-toned laugh interrupted his thoughts. "My, my, Kudo. And you call us the monsters? Tch. Disillusionment must make life grand." The voice was rougher than he remembered but no less hypnotic and sent a different surge entirely through his body. One slim eyebrow raised and looked pointedly at his now obvious arousal. "So you have been enjoying our little midnight rendezvous."
Youji growled. "You sick fuck. What have you-"
"I haven't done anything to you, sweetcheeks. Except give you a bit of a farewell present."
It wasn't until he was corner in an alley with one pissed off and armed American that he realized what the German had meant by that.
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