FicWad

Satin




Brief Author's Note : What's up people! Here's the good old boring warning section. Here goes...This piece will contain depictions of adult situations, crude language, violence and sexuality. If that is not your cup of tea, please go find something that is to your liking elsewhere, as Iwill not waste my time answering to complaints. Heed the warning, as it is for your own good (anyway, why read something that you will definitely not enjoy?)However, if you are interested in my story, please note that I adorereviews, especially constructive ones that will actually improve my writing. Flames are rather hurtful and pointless, and I will not heed any of them if sent. If you do not like my story, tell me why and how to fix it, and I'll be happy to take the advice. Thanks for reading me!



Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own the Weiss Boys(sure wish I did though), but Haruka (or any original character) is mine.Only borrow with permission first, same goes for archiving.






Chapter One




They all had different ways to deal with killing. Some gave extra efforts and focused on their studies, burying oneself with books. Others rushed to the gym with the sweat of the kill still cooling on their skin, to exert the guilt and tension. Some drowned it in fine malt liquor, until it dulled both feelings and physical pain. He needed her.



Nothing but the promise of her naked flesh, of her yielding lips, of her body aching under his could lead him to rush out of the house still in his mission clothes, as soon as the debriefing was accomplished. He called it bloodlust.



And the bloodlust was upon him as he set out once again in the night, letting his car rush through silent streets and deserted highways.





Missions were rough. And that one had been especially hard, despite the smoothness of the operation. He felt unsettled by the amount of blood on his hands. He needed her then.




Despite his swelling desire, he took his time when he arrived to her building. He saluted the doorman, who was used to his nightly wanderings, and took the elevator to the 30th floor, stopping two floors short of his destination. He took the stairs then, letting his breath come to a normal pace, allowing for the lust to abate slightly as he ascended, one step at a time. One breath at a time.



He entered the apartment silently, removing his boots slowly, carefully. His stained coat stayed in the car, his weapon back at the shop. Violence had no place in her world, and he was not one to willingly bring it in. His mission clothes still reeked of death, to him anyway. He felt filthy, but washing could wait another minute.



He padded softly on the hardwood floor, crossing the living room, pausing briefly to admire the glittering Tokyo nightscape. She lived in the penthouse, and the views from all her windows were equally gorgeous, but this one was his favourite, as he saw miles upon miles of glittering neon and traffic lights.



He made his way to the bedroom, ascending a few steps to the dark wood door that sealed the master bedroom. The cat slept, curled at the foot of the bed, but woke as the door opened, his bright eyes glittering. He greeted the newcomer with a sound, something between agrunt and a voiced purr. It was his sound. He greeted /her /differently, with a sound that sounded strangely close to "Hello".



"Hey kitty..." he whispered, scratching the grey kitten behind the ears.



Just beside the cat, a white, slender foot poked out of midnight blue blankets. There she slept, long white arms wrapped about a cushion, legs sprawled under the blankets, her shock of silver-white hair spilled on the pillows about her. So beautiful, and his too.



He couldn't help but smile at the sight. She slept with such abandon, like the real world didn't exist. And it's the real world that sharply reminded him that he had just been through a mission. Ajolt of pain in his side distracted him from the sight.



He padded over to her side and leaned on the bed beside her, wincing at the pain. He kissed her gently, but not gently enough. She woke at once, lips responsive. A gentle hand came to rest on his cheek.



"I knew it was you," she purred, "Aya darling..."



She kissed him again, putting he soft arms around his neck. His blood boiled then, but he still felt filthy, and the pain in his side worried him.



"I have to shower sweetheart..."

"Mmnn? Just now?"

"Yeah, I'll be back in a minute."

"Well, you know the way." She laid back on the pillows, "I got some your favourite shampoo too. Enjoy it."



Despite the darkness, he could sense her coy smile.



"I will. Thank you sweetheart."



He got up, trying not to wince too much as more pain shot through his left side, and made his way to the master bathroom, the cat bouncing off the bed to trot beside him.



"Ah! I knew you would come along. Mangling the toilet paper is much more fun than sleeping with mommy, huh?"



The little grey kitten abruptly sat on his haunches and looked up to him with something quite close to a look of utter innocence.



"Har! Don't even try! I know your kitty ways..."

"Are you discussing with the cat again?"came her amused voice from the bed.

"He's trying to convince me that he won't mangle the paper."

"He lies..."










It wasn't pretty.



He had felt something brush the curve of his ribs as he had fought the adverse swordsman, not quite expecting another swordsman to start with. Good thing that his skills were honed to deadly perfection. With the adrenalin rushing through his veins, he never felt the other sword wound him, thinking it had been a close one. A little too close for his taste now. With the wound in plain view, he wished he was still on adrenalin.

The wound was a good eight inches long, angling upwards from the midriff to just below the lower ribs of his left side. Thankfully, his opponent had been worthy enough of his blade to keep it honed to a razor-sharp edge, and the cut was straight and clean, but deep. It had bled like hell. His shirt was ruined with it, apart from having a huge rent on the left side that made it truly impossible to salvage. He tossed it aside and gingerly prodded at the deepest end of the wound, closest to his ribs. The lightest pressure broke the clot, and fresh blood seeped from the wound. It needed stitching. His old master would have had a field day with this one, Aya thought. He remembered the sting and bruising the wooden practice sword left on his upper arm.

"Stop leaving your left side open, you stubborn kid!"his master would say, exasperated, after disciplining him for the hundredth time.



The creaking of the door brought him back from his reflection.



"Wow..." she said, sounding somewhat unimpressed for her choice of exclamation, "You'll have to get that stitched."



He turned to face her, putting on his meekest look, which wasn't overly hard considering the situation and the loss of blood besides.



"Yeah..."



She wore a white tank and loose drawstring pajamas, printed with a white on gray polka-dot pattern. Her long white hair, mussed by sleep, flew in all directions, and she studied him up and down with light amethyst eyes. She crossed her tattooed arms on her chest and gave him a non-nonsense look.



"'Yeah'? That's all you have to say?"

"Hmm..." he mumbled, backing off slightly.

"You could have told me you were hurt, you idiot..."

"Oh, but I didn't know I was hurt...until I got here..."

She rolled her eyes, and sighed in resignation.

"Fine!Let's stitch it so you can come to bed. Your stitches always suck anyway..."










Haruka was a tattoo artist, and what she did with her hands, she did well, with speed and skill. She finished the stitches, and threw him in the shower before he could even protest.



He didn't want to protest much when she undressed and jumped in with him, the sight of her fine white flesh rendering him speechless.



Her proportions were exact, and perfect. A true hourglass shape, covered in exquisite tattoos. He could spend hours examining each inch of her skin, finding subtle shading in the scales of the koi that swam up her side, adifferent swirl on the Mexican skull and roses on the inside off her right arm, a strange curve in the rigging of the pirate ship on the inside of her left. And it didn't stop there. Her body was a story, about who she was and who she had been, where she had traveled, what she felt. He never got bored.



His left hand glided across the swallows and banner on her chest, cupped the nautical star on the side of her neck., the right one covering the anchor on her hip bone.



She looked up to him then, with eyes much alike his own, just of a milder, more delicate shade of violet. If his eyes were velvet, hers were satin. Her lashes were spiked with droplets, and she batted them once in while to dispel the water.



"Are you alright? I don't think we should stay here for too long...I have to bandage your wound."

"I love you."

"I know sweetheart..."

He held the side of her face, angling it upwards towards his.

"I really mean it...I love you Haruka."



He kissed her. For a long time.

To be continued...

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