Unspoken

Florist-assassins, Yohji thought for what had to be the four thousand twenty-seventh time. While leaning on the counter in the Koneko, his usual place for the thought. Who the hell had come up with that one?

Probably Persia. The first one. It fit with his “Hunters of the night, deny these dark beasts their tomorrows” speech.

Takatori Shuichi. All the insanity of a regular Takatori, none of the evil.

Maybe half the evil. If he came up with the flower shop idea.

Ooh, time for Aya to wash the windows. Maybe a flower shop wasn’t such a bad idea.

It could be worse, after all. They could all be accountants. Yohji shivered. Omi in a suit, Ken knocking the water cooler over, his sexy kitten in a cage, Yohji never catching more than a glimpse of red hair over the cubicles–

“If you wore real clothes, Kudou, you wouldn’t be cold.”

“If I wore real clothes, Fujimiya,” Yohji answered with the sexiest stretch he could manage, “it’d be ten times harder to convince you to go have some fun on the workbench.”

Kudou Yohji decided he was the luckiest man in the world, when the redhead got that evil grin and reached out and turned the “Open” sign to “Closed.”

“Not the workbench,” he said in that gods-sexy ‘I’m going to fuck you’ voice.

“Where?” Yohji breathed. Not that he cared. Where Aya was standing was fine by him. Che, the sidewalk outside the door was fine by him.

“Run.” Yohji took one step; Aya shook his head.

“Run away, Kudou.”

“Fine,” Yohji pouted. “But only because you told me to.” Awww! His cute widdle kitten wanted to hunt, did him?

“Run,” that sexy voice repeated, “or you’ll be sorry.”

Ooh, discipline? Fujimiya was getting kinkier by the day. Yohji stripped off his shirt and threw it as a distraction and ran.

Through the greenhouse and back, into the house for a turn around the kitchen table, and Yohji got caught right where he wanted to, back where he’d started. Aya very carefully knocked his feet from under him behind the counter in the Koneko. Glanced around at the cover, nodded, and set to driving Yohji crazy. Hands and lips and kami, that body…

Yohji obligingly went crazy. In the resultant struggle Aya’s shirt flew somewhere. Yohji was quite firmly of the opinion Aya’s chest should never be covered by anything.

Aya retaliated by stealing Yohji’s pants. Deny it as he would, Yohji knew the redhead felt the same way about his ass.

Sometimes his kitten was so patient Yohji thought he’d lose his mind before Aya let him get off. Not this time. Fevered groping, stroking, starving kisses and he was being lowered onto Aya’s lap as he knelt, oh, he loved it this way, Aya holding him up, watching his face, and oh kami they were right in the middle of the Koneko…!

That was Yohji’s last thought for a while, as he lost himself in feelings. Aya’s bruising grip on his hips, Aya’s thighs flexing beneath his, god, Aya inside him, that glorious skin under his fingers, that sexy mouth devouring his neck, oh shit, life couldn’t be this good–

“Aya…” he gasped out. “Aya, I–“

”Sssh.” Aya claimed his mouth as he was lifted higher, shoved against the counter and fucked harder. Yohji felt something cushioning his bare back from the shelves and melted to goo. Aya…

His kitten felt him tense, muffled Yohji’s shout in his shoulder, and whispered his lover’s name as he came. They clung to each other, panting and sweaty and oh damn life was good.

“Darkness fades away,” Aya murmured.
“Beside you, inside of you,
Time ends. Life glows. Joy.”

Yohji bit his lip to keep from bawling like a girl. In poetry, his kitten could find his–

“Aya, is that yours?”

The redhead didn’t answer, which was an answer. If it wasn’t his, Aya would have credited the source. Yohji rained kisses on his lover’s neck. He couldn’t say anything, he knew, Aya would just shush him again. But god, if he had Schu’s power, or if he could fly a plane to sky-write, or if he could shout out a poem loud enough all of Tokyo would hear–

“Kudou,” Aya said as soft cloth wiped Yohji’s stomach and chest, “you’ve lost all your clothes. Again.”

“It only happens when I’m around you,” Yohji answered. “They just fly off somehow.”

“Mmm.” Kisses in his hair, Yohji knew what came next. The drawback to doing it halfway in public, snuggle-time was abbreviated. “Move, Kudou, we–“ He cut off as the bell tinkled. Yohji froze, and replayed those suddenly-important moments before the chase scene.

Aya hadn’t locked the door. Fujimiya Aya, Abyssinian, careful planner and field tactician, had not thought to lock the door.

He had been too distracted by Kudou Yohji, sex on legs.

Aya glared as Yohji grinned.

“Oh, not one of them?”

Shit, fangirl…

“Who works today?”

Two fangirls. Go away, damn it, nobody home–

“It should be Yohji-kun and Omi-kun.”

Three! Go away, if Aya got caught in the act he’d never–

“Maybe they just stepped out. Someone has to be here, the door is open.”

“Maybe they’re…you know.”

Squeals of delight answered that one. Three fangirls at least, the most rabid ones–and they thought he and Omi–?

Shit, F4 glare right in his face. Yohji raised his hands. “You know I never–“

Aya hissed to shut him up.

“Ie,” said a fourth girl. “It’s not Omi-kun, he doesn’t work when he has exams. Ken-kun usually takes his place.”

“Kawaii!!” someone squealed. An excited babble broke out.

“Whose is–“

”Maybe they’re in the shed!“

”It’s Yohji-kun’s, only he–“ Shit, his shirt! Now they’d never leave! And he couldn’t run them off, his pants–oh shit, did they have his pants?

”–Ken-kun? We have to know!“

Ken? Ken? Oh, god, he was going to–

“I’m going to keep–“

”No, you’re not! I found–“

”Oh, it smells like–“

Aya set Yohji down with a thump. Itai, the floor was cold!

Forget the floor! Aya closed his pants and glanced at the apron in his hands, but white streaks on the blue convinced him to toss it aside. Yohji wished more heartily than ever for a videocamera. He settled for peeping around the counter as Aya stalked over to the girls.

“A-a-aya-k-kun…” One down, fainted. Yohji had that same reaction to Aya shirtless sometimes. Another girl clutched tissues to her face. Nosebleed? Aya snatched Yohji’s shirt from the nerveless fingers of a third. The fourth had tears running down her face. Heartbroken over Aya? Or Yohji?

“Get out.”

Only an F5 Abyssinian glare (now that Aya was warming up, there was a difference) could have scattered those girls. They did run, though, two of them snatching up the unconscious one, all of them fleeing the angry angel.

They’d be back. With reinforcements. Che.

“Get dressed!” Aya snapped, as Yohji’s clothes landed in his lap.

Sigh. But it had been worth it.

Within an hour, Yohji’s worst expectations were fulfilled. The shop was packed with delighted and/or heartbroken fangirls, all of them squealing or crying or asking questions in such detail even he, Kudou Yohji, was embarrassed. And Aya…

Aya seemed to be ignoring them. He went about the work of the shop as he always did, watering the flowers, wiping the windows, only noticing the girls when they got in his way, and then only to glare–

Oh, wait, here it came again. 5,4,3,2,1– “Buy something!” Aya shouted, “or leave!”

“Kuwaii!” squealed one girl into the moment of silence. Another touched Yohji’s arm.

“Yohji-kun, does he yell at you like that?”

“Of course not,” another giggled. “If he did, Yohji-kun wouldn’t–“

”Girls!” Yohji didn’t want to hear what he wouldn’t do if he got yelled at. What would drive them off, if Aya yelling wasn’t doing it, and simple embarrassment at how–lurid–they were being–?

Uh oh.

In the past few months, Yohji had become incredibly sensitive to Aya’s moods. He had to, it wasn’t like the man was going to talk to him. But Yohji had learned bits of Aya-language over the years, and being so close to the redhead now had let him piece it together. Face and voice–even the grunts had meaning–body language and temperature and most especially his eyes, all combined to broadcast what Aya was feeling, even when he’d rather not. Even when Yohji couldn’t read it, at least now he knew it was there.

It was no wonder Aya had been nearly incapacitated when Aya-chan was in her coma–he’d lost his translator, and he didn’t know how to make himself understood.

Now Yohji could see that the pressure was getting to Aya. All the redhead wanted was for it all to go away forever. That wasn’t going to happen, but there was one way Aya might think he could do it. And damned if Yohji was letting him try that. He pushed through the fangirls–whoa, lucky for her Aya didn’t see that!–to get close to the redhead.

“Kawaii!” squealed fangirls, then they all fell silent. Aya glared at him. Yohji didn’t mind that; what he hated was the misery and humiliation behind the anger. He could tell Aya all day long he hadn’t done anything wrong, and not make the slightest impression. But–

“Are you ashamed of me?” he asked.

That burned the self-contempt out of those stunning eyes. They’d done it together. Aya couldn’t hate himself for what had happened, without hating Yohji.

One rising eyebrow was all the warning he got, before Aya grabbed him, dipped him, and kissed the hell out of him. Right in front of about a thousand fangirls. Some cheered. Some bawled. At least one took a picture. Yohji just hung on and enjoyed.

“I do hate to interrupt,” said a familiar voice. Yohji cranked one eye open.

Birman. Damn.

Aya was still kissing. Yohji waved and closed his eye and enjoyed some more.

Finally Aya released him, grinned at Birman–knocking her back three steps–and turned to chase the fangirls out. Yohji winked at Birman and patted himself, looking for cigarettes that weren’t there.

Che.

Oh well.

“Omi and Ken aren’t here,” Yohji said when he remembered it. Aya’s kisses tended to make him forget such unimportant things.

“I only need Aya-kun,” Birman said. “You can go do–whatever it is you do, Kudou.”

“Aya is what I do.”

“Too much information, Kudou.” Birman crossed her arms to wait. Yohji remembered he was supposed to be helping close. This actually-doing-work thing was new to him, but he did not want to hear from Aya all night.

If Aya was home. Che. A solo mission? Aya had always taken them, but the offer hadn’t been made in a while, and Yohji had kind of hoped–

During their ‘talk’–what passed for a talk (Yohji was about ready to have Aya-chan assessed for telepathic abilities)–during their talk, Aya-chan had agreed that Aya had to continue until he found a way out. That didn’t mean he had to take every mission, but Aya’s eye was still on his savings, and he never turned one down.

That didn’t mean he had to go on solo missions alone, Yohji reminded himself. Kritiker wasn’t going to complain if Balinese went with Abyssinian, so long as Balinese didn’t expect to be paid.

Making sure Aya came home would be payment enough. Though if he put it to Aya like that, Yohji knew he’d have large gory holes stuck through him.

Aya was either more trusting of Birman’s intelligence, or more paranoid of Kritiker–Yohji was betting on paranoid–he assumed Birman knew the younger Weiss were gone for the evening. So he assumed she needed both Balinese and Abyssinian, and Yohji didn’t have to argue to get into the briefing. Which was good. It let him save energy for the bigger battle.

“This,” Birman said in the mission room as she pulled the tape from her bag, “is one I’ve waited a long time for.” Her eyes fell on Aya. “I know you have, too, Abyssinian.”

Beside Yohji, Aya’s head lifted. Birman smiled.

“Yes. We found her.”

“Who?” Yohji demanded, but Birman only aimed the remote as answer. A middle-aged, non-descript man appeared on the screen, with a young beautiful woman on his arm.

“This,” said Persia’s simulation in the usual voiceover, “is Miraku Ryo. He is obsessed with having the perfect life, and will do anything to achieve it. The woman is Miraku Hitomi, now deceased. She was unable to be the perfect wife.” Another picture, of a soccer playing boy. “Miraku Hiroshi, also deceased. He was not the perfect son. Miraku adopted him, then killed him when he disappointed.” Another picture, of a pre-teen girl in a Western-style princess dress. “Miraku Azumi, the only member of this version of the family still living. She is your primary objective. Hunters of the Night, deny the dark beast Miraku Ryo his tomorrows, and restore Azumi’s to her.”

“What?” Yohji said it first. “We don’t do rescues.”

“Kudou,” Aya growled instead of agreeing, “shut up.”

“I see you are still your usual uncommunicative self,” Birman put in. “I was worried. Balinese, I recommend you listen to Abyssinian. This one is personal.”

“That makes it even worse.” Yohji shivered at the thought of Aya on a personal quest again. He had no thought for himself, all that mattered was the mission, a thousand and one times he could have, should have died, while after Takatori… “Send Crashers, this is more–“

Aya got up to take the file from Birman. Chikusho!

“This would be better as a solo mission,” Aya announced, and raised his eyes to Birman. “One man could get in and out easily, while–“

”Don’t look at me.” Birman shrugged. “I told Kudou I didn’t need him.”

Oh, thanks a lot! That cold glare settled on Yohji. He raised his hands.

“Now come on. Aya, we have attempted rescues before. You know you need one person for every victim, just to keep them from running into gunfire and other stupid stuff.” And just about every rescue had failed, even after they made up that rule. Weiss always got the target–but the victims usually died. Always messily, always right in front of their rescuers, and one of Weiss was sure to fall apart because of it–

“Hn,” Aya said. Wow, two battles down or avoided, only however-many to go. And then there was whoever else to fight, before they could maybe–maybe–bring the brat to wherever.

Damn Kritiker, and Birman too, for doing this to Aya. The girl could have been Aya-chan ten years ago; she was the right kind of perky/cute. If/when she died bloodily right in front of Aya–

DAMN them!

“No,” Aya said, loud enough to jolt Yohji back to the conversation in front of him. Yohji had the impression he’d already said it once.

“Be reasonable.” Yep, Birman didn’t get that ‘or I’ll shoot you’ tone until she’d been arguing a while. “What are you going to do with her?”

“You will not have her.”

“Fujimiya, you forget yourself. You knew him a couple days, he was my partner.” Who–? Botan? What did the girl have to do with– “I will take care of her.”

“Can you keep her out of Kritiker?” Aya demanded. Birman tossed her hair. The next move was to pull her gun. Why did Aya care so much?

“How the hell do you plan to do it?” she shot back.

“By being more valuable than she could ever be. You would not walk away. They know I would.”

“Then you would die.”

“If need be.”

Goddamn it, why was that Aya’s solution to everything!?!

And just what the hell had Botan been to him, if he was willing to die for a girl he’d never met, in the man’s name?

Maybe–Yohji’s heart turned over with a sick thud–his first lover?

“Botan believed in Kritiker,” Birman argued.

“Botan was a fool about a lot of things,” Aya said. That didn’t sound very–hell. Aya had said far worse about Yohji, and he–

Forget it. Right now, forget it, damn it, if he spent the evening thinking about that, he or Aya would die for damn sure. Later he could maybe go get drunk and–

Che, shit, and chikusho. What a time he’d picked to quit drinking.

Birman was leaving. Aya was too, going to get ready. Yohji hadn’t even glanced at the file yet. Lack of preparation was another good way to get somebody killed.

Damn it, Aya had frozen over already. Why couldn’t Yohji have an emotional off switch too?

After all Yohji’s worry, it was easy. Miraku had some ties to the yakuza, but he was on the money-laundering end, not the violent side. He didn’t have any loyal henchmen–he didn’t know he needed them. Balinese and Abyssinian climbed in his window, and the swordsman woke him up so he could see it coming, but didn’t bother to explain. Then they walked down the hall and Aya threw a paper airplane into the girl’s room.

She had known the man wasn’t her father, and she’d had suspicions on what had happened to the kind woman who was not her mother. After the paper airplane she came with them willingly.

Azumi–Shibuya Azumi, Aya knew that much about the dead operative–Shibuya Azumi was ten years old, and barely remembered her real parents. She cried silently when Aya told her they were dead, and admitted she’d thought they must be. Yohji tried to comfort her, and tried not to tap his fingers on the armrest and tried not to think about smoking, and wished he could talk to Aya.

Stupid, it was so stupid to be jealous of a man who had been dead for years, a man who at the most had enjoyed–what, two nights with Aya? Yohji had been the redhead’s lover for months, and he had no intention of ever letting the man go.

But Botan had been Aya’s first. It was unfair to be upset about that, to be jealous about being second, when Aya was–well, hell, the mighty Yotan couldn’t even guess at what number Aya was. Besides “last,” anyway. But still. Kudou Yohji knew he had exactly no right whatsoever to be the least bit bothered by this.

So why the fuck was it driving him insane?

Aya drove aimlessly until the girl had cried herself to sleep, then headed straight for the Koneko, which told Yohji he had won the argument with Birman. And with neither of them going for weapons, either. The redhead was getting calmer.

He had been, really, since that talk in the kitchen. Actually, Yohji could pinpoint the exact moment when Aya had stopped making himself crazy and started to recover the balance he’d been missing so long. He had told–with many a pause and lots of threats from his sister–the bare basics of what he was and how that had happened. He had told the–for lack of a better word–highlights of his new career. Aya-chan had said, “I see.” Then she got up and walked into the living room, and without moving Aya had wilted right in front of Yohji and Sakura. Yohji had seriously considered going after the girl and doing what Schu had done. Then Aya-chan came back, and whacked her brother in the back of the head with a roll of papers. Exactly the way Aya whacked Yohji, when he was being particularly stupid.

“Baka,” she’d snapped, “you’re not a murderer. You’re a hero.”

Aya had tried to argue. Aya-chan had refused to even listen. And she’d whacked Aya at least three times since then, when he was sinking into one of his funks.

Yohji was back to calling her princess and miracle worker, and spoiling her as hard as he could.

Aya parked the Porsche and carefully extracted the sleeping girl from the back seat, ignoring Yohji’s attempts to help. He ignored Yohji opening the door for him, too, carrying her upstairs without a word. Aya-chan was waiting; Aya had asked her to.

For Botan’s daughter, he had asked her. Aya-chan had tried to help after learning about the missions, but after one attempt, with everyone scrambling to hide wounds and blood and misery, all of them unable to face her after what they’d been doing, Aya had asked her not to, and she hadn’t. Except for tonight, she pretended to be asleep, and only ‘woke up’ if Aya didn’t check on her in a reasonable amount of time. And if she did get up, she only called down the stairs, she didn’t come where she could see.

But for Shibuya Azumi, Aya had asked her to wait up.

Che. This was stupid. Incredibly, inevitably, unbelievably stupid. So what if Botan had got there first? He was dead, and not a danger to Yohji’s relationship with Aya. Only Yohji could manage to fuck that up now, and if he kept obsessing, he was going to blow it all to hell.

Yohji did his reflex pat for his cigarettes, before he remembered. Again. Damn it.

Fuck it. He hadn’t done anything; he didn’t need a shower. Yohji changed out of his work coat and went back through the door. He’d buy a pack, smoke a couple cigarettes then trash it, brush his teeth before going to let Aya bitch him out for being weak, and then he’d get snuggled and fucked and hopefully talk himself out of this damn stupid jealousy before he ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Yes, the best thing that had ever happened to him, or at least to the man he was now. Asuka’s partner having died in that alleyway too.

Whoa. Keep thinking like that and he’d understand Aya/Ran.

Scary thought.

Yohji lit up before his foot hit the ground outside the store. Kami, that was good! But three steps and three puffs and he was dizzy; it had been that long since he’d had even one. Yohji grinned at the thought. He’d never believed he could quit, but Aya–

“Hello. Kudou-san, isn’t it?”

Oh. Schu’s friend–no, admirer. The guy who had trouble with chairs. Yohji peered around for the German. Schu had said the blonde followed him everywhere. But this time the telepath was nowhere in sight. Yohji didn’t know why, but that made him nervous.

His stupidity was really on a roll tonight, when the absence of that sarcastic, sadistic bastard worried him.

But it did. Without thinking Yohji reached for his wire, with no threat and right in front of at least five witnesses. But–

::No, Kudou-san, I’m afraid I can’t allow that.::

Damn it, Schu could have warned him the bastard was a telepath!

::Schuldig,:: and the bastard’s tone was definitely smug, ::could have warned you about a lot of things. Come along, my boy.:: He turned away. Yohji found his body following.

Damn. Kidnapped buying cigarettes. Aya was never going to let him live this down.

******

Yes, I did take a liberty with the interior of the Koneko, making them able to hide under the register counter. Give me a break, if they were out in plain sight, poor innocent fangirls would have been dropping like flies. (Very, very happy flies, but still.)

That haiku is mine. *snarls possessively*

I’d beg for reviews, but I just know I’m going to hear about this. 😉