Switchblade Serenade

TEARS OF FIRE pt 3











I couldn’t help myself,

Forgive me if you can.

It really wasn’t me,

I hope you understand.

Too many memories to throw it all away,

I’d never leave you anyway.







Aya sighed with frustration at the sight of the full tray sitting in front of Yohji’s apartment door. No one had seen the Eurasian leave the relative safety of his room since departing the hospital almost two weeks ago. Sometimes the trays that Omi left by the door were eaten and other times they sat there collecting flies until one of the others took it away. The last time Aya had checked in on the team sexpot he had been sitting in the middle of his unmade bed, still wearing the clothes that he had worn home from the hospital.



The doctor told them that Yohji’s loss of eyesight was (for the most part) psychosomatic and would only disappear with the proper treatment. The first psychologist that tried entering the room ended up with a three-foot length of the tall blonde’s wire wrapped around his neck. Of course, they didn’t find out until later that the man had tried to take advantage of Yohji. Aya had to use all of his self-control not to chase the man down and carve a few pounds of muscle out of the man’s body with his katana.



In fact, all three of them treated their fallen comrade with kid gloves, not wanting to do anything that might upset him. Yohji’s mental state was on the precarious side and it wouldn’t take much to drive him over the edge. Aya sighed again, rested his body against the cool wall and closed his eyes.



The last few weeks had been trying on the redhead. He and the other two were working harder to make up for the missing piece of their puzzle. That meant long days in the flower shop and even longer nights when they had missions. It still felt strange not to have Yohji covering his back. The hardest part of the whole thing was that the oldest member of their team could make himself well, if he would only try. Aya glared at the closed door and then made up his mind. With a hard look on his face he walked to the offending door, pushed it open hard enough to mar the wall behind it and stood in the doorway glaring at the untidy figure huddled on the bed.



“Yohji,” he growled, “get up.”



“Aya?”



“Get up.”



“Why the fuck should I?”



“You’re going to get a shower, some clean clothes and eat something.”



“Go away,” Yohji mumbled, pulling the covers over his head.



That one act of childish rebellion broke through the dam of Aya’s emotions. Here Yohji was, still able to carry on if he wanted to (unlike Aya’s sister) and he was throwing his chance away in a bout of infantile pique. Aya stormed into the room, snatched the offending blankets away and grabbed the tall blonde by his greasy ponytail.



“Get up,” he snarled. “And get your scrawny ass into the bathroom. Don’t make me give you a bath … you won’t enjoy the experience.”



“Ow! Aya!” Yohji yelped. “Let go of the hair!”



“Are you going to stop with the pity party?”



“You don’t know what it’s like,” came the sullen answer.



“That’s true. But we all can imagine. Remember, Yohji, we’re a team and what one member goes through, the others suffer also.”



“Yeah, right. I’m sure that you three are going through the exact same thing I am.”



“Shut up, Kuduo and move.”



Aya led his captive to the bathroom, never letting go of the stringy, blonde hair. He shoved the taller man down on a stool in the shower and began to roughly undress him. The stale clothing had begun rotting on the slender body, the skin under the disintegrating material was raw, and small blisters were forming. Aya grunted at the sight of the inflamed flesh, wincing internally at the thought of how painful the sores must be.



He turned the water on, being careful of the temperature, not wanting to scald the irritated wounds. When the water reached the right temperature he moved the stool under the fine spray then stripped and stepped behind the lanky figure; soft, soap-covered washcloth in hand. He traced the cloth over Yohji’s shoulders, neck and then down his back. The delicate touch caused the tall Eurasian to shiver in response. He could feel Yohji’s muscles relaxing into his ministrations and the wire-tight tension leaving his shoulders. Just as Aya began relaxing with him, his body resonating with his teammate’s, Yohji burst out and began swinging at him. A few of the blows hit in very sensitive areas, making the redhead see crimson.



“Go away!” Yohji cried. “Leave me the hell alone!”



Aya didn’t have time to think about his reaction. One minute he was responding to the soft, pliancy of Yohji’s body language and the next second, the leggy blonde was attacking him. One of Yohji’s flailing hands made contact with his partially hard cock, causing a surge of pain to shudder through his body. That sensation, along with the shrieking voice drove the swordsman over the edge of sanity. He grabbed Yohji’s hair and smashed his face against the smooth tile of the shower stall, grunting with satisfaction at the sound of flesh striking ceramic.



Yohji swung out, his bony fist making contact with Aya’s hipbone, causing the redhead to double over with pain. While the blonde’s punch wasn’t as hard as it had been before the accident, the pain drove Aya from extremely pissed straight into totally insane. He doubled up his fist and slammed it into Yohji’s jaw. The Eurasian flew off the stool, landing on the cool, slick tile of the shower on his knees and elbows.



Aya pounced. The prostrate figure called to him and he forced the golden head down. He repeatedly rained blows and kicks down on the defenseless figure kneeling in front of him. With one swift move, he shoved one finger deep into the small, brown pucker presented to him. The quickly moving water acted as a lubricant; a poor one, but it was better than nothing. He groaned at the sensation. The slick muscle alternately gripped then fought to expel the foreign object. Every time he felt the pressure trying to force him out, Aya became increasingly angry.



“What’s the matter, Whore?” he growled, two years of frustration, desire and overwhelming lust breaking through his calm facade. “You can give everything to that arrogant bastard of a German, but when one of your team members wants to repeat the situation, you become suddenly shy?” He thrust another finger in with his first one. He knew, in theory, what he should do and began to scissor his fingers. He felt a small bump that was different from the rest of the area. He began to mercilessly stroke that spongy lump, stimulating Yohji from the inside. He closed his eyes and began to stroke the throbbing flesh that hung between his own legs. When Yohji and he groaned in tandem, sanity returned to Aya.







* * * * * *







Omi had come upstairs to check on Yohji and to find Aya. The redhead was late for his shift in the shop and Ken’s soccer team had come looking for the athlete. This deviation from Aya’s normal behavior worried the teenager. Ever since Yohji hurt himself, Aya had been acting strange, more on edge than normal - quicker to anger and slower to return to his senses. For some unknown reason the fact that Aya hadn’t shown up for work bothered him and Ken finally agreed to let him go and look for their volatile team member.



A scuffle from the bathroom drew him on, like the moonflowers enticed moths. Aya’s low rumble growled from behind the closed door and Yohji’s slightly higher voice whimpered. Without a second thought, the young computer genius picked the lock and walked into one of the most horrifying sights that he had ever seen.



Yohji lay, curled up on the floor of the shower, blood dribbling from one corner of his mouth and his tall frame pulled into a tight, fetal position. Aya stood over the fallen form, his hands clenched into fists and his naked form shaking. Very little of what could be called sanity remained in the blank stare of Weiss’ leader. He turned his head and glared at the petite blonde.



“You finish getting him cleaned up, Omi,” Aya snarled. He walked toward the stunned youth, picked up his scattered clothing and walked out of the bathroom.



“Yohji!” Omi cried, rushing to the man’s side. “What the hell happened? What did he do to you?”



“Nothing, Omittchi,” came the soft reply. “Would you please help me finish what he started?”



“Okay… what’s left to do?”



“Just my hair. If you’ll hand me the bottles, I think that I can wash it myself.” Yohji used the stability of the wall next to his left hand to help him rise to his feet.



Omi clucked over the taller man like an underage mother hen, making sure that all the soap and conditioner were washed out of the golden tresses before he helped Yohji out of the shower, handed him a towel and his clothes when he was ready for them and then led him carefully back to his apartment. They opened the door to find the room straightened, ashtrays emptied, bedding changed and the window opened to let in the soft summer air. Although the room carried traces of the redhead, Aya wasn’t in the room. Nor was he anywhere to be found on that floor.



Omi got Yohji settled and went looking for the unofficial leader of the team. Aya’s door stood cracked open, the unique scent of roses and something green and woody drifted out into the hallway. The total silence told the little blonde where he might find the cold, emotionless man. There would be only one place that Aya would retreat to, the dojo. Perhaps he would find the peace in the timeless rhythm of mind, muscle and steel. And Bombay intended to destroy that fragile tranquility. What he had witnessed in the bathroom disturbed him greatly. To see the fresh bruises on Yohji’s body and to know that Aya had put them there appalled him. Granted, Yohji was acting like an idiot but that was no reason to beat the crap out of the injured man and he would make that very clear to the ice prince (as Yohji called him).







* * * * * *







Aya had rushed out of the bathroom, thoroughly disgusted with himself. To lose complete control – that was inexcusable. Why did he do that to Yohji? Was it the stress of watching another person that he cared for almost die at the hands of evil men? Or did Mastermind corrupt his thoughts and feelings the morning that he informed Aya of the liaison between the two over-sexed men?



Aya shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He raced into Yohji’s room and quickly straightened the mess up. Fortunately, the tall blonde couldn’t move too far from the bed without help, so most of the disorder had focused itself around the humongous monstrosity in the middle of the room. He changed the sheets, took out anything that might trip the Eurasian up and opened the one window to let the fresher air from outside to sweep any remaining foul odors out of the room. The soft whine of the water racing through the pipes warned him that the shower would soon be done. He grabbed up the soiled linen and sprinted out of Yohji’s room, making sure to close the door behind him.



He placed the dirty bedding in the hamper that rested in the hallway between the two rooms and took the stairs two at a time, heading for the sanctuary of his bedroom. After he entered the cool darkness, it dawned on him that this room wouldn’t be the refuge that he had hoped it would be - Omi could get just about any lock open in well under a minute. He snatched his katana out of its cradle and hurried down to the relative quiet of the dojo. Here he could work through his emotions and the events of the day. The soothing repetition of the katas would re-center his world and from there he could rebuild the protective walls that he kept tight around his heart. Somehow the thick ice of his protections had begun to melt and it left him feeling small and vulnerable.



He took a deep breath and began to slow move through the prescribed patterns, each one bringing him closer to the glacial aloofness that he once called his own. He chanted a mantra under his breath; “I need no one. I want no one. I don’t deserve to be loved. Neither Grim Reaper nor Angel of Death, I am just a murderer.” Over and over the words slipped past his lips. Slowly, he began to repair the damaged and melting walls.



His good intentions lasted until Omi cornered him in his lair. The small blonde showed no fear as he stared down the business end of Aya’s katana, his ocean blue eyes hard and flat.



“Why Aya?” he asked.



“Why what,” Aya growled, slipping the sword back into its sheath.



“Why did you do what you did to Yohji?”



“I got sick of his attitude,” he snapped, glaring at the boy. “Beside, the whore deserved it.”



Omi staggered back from the venom in the redhead’s voice. He raised an ineffectual hand to protect his face from the lethal edge of Aya’s words.



“Do you recall the night that I waited up all night for the slut?” he sneered. “And remember what we did after he slept his drunk off?”



“Do you mean his birthday?”



“Mm-hm. We threw him a party because we had forgotten his damned birthday.” He took a menacing step toward the smaller figure. “We knew that he had been out slutting around, but do you realize who he was with that night.”



“No,” Omi softly said. “Who was he with?”



“None other than Mastermind.” He gave the young man a sharp smile when he gasped. “That’s right; our dear, sweet little whore spent the night with the madman from Schwarz. He’s been sleeping with the enemy and maybe this accident was karma. He’s getting just what he deserves.” He turned his attention from Omi and back to the fixed patterns of the sword dances that he had been working on, all hope of clearheadedness and tranquility lost in a sea of conflicting emotions and over-stimulated hormones.







Omi quickly processed the information he had been given. What Yohji did in his free time, as long as it didn’t effect the team, was the tall blonde’s own business. But Aya’s response to the whole thing confused the boy. For someone who wore such a cold facade, the redhead was showing some very seriously demented tendancies. Or maybe it was just a good, old-fashioned case of the green-eyed monsters. From now on, either he or Ken would have to be present when Abyssinian and Balinese were together. He nodded his head at that thought and then retreated back to the shop, offering to take Aya’s place for this one afternoon.



* * * * * *







Yohji sat trembling in the middle of his clean bed. The pleasant numbness of shock had worn off and the reality of what had happened between him and Aya left him feeling devastated, frightened and depressed. Finally, all of his chickens were coming home to roost and he knew that everything that had happened was the karma that he racked up over the last two years. Even a dead man had to follow the unwritten rules of behavior or else he faced a lifetime (or would that be a death-time?) of penalties. Somehow Aya had found out about the little tryst that he had had with Schuldig the night of his birthday. Yohji had a good idea of where the information had come from, knowing the perverse German.



He had moved slowly toward the door, feeling his way and being careful of Aya’s hand wrapped in the greasy strands of his hair. He knew that he should have taken a shower days ago, but couldn’t work up the energy to do it. For the record, there were a lot of things that he didn’t have the strength to do anymore, like getting out of bed, changing his sheets, his clothes, eating or hauling his scrawny ass down to the shop to help the others. The last one would be the hardest to do. He couldn’t stand the thought of all the fangirls fussing over him and staring at him with pitying looks. He realized what they would see when they saw him…. a cripple, someone who needed help to do the simplest things everyday. He couldn’t live with himself like this. If he just sat in the dark, then he could convince himself that he was fading away, ceasing to exist. This was his punishment for the life he led. The gods were chastising him for a lifetime of cheap booze, cheaper sex and cut-rate deaths.



The incident in the bathroom could easily be explained. For the first time since his accident, someone had been touching him in a way that wasn’t pitying or distressed and Yohji’s body let him know that it really appreciated the tender, almost erotic touch. But that couldn’t be – it had been Aya giving him the bath, Mister Don’t-Touch-Me prickly pear, the king of standoffish behavior. But the energy that pulsed down Yohji’s spine couldn’t be ignored; he let a small moan escape from between slightly parted lips. That sound had awoken him from the haze of good feelings. There he was, allowing Aya to wash his hair and do the things that he used to be able to do for himself. The frigid redhead who, in the past, had ignored the subtle passes that he made. He’d screamed and lashed out, knocking Aya’s hands away from his body.



The worst thing about what occurred in the shower was the fact that his body wanted the abuse. After all this time, Aya started to do some of the things that he had dreamed of him doing, but instead of it being the wonderful passionate time that he had imagined, it left him feeling hollow and empty. Why was it that every time he found someone that he might be able to love, things went to shit before it could progress beyond the physical. Ever since Asuka died, shot down like a dog on the street; his life hadn’t been worth a brass nickel. This thing with Aya proved that he had no right to be loved.



He was everything that Aya called him. No, he was worse. He hadn’t asked for payment from the psychotic German. He never asked for a fee from any of the countless one night stands that he had had over the last twenty-four plus months. That made him a slut not a whore. Tears trickled down his cheeks, leaving their tracks of fire down his icy cheeks.