The Eternal One

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The Eternal One
Chapter One

The knocking was a distant thing – a pinprick of annoyance floating somewhere far away in his personal sea of pleasure that was just too insignificant for him to take notice of.

“Yohji. Someone’s at the door.”

Mumbling incomprehensively and quite unwilling to come out of the early morning half-asleep-and-too-damn-comfy-to-care-about-anything-else haze, Yohji Kudoh pulled the warm body in his arms closer against his chest as he ground his hips sleepily into his partner’s well-formed buttocks.

“Just give me a minute, baby.” He mumbled. “Just another minute and then I’ll rock your world, I promi…” He trailed off as awareness fled. Slipping back into deep, welcoming sleep, he made a quiet sound of contentment and nuzzled his lover’s warm, soft neck. The body clutched so tightly in his embrace began to struggle and he sleepily threw a leg over his companion’s luscious hips. “Okay, okay,” He chuckled lustily. “We can do it now, if you want, just…”

“Damn it, Kudoh, release me!”
The blonde let out a howl as a bony elbow jabbed painfully into his ribs, loosing his grip just long enough for the smaller body to squirm out of his grasp.

The twenty-four-year-old man stretched, luxuriating in the feel of the new silk sheets under his skin – a birthday gift from his love – before he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow to watch one very nude Aya Fujimiya hastily slip into some clothes.

The pale man headed for the door without so much as a glance for his lover, moving like a stalking cat as he swung the door open and glared sleepily at the man who had been knocking so persistently. Ken Hideka made the mistake of glancing toward the bed where Yohji had posed himself purposefully with the sheets draped just so, barely covering his lower extremities, and the athlete’s face turned a surprising shade of red. His eyes snapped back to Aya and refused to move, twitching in a manner most worrying.

The amusement the blonde former playboy gained from all this was almost, almost, worth the pain of being forced to wake before noon on a Sunday morning.
A Sunday morning in which Aya had already promised to stay in bed with him doing whatever he wanted until Yohji was ready to get up.

The blonde narrowed his eyes, humor gone from the situation as he began to think about what he could be doing right now.
Oh yes, dear Kenken was going to pay for this.
And apparently he was already receiving the full force of one of Aya’s patent-pending death glares.

“What the hell do you want, Hideka?” The redhead snarled.

The brunette paused involuntarily, unable to keep from even the slightest hesitation in the face of the rather frightening man’s anger. He shook himself out of the instinctive fear, looking past Aya to glare at Yohji as if it was his fault his lover was scary.

“Manx and Birman are here and they’re threatening to come up here and take pictures if you two don’t get your asses downstairs asap.” He told Yohji, unable to face Aya.

The aforementioned redhead merely nodded, brushing rudely past and into the hallway.
Yohji waited until his lover was out of ear shot before responding.

“Damn both those bitches to hell – they promised!” The blonde exploded, standing and angrily tucking the sheets around his waist. Damn if he would dress for those nosy, interfering bats – not when they ruined what was supposed to be a lazy morning cuddled up with his kitten doing all kinds of naughty things. The two women had sworn not to bother them this weekend – the weiss boys deserved a break, after all - after all the missions they’d had lately.

It had been nonstop for nearly two months now as Krittiker had sent the team after an extremely widespread and horribly well-connected smuggling ring; this was supposed to be their well-deserved break after finally bringing the criminals to justice last week.

Ken waited for him in the doorway knowing, or perhaps only suspecting, that if he didn’t there was a good chance the other assassin would curl back up in bed rather than got dowstairs to the briefing room as he was supposed to.

Yohji refused to acknowledge his presence as he grabbed up his lighter and pack of cigarettes from the dresser and tucked them into the waist of his makeshift clothing after lighting one stick of nicotine. Cigarette dangling from his generous mouth, he quickly pulled his hair back into a low tail.
It was almost comical the way he gathered up the ends of the sheet around his waist like a skirt before stalking from the room, every inch of his lanky form screaming his anger.

Everyone was in the kitchen seated around the table or leaning against the counters. Omi was actually serving breakfast, damn him. Yohji doused his cigarette in Ken’s plate as he passed, grabbing a mug of coffee and positioning himself protectively behind the chair Aya had seated himself in.

“Good of you to join us, Kudoh.” Birman said dryly, amusement plain in her eyes. Yohji began to glare at her, then thought what the hell? And extended his glare to include Manx as well.

“You ladies should either lay off the sweets or lay off the skirts.” He drawled in annoyance. “No one likes a girl with chubby knees.”

“Your charm never ceases to amaze me.” Manx smiled.
Birman arched her eyebrows. “Can we all behave please, children?” She asked, ignoring her own behavior completely.

Mumbling to himself, Yohji buried himself in his coffee, reaching out a hand to pet Aya’s hair. A low growl rose from the redhead’s throat, but he ignored it, letting his hand slip down from the silken strands to his lover’s soft neck and then into the collar of his oversized shirt.

Birman stared at the couple a moment as if fascinated before shaking herself. “Let’s be serious for a moment, please.”

“You’re interrupting our quality time.” Aya stated coldly, surprising Yohji. Normally the man tended to pretend their relationship didn’t exist when it came down to work…but then again he was rather anal when it came to keeping his promises. The two had been together for almost a year now, and they loved each other deeply despite their differences.

It still amazed Yohji.

“Which brings me exactly to my point.” Birman stated with a humorless smile. “Krittiker has found out about your…relationship.”

Yohji felt the blood drain from his face. Simultaneously his hand convulsed around Aya, gripping his shoulder tightly as he stared at the woman now calmly cutting into her omelet. Manx, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed, but the other woman appeared much too at-ease eating the food the now-pale Omi had prepared. The silence stretched so thickly Yohji could barely breathe, but finally the blonde managed to find his voice.

“You fuckin told?” He croaked. The two women had discovered the truth while the relationship had been new and while doubtful that the tryst could lead to anything other than disaster for the team, they had agreed to keep quiet about the discovery.

“We didn’t - !” Manx began to protest.
Birman looked much too innocent as she interrupted. “It was only a matter of time before they began to notice something that changed, boys.”

Yohji’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “So which one of us haseta’ go, then? Wait, let me guess – it’s me, right? No way in hell am I letting us be split up!” He stated fiercly, clutching desperately at his small lover and glaring with all his might. “I’d rather be dead then separated from my Aya.”

“Well, fortunately for you it hasn’t come to that yet.”

“What?” He wheezed, stunned and empty.

“We aren’t splitting up the team, Kudoh.” Manx informed him in a tone that was a mix of pity and I-can’t-believe-how-stupid-you-can-be. “We’re adding another member to it.”

“Adding?” Ken echoed.

“Weiss is one of Krittiker’s most successful teams – the elders aren’t stupid enough to destroy it just on a matter of protocol. Instead, they’re sending in a very trusted agent to come and keep an eye on you. You know: make sure the team still functions with two of its members fucking each other.” Manx stated in an annoyed tone. “He’ll send in reports once a month, and additional reports after the completion of each mission. If weiss continues its legendary success rate, there will be no reason to break up the team. Eventually, we may even be able to pull our man out.”

Omi and Ken exchanged worried looks behind her back. The two had recently begun exploring a relationship of their own after an injury a month ago nearly led to Omi’s death. Their fledgling romance was a tightly guarded secret within the team – one which neither Manx nor Birman suspected the slightest hint of. An addition of a new team member would make things even more difficult for the two young men.
Not to mention Weiss’s other secrets the four men would prefer to keep private.

“In three days a young man will come in with an application for employment at the flower shop.” Birman informed them in a bored tone. “You will know this is the correct person because his middle name will be listed as Ragdoll.”

“Radoll?” Yohji snorted. “What a pussy!”

“If you want the chance to remain with your team then hire him.” Birman glared. “If not…” She shrugged gracefully. “If not then it would be wise to have your things packed ahead of time – our operative is instructed to take you with him when he leaves, by force if necessary.” The dark haired woman pushed her chair back and stood and for the first time her eyes held the faintest hint of regret. “Please don’t make the wrong decision. If you two truly love each other, then that should be more than enough.”

Weiss actually had to discuss it after the two women had left – not as to whether or not Yohji could leave the team, but whether or not the blonde and his lover should flee the country. Weiss had far too many important secrets that needed guarding for it to be an easy decision.

But Aya’s sister was in Japan, and Krittiker would never be willing to let the redhead go anyway. If they ran, they would be pursued forever.

“We’ll just have to be extra careful to keep certain things from the operative.” Omi said finally, quietly. Aside from his and Ken’s budding relationship there was something else. Something with far more potential to ruin a great many lives.

Weiss was too lucky. Too many of its missions ended in success where they should have ended in death for the four boys. Injuries healed themselves in seconds, bullets missed vital organs my millimeters, enemies tripped and fell at just the right moment.

The team of four went up an entire army and survived.
This had all gained the attention of someone they had rather not have had on their backs. But he kept the information from their bosses, protecting Aya, and it was thanks to that interference from the telepathic bastard that they had eventually discovered just why they were so lucky.

Aya had the power to bend reality around him.

He was a catalyst.

If Krittiker discovered this, not only would they never let the pale redhead go, but he would be due for no small amount of “retraining.” None of them harbored any illusion that when this was finished Aya would be nothing but a puppet in the hands of his masters.

Krittiker-could-not-discover-the-truth.

“Awfully big elephants to hide in a place this small.” Yohji observed around his cigarette, tightening his arms around Aya. The smaller man sat in his lap and showed no inclination toward moving any time soon. He didn’t usually appreciate being groped in front of their friends, but, like usual, he craved human contact when feeling especially vulnerable.

Ken and Omi stood side-by-side against the cabinets, close together, linked only by the entwinement of their pinky fingers. They were still too shy about their relationship for a more entertaining show of affection.
Well, Yohji wasn’t into kiddie porn, anyway.

“You would rather take the risk of leaving?” Aya asked softly, leaning against him and reaching a hand back to stroke his cheek.

“Hell no.” The blonde leaned gratefully into his lover’s touch, planting a kiss against the palm of his hand. “We’ll just cover the elephants with sheets. Call them end tables.”

“So we’re all agreed?” Omi asked. “We’ll hire Ragdoll?”

“I don’t even know why the hell we’re discussing it.” He mumbled. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ve been through too much to just give up; I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“That’s awfully optimistic of you.” Ken said doubtfully.

Yohji buried his face in Aya’s shoulder, sliding his hand up the front of his lover’s shirt. “Big-ass end tables.” He mumbled against his lover’s skin. He stayed where he was, unwilling to move, as he listened to Ken and Omi speak quietly a moment before leaving the kitchen together. He knew the moment they were gone because Aya turned in his arms and began to clutch at him more desperately, nearly straddling him as he hugged him tightly.

“Don’t leave me, Kudoh.” He whispered heatedly. “Don’t let them take you away from me.”

Yohji’s heart broke with the helplessness in his lover’s voice. The fear. No one but Yohji understood the full extent of the small redhead’s self-loathing, or how truly weak he was on the inside. He loved Yohji. Needed him for a reason the blonde couldn’t begin to understand.

“We’ll do whatever it takes, love.” He swore quietly.
Big-ass end tables, indeed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ken sighed and stretched his arms high above his head, back stiff and hurting after a morning spent moving heavy plants and bags of soil, watering all the hanging ferns, and weeding the flower beds. He was tired – but he blamed that on Yohji stealing all the coffee that morning rather than the fact he had stayed up until three in the morning talking and making out with Omi. They still hadn’t slept together yet, but he doubted it would be much longer before the younger florist was ready to take that final step.

The very thought made him turn to look for his boyfriend – it was still a little strange thinking of Omi that way, actually – and he found him behind the counter talking to a female customer.

Stifling a yawn, the athlete let his gaze roam lazily around the flower shop, finding everything exactly as he had expected. Aya was at the work table ignoring the herd of school girls trying to “cheer him up” as he worked on the day’s orders. Ken was fairly certain the girls had a bet going on as to who would be the first to make the cold-as-ice redhead smile first.
Good luck to them.

Yohji hovered nearby pretending to be pretending to sweep while flirting with girls as usual while in reality he was keeping an overprotective eye on his lover – a habit the pale man found exceedingly annoying.

Aya was having a “cold” day, meaning he had recently used his powers. Doing so always left him ice-like, as it used his own energy to fuel his abilities. There seemed to be no other adverse affect other than that, yet it still left Yohji overly worried and frazzled, and it was happening more and more often lately – although the four men might never know just what it was the redhead had done.

Yohji was nearly impossible to deal with on a “cold” day. It was doubtful he’d get any useful work done.

“Ken.” Omi called, waving him over to the register where he was still talking to the same customer. Gratefully, the young athlete turned off the water hose and went to join the younger boy.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, flexing a little – more for Omi’s benefit than for the girl’s. “Need something heavy, Omi?”
The youngest Weiss blushed, looking away as he handed over a piece of paper.

“Ken, I’ve decided we need a little extra help around here. Can you take a look at this application for me, please?”
Heart sinking, he accepted the application and began to scan the shop for

“Ragdoll.” There weren’t many men, but finally Ken settled on a slim boy in a dress shirt and bowtie, large glasses nearly falling off his face. Krittiker loved assassins who appeared to be less than they were.

“Looks good to me.” He agreed, barely bothering to glance at the piece of paper in his hand.

“So, you think we should hire him, then?” Omi questioned, looking at him strangely.

“Sure.” Ken began walking in the direction of the “nerd” assassin, plastering a smile he certainly didn’t feel onto his face. Under different circumstances he might have found the whole thing funny – Krittiker sure could pick strange operatives.

“Where are you going, Ken? I called you over so you could show our new employee around.”

Ken watched as a girl separated from an entire group of other girls and went to the ners, laughingly taking him by the hand. Together they left the shop and the athlete turned confused eyes on his boyfriend.

“Huh?”

Plainly annoyed, Omi motioned to the “girl” he had been talking to. From the front the nearly skin-tight black sleeveless top made it perfectly clear that “she” was, in fact, a “he,” as did the manner in which the boy’s nearly too-slim frame was poured into his tight, faded blue jeans.

He looked much like Aya, actually. Similar, pretty features, pale skin. Violet eyes just a little darker, red hair just a little brighter. It was the hair which had caused Ken to mistake him for a girl; pulled back into a high ponytail, the ruby-colored strands fell in shining waves to nearly mid-thigh.
But unlike Aya, the boy’s eyes were large and seemingly innocent, framed by the thickest, darkest lashes Ken had ever seen on anyone, male or female.
He was far prettier than Ken had thought boys were allowed to be – prettier, in fact, than most women could ever realistically dream of becoming and the only thing that kept the most in that statement was the large, deep scar crisscrossing the boy’s left cheek.

“Ken, this is Kenshin Ragdoll Himura.” Omi informed him, apparently amused by the brunette’s reaction to the sight of their new teammate. He knew he was gaping, and he knew he was lucky that Omi wasn’t the type to get jealous.

The boy looked at him expressionlessly for a long moment before finally reaching out to shake his hand in a surprisingly western gesture.

“Hello.” He greeted.

“Ken, can you give Kenshin a tour of the place and help him move into his room?” The young blonde boy suggested with a hopeful smile. He was actually struggling the most with the addition to a team he considered family, as Ken knew, and was undoubtedly having trouble remaining polite to the stranger.

The soccer fanatic didn’t dare try to argue.

“Yeah, sure.” Ken agreed with a smile he didn’t feel. “Where are you parked?”

“This one was told to park in the back.” The redhead stated in an even, perfectly polite tone.

“Ano…right. And…your stuff’s in the car?”

The boy just looked at him flatly, not rude, but definitely not friendly.

Ken fidgeted uncomfortably. “Well, uh…the kitchen’s this way…”

The small redhead followed him soundlessly though the shop and into the living area, out the back door to where he had parked his car – a small black foreign thing Ken would never have trusted his life to. Kenshin refused help as he gathered his things – apparently all he had brought with him was a sword and a large duffle bag.

Then Ken showed him upstairs to the bedrooms, leading to the one that had been vacated after Aya had officially moved into Yohji’s room. The leader’s furniture was still in there, but most of his personal items had been removed months ago. The boy slid silently past him into the room, setting his things on the bed.

“Uh…I can show you how to work in the shop now if you want…”

“Tomorrow.” Kenshin answered without looking at him, beginning to carefully pull clothes from his bag and take them to the dresser or the empty closet, whichever applied to the garments. Most of it looked like it needed some serious ironing, and almost all of it was well-worn and old – as if the boy had changed homes often recently and hadn’t had the chance yet to restock his wardrobe.

Ken remained rooted to his spot in the doorway, suddenly at a loss. It was best, he knew, if the boy never came down to work in the shop – the less he was around Weiss the better their chances of keeping their secrets, but…

“Is that an authentic samurai sword?” He blurted, staring at the weapon where the boy had set it leaning against the bed.

“Yes.” Thee redhead answered without looking up.

Forgetting his unease, Ken walked into the room and picked up the sword, unsheathing it. “Not an antique, right? Just a really good remake.”

“No, it is genuine.” He murmured. “Please, do not play with it.”

“Sorry. Hey, you know, you should let Aya take a look at this; I bet he’s be really impressed!”

Kenshin turned from his task at last, taking the sword from the athlete and sheathing it in one fluid motion, setting it carefully atop the dresser.

“You needn’t try to befriend this lowly one.” He stated with a small, almost sad smile. “This one’s heart burns with hatred for Krittiker – he will help your team stay together purely for spite.”
Ken laughed, and it sounded high-pitched and panicky. Kenshin’s smile grew a little before he turned away once more.

“Do not be so fearful, Hideka-dono.”

Dono? Ken shrugged and backed out of the room. “I’ll let you know when it’s time for dinner.” He offered before fleeing.