Elohim Dreaming - Weiss Kreuz Writing Challenge

These are drabbles/ficlets in response to the Weiss Kreuz writing challenge I posted at my livejournal: http://beautifuldorian.livejournal.com/185766.html

I will add more as they are requested and written.



Seeing as this is a pairing writing challenge, and all the characters are male, these WILL BE YAOI. Enjoy. If you don't like it, don't read these.




I do not own Weiss. Koyasu does. And he's remaking them into Velvet Under World, with some weird ass outfits.



These do not all take place in the same universe!




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This first one is rated a HARD M for GORE AND BLOOD. It's Farf-centric, people, it's messy.




Okay, there was just no way I could make this a sex scene in any way. But it's close.




for lj user- 'delfeus'




(Farf x his angst object, which in this case is Ruth; theme is 'forgetting something')




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Elohim Dreaming





The blanket was laid over his lap, and the man stroked it. He knew he was dreaming, because it wasn't bloodstained, and he could see out of both of his eyes, and he had forgotten his knives. He never forgot one, even if only to nibble on it. That alone let him know he was sleeping.




That, and he'd long since killed the woman sitting across from him.




And yet here she was, as young as he remembered, smiling at him. The cross around her neck was enough to make his lip twitch, and he didn't hear a word she said. He supposed this might be more of a memory than a dream - except that he looked back with a mind that held nothing but hate for her. She prattled on mindlessly until finally he grew tired of hearing her treacherous voice.




"Shut up," he spat raspily, and the woman quieted, startled. The little kitchen, aglow with late afternoon sunshine, hardly seemed the place for that voice. Logically she should have cared that he wasn't a child anymore. But Farfarello didn't care about logic.




"Jei," the woman tried again, and the next thing out of her mouth was a scream. Farfarello launched himself across the table, snarling, to wrap hands around her neck. Killing her a second time would be fun. As her eyes bulged out, a thought crossed his mind - he could make it last. This was a kill he wanted to savor.




But he didn't have any knives.




Looking down at her, he frowned. Her face was turning blue, and her hand beat at him feebly. Finally he just sank his nails into the tender skin on either side of her trachea, and PULLED.




As her throat was ripped out with a messy gurgle, he watched the blood spill over his lap, soaking the blanket, turning white angel wings red. There, that was how it was supposed to be.




Later, when Farfarello awoke, he was smiling, and when Schuldig came to let him out of his straitjacket for the day, he laughed. The telepath just scowled at him, a scowl that deepened when the usual command to relinquish his blades resulted in nothing.




"You have to be hiding -some-," the German hissed. "Fork them over."




Farfarello merely smiled. "You forget, Schuldig," he cooed, wandering past him out the door. "I don't always need knives."




Even Schuldig was a little unnerved to see the red under Farfarello's nails - but that was just because he'd been the one to supervise the lunatic's shower last night, and they'd been clean when Farf had been locked up. The redhead glanced around, but there was no blood anywhere in the room; it didn't smell of it, and Farfarello had passed a very quiet, firmly tied up night, so it couldn't have been from anything self inflicted...





Shaking himself out of such eerie thoughts, Schuldig quickly followed Farfarello out the door. He'd do well to remind Farf that if he didn't need knives, -he- didn't need his gun, but both of them needed to be to the meeting on time to prevent another golf club special from Fat Fuck Takatori.




Leaving the incident behind him, Schuldig could nonetheless overhear Farfarello singing to himself on the drive out.




Sleep now my darling, lay down your head

Lay down and dream, safe in your bed

Close now your eyes, and you will see

Death, sweet Death, your last gift from me...










sin sin





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These do not all take place in the same universe!




*************




this second one is rated PG-13 for language, thoughts of sex, the weirdness of Brad/Omi




for lj user- 'hetanoitio'




Brad x Omi, theme of 'meeting in public'




Cause hey, with him as Persia, this is eerily possible. And yes, Schuld picked the title for the piece.




*************





The Enemy of My Enemy Is Fair Game for Pickup Lines





The place was subtly lit and classy; the leather of the seats was brushed smooth so as to never stick to bare skin, not that there was an excess of such to be seen here. Crawford was seated at a table against one wall, gazing out over the dancefloor with something like a smile on his face. He was something like a regular here; they knew his face if not his name. The two fat ice cubes, the only evidence of the whiskey he'd drunk, clunked together in the glass as they settled. He was just thinking about ordering another when he noticed just who it was at the next table over.




Tsukiyono Omi cut a dashing figure in a navy pinstriped suit; it was so well tailored that it made him look nothing but handsome, minimizing the fact that he hadn't grown much at all. The length of his hair, now drawn back into a ponytail, had thrown Brad off at first; six years could make such a difference. He never would have thought to encounter any of Weiss alive again, much less here in Milwaukee. How had little Bombay made it so far? Far from the youth Crawford remembered, the man sitting there was composed and his face, no longer so babyishly cute, was appropriately shielded as those eyes - still as blue as ever - roved over the menu.




Perhaps the whiskey made him bold; perhaps it was time. But most likely it was the flash of a vision that caught him - hot kisses, tangled sheets, buckwheat hair under his hands - that caused him to stand up with a smile, step over to the next table, and sit down. "Tsukiyono-san," he greeted warmly, hoping the Weiss wouldn't make a scene. Then again, if he'd looked the type to make a scene, Brad wouldn't have been attracted.




Rather than jump and be flustered, as he might once have done, Omi glanced up from the menu to offer a polite smile. "Please, I go by Mamoru now, Mr. Crawford." His accent was almost nonexistent, and nothing of his reaction showed on his face, though Brad was pleased to note that his fingers twitched once against the tabletop.




Even more interesting yet was the way those blue eyes swept over him. Into his thirties, Brad was still handsome, cream suit and all, and judging by the faint smile that cropped up on Omi's face the younger man had taken note of it. "Mamoru, then - if you'll call me Brad."




Surely enough that sparked startlement on the kitten's face. "You...?" The question was plain in his voice.




"So much time has passed, I feel like we are completely new people," Crawford said lightly, but his eyes glittered behind his glasses, and Omi felt himself smiling and leaning closer across the table.




"Then it's very nice to meet you, Brad," Mamoru said with what he knew was a provocative smile.




That was okay, though. Being held into the sheets would be a good ending to the night. Or perhaps against the wall in the corridor - or the elevator. Brad could see it already, but Mamoru couldn't, and he was a little glad for that. Things were always so much more fun when they were a surprise.




Later, when he showed Brad just how much he'd changed, the American might have been tempted to agree.






-sin sin-