Linkage:
Fire ~ 4
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Nightclubs were not on Aya's list of favourite places. Too many people, too many hungers, too many distractions. Small talk was a waste of breath, and he had yet to find anything or anyone worth shouting over the music for. But he had a gut feeling, a hunter's instinct, that his prey would not keep him waiting. For that reason, he tolerated the crowd and the noise, moving through it with an air of casual disregard for his surroundings. It wouldn't be long, he decided. Not long at all before Schuldich appeared. Working his way up to the bar, he ordered a beer and claimed a stool. With the cool bottle in one hand, he turned to face the club and rested his elbows on the bar.
The seat gave him a good view of the entrance and the dance floor. Aya's posture earned him no end of dark looks, but they poured off him like alcohol over ice. Nothing mattered but his target. He sipped at his beer, barely tasting it. The music throbbed through the room, shivering along his bones and making his ears ache. How Yohji stood this, night after night, without going deaf.... He shook his head faintly and took another swig of his beer.
In a perfect world, or at least a more honest one than this, he would have called the rest of the Weiss team and let them know about the warehouse and his slipshod plans. Considering it rationally, Aya knew it would have been the better route. He could have dealt with Ken, and even Omi, but the thought of acknowledging Yohji... Then again, he was being hypocritical. Who's betrayal of the team was worse, really? He'd known about Schuldich sooner, but Yohji had gone out looking for Schwartz and failed to report his encounter.
It might not be a moot point, but Aya was determined to make it one. All he needed was for Schuldich to show up, and things to unfold in a reasonable hand-drawn facsimile of his plans. Which was asking a lot, with a telepath involved, but what more could he do?
A flash of red near the door caught his eye and he sat up a little straighter, leaving only one elbow on the bar.
Schuldich ignored -- or at least pretended to ignore -- Aya's presence, sauntering up to the bar and ordering his own drink before turning to him with a raised eyebrow. "Well, well... this isn't really your style, is it . Not unless I'm a lousy judge of character..." and we both know that's not the case, hmm?
Mentally swatting away the voice, Aya shrugged. "We need to talk."
Now both eyebrows jumped in surprise before Schuldich narrowed his eyes in thought. "I see." Rolling one shoulder in a shrug, he raised his glass in a mocking salute before tossing back most of his drink. "Let's go then." Without waiting for Aya's response, he headed for a booth in the far corner of the room. With a smile that was mostly a baring of teeth, Aya slid off his bar stool and followed him.
The booth wasn't empty, but Schuldich convinced the occupants to clear out before Aya got there. Schuldich took the seat against the wall, which gave him a view of the club, leaving Aya to sit with his back to the crowd. Aya slid onto the padded bench and set his beer bottle down on the table with a thump. Schuldich's legs seemed to be taking up all the space below the table, forcing Aya to contort himself awkwardly into place. Minor ruffles in the plan.
"So," Schuldich said, before Aya could get his thoughts in order. "What's to talk about, flower-boy?"
"The warehouse," Aya said, without a clear idea of where he was going with the conversation.
Schuldich leaned back, stretching his arms out along the low back of the booth. "Oh, I see. So this would be the part of the movie where the villain -- played by yours truly, I assume -- spills his entire well crafted, but as yet incomplete, plans to the hero. Of course it helps to have the hero in a comprised, or compromising, situation, which you are not yet in."
"No," Aya said slowly, refusing to be distracted by the fingers ghosting the edges of his memory. Turning his bottle in slow circles, he considered the sweat-ring it was leaving rather than meeting Schuldich's mocking gaze. "No, you read the wrong script. This is the one where the hero has it all figured out, and he doesn't need the villain to spill the beans." Glancing up, he smiled ferally. "But you could confirm a theory or two of mine."
Lazily, Schuldich reached for his glass. "And this is different from my script how, exactly? Aside from the lack of a compromised hero, that is -- a situation which we could... easily remedy."
Shaking his head, Aya left his bottle on the table and sat back. "The difference is, I've already figured it out, Schwartz. I don't need you to explain it all to me --"
"Don't you?" Schuldich asked, leaning forward. "Are you so sure, Abyssinian?"
Hesitation and uncertainty flickered through Aya, followed quickly by the dance of Schuldich's invisible fingers. Images flashed behind his eyes, replaying their last encounter, this time from Schuldich's perspective. The memory of rain dripping through his hair, through his thoughts... the heat of bodies pressed hard against each other, and the chill or being alone in the rain. Aya swallowed hard, closed his eyes momentarily and tried to force a wall between his thoughts and the other man's mental touch. Laughing, Schuldich withdrew, or at least pulled back far enough that Aya couldn't feel him.
"Nice try," he said unevenly. He had to stop and clear his throat, which amused Schuldich.
...you don't think I was really trying...
"Trying my patience," Aya snarled.
Schuldich laughed. Sliding sideways, he managed to hook one leg behind Aya's knee and drag him to the edge of the bench as well. "Come dance," he said, disentangling himself easily.
"What? I don't..."
Of course you don't. But you will.
For a long moment, Aya sat gaping at him as Schuldich beckoned him forward. But the other man's fingers were still in his brain, coaxing memory and response from reluctant cells. The music throbbed, a primal rhythm that dragged his heartbeat into sync with it, and he found his feet carrying him forward into the warmth of Schuldich's embrace.
He'd lost control of the game, the hunt. This was Schuldich's show now, as he'd known it would inevitably be. He'd just hoped to stay on top of things a little longer, extract some actual information. But Schuldich knew the doors in his head. Hell, Aya had practically flung them open the other night, in the rain. And for what? A few seconds' warmth.
...I could make it last longer... Schuldich whispered, his thoughts soft as silk against Aya's.
Shaking his head, Aya watched his traitorous arms slide around Schuldich's waist. His body, suddenly as graceful as in combat, slid into the rhythm of the music, curling against the warmth of Schuldich's body. Images danced through his head -- bodies intertwining, hands, mouths, cocks -- and with a sound that was half a growl and half a sob, he ground his hips against the other man, suddenly unable to deny the hunger rising in him again. Whatever the rest of the night might bring, he was determined to seize this moment, to take what he could while he could, while it was offered.
...I know what you need...
...understand you... understand me...
The thoughts tangled in Aya's head, his-not-his, until the distinction didn't matter, nothing mattered except their two bodies and the rising pressure and the need for that beautiful warmth suffusing his body.
It was nearly eleven by the time Yohji reached the club. In the crowd at the door, it was suddenly easy to put on his game face, to smile and joke with the bouncer as he paid the cover charge and passed through the door. Inside, the charade slipped away, leaving him cold and nervous. Tension made him irritable, and he dug in his jacket pocket for his smokes, only to find that he'd left them behind as part of his misguided attempt to quit. Cursing himself for a fool, he made his way towards the bar. He had to have something in his hands, and a drink would do.
He scanned the crowd, his eyes searching restlessly for a flash of red beneath the strobing dance floor lights. Each time he caught a glimpse of scarlet, his heart staggered a step out of time. But it wasn't Aya, wasn't Schuldich. Just people in a crowd. Redheads weren't so rare; you could buy the colour in a bottle.
Slouching on a bar stool, Yohji sipped his drink and considered. His gut told him that they'd be here -- hell, it was insisting they were already here -- and he was doing a piss poor job of finding them. The shake in his hand told him the truth he didn't want to face. He was afraid of finding them.
And with that thought, he looked up, straight through the crowd, to the far corner of the room. A flash of red -- no, two -- and he was on his feet, drawn like a magnet to metal. His drink slipped from his fingers, spilling with a crash on the floor behind him. He kept walking, ignoring the muffled outcry in his wake. And then he was close enough to see the flash of green eyes, mocking him, seeing straight into his brain.
Yohji didn't need Schuldich's words to recognize him. His chest constricted painfully as he realized he hadn't been mistaken. Two heads of red hair, moving far too closely together; one body grinding against the other, oblivious to the circumspect looks his actions were drawing.
...so you found us. A little too late, as usual, mmm Balinese?
He must have said something, though he never meant to, because suddenly Ken's voice was in his ear, tangling with Schuldich's voice in his head and rendering both incomprehensible.
"'Why' what? Balinese? What's going on?" Ken demanded.
...why not? Schuldich mocked. You can't give him what he needs. He's not looking for your... darkness...
"Siberian, SHUT UP!" he growled, too disoriented for politesse. There was a shocked silence on the other end, into which Schuldich laughed.
His head was aching, going to explode in a moment he was sure. Raising one hand, he gingerly laced his fingers into his hair and began to back towards the door. "I found them," he murmured.
"Found...! Hang on, we've almost got a lock on your location, we can track --"
...won't be here when they arrive. Should I take him with me?
"No!" he exclaimed, too loudly, to both Ken and Schuldich.
"Yohji... you're moving. Moving away? Following them? Hey, stay put! We need to --"
"No," he said again, still holding his fragile head. He bumped into someone, half-turned to apologize, but found his gaze drawn back to the red-headed pair. Just in time to recognize the long shuddering sigh of release.
"-- something's scrambling your signal. Yohji. Yohji! Are you still there?"
His stomach rolled, threatened rebellion, and he turned, elbowing people out of his way as he all-but-ran for the door. Green eyes lingered on his back, mocking laughter echoing obscenely in his head.
~*~*~
Aya shuddered against Schuldich, his fingers digging hard as claws into Schuldich's shoulder. Even before he began to recover, he recognized the silence in his own thoughts. There was no tangle of his-not-his there, as there had been up until... when? Not long ago, he thought, frowning.
Pushing himself away from the other man, Aya turned to glare out at the crowded club. What the hell had he been thinking? Rubbing himself all over Schuldich like some... cat in heat. He made a face, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. And what was with Schuldich? He was ignoring Aya completely, focused on something....
Aya turned, traced the disturbance through the crowd, and caught a glimpse of an all-too-familiar figure retreating. The comforting warmth in his belly turned to a sudden sharp stab of icicles. He took a step towards the door, but Schuldich caught him by the wrist, twisting his arm up behind his back in a vise-like grip.
"Not so fast, flower-boy. Now's not the time to fuck and run."
For one crystalline instant Aya was completely clear-headed, anger and humiliation twisting through him like twin snakes in his veins. He twisted in Schuldich's grip, raising his foot to stomp on the arch of the other man's foot, and lost his balance as some invisible force clamped down over him, holding him completely immobile.
About fucking time, Naoe. What kept you?
You said you didn't want to be interrupted, Schu. There's nothing wrong with my timing.
Aya's stomach did a slow flip as his heart attempted to beat its way out of his ribcage. He knew Schuldich could very easily have kept him in the dark, left him out of the conversation, and he knew why he hadn't. Schuldich by himself was more than Aya could handle. Add Nagi Naoe into the mix, and the end result was foregone.
Closing his eyes briefly, Aya pushed aside the regret of not telling the Weiss team where he was going, what he was doing. He just hoped the others made it through the night alive. He didn't think much of his own chances to do the same.
"Let's go," Schuldich growled, propelling Aya forward as the force holding him lessened just enough to let him walk. He stumbled forward, his mind gone uncharacteristically blank and numb.
~*~*~
Outside the club, Yohji started walking, fast, in the only direction he could think of -- away. Yanking the earpiece out of his ear, he tucked it and the mic into an inside pocket of his jacket. He didn't want to hear any more questions or accusations from outside his head. There were enough floating around inside, and that was without Schuldich's voice adding to the cacophony.
But as he walked, something came clear in his mind. What he'd seen at the club, that wasn't something Aya would do without a reason. Or so he told himself, viciously silencing the dissenting voice in the back of his head. And whatever Aya's reason, it must be good --
...as good as yours was last night?
-- or he wouldn't be putting himself through that... kind of public display. If his reason was that good, then Yohji -- and Ken, and Omi -- damn well better take advantage of the distraction he was providing. But how?
Cigarettes, he thought somewhat desperately. A car horn honked, too close, and Yohji jumped back in surprise. Something small, white, and excessively quick flashed in front of him and was gone almost before he registered it. Several moments passed before the thought -- Aya's car? -- occurred to him.
"Shit," he swore aloud. Glancing sharply up and down the street, he spotted a convenience store on the corner. Grabbing the earpiece, he tucked it back in his ear and clipped the mic back on his lapel as he stalked across the street and into the store. He emerged with smokes and lighter, lit one and took a long, hard drag on it before speaking.
"Hey," he said quietly. There was a long moment of silence, then the crackle of the connection picking up on the other end.
"Yohji?" Omi's voice, uncertain.
"Yeah. What was Aya doing yesterday?"
"Huh... uh... scouting out the warehouse." Omi's voice gained strength with familiar ground. "He took all kinds of shots and logged a bunch of info -- it's all here on the computer --"
"Great," Yohji interrupted, before Omi could start gushing about technology. "You've reviewed it?"
"Of course. Ken and I went over it..."
"Figured. Meet me there. Be ready for a fight."
Silence again, and then Ken's voice, grim with determination. "Roger that. We'll be ready." A pause, and then, "What about Aya?"
"Aya is keeping Schu... Schwarz busy. Giving us time to move. Let's not waste it." It made sense suddenly, fit perfectly with Yohji's desperate need for an explanation. Ken seemed to accept it as well. Yohji could almost hear him nodding on the other end of the line.
"Got it. See you there."
Yohji nodded, stuck his cigarette back in his mouth and started walking, this time with purpose. He just hoped to god he wasn't leading them all into a trap.
All fiction © 2002-2005 Tavam Shaytar