Hollow
Medea Dracena
Rating: PG-13
Category: Drama/Romance/Angst
Summary: "This victory was bittersweet. Short-lived. Hollow"-In the aftermath of Yohji and Aya's short-lived affair, Aya wants his revenge and he gets it using the one that truly holds Yohji's affections.
Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz is copyright Koyasu Takehito, Tsuchiya Kyoko, and Project Weiß and no trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: About time I wrote a normal, non-PWP fic, huh? I don't know that to do with this fic except that I'd like to continue with it. Tell me what you all think and whether I should scrap it or keep it!

REVISED 11/09/02 - Sapphire just pointed out that this had no paragraphs. Terribly sorry for the layout, I only just realised that this was saved as a word document and not in my usual html format. Sorry once again, here it is with the paragraphs ^.^;

*~*~*~*~*

Aya was leaning against his doorway, the door open behind him and the bed easily seen past his lithe form. Tangled up in the crumpled sheets atop the redhead's bed, lay the slender body of the youngest Weiß member.

Blond hair fanned out across the pillow and a lock fell over his closed eyes. He was lying on his side with arms stretched out in front of him like a napping kitten and his legs twisted together in the sheet, said sheet sitting precariously low on they boy's hips. His chest rose and fell with each intake and exhale of breath, creamy smooth skin like porcelain in the fading sunlight and the faint traces of scars nearly invisible against the pale skin but shining faintly like light on silk. His lips were slightly parted, only barely seen past his shoulders; pink lips so soft and pliable.

Yohji looked from the sleeping angel on the bed to his shorter team mate. The faint trace of smugness hung in the air around the redhead. A small smirk had somewhat curved the man's lips. Cold, hard violet eyes boring into the oldest assassin, ripping their way through Yohji's exterior to see the roiling emotions inside. One particular feeling overrode the others, festering like a disease and spreading through him like fire. From the tips of his hair down to the very nails on his toes, he felt a deep-seated hatred for the man leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folded across his bare chest as he wore only a set of cotton boxers. Pale limbs so much like the boy on the bed, but the sweetness that emanated from Omi was no where to be found on this man.

There was no sound as the two men silently sparred with each other, jealousy and victory like electricity between them. The burning through Yohji's body was the complete opposite to the ice that had settled over the redhead. Aya wanted to hurt the playboy, and he had; he wanted to see Yohji irked and envious of him, and he was, yet this sense of triumph that had come with taking the prize was empty. He did not show it, but seeing Yohji so hurt, angry, and jealous did nothing for him. It did not soothe the pain inside of Aya and it did nothing to quell his pure and utter love and bitterness for the man.

"You fucking bastard," Yohji swore softly, not wanting the boy inside the room to wake up and witness the confrontation between the two oldest members of Weiss. "I didn't think you'd sink so low."

Aya stood unfazed before the man, his eye-contact not wavering from the green globes smouldering upon him. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I thought that you would keep this between us," Yohji replied, his voice still low and hard. "I thought you had morals,"

Aya gave a derisive snort and shook his head in mock amusement. "Morals? We're assassins, Kudou. We may kill to save others, but we don't have the same morals as normal people." He pushed away from the door and looked over his shoulder at the boy on his bed, the smirk that had graced his lips coming back as a faint smile that enraged Yohji's further. "What are your morals, Kudou? I don't recall ever seeing you put off about sleeping with people who were married, engaged, or otherwise having already been staked claim upon."

"They were all willing, Aya, and you know it."

The smirk was wider than ever now. Yohji had just handed Aya the perfect ending remark on the proverbial silver platter.

"Who says Omi wasn't willing?" and with that he shut the door in Yohji's face, the victory still meaningless but he relished the look of pure emotional damage that had shot through Yohji like a lance anyway.

Making his way over to the bed, he sat down on it and brushed away the lock of hair that had fallen across the boy's closed eyes. The adorability that encircled Omi was intoxicating. Even though he was lying naked and just half an hour ago was wantonly giving himself up for the first time-to the stoic redhead, no less-his innocent beauty stayed with him. He really was an angel.

Bending down, Aya brushed his lips across Omi's forehead, fingers caressing the smooth plane of blushed cheek softly so as not to wake the teen up. Moving away, Aya walked to the connecting bathroom, shedding his boxers halfway and not bothering to close the door as the hiss of water soon filed out into the otherwise silent room. The redhead stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading down him and making his sated body shiver with pleasure.

Back in the room, ocean-blue eyes opened and stared at the contoured backside belonging to Aya. The shower stall was normal glass, not even mottled, and his position on the bed gave a most perfect view of lean limbs attached to a wiry body. Of warm arms reaching up to lather shampoo in the red locks haloing the man's head. Aya's eyes closed as he tipped his face up into the spray of the shower to let the water wash away the lather clinging to him body and Omi's breath hitched. The man's beauty was surreal.

Omi had been awake throughout Aya and Yohji's exchange, though he had tried to control his breathing and also not fidget as he listened to the angered words from Yohji and the cool comments tossed back at the honey-blond from his redhead lover. He had not known what they were talking about exactly, but he did know from the tone of Yohji's voice that something was very, very wrong and it wasn't only Aya that had wronged, it was Omi as well.

Thoughts ran through his head, jumping from place to place as he tried to think of any events that had happened recently that had made the playboy so cold towards their leader. It had not affected the team's dynamics any, but then again, Yohji was nearly always paired up with Ken for missions, Yohji for long distance work and Ken for hand-to-hand combat, while Omi was usually Aya's back-up.

Without noticing, the shower had stopped and Aya had stepped out, drying himself and wrapping a navy towel around his slender waist. His red hair was darkened with water to a burgundy colour, the two ear tails hanging in tendrils and dripping water from the ends. Gods, the man was beautiful and Omi felt himself grow hot again, admiration and awe backing up the heat rising through his body.

"You didn't sleep long," Aya commented, his voice not at all detached and uninviting like it usually was. It wasn't warm and did not assure of happiness either, but it was enough for Omi to know that the redhead cared.

"I'm not that tired," he said softly, eyes roaming over the lean chest. He couldn't get enough of drinking in the sight of the man. Smooth skin and corded muscles rippling through a frame made for the graceful dance of swordsmanship. Long, fine-boned hands that were like an artists, fit for a life full of peaceful paintings and wistful poems, yet they held the katana between them. Instead of art and literature, the art of swordsmanship had taken hold of those hands and in their own beautiful way they contrasted the delicate hands with the harsh cruelty that was the katana, or maybe it was the harsh mercy that the katana gave to its victims.

Aya had kneeled at the side of the bed, nearly face to face with Omi. He had seen the unasked question in Omi's eyes. The transparency of the boy so endearing and he couldn't help but lean over and softly press his lips to the boy's. It wasn't passionate, like their others, but sweet and tender. A caress of the lips so light, smooth and feathery; a soothing kiss meant to project an aura of calm and convey feeling in a non-verbal and -sexual way.

"Don't worry about Yohji and I. We have problems that need to be sorted out. It has little to do with you." He added the last part quickly at seeing Omi's eyebrows lift slightly, knowing full well that it was a lie and it had everything to do with the little angel perched in his bed. "So don't beat yourself up over it, because I know you will."

Another feather soft kiss and Aya climbed into bed, towel dropped to the floor and Omi's naked body pressed up against him. This is how he wanted it, the warmth of the lithe teen's back spooned against his chest comfortingly, but still, the chill that had been the confrontation with Yohji stayed with him; nagging him.

Planting a kiss to the blond's head, he closed his lids over amethyst orbs, willing the feelings brought up by Yohji to leave him. Somewhere in his being, he felt a small twang of regret powered by old love that had never wanted to leave and was still present in the deepest recesses of his heart. He still loved the honey-blond, but Yohji had never returned it and instead showered it on the teen Aya currently had wrapped in his arms. He cared for Omi a great deal, but he was not Yohji and it was Yohji that he wanted with all his self, though he tried to suppress his longing, especially in the playboy's presence.

Yes, this victory was bittersweet. Short-lived. Hollow.

*~*~*~*~*

Omi: *singsong voice* Oh, Aya-kuu~n! *trails in with handcuffs, gag, etc. etc. *
Aya: *eyes widen* I don't bloody well think so.
Omi: I do.
Aya: *glare* Shi-ne, chibiko.
Yohji: *snicker* You his bitch now, Aya-n?
Aya: *glare* Shi-ne, temee.
Medz: Ooo! OmixAya bondagefic!
Aya: *glare* Shi-ne, onna.
Medz: *warning* Do you want me to write one of those?
Aya: *instant change* Pretty Medz-chan! Nice, lovely, Goddess Medz-chan!
Medz: Review please! *inches away from praising Aya* ^.^;