The Dance

Any comments/critiques/signs of life would be extremely appreciated. It's nice to know when people read, even/especially if you didn't like it :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody in Weiss Kreuz. And until I get myself a rich sugardaddy and go buy them, I'm stickin' with that story.

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He didn't know when he first stopped trying to stab the man, and first started trying to get close to him, just to feel the other's warmth against his skin, but now he couldn't imagine their time spent any other way.

He liked to think that it wasn't sexual… like it was more of a game. Like tag. Dodge this, parry that, and suddenly their thighs were touching; but only for the briefest moment, and then the dance began again.

Farfarello liked the way he smelled. Blood and Cigarettes. It was strange, because Schuldig smelled the same, in a way, although there was something missing from the red-head. Maybe it was the fact that the former's haughty look so easily turned to one of pain… a pain that Farfarello didn't really understand. Was it loss? He wondered if he himself had carried that look long ago, after his family's sudden departure.

His faux family. But that was another story for another day, and right now, he wanted nothing more than to play this game with the blond in front of him. Crawford's gun popped playfully behind him, Aya rolled with a thud into the wall in an effort to dodge; Schuldig had Ken in a headlock off to the side, filling the boy's head with unimaginable horrors; Nagi had Omi in a sort of gentle mental embrace, pushed up against the bricks; and Farfarello… well, he got to play with Yohji.

It was so rare that he got this special chance. Usually Schuldig liked to play with the blond, and although Farfarello couldn't blame him, he found it increasingly hard to pay attention to his current opponent when the sound of the German's gun kept cutting through the air, making Farf wonder if maybe this time, Kudou hadn't been agile enough to escape its blast.

But he always was, and now, Farfarello had his chance. Balinese's wire cut through the air in a series of wide arcs, trying to cover as much square footage as possible. Farfarello's fighting style was sporadic, spontaneous, and the wide arcs revealed the fact that Yohji had absolutely no idea where the Irishman was going to go next. Farf liked it that way. When Yohji was at the peak of his performance, his green eyes lit up, and his cheeks got the faintest reddish tint. And here, he was almost to that point.

Farfarello felt something deep move inside him at the idea, and he made a quick circle around the nearest wire, moving closer, closer to his target. Yes, he wanted to see him up close when he reached that peak. He felt cool metal move against his shoulder, and he moved away just in time to see a smaller circle of wire remove his sleeve and cut a small gash in his skin. He moved fluidly away from that attack, the rolling blood filling him with a surge of euphoria, and suddenly he was much closer to Yohji than he'd ever intended. Farfarello's hand brushed the blond's shoulder. Their legs crossed. His knife, bright and hungry, reached too close for that sweet spot in his opponent's elegant neck. The one that would end it all.

He could see the look of surprise in Yohji's too-wide eyes. The body stiffening, looking for an escape, and finding none. The split-second change in that expression, when Yohji knew he was going to die. And then, accepting it. All of this happened in a moment, with Farfarello's knife swinging in close for that finishing blow, their bodies dancing around and toward each other.

And then, the dance crashed to a screeching halt. Farfarello jerked violently, twisting his arm around, his shoulder slamming against Yohji's chest, pushing them both backwards. And he could feel the wires, which leapt up invisibly around him, tightening swiftly around his neck.

Oh, how easily the tables turned.

Farfarello felt his last breath escape him before his airway closed completely, and he found himself face to face with Yohji, who held the wires tight on either side. Even in his closing vision, he could see the confusion apparent on the other man's face.

Farfarello stared up at him, that one amber eye still blazing, and realized the dance had finally reached its last movement. It looked like Yohji was leading, after all. He grinned slightly, dropping his knife and bringing his hands up to ghost his fingers along Yohji's flushed lips. If this was the end, he wanted something meaningful to get him through his burning eternity in Hell. He brought the face forward, pressing those full lips lightly against his own.

His face felt like it was burning, but not in a bad way, and it felt as though life were returning to his suffocated body. Such was the power of a kiss, he supposed, although this was his first experience with such.

When they finally drew away, he felt dizzy, and was forced to take a deep breath to steady himself. …Wait… A deep breath? He could… breathe? He took another, and noticed his sight was widening again. Yohji was about three feet away, holding his wire in attack mode, and casting quick, nervous glances at his teammates. Farfarello looked around as well, noting that everyone seemed to be lost in their own battle. No, nobody had noticed their near brushes with death, or Farfarello's… victory.

Farfarello felt his neck where the wire had cut into it, and then reached up and touched a finger to his lips. They still tingled softly. Yohji's eyes were on him, now, but neither of them moved an inch, whether to dance or flee.

And Farfarello wanted him.

He wanted him so badly, it hurt. And this pain… this pain, he'd never experienced before. He wanted to get closer to him. To touch him. To tear him apart.

Crawford's mental voice cut through the thick silence between them, calling his team away, and Farfarello obliged, fleeing the scene without so much as a backwards glance.

When they reached the car, he felt… lighter, somehow.

"Hey Farf, where's yer knife?" Schuldig purred, casting an arm around his thin shoulders.

Well, shit.

"You didn't leave it, did you?"

"Nn. Yeah," Farfarello sighed, mentally berating himself.

"What? But you never let that thing out of your sight," Nagi exclaimed in a half-interested tone from the front seat of the jeep.

"Got sidetracked," Farfarello murmured, receding back into his own thoughts behind a barrier far too thick for Schuldig's jeering mental tendrils.

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To be continued?
Comments/crits/random stuff thrown in my direction is VERY appreciated. Thanks!
Jei S.

Note: I have a second part nearly finished, but due to its... exotic... nature, I won't be posting it here. If you'd like to read, please track me down on AFF under jeisvenka instead :)