title: Black Coffee and Cigarettes
fandom: Weiss Kreuz
characters/pairings: Aya/Omi
rating: Teen/Mature
warnings: smoking, mentions of various sexual acts
summary: Omi indulges himself in some bad habits.
notes: the title for this fic comes from a throwaway line in the Crow (awesome movie). when Darla is trying to make breakfast for her daughter (whose name escapes me at present) and when her first offer is sneered at, she comes back with, what do you have now? black coffee and cigarettes?
smoking is bad. as my mother's recent lung cancer scare proves... don't smoke.
also, this would be the third in a loose series of fics. the first is Dangerous Comfort, the second is Watching. but neither of the other two are necessary for this. they are mostly joined by the fact that each has a mirror fic, in another fandom (Batman) under another pen name (nw's chick). so, don't think plagiarism on the off-off-chance that you come across both. ^_^

It's a bad habit, I know, but it's not one I indulge in often. It's something I picked up when Weiss had disbanded. I don't remember when, exactly, I started, but I never really started.

And before I start lecturing myself, let me state it clearly; I haven't even finished a single pack so far, and I started more than six months ago, so it's not an addiction.

There's just something about how foul it is that makes me crave it sometimes.

I'm pretty sure Yohji doesn't even know. I know Ken doesn't know, or else I would have been lectured already. Aya doesn't like it, but he also doesn't like to lecture me anymore. I guess the occasional fuck makes it impossible for him to play father-figure anymore. Whee.

I've got my feet up on the chair opposite me, despite the fact that the wrought iron is cutting into my ankle. It's the position I want, not the comfort. It's early, still, the pre-dawn light clarifying everything, even the trail of smoke I'm making as I exhale.

Yes, it is a filthy habit. But bad habits are unavoidable.

Across the patio, Aya is doing his morning forms. He moves elegantly, and I sort of wish there was a mist for him to cut through as he moves his hands and legs, because it would look damn dramatic. But he still looks good. He's wearing those long, white, silk pants that remind me of a samurai. The fabric flutters around his flesh as he moves, and it looks good, like the slow-motion shots in a Hong Kong Kung Fu movie. Nice stuff.

His chest ain't half bad either, covered in nothing but the sweat from his body, and there's not much of that to cover him.

Just his morning exercises, but even though we were up working half the night, he still gets up at five to go through them. Woke me up, too.

Hence, the black coffee and cigarettes.

The coffee is still hot, enough to burn a little, but I swallow it fast. Cold coffee is pointless, especially this coffee. This isn't Yohji's coffee. This isn't a Kona blend, or a designer brew. This isn't even the stuff you buy at the doughnut shop.

No, this is scum. This is cheap, generic, disgusting swill, but it's bitter enough to make the cigarette taste palatable. Cheap coffee, cheap cigarette, and a finely toned man doing exercises not fifteen feet from me. Not bad.

I take another drag, and let the ashy burn bleed the sensation from my lungs. I push the air out slowly, tipping my head back, so I can watch the smoke come up out of me.

There was a time, not long ago, when I was ready to give in. When I was ready to throw it all over. When I felt, for the first time in my life, like I was alone, and I would always be alone.

It was not a feeling I was equipped to deal with.

In those days, this morning wasn't something I would have even dreamed of. I wouldn't have thought that we could all come back, much less that I would find my way into his bed. I don't even know how it happened. One day, he was ignoring me like usual and I was following him like a damned stray puppy like usual, and the next we were getting slick and dirty between the sheets.

Maybe that isn't too surprising.

But I know that I needed this. I needed more from him than before. I needed to grab him by the ears and put his face between my legs and get him to suck me off. I needed him to throw my legs over his shoulders and pound into me like a jackhammer. I needed to spread him out in front of me and make a feast of his body. I needed to be able to hold his naked body against mine and fall asleep reassuring him that this was ok.

Maybe that's a bad habit, too, but I can't help what I crave. Much.

He's finished his exercises, and comes over to me. He takes the cigarette out of my mouth and stumps it out without comment. I don't even look at him, but I smile. I guess he has his limits.

The sun is now rising over the buildings to the east. The flower shop's roof is only half accessible, so behind us are the apartments Aya and I live in, and in front of us is the meager skyline we have in this corner of the city. I haven't always felt like the two of us had much of a relationship. I idolized him, and he was sort of fraternal or paternal to me. Until we found out who my family was, and then I felt like he would hate me.

He didn't. He said my name was Tsukiyono Omi, and not Takatori Mamoru.

We left this business, and lived normal lives. Or pretended to. I didn't want to be a killer anymore. I didn't want to feel guilty. But as much as I like to think otherwise, I am a killer.

The man wiping himself down in the chair next to mine is one too. I don't know if he ever thought about it, but for his sister he was willing to do what was necessary. And whatever else that came along the way as well.

But, well... Things are different now. He used to know exactly who his enemy was. He knew the name and everything. He had revenge. Now, he has a mission, and the enemy is more elusive. He tried to be the same strong, stoic man he was before, but it didn't work. Not when he didn't know where his sister was.

Maybe that's why he needs me, too. Maybe that's why he's starting to accept that we are the same. He's not there yet, but he gets closer every time he initiates.

I'm not rushing it. I've got plenty of time. The sun isn't even half over the skyline, yet.

"How's your breakfast?" He's being sarcastic, but that's the closest he comes to being funny, so I smile at him.

"I don't like coffee without cream." I tilt my cup and look disapprovingly at the contents, as if it were the fault of the coffee that it was black.

He furrows his brow in a manner that is so Aya, I can only smile more. I take a swig, and then slide to the ground between his legs. I grin at him with a mouth full of coffee as I pull at the ties on his pants. He grins at me, and arches his back.

Holy mother of fuck, he is gorgeous.

I don't care if he doesn't say he loves me. Yet. I don't care if neither of us is really ready for anything more than camaraderie and sex.

Bad habits have their purpose.