In Five Years by: Van Donovan concept by: Van Donovan and Makkura 6 - 26 June 2000 ----------------------------------- The idea behind this fanfic was to put the Weiß and Schwarz characters in positions five years after the end of Weiß, the OVA, CD dramas and offical stories. The twist was to make it funny by making them in situations that were completely opposite how we thought they'd really turn out. It was a lot funnier when we were planning them, but it's almost morbid sad now. Anyway, if you like it, please email me trowa@trowa.com and/or Makkura MakkuraSei@aol.com and let us know. ^_^ Here's part three! Thanks the comments and for reading! ----- "Mmm, Schuuschuuuu." "Ehehee, like that, eh?" Came the German's deep throated reply as he worked on the supple neck of the once-member of Weiß. Aya giggled and moaned softly as Schuldich left a hot moist trail down her neck. She squirmed a little and pulled away, her hand clutching the steering wheel tightly. "Oooh, stooop." She protested pathetically. "Let's get inside first." She murmured and her hand tried for the handle to the door. Schuldich let up in his kissing as Aya slipped out of the car and he looked up and grinned. "Fine." He agreed, looked at himself in the rear view mirror and then opened the car door on his side and crossed around the Porsche and embraced Aya from behind. "Let's get inside fast now, hmm?" He purred into her ear, nuzzling his mouth between the locks that fell past her shoulder and the little characteristic eartail she had hanging in front of her ear. "I can hardly contain myself." Aya giggled and pulled away. "Oh Schuu, you're so -evil-." She protested and ran towards her apartment door, her heels clacking on the cement. She fished out her keys as Schuldich ran his hands along her flat abdomen. "Mou, let me get the door open." She giggled and then finally opened the door and squirmed out of his embrace. She stepped out of her shoes and ran in to flip on the lights, laughing lightly as she moved. Schuldich followed, stepping out of his shoes as well and closing the door behind him as he looked around. "Nice place." He murmured. Aya looked over her shoulder as she put her purse down on a table and batted her eyes. "I'm glad you like it. It gets lonely though." "Don't have a cat?" "No." "Pity." He purred and wrapped his arms around her as she leaned back into him. "Why're you so affectionate?" She inquired. Schuldich nuzzled her neck and shoulder as he contemplated his reply. "I don't know. This just feels right." He said. "Mmm." Aya murmured, enjoying his touch, letting him lead them to her back room. She sat on the bed as he lay down. "So why'd you do it?" He asked, looking at the ceiling and unbuttoning his shirt. "Do what?" She asked, looked at her painted nails. "Y'know." He said, propping himself up on his elbow and gesturing at her. "This whole thing. Dressing up, changing . . . yourself." He added, trying to be tactful. True, he could read her mind and find out, but he felt there was no need to. Aya curled an ear- tail around her finger as she thought. "You remember my sister?" She quietly began. Schuldich raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, of course. Her'n that little other one that looked sort of looked like her. She was what fueled you." Aya nodded. "That 'other one' was a girl named Sakura." She sighed and bowed her head. Schuldich scooted to her and began gently massaging her shoulders. "Aya, my sister, and Sakura became fast friends after she woke up. The two stayed in Tokyo tending the flower shop where Weiß used to work. I'm . . . I'm not really sure what happened, but, one day Aya had her hair cut. It was really short, with the ear pieces, like mine used to be. She . . .," Aya stopped and shook her head, and then just blurted it all. "She and Sakura had fallen in love." Schuldich's hands froze on Aya's shoulders, but then resumed after a moment. "Aya became more and more like me everyday . . . and she even began using my name. So . . . I began to be more and more like her . . ." "S'th'Nuriko Effect." Schuldich murmured. "What?" "Nothing. So you basically became each other, then? Wow." "Aa, yeah. But, it doesn't matter now. She's happy, and," Aya leaned back into Schuldich's arms. "now I'm happy." Schuldich took that as his cue too start his thing and scooted out from under her and let her lay flat on her back. She smiled demurely up at him as he ran his fingers along her thighs and hips. She arched her back as he pulled himself almost on top of her and kept his hands tracing along her side until he came to the zipper on the side of her skirt. He tugged it down with a soft hiss and slipped his hand inside the loose material, mindful of the silky smooth panties he encountered. Aya's murmurs rose as Schuldich traced along her thighs, and she bent her knees a little, as if eager for him. He wondered how long it'd been since she'd made love to any- one. "You're sure?" He breathed, and she simply nodded her head. Schuldich grinned and bent to kiss her lips as his hand dipped to the crevice between her legs. "All right, then." He said with a smile. What he encountered, however, was not at -all- female. ----- Crawford had Youji pressed hard against the oven, their bodies crushed against one- another, both fighting in their lip lock, tongues battling in a passion induced war for dominance. Crawford had the upper hand, being older, taller and the aggressor, but Youji was putting up a fight and returning the American's advances with abandon. Finally the two pulled away, both gasping, eyes locked on one another, afraid to speak, as if words would destroy what had just happened, but unable to keep quiet, either. Crawford raised his hand to touch Youji's jaw and the other, chest still heaving heavily from the fierce kiss, closed his eyes. Crawford smiled to himself, and bent to kiss Youji again. "Daddy!" A soft voice cried from the other room. Youji went rigid against Crawford and the other pulled back swiftly. Youji pulled the apron off quickly, untying the bow around his waist and tossing the pink thing that he so subconsciously related to sex onto the kitchen table. He straightened his hair and smiled charmingly at Kouji when the little boy ran into the room. Crawford wiped his glasses on his shirt tail and ignored them both, trying to control his breathing, but there was little success. "Daddy, daddy! Akikun called and said I could go over and watch some anime with him and we would have dinner and spend the night and go to the park tomorrow and feed the birds and have a pick-a-nick and, and, and can I go please I did all my chores and mom won't be home and I really want to and I've been good and please can I?" "Yes, yes of course you can. Go get your toothbrush." Youji said, and the boy held up his hand, in which his toothbrush was clutched. Youji smiled and patted the boys' head. Over his shoulder, without looking at the man, he said. "I'll be right back, Brad." Then Youji was gone, taking the boy to Aki's house. Brad ate one of the cookies left on the tray and didn't let his emotions reach the sane part of his brain so he couldn't call his feelings off. After all, Youji HAD responded with the same sort of fierce and neglected -desire- he had shown. He tensed hearing the door open again, and then relaxed when Youji poked his head back into the kitchen. "Still there?" The other said, smirking. Brad raised an eyebrow and the other just grinned. "There are lots more comfortable places to do that sort of thing than against the oven, Brad." He taunted and pulled away from the kitchen and vanished from the American's sight. Crawford, riveted by Youji's desire to continue, pushed away from the oven and began to follow the once-assassin. He froze mid-stride through the doorway and looked over his shoulder, his eyes caught by a pink frill. He paused as a devious grin spread over his face and he doubled- back, grabbed the apron and chased Youji down. Youji was in a bedroom, which Crawford assumed was his alone and not shared with his wife. The American took a certain delight watching the way Youji's eyes widened upon see- ing the apron in Crawford's hands. "You wouldn't." He breathed. Crawford crawled onto the bed and pressed the apron to Youji's chest. "I would." Youji shivered at the look the other gave him and he pulled to his feet and stepped into the adjoining walk-in closet to change. "Then -you'd- best be undressed by the time I come out." He scolded. Crawford called his agreement and propped himself on the pillows of the bed to wait, fully clothed still. Before long, one leg poked out of the closet, long and nude, and it wrapped around the wall, toes wriggling. Crawford found himself smiling. A pink little rump popped out, the frilly bottom end of the apron swaying and Youji stepped backwards, revealing the rest of his body. He frowned seeing Crawford still fully dressed on the bed. "Not fair." he protested, but Crawford was only just staring. Youji realized it was -him- the other was staring at with open amusement and admira- tion and flushed, putting his hands on his hips. He was perfectly aware his own anxious- ness was causing a rise in the front of the apron that was painfully visible, but he could do nothing about it. "If you don't close that mouth of yours, Bradley, I'll have to come over there and shut it myself." He teased, sauntering over, perfectly aware of just how arousing and silly he looked in nothing by the pink apron. He crawled on the bed towards his new lover and tugged on the other's tie, pulling him forward until they could kiss. Crawford took a while to respond and so Youji broke the kiss rather quickly. "Tsk, tsk," He purred, trailing his hands down Crawford's chest and unbuttoning buttons as he did. "I guess -I- have to be the domineering one, hm?" He purred and suddenly that brought Crawford to life. The American's eyes focused on Youji, did a quick sweep of his body, then pushed him flat down on his back and crawled over him, wasting no time in straddling him and taking his lips. Youji put his head back and submitted with a moan, wondering what it was exactly that was so appealing to people about him in a frilly pink apron. ----- Ken sat at a table, head bowed, looking at the plate of food before him dejectedly. He was as paranoid, sober and somber as before, but he at least looked the semblance of normal again. Farfello sat across from him at a table himself, eating daintily with his chopsticks, looking up from time to time at Ken. The Japanese boy wasn't touching any of his food although Farfello knew he must be starved. "Please eat Ken." The former Weiß assassin shivered. "I want to be alone." "We are alone." Farfello confided. "'We'?" Ken cried, his voice breaking. Farfello merely raised an eyebrow, inquiringly. "'We' is two, not one. Alone means -one-!" He shouted. Farfello sighed resignedly and titled his head, one eye focused on Ken, the other glass eye staring creepy-like past him. "If I leave, will you at least eat?" Ken's green eyes darted from his plate of food to Farfello, then back down. "No." He said, and hunched up. Farfello hit his fist on the tabletop. "Dammit! And why not?!" " . . . you could have poisoned me . . . you're Schwarz and all." "Was Schwarz! Listen Hidaka, if I wanted to kill you, I'd've done so in that alley and not wasted the money to clean, bathe, dress and feed you." Farfello was sure he had Ken on -that- point. "You want a clean death, so it looks like an accident." He breathed, looking at the food. "Put in a drug that'll dissolve before the doctors get to me . . . it'll look natural, and no one'll be the wiser." Ken hauntingly replied, his eyes dilated, staring vacantly off across the table. "Ken! What could I possibly gain from killing you? You have nothing, Weiß and Schwarz are both disbanded and I'm -not- psycho anymore! Why should I bother wasting my time killing you?!" "You say you're not insane, but what do I know?! What if this is all your insanity? What if . . . this is all just a mass hallucination!? Stop it!! Leave me alone!!! Take me back!" And Ken stood up, trembling. "Whoa, wait a second Ken, calm down. Okay, okay, I'll take you back." Farfello smoothed. His eyes widened a little as Ken looked down to the tableware settings. There was only chopsticks, but they had glasses, and Ken snatched his up, smashed the end to the table and held the now-jagged end towards him. "Put the glass down, Ken!" He shouted. "NO!!! Kill or be killed!" The former Weiß assassin screamed and began to back up, holding the glass forward to keep Farfello at bay. Ken reached the door, fumbled for the knob, then jerked it open and ran down the hall. "Shit!" Farfello cried and chased after him. He flung the door back open as it had slammed shut and caught Ken as he rounded a corner. "C'mon! This is stupid! KEN!!" But he kept following in pursuit. He also caught Ken as the boy scampered down some stairs and tripped, but the brunette righted himself and dashed down another corridor as Farfello chased him. At least the Weiß member was heading for the basement. There was no exit down there, just Farfello's old room of . . . Farfello flung the last door open and froze. Ken stood inside, panting, his jagged glass forgotten as he looked around the gigantic room. Farfello's eyes too widened seeing the room, feeling a different sort of fiery-blood course through his veins. Ken turned sharply, hearing Farfello cackle, and then the soccer loving man took several steps backwards. Farfello's hands opened and closed expectantly as his eyes danced across the many displays on the walls of the room. "I knew it." Ken breathed, seeing his life flashing before his eyes. Wall to wall was Farfello's old knife collection, coated in thick dust, but still glinting in the overhead lights not the less. Looking at Farfello, one could see the years of therapy and control go right out the door, replaced with that hauntingly evil glare and love for the whetted blade. Ken swallowed, seeing how distracted Farfello was by rediscover -ing his knife-obsession, and inched around the room slowly, hoping to run out of the open door before Farfello remembered he was there. "Beautiful, beautiful." The Irishman whispered, approaching one overly-wicked knife with serrated double-bladed edges, an ivory handle shaped like Death's Head and twin prongs jutting from the side, both sharpened to gleaming. The main blade itself was nearly ten inches long, and Farfello plucked it off it's rack, turning it this way and that, letting it cast back his reflection and that of the lights. "Mmmm." He purred, and licked his lips. He jerked around as he noticed Ken. "I'll bet your blood is a gorgeous red." He crooned, and Ken's eyes widened, and he bolted for the door. "Let's find out!" The Schwarz member screamed and then took off at a dead run chasing Ken. "Yiiiiyiyiyiyii!!!!" ----- Nagi looked over his shoulder as he opened the door to the huge mansion that was Farfello's home. He thought he saw the blonde Weiß member running down the street, so he slipped inside and quickly slammed and locked the door behind him, panting heavily. Of course, it could've been his overactive imagination playing games on him, but he really didn't want to find out. He took a deep breath to calm himself and then smiled and called out to the high-domed foyer: "Errochan! It's me!" He looked around when he got no reply and then started for the kitchen. He froze in the threshold to the foyer and the hall when he heard a scream and a loud crash from down- stairs. "Shit, what was that?" He asked himself aloud as he turned and ran towards the sound. "Errochan? You down there?" He looked into the dining room as he passed, disturbed by the unfinished plates of food there, and broke into a jog, chasing down the crashing coming from the basement door. "He's in the basement? Fuck, the hell is he doing down there?!" Then a scream pierced the air, and it wasn't Farfello's. Nagi's blood ran cold when after the scream came an all-too- familiar: "Yiyiyiyiyiiii!!!" "Shit! FARFELLO!" He cried, flung the door open with his telekinesis powers and charged down the stairs. Somehow Farfello had gotten into the knife room and apparently was going insane with some hapless person who wandered in. He prayed it wasn't a diplomat. "FARFELLO!" He shouted, and winced as the entire basement was cast into blackness. It was typical of knife-loving-Farfello to kill the circuit breakers and plunge the place into dark- ness. "Shit, shit, shit!" Nagi whirled as someone ran past him, and then raised his hand and his eyes flared red as he slammed Farfello back into a wall. He sighed as he heard a groan and the sound of knives, at least four, clattering to the ground. Nagi kept a mental pressure on Farfello, worried about whoever it was the Prime Minister electeé had been chasing. He found the circuit breaker, pulled out the knife wedged in it and managed to restore lights within a few moments. He glanced to Farfello, who was writhing and hissing at the invisible force that held him against the wall, trying desperately to get his fallen knives with his toes. Nagi increased pressure and turned to look for whoever else it was down here. He followed the soft sniffling and bent to look under a table when he found the source. He was surprised to see a former Weiß member hunching there, eyes bloodshot, cheeks rouge, and streaked with blood. "Hey you, it's over." He quietly said, his voice a deep cool kindness. He doubted this one had started the conflict. If Farfello came in contact with his knives, he just flipped. He blamed himself for not checking that the door was locked before he left last time. Ken looked up, relief flooding into his eyes seeing Nagi there, promising an end to the mental torture Farfello had been putting him through. "Aaa," He whimpered, eyes filling with sudden tears. "thank you!" He cried, squirmed from under the table and grabbed Nagi's knees, clutching them like a lifeline. Nagi blinked, tumbled a little and nearly fell on top of Ken. "Hey, whoa." He said and pried the other's arms loose and then knelt by him and let the other man hug him full on. Ken looked strong, but his embrace was rather weak, and under all that clothing, he was nothing but skin and bones. "Where'd you come from?" He asked, trying to keep his tone natural. It was hard to think to Ken like this and restrain Farfello. He needed to get the other tied up and in his padded cell, and fast. "He kidnapped me." Ken whimpered, wiping his wet eyes furiously. "Are you hurt?" Nagi asked then, pulling back from a reluctant Ken. Ken showed the other his arm, which had a gash, but it wasn't dangerous. "Okay. Stand up and we'll get that patched. I need to deal with him, and then we'll talk, okay?" Ken shakily got to his feet, one hand over his wound and nodded mutely. Nagi floated some rope down the stairs and set about the gruesome task of restrain- ing a livid and rabid Farfello. --end part three--