
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/139232.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Weiß_Kreuz
  Relationship:
      Yohji/Nagi
  Character:
      Kudoh_Yohji, Naoe_Nagi, Schuldig_(Weiß_Kreuz)
  Additional Tags:
      Prostitution, Undercover_As_Gay, Superpowers, Telekinesis, Telepathy,
      Dubious_Consent, Assassins, Underage_Sex, Statutory_Rape, Sleeping_with
      the_enemy, Moral_Ambiguity
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-14 Chapters: 1/3 Words: 3128
****** Inclination and Opportunity ******
by Saucery
Summary
     When Schwarz and Weiss are forced to work together, Yohji is exposed
     to a new and dangerous temptation. Will he succumb to it, or will he
     survive? Be warned that this story is Yohji/Nagi, and that it is
     very, very wrong. Bad-wrong. Evil-wrong. Yeah.
Temptation cannot exist without the concurrence of inclination and opportunity.
                         - E. H. Chapin, Living Words.
===============================================================================
                          INCLINATION AND OPPORTUNITY
                                 - Chapter I -
===============================================================================

Damn, but teenagers are like a different species. Yohji's pretty sure he used
to be one, once, but that was a fractured time he barely remembers, smoke-hazy
and acid-sharp, tinged with vomit and the stench of cheap sex. (Michiko, her
skin as worn as old money. He'd promised himself never to touch her - she'd
been like a mother to him, but he'd - ) No. There's nothing back there. Nothing
that doesn't make him want to hang himself with his own wire, anyhow. Except
for Asuka, but that's - no. Nothing.
Technically, Omi's a teenager, but he acts younger and thinks older, so Yohji's
never been able to see him as one. Nagi, though...
It's weird, and wrong in too many ways to consider, that Nagi's more of a
teenager than Omi is. More normal, or more - consistent, at least. Heck, for a
kid with superpowers and occasional telekinetic tantrums, Nagi's freakishly
normal, what with the disenfranchised look and the jaded eyes and the deadpan
sarcasm. That's what you expect from teenagers, these days. Not Omi's carefully
calibrated freshness and slightly overdone innocence, which is - hell, it's
like something in a children's comic book from the sixties. Kritiker must've
trained Omi to base his persona off of episodes from The Brady Bunch, or
something. It's cute, but it's also creepy. If you've seen Omi kill, that is.
But Nagi? Looks like he actually can kill people. And isn't that how teenagers
are supposed to look? The 'emo' ones, anyway? Yohji'd gone undercover as a
guidance counselor at a school last year, and - man, some of those kids were
already assassin material. Especially the ones that got abused by their dads,
or - interestingly - over-indulged by them. Yohji wonders which was true, in
Nagi's case. Probably the former. It'd explain the development of telekinetic
powers, because telekinesis is all about control, about wanting it so
desperately you fucking reach out and warp the universe, and Yohji can't
imagine anyone wanting to do that unless control was seriously freaking ripped
away from them. In as traumatic a manner as possible.
"Stop psychoanalyzing me," Nagi says. His fingers are toying with the artfully
frayed edges of his shorts, his itty-bitty black leather shorts, and Yohji
looks away before he can be accused of ogling a minor. Oh, wait. That's
supposed to be the point. "It amuses Schuldig too much."
"He listening in on us?" Stupid question, though - Schuldig's a voyeur if there
ever was one. Not that Weiss isn't usually listening in, either, but Yohji
can't afford bugs or wires in a place like this, where getting naked is a
priority, and the closest their guys can get to the building is by stationing
Balinese and Siberian on a nearby rooftop, as backup. Goddamn Schwarz is the
only team with a goddamn telepath. No bugs required. Bastards.
Nagi's eye-roll illustrates just how stupid that question was, and yeah,
typical teenager. Except for the mascara edging that eye-roll, but don't the
Goth boys do that, these days?
"He says you have the attention span of a gnat," Nagi continues, and Yohji
drags his eyes away from the eyebrow-piercing above one of those dark eyes. The
kid's really thorough with his undercover work, isn't he? What else has he got
pierced? "And that you think like a pervert. An 'uncannily perceptive'
pervert."
Yohji can even hear the quotation marks. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Schuldig thinks he's a pervert? That's gotta break the world record for irony -
if Weiss's working with Schwarz hasn't already done that, and left all other
attempts in the dust. "As long as he stays outta my head, he can pay me all the
compliments he wants."
"It is as Weiss requested." Nagi's clever little fingers - hell, Yohji might as
well start thinking like the predator he's playing - leave his own shorts and
find Yohji's trouser-clad leg. Trousers were never Yohji's style, but they are
his character's, complete with the tacky shirt-and-tie combo commonly
associated with middle-class office workers. At least the tie's loose, since
Yohji's pretending to be drunk. "As long as we're working on this mission,
Schuldig will stay out of your unimaginably dull little mind, unless, of
course, you're foolish enough to broadcast your thoughts. Which is what you've
been doing, by the way. You think too loudly."
The better to deafen you with, asshole, Yohji thinks - very loudly.
"Unimaginably dull? I thought he found me amusing. And perceptive."
"He did." Nagi's eyes narrow. "I don't."
"Oh-kay, then." Chalk up another win for the Kudoh deductive skills! Yohji's
past as a PI wasn't a total waste, since it's just gotten him confirmation from
the very person he's been psychoanalyzing that his psychoanalysis is correct.
Because people being pissed off by something? Normally means it's true.
"He says I shouldn't have told you that. Gave you confirmation, or something."
"Do you ever say anything he doesn't?" Then a thought occurs to Yohji, and he
feels an uncomfortable current of concern. "This isn't gonna freak you out, is
it? Doing what we're gonna do. If you've - got issues with - being touched, you
know, then maybe - " Maybe we shouldn't do this, and I can save my balls from
being telekinetically torn off.
"Don't insult me," Nagi snaps, before swiftly cooling down again. "I'm a
professional."
"Oh, really?" Yohji looks Nagi up and down - from his knee-high boots,
dangerously bare thighs, obscenely short-shorts and strategically ripped T-
shirt to his half-gloved hands, black nail-polish, pierced eyebrow, studded
nose and delicately made-up face. "Huh. You do look like one. A professional
whore, I mean."
"That is the idea," returns Nagi, in a voice too dry to indicate whether the
intended jibe hit home.
Brat. He's no fun at all. That deadpan thing's gonna get old real quick. At
least Omi blushes when people talk about sex. Heck, so does Ken, and he isn't
even a virgin anymore. As for Aya, well - he reacts to sex and sexuality the
way most people do to paying taxes - total avoidance and, if it can't be
helped, utter boredom. That's largely the reason Weiss no longer uses him on
missions that require the seduction of a target; Aya might be as aesthetically
perfect as a statue, but he's also about as responsive as one. Yohji remembers
that time he 'took one for the team', because Aya failed in distracting a
target sufficiently, and the bastard saw Yohji creeping in the window when he
should have been too focused on Aya's spectacular throes of passion to notice.
Of course, Aya had no passion to speak of, and his throes were non-existent,
which meant that Yohji had ended up with a knife in his shoulder. And Aya
hadn't even apologized for it. Jackass. (But then he'd vivisected the target
into neat little squares, so that kind of made it okay. Kind of.)
Huh. That was before. Now, Aya's too comfortable with them to even bother
apologizing by proxy. Yohji almost misses the days when Aya expressed his
remorse via extra-bloody corpses; it reminded him of the way chastened cats
drag headless rats into their owner's kitchens.
Lost in reminiscence, Yohji barely notices it when Nagi sniffs - a sound that
could, in a more expressive boy, be taken for one of amusement.
Yohji glances at him. "What? Did Schuldig give you another play-by-play?"
"Yes," Nagi murmurs, and then: "Fujimiya has more in common with Farfarello
than he likes to think." There's a quiet almost-smile hiding somewhere behind
his mouth, and wow. So that's what a teenager's smile is supposed to look like;
Omi's too-bright facsimiles pale in comparison.
Maybe this mission won't be that difficult to pull off, after all; Nagi
actually looked sweet, for a second there, and at least Yohji won't be fucking
an automaton.
Or - damn. Or maybe that makes it worse, since Nagi's still a kid that can
smile like that, and what if tonight's mission ruins it? Damn. Not that Yohji'd
ever expected to feel protective about a member of Schwarz, but - but just
because Yohji's acting the part of a monster doesn't mean he's really a
monster. Hell, he'd had to spend the whole of last night practicing how to
dissociate, just so he could even get hard with a kid under sixteen and not
throw up on the spot.
"Hey," Yohji clears his throat, not exactly sure how to phrase it. "You know,
we don't absolutely have to do it this way. Um."
Nagi raises a skeptical eyebrow. A smug, superior eyebrow, and it's an
expression close enough to Crawford's to make Yohji feel like an idiot for even
worrying about this, but then it occurs to him that Nagi probably imitates
Crawford like most children unconsciously imitate their fathers, and, fuck.
This whole mission is wrong on so many levels.
"There's always Plan B, though it'll take a little longer."
"'Plan B', as you call it, is useless. Both our teams agreed on that - a
singular enough event, I might add, to lend some weight to that conclusion."
Does Nagi have to talk like an adult? It messes with Yohji's head, particularly
when he's trying his darnedest to remember why Nagi's too young for this.
"Yeah, but we could - "
"Could what? All other options have been discussed and discarded. The quickest
route is to use a minor, and Tsukiyono's out of the question, because he's a) a
virgin, b) bashful, c) sexually inexperienced beyond the mere act of copulation
and d) prone to genuine trauma as a result of this experience."
Yohji gapes. "Do you think in bullet-points? No, wait, did you learn that from
Crawford?"
Nagi ignores him. "None of Tsukiyono's limitations apply to me - ergo, I am the
ideal choice for this mission. And no," he adds, somewhat derisively, "I did
not learn that from Crawford." A pause. "Shut up, Schuldig."
Great. Nagi says 'Schuldig' like most peevish adolescents say 'Mom', and that's
almost more wrong than anything else that might happen here tonight.
"Schuldig says that I inadvertently traumatized you." Are Nagi's eyes
glittering? They are, aren't they? The little bitch. "Sorry."
"Well, screw you, too. And here I was, trying to be a decent human being, not
that you losers in Schwarz know anything about it..."
"The very notion that assassins are or should attempt to be decent human beings
is ridiculous," Nagi says, and Yohji gives up on counting the number of
syllables in that sentence. What did the kid's profile say his IQ was, again?
"The very fact that you kill makes 'decency' an impossibility. And a hindrance,
besides. Have you never heard of the proverb, 'Fight fire with fire'?"
"Are you saying we have to be just as bad as our targets? Kind of defeats the
purpose, doesn't it?"
"And what is 'our' purpose?"
Yohji bares his teeth. "Weiss's purpose is to take down the bad guys. Not
replace 'em."
Nagi has the gall to look amused, the evil brat, and Yohji can't believe he'd
fallen for that coy little near-smile. "Keep telling yourself that, Kudoh. The
truth is that your purpose is to take down whoever Kritiker classifies as 'bad
guys', and you have no understanding whatsoever of the arcane algorithm
Kritiker might or might not be using to determine whether someone is 'bad'."
"We do random background checks of our own," Yohji says, shortly, wondering why
he's defending his people to Schwarz. "They've always turned out to be
criminals. Of the death-penalty variety."
"And you think Schwarz's targets are any different?" Nagi's head is cocked to
the side, like he's curious. Like a sociopath's curious about a fly before
ripping its wings off, and maybe Schuldig's the one Nagi's imitating. If he's
imitating anyone at all. Yohji's starting to realize that Nagi's more of his
own person than Yohji'd ever thought him to be, and that this is the longest
conversation he's ever had with the boy, or, heck, with anyone from Schwarz.
He'll need to update their profiles when he gets back home.
"You guys kill for fun."
"Do you honestly mean to tell me that you glean no enjoyment from your work?
Especially when Schuldig has often sensed traces of sexual arousal in your
mind, immediately after a kill?"
Yohji's mouth snaps shut. Adrenaline, it's just adrenaline, he thinks, and he
doesn't even have to hear Schuldig to know that the fucker's laughing at him.
He can see it in Nagi's triumphant eyes.
"We're both assassins working for groups who want 'bad guys' dead. And in the
eyes of the law, Kudoh, anyone that wants anyone dead is a bad guy." Nagi's
hand tightens on Yohji's thigh, and the contemptuous sneer that curls his lips
is one that could easily belong on a prostitute with an incredibly dumb,
incredibly rich client. "You're working for the villains, Weiss. As is Schwarz.
The only difference is, you've been naïve enough to believe their lies." The
sneer melts back into the bland, slightly antagonistic expression that usually
graces Nagi's face. "At least we know what we're killing for."
"You little son of a bitch," Yohji grinds out, thinking of the innocents
Farfarello's slaughtered, and the perfectly functional people that Schuldig's
reduced to gibbering lunatics and vegetables. "Weiss is different, and you know
it."
"Hm." Nagi's eyes are heavy-lidded. To any bystander, he's probably just
another boy-whore who's haggled his customer up to a very satisfactory price.
He leans closer to Yohji, and his breath stirs Yohji's hair when he says, "But
you hate people, too," and before Yohji can make sense of that, the door opens.
It could be anyone; Yohji's facing the other way, towards Nagi, and can't tell.
But Nagi's posture changes, subtly, and his eyes flick briefly towards the
door.
"Target," Nagi whispers, sharply. "Two o' clock. Approaching the bar."
Shit. Game's on.
Yohji isn't going to think about options, anymore. There are none. Nagi's here,
and he's their ticket into this hellhole, and that's the reigning Devil, right
there, coming into Yohji's line of sight as he heads towards the bar,
swaggering like he owns the fucking place. Which he does. He looks just like
his mug-shot, too - closer to a middle-aged alcoholic than a mafioso with
depraved tastes.
Narazaki Akira. The one and only target that Weiss and Schwarz have ever had in
common, albeit for different reasons - Weiss because Kritiker wants to take
down the child prostitution ring that Narazaki's set up in downtown Shinjuku,
and Schwarz because their employers want Narazaki dead for whatever damn reason
they have - eliminating a rival in the underworld, maybe.
Whatever the case, it's led to both teams being in this goddamn awkward
situation, since the only minor able to go undercover in this operation is
Nagi, a member of Schwarz, and the only adult able to sneak into the place is
Yohji, a member of Weiss. Yohji, loathe though he is to admit it, is the only
one who can play the part of a sexual deviant believably. Ken's too freaked out
by the whole thing to do it, and Aya's - well, Aya - incapable of normal sex at
the best of times, let alone deviant sex at the worst of times. From Schwarz's
side, Crawford's too uptight to manage it and Farfarello's too insane, leaving
Schuldig, who'd play the role passably well but who needs to be on 'clean-up';
he'll be too busy erasing people's memories of the event to actively
participate in it. There's multitasking, and then there's telepathic ADHD.
"Schuldig thanks you for your dim assessment of his abilities." Nagi slides a
leg over Yohji's lap, slinking onto him like he does this all the damn time,
offering lap-dances to men a decade older than he is.
Well, they are supposed to be putting on a show. They have to, now that their
audience is here.
"Tell him he's welcome," Yohji replies, in as low a volume as he can, "and that
he should get out of your head, soon, unless you want him in there when we do
this." He curves his hands around Nagi's waist, settling him more comfortably
atop him, before spanning his hands downward to cup Nagi's ass.
Fuck, it's so small -
No. He is not thinking about how young Nagi is. This is a job. A fucking job,
Kudoh, and it hasn't even started yet - don't freak out now.
Nagi, for his part, is smirking; Yohji doesn't want to know what Schuldig is
telling him. "Good point. He is my 'Mom', after all - isn't that what you
called him? Daddy?"
Yohji flinches. "Shut the fuck up," he hisses, appalled - because it's just
sick hearing that from Nagi's mouth, even though it had gotten him so hard,
once, when that hot little waitress from Fukuoka had called him that in a grimy
bathroom stall.
Nagi laughs. Softly. "All right, Schuldig. That's enough. You can leave, now."
"He'll still be watching us from other people's eyes, though, won't he?" Yohji
darts a look around: the bartender's close enough to be an effective peephole,
as is the rotund pedophile on the neighboring couch, cosseting a wanly smiling
girl on his lap. She looks all of thirteen. If they didn't have to bring the
whole operation down by going undercover, Yohji'd be over there already,
slicing the man's hands off with his wire. As it is, all he can do is sit here
and seethe - and not think about the fact that what he's doing to Nagi is, at
least physically, exactly what that guy's doing to the little girl.
"Of course." Nagi leans down and bites his jaw, gently. "Relax. I won't be
having mental incest, or whatever you think it is." Then, as if sharing a
secret, he drops his voice even further. "I have a pact with my team, you know.
About anyone I sleep with - or have to sleep with. Crawford doesn't tell me
anything about their futures, unless it endangers me; Farfarello doesn't cut
them up, unless I want him to; Schuldig stays out of my head while I'm doing
it."
"And they listen to you?"
"We're Schwarz," Nagi shrugs. "Nice setup, no?"
Have to sleep with, he'd said. Like it was nothing.
Yohji's stomach turns. But he's playing a part, so he grins, instead -
lecherously and just a little drunkenly, and tugs Nagi back up so that they're
looking each other in the eye. "Let's do this," he says, and Nagi smiles - that
almost-smile again, so sweet and so fucked up in this situation that Yohji can
barely process it.
"Yes," Nagi answers, and twines his arms around Yohji's neck. "Let's."

===============================================================================
                               to be continued.
      Up next: Deflowering! Voyeurism! Yohji in a hell-bound handbasket!
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