Patterns of Blood ~ Mami's fanfics
...part two...

#23 : Farfarello x Yohji, for Lilymoon1 ((Prompt: Schuldig makes the mistake of confiding in Farfarello that he wants Yohji. Farfarello gets there first to prove he can get what Schuldig wants.))

#23 : FarfarelloxYohji

Farfarello doesn't understand the attraction, but he tries. Like a hunter stalking prey, he watches every move from a distance, assessing. Even after a week of such surveillance, he comes up short. There's nothing special there to separate Kudou from anyone else; no obvious reason why Schuldig would be so taken with him. Farfarello refuses to give up, because then Schuldig would be right, and there are few things in the world more insufferable than a Schuldig who's won an argument. Instead of dropping the matter, Farfarello decides to move in for a closer look.

On Tuesday he shows up at the Koneko. The customers are being obnoxiously loud, but a hard look is enough to quiet most of the hubbub. Weiß is suitably alarmed by his appearance, but the store is too crowded for them to engage him in a fight. Farfarello doesn't even try to initiate one but squats in the corner and contents himself to watch. Fujimiya has the gall to tell him that nonpaying customers aren't allowed to loiter on the premises. Farfarello glances up at him, offers him a lazy smile that says he's not at all intimidated, and returns his gaze to Kudou.

Fujimiya warns him that he will call the police. Farfarello ignores that, and Fujimiya is forced to make good on his threat. Farfarello can feel the man's hatred roiling against his skin: murderous tension pulled almost tight enough to snap. Fujimiya wants to kill him right here and now, before Farfarello can do anything, but with a dozen-odd children around, he's powerless. Farfarello likes that frustration.

Tsukiyono is trying to reassure the nervous schoolgirls; Farfarello hears speculation that he's a homeless man who's not all there in the head. Farfarello lays that rumor to rest by saying, "Kudou."

He doesn't raise his voice, because he doesn't have to. With all of Weiß so attuned to his every twitch and breath, Kudou can't not hear him. The Balinese slides a green gaze his way. He meets Farfarello's gaze head-on, a bored challenge. Whereas the other three are wound up, Kudou's grounded by his confidence. He's arrogant; Farfarello blames it on the fact that he's armed. Kudou believes he can one-up Farfarello if a fight breaks out here. He'd have a hell of a time explaining to the customers why his watch shoots razor wire, but at least he could save their lives.

Farfarello likes that Kudou doesn't look at him with that angry worry in his eyes. Weak, frightened prey is annoying.

They stare each other down, Farfarello waiting for Kudou to obey the beckon and Kudou lazily refusing to play along. Tsukiyono ends up cutting that short when he gives a short jerk of his chin. Kudou knows an order when he sees one, and he excuses himself from the register. He hooks his hands in the large pocket on the front of his apron. It's a casual gesture to anyone else. Farfarello and Weiß know he's got his fingers on his wire where the girls can't see it.

Farfarello stands as Kudou approaches him. Kudou tilts his head. "Let's step outside, Farfarello."

"This is fine," Farfarello says.

Kudou stops out of Farfarello's arm reach. Wire's good only if he can get it out before Farfarello gets his fingers on Kudou's throat, after all. Farfarello appreciates the caution.

He gives himself a solid minute to study Kudou, wondering what he's missed every time before. He memorizes the way dark sunglasses are- for once- pushed back into wavy hair. Farfarello hadn't realized Kudou had green eyes, and he wonders if that's what Schuldig likes. They're like jade: brilliant, bright, and cold. They're completely at odds with that smile that comes so easily to his lips. He looks scruffy today, smudged with dirt. He smells like soil and flowers. Farfarello inhales deeply, looking for blood, and finds only faded smoke and nicotine. He considers that.

"Hm," he says at last.

It's hard to think with so many people around. Farfarello turns and starts for the door without another word. He feels their gazes on him the entire way: every gaze but Kudou's. Kudou has already turned back to the crowd, and Farfarello can hear him going straight back to his laughter and jokes.

Farfarello still doesn't understand.


Wednesday night Kudou goes for a walk, and Farfarello melts out of the crowd beside him. Kudou tenses when he realizes who it is, then forcibly relaxes. Farfarello says nothing, fine with matching his pace, and they stroll through the thick evening crowd. Neon lights paint ugly rainbows across his white skin and Kudou's black coat. Kudou is smoking, but his cigarette is almost gone. By the time they reach the corner, Kudou has to drop it and light another. The man is actually bold enough to offer the pack to Farfarello, and Farfarello takes it.

Kudou turns to him as they stop to wait for the crosswalk. Farfarello ignores him as he plucks a cigarette free. He turns the stick this way and that, studying its make and brand, and sniffs idly at it. He sniffs the box next, then hands it back. Kudou tucks it in his pocket and offers the lighter.

"At some point, I expect an explanation," Kudou says. "That or a knife in the back."

"I would have killed you a block ago if I wanted you dead," Farfarello says. He flicks the lighter on, then off. He tries again, and this time holds his cigarette above it to light it.

"Are you starting a fire or lighting a smoke?" Kudou asks.

"Yes," Farfarello intones.

Kudou takes his own cigarette and trades Farfarello for the lighter and half-burned cigarette. Farfarello props the cigarette between his lips and lets it dangle there, not bothering to take a drag off of it. Kudou considers the second cigarette, surmising whether or not he can salvage it, and at length opts to go for it. The light turns, and they step out into the street.

"Any particular reason you're here, then?" Kudou wants to know.

"Intelligence," Farfarello says.

"You realize you have a telepath for that, right?"

Farfarello tongues the end of his cigarette. He doesn't like the taste. "He won't help with this." Quite the opposite, rather. It's been a week and a half now since Schuldig got drunk enough to admit he wanted to fuck Kudou into the nearest hard surface. Schuldig wouldn't explain what had brought about that idea; he said a psychotic freak like Farfarello would never be able to understand. Farfarello doesn't mind being called a psycho or a freak; he knows they're the tamest descriptions someone could use without lying about what he is. But being written off as stupid? That he will not accept or forgive.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Does it matter?" Kudou asks.


Kudou offers him a vague wave of his hand in a 'There you have it' sort of way and doesn't bother to answer the question. It hardly matters, because Farfarello is following him there anyway, and it turns out to be a bar a few streets down.

The bartender knows Kudou's name and face. More importantly, he knows Kudou's drink. Kudou drinks whiskey better than Crawford does. Farfarello ignores the bartender's attempt to get him a drink and sits sideways at the counter to watch Kudou. The man doesn't seem to notice or care, even when Farfarello props his chin on his hand and stares.

Somewhere between his third and fourth drink, Kudou thinks to ask, "Am I really that fascinating?"

"I don't know," Farfarello says. "Are you?"

Kudou laughs at that. "You tell me. You invited yourself along."

Farfarello lifts one shoulder in a slight shrug. "I'll know by the end of the night."

"If you don't know now, you never will," Kudou says. "I don't plan on moving until Kazo calls me a cab home."

Farfarello watches the fifth drink go down, smooth like water, two easy swallows without a breath for air. He doesn't even use ice. Crawford uses ice. Schuldig rags him about it all the time, but Schuldig can't really talk, since he can't drink anything harder than beer without getting completely wasted.

"Is it so smart to drink when I am here?" Farfarello asks.

"If you were planning on killing me, you'd have done it a few blocks back," Kudou reminds him.

Farfarello accepts that as truth. He sits there and watches Kudou drink, neither of them saying another word to each other. Kudou drinks until he physically can't pick up another glass, and then the bartender calls him a cab. It doesn't take long, not at this hour, not in Tokyo. The bartender has one of the busboys help Kudou out to the car.

Farfarello stands on the curb and watches the taxi leave.

He goes home disgruntled.


Farfarello spends the rest of the week trailing Kudou, showing up at different hours of the day to see him in as many different lights as possible. By Saturday, Farfarello is restless and annoyed. Schuldig's been out of town in Kurume for the week, but he's due back tonight, and he's going to find out then what Farfarello's up to. Farfarello has less than three hours to get the answer.

The music isn't helping his mood any. The beat is an obnoxious weight against his skin, pounding hard enough to send shivers through his bones. He can't concentrate in here. He should leave and come back later; he should leave and wait outside. The cold would be better than this sweat and heat.

He should—but he can't look away from Kudou.

The Balinese has a woman tonight. They met at the counter, where they laughed and flirted over a half-dozen drinks. It took four drinks for him and five for her before she lost her inhibitions enough to follow him to the dance floor. They're pressed against each other now, as close to skin on skin as they can get when they're wearing clothes. Farfarello isn't sure those outfits count as clothes, anyway. She's showing more skin than she's covering, and Kudou looks like he painted his shirt on.

They move together with instinctive synchrony, twisting and sliding to the bass, eyes hooded and then closed, mouths parting on quick breaths as they brush. Kudou's hair is sticking to his forehead and neck in places. Farfarello's hot just standing there, thanks to how crowded the club is. He imagines it's much hotter on the floor, not that he'll go out there to confirm his theory.

Sweat makes it easier for Kudou to slide his hands up her arms to her throat, and he kisses her so deeply they have to stop dancing to finish it. Her painted nails flash in the ugly disco lights as she plants her hands against his chest for balance. Kudou drags his mouth down her throat, kissing a line to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she winds an arm around his neck. He loops an arm around her waist, dragging her closer, and for one moment, her expression fractures on aching need.

That's interesting.

Kudou comes up for air. He turns his head to kiss her temple, and green and gold meet across the room. Kudou doesn't look surprised to see Farfarello still here. He holds Farfarello's stare as he continues to move with his anonymous lady, only looking away when she pulls his face down for another kiss.

Farfarello is fleetingly annoyed to be interrupted like that, no matter that he's the one interrupting. He steps away from the wall and makes for the counter, where he orders one of Kudou's whiskeys. It takes him four swallows as he tries to adjust to the taste and burn of it. He runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth, cataloguing the sour aftertaste.

Hands slide over his hips and onto his abdomen, and Farfarello knows the smell of Kudou's cologne by now. It's muted and distorted by now, tainted by others' perfume and sweat, but Farfarello knows it's him. His hand goes still halfway to the counter. He looks down at the hands on his body, resting so boldly against his shirt.

"I'm leaving," Kudou says, right at his ear. "Are you staying?"

Farfarello turns his head, but he can't go far without pressing his cheek into Kudou's face. He doesn't see Kudou's girl anywhere. He looks down at Kudou's hands again, but he can't read the time on his watch, not with the lights flashing so grotesquely. He doesn't care; he's past ready to get out of this madness. He sets his glass down at last and Kudou steps back to let him up.

Farfarello turns to face him and pauses before he takes the first step. There's something calculating in Kudou's stare, something expectant and knowing. Farfarello's spent the week trying to figure Kudou out. He gets the feeling Kudou's been returning the favor. He comes to the conclusion that Kudou's further along than he is, and that's annoying.

Farfarello loses the last shred of patience he has. "Why does he want to fuck you?" he demands. Kudou cocks an eyebrow at him, not following. "Schuldig," Farfarello says, a little too aware that Kudou's hands haven't left his body yet. Instead they're against his back now, curled to hold Farfarello in place. He didn't even feel them slide in his turn. They're a steady a pressure, almost too hot.

"Is that a joke?" Kudou asks, laughing.

Farfarello plants a hand to Kudou's chest and shoves, but it doesn't quite work. Kudou goes stumbling, but he drags Farfarello with him. Farfarello steps on someone's foot and loses his balance for a fraction of a second. It's long enough for Kudou to drag Farfarello flush up against him, and Farfarello goes tense all over. He doesn't know if that's Kudou's body heat soaking into him or if it's leftover heat from that woman. It's disorienting either way.

"I don't joke," Farfarello tells him.

"I didn't think you were the type," Kudou admits.

"Then why did you ask?"

"It was worth a try," Kudou says, amused. "Your teammate's not my type whatsoever. I don't go for guys all that often, so I'm pretty choosy when I decide to go for it. You should tell him that."

"You tell him," Farfarello says. "I don't care. I just want to know why." Kudou cocks his head in a question. Farfarello slides his hand from Kudou's chest to his arm, looking for a way to put space between them, except Kudou knows what he's trying to do. Fingers tighten against his back. The ground slides beneath his feet, and he realizes he's taken a step back. Rather, Kudou's moving him. Farfarello's not keen on being guided like this, but he stares Kudou in the face anyway and doesn't fight. "He said someone like me cannot understand."

Kudou smile is amused, almost pitying. "Is that seriously why you've been hounding me all week?" he asks. "You're trying to see the attraction?"

"I won't have him think he is smarter than I am," Farfarello says. His heels bump the wall, but Kudou's hands stop him from being flattened against it. "I won't be looked down on, not by a half-mad telepath. Anything he can have, I can have."

"Yes and no," Kudou says amiably. Farfarello fixes him with a baleful look, and Kudou smiles, slow and hot. "No, because this doesn't quite count. I told you I wouldn't fuck him, so it doesn't matter what he wants in this case. Telepathy's a bit of a turnoff. Somehow, psychosis doesn't seem to be."

For a moment, Farfarello's offended by that assumption. "I don't want to fuck you."

Kudou's smile curls wider. "No?" he asks.

Farfarello takes a step forward against that challenge, except there's nowhere to move with Kudou right there, and it's no work at all for Kudou to push back. This time his back's flat against the wall, but Farfarello almost doesn't notice, because Kudou's got a leg between his. His hands are on Farfarello's face and he's already there for a hard kiss.

Conflict—outrage at being pinned in wars with a sharper spike of some darker desire.

Farfarello intends to shove him away and even seriously thinks about slitting his throat. He gets his knife as far as Kudou's neck, except when the sharp edge of his blade grades against the underside of Kudou's chin, the man sucks in a sharp breath that's all need.

The balance tips in Kudou's favor. Maybe it's temporary; maybe it's just for tonight. Farfarello doesn't stop to question it. He can't get a grip on Kudou's shirt, not when it's sealed so tight against his skin, so he grabs a hip hard enough to bruise and forces Kudou closer. Kudou grinds against him in turn, so hard it should hurt, but Farfarello can't feel pain. All he feels is friction and pressure, and he gasps for breath against Kudou's mouth. He doesn't remember putting his knife away, but he's got a second hand on Kudou now. He digs his fingers in, tracing the lines of a hard body, and Kudou's hands rake down over his front, demanding and harsh.

"I fuck men when I don't want to be careful," Kudou says at his ear, low and hot, almost a growl. "When I can't coddle flowers and women anymore."

Kudou Yohji, florist and womanizer, is fracturing. Farfarello is holding onto Balinese, a detective, an assassin, whose conscience, patience, and restraint are on their way out the door. Farfarello understands in an instant what Schuldig wants. Schuldig is a sucker for good mind games. He likes secrets and subconscious wants and things that no one else is allowed to see or have. He wants that demon beneath Kudou's smile. He wants the cold stare Kudou tries to hide with his sunglasses.

Kudou's words are a warning, Farfarello thinks, but Kudou's wasting his breath on the wrong person.

"I don't feel pain," he reminds Kudou.

His words are a trigger that get them out of there. They take the back door out. Kudou knows this neighborhood better than Farfarello, and he gets them to an alley two streets down. It smells rancid, like rotted food and alcohol and urine, but Farfarello doesn't care. He lets Kudou shove him flat against the bricks without thinking twice about it.

It's like murder, he thinks later. It's a violent rush, forceful and demanding and needy. If Farfarello could feel pain, he'd be a wreck. As it is, it's perfect for him. Farfarello buries hoarse words and harsh breaths against Kudou's skin as Kudou drives them to mindlessness.

Kudou doesn't think to check on him until they're done, until Farfarello's trying to find his footing and his breath. Kudou doesn't try to ask him, maybe not trusting him to tell the truth, but tips Farfarello's head back to get a look at his expression.

Farfarello says, "I understand," and he knows that he's not going to give Kudou back to Schuldig. He wants to keep this for himself.

Kudou sucks in a shaky breath through kiss- and bite-swollen lips. There's a whole new flash of heat in his stare as he realizes he's found the perfect partner for his fraying sanity. He ducks in for a kiss that feels hard enough to bruise.

"You're bleeding," Kudou says.

Farfarello can feel warmth on his throat where Kudou bit him during climax. He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. Kudou leans in as if to lick the mess clean, but Farfarello leans away. "I will have Schuldig clean it," he says.

That reminds him that he's supposed to pick Schuldig up tonight. Farfarello turns Kudou's arm so he can see the watch, but it's too dark in the alley for him to read the time. He and Kudou fix their clothes and wander back out to the sidewalk. Neon lights flash off bruised skin and mussed hair, highlighting the marks they've left on each other's skin. Kudou shows his watch to Farfarello again.

It's time for Farfarello to go if he wants to meet Schuldig at arrivals. He glances up at Kudou but says nothing in farewell, says nothing about tomorrow or the day after or next week. He doesn't have to. He'll be back, and Kudou will be waiting.

Farfarello thinks about the look on Schuldig's face, and he smiles as he turns away.



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