Title: waiting in vain

Author: kc-chan ([email protected])

Rating: R (for language and uncomfy situations)

Warning: shonen-ai overtones, AU, masturbation, angst, and some OOC.

PAIRING: Leon + Count D

++SPOILERS++: um… end of psoh manga, possibly.

ARCHIVE www.wired-dna.net; www.fanfiction.net um… whoever has previous okays take it. anyone else please email me (not like I am going to say no or anything. . .)

DISCLAIMER: not mine. . . please don’t sue. Only borrowing them.

COMMENTS: that would be nice.

TIMELINE: Count D has departed and that leaves our dear detective where?

Notes: ‘waiting in vain’ is a song sung by annie lennox and was influential on this piece of fan fiction.

also please note that i haven't actually read then ending of the manga, and while val-san has graciously helped me again, i would definetly say this is AU since well the manga ended a wee bit differently than what i thought ^^;; also a small side note on leon, homophobia is a strange and unfortunate thing, and poking into a little research on it, i only used a few of the noted symtoms, if you will of it, aka some well known reactions, it might not fit into your view of leon but i tried. so he's probably a little ooc.

Dedicated to: Val-san and M!

Waiting in vain

By: kc-chan

The water under the tap rampaged about the metal sink, two bronzed arms washed ferociously at a spaghetti stained plate, a week or so old. The mold had washed away easily enough and was evidence enough to the detective why their was the sudden appearance of fruit flies about his apartment. However, it was not their abrupt manifestation that sent him to clean up his kitchen, nor was it the scent of rotting food either that had him standing by the sink on his day off, wasting it cleaning up after himself.

Three weeks since the pet shop had disappeared, or more aptly, his mind pointed out, the owner had disappeared. Not just vanished, but left by his own free will, a parting left half finished, and though it meant nothing more to him at that time, it had crawled back to itch at the surface of his brain. Certainly, it had been a loss in a connection to the drug ring, or the mafia. He could have made the correlation from the androgynous Chinese man to them. Easily.

Yet, all the reasoning amounted to nothing, save a pounding headache and him cleaning up his kitchen, a box of chocolates Jill had given him in inquiry to why he hadn’t been to the pet shop recently resting on the kitchen table. He knew she knew. How could she not? Hadn’t she been hinting that he had been brooding for the past few weeks?

Brooding because he would have been so close to closing the case connecting D to the child slave labour ring, the black market…

Or lingering about, half-heartedly pulling through new cases because something that had become familiar was suddenly missing. Comfort was nice when it was habitual, like a routine he had settled into, and he wasn’t ready to give it up.

The first week he went daily, knocking on the doors. Slowly, he dragged into his second week visiting two or three times. He all but gave up by the third. Hell, even the woman in the sweet shops teased him about being quote unquote - dumped.

Gritting his teeth, he rubbed harshly at the red stained clumps adorning the white plate. He shouldn’t care that the man was gone, at least not that much. The Chinese man was an annoyance, with a highly developed sense of drama-queen theatrics. Hell, it was a man who wore a dress! A queer who flounced and coddled him. A pain in his side. A bitch who always knew more than he let on.

Scrubbing at his forehead with the side of his arm, he angrily blew the wisps of blonde hair from his eyes. Reaching for another dish he set about the task of perhaps cleaning that one since the other obviously was never going to come clean.

Outside Leon could hear the sounds of the summer in LA; the brats were no longer in school so their calls at the precinct had dramatically increased. There was plenty of work awaiting him when he got back. He was thrilled he had been given the day off to begin with. Having put in enough overtime for three cops, he had sorely neglected a few things about his apartment, and while tidying up was not high on his lists of priorities, he certainly knew when enough was enough.

The red spot clung harder to the plate in his hand than the one he had discarded. Scratching his nail at the vile thing, he grunted, rising his hand and massaged his palm into his temple. His damn headache continued to grow. He should have snagged the Chinaman’s tea recipe when he had the chance, not that he would have known quite how to make tea of all things. Hell, cooking was more than enough kitchen duty for him. Tea would have pushed him into a spot occupied, in his opinion anyways, by chicks, old English woman, and gay men.

Leon scowled, pulling his hands from their task and clutching the counter. It had to be sick the way he kept thinking of the crazy pet shop owner. Really sick. Incredibly sick.

Besides what the nut job did with his life was not any concern of his. The Count was gone and his life should go back to being normal. Beer with the guys, woman adorning his walls, dirty apartment… A bachelor’s life. The thought occurred to him that he should have called some of the other’s down at the precinct, went with them to spend the night at the bar and strip club. That’s what he needed.

He needed to get laid. Oh, he could imagine her, long limbed, perky breasts, slim waist. Blue eyes drifted closed, bending his head into his folded arms resting atop the counter, drawing up an image of his sexual craving. Silky raven black hair that would melt into the club’s dark shadows Drifting over those milky white shoulders, brushing them with its silken touch. The feeling of hair that soft brushing against his cheek. Ivory skin to offset that inky jetness, illuminating in the strobing lights of the club. Her hips swaying to the sounds of hard guitars and thumping percussion. That frail, thin waist pressed firmly against him. He could see himself cupping that chin, drawing it so near to his own. Mismatched eyes, a flaxen gold and a rich royal violet.

Leon jumped back, flipping around and leaning against the kitchen counter, his heart racing, breathing erratic. The hardness of his desire was firmly lodged between his legs, pulsating with the dancer of his scattered thoughts. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“No…” he whispered, eve so softly, eyes wrenched open in sheer panic. Mismatched eyes taunted him, a slender male body sensually twisting about in his thoughts.

Bile crawled up his throat as his awareness of his hard-on and the person, no *man* it had come from. The thought of another men, let alone the crazy pet shop owner was not arousing him. It was impossible.

Simply impossible.

Yet, he couldn’t begin to pull the thought, or at least one as vivid as the count, into his troubled mind. The woman would seemingly melt away into the exotic Chinese man. Scrubbing at his forehead, he pushed off the counter, uncomfortably walked a few paces forward.

D.

The name had a hanging scent to it, air laden with the potent smell of a thousand different incenses. Swallowing down the fear lodged in him, he carefully distracted himself with the far wall. Swirling thoughts twisted back to one porcelain doll-like male, shifting those yearning to the continuing swell in the detective’s jeans.

All but tripping into the bathroom, a shaking hand groping in the darkness for a light switch, the blinking florescent fixture cast a strange shadow on the frightened man’s features. Willfully ignoring the mirror, Leon rapidly shed his jeans and boxers, hand ignoring his hapless pleas and began stroking himself to the live sounds of the club of his imagination.

That creamy skin having a luster to it, so inviting to touch. Icy orbs closed as he began his rhythm, the pounding sounds of nightclub life. His mind’s eyes ran down the naked form of the Count, a form he knew well from his eccentric adventures, warmed by the soft candlelight. He could taste that mysteriousness of the foreigner, the silky threads of onyx hair, the soft buttocks pressed hard against his cock.

Grunts turned into a scream of exasperation. He wasn’t gay. Yet there he was, having some jack-off fantasy to a male. A *male*.

And not just any male, but the queer, lithe Chinese man.

This time the bile was not to be held back, and clutching the toilet he emptied the contents of his stomach rapidly. Hacking and coughing, spewing his disgust at the act he had begun to enjoy. The feel of another man against him churned his stomach, twisted the pounding desire in his groin, and tickled his senses. There was no denying it; he had been utterly aroused by the thought of a man. Chunks retched from his body, stinging his throat, the stench burning his eyes.

After a minute or so, he opened reddened eyes, tear lined, groped forward to flush the puke away. Wearily he ascended, harshly filling a glass of water and swishing it around his mouth to relieve the taste of vomit hanging there.

Grabbing his mouthwash he rinsed thoroughly, limbs trembling, and thankfully his hard on and left him.

Those eyes etched their glance at him, burning their desires to the back of his skull. A clawing, raging hunger that was not going to vanish.

Dumping the paper cup, he yanked his jeans back on, stalking about his apartment, the dishes clinking as the water cascaded still on them. The palm of his pounded harshly against his wall.

He had almost jerked off to the thought of Count D.

That wasn’t something that sat well with him. His stomach still churned, taunted on by his own homophobia. What did Jill use to tease him about? Right. Sometimes those who were the most homophobic people were simply that way because they could handle the truth about themselves.

But fuck! He wasn’t a queer! He had slept with any number of girls during high school and college. Hell, he had slept with a girl or so he had met in a bar before he had encountered that pet shop. Still the naked body of the Count danced in his mind, seizing control of his thoughts.

Clenching his fist, the brash moment later he had slammed it through the plaster wall, the numbness warding off the initial sting. He was not gay. He did not have jack off fantasies about men. Woman yes, they were pretty, frail, sexual. Which were also words, his mind taunted him, that he had used to describe D.

The blonde detective slid down the wall, the gurgling water a relaxing sound against the avid chaos of his mind. He wanted it. He could admit that much at the moment. Leon could admit that had that situation been real, he would have…

He winced at the thought of his cock embedded in another man’s ass. Stomach squishing at the thought momentarily. But he supposed it would… Shaking his head, he pushed aside that thought. Not then. Not *ever*. He was not going to indulge… torture himself with those kinds of thoughts. The feel of the Count’s skin under his hand…

Groaning he thumped his head against the white wall behind him. Raking a hand through his thick mane, he resolved to push it aside. If he didn’t think or welcome the thoughts of another man, then it didn’t matter. One almost jack-off fantasy didn’t make him a damn queer.

Closing his eyes, he could still see the Chinese man.

“Fuck.” He grumbled, sliding up the wall and slumping back to the dishes. He scrubbed them with renewed vigor, if anything, a distraction from his cruel mind. That rich, slightly accented voice. The scent of arousing incense.

Turmoil had set in deeply. As much as he desperately wanted to run to the nearest whore and fuck her deeply, he half-heartedly realized that woman weren’t as arousing as the Count. There was something deeply provoking about a man, richer toned, the strength…

Shuddering, Leon one by one finished off the plates, resting them in the drying rack. Ignoring his motions, his thoughts caught up in the trials of what was exactly happening to him. He wanted it.

There he had admitted it.

The feel of that slender hand running down his bare chest. That mocking grin that loved to tease him. So he admired the Count, the damn freak dressed enough like a female. That was probably it…

He wasn’t gay.

Licking his dry lips, he roughly turned off the tab, forgetting the rest of the dishes in the sink. He wanted to just stop thinking about it. It simply didn’t matter. The Chinese man was gone, flitted away to who knows where, absurd pet shop and all.

There had been the brief good bye.

Leon paused, eyes widening.

The Chinese man was gone. Looking back on his last conversation with the black haired man, it seemed so utterly final. That there was something off about the man who always seemed too much in control.

Those eyes.

They were off somehow, something he couldn’t quite peg. Raking fingers through his flaxen mop he grunted. “Come on Leon, you’re a fucking cop. You can figure it out…”

The key was the other man’s eyes, the tone of voice, the strange finality of his poses. There had been an openness that had made him extremely uncomfortable, yet briefly, content.

Running a finger around the top of the box of chocolates he mused, memory serving him well. The soft, almost caressing touches. The musing, the faraway look…

The Count had no plans on coming back.

He was gone.

Leon shifted uncomfortably, the twinge that hooked his heart caused him to wince. Dawning on his thoughts was the realization that he truly missed the man. He had more than welcomed the Count’s flirting, accepting it fully without many uncomfortable moments. It just hadn’t seemed so… real at the time.

The flutter of his heart.

He had never felt it quite like that, hell not the first time he laid eyes on the smirking Chinese man. Pausing that, the memory of the first time he had given sweets to the Count tightened something within him.

That’s where he had felt it. That strong pull towards…

Drifting back against the wall, the blonde detective sluggishly slid down the wall. It hurt. The Count had left and it hurt. Something ached within him, something he didn’t know how to recognize. His mind seemed to doubt it. But he didn’t… It had been what a little over a year or so?

People didn’t fall in love within a year.

Blinking, blue eyes unfocused, mouth hung open in alarm. “No. No. No. No. No. No. Definitely NO!!” He hissed through gritted teeth.

He had been waiting these past three weeks, vainly for the Count to return. He actually, truly missed the man. He was avoiding the empty shop because it hurt. Hurt that the Count left, without a real definite reason; there was no logic in running.

Resting his head on folded arms across his knees, Leon sighed. Uncomfortable with the unsettled feeling that had a dull ache to it. Nothing was really wrong, but nothing was completely okay. Horns blared from the street below, kids cussing at the driver, yet they seemed so secondary. He was brooding. He felt… used, abandoned. Actuality was far from the truth he was feeling.

Waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

Leon wasn’t going to see the mismatched eyes that loved to taunt him.

It distressed him that he had allowed himself to fall like that, for a man. His homophobia still stirred deep inside, but its fuel of anger and disgust had been quenched.

Sliding up the wall, he sighed, scrubbing his cheek.

It wasn’t going to go away easily, but it would. He could at least understand that. Eyes turned to glance at the chocolates resting upon the table beside him. Fingers brushed the box top gently, a soft caress before they picked it up. Steps were steadier than before, lacking their normal firmness, but not the maunder they were before.

Walking towards the sink he turned the water on as he passed, he had to get those damn things clean. Striding a few more steps he blinked emotionlessly at the half full garbage can. Dropping the box into the can he smiled slightly, ache receding slightly, but a step was a step.

“Sorry…” he whispered, closing the can’s lid and turning back to his dish filled sink.

“I don’t want to wait in vain.”

-owari.





End notess: not my complete idea of a valentine’s day fic, but if you’re like me and spend the holiday alone every year, you grow not to care about it. (though I am truly on the hunt for black heart dollies, they would make delightfully wonderful valentines). Other than working on the holiday, I watch violent movies to laugh at others misery. Which is not what I intended this fic to come off as at all. Its about moving on.