Schuldig hated being wrong. Usually. Not this time. Within ten minutes of the disappearance of Weiss, Brad Crawford, the Oracle, leader of Schwarz, hot-as-hell assassin and precognitive and all-around American badass, was giving Schu’s tonsils a thorough examination. And not with a tongue depressor and flashlight, either. Schuldig was loving it. If the brunette wanted to play Herr Doktor, that was just fine by him.
Brad’s mouth slid off his, to nuzzle beneath his ear. “Have you had enough dancing?” he murmured. That was why they were here, supposedly, Brad had caught him torturing the neighbors again and decided Schu needed some exercise. Not for one second had the telepath believed him, of course. Especially not once he saw the man was prepared, with the hottest clothes this side of– “Hmmm, Schu-Schu?”
“Nein.” Schuldig shook his head. Brad drew back in surprise, Schu smirked at him. “You said you’d show me how well you can dance,” he went on. “What do you say we make it more challenging?”
Brad grabbed Schu’s hips, grinding against him as they danced. “How so?”
Schu closed his eyes and tried to remember where he’d been going with that. Ahh, it had been over a week, and– “Horizontal,” he shoved out. “How well do you dance horizontally?”
“Try me,” Brad chuckled.
“Right here?”
“You would.”
“You know it.”
“There is a hotel three blocks away,” Brad murmured against his neck. “But what to do about the music?”
Schu almost asked what the hell he was talking about, had almost forgotten the joke. Again. Now he twined his fingers through unexpectedly soft hair. “Brad-chan, I always hear music when I’m with you.”
Brad snorted. “What music?”
“Beethoven, usually.”
“Wagner would be more appropriate,” Brad muttered, leading Schu off the dance floor.
“Sometimes it’s the Rolling Stones,” Schu told him.
“I can not imagine what song.”
“Tonight it’s ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’”
“There’s an American singer,” Brad said, dragging Schu–only because Schu liked trailing behind and looking at the American’s ass in red leather–dragging Schu across the parking lot. “Alice Cooper. He has a song called ‘Poison.’”
Ooh, Schu liked that song… “Scorpions,” he blurted. “Tease Me, Please Me.”
“Pink Floyd,” Brad said, shoving Schu into the passenger side, “Brain Damage.”
Schuldig laughed. “Liszt’s Faust Symphony.”
Brad slid into the other side, gave him the ‘I like killing’ smile, the one that should have had evil light glinting off his glasses, but he’d put in contacts tonight. “Queen,” he said. “Princes of the Universe.”
“I don’t–“
”Here we are,” Brad sang–sang!–as he started the car, “We’re the princes of the universe.
Here we belong, fighting for survival,
We’ve come to be the rulers of your world.
I am immortal. I have inside me blood of kings.
I have no rival. No man can be my equal.
Take me to the future of your world.”
Oh, God, that was why they belonged together, Brad knew. Nagi didn’t get it, he still thought it mattered if normals liked him. Farf, while useful, was just a nut, but Brad–he knew. “Some American rap guy,” Schu gasped out. “Me So Horny!”
The BMW stopped as Brad chuckled. “I told you it wasn’t far.” They were in front of a garish love hotel. “Go in, I’ll park. Reservation for Brian McKnight.”
“Reservation? At a–”
“Go, Schu.” Brad winked at him. “Unless you would rather go home?”
Fuck that, home was another ten minutes at least. Schu climbed out–it wasn’t easy, he was hard as hell–and went to the desk. But when he asked for the key, the clerk handed him an MP3 player instead.
“What–“ Schu didn’t finish, he ran outside.
The BMW was nowhere in sight. Schuldig took a deep breath, put the headphones on, and pushed play.
“All you do is tell me lies,” Crawford’s voice said. No singing this time. “Can’t you see/I’m not surprised/That you think that I’m a fool/hey/’Cause you think that no one sees. /And you think you’re playin’ me. / I just think that you’re confused. / You’re playin’ you, baby.”
Kudou’s voice was next, laying out the bet that night. That bastard Brad had bugged him!
Then, “Love is for idiots,” Schuldig’s own voice sneered. “If I win, you go clubbing with me. To the Ball and Chain, on your best behavior and I choose your outfit. It will include a leash.”
Then Brad’s voice, one more time. “You lose, Schu-Schu. At 2:43 exactly, Balinese handcuffed Abyssinian to his bed.”
Fucking–! Schuldig flung the player to the ground and stomped on it. He looked up, his eyes narrowed. A cheap little Toyota accelerated, then veered into a light pole. A moment later inside the hotel, the clerk screamed as his worst nightmare broke free and ravaged his brain. Farther in, a man enjoying an anniversary blowjob from his wife, called out his secretary’s name. Ten minutes’ drive away, Farfarello writhed and howled in his sleep. Nagi whimpered and cried, as both were suddenly wrapped in a nightmare featuring Farf as a priest and Nagi as an altar boy. Different nightmares, of course. What frightened Nagi would please Farf, if he did it as a priest.
“Take that, Bradley,” Schu sneered. “You think you’ll just go home to your clean white bed, do you?”
It wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t! Brad Crawford needed to pay. Unfortunately, Schuldig could kill the American, but he couldn’t torture him. Blunt force could get through, when he was on guard subtlety was not possible.
But hey. Schuldig was a creative kind of guy.
“Princes of the Universe,” he said into the sudden sound of sirens. “Did you forget already, Brad-chan?”
***
When finally Aya fell asleep, Yohji went for that shower. He came back shivering, and decided regretfully that as big as it was, the bed was not large enough for him to be safe from Aya, restrained or not. He took the duvet and pillows to the window seat instead, wishing he dared uncuff the redhead. Aya could not be comfortable, and was sure to wake up sore and pissed. But it was his own damned fault, the sneaky little–
Yohji shook his head with a grin, opened the window and lit a cigarette. Tomorrow life was going to get very interesting. There was so much more to Aya than he’d dreamed. Sneaky and kinky and–well, he’d known the determined part, he’d just underestimated the depth of Aya’s resolve. He’d thought that in a contest between a slender man who never drank and a bottle of scotch, that the scotch would win. Silly Yohji.
Maybe it was just wimpy scotch, since it hadn’t knocked Yohji out. Or maybe it was that he was much more used to drinking than Aya, he’d drank less, he had a lot to think about, and he was alone.
No. Not alone anymore. Yohji turned from outside to survey a much better view. Aya’s torso glimmered pale and stunning against indigo sheets, but from the waist down his pants blended into the dark. That just wouldn’t do. Yohji turned the dimmer all the way down, then switched on the light and brought it up slowly, until he could see all of the beauty that was in his bed.
Hmm. Survival instincts were telling him that the less pain Fujimiya Aya was in when he woke, the more likely it was that Kudou Yohji would survive another day. He didn’t dare uncuff the sneak, he’d been tricked already. Twice. But he could make Aya a little more comfortable. Yohji approached warily, and pulled Aya’s boots off. No reaction. He studied the redhead for a moment, planning his moves, then as cautiously as humanly possible, moved Aya across the head of the bed, so instead of being above his shoulders, his arms were in front of him.
Kami-sama, Aya was gorgeous. Yohji admired with his fingers, just a little. He quelled the flash of guilt with memories of what the redhead had done to him, in the Seven and after. He’d been worried he’d need more restraints, he could have sworn there were at least five hands on him at one point…
Aya, in his bed. Again. God or Fate or whoever had a sense of humor, that was for sure. Aya was easily the most beautiful person Yohji had ever had in his bed, he’d spent the night there twice now, and both times Yohji had had to keep his hands off. It was not, Yohji vowed, happening again. He was not made to be noble. That was for Aya. Incredible Aya. That hair, those eyes, that noble heart–he could write a poem to Aya, he should write a poem, Aya had to be a poetry kind of guy. And he’d call the poem–
“Mine,” Yohji tried it aloud, and liked it a hell of a lot. “Mine.” He knew he was being presumptuous, but he didn’t care. Besides, as Aya had proved again tonight, the swordsman did nothing by halves. How had Yohji forgotten that when Aya did something, he did it all the way? He shouldn’t have been surprised at Aya’s sudden passion. He had set out to melt the redhead, and Aya had gone from ice to flames in what seemed like the blink of an eye.
And God had he burned hot.
Yohji bit his lip on the thought, looked to the clock and did some math. If a healthy body dealt with alcohol at about a drink an hour, and Aya hadn’t drank in–
Oh to hell with it.
“Wake up,” Yohji whispered, then changed his mind. He went and brushed his teeth, brought back a glass of water and two or three of his favorite hangover remedies, then reached in the drawer for the handcuff key.
And felt sweat stand out on his face when he couldn’t find it. Chikusho! His life wouldn’t be worth three yen if he had to get help to–there it was. Aya’s rooting had misplaced it, that was all. Yohji leaned to unlock the redhead, but he had to pause to take a deep breath and gather his courage. Enchanted as he was, the blonde was still able to remember that Aya was an assassin, a damned good assassin, and able to carry a grudge like no one the world had ever seen. He was completely capable of killing Yohji first and regretting it after. Then, of course, Aya would punish himself, but what the hell good would that do Yohji?
Enough. While the odds on Yohji’s survival were better if Aya woke restrained, he didn’t want to start things that way. He wanted Aya forever, and he didn’t want him chained up when he told him so.
After, on the other hand–Yohji grinned, though he had a feeling it would be a long time before Aya let his guard slip enough Yohji could get him restrained again. Judging from last night, things weren’t going to go quite the way Yohji had expected. Which wasn’t fair, really. He was supposed to–well, damn it, Yohji was taller. But the truth was, he didn’t care. Yohji would take anything Aya chose to give him, anywhere he chose to stick it. He would wear his fluffiest sweater and make sheep noises if Aya wanted it, he would borrow Aya-chan’s school–
Okay, now that was just sick.
But he could see right now the handcuffs were going to get a lot of use. Might want to look into getting some with more padding–so what about Aya’s wrists, Kudou? Yohji reached again, and lost his nerve again. Compromise. He shook Aya’s shoulder gently.
“Aya. Wake up. Wake up, koi,” might want to hold off on the endearments, Kudou, “Aya, wake up.”
If an assassin wanted to survive, he learned to be a light sleeper. The redhead stirred, those gorgeous eyes blinked. Naturally the first thing they saw was the handcuffs. Aya froze. Of course, Kudou you idiot, he didn’t know where he was–
“Aya, it’s okay. I’m right here.”
Slowly Aya turned his head, to focus the worst shi-ne glare Yohji had ever seen. F5, definitely, on the Fujimiya scale, and Yohji couldn’t believe he wasn’t dead on the floor.
“Kudou…” Abyssinian growled. Softly. Yohji shivered.
“Oi, Aya, let me say one thing. Two things. First, I’m going to uncuff you in a second, and I’m not asking you to promise not to kill me or anything. I won’t even try to stop you.” Quickly he undid his watch, tossed it across the room. Aya watched it go, anger forgotten for an instant of shock. “Second, I really hope you’ll stop and think a minute before doing anything irrevocable like killing me.”
“Yes, please,” said a horribly familiar voice. “Don’t kill him, he’s so much more fun alive and suffering.”
“K’so!” Yohji lunged after his watch. Damn it, Schuldig, and Aya was defenseless–
Behind him something flashed. Yohji spun, already throwing the wire and forget the damn gloves. Schuldig dodged it, of course, with a wink. Damn, fighting a telepath sucked!
“You’re not the only one who made the mistake of forgetting that,” Schuldig said. “Maa, maa, be nice and maybe I’ll give you a copy. I meant what I said, you’re much more fun alive.”
A copy? Chikusho! He had a fucking camera!
“Balinese!” Aya was just about tearing the bed apart, damn it–Yohji edged to him, keeping his eyes on Schuldig, who just stood there and smirked. Damn the bastard, damn him–
“Love you too, Kudou.” The German blew a kiss as Yohji unlocked one cuff and pressed the key into Aya’s hand. “And may I compliment you on your win? Such a shame, I had an outfit all picked out for you and everything.” An image of Yohji wearing nothing but straps, with a collar, leash, and g-string–Aya stiffened, the bastard had given it to him too!
“Get out, Schuldig!” Aya had dropped the key, damn it, of course his hands weren’t working yet–the redhead rolled to his feet, Yohji steadied him as he staggered. Aya jerked away.
“Did you fall asleep?” Schuldig asked. “Leaving him like that for hours is cruel.” His smirk widened. “My admiration grows.”
Aya advanced, swinging the undone handcuff. Yohji went with him, of course, but Aya ignored him. Schuldig bounced to the window seat.
“My awesome mental powers tell me I’m not wanted, so I’ll go.” He winked at Yohji. “Shall we bet on if you can nail his sister next?”
Aya lunged with a roar, but Schuldig was gone. Yohji didn’t sigh relief, the more dangerous man was standing next to him.
Slowly Aya turned, and Yohji gulped and added a category 6 to the Fujimiya shi-ne scale. He tossed his watch away again, Aya would be slower to kill an unarmed man. Not much, but it might gain him a few seconds.
“Chotto, Aya, listen to me. It’s not–“
”I have one question,” Aya interrupted. “Did you bet Schuldig that you could ‘nail’ me?”
To hell with the rulebook, Yohji was going to cry. “Aa. But it’s not–“
”Yohji-kun!” The door opened, Aya-chan ran in. Stared at her brother and Yohji, dishevelled, partially dressed, in Yohji’s room at nearly dawn– “I–must have dreamed,” she said, dropping her eyes and blushing. “I thought you were hurt. That you–called me.” She glanced up, but on the way her eyes fell on the handcuffs dangling from her brother’s wrist. Aya-chan gulped and ran.
Damn Schuldig!
::Why, thank you, pretty kitty!:: came that voice he should never have stopped hating, with undertones of delighted laughter. ::Balinese on the edge of tears, Abyssinian on the verge of homicide–not like it’s a stretch–little Aya-chan blushing for a week…my work here is done.::
Fuck the wire, Yohji was going online and finding himself an Uzi. Let’s see the orange-haired freak dodge that!
Later. “Aya–”
“Don’t bother, Kudou.” Aya walked to the bed, searched a moment and came up with the key. “I don’t want to know.” He unlocked the handcuffs and put them and the key on the nightstand. Then he walked out Yohji’s door, carefully closing it behind him. Yohji felt something rip inside him, and damn did he know that feeling.
Emergency measures. First, the desperation CD. He turned the volume up, knowing he’d be disturbing Omi as well as giving away his guilty secret, but he didn’t care.
“Well, I’m back again,” Dwight Yoakam sang, “for another night.
Of trying to break free from the sadness that I can’t lay to rest.
This old honky-tonk sure does feel like home.
And the music with the laughter seem to soothe my loneliness.”
Yohji liked the blues, he did. But so did everyone else. Sometimes a guy needed something different. And this man, and a few others–nobody did misery like American cowboys.
He locked the door before digging under the bed, then threw himself on it with his very own first aid kit. Three bottles of good vodka, and a carton of cigarettes. Anything those supplies couldn’t get him through, he wasn’t surviving anyway. He poured himself a glass, lit a cigarette and sang along with Dwight.
“So turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose.
From the memory that’s driving me lonely, crazy and blue.
It helps me forget her so the louder the better.
Hey mister, turn it on, turn it up, turn me loose.”
***
“Princes of the Universe” is by (did I mention? 😉 Queen, from the Highlander soundtrack. I just thought it really fit these guys. The Brian McKnight song was a lot harder! It’s “Played Yourself.” Dwight Yoakam is awesome, I don’t care what you think about country music. “Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose” is from the album If There Was a Way.
You didn’t really expect to get by without angst, did you? This is Weiss, after all.