Those warnings at the top of the page? This is where they come in. I am NOT KIDDING, if you didn’t read them, go do so. This is where the fic earns its rating.
Urrmm…a bit of non-con surprised me here, but pretty soon it’s consensual all the way…
(BTW–this is my first sex scene EVER. I’m rather proud of it.)
*****
“Try the door again.”
“Fuck you.”
“Schuldig–“
”I’m not taking orders from you anymore, Bradley.” Schuldig had the chair, Crawford had left it after half an hour in hopes of getting the telepath to stop sprawling so delectably on the floor. The German had been twirling for several minutes now, Crawford wondered why he wasn’t dizzy. Maybe he was doing it so he could get sick enough to throw up on Crawford. Schu was as vindictive as Abyssinian, and a hundred times more creative. Abyssinian always, only, reached for his sword.
“So you’re just going to sit and spin and do what?”
“Hate you.”
“Well, that’s productive.”
“I like it.”
Crawford closed his eyes and let the conversation, such as it was, go. It didn’t matter anyway, the door was no more likely to open this time than it had the last however-many times. He hadn’t needed to tell Schuldig, the telepath would have wandered over and tried it again within minutes.
Nagi had stocked the room with snacks, he could have put a carafe of coffee in here…
He didn’t need coffee, even if he hadn’t slept in days. Actually having time to think was a good thing, Crawford told himself again. Things had gone wrong, somewhere, somehow, for Schwarz to have come to this point. He needed to find and correct the problem.
The German wandered over and tried the door. That was one of the tricks Herr Stein had suggested, to maintain some control over Schuldig. Tell him to do things he would have done anyway, get him in the habit of doing what you told him…of course, when Schuldig was angry, Crawford was supposed to tell the telepath not to do things he wanted him to do. But Crawford had never liked the reverse psychology, he had no intention of even giving the illusion that Schuldig could get away with disobedience. When the telepath did not do what he was told, he needed to pay the price. Whether the price was exacted by Takatori and his golf club, or–
No, don’t go there. Schuldig had earned every–
“When you see only what you wish,” he could hear from years ago, farther back than Herr Stein, “what have you done?”
“Made myself blind, Frau Sanchez.”
“Talking to the dead?” Schuldig asked. “Why that hag?”
Crawford didn’t answer, the telepath continued his spinning.
How many times had he let his teammate be beaten or otherwise abused? Enough times suddenly Crawford was the one who was nauseous. Some of those times hadn’t even been Schu’s fault, he was just…convenient. No one would beat Nagi, Farf there was no point, Crawford–any leader who got far enough to hire Schwarz, knew that attacking a team leader destroyed effectiveness. So Schuldig–damn.
And why had Schuldig taken it? He’d always gotten revenge, of course, Crawford snorted at the sumo wrestler/bodyguard Schu had made a conscientious vegetarian…but why had he taken the abuse at all? No non-Talent could beat Schuldig against his will.
So as not to give them away, of course. Had he fought Takatori, or any of the others, Schuldig would have revealed their plan. And Schu wouldn’t do that, he was–
He was what? Loyal? Then why this need to control him? Crawford could have told him and Nagi about the poisoning as soon as they decided to follow him against Essett. He did not know if there was a way to deal with the problem, but at the least he could have put their lives in their own hands. As the telepath had demanded–when had he ever given Crawford reason to doubt him?
The fire-haired pixie was chaos incarnate, that was true. But through all the insanity–and Schuldig flattered Farfarello, calling him a loon, Schu was by far the more unpredictable–the one constant had always been that Schuldig was a member of Schwarz. He might taunt and jeer and irritate just for something to do, but when it mattered, Schuldig stood with his team. Even when he obviously had feelings elsewhere. Crawford had put a microphone on Schu because he suspected treachery, when he realized the telepath and Balinese always ended up out of sight when Schwarz met Weiss. But that had not been the case. Schu had simply changed the rules in one more attempt to avoid boredom. And Crawford had punished him for his harmless diversion.
Why? When had control become more important than cooperation? They had been a team once, not a bunch of talents driven by a precog with a whip…
Did it matter now? As Nagi had proved, Crawford had lost their respect. Not only had he let himself be locked in a room like a naughty child, he had pushed them to the point they felt the need to. Schwarz was over. The rest of them would realize it soon.
He was avoiding again. Yes, it mattered why. He had punished Schu to drive him away, set all of this in motion trying to escape the lure of Schuldig actually caring for him. Resisting the man’s sexual advances had never been easy. Resisting him meeting Crawford’s sleepy hand with a perfect cup of coffee, discussing the latest vote in the United Nations, that ill-fated but so enjoyable Fourth of July party…especially resisting him spattered with potato salad and looking murderous, and later, creeping around with that ridiculous water gun and happy grin …
Self-fulfilling prophecy. When a precognitive decides to change the future that he sees…that was why precogs were taught to always think first, analyze, decide what was actually vision and what was interpretation, before acting. Because a precog reacting without thinking was letting his talent use him.
Crawford had always known Schuldig would be his ruin. But he’d never evaluated the belief in the light of his training, because that vision had come from his heart and not his talent. So in his obsession with not-needing Schuldig, Crawford himself had brought about everything he thought he was preventing. Schwarz was shattered. Schuldig would not be held.
And Crawford would not be trapped.
“Schu–“
”Fuck you.”
Crawford chuckled. Then laughed. If only he had! He could have spent years fucking his pixie into the mattress, the walls, the carpet once in a while…maybe they still would have ended here, maybe the crash would have been much bigger and better, but either way there would have been years of fucking. The telepath peered at him.
“What the hell are you laughing at?”
“Tell Nagi he needs to revisit a few of his assassin-lessons.” Crawford pulled his back-up gun from his ankle-holster. Schuldig shook his head.
“What are you going to do, shoot out the lock? Nagi is holding the entire door. And if you’re going to shoot me because I keep trying to die, that’s counter-productive.”
Crawford checked the safety and tossed the gun to Schuldig. Graceful hands caught it.
“What–“
”Shoot me.”
“What?!?”
“Kill me, if that’s what will make you happy. Or just wound me, so you can watch me suffer. I don’t care. Nagi will hear even that little thing, he will open the door.”
“Bradley, have you been snorting my pixie sticks?”
“Just do it, Schu.”
“No.” Schuldig set the gun on the desk. “You want to die, shoot your damn self.”
“There is a six month supply of the pixie sticks in my safe. The combination is your birthday. Everything you need–“
”Get it through your thick skull, Crawford. I will not send you to hell, the only way you’re going is if I drag you there.” He cocked his head. “Why is my birthday the combination of your safe?”
“Would you have tried it?”
“Of course.”
“That’s why.”
“You son of a bitch! If you trust me, why the damn pixie sticks?”
“Do you think Caesar was glad?” Crawford asked. “That if he had to be betrayed, it was his friend who did it?”
“Temee! You’re saying you hoped if anyone stabbed you in the back it would be me?”
Yes. Crawford leaned his head back, closed his eyes. Yes. At least he’d have had that much of his–
“Kisama,” Schuldig growled, and Crawford felt his glasses ripped away, “will I ever understand you?”
Crawford would have answered, but the German straddled his hips and kissed him. For an instant he reveled in it, then he shoved the telepath away. Schuldig sprawled before him, so beautiful–
It wasn’t Schuldig’s fault. But the bastard was there, as always he was a convenient target. And the wild child had bit him. Crawford wiped blood off his lip.
“Go fuck yourself, Schuldig.”
“Not when you’re right there.” Schuldig pounced. They wrestled, rolling across the floor. Crawford was heavier and stronger, but the German was faster. Crawford wanted to hurt someone, the telepath wanted to hurt Crawford…
But suddenly, it was…something else. God, he’d known his pixie would be a wildcat in–they were not in bed! Crawford pinned Schuldig under the desk.
“Stop it! I will not tussle like a child–“
”Too late!” Schuldig sang with a grin. “Kiss me, Brad.”
***
“What are they doing?”
“I don’t–“ the webcam bounced. “They’re under the desk.”
“Fighting or fucking?”
“Who knows? Who cares? I’ll reset the reminder, but next time you look. There are things I hope never to see.”
“Some assassin you are, if that squicks you.”
“Fuck that. Are there any more Cheetos?”
***
“You’re disgusting,” Crawford growled.
“You’re in agony,” the telepath answered, and somehow poked his knee into Crawford’s solar plexus. He lost his grip, and his breath, all he could do was lie there gasping for air that wouldn’t come–
“Knock knock,” the bastard said softly. “I’m coming in.” Careful fingers slid into Crawford’s hair, and Schuldig was there, was inside, and damn it he couldn’t do anything–
::I win,:: that voice said in his head. ::First, make sure I won’t be evicted before I’m done…:: Crawford felt things moving, Schuldig was doing more than reading–God, those eyes, staring into his, through his–
::Now,:: the telepath said, ::let’s see what the hell you’re so afraid of, ne?::
No! Damn it, no, if he knew–
::oh Brad…::
Crawford closed his eyes against the sudden softening of Schuldig’s gaze. Caught, damn it, trapped, he’d lost–
::Verfluchter Idiot,:: Schuldig murmured. ::How could I cage anyone?::
::But–::
::Bradley Crawford, I am going to set you free.:: Soft kisses on his face, soft touches in his mind–
“Schuldig!”
The sense of the other man’s presence withdrew from his head, but Crawford still couldn’t move–the German pulled back to peer into his eyes.
“Yell for Nagi,” he said. “Or I’m going to have you right here. Which do you fear more, Brad? Losing control or asking for help?”
“Let me go!”
“No.” Schuldig untied and flung his captive’s tie, then attacked his shirt buttons. Brad Crawford, Oracle, self-proclaimed Prince of the Universe, lay on the floor under his own desk, flat on his back as his telepath undressed him, unable to do a damn thing about it. He could talk, he could move his head, he could–aahhh!!–curl his fingers and toes, but he could not fight.
Schuldig looked up from his neck-nibbling. “Like that, Brad?” he cooed. “Oh, I can see you do. There’s lots more like that, and even better, just for you.”
“Damn it, Schu–“
”Beg, Brad. Beg for your freedom and I might let you go.” Schuldig opened his shirt and ran an appreciative hand over his chest. “Beautiful.”
Crawford did work at it, unlike some people who stayed slim by augmenting hyperactivity with enough sugar to put a rhinoceros on tiptoe.
What was he thinking? “Mastermind! Stop this!”
“No.” Schuldig’s hand skimmed across his stomach, came back. Idly circled his navel while the telepath watched his reaction. He must have felt Crawford’s stomach muscles jump–
“You like that. Maybe you’ll like this,” he brushed his hair back, licked his lips, “even more.” And he bent to place a soft kiss on Crawford’s navel. Then his tongue came out, and his teeth, and oh God the hair was all across Crawford’s stomach and he’d had dreams that were nothing more than the hair–Schuldig was making love to his navel!
“Schuldig!” he gasped out. “I’ll–“
”Kill me?” Talking was a mistake, it made Schuldig–no, damn it, he wanted Schuldig to stop! “You’ve been trying to not-kill me for a week, Brad, that’s an empty threat.”
“Been trying–ungghhh!–not to kill you for years.”
“And this is your reward for all that patience.” Schuldig murmured into his navel. The German’s hand rested on his groin, Crawford found he could move more than he’d thought, reflexively his hips jolted into that contact. Schu lifted his head just enough Crawford could see his grin. “One part of you,” he said, giving Crawford a squeeze through his pants, “knows who its friends are.”
“Don’t do this.”
“You don’t like being helpless? Did you think I would?” Schuldig sprang the button on his pants. “At least I’m trying to make it pleasant.” He caught the zipper, tugged a little. “You locked me in a cage and watched me beat myself to death on the bars.”
“I couldn’t–“
”You know that’s why I let Farf out when I’m not supposed to.” Another tug on the zipper. “Why I chaperone Nagi to those damn concerts.” Schuldig opened Crawford’s pants, brushed knuckles across the straining erection inside his boxers. “The only thing that can make me feel pity. Why I always have a way out.” Crawford felt something in his mind and against his will his hips lifted. “When I came home in that damn loincloth, I still had my passport!” Crawford’s pants were eased down over his hips. Schuldig moved away, then his shoes vanished, the pants were gone, and Crawford was wearing only an open dress shirt and a pair of cotton boxers.
“Schu. I never–“
”Never what, Brad? Never meant to chain me? Liar.” He was angry, so very angry, but the German’s hands were careful, gentle even, running back up his legs. Torture at the hands of Schuldig was never a simple matter of pain…the telepath slipped a knee over his groin, sat right on his erection and wiggled. Crawford fought a gasp.
“Don’t bother.” Schuldig tapped his forehead with one finger. “I can hear you. Remember?”
“What did you do to me?”
Schuldig didn’t answer. Instead he flung his arms up as if he were dancing, his eyes closed, he rocked and swayed, one hand slid down his other arm, caught in his collar, wiggled a button free–oh God, Schuldig was giving him a lap dance! Another fantasy, right there on his cock!
Schuldig had read his mind. Not just a quick glance around, an in-depth–
::Schuldig is still reading your mind,:: the bastard said in his head. ::Betty Crocker has left the fucking building,:: with an impression of how hot and annoying baking was, ::I know what you want now.::
Oh shit.
::Do you like it, Brad? Being completely at my mercy?::
“You have no mercy!”
::And that turns you on.:: The telepath rocked his hips, rubbing their erections together, and every thought leaked out of Crawford’s ears.
::Hmm, kinda empty in here,:: Schuldig said. ::Let’s fill it.:: And he started dancing again, giving Crawford the music, Alice Cooper’s “Poison” while the wild child danced and stripped on his straining erection, oh God–
The sunglasses, thrown across the room though they’d cost a salaryman’s fortune. The headband, winging to snare on the lamp. Schuldig tossed his hair, flames whipping around that pixie face, one hand slid through the soft strands while the other undid one slow button at a time–
Someone moaned, Crawford realized it was him. Schuldig smirked, his eyes still closed. His hand slid inside his shirt, popping the last two buttons. Crawford shivered as they bounced off his stomach. Schuldig was still dancing, his hands in his hair and skimming across that beautiful torso, touching himself, loving himself, nothing obvious or blatant or disgusting like a million and one flirts over the years, just–beauty, loving beauty.
“Schu,” Crawford whispered, oh God he was lost, “let me touch you.”
“Ie,” Schuldig breathed, the Japanese word instead of German. “You had your chance.” He bent one of his legs back, foot to hip, God he was flexible, tugging his shoe off as he still writhed and danced, more pressure on Crawford’s groin and he was going to come in his boxers if the man didn’t stop–
“Do you think I would let you?” Schuldig murmured. The shoe flew, he bent the other leg back and did the same, then his hands went to his waistband. “Do you want me to, Brad?”
“Yes…”
“Ask me.”
“Schuldig…”
“Ask me! For once in your fucking life ask instead of demanding, ordering, or forcing!”
“Please, Schu…”
“No.” The German stood, walked away. Crawford lay there stunned, then realized he could move–
He leaped after Schuldig, but the telepath dodged. Crawford caught only his fist, in his stomach.
“No.” Schuldig picked up his sunglasses, and a shoe.
“You…bastard,” Crawford gasped.
“Because I had to make you ask, Brad. Because when they handed you my leash, you took it.” He picked up his other shoe, turned a glare on Crawford. “Because the only reason we haven’t been fucking each other’s brains out for years is you didn’t want me to know you wanted me.”
Without direction, Crawford’s hand snatched the gun, aimed it at that pixie nose. No, what was he–Schuldig smiled.
“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he murmured, and put his lips over the barrel.
Crawford tried to take his finger off the trigger, to jerk back, but he couldn’t move again.
“Schu, I took the safety off!”
::I know,:: came that smirking voice. ::Watch me, Brad.:: Schuldig hollowed his cheeks, sucking on the barrel. Released it, to run that pale pink tongue up the underside, brushed across Crawford’s trigger finger, back to circle the rim of the barrel–again Crawford heard a moan come from himself.
“You’re sick,” he pushed out.
::You love it.:: Schuldig drew back, pushed the gun down. Between his legs. Mounted Crawford’s arm and started dancing again, eyes locked to Crawford’s, fingers digging into his biceps as the redhead writhed on his wrist and the gun, oh God, this was sick and he did love it, he wanted more, he wanted to watch Schuldig come, stroking himself on his gun, he wanted to give him another gun to ride, he wanted to do everything and anything with and to this wanton wild child–
::Say it,:: Schuldig ordered, with a burst of music. “You’re poison running through my veins…”
“I…” Crawford licked his lips. What did it matter? Somehow, some way he would get free, but not now. He couldn’t fight, locked in this room with Schuldig in his head and on his arm, oh God– “Schuldig, I want you. Please.”
::You told me, that night. I should have paid attention.::
“I want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name.
Don’t want to touch you but you’re under my skin (Deep in).”
“Schuldig, please…”
::Tell me what you want, Brad. What you need.::
“You! It’s always been you! I want you, Schuldig, I want to touch you, worship you, own–“ Crawford clamped his lips, too late. Schuldig froze, those blue eyes went glacial.
“You will never own me.” He whirled away, off Crawford’s wrist, eyes closed, dancing again–Crawford drew a deep breath and let it out. He set the gun carefully on the desk, and reached in the top drawer for the lube Schuldig put there periodically, just to hear Crawford tell him how disgusting he was. He put it on the desk, took the rest of his clothes off and lay down.
Schuldig smirked and slid one sleeve down his shoulder.
“Your mouth, so hot. Your web, I’m caught.
Your skin, so wet. Black lace on sweat.”
He whirled, the shirt trailed him then flew away, his hands dove into his pants. He danced against them, touching himself, Crawford had to breathe deeply again.
“I hear you calling and it’s needles and pins (And pins)”
Schuldig writhed out of the pants, Crawford held tight to his control. The pixie caught up the lube, in one expert motion he had it on his fingers and was–oh God!
“I want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name.”
The telepath stepped over him, danced above him impaled on his own fingers.
“Don’t want to touch you but you’re under my skin (Deep in)”
Crawford bit his lip to resist touching, Schuldig would not be held–
“I want to kiss you but your lips are venomous…”
Slowly, so slowly, the German danced his way lower.
“Poison,” Schuldig, Crawford, and Alice hissed together. Oh God, he was so hot, Schuldig burned as hot as his hair–
::You knew that,:: came that smug voice. The German eased down, swaying, writhing, squeezing Crawford so perfectly– ::Don’t move,:: he warned. ::My way.::
“Your way,” Crawford gasped, oh shit, fuck, oh God–
Still Schuldig danced, swaying, stroking his body, tossing his hair like a stripper on a pole–
The telepath smirked.
“Let me…damn, Schu, oh fuck, let me touch you…”
“Ie.” Schuldig grasped his own erection, slid slick fingers up and down, twisted, stroked–and rode, rocked, writhed, oh, shit, oh fuck, damn, oh damn–faster, harder, Schu was slamming on top of him now, his ass slapping against Crawford’s thighs–
“Schuldig!” he roared, clamping fingers on narrow hips to hold his pixie, rocketing into his lover, his fire-haired wild child…
“Not…” Schuldig gasped, “…yours!” He threw his head back and came, striping Crawford’s chest and oh God he was the most beautiful thing Crawford had ever seen, quivering there on his cock, his face tense in ecstasy…
Then he folded forwards, and for one glorious moment Crawford held Schuldig against him. Too soon the German pulled away, stepped away. Collected his clothes without a word. Cleaned himself up without a glance, and dressed.
“Schuldig–“
”You want a pet,” the German said, lighting a cigarette, “get a dog.” He knocked on the door. “Just don’t let Nagi catch you fucking it.”
The computer monitor flickered. Crawford scrambled out of sight and leaped into his pants as Schuldig smirked into the cam. “Let me out, kiddo,” he said on a trail of smoke. “I think I bounced that stick out of the boss’s ass.”
“I didn’t need the details,” Prodigy’s voice returned. The door opened a crack. Schuldig walked to it, then turned, his hand on the knob.
“Told you I’d set you free.”
***
Whoa!! Where did that come from? Oh, damn, now I have to try to top that with Aya and Yohji… Oh, and–Alice Cooper’s “Poison,” as mentioned. I don’t own the song or the characters.