It started as it usually did. Everything was going just fine, Weiss was continuing the mission, having just hacked their way through the usual hired guys in fine style, when Yohji spotted that damn flash of orange hair and didn’t duck in time. As usual. He and Schuldig went rolling off into the darker recesses of the factory, while Aya frustrated himself trying to fight a man who could see the future, Ken tried to out-craze Farfarello, and Omi tried to throw things at a telekinetic.
Yep, as usual, Schwarz was kicking their butts. Yohji sighed as he dusted himself off. Then he reached for his pocket. “Damn it, Schu, you smashed my cigarettes!”
“It’s about time,” the telepath chuckled. “I’ve been trying.”
Yohji rolled his eyes as he lit a bent cancer stick. “Don’t you ever get bored with cruelty?”
“Don’t you ever get bored with losing?”
“Aah.” Yohji exhaled. “That feels good.” He drew again. “So what should we do this time?” he asked, smoke dribbling out of his mouth.
“I liked paper, rock, scissors.”
“Catch me playing that with a telepath again.”
“There’s always ‘my whoever is more whatever than yours.’”
“Haven’t we done them all? Aya is bitchier than Crawford, Farfie out-nuts Ken any day–so far–and Omi and Nagi tied for cuddliness.”
“And last time was us,” Schuldig agreed. “You topped me with the story of the blonde, the cheese sauce, and the electric toothbrush.”
Yohji grinned at the memory. “Yeah. I topped myself that night.”
“I don’t want to hear your perversions again, Kudou. Unless you let me play.”
“No chance.” Yohji peered around a corner. Yep, still getting their butts kicked, still refusing to admit it. “Spend an evening sometime, imagining what Abyssinian and that big cheese slicer of his would do to me if I played with you. Good for hours of sick entertainment.”
“What a pretty picture!”
“Get out of my head, Schu.”
“But Yohhh-jiiii,” Schuldig whined, “it’s such a lovely twisted place.”
“Ssh.” Yohji held a gloved finger to his lips, his green eyes sparkling. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Hate to break it to you, Kudou, but everyone knows you’re a pervert.”
“And a slut. Don’t forget slut.”
“Like I could.” Schuldig rested his forearm on Yohji’s shoulder, peering past him at the fight. “Fujimiya’s getting better, he almost touched Crawford.”
Kudou Yohji, always quick with a retort or at least a flirt, didn’t answer. Schuldig tipped his head, and grinned.
“Whoa, Kudou, Red in the shower?“
Yohji elbowed the telepath, or rather, tried. He was a telepath.
“Get out! He’s mine!”
“I stand in awe, Kudou. You torture you better than I could.”
“Shut up! Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at Crawford, Schu-Schu.”
“Maybe I haven’t got him yet,” the German snickered. “But at least I have a chance. Crawford may be damn good at denial, but Fujimiya doesn’t even remember he has naughty parts.”
“Not yet,” Yohji muttered, and delightful plans of how to remind the redhead wandered through his brain. Schuldig clapped a hand over his mouth; the game would be up if Crawford heard his true, amused, only-slightly cruel laugh.
“I think we found our contest,” he breathed in Yohji’s ear. The blonde turned his head, mischief sparkling in those gorgeous eyes.
“That’s a challenge I could throw myself into,” he answered. “Anything for the team, ne?”
“For the team my blindingly-white ass.” Schuldig had to force down a laugh again. “Besides, it won’t work for that. We need something that can be decided right now.”
“Hai, hai, we’ll come up with something.” Yohji waved his cigarette. “In a minute. What do you say to a long-term contest?”
“And the winner gets what?”
“Bragging rights?”
“Crawford would lock me in with Farf for a week if I bragged about that. And Fujimiya would shi-ne you into tiny pieces.”
“You care!”
“Your mind is a cess-pool, Kudou. I’d hate to go without a refreshing dip once in a while.”
“Okay,” Yohji thought for a long moment, “how about this? If Aya is first to get that damn stick replaced with something else, next time we fight you pair off with him, and let him beat the shit out of you. Believably.” Aside from some not-yet-slaughtered Takatoris, or an ivory tower to lock Aya-chan in, Yohji couldn’t imagine anything Aya would like better. Even though he’d never be able to claim the credit, if it made Aya smile–
“Damn, Kudou, you’re in love!”
“You’re slipping, Schu, if you hadn’t seen that already. What about you? Want me to let Crawford string me up with my own wire?”
“Love is for idiots,” Schuldig 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.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“That’s not part of the deal.” Schuldig smirked. “Maybe I’ll change your mind, though. I’m a redhead too, you know.”
“Not the right one,” Yohji muttered, producing another snicker from Schuldig as his eyes went back to Aya. He didn’t care if he sounded like a love-struck idiot. Schu could read it anyway, might as well get the relief of telling someone, even the orange–not red!–haired bastard. Said bastard leaned on his shoulder again.
“Still losing. When is Bombay going to learn not to bother throwing darts at Farf?”
“Ha!” Yohji said as Farfarello slumped. “He used that horse tranquilizer. I told him he’d need something strong, you guys probably keep the freak high as a kite most of the time, ne?”
“Nein, it isn’t us, it’s leftover tolerance from the asylum. We need to decide now, Kudou, or we’re going to get found out.”
“All right, all right.” Yohji held out his hand, Schuldig took it. “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war–“