In the Air

Schuldig woke slowly, smiling. He felt…wonderful. He didn’t even mind the headache. Mmm, sea breeze, soft bed, sunshine on his back and his beloved Brad holding him–

Beloved?

Oh, gag! Damn Kudou and his kawaii kitty love!

“Ssh,” Brad murmured as he tensed. “You’re safe, Schu.” A hand moved in his hair, Schuldig relaxed automatically. No, no, don’t relax, wake up, kill Brad, time to kill Brad…mmm. Maybe later. This was nice, Brad touching him, not knowing he was awake. It was different, like Brad–

Ick. That damn Kudou was too close, and blissfully content with his kitten curled on his chest. How the hell had Schu missed that his “link” with Kudou was the bastard being an empath? And what the bastard was projecting–Schu gave him a poke in the guilt. “Assassins don’t deserve to be happy” was an oldie but goodie. “Think of all the people you’ve killed. How can you touch him with those hands?”

Ah, there he went with the angst. Much better.

So then why was Schu still feeling like some idiot had let him into heaven?

Kill Brad. Now. Schuldig raised his head, but before he could slam, Brad kissed him.

Okay, in a minute…except the bastard was doing that fluffy gentle careful-of-his-pixie crap! Schu shoved himself up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Don’t talk, just kill–Brad ran his hands down Schu’s sides, mmm…

“Kissing you,” Brad answered in that voice. The one that promised all sorts of fun, if Schu just stopped arguing for once.

Focus, Schu-Schu. “You let Bickley take me.”

“‘If that bastard wants to play in mein Garten,’” Brad misquoted with a smug smirk, “‘he’s welcome.’ How many times have I told you that arrogance was going to get you killed?”

“My arrogance, O Prince of the Universe?”

“Yours. At least I came after you.”

At least–kill. Now. Ignore the hands. The eyes. The…mmm…lovely big–focus!

“You brought him home!”

“And you let him get suggestions into both Nagi and Farfarello! You’re lucky I came after you, Schuldig. No one else could have escaped both of them.”

“Lucky? You stupid bastard, just try doing anything without me!”

“I did better than you did without me!”

“My ass! Then what did you need Ran for, Brad?”

The bastard laughed. “Are you jealous?”

Lobotomy. He’d still have the body–naw, just kill him. Sigh for the best fuck of his life, and–Brad kissed him again. Schu nipped his tongue. Brad snarled and kissed harder, rolled on top of him and pressed him into the mattress, yanked Schu’s legs around his hips as he bit an ear. Oh Scheisse, there went his brain again…

“Damn you,” Brad growled, biting down his neck, fingers digging into Schu’s ass cheeks, all his weight on the German as he rocked them both, erections pressed between sweat-slicked bodies, “damn you.” Bite. “Don’t you know?” Another bite. “All the damn times you’ve been in my head,” bite, “and you don’t fucking know?” His hand closed around Schu’s cock, but he didn’t stroke and he kept Schu pinned; he couldn’t fuck Brad’s hand. “What the hell kind of telepath are you?”

Know…Schuldig knew this felt good, Gott, only Brad could do this to him, so hot, so hard, so fast, so… “More!” he ordered, come on, enough damn playing… “Move!”

“More?” Brad lifted to grin at him. “Do you know where we are, Schuldig?”

“Bickley’s bed,” Schu realized as soon as enough brain came back. Of course Brad would– “Oh hell no! You possessive bastard, I won’t be able to sit for a week!”

The Oracle squeezed and stroked, ran his tongue over his lips. “Do you care?” he asked in that voice.

“Not…unh!…not really,” the telepath admitted, writhing in his lover’s hands. Now, damn it, days, it had been–

“Good.” Brad bent his head, planting hot swirly kisses down Schu’s chest. Yes, oh yes…tongue-fuck the navel a few times, yes, and–

“Mine,” the bastard snarled, before swallowing Schu whole.

“Not!” Schu screamed, arcing off the bed. Gott, later, fight later–no, don’t–tell him– “Kill you,” he gasped out, oh gott the tongue– “Don’t stop–kill you. I’ll kill you, don’t stop…”

::You’ll try,:: Brad answered. Schu panted as much from the heat in the man’s mind as his mouth, ::I know you’ll try.:: A spark in a firestorm, that was Schuldig in Brad’s mind, gott, the power of the man–

With a groan Schuldig pulled back and shielded. Brad could overwhelm him, moth to the flame, get too close and he’d never get out–like he was sucking him down now, fingers wriggling inside him, stroking, oh Gott fuck Scheisse yes more–more–more– “Brad!”

::Mine!::

Schuldig was too lost to argue. When he could put thoughts together again he found he’d been flipped over, his ass propped in the air. Oh Gott yes he was going to get fucked–

“Why,” the Oracle snarled, stabbing into him and without the pillows Schu would have fallen, it felt so good, “is it so–“

”Move!” Schuldig grabbed fistfuls of sheet. Yes, that…ungh…that was…ooh, yes, less talking more fucking–

“–so hard,” Brad went on, pounding him, gott, yes, there, yes, more, harder, yes… “–so hard? You want…”

“yesss…”

“…me. I want…”

“more…”

“…you. Only…you, want…you, mine…”

Kill…later…kill…yesss…later…kill…

“mine…”

not…ohh…not…

“Mine…”

No… Schuldig buried his face and came with a moan and a sob. Brad yanked his head back and bit his neck and shuddered.

::YES!::

***********

Stupid, Crawford admitted. It had been stupid to push the matter, to insist on claiming Schuldig in Bickley’s bed. To insist on it at all, knowing how Schuldig felt about being owned. Why was it such a big deal, to both of them? And why did Schuldig have to be so damned vindictive? Damn it, his head was going to ring for hours!

The shower shut off, Crawford pulled the pillow off his face. He would not let Schu see how much that damn gong affected him.

“Verdammte bastardo!” the German snarled, mangling languages in the palatial bathroom. “Fucking vampire, you’re worse than Bickley!” The curses rolled on, interspersed with the grunts of the German trying to brush days of tangles out of his hair.

So Bickley was a psi-vampire? That explained a lot. Speaking of–Crawford rolled to poke the blonde curled on the rug on what had been Schu’s side of the bed. Blank blue eyes lifted, Crawford grinned into the stupid smile. Gotta love Schu.

“Coffee,” he ordered. “Go get me coffee.” The lump sat and stared, uncomprehending. Maybe Schu had blasted him a little too hard? “Coffee,” he repeated. “Go get coffee.”

“He’s not going to listen to you.” Schuldig came out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe, damn, he was still pissed. Or maybe he knew how damned breathtaking he was in blue, especially with his hair loose around his face.

“Do you need an exclusive slave that badly?”

Schu made a face at him, then turned to what had been Bickley. “Dubya, dear, would you bring a pot of coffee? On a tray, with two cups and cream and sugar, please?”

That once-remote face broke into a grin, the blonde trotted off. Schu smirked.

“Why do you talk to him like that?”

“Because I want to see how many years it takes you to bend that bastard neck of yours to ask for something. He’ll do anything you want–if you ask him nicely.” The German walked out onto the patio, where other mindless were already scurrying; he must have called them while in the bathroom. One held a chair piled high with pillows–do not smirk, Oracle, he will kill you–one held a chair while others righted and washed the table, cleaned up the remains of their fellows, brought and set up a new umbrella, delivered and lit a cigarette…

Crawford sighed and rolled out of bed and into the shower. He needed to think, and he did that better out of sight of Schuldig and that flash of leg as the robe rode up–

Hell, he wanted the bastard again already and he’d be lucky if Schu let him land a hand in the next week. While the German fucked every ass between here and Tokyo–

Goddamnit. He stepped into the shower and turned the water on, and yelped. Shit! Fucking Schuldig, ran the water icy knowing Crawford would follow him–

Fuck.

“He’ll kill you,” Herr Stein said in his memory, only the words meant something different now. Crawford felt like it was killing him, he did not want Schu hating him, and gods knew the bastard would find a way to kill him outright if it continued. Damn it, the most important thing in his life, and–

“Depend solely on your Sight and you will die,” was Frau Sanchez’ contribution.

“Fuck you both,” Crawford snarled into the warming water, and snickered at the image of them fucking each other. Schu could have made them, if Sanchez hadn’t been dead before Crawford met him. Look what he’d done to “Dubya.”

Ask nicely. Bullshit. Chaos incarnate strikes again. Schu. Schuldig. Schu-Schu. His telepath, his wild child, fiery fallen angel, his flame-haired pixie. He’d fucked the man into the mattress half an hour ago, but think about him too long, and he’d be whacking off in the damn shower.

Like he used to. Just a physical need, take care of it and move on. Before that day in the spaceroom. Damn it, they’d got along just fine until then, knew he should have resisted, found a way–

No, it had started before that. They’d had rocky times before, but this round, the worst yet, had started the night Crawford abandoned Schu outside of the love hotel. And gotten worse in Hawaii, when Schu realized–

Flash of Schuldig in another robe. “Because if you’d only asked once, I’d have done anything for you.”

“Because I want to see how many years it takes you to bend that bastard neck of yours to ask for something.”

Crawford groaned and leaned his forehead on the back wall of the shower. Could it be that simple? All he had to do to have his pixie forever was ask?

No. It wasn’t that easy, he’d tried that. On the lake–

That night never happened.

Shit. He thumped his head on the wall in time to his swearing. Shit, shit, shit. It had happened, and it had been horrible, and he’d killed every witness he could find but there were probably still people out there laughing at him.

Maybe that was all Schu wanted, another chance to humiliate him, to pay him back for the love hotel. He had no hope the pixie’s answer would be different, not after all of this.

Damn it, last time he’d at least been drunk. Not on alcohol, but on finally defeating Essett, maybe still on sea-water, and definitely on the beauty next to him–

He could get drunk on Schu again. That was easy enough.

Crawford straightened and turned the water off. Here was better than Tokyo, here he could kill all the witnesses within an hour. He dried carefully and found he could wear some of Bickley’s clothes. Combed his hair and wished he had his spare glasses. Reminded himself not to squint. The Oracle did not squint. Took a deep breath and walked onto the patio.

Schuldig sat profiled against the sunset, his hair outshone it as one of the mindless worked a comb through it. He’d let Crawford do that once… On his neck was a faint shadow, Crawford read it more from memory than sight.

“Just give me what I know is mine.”

Why had Schu worn Queen lyrics? They were not his favorite band.

Another deep breath and he walked in front of Schu. Beautiful from behind, breathtaking from the front–

The telepath scowled up at him. “What?”

He was using Bickley as a footstool. Crawford couldn’t help grinning.

“Coffee, Brad.” Schu pointed at the other side of the table. “Obviously you need coffee.”

Ask. Don’t just snatch the beauty out of his chair and carry him back to the bed. Ask.

Breathing would also be good.

Just a little slow this morning–evening–Schuldig realized why he was getting stared at and hesitated, caught between preening and irritation, if Crawford knew him at all.

“Schuldig–“ he caught the German’s feet, sat on his footstool. His pixie chuckled. “Schu–“ Shit, what was he asking? Stay forever? Love him? Marry him?

The mindless beneath him was shaking; he’d better ask something soon. Crawford looked down at his hands, caressing Schuldig’s feet.

“I don’t want to fight,” he pushed out. At least he knew that much. “Tell me what I have to do, to keep you with me and not fight with you.” Shit. That probably wasn’t…asky…enough. He looked up, hoping for a clue of what else he should say. Schu cocked his head.

“You didn’t hold back,” he said. “When you let me finish Bickley. Why?”

“It looked like you’d only have one chance. What if I held back too much?”

“What if I’d pulled too much? I’d have killed you, or burned you out.”

“And you’re sorry you didn’t now, aren’t you?”

“Some,” Schu admitted, but he smirked. “You’re going to land on your ass in a minute.”

Crawford stood, still holding the German’s feet, pulled up a chair and shoved Bickley out of the way to lay Schu’s feet in his lap. Where he continued to rub them. Blue eyes sagged with pleasure; for a telepath Schu was incredibly sensual.

“Tell me what to do,” he said again and lifted a foot to nibble a sexy toe. Schu gasped.

“You should…mmm…trust me, you stupid bastard!”

“I trusted you not to fry my brain along with Bickley’s,” Crawford said between toes. Even here, the sweet taste–

“But you don’t trust me not to leave,” Schuldig growled. “When the hell did I say I was going anywhere?”

“You…don’t remember?”

“What?”

“You bastard!” He’d sat there holding his head, accepted all Crawford’s reasons they should never mention that night again, and he didn’t even remember?

“That’s right,” Schu growled, eyes falling shut as Crawford continued the foot massage. “Call me names, that’ll help.”

No, he remembered something, he’d laughed when he saw the parking garage, next time they were in that part of Tokyo. Laughed and looked at Crawford and sent a pedestrian walking into a light pole.

“Schu–that night at the lake, after Essett. What do you remember?”

Oh yes, he remembered something. His pixie hissed and sat up, hissed again at the pain that caused him. But he didn’t answer.

“Tell me, Schu.”

“What’s to remember?” Schu poured a cup of coffee finally, and lit another cigarette. “You said you wanted me to stay forever and then the boat sank and the next day you said pretend it never happened.”

Talk about selective memory. Crawford closed his eyes.

Coward. He opened them.

“I said I wanted you to stay forever and you asked why,” he said quickly. “I said I loved you and you laughed at me. I called you a selfish bastard; you forgot you were on a boat and tried to leave. I figured you were so sloshed you’d sink straight to the bottom, so I went after you, but the boat rolled when I tried to get you back in it. You flipped out and had every person in half a kilometer jumping in to help you, and when we were finally on shore a police officer asked you what the hell happened and you yelled out that ‘that son of a bitch said he loves me!’ and the whole mob laughed.”

Schuldig was staring at him.

“You–I can’t believe you didn’t shoot me.”

“I’d lost my gun.”

The German closed his eyes, shook his head. “What was I drinking?”

“Tequila.”

He shook his head again. “Never talk to me when I’m drinking tequila. Don’t even come near me when I’m drinking tequila.”

Crawford shrugged and breathed. This was better than last time. So far.

“Schu–“

”You sure you’re not a fucking empath?”

“What?”

Schuldig shook his head, pointed with his eyes closed. “A couple rooms thataway, Kudou is getting his brains fucked out by his beloved kitten, and no matter how I shield it must be getting to me, because not only do I not want to laugh at you, I’m about to throw myself in your arms and say something incredibly stupid and sappy and if I do that I will be shooting myself.”

“I’ll protect you,” Crawford promised, and scooped Schu out of the chair.

“Bra-aaddd! I didn’t even get my coffee!”

“Tell Dubya to make a fresh pot.”

“My ass is sore!”

“I’ll find somewhere else to stick it.”

“Not if I nail you first, bastard.”

*************************

Whew! Almost done!

“Just give me what I know is mine,” is from Queen’s wonderful song “I Want It All.”

****