Warnings…umm…return of the lemon. Didja miss it? Swearing in Spanish and English. And German? Probably. I forget, but it is Schuldig.
I still don’t own ‘em. Can’t even manage to borrow ‘em for a wild weekend or six, dang it. The only pay I get is the joy of your lovely reviews (and discovering the breadth of my naughty imagination! 😉
******
“Remember,” Brad said for maybe the seventeenth time. “No killing. I want them terrified, I do not want anyone dead. Or even critically injured.”
“Pissing themselves is fine,” Schuldig said with a snicker. “Fetal position even better.”
Brad ignored him, holding Farfarello’s eye until the Irishman nodded. Schuldig lit a cigarette, that got him an annoyed glance. Mr. I’m-going-to-destroy-all-semblance-of-order twitched at smoking in posted elevators. Schu blew him a smoke ring.
“No rape, either, Schuldig. I want them terrified, not so angry they fight back.”
“As if it would do them any good.”
“I do not want them dead,” Brad repeated. “Do you understand?”
Schuldig squashed his first smartass answer, in search of a better one. Brad didn’t need to start fucking doubting him on missions. Had he ever let the bastard down?
Yeah, fine, that time in Paris, but he’d fixed that, and he didn’t think Brad even knew. And Marrakech, and–
No, damn it, he had never let Brad down. So he didn’t follow The Plan. Improvisation wasn’t always a bad thing, and he did get the job done.
“Schuldig, do you understand?”
“Que? No comprende Japonés, mi cabron.”
“Töten Sie nicht. Rauben Sie nicht. Verstehen Sie?”
“Ce qui? Je ne parle pas allemand.”
Brad didn’t hit him, Farfarello did, slapping the back of his head. “Did that help?”
“Farfarello, you–“
”Happy to be of service,” the Irishman said. “This is our floor, ne?”
Schuldig smashed the cigarette into the rich carpet and extended his mind as the doors opened. ‘Only another resident,’ he suggested to any in the hall, or peeping through their doors. ‘You don’t see a group of foreigners, the doorman would never let them in, so they are not there.’ Oh, now that was interesting–
“Focus,” Brad hissed. Damn the man, how did he know? Schuldig yanked his mind back from the little hentai jerking off while he peeped at daddy fucking the maid. This door, six minds inside, family and a servant–Oracle reached for the door, never doubting Prodigy’s ability with locks. Schwarz walked into the condo and waited. After a few minutes of disbelief and confusion, the family quieted, standing in a frightened bunch before their visitors. The servant, Schu made sure, stayed in the kitchen, and didn’t notice a thing. He could follow The Plan. When he felt like it.
Brad took his glasses off and wiped them carefully. When he put them back on, the lenses glinted.
“Tomorrow,” Brad said in English, “you will receive an order for a shipment to Fresno, California. You will refuse the order. If you do not, you will regret it.” ::Tell him how he will regret it, Farfarello,:: Brad went on silently. The Irishman looked the little family over.
“Who else?” he asked. “I will have the little one, if he does not obey.”
The mother gasped and pulled the small boy behind her. The father stepped in front of his family.
“Who are you? How dare you–“
::We are,:: Schuldig told them all, in his best impersonation of an Abyssinian Deep-Voiced Pronouncement of Doom, ::who dare.::
“Get out of my head!” the oldest child snarled. And shoved at his mind! Schuldig nearly fell over in astonishment. Reflexively he shielded her, like muffling a squalling infant in a blanket. The girl’s jaw dropped at the sudden silence.
::Brad!:: Schu half-yelped.
::She can’t match you,:: the American pointed out. ::Scare her, Schuldig.::
::Oh, give me a damn challenge,:: he grumbled, and reached for the girl. ::Come with me, innocence.:: He tugged the inexperienced mind with him to visit Farfarello. The Irishman stiffened as Schu showed her the girl in the alley and a few more choice memories, identifying evidence carefully blurred. The girl fought, struggling as effectively as a mouse in his hand.
“Stop it! What are you doing to her?” The father leaped forward; Nagi shoved him back. The cursed girl fell to her knees, arms wrapped around herself as she sobbed.
“Daddy,” she gasped out, “Daddy, do what they say, please! You don’t know–“
::Would you like him to?:: Schuldig asked politely.
“Please, no!”
“You–you’re demons,” gasped out the middle child. “Monsters! Devils, why are you–“
”Fuck you,” Nagi said, and the boy bounced off the wall.
::No evidence!:: the director of their little drama snapped, through the telepathic link kindly provided by the beautiful ingenue. ::Nagi, watch your language!::
::Hai, Crawford-san.:: The teenage boy victim found himself floating upside down, held by the teenage boy assassin. Brad raised an eyebrow, surveying his team and then the family.
“We will speak again, Kamaguri-san.” He turned away. Farfarello followed, then Nagi. Schuldig smirked and lit a cigarette.
“Gutenabend, meine Freunde.”
On the way out, Schuldig gave the little hentai a concocted memory of a redheaded gaijin and where to find him. That one, driving into him like dad had nailed the maid–
“Focus!” Brad hissed again. Schuldig waved his cigarette with a grin. Being a wolf was not so bad, really.
“Will he refuse the order?” Nagi asked in the car. Brad smiled, that glinty-glasses evil smile that shouted SEX. NOW. in Schuldig’s brain. He snickered and turned in his seat, putting his back to the door.
“The order does not matter,” Brad answered. “If he fails tomorrow, next time he will be sure to obey.”
Schuldig kicked off his shoes and put his feet in Brad’s lap. The American shot him a glare, then pulled into traffic without looking. Schuldig shivered under a wave of horny, and carefully prodded with his toes. In the back seat Farfarello tilted his head.
“Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
::Watch him, Nagi,:: Schuldig thought. ::That’s the King James Version.:: Brad shot another glare as Schu got his toes in the man’s pants. Didn’t dear Brad know Schu was flexible everywhere? Ooh, and what was this, rising to meet him? Careful with the toenails, now. Wouldn’t want to…discourage things. Brad shifted in his seat.
“Crawford-san,” Nagi said, “are we going home?”
“What a lovely idea,” Schu cooed, working his toes. “Come on, Brad-chan, we don’t have to do the shopping today, do we?” He added emphasis with the soft skin of his left foot.
“The dog,” Brad reminded, “needs food.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Schuldig pouted, crossing his arms but not halting the toes. Brad was shifting more, and glaring, but he didn’t forcibly remove the feet or slap his legs or anything. “Evil assassins should not have to go grocery shopping.”
“Evil assassins should not own pets,” Brad returned, with a gloating look to remind Schu whose idea the damn beast had been.
Ooh, Brad-chan wanted to play hard to get? The man forgot who he was playing with.
Brad Crawford, the Oracle, leader of Schwarz, hot-as-hell assassin, precognitive and all-around American badass, pushed the cart. He draped the jacket of his expensive suit over the handle of the cart, and made sure to stand close to it.
Schuldig, Mastermind, star of Schwarz, prettiest assassin on the planet, telepath and smirking German bastard, made sure he continued to need to. In the dairy section he made a show of picking out just the right kind of whipped cream–thick and creamy, not too sweet, and not for hell’s sake that spray stuff. Innocent Nagi picked out a frozen pie to put it on. Schu grabbed another tub of whipped cream.
In the frozen aisle Schu picked out a box of cherry popsicles, and hummed as he devoured one with tongue and lips–no teeth. In the pet section he picked out a jeweled collar and tried it on Brad. Farfarello said it looked good, and searched for a matching leash. Nagi made gagging noises and ran off to the magazine aisle. Brad just glared. Whoopty-doo. Schu had been glared at by Abyssinian and was still standing. Menacing as he was, Oracle could not compete in that arena.
Down the breakfast aisle–it was a Western market since only Nagi really liked what the Japanese called food–Schuldig selected the perfect consistency of strawberry syrup. In canned goods, he got nacho cheese. What the hell, it had worked for Kudou. In the bakery he got donuts, and asked if Brad had ever played ring-toss. In produce he searched and searched until he found the perfect carrot. He started to search for a matching cucumber, but Farfarello hit him with a leek. Intrigued by the shape of that interesting vegetable, he didn’t notice Nagi aiming a sprinkler head at him.
“Waaah!!! You little–“
”Schuldig, stop!” Brad snapped. Schu lowered the leek to glare at the American.
“Look what he did to me!”
Brad looked away. Schu smirked and decided not to spike Nagi’s chocolate milk with laxatives. He’d forgotten a wet and slippery Schuldig was a damned sexy Schuldig, but Brad had just been reminded. He pressed his body against tall, dark and fuckable.
“I’m cold,” he whined. “Hold me?”
Did Brad groan before shoving him away, or was that just wishful thinking?
Whatever, that tent in his pants could sleep six. Schuldig smirked some more–and bashed Nagi with the leek.
“Schuldig, I said stop!”
“You didn’t say forever!”
In checkout Brad’s snarls scared the cashier. In the car he kept removing Schuldig’s feet from his lap. He was rough but not emphatic–meaning he didn’t break bones or draw blood. Schu wasn’t sure even that would have stopped him; he was enjoying the game so much. He damn sure wasn’t stopping without major trauma.
As soon as the car stopped in the garage Nagi ran, the groceries zooming after him. Farfarello stayed in the back seat while Brad clenched the steering wheel and Schuldig waited. No way the man could last much–
“Berserker, go!” Brad snapped.
“Aw, come on,” the Irishman whined in Schu-Schu imitation. “I want–“
”GO!”
“Hai, hai, you don’t have to be pissy about it.” Farfarello sauntered into the house. Schuldig raised an eyebrow at Brad, still clutching the steering wheel.
“You can let go now.”
“Why,” Brad growled softly, “do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Drive me crazy!
“Moi?” Schu asked, pulling a brand-new tube of lube from the glovebox. Brad snarled and lunged. Schuldig bounced out of the car. Finally! He hadn’t been chased in days!
The Oracle didn’t run after him, of course. Brad Crawford stalked slowly while removing his jacket, carefully while removing his tie, all with a look that kept making Schuldig forget to run–
Finally the look held him a little too long, Brad caught his arm and shoved him against the wall, pinned him with his body and glared down into his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“You like being crazy.” Schuldig wrapped arms and legs around the American, oh Gott he was so hard–smirk. Schuldig wiggled. Brad growled and caught his hips, slammed him against the wall. Yesss…
“Why do you push me?” the brunette snarled, and wrapped a hand around his throat. “Do you want me to hurt you?”
“Fuck me.”
The hand tightened. “You wrecked my car, you bled on my suit, you threw my gun. You disobey me and you mock me and you taunt me, and you go slutting around if I don’t drop everything to fuck you every time your dick itches. And the more I don’t kill you, the more you push. When will you be satisfied?”
Oh Gott he was so turned on, he could barely understand what Brad was saying…pinned and helpless and he was going to get fucked till he couldn’t take any more, he just knew it–
Pinned? Don’t let him–
Oh fuck it. Just this once?
“Answer me! When you will you be satisfied?”
As in, had enough? Of Brad? No, not happening, “Never.”
Brad growled and yanked Schuldig’s sunglasses off, tossed them. The headband followed. “I won’t kill you,” he snarled. “I won’t beat you bloody though goddamn you push me to it.” He ripped Schu’s shirt open, pried the German’s legs from around him to strip his pants off. Schu moaned as those strong hands ran over him, rough and demanding and incredible, oh shit, Brad was the fuck of a lifetime…
The American carried him to the car. Schu gasped as he was thumped down on the chilly hood. Brad held him with his weight.
“You want fucked?” he growled, his hands everywhere. “I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you till you scream, Schuldig, I’ll fuck you till you cry and beg for me, damn you to hell.” He wrapped a hand in Schu’s hair and pulled his head back, to clamp his teeth on the German’s neck. Schuldig groaned and writhed, grinding against the American.
“Too…too much clothes!” he gasped out. “Brad–“
”Who’s doing the fucking?” Brad demanded, before clamping onto Schu’s nipple.
“Ach Gott!” Schuldig arched against him, verdammte he didn’t need any more damn foreplay– “Fuck me!”
Brad drew back with the glinty-glasses evil smile, though he’d lost the glasses at some point. “I thought you liked this game?”
“Oh please…”
“Not enough,” Brad declared, and grabbed his cock. “Beg me, Schuldig,” he said, pumping firmly. Schuldig held onto the car.
“Aaahh! Pl–damn it, Brad, come on…”
“Beg me.”
“Fuck you!” Schuldig snapped, then shouted as Brad sucked him down. Gott in der Hölle, a blowjob from the Oracle on the hood of his brand-new car– “Aaaahhh!! Brad, oh shit, Brad–“ oh damn, the man knew what he was doing! He was–he was–
And the man stopped, took that fantastic mouth away. Schuldig whined, the bastard chuckled.
“Beg,” he said again, snatching Schu’s hands as he tried to take care of it himself. Brad pulled Schu’s arms above his head and stretched over the German, kissing and biting and taunting. “This is your game,” he reminded at every moan. “You wanted to do it this way.”
“Damn you to hell, finish it!”
Finally, finally, a wet finger slipped inside him. Schu gasped and shoved himself down on it. Brad chuckled and held his hips.
“Don’t take Farf out again,” he growled, and flicked his finger. Schuldig shouted and thrashed. “Do you understand?”
“Urmm…ahhh!”
“Schuldig, pay attention.” The finger went still, until Schu cranked his eyes open to meet Brad’s. “Tell me you understand,” he ordered, flicking the finger. Schuldig’s eyes crossed.
“Oh, shit, Brad…”
“Answer me, Schuldig.” The finger went still again. Schu pouted and wiggled, but nothing happened. “Answer me!”
“What?”
“Promise you won’t take Farf out again. He can bring us all down.”
The finger was withdrawing! “Hai!”
“Say it.”
“I…” shit, what–? Oh. “I won’t take Farf out now please fuck me Brad fuck me now!”
Ach, Scheisse! The finger was back, with company, oh yes, oh damn–
“Now! Brad, fuck me now!”
“Ask me nicely,” that bastard said. Schuldig wriggled and got his legs around him, yanked him close.
“Fuck me or I’ll kill you in your sleep, you bastard king of demons!”
“Flattery will get you nailed,” Brad said with a breathless chuckle, and the fingers withdrew, to be replaced by something hotter and harder and oh damn so much better–
“Yesss,” Schuldig hissed. “Hard, Brad, fuck me hard, I need–“
”I know what you need.” The American pushed Schuldig’s knees to his chest, both of them gasping at the sensations the movement caused. Then he fucked, hard and deep and hot. Schuldig gasped with every thrust, then he started grunting, then moaning and oh Gott he couldn’t hold back, he’d been hard for hours– “Brad!” he screamed, and came. And came, and came, oh Gott he’d never come so hard…
Brad got that evil smile and kept fucking. Schuldig groaned, it felt so damn good, oh Gott, he was getting fucked into the car–Brad Crawford was going to dent his brand-new car, fucking Schuldig. He got hard again at the thought.
That thought, and the slide of Brad’s cock in and out, the slap of his thighs against Schu’s ass, the grunt of effort at every thrust, the flex of the car under him, Farfarello and the video camera peering out of the dryer–
Schu closed his eyes and focused on the fucking. Brad wasn’t dumb, don’t indulge any stupid show-off ideas, damn it, he didn’t want this to end because his lover was disemboweling Farf and besides he wanted a copy–
He couldn’t help it, he let his inner opera singer out to play. Brad made him want to screech anyway. Schu came again, belting out an arpeggio as he did. The best fuck of his life scooped him into his arms, and came breathing Schuldig’s name. Brad planted a few kisses in sweat-soaked hair, then moved away to collect Schu’s clothes. Schu sighed happily and lit a cigarette.
“Get off the car,” Brad ordered.
“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Schu asked, wincing as he sat up. Oh, he was going to feel this for a while.
“Okay?” Brad asked gently, brushing his hair back. What the fuck?
“Fine,” Schu snapped, and hopped off the car. Brad caught him as he sagged, weak-kneed. Well, duh. And damn. The last thing he needed was Brad getting all protective again. Schu shoved away and stalked into the house. Damn, damn, why couldn’t they get it right?
Just to make sure he’d made his point, Schu went to bed in his own room that night. But after three hours of tossing and turning, he got up and went downstairs. Farfarello was in the living room, in the dark with the TV off. Schu chuckled.
“Oh, it’s just you,” the Irishman said, and turned the movie back on. Schuldig grinned appreciatively at the fine view of the Oracle’s gorgeous ass.
“Got popcorn,” Farfarello said, tossing several cushions on the far end of the couch. “Nagi didn’t want to watch. Wouldn’t even bet on how long till you can sit normally.”
“He’s too damn squeamish for an assassin.” Schuldig took the popcorn.
“Nice move, there.”
“I thought so.” He tilted his head. “How’d you get that angle?”
“Not like you two were going to notice me moving.”
“That’s true.”
“Some damn assassins you are.”
“Everybody needs to get fucked sometimes.”
“Want to watch it from the beginning?”
“Of course. And get me a beer, will you?”
“Aa.” Farfarello handed over the remote and got them both beers. “He fucked up again?” he asked as he sat. Schu grimaced.
“I can’t believe I even give a damn. Six billion people on the planet that I can read, and one I can’t, that I can’t understand no matter how I try, and that’s the only one I want to fuck.”
“It is the nature of humans to yearn for what we cannot have. God made us that way, so he could watch us fumble and fall.”
“Fuck God.”
“That is a movie I would like to see.”
*******
“Que? No comprende Japonés, mi cabron.” “What? I don’t understand Japanese, my fucking bastard.” (It is Schuldig.)
“Töten Sie nicht. Rauben Sie nicht. Verstehen Sie?” “Do not kill. Do not rape. Do you understand?”
“Ce qui? Je ne parle pas allemand.” “What? I don’t speak German.” (Did I mention it’s Schuldig? *grin*)
“Gutenabend, meine Freunde.” “Good evening, my friends.”
“Moi?” “Me?” (Said in a tone of surprised innocence…)
Hentai–if you don’t know this one, what are you doing here?