Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ A Fine Kettle Of Guilt ❯ A Fine Kettle Of Guilt ( Chapter 1 )

I do not own Weiss, if I did Schwarz would have gotten much more airtime, making no cash flow for writing this.

 

***

Brad Crawford pushed his glasses further up on his nose and sighed; partially in exhaustion, partially in confusion. What he was looking at was a damn odd thing to have in a backyard in Japan. Even for members of Schwarz. He should have known that moving from the penthouse into a real house was a mistake. He should have seen the horrors that would ensue by having a yard, postage stamp sized though it was. Not that a portion of it wasn't used as something productive. Nagi had a nice little vegetable garden going which kept him occupied and non angsting at least part of the time.

 

The other portion of the yard was a completely different subject. Tacky pink plastic flamingoes and an entire village of lawn gnomes stood in various places around one side of the yard. All of them with bullet holes or knife marks from Farfarello and Schuldig's target practice on them. “What the hell else would you use them for?” Schuldig had said when Farfarello had brought them home and started setting them up in the backyard. He did have to agree with Schuldig's rationale on that one. But the strange thing he was currently staring at was far and beyond those.

 

He was forcibly reminded of his parents dragging him to see the “Scottish Play” and the part where the Wyrd sisters were standing over an open cauldron. That was certainly what the thing looked like, heavy and cast iron, though with various modifications. There were pipes connected to it and what looked like a temperature gauge on the side read 36.666 degrees Celsius internal temp. Crawford shook his head slightly, wondering when his curiosity would get the better of him and he'd actually stick his fingers into it to find out what exactly was in the damn thing. It didn't take long for that to happen. He ran one finger along the surface and frowned a little, rubbing the oily substance between his forefinger and thumb. It felt and smelled like . . . olive oil?

 

He wiped his hand off on a handkerchief and started into the house, intent on finding one of the two who just had to be the culprits behind this.

 

“If Farfarello has aspirations of boiling members of the clergy in oil in the backyard . . .”

 

He had just gone into the kitchen when Schuldig came down the stairs wearing a towel over his shoulder and nothing else. He waved to Crawford, grinning evilly and headed out the door to the backyard.

 

Crawford shook his head. He knew he shouldn't. He knew he should just calmly go upstairs and check his stock portfolio but there was just something about a naked, grinning Schuldig that marked trouble of the most mischievous variety. Which usually involved him bailing said redhead out of jail or some other even more unsavory place. If he recalled correctly, and he was fairly certain he did, Schuldig still owed him a massive amount of cash from the last time he'd gotten him out of a particularly sticky jam. One in which he'd managed to sell himself to one of the local dominatrix as a sex slave because he'd been in one of the submissive's heads too long.

 

He sighed heavily and braced himself before walking to the backdoor and opening it to find Schuldig had plopped himself into the cauldron.

 

“What in the name of all the long forgotten gods are you doing?” Crawford questioned.

 

“Relaxing,” Schuldig said with a positively evil smirk. “You really should try it sometime.” Using his speed, Schuldig reaches up and grabs Crawford by the lapels, yanking him off balance and sending him into the cauldron, suit and all.

 

Crawford spluttered for a moment before glaring at his subordinate. “You'll pay for that, Schuldig.”

 

“I certainly hope so,” Schuldig purred, looking at Crawford seductively.

 

“I meant you'll pay for cleaning my Armani, you imbecile. Exactly what was the intent of dragging me into a cauldron full of olive oil? And why does it have olive oil in it in the first place instead of water?”

 

“Do I need an excuse for wanting to get you oiled up? As to the other question, I read that olive oil is the closest natural representation to the oils in human skin. It keeps you from getting premature wrinkling.”

 

“Why would you be concerned about that at twenty two?” Crawford said, moving to sit on the edge of the cauldron and removing his shoes, dropping them over the side before starting to remove the rest of the suit. He sighed a little. He doubted even dry cleaning would get all of the oil out. He decided to prod Schuldig's world famous ego a little. “Since when do you read?”

 

Schuldig huffed and folded his arms over his chest, pouting at the insult. “I read all the time, Bradley.” His eyes fell to half mast as he looked slyly at the leader of Schwarz. “Want to know what else I found out by reading?” he said, letting his eyes skim over the now naked and soaking body of the man across from him.

 

“I shudder to ask,” Crawford said with a yawn, closing his eyes and enjoying the heated oil. Odd, he thought, this is really rather pleasant. Though he would definitely need a shower after this. When he opened his eyes again he found himself face to face with a smirking telepath.

 

“I found out, that if two men have sex face to face it's better because you hit the prostate head on,” Schuldig said, sliding his legs around Crawford's hips.

 

“Hmm. Really? That is an interesting tidbit of information,” Crawford said, running his hand around one side of Schuldig's back and down the cleft of that oh so delectable behind.

 

“I thought so,” Schuldig said, leaning forward and tracing his tongue along Crawford's bottom lip before nipping at it playfully before planting a full open mouthed kiss on the other man.

 

One of Schuldig's hands slid down to lightly stroke that beautiful length of muscle and skin he wanted inside of him so badly. Twisting and pulling it to full hardness while he wiggled and tried to find a comfortable position across the other man's thighs.

 

Crawford smirked a little and took the opportunity to slide just the tip of a finger into Schuldig's very hot body. Schuldig squeaked in surprise and then squirmed, trying to get that one finger deeper into him.

 

“Braaaaad,” Schuldig whined.

 

“Whaaat?” Crawford said, smirking evilly before pushing not one but two fingers all the way in.

 

Schuldig let out a startled yelp before grinding his hips downward. “D . . . damn it, Brad, you . . . bastard.”

 

“Hmm. I don't understand what you want, Schuldig,” Crawford said, still smirking as he crooked his fingers, searching for the spot that would make Schuldig see stars. He knew he'd found it when Schuldig ground his teeth and dug short fingernails into his shoulders.

 

“Gott! You damn accountant, quit playing around and fuck me!” Schuldig growled, biting down on Crawford's ear.

 

“Flattery will get you screwed,” Crawford said, moving just enough so he could slide into Schuldig's waiting body.

 

Schuldig's head flung back and he moaned at the sensation of suddenly being so full. Not that it was an unusual thing at this point but Crawford could still surprise him from time to time. He was grateful that Crawford paused, giving him time to adjust. After a few moments Schuldig wiggled a little trying to get the other man to move.

 

“Damn it, Brad, what are you doing?”

 

Crawford shrugged. “You're the one sitting on me. I thought I'd let you do the work for a change.”

 

“Bastard. Fine,” Schuldig said, rising slowly in Crawford's lap before slamming back down hard and making both of them moan.

 

After the initial stroke Schuldig set a hard and fast pace that had both of them gasping for air in a matter of minutes. Crawford wondered vaguely if it was possible to be ridden by a hurricane because that was certainly what it felt like to him at the moment. Schuldig's internal muscles clamped down hard and it was enough to send them both over the edge into temporarily blinding white.

 

After a few moments of recovery, Crawford shoved lightly at the other man's shoulder. “Get off, you're heavy.”

 

“Nuh-uh,” Schuldig said, shaking his head a little and staying exactly where he was.

 

Crawford sighed. “Out of morbid and insane curiosity, where did you get this monstrosity?” he asked, flicking his fingers across the surface of the oil to indicate the cauldron.

 

“This? Oh, Phoenix sent it.”

 

“Why?”

 

Schuldig shrugged. “She said it was a present for Katami. Whatever that means.”

 

Crawford stared at him for a moment, mildly confused. He finally sighed and shook his head, deciding that he really didn't want to know.