Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ A Spoonful of Sugar ❯ Whatever ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: KD Sarge 
Crawford is just too tired to care.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Comedy / Shounen | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 12.30.2006 | Updated On: 12.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 672 | Visits: 588 | Status: Work In Progress
Crawford is just too tired to care.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Comedy / Shounen | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 12.30.2006 | Updated On: 12.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 672 | Visits: 588 | Status: Work In Progress
Hee hee hee...
***
The rain made it harder. Crawford peered through the windshield and decided to hire a limo for the rest of the week. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He'd ride in style, sleep in the back for the entire commute, maybe he'd be awake enough to eat when he got home—
Hells. There would be nothing to eat. Up to his ears in plans and preperations, he'd forgotten to call the maid service. Again.
Mental note, eat nothing offered by Farfarello. He wouldn't be tempted by anything Schu came up with, of course. If the petulant redhead was even home. Forty-seven taunting voice messages from a hotel suggested he wouldn't be. The German had found his own solution, and Crawford was so tired he was willing to let it stand. At least until the obnoxious bastard was fleeing another mob with torches. Then he'd intercede.
Maybe.
Nagi—no. Crawford wasn't eating any more sushi, and a tactful request for cooked food might earn him a refrigerator to the face.
He should have stopped at a drive-through.
But why was he Seeing a bowl of Spaghetti-Os? If he were delirious with hunger, he'd imagine lobster—or no. Lobster was too much effort. Yakitori. Two sticks of yakitori on the way to bed, and he'd be happy.
Like that was going to happen.
Well, at least with Farf's new obsession and Schuldig running away from home and Nagi perfectly happy eating raw fish morning, noon, and night, it would be a quieter homecoming than yesterday.
Crawford thought until he opened the car door to hear what sounded like a jackhammer.
It was a jackhammer, wielded by a portly bald man, directed into the sink of solid plastic.
Fine. Whatever. Crawford kept going. His bed was—
“There you are!” Before he even realized the jackhammer noise was gone, the man had hold of his arm. “Oh, you're soaked! Off with those things now! Come on, quickly, quickly, you'll catch your death!” Deft hands stripped the Oracle to his underwear in his own kitchen.
“Here you are.” A warm robe, produced from hells-knew-where, wrapped around him before he was gently pushed into a chair.
In front of him steamed a bowl of Spaghetti-Os and a cup of hot cocoa with three large marshmallows going to goo on top.
Fine. Whatever. Crawford ate while the chubby little man toweled his hair.
“I don't know what you were thinking, staying out late on a night like this,” the man chattered. “You'll be Bradley, then? I'm Sebastian. I've come to take care of you.”
“Okay.” Crawford shoved the empty bowl away and picked up the cocoa. Gooey marshmallows...
“Where's Nagi?”
“Tucked in bed, of course, where should he be on a wild and windy night? And Farfarello, too, poor lad. He was exhausted. A full day of playing takes so much out of a boy!”
“Schuldig?”
“Enjoying a hot toddy and a good book. Such a sensible thing to do on such a night! Not like some, staying out in the cold and the wet...”
Crawford let the chatter roll over him. Schuldig. Of course. Taunting from a distance couldn't satisfy him for long, so he'd taken steps so he could come home.
It had to be Schuldig. Anyone who called Schu or anything he did “sensible” was either as mad as Farf, or under Schuldig's heavy influence.
Fine.
“Finish up, now, and go brush your teeth. I'll be up to tuck you in momentarily.”
Tuck him in?
Whatever.
***
Thank you, thank you, Race, for the plot bunny!
***
The rain made it harder. Crawford peered through the windshield and decided to hire a limo for the rest of the week. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He'd ride in style, sleep in the back for the entire commute, maybe he'd be awake enough to eat when he got home—
Hells. There would be nothing to eat. Up to his ears in plans and preperations, he'd forgotten to call the maid service. Again.
Mental note, eat nothing offered by Farfarello. He wouldn't be tempted by anything Schu came up with, of course. If the petulant redhead was even home. Forty-seven taunting voice messages from a hotel suggested he wouldn't be. The German had found his own solution, and Crawford was so tired he was willing to let it stand. At least until the obnoxious bastard was fleeing another mob with torches. Then he'd intercede.
Maybe.
Nagi—no. Crawford wasn't eating any more sushi, and a tactful request for cooked food might earn him a refrigerator to the face.
He should have stopped at a drive-through.
But why was he Seeing a bowl of Spaghetti-Os? If he were delirious with hunger, he'd imagine lobster—or no. Lobster was too much effort. Yakitori. Two sticks of yakitori on the way to bed, and he'd be happy.
Like that was going to happen.
Well, at least with Farf's new obsession and Schuldig running away from home and Nagi perfectly happy eating raw fish morning, noon, and night, it would be a quieter homecoming than yesterday.
Crawford thought until he opened the car door to hear what sounded like a jackhammer.
It was a jackhammer, wielded by a portly bald man, directed into the sink of solid plastic.
Fine. Whatever. Crawford kept going. His bed was—
“There you are!” Before he even realized the jackhammer noise was gone, the man had hold of his arm. “Oh, you're soaked! Off with those things now! Come on, quickly, quickly, you'll catch your death!” Deft hands stripped the Oracle to his underwear in his own kitchen.
“Here you are.” A warm robe, produced from hells-knew-where, wrapped around him before he was gently pushed into a chair.
In front of him steamed a bowl of Spaghetti-Os and a cup of hot cocoa with three large marshmallows going to goo on top.
Fine. Whatever. Crawford ate while the chubby little man toweled his hair.
“I don't know what you were thinking, staying out late on a night like this,” the man chattered. “You'll be Bradley, then? I'm Sebastian. I've come to take care of you.”
“Okay.” Crawford shoved the empty bowl away and picked up the cocoa. Gooey marshmallows...
“Where's Nagi?”
“Tucked in bed, of course, where should he be on a wild and windy night? And Farfarello, too, poor lad. He was exhausted. A full day of playing takes so much out of a boy!”
“Schuldig?”
“Enjoying a hot toddy and a good book. Such a sensible thing to do on such a night! Not like some, staying out in the cold and the wet...”
Crawford let the chatter roll over him. Schuldig. Of course. Taunting from a distance couldn't satisfy him for long, so he'd taken steps so he could come home.
It had to be Schuldig. Anyone who called Schu or anything he did “sensible” was either as mad as Farf, or under Schuldig's heavy influence.
Fine.
“Finish up, now, and go brush your teeth. I'll be up to tuck you in momentarily.”
Tuck him in?
Whatever.
***
Thank you, thank you, Race, for the plot bunny!