Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 19 ( Chapter 19 )

19

I'm not asking for favors not tonight

I look up in the sky…all the rockets fall down, fall down

True to his vision, Brad packed us up and moved us from the wasabi-carpeted place in Tokyo to this little out-of-the-way apartment within the yakuza network. The drive had been sheer hell: my backlash headache had lasted two solid days and lingered on like a bad hangover on the morning we had left Tokyo, rendering me cranky and vaguely nauseated for the entire trip. Nagi had watched me with concern, though whether he felt compassion or merely hoped I wouldn't puke on him none could say.

But now that we'd managed to stay almost two whole weeks in one place - and I had regular access to a real shower again - I decided that things weren't as bleak as I'd recently thought. If this is life in exile, it doesn't exactly suck, I told myself with a smile. True, it was a little hectic, going from apartment to apartment and staying pretty much invisible, but it wasn't all bad. This one was actually a step up from the others, and far enough from city center to give me a little reprieve. We had three real bedrooms; Farf still got the couch in the living room, but he didn't seem to mind. There was a balcony for me to smoke on. And we had satellite television.

I finished toweling off and tried to decide what to wear. Not that I'd be seen in public, of course. Brad still insisted that no one but himself leave the apartment until he gave the all clear. Still, I'd mostly been wearing ratty old jeans so far; a change was certainly in order. I rummaged through my suitcase and found my black leather pants and a violet silk shirt. I grinned. Maybe Farf would notice, even if Brad and the rest of Japan would not.

"Damn, I like the quiet here!" I said aloud just to hear my own voice. Here, I could keep out the multitudes with the aid of distance. The music was proving helpful, too, though it would work even better with a sturdy layer of shields to build upon. I hoped I'd be able to fix my shields before we had to move again, though that was something I didn't really want to think about today.

The silk shirt slithered over my skin with a whispered caress; I found myself getting caught up in the wickedly luscious feel of it. It had been too long since I'd reveled in my own senses, and that was one thing Brad could not control. I smirked to myself. This was going to be fun.

I took my time getting dressed. My skin tingled where the silk clung with weightless heat. I stood in the middle of my room and smoothed the leather over my calves, then up to cling to my thighs like a lover's hands. My eyes drifted shut as my own hands roamed over the tight leather and warm silk, then down to where I wore nothing at all. I stroked myself a little, then tugged the leather pants up over my ass, imagining I was performing for the whole world.

I danced to unheard music and ran my hands over my body, imagining now that they were someone else's hands, that I was in the middle of a grand seduction. When my fingers brushed against my erection again, the image that came to mind was not Brad: it was Yohji, Balinese, the sensual kitten with sleepy eyes. I gasped, startled at my own imagination, and took myself firmly in hand to stroke in earnest. I wondered what his touch would feel like, those strong, slender, calloused hands, reputed to be so good with women. I'd bet he could pin me to the wall with ease, touch me just so, teasing and knowing full well what I wanted. I remembered the scent of the man: his coat, his cologne, the metallic tang of the wire, the smell of sweat in his hair as he panted hard with exertion... With a gasp I came, spraying a merry mess on the hardwood floor.

I took my time coming back down from that high. Who would have thought that Balinese could have that effect on me? We'd never even exchanged more than a few words, though I had to admit I had wondered from time to time. I smiled and reached for the damp towel. I neatened myself up, then wiped up the floor and tossed the towel on the little pile of laundry in the corner. A few moments in front of the fan took care of the light sweat on my body; I buttoned the shirt and fastened my pants, fully pleased with myself.

From the doorway came the sound of a man clearing his throat.

I spun around, terrified that I hadn't sensed anyone approaching.

Brad regarded me with an unreadable expression. How long he'd been standing there I couldn't begin to guess. "Schuldig, we need to talk." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out into the living room.

I nodded, barely able to breathe. Had he watched the whole show? I liked to act like an exhibitionist, but the thought of Brad actually watching me without my knowledge unnerved me to the core.

He went over to the kitchen bar and picked up a piece of paper. "You are to avoid these locations until further notice." He handed me the note and watched as I read it.

Damn. All the good bars and clubs were on this list. "Wait a minute. Are you saying I can go out, as long as I don't go to any of these places?" My heart leapt with joy. If I had to be subjected to people in my head, I damn well wanted to surround myself with them in person: a bar full of predictably, mumbly drunk people was a far sight better than listening to disembodied, sober prattle for hours on end.

"Yes, that is true. First, there are a few things we need to discuss. Have a seat." He gestured toward a barstool.

I sat; he remained standing.

"Farfarello seems to be having some success with Nagi in the language area. I am encouraging this, but with caution. You know what can happen, and how fast it can go. But I haven't Seen anything drastic in the next two weeks in that regard, so I am prepared to give you a little time off for your own healing. So here are the rules: you will inform me when you intend to go out, if possible where you will be going, and when you expect to return. You will make yourself known to me when you do return, through our psi link. Know that I will be covering the door with at least one weapon when I hear footsteps approaching, so you'd better make sure I know it's you out there. Understood?"

I blinked. This was a little much, even for him. "Um, is all that really necessary, Brad? Wouldn't it work if I just phone you from the bar and tell you I'm on my way?"

"Under no circumstances are you to phone this apartment from any location!" Brad actually leaned in close to my face to drive home his point. "I trust only to a certain degree, and the possibility of someone overhearing the phone ringing here and connecting it with you is a chance I will not tolerate."

To me, this had ceased to be a rational discussion. Brad seemed to be raving like a paranoid man. But, I didn't need to use the phone to let him know anything, so I just nodded, humoring him as best I could.

"Schu, I am not crazy," Brad said, gazing into my eyes. "Trust me on that. But I have Seen enough hints that my concern is not totally over-the-top. There were Esset operatives besides ourselves stationed in Japan, you know that. And not all of them were of high enough rank to have been at that ritual. If they're looking for us, we dare not screw up."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it that you're not crazy," I murmured. "But, Brad? Are you sure this will happen? We both know that the Sight is not foolproof, and we know that sometimes it lies to you. Could we be hiding for nothing?"

Crawford shook his head. "Absolutely not. Remember, I said we'd have a two to three month window. We're midway into month number two. Just be careful. It's not just your life on the line anymore. If they get one of us, they get us all." He reached down and lifted my hand. I felt him press something against my palm. Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead, a gesture so tender it made my eyes mist over. "Go have a good time, wild one. But come back safely."

I watched him go into his room and shut the door. Only then did I look at my hand. He'd given me a wad of money, plenty for a night on the town and then some. I sighed and stuffed it into my pocket.

As I rose from my seat, I saw Nagi peeking around the edge of his doorframe at me. I shot him a smile that I thought of as winning but which he unfailingly would describe as hentai. "Hey, kiddo! How are you feeling?"

"I have to learn to talk and walk again. How do you think I'm feeling?" Nagi grumbled as he made his way to the bathroom, half clinging to the wall as he went.

As he had been doing ever since the kid had started moving on his own again, the Irishman followed like a shadow, ready to catch him if he fell. Farf stopped by the bathroom door and waited, patient as a loyal hound.

It was too early to go out just yet, so I returned to my room to work on my shields a little first. For some reason, Crawford's trust in me inspired me to try harder, to overcome my own demons for the gift of his approval. Weird how that worked, since I considered myself one of the most stubborn and selfish men on the planet. Somehow, Brad got to me, that's all. That, and it really was too early to go party; I may as well put the time to use.

I flopped down on my bed and rolled onto my back, feet on my pillow, and gazed up at the textured ceiling. Another nice thing about this apartment: it came with real beds, not those thin floormats, though Nagi had been a little disappointed. I closed my eyes and concentrated on finding my own center, the part of me that I would recognize as mine no matter the distortion around it. This was the part I had been trained to find, to hold to when all else spun away into chaos. Slowly, cautiously, I relaxed into that center, allowing my external senses to shut down as though I were fast asleep. With each breath, I imagined a fresh layer of armor around my soul: virtual Kevlar for the psyche.

Time passed. Slowly my awareness extended from inside my own mind to the world around me once more, my physical senses reawakening and sharpening as it did so. My eyes slitted open; early evening light filtered through my window, casting the ceiling into a bas relief of snowdrifts. I became aware of how much time had passed, and the fact that, though I had missed dinner, I wasn't hungry.

From the third bedroom I could hear Farfarello reading to Nagi again. He'd been reading to him since the apartment with the wasabi carpet. It was interesting, to say the least. He hadn't done that since the formation of the team; he really hadn't had the chance during the Takatori days, or after, when we reported directly to the Elders. I focused on keeping my shields steady while tuning in to the book of the day. I picked up a few words about chaos theory and tuned it right back out. I swear, if I didn't know the man was insane, I'd figure him for a goddamn genius. He used to read the weirdest shit to the kid, too: science, philosophy, history, you name it he'd read it. Well, it had helped the kid pick up English before, and Brad thought it might help him again, so I was willing to wait and see on that one.

I sighed, feeling the air flow through my throat and into my lungs, then back out in a slow and steady stream. My head felt clear for the first time in months, and my body felt pretty damn good too. Everything seemed to be in working order. I smiled and rolled off the bed. No lingering headache, no dizziness, even my knees seemed to have gotten with the program.

Then my stomach growled. Right, I had missed dinner. I left my room and went in search of food.

Brad was lounging on the couch, watching television with the sound down low. He glanced over at me as I made my way to the kitchen.

"There's takeout in the fridge," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic," I crowed, still enjoying the body-high I got whenever I did the deep psi work. "From where I'm standing, my shields are as good as new. Better, even! Those dogs at Rosenkreuz did a bang-up job of wrecking them, but I'm going to show them. By the time I'm done, I'll be as impervious as you, Mr. Crawford!"

He gave me an odd little smile, then asked, "Are you going out tonight?"

I paused, midway between the fridge and the microwave, second-round dinner in hand. My over-tuned hearing was still picking up Farfarello's melodious voice as he read aloud to our Prodigy. The Irishman's native accent had returned again with a vengeance; it sounded better, actually, than the bland non-accent we had all been trained to use in place of our own voices. Something about the evening brought up a powerful wave of homesickness, though I could no longer remember my own.

"Would I be screwed if I don't? Is this my only chance, or could I go another night?"

A more natural smile crossed the American's face, and he pushed his glasses back up a little. "No, it's not. I've Seen that you get to party at least one night while we're staying here, so pick your night well."

Strange, that I would choose a night in with the team over a night of wild debauchery. Still, we had all grown close over the years, and at the tower that bond was tested and found to be even stronger than before. I wanted to eavesdrop on Far, listen to his words as they found their way into Nagi's head. I wanted to see the look on the kid's face when those words began to make sense again, when the scattered pieces came together in a way he could understand. I wanted -

"Brad?"

"Schuldig."

I brought my plate over and sat on the edge of the couch, next to his sock-clad feet. He scowled a little, but, unlike all the times before when I had tried to eat somewhere other than the dining table or the kitchen, he didn't banish me with a glare. I took a bite of some glazed chicken and quickly breathed around it, fanning my mouth. Damn efficient microwave! Brad watched me with mild amusement.

I wished I'd brought something to drink, but I didn't want to relinquish my spot. I was afraid he'd make me eat in the kitchen if I got up. A silver can came into view, and I grabbed it, drinking the pale beer gratefully. Brad just smiled. "I knew you'd need that."

"Show off."

"What did you want to ask me?"

I thought I felt myself blush, though it was probably just the combination of scalding hot food and icy beer. "I think I'll stay home tonight," I murmured, unable to remember my question.

Brad chuckled, then leaned forward and relieved me of my plate and my beer. He set them on the low table, along with his eyeglasses. Without the familiar barrier between his eyes and the world, Brad Crawford looked even more handsome, a man of gentle strength and great wisdom. My breath caught in my throat.

He drew me to him and pressed his lips to mine, soothing my burned mouth with his own heat. I responded, my arms going around him and holding him like I'd never let him go. When he broke the kiss to catch his breath, I looked into his eyes and asked, "Does this mean we have the leisure to pursue things now? Because, you know, I'd really like to."

Brad nodded. In a breathless whisper he said, "I'll take whatever time we have."

Someone leaned on the back of the couch, making it creak.

Brad and I damn near jumped off the couch as we sprang apart and challenged the intruder bare-handed.

One golden eye regarded us with calm laughter. "You're in my bed."

Not knowing what else to do, I picked up my dinner and hurried into the kitchen. Anything to be away from Farfarello, and from Brad. I had never been shy before, but what I felt with Brad was something new, something sacred. With him, I became strangely, wonderfully, vulnerable. But right now, with the sudden interruption, I felt uncharacteristically embarrassed.

I could sense the silent presence that is Brad entering the kitchen behind me. I took a last swig of the beer and set the can in the fridge. It would probably be flat by morning, but I might come back for it later tonight.

The moment my hands were free, Brad came around in front of me and backed me up against the counter. We were just in the shadows where we couldn't be easily seen over the bar, and he obviously knew this. His hands gripped my ass and pulled me to him. The look in his eyes was pure dominance: he would claim what he wanted, and what he wanted was me. Then his mouth crushed against mine, exploring, tasting, devouring. His hips ground forward; the feel of his erection against my quickly reawakening cock brought a moan from deep inside my chest.

I was dimly aware that one of his hands was now groping about the cupboard overhead. Then there was the sound of the little door slapping shut, and a tin of something landing on the counter in a controlled fall. Before I could really miss it, his hand was back upon me, this time working at unfastening my pants.

Once he got them undone, he pushed them down only part-way before wrapping his hand around my cock and tugging deliciously. Together we breathed around our kisses as he stroked me into a frenzy, his palm occasionally rubbing across the head of my cock and making me shudder with pleasure. I wondered if he even knew how that felt for me; I'd always heard it was different if a man was circumcised, and now I was certain he had no idea how sensitive my own member was. But he must have some idea, because he started playing with my foreskin, tickling his fingers around tender flesh that spent most of its time safely hidden away.

I had no idea what his other hand was up to until he turned me around and leaned me over the counter. I saw the tin he'd pulled from the cupboard: vegetable shortening, the lid lying next to the open tin and a generous scoop of the white stuff missing. Then he was pushing into me, hard and slow, the grease making it easier for both of us. Brad Crawford is not a small man; he had to work it carefully back and forth a while until my body ceased resisting and let him slide in fully.

A hand still slippery with grease grabbed my cock and started stroking again, following the rhythm of his thrusting. I reached back and tried to pull him in deeper. His powerful legs and buttocks complied, forcing him into me until I felt the bristly hair at his crotch rubbing against my ass and his balls smacking into me with each thrust.

Low, animal moans escaped my throat. I had to stop grabbing at him and put my hands in front of me to brace against the counter. I could feel his body tensing, getting very close. This time, though, I did not find myself falling into his mind. Without eye contact, that depth of link wasn't happening. This time, I wouldn't hurt him! With a short cry, I let go and climaxed, feeling the hardness of him inside me, clenching around it, sending myself into another upward spiral of pleasure.

Brad locked his teeth on my shoulder, muffling any sound he might have made, and came with a series of short, hard thrusts.

As the moment faded and our bodies relaxed, I could hear him breathing through his nose; his lips were still clamped over my shoulder. I reached a hand back and tangled it in his hair. His hair was sweaty, and everything about him smelled of sex. I tossed my hair back at his face and gave a soundless laugh. For this one glorious moment, I was totally in love with life, and Brad Crawford was mine.