Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 33 ( Chapter 33 )

33

If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes,
you'll just have to claw your way through this disguise.

I turned. Crawford stood in his doorway, shirtless, the dim light casting him in silhouette. One shadowy hand beckoned me toward him.

I approached slowly, not knowing what to expect. His attitude bothered me. He'd been going from hot to cold, leaving me totally uncertain as to where I stood with him. That he wanted me was not in doubt. Whether it was as a man or as an operative, I really wasn't sure anymore.

He led me into his room and shut the door. I shivered a little, the pain still fresh enough to bother me.

In a low voice, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"It hurts," I told him, suddenly not sure what we were talking about. "I took some ibuprofen. I'll live."

His eyes darkened as he strode toward me. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me, but instead he gripped my arms and crushed his lips against mine. That kiss was all about claiming, not passion; he imposed his will on me, and I complied.

I felt something inside me buckle and snap, setting free a silent cascade of tears: I would give him whatever he demanded of me, just like any other man at Rosenkreuz. I wanted to give him my heart, my soul, but this moment made me realize that I didn't own either of those to give anymore. Einmal Rosen, immer Rosen, und ich bin schuldig. We were both broken men.

Crawford pulled me against his chest, and I melted into him, lacking the will to move away. I could deny him nothing. Part of me knew where this was headed, but I didn't want to think about it. I loved this man, had loved him, would always love him. If I had to tell myself that love was returned, so be it. I wasn't ready to let go of the illusion just yet, the hope that it might be real.

Strong hands tore at my clothes, removing them with haste and flinging them aside. His mouth devoured my throat, my collarbone, nipping and sucking, leaving an array of bruises like a necklace. I gasped at the pleasure of it, finally silencing the little internal voice that tried to plead reason with me. Right then I wanted anything but reason. My hands tangled in Brad's hair as his teeth closed on my left nipple and I cried out.

He herded me toward the bed, unfastening his pants as we went. I stepped out of my jeans in time for him to shove me up onto the bare mattress; like my bed, his had been stripped of covers, too. Brad took notice that I wore no underclothes and frowned sharply, as though accusing me of losing them somewhere.

Then he was on me, hard and strong and demanding. His hands gripped my hips, lifting me, then he thrust his full length into me, dry.

I tasted blood on my lip where I'd bit it, trying not to cry out. I tried to touch his thoughts, to find some comfort there, but his shields held me at bay. He knew what I could do, and he was keeping me out. That distance hurt worst of all.

Tears seeped into my tangled hair as he thrust again, and again. By the movement of his body, I knew he was already close. All I wanted was for him to finish, be done with me, let me alone, as if he were just another predator in the hallowed halls of hell.

Thick soft hair brushed across my face, then his mouth pressed wetly against mine. He sucked softly at my bloody lip, darted his tongue over the torn skin. The kiss was almost tender; in surprise I felt my mind flow against his shields again, and this time I felt a powerful tide rising within him, not one of sex but something foreign to me. This felt timeless and potent, unstoppable. It lifted my heart until I almost, almost understood.

Then Brad moaned into my mouth and came, thrusting hard and fast, his shields melting around me. My mind surged, though not so directly as that first time; I was too confused this night, too lost. Again I felt that amazing something within his mind, like a caress of destiny; distracted, my body responded to the overwhelming rush of sensations and I came hard, my legs wrapping tight about him as I arched high off the mattress.

After a few breathless moments, I sagged limply back to the bed. Brad gathered me into his arms, all ferocity and dominance gone now, replaced by something gentle and warm. His eyes shone darkly as though lit from within.

My mind whirled, trying to figure out what just happened. It had seemed like rape, but not, at the same time. That he had claimed me was not in doubt: I would wear the marks of his passion for days. I was familiar with violence; hell, everyone who's spent a day at Rosenkreuz knows it by name. And I was familiar with sex: it was my favorite weapon, and my favorite shield. But this, coming after the coldness of earlier and the mixed signals of the past weeks - this baffled the hell out of me.

"Schuldig," Brad whispered, "don't ask. Whatever you're thinking right now, don't ask it."

I trembled. I had been about to ask him why.

His eyes darkened, and I realized he was weeping. I reached up to touch his cheek, to paint with the salty tears. He turned his head and caught my wet fingertips in his mouth. Brad closed his eyes, allowed the tears to stream freely, and suckled at my fingers. His hips gave a slight jerk, and he pressed further into me, hard once more. I moaned, falling into his desire if not comprehending it. My legs trembled helplessly when I tried to pull him in deeper, though; every muscle in my body was complaining.

Brad leaned down and kissed me deeply, tenderly, before pulling partway out and gliding back in so very gently. He held me in his arms, his hands buried in my hair, and rained soft kisses upon my face and neck.

Again my mind spun in confusion. First a rape that is not a rape, now this? What was he doing? Could Crawford be crazier than Farfarello?

Did it matter?

He thrust, and I welcomed him. This time, he held motionless as he came, his eyes shut, every muscle taut. He was beautiful. He reached down to stroke me, running his thumb around the head, and I came again, not so forcefully as before but with the same intense crash against his mind. His shields held fast, but I could still feel his pleasure and that strange nameless surge coursing through him like lightning.

Before the high of climax faded, he leaned down to murmur against my ear. "You're mine. I'll share if I have to, because that's part of who you are, but where it counts, you're mine." For a moment I felt a dark wind circling through his mind; then he strengthened his shields and the sensation was gone. "Never forget, and never doubt it, Schuldig No matter what happens."

I gazed up into his eyes, searching for that whatever-it-was I'd seen there, that oddly familiar yet alien shadow. I desperately wanted this to be something real, something pure. Something untainted by our pasts. "Brad," I whispered, "do you love me?"

His eyes went dark again, and cold, but not before I saw what could only be fear rush through their depths. I felt my own eyes widen in surprise. Before he could speak, I pulled his head down and kissed him, fiercely, possessively. I didn't want to know what he was afraid of, when he thought of loving me. It didn't matter. I had my answer, fear be damned.