Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Crawford's Pet ❯ Joyride ( Chapter 1 )

Crawford's Pet

By Cheyenne Dancer

"Crawford! No!" Yohji's panicked cry was swallowed by the darkness eating away at the inside of the warehouse.

The American stayed his hand, but only just. The point of Aya's katana rested against the jugular of the redheaded assassin, a small trickle of blood, bright against the pale flesh crawling down the stretched column of his throat. From this angle, he couldn't see the expression in Crawford's eyes. He could only catch the glint of the man's glasses as one of the few overhead lights left working glanced off the frames.

Fear ate at him. If Crawford's grip slipped even a little on the sweat slick hilt, Aya would be no more. Yohji didn't want to live in a world that didn't include the aloof leader of Weiss. Crawford continued to match stares with him, the point of the deadly weapon unwavering.

Holding his free hand out towards Yohji, Crawford cocked one brow expectantly.

Following Crawford's gesture, instead of paying attention to his surroundings cost him. A wiry arm wrapped about his waist and pulled him tight against a tall broad-shouldered body. An ironic voice laughed tauntingly against his ear; "I've got you, kätzchen. Now what are you going to do?" Schuldig shoved the barrel of his revolver into the soft skin of Yohji's throat, forcing his head up and back so that he was glaring into green eyes a flatter shade than his own.

"Your choice, Balinese." Crawford's ultimatum drifted across the emptiness between them.

As if Yohji needed that reminder. What he had done particularly to draw the attention of the leader of Schwarz, he wished he knew. He would sincerely like to remedy that mistake. Glancing around the warehouse, Yohji's heart threatened to strangle him from where it lodged in his throat.

Omi was pinned spread-eagled perilously high against an iron girder, looking nothing so much like an insect pinned under glass. His crossbow clattered noisily to the ground as he struggled fruitlessly against the invisible bonds. Nagi stood in the distance, his hand outstretched as if to physically keep Bombay there. A nimbus of power wavered about the pale young man, his dark hair all but standing on end.

Ken was neck and neck with Farferello; his bugnucks in a deadly standoff with the Irishman's slowly descending knife. It looked like the ex-soccer player was slowly losing ground; Farferello's knife edged an inch forward at a time. So sure of success, Farferello's single gold eye gleamed with malicious glee, silent save for a quickening of breath as he pushed forward. Ken's muscles visibly strained as his other hand clutched the madman's wrist seeking to loosen fingers inexorably tightening around his throat. If Yohji ever got a chance, he'd have to mention how incredibly stupid it was to only have the one glove.

And then there was Aya. Slim, vibrant, angry as a scalded cat, Aya laying supine at the feet of his enemy, twilight eyes blazing rebelliously in spite of the sword pressing against his throat, the heeled shoe grinding into his outflung hand. Yohji read the subtle shift in muscle as the redhead prepared to make a moved doomed in failure and death.

Schuldig gouged the end of the gun deeper into his throat until Yohji's head was almost lying on his shoulder. Breath rasped against his throat, feeling as if a thousand razor sharp filaments were slowly sawing their way through flesh. A small sound of protest escaped painfully thinned lips.

Aya froze, slowly turning his head to stare at Yohji and the man holding him captive.

Nuzzling against his ear, Yohji could feel Schuldig's mouth stretch into a smirk. The German's voice was soft, almost tender, when he spoke, "Release your wire, Weiss."

Yohji shuddered, the combination of adrenaline and the sweet mint-scented breath mixed with clove cigarette making him feel suddenly nauseous. What kind of assassin indulged in breath mints just before a kill, he wondered distractedly, trying hard not to think about what was happening. Trying very hard not to contemplate exactly what Bradley Crawford, leader of Schwarz, could possibly want with one Yohji Kudou.

He carefully relaxed his hand, slumping back against Schuldig in defeat. With a flick of h is wrist, he recalled his wire.

"That's a good kitten," the Schwarz telepath murmured approvingly. "Let's see if we can accomplish Bradley's aims without any extraneous bloodshed, shall we?"

Closing his eyes, Yohji gave a brief movement of his head, just enough to show assent. Foreboding curdled in the pit of his belly. Ever since Crawford had come to him a month ago with his outrageous offer and barely concealed threat, Yohji had had an uncomfortable inkling of just what the determined precog wanted.

"Gut," Schuldig purred. "Very carefully, very slowly, hold our arm out to the side and release your watch."

There really wasn't a choice. Crawford had warned him. He'd had an inkling during that first confrontation with Crawford that there really wouldn't be one. Surrender and obedience were the only things that would keep his teammates alive.

To keep the Abyssinian alive. His gaze flickered back to Aya and Crawford. Inexorably drawn to the pale, cold man who had become such a necessity that Yohji had remained with Weiss long after he had felt his sanity crumbling with each kill. It all really came down to Aya.

Helplessness sat like a dead thing lodged in his throat. He raised his eyes to meet Crawford's. He still couldn't see behind the plane of the man's glasses. He prayed quietly to his mother's god, to anyone and anything that was listening, that the American would keep his word.

Slowly, as if he were a poorly strung marionette, he held his arm out to the side.

"Yohji-kun!" Omi's cry barely penetrated the rush of blood through his ears. The boy always saw and understood more, sooner and faster, than the rest of them.

"Don't." Aya's deep voice rolled through the warehouse condemnation and warning pouring through the single word.

He didn't know what Crawford wanted, why he wanted a member of Weiss when he had a telepath on his team who could glean any bit of information from their minds that the American might desire. He didn't know why Crawford had chosen him, the least important member. He let his thoughts shy away from that, he certainly didn't want Crawford focussing on Omi or any more on Aya than he already was.

Yohji flinched. Aya wouldn't understand. He could already sense his leader's condemnation. "I need help. I can't get the catch one-handed." He was proud that his voice betrayed only his anger, nothing of fear and uncertainty tainting the bitter tasting words.

"One wrong move, kätzchen, and you lose someone you love." Schuldig removed his arm cautiously from around Yohji's waist, keeping the gun pressed into his throat. Yohji remained still, his eyes narrowed to a tiny green glimmer, his mouth a tight slash.

He didn't really need Schuldig to tell him how very little chance any of them had--how much depended on his next few actions. Schuldig had to stretch to reach Yohji's wrist. Yohji could feel the long hot line of him through his clothes. He stared grimly ahead, refusing to rise to the bait, even when Schuldig rolled his hips suggestively.

Thumbing the catch open, Schuldig let the watch fall. There was a quiet thud and a tinkle of breaking glass that sounded loud to Yohji's ears. He had surrendered. He felt numb--removed from the scene. He bowed his head as defeat washed over him. His gaze narrowed to his shattered weapon. The broken watch spilled across the uneven concrete floor like entrails.

He would have to tell Kritiker that shatterproof glass would be a better choice when they re-outfitted him. Of course, that was assuming that he could return to Kritiker. Even if--when--he escaped there was always the question of whether or not Kritiker would allow his return after apparently leaving the scene of a battle willingly with known criminals. It was highly likely that they would have a standing twep order on him after this. Damn, fuck, shit. He was so very screwed.

"Very, very good." Schuldig cooed.

Impotent rage rushed through the lanky assassin and he clenched his fists tightly as the German released his arm. Dropping his arm to his side, Yohji straightened, pulling as far from Schuldig as the man would let him go.

Nodding his approval, Crawford spoke calmly, "Schuldig, please take our latest acquisition to the car."

Schuldig shoved him forward, gun barrel hot against his flesh. Struggling, Yohji dug in his heels. "Wait! You fucking promised..."

"I am a man of my word, Balinese. You should remember that." Crawford returned, a dangerous edge to his clipped words. "Nagi, release Bombay."

"Hai." Glancing swiftly at Crawford for a moment, Nagi simply dropped his hand, allowing Omi to plummet to the ground.

"Omi!" Ken's cry ripped through the dark, his inattention costing him. He gave a sharp pained cry as one of the sais that Farferello used ripped through his jacket and tore the flesh underneath.

"No, you goddamned mother-fucker!" Yohji's cry echoed into the unforgiving dark. He struggled against Schuldig's hold, no longer caring whether the German fired his weapon or not. Though he rather thought the German wouldn't. Not after all the trouble Schwarz --Crawford-- had gone through in order to capture him.

"Schist!" Schuldig slammed the butt of his gun behind Yohji's ear. Yohji slumped in his hold, staring glassily across the dim expanse.

Omi lay in a crumpled heap a few feet from the pillar where he had been held. Gold hair that seemed unnaturally bright in the dim lighting hid his face from view. Ken was on the ground with Farferello grinding the blade of his weapon into his shoulder. He could hear bones snap as Crawford tread heavily on Aya's slender hand.

He had failed. He had given his team over to Schwarz. He deserved the acrimony that surely burned beneath Aya's accusing glare.

"That's one, Balinese." He lifted his head to stare uncomprehendingly at Crawford. "Don't play games with me. You will not win." Crawford gestured at Farferello, "Beserker. Let the kitten go take care of his mate."

Farferello gave one more vicious jab before pulling his weapon free with a wet sucking noise. He crawled off of Siberian, his tongue flicking over the blade of the sai, "Poor little kitty. Shouldn't play with the alley cats." A grin twisted his features into a parody of concern. Ken sat up slowly, breathing labored, his free hand clutching his shoulder in a fruitless attempt to stem the blood flow.

"See to Bombay."

It was a command that Ken couldn't ignore. The youth slid across the floor his attention split between Omi, his fallen comrades and the members of Schwarz. Yohji followed his progress, not quite daring to breathe.

Ken brushed his fingers through Omi's hair, pushing it back from the slack features. He felt along his jaw, bringing his fingers to rest against his throat. He spared a brief look for Yohji and a short nod of his head.

Yohji felt the vice that had tightened across his chest lessen, allowing him breath, though he didn't quite dare meet Ken's eyes.

"Be a good kitty, now." Schuldig taunted, spinning Yohji around towards the door.

Shaken, Yohji allowed Schuldig to shove him across the floor. Crawford hadn't killed them, but that didn't mean he wasn't waiting for any excuse to hurt his friends further. He cursed himself, he cursed the telepath controlling his movements and he cursed Crawford violently for whatever game the American thought he was playing.

Schuldig chuckled. //My, my, kätzchen. So colorful. Crawford would be impressed.//

"Get out of my fucking head, Schwarz," Yohji snarled.

Schuldig clucked reprovingly, a silent laugh in his head letting him know that the telepath had not withdrawn fully from his thoughts though the mental voice remained silent.

They came to a halt. Schwarz' car was parked inside the long sliding door. Weiss had come in the other side and hadn't seen the vehicle. Although Yohji seriously doubted they would have recognized it as a threat. It was just one among several sleek black limousines, proving once again, that crime did pay, at least temporarily. There was nothing that would have warned them though, nothing that screamed "Beware, Schwarz in attendance".

"Coat off, kitten."

Silently, Yohji complied. There was nothing to gain by protest. He let the expensive leather slide from his shoulders. With a soft susurration the trenchcoat folded to the ground, lying like the corpse of a dead raven at his feet.

He closed his eyes as Schuldig pushed him down across the hood. After Crawford's initial 'offer', Yohji had done his level best to avoid taking any missions where they would come across the team that had been Esset's right hand. He'd thought that it would lessen the risk for the others if he wasn't around for Schwarz to threaten. He'd thought he'd been successful. Until now.

Schuldig jerked his arms behind him. Yohji gritted his teeth against the discomfort. He felt cold unforgiving steel circle his wrists. The snick of the locking mechanism was loud, a flare of pain bright melody adding to his personal refrain. He'd failed.

Yohji allowed his mind to wander. He wondered about the nature of Crawford's precognitive abilities. Did they come in fits and bursts? Short, sharp visions out of nowhere that were largely useless or was the American able to hone them? Seek them out and even attune them to a single individual?

Grunting, Yohji bit back a gasp of pain as Schuldig jerked him erect using his handcuffed wrists. "Ah, kätzchen, it's not the end of the world."

"Fuck off, asshole."

Laughing, Schuldig pulled him backward until he was resting against his chest again, the German's breath hot and rapid in his ear. "Maybe, if I play my cards right. But, it's my experience that Bradley-sama does not like to share."

Before Yohji could analyze Schuldig's words, he felt hands circle him from behind. The German brushed aside the open trench, sliding one hand along Yohji's bared belly, the other hand drifting down to play with the snap of his pants.

"What the hell?" Yohji squirmed away from the invasive hand only to find him pushing against the telepath's groin. He felt the ghost of a chuckle against his ear echo in his head and the unmistakable feel of an erection pressing against him through the layers of his coat and leather pants. "Get your goddamn hands off me you fucking pervert!"

Smirking, Schuldig gave a quick yank and Yohji's pants were unsnapped and the German's hand quested further down, curious fingers ruffling, tugging suggestively at his pubic hair before curling around the shaft of his penis.

Yohji gave a shout of protest, slamming his head back against Schuldig. Yohji shifted, slamming his booted foot across the German's instep.

"Son of a bitch!" Schuldig shouted grasping his bleeding nose with both hands, pain tears leaked down the sallow cheeks and the jade eyes glittered with the deadly flat warning of a snake about to strike. The gun was pointed unwaveringly at Yohji's chest.

"Do it!" Yohji snarled, crouching down. With a leap, he rushed at the telepath, hoping against hope that someone; Aya or Ken could take advantage of his distraction. That maybe they could escape while Schwarz' attention were focused on him.

Instead, Schuldig neatly sidestepped his rush and tagged him, pulling him struggling and shouting curses back around. He brought his knee up, but Schuldig was too fast, and Yohji only managed to clip him in the thigh. Fuck, it wasn't fair that Schwarz had all these super powers, how the hell were they supposed to combat them?

A gunshot rang out. Yohji faltered, half-expecting a wave of agony that didn't come. "That's two, Balinese."

"AYA!" Ken cried out.

Yohji froze, fight for freedom forgotten. He stared up into Schuldig's unreadable eyes unaware of what his own wide-eyed gaze gave way. He couldn't look. Bile, bitter and sharp, burned the back of his throat, suddenly the air was too thick to breathe. Aya. His lips moved but no words came out. Fear held him immobile even as fury lashed through him. If Crawford had murdered Aya, he would find a way... the thought remained unfinished.

"Turn around, Balinese."

//Now, now, kitten. Look what you made Bradley do.// Schuldig jerked his head sideways, back toward where Crawford had held Aya hostage to Yohji's good behavior.

Numbly, Yohji allowed Schuldig to turn him. His glance slid sideways, Ken huddled over Omi, eyes glittering as close to insanely angry as Yohji had ever seen him. Fuck. Aya.

//Come out of it, Kätzchen. Look.//

Yohji yanked his head from Schuldig's hold. His gaze fastened on Crawford and those blankly staring glasses before he let his gaze slide reluctantly downward. The sword was no longer held at Aya's throat. It wasn't really necessary with the American holding a Glock pointed at him.

Aya's head was tilted back, his eyes scrunched closed, mouth a thin lipped line of pain. Yohji found he could suddenly breathe. Blood seeped from beneath clenched fingers, but even as he watched, he could see the razor edged bobbing of Aya's adam's apple as he swallowed, the flutter of lashes as storm colored eyes opened hazed with pain.

Crawford hadn't killed Aya.

Palpable relief flooded through him so strong that Yohji's knees threatened to give way.

"Whoa, kitty." Strong hands grasped him, held him up. Yohji shrugged out of Schuldig's grip, starting back across the floor, back to Ken, to Omi, to Aya. They could go down together. Fuck Schwarz.

"No one is dead, yet, Balinese."

Slowing to a stop, Yohji flexed his hands as if imagining Ken's bugnucks slicing through flesh.

"Get in the car. Do not make me demonstrate the consequences."

With an incoherent snarl, Yohji whirled, stalking back to the car with his telepathic babysitter trailing behind. He remained stiff and uncomplaining as Schuldig once more turned him to face the car, sliding his hands in a too familiar way between the open flaps of his pants. He ignored the questing fingers, the teasing caress and allowed Schuldig to maneuver the trousers past his hips.

//Damn, Kudou, any tighter and I'd need Farferello's sai to get them off you.// Schuldig's mental tone was amused. //I always knew you had to be a thong man. Farfie will be disappointed. He bet you went commando.//

The air of the warehouse seemed very cool against the flesh of his ass.

Yohji wanted to slam his head back against him. He wanted his hands free of these fucking cuffs so that he could strangle Schuldig and kill Crawford slowly. A bullet would settle Farferello. He didn't spare a thought for Nagi--tried not to think about the inevitability of murdering a child.

Schuldig snorted. //Don't let Nagi hear that. He won't leave enough of you for the coroner to recognize, much less your little kitties.// "In and on your knees, Kudou." Schuldig reached around, fingers feathering across Yohji's exposed ass.

Ignoring Schuldig was the best he could do. Yohji simply shut down and let himself be manhandled into the car. There was more room than he would have thought. Ample room for him and his handler.

Struggling as best he could to crawl across the floorboard on his knees with his hands pinioned behind him. Schuldig took great delight in feathering touches that bordered on insultingly intimate across his exposed ass.

Giving a small sound of pain as he was forced face first against the carpeted floor, Yohji held himself still by dint of will alone. Strange that everyone gave Aya such credit for having such a strength of will. Everyone just looked at Yohji and saw the easygoing facade that he carefully cultivated. None of them had noticed the strength it took to just get up every day... to just keep going in the late of his own hopelessness.

Gold hair tumbled across his face sticking to his hot cheeks and blinding him. He shook his head, clearing the hair from his face, not that it did any good. In this position he wouldn't be able to see where they were going anyway.

Schuldig spent an inordinate amount of time tugging and arranging him until his ass was high in the air. The handcuffs were unlocked briefly, Schuldig forcing Yohji to contort enough to lock his wrists behind his knees. The new position made him feel unaccountably vulnerable, the bare globes of his ass presented prominently toward the open door of the car.

There would be no quick and easy unfolding from this position. His hands formed an effective restraint to keep him in this position in the narrow confines of the back floorboard. Yohji clenched his hands, his breathing rapid and uneven, heat washed across his body and settled in his flushed cheeks. Shifting from knee to knee did little to ease his discomfort.

"Very good, kitten." Schuldig smirked, Yohji could hear it laced in the German's nasally voice. A last parting caress of his upraised bottom and the car shifted as Schuldig left him. He listened as footsteps moved around the car, a door opened, closed.

The car shifted, and more doors opened. He could imagine Ken's frustrated horror. He could almost feel Aya's seething rage, his need to lash out at these men who underscored how hopelessly outclassed Weiss could be. His imagination painted the look of disgust on Aya's face as he watched them, watched Yohji surrender. For Aya it would always be death before dishonor.

Someone slid into the car with him. Shiny black shoes were visible. Crawford. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up as someone slid in on the other side. Doors closed. It was an unpleasant thought wondering whether Nagi was watching him or Farferello. He let his mind shy away from that. Concentrated on breathing, on the pain in his shoulders and the ache in his knees, the feel of the metal braceletting his wrists slowly warming.

Yohji felt the American's gaze on him and he shifted. It was difficult to be defiant in this position. Hollow defiance would have been better than this silent contemplation. He couldn't refrain from a surprised start when a large hand settled on his bottom, stroking proprietarily.

"Drive."

Yohji wondered if Crawford ever lost it. He wondered what it would be like to see the precog in a rage.

"Ja, mein führer." Schuldig drawled. The car lurched forward.

He heard something bang against the car, slide off. //My, my, your little redheaded leader certainly has a temper, kätzchen.// Yohji's heart sank further if that was possible. Images of Aya dragging himself after the car doing little to ease his peace of mind. It was more like Aya would have done him the favor of slitting his throat for betraying Weiss than actually trying to save him.

Ignoring Schuldig's violation of his mind for a moment, he cleared his throat. "So, I suppose it would be totally useless and predictable to ask where this joyride is heading?" Nice. He sounded calm, reasonable.

"That is no longer your concern, Balinese."

This was so not good.