Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Crawford's Pet ❯ Alone in the Dark ( Chapter 3 )

Crawford's Pet
Chapter Three - Alone in the Dark

By Cheyenne Dancer

Bravery was a hollow scrap to hide behind, but it was all Yohji had left. "What now, O Fearless Leader?" Yohji mocked. When all else fails, get the shit beat out of you. Maybe he would luck out and they would kill him accidentally.

"I suggest you attempt to make your stay here a little more pleasant, Balinese."

Snorting, Yohji tossed his head disbelievingly, turning his head this way and that as if he could see through the dark folds of cloth. "Let's cut to the chase, Crawford. I doubt you've dragged my scrawny ass all the way from Tokyo for my scintillating companionship."

He couldn't see Crawford's smile or the heated gleam of the man's eyes. He could smell the faintly spicy scent of the American's cologne tainted with sweat and the faint metallic smell of blood. A whisper of warmth just a few millimeters from his shivering flesh.

Crawford hadn't gone far. In fact, it seemed like he'd come closer. Yohji grit his teeth.

Fingers brushed one tangled curl away from his face, lingering along his jaw. "That, among other things." Crawford breathed against his ear sending warning tingles jarring along Yohji's spine and quickening his breathing to the point he thought he might hyperventilate.

Yohji flinched, jerking his head away from Crawford so quickly that he connected solidly with Schuldig's nose. Schuldig shoved Yohji, sending him stumbling forward. He felt a flood of satisfaction as a string of profanity assaulted his ears. At least he'd gotten Schuldig a couple of good licks. He let a shark-like quality leak into his grin.

//God-damned Kudou! That's twice! I think you broke my fucking nose. I hope Crawford guts you.//

//Yeah? Me, too, asshole.// Yohji's grin faltered and died when strong arms caught him around his middle and jerked him hot and hard against what could only be Crawford. Something warm and wet tickled against the shell of Yohji's ear. Yohji stiffened.

"It's the other things I am more concerned with tonight, boy. Your fame precedes you." Crawford's voice was laced with lazy warmth and a dark huskiness that raised the hackles along Yohji's neck.

Whipping his head away, Yohji snarled, "Not in your fucking dreams. You're crazier than your pet Irishman!"

"Your bravado endears you to no one, kitten."

He was really tired of this kitten bullshit. He may not be a master mind-fucker like these assholes from Schwarz, but he wasn't going to fall complacently into whatever madman's game they wanted to play. "I have a fucking name, asshole."

//You really are stupid, aren't you? Or are you just more suicidal than that iceberg boyfriend of yours?//

He and Aya weren't boyfriends. Before Yohji could keep that thought from leaking through his connection with Schuldig, he felt the German crowing. //I win another one.//

//Don't you fuckers have anything better to do than bet on my sex life?//

Crawford flowed forward, his hand tangling in Yohji's hair. Crawford's grip in his hair was so tight; Yohji couldn't even turn his head. "K'so."

One good shot. Just one. That's all he would ask before Schwarz took him out. He'd really like to knock Crawford for a fucking loop. Between his pants hobbling his thighs and the cuffs, Yohji raged at his helplessness. He would really have to re-think his penchant for skin-tight clothing.

"You have nothing that I do not give you, boy. It's a lesson you might do well to learn now." Stepping behind Yohji, Crawford gave another vicious yank to the caramel-colored locks.

Yohji hissed in pain as Crawford jerked his head back at an awkward angle. "Power-trip much, asshole?"

Crawford pressed forward until Yohji could feel the slide of his expensive silk suit across bared flesh. Yohji shuddered, his body responding to the gentle caress even as he twisted away, stumbling up against Schuldig.

Yohji barely had enough time to wonder why Nagi had released the net of power that had hovered around him while Farferello was cutting through his clothes before he was caught between Crawford and Schuldig, quite literally. Heat flashed through him as Schuldig's emotions bled through the link, hot and focused and lustful. Through Schuldig, he caught a little of Crawford's intensity and the dark pool that coiled restlessly behind the man's calm façade.

He did not want to know. //Get out! Get out of my fucking mind, temee!// With a panicked desperation edged with hysteria, Yohji shoved and then there was silence, blissful and short-lived, swiftly followed by surprise and a redoubling of heated interest.

Gripping Yohji's face with bruising force, Crawford leaned close, words a tender caress breathed across stiff unresponsive lips, "That tongue of yours will get you in trouble, boy."

"I've always been a slow study." He spat, all angry kitten and outraged defiance.

The emotions Schuldig was feeding him in a dark twisting loop of intimacy turned his stomach. His mind blanked for a few pure seconds of blessed white noise closing out the room, their touches, their insinuations, the feelings of lust and desire that threatened to swallow him whole.

The only thought that blazed through his mind was that Crawford planned on fucking him.

Escape. Was it a whispered word? A threat? It didn't matter, it echoed through Yohji sharp as hunger and desperate as eternity.

//Fuck, Yohji. Don't.// It was too late. Schuldig's warning couldn't reach him.

Incoherent shouts rang through the garage, wordless threats and commands, words he no longer understood. Animalistic snarls tore wildly from his throat.

Nagi's telekinesis enfolded him, flowed around him, poured over him, dragging him down like a viscous oil. The force seemed to flicker and thicken, melding over him like a second skin, like a net of oil drowning him.

Spots danced before his vision, darkness a sweltering whole in his awareness. The blindfold hadn't shifted by even so much as a fraction.

He couldn't breathe, the more he tried to struggle, the more the pressure built until Yohji huddled on the cold concrete floor, breath coming in tearing gasps that burned through his lungs and hollowed his chest. Rational thought returned slowly wrapped in the shroud of utter defeat.

"Get up, Balinese."

Crawford sounded angry. He struggled to his knees. Schuldig's hand gripped the back of his neck as if to shake Yohji like an angry kitten, cruelly shoving Yohji's head forward until his chin nearly touched his chest.

Yohji thought he might vomit, the taste of futility bitter as absinthe on his tongue. Death had not taken him. Regret was an empty victory.

//Death before dishonor? I'm surprised kätzchen. You've been hanging around Abyssinian too much.//

//Shut. Up.// Not exactly the best retort he'd ever come up with, but with anxiety rolling through him with the inexorableness of a high tide, he didn't think he could do better. He took mental inventory.

He'd had better days, but nothing was broken. He sported a few new bruises, an ache that layered over the rest, spreading roots through him, body and soul, like an ancient tree cracking the foundation of stone from which it had sprung.

"That wasn't the response I was looking for, kitten." Crawford spoke slowly, his voice heavily laced with censure.

"Shouldn't set your expectations so high." Yohji quipped hoarsely, shrugging against Schuldig's hold, already knowing it was a doomed attempt against restraints, physical and arcane.

"I see I will just have to address this issue sooner rather than later."

Dread dried Yohji's throat. "What--what are you going to do?"

He had to know. Sight stolen from him, all he had to rely on was sound and imagination -- and imagination was weaving a tapestry of night terrors that would send an ancient Samurai running in terror. Struggle barely rippled against the mental force binding him, movement frozen by the pressure that slid like a greasy film over his flesh. Schuldig's grip changed position, his hands pressing down on Yohji's shoulders, as if Yohji had any hope of rising up through the telekinetic net.

"You'll find out soon enough, kitten."

I have a name. And it's not fucking kitten. Yohji grimly kept his protest from escaping.

"Open your mouth, Balinese."

//Do what he says, kätzchen, you're only making it worse.//

Schuldig was sounding sympathetic? Yohji's heart fell, a wake of darkness trailing into the pit of his belly. Breath whistled in and out of his nose as he pressed his lips into a thin line. //Fuck that.//

Rage flickered and died swiftly when hard fingers grabbed his face, exerting an ever-increasing force until the pressure became unbearable.

"Shhh. Nice kitty. Good kitty. God has turned his back on you. We'll take care of you." Farferello crooned, steadfastly digging his fingers into the hinge of Yohji's jaw.

Yohji gave a sob of frustration, as his jaw was painfully levered open. Something hard and unyielding was shoved into his mouth, it bit against the corner of his mouth, scraping his mouth, tasting flatly of metal.

Farferello's hand left his face, but Yohji couldn't close his mouth. Yohji gagged, tongue pushing frantically at the metal contraption, but it wouldn't budge.

Farferello was doing something on either side of his face. He could feel the scarred fingers twist against his cheeks, pushing something and his mouth was slowly forced wider, bit by agonizing bit even as Yohji fought with renewed desperation.

Fingers were thrust in and out of his mouth, smoothing over his tongue and Yohji choked, helpless to refuse the intrusion. Tangled hair was smoothed back from his face. Garbled sounds, frustrated curses destroyed by the metal object struggling with gasps for air, escaped him. Sheer terror rose like a wall of water out of the sea, threatening to engulf him in mindlessness again.

//No more.// He tried to use his thoughts as a spear, filled with the virulent anger crashing impotently through him as he knelt naked at the feet of his enemies, his mouth violated.

"Yohji. That's enough."

Crawford had spoken his name. It was enough to draw him from the edge of the abyss; a feeling of reluctant acceptance stole through him at the inevitability of surrender. As he calmed, he felt the suffocating net of Nagi's power dissipate like early morning mist. He shook himself free of Schuldig's hands, squaring his shoulders.

Fear might own him, but he would face what was to come as best he could, even if he were to die like a wounded animal at their hands. //You lay a hand on me and you are fucking dead meat, asshole.//

//I was wrong, Kudou.// Amusement mixed with a tinge of respect and a healthy portion of lust carried through with Schuldig's mental voice, // You're momma did raise a fool. While your pathetic attempts at insult are amusing, Crawford's not the telepath.//

//Get out of my fucking head!// Yohji's mental protests stuttered to a halt. He felt Schuldig shift, a certain wariness creeping into their link, a watery image of Crawford materialized in his mind and he realized that he was seeing the American through the telepath's eyes. Irritated, Yohji tossed his head, his wayward hair falling back in his face.

The whisper of silk and a hard hand that could only belong to Crawford grabbed his chin in an unbreakable grip, tugging his head up.

"You have lost, Yohji. Accept defeat gracefully."

Yohji shuddered. Helpless as a wounded stag surrounded by hounds, he struggled to calm the rapid beating of his heart. A smile rippled across the image of Crawford that Schuldig was sending him. It chilled Yohji to the bone as the American combed his fingers through Yohji's tangled hair as if he were a wild animal being tamed to Crawford's hand.

"In your time here, kitten. It would stand you well to pick your battles better."

//Get off of me you fucking pervert. Get off! Get off!// Hysteria rose rapidly. Sight gone, speech gone, robbed even of the ability to protect himself with his tongue.

He jerked uselessly against Crawford's grip. He was going to have one doozy of a collection of bruises.

He wanted to spit in Crawford's face. Even that small rebellion had been ruthlessly stripped from him. He could feel the saliva filling his mouth and overflowing, dribbling from his wedged mouth down his chin and dripping onto his bare chest. He gasped for air threatening to strangle himself on his own spit. He stilled, waiting patiently for Crawford's next move.

"Better." Crawford approved, "Things do not have to be difficult, kitten. You always have a choice in how you are handled." A living darkness slithered through Crawford's voice betraying the flat calm.

An awareness that held the thread of unshakeable truth to it slammed into Yohji with the power of discovery. Crawford was enjoying this.

Yohji's head was tilted back further. It was almost as if Crawford expected to be able to see through the dark silk binding his eyes into the shredded sanity flickering behind panicked green eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Iie." Yohji forced the mangled word from his throat, recognizable only in its brevity.

"Let me make this as simple as possible. Hold out your tongue and accept your punishment voluntarily or," Crawford paused stroking his thumb along the device bruising Yohji's face, "I will allow Berserker to break your jaw and go in after it."

Yohji trembled.

"That is your choice this time… to accept your punishment from Farferello or by my hand."

Yohji jerked reflexively against Crawford's hand. What kind of choice was that?

//It's the only one you're gonna get, Kudou. I'd take Crawford over Farfie any day."

//Y-you're not helping.// Even his mental voice was stuttering.

There was a quick flickering of indistinct images flashing through his head, slightly out of focus like the TV at the Koneko during a storm, all snow and shadow with a blinding moment of clarity. Crawford squatting in front of him, Nagi watching with silent cold eyes, the cackling madman standing off to the side drinking in Yohji's humiliation with all the glee of a malevolent six year-old torturing a puppy.

//Or a kitten.// Schuldig supplied helpfully.

Could mental voices smirk? He didn't even bother addressing Schuldig. Hunkering back on his heels, Yohji's shoulders fell as he relaxed into Crawford's grip. Reluctantly he extended his tongue.

"Good boy." Crawford all but purred.

Bright color bloomed anew across Yohji's cheeks and he made an angry sound. Crawford merely chuckled and patted Yohji's head.

Schuldig had disappeared. He was still in the room, hands hot and hard and unforgiving on Yohji's bare shoulders, but the strange off-kilter images that he had been feeding Yohji were gone. The sudden absence made Yohji even more uneasy. He made an inquiring sound in the back of his throat.

"Keep your tongue out, boy." Crawford commanded sharply.

There was a lot of shuffling; the rustle of fabric, Crawford murmured something indistinct. Then Crawford was holding his chin again, fingers firm, but not painful this time.

There was a soft popping sound close to his head. Agony colored red and bright blossomed filling his mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

Yohji howled his surprise, curling around the pain. Tears clung to the soft cloth covering his eyes. His breath came in startled open-mouthed pants, unable to move past the pain for a precious few moments as he struggled to understand what had happened.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Motherfucker. Shit, he cut out my tongue! Panic and horror grew into a nearly overwhelming dread.

More pain as fingers entered his mouth, sought out his tongue. He whimpered. He winced away as heat seared his face.

//Calm down, Kudou. It's only a piercing. Stop being such a fucking infant.// Schuldig sounded honestly concerned, as if he'd been alone in this dark place that sucked at Yohji's sanity.

//Sch-Schuldig?// Gratitude palpable things sweept through him and leaving him weak with relief.

//Newsflash, who's the only telepath you know?// A faint tickle of laughter whispered through his mind like a welcome breeze.

Talking with Schuldig was helping distract him. //Shut. Up.//

//That's the kitten I know and love -- all hisses and claws behind that pretty face.//

Hard fingers pinched a nipple. Yohji nearly fell backward, giving a frightened yowl, his tongue feeling strangely heavy.

"Hold still, kitten, or this will hurt far worse than it has to."

Crawford frightened him. The man's voice was flat, emotionless, his hands hard. There would be neither pity nor quarter.

//Kudou, he's just going to pierce your nipples, not carve his name in your flesh.//

//Couldn't prove it by me.// Don't go away. Don't leave me alone in the dark. Shame grew even as Yohji fought to keep his nameless fears at bay. Two quick flashes of pain shot through his nipples followed by an aching numbness.

"Done." Crawford's voice was laced with approbation. "You did well. Better than I expected." Crawford was upset about something. His next words confirmed that inexplicable sense that Yohji seemed to be able to pick up on more and more.

"Mastermind, I warned you not to interfere."

"I would never disobey one of your orders, Crawford-sama," Schuldig mocked.

"Prodigy, I expect you to keep him under control. If you can't, maybe you should reconsider your bond." Crawford spoke coldly. Yohji didn't really understand what was pissing the man off, but warning bells were sounding with clarion clarity through his mind.

"Naoe -- " Schuldig sounded upset now.

"Not here." Nagi hissed.

Had that been out loud or had he eavesdropped on a telepathic conversation?

There was something going on here that he needed to know. But Yohji couldn't make his mind work.

Yohji was pulled roughly to his feet. He wavered, his legs almost giving out. He allowed himself to rest momentarily against his captor. The sheer breadth of the man told him it was Crawford, even if he hadn't already known. Fingers were exploring his chest; tender in their quest and leaving him unprepared for the sharp bite-bright sparks of pain that followed a tugging at his nipples.

Yohji made a wordless plea that was ignored.

"Very pretty. I chose green to match your eyes. I think you'll approve when you can see again."

Stiffening, Yohji pushed away from Crawford to stand on unsteady legs. He was surprised that Crawford had let him measure that small unit of defiance. The answer to that came too quickly for Yohji when he felt a painful tugging at his nipples.

"Come with me, kitten." Yohji stumbled after Crawford, realizing dully that the American had fastened some kind of leash to the new nipple adornments and was using that to guide him through the garage.

They paused, a door opened. "There are exactly 17 steps down." Crawford spoke briskly.

It got cooler the further they went, a dampness permeating the air and making Yohji shiver nearly uncontrollably. He worried that he would tumble helplessly down the stairs and lay like a broken doll at the foot.

Were they alone? He sought out Schuldig, but the German remained strangely quiet. The sudden absence like a windless void marking the spot in his mind where Schuldig had hovered.

He hovered at the foot of the steps, waiting for further commands from Crawford. His whole body throbbed with exhaustion.

"Over here." Yohji followed Crawford's voice, rather than wait for the man to tug again on his sore nipples. "Good."

Relief was a strange sour taste at the back of his throat. It tangled with shame and won. If Crawford was pleased maybe he would back-off just the slightest bit.

"Open your mouth."

//Shit. Not again.// He tried to say please, but what came out was a hollow moaning. He could sense Crawford losing his patience and he squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold.

He might live through this. He only had to listen to Crawford long enough to get Schwarz to relax their guard. He should've started listening sooner and maybe he could have avoided all this.

"Stick out your tongue."

Sick to his stomach, Yohji complied. There was the sound of metal striking metal and then his head was pulled back. Crawford had tied something to the fucking tongue ring. When Yohji was almost on tiptoe, his head tilted back at an awkward angle, saliva gurgling in his throat as he struggled to swallow, the line stopped moving, but stayed taut. Breathing was an awkward task that took most of his concentration, staying on the balls of his feet took the rest, lest he rip his tongue from his mouth as he fell.

Crawford was behind him and Yohji felt his skin crawl as the man curled his fingers around his hips. "Every animal has to be taught who it belongs to." The American's words were spoken fondly, almost tenderly. He was doing something with the cuffs on Yohji's wrists, and then something was threaded between his legs jerking.

Something cold and hard encircled Yohji's penis. A ratcheting sound sent chills racing up and down his spine and then the cold metal was nestled tight behind his balls. Crawford had handcuffed his genitals to the links between his wrists. Yohji arched painfully, trying to ease the discomfort.

Circling Yohji's penis with his hand, Crawford stroked it to hardness. Yohji gave a strangled protest, unable to move even a step in any direction to escape the touch. Before he could orgasm, Crawford stopped. "Think about your choices, kitten. And learn."

Like a guitar string, Yohji vibrated with tension, arched up and back, his muscles bunching and shifting, a light sweat, breaking out all over his body. Swallowing was a difficult task.

Footsteps. A pause. He could feel Crawford's eyes on him, hard, calculating, knowing. His whole body shook with shame and the effort not to collapse. Please --

"When you are ready to apologize, I'll be back."

The light switch was flipped, the tiny click nearly inaudible over the rushing blood in Yohji's ears. I'm sorry… fuck … I'm sorry -- His lashes fluttered, catching against the damp material.

If possible, it seemed even darker than before.