Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Eternal or fleeting embraces leave the same marks ❯ Lovers ( Chapter 7 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Warnings- Er... Gomannasai for the jump in rating, but it gets a little "interesting" here

"Pairings"- Schuldig/Crawford

Author's Notes- It didn't go this far. In fact there is only a little bit of truth in this story. Thank god.. *cough cough* Anyway, Terribly, terribly sorry about no quote on the fifth chapter. Didn't mean to forget, but I was really flustered then. This chapter is for all those hentai fans, yeah I know you're out there. ^.^;;

Thank yous- Everyone who reviewed! Thanks guys!! ^^ And now I'll shut up and let you read.

Ch.7

"Illusions ruin all whom they blind." E. de Girardin

Warmth. That was his first impression. Warmth and a current of air against his flesh. It was night and he was supposed to be in bed, but from what he could tell it wasn't his bed. Eyes flying open, he looked into the darkness, but all he could see was blackness. Really, what else had he expected? Still, he wanted to know where he was, and why he felt undressed. He ran his hand over his thigh, bare skin met bare skin. When had he taken his pants off that night? He hadn't. So who had? Where was he?
"Hello..?" he asked, squinting into the darkness, hoping to see something. He saw nothing, he felt nothing, but he heard someone move in the bowels of the hushed blackness. "Who is there?" A line out of a stupid horror movie, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. Maybe that was why horror movies seemed so stupid, because everyone was stupid at the moment of uncertainty. He was nervous and he took a deep breath to try and calm himself. Why didn't he know where he was, or remember taking his clothes off?
"Don't be so confused, Bradley. You know what's going on."
That voice, how he hated that voice right then. It was right, this intrusive voice, he did know what was going on. He just didn't want to think it was possible.
"What in the hell do you think you are doing, Schuldig?"
"What I want," with that infuriatingly simple answer, Schuldig appeared from the darkness as a light flickered on. Strangely, considering now was not the time to study his surroundings, Crawford noted it was a candle. A tall candle whose light was enough to brighten one side of the room, the side that was across from him. There was enough light for him to see a shirtless German and the end of the bed he was on.
"How did I get here?"
"Very carefully, now be quiet."
"What?" the surprised American choked out. Who was Schuldig to talk to him like this? He went to sit up, but found he couldn't move. What in the hell was going on? Why couldn't he move? His mind spun restlessly with confusion, like a dog chasing its tail long after passing the point of exhaustion.
"You're tied up. Now stop thinking so much. Its annoying." Schuldig observed his trussed possession, lying in bed with no way to move, as he spoke. Splendid, he thought happily. Crawford was all elegance to his eyes; the elegant drape of his body, the natural tilt of his darkly handsome head, a look in his features formed by intelligence and stern sincerity. His eyes were opaque until they looked upon his captor, whereupon they shone with a fierce blue animation. The circle around his iris was a pale cornflower, the rest a dusky, twilight blue.
He moved to speak, and Schuldig silenced him with a mental probe, cutting off the commands his mind sent to his vocal cords. Too easy, all too easy. He was too easy to maneuver, and how Schuldig was enjoying it.
Prowling forward like the predator he was, the redhead rubbed his hands together as he surveyed the bare body before him, one that softly glowed in the low light. A golden glow was about Crawford's skin, shining radiantly in the candle's luminance. Why he covered himself all the time, Schuldig would never know. The man really was a prude. Something Schuldig was going to be happy to solve at this particular moment.
Running his hands up both of the American's legs, Schuldig watched the reaction. Crawford tried to wrench away, but he was bound after all, and he didn't get very far. As the redhead slipped around to the side of the bed, he let his hand trace across the flesh of his captive. Its warmth was pleasing to him, as was the smell, but Crawford always smelled nice to him. He sat upon the edge of the bed, a wraith made of muted light and soft darkness interwoven, and ran his hands over the American's stomach. The muscles pulled away from his touch, recoiling from him. He persisted, rubbing them slowly, fanning his fingers out as he moved up towards the ribs. More thrashing followed as Crawford tried to struggle out of his bonds, unable to believe what was happening. A smile twisted the harsh plains of Schuldig's face, he was both amused and aroused. Something about this whole situation pleased him very much. Being in complete control of the normally willful American was a big boost for him. It couldn't be helped. Control was not only an aphrodisiac, but addictive as well.
With that thought in mind, he straddled the legs of his victim. The look on Crawford's face was priceless; somewhere between surprise, anger, and despair. All of those emotions and many more that hadn't been named by psychologists yet, flashed through the other man's mind. He wanted nothing more than to be out of here, away from the man sitting upon his legs and leering down at him.
"Calm down, Crawlie," Schuldig taunted as he leaned forward, licking the collar bone exposed to him. The warm skin tasted of something sweet, an unidentifiable flavor to Schldig's tongue. Maybe if he tried some more. He licked a path up from the collar bone to the shoulder, where he nipped once or twice before running his tongue across to the column of the neck. There he began to suck lightly, combining the wet suction with sparse licks and nips. He ignored the threats Crawford promised to act out upon him as he continued about his work. The neck he was lavishing attention upon was tight, the muscles jumping away from his tongue like he was licking them with electricity. The overall reaction he was getting did not please him, Crawford should have been a little more receptive to such pleasurable treatment. Then again, he could always make the American receptive. If he just implanted a few feelings, a few ideas, and removed a dozen or so inhibitions, he could get the reaction he wanted. It didn't seem like such a bad idea, especially when he followed his idea through and Crawford stopped struggling both mentally and physically. He untied the other man's wrists and ankles, leaning back on the hips he was straddling and watching for Crawford's reaction. The man looked at him, a different look in his eyes than two seconds earlier.
This time when Schuldig leaned down, willing lips met his. Crawford sat up to deepen the kiss and the German buried a hand in the night colored hair, positioning them both for a better angle. A strong hand pushed him closer, sitting him fully in Crawford's lap. He smiled at the actions, but in the next instant the tongue in his mouth wiped clear his thoughts of victory, replacing them with blind lust. He slipped his other hand onto the sinewy, firm back and pressed them tightly together. The American's hands were on his waist, holding him tightly as they kissed one another senseless. There was a frantic need in the air, a taste that was as elusive to the mind as it was to the tongue. It charged the room with an electric current, driving both of them to a frenzied pace.
Seizing the American's shoulders, Schuldig pressed him down to the bed. He slid down, feathering tiny kisses over the other man's stomach, pleased when Crawford did not pull away. Up one thigh he licked a brazen trail along the inner edge, pushing the legs apart for a better angle at the same time. He smiled wickedly and brushed his fingertips along the underside of Crawford's arousal, hearing the half growl and gasp for breath. Flicking his tongue out in a serpentine gesture, Schuldig tasted his found-again lover. Heavenly, a familiar taste brought back to him, an old acquaintance he was glad to renew. He swirled his tongue from base to tip, running over and under. The sharp breath his lover drew in encouraged him, and he drew the straining length deep into his mouth. Crawford's hips bucked up at the sudden warmth and wetness around his sex. Almost smiling, Schuldig slid up and down, a slow stroke followed by a quick one, feeling the reaction through the hot flesh in his mouth. It only took minutes to reduce Crawford to a quivering, near-orgasmic, acquiescent mass of flesh. The redhead dipped up and down a few more times, sucking Crawford like a lollipop. His orgasm took his body to the edge, shaking him at the climax of his release. He felt weak and sated, something he hadn't felt for a long time.
Schuldig sat up, rubbing his palms up and down his lover's legs, and smiled engagingly. Licking the corner of his mouth, he surveyed his handy work. Crawford's eyes had closed after his long-abstained from release, but he opened them when he felt the jade eyes watching him. They were the wide post-orgasm doe eyes, passive, replete and gentle. This was something Schuldig didn't see anymore, and he smiled at the sight.
"Feeling better, Bradley?"
He received a look that was trying desperately to be stern, but it failed miserably. The look barely managed to be passive, he was too intoxicated upon delectation, having just drunken from the fulfilling wine of satiation.
"Mhm," the redhead smirked, the glitter of stolen victory in his eyes. He stood, Crawford watching him with big eyes the whole time, and removed his pants quickly. Without really thinking about it, Crawford sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, enfolding Schuldig in his strong arms when he came to him. Their embrace was tight and passionate, kisses smoldering between them. They both wanted one another, but it was not truly Crawford's choice. At the moment, Schuldig didn't care. He might care later, but he didn't care right then. He just wanted a piece of ass, as usual. He wanted the American's ass, literally.
With that thought as his antagonist, Schuldig pushed the yielding bishounen onto his back and positioned himself, standing, between the legs once again. He sucked on two of his fingers as he eyed the awaiting Crawford, so calmly lying on the bed. He grinned around his fingers, his thoughts very good to him right then. With thoughts of that caliber, he was soon unable to wait any longer. He removed his fingers and leaned forward to kiss his lover, the fingers slipping low. Both fingers entered the tightness, stretching the tight ring of flesh as they scissored. Crawford hissed with pleasure and surprise, drawing in breath like a dehydrated man would water. Schuldig smiled and swallowed the breath the other man exhaled. He really did love it when he got what he wanted, the way he wanted it, when the wanted it. It was so... pleasing.
He slicked the entrance with his saliva and positioned himself accordingly. He broke the numbing kiss and pulled his head up to look his counterpart in the eyes. Smiling, his voice dropped and he spoke in a low voice, the rich tones vibrating through the stillness of the room like a master vocalist on the stage.
"Having fun yet, Crawford?"
Sitting upright in his bed quickly, Crawford realized he was screaming and silenced himself. He sat there, panting and sweating, for a good ten minutes before he was able to calm down enough to rationalize what was going on. His darkened room was a comfort to him, the plain blackness calming him a little. He was dressed, he felt his pants on. A dream, it was all a dream.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph...." He sighed, remembering an American phrase he hadn't heard in years. His alarm clock shone three-thirty-one in the morning and he knew there would be no more sleep for him that night. He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of his pristinely white-sheeted bed. Everything in his room was white, an emotionless color, what he referred to as a void of color. Nothing, like he wanted to feel. His didn't grab his robe, no one else should be up, and if they were, he had pants on.
*~*~*
Nagi looked at Crawford with very large eyes. He had made a large breakfast for everyone, and it looked like he was brewing his third pot of coffee. He looked terrible. His eyes had bags under them, dark circles marring the flesh above his cheek bones. His hair was fine, his clothes (that damned suit he always wore had been exchanged for dark slacks and a cream colored turtleneck) were fine, but his body and his face, and even the air about him, seemed sickly and exhausted.
"Brad?" He squeaked, staring at the tall American.
"Yes, Nagi?" Crawford looked at the teenager, eyes tired but patient.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Of cour-"
"Crawlie just had a bad dream, didn't you Crawlie?" The all too familiar voice taunted him from the kitchen doorway.
Crawford's eyes grew an inch wider as he looked at the sneering German. Torture, he thought very clearly, he will torture me until I go mad. He then turned and smiled encouragingly at Nagi. "You'll be late for school. Here's your lunch."
Once again Nagi's eyes grew wider than the norm. Crawford had to have gotten up really early to make breakfast and lunch. What in the world was wrong with him? Had he and Schuldig fought again? Probably. They were always fighting. He nodded in a broken rhythm, grabbing the lunch his father figure had made and skirting Schuldig at the door as he left the room.
That left the two ex-lovers to look at each other, one smirking and one frowning sternly. Crawford turned the stove off and wiped his hands on a towel by the sink. He felt the redhead's eyes on him, and knew he was being looked over. Schuldig probably didn't approve of his attire or something, but he wasn't willing to find out.
"Enjoy your breakfast," Crawford mumbled as he grabbed his coffee cup and headed for the sanctuary of his office. Work, he needed work. Numbers and columns and order. Something that couldn't terrorize him in the depths of his mind.
"I'll enjoy it as much as last night, sexy."
Flinching in the doorway, Crawford picked up his pace and walked as quickly as he could down the hall, to his office and his orderly work. How he hated the Telepath sometimes, most of the time. Why couldn't he just be left alone? If only this mess had never started in the first place.

"The selfish, loving only themsevles, are loved by no one: so, selfishness is moral suicide." De Gaston