Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Hindsight ❯ One-Shot

Hindsight
Scribblemoose

Lying down
With a visiting butterfly
Outdoors hotspring

Issa

Schuldig crept into the house like a thief, checking the thoughts of his co-habitees as he climbed through his window.

One day he might live somewhere with doors, like a normal person.

Unlikely, though.

Nagi was asleep, his dreams chaotic, fretful. The boy never had pleasant dreams, at least none that Schuldig had eavesdropped on. The past he spoke so rarely about haunted him constantly while he slept, cruelty and violence twisting his gentle spirit out of shape.

Farfarello seemed to be awake, although Schuldig could never be certain where he was concerned. The man's waking thoughts were so chaotic they may as well have been dreams. But on this occasion Farfarello was considering moderately practical issues, such as where he could find a new supplier for his chemical sundries after he killed the last one in a fit of temper - killed? Oh, Farfie, not again.- and whether he should consider designing some kind of logo to carve into his victims' flesh.

Schuldig shuddered and pulled his mind back, cautiously searching for Crawford instead. He always had to be careful with this one: Crawford wasn't a telepath himself, but his precognitive abilities seemed to leave him more aware than most of when his mind was being looked at. He wasn't asleep, but he was concentrating deeply on the book he was reading, some ancient tome of prophecies from Ancient Greece. He'd been obsessed with ancient seers and oracles lately, so much so that he'd pretty much locked himself up in his office with his books and papers and only come out for essential matters like food and restraining Farfarello.

Schuldig closed the window quietly behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure he could face the ridicule if the others found out about this evening.

Beaten by a girl.

Not beaten by Schrient. Not even beaten by fucking WonderWoman. Beaten by Fujimiya's stupid sister, who had no power that he could tell, apart from being too hormonal to have an intelligible thought. She'd used Aikido on him. Fucking Aikido. No unusual skill, no hidden weapon. Just a self-defence move so basic he should have seen it coming a mile off…

Well, that was the point, really. He hadn't seen it coming. He hadn't been able to read her. Had he got so dependent on his powers that he couldn't do things the old fashioned way anymore?

Schuldig sighed, and started to get undressed.

It all seemed obvious, now. If he was honest with himself, he should have expected all four of Weiss to come after her. In fact he'd been lucky; if Hidaka hadn't been so extraordinarily stupid, and the little Takatori so in love, he would have had a real fight on his hands. It had been pure fantasy, to imagine that Abyssinian and Balinese might come alone.

He savagely ripped the belt from his snug-fitting leather pants, and peeled them off his legs.

Damn, but he was jealous. Jealous of the way they worked together, united by more than fate and shared greed; jealous of their genuine friendship; jealous of the love that bound Abyssinian and Balinese together like rope. Schuldig had sensed it, and Crawford had seen it, years ago, that impossible bond. Long before Fujimiya and Kudoh recognised it for anything other than lust.

He pulled his shirt over his head, shaking his hair loose down his back.

He'd been right about that, at least. Kudoh did like his hair. Not in a way that meant he would ever countenance touching it of his own free will, but objectively, hormonally, he liked it. He really did have a thing for redheads.

Schuldig sat on the edge of his bed, feeling very sorry for himself.

And very, very horny.

How come Kudoh got Abyssinian to play with, and the little Takatori to do his work for him, and Hidaka to shout at? Let him try and live with a deranged psycopath, a precog who was intent on stopping you from having any fun and a kid who was sadness personified. It would reduce the biggest optimist in the world to tears.

He couldn't be sure he would have gone through with it, anyway. It was one thing to fantasise about having the two of them at his mercy, but the reality… He didn't have Farfarello's flair for cruelty, or Crawford's penchant for torture. He didn't have Nagi's twisted sense of justice, either. He liked games, and there was no point in a game where you were the only player.

He liked his lovers willing. Better still, begging. Begging for him, not their lives, or those of their loved ones.

Trouble was, he could tell when they were faking it.

He shivered in the chill morning air, his breath forming faint clouds in the cold. They probably had central heating as well. Bastards.

He lay back and pulled the comforter up to his ears, snuggling into the chilly pillow, curled up on his side. His hand went automatically to his cock, cradling it in a loose, comforting grip. It was half-hard and getting harder by the second.

He closed his eyes, and searched for a story.

He tried a few images for size; Abyssinian, all red hair and amethyst eyes, brooding, sulking, hard to please. Or that Birman woman, all tits and legs.

No. Not a woman. He was right off women just now.

Balinese.

It had to be Balinese. Long limbed and doe-eyed, hard-edged masculinity wrapped up in a slender, graceful body. Oh yes.

His cock was like rock in his hand now: warm, polished granite wrapped in a velvet sheath. He forced himself to keep his touch gentle, grazing the pads of his fingers softly over the pattern of veins and ridges.

Balinese's story would take place somewhere warm and sensual; not the empty warehouse with its stain of cold defeat. Somewhere Balinese would be happy, relaxed, willing to share that gorgeous body freely and revel in the pleasure of it. A club, perhaps? No, that was all wrapped up with the disaster that had been Schuldig's evening. Somewhere different. An expensive hotel, with silk sheets and a deep, luxurious bath? The water would be good.

A spring! A hotspring, like the one at the resort he'd taken Schon to that weekend, all that time ago… except Kudoh would be so much more fun than the empty headed pretty-girl of Schrient. Nearly as vain, maybe, but more trusting, less fixed on pointless revenge and more focused on the moment, the pleasure, the sharing. More focused on his lover.

He ran his fingers lightly round his balls, biting his lower lip at the sudden, almost-ticklish pleasure.

They would be in the hot spring together, just the two of them, no Abyssinian or Crawford to bring common sense into the equation. Just two hedonists, laying back in hot, soft water that smelt of the rock it had steamed through on the way to the surface, clean, earthy, natural. Schuldig would lie back in Balinese's arms, those long limbs wrapped about his body, and relax.

Schuldig's lips curled into a little smile, and he reached the hand that wasn't on his erection back to tease the sensitive spot at the base of his spine where he imagined Kudoh's hard cock would nestle.

Balinese would whisper in his ear and make him laugh; a shared observation, a random thought, and the laughter would warm him as much as the water and the caress of Kudoh's breath on his neck. Kudoh would play with his hair, softer than ever in the water; he'd pull back damp strands from Schuldig's face and nuzzle under the poker-straight bulk of it to the secret curls at the base of his skull. Kudoh would kiss it and brush his cheek lovingly along it like a cat, worshipping the copper-bright mane with his fingers and eyes and lips.

Schuldig clasped his cock more firmly, encircling it elegantly with his forefinger and thumb, the rest of his fingers a comet tail behind the heated pleasure of that ring-grip. He arched back with a faint moan, eyelids fluttering, and ran his tongue swiftly over his lips.

Kudoh would pull him closer still, stroking down Schuldig's arms with the backs of his hands, moving under the water to explore the rest of his body; his slender waist and finely-muscled thighs, his flat belly and hard, angular hipbones. As Schuldig whimpered he would smile, a fluttery touch of his lips to Schuldig's exposed neck, and slowly, painfully, painfully slowly, he would move his hands up the smooth insides of each thigh, until one hand cupped his balls and the other found his cock, hard and bobbing back and forth, weightless in the mineral-thick water. Kudoh would enfold it with his long, wire-strong fingers and rub it gently, tantalisingly gently, whispering all the while in Schuldig's ear.

"I want to fuck you," he'd whisper. "You're so beautiful, so strong, so hard, I want you so bad… can I fuck you? Now, here? Will you let me?"

He would lay his head back on Kudoh's shoulder with a smile and whisper back: "Yes. Fuck me. Make love to me. Here. Now."

Schuldig squirmed under the covers, his hand feathering its way down, between his buttocks, and fluttering softly over his asshole.

Kudoh would lick his ear and give his cock a few firm strokes before he let go and turned his attention to practicalities. He would knead Schuldig's buttocks, relaxing and stimulating him all at once. He would find his entrance with confident fingers, somehow, impossibly, coated with lube even under the water. He would open Schuldig's body with a firm but gentle touch, anxious not to hurt him, and he would prepare him lovingly, stretching him, teasing his prostate, making him so desperate to be filled that he wouldn't care if it hurt a little.

But it wouldn't hurt at all.

Schuldig picked up the pace some, settling the hand on his cock into a rhythm, teasing the soft pucker of his anus with gentle fingertips, pressing inside, just a little.

Kudoh would lift him easily in the water, just enough to position his slick, stiff cock at Schuldig's entrance.

"Ready, Schu?" he'd ask, lips whispering over his ear, nibbling his earlobe. "You sure you want me?"

"Oh yes," he'd reply. "I want you inside me, deep, hard. Now."

Kudoh would smile and wrap his arms around Schuldig as he sank his cock inside him, his breath hitching at the intensity of the slick grip of Schuldig's tight muscle around his eager shaft. Schuldig would fumble to find Kudoh's hands, twine their fingers together, gripping hard as they started to fuck, their bodies rocking together in harmony, a blur of swollen, aching pleasure.

Schuldig was stroking faster now, biting down on his lower lip hard enough to leave a mark. He gasped every time he touched his hole, imagining it being filled to the brim with Kudoh Yohji's cock; it was almost too much, and yet he couldn't stop touching it, it felt so good, too good, so good…

Kudoh would kiss his shoulder, tasting his skin and the volcanic tang of the spring, he would lick his neck, his jaw; he would turn Schuldig's head so he could kiss his mouth; pressing tongue tip to tongue tip, hot and wet. He would taste of man, he would smell of man, his voice would be deep and rich in Schuldig's ear, and his thoughts would be pure, unfettered pleasure.

"Oh Yohji… Yohji… you feel so good…"

"You too, baby. You too."

He would take Schuldig's sex in his hand and pump it steadily, lovingly, palming the top and purring approval at it's girth and heft. He would squeeze a little under the head, just so, and all the time he'd be filling his ass with his cock, over and over…

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

Yohji would kiss him again, deeper this time, and whisper into the kiss: "I want you to come for me, baby, I want to feel it, I want to taste it, I want to make you happy."

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

"I want to come with you, Yohji, together, I want to feel you come inside me, I want you with me…"

Yohji would tell him to come on the count of three, and he would promise that he would join him.

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

"One…"

Schuldig's right hand was a blur, and he fingered himself ruthlessly with his left.

Yohji would lengthen his strokes and pound into him.

"Two…"

Schuldig gasped in breath and held it; his hand gripped still for a second on his throbbing shaft.

Yohji would fill him, and pause; the air would be still and thick, and silent, the world would be tense and rich with anticipation.

"Three!"

Schuldig's body spasmed in Yohji's arms, his cock spasmed in Yohji's hand, in his hand; he felt the splatter of come on his belly, and the caress of water washing it away; he felt his balls tighten over and over; he felt Yohji's essence flooding his body with warmth; he felt pure, intense pleasure that made his heart sing.

His heart pounded in his chest, his breath hitched almost painfully into his aching lungs. His body twitched a few more times, jerking the last dribbles of semen over his still-stroking fingers.

He rolled onto his back, still gasping, and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

His body slowly relaxed, his mind blurred back to focus. A little shaky, he plucked a handful of tissues from the box by his bed, and cleaned himself up, concentrating on the practical task with a frown as the reality of his life came back.

His life sucked.

He had been stupid to think he could ever have Balinese, willing or otherwise. He was the bad guy, and the bad guys never got the… well, not the girl, in this case, but…

Schuldig yawned, his mind rambling off into odd corners as usual. At least they were his odd corners for a change. He shuffled onto his side and curled up, the soft fist of one hand gently rubbing the tip of his nose, comforting. It was cold.

Somewhere, in the distance, Farfarello howled.

Maybe he should seek redemption. Persuade Persia that he could be a double agent, and work his way into Kudoh's heart.

He snorted at the implausibility of his own imagination. That was never going to happen. None of it was ever going to happen.

Bad Schu. Evil Schu. No Yohji for you…

Cold, lonely and wretched, Schuldig drifted off to sleep.

* * * * * * *

The "bad Schu. Evil Schu" line is stolen from Paxnirvana, as attributed by Nekojita in her introduction to her own fic 'Wonderland', although in that case it was Aya that poor Schuldig was denied. Forgive me, both of you, I just love it soooo much, and it seemed to fit poor Schu so well here ;)