Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Mind Games and Coffee ❯ chapter five ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz is not mine. All its characters and affiliates are also not mine. Nothing involving Weiss Kreuz is mine. Sadly this is true.

 

Author's Notes: I have started the next chapter, and I hope that I can get that out before my work load piles up. I have to come up with a research paper topic and at least five sources this week. I have a test, but it should be pretty easy. If nothing else comes up expect new update in a week. That is my new goal: to update at least once a week. We'll see how it goes.

 

Review Responses:

 

Beysie - How dare it not let you log on!! Normally Schuldig loves to be fantasized over, but not by Takatori. As I see it as long as Estet is backing him, Takatori could do whatever he wanted with Schwarz: ex. Hitting Farf and Schu with a golf club. Thus Schuldig can't harm Takatori right now, and would have to put up with an endless mental porno of him and Takatori (YUCK!)

 

Megami Layla - Now you know what they're up to. As for Takatori getting his way…. ^_^ I'm not telling… *whisphers* actually I don't know yet, don't tell.

 

Meandering - I like Farf too! It might be because I have about as many piercings as he does, maybe more. ^_^ Expect some darkness now and then in this fic. Although I'm aiming to write something with some humor, I can't deny that it's Schwarz I'm writing about. They are not the good guys after all.

 

~telepathy~ aka communicating

/thoughts/ aka Schuldig reading someone's mind

 

German words:

 

Verdammt - Damnit

 

Geh zum Teufel - Go to hell

 

Chapter five:

 

 

It was late when Brad emerged from his study. He had finally finished typing and submitting the necessary files to Estet, thus he deserved a midnight snack, or in his case a two in the morning snack. He sat at the kitchen table, staring listlessly at the toaster, waiting for his bagel to pop up. Toasters always seemed to take forever. The timer could be set on light or very dark and still seem to take the same amount of time. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Brad had his bagel smothered with a generous amount of cream cheese.

 

Having intended to retire for the evening after his snack, Brad only bothered to cut on the light over the sink, hence the kitchen was cast in a soft half light. The rest of the apartment was quiet. The noise of the street had died down long ago with the proper businessmen tucked in their beds and the drunks passed out in alleyways. Farfarello was locked in his room, though he could extract himself if he truly wished, but it was a comforting farce of security. Around midnight Brad, on route to the coffee pot, had found the T.V. on with Nagi asleep in front of it. Through protest the boy had been sent to bed. Nagi had been waiting for Schuldig to come home. He, not having Brad's safety in knowing the future, worried about the flighty redhead.

 

After returning home from seeing to Takatori, Schuldig had promptly gone back out. Brad didn't need his clairvoyance to know that Schuldig would be at a club. The telepath would drown in the drunken thoughts of others, and for a moment, he would forget about Takatori and Estet. If Schuldig came home tonight it would probably be soon. Brad could feel the visions running through his subconscious creeping around his conscious mind, a numb fuzzy feeling, like one too many drinks. Flashes of orange hair and blue eyes, Schuldig, filtered into his view. He clamped down on the feeling, not wanting to see anything. His head already hurt from staring to long at a computer screen. Visions where someone died where always tainted a strange sort of reddish purple color, thus he knew the German would be alright, and he didn't need to check his visions. Subconsciously he saw them all, and in sleep he did not dream, but saw random visions. If it was something important about tomorrow, Brad would see it again.

 

Half way into the bagel, Schuldig came staggering through the front door, smelling of cheap liquor, smoke, and even cheaper perfume. The German was more than a little drunk. He made his way to the kitchen, and found the clairvoyant where the buffer of mental shields marked his presence. Brad couldn't help his wandering eyes, as Schuldig leaned against the counter next to him. The telepaths black leather pants hung low on the hips, and left nothing to the imagination. The tight emerald green shirt stopped at the midriff exposing a section of smooth pale skin. The redhead was all sex and sin, and his blue eyes glinted mischievously in the partial light.

 

“I take it you enjoyed yourself,” Brad said blandly returning his attention to his snack.

 

“More than you,” replied a smirking Schuldig. His own eyes raked over the man before him.

 

“Who did you whore yourself to this time?”

 

“Jealous Brad,” Schuldig whispered in the American's ear.

 

Crawford turned his head, surprised, he hadn't noticed the other man moving. Schuldig liked to use his unnatural speed to gain the upper hand and startle the precog as often as possible. Crawford was now face to face with the smirking German. Schuldig's deep ocean eyes stared relentlessly into Brad's honey brown ones. The redhead's warm breath coasted over the precog's face, fogging his glasses.

 

“Jealous of what, a German slut, not likely,” Brad said turning away from the mischievous smirk.

 

He took off his steamed glasses and reached for a napkin, intent on wiping them off. A brief rush of air was all the warning he got of Schuldig's, faster than the human eye, movements. He dropped both items on the table as leather clad legs wrapped around his waist. The redhead had swiftly planted himself firmly in Crawford's lap, and then proceeded in pressing down in just the right places. Long pale arms wrapped around his neck and brought the telepath's face close enough for Crawford to make out clearly. Schuldig's smirk widened at the wide brown eyes in front of him; he would not be ignored.

 

“Oh, I think you are,” Schuldig said huskily.

 

“What do you think you are doing,” snapped a flustered Crawford.

 

“I'm chipping away at the ice,” the telepath snickered.

 

“Get off me. You're drunk.”

 

“True,” breathed Schuldig against the pale skin of Crawford's throat, “but if I was sober I wouldn't be so crass or mmm horny.”

 

“You are always `crass' and you think of nothing but sex,” snapped Crawford as he tried to shift away from the clingy redhead. Schuldig only held on tighter and dipped his head to run his tongue along the column of Brad's neck.

 

“Not with you,” stated the inebriated German as he continued to assault the expanse of skin before him.

 

“What?!” yelped Brad as Schuldig nipped his earlobe.

 

“You are always so cold to me, so I don't waste my time.”

 

“Why stop now, I'm sure you could have found entertainment a plenty at whatever brothel you went to.”

 

“So harsh, but I don't think that's what you really want Brad.” The name was more a moan than a word.

 

“I said get off…” Crawford choked and had to bite back his own moan as Schuldig rocked his hips.

 

Brad gripped the edge of the table, while Schuldig continued to move against him. How could he have not foreseen this?! Damn unpredictable German. The redhead pressed his weight knowingly down on the American's groin. The layers of fabric between them only added to the delicious friction. Schuldig brought his hands up to burry them in silky black hair, and he rested his forehead against the pinned man's.

 

“You can't tell me you don't want me,” breathed Schuldig, “I can feel the proof that you do.”

 

Brad couldn't control his traitorous body's reaction, and his mind wouldn't think rationally with a lap full of writhing German. Schuldig thrust hard against him causing the chair scrape back against the floor. Brad lost his grip on the table and instinctively latched on to Schuldig's hips. His hands glided across the smooth leather to cup a firm ass. The redhead moaned and Crawford pulled him down hard. While Schuldig gasped, Brad grabbed a fistful of red hair and crushed their lips together. His tongue immediately invaded the surprised German's mouth. Schuldig wasn't sure when he had lost control of the game, but didn't complain as he fought for dominance.

 

Schuldig was just as skilled as Crawford thought he would be. The redhead's tongue rubbed provokingly against his own, as Brad continued to rape the warm sweet mouth. The German tasted of vodka and limes, but beyond that was something spicy the precog didn't care at the time to identify. Hands were running down his back and into his pants pulling his dress shirt loose. His own hand caressed up the redhead's back, which instantly arched, and back down to rest on the front of tight leather pants. Schuldig moaned into the heated kiss as he was massaged through the restrictive material. Crawford wanted to rip those damned pants off, so that he could mimic with other parts, the rapture his tongue was already in. Schuldig was warm, soft, and oh so inviting.

 

So enraptured was he in the present, Crawford's mind relaxed its hold on visions of the future. Takatori, Estet, Weiss…swimming, falling…swirling in sickly purple. Somebody was dieing, somebody was screaming… Takatori reaching for red hair; he's dead, he's alive. A girl… Aya… Ran… the floor will break. And the image taints the horrible color of bruised flesh. In an instant Crawford had foreseen visions from a hundred possible futures. In an instant Crawford remembered what he had to do.

 

Schuldig was in heaven. Crawford was hard against him and blessedly silent. Being this close to the clairvoyant and his impenetrable shields dampened the voices. He was free to focus on the blissful feel of strong hands on him. Just as the telepath surrendered to the fierce exploration of his mouth, he found himself falling hard to the floor! Crawford had stood quickly, dislodging the dazed redhead. He stood straightening his clothes and retrieving his glasses, while Schuldig rubbed his abused behind and glared from the floor.

 

“Verdammt! What did you do that for!” yelled Schuldig.

 

“I told you to get off me, didn't I,” said Crawford calmly, appearing once again in control. “Go whore yourself elsewhere Schuldig, I have work to do.” With that the clairvoyant turned his back on the sputtering German and left the room.

 

“Geh zum Teufel!” Schuldig screamed after Crawford. “Bastard.”

 

The redhead picked himself off the floor and brushed off his pants, which were now uncomfortably tight. He glared viciously at the spot his denied conquest had stood. He couldn't quite grasp what had happened. Never before had he wished so hard for a glimpse into the American's mind. Brad had clearly been enthusiastic one moment, and then he went back to being a cold bastard. Schuldig sighed and seated himself in Crawford's abandoned chair. He looked at the forgotten bagel and smirked.

 

“You never said you didn't want me,” Schuldig laughed to himself.

 

He finished off the bagel and went to his room. He smelled like a keg party, but a shower could wait till tomorrow. He was tired, unsatisfied, but tired. A good night's sleep would help in his planning to make Crawford crumble. Perhaps a different approach was necessary. Leaving his bedroom door open, Schuldig changed into a pair of boxers and fell into bed.

 

Across the hall Brad was occupied with a very cold shower. He spent the time cursing his own lack of sight, redheaded Germans, and the urge to finish himself what Schuldig started. He didn't need this. He was planning the downfall of Estet, who would kill them if he screwed up. He had to stay focused. All that mattered was his freedom from Estet. But then why couldn't he stop thinking of the redhead. Even under the freezing spray of the shower, his cock twitched at the thought of Schuldig writhing in his lap. The memory of those leather incased thighs pressed against his sides, while the telepath's cock rubbed against his own, was driving him mad. For the first time since he was sixteen, Crawford considered jerking off in the shower.

 

Slamming his fist against the tiled wall, Brad turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He put on a pair of pajama pants and roughly toweled his hair. He sent burning glares towards his closed door, across from which was the object of his anger and frustration. He paced in front of his bed, glaring at the door. From beyond the obstruction of wood, he could hear the creak of bed springs and broken sentences in some guttural language he didn't recognize.

 

Brad Crawford stopped his pacing and glaring with a sigh. He walked over and leaned his head against the doorframe. He still couldn't name the language, but he knew that Schuldig was having a restless sleep. He opened the door quietly. Almost immediately, the sleeping telepath across the hall stopped thrashing about and settled into a deeper sleep. Without his glasses Brad couldn't make out the telepath clearly, but he could tell that the other man now slept peacefully, as he always did with Brad across the hall.

 

 

End Chapter five

 

 

Thanks for stopping by and I hope you will return. As always reviews are welcome and appreciated.

 

Solaras