Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ The Craft of Erotic Abhorrence ❯ Chapter II ( Chapter 2 )

~*~Chapter II~*~

They found their way off the property and into a posh, midnight-black stretch limo that had been waiting for Crawford. He gave the driver clipped instructions in English before they set off.

Ken found himself to be a bit impressed, in a disgusted sort way. He looked around his lavish settings. "Debauchery pays well, huh?"

Crawford didn't bother to acknowledge that. "Tell me your name."

All of Ken's instincts protested vehemently but he knew that there wasn't any point to keeping his identity a secret. Not if he was to rely completely on Crawford's abilities, much as he was coming to abhor the idea. "Hidaka Ken."

"I want answers, Hidaka. Now."

Ken scowled at the dark-tinted windows. He hated the way Crawford ordered him about, like he had fucking authority over him. Crawford's very voice, stern and heavily laced with arrogance, sent Ken's teeth to grit. He was only able to find consolation in the fact that the faster he spat all the details out, the faster Crawford could get to work. He carefully removed glossy photograph from the pocket of his pants. It featured him and his youngest teammate, a wide-eyed, seventeen year old boy named Omi. He and Omi were both surrounded by heaps of wedding flower displays and were goofing around, huge grins stretching across their faces.

It was like looking into another world.

"I need you to find him," Ken muttered, flicking the picture onto Crawford's lap. "His name is Tsukiyono Omi and he's been missing for the past five days."

Crawford scanned the picture briefly, disinterestedly. "What do you do?"

Another moment of truth. It had to be. It couldn't be hidden, no matter how much he wished it to be otherwise. Ken inhaled sharply and uttered what he'd never once before revealed. "I'm part of a group of assassins."

If Crawford was surprised, he didn't show it. "Who do you work for?"

"We don't actually know," Ken admitted honestly. "His features are veiled and we know him by a codename only."

"And this boy?" Crawford nodded to the picture in his hands.

"A teammate of mine. Also an assassin."

"How did he disappear?"

"During a standard infiltration mission. Omi was hacking into the building's security system and power base from a secured point. I was to enter this building and retrieve a series of disks from a locked office on the top floor while our two other teammates were to deal with security and make sure none of us were seen." Ken looked out the window, his features tight.

"There were about fifteen security personnel in the building. They were all heavily armed. There was a massive shoot-out in the basement and during that fight, the com. links our other two teammates wore were damaged and so Omi and I had no way of contacting them. I reached the office easily. It was secured by a couple of guards and we fought. During the fight, Omi began to scream through our link. He said something about me not coming to look for him and then was abruptly cut off. I couldn't leave my point because I hadn't obtained the disks and more guards had been alerted to my presence. So I killed them all. I met up with my other partners on the way outside and we didn't find a single trace of Omi. Whoever took him was a trained professional. We didn't have much time to search since the police were on their way so we booked it. Kritiker send a bunch of specialists to the scene later that night but still no one turned up anything. Omi might be a kid but he's strong and he's fucking smart. There's no way he could've just disappeared like that. Only someone with a lot of power and resources could have done this. Otherwise Omi would have been back by now, I know it."

"What's Kritiker?"

"The organization we work for," Ken answered shortly. He didn't like the way Crawford seemed more interested in his work rather than in finding Omi. "They know of your talents and suggested I find you. You will be able to find Omi, right? It's already been five days and anything could've happened to him by now."

"If you doubted my abilities then you wouldn't be here now wouldn't you?"

Stupid bastard and his roundabout shit. Ken ignored the question. "How does your ability work anyway? How are you going to find him? Can you see what'll happen to him? Is he okay right now?"

"I'll find him," Crawford replied coolly. "And I'll tell you when I find him. You don't need to know anymore then that. It isn't your prerogative to know how I work."

"Yeah okay, hypocrite," Ken retorted. "Considering how you've been plugging me for info."

"If I ever come begging to you for help then feel free to plug me for whatever information you desire."

Ken fisted his hands to keep himself from punching the condescending bastard. "Asshole."

"Yes. I am." Crawford tossed the picture of him and Omi aside with a flick of his wrist. "Get on your knees."

Ken's jaw dropped. "What?"

The bastard didn't reply. Just pushed up his glasses and waited with infuriating arrogance. Because he knew choice wasn't an option to Ken. Not with Omi's glossy face beaming at him from beside the American man.

So this was what 'doing anything' entailed.

Ken held his tongue with a great deal of effort but knew that all the explosive rage he felt was glowering upon his face. He could see Omi's face out of the corner of his eye and that was enough. It had to be. He slid off the car seat without protest and knelt before the other man, his expression a mask of hatred.

"Unclasp my pants."

"You fucking pervert!" Ken was outraged. That smut-ass fudge packing fag was gonna force him to blow his junk! That was fucking disgusting!

Crawford caught his chin in a cold grip. "You want your little friend back or not? Because if you don't I'll have the driver stop and you can get the fuck out of my sight. Make your choice now. I'm in no mood for your attitude."

Ken jerked his face away. "You know I don't have a choice," he hissed, wanting nothing more then to really show the man some attitude.

Crawford smirked and leaned back. "Then put your incessantly flapping mouth to work."

Hands shaking with fury and revulsion, Ken reached out and touched the top clasp of Crawford's grey suit pants. Aware that his nose was scrunched up, he hurriedly unclasped and unzipped the man's pants. Then, because he wouldn't help himself, he wiped his fingers on the limo's floor. This was not going to be easy. He fidgeted, unable to look up. He wished for some kinda distraction; a cop pulling them over, a tire blowing out, a car crash...

...Crawford's dripping head sailing through the windshield at eighty miles an hour, blood and gore splashing all over the place...

And just as easily, the image was replaced by Omi. Omi's blood everywhere and Omi staring with blank, wide eyes.

Mentally plugging his nose, Ken clenched his eyes and jammed his hand inside Crawford's pants.

Oh fuck me I'm touching another guy's wiener.

It was horrible. Especially because it seemed that Crawford was hard, like he was getting off on this, which Ken reminded himself that he probably was. Damn pervert. The man may have been an aloof, icy jackass but all that was belied by what lay beneath Ken's reluctant fingers. The length of flesh was rigid and hot. Ken was disgusted as he pulled it out and, though he'd endure a thousand deaths before ever admitting it, just a tiny bit curious. He'd never seen another guy's boner before, with the exception of his own obviously. Everything had been all flaccid and dangly inside the locker rooms of yore.

Gods, what he wouldn't have given to be back in those days. Even with that traitorous shit Kase smarming it up to him.

Crawford was pretty big or at least he appeared so to Ken's untrained eye. It looked like he was about nine inches at least, which was too bad since Ken had been more the prepared to ridicule the man's unit, had it be a shorty. The head was uncut and fleshy and looked moist. The actual length was thick and was ribboned with veins, rising from a pitch of black hair.

Ken had never faced a task he'd wanted to do less in his entire life. Staring at this man's naked crotch was like staring into the barrel of a gun only about a thousand times worse. How could he put his mouth there? That was fucking repulsive. It was too vile to think about, him sucking that. What if he caught some kinda STD? Maybe it would be enough if he gave the man a couple of quick stroke and got him off that way. Then he wouldn't have to do...that. Ugh.

Cringing, Ken slid his hand down the hot expanse of sexflesh, his fingers loosening to curve around the arrow-like head. He repeated the action, listening intently to whether Crawford sounded like he was gonna come soon or not.

Hands choked into Ken's hair and yanked him forward, mashing his face against that solid length.

"I don't like games," Crawford hissed quietly.

Ken clenched his eyes shut and opened his mouth. He didn't exactly have a choice. The man's erection, throbbing and turgid, crammed into his mouth. An overpowering, musky stench filled Ken's mouth. He gagged and tried to pull back but Crawford held him firm. Ken panicked, unable to breathe, his face stuffed full of man. He gripped at Crawford's knees as tightly as he could. Crawford was so fucking huge that he was only half way into Ken's mouth. How the hell was he supposed to suck something so damn big? He wasn't a fucking fag, he'd never done this kind of gay shit before, he didn't know what to do!

The faster you do it the faster it'll be over.

That one thought filtered through the panic in his mind and Ken slowly forced himself to relax. He went slack against Crawford's grip and forced air in and out of his nose. Crawford's hold in his hair loosened and Ken withdrew his face a few inches. Raising one hand, he curved it around the base of Crawford's erection, feeling his own spit, bristly hairs and slick, stiff flesh. He flicked his tongue over a vein and prayed that he wouldn't throw up. The taste was both disgusting and slimy. It took everything inside of him to continue because this was quite possibly the hardest thing he'd ever done in his entire life.

Figuratively as well as literally.

So Ken thought about violence and doing violence to Crawford's person and how wonderful seeing the colour of his blood would be, all while performing his first blowjob in the back of a limo. He tried to be clinical about it but having something that engorged and that pungent jammed down his gullet didn't make for an easy ride. Not to mention the fact that Crawford seemed to have the stamina of the Gods, the bastard. Ken's mouth soon began to ache from the prolonged, circular position he'd been forced to assume. His tongue was heavily saturated with the bitter taste of pre-cum and cock and still Crawford wasn't on the verge of coming.

He was going to have to brush his teeth for a goddamn year after this shit.

Ken shifted his hand a bit so that he was cupping the man's heavy balls; when he jerked off he usually paid extra attention to his nuts and that, along with some vigorous Vaseline meat-beating, was usually enough to get him off. Since he had the same equipment as Crawford, Ken hoped that some scrots action would be enough to put an end to these festivities and soon. He fondled the rounded sac and continued bobbing his face along the flushed, juicy length of Crawford's erection.

Fucking come already you sadistic fuck!

Ken eased backwards a bit so that he was only sucking on the slobbering, bulbous tip. His mouth was sore so instead he used his other hand in place of his mouth, sliding it over wet skin. Only a few instants passed before the clairvoyant's body went rigid. His grip on Ken's hair tightened viciously and then, abruptly, he was orgasming. Semen flooded Ken's mouth. He gagged thickly as viscous ropes of fluid oozed down his chin. His face was shoved onto that creaming cock by a painful grasp and so he could do nothing but try and swallow.

He only barely managed, most of it sliding down his face. It seemed to be an endless process...how much could one guy jizz anyway...before Crawford finally stopped. With an agonizing wrench, his head snapping back painfully, Crawford yanked Ken away.

Ken gulped in air as he scrubbed at his chin with the edge of his sleeve. Hatred and humiliation coursed through his body as surely as Crawford's come. He loathed himself at that moment, almost as much as he did Crawford. The taste inside his mouth was astringent, fucking terrible and it wasn't going to leave anytime soon. He had just done something so sordid, so repulsive, that he could scarcely believe it.

"You need practice," the American said as he calmly fixed his pants.

Ken jerked his head up. He stared up at the man with such a rage that he could hardly see straight. "Fuck you," he managed to spit out.

"Not likely," Crawford replied, his eyes hard behind his glasses. He caught hold of Ken's arm and yanked him up.

Ken lurched into the seat next to Crawford and banged his head on the glass that separated them from the driver. "Watch it you asshole!" he shouted furiously.

Crawford caught hold of his chin and wrenched Ken's face inches from his own. "You say just one more word Hidaka and I will slit your throat," he hissed softly, long fingers digging sharply into Ken's cheek. "If you want your friend to be found then I suggest you learn to curb your flapping tongue."

"You liked my flapping tongue just a minute ago," Ken shot back, so livid that he was past rational thought.

Icy amusement flicked briefly upon the American man's face. "You don't learn easy do you?"

"Why don't you just-"

Crawford raked his mouth over Ken's, stealing his enraged retort. Ken struggled but those clenching fingers kept him in place. Crawford's other hand slid up his thigh and roughly squeezed his crotch. Ken grunted against that vicious, ruthless mouth, his hips bucking of their own accord. Crawford kissed him so violently that his lips were rubbed raw and his teeth hurt. His tongue grappled with the other, pain seizing the lower part of his face and in spite of it, in spite of the perverse wrongness of kissing a man, Ken found that he was aroused. Painfully so. He hardened in Crawford's fingers and continued to thrust and thrash, convincing himself that he was trying to break free of this queer-ass embrace but the reality of it was that it just felt so good to move like that...

And then he found himself flung aside, both his lips and his erection throbbing.

Crawford smirked as he pointedly glanced down at Ken's crotch. "We've arrived. Fix yourself. I'll see to you later."

An angry flush filled Ken's face as he realized that the limo had stopped. "Don't count on it," he spat as the limo door was opened.

Crawford stepped out of the car, immaculate and collected. Ken followed, after he pulled down his bunched hoodie to cover his unwilling problem. He fiercely cursed Crawford and his sadistic homo ways under his breath.

The limo had stopped in the long, circular driveway of a luxury condominium complex. Crawford dismissed the driver and stalked into the building. The front doors were made of huge panes of glass and a doorman greeted Crawford by name and held open the doors for them. Ken followed Crawford across the white marbled floors, past an enormous fountain and elegant lobby and into the elevators.

The elevators were mirrored and there was an elevator operator who pressed the twentieth floor button without having to be told. Ken stared at himself in the mirror and his hatred expanded. His cheek was lightly bruised from Crawford hitting him in the garden and his lips were raw and puffy looking. He angrily flattened his mussed hair and scowled knives at Crawford. The stupid bastard looked perfect, his lips unbruised and smirking.

Fucker was probably used to it, forcing his perverted gay-ass will on straight guys, Ken thought furiously. His hands clenched into fists and he roughly shoved them into his pockets so that he wouldn't murder Crawford right then and there.

When the elevator door opened onto the top floor, Crawford led him down a long, lofty corridor to the very last apartment. He unlocked the door and they stepped into a darkened foyer. The apartment was completely silent. Ken's anger began to wan and uneasiness replaced it. He didn't have a good feeling about this at all. Crawford locked the doors behind them and strode forward, not bothering with lights. Ken had no choice but to trail after him. His eyes adjusted enough for him to see that the apartment was enormous and filled with expensive things. Ken was hardly surprised. He was surprised though, when Crawford finally stopped before a massive door that looked to made of pure steel and had about seven or eight different locks running down its length. He watched agitatedly as Crawford unlocked all the locks, punched in a security code on the keypad beside the door and shoved it open.

Light filtered from the room and Ken found himself blinking rapidly as they entered. The carpet beneath their feet was soft, the walls were a glaringly white hue and both were covered with what Ken knew to be blood stains. The only furniture in the room was a large mattress that sat in the middle of the empty space. A young man who looked to be a couple of years older then Ken was standing in the corner, watching him with one narrowed eye. The other was covered by a black eye patch. The guy was wearing a pair of black bondage pants and a straitjacket. Both his hair and his face were the colour of the walls and his cheeks were covered in scratches.

Simply put, he gave Ken the fucking creeps.

Crawford approached the guy and began unfastening his straitjacket. "Did you behave tonight, Farfarello?"

Farfarello...figured that nutbar would have an equally retarded name...jerked his head in a sharp nod, his eye never leaving Ken.

Crawford tossed the straitjacket aside and pushed up his glasses. "Now you will have your reward," he told Farfarello.

Warning bells began to shriek inside of Ken's head. "What the fuck is going on?" he snarled, hiding his fear behind rage. "Who the hell's this guy?"

Crawford looked far too amused for Ken's peace of mind. "While I track down your little friend, you'll be staying here. I don't want you in my way and I don't trust you out of my sight."

Ken froze for about half a second before his body was racing. Crawford, being the clairvoyant jackass that he was, made sure that he didn't get far. Ken was slammed into the wall hard, his bruised cheek and shoulder taking most of the blow.

"You think I didn't see that coming?" Crawford demanded softly, his breath fanning over Ken's ear. It sent shivers down the assassin's spine. "You can't run from one who sees everything. Or don't you want my help?"

Ken ground his teeth together, feeling his jaw ache. He stubbornly kept his mouth shut and instead thought about painting the bright walls with Crawford's blood.

One hand slid around Ken's thigh and forcefully began to molest him. "I asked you if you want my help." The words were softer still, a harsh contrast to his rough ministrations.

Ken gasped as his stomach began to writhe. He tried desperately not to thrust back into Crawford's hand. "Yeah yeah I want your fucking help you asshole!"

"Good then." Crawford's other hand tangled into fine, brown hair once again and he yanked the boy's head back so hard that Ken's teeth snapped and his eyes began to water. Crawford bent his head and flicked his tongue over the exposed length of throat. "You'll stay here and you'll do as I say otherwise the only thing I'll have to return to you will be a corpse."

With that he flung Ken to the floor, the expression on his face callous. "Don't kill him," he told Farfarello and then he was gone.

Every lock and bolt sliding into place was like a nail in his coffin. Ken wiped liquid from his eyes and tried not to panic. He was locked in a room with a psycho, he was weaponless and he was slightly aroused of all fucking things.

This goddamn blew.

Farfarello slowly began to pad towards him, his one eye bright. "I'm going to sodomize you."

"Jesus fuck," Ken swore, scrambling to his feet.

"Yes. Exactly."