Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ To Make Something Beautiful... ❯ Chapter 1

Title: To Make Something Beautiful…

Author: RhineGold

Category: drama, angst, slash, sex!

Rating: NC-17

Pairings: Farfarello/Schuldich (*glees*)

Warnings: Slash, Mind Games, Kink, Blood (LOTS of blood), violence, SEX! (for the love of God, there's sex!), A little more blood (for good measure, hurts God, and all that, you know), sacrilegious goings on in a House of God, knives, a sex sequence that's sort of non-consensual, and… Um… There was something else. Oh, yeah, Victorian Flower Language.

Spoilers: …*thinks about it* ..Not really, no… Mentions something from Episode 13, but that's about it.

Summary: Schuldich plays a dangerous game with a dangerous man. Farfarello plays at something, but no one is quite sure what.

Disclaimer: The boys are not mine. They belong to Estette… and… Something called Project Weiss. And Farfarello is really quite batty, despite whatever you see written here…

Author's Notes: Yeah, I know I haven't finished The Room Where The Light Won't Find You, but… Whatever. This is for my glorious, sinful kitten, as per usual. And for me, as it seems I am both mad and pathetic. And not German. Honest.

"Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming.

This is a fault.

Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated.

For these, there is hope.

They are the elect few to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty."

-Oscar Wilde, ThePictureofDorian< i>Gray

Schuldich is whining.

This in itself is in no way surprising. It is both, what he does the most frequently, and also, what he does best… He will flounce about the room now, nagging in his nasal voice.

I can see the little boy's fingers tensing on his keyboards. Annoyance is crackling in the air around him. The red head presses onward, continuing a list of insinuations that are, if I am not mistaken, questioning the little one's preferences in the more carnal acts of life.

…I feel my mouth tighten in anticipation. Something is about to happen in this room. It probably won't get very far, but it will prove… entertaining.

And, as Schuldich trails past the computer, he drags his fingers lightly through Nagi's short, feathery hair.

The response is immediate. The German gives a small cry as he is lifted off his feet, and sprawled across the nearby sofa. On which I currently reside.

I don't move as soft, pale hair slaps over my lap. I can smell him now.

The little boy is standing, and coming over us. He is very calm. The annoyance is gone, replaced by something less potent than his anger. But only just so…

"…I told you to stop touching me." He breathes.

"Did you?" Schuldich asks, popping his fingers slowly. "…I must have misheard that part…" He cocks his head to the side, causing it to slip into my lap. "…Still, you couldn't restrain yourself from tossing me to the sofa… Perhaps you don't want me to stop after all… bishounen."

Then, he gasps a little, as though pressure has been applied to his throat. Nagi's eyes narrow in concentration, and his fist begins to shake, just a little.

"Enough." A new voice orders, smoothly.

Abruptly, Nagi drops his hand and wanders back to his computer. Over his shoulder, he murmurs softly, "Don't touch me again, Schuldich. …And don't call me that. Ever again."

"Of course," He agrees amicably. "…The next time you want me on my back, you only need to ask…" Gingerly, he rubs his throat. "Unless, of course, permission's not your thing… bishounen." He says, pointedly.

This time, it is anger that flares up around the little boy, like a funeral shroud.

"Schuldich." Crawford warns sharply.

Only then does he look up at me. "Say, hey, Far-Fellow. …And how are you?"

I just smile.

--[------- ^-* --[-------

…With practiced ease, I fling the knife. The tiny blade embeds itself in the crudely drawn bull's eye I have carved into the wall.

With a jerk of his head, Nagi sends it sailing back towards me.

Standing, and shifting his weight a little, Schuldich throws his knife. It hits the `board', a little to the left of the target. He smiles a little, but he is still not pleased.

"Better." I acknowledge.

Nagi never returns his blades, so he is forced to go and retrieve it. As his hand hesitates over the hilt, my knife grazes past, landing another perfect target. His bangs shift quickly as he spins to look at me. But he only smirks.

Pulling out both knives, he stretches, arms behind his head. When he arches his back, I can count all of his ribs. Ribs…

"I'm going out." He announces, abruptly, as is his custom.

Nagi ignores him, as is his.

"Take Farfarello with you." Crawford orders, not looking up from his coffee and newspaper.

I push myself up and over, to hang off the back of the sofa, glaring at him, until the German wanders into my field of vision. He smiles at me again --- the disturbing one, where he closes his eyes and shrugs his shoulders a little.

And, as is my custom, I stand up, and follow him out of the door.

like anyone would be

i am flattered by your fascination with me

like any hot-blooded woman

i have simply wanted an object to crave…

The sidewalks are crowded in this part of Tokyo, and we walk close to one another. He is walking like a little schoolgirl, with his arms clasped behind his head.

When he looks at me askance, I realize I've been asked a question. I stare at him for a moment, and he laughs. …I decide he does not laugh like a schoolgirl. Not at all…

"You don't talk much, do you, Far-Fellow?"

…I know what they must think of me. I am the madman of Schwartz, with my scars and my knives, and my battle dementia. … No one understands me. I'm not completely barking, and I am not a savage idiot. …I just can't speak a lot of Japanese… And so, they all believe that I am hardly human, more like some sort of animal.

Schuldich's voice echoes gently in my head, sounding faintly surprised. {I don't think you're an animal!} Aloud, he adds, "And I do speak English, too, you know…"

"Stay out of my head, German." I growl, my English laced with a mostly-faded accent.

He drops his arms then, and half-turns to face me. "Make. Me." He whispers, lips ghosting very close to my ear. And mentally, I can feel him smirking. {Irish.}, he adds.

Then, he is shifting, spilling, flowing, into the crowd, and he is gone.

And the chase is on.

--[------- ^-* --[-------

When I finally catch up to him again, he is leaning in a doorway, waiting patiently for me. {Here, Farfie, Farfie…} He whispers, in my head again.

"Don't call me that." I snap, annoyed. Schuldich usually stays out of my mind. I find this sudden change in attitude… irritating.

"What is it with all of you? Don't Call Me This! Don't Call Me That! Stay Out Of My Head! Don't Touch Me! Schuldich, Just Go Away! …You're none of you, ever pleased with my efforts to be friendly." He is whining again, in English, this time, making him sound slightly more depressed than usual. …It may just be his accent, harder than mine, and yet, lighter, all at the same time.

I roll my good eye, making the other one ache immensely, muttering, "Spare me."

He is pouting now, looking at me strangely through the veil of his eyelashes. Then, he proceeds to use them in an action I can only describe as batting. "Make it up to me?"

"… What do you want?" I ask, warily.

He stares across the street at a busy shop, surrounded by schoolchildren. When he smiles, it is a smirk that only requires the use of the left side of his mouth. "By me some flowers…" He says, softly.

--[------- ^-* --[-------

The little bell jingles a little, as the door closes behind me. The shop is mostly deserted, and, as I watch, a large group of girls all suddenly remember that their mothers wanted them home early. I bite my lip as they scurry past me, smelling of cheap perfume and ink and innocence…

Schuldich sails past an old lady sitting near the register, calling her 'miss' in Japanese, though she is old enough to be my gran's 'basaan'… Her blush is rewarded by one of his more charming smiles. He even stops to scratch the ears of the little kitten she is holding.

…I don't like kittens. They make me… hungry… The part of me for which I am the most commonly known can sometimes be triggered by the mere sight of such precious, helpless things…

The shop has suddenly become very still, as though time has been sucked out of this small, cheerful place. Looking up, I see that something has been spilled -- a pot dropped -- shattered. The boy who had been holding the vessel is now staring at us in undisguised shock.

Recognition. "…kitten…"

Bombay reaches for the crossbow that isn't there, and then settles for taking several steps backwards.

"Oi, Omi-kun… What the hell's going on out ---" Balinese's voice dies as he rounds the corner. He pauses, and is promptly stumbled into by Siberian.

Suddenly, I realize the German still has my knife. I still have others, but… It is my favorite…

Schuldich is smiling strangely, as he brushes his fingers over a scattering of Marigold. "…Oh, Dear…" He whispers.

Plucking a blossom, he offers it to Bombay with a little bow. The kitten takes it suspiciously, as though he expects it to grow fangs and bite him. "What does this flower mean?" He asks, still smiling innocently.

It is Siberian that answers him. "… Cruelty."

"And they attract spiders." Balinese adds, still glaring.

Schuldich gives a little laugh. "I had wondered why I liked them so much…"

"…What is it you want?" Bombay demands, voice harsh for such a little kitten. …I really wish I had my knife back… I suddenly feel the urge to… pray. Balinese's fingers are playing with the band of his wristwatch. The redhead notices it, too.

"Relax. My friend and I are only here… for flowers…"

Balinese stiffens, and looks angry.

Schuldich laughs again.

I can't tell, but I'm sure he's poking around in the brunette's head, and from his smirk, I imagine he must be getting the reaction he'd hoped for.

He's looking at me again. {Well? Buy me some flowers, Farfie-kun?}

I stare at him for a moment, and select four different flowers. Two Marigolds, a violet Carnation, and a stripped Viscaria. "These."

Siberian takes them, and bundles them into a tiny bouquet. "…Uh… Do you want any filler?…"

I stare at him now, and he scratches his head. "That is…? …Like, baby's breath, or… fern, or…"

I glance at Schuldich who shakes his head.

"You do know what that bouquet is saying?" Balinese asks.

I nod. After a few moments, the German nods, too. He's smirking again. I fish money out of a pants pocket while the idiot takes his flowers. I still have no idea why he wants them. I'm still trying to work out exactly why I got them for him in the first place.

He asks Balinese a question, voice soft, Japanese too rapid for me to follow. When the kitten answers (in the same, rapid-fire fashion), he nods, seriously, green eyes intent. Schuldich is truly paying attention to what he's being told.

Smiling again, (the scary one again), he bows a little. "Sanku!" Waving cheerfully at the old lady, he nances off.

After eyeing the kittens a bit longer, I follow the redhead. After all, he still has my knife…

As the door closes, I hear Balinese mutter, "…the poor guy…"

"Which one?" Siberian wonders.

I smile.

--[------- ^-* --[-------

He is waiting outside, delicately sampling the scent of his flowers.

"…My knife." I demand, still using my rough Japanese.

He looks at me, almost sadly. "Is that what you've been asking for all day?"

I am puzzled. Up until this moment, I cannot recall asking the German for anything…

He smiles then, a new smile. This one is wistful, and almost sad. Cradling the flowers to his chest, he leans forward, and touches his lips to my scarred cheek.

"Thank you for the flowers." He whispers, in English, and then scurries away.

Anger stabs through me at the contact, but it is quickly replaced by something else… Just what the hell does he think he's playing at?! …And then, I smile, coldly.

Schuldich is bored.

And when he is bored, he likes to dance…

must be strangely exciting

to watch the stoic squirm

must be somewhat hard telling

to watch them burn me, shepherd…

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time, we will reap a harvest, should our way not falter… Galatians 6:9

…Crawford has visions of the future.

Nagi can move matter with only a gesture.

Schuldich can touch the deepest matter of a mind with less than a thought.

And I… I can hear the voice of God…

…I do not hate God…

…Schuldich asked me once why I didn't flinch when Takatori beat us…

I answered him with a smile…

Most people call it sadism and masochism, but for me, it runs far deeper than that.

God designed human beings for suffering.

It is truly what separates us from the animals.

Animals can feel pain, yes, but they do not feel agony.

To hurt is not necessarily to suffer.

Only human beings are capable of torture and torment.

And, since, we are created in God's own image… God must wish to suffer…?

And so, in order to please God, I must make him suffer… Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but it is what I believe. When was the last time I questioned what you believe?

…To make God suffer is, of course, not as easy as it sounds…

One must only look back at the tales of old to see this… Abraham and Lot, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and Jacob, and all of the other stories of love and loss… …To tear the curtain of heaven, God's most beloved creation had to die… It takes something so very special to make it count…

I will get that knife back.

And, if, in the process, I should happen to make God suffer as well, then my time is all the better spent for it…

I pocket a different knife, and reach for the doorknob.

And all that I must do in order to get everything that I want tonight, is to make something beautiful bleed…

--[------- ^-* --[-------

Crawford is talking to him sternly when I drift, apparently aimless past the doorway.

"--unacceptable behavior for a member of this team…" He is saying.

Schuldich nods, looking appropriately remorseful and properly chastised. "Yes, Brad…"

Nodding, Crawford retreats back to where the little one is sitting. "And as for you… Stop using your powers on your own teammates. …That goes for both of you."

"…I'm going out." Schuldich mutters, voice flat and sullen.

"Take Farfarello with you," Crawford calls, absently.

Pausing in the doorway, the redhead smiles, almost sweetly at the two of them. "Of course… I'm sorry I made you angry, Bishounen."

Abruptly, Nagi causes the door to slam in his face, and he reels, stumbling against me. I catch him with both arms, and he stays there a moment. "Out?" He asks, tilting his head to look up at me.

…I just smile.

--[------- ^-* --[-------

He stretches as he studies the building. "…A church? You took me to a church?"

"Come on." I mutter, in English, shouldering past him to get inside the abandoned building.

After a long moment, he follows.

--[------- ^-* --[-------

I perch on the side of the altar, watching the moonlight swirl stained glass all over the floor. Schuldich, complaining of the stuffy air, has taken off his dark green coat, and sprawled across the first pew.

Ironically, he is now dressed entirely in white. Yawning loudly, he stops playing with his ever-present sunglasses. "Far-Fellow… I'm bored…" He whines.

"…I like to come here…" I whisper, as I slide off the altar. "…It's very quiet here… I can think and pray… And play…" I say, deliberately, as I come closer.

He sits up, then, smiling again. "And which did you bring me here for, then?"

Abruptly, I stop and turn away. He's trying to get inside my head again, but I repel him roughly.

He sounds cross. "Since when do you know how to do that?"

"…I've always known."

Understanding filters through his anger. "…You've been letting me see what you wanted me to see."

"No." I reply, turning again. As I had anticipated, he has come close enough to touch. Lunging, I catch hold of his hair, pulling his face very close to mine. His eyes are wider now, but he only gasps when the knife taps against his cheek. "I only let you see what youwanted to see…"

His eyes narrow, and darken, but I cannot read any emotion there. "Let go of me, Far-Fellow." He whispers, not quite demanding but close.

"…Why did you come here, German?" I whisper, tracing upwards along his jaw, crossing pale skin to rest near his left eye. Not cutting him, just… scraping a little.

"You asked me to, Irish." He says, evenly.

"…You like to dance, don't you, German?" My hand releases his thin, fine hair, resting on the small of his back. He makes a soft noise as I push him forward, pressing our hips together. His hands are on my shoulders, but he can't seem to decide what to do with them.

He shivers as the knife caresses it's way down his long throat. "…You've been toying with me, German… What did hope to accomplish?…" I continue, grinding against him, very slowly, holding him very still.

I fold the knife back into my sleeve, and bury my hands in hair. "Did you think that I would fuck you, Schuldich…?" I growl, nuzzling his throat.

His eyes widen dramatically, but he whispers, "…maybe…"

Snarling, I crush him to me. His startled yelp turns to a sharp outcry as I bite savagely into his throat. The pale skin breaks easily, and his blood, raised to the surface by the knife's kiss, is bittersweet, like his scent.

The hands on my shoulders are definitely trying to dislodge me now, but I continue to suck at the wound with the relish of a vampire. His thin chest trembles against me as his breath comes in short, hitching gasps. I'm hurting him, in a way that he did not expect to be hurt, and I think I may have succeeded in frightening his as well.

I open my eyes to watch him. His eyes are closed, and his head thrown back, resting only on my hand. Beautiful, I decide. Still pure enough to be beautiful.

{Stop!} He whimpers in my mind. I grind my teeth harder, and his voice in my mind moans.

As I lower him to the altar, he moans out loud. I release him, and draw away.

"…Jei…" He breathes raggedly, throwing my arm.

Roughly, I slap his head away, and grasp him through his thin, white slacks. He hisses, and arches his back.

"You still want me to fuck you, German?" I growl, stroking him roughly. He does not answer, only thrusts up, into my hand again.

Gently, I kiss his cheek, making him reach for me again. "…I would make you bleed, beautiful… In every way I could…"

He is looking at me now with a blend of desire, curiosity and fear.

And I let him go, turning away. "…You don't know what it is you're asking…"

like only uncharted territory

i must seem greatly intriguing

you speak of my love like

you have experienced one like mine before…

I pause a few steps away. Why am I leaving? … I want this. I want to do this. And, though he does not know what this encounter may detail, he asked for it as well…

…But I have never done something like this to someone I… I what? Someone I care about? …Do I care about him? …He is my teammate. He called me his friend… And, in his own way, he has always been very kind to me…

I look at him over my shoulder. He has stood up, and is leaning against the altar, bracing his weight on his arms. He twists his hip, slightly, making himself look very small and vulnerable, while also showing off the firm curve of his ass…

…Suddenly, I realize this is not for God at all. No. As beautiful and fragile as Schuldich may seem, he is far too soiled to wring many tears from anyone should he suffer.

No. This is not for God. This is for me.

He looks up at me, uncertain, as I return to him. "Far-Fellow?…" He asks.

I catch hold of him, forcing him back against the altar. "Do you still want me?" I whisper, tongue flicking out to taste his still-bleeding throat.

He sighs, tilting his head, baring his throat to me. I bite the wound again, eliciting a strangled cry. His body is limp as I spin him around, pressing him facedown over the dark wood.

The knife is in my hand again, as I trace his spine through the thin silk of his shirt. "Then we do it my way." I command.

Unwinding the thin, leather belt from my hips, I wrench his arms behind him. He struggles, but only to make the game more interesting for us both. When I've finished tying him up, I return him to his back, lifting him off of the floor, to lay fully upon the block of wood.

I am reminded of what he said to Nagi, not to long ago, and I smile. Using the knife, I make quick work of the shirt's buttons. Still smiling down at him, I slide the knife over the pale flesh of his chest, letting it stab lightly just between each of his ribs.

He is moaning in pain, tossing his long hair as he mewls. Dropping the knife, I kiss along the cuts, lapping at the thin ribbons of blood. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, the near-constant laughter has died… So I have his attention after all…

"Schuldich…" I whisper, pulling him with me into the floor, to slump against the altar on his knees. "…God is watching us… He loves you, after all…"

He is twisting his fingers, plucking at the knots, trying to free himself, even as he laughs ruefully. "…Good to know…"

One hand buries itself in his hair as the other dances across the fastenings of my own pants. He jerks away then, frowning. "No way, Far-Fellow." Thin strands of pale fire cling to his lips as he feverishly shakes his head. "I don't do that. Sorry."

Gripping his hair harshly, I yank him towards me, so that he falls forward, catching himself on my leg. "Far---!" He chokes out, eyes widening. He struggles, but there is nowhere for him to go. He is bound, off balance, and fighting to breathe… I shut him up quite nicely with something far more substantial than his meaningless pleas. He stares up at me, jade eyes impossibly wide. I use him quickly, and I use him roughly, forcing myself deeper into his generous mouth.

To his credit, when I find my release, he attempts to swallow without being told. When I let go of him, he falls backwards, coughing a little. When I reach for him again, he glares at me, but he doesn't pull away.

…He refuses to meet my gaze, though. "…Why did you do that…?" He whispers, studying the floor. A trickle of liquid has escaped his pouting mouth, sliding down his chin.

I lick away the bitter fluid, and smile. "Because I can." He tilts his head, silently pleading for me to kiss him. I refuse, biting down hard on his lower lip. His breath catches as more blood leaks between us, saltier than normal from the taste on his lips. As I lap at this strange, new blood, he sighs, and goes limp in my grasp.

i don't think you unworthy

i need a moment to deliberate…

I lift him easily, and lay him down on his back. He looks like a fallen angel, my Schuldich… Bright blood on ivory skin, fiery hair and miserable eyes… The smirk is gone now, and he is making small gasping noises, as he tosses his hair form his eyes. Almost gently, I pull the cream-coloured bandana from his sweat-drenched hair. Pulling it down, under his hair, and tying it behind his head, I gag him. He moans weakly, whether in protest or encouragement, I cannot tell. And I don't really care.

Yes, he is beautiful, my fallen angel… My guilty pleasure… My very own sin…My hands become rough as I remove his trousers. I arch an eyebrow when I realize he wears no undergarments.

I smile, and lean down to bite at the smooth flesh of his thigh. He cries out, and surges upwards, making me sink my teeth into my prize, even as I slam an arm across his taunt stomach. He lets out a huff of air, and goes still. After biting and sucking my way across his inner thighs, I have raised the blood to the surface, making the normally cream-coloured skin flush with life. I have also succeeded in raising something else, as well…

He is whimpering now, behind his gag, but he does not move. I can feel myself grinning like a madman, and I reach for my knife. Carefully, I slide the blade lightly across his bruising thighs. He is shaking, trying not to move. I am not cutting him… yet… but if he jerks forward, he will push against the knife. And if he jerks back… my hand could slip a little, by mistake… And I think he knows that.

He is nearly in tears, and to me, he has never been more beautiful. Finally, he cannot help himself, and he shivers away from the knife's kiss. His back arches and he struggles away as I cut into his skin. Of course, this only makes it worse.

{God! Stop! Jei! Please!!} He is sobbing in my mind as I bend down low. {Farfie… God… What are you--- No!} He stops pleading as I swallow his wilting erection, bringing it back to full-life. His hips jerk forward, and he cries out as the knife presses to him again, surging away. The onslaught of both acute pleasure and searing pain is too much for him. He lasts for only a few minutes, before he comes, screaming against the gag, struggling to wrench himself out of my grasp.

He sags as I pull away, hitting his head against the dark wood hard enough to daze him. I run one scarred hand up his slim leg, pulling it aside. When I reach his bloody thighs, I let my fingers graze over the shallow cuts, smearing blood. Pulling him towards me, I touch myself, spreading his blood over my returned arousal.

His eyes open wearily, as I push his left leg over my shoulder. They widen almost comically as he realizes my intention. He yanks away as I jerk him forward, and when we meet in the middle, he screeches. The sound is harsh and pure, ripping free of the gag as he bends at the waist, tears spilling from his tightly closed eyes.

I realize I have heard this sound before… A few times, in the middle of the night, I have awakened in my little cell, recalling only the dim echo of an angel's scream as he tumbles to earth. I wonder which one of them took him. Most likely Crawford… I am torn away from my thoughts as he thrusts back towards me suddenly, moaning against the cloth.

I am amazed. My angel is farther from Heaven than I had thought; He is actually enjoying the pain. I thrust deeper, feeling more blood easing the way into his tight passage. He sobs, pushing his body towards me, even as he writhes away in agony. This is beyond passion, beyond lust, beyond even the most carnal of pleasures. This is suffering and torment in its most elegant of forms. This is anguish and misery, conjoined with wants and needs. It is beyond all of those things.

It is love.

And it is far too perfect to last. He screams again, chest heaving wildly, causing more blood to flow from his wounds, even as something lighter and thicker spreads between us. I roughly force his other leg forward, changing the angle of my thrusts. He is still crying out, still struggling, though I suspect most of it is for my benefit.

And then, the world stops.

His eyes widen as I grip him savagely, holding him perfectly still. The voice in my head is weeping now, and a chorus of angels weep with Him.

"…schuldich…" I whisper, burying my face in his bloody chest. "…my angel… my sin…"

{…Far…Fellow…} His voice whispers, sounding exhausted, even in my mind… {Jei… …I hear them… too…} Suddenly, he shudders violently, and becomes boneless as he looses consciousness.

I slide out of him, smiling in twisted satisfaction as a thick blend of blood and semen follows, pooling around him on the altar. Picking up my fallen knife, I pull his body towards me, embracing him gently as I free his hands. Carefully, I untie the gag from his mouth, and slip it into my shirt. It is damp from his saliva, and bloody where he bit into his lip.

Letting him sprawl back across the wooden block for a moment, I pull my pants back on, and rummage about for his clothing. And I pause there, staring at him, almost as though in shock.

Carefully, I brush sweat-dampened locks from his skin, feeling cooling sweat shiver against my fingers. He moans, and stirs, but does not wake. Before I can stop myself, I let the knife slip into the hollow between chin and collarbone. I am tempted to apply pressure…

…Just a few seconds worth of pressure…

It seems almost too kind.

I drop the knife to the floor.

Instead, I use his ruined shirt to wipe the blood and fluids from his body, and then dress him from the waist in his still functional, but most likely ruined pants. Then, I wrap him in his green overcoat, and carry him from this place.

but this is not allowed

you're uninvited

an unfortunate slight…

Crawford lunges up out of his chair when I carry him through the door. Even the little one turns to look, eyes wide with shock. "What…? What happened to him?" Nagi asks, wrinkling his nose at the scent of blood.

I smile at them, shifting my burden a little closer to me. Schuldich's arm tumbles out, falling limp at his side. His wrist is rubbed raw, and a trickle of blood slides off of it.

"What happened to him?" Crawford demands, snatching up the German's hand, searching for a pulse.

I snarl and turn away from him. "What he wanted to happen." I reply simply, heading for the hallway. I intend to place him in his room, and see about some of the gashes. I know him well enough to know he will try to kill me if I let half of these wounds scar.

"But who did this to him?" Crawford calls after me, not following.

I wonder if he merely doesn't care, or if he thinks I might do something irrational if pursued. I have the urge to gnaw on the redhead's arm, just to see the look on both of their faces. Instead, I look over my shoulder at them, and shrug a little. "…I did."

The look on their faces is perfect.

Even the voice in my head stops laughing long enough to stare at them.

I just smile.

OWARI.

"There is no such thing as a moral, or immoral book.

Books are well written, or badly written.

That is all."

-Oscar Wilde, ThePictureofDorian< i>Gray

Kiroku:

Yes, I made Farfarello sort of sane in this story… So sue me. I really wanted to write a story with him first person, and I guess I'm just not whacked out enough to write like a true madman. …I like writing him like this; not like an animal, but as an elegant man with disturbed tastes, who has trouble communicating his wants and needs to the world.

And, yes, I can spell Farfarello, obviously. Schuldich says "Far-Fellow", which is supposed to be indicative of his German accent.

Nagi uses the Choke Hold â"¢ on Schuldich. I couldn't resist. ^_^:

I use the fact that Farfarello cannot speak Japanese well as a possibility for his lack of eloquence in the show. So, I had them speak English instead. Obviously, Farfarello's first language would most likely be English, unless it was Gaelic, but then, he would still learn English for schooling and such. And I know for a fact that all German children are taught English in school, so… Yeah…

Aya is not in the flower shop scene simply because I really think he would have done or said something that would have escalated it further, and I didn't want that. So, he was, let's say, visiting the hospital, or something…

A Note On Victorian Flower Language: I stuck this in here simply because my best friend sent me a file on it, and I memorized it, as I am apt to do. Marigold does, indeed, mean cruelty. A solid-coloured Carnation represents a capricious nature, where as a Viscaria of any shade or pattern, represents "an invitation to dance". Oh, and Marigolds do attract spiders. People in the South plant them around their crops, because the spiders nest in them, and eat all of the other bugs that might damage the plants.

Yes, I know Farfarello hates God. I just wanted to play around with it a little bit, and give an alternate reason for his psychotic nature.

Does Farfarello love Schuldich? Of course not. But it is possible that he is becoming attached to him, in his own way.

Is Farfarello raping Schuldich? I guess that depends on your definition of rape. I think that when he forced Schuldich to give him oral sex, that was definitely not consensual. And when he returned the favour, Schu was pleading for him to stop… However, I think that the actual sex itself was pretty consensual. I mean, Schu did ask for it, and he was helping.

There's a play on words just before the second part of the sex scene… Farfarello calls Schuldich his "guilty pleasure". This has approximately three different meanings. 1) Farfarello has never done something like this for himself; he always does it for God. So, Schuldich is the thing he takes pleasure in, purely for himself. That makes him guilty. 2) Farfarello's victims are usually the pure and the innocent. People who are good enough to make God cry with them. Schuldich is far from innocent, and good is quite possibly the most inaccurate word for what he is. But God does cry, because, in his own way, Schuldich *is* beautiful, and he is vulnerable, in his own way. And 3) Schuldich's name comes from the German word `schuldig', which means `guilty'. Awr-wrawr-wrawr!…

There is a joke in the last scene, just for Jen. She will get a cookie if she notices it.

The song used is Alanis Moressette's "Uninvited".

The title refers to a scene in Fight Club, which Jennifer used first in her "On the Wings of a Dove" series. "Where did you go tonight, psycho boy?" "I just wanted to make something beautiful bleed…" or something like that. I've never actually seen Fight Club… *hides face*