Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ White Shadows and Black Reflections ❯ Interlude - Jagd ( Chapter 8 )

The ice-cubes softly clinked as Crawford set down his glass. He usually abhorred whisky, preferring the richer, more refined flavours a good cognac offered. However, in the last few weeks he found that he needed something to blur the edge of things. So far Jack Daniels had been up to the job.

 

For a brief instant, he envied the Berserker the relief the madman found with his victims, however fleeting that was. He remembered the near ecstatic look he had witnessed on the Berserker's tear-streaked face as he cradled the bloody remains of his last victim, slowly rocking back and forth. The small, broken voice that held such wonderment as the madman whispered “He didn't come….” over and over again. It had taken nearly a day to convince the lunatic to let go of the corpse so they could dispose of it.

 

The newest toy had been with the Berserker for over 24 hours now. Tomorrow morning would be a good time to take a look if there was anything still left of it or if they could start with the clean-up.

 

Across from the sitting area where Crawford was working, on the other side of the kitchen-counter, the resident telepath was doing the dishes, his long fiery hair pulled back in a pony-tail so it wouldn't get in the way.

 

Crawford knew the telepath hated kitchen duty, but right now, there was no help for it. Apart form the madman, they were all taking turns at household-chores. Crawford silently cursed his employer and for a moment, he briefly envisioned shooting the man the next time he saw him. Just went to show how his control was slipping. Normally, he wouldn't indulge in that kind of fantasy. Indulging fantasies of any kind was a weakness.

 

Still it chafed. They were the best in the field money could buy, they were the fucking elite…and they still had to do their own cooking, cleaning and washing.

 

Of course, Takatori had initially provided them with household help. But somebody who cooked and cleaned for Schwarz had to be trustworthy. Trustworthy enough to be granted access to all rooms. Trustworthy enough so they wouldn't spill any secrets or try to poison the team. Unfortunately, Takatori thought it funny to shove all the trouble-makers in his staff at Schwarz, knowing full well that sooner or later they'd fuck up in one way or another. And then Schwarz would kill them, sometimes rather messily.

 

Schuldig had caught the last one, a mousy, scared young man trying to run away. The boy had been scared shitless by what he had seen and heard while working for Takatori and Schwarz and he had hoped to escape, thinking the police would grant him protection if he brought them proof of Takatoris' crimes. The telepath had shot the boy on the spot.

 

Since then, Crawford had refused all of Takatori's offers of another household-helper, judging them to be more trouble than they were worth. So until Schwarz could find somebody suitable, they were stuck with doing all the household chores on their own.

 

 

 

Crawford returned his attention to the reports sitting in his lap and sighed. He deeply regretted that there hadn't been much field-work for him lately. He badly craved the distraction of a challenge.

 

Musing on the possibility of finding something other than alcohol to take his mind of things, Crawford flipped through the pages. Not much of a chance of getting into a decent fight in the near-future and he didn't even need his precognition to see that. Schwarz had made a lasting impression on the local hot-heads and wanna-bees. Nobody had seriously tried to contest their current employers position for the last few months. Not since the Fujimiya job. And the police weren't much of a challenge either.

 

Usually, all this wouldn't bother him in the least. But right now, the relative quiet left him too much time to think. To question. And that just wouldn't do. He had made his choices long ago, and now he would stick with them, no matter the cost to himself. There were promises he had to keep.

 

He grabbed his glass and carefully nipped at it. Only nipping wasn't easy when what he really wanted to do was grab the whole bottle and down it in one go. On the other hand, excellent self-control had always been one of his better features.

 

Everything came with a price tag, and now it was his turn to pay his pound of flesh and pint of blood. And he would pay, even if it bled him dry.

 

He glanced up at his telepath and watched him drying the last few dishes. The usually lightning-fast red-head was working almost in slow-motion, as if he tried to draw out the moment into infinity. His posture was rigid, expectant.

 

Deciding to call it a day, Crawford closed the file he had been reading with an audible snap. It made the telepath flinch and close his eyes. His movements stilled completely. Crawford rose from the couch. He walked over to the telepath, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he were stalking an elusive prey.

 

He came up behind the telepath who was still clutching the dish and the towel and slipped his arms around the younger man's waist. His fingers rubbed across Schuldigs' taut belly, slowly circling the navel and then dipping beneath the shirt so he could feel the telepaths' skin burn beneath his fingertips. He could hear Schuldigs' breath catch as he reached up with one hand to pinch one of the nipples. Schuldig clenched his jaws, trying to keep himself from crying out. Crawford pulled the younger man against him, harshly, and let his other hand wander downwards. He let his hand rest atop the slight bulge in the younger mans' pants, not moving. Schuldigs' breathing picked up pace and Crawford knew that if he let the younger man continue the telepath would start hyperventilating.

 

“Slow your breathing”. No more than a whisper, but yet an order the younger man couldn't disobey.

 

When the younger man had calmed down a little, Crawford slowly started kneading the flesh beneath his hands. The nipple constricted to a puckered nub, just as the soft heat in his other hand threatened to burn him.

 

The telepath in his arms started shivering, silent and careful to keep his breathing slow and steady, and Brad felt as if his heart would break.