Notes:
Weiß Kreuz is property of Koyasu Takehito, Kyoko Tsuchiya, Marine Entertainment, and Project Weiß.

- White Kiss [formerly Rina Garet]
03/14/02, 2:42 pm

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Schwarz was falling apart.

Not all at once, of course, but slowly, surely, methodically.

They were down to three members, now. Last week, Crawford had had a vision of Farfarello strangling Nagi, and had made the choice to have him sent off and locked up for a while.

Crawford hadn't explained himself to Nagi or Schuldig. He'd simply gone into Farfarello's room one morning, forced him into his straitjacket, ushered him into their car, and drove him off to be committed.

He didn't HAVE to explain to anybody, he reminded himself. He did what he did because it was best for him, best for all of them. And he didn't care if any of the rest of them believed that or not.

No, that wasn't true. He did care. He just didn't show it.

So now it was the three of them. Crawford, Nagi, Schuldig. Nagi was becoming scarce around the place, having been relieved of his duties in caring for Farfarello. Nagi didn't like Schuldig. Didn't like being near him, didn't like him reading his mind, didn't like his attitude, didn't like his smug facial expressions when Nagi's attempts at shielding himself from the German's mental onslaughts failed.

Schuldig didn't like anybody.

Crawford had tried to get them to keep peace with each other, but it was a futile battle. After coming out of his office room one evening to find Schuldig thrown up against a wall, Nagi curled almost into a ball on the floor on the other side of the room, furniture battered and cracked.... He'd decided to leave them alone. Schuldig had pushed Nagi too far, one too many times, and the boy had finally defended himself. Granted, throwing Schuldig across the room with his telekinesis hadn't been the best way he could have handled it... Schuldig had retorted with a mental onslaught into the boy's mind, filling it with grinding pain, but even then, Nagi hadn't released his telekinetic hold on the German.

It had taken Nagi a week to recover fully from the headaches that had caused him. And Schuldig strutted around the place, full of himself as ever.

Nagi didn't like Schuldig.

Schuldig didn't like anybody.

And now that the boy and the Irishman were out of the way most of the time, Schuldig had turned his attention to the American. Much to Crawford's dismay.

The German made a point of pissing him off each and every day. He would grab file folders right out of Crawford's hands, and mess up the paperwork, he would lean over Crawford's shoulders while he was trying to work at the computer, making it impossible to type correctly, he would 'accidentally' elbow the 'delete' key while Crawford was turned to the side, ruining whatever paper he was working on at the moment.

He was bent on infuriating Crawford, and he was good at what he did.

He stole into Crawford's few moments of respite every day. The times when he was away from his work, away from his stress, trying to relax. Switching the salt and sugar for his coffee, switching the pages of his newspaper around, all sorts of pranks that might befit a ten year old child.

And Crawford gave no outward reaction at all to any of them. But that didn't make Schuldig stop trying for a reaction. The telepath was completely undaunted, and undefeated. Somehow, he knew he was getting to Crawford, even though the man didn't show it.

For a moment, Crawford wondered if he'd been letting his mental shields slip. Schuldig could read anybody... but he couldn't read Crawford unless Crawford wanted him to. Unless Crawford specifically opened up his mind, or directed some mental thought to him, Schuldig got nothing from him. It was like reading a book full of blank pages. Crawford could 'hear' the things that Schuldig sent his way, but it was a one-way line of communication. Unless Crawford wanted it different.

And truthfully, he liked his respite from Schuldig's mind-reading. It obviously irked Nagi, to have his mind like an open book to the man all the time. It probably would have annoyed Crawford to no end, as well.

He looked up from his paperwork. Schuldig was in the doorway, staring at him intently, with genuine curiosity.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. "Your face is all wrinkled up. It's going to freeze that way."

What was he thinking? It was none of Schuldig's damn business. He was, of course, thinking about how irritating Schuldig had been, lately.

"You're the mind-reader, Schuldig."

The redhead frowned. "Sah... and you yell at me for playing games. You know I can't read you."

"So then go away." Crawford's responses were sharp and direct. He couldn't give Schuldig any leeway to toy with him, or the man would take it in an instant.

Schuldig crossed his arms and an expression of mock-hurt covered his features. He leaned against the doorway, sulking.

"All work and no play makes Bradley a dull boy."

Crawford looked up, his face tight, his features stiff. "I don't want to play, and I'm not a boy. And don't call me Bradley. Go play with yourself, Schuldig."

Schuldig was unfazed. "Bah, I do that every night. I want something different."

"You also annoy me every night, but you seem to enjoy that just fine."

Schuldig grinned. Crawford had slipped. He'd admitted that Schuldig was getting to him, annoying him. He sauntered further into the room, stopping behind Crawford's desk chair, leaning forward on the back of it so that his face was near Crawford's ear.

"Ah... so even the big boss man turns out to be human. Who'd have ever thought..." he purred.

Crawford sat up straighter in his chair, jerking his head away from Schuldig. "If you want to pick a fight, go find Nagi."

"Oh, but I don't want Nagi." One long, slender finger brushed the back of Crawford's neck. He didn't give Schuldig the satisfaction of seeing him jerk away.

"Nagi's a better sport to play with than what you'll get from me." Crawford was now fully distracted, and simply wanted Schuldig to leave.

Schuldig grinned from behind Crawford, broadly, mischievously. "Nagi isn't sexy when he's angry."

Crawford pressed his laptop closed on the desk, then stood and turned around to face Schuldig. He grabbed the redhead's chin in his hand roughly, bringing their faces close. Schuldig didn't fight the roughness, rather reveled in the fact that Crawford had his hands on him. Crawford's eyes, normally reminiscent of warm cinnamon, even when he was being serious, now bore into Schuldig like iced coffee.

"Fuck off, Schuldig."

Taking advantage of their closeness, Schuldig breathed against Crawford's face, seductively soft and warm. "I'd rather fuck you."

Crawford didn't move. Didn't speak. Something changed in his eyes. He blinked. A tilt of his head, a rustle of clothing, his hand sliding from Schuldig's chin to the back of his head.

He saw it before it happened. And it happened exactly as he saw it.

Schuldig's body pulled flush up against his own. Schuldig's mouth crushed beneath his. Schuldig's arms snaking around his neck. Schuldig's hair fisted tightly in his hand. Schuldig's moans of mingled pleasure and pain echoing in his ears.

He saw it. He lived it.

He liked it.

His arms wrapped around Schuldig, Schuldig's legs wrapped around him. He spun them around, so Schuldig's back was to his desk, strongly muscled arms and strongly muscled legs pressing, pushing, lifting, until Schuldig's body was seated on the desktop.

Crawford leaned back slightly from Schuldig, who protested by wrapping his legs back around the backs of Crawford's thighs, slender arms pulling him close, wanting their bodies flush up against each other again. Once more tightly against him, Crawford bent to ravage Schuldig's mouth, the grinning smirk wiped from his lips for once, face contorted in pleasure and pain at the rough hunger of Crawford's kiss.

"Mh... Bradley..." Schuldig breathed thickly when they came up for air.

"Don't... call me ... Bradley..." Crawford half-grunted, his hands sliding down to Schuldig's waist, gripping it impossibly tightly, leaving fingerprint-bruises through the thin slacks that covered the German's slim hips. Schuldig moaned and sighed at the pressure, grinding his hips up against Crawford's fingers.

"Bradley, Bradley, Bradley..." He murmured teasingly.

"Bitch," Crawford retorted, knowing full well Schuldig would like it.

"Yours," Schuldig said, heatedly, leaning into Crawford's embrace to bite at the American's ear.

Crawford managed to pull back slightly. They were both short of breath, both flushed with effort, flushed with lust, flushed with pleasure. In a suddenly tender gesture, Crawford lifted one hand to Schuldig's mop of flame-colored hair, and gently stroked it away from his face, boring his gaze into those polished jade eyes.

Lust... want... need... and something... else sparkled there, but he couldn't quite figure out what the last one was. He leaned back down toward those eyes, eyes that wanted him, eyes that devoured every inch of him without ever having to touch him.

He stopped right before he met Schuldig's lips. They both trembled, they shared breath, hot and thick with mutual lust.

"Schuldig."

The name tasted sweet on his lips as he spoke it, and before the German could do or say anything else, Crawford had claimed his mouth again in a blazing kiss.

It wasn't crushing and rough this time, but passionate and exploring. Schuldig clutched at Crawford's hair to keep his fingers from shaking as the American's tongue pervaded his mouth, swept with velvet warmth along the inside of his bottom lip, pressing in hungrily.

Schuldig devoured Crawford with his eyes, Crawford devoured Schuldig with his mouth. Through every kiss, Schuldig's eyes never closed. They stayed open, watching the expressions on Crawford's face, his eyes shining behind the lenses of his glasses, his cheeks flushed with passion that was always there, simply hovering below the visible surface.

It was amazing, how Crawford could seem both heartless and cold at the same time as he was blazing and passionate. The man was a paradox that Schuldig would probably never fully understand.

Which was probably the reason he wanted him so badly.

Everyone else was so fully open to him all the time, so unprotected, so blatantly obvious. But Crawford was an enigma, Crawford was beautiful without being soft, he was their deadly protector, both cruel and tender. Father, brother, lover... Protector, defender, killer... A gorgeous, terrible, wonderful man, full of so many contradictions. Controlled and composed ... but when the passion did slip out... ah...

And Schuldig had finally pushed him far enough to get him to show it. He couldn't read Crawford's mind, but he could plainly read the force of emotions the man was radiating, and it intoxicated him.

Crawford dug his fingers into the slender body that clung to him. Pressed his fingers into the warm, pliant flesh of Schuldig's chin, ran them down the smooth, pale neck, bruised the solid torso, ground into the slender hips. He was lost in the feel of Schuldig's body, its lines and curves so different from any woman's, and yet even more appealing for all its differences.

And then Schuldig's face was buried in his neck, fingers clawing at Crawford's still suitjacketed back, pressing impossibly tight up against him. Erections raged, the sweet friction made them both gasp, eyes heavy lidded and glazed with pleasure. Schuldig purred and sighed and moaned, making the most enticing sounds for his American, the man he wanted so badly.

Crawford's fingers deftly slipped into Schuldig's shirt, unfastening buttons and pulling at fabric while Schuldig tore at Crawford's cream suit, not bothering to be gentle, tearing the fabric and popping buttons.

Crawford's normally calculating, calm mind was in a whirl. Schwarz wasn't falling apart. He was falling apart. And Schuldig was there, picking up the pieces.

Nagi came home from one of his long walks outside, and it didn't take him long to figure out what was going on inside Crawford's office. He knew Schuldig had been after Crawford's ass for as long as he could remember, and although Crawford was an expert on resistance and authority... Schuldig always got what Schuldig wanted.

He didn't dare interrupt. Instead, he wandered quietly into his room, put on his headphones and turned the volume up as loud as it would go. He grabbed a book and pulled it into his lap, turning the pages slowly until he found where he'd last left off, ignoring what was going on in the other room.

Nagi didn't like Schuldig. Schuldig didn't like anybody.

But Schuldig loved Crawford.