Title: Date Night

Author: Stormy1x2 (travelingstorm)

Fandom: Weiss Kreuz

Pairing: Schu/Ken

Word count: 1733 (the drabble has escaped custody, and has enlisted the aid of the full-fledged one-shot)

Notes: This came out of nowhere – a simple urge to write a fic wherein Ken kicks major butt. And of course, I can't leave out my favorite, snarky, telepathic, German muse. My first attempt in a very, VERY long time at writing a decent – and theoretically possible – fight sequence. Reviews highly valued, especially if you notice a discrepancy in the fight (his arm can't be there if he's doing that!You idiot!).

X-Posted to schuken

"When you told me we were going out tonight, this wasn't the kind of 'action' I had in mind," Ken said dryly, moving back to stand next to his partner. The redhead grinned, a vicious smile revealing sharp white teeth, like the jaws of a predator.

:Truthfully? Same here. But I can't say I'm disappointed.:

Ahead of them, a group of young males closed in on them. Ken was almost embarrassed for them – one even had a length of chain in his hands that he was twirling idly. Grungy, beat up clothes, skullcaps and bandannas, and of course a myriad of tattoos – the young men seemed determined to actively live up to every gang stereotype in existence. One of them stepped forward, flexing what he probably believed were impressive looking biceps. 'Obviously the leader.'

: What was your first clue, kitten: Schu licked his lips and cracked his knuckles. :How do you wanna do this:

Ken shot him a surprised look. :You're giving me a choice:

:Well, you said you wanted action. Here's your appetizer.: Schu returned the look, albeit a much smokier one, running his eyes over Ken's lean form. :I like watching you 'work'.:

:I almost feel sorry for them.: Ken watched as the so-called leader continued to bluster at them, threats most likely, but he wasn't listening. :They have no idea they're trying to mug a pair of trained assassins. Maybe you should just lay them out with a mind blast or something.:

:Sibes, if you could have gotten a whiff of Leader Boy's mind a minute ago, you'd already be tearing him a new windpipe. He seems to think – and rightly so – that I'm damn sexy. However, he also thinks I'd look good lying under him, which is very, very wrong.:

Ken's fists tightened. :Really.:

:Mmhmmm. Feel like getting some exercise now:

:He's mine.:

:Whatever ya want Kitten. But the one at the back? He's mine.:

The feral note to Schu's mental voice made Ken grin. :He's thinking about me:

The telepath nodded. :Doing things only I'm allowed to even consider, much less carry out.:

Ken's eyes crossed with disgust, looking at the man in question. Over six feet tall, the bulky flesh oozed out over the man's straining belt buckle, the stained and ripped wife beater riding up over his protruding gut. Greasy hair hung in limp strands around a pock mocked face, framing a set of small, piggish eyes. The wide mouth was open in a lecherous grin, revealing a huge gap where his two front teeth should have been.

: That's disgusting.:

:Be thankful you didn't get the visual. Looks like they're finally through posturing. Ready to play:

Ken rolled his eyes. :A group of dangerous guys obviously carrying weapons is currently walking towards us with the intent to rob us, beat us up, have their way with us, and possibly kill us – and you call it playing:

:I calls 'em like I sees 'em, luv. And I know you. Whoops – heads up:

Ken's focus shifted back to their would-be assailant, and almost lazily slid backwards, just out of reach of the wicked-looking pipe that had suddenly been swung at his chest. As the pipe followed through on its arc, Ken reversed direction, snapping forward and striking the youth solidly in the stomach. The man crumpled to the ground, air leaving his lungs in a rush, leaving him wheezing and choking.

"Ouch," he observed, smirking. The lightening quick disposal of their leader seemed to rally the rest of the morons instead of intimidating them and they surged forward in a messy attempt at a group attack. Just before they reached him, Ken looked over his shoulder to see Schu leaning up against the brick wall of the building lining the side of the alley. "Oh sure – I have to do all the work?"

: I told you.: Schu's leer stretched across his entire face. :I like watching you play.:

Ken flushed red – and then ducked a badly-thrown punch, returning with one of his own. Then his training kicked in, and he leaped forward, meeting the group head on.

A side kick slammed one tattooed gangster headfirst into the opposite wall. A second attacker stepped up, bald head flashing in the light of the street lamp, and Ken blocked a heavy kick that could have done some serious damage to his ribs had it connected. Holding the leg, Ken gave a vicious twist, shoving it back to its owner, who let out a squeal of pain and fell backwards, dragging the injured limb behind him.

"Son-of-a-BITCH!" A thug wearing a black bandanna tied around his head howled as he approached. A sudden 'click' caught at Ken's ears, just as Schu's warning echoed in his head.

::Siberian, knife:

"Little boys shouldn't play with pointy objects," Ken remarked, watching the youth step forward, arm holding the blade outstretched, making little jabbing swipes in his direction. Another jab and Ken pushed the arm along its path, letting the thug's own momentum swing him off balance, giving him a clear opening. Bringing his knee up, he slammed it into the exposed side; his arm came up in the same motion and swung down, elbow hammering into the side of his head just behind the ear. Bandanna Boy dropped like a stone.

Ken straightened, and then fell back into a crouch, watching the last three move closer, a little slower this time. Adrenaline surged through his system, making him shudder a bit with excitement. It was a bit disconcerting, considering he never really felt such glee during a mission.

Killing was a part of his job, and it was something that never got easier for him, no matter how many missions he carried out. Sinking his blades into human flesh, watching the blood flow over his hands and arms, hearing the wet gurgle of blood-filled lungs trying to breathe – it was the stuff of nightmares, and his sometimes woke him in the middle of the night, sending him scrambling for the bathroom to scrub off the blood he could still see pooled around him after one of his kills. Regardless of how well he pulled off a job, it wasn't something he could take pride in.

But this – this he could enjoy. He didn't have to kill; these weren't assigned targets, and he could freely disable without dismembering. He could be proud of his fighting skills when he had the option to let his opponent live, and his eagerness grew stronger, fingers flexing in anticipation. He could almost believe this was a sanctioned match, like the tournaments he competed in as a child.

This was his playtime. Schuldich had called him on it.

"You gonna die boy," growled Chain Man, lashing out with his chosen weapon. Ken reached out, snagging the chain in mid flight, letting the heavy metal wrap around his forearms. The pain stung, but after one has endured gun shot wounds, stab wounds, and the always-fun feeling of having your teammates stitch you up without any anesthetics, this was niggling.

Ken jerked back on the newly-created leash, Chain Man stumbling forward, and introduced his fist to the man's chin, knocking him clean off his feet. Snapping the chain out of the unconscious man's hand, he whipped it at the legs of a rail-thin youth with a spider tattoo on his cheek. Spider yelped as the metal struck his shins, flinching, giving Ken enough time to finish him off with a solid roundhouse kick.

One more. Ken turned and stood face-to-face with the last man standing.

:Uh-uh, he's mine, remember:

Ken grimaced. "Like I want to touch that with my bare hands," he said, stepping back. Porky growled and lunged forward. Ken stepped back, and then a flash of red streaked past him.

Porky never knew what hit him as fists and feet seemed to appear out of a blur of motion, rocking him from side to side with painful, heavy blows, finally dropping him to his knees. A lightening quick backhand crushed his nose, making him let out a squeal to match his piggish persona. It was abruptly cut off as a hand suddenly gripped his throat, squeezing painfully.

"Such dirty thoughts," Schu crooned. "Filth like you should be eliminated like the trash you resemble." He squeezed harder. Porky's face took on a bluish cast as he gasped for air that he couldn't access.

"Enough Schu." Ken moved up beside him. He waved his cell phone at the redhead. "I called Omi. Manx will send someone out to handle this." He nudged the German, shoulder to shoulder. "Let him go."

:You didn't see his thoughts: the telepath growled.

"But I can guess. It's not like the others didn't have the same idea, about both of us. I didn't kill mine." Ken locked eyes with him. "He's not worth it."

Schuldich glowered, but finally let go. Porky fell over, gasping weakly, eyes dim. Feeling vindictive, the German dealt the pudgy man one last sharp kick in the stomach, and then stuck out his tongue at the unconscious man. Ken couldn't help snickering. Schuldich glared at him.

"You owe me," he proclaimed. "I didn't kill the pig-man. You owe me big."

"Stop pouting," Ken said, leaning over, and planting a quick kiss on the redhead's cheek. Sensing the tension in the wiry form, he grinned. "I take it you enjoyed the show?"

Schuldich's teeth gleamed. "Nothing sexier then a pretty kitty kicking ass." He surged forward, pushing the brunette back against the brick wall.

Amidst the bevy of moaning, injured gang members, Schuldich committed a very thorough assault of his own on Ken's mouth. Breaking apart, the telepath licked a drop of sweat off Ken's brow and leaned in, resting his forehead against his partners. Suddenly, the appeal of going out on their unofficial 'date', lessened in favor of something else.

"Ready for the action you wanted earlier?" he breathed. Ken shuddered.

"Race ya home," he murmured, nuzzling the German once – and then shoving past. Leaping over the body of Pig Man, he raced out of the alley, his laughter echoing in the still of the evening. With a gleeful howl, Schuldich tore after him, intent on finishing what they had started, at home.

Manx would probably tear them both a new one for their little 'mess', but it was worth it.