Strange Times
folder
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
50
Views:
4,097
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
50
Views:
4,097
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
10
It felt like being sick, without the annoying nose drip, a cold that consisted completely of thick cotton muting his brain where he didn’t want it to, medicated by phantom narcotics taking away his sense when he needed it close.
He was high on a myriad of drugs he hadn’t taken, and his cock ached with the lust of everyone who touched him. Anger had burned away in the intoxicating press of humanity hours ago, drowned in the excitement and overwhelming seetouchlickgrope of too many hormones in too small a space. Personality and purpose frayed at the edges and he sank down into instinct and reflex. He was the heart of the party, the king of every club he entered as he tossed back every sensation to those who crowded around him, instant junkies seeking a drug they couldn’t identify but wanted…
Schuldich had a moment of panic as he felt his personality slipping away in the crowd. His brain scrambled for familiar handholds in an effort to keep from submerging completely, then snarled as the then caught up with now, and he remembered his safeguard had gone and gotten itself drowned.
And then it didn’t matter.
________________________
Aya spent a long, disgruntled and slightly disgusted moment almost wishing he hadn’t told the telepath to get away earlier. How could he have known the bastard was a time bomb of projective dysfunction? Aya stepped over an outstretched, limp arm as he made his way through the rather placid carnage. People lay where they had fallen, last expressions somewhere between terror and sublime pleasure. It was a fine line, really. And in the middle of it all sat Schuldich in a state of complacent catatonia like some sort of fallen god overlooking His last Act of Power.
“I should leave you here.”
The cops would most likely be called when someone stumbled upon the macabre tableau in an attempt to roll a spouse or lay out of their cups and back to bed. It wasn’t a scenario Aya wanted to be involved in, seeing some poor idiot trip over a foot sticking out awkwardly from the table someone had slipped under, blood trickling from nose and lips.
“I really should leave you.”
But he couldn’t, not with a desperate, terrified shout for Crawford still echoing around inside the resulting migraine currently plaguing his head and his temper.
The implacable Abyssinian showing empathy? Yohji would choke on a cigarette.
It was like touching a sketchy bit of wiring. Aya expected to be shocked when he slipped an arm around Schuldich, hauling Schuldich to his feet by the armpits, but nothing more than a slight tingle of activity, a murmuring in the back of his brain too slurred and quiet to make sense of, suggested there was anything going on up in Schuldich’s brain at all.
Guilt always had been one of Aya’s great motivators. He felt responsible for Schuldich storming out, seething with a sour fury. He felt responsible for the jumble of corpses decorating the dance floor.
He might as well work at fixing what he could.
At least, Aya thought he could fix whatever was wrong with Schuldich. It wasn’t like he had to nurse brain fried telepaths back to health and coherency every day. But he had coerced Yohji through the painful recovery processes of some epic hangovers. It had to be somewhat similar.
He was high on a myriad of drugs he hadn’t taken, and his cock ached with the lust of everyone who touched him. Anger had burned away in the intoxicating press of humanity hours ago, drowned in the excitement and overwhelming seetouchlickgrope of too many hormones in too small a space. Personality and purpose frayed at the edges and he sank down into instinct and reflex. He was the heart of the party, the king of every club he entered as he tossed back every sensation to those who crowded around him, instant junkies seeking a drug they couldn’t identify but wanted…
Schuldich had a moment of panic as he felt his personality slipping away in the crowd. His brain scrambled for familiar handholds in an effort to keep from submerging completely, then snarled as the then caught up with now, and he remembered his safeguard had gone and gotten itself drowned.
And then it didn’t matter.
________________________
Aya spent a long, disgruntled and slightly disgusted moment almost wishing he hadn’t told the telepath to get away earlier. How could he have known the bastard was a time bomb of projective dysfunction? Aya stepped over an outstretched, limp arm as he made his way through the rather placid carnage. People lay where they had fallen, last expressions somewhere between terror and sublime pleasure. It was a fine line, really. And in the middle of it all sat Schuldich in a state of complacent catatonia like some sort of fallen god overlooking His last Act of Power.
“I should leave you here.”
The cops would most likely be called when someone stumbled upon the macabre tableau in an attempt to roll a spouse or lay out of their cups and back to bed. It wasn’t a scenario Aya wanted to be involved in, seeing some poor idiot trip over a foot sticking out awkwardly from the table someone had slipped under, blood trickling from nose and lips.
“I really should leave you.”
But he couldn’t, not with a desperate, terrified shout for Crawford still echoing around inside the resulting migraine currently plaguing his head and his temper.
The implacable Abyssinian showing empathy? Yohji would choke on a cigarette.
It was like touching a sketchy bit of wiring. Aya expected to be shocked when he slipped an arm around Schuldich, hauling Schuldich to his feet by the armpits, but nothing more than a slight tingle of activity, a murmuring in the back of his brain too slurred and quiet to make sense of, suggested there was anything going on up in Schuldich’s brain at all.
Guilt always had been one of Aya’s great motivators. He felt responsible for Schuldich storming out, seething with a sour fury. He felt responsible for the jumble of corpses decorating the dance floor.
He might as well work at fixing what he could.
At least, Aya thought he could fix whatever was wrong with Schuldich. It wasn’t like he had to nurse brain fried telepaths back to health and coherency every day. But he had coerced Yohji through the painful recovery processes of some epic hangovers. It had to be somewhat similar.