Strange Times
folder
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
50
Views:
4,101
Reviews:
22
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Wei� Kreuz › General
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
50
Views:
4,101
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.
13
Aya wasn’t supposed to have to deal with morning afters.
What the hell did one say in that awkward bit of time where both people in the bed were awake and aware of each other?
Schuldich was twined in and about Aya’s limbs like some sort of insidious growth, and Aya’s tolerance for contact had reached its limit hours ago. the telepath was awake, the telepath was going to move. “Get off.”
“Sure.” Schuldich crooned, defying the most basic laws of physics to press even closer.
The touch of Schuldich’s mind was reminiscent of an oil slick, or unwashed hair, and Aya knew he was doing it on purpose. Why had he ever thought Schuldich had been in need of help…
“Oh, I was.” Schuldich stretched, pulling away, his play obviously over for now.
“If you’re better, you can get out.”
“Better is such a relative term.” An embarrassingly intimate neck nuzzle left Aya trying to decide between shock and homicide. Schuldich chuckled and pulled himself from the bed.
It wasn’t a proper morning after, not technically. Everyone was still clothed. Nothing had happened apart from comfort given and comfort taken.
Which was, of course, why Aya was searching desperately for the usual seething anger to toss up in the fact of the unflatteringly awkward concern he was clumsily failing to express.
Schuldich smelt like cinnamon.
Aya had spent restless hours trying to sort out where the smell was coming from. it wasn’t the hair tickling his nose, not on Schuldich’s breath…It was a conundrum of seemingly little bearing, but it had only helped keep Aya awake.
That and Schuldich’s hands had tended to wander as the telepath slept, clenching at fistfuls of shirt whenever Aya dared shift, rubbing in infuriatingly sensual ways when Aya held still for too long.
“Ask nicely and I’ll pose.”
It was nice to have everything jerked back into perspective. Schuldich was still a bastard, and still taking up far too much of Aya’s personal space, regardless of what anxious little sounds he had made in his sleep. “Get out.”
With far more ass-shaking than the simple movement merited, Schuldich exited the room.
In hindsight, Aya should have realized that obedience without even one smart ass comment meant trouble of one form or another.
Hot showers were as close to religion as Aya allowed himself. He scrubbed his entire body to the same startled red, sniffing experimentally for any hint of spice as he toweled dry. Satisfied he had scrubbed every tainted skin cell to an early grave, Aya slipped into a comfortably shapeless shirt, pleasantly worn jeans, and tentatively made his way back into reality.
A reality that had somehow altered to mimic a cooking program.
Schuldich sauntered around the kitchen, humming an intentionally off key bastardization of the ditty currently playing over the radio, a whisk in one hand and spatula in another. The small kitchen table seemed overwhelmed by the dishes covering it, a gourmet assortment of crepes and eggs and cinnamon sprinkled pancakes.
Schuldich relinquished his spatula in favor of a steaming mug, which he placed in Aya’s shock-slack hand.
“The hell?”
“Idiot in room G-4 went to cooking school. Who’d have thought your little neighbors would be useful.” Schuldich’s face broke into the smug cousin of a cheerful grin, showing far too much tooth for completely comfortable mirth.
Aya wondered if he could retreat to his bedroom and burrow his head under the pillow until sanity came back from wherever it had gotten off to.
First he would have to do laundry. His room still smelled of spice and someone else’s sweat.
Then again, he could deal with that, just as long as he didn’t have to continue and try to work out the impossible juxtaposition a domestic Schwartz presented.
“Old hag in I-2 knows how to knit. I could make you some new sweaters.”
Aya’s glare was diffused before it even got to his eyes.
“Sit down and eat your fucking breakfast, Abyssinian.” Schuldich snapped, turning his back on Aya to tend to some toast. ‘It’s a thank you. Fucking deal with it.’
Dealing with Schuldich had definitely been easier when the telepath had been safely located at the business end of a katana. If Aya was lucky, Schuldich would have poisoned the pancakes, thus saving him the trouble of trying to sort out what the hell was going on.
What the hell did one say in that awkward bit of time where both people in the bed were awake and aware of each other?
Schuldich was twined in and about Aya’s limbs like some sort of insidious growth, and Aya’s tolerance for contact had reached its limit hours ago. the telepath was awake, the telepath was going to move. “Get off.”
“Sure.” Schuldich crooned, defying the most basic laws of physics to press even closer.
The touch of Schuldich’s mind was reminiscent of an oil slick, or unwashed hair, and Aya knew he was doing it on purpose. Why had he ever thought Schuldich had been in need of help…
“Oh, I was.” Schuldich stretched, pulling away, his play obviously over for now.
“If you’re better, you can get out.”
“Better is such a relative term.” An embarrassingly intimate neck nuzzle left Aya trying to decide between shock and homicide. Schuldich chuckled and pulled himself from the bed.
It wasn’t a proper morning after, not technically. Everyone was still clothed. Nothing had happened apart from comfort given and comfort taken.
Which was, of course, why Aya was searching desperately for the usual seething anger to toss up in the fact of the unflatteringly awkward concern he was clumsily failing to express.
Schuldich smelt like cinnamon.
Aya had spent restless hours trying to sort out where the smell was coming from. it wasn’t the hair tickling his nose, not on Schuldich’s breath…It was a conundrum of seemingly little bearing, but it had only helped keep Aya awake.
That and Schuldich’s hands had tended to wander as the telepath slept, clenching at fistfuls of shirt whenever Aya dared shift, rubbing in infuriatingly sensual ways when Aya held still for too long.
“Ask nicely and I’ll pose.”
It was nice to have everything jerked back into perspective. Schuldich was still a bastard, and still taking up far too much of Aya’s personal space, regardless of what anxious little sounds he had made in his sleep. “Get out.”
With far more ass-shaking than the simple movement merited, Schuldich exited the room.
In hindsight, Aya should have realized that obedience without even one smart ass comment meant trouble of one form or another.
Hot showers were as close to religion as Aya allowed himself. He scrubbed his entire body to the same startled red, sniffing experimentally for any hint of spice as he toweled dry. Satisfied he had scrubbed every tainted skin cell to an early grave, Aya slipped into a comfortably shapeless shirt, pleasantly worn jeans, and tentatively made his way back into reality.
A reality that had somehow altered to mimic a cooking program.
Schuldich sauntered around the kitchen, humming an intentionally off key bastardization of the ditty currently playing over the radio, a whisk in one hand and spatula in another. The small kitchen table seemed overwhelmed by the dishes covering it, a gourmet assortment of crepes and eggs and cinnamon sprinkled pancakes.
Schuldich relinquished his spatula in favor of a steaming mug, which he placed in Aya’s shock-slack hand.
“The hell?”
“Idiot in room G-4 went to cooking school. Who’d have thought your little neighbors would be useful.” Schuldich’s face broke into the smug cousin of a cheerful grin, showing far too much tooth for completely comfortable mirth.
Aya wondered if he could retreat to his bedroom and burrow his head under the pillow until sanity came back from wherever it had gotten off to.
First he would have to do laundry. His room still smelled of spice and someone else’s sweat.
Then again, he could deal with that, just as long as he didn’t have to continue and try to work out the impossible juxtaposition a domestic Schwartz presented.
“Old hag in I-2 knows how to knit. I could make you some new sweaters.”
Aya’s glare was diffused before it even got to his eyes.
“Sit down and eat your fucking breakfast, Abyssinian.” Schuldich snapped, turning his back on Aya to tend to some toast. ‘It’s a thank you. Fucking deal with it.’
Dealing with Schuldich had definitely been easier when the telepath had been safely located at the business end of a katana. If Aya was lucky, Schuldich would have poisoned the pancakes, thus saving him the trouble of trying to sort out what the hell was going on.