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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained	By : KDSarge Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 6318 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Ya
got me, dextrousleftie. I’m just generally grumpy this week,
and I had decided I wasn’t posting a chapter even though it was
done. But how can I say no to that?

Avast,
mateys, here be lemon. Watch your step. ;)

Oh,
and...a bit of non-con surprised me here, but pretty soon it’s
consensual all the way.

Inversion

“Try
the door again.”

“Fuck
you.”

“Schuldig–“

”I’m
not taking orders from you anymore, Bradley.” Schuldig
had the chair, Crawford had left it after half an hour in hopes of
getting the telepath to stop sprawling so delectably on the floor.
The German had been twirling for several minutes now, Crawford
wondered why he wasn’t dizzy. Maybe he was doing it so he could
get sick enough to throw up on Crawford. Schu was as vindictive as
Abyssinian, and a hundred times more creative. Abyssinian always,
only, reached for his sword.

“So
you’re just going to sit and spin and do what?”

“Hate
you.”

“Well,
that’s productive.”

“I
like it.”

Crawford
closed his eyes and let the conversation, such as it was, go. It
didn’t matter anyway, the door was no more likely to open this
time than it had the last however-many times. He hadn’t needed
to tell Schuldig, the telepath would have wandered over and tried it
again within minutes.

Nagi
had stocked the room with snacks, he could have put a carafe of
coffee in here...

He
didn’t need coffee, even if he hadn’t slept in days.
Actually having time to think was a good thing, Crawford told himself
again. Things had gone wrong, somewhere, somehow, for Schwarz to have
come to this point. He needed to find and correct the problem.

The
German wandered over and tried the door. That was one of the tricks
Herr Stein had suggested, to maintain some control over Schuldig.
Tell him to do things he would have done anyway, get him in the habit
of doing what you told him...of course, when Schuldig was angry,
Crawford was supposed to tell the telepath not to do things he wanted
him to do. But Crawford had never liked the reverse psychology, he
had no intention of even giving the illusion that Schuldig could get
away with disobedience. When the telepath did not do what he was
told, he needed to pay the price. Whether the price was exacted by
Takatori and his golf club, or–

No,
don’t go there. Schuldig had earned every–

“When
you see only what you wish,” he could hear from years ago,
farther back than Herr Stein, “what have you done?”

“Made
myself blind, Frau Sanchez.”

“Talking
to the dead?” Schuldig asked. “Why that hag?”

Crawford
didn’t answer, the telepath continued his spinning.

How
many times had he let his teammate be beaten or otherwise abused?
Enough times suddenly Crawford was the one who was nauseous. Some of
those times hadn’t even been Schu’s fault, he was
just...convenient. No one would beat Nagi, Farf there was no point,
Crawford–any leader who got far enough to hire Schwarz, knew
that attacking a team leader destroyed effectiveness. So
Schuldig–damn.

And
why had Schuldig taken it? He’d always gotten revenge, of
course, Crawford snorted at the sumo wrestler/bodyguard Schu had made
a conscientious vegetarian...but why had he taken the abuse at all?
No non-Talent could beat Schuldig against his will.

So as
not to give them away, of course. Had he fought Takatori, or any of
the others, Schuldig would have revealed their plan. And Schu
wouldn’t do that, he was–

He
was what? Loyal? Then why this need to control him? Crawford could
have told him and Nagi about the poisoning as soon as they decided to
follow him against Essett. He did not know if there was a way to deal
with the problem, but at the least he could have put their lives in
their own hands. As the telepath had demanded–when had he ever
given Crawford reason to doubt him?

The
fire-haired pixie was chaos incarnate, that was true. But through all
the insanity–and Schuldig flattered Farfarello, calling him a
loon, Schu was by far the more unpredictable–the one constant
had always been that Schuldig was a member of Schwarz. He might taunt
and jeer and irritate just for something to do, but when it mattered,
Schuldig stood with his team. Even when he obviously had feelings
elsewhere. Crawford had put a microphone on Schu because he suspected
treachery, when he realized the telepath and Balinese always ended up
out of sight when Schwarz met Weiss. But that had not been the case.
Schu had simply changed the rules in one more attempt to avoid
boredom. And Crawford had punished him for his harmless diversion.

Why?
When had control become more important than cooperation? They had
been a team once, not a bunch of talents driven by a precog with a
whip...

Did
it matter now? As Nagi had proved, Crawford had lost their respect.
Not only had he let himself be locked in a room like a naughty child,
he had pushed them to the point they felt the need to. Schwarz was
over. The rest of them would realize it soon.

He
was avoiding again. Yes, it mattered why. He had punished Schu to
drive him away, set all of this in motion trying to escape the lure
of Schuldig actually caring for him. Resisting the man’s sexual
advances had never been easy. Resisting him meeting Crawford’s
sleepy hand with a perfect cup of coffee, discussing the latest vote
in the United Nations, that ill-fated but so enjoyable Fourth of July
party...especially resisting him spattered with potato salad
and looking murderous, and later, creeping around with that
ridiculous water gun and happy grin ...

Self-fulfilling
prophecy. When a precognitive decides to change the future that he
sees...that was why precogs were taught to always think first,
analyze, decide what was actually vision and what was interpretation,
before acting. Because a precog reacting without thinking was letting
his talent use him.

Crawford
had always known Schuldig would be his ruin. But he’d never
evaluated the belief in the light of his training, because that
vision had come from his heart and not his talent. So in his
obsession with not-needing Schuldig, Crawford himself had brought
about everything he thought he was preventing. Schwarz was shattered.
Schuldig would not be held.

And
Crawford would not be trapped.

“Schu–“

”Fuck
you.”

Crawford
chuckled. Then laughed. If only he had! He could have spent years
fucking his pixie into the mattress, the walls, the carpet once in a
while...maybe they still would have ended here, maybe the crash would
have been much bigger and better, but either way there would have
been years of fucking. The telepath peered at him.

“What
the hell are you laughing at?”

“Tell
Nagi he needs to revisit a few of his assassin-lessons.”
Crawford pulled his back-up gun from his ankle-holster. Schuldig
shook his head.

“What
are you going to do, shoot out the lock? Nagi is holding the entire
door. And if you’re going to shoot me because I keep trying to
die, that’s counter-productive.”

Crawford
checked the safety and tossed the gun to Schuldig. Graceful hands
caught it.

“What–“

”Shoot
me.”

“What?!?”

“Kill
me, if that’s what will make you happy. Or just wound me, so
you can watch me suffer. I don’t care. Nagi will hear even that
little thing, he will open the door.”

“Bradley,
have you been snorting my pixie sticks?”

“Just
do it, Schu.”

“No.”
Schuldig set the gun on the desk. “You want to die, shoot your
damn self.”

“There
is a six month supply of the pixie sticks in my safe. The combination
is your birthday. Everything you need–“

”Get
it through your thick skull, Crawford. I will not send you to hell,
the only way you’re going is if I drag you there.” He
cocked his head. “Why is my birthday the combination of your
safe?”

“Would
you have tried it?”

“Of
course.”

“That’s
why.”

“You
son of a bitch! If you trust me, why the damn pixie sticks?”

“Do
you think Caesar was glad?” Crawford asked. “That if he
had to be betrayed, it was his friend who did it?”

“Temee!
You’re saying you hoped if anyone stabbed you in the back it
would be me?”

Yes.
Crawford leaned his head back, closed his eyes. Yes. At least he’d
have had that much of his–

“Kisama,”
Schuldig growled, and Crawford felt his glasses ripped away, “will
I ever understand you?”

Crawford
would have answered, but the German straddled his hips and kissed
him. For an instant he reveled in it, then he shoved the telepath
away. Schuldig sprawled before him, so beautiful–

It
wasn’t Schuldig’s fault. But the bastard was there, as
always he was a convenient target. And the wild child had bit him.
Crawford wiped blood off his lip.

“Go
fuck yourself, Schuldig.”

“Not
when you’re right there.” Schuldig pounced. They
wrestled, rolling across the floor. Crawford was heavier and
stronger, but the German was faster. Crawford wanted to hurt someone,
the telepath wanted to hurt Crawford...

But
suddenly, it was...something else. God, he’d known his pixie
would be a wildcat in–they were not in bed! Crawford
pinned Schuldig under the desk.

“Stop
it! I will not tussle like a child–“

”Too
late!” Schuldig sang with a grin. “Kiss me, Brad.”

***

“What
are they doing?”

“I
don’t–“ the webcam bounced. “They’re
under the desk.”

“Fighting
or fucking?”

“Who
knows? Who cares? I’ll reset the reminder, but next time you
look. There are things I hope never to see.”

“Some
assassin you are, if that squicks you.”

“Fuck
that. Are there any more Cheetos?”

***

“You’re
disgusting,” Crawford growled.

“You’re
in agony,” the telepath answered, and somehow poked his knee
into Crawford’s solar plexus. He lost his grip, and his breath,
all he could do was lie there gasping for air that wouldn’t
come–

“Knock
knock,” the bastard said softly. “I’m coming in.”
Careful fingers slid into Crawford’s hair, and Schuldig was
there, was inside, and damn it he couldn’t do anything–

::I
win,:: that voice said in his head. ::First, make sure I won’t
be evicted before I’m done...:: Crawford felt things
moving, Schuldig was doing more than reading–God, those eyes,
staring into his, through his–

::Now,::
the telepath said, ::let’s see what the hell you’re so
afraid of, ne?::

No!
Damn it, no, if he knew–

::oh
Brad...::

Crawford
closed his eyes against the sudden softening of Schuldig’s
gaze. Caught, damn it, trapped, he’d lost–

::Verfluchter
Idiot,:: Schuldig murmured. ::How could I cage anyone?::

::But–::

::Bradley
Crawford, I am going to set you free.:: Soft kisses on his face, soft
touches in his mind–

“Schuldig!”

The
sense of the other man’s presence withdrew from his head, but
Crawford still couldn’t move–the German pulled back to
peer into his eyes.

“Yell
for Nagi,” he said. “Or I’m going to have you right
here. Which do you fear more, Brad? Losing control or asking for
help?”

“Let
me go!”

“No.”
Schuldig untied and flung his captive’s tie, then attacked his
shirt buttons. Brad Crawford, Oracle, self-proclaimed Prince of the
Universe, lay on the floor under his own desk, flat on his back as
his telepath undressed him, unable to do a damn thing about it. He
could talk, he could move his head, he could–aahhh!!–curl
his fingers and toes, but he could not fight.

Schuldig
looked up from his neck-nibbling. “Like that, Brad?” he
cooed. “Oh, I can see you do. There’s lots more like
that, and even better, just for you.”

“Damn
it, Schu–“

”Beg,
Brad. Beg for your freedom and I might let you go.” Schuldig
opened his shirt and ran an appreciative hand over his chest.
“Beautiful.”

Crawford
did work at it, unlike some people who stayed slim by augmenting
hyperactivity with enough sugar to put a rhinoceros on tiptoe.

What
was he thinking? “Mastermind! Stop this!”

“No.”
Schuldig’s hand skimmed across his stomach, came back. Idly
circled his navel while the telepath watched his reaction. He must
have felt Crawford’s stomach muscles jump–

“You
like that. Maybe you’ll like this,” he brushed his hair
back, licked his lips, “even more.” And he bent to place
a soft kiss on Crawford’s navel. Then his tongue came out, and
his teeth, and oh God the hair was all across Crawford’s
stomach and he’d had dreams that were nothing more than the
hair–Schuldig was making love to his navel!

“Schuldig!”
he gasped out. “I’ll–“

”Kill
me?” Talking was a mistake, it made Schuldig–no, damn it,
he wanted Schuldig to stop! “You’ve been trying to
not-kill me for a week, Brad, that’s an empty threat.”

“Been
trying–ungghhh!–not to kill you for years.”

“And
this is your reward for all that patience.” Schuldig murmured
into his navel. The German’s hand rested on his groin, Crawford
found he could move more than he’d thought, reflexively his
hips jolted into that contact. Schu lifted his head just enough
Crawford could see his grin. “One part of you,” he said,
giving Crawford a squeeze through his pants, “knows who its
friends are.”

“Don’t
do this.”

“You
don’t like being helpless? Did you think I would?”
Schuldig sprang the button on his pants. “At least I’m
trying to make it pleasant.” He caught the zipper, tugged a
little. “You locked me in a cage and watched me beat myself to
death on the bars.”

“I
couldn’t–“

”You
know that’s why I let Farf out when I’m not supposed to.”
Another tug on the zipper. “Why I chaperone Nagi to those damn
concerts.” Schuldig opened Crawford’s pants, brushed
knuckles across the straining erection inside his boxers. “The
only thing that can make me feel pity. Why I always have a way
out.” Crawford felt something in his mind and against his will
his hips lifted. “When I came home in that damn loincloth, I
still had my passport!” Crawford’s pants were eased down
over his hips. Schuldig moved away, then his shoes vanished, the
pants were gone, and Crawford was wearing only an open dress shirt
and a pair of cotton boxers.

“Schu.
I never–“

”Never
what, Brad? Never meant to chain me? Liar.” He was angry, so
very angry, but the German’s hands were careful, gentle even,
running back up his legs. Torture at the hands of Schuldig was never
a simple matter of pain...the telepath slipped a knee over his groin,
sat right on his erection and wiggled. Crawford fought a gasp.

“Don’t
bother.” Schuldig tapped his forehead with one finger. “I
can hear you. Remember?”

“What
did you do to me?”

Schuldig
didn’t answer. Instead he flung his arms up as if he were
dancing, his eyes closed, he rocked and swayed, one hand slid down
his other arm, caught in his collar, wiggled a button free–oh
God, Schuldig was giving him a lap dance! Another fantasy, right
there on his cock!

Schuldig
had read his mind. Not just a quick glance around, an in-depth–

::Schuldig
is still reading your mind,:: the bastard said in his head. ::Betty
Crocker has left the fucking building,:: with an impression of how
hot and annoying baking was, ::I know what you want now.::

Oh
shit.

::Do
you like it, Brad? Being completely at my mercy?::

“You
have no mercy!”

::And
that turns you on.:: The telepath rocked his hips, rubbing their
erections together, and every thought leaked out of Crawford’s
ears.

::Hmm,
kinda empty in here,:: Schuldig said. ::Let’s fill it.:: And he
started dancing again, giving Crawford the music, Alice Cooper’s
“Poison” while the wild child danced and stripped on his
straining erection, oh God–

The
sunglasses, thrown across the room though they’d cost a
salaryman’s fortune. The headband, winging to snare on the
lamp. Schuldig tossed his hair, flames whipping around that pixie
face, one hand slid through the soft strands while the other undid
one slow button at a time–

Someone
moaned, Crawford realized it was him. Schuldig smirked, his eyes
still closed. His hand slid inside his shirt, popping the last two
buttons. Crawford shivered as they bounced off his stomach. Schuldig
was still dancing, his hands in his hair and skimming across that
beautiful torso, touching himself, loving himself, nothing obvious or
blatant or disgusting like a million and one flirts over the years,
just–beauty, loving beauty.

“Schu,”
Crawford whispered, oh God he was lost, “let me touch you.”

“Ie,”
Schuldig breathed, the Japanese word instead of German. “You
had your chance.” He bent one of his legs back, foot to hip,
God he was flexible, tugging his shoe off as he still writhed and
danced, more pressure on Crawford’s groin and he was going to
come in his boxers if the man didn’t stop–

“Do
you think I would let you?” Schuldig murmured. The shoe flew,
he bent the other leg back and did the same, then his hands went to
his waistband. “Do you want me to, Brad?”

“Yes...”

“Ask
me.”

“Schuldig...”

“Ask
me! For once in your fucking life ask instead of demanding, ordering,
or forcing!”

“Please,
Schu...”

“No.”
The German stood, walked away. Crawford lay there stunned, then
realized he could move–

He
leaped after Schuldig, but the telepath dodged. Crawford caught only
his fist, in his stomach.

“No.”
Schuldig picked up his sunglasses, and a shoe.

“You...bastard,”
Crawford gasped.

“Because
I had to make you ask, Brad. Because when they handed you my
leash, you took it.” He picked up his other shoe, turned a
glare on Crawford. “Because the only reason we haven’t
been fucking each other’s brains out for years is you didn’t
want me to know you wanted me.”

Without
direction, Crawford’s hand snatched the gun, aimed it at that
pixie nose. No, what was he–Schuldig smiled.

“Now
there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he murmured, and
put his lips over the barrel.

Crawford
tried to take his finger off the trigger, to jerk back, but he
couldn’t move again.

“Schu,
I took the safety off!”

::I
know,:: came that smirking voice. ::Watch me, Brad.:: Schuldig
hollowed his cheeks, sucking on the barrel. Released it, to run that
pale pink tongue up the underside, brushed across Crawford’s
trigger finger, back to circle the rim of the barrel–again
Crawford heard a moan come from himself.

“You’re
sick,” he pushed out.

::You
love it.:: Schuldig drew back, pushed the gun down. Between his legs.
Mounted Crawford’s arm and started dancing again, eyes locked
to Crawford’s, fingers digging into his biceps as the redhead
writhed on his wrist and the gun, oh God, this was sick and he did
love it, he wanted more, he wanted to watch Schuldig come, stroking
himself on his gun, he wanted to give him another gun to ride, he
wanted to do everything and anything with and to this wanton wild
child–

::Say
it,:: Schuldig ordered, with a burst of music. “You’re
poison running through my veins...”

“I...”
Crawford licked his lips. What did it matter? Somehow, some way he
would get free, but not now. He couldn’t fight, locked in this
room with Schuldig in his head and on his arm, oh God–
“Schuldig, I want you. Please.”

::You
told me, that night. I should have paid attention.::

“I
want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name.

Don't
want to touch you but you're under my skin (Deep in).”

“Schuldig,
please...”

::Tell
me what you want, Brad. What you need.::

“You!
It’s always been you! I want you, Schuldig, I want to touch
you, worship you, own–“ Crawford clamped his lips, too
late. Schuldig froze, those blue eyes went glacial.

“You
will never own me.” He whirled away, off Crawford’s
wrist, eyes closed, dancing again–Crawford drew a deep breath
and let it out. He set the gun carefully on the desk, and reached in
the top drawer for the lube Schuldig put there periodically, just to
hear Crawford tell him how disgusting he was. He put it on the desk,
took the rest of his clothes off and lay down.

Schuldig
smirked and slid one sleeve down his shoulder.

“Your
mouth, so hot. Your web, I'm caught.

Your
skin, so wet. Black lace on sweat.”

He
whirled, the shirt trailed him then flew away, his hands dove into
his pants. He danced against them, touching himself, Crawford had to
breathe deeply again.

“I
hear you calling and it's needles and pins (And pins)”

Schuldig
writhed out of the pants, Crawford held tight to his control. The
pixie caught up the lube, in one expert motion he had it on his
fingers and was–oh God!

“I
want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name.”

The
telepath stepped over him, danced above him impaled on his own
fingers.

“Don't
want to touch you but you're under my skin (Deep in)”

Crawford
bit his lip to resist touching, Schuldig would not be held–

“I
want to kiss you but your lips are venomous...”

Slowly,
so slowly, the German danced his way lower.

“Poison,”
Schuldig, Crawford, and Alice hissed together. Oh God, he was so hot,
Schuldig burned as hot as his hair–

::You
knew that,:: came that smug voice. The German eased down, swaying,
writhing, squeezing Crawford so perfectly– ::Don’t
move,:: he warned. ::My way.::

“Your
way,” Crawford gasped, oh shit, fuck, oh God–

Still
Schuldig danced, swaying, stroking his body, tossing his hair like a
stripper on a pole–

The
telepath smirked.

“Let
me...damn, Schu, oh fuck, let me touch you...”

“Ie.”
Schuldig grasped his own erection, slid slick fingers up and down,
twisted, stroked–and rode, rocked, writhed, oh, shit, oh fuck,
damn, oh damn–faster, harder, Schu was slamming on top of him
now, his ass slapping against Crawford’s thighs–

“Schuldig!”
he roared, clamping fingers on narrow hips to hold his pixie,
rocketing into his lover, his fire-haired wild child...

“Not...”
Schuldig gasped, “...yours!” He threw his head back and
came, striping Crawford’s chest and oh God he was the most
beautiful thing Crawford had ever seen, quivering there on his cock,
his face tense in ecstasy...

Then
he folded forwards, and for one glorious moment Crawford held
Schuldig against him. Too soon the German pulled away, stepped away.
Collected his clothes without a word. Cleaned himself up without a
glance, and dressed.

“Schuldig–“

”You
want a pet,” the German said, lighting a cigarette, “get
a dog.” He knocked on the door. “Just don’t let
Nagi catch you fucking it.”

The
computer monitor flickered. Crawford scrambled out of sight and
leaped into his pants as Schuldig smirked into the cam. “Let me
out, kiddo,” he said on a trail of smoke. “I think I
bounced that stick out of the boss’s ass.”

“I
didn’t need the details,” Prodigy’s voice returned.
The door opened a crack. Schuldig walked to it, then turned, his hand
on the knob.

“Told
you I’d set you free.”

***

Whoa!!
Where did that come from? Oh, damn, now I have to try to top that
with Aya and Yohji... Oh, and–Alice Cooper’s “Poison,”
as mentioned. I don’t own the song or the characters.
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained