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Broken Dreams	By : CardDragonBall Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1668 -:- 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
- 1-Broken Dreams
- 2-2
- 1
- 2
Broken Dreams 2

NC-17

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The clothes they left in the other room, laid out perfectly, crisp and white. No need to make the old ones' angry. They were under the belief that they were the most powerful. Slipping right inside of Crawford's body and squeezing their fat mental hands around his heart. Making him shake--making them hate the old hags that much more.

Schuldig pulled the bandana out of his hair, and the glasses, let them fall to the top of the dresser and shook his hair. Felt the long tips of it brushing against his naked back and smirked. Crawford smirked back at him.

They were hours away from the victory.

Crawford pulled his glasses off, and he was completely naked. Looking at him with the narrow brown eyes, waiting for him to move forward, tensed and relaxed all the same time. Schuldig shoved him back, hard, against the wall and stepped up against him, put his hand around the tall neck and yanked him down, bowed his body and attacked his mouth.

One hand fist his hair, pulled it hard and the other was on his back, pulling him up to him, tighter and harder. The mind opened against his, slipping away the little defenses he had, thought processes were erratic now, sensory perceptions were more important.

Schuldig pulled him off the wall by the neck and shoved him toward the bed, heard the grunt when Crawford hit the mattress, and followed him shoved him down and dug his nails in to the pale skin, flipped him onto his back and Crawford pulled himself onto the bed the rest of the way. All pale skin and long legs. Strong chest with the scars of their life splashed here and there.

He grinned again, Crawford pulled the tube of lubrication out from under the pillows and let it lay on the bed. Then fisted his hand in his long hair and pulled him down again.

Chaos in the way he sucked on Schuldig's mouth, chaos in the desire to destroy him and the parting of long legs around his hips. The want to dominant was pulsing in Crawford's mind--somewhere--the thought that he should try, should shove Schuldig face first into the mattress and fuck him until he couldn't even stand.

And then, the layer below the reasoning, that sense of self that opened itself up to him and the dark curiosities welled up. Like black blood. A million questions. The desire to know what pain was--not their pain--his pain.

Schuldig fumbled for the lube, pulled away from Crawford and unscrewed the lid of the tube. Crawford put out his hand and Schuldig squeezed it on his wide palm, then on his own and recapped the tube, dropped it on the bed. Fisted his own erection and dug out the memory of Fujimiya's mind, pulled it to the top of his own thoughts.

Savored the delicious twinge of sharp metallic pain as he watched Crawford stretching himself. Two fingers spreading the lube around inside of him--a matter of necessity only. It was forty minutes to the ritual and sixty until the Weiss ended everything with a spectacular bang.

"Turn over," he said. Moved back while Crawford got up, rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself onto his knees, one hand on the wall, the other on the bed. Head hanging down.

"We only have thirty five minutes left, Schuldig."

So he moved up, his knees on either side of Crawford's, pulled his lips back into a vicious sneer, ran his hand down the long back, curled his hand around the neck and his fingertips were pressed right against that part of the brain--the part where memories were. The part where the future popped in Crawford's mind.

He thrust into him, sinking into his body fast and felt the instant clench. chuckled in the darkness of the room and leaned down so his hair ran across the scarless expanse of Crawford's back. Closed his eyes and saw Fujimiya's face--a thousand thoughts of broken dreams.

Crawford gasped under him. His mind seized those images, turned them over and tore them up. Feeding the curiosity. Giving Crawford the memory of the mind-warp, letting him taste the honey, showing him a power he could never hope to have.

And he fucked him. Let his mind go, flitting over every image one by one, every bittersweet dream, a the soundtrack of their breath--the sound of his hips smacking Crawford's.

Thrust into him mindlessly, each surge into the clenching body in time with the death of another of Fujimiya's dreams. Another future that he had already lost, and Schuldig cracked another grin, cut off the thought, closed his mind to Crawford's.

Took satisfaction in the catch of breath, the whine of loss, and thrust deeper into him, inched forward tightened his hand around the neck. His other hand was on his hip, holding him there loosely. He thrust into him harder, faster, filling Crawford's body the way he had his mind. Heard his name like a curse and that word the American liked so much--

Devil

Crawford fell forward, drew his knees up farther on the bed, gasped when Schuldig pulled out of him and panted, turned and grabbed him by the neck, shoved him back on the bed, flat on his back and fell against him, grinding his hard wet erection against Schuldig's stomach. Bared teeth and flushed skin. Anger at the loss of the memory.

Chaos in his touch.

Schuldig opened his mind again, ripped at Crawford's, poured Fujimiya's pain into him, and Crawford panted, lifted his hips up and thrust them down, so Schuldig was inside of him again. Deep inside. He leaned forward, brown eyes closed, hands on the bed and fucked himself on Schuldig's erection. His body clenching down with every pulse of his heart, his mind. His erection was throbbing against Schuldig's skin as he moved mindlessly.

All his body rippled, his muscles clenched and unclenched, the perfect flex of skin and muscled, a sight both disgusting and beautiful.

Whore he whispered into his mind, felt Crawford's mental breath catch, felt the stiffness of his muscles, his knees against Schuldig's side. Eyes slid open and he cracked a grin.

Lifted one of his hands and closed it around Schuldig's throat. The other gave him the leverage he needed as he kept thrust his hips down, the orgasm spiraled up and up and Crawford's mind tightened down, solidified. Anger and hate, chaos and the primitive surge of vengeance. All the things that Schuldig respected about the man--the violence of his thoughts and the hand on his throat tightened so he could barely breath.

"Remember the golf club?" Crawford panted, flexed his fingers so they were tighter. Then loosened his grip, shivered. His hips fucked with no rhythm now, only the driving need to finish, the pulse that moved faster toward the orgasm. Crawford leaned down, panted on his face. "Ready to choke, Schuldig?" And a smirk on his face as he grit his teeth and came against his stomach.

Schuldig shoved him back, knocked him on his back, shoved his long legs up against his chest and moved in him. Fast and violent, heard the chuckle, the darkness of Crawford's laugh.

Felt the orgasm as it spiraled out and let it fill Crawford from the inside--because he hated it when Schuldig came in him. Pulled out and crawled up his body, fist his dark hair and kissed him. Silenced the laugh. Heard it echo in Crawford's mind.

But it didn't matter. They were out of time.

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Schu: Hm... Choke? Is this a euphemism I don't know about?

Crawford: Sure.

Schu: *narrowed eyes* You're lying to me aren't you?

Crawford: Sure.
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