The Games Boys Play

Turns out it has a few more chapters in it after all.

Thanks for all the reviews! For those of you that wanted to see Brad give in... sorry... 'giving in' is not in Brad's nature. But I think you may like to outcome anyway. This is just the second chapter of a few more to come. The muses haven't yet told me how many that may be. Shorter than the last but hopefully just as satisfying.

Disclaimer - not mine, no money, and defintely no harm done or intended.

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Brad Crawford runs from nothing.

Brad retreated to his office. First order of business, belting back a scotch. And then another. He tried to distract his brain by revisiting his day’s working beside Takatori, the thought of the man usually had instant mollifying effects, but the steel rod in his pants just throbbed harder in defiance.

He made for his bedroom, the muffled blare of Schuldig’s TV still doing little to mask his laughter. He shut his door with a heavy sigh, banging his forehead against it in frustration. He couldn’t give in... masturbating was just as good as a confession. He was the one in control - not his libido, not the visions, and certainly not Schuldig. His persistent erection gave a heavy twitch from it’s increasingly uncomfortable confinement. //Damn.//

After six years, something had to give. There had always been this unspoken competition between them. Schuldig pushes, he pushes back. It was a ritualized game that they played with one another to help achieve and maintain what had turned out to be the perfect balance between them. They worked well together... so well in fact that they made the elders nervous. So what had possessed him to suddenly push this game into new territory? Territory he wasn’t even aware that he was willing to travel into.

Brad sat on the end of his bed, hands on his knees, eyes closed in concentration. Meditation might work... focusing inward, denying the physical. He sought out his mental retreat and upon arrival to this most personal of spaces all he could see was a nude Schuldig spread out on the grass, beckoning him with one hand while he stroked his cock with the other. He smiled that viciously seductive smile and whispered in that voice that was pure sex... “Make me your bitch, Brad. Fuck me hard, make me come for you.”

Brad’s eyes shot open, shocked to find his own hand rubbing over his cock. He jumped to his feet quickly assessing the condition of his carefully built and maintained mental shields. That thought had to have come from Schuldig... it just had to. The bastard must have somehow found a way to finally break through and fuck with his head. It was the only plausible answer. The other possibility wasn’t an option. But he found his shields as solid as ever.

This wasn’t happening.

Brad Crawford was straight. Even Schuldig knew that. They had gone out together on rare occasions and had parted ways when they each claimed a toy for the evening. Brad always took home the girl. Schuldig took home anything that caught his fancy. And that was just the way it had always been. Until the vision. The vision that led him to slapping Schuldig in challenge and led him to Schuldig’s doorway to bask in its effects. At what point did respect and competition between teammates turn into... this.

The vision stunned him when it appeared, initially repulsing him into blatant self denial. But the pictures haunted him, seeping into his thoughts unbidden at the most inopportune times. And then the dreams, so vivid and lucid he swore they were visions intruding on his unconscious mind. His visions of Schuldig had grow quite clear and detailed over the years, most likely because of the continually proximity to one another. But this was the first that included him with Schuldig in a... sexual... situation. The harder he tried to rid himself of the vision the more persistent it became...just like Schuldig would most likely have done himself.

Crawford considered himself an open minded assassin. He really could care less what people did with their lives so long as it didn’t interfere with his carefully laid plans. But this... this was interfering and it was his own brain causing the disruption. Such an obvious loss of self control. He had no sexual interest in men, he was certain. No interest other than Schuldig, that is.

Sure it was his curiosity that baited Schuldig in the first place. Somehow, he thought that baiting him then letting him know he’d been played would have a much different effect. It was supposed to be a lesson in dominance. His dominance. Schuldig wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. He wasn’t supposed to antagonize him with it. He wasn’t supposed to look edible while laying there taunting him. The damn telepath had turned it around on him way too easily. That would not do. It was time to turn this train wreck around and put it back on the right track.

But damn if he could think straight with his dick trying to make a desperate break for freedom. And he was already beyond the point of no return... if he didn’t take care of his incessantly nagging erection now he’d be in miserable throbbing pain tomorrow. Should he give Schuldig the implication of satisfaction now or the obvious satisfaction tomorrow when he’d be obviously uncomfortable. Of course, there was always a third option... he eyed his gun on his night stand. It wouldn’t be the first time he was tempted to put a bullet between those bright blue eyes.

Slowly, he got undressed, each motion feeling like a step on a death march on his way the gallows. He gave a tiny groan as he slid out of his pants, his erection reacting to the freedom with a wave of throbbing pressure that coiled low in his balls. At least, this wouldn’t take long.

He peeled back his black suede comforter before sliding on top of he sheets. He certainly wasn’t going to defile the one true comfort item he owned. He propped himself comfortably against the headboard, pillows positioned for maximum comfort. He tucked his left arm behind his head, intent on making this a quick and clinical release. He grabbed his balls with the right, rubbing at his tight sac lightly and he grunted at the sensation. No reason to tease, they were ready to go anyway. He ringed his fingers around the base of his angry cock, loosely sliding up its length. His breath hissed as he subdued the urge to moan out loud... he was determined to enjoy this as little as possible.

He keep his fist loose as he slowly stroked the traitor on, the coiled sensation deep in his balls building, spiraling slowly upward. Schuldig had been almost vicious with his own cock, his fist tight as he pumped into his own hand. Brad squeezed his eyes tight as his cock twitched hard with the thought.

//Cold and clinical// He chastised himself. //Just stroke... no thinking. Just get the job done.//

Long, languid strokes, not too much pressure... an almost casual touch. The soft glide of his fingers was plenty of encouragement. His breathing grew shallow, each breath a short pant. Suppressing the groan that was building in his chest was starting to take effort.

Schuldig writhed freely on his bed, emitting all sorts of wildly erotic sounds, completely uninhibited. How would he enjoy such a light touch? Brad sliding up behind him, nestling his cock along the crack of his ass, fingers teasing at his chest then sliding around his cock, stroking him slowly, with barely any pressure at all. Would the sounds the German made make him just as hard?

The groan broke free, escaping his throat, the sound his body’s plea for surrender. He swallowed heavily, forcing his body’s reaction down yet again. Brad Crawford never surrenders.

The solid flesh in his hand was hot and smooth against his fingers. The head of his cock was an angry purple, swollen and steadily leaking precum. He rounded his palm over it lightly. It caused a shiver that terminated in a breathy exhale. He was close. It wouldn’t take much more. He watched the head disappear into his loose fist over and over, the trail of precum glistening over its width, each pass over the ridge pulling a sharp breath in response.

How he would love to guide that glistening purple tip to Schuldigs lips, over that smart tongue of his and down his throat. If anyone could deep throat him, it would have to be Schuldig. Those blue eyes laughing at him as he sank his length down his throat, that shock of orange hair tickling at his tightened ball sac and across his thighs.

His hips took their cue, joining his fist, the throaty moan reasserting itself with a vengeance.

And he’d wrap his hand in his hair and slowly fuck his mouth, that wicked tongue doing all sorts of things he’d never felt before. Schuldig would take him down to the root then pull away to wiggle his tongue into his slit before sinking back down and burying his nose in his pubic hair.

The hand behind his head shot out to fist in the sheets as if it could keep him from falling. There was no preventing it now. His body had staged a full scale coup, his impending orgasm clouding his head, thick and heavy with promise. Brad was stubborn, not stupid... he could negotiate especially when the outcome was assured.

His hand tightened on his cock, his hips pumping heavily in rhythm with the motion.

He’d growl as Schuldig devoured him, fisting both hands on either side of his head. He’d hold the redhead stationary as he pumped his hips hard, fucking his mouth like it was made for that purpose. And Schuldig would swallow around the invader in his throat, milking him, forcing him to come. And with a roar he’d pump his load down his throat, the heavy spasms causing his hips to buck hard and twitch uncontrollably.

Brad tossed his head to the side, eyes screwed shut, unwilling to witness his own defeat. He came surprisingly hard, splattering his chest repeatedly, a breathless cry wrenching its way free. He just barely managed to reign it in in volume. His body went momentarily rigid then collapsed into a warm puddle against his cool, crisp sheets.

Schuldig would lick his cock clean, lapping at it like a cat, never missing a spot. Those blue eyes would mirror the shit eating grin on his face - that one he had as he fucked himself into oblivion. The redhead would crawl up his body, nuzzling at his stomach, nipping at his skin, settling his weight on top of him, entirely pleased with himself. And he would wrap his hands in that bright orange hair and pull him close, kissing him hard, tasting himself in his mouth. And it felt right.

Brad sighed heavily as he rubbed his face with his clean hand. This was happening. He did want the damn annoying, smug, self centered, egotistical, infuriating bastard. What a fucking mess. He resigned himself to the fact of the matter. Denial had never really been his thing anyway.

How on earth was he going to see this through... without giving Schuldig the satisfaction? Because if this was going to happen, it was going to be on his terms, his way. It would be all his plan or it wouldn’t happen at all. Schuldig was already going to start with the taunts, most likely over breakfast in the morning.

That was what Brad had over the German. If nothing else, at least his penchant for gloating was entirely predictable. And the only reason Schuldig did it was for the reaction. If Brad didn’t give him the reaction he was looking for, he’d try even harder, that whine working its way into his voice like a spoiled five year old, until he got what he wanted. But maybe the answer to Brad’s problem lie not in circumventing Schuldig’s verbal assault but rather, heading it off at the pass. If he could keep the telepath guessing, he might just be able to retain control of the situation. And guide in the direction of his choice. Not Schuldig’s.

A small smiled crept onto the precog’s face. Nothing was more reassuring than a plan.