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Witness of My Crime	By : CardDragonBall Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 2332 -:- 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.

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Title: Fun to Watch

Fandom: Weiss Kreuz

Characters: Schuldig/Omi

Rating: NC-17!

Warning: Implied Consent (Non-con, pretty much) and bad language.

Supporting lyrics:

Keep the demons down

And drag the skeletons out

I got a blind man followin' me in chains

I said he's fun to watch

When the world has stopped

An I think he's got somethin' to say

"You wanna fuck with me, don't fuck with me

GnR "Perfect Crime"

It was a theory. So test it, Crawford had said, and that was just about as much permission he'd ever gotten before.

Omi wouldn't like it, Yohji wouldn't cry about it--Aya wouldn't give it up.

Omi first because Yohji's mind was in a slow burn--an idea he'd planted there, in the warm parts of his head, where they would grow and grow and when he felt that it was time for the idea to blossom into a full out imperative--then he'd be there. Right now, Yohji was fine by himself.

Little Tsukiyono; he was ripe for picking. Not quite as boring as Kenken had been--not nearly as interesting as Aya. Borderline, twisting around in his own mind because the little boy wasn't little anymore and nobody seemed to really notice.

Must be those eyes; or maybe it was those shorts.

Omi wasn't wearing shorts now, not here, in the club--that would have stood out and this was a child that had grown up getting groomed to kill and hunt. He knew the importance of blending into a crowd--aware every second of exactly where the exits were and armed, even here, with enough weapons to fight his way out if it became necessary. (Interesting.) But that made it hard to let go--impossible to this kid standing here, hips moving with the sound of the music, the dire need to let it go and the ingrained imperative to hold onto it with both fucking hands and a shuriken if necessary.

Vicious little bastard under that smooth cream skin and those ridiculously wide eyes.

Waiting here for someone to call him in, for them to notice, to send him home and tell him that he ought to be back with his teammates, ought to memorizing schematics for their next mission or doing his homework or just listening to the sounds of nothing while he waited for the next moment of his life to die. But under that, pulsing with the rocking of his hips--the creature that wasn't a boy, not even a little bit, hungry for attention and wriggling its way to the surface for these monthly visits. To move against people, get lost, to be available but nobody had taken him up on the offer--not that Tsukiyono would let go of his precious control long enough to let it happen.

Interesting little contradiction.

A bit simple, a bit easy to play--but something far more enticing than "Make him cry" when the victim was so pathetically incapable of providing resistence.

Schuldig worked his way through the crowd, crush of bodies that seemed to contract around him--must be the vest. Or the string of leather tied around his throat. All those dirty fucking thoughts up in his head with their hands on his skin. Down his back, across his belly. Hips grinding, women giggling foolishly--and he smirked at them and left them there. Nice little power high. Always nice to be wanted. Danced with someone, someone who's thoughts were low-toned and who's hands kept their distance. Moved with the beat of the music, all sinew and muscle. Dip and thrust and sweat dripping down his chest now. Down his back wetting his hair.

Moved his way behind the kitten, slow and easy, turned from his old dance partner, and bumped right into Tsukiyono. Bumped hard enough it moved him forward a step but he didn't lose the beat, jerked his head to the side and glared over his shoulder--

(Schwarz.) Instantaneous reaction. Insantaneous little bit of hate. Vision of him, vision of Farfarello, vision of blood on his hands and his poor dead cousins' slack face.

"Hello," he murmured. Put a hand on the slim shoulder, and dragged it down his shirt, felt the sweat that made the fabric stick to his skin and lower, down to his belly. Palm against the tightening muscle there, dragging him back so they were rocking with the beat. He dipped his head and murmured against his ear. "Lets not do this here--so many witnesses."

Torn, caught and indecisive. Repulsion a bit, for the feeling of his body behind Omi's, the damp press of his chest to Omi's back. The rocking of his hips against him.

"Or we could stay here." He dug his fingers down into Omi's belly, almost hurtful, enough pressure to make it known that he wasn't going to be terribly nice.

Omi pulled away, stragetic move--relaxed into the hold and then bolted forward. But Schuldig caught him, by the wrist, laughed. Bubbling amusement in it. Turned and dragged Omi, felt him follow because eyes were turning and too much attention was worse than anonymity. (Don't want these little idiots to remember anything to tell the cops later, right.) Dragged Omi through the crowd and gave the man near the entrance a dirty little grin and a nod of his head, tugged Omi up and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Waltzed right past them with his brand new playmate and out into the chilly air.

Made it to the mouth of the alley, away from the line of people waiting outside before Omi shoved him off. Didn't say anything, pulled back almost faster than Schuldig could react to it and turned to get away from him.

(Get away, don't fight, he's a--)

But Schuldig caught him again. No telepathy, not yet, not until he had to because this one was more fun the old fashion way. Caught him by the hair this time, heard the bit off yelp of pain and jerked him back. Into the alley and threw him at the wall with his own momentum. Heard the hands hit first.

(Mind racing, tactical information, the weapon the situation the exit the weapon the situation the exit.)

Saw Omi dipping his hand down, reaching for it, had to get the shuriken because even smirking telepaths could bleed--but no. Not right now, not when the game was just starting and there was so very much potential for entertainment. He grabbed the hand, pulled it up and twisted his wrist, tried to pin him but Omi moved with it, broke the hold and was free again.

(Weapon. Weapon.) Hand down--and the little bastard was too far away. Running back, deeper into the alley, to draw him in or just to get the space to (Weapon. There.) Death flash there, bright and hot and absolutely hateful.

Fuck.

Schuldig jerked out of the way, added impulse of speed and made it out of the way only just in time. Felt the stir of the air as that little bastard's shuriken passed through it.

"I was playing nice," Schuldig snapped. Was next to Omi now, sudden, felt the surprise in his mind and then the death flash again. Another weapon, but there wasn't enough room to throw it--two seconds of consideration, keep the shuriken, duck away and get another chance to throw it--or stab at him with it.

No. No more of that. He put out his hand, dug his mind into Omi's and wrapped a little finger around it. "Give it to me."

(Fuck no.)

Didn't ask though, little kitty. He dug into Omi's mind, and DEMANDED it. Felt the resistence, more than Sakura had, more discipline, lots of practice ignoring the voice that was naturally in his head. So he pushed harder, felt the kitten's mind bruising--would hurt later--and grabbed the shuriken out of Omi's loosened grip. Tossed it over his shoulder.

"Good boy."

Schuldig grabbed him by the back of the neck, turned his face toward the wall and shoved him, tripped him so Omi couldn't fight the movement and Schuldig laughed at him when his face hit the wall. Followed him and pressed his body against Omi's. Taller, broader, full weight against him, dipped down just enough that his hips were pressed against Omi's.

(Get away--NOW. Think. Gotta get away--)

"No," he murmured. His hair dragging across Omi's face and Omi's shoulders and his hands digging hard against Omi's arms. Felt the resistence, the coiling tightness of those muscles preparing to fight back again. "Thought this was what you wanted--give up control, hard against a wall. No strings." Ran his tongue up a line of sweat that was dripping down out of the thick wet hair. "I even have red hair."

(Don't listen. Just lies. Have to get away. Wait, he'll slip up--loosen.)

"Might want to get a bit of experience in, first," Schuldig said, relaxing a bit, to give Omi the opportunity to fight back like he wanted. "Wouldn't want Aya laughing at you." A chuckle there. "Thinking you're just a little boy."

Omi moved again, ducked away from him, a bit of push to shove him back and then all speed, shoes digging into the pavement. And he let him move, let him get halfway to the exit before he even moved. Illusion of freedom, moment of wild hope.

(Too easy; he's coming back)

Realism; a trait not often found in his enemies.

Schuldig caught Omi again. Burst of speed and then his hands on Omi's, enough of push with his mind to stall motor control in the kitty's brain. Pulled the boy by the wrist back, deeper into the alley, away from the spray of light, into the shadows. Pushed Omi against the wall, pinned his arms over his head. Loosened his control on Omi's mind, not all the way, but enough that the trapped kitten could jerk and pull.

(Be patient...wait for it.)

"Play nice," Schuldig said, close to him, leaning in enough that his hair brushed Omi's collar. Enough that his breath was on Omi's skin and how very much the kitten didn't like it. "I can give you what you came here for."

(Don't listen. Don't listen.)

Schuldig chuckled, pulled away a little bit, dug his fingers harder into Omi's wrists. "But you know he doesn't want you. Couldn't want you." He grinned. "Dirty little Takatori."

(DON'T LISTEN. Its what he wants! Its what he wants!)

"No," Schuldig said, moving closer, one of his knees sliding between Omi's, pushing his legs apart, hips bumping, chests so close now and his mouth over top of Omi's. Lips brushing together as he dipped enough to grind his hips against Omi's. "I want to fuck you. Here. On this wall."

Death flash. Faster than Schuldig could catch it.

Nasty fucking kitten jerked his head forward and sank his teeth in. In his shoulder, near his neck, would have gone for the artery but he moved at the last second. Omi dug his teeth in, mind twisting up in rage and hate and absolute fucking rejection of that idea.

Schuldig slammed his mind against the kitten's, hard enough that his head was spinning and his teeth didn't let up--tightened down, dug in deeper--and he would have jerked his knee up but that would have ruined the fun in the end. So he pulled his hand down, dropped one of Omi's arms and punched the little bastard in the ear.

There. Finally. And then the little bastard pulled his other wrist free, had to scrap it hard against the brick wall and left scabs on his knuckles but he was free and he would have run for it but--two steps into his beautiful escape plan, his head gave a vicious spin and his stomach lurched and he stumbled, landed on a knee and was trying to get back up again. Another stumble, another fall, two knees and his hands in the filth of the alley ground.

Schuldig rubbed his hand over the bite. Blood, and it hurt. Bright red pain. Hot and tight and--

"Good instincts," Schuldig snapped. Crouched next to Omi, leaning against his back, curled his hands in his hair--still sweaty--and wrenched his head back again. "Fucking's a lot easier this way. Remember that if you're ever to drug your idol into your bed." And then he let him go. Stepped back. Had too. Would snap Omi's mind, no fun that way.

Waited until the pain stopped throbbing in Omi's head. Waited until he started to get up again, mind caught in some kind of confusion. (What is he waiting for?) Or maybe some kind of realization.

(You're not getting out of here until I let you go.)

Schuldig moved again. Slipped his head back into Omi's. Down to the perceptions, tweaked it a little. Made himself an Aya phantom. Dulled down the instant disbelief that burned in Omi's mind brightly.

His hand digging into Omi's arm, pulling him up to his feet. Held him long enough to make sure he was stable and then let go.

"Aya?" Omi whispered. Didn't believe it, didn't want to say that word out loud, but he did it anyway. Half caught in his own fantasy. (Oh, come save me from this devil...pathetic.)

"No," Schuldig said shortly and the illusion dropped--hard. He pushed Omi back against the wall, his hands clawing into those shoulders. And then pinned him there, a hard elbow against Omi's collarbone. Dropped his other hand down, tugged at the buttons on Omi's pants.

(NO!)

Looked back up at Omi, that illusion slamming back down, more of a dull on his reason, slipping into that fantasy--all watercolor and fuzzy at the edges.) Gave Omi one of Aya's smiles--not much of an improvement from his pissy frown. Confident hand, but soft and nice, friendly. (Like Aya would only be in this boy's fantasy.) Rubbed his palm against Omi.

(Can't be real.)

"It isn't," Schuldig whispered. Shoved his elbow in harder, the skin would bruise, and pulled his hand out. "Because Aya isn't ever going to want you. Wouldn't have wanted you before..." Breathy there. "Will want you less when I'm done."

"Fuck you," Omi spat, tight and hot between his clenched teeth. Those big wide eyes of his weren't so bright and innocent anymore. That nasty beast hiding away in his belly was coming out now--mind broiling with a thousand ways to kill him.

Schuldig laughed, hurtful chuckle. "Say please."

Illusion back. Seamless. Perfect. Omi's mind didn't even flinch against it. Too tired, too much trauma. Aya kissed him--Schuldig did it, could have faked it but it wouldn't have been perfect--deep and warm and almost beautiful. Longing and desire. Nice long kiss, felt the kitten's inexperience, felt that soft underbelly of his thoughts, the quivering part of his mind that wasn't nearly as well trained as the rest.

Gotcha.

"Idiot," Schuldig said. Pulled back, licked the taste of his own blood off his lips and gave another hard shove against Omi, crushing him against the wall again--unnecessary, but his shoulder was throbbing from that bite still. Ripped the pants down.

(NO!)

An attempt to fight. Hands digging into his arms, fingernails biting down, mind spinning. Had another shuriken in his shoe, couldn't get to it like this, but if he got away, even just for a second, he was fucking well going to get to it.

Illusion, as soft as a breath, so easily back in place.

Aya licked Omi's mouth (seemed strange to the kitten, but welcome--anything was welcome in this fantasy.) Another one of his non-smiles and he was sinking down, lower.

Schuldig cheated, because he was bleeding and it was starting to get chilly and all he had on was a fucking vest, rubbed against Omi's sensory centers in his brain. Instant flood of arousal.

Catch of breath in the kitten's throat, head tilted back, chest heaving, and his hips jerked forward. Little bit of a moan on his breath. Schuldig settled on his knees, dragged his hand down Omi's chest, down down to his hip.

"A..ya..." Omi whimpered.

"No but I'll tell him you thought about him if you want," Schuldig said. Illusion broke.

Ten seconds too long for Omi to realize his arms were completely free, to realize Schuldig was on his knees--and slower to realize that he was aroused--to the point of pain almost.

(Weapon.)

No. Schuldig leaned in, licked his lips and opened his mouth. Felt the stark and utterly naked confusion in Omi's mind just as he ran his tongue against him.

(Why? ...Why--ooo--why this?!)

Illusion in time with Omi's hand in his hair. Fingers relaxing in his hair (Aya's hair) and another little moan. Disbelief. Want--incredible want. Let it be, let it be, let it be *real.*

(No, can't be real.)

It's not. Illusion died.

Omi's hand curled in hard, like he was going to hurt him, but he stopped it. Didn't want to play with the illusion anymore. Not right away, too much to focus on with his mouth. Stroked the kitten's pleasure center and all but killed his logic. Didn't matter who it was now, just that it was.

You want it. Want me.

Looked up at him, licked his lips again. Saw Omi's eyes, barely open, looking back at him, his fingers still in Schuldig's hair.

(NO!) The beastie was screaming now. (FIGHT! KILL THE MOTHERFUCKING PERVERT!)

He smirked at him. Right to his face. "Can't stop me, can you? Hate it. Hate every fucking second of it." Curled his hand around Omi, stroked him in time with his words, watched his back arch, his hips jerk, his mind shrieking. "But you don't want me to stop."

Enough talking.

He wrapped his fingers around Omi's hips now, moved forward, opened his mouth and took him in.

(No) but not with so much venom now. Head hurt too much, mind too lost, things out of focus. Little Omittichi was coming to the fore and he couldn't quite get himself back. (Not like this.) Groan rattling in his throat.

Let those thoughts play like a soundtrack. Heightening in their frenzied denial, the closer he got.

(no no no. the other way--the other way--hate him. Hate you. hate this.)

No he didn't. His fingers in Schuldig's hair, fisting up now, pulling him closer as he jerked his hips forward, taking control of the movement. And Schuldig let him. Within reason. Listened to the frantic heartbeat of Omi's thoughts.

(hate you. hate this. kill you. Kill you. Kill You. KILL You. KILL YOU)

Dragged his nails down Omi's side, down to his thighs, around to his back. Dug in his fingers until they would leave scratches and scratched him down until he bled. Sharp tinge of pain in time with the overload of sensation.

Loud open mouth cry--shameless kitten--shuddering, and that flood into Schuldig's mouth. He pulled back.

Dropped the illusion back into place, and Omi was sleepy, warm and content, eyes opening and seeing Aya moving to stand up. Quiet and swollen-lipped. Eyes twinkling with the beautiful secret that was sex. Leaning close--Omi's drag of breath at the anticipation. Going to kiss him again.

Wanted it, there, in that fantasy, wanted it so very badly.

(Its not real) the beastie spoke up again, in time with Omi's perfect Aya spitting--

Cum. Saliva.

--Right in his face. Stunned look on Omi's face, dead drop in his belly. Instant pain and confusion and--oh, God, it hurt.

The illusion dropped. Schuldig yanked Omi's shirt up with an angry fist and wiped his mouth off on it. Gave him a disapproving sneer. "Go home and tell him about it." The turned around and left him there, just like that.
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Witness of My Crime