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Take a Chance	By : CardDragonBall Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1491 -:- 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-Take a Chance
- 2-2
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Nagi had gotten the blueprints—brought them up on computer and leaned back in his chair, quietly waiting (mind rolling over whether or not Schuldig was going to pick the same places he had and some smug self-assurance that only he—Nagi, Prodigy—would be capable of finding the best places to plant the bombs.) “There,” Schuldig had said, finger tapping against the screen. “And there.” Turned his back and was ready to go. (Disappointment in Schuldig’s apparent lack of idiocy.)

“You should leave him alone.” Nagi had said. (This is cruel. Unnecessarily.) Strange that, in his mind, all the bitterness and hatred on the surface of his thoughts, digging roots down into his inner mind. All of that, and still Nagi didn’t like the sight of cruelty. Not when it was focused on one person, not when it was turned a certain way.

Schuldig had laughed. “Finish your work. We’re taking the building out Saturday.”

(He’s trying to be your conscience.) No, trying to deal with the dying pains of his own. It was one thing to say that you didn’t care and a completely different thing to not care. Oh, sure, society hurt Nagi, he got abused or abandoned (or both) and he hated every person that made him different—but killing them and hurting them were two different things. Amazing how many people would just shrug off the death and protest the torture—but which was really worse?

(One way to find out.)

It was timed, down to the door opening, Schuldig going to enter, Ran leaving. (That smell of fried octopus and eel clinging to his clothes like a edible perfume.) He ran into him, knocking his shoulder against him, and looking up—having the good grace to look abashed or embarrassed. Staring at Ran for a moment too long for a passing visit. Had his hand up on Ran’s chest, to steady him or himself or whatever excuse it needed. Left it there, fingers trailing over the warmth of his body.

Too long silence, Ran’s mind whispering over his sister, her words, his look and all the implications of his actions. Looking down at his chest and the fingers spread out over his shirt. “Sorry,” he said. (Politeness reflex.)

Schuldig pulled his hand away—reluctantly and looked at Ran. Direct look and then dropped his gaze and rubbed the back of his head, brushing the hair back over his shoulder. (Look, I’m perfectly shy, aren’t I?) “Are you—off?” Narrowing of Ran’s eyes, his mind falling right onto the most obvious conclusion, tying that right back into his own ideas about what Schuldig wanted from him. (And isn’t he a smart boy?) “I mean,” Schuldig said. “I was coming here to—see you.” Smile with a breathless half laugh. “The tempura really wasn’t that great, you know.”

Ran looked at him, that close to him and just looked at him. His eyes, clothes, his hair. At his smile and then back up to his eyes. Something flavored like disbelief in his mind (but its there, so believe it) couldn’t quite get his thoughts wrapped around this idea that some guy—this guy, him—could want to see him. Want him and if his suspicions were right—want him that way. “Sorry,” he said again.

Schuldig looked over, a couple standing there, pretending not to be annoyed by the foreigner and the nice waiter boy that were blocking the doorway. (Pretending poorly at that.) “Sorry,” he said to them and moved out of the way, Ran ducked his head in apology and followed him. (Wants to hear what you have to say, does he?) “Think we can go get something to drink?” he said.

Dead silence then, nothing but those eyes looking up at him. The scenario playing out in Ran’s mind as simply as it could be. (Get a drink, sure, talk a little, sure, end up somewhere sweating and getting fucked—probably.) So little faith in himself, this one, and the tangled knot of confliction. Didn’t want to have a drink with him, didn’t want to talk to him, just another foreigner, another person to lie to his face and leave. Another disappointment, and he didn’t need this, didn’t even want it. He was going to go home and—(wait for Aya to get back. Yes, alone.) Yeah, that would be fine, better that than the alternative. Looked at Schuldig one more time, something in the pit of his stomach shivering with something that wasn’t pleasant. (Stay away from this one.)

“Right,” Schuldig said. All the disappointment in the world showing on his face. “Guess not.”

( Just one time, try it. Take a chance on someone, it’ll turn out okay. Okay, Aya.)

Ran drawing in a breath, “No, wait,” he said. “I—I’m going home now but—”

(But, what? But I’m curious to see where this is going to go? But I’m going to use my sister’s words as my crutch and I’m going to invite you over, take a chance on you and I’m going to tell myself it’s because she asked me too. Make myself feel all cozy and warm for a moment, wrapped up in that nice excuse—and how does it feel to lie to yourself all the time, Ran Fujimiya?)

“You can just say no,” Schuldig said. Humility, its okay if you don’t want me, Ran. Really. And watched the battle happening in Ran’s mind. This was his out, all he had to do was acknowledge that he didn’t want it and walk away and it would all be done with. No further problems, no more foreigner looking at him with all the concentration—focused right on him and there was something in that look. (Yeah, I want to see you naked, now take off all your clothes.)

“You could—come, with—me?” More of a question than a statement.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not sure about. Really, I mean—this can wait or—” (Now be a big boy, Fujimiya and make up your fucking mind.)

(I just don’t want you to throw away a good opportunity to meet someone nice just because you’re shy.)

“Its fine, if you want to come over. I have tea.”

~~~***

He looked out of place. Alexander, he had said his name was Alexander and he worked in some kind of security. Hadn’t gone into a whole lot of details, had been polite and interested. But he looked out of place sitting at the table in his parent’s kitchen, all his long hair around his shoulders, with his coat off and hung over the back of the chair—he had long arms. Short sleeves and hadn’t expected him to be wearing short sleeves under the coat—stupid detail to fixate on, but it didn’t seem quite right. Should have had long sleeves all the way down to his wrists.

“So—” Alexander said. Too long a pause since he stopped talking. Nothing but the quiet and Ran looking at his arms. Seemed safe enough to look at his arms, watch the muscle flex as he leaned back in his seat and let his arms drop to his lap. Sort of unchallenging ease there, as if this were so normal. “Look, I can go. I can tell you’re not comfortable.”

Really? That obvious? He wasn’t even sitting down. Had been standing with his back against the counter, looking Alexander. He hadn’t even drank his tea. (What he must think of you now. He’s trying to get out the door as fast as he can.) Ran looked up at his face; he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he didn’t say anything.

Alexander stood up, looking back up at him, watching him—eye contact, unashamed and focused right on him. Something in that look that wasn’t as innocently (say it, sexual) as it seemed. Could have been the shift of his eyes or the easy way he walked around the table, eyes on him the whole time. No faltering confidence, oh he was going to get what he wanted and what he wanted was—

(No. Don’t think so.)

“I think you should leave,” Ran said.

Alexander looking at him, a slight lift to one eyebrow, acknowledging having heard the words, doubting that they had any strength behind them. (You lack conviction, Ran Fujimiya.) The same sly and easy movement, over to him, one arm out, Alex’s hand against the counter, fingers across the top, thumb hooking under—and his presence. There. Leaning into him, the length of his hair falling around his face, spike of his bangs brushing against Ran’s. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Ran, looking at his arms, the flex of the muscle, extended out like that, the neatness of the hem in the sleeve. Crisp and pristine. (He irons that the ridiculous thought in his head.) Like that mattered. He was right there, all but crushing against him—not touching anywhere but the implication was everywhere around him and brushing up against Ran with that same smiling confidence. And what was he in comparison to that? Some idiot who had invited this man back to his kitchen and made him tea and stood there and stared at him while he talked. (And you were not born a fool or an idiot, boy.)

Could not bring himself to think that he hadn’t known where this was going to go, and standing here now, in front of the weight of the decision. He looked up, felt the strangeness of his eyes—confidence there that he didn’t feel down in his belly—“…”

Lips on his—no words said, just the tilt of his head and part of his lips, the warmth of that mouth on his. Cool fingers sliding up on his neck, thumb against his chin slight pressure there to urge his mouth open.

Ran put his hand up, pressing back against Alexander’s chest, felt the buttons of the shirt under his hand—(You weren’t born an idiot, and you still aren’t one. You knew what he wanted and let him come in anyway. Allowing it is the same as inviting it.) His hand still against that chest, warm under his palm, and still pushing, but his mouth was opening up under the pressure of the thumb on his chin.

(Just like Tokie, she started it and she finished it, you just went along for the ride.)

Mouth against his, the hand moving down from his neck, heavy drag of a thumb, down his throat, over his collarbone—didn’t make a sound, not a sound at all, but drew a breath through the wetness of the kiss, felt the twitch of a smile—thumb going down farther, pressing against the t-shirt. Thin fabric, dammit, felt it pulling, felt the heat of that thumb, the press of it all the way down to his belly, pressing in against his navel. The long fingers dipping down, fingertips under his belt.

(Protest now, or hold your peace.)

Alexander’s mouth moving off his, down, short dry kisses, nips of his teeth following the same path of his thumb, biting at his skin through the shirt, over his ribs and his shivering belly, shrinking back from that mouth, some hysterical giggle in his throat about it.

Hands on his pants, pulling the belt loose, sliding it free, and then the button, those teeth through his shirt and nipping at his hip. His hands—(when did they?) his own hands in the mess of orange-red hair. One on Alex’s shoulder. Felt the heat of him right there, kneeling in front of him, his breath, his mouth, the intention, the hands pressing against his thighs pushing his pants down.

Ran tipped his head back, drew in a breath, heavy in his chest, eyes closing. Pressed his hand over his face, fingers sliding against his mouth, middle finger caught between his teeth—Alexander’s mouth around him—his other hand fisting in that long hair, stringy and dry between his fingers. Pulling too tight maybe, didn’t know, let his head fall back farther, hips pressing forward—more.

No sound, no noise, just his teeth digging into his knuckle bone. Sweat on his shoulders and back arching, head hitting the cabinets behind him. Long fingers moving over his skin, his thighs, up and around, against the small of his back, tightening down to hold him still—mouth moving on him. Ran opened his eyes, just enough, looking down, watching the bob of Alex’s head, feeling it in his fingers, the hair pulling, feeling it all around him, ticklish, tightening—wanting more of it.

Shuddering, stuttering breath panting out around his clenched teeth—right there, right there, right-- “No,” a whisper, almost like a groan, something pained.

Alex rocking back and looking up at him, back of his hand against his mouth, and then that hand reaching up, fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him down. Ran moved, almost fell, down, his knees between the spread of Alex’s, his hands falling down to his bare thighs, the pants pulling tight around his legs. Those fingers on his neck, tilting his head, Alexander rising up—taller than him—kissing him again, force in it, want and need and the taste.

(Look at you. In your mother—no, in Aya’s kitchen—pressed against those cabinets and kissing back, opening your mouth nice and wide for the man.) Shouldn’t be doing it and definitely shouldn’t be doing it here.

“Wait,” he said, turning his head, breaking the kiss, panting out a breath. “Not here.” Licked his lips, too close to Alex to see the details of his face, saw the fringe of his hair and the blue of his eyes. “Uh—upstairs.”

~~~***

And when he told Crawford about it, he’d get that almost confused look on his face (Does anything you do make sense, Schuldig?) and he’d ask him why he lied about his name? What did the average Japanese man know about German names? You could have told him that your name was Schnitzel and he wouldn’t have known any different. No, he would have noticed, might not have known why he noticed or what felt wrong about it (might have written it off as simply being foreign) but Ran would have noticed. It would have made him uncomfortable, it would have created a friction rubbing along his easy acquiescence.

Alexander was a perfectly normal and perfectly common name. Easy to remember and easy to forget. Easy to gasp in your own mind; and it had become just ‘Alex’ now.

He followed Ran, up the steps and to his room, futon on the floor, a few belongings in their proper places and all the cuteness of a five year old’s room. (A Godzilla pillowcase even.) Ran looking at him, over his shoulder, standing there like he’d been flayed open to the soul. And his pants are still unbuttoned, his belt is still downstairs on the kitchen floor and he left his slippers at his door.

(This kid was stupid and naïve. You think you’ve had a rough life, Ran? Think life has been hard and unfair and spent all this time blaming your parents—you haven’t seen anything yet.)

Schuldig moved, forward, fingers pulling at the buttons of his shirt, thumbing them open and shrugging the shirt off his shoulders, let it fall where it landed. Kept just enough distance between them that Ran could reach down, pull the hem of his shirt up, over his head, and then down, letting it slide off his arm.

Pants next, (palmed the lube,) nothing but the sound of the breathing—Ran’s quiet queasy uncertainty, but he pushed his own pants down, staring at him the whole time, tongue across lips. Schuldig moved closer to him, ran his hand over a pale shoulder, down Ran’s chest, his belly, and looked up at him.

Naughty grin, got something almost like a smile back—breathless. Curled his fingers around Ran’s wrist and pulled him down with him, down to the futon, pressing him back against the bed and leaning on him, bodies half pressed together, his leg between Ran’s, those fingers on his back, touching him but not knowing what they were supposed to do.

Kissed him again, quiet kisses, pressed one of his hands under Ran’s head, fingers in his sweat-damp hair, the other going down his body, let the lube drop, dipping between his spread thighs, open-palm rub against him. (And Ran’s mind—knew what he wanted from him, knew where his fingers were going, knew it and…)

Schuldig’s mouth moving down, falling the trail he’d left the last time, down over his neck, to his shoulder, shifting so he was rubbing against Ran—belly to belly and ribs against ribs, his mouth on the bony shoulder, sucking on that pale skin and the taste of it. (Still smells octopus.) Popped the cap of the lube, moved his other hand down, squeezing the tube, cool gel—Ran’s mind pulsing faster than his breath.

(Knew what he wanted, knew it, knew it before they got here, and he’d said yes, didn’t he? Down in the kitchen, still tingling with the feeling of someone’s mouth—he’d said yes.)

Pressed two fingers against him, and in, sliding with the lube, felt the tight clench of his leg, thigh pressing hard against Schuldig’s, hot skin against the back of his arm. Ran’s head rolling back, mouth open—“Ah—” all in breath tones. Hands fisted in his own futon, shoulders shaking.

(Knew what you were saying yes to.)

Schuldig pressed deeper, rubbing inside—chuckled at the jolt, whole body shiver, stutter in his mind. (You don’t know anything, kid.) “Feel that?” he said, leaning against him, whispering in his ear with all the dirty promise of cheap pornography. Hand working, pressing in and out, Ran’s head turning, eyes barely open, looking at him, something almost like a nod. (Yeah, I feel that.) Schuldig nodded with him, bent his head in and licked a line of sweat off Ran’s jaw, felt the exhaled pant of his breath against his forehead. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, against his ear, teeth pressing to skin.

Some half moaned objection in Ran’s mind. Trying to work out coherent thoughts when he was laid out and petted. Schuldig pulled his fingers back, brought the hand up, around Ran’s shoulder, rolling him over on his belly—felt him moving with it, up on his elbows, head tipped down and panting back against his own chest.

Found the lube under Ran’s hip, squeezed it out, little gasp for the chill, and then dropped it. Down on one elbow, bodies pressed together, hand between them, guiding—pushing himself up, leg sliding over Ran’s, knee digging into the bed and pressing in.

Nothing at all from Ran but the tight shiver of his muscles, could feel them flexing in his back, pressed against his chest like that—his shoulders shaking, and head tipping back, teeth gritted, wet suck of breath.

“Relax,” he said against his ear. Hands pressed hard against the bed, rocked his hips, and watched Ran’s head fall forward, another half-expressed little sound against the roof of his mouth. Schuldig ran a hand down his back, fingers trailing lightly over his spine, feeling the sweat and then wrapped around his hip, pulling it up, felt the legs between his pulling up, onto his knees, rising up.

Groan for that, Ran clenching his teeth around that same abused knuckle bone and Schuldig’s grin behind his back where he wouldn’t see it. Pressed in harder, Ran bowing his back, watched his head drag against the bed, the hand not in his mouth moving up to press against the wall, hips rolling back against him.

(Such a naïve kid.)

Leaned over him, tips of his hair against his shoulder blades, breath audible through the roar in his ears, hand on his hip, moving up, curling in his red hair, rubbing, hips pushing in—again and again—no sounds from him.

Quiet boy.

Short, fast—hard. Pushed him until Ran was shaking, his hand fisting in his own futon, the other still on the wall, gasping—gasping almost soundless, just the drag of air across his lips. So close there in his mind, Schuldig moving his hand down, over his belly and between his legs, rubbing against him, hips pushing harder.

Grit his own teeth, (You would know. Nagi’s voice like a phantom of a conscience. Yeah, he would know—)

Ran’s fist against the wall, teeth digging into his own knuckle, not quite drawing blood, but it would leave a mark, shuddering everywhere from his shoulders to his thighs. Schuldig pressing in all the same, deeper, rubbing against him and drawing it out.

(You’ll remember me, Fujimiya Jr. Fondly.) That’s arrogance. (Yes. It was.)

Pressed in, fingernails digging into Ran’s thigh, head dropped down and teeth against the smooth skin of his back—half bitten off groan. Slid to the left, collapsing on the bed, panting hard, felt Ran fall forward—didn’t look at him.

Twenty seconds of silence, then he looked over. “Alright?”

Didn’t quite know how to take that question, dear Fujimiya Jr didn’t. Shook his head to get the hair out of his face, looking over at him, arms under his face, hadn’t moved at all except to look at him. Trying to figure out what the hell that question was asking. (Alright? Got fucked by a guy I don’t know in my empty house and my sister is going to be home soon. Alright? Hurt a bit, sore now—or not quite, stretched. Alright? Still trying to figure out why I let you in the door.) There was no answer to the question but Ran nodded his head a little anyway. “I—uh—you…”

“I’ve got to go,” Schuldig said and sat up.

“Oh.” A pause, Ran shifting, rolling half onto his side, looking at him, at his own knuckle, wondering how the hell he was going to explain it to Aya or to Obayashi. “That’s good—I mean—my sister…”

Schuldig laughed at him. “I understand.” All the sweet and innocent reassurance in the world. Stood up and found his pants, stepping back into them. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he offered, buttoning up his pants. Picked up his shirt and looked back at Ran.

(I hope not.)

Idiot boy. Naïve and stupid boy.

“I’ll show myself the way out.”
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Take a Chance