Strange Times

It was an aura of power more intoxicating than any expensive cologne or designer drug, an assurance that every minute he graced with his presence would unfurl in perfect accordance to his will. Calm and collected, sure to a point that exceeded mundane arrogance. Never startled, rarely needing a plan B, but always having one lined up, Bradley Crawford was the flame that managed to capture and hold the volatile telepaths attention. Starting as cautious acceptance stemming from a utilitarian arrangement they both recognized it had managed to complicate itself somewhere between the gunshots and amidst the adrenaline. It had spawned off of something in Schuldich’s cocky smile that Crawford found distressingly appealing, mutated in the cocksure gleam in Crawford’s eyes that Schuldich found addictive. It had culminated in a teasing kiss that Schuldich had aimed at Crawford’s cheek in a fit of insubordination, which Crawford had turned into at the perfect instant.



The damn fool poets had one thing right- a kiss really could change things.



There was sex after that kiss, for one. Sex of an enthusiastic variety that could never pass for its sappy cousin ‘making love.’



Sex, and the realization that Crawford had traded his personal space for a good bit of fucking at the end of the day. Crawford complained and disciplined Schuldich, but more to discourage anyone else from taking such liberties with his person than out of actual displeasure.



Schuldich was a tangle of possibilities, many of which were trying to exist at the same time. Fast and unpredictable, Schuldich kept Crawford on his toes, kept him stretching and improving a precognition that had never wanted to deal with something so insistently chaotic. Crawford provided Schuldich with a caustic anchor to reality when his mind wandered off a bit too far, trapped in the enthralling tangle of ego’s that made up the intangible layer of city life. It was a symbiosis that both of them prided themselves in exploiting.



Crawford had come out the winner at the end…



________________________





Schuldich had heard your life flashed before your eyes when you died, but he didn’t feel particularly dead, and honestly he never wanted to have to admit to anything that he had been taken out by one of the play assassins of Weiss.



“Did he just…”



Ah. Siberian’s voice. If he was dead, he was in hell. Schuldich nuzzled a bit, seeking warmth and comfort as his brain tried to sort itself out of the bit of unconsciousness it had only been marginally prepared for.



“Back off and shut up.”



Ah, there was a voice he recognized, all snarly and snarky in his defense.



Which meant he was awake. And probably trying Aya’s patience past redemption.



“Stop pretending and open your eyes.”



Schuldich cracked an eye open and gave a cautious look around. One Balinese trying to look relaxed in the corner (and failing miserably) - check. One Siberian seething near the door- check. One Abyssinian crouching next to him, looking half pissed and half concerned- check. Schuldich unfurled a toothy smile and hauled himself to his feet. “I’m awake, and in a bad mood. Nothing like a good punch to bring out the worst in a person.”



“That was your own damn fault.” Yohji growled, abandoning all pretense of suave and in control.



“Oh, yes. Of course. how could I have forgotten. I went and made you hit me.”



Yohji paused. “Did you?”



“No. you wouldn’t have hit my face if it had been my decision.” Concern and confusion were delightful first thing after a short nap. Refreshing. Poor kittens were half convinced he had made the entire little scenario happen, had some nefarious plot in the making. They were half right.



“Schuldich. Go home.”



Schuldich cocked his head at Aya, allowing his smirk to fade into a look of intense consideration. “And where would that be?”



It wasn’t a concession Aya wanted to make in front of his team. it wasn’t that they didn’t know where the telepath was staying, but knowing, and having Aya say it, were two very different things. It was a power play, and Aya wanted to try his own luck at leaving a bruise along Schuldich’s jaw. But there was something very final in the way Schuldich was staring at him, waiting.



“Get back to the apartment.”



Schuldich nodded once, his demeanor relaxing back into the casual languid he usually radiated, dropping the tension that had all four assassins on edge and twitching for absent weapons. “I’ll be home later.” It was an acceptance, but not obedience.



And really, Aya was grateful for even that much.



After all, no one really wanted to explain the bloodstains to Omi when he got home from school.