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Survivor: Schwartz	By : sefiru Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1784 -:- 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
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Survivor: Schwartz

By Sefiru

Warnings: NC-17, M/M, oral, anal, D/s (as usual), evil.

Pairings: C/S, N/F

Summary: four psychic assassins on a desert island. Hijinks ensue.

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz,
a yacht, interesting tropical leaves, or a rubber duckie.

NightWriter: thanks for reading!

Admiral ShadowWolf: I’m glad you’re enjoying it. The
mindscapes thing comes partly from things like the Matrix and those episodes of
YugiOh where they go inside Yugi’s
mind, and partly from my art education which was chock
full of symbolism and allegory. It comes naturally after a while. ^^

In this chapter: Nagi and Farf get it on, but Schuldig is frustrated.

***

Chapter 3: In the Night

***

     By evening,
Crawford and Schuldig had collected a large pile of driftwood, a smaller pile
of rope and netting, eight bottles (three with messages), a rubber duck, and
assorted odds and ends. Some of these had the potential to be useful, like the
five-gallon bucket. The single size 16 running shoe, not so
much. Schuldig saw a few more cat tracks but no other sign of the animal
who made them.

      As they trudged
back along the beach with their prizes, the scent of grilled fish wafted over
them. Had Nagi gotten a fire going? Schuldig’s stomach growled and hauled him forward by the
esophagus. Nagi looked up as he arrived and
wordlessly handed him a fish on a stick. It was, without a doubt, the best meal
he had ever eaten; too bad he didn’t have a nice gewürztraminer to go with it. Farf had found some chunks of obsidian, and he was
splitting off pieces with a rock and giggling. Schuldig looked sideways at him;
the giggling was new, and he liked his psychopaths nice and predictable. He’d
had enough shocks today already.

      Crawford, eating
his dinner with a great deal more decorum than Schuldig, said, “Nagi, would you calm Farf down
tonight?”

      “Of course.”

      Schuldig had seen the results of Nagi’s secret Farf-taming
technique, which was remarkably effective. He’d never been curious about what Nagi did, but in this place he was forced to find
entertainment where he could. He’d like to spend more time browsing through
Crawford’s mindscape, but he didn’t think the American would stand for that.
When Nagi floated Farf into
the bushes, Schuldig was all ready to follow along with his mind.

      As usual,
Crawford had other ideas. “Schuldig, we are going to build a shelter.”

      Were they, now. “Why bother? The weather’s fine.”

      And it will not
remain so.”

      Well, that was
just the cherry on the shit sundae. Schuldig was about to make a rude gesture
and tell Crawford he wasn’t going to slog around building anything … are you incapable of becoming that man?
Schuldig grunted and got up. Manipulative bastard; he firmly told his
subconscious to stuff it, and went to help Crawford lash together their
collection of sticks and palm leaves.

      He was balancing
on the ridgepole of the … hovel … tying down a row of fronds when an
earsplitting howl pierced the night. He fell off and landed butt-first on the
sand; Crawford dropped his stick. “I don’t think that’s Farf,”
Schuldig said.

      “Indeed not. Can
you sense the source?”

      “Nope.” That kind of freaked him out. An animal large enough
to make that noise – like a really, really big cat – should be plainly visible
to his telepathy. Nothing. “Did you see anything?”

      “No.” Dickwad.

      Schuldig
shivered. This island was cursed, that was the problem. Nothing worked the way
it was supposed to; Crawford’s not-smugness, Farf
giggling, giant freaking invisible cats.

      “Are you
frightened?” asked Crawford.

      “yeah, will you kiss it and make it better?” He was suddenly
flat on his back in the sand while Crawford devoured his lips. Damn, he hadn’t
expected him to take him up on it. And what he was doing with that tongue … what were we talking about again? Schuldig’s hands stirred the sand and his eyes rolled back
in his head. When Crawford let go, he made a tiny noise of protest.

      “What, you want
more?”

      “Most people
know you’re supposed to finish what you start, Crawford.” To his
disappointment, wild monkey sex did not ensue. Instead, Crawford smirked
slightly and lay on the sand to view the stars. A brush against his surface
thoughts showed that he was already neck-deep in equations. Mathfreak.

       Schuldig
remembered that there was someone else to eavesdrop on, and sent his mind
looking for Nagi and Farf.
He didn’t want to go into the Irishman’s mind; the last time he’d been in
there, it was paved with slabs of meat. Yuck. Nagi’s
mind, on the other hand, was fairly normal. He visualized it as a movie screen,
created a bowl of mental popcorn, and sat back to enjoy the show.

      Nagi had Farf’s clothes off and
was using his powers to hold him against a tree; that was always a good start.
The Irishman was hard, and that was because Nagi was
stroking him with his powers. Hey, how
come he’s getting some and I’m not? Schuldig opened a (very light) link to Farf’s mind to find out just what was happening.

     Waves of feather-light pressure rippled up
his cock, making him press back against the force holding him. A phantom hand
pulled his balls away from his body, while another squeezed his nipples. He
gasped and growled; the invisible touch circled his hole, then stretched him
open –

     Nagi noticed the intrusion and gave Schuldig a mental shove
that knocked him on his metaphorical ass. So the kid didn’t like to be watched,
eh? He filed that away for future reference. Now he knew why Farf calmed down so easily; he was hard for the second time
today, but since Crawford was still off in calculus-land he would have to take
matters into his own hands.

      No sooner had he
gripped his cock than another cat-howl echoed through the night and made him
wilt at once. Scheisse! A minute later Farf’s deep bellow rang out; a psychic surge told him that Nagi had gotten off as well. No luck, no luck at all. He needed
a drink, or some interesting tropical leaves. He gathered a few handfuls from
the forest edge, and then reconsidered. He’d better feed them to Farf first, just in case.

     Thwarted, he
walked back to the half-finished shelter and decided to look at those message
bottles. Smashing the neck off one, he took out the yellow paper and read:
Special offer! GPS and depth finders, only 299.99 … he turned the paper over. Swept off course by storm,
fifty miles south of Maui. No inhabitants. Boat OK,
engine gone. Trying to rig sail. Lucky
bastard got a boat. Number two was written on pink notepaper with stars: im on a dessert iland
sumwun save me I lost my teddy. He didn’t even
know if that one was real. The third one couldn’t possibly be real, because it
was typed on crisp white paper. Hello,
Schuldig. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Hello, Schuldig. I know your situation is not to your liking, but don’t
worry, it’s temporary. If you don’t believe me, you will find a bottle of rum
buried two meters to your left. – A.

      The hairs stood
up on the back of Schuldig’s neck. First
invisible giant cats, and now this. He chewed on his hair. He rubbed his
hands on his knees. And then, because he just couldn’t stand it, he paced out
two meters left and started digging.

***

Poor Schuldig is having a bad day. Who is A?

Next chapter: Farf makes a
discovery, and Crawford and Schuldig make whoopee.
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Survivor: Schwartz