Strange Times

“I am not going to agree to some idiotic feline code name.” Schuldich adopted a haughty expression, looking for all the world slightly bored with the proceedings. Bored, distrated, not all there…



Aya was surprised no one else could feel Schuldich’s mind twisting and twitching like the agitated tail of the feline he professed to disdain. The air was heavy with the telepath’s displeasure.



Yohji was busy trying hard not to look at Schuldich. Ken was trying desperately to get Yohji’s attention, most likely in an attempt to con the older man out for a bit of private conversation. Schuldich’s attention was on nothing in particular, which meant it was on too many things at once. Sifting through too many people.



“Ken, are they done with my apartment?”



Ken looked over, obviously frustrated with the situation and not at all expecting the mundane question. “Yeah.”



“Schuldich, I’m heading home to check over the damages.”



“It’s not like I shot anyone. The place is fine.” Schuldich blinked slowly, his attention drifting towards and immediately away from the current room.



“Bullet wounds would have been easier to explain.”



“C’mon, I’m sure Kritiker would believe Aya scowled and scared them to death.” Yohji’s attempt at levity fell flat as Ken snorted in disapproval and Schuldich proved too distracted to offer a witty rejoinder.



“Schuldich.” Blue eyes rolled in Aya’s direction, a surreal movement when not accompanied by a shift of the head. ‘Schu.’



‘How dare he? Not his decision. Not his. Not anyone’s. I don’t belong to anyone. My decision. Needed. Wanted. Not his to make. Fucking Takatori. Fucking Crawford. Not a possession. Not an asset. Tool. Unstable telepath. Fucking inconvenience, he says. How dare he…’



What Aya didn’t need was for Schuldich to have one of his little brain breaking episodes in the middle of Yohji’s apartment, not if he wanted to keep them thinking the telepath was stable enough to work with. There was a vague bit of insanity whirling in unfocused blue eyes, threatening to settle into destructive anger if left alone long enough.



“Schuldich. Home. Now.”



Schuldich’s eyes narrowed, mouth pursed into a tight, angry line.



Aya felt all the irritation and indignation that had been seething through Schuldich focus and settle on him. Perfect. Aya turned, didn’t wait to see if Schuldich followed, and left, every instinct screaming at him for turning his back on such a tangible threat.



He made it home, muscles tense against an attack that never came. He made it up the stairwell and into his apartment.



He had just enough time to relax tensed muscles as he was grabbed before he was slammed into a wall.



‘Persia wanted a useful tool, hmm? Didn’t want to risk losing such an asset to not so friendly fire? Abyssinian is taking one for the team, keeping the telepath fucked and happy? Make sure you clean up after your pet. Been there, been that. Watch out, telepaths bite and fight when cornered.’



“Schu.”



‘Crazy. Must be crazy. Telepaths are. Everyone knows that. Need to be handled carefully. Punished firmly. Don’t want careful fucking handling.’



“Fine.” Aya slammed his forehead into Schuldich’s, and as the telepaths head snapped back in a sweep of red hair, Aya bit at Schuldich’s throat.



Violent sensation pulled Schuldich back from wherever his brain had been wandering. A growl that was somewhere between rage and appreciative lust rumbled out of Schuldich’s throat.



‘Don’t. You don’t…’



“If you so much as start to tell me what I do and do not want I will kill you.” Aya snarled against Schuldich’s throat. “Fucking stay out of my head.”



“What language…” Schuldich managed a shaky laugh.



Aya inhaled, basking in the musky sweat and cinnamon that was Schuldich, letting it calm him down a bit. “Omi didn’t talk to any of us. Not even me. But he damn well didn’t do this in order to keep his hands on a useful tool. He doesn’t think that way.” Aya nuzzled gently against the marks his teeth had made on Schuldich’s throat, liking the shuddery things it did to Schuldich’s breathing.



“I am crazy, ya know.”



“Yeah, we all are. We can handle it.” Aya pulled back and shook his head in a perverse bit of amusement. “you knew what was coming back there. Next time warn me.”



“Where would the fun be in that?”



“You’re one contrary bastard.”



“Years of practice.”



“How are you still alive?”



Schuldich smiled, an expression that never boded well for the recipient. “I can be rather persuasive.”



High strung, high maintenance; Schuldich was the promise and the threat rolled into one. Warped and skewed, he was a personality carefully carved into something less and something more than anyone else who swaggered down the street. Aya couldn’t pretend to understand everything that went on in that scattered brain, but a sense of responsibility had shifted to something close to affection somewhere in all the fighting and territorial testing. It made the mercurial shifts between the mundane and dangerous madness worth weathering. There was someone worth knowing underneath all the neuroses and carefully cultivated psychoses.



Someone who didn’t necessarily play fair.



Aya hissed as Schuldich slid a sly bit of arousal through his brain. Schuldich wasn’t trying to be subtle with his seduction. There was a confidence to the hand that dragged nails down Aya’s chest, teasing through Aya’s shirt.



“Not this time.” Aya gasped through a crooked smile of his own, hooking a leg around Schuldich’s left knee, pulling him forward, off balance, against Aya and against the wall.



Soon, he would call Omi, sort out what had happened. Soon, he would gather the team together; they would all start trying to decipher new relationships and boundaries. Soon, business would intrude on pleasure.



But, as Schuldich had pointed out, sometimes Aya needed to learn to sit back and enjoy life. And right now he was determined to enjoy the look of surprised pleasure that was transforming Schuldich’s face into something softer, something almost accessible.



__________________





The office wasn’t at all what Omi had imagined. There was the typical oversized desk guaranteed to dwarf whoever was privileged enough to sit in the comfortable chair settled behind it, but that was where the pristine image ended. The chair was worn; the armrests looked like the previous owner had a habit of pulling at lose threads in the padding. There was an unnatural abundance of pens, doodles on the desk itself, a few fist-sized dents at varying places along the wall, and a coffee stain in the corner of the rug.



All in all, it didn’t seem like anyone really managed to get comfortable while enjoying the dubious privilege that came with acting as Persia.



Omi settled his laptop beside the flat screen monitor taking up the middle of the desk, and considered sitting. It was his chair now, after all. And he had ordered all his keepers out for at least a few minutes so he could get situated if not settled.



That and he didn’t want anyone around when the inevitable angry phone call found its way to the office.