Strange Times

Softer and more accessible were such fleeting states of existence when it came to Schuldich.



Aya had considered steering them across the living room and into the bedroom, but the thought fizzed almost as soon as it finished forming. Impatient and irrational, that short distance was too long for Schuldich to concede to. A well placed swipe, timed perfectly with a leg sweep, cost Aya his balance as he pushed up and away from the wall. Schuldich’s telepathy descended on Aya like the wrath of god, surging through every stubborn neuron, every violent instinct, only to shy away from a few tender impressions and affectionate associations. Those were misplaced, rubbed through him the wrong way and set off all sorts of vulnerability alarms.



Fucking and feeling were by necessity two separate entities. They needed to stay so. And yet they writhed and juxtaposed through Aya, creeping with ineffective stealth out from Aya’s conscious decision to care.



Wound up and wanting, Schuldich snarled in defiance as he pulled Aya down on top of him, onto the cheap, abrasive rug. Distraction and defense, he wanted it rough, and quick, and to be left alone to lick his wounds in peace as Aya basked in his quirky little mix of guilt and afterglow.



Skin on skin, his teeth firmly in Aya’s lower lip, it was hard for Schuldich to keep to himself. Every surface thought and vicious inclination skittered through Aya’s consciousness with the comfort and ease of barbed wire. It was a deluge of violence.



And this time Aya was not at all interested in playing by Schuldich’s rules and wants.



“Tone it down or go find someone else to brutalize.” Aya pulled his mouth into an uncomfortable smile around Schuldich’s teeth. “And when you are done, let me know so I can tell Kritiker where to find you and the bloody evidence.”



Schuldich rocked his hips up against Aya experimentally, hoping to crack the rigid armor of Aya’s decision. He might as well have tried to crack a bank vault with nothing more than a sneeze and a prayer. Aya had damning willpower when he wanted to.



Not that willpower was a problem. A tweak there, a little nudge here…



“Out.” there wasn’t a scrap of emotion in Aya’s voice, not a hint of humanity in his eyes. Abyssinian’s business face stared impassively down at Schuldich.



Aya wasn’t playing along, but he wasn’t pulling away either. Aya was a coiled bit of displeasure and lust beneath the Abyssinians chilly disassociation. But he was still pressed against Schuldich, was poised, waiting. Crawford would have left him to the comfort of his own hand or a cold shower, would have made his anger towards the tactile telepath known by removing himself.



Schuldich moved in an awkward imitation of a gesture he had pulled from beneath a series of improbable sexual positions in Yohji’s mind and nuzzled against Aya’s neck. Abyssinian’s façade softened but didn’t crack. Schuldich flitted against the impeccable glass barrier of bland impassiveness that covered Aya’s mind, concerned. He couldn’t read anything real when Aya was like that. It was a blind spot in the worst possible way. His anxiety beat against Aya like the wings of a hundred frantic butterflies, and Aya’s face finally relaxed.



“I’m getting up.” Aya stood.



Panic.



“Would you like some tea?” Aya relaxed his hold on Abyssinian, allowing Schuldich to slip under and into his mind. Tried to ignore how noticeable the telepaths absence had been.



“Sure. Whatever.” Schuldich shrugged slightly as he pulled himself upright, managing to sound flippantly unconcerned even as he pulled Aya’s mind around himself like some sort of intangible security blanket.



‘Don’t get any sappy ideas, kitten.’ There was an edge to Schuldich’s telepathy, a cruelly bitter reminder that all was not well with the wiring in his flamboyant head.



Aya remembered the man in the alley, huddled in his own excretion, the way Schuldich had killed him with as much concern as he tossed a cigarette butt over his shoulder. He remembered the cruel smile of the man who had kidnapped his sister. His own crooked sort of smile twisted his bleeding lips upward. He remembered the delirious man terrified of being bound, the mourning of someone who had lost everything.



Kill me or fuck me, but don’t send me away.



“Sit down. I expect we won’t have much time before Weiss has a family meeting.” Aya turned towards the mundane activity of scrounging through the cupboards. “Green or white tea?”



“The hell does it matter?”



“Heathen.” Aya smiled, and had the good grace to ignore the little grin teasing at the corners of Schuldich’s arrogant smirk.