The Prisoner's Dilemma

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters. Siren and Hacker, however, are all mine.


One moment Crawford was backed away from his desk, slumped in his chair, fastidiously working himself to burn off the worst of the distraction from his latest vision. The next moment, Crawford was in the vision. Schuldig must have used his unsettling speed to cross the room, because the first Crawford really saw of him, the telepath was already kneeling on the floor, settled between his legs. Face fixed in that infuriating smirk, he didn't say a word, just ran his hands up the insides of Crawford's thighs as he stared up at him, a challenging look in those bright blue eyes. Once his palms had traversed the length of Crawford's legs, Schuldig batted away the hand Crawford still had wrapped around his cock and confidently took the base in his own firm, gun-calloused grip. Schuldig unceremoniously opened his mouth, leaning forward and taking him in until the telepath's lips brushed his knuckles, eyes burning into Crawford's all the while.

The sensation of Schuldig's acid tongue tracing the flared ridge along the head of his cock had Crawford moaning deep in his throat. He gripped the arms of his chair. Crawford fought the urge to throw his head back, unwilling to break away from Schuldig's intense gaze. The telepath formed a seal between his lips and the ring made by his thumb and forefinger. He began to move mouth and hand in tandem up and down Crawford's shaft, alternating between licking the entire underside of its length and swirling his tongue around the head. Schuldig gave damn fine head.

The combination of a scrape of teeth against the top of his cock and the teasing pressure of Schuldig's talent pushing at his mental shields helped Crawford surface a bit from the sex haze.

Oh shit, this was really happening. This was happening right now.

The realization was like a splash of ice water to his face, allowing him to gather his thoughts, at least a little. Fuck, was Schuldig's mouth always this hot? Wrenching his attention away from the red head bobbing in his lap and-oh God, the hand that wasn't working Crawford was busy pumping Schuldig's own erection through his pants!-focusing on the state of his shields, he realized the telepath was only moments away from breaking through and plundering his private thoughts. With a growl, Crawford reinforced his defenses and shoved Schuldig out of his mind. At the same time, he grabbed a fistful of the fiery hair and forced Schuldig to take him deeper into his mouth. The telepath murmured around his mouthful while his eyes narrowed, gaze still clashing with Crawford's.

Schuldig settled into a fierce rhythm. His cheeks hollowed as he added heavy suction to the arsenal of sensations. The assault on Crawford's shields continued, Schuldig ruthlessly upping the ferocity of his physical attentions as he struggled to gain purchase in his leader's mind. Crawford held on to his control, mental and physical. The challenge distracted him from thinking too hard on the fact that this was Schuldig fucking him with his mouth. The incessant attack on his shields pissed him off and made him want to grind the telepath under his heel, but the angrier he became, the more turned on he was, until finally he found himself gripping the back of Schuldig's head with both hands, pumping his hips into that incredible mouth. Schuldig barely blinked, never looking away, not even when Crawford came in his mouth with a strangled, inarticulate cry. Schuldig swallowed his bitter seed and looked up at him with wide, defiant eyes.

At that moment, there was only one thing Crawford could think to do.

*****

Schuldig drew deep breaths of air through his nose, desperate to feed his burning lungs. He drank down what Crawford had to give, relishing the twist of rough hands in his hair, putting as much force as he dared into a final push against the man's shields. They held firm. Schuldig let the softening cock fall from his mouth, meeting cold, rage-filled eyes. Crawford's jaw clenched. His chest heaved. He looked absolutely furious. He looked fucking hot. Schuldig was pretty sure he was in deep shit.

Crawford transferred his grip from Schuldig's hair to his upper arms, strong fingers digging painfully into his biceps. He used his hold to drag Schuldig up from his knees, rising from the chair at the same time. He backed Schuldig up against the desk and before the telepath could properly take stock of the situation, Crawford plunged his hand down Schuldig's pants, wrapping his fingers around the hard flesh there as best as the tight space would allow. Apparently not satisfied with the limited range of motion, he released Schuldig's arm in order to unzip the tight pants and free his cock. He grunted and returned his bruising grip to Schuldig's right arm while the other hand frantically jerked him off.

He was wound up far too tight, adrenaline coloring his experience, and it didn't last long. Schuldig came in Crawford's hand, throwing his head back as a garbled susurrus of air escaped him. Still panting, each man stared the other down for long moments, tension thick in the room before Crawford's practical nature kicked in. The hand around Schuldig's arm tightened before letting go. Crawford leaned to the side, still effectively trapping Schuldig's body against the desk with his own, and pulled a few tissues from the box next to his computer. He wiped off his hand, tucking his own spent dick back into his slacks and zipping up before offering a wad of tissues to Schuldig. Feeling dazed and wondering what the fuck had just happened-aside from the obvious-Schuldig cleaned himself up. He tried to catch Crawford's eye, but unlike moments before, when their gazes seemed riveted to each other, he couldn't see beyond the glare of glasses.

Crawford gathered up the soiled tissues and threw them away. Schuldig absently noted that there were a lot of tissues in the wastebasket. Then, the rough grip was back on his arms and Schuldig found himself led to the office door. Finally, Crawford looked at him again, amber eyes blazing with heat and chillingly cold all at the same time.

"Stay out of my fucking head, Schuldig," he warned, and then, Schuldig found himself shoved out the door, standing alone in the hallway.

*****

That night, Crawford meditated himself to sleep. It was the only reasonable way to stop his mind from endlessly rubbing over the memories of the encounter, polishing them to a sheen until his recollection of the entire experience glinted in a sick, immediate way that felt more urgent and real than the actual event had been. After weeks of prophecies that refused to be suppressed, he couldn't help but rehash the final breaking of the dam. He needed to go over every facet and angle, examine every permutation and follow through every ramification to his future that this night could cause. However, his mental discipline demanded that he only analyze the event and its potential consequences when he could consider it with clinical, detached interest, or else he would make mistakes. So he mediated away the anger and left his thinking for tomorrow.

In the morning, he followed his usual routine, up early, quick shower, shave, dress impeccably, simple breakfast, newspaper. Then there was work to be done-paperwork, bills, all the little logistical necessities that no one but him seemed to consider. Crawford didn't realize he was waiting for Schuldig to appear until it was after noon and the telepath still hadn't emerged from his room. The leader in him that always looked after his assets almost worried that the man had fallen ill again in the night. The whisper light brushes against his mind told him otherwise. It seemed that Schuldig wanted to sample Crawford's mood. Crawford blocked him implicitly.

After he'd been settled in his office for some time, Crawford finally heard Schuldig venture out of his room. He spent nearly an hour in the bathroom, emerging from a cloud of steam humming irritatingly off-key only to take a few minutes back in his bedroom, then left the apartment.

Crawford's fists clenched beneath his desk. Last night's anger returned, surging to the forefront of his consciousness. That Schuldig had come so close to breaking Crawford, that Crawford had come so close to letting him in was unacceptable. All his plans for a future free from his masters had been hidden away so carefully beneath layers of painstakingly crafted shields-the plan had grown and developed right along with his talent and the ability to control his mind. The place inside that had refused to be taken, the pissed-off teenager that bowed to no master, regardless of how much the man on the outside kissed ass and ate shit with a smile, the rebellious core was Crawford's, Crawford's alone. Schuldig didn't deserve it. Schuldig didn't need to see it. There were a lot of things Schuldig didn't ever need to know.

The notification from his email program kept him from further following that disturbing thread of introspection. Crawford's face turned stony as he saw the sender of the new message in his inbox. "Cousin Amy" had sent new correspondence. Quelling the echoes in the noisier corridors of his mind, he focused on the text, a pleasant account of "Amy's" recent outing to the National Zoo. He jotted a few notes on one of his steno pads, using the sentence structure within the message to find the keywords. Feeding them into a search engine yielded 17 hits. He found the images he needed on the fifth one-a series of pictures from a real estate listing for a property in the south of France. Crawford downloaded the images to his computer and while he waited for them to run through the program that would cull out the necessary data, he ran his notes through the shredder and spared a bitter thought for the anal retentive assholes in Esset's data division.

He skimmed through the files detailing Schwartz's new assignment, wanting to get a feel for the big picture before he stated to pour over the details. He stopped when he reached the photo section, looking into the face of a man he'd never met, but recognized nonetheless. He momentarily savored the satisfying feel of a puzzle piece snapping into place, an unclear vision resolved, before the feeling was swept aside by anger and frustration. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Schuldig, anger intensifying when he heard the faint ringing sound from the room next door. Crawford opened the Schwartz network's messaging system and sent a quick query to Nagi, who, naturally, was at his computer.

*Do you still have a trace on Schuldig's vehicle?*

*Yes.*

*Find his current position and send it to me ASAP.*

Crawford acquainted himself with the details of their latest mission while he waited. What he read there made him squeeze his eyes shut and curl his fingers into tight fists. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, fighting back guilt and paranoia. They'd given him this mission because they trusted him to get it done. It was just another job, another success to tally on Schwartz's scorecard. There was no alternative. He forced himself to carefully look over the information with cool detachment until Nagi sent him the address he'd requested as well as driving directions. When he recognized the area, he fetched an irritated sigh. Crawford grabbed his gun and got ready to hit the club scene.