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Strange Times	By : fireun Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 3711 -:- 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
- 1-Strange Times
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-34
- 35-35
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-43
- 44-44
- 45-45
- 46-46
- 47-47
- 48-48
- 49-49
- 50-50
- 49
- 50
Aya had expected spite and enough violence to appease the berserkers of old. He had expected Schuldich to be spitting angry, to attack.

He got an attack, but it was teeth against his lips as Schuldich launched an insistently awkward attack with his mouth of a different sort than Aya had expected. Lines were crossed, blood was drawn, and Aya fought back with tongue and tooth, hands grappling with Schuldich’s hair and shirt with frantic irreverence. Schuldich’s voice snarled an endless litany that slipped from reverent to blasphemous between one hitched breath and another, mixing hatred and need into one outpouring of unwilling honesty.

Fighting or fucking; there didn’t seem to be a middle ground when it came to Aya and Schuldich. It was a second of disconcerting clarity and concern that had Aya pulling away, and a horrifying whirlpool of possessive panic that hauled him back under.

Schuldich hated him, wanted him; balanced a precarious sense of self and a weighty ego on him.

Schuldich needed him.

That need stabilized his own disjointed sense of purpose and self. It was an insidious symbiosis. Wants and needs bled and balanced until one person almost ran into the other.

Aya gasped as Schuldich ran clawed hands down his chest, hissed as teeth followed.

Schuldich snarled as Aya pushed him down, held him still and bit a furious pattern into his sensitive throat and neck.

They grappled for the upper hand, employing caresses and scratches, kisses and bites with an almost military precision, snarling insults and feral endearments amidst gasps and growls. They couldn’t get close enough, and wanted nothing more than to be far away.

They were too stubborn, too independent to want to admit to needing anything. And too far gone to do without what the other had to offer.

Schuldich reached a moment of infuriating epiphany with something as close to a sob as he ever allowed himself and went pliant in Aya’s grip. The fight hadn’t left the telepath, but he didn’t need to hide behind it. Personalities and preferences shifted, opening and allowing Aya to catch the edge of honest emotion he would have been more comfortable never consciously facing.

It was possession more than affection. It was necessity more than attraction, but the affection was there. The attraction was present. Aya had to own up to his own traitorous tendencies amidst the flurry of Schuldich’s moment of honesty.

“I hate you.” Aya exhaled in a reflexive contradiction.

‘I know better.’ Schuldich swirled a mental finger through Aya’s contradictory emotions with a sharp bit of bitter laughter.

“I should have let you drown.” It was a worn, oft repeated jab.

“Yes” was the familiar response. There was a world of misery and resignation in Schuldich’s voice, a bitter revelation as he bit into Aya’s shoulder and lifted his hips, urging Aya down and in.

“I don’t want you.”

‘Don’t leave me.’

There were plenty of justifications; a common interest, a common enemy, the inevitability that arose from such close shared living space. Strange times brought strange bedfellows, and there was nothing as unexpected as the sudden ferocity with which Aya set to fucking Schuldich. Part possessive, part furious denial, he pulled Schuldich close, allowed the other man to curl through his brain, past the usual stubborn barriers and defensive denial. Emotion was uncomfortable, honesty a weakness. Aya forced Schuldich through his brain with each thrust, demanding the man be held accountable for every involuntary neurological incongruity that wriggled and wormed its way through habitual detached sensibility.

There was nothing sensible in giving in, but Aya felt something uncomfortably close to contentment as Schuldich panted his way down from a violent orgasm.

It was hard to detest someone who was similar enough in their own dysfunctions as to set off an uncanny bit of familiarity. Two predators balking at the first hint of revealed vulnerability, and yet they huddled on the rug, having never made it to the relative normalcy of the bed, nails bloody from each other’s backs, flesh bruised from each other’s teeth.

Nothing was said, but Schuldich met Aya’s eyes and nodded once in recognition and resignation.

Interlude and revelation rolled in one bit of frantic fucking; a physical cover for a decision that neither of them wanted to put words to.

But it would be apparent. Schuldich seethed and whispered in the back of Aya’s mind, a constant bit of background noise. It shouldn’t have been comforting, but Aya settled his head onto Schuldich’s arm, closed his eyes, and listened to the telepath’s muttering.

“Fucking side hurts.” Schuldich grumbled some time later, breaking the almost silence.

“Should have thought of that earlier.” Aya replied.

Schuldich smiled.
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Strange Times