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Coming Home	By : katami Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 2558 -:- 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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Author’s Notes: What better way to start a new year than with a bit of smut? This one is for all the friends I’ve made this last year. Love you all!

* * *

Schuldig cowered, rocking gently and clutching his head to try and keep out the strange voice. It was a losing battle though, and the woman was slowly overwhelming him - Hana. Her name was Hana. His name…he couldn’t remember…couldn’t find anything but her. She was going to straighten up the room. The American gentleman had told them he didn’t wish to be disturbed but he was out and after nearly four days surely he wanted fresh linens. She wouldn’t touch anything else, just empty the trash, change the sheets and replace the towels; Crawford-san would never know and then the concierge wouldn’t have to worry about whether he was comfortable.

She opened the door and glanced around the outer room but everything was in perfect order. Even the trashcans were empty. She grabbed some towels from her cart and slid open the screen that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the suite, startled by the flame haired gaijin curled up on the futon. The towels fell to the floor and a moment later the thump of a body followed.

* * *

A stinging slap roused him and Schuldig growled a protest, cowering more deeply into the soft bedding. “Damn it! Focus! Wake up, you miserable son of a bitch! Wake up, Schuldig!” snarled Brad, slapping him again and dragging him up to shake him. “Don’t you do this to me!”

Brad raised his hand to slap him again and he weakly batted away the American’s hand. The blows hurt, Brad hit hard and his face was already sore. He didn’t like that. He. That’s right, his dazed brain supplied. He. He was Schuldig, not Hana. He was Schwarz, not a maid. Slowly Schuldig came back to himself, dragging his consciousness free of the woman. It was hard and she lingered until Brad dragged him into his lap and a wall once more slammed down between him and the rest of the world. Schuldig sighed in weary pleasure and collapsed against Brad. The American was scowling and the light glinted dangerously off his glasses giving him an almost demonic cast. In the back of his mind Schuldig felt a cold burning rage and behind that a soul deep terror that he knew were Crawford’s but he was too tired to care. He had nearly lost himself in the maid and that frightened him enough without delving into Crawford‘s problems.

Crawford was growling into a cell phone, low angry words, but his hands were gentle and petted Schuldig carefully. The telepath all but purred under the attention and shifted to press as much of his body as he could into the soft touches.

“I don’t care what the fuck she was doing in here!” snarled Crawford, nearly yelling into the phone. “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed. Finding your maid passed out on my floor certainly qualifies as disturbing! I want her out of here now and I will be speaking to the manager tomorrow morning promptly at nine.”

The yelling stopped and Schuldig opened his eyes, not liking the sudden silence or the idea that Brad’s ire might be turned on him. There was no anger in the golden brown eyes that studied his face, just concern and sympathy. “Schuldig? Are you back? Are you alright?”

The telepath nodded warily; this gentle Brad was still too new not to be frightening because he never knew if that gentleness was going to be snatched away. “You don’t have any shields at all, do you?” sighed Brad with a weary sort of smile, his hands still wonderfully warm against Schuldig’s skin.

The telepath shook his head, that last break in Tokyo had shattered his shields down to his core and a few more days in the city would have shattered that. “They shattered in Tokyo,” he murmured softly, nervous about reporting just how vulnerable he was. At Rosenkreuz any sign of weakness was pounced on and exploited to the fullest, especially within the ranks of the telepaths. Herr Kiedel’s empire was a cruel and unforgiving one where only the strongest survived.

“How long until you can rebuild them?” asked Brad, not a hint of anything but concern in his voice or in the hands holding him so gently.

He thought about that, trying to figure out just what would have to be done to rebuild his shields from the ground up. It was hard to say. It had taken him months to get his shields in place the first time. He had been one of the last to learn shielding back at Rosenkreuz just because his shields had needed to be so extensive. Then again, he no longer had Herr Kiedel cracking the whip over him or all of Rosenkreuz screaming in his ears so the work would probably go faster. If he could get Brad to hold him and take advantage of the pre-cog’s shields it would cut the time down even more. Half of shielding was figuring out what was him and what was the rest of the world. With Brad shielding there was only him, meaning all he had to do was rebuild the walls that separated his mind from the world. “A week, maybe two, if you help,” he ventured carefully.

Brad nodded, seeming to absorb the information calmly. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here while I deal with the maid,“ murmured Brad, carefully helping him to his feet and steering him into the bathroom. Brad deposited him on the toilet while he ran a bath, adding lavender scented bubble bath that made Schuldig frown. He was not getting into anything that smelled like a fucking garden and growled something to that affect at Brad.

“I don’t have time to argue with you. Stay there. Don’t try and move. I’ll come back and help you get clean after I deal with the hotel staff,” ordered Brad in a tone that brokered no argument.

Schuldig glared at his retreating back and stood, a little shaky on his feet but mostly stable. He stripped away his boxers and made his way into the tub, something that was far harder than the telepath anticipated. Finally he got himself into the huge tub, sighing in pleasure as hot water surrounded him and bubbles sloshed merrily. He’d never had a bubble bath before, well not since he was a child and somehow those didn’t seem the same. It was nice, soothing in a way showers weren’t. And if smelling like a garden was the price of that he decided it would be worth it.

He heard muted voices coming from the main room and got washes of panic from whoever the hotel had sent to help the maid. Brad had apparently decided that if polite requests didn’t work then blind terror would. Schuldig didn’t like that and tried to focus on his own senses, the warmth of the bath and light tingle of the bubbles, the joyous relaxing of a tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. By the time Brad returned he’d decided that bubble baths were one of the greater pleasures of the universe, one he intended to indulge in as often as possible.

He was startled by the fond look on Brad’s face when the American found him immersed up to his nose in the bubbles. “Having fun?” asked Brad softly.

Schuldig nodded and then snorted as he got a nose full of bubbles. “Shut up,” he snapped as Brad chuckled. But there was something rich and warm in the American’s laughter, something that for once wasn’t cutting or mean, something that actually made Schuldig want to hear more of that laughter.

“Move over,” ordered Brad, starling the German as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

“What?” he asked stupidly, his eyes riveting to those long fingers and each new bit of flesh they exposed. Who the hell knew Crawford was hiding a body like that under his suits? Okay, he had but he was still struck by how good Brad looked each time he saw the other man. A guy who spent most of his days behind a desk just shouldn’t look that good.

“You need a bath, Schuldig. And I’m not going to leave you alone in here, unshielded, to drown when you fall under another mind again or fall asleep,” muttered Crawford, moving on to his pants and socks. Each article of clothing was neatly folded and placed on the counter. Schuldig would have snipped at him but he was too busy watching. Within moments Brad was sliding silk boxers down long legs and Schuldig was back to wondering if he was dead. No one so uptight should look so good - long legs, a nice chest, a great ass, and a cock worth not only a second but a third and forth look as well. A moment after the boxers were folded Brad was slipping into the water next to him and Schuldig decided Brad and bubbles were definitely a sinful combination. One he very much wanted to try again.

Brad let him soak and play in the bubbles for a few minutes, seemly amused by Schuldig’s enjoyment. Schuldig snuck down to his nose watching the bubbles and feeling very much like a cat when a large hand settled on his head and shoved him under. He emerged an instant later hissing and spitting until he caught a look at the mischievous smirk on his leader’s lips. “Bastard,” he snapped splashing Brad and moving to the far edge of the tub to sulk.

Brad just chuckled and hauled him back so he was sitting between his legs. Schuldig had snarled out a sharp protest but grew silent as the American began to massage shampoo into his hair. He’d never had anyone wash his hair for him, never even considered it, but those strong hands caressing and massaging his scalp felt incredible. Forget sex, this was his new favorite activity.

“So how exactly would I be helping you rebuild your shields?” asked Brad, his voice pleasant and conversational, as if he wasn’t naked in a bath and turning Schuldig into a mindless puddle of pleasure. The bastard. Schuldig decided the American could be forgiven as long as he never stopped what he was doing.

“Schuldig?”

The telepath made a faint questioning noise before he remembered that they had been talking. Little facts like that were kind of hard to remember when Brad was trying to get his brain to run out his ears. He shoved the pleasure away and tried to focus on thinking coolly and rationally, wondering how much he should tell Brad. Finally he decided that the pre-cog couldn’t be any worse than his old mentor. He would give the basics but leave out just how helpless he really was.

“I need a shield to keep me separate from the rest of the world while I rebuild. It helps make things go faster,” he told the other man, groaning and tilting his head back into Brad’s strong fingers.

“Just want does shielding you entail?” murmured Brad, carefully tilting his head and rinsing the soap from his hair. Schuldig purred and wondered if he should even bother rebuilding his shields. If it meant Brad Crawford washing his hair and holding him all the time it might be worth it to go without shields.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m the one who does all the work, you just have to stick close.

* * *

Building a shield was easy. Building a good shield was surprisingly hard. It was the difference between an earthen wall in front of a trench and a fortified castle wall. Both kept the enemy out but one was a crude and easily overrun while the other could stand up to centuries of abuse. Building good shields took time, skill, and care Schuldig reminded himself as he sank into his mind and looked around the chaos.

His mind had never been a terribly orderly place, he had too many scars and secrets and shit picked up from other people for that, but there had always been a method to his madness. Now there was only darkness and confusion and sharp edged memories waiting for him to cut himself on. He took a deep breath and pushed it all away, summoning up the starry dreamscape he liked to work in, mostly because it had given Kiedel and his other team leaders vertigo. At first he had only used the dreamscape to annoying his superiors but he had grown to like the starry darkness.

The first thing he did was pace out the confines of his mind, establishing for the first time in his life firm boundaries of what was him and what wasn’t. He marveled at the novelty and the fact that without Brad’s mind shielding his it wouldn’t have been possible. He would have been forced to guess and take his chances - like he had the last time.

Once he had his own mind firmly mapped he would build his shields up from there but shielding had to wait until his foundations were stronger. That last break had dredged up memories, good and bad, that he would rather have forgotten. He had to deal with them before he could start repairing himself. He gathered up the memories and all of who he had once been and formed a door in the dreamscape, placing the memories inside and sealing them away.

For better or worse he was Schuldig.

The next things to go were the thousands of random memories he had picked up from the population of Tokyo. He was getting ready to just shove them into another dark corner when an idea occurred to him. They could be useful. He grinned and walked another parameter in his head, this one just a few feet back from the other (the distances were all relative of course, since none of it was real, but the visualization made the work easier). He shoved the white noise memories into the vacant space, a nice collection of junk for anyone trying to read him to sort through. Let Rosenkreuz’s techs puzzle over that the next time they fucked with him.

After that the shields themselves want up. Building them was slow precise work that required exacting concentration and made him long for the simple pain of a migraine. A telepath’s shields had to be strong and solid to keep the world at bay but if they were too strong they choked off the gift. Rosenkreuz always taught to build on the side of caution, meaning keep the gift functional, the telepath’s sanity was secondary. He wasn’t doing that this time. He was going to build something new. Something that could be sealed off or lowered at his will, rigid walls that were just porous enough to let him glean intent and then ignore anything unimportant. The problem was getting the texture right and then making sure he maintained it.

He took his first break after the walls were about two feet high. It was impossible to tell time in his mind, so he judged by shield height. He sat panting, wondering if he shouldn’t just emerge from his mind and rejoin the world. Maybe he could even convince Brad to wash his hair again?

He was about to do so when a flash of blue from the white noise memories caught his eye. He frowned and dragged himself over to inspect the memories, pulling them from the others and examining them.

They were running through the building, him and Brad, shoulder to shoulder, not even trying to be quiet or discreet. The job didn't require it and it wasn't like anyone could stop them anyway. Besides, it was fun to cut loose and cause a little mayhem now and then, even if he would never admit it.

They turned a corner, firing in unison and cutting down the line men waiting for them. It was beautiful, like a dance, the two of them moving as one, not a word being said. They didn't need any, they knew each other and they knew this dance.

They kicked in a door as one and fired into the man cowering at his desk. Four shots in the chest and a wash of blood and they were done. Schuldig smirked at him and Brad felt an answering grin tug at the corners of his own lips. They were always at their best when they when they were at their worst.

He went to the computer, getting the files they needed, while Schuldig put one more in the man's head and then took up sentinel duty. "Got it," he murmured, downloading the virus Nagi had written to wipe the system and letting it run before putting a few rounds into the CPU.

"So, we done for the night?" drawled Schuldig, a spark in his eyes and that slightly maniacal grin on his lips.

"We're off the clock, if that's what you're asking," purred Brad, a familiar spark of arousal stirring in him. He loved that grin.

Schuldig’s grin widened and he hopped onto the desk, sending the dead man spinning away in his chair with a kick to the chest. Brad recognized the devil may care grin on his lips and smirked, closing the distance between them. The German grabbed his tie and pulled him forward the last few inches to seal their lips together in a hot, wet kiss.

This was why they worked, thought Brad as they kissed each other hungrily, almost brutally. They would never be the types for flowers of poetry. Sex was never about love for them. Blood and death was their idea of foreplay and most of the time their sexual encounters reflected that but that was what made them good together. They understood and complimented each other.

Schuldig nipped at his tongue and Brad tasted blood, groaning softly. That was his telepath. His fiery haired demon. He slid a hand into that hair and jerked Schuldig's head back, kissing the arch of his neck, nipping and sucking at the soft pale skin. He worried at the skin over the redhead’s carotid, leaving a mark. This one was his, it would take years but Schuldig belonged to him and he held on to what was his. He chuckled as Schuldig moaned and then pressed his gun against the German's chin.

Blue eyes silted open at the first cool brush of metal but there was no shock in them, only heat, and Crawford groaned softly. There was a reason he had waited sixteen years for this man and it was lurking right there in front of him as Schuldig opened his mouth and began to fellate the gun barrel.

"You're twisted," he told the German.

"And you love it," countered Schuldig in a sultry purr, a claim Brad couldn't deny. And didn't bother trying to.

Schuldig’s tongue touched his finger and Brad groaned, the German was just too good at that. He used the hand he had in the German's hair to tug his mouth from the gun, shoving it back in his holster before hauling Schuldig off the desk spinning him around. He shoved the German down hard across the desk. Schuldig laughed and wiggled for a moment, shimming out of his pants and Brad had to fight back a groan.

Why had he ever resisted this? Waited so long for this, he wondered as reached into his pocket for the lube he had taken to carrying since he’d begun sleeping with the telepath. He slicked one finger and began to gently tease the German, grinning as Schuldig whined.

He waited until Schuldig was cursing at him, threatening to shoot him or puree his brain, before shoving the finger into that tight, gripping heat. Schuldig howled and tried to rear off the desk but he was waiting and shoved the German back down hard, a hand on the back of his neck. He chuckled and slid his finger in and out a few times, delighting in the silky heat and the low growls and moans he managed to pull from his lover.

He added a second finger, leaning over to nip and kiss at back of Schuldig’s neck. Schuldig twisted around, seizing his lips in a hard, demanding lip that was all tongues and teeth. Fuck me, you miserable bastard! snarled an angry voice that made Brad chuckle.

“Fuck you?” he asked, slicking his cock before removing his fingers and placing it at the telepath’s entrance. “With pleasure,” he snarled, shoving in hard and fast, delighting and Schuldig’s wail. His demon sounded more like a cat in heat than any devil and he loved it. He fucked the German hard and fast, shoving him into the desk with a force that was sure to leave bruises, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the tight heat surrounding his cock and the words tumbling out of Schuldig’s mouth - pleas for more, threats of violence, mindless groans of delight as his prostate was hit again and again.

Schuldig came without a single touch, screaming and bucking back onto him. Brad grabbed his hips and shoved in once more before loosing himself, biting the back of the German’s neck to muffle his own scream.

Schuldig gasped at the remembered vision, hardly believing it. Uptight and straight laced Brad Crawford fucking him across a desk in a dead man’s office. It was unbelievable - and unbelievably hot. It was real though, or would be, or might be. That was a whole other a reason precognition sucked - verb tense. Stupid fucking gift. He let the visions once more claim his attention eager to see what else he had gleaned from Crawford.

His head was pounding, a morning reading reports followed by visions and old coffee for lunch had left him feeling as though someone was trying to split his skull open with a dull and rusty cleaver. With the way the pounding in his head was threatening to become a full-fledged migraine, Brad was half inclined to let them if only to get the pain to stop.

The door to the office opened silently but the gentle shifting of the air currents alerted him that he was no longer alone. He also wasn't in any danger. If he had been in danger his gift would have warned him and headache or no, his gun would have been out and the threat eliminated.

The person in the room stayed silent but moved to his side, a hand trailing up his arm. Brown eyes slit open as an arm hooked around his chest and someone leaned over him from behind. Red hair slid over his shoulders and tickled his neck, making him sigh. He wasn't in the mood for Schuldig or his teasing, all he wanted was to quietly pass out until his head stopped throbbing. Pills appeared under his nose, small and white, his headache medication, and a bottle of water was waiting on his desk.

He took the pills gratefully, not saying a word and not wanting to question his good fortune. Long fingers removed his glasses and slid into his hair, massaging his scalp and temples. Brad groaned softly as those clever fingers and the pills began washing away the blinding agony in his brain. He was growing groggy and just about to drift off when soft lips brushed his forehead and he was lifted from his chair by invisible hands. He recognized Nagi's gift and didn't bother struggling.

He was laid in his own bed, the blinds thankfully drawn and not a word being said. The door closed softly and a moment later Schuldig's hands were back, carefully peeling him out of his suit until he lay there in just his boxers. The blankets were pulled up and a cool cloth found its way to his brow. Brad opened his eyes, his vision veiled in red until the world shifted and blue eyes were staring down at him, an almost tender smirk painted on familiar lips.

“I have a meeting,“ he warned the German with a soft groan.

“I know, me and the kid are handling it.” Brad sighed and let his eyes slip shut, letting go, trusting his lover and team to handle things.

Schuldig snapped out of his mind so fast his body jumped, startling Crawford from his reading and making the pre-cog stare at him. He fumbled his way free of the other man’s embrace and to his feet, muttering something about the bathroom before hastily retreating, trying to get his thoughts in order.

It was one thing to fanaticize about Brad Crawford, it was something completely different to know that Crawford had Seen them fucking. No, not just fucking. That last vision had been about more than just sex and that was what unsettled him so much. Fucking was one thing, but what had happened in that vision was something else, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to do.
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