The Prisoner's Dilemma

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


Taking dubious shelter from the biting winter wind in the space between two brick buildings, Schuldig stopped his wandering for a moment and looked to the park across the street. Under the washed-out, colorless sky, all the trees looked sickly. He wondered if Xavier was in that park right now, resting against one of those iron benches, just waiting for him to come.

Schuldig had left the apartment early that morning, giving up on the notion of sleep after it eluded him all night in favor of the audio track that still looped through his mind today. He'd left his light on last night, some eternally reckless part of his brain hoping Crawford would come in and offer up the distraction of a fight or a fuck-both if Schuldig were lucky-but Crawford had retreated to his own bed. Now he was casing the same area he had the day before, not sure if he were hunting or putting himself on display.

He waited, motionless, sending out a delicate and closely guarded probe for the presence of mental shields nearby. He searched until the cold settled uncomfortably into his limbs, finally forcing him to push off from the brick he leaned against and move down the street, needing the movement to warm up. Schuldig didn't register the muscular man whose face was obscured by a thick hooded sweatshirt pass him on the street until they were already several steps away from each other.

/Just keep walking Schu. Wouldn't want your precog to see us together and bust up another perfectly good conversation./

Schuldig tucked his chin into his chest, crossing his arms and stuffing his hands in his armpits. /Where?/

/There's a little coffee shop two blocks ahead./ He could almost hear the smile in Xavier's words.

/I haven't agreed to anything, you smug little shit./

/I know. Doesn't mean you can't take a break and warm up a little./

Schuldig's feet kept moving in the indicated direction. He scanned the shops passing by on either side of the street. He also kept an eye out for mousy-looking brunettes. /And where will you be?/

/I'm looping back around your way a block over./ Schuldig was a bit surprised at the straightforward answer concerning Xavier's location and wondered if it was a lie. /I'll be close enough for us to have a good chat like this, but not so close boss man Brad could get a vision of the two of us in the same place./

Schuldig spotted the cafe up ahead and stepped inside. It was a funky little place, warm and surprisingly European in feel. He ordered a big coffee with lots of milk and carried it with him to a sparsely padded booth in the back of the shop, sliding in and setting his mug down on the scuffed wooden table. His position gave him a good line of sight to the shop's entrance, as well as the door to its small bathroom and the archway to what Schuldig assumed was the storage area. Sitting in a position chosen by a target went against all Schuldig's lessons and instincts, but he undeniably wanted to hear what Xavier had to say. /I'm settled in here./

/Oh good. Nice place, isn't it?/

/Delightful./ Schuldig rolled his eyes. /So...talk./

/Are you ready to answer my question?/

Schuldig took a sip of his coffee. It was actually very good. /What question would that be, Xave?/

/You don't do coy as well as you used to, Schu. Are you hunting us?/

Schuldig smirked around his mug. /I'm having a coffee./

There was that mental chuckle again, smooth and rich. /Well, if that's settled then, have you thought about what I said last night?/

More than he wanted to. /A little./

/And...? What do you think?/

Schuldig sighed, disrupting the steam rising from his mug. /I think you got out. I don't think you'll stay that way for long. They want your partner dead. You, on the other hand, are considered suitable for reeducation. Did you know that?/

Xavier's mental voice slid into that tone of deadly serious sincerity, a hint of anger and protectiveness underneath. /I know. It's not going to happen./

/I didn't know you were a precog. How can you be so sure? What's going on with you?/

/You must've realized it by now. They're afraid of us, Schuldig. Afraid of her. I've told you there's a way out. Are you going to take it?/

Schuldig loosed a mental chuckle of his own. /You're not giving me much to go on here, Xave. You might as well be offering to sell me a really nice plot of land on the moon. I'm not one of your marks./

/You want more information? How do I know you won't go reporting to your Mr. Crawford?/

Schuldig raised his eyebrows. /If you're so sure you're untouchable, I don't see why it matters what I know./

/I'm confident, not stupid,/ Xavier replied flatly.

/Neither am I,/ Schuldig said. /So what do you get out of me going along with you?/

The teasing tone crept back into Xavier's mental voice. /What makes you think I'm not offering this out of the kindness of my heart?/

/Now who doesn't do coy as well as he used to?/

/Touche,/ Xavier said, amused. /There would be definite advantages to having another ally. I appreciate that you have certain skills and connections that could be beneficial to us in the near future./ He left implied that other people may not have such an appreciation of Schuldig. /But I won't tell you more if you're content riding the coattails of a favored slave./

Schuldig knew Xavier was playing him like a fiddle, knew that he was trying to put him off-balance so he could get whatever he was after. Still, he wanted to say what he did. All things considered, Xavier was probably the safest person to say it to. /Of course I want out! I've always wanted out you stupid little shit! They don't own me-nobody does!/

He expected a tone of triumph from Xavier, or perhaps some smug commiseration. The earnestness he heard caught Schuldig off-guard. It made those possibilities that had been whispering in his mind since last night start to sing and left the Crawford's bitch voice burrowing deep in a corner, setting up trenches for the battle ahead. /We're about to make a very lucrative deal that will ensure our protection indefinitely. You can bring a substantial bargaining chip to the table, something that will sweeten the deal for Sara and myself, yes, but you'd be brought in under the same protection too./ Xavier waited a beat, letting a bit of playfulness slip into his mental voice. /So Schuldig, do you want to make a deal?/

*****

It was early afternoon when Schuldig made it back to the blessedly quiet apartment. He could feel Nagi busily clicking away at his desk, Farfarello dozing in the corner of his bedroom, and Crawford...well he couldn't feel Crawford these days, could he? But if the man were home, he would certainly be in his office. Schuldig was grateful that his teammates' minds were quiet. It was already noisy enough in his head, and for once, all that noise was internally generated.

He went to the kitchen and threw together something resembling a sandwich, chewing and swallowing mechanically without tasting a damned thing. He could go to Crawford right now and tell him all he'd learned from Xavier today. They could probably make the knowledge work to their favor. Maybe Crawford would even approve of his double-agent methods. Or, he could go to Crawford and tell him exactly what Xavier wanted him to. Xavier's plan wasn't half bad. Maybe he wasn't even setting Schuldig up with the rest of his team.

Schuldig swallowed hard, forcing down the last bite of his sandwich. He could go to Crawford...and the decision would be made. Schuldig went to his own room instead.

Crawford was waiting for him inside.

He was sitting on the end of Schuldig's bed, bare feet set far apart on the floor, hands resting on the tops of his thighs. The position looked awkward on him, like he was playing at being casual and not quite pulling it off. He'd dispensed with the suit jacket and tie. The sleeves of his dress shirt were loosely rolled up and the top buttons were left undone. He lifted his head when Schuldig opened the door, dark hair that had fallen over his glasses shifting back to give an open view of the eyes beneath. His face was stony, intense and determined. It was the look he wore when he had a mission to accomplish, a goal to be mastered.

Schuldig stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him. He opened his mouth to say something-what, he wasn't quite sure-but Crawford cut him off before he'd even began with a tiny shake of his head. He rose smoothly from the bed, crossing to Schuldig in a few big, even strides. Moving slowly but with forceful confidence, he settled one hand on Schuldig's hip, cupping the other gently but firmly at the base of his skull. Schuldig felt the subtle weight of the splint on Crawford's trigger finger resting against his side. He opened his mouth to speak again, even less sure what he meant to say this time, but was stopped when Crawford's mouth descended on his own. The kiss wasn't gentle-it was hot and hungry and desperate as any of the kisses they'd shared-but something was subtly different.

Crawford's tongue claimed and caressed and Schuldig kissed back, finding himself wrapping his arms around broad shoulders, pulling Crawford close. This was a bad idea. Crawford took the cooperation as a sign of encouragement, tightening his grip on Schuldig's hip. His other hand slid around to Schuldig's neck, fingertips teasing along the pulse point, tracing down long tendons to rest at the hollow of his throat. He broke the kiss and pulled back to look at Schuldig, face still serious as a heart attack as his eyes took in the details. The scrutiny was unsettling. Schuldig bent his head, bringing his hands around to undo the buttons of Crawford's shirt. Crawford mirrored the action, sliding the fingers at Schuldig's throat down to work at his shirt buttons one-handed. He bent his head to Schuldig's neck, mouthing the skin there. The hand that wasn't busy at the shirt shifted to the small of his back, rubbing in little circles, fingers dipping under the waistband. The gauze on Crawford's index finger felt rough against the bare skin of Schuldig's back.

Working with the dexterity two hands provided, Schuldig finished with Crawford's shirt first, pulling the ends free from his pants and separating the halves, baring a smooth, strong torso. This was definitely a bad idea, but he wasn't ready to stop. He ran his palms along Crawford's pectorals. He skimmed lightly over already erect nipples before moving down to explore the bumps and ridges of his abdomen. Crawford voiced a small moan against Schuldig's neck, making the skin there vibrate pleasantly. Schuldig walked his fingers back up Crawford's chest, rubbing more directly at one nipple with his thumb while he traced teasingly around the other with the pads of his fingers. Crawford pulled his mouth away from Schuldig's neck and moaned more loudly. Finishing with the buttons on Schuldig's shirt, he helped Schuldig shrug out of it before placing insistent hands on the telepath's shoulders and pushing his head down to chest level. Schuldig gently took a nipple between his teeth, bedeviling it with the tip of his tongue. He smiled against the flesh around his mouth as Crawford's hands tightened on his shoulders. Sensitive nipples really were one of life's simple pleasures.

Crawford returned the favor, sliding his hands down to briefly tweak Schuldig's nipples before pulling him back up into another desperate-but not quite brutal-kiss. This was definitely a bad idea, something was off here, but he still didn't stop. Schuldig slid Crawford's shirt off his shoulders and pressed against him, skin to skin. The need to be in Crawford's mind began to assert itself, niggling at the corners of his thoughts. Schuldig ignored it. It was relatively easy to do with Crawford's hands working at the fly of his pants. Aiming to achieve complete distraction, he moved to finish stripping Crawford too. Strong fingers wrapped around him, pumping deliberately. He felt the scratch of gauze against the backs of his thighs as Crawford used his other hand to lower Schuldig's pants and idly wondered if the man was ambidextrous-his left hand felt as good on Schuldig's cock as the right hand had. Schuldig found Crawford hard and ready within his boxers, already a little wet at the tip. He eased the pants and boxers down, using one hand to languidly pull at Crawford's cock while the other alternated between teasing heavy balls and stiff nipples. They stood in the middle of Schuldig's room, pants around their ankles, wanking each other and kissing deep and slow like horny teenagers.

Schuldig came up for air when he felt gauze brushing along his ass, the other fingers curling into the crack. Crawford stared at him dead on, hunger and gravity and still the deadly seriousness in his eyes. This was really definitely a bad idea, something was way off here, but he couldn't stop. Instead, he pulled the bandaged hand away and guided the middle and ring fingers into his mouth. He sucked them strongly in time with the movements of his hand over Crawford's cock, eliciting another moan in the process. The gauze-covered finger stroked along his cheekbone. Schuldig found the gesture oddly disturbing and again had to control the urge to push into Crawford's mind. He teased his own fingers along the crack of Crawford's ass, hoping he would take the hint. He did. Crawford drew his fingers out of Schuldig's mouth and wasted no time in putting them where Schuldig wanted them. They slid in smoothly and Crawford gave them a deft twist that left Schuldig gasping. Crawford took advantage of the opening, reclaiming Schuldig's mouth in another of those subtly different kisses. Crawford skillfully finger fucked him while they both stroked each other with intensity.

Somehow, they inched over to the bed. Crawford finally pulled his fingers away and pulled open the drawer where Schuldig kept the lube. He poured it out onto his left hand, probably not wanting to risk messing up the bandages on his right, and moved back to finish prepping Schuldig's ass. He handed the bottle to Schuldig, presumably wanting the telepath to do the honors of slicking his cock. He caught Schuldig's eyes and suddenly, it clicked. This was definitely a bad idea and something was way off here. Crawford hadn't been touching him like just another fuck. He'd been touching him like they were lovers, like he had something to prove. He was looking at Schuldig with possession in his eyes. Crawford knew. He knew and now he was claiming Schuldig as his own, showing him what a good master he could be, choosing him as the one he'd take right to the top of the Esset shitheap. Fuck that. He wasn't going to lie here and let Crawford stake his claim on Schuldig's loyalty with one gentle screw.

But he didn't stop.

Instead, he slathered lube on Crawford's dick with rough, careless movements, spun around, and knelt on the bed, presenting his ass to Crawford. Crawford took too long, so Schuldig grabbed his cock and lined it up, shifting his weight to drive it into his body in one slick lunge. Crawford stood there motionless next to the edge of the bed, probably reeling from the sudden change in demeanor, hands on Schuldig's hips to maintain his balance. Schuldig wondered just what was going through his head. Fuck it, he'd look. He sent his power out, pushing against Crawford's shields as he pushed his ass against Crawford's groin. He set a brutal rhythm, rutting like an animal. Crawford blocked him from his mind, but Schuldig could tell the intrusion made him angry because he started to take it out on Schuldig's ass, finally getting with the new program. They fucked hard and rough. Schuldig took himself in hand, not wanting it to be Crawford bringing him off. The fuck was savage and angry and it almost hurt and-God help him-it was still amazing. With his own hand flying over his dick, Crawford's cock battering at him like the man wished it was his fist pounding into Schuldig's face, and his mind tangled in a fierce battle to break through Crawford's shields, Schuldig came hard, orgasm ripping the breath right out of his lungs. He clenched down on Crawford inside of him as hard as he could. Crawford managed a few more strokes, his fingers biting into Schuldig's hips in retaliation, before he stiffened and slumped over Schuldig's back. Schuldig tolerated the closeness for a few beats, then shrugged Crawford off and collapsed onto his side. Crawford steadied himself against the bedside table, glaring at Schuldig.

Crawford carelessly used the corner of a sheet to wipe off, then threw the fabric back at Schuldig as he turned away to find his clothes. He spoke quietly as he pulled on his pants, his back to Schuldig.

"I don't know what they've offered you, but side with them, Schuldig, and Schwartz will end you."

Schuldig rolled onto his back, unmindful of his nakedness or the mess cooling on his skin. He was tired. Just...Goddamned tired. "Threat, promise, or prophecy, Brad?"

Crawford turned as he fastened his pants. He leaned his head back against the wall and looked Schuldig in the eye. "It's truth."

Schuldig snorted. "And I'm supposed to take your word for that?"

Crawford just closed his eyes and sighed. He looked tired too. "Believe what you want Schuldig-I've seen it."

Weary amber eyes opened and focused on him again, raw and unguarded, and Schuldig realized Crawford had loosened his surface shields. God, he still tasted the same-sharp and crisp and ordered, compact structure masking the shadow of a labyrinth beneath. Crawford pulled recollections of the vision to the surface of his mind, granting Schuldig access to the images.

Nagi slamming him against the wall, Crawford giving Farfarello the ok to sink one of his wicked knives into Schuldig's guts.

Schuldig watched through the mind's eye of his leader. He felt Crawford drawing his shields back up, ready to throw him out. He fought against it, throwing everything into maintaining the tenuous foothold he'd been granted. He tore at whatever he could find, scratching and scrabbling until there was a hole. He surged forward, burrowing under those surface thoughts and finally, finally walking through the echoing corridors of Crawford's mind. There were visions, so many visions that he kept locked away here. A few were focused and clear, most were vague and hazy, but they all had the well-worn feel of many repetitions, as if Crawford kept replaying them in his head when no one was watching. Some of them had to have been very old; they were woven deeply into the fabric of his psyche.

He saw the well-loved visions that Crawford hid from the world, but treasured for himself. Schuldig burrowed deeper, past the bright, icy passages and into darker areas where Crawford tended not to travel. There was less order here, stray thoughts strewn about, discarded to a place where they wouldn't get in the way. There were many visions here too, shoved in this dusty, secret corner. Crawford hadn't poured over them, hadn't analyzed and picked them apart like the treasured visions that lived in the light, hadn't even given them the passing attention of all the erotic visions Schuldig had found littering these less-traveled paths. These were fresh and new. And Schuldig was in every single one of them.

He pulled back quickly, breath whistling in and out of his lungs like he'd just run a hundred meter dash. Crawford loomed before him, rage at the violation clear in every line of his body. He drew his hand back and slapped Schuldig across the face, hard. The sharp sting quickly settled into a harsh burn. Fuck it. Schuldig made his decision. He sat up straight in his bed, resisting the urge to bring his hand up over his throbbing check.

"I know where they're going to be tomorrow night."