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Predator	By : Solaras Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1379 -:- 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-Predator
- 1
Disclaimer: Stupid me forgot this… I do not own Weiss Kreuz. I am not making any money from this story
either. I am just expressing my love of
the characters, and what my twisted mind believes is the ‘love’ between the
characters.

Author’s Note: This is
a little one-shot I wrote to get me back in the swing of things. I haven’t written anything I a while. Life got in the way. For those of you who are fans of my story “Mind
Games And Coffee”, don’t worry I have already started
working on it again. I wrote this to get
reacquainted with the characters. This
is actually loosely based on a dream I had.
A very strange dream. No more Ramen before bed for me.

Enjoy everyone.

German Words:

Ja – Yes

Mein kleiner
Liebhaber – My little lover

Mein Gott
– My God

Scheiße - Shit

Predator

Crawford
had left early in the morning before anyone else woke up. Schuldig had been irritable without the
American to annoy, and had spent the morning bothering Nagi to alleviate
boredom. The youngest member of Schwarz
retaliated by barricading himself in his room and blaring Japanese techno
music. The telepath quickly left Nagi
alone to spare his remaining brain cells.

“Can’t
listen to any good music,” complained Schuldig, as he went in search of other
entertainment.

While
Schuldig and Nagi spent the morning engaged in psychic commando, Farfarello had
clamed ownership of the couch and TV remote.
He only watched TV if he got to control the channel. As far as Farfarello was concerned, no one
else in the apartment watched anything interesting. Crawford only watched the news, if he watched
the television at all; Nagi watched anime, and Schuldig, having a short
attention span, tended to channel surf.
Farfarello was currently engrossed in a nature program about great
predators. Lots of lesser animals were
being maimed. It wasn’t the surgery
program, but it wasn’t bad. The Irishman
sat at one end of the couch ignoring Schuldig, who proceeded to flop down on
the rest of the couch, and cushion his head in Farfarello lap.

“I’m
bored. What are you doing?” Schuldig
said with a suffering sigh. Farfarello
gestured to the TV with the hand holding the remote. A pack of hyenas were eating something
Schuldig assumed had once been an identifiable living creature.

“You have
crazy taste in entertainment.”

“I thought
I was crazy.”

“Ja, ja,” laughed Schuldig, “I suppose so. Change the channel.”

“No.”

Schuldig
knew better than to take the remote from Farfarello, so he left the subject
alone and shifted into a more comfortable sprawl across the couch and
Farfarello. The Irishman, like the rest
of Schwarz, was used to Schuldig invading personal space, and wasn’t bothered
by it enough to move the lanky German.
The contact annoyed the anti social boy and distracted Crawford, though
the uptight American would never admit it.
Farfarello was a keen observer, and could almost taste the tension
between the clairvoyant and the telepath.
Their interaction was entertaining when he wasn’t allowed to carve
things up. Sodomy hurt God. Farfarello chuckled to himself. Schuldig was useful for hurting God. It would almost be a shame when Crawford came
out of denial and claimed the redhead.
He was such a possessive bastard.
It would be a waste of such a pretty little whore.

The hand not holding the remote ran
through the mass of red hair. Schuldig
purred at the attention. Farfarello
liked Schuldig’s hair. It wasn’t the
color of blood like the Weiss kitten’s, but it was
like fire. Fire burned and destroyed,
just like Schuldig. It would be pretty
covered in blood. Farfarello brushed the
hair to one side exposing a long pale neck.
Maybe he could make a few cuts and let the blood mix with the fire. It would be pretty and red, like fire and
damnation.

“Some us don’t like scars,”
Schuldig said.

“You heal quickly and don’t scar
easily,” replied Farfarello running his hand down the redhead’s back. “And you like pain.”

“Do I?” chuckled Schuldig. “This coming from the
resident masochist.”

Farfarello gripped Schuldig’s hair
tightly and twisted the telepath’s head up to face him, forcing Schuldig to
turn over on his back. He lowered down
to whisper in the redhead’s ear, while his amber colored eye bored into
Schuldig’s blue one.

“All good little whores like pain
in the mix Guilty One,” he rasped and let his tongue follow the curve of the
redhead’s ear. He gave a husky laugh at
the catch in Schuldig’s breath.

“What if I said no Farfarello?”

“The question should be: would I
care?” Farfarello hissed. “Besides,
you’re not the type to wait around like a virgin for Crawford to decide fucking
you won’t screw up the future.”

“If he wouldn’t see me coming, I
would just make the decision for him.
Who said I was waiting around for him anyway?”

“I still have one eye,” the Irishman
said with a menacing laugh.

A pale scarred hand brushed across
the rim of the telepath’s pants rubbing the exposed skin above. Schuldig could feel the chaos of Farfarello’s
mind against his own, threatening to engulf him. Playing with Farfarello was always
interesting and entertaining, but dangerous to one’s health. What made it even more hazardous though, was
that the psychopath’s keen mind knew how to use the telepath’s talent against
him. He knew too well how the thoughts
of a strong mind could affect the redhead.
In Crawford Schuldig found control and shields strong enough to keep out
the world, but in Farfarello was a force of nature that could unbalance the
telepath, and make him question his shaky sanity. Schuldig never did learn that playing with
fire was bad. He really was a masochist.

“You said you were bored Schuldig,
so lets play.”

“I thought you were watching
television.” Schuldig let out a strangle
moan as Farfarello’s hand slipped inside his pants.

“I think I make a better predator
than the ones on the show. Why don’t you
be the judge.”

The hand, still buried in red hair,
pulled the telepath’s head back forcing Schuldig to arch his neck and
back. White teeth nipped along the
column of skin from one ear to the color of a green button down shirt. The Irishman grazed Schuldig’s adam’s apple before sucking on the
boney protrusion. One of the redhead’s
hands gripped Farfarello’s knee and the other cupped the back of his head. Long legs spread wide as Farfarello’s left
hand wrapped around Schuldig’s length.

“So,” Schuldig gasped, “you would
rape me if I said no?”

“I don’t hear you protesting.”

“Maybe I will.”

“But then you wouldn’t be the good
little whore I know you are.”

Schuldig’s next sentence came out
as a garbled moan as Farfarello tighten his grip inside leather pants. The German reached his own hand down to open
his pants and free himself from the tight confines. As his hand fumbled with the button,
Farfarello’s teeth latched around his neck and the scarred man growled. Schuldig removed his hand and whimpered in
discomfort.

“Un, Farfarello,” Schuldig whined.

“My game, my rules, and you’re the
prey,” hissed the Irishman continuing to grip Schuldig by the neck.

“Have domination issues do we?”

“It’s the straight jacket, makes
you want to lash out.”

Farfarello released the telepath’s
hair trusting his teeth to be incentive for Schuldig not to move, and ran the
free hand underneath his captive. He
stroked down Schuldig’s arched back, while his other hand stroked other
parts. The redhead bucked up into the
tortuous hand holding him captive in his pants, and Farfarello took advantage
of the movement to slip his right hand into the back the garment. It was a tight fit, but there was just enough
stretch in the German’s pants for a man, who couldn’t feel the bite of a zipper
wedged into the back of his hand.

Farfarello eased his hand around
the curve letting his fingers part smooth flesh. He slipped his right middle finger through
the ring of muscle, and smirked as Schuldig thrust away from the
intrusion. The German thrashed against
his captor, but stilled quickly at the increased pressure of teeth on his
neck. Farfarello always meant his
threats.

“Scheiße
Farf!” Schuldig panted, “Couldn’t you find some lotion or something.”

Releasing his bite momentarily,
Farfarello nuzzled the redhead’s ear, “Does it hurt little whore? Will you scream for me?”

“Sadistic
bastard.”

Farfarello added a second finger,
and matched the thrust with the hand on Schuldig’s cock. He hummed in contentment at the German’s
yelp. Schuldig bit his lip drawing
blood, in order to keep in a yell, as the Irishman added a third finger. When those three fingers brushed a bundle of
nerves, Schuldig’s back arched violently.

“Mein Gott!”

“Yes, call to Him pretty
whore. Let him see us Guilty One,”
Farfarello murmured and moved to lick blood painted lips. “Let him bear witness to our sins.”

“Such a voyeuristic God you have,”
Schuldig hissed.

“Hmm, I want to fuck you on an
altar drenched in blood. We can hang the
priest on the cross, so that he can watch.”

“Why not just fuck the priest?”
Schuldig ground out.

“God hates it more when both
parties want it. Perhaps you could let
the priest feel you come. Let God’s
sheep know what it feels like to have another man inside him. Maybe he’ll spill his virgin seed on the
cross,” Farfarello laughed. “God will
weep at so much desecration. Come for me
now Guilty One, and pray to God when you do.”
Farfarello returned to biting Schuldig’s neck.

“Gah! Can’t you two do that somewhere else! Other people sit on that couch!” yelled Nagi
from the doorway.

“Beat it boyo,”
growled Farfarello around Schuldig’s throat.
The Irishman reminded Nagi of a picture he saw of a lion with the neck
of a dead gazelle in its jaws. His one
yellow eye gleamed from under the German’s hair, and his teeth clamped firmly
on Schuldig’s neck.

“Unless you want to join in mein kleiner liebhaber,”
smirked Schuldig.

“And get some disease from you, I
think not. I need to go to the store for
an ink cartridge Schuldig,” said Nagi while glaring at the telepath.

“Didn’t Brad get a box of them the
other day,” Schuldig whined in reply still very much aware of the teeth on his
neck and the hands in his pants.

“Black ink cartridges. I need a color cartridge. Crawford took the last color cartridge
yesterday. He said he needed to print a
graph or something for Takatori. He
could have at least told me if I would need one, the selfish bastard. And before you even say it I’m not walking to
the store, it’s too far and,” Nagi’s glare intensified, “I refuse to take
public transportation.”

“What’s so bad about taking the
bus?”

“I don’t like all the people. Now take me to the store Schuldig!”

“Fine,” sighed
Schuldig. “Let go Farfarello, playtime
is over. Whittle Nagi needs to go to the
store.” Farfarello growled and tightened
his grip on his prey. Schuldig squeaked
as teeth sank into his neck.

“Hey, that’s going to leave a
mark!” complained Schuldig in indignation.

Farfarello felt pressure around his
jaw and matched Nagi’s glare. It may not
physically hurt him, but having his jaw broken would be an inconvenience. He released the telepath with one last nip. Schuldig got up and stretched, not caring in
the least about his obvious erection.

“Come on Nagi,” Schuldig said
grabbing his keys from the hook by the door, “I should make you suck me off in
the car.”

“Schuldig!” yelled a red faced Nagi,
as he followed the telepath out the door.

Farfarello picked the remote back
up and changed the station. He settled
in to watch a program about cosmetic surgery.
Blood and vanity were such a wonderful God hurting combination.

End

HAHAHA I’m so evil to Schuldig. I couldn’t help it. The evil plot bunny got into my brain and
camped out. As always reviews are
welcome and appreciated. I love hearing
what people think.

Solaras
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Predator