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Flying Solo	By : Pixxit Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1208 -:- 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-Flying Solo
- 1
Disclaimer:
They don’t belong to me, but Schu does belong
to Brad.

Warnings/Comments: NC-17 for
dirty boy touching.

Flying Solo

Sleep often eluded Brad Crawford. But never more so than tonight, when nothing
he did seemed to ease his restlessness.
It had been a week since the red-haired terror had planted the illicit
seed in his mind. An illicit seed that
had, in an embarrassingly short amount of time, managed to somehow sprout into
a full-flowered preoccupation.

Flowers. Crawford was
suddenly fairly certain where his mastermind had gotten off to this late at
night. Schuldig had his own
preoccupation as of late and, despite Crawford’s warnings against it, he seemed
unable to leave the little Weiss kittens alone.
It was only a matter of time before Crawford knew he’d be forced to
teach Schuldig a lesson – and he turned his back on that part of him that was
chomping at the bit for that time to be at hand.

He’d admitted, grudgingly and only to himself, that Schuldig
fascinated him after the third time he’d caught himself mentally stripping the
telepath naked and proceeding to imagine all manner of debauchery ensuing.

Somehow, and for some reason that continued to elude
Crawford, the German telepath had managed to worm his way past Crawford’s very
best defenses and had since begun to spread his particular brand of poison to
the very edges of Crawford’s mind.
Schuldig had played his cards well.
Crawford was unable to shake his influence even in the safety of dreams.

Which might have something to do with his current state of
sleeplessness. Pity he could never
predict insomnia.

Abandoning the bedroom and his own pathetic ruminations,
Crawford padded silently through the house toward the kitchen where he was
certain to find his sanity and self-preservation waiting for him at the bottom
of the brandy bottle.

The house was blanketed in shadow and quieter than a temple
at midnight. It was the way Crawford preferred it,
frankly. Farfarello and Nagi caused
Crawford no annoyance, typically. His
main concern was helping the boy harness his boundless powers and keeping
Farfarello from going on a killing spree in the name of a God that none of them
believed in. Killing was business, and
nothing more. When one began to kill in
the name of personal interest, one had lost sight of their goal and should then
be considered a liability.

Which is what Schuldig was currently in the process of
becoming.

After the first few gulps, Crawford began to relax and he
allowed himself to reflect on the possible reasons Schuldig could have for
taking the risks he’d been taking.
Unacceptable risks led to unacceptable losses. Schuldig knew that. Crawford wondered if Schuldig was an
unacceptable loss.

Aww, Brad, I didn’t know you cared.

Crawford frowned. He
was certain he was a risk, unacceptable or otherwise. Stop
baiting those assassins, Schuldig.
You’re going to compromise our position.

He poured himself another two fingers of brandy and downed it,
Schuldig’s taunting words still echoing in his mind.

I might compromise a
little something, but I don’t know if our position will have anything to do
with it. Perhaps the little Bombay’s position…

Crawford set the glass down a little harder than he’d
intended and rubbed his temples, which were beginning to throb. Leave
the brat alone and behave yourself, goddammit.

There was a heavy silence and Crawford thought Schuldig had
severed the connection to pursue his newest plaything when he felt him
again.

That sounded like a
warning, Bradley.

Brad frowned.
Schuldig rarely tested him like that.
He was a trickster, an irreverent hedonist, but he took their roles
seriously and respected Crawford’s place in their small group.

That’s because it was a warning, Schuldig. If you’re reckless enough to jeopardize our
positions, I have no reservations when it comes to assigning you a babysitter.

So said, Crawford put his glass and the bottle of brandy
away and made the trek back up the stairs to his bedroom where, hopefully,
sleep awaited.

Schuldig’s voice cut into his silence, heavy with
indignation. And just who will you choose to watch me so closely, hm, Bradley? Certainly it won’t be you, now will it? Not you, who seeks so actively to avoid such
proximity?

Crawford paused just outside Nagi’s door, listening for a
moment to the rapidfire clickclack of the boy’s keyboard as he kept himself
occupied in the most comfortable way he knew.
Satisfied that things were truly settled within the house, Crawford
retreated to his own bedroom, closing the door, but not locking it. As he passed the window, he was assailed with
a fleeting vision of Schuldig, standing just outside a familiar flower
shop.

Crawford was suddenly flush with anger. Anger for his inability to control Schuldig
and anger for his lack of real attempt to do so. Beneath it all, however, was the absolute
frustration of being unable to simply stop thinking about Schuldig
altogether. This feeling was different,
but not at all unlike the feelings of lust he’d experienced for any number of
women in his past.

Congratulations,
Bradley, you can be taught.

Crawford growled then, fluffing his pillow before stretching
out onto his back. Leave the boy, Schuldig. Now is
not the time.

He closed his eyes – he could almost feel Schuldig’s
smile.

Tell me what it’s time
for, Bradley. Tell me what I want to
hear and maybe I’ll come home.

Crawford was silent for a long moment, no words readily
available to him and Schuldig laughed – infuriatingly snide. Or
maybe if you just play along, ja?

Crawford frowned.
Only an idiot would barter with Schuldig and expect to come out on
top. But, Bradley reasoned, he was the
Oracle. He would always come out on top.

Make it quick, Schuldig. I’m tired.

Schuldig’s soft laugh was like a
smug purr. You’re not tired. You’re frustrated. And I know why.

Crawford didn’t answer and was beginning to consider closing
his thoughts to Schuldig. This
conversation had taken a turn somewhere and Crawford wasn’t about to lie in his
bed and allow Schuldig to tease and torment him.

How badly do you want
me to come home, Brad? Answer correctly
and you’ll get your wish.

Crawford sat up to pull his socks off and then he lay down
again. He took a deep, calming breath
and let the darkness settle over him again.
This was all that needed. Peace,
quiet, the certainty that all was going according to plan. I
couldn’t care less where you spend your evenings, Mastermind. I care only about your lack of foresight when
it comes to Weiss. As long as you don’t
put the rest of the team in danger, you can run just as wild as you wish.

Schuldig sighed, drawn out and
exasperated. Honestly, Bradley, you are incredibly long
winded when you’re avoiding something.
The only thing in danger tonight is your very misplaced, very well-guarded
heterosexuality.

Crawford’s jaw tightened, though his eyes were still closed
and he would swear, to whoever asked, that he was
relaxed. Shut. Up. Schuldig.

Let’s talk about that,
shall we? Let’s talk about shutting me
up. I bet you’ve imagined all sorts of
colorful ways to do it, haven’t you?

His voice lowered, as though he were whispering to Crawford,
telling him a dirty little secret that he wanted kept just between them. I won’t
make you touch me, Bradley. All you have
to do is touch yourself.

Crawford went still.
His cock swelled traitorously against the front of his shorts and he
flattened his palms against the bed cover.
He would not give in to Schuldig’s urgings. There was no way in hell.

Don’t say no,
Brad. It’s not so much to ask – not
really.

Crawford rolled to one side, defensively. “No.”

Yes.

Crawford removed his glasses and laid them on the table
beside the bed. You do not control me, Schuldig.
You forget your place.

Schuldig sighed, a shiver along
Crawford’s skin. I know my place. You just won’t
let me have it. He paused, a little
exhalation escaping him and Crawford flashed to an image of Schuldig against a
midnight sky. He’d given up one game to
pursue another. You won’t give me what I really want, Brad – let me taste your
mind. Just once.

Crawford’s hand was caught between his knees and he shifted,
wanting so badly to feel his own palm sliding along his inner thigh while the
German telepath whispered obscenities to him.
He closed his eyes, pretended he didn’t notice the prickling heat that
rose along his skin.

No one has to know. Schuldig
pressed him, his voice having lost the taunting, teasing edge. Crawford turned slowly, stretching out onto
his back again and trying to pretend he hadn’t heard the intensity behind
Schuldig’s words. Denying that he wanted
it was pointless when Schuldig knew, even better than he knew himself, exactly
what he wanted. What he needed.

He slid one damp palm along his hip, over the soft fabric of
his shorts and he closed his eyes, blocking out everything but the tactile
weakness he craved and the steady, tingling presence of Schuldig in his mind.

He wanted it. And he
wanted Schuldig there when he took it.

He rubbed the flat of his hand over his erection, inhaling
sharply when the fabric brushed the sensitive tip of his cock. Softly, just beneath his own pleasure, lay
Schuldig’s. Crawford shuddered, hand
dipping beneath the waistband of his shorts to rub his erection. He rocked his hips up, gasping soundlessly as
he curled his fingers around his cock.
Schuldig’s answering moan was faint and an almost tangible sensation to
Crawford.

Brad.

Crawford stroked himself slowly, arching his back when he
increased the pressure of his hand. He
bent his knees, feet sliding along the comforter as he arched into the pleasure
of his own hand.

Scheisse, Brad, take them
off.

Crawford growled, releasing his erection long enough to
strip off his shorts and toss them aside before he was settling against the bed
again, spreading his legs and taking hold of himself again. He cupped his balls with one hand as he
rocked his hips up, thrusting into the other.
He moaned, turning his head as though seeking to deny the pleasure he
gave himself.

Crawford, who had never been one for fantasy, was suddenly
hit with a barrage of images so unexpected that he cried out brokenly into the
darkness of his room. Schuldig on his
knees, that tousled, orange hair a sharp contrast to Crawford’s pale skin. Schuldig on all fours, his pants around his
knees and that awful jacket pushed up to reveal the pale curve of his ass.

“Ahhperfect…so perfect…”
He panted, careful to keep his voice low.

It would be perfect,
Brad. I can feel you…

Crawford squeezed his eyes tightly closed and rolled his
hips in desperation, fucking his own hand and thinking of only of
Schuldig. Those eyes, that mouth. Oh, God, how that smart mouth would feel
wrapped tight around his cock.

Crawford grunted, sliding his feet up a little, arching up
until his ass barely touched the bed. He
let himself focus on that last visual for a moment, imagining the look in
Schuldig’s eyes while he sucked him off.

Ahhh…Schuldig.

Schuldig shivered; Crawford’s
emotions were searing and pure, so much more delicious for the risk he’d taken
to gain access to them. And he was
calling for Schuldig in a voice that the German had never heard from him
before.

Spread your legs,
Bradley. Let me suck you.

Bradley groaned, his cock twitched in his grasp, clear fluid
beading at the tip to streak his palm when he released the hold on himself only
long enough to lick his palm. When he
gripped himself again, he writhed against the bed, neck bared and jaw clenched.

Suck me.

And he did. Focused
intently on Crawford as he was, Schuldig fed him images so graphic and so
completely foreign to his mind that the American’s lust nearly triggered
Schuldig’s own orgasm – and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

Slow,
Bradley. Don’t leave me behind.

Control on a thin tether, Crawford slowed his hand, the
lines of his body tense and poised to snap.
Then come with me.

The breathless, urgent sound that Schuldig made then was a
perfect echo of Crawford’s own desire and he knew, in that moment, that if
Schuldig were near him, he wouldn’t hesitate to reach out and pull him
closer. He tossed his head, restless and
seeking release, and rolled to all fours, one hand braced on the bed, the other
stroking his cock in long, slow pulls.
He imagined the telepath spread out beneath him, thighs spread and neck
bared, making those breathy, animal little noises that annihilated Crawford’s
control.

Hips twisting with each thrust into the tight channel of his
hand, he murmured things that he would recall later with an almost overwhelming
embarrassment. He growled Schuldig’s
name, he gripped the pillow, imagining it was handfuls of soft, orange
hair.

Gonna fuck you, Schuldig. You’re mine.

Schuldig cried out, then, an
almost primitive howl that echoed down the alley just outside Crawford’s
window. That voice, the way the telepath
sounded when he found his release, was a high like no other and, burying his
face in the pillow before him, Crawford spread his knees, arching his hips in
an almost indecent display of self-gratification, and worked his cock fast and
hard. The pillow muffled the sounds he
made but his thoughts belonged to Schuldig when he thrust forward one last time
and gained a dizzying, mindless release.

Schu…

Crawford collapsed, spent; his rough breathing a
counterpoint to Schuldig’s quiet panting.
He knew, without having to look, that Schuldig was in his room and he
didn’t make any move to cover himself.

“You missed the grand finale.” Crawford accused, breathless.

Schuldig’s voice sounded strained when he spoke. “No. I
didn’t.”

Crawford tensed – he knew, immediately, that the tide had
turned between them. He had no intention
of losing ground. Schuldig would move
in, bury his flag in the dirt and that, as they say, would be that.

“You should have.”
Crawford told him, voice hard.
“Get out.”

Schuldig hesitated once, and Crawford could sense the
hurt. It wasn’t like Schuldig to show
his cards this early in the game. And
that scared the hell out of Crawford.

“Now.”

Schuldig took his leave with barely a sound – Crawford
didn’t even hear the door open and close.
But Schuldig’s voice was a whisper in his mind and, just like that, the
need burned hot in him all over again.

Sweet like honey,
Bradley.

Crawford wiped his hand on the coverlet and rolled to one
side. He stared into the darkness and
cursed his own lack of self-control.

“Honey, my ass.”

Poison.
- 1
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Flying Solo