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The Audience	By : Pixxit Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1736 -:- 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-The Audience
- 1
*Weiss Kreuz does not belong to me and neither does Bradley Crawford, unfortunately. This story is for entertainment purposes only and I am receiving no monetary compensation for the writing/posting of it.

The Audience

Farfarello had a way about him
that made even the most confident man jumpy enough to piss himself when that
sharp, yellow gaze turned his way. Takatori Hirofumi was no exception. Not that the younger Takatori
was that impressive, in the first place.
In fact, Crawford secretly thought he was a whining pansy – though he
didn’t share his feelings with the senior Takatori. He had a feeling that the old bastard knew,
anyway.

“How long are we going to have to wait?” Nagi asked, his sweet, smooth face calm and patient. Farfarello trailed
fingertips along the younger boy’s arm, tracing the seam of his jacket and he
gasped, holding his hand and looking affronted when Nagi
whapped his knuckles with the pen he was holding.

Crawford feigned disinterest. The sooner his charges all gathered ‘round,
the sooner they could be dismissed.
Hirofumi had begun to tap his foot against the table leg, patently
ignoring Nagi’s polite throat clearing. Soon enough, the boy’s patience ran out and
Hirofumi’s chair wobbled dangerously.
The man startled, eyes wide behind his
glasses.

Nagi crossed his arms over his
chest in a stance so reminiscent of Crawford that the prescient almost
grinned. “Please cease with that
annoying tapping. You’ll make us all
insane.”

Farfarello lounged on the chaise
lounge, wiping his already shining blade back and forth on his pantsleg idly.
“Insanity hurts God.”

Hirofumi rolled his eyes, standing quickly and pretending as
though Noe hadn’t just scared the living crap out of
him. “As though we
could forget that.”

Crawford consulted his watch – again – frown creasing his
brow. Farfarello
leaned his head back against the arm of the chaise and chuckled softly. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Crawford’s frown deepened and Nagi
spoke up, small voice striving to sound bigger than it was – than he was. “He’ll be here, Crawford. I reminded him about the meeting this
morning.”

Hirofumi touched the spines of the books his Father kept on
the antique bookshelf in the downstairs study.
“He’s already kept us waiting forty-five minutes. It seems as though he has decided not to join
us this evening.”

Crawford dropped a book on Takatori’s
desk and turned, aristocratic features marred by his obvious aggravation. “He’ll be here.” He murmured.

The younger Takatori sighed and
leaned against the bookshelf, wondering how long he would have to go along
before he could convince the American to reschedule. It was getting late and his Father wasn’t
even home to join them.

The group assembled did not speak. In fact, the only one who seemed antsy at all
was Farfarello and Hirofumi knew well enough that the
scarred man only moved around to make everyone else nervous.

He sighed, about to speak up again when the door to the
study opened and Schuldig strolled in as though he
hadn’t a care in the world. His hair was
mussed, his headband crooked and he looked incredibly pleased with himself.

“No, really. Don’t get up.”

Crawford’s eyes narrowed dangerously and the light glinted
off his glasses when he tilted his head, considering his teammate. “That might be remotely amusing if I weren’t
already standing.”

Schuldig sat down in Crawford’s
chair, propping his feet on the desk as he grinned insolently at his
superior. “Who said I was talking to
you?”

Crawford’s knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists. “You’re late.”

Schuldig batted his
eyelashes. “You’re stunning.”

Crawford swept Schuldig’s feet off
his desk and took a step toward him, backhanding the telepath hard. Schuldig’s head
snapped to one side, already messy hair obscuring his face for a long moment
until he straightened up, standing slowly and touching fingertips to the corner
of his mouth. They came away wet with
blood. “You’re supposed to say ‘you’re
forgiven’, Bradley. Good job ruining the
moment.”

Crawford made a low, disbelieving sound and Nagi cleared his throat.
“Crawford-san.
I’m sure Takatori-san would like to take his
leave sometime tonight. Perhaps we
should get on with the meeting.”

Crawford’s steely gaze slid to Hirofumi, who was doing his
best to appear as mild and unassuming as possible. Crawford, personally, didn’t give a flying
shit what Takatori-san wanted, but he reasoned that
if he was going to start slapping his team around, he’d just as soon do it in
private.

He nodded tightly, straightening his tie and moving to lean
against the front of his desk. He didn’t
look at Schuldig but knew that the German was looking
at him. He could feel that blue gaze on
him as though it were a tangible thing. In
the interest of maintaining a modicum of dignity, he did not return that
gaze. Not when the only thing he could
think of doing was wrapping his hands around Schuldig’s
neck and choking him unconscious.

After he kissed him senseless, of course.

Crawford blinked and squared his shoulders. He would not let Schuldig
distract him. Not tonight. Stop
putting your perverted ideas into my head.

Yes, your
highness. You want me to put them
someplace else?

Crawford clenched his jaw.
“Quick run-down. Tomorrow night’s the political dinner – I
take it everyone knows their places?”

Nods all around, except from Schuldig,
who was examining his fingernails idly.
Crawford ignored him.

“Nagi, it’s very important that
you cover Balinese. The minute Schuldig targets Bombay,
he’ll be there to get in the way. Farfarello – eyes on Siberian.”

Nagi nodded again, silently. Schuldig snorted in
amusement, which Crawford patently ignored.
“Hirofumi – I suggest that you stick to your Father like glue. He’s a walking target and I’m going to need
all the help I can get to prevent him going off somewhere alone.”

He looked around at each of them, expression as mild as he
could manage. “Any
questions?”

Schuldig looked up then. “Yeah. I have a question.”

Finally, Crawford turned his head, letting his gaze rest on
the telepath. “Yes?”

Schuldig appeared to consider his
words for a moment. His expression was
serious. “If Nagi’s
‘covering’ Balinese and Farfarello is ‘covering’
Siberian and I’m, naturally, ‘covering’ the kitten – does that mean you’ll be
‘covering’ Abyssinian?”

Crawford ticked off several seconds before trusting himself
to speak in a steady tone. “Yes, that’s
what that means, Mastermind. And since I
know you’re neither new to the operation or even remotely mentally retarded,
I’d appreciate an end to the redundant questions.”

Schuldig nodded again. “Of course. I apologize, Crawford-sama.”

Crawford leaned close, voice low. “Watch it, Schuldig. I’m warning you.”

Schuldig stretched his arms over
his head, sinuous and taunting. “If you insist, Bradley.
Though I don’t know why I should.
I’ve seen it all…before.”

Nagi closed his eyes slowly,
sighing in resignation. Farfarello licked his pale lips and leaned forward. Hirofumi just looked confused.

Crawford, however, pushed Schuldig
against the desk and fisted a hand tightly in the telepath’s hair. “You couldn’t let it go, could you, Schuldig? You had to
make a point. Had to
cross the line.”

Jerking him forward, Crawford slammed Schuldig,
chest down, against the desk and held him there with the heel of his hand
against the redhead’s neck. Schuldig didn’t struggle and his expression betrayed not a
hint of his true emotions. Nagi moved toward the door.

“Hold it.” Crawford
ground out. Nagi
stopped, gaze straight ahead. “You stay
right there, Nagi.
Schuldig wanted an audience and I’m going to
goddamned well see that he gets one.” He
leaned forward, his lips just at Schuldig’s ear. “Didn’t you, Schu?”

Schuldig turned his head a little
in obvious acquiescence, though he didn’t answer, and Crawford growled.
“Business and pleasure just don’t mix – told you that a hundred times.”

Schuldig laughed, breathless and
soft-spoken in challenge. “That’s what I
keep trying to tell the little kitten.
But he never listens.”

Crawford would later remember that moment as the very second
the tenuous hold on his self-control snapped.
Or, more accurately, it was the moment Schuldig
grabbed hold of both ends and split it right down the center.

That was the image in his own mind when Crawford grabbed the
sides of Schuldig’s pants and jerked hard. They ripped in the back – just enough for
Crawford to get a hand inside and rent the fabric down one thigh. Schuldig slid one
foot along the floor, widening his stance.
Crawford scowled in disgust and pushed the telepath’s jacket up to the
middle of his back. The sight that met
him was almost dizzying in that he’d imagined it before. No – not imagined. He’d seen
it before.

You fucking slut. You planned this.

Schuldig struggled
a little, testing Crawford’s hold on him.
It was absolute. Now, now, Bradley. You
can’t alter destiny – isn’t that what you’re fond of telling me?

Fuck you, Schuldig.

“Yes, Bradley.” Fuck me.

Crawford licked his lips, pupils dilated when he glanced up
to take in the faces of the other men in the room. Farfarello’s
expression was completely devoid of emotion.
Hirofumi’s jaw appeared about to become unhinged. Nagi wouldn’t look
at him. The line of the boy’s shoulders,
his spine, was like steel. There would
be recriminations, of that Crawford was certain. Fortunately, he felt more than able to handle
the backlash. He was the Oracle. His word was law.

“Prodigy. Be a good boy and pass me the hand lotion.”

Nagi looked away, shooting a
helpless sort of look at Farfarello, who simply
shrugged and began to cut into his shirt for want of anything more interesting
to do with his hands.

Crawford moved then and Schuldig
grunted in discomfort, fingers scrabbling at the desk. Even so, his eyes sparked defiance and he
arched his back accommodatingly.

“Suit yourself.
You’ll be the one to hear him scream.”
Crawford told him, kicking the redhead’s ankles further apart and
leaning over his back to nuzzle his ear.
“So much for covering Abyssinian, hm?” He smiled a little, voice lowering to a real
whisper. “See, Schu?
I can play this game, too.”

Nagi made some small sound and,
from the far corner of the room, an ornately designed, glass bottle of lotion
hurled itself toward Crawford’s head. He
caught it, inhaling audibly when it smacked against his palm with more force
than Nagi could have physically thrown it. It made Crawford smile. The boy was indeed a force to be reckoned
with – he allowed himself a small measure of pride over that fact, whether it
had to do with him or not.

Crawford got his pants open one-handed and his movements
were rushed and awkward as he slicked his erection. Nagi slid Crawford
a venomous glare and, to his credit, did not look away. Crawford smiled.

Hirofumi looked a little green around the gills and would
have, likely, become truly nauseated if he’d had the ability to read Farfarello’s thoughts at that moment. The pale man was eerily still and was
cataloguing Hirofumi’s every move, no matter how slight.

Schuldig had begun to struggle,
though Crawford knew well enough that his every calculated movement was
intended only to heighten the drama. He
could feel Schuldig
– and there was no sense of fear or revulsion under all that orange hair.

Gripping Schuldig’s buttocks, he
lifted him to the tips of his toes and spread him roughly, wasting no time in
pushing against him insistently. Schuldig sucked in a breath when Crawford began to
penetrate him and he bowed his head in apparent submission when the other man
seated himself with a low grunt. In
truth, he was working to hide his triumph – Crawford had slid into him just as
smooth as that overpriced silk tie he was wearing so tight around his
neck.

Deeper.

Crawford clenched his jaw, pulling back just enough to drive
back into him. Schuldig
gasped and pressed his cheek to the desk, biting his lip hard.

Harder. If
you’re going to do it, Bradley, do it right.

Crawford made some small sound then, be
it surrender or triumph – they were similar enough to Schuldig’s
mind – and he gripped the telepath’s shoulders to shove roughly into him, to
anchor himself. He was panting, his hair
was mussed, his glasses were crooked and his dick was harder than glass.

Mine. Crazy mindfuck –
you belong to me.

Schuldig gasped Crawford’s name,
obvious plaintive edge to his voice. An
entire flower shop full of angsty kittens didn’t
taste as good as the rough side of Bradley Crawford’s mind.

Schuldig began to move against the
desk, reaching beneath him to free his erection, jerking himself roughly and
completely without shame. He bared his
teeth, snarling and fighting beneath Crawford and when he caught Takatori Hirofumi’s wide, stunned gaze, he blew him a
little kiss.

He felt Crawford’s forehead pressed against his shoulderblade, could feel his breath through the jacket he
wore, could feel the edge of the desk digging into his ribs and every single
sensation combined to form a rush of sensation so overwhelming that Schuldig doubted he would ever experience its equal.

Crawford gasped, panting and desperate and finally,
agonizingly, he lifted his head to glare, unseeing, at the room’s other
inhabitants. His voice was practically
unrecognizable when he parted his lips in a snarl and jerked his head toward
the door. “Get the fuck out. All of you.”

And then his cheek was against Schuldig’s
back and his thighs were slick against the telepath’s and his breath was coming
in short, shallow pants. No longer
coherent enough to even trade insults with the man he held beneath him, Crawford
didn’t look up when the door slammed shut behind the ones he’d drawn into Schuldig’s little drama.
He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about anything – not Weiss, not Takatori,
not the apology that he’d die before making.

All he knew was Schuldig. The maddening heat and the
hard, smooth prison of his body. Of his goddamned mind.

Here Bradley…hold this for a minute.

Crawford burrowed closer to Schuldig
and before he could form the question, he felt Schuldig’s
presence inside his mind and all reason fled.

The pleasure was unparalleled, unexpected and absolutely
fucking perfect. Crawford clutched the
man beneath him, burying his face in that awful green coat and giving voice to
the most intense release he’d ever been given in his entire life.

Schuldig’s pleasure was a distant
echo in his mind and even as he felt the redhead come undone in his arms, he
knew that the moment couldn’t last long enough.
There was triumph and there was obsession and Crawford knew that the triumph was
none of his own.

He didn’t let go – long moments passed and still he didn’t
let go. Schuldig
didn’t stir and he didn’t crow his victory.
Yet.

Crawford tried to catch his breath, tried to imagine what he
might say to level the playing field a bit.

“Fuck you, Schu. Fuck you.”

Schuldig smiled.

Yes, you did.
- 1
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The Audience