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Witness of My Crime	By : CardDragonBall Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 2297 -:- 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
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Series: Witness of My Crime

Title: "Its so Easy" (because I couldn't resist)

Fandom: Weiss Kreuz

Rating: NC-17

Characters: Schuldig/Ken

WARNING: Uh "FORCED CONSENT" which is non-con.

Other Note: This series is posted in its entirety at my LJ (I'll end up posting here too) to read it all (without having to wait around for me to post it) go http://cards-slash.livejournal.com/tag/mindfuckery the right order is posted on the last story posted. (Reading them in the right order would make the most sense, ya know)

Lyrics Justifying Series Title:

So I stepped into your world

I kicked you in the mind

An I'm the only witness

To the nature of my crime

--Don't Damn Me, GnR

The lyrics justifying the title of the fic:

"Turn around bitch I got a use for you

Besides you ain't got nothin' better to do

And I'm bored"

It's so Easy--Guns N Roses

This one bored him--honestly. Nothing even so much as passingly interesting about this Weiss right here. Tragic little past with his 'not-a-boyfriend' and something about fire. So very little to work with.

This right here, was taking one for the team.

Schuldig slipped up behind him, on the street, somewhere in the middle of leaving the flower shop and going to play soccer with the kids. (So disturbingly normal and good--disgusting to touch.) He walked behind, just long enough for Kenken to realize that he was being followed (ever so slightly longer than he'd thought it'd take) and then grabbed him.

"Let's do this the nice way, Kenken," he whispered in his ear. Accent thicker than normal, body closer than necessary, mind slipping in under the instant shock and stuttering realization of who he was.

"Schwarz," Ken hissed. Jerked his arm to get it free; Schuldig let him go.

Laughed but moved back. "Kenken--don't make a scene here. So many witnesses." No, that logic wouldn't do. Not with this Weiss. Too much impulse here; too little discretion. Schuldig pulled away from Ken just before the punch would have landed itself across his face. Stepped to the side with a brush of wind against Ken and smirked at him. "Make a fool of yourself then."

"Bastard!" Ken growled, anger in his mind and fists tightening down harder. (Mind pulsing with the thought of those bugnuks under his control, and the damage he'd like to do--nothing like Aya though. No true intent to hurt--just to kill.) He turned toward Schuldig, faster than he would have credited the boy (hell--faster than Aya could have moved under the circumstances) and landed that punch.

Pain. Strong--bloody-- Schuldig slid to the side, out of the path of the other fist that was coming at him and flipped his hair over his shoulders, the back of his hand wiping the blood off his mouth. "Not nice, Kenken," he said. Schuldig snorted at the immediate It wasn't SUPPOSED to be but didn't catch if it was a thought or a spoken sentence.

Then the little fucker hit him again.

Fast and hard enough that he didn't even feel the mental flinch. (Too much impulse there.) The pain snapped brighter in his head and was white hot on the side of his face. Thick blood in his mouth as he grit his teeth, grabbed Ken by the wrist that was pulling back from that second hit and--

"I said too many witnesses"

--Ripped his mind, right there where the conscious controls. Tore that away, left it raw and hurting, left it just close enough that little Kenken could scream his loudest inside his own damn head and watch with his own damn eyes as he did what Schuldig told him too.

Bastard.

He spit blood onto the sidewalk, wiped it with the back of his hand and smeared it down the front of the paralyzed kitten's shirt. Held his wrist still, because when Schuldig let go, the body would collapse and all the petty little flies buzzing around him would really get interested then.

"Let's go sweetheart," he said, stepping closer, threw his arm across Ken's shoulder. Walked his brand new finger puppet up the street with him, tilted his puppet's head to one side and leaned it against his shoulder.

Smirked where little Ken inside of his own mind could see it and--interesting, that. Rage there; broiling little demon hiding under that mind. Nasty thing all gnashing its teeth with bloodlust. (Kill you. Kill you NOW.)

No.

Walked his finger puppet away from the noise of all those idiot minds gasping in shock about the foreigner (did he have *orange* hair?) getting hit in the face. Twice.

Fucking kitten.

He spit more blood onto Ken's shirt and licked the broken line of skin on the inside of his cheek. Going to bruise that--but he'd gotten worse from stupider people than this one. This idiot at least served (or would serve) a passing purpose during the course of its lifetime--most of the idiots he had dealt with did not. That purpose, of course, wasn't enough to save this idiot from the consequences of his own idiocy.

There. Door, lights off, nobody's in. He pulled his puppet to the back, stepped up to the side of the door and tried the handle. Locked.

(Let me go you fucking bastard! LET ME GO!--what's he going to do? what is he doing? why can't I move--KILL YOU!)

"If it would make you feel better," he said to the blank eyes looking back at him with his biggest smirk on his face. "I didn't want to do this either. You bore me." And then he stabbed the kitten's mind and laughed when little Kenken kicked open the door to the empty office. "Good boy," he said and pulled him inside.

(what's he going to do Coward. Bastard! he's going to--)

Schuldig released the wrist, felt Ken's mind push itself back together, wet with the mind's equivalent to blood, the swollen edges couldn't quite meet. He moved over to a desk sitting all pristinely in a rather nice private office, knocked all the stupid shit sitting on it to the floor. (Pictures, a lamp, papers.) Leaned back against the edge to watch this little kitten.

Ken (oh so very predictably) staggered, fell back, landed on his ass. Mind reeling from the sudden reinstatement of control over its own body. His hands were half clenched in fists; mind all in rage but he couldn't quite get his fingers to do what they wanted. (What--get it together!) Struggle there, back to his feet, like a too drunk old man, and when he was standing, one arm half out to get his balance, the other still at his side fighting to get control of his own fist.

"Please tell me that you're at least a decent killer," Schuldig muttered. "This is pathetic, honestly." He dusted the lint off his pants and dropped his full attention down to the removal of nonexistent bits of dirt from his clothing.

Ken moved to go forward, went down too hard on a foot and landed on his knees, mind all spiralling with confusion and hurt and pain. (WHAT did he DO to me?)

Schuldig stood up, sighed--hated the menial, unattractiveness of this task before him--and shrugged out of his jacket. Pulled the bandana out of his hair and folded the sunglasses up to set them aside. Reached down, curled his fingers in Kenken's sweaty brown hair and pulled him up, wrenched his neck back and smiled right in his face.

"Come on," he said. "Hit me again--"

Ken made some move to do it, mind clinging to that nasty indignation at being put here, in this position. (what does he want? what is he going to do?) More of it, though, more of it wrapped firmly around the realization that little boy here had absolutely no control over what happened next. Nothing but the too-slow, sloppy attempt to hit him. Schuldig batted his hand down without looking away from the widen eyes.

"No? Giving up so quickly?" Another sigh, he shoved Ken forward, half throwing him with the grip on his hair. Watched him trip himself with forward momentum and land hard against the desk. Going to bruise--that--nice wide band across his ribs. "Even little--" What was that kid's name? (omi--what is he going to say about omi.) This, naturally, why this kitten bored him. He gave it up so easily; no resistance at all, mind utterly undisciplined. "Omi would have fought harder. All wriggling and biting." He moved closer, one hand on either side of Ken's chest, leaning against him--not touching except the brush of his hair. "All you did was land a few hits, and here you are. Bent over a desk."

(oh god--not that.)

Ken moved; pushing with his arms, jerking back, knocked against Schuldig--hard head against his shoulder. Elbow pulling back, trying to land another hit, mind alive with the sudden (FIGHT!) impulse. Had to get out of here, had to get out of here, had to get out of here.

Schuldig slammed Ken's head against the desk again, not hard enough to bruise or bloody, just enough that his point was made. "I keep asking you to play nice and you keep refusing."

"Be like Yohji," Schuldig said, leaning down, pressing his chest against Ken's back (oh, damn near panic, that was just fucking sweet right there.) "Just lay still and take it."

(NO!) Screaming beasty in Ken's mind, blood thirsty now. (NO! Yohji WOULDN'T! NOT EVER!)

"Fuck you," the kitten growled out, mouth pressed hard against the desk still. Controlling his own voice again--quite the accomplishment.

Schuldig laughed, pulled Ken back, turned him around and pushed him back, hard, so his back was flat against the desk and his hips were hanging half off. Leaned over him again, smirking. "Would you like it that way? You're not exactly my type--but if it would make you happy."

(Not that. Not that.)

One hand, fumbling like an infant's, Ken's hand half wrapped around his throat. Beasty shrieking for death. (KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIM!) Schuldig pushed his hand back down, pressed his knee against the desk and pulled himself up so he was there, kneeling above Ken. Curled his fists in the loose T-shirt and dragged Ken so he was better situated.

Settled back so he was on Ken's lap and batted down the hand that tried to hit him again.

(oh god, not that.)

Too easy; was it too much to ask for a least a bit of resistance? It made him wish Aya was there, just to shout at him about how he was going to kill him--or for that beautiful fucking pain. That was good too.

Schuldig sighed, tugged at the buttons on Ken's pants. "No." Quiet word, and weak fumbling old-man hands trying to pull him away, he just shook them off and pulled the zipper down. Schuldig looked back up at him, leaned down close, one hand on the desk to support himself over Ken, hair on that flimsy T-shirt and brushing against Ken's cheeks.

"It was your idea, Kenken." Stroked his mind there--cheating that, but even if he did it the hard way the result would be the same. And his face hurt--one low blow for another. Schuldig slipped his hand down into those pants under him, rubbed his palm against Ken in time with his mind rubbing the pleasure centers. Smirked, right in his face, and said with a breathless puff: "Just pretend I have tits."

"No," Ken said. Didn't matter, the hands pushing futilely against his shoulder's didn't matter. Schuldig worked him until he had him where he wanted him--panting and squirming. Sensory-alert, aroused and that beastie growling in his head--postively hateful.

Schuldig moved back, slid backward off the desk. (What...what now? I'm going to kill you--NOW.) Watched Ken try to lift himself up, only managed to get his head up. Schuldig curled his fingers in Ken's pants and pulled them down as far as necessary; laughed when the kitten knocked his head back against the desk.

Toed off his own left shoe, unbuttoned his pants and pulled the tube and the little foil package out of his pocket. Stepped out of the left leg of his pants--just enough that the mechanics would be necessary.

There was Kenken, trying to get up again. Schuldig crawled back onto the desk, put one palm against his chest and shoved him down. "Stay where I put you. At least one of us has to enjoy this."

(No.)

He ripped the package open with his teeth and reached down between them to slip it on; frowning with the concentration that it required. Ken's mind rippling in objection to it.

(Not this, not this, not like this.) Teeth gritted, body pearling up in sweat; heightened sensations.

Schuldig leaned forward, one hand slippery the other supporting him on the desk, fingers down between them, working inside. He had so better get some kind of fucking hazard pay for this shit.

"Ready?" Schuldig breathed.

Ken's eyes slid closed and his hands were in fists against the desk. Trembling, trembling as Schuldig pushed his hips down.

(Fuck. No can't--CAN'T (do it, feels good, can't be that awful) NO! Fucking rapist!)

Schuldig sneer, kept one hand on the desk and curled the other in Kenken's shirt, pulling it tight. Stupid little kitten failed to impress him on all accounts today. Right down to the urgent little jerk of his hips, up--pressing in deeper.

Weak.

Boring.

(No. No. This isn't right this isn't) Shut up Kenken. Schuldig pulled his shirt up because the tails were getting creased and rocked back. Forced Ken's eyes open with a tap of his mind, and grinned at him. Felt the body shaking under him, felt the hands clenching against his knees, felt the screaming of his mind.

(Ye-NO! GODDAMMIT! No, it can't--Feels good, fuck yes, rig--NO!)

"Hurry up," Schuldig snapped. Felt sweat prickling on his own back now, from the movement; he'd have to go home and rinse the shirt out before it stained now. Shook his hair back over his shoulders. "I've got better things to do."

Ken's eyes, wide around the edges, his hands, fingernails digging down into Schuldig's skin. (what? He's--He's not even--)

"Told you," Schuldig grimaced, changed the angle of his hips and moved faster now--damn fucking impatient now. "I don't care about you." Grinned at him again, hair falling down around his face again.

Ken's hips pressing up and up and there--the moan. Always the breaking point.

Look at what I made the kitty do.

"Like it?" Schuldig said.

"NO," Ken gritted out, between his teeth, in beat with the flex of his hips. And that mind--such beautiful angst there. (Why? Why do it? Why is he fucking doing this?)

"Because you're easy," Schuldig whispered. "Because I'm bored. Because you--Kenken--are expendable." Leaned back now, driving his body down harder against Ken's, felt the shivering in that mind, the need and the want and--(The pain)--the hate. "Because Aya wouldn't have given it up, Omi wouldn't have liked it and Yohji wouldn't have cried about it." Lies maybe, he didn't know, wasn't his thoughts.

There, in Ken's eyes, prickling at the edge. Tears.

(Make him cry, Schuldig. Done.)

He left him there, in that moment, body quaking with the force of its pleasure and his mind ripping with that other thing. Pain, denial, doubt--wounded in whatever ridiculous way Ken chose to name it; shivered against it because that (at least) was good enough to drink down.

Two more thrusts, and there--

Ken gasping for breath (tears on his face now) hands still scratching at Schuldig's clothes, still some vague attempt to fight back. Schuldig pushed himself back, down off the desk.

"Not impressive," he remarked as he pulled his pants back on. Watched Kenken close his eyes.

(Oh god. oh god. What--what have I done...)

"That much is self evident, Kenken." Schuldig pulled his shoe back on and leaned over the desk again. "You got off."

(I'm going to kill you.)

Schuldig smiled. "What're you going to tell them? I promise I'll keep it to myself--"

(oh--them--Omi. Yohji--Didn't he say--did he?)

"Tell Aya at least. Give me that much--think you owe it to me after this." Twist there, pain and rage--and exhaustion. Full motor control was filtering back, Ken could move now, could feel, could control his own sensation.

Disgust there.

Schuldig picked his jacket up off the chair he'd left it on, and his bandana and his sunglasses. Slipped the sunglasses on, pocketed the bandana and pulled the jacket back on. "Clean up this mess before you go, huh?"
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Witness of My Crime